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Prologue - Oxyuranus
Edited January 2024

The tension was palpable in the Room of Requirement.
The students who will become the future Death Eaters looked at each other, sucking in their breath as they waited for their leader. There were accusatory glances, each searching for a possible culprit that would explain why they were all gathered, yet everyone within shared a common emotion: fear.They could taste the fear on their tongues, they felt their heart hammering in their chest. Each beat aggravated their affliction. The silence was so vast that a pin could be heard if any fell on the floor.
How bad is it going to be? They wondered similarly. Mercy. Who would not want to receive mercy in this situation?
The door opened abruptly, announcing His infuriated arrival. Some of the future Death Eaters cringed, watching the door slowly close and with it the tension within the room growing as they witnessed their only
means of escape disappear. In this conjured room there were no windows, no doors and their only way to escape had been vanished by Him. They were trapped. Trapped with imminent death, torture and sadism, all embodied within a young man whose contrasting physical appearance was deceivingly handsome, almost unearthly. A Fallen Angel.Tom Riddle entered like a hurricane, rage flickering across his face. He walked with firm, quick steps, his teeth sawing in frustration. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, the Slytherin's tie hanging slightly loose, having forgone the rest of the official uniform attire.The Knights of Walpurgis upon seeing their leader's wrath quickly moved away, trying to recede from Riddle’s field of vision but nothing and no one could save Alphard Black.
"Riddle..." Alphard begins, but is abruptly stopped by Tom, who pulls him by the collar of his shirt, slamming Alphard's back against the wall, then punching the pit of his stomach.Tom, in all his psychotic and
princely aura, watched his servant slide down the wall, place his hand on his stomach to futilely appease his own pain and fall on his knees. Through the tousled hair obscuring his vision, Alphard glanced and raised his chin up defiantly, awakening Tom's berserk fury. Tom's hands trembled as he gripped them into tight fists, the strong, dark, vengeful magic revolved around him, red light crossing through his eyes. A bestial roar welled up in Tom's throat as he glanced at Alphard Black, any trace of coherence was lost and then he lunged at the boy. What came next was brutal.
Even Alphard - who had a brave, almost Gryffindor spirit - couldn’t contain his screams. The sequence of punches on his face and kicks in the ribs dazed him
and he was rendered unable to defend himself. Tom’s angry magic permeated and smothered the room, and as if it were alive when Alphard tried to drag himself away, his magic intensified.

He will beg.

He will not run away.

Tom dragged Alphard back by his legs and then punched him again. He gritted his teeth and must have cast some spell unconsciously, as irregular cuts opened the skin on Alphard's face. Tom wished to undo Alphard's face, because the image of him smiling at her was still fresh in his mind, and all he wanted was to make it impossible for Alphard to smile ever again.He would ingrain it in Alphard’s mind that every time he tried to approach her, this would be the consequence of overstepping such boundaries. And punishments would get worse and worse and worse. And they would have more blood and more blood and more blood.
Tom felt a fury so blinding that when a crack was heard, he seemed to awaken from a trance. I broke something. What was it? The nose? No, no. I broke that when I hammered his face against the wall. Ah, the jawbone. You can’t smile now, can you?
He stood up slowly. There was a splash of blood on his alabaster face, on his white shirt and on his long slim hands, his knuckles were sore and Alphard's face was unrecognizable, yet it was still not enough.He looked at his servants, watching intently their horrified and fearful expressions. Tom laughed. He actually laughed out loud as if he was privy to a secret joke. An involuntary tear appeared at the corner of his right eye and he wiped it away before it was released, his hand staining his pale face with more blood and then he fixed his gaze on Alphard, who was sprawled on the ground, unmoving except with involuntary spasms and the occasional grunt of pain.
Isn’t he a treacherous one? Trying to steal from me and right under my nose. How dare he try to take her away from me? Tom stopped and pondered. To kill or not to kill?
Tom’s hand twitched. Oh, how he'd like to squeeze his throat and see his puny life slowly leave him, to watch his skin turn purple from breathlessness until nothing was left of him. It was tempting indeed but the Black family was one of the most important connections he could have in the Wizarding World and also, it would be bothersome to deal with another murder after what happened to Myrtle. This time there would be no Hagrid to blame, not that this was the problem, he could find another victim of his manipulations. The problem was all the work that would have to be done and well, he didn’t have the patience for it. On a more important note, this was a Black. Investigations would certainly carry more weight simply because of the damn surname Alphard carried.Tom placed his hands on his hips and stared at the ceiling of the Room of Requirement and took a deep breath. Fuck, I cannot kill him!
He couldn’t kill him, but it wouldn’t mean that he couldn’t impart a remembrance, a reminder. Tom then stepped slowly and hard on the fingers of Alphard's hand. Alphard tried to make some sound, a cry of pain, but his broken jaw wouldn’t let him even obtain this small relief and if he tried, the more pain he would feel.Another 'crack' was heard throughout the room, and everyone knew that Alphard's fingers were broken. Nothing could be darker than the smile that Tom Riddle had on his face in that moment. After what seemed to be an eternity, Tom stops stepping on Alphard's fingers and gives a final kick to his stomach, indicating the end of the punishment.
It was certainly ironic that the Dark Lord, a powerful wizard with extraordinary dark magic, chose such muggle methods to deliver retribution on someone. Yet he wanted to feel the blood on his hands and to show that even without the use of his unparalleled magic, he was superior in every way. He drew back, his footsteps were the only noise in the Room of Requirement, his servants stood frozen, staring at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing they had ever seen, just to avoid his gaze. Tom stored his wand in his pocket and with a graceful hand movement, the blood stains on his clothes, hands and face disappeared. He could not wander the halls of Hogwarts with anything less than an impeccable appearance.He glanced over his shoulder, "Clean this mess." It was an order, his voice cold enough to make his servants shudder. "I hope you have understood what happens when you practice Quidditch. Someone always falls off the broom."
There it was, the lie everyone would tell. Tom left the details for them to handle. Without further ado, the door of the Room of Requirement appeared, and Tom Riddle left.
When that door disappeared again, they all descended into hysteria.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 1. Pseudonaja - Time Turner
Edited January 2024

1998

Hermione was still standing, staring intently at the back of Harry Potter, who was making his way to his death. She took a deep breath, her chest aching and a lonely tear trickled down her cheek. Next to her stood Ron. When Harry disappeared from their sight, both gasped, not having realised that they were holding their breath. Ron was the first to move, turning the opposite way from Harry, ascending Hogwarts’ grand staircase.
"We need to help him, Ron," she said.
"You heard what he said. We have to wait and kill the snake."
Ron continued up the stairs without turning to look at her, putting his hands in his coat pockets as if to hold himself back.
"He can’t go. He's going to die!" Hermione said, a little desperately. "There has to be another way. We can’t abandon him! He's our best friend!"
"I know, okay!" Ron finally turned to face her. His face held an expression mixed with anger and sadness. There were tears in his eyes and he struggled to keep them contained. His lower lip trembled. "I know," Ron murmured softly. His voice reflected deep sorrow for all the friends who had been killed, for his brother Fred and now for Harry Potter, his best friend. "I know," He repeated again.
Hermione ran to hug him tightly, holding him like a lifebuoy, weeping in his arms.
"I just need to tell Ginny." He holds Hermione while hiding his face in the tangle of her hair. "She needs to know."
After a while, he released her and went upstairs. She sat up, tears streaming down her face as she tried to dry them with the palm of her hand.
Hermione was alone in the rubble of what once was the beautiful and magical staircase of Hogwarts and now in its place stood nothing more than destruction, dust and gravel, and the smell of death. The pressure of the environment made her tense, making even her small beaded bag feel heavy, in the silence the whistle of the wind seemed ghostly. Alone, she was nauseated and weak, sad and desperate. Everything around her seemed dead and hopeless. And now, with Harry walking to his death, the gravity of the situation finally seemed to be too heavy to bear.

No!

Hermione condemned herself for her faithless thoughts. She couldn’t lose her courage now, otherwise, all the acts, the deaths, the time spent just surviving, obliviating her parents, the sacrifices... Everything would have been for nothing. They can’t give up now.
She lifted her gaze, determination shining in her brown eyes. Hermione wiped the traces of tears from her face, she breathed heavily as she stood up, her genius mind starting to make a plan to kill the snake. She had to go to Ron. They had to kill the snake.As soon as she took the first step up the stairs, she froze. Her breath caught in her throat and a shiver ran up her spine. Hermione swallowed - she slowly turned to the source of sibilant whispers in a strange tongue, rare even in the wizarding world, resembling Harry's. Similar to You-Know-Who.
She screamed for Ron, crying out for help, alarmed at what was happening and all she heard was the echo of her voice. She squeezed Bellatrix's unyielding wand, seeking some security and ready to attack whoever was hiding. There was only one small problem, Bellatrix's wand didn’t want to bow to her and was extremely demanding. Instead of her magic running smoothly through it, Hermione had to intently concentrate on the spell she wanted to cast. It was clear that she hadn’t won the fidelity of the wand and they simply didn’t get along. It would be hypocritical to say that she had tried, but the truth is Hermione hated this wand and the apparent hatred was mutual. Which left her a little at the mercy of luck, if Bellatrix's wand decided to fail at the wrong time Hermione could surely die.
Against all the basic principles of survival that sounded in her mind, Hermione made her way towards the constant sussuration of Parseltongue. Hermione might not know the language of the snake-speakers
but she was smart enough to understand that there was a complexity in what was being said and she also had honed instincts that she had learned to never neglect. With her wand in hand, she walked out of Hogwarts, attentive to the slightest strange movement. The night was cold and morbid and combined eerily with the destruction of Hogwarts, akin to a late
funeral.She would never ask a stupid question like 'Who's there?', screaming and denouncing her position. They were at war and only a foolish person would do such an unthinkable act. When she pinpointed from where the whispers came, Hermione swallowed. The hand that held the wand tightly was shaking when she pointed the wand to the darkness of the Forbidden Forest.
Okay, maybe this should have been the time when she should have turned back and ran, went into Ron’s arms, stayed near the Weasley family, her classmates, and tried to keep a cool head to plan the next step for the battle. However, this didn’t match her personality.
Hermione did not achieve her reputation for being authoritative without good reason. She was knowledgeable of the rules, a perfectionist,
known to impose order and was a little judgmental - almost always correcting people. The vast knowledge she had, combined with her insightful intelligence, exceeded all expectations.This side of her personality almost convinced the Sorting Hat to put her in Ravenclaw, but there was another side of her personality that made the Hat doubt this choice.Hermione remembers how the Hat took four minutes to decide which House she should be sorted into. It seemed to quarrel with itself, almost as if it had known her before, and though it said that her brain was impressive, the part of her personality that was curious, determined, courageous and loyal seemed to catch the attention of the Hat. In the end, she entered Gryffindor and to this day she didn’t regret where she had been placed.
It was a fact that Hermione was a lover of rules, but she lost count of how many rules she broke whilst she was with her friends. Even though she was a stickler for rules, firmly believing in logic and intelligence, that part of her curious and brave nature always spoke louder. Like now, when her curiosity and determination made her enter the Forbidden Forest. The type of curiosity that made her have almost suicidal tendencies.
She knew there was danger. It could be the Snatchers, the Death Eaters or Voldemort himself who might be stalking her, but Harry could be there too.The susurration stopped abruptly. Hermione clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes in the darkness of the forest. The silence became disturbing and heavy, whoever or whatever was there, was staring at her. Hermione could feel the attention she was receiving.She squeezed her wand further, preparing herself. It’s someone. It’s someone!Her eyes widened quickly but before she could make any move or cast any spell, the wand flew from her hand, heading into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. Her heart began to beat faster.
A non-verbal Expelliarmus! Whomever her attacker was, it was someone powerful. A non-verbal spell was always very difficult to perform and required mental discipline. Bearing in mind the strength and speed with which the wand flew from her hand, whomever her attacker was should not be underestimated.Before she could have a second thought, Hermione was hit by a green light and was turned upside down, as if an invisible hook had lifted her from her ankle.
Levicorpus . She recognized fearfully.
From her upside-down view, she noticed someone approaching through the grey mists of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione narrowed her eyes in the hope that she could tell who it was that was coming towards her, her heart pounding against her chest and fear mixed with adrenaline began to rise from the pit of her stomach.She was abruptly released from the spell, banging against the ground, the impact on her craned head shocking her slightly, and before she could even stand up completely she was trapped by the Incarcerous spell.
After all, what did she expect? Courtesy? She snorted mentally at this thought.
Hermione finally looked at her attacker and instantly froze.
Who was this person? She couldn’t tell. A black robe covered their entire body, leaving no possibility to distinguish if it was a man or a woman but she assumed it was a man from his stance and way of walking. The sleeves of the robe covered his hands only revealing half the wand he held. But what scared her the most was the face. The hood of the robe covered the head, but the face ... where his face should be, or a partial view of it anyway, there was only darkness. Void, dark as if nothing was there. But she knew better.
Some kind of charm, perhaps? There had to be a face there, the person just wasn’t willing to show it. It was a very realistic portrayal of the personification of Death. He only lacked the scythe. Whoever it was, he approached her with calm steps, with deliberate slowness, stopping just in front of her. This wasn’t an ally, he resembled more of a Death Eater in those clothes.Hermione swallowed, but refused to show fear and instead cast him a fierce glare.
"Who are you?" She asked, her voice sounding more confident than she actually felt.
Hermione would never ask 'What do you want?' to a possible Death Eater because it was very clear what they all wanted. But she thought it fair that at least she should know the identity of her attacker if she was going to die now. She took a deep breath, soothing her heart that beat against her chest. She supposed that at the time of her death, she should feel more desperate or should cry but she was frankly surprised that she was not feeling any of these emotions. Maybe it was because she had no regrets that she carried with her. She had fought bravely for everything she believed in, she had protected her parents, she was recognised for her academic achievements, she had danced at the Yule Ball, she had true friends, she had kissed the boy she liked.
Her attacker tilted his head to the side, analysing her and Hermione could swear he was almost smiling behind this Charm of Darkness . She writhed within the ropes that held her as she watched him approach. He was holding something in his left hand and she leaned back, trying to distance herself from his grasp.He bent down to her level - which was on her knees - his hands reached around her, trapping something around her neck. A necklace? A medallion? Hermione couldn’t say for sure, but she supposed it was a medallion from its weight.
What the hell is that? A new kind of ritual of the Death Eaters? A collar to identify muggle-borns? She wouldn’t put the last option past them, those people were very sadistic and enjoyed humiliating others they considered lesser.
Then she heard a clicking noise, like a roulette wheel spinning and he began to speak in Parseltongue as he held the medallion. Hermione’s head snapped up to stare into the void of his hood - this wizard, this Hooded One, was the source of the whispering that had attracted her to the Forbidden Forest! Before Hermione could dwell more on this, she felt the beginning of arcane magic activating. He was uttering foreign words at the medallion around her neck. A spell.
Now she was starting to feel desperate. When he stopped, she stared intently into his darkness, this time highly alarmed.
"What did you do?!" she asked furiously.
He didn’t bother to answer and took her wand out of his robes. Or rather, Bellatrix's wand and put it in the pocket of her coat. He had returned her wand to her. Hermione looked at him as if he was crazy.
So, he's on our side? A ‘click’ came from the medallion and she looked at her chest, trying to recognize what was locked around her neck but when the restraints of the Incarcerous spell fell apart, she looked at him again. Within seconds she was on her feet and aiming her wand at him.
"Who are you and what have you done to me?" Hermione asked deliberately slowly and menacingly. In a quick gesture, she grasped the medallion around her neck and looked at it. A Time-Turner? "Answer me!" She demanded fiercely, trying to pull the medallion from her neck, but it seemed to be locked. The Time-Turner on her neck did another ‘click’ before turning again.
Hermione was about to cast a Confringo when she heard noises in the forest. She looked at her - possible? - opponent, waiting to see if he would alert others and denounce their position.He withdrew his wand and aimed it at her but since she had not trusted him in the first place, she was already on her guard poised to cast a defensive spell.
When the noises grew closer to their position, Hermione understood that she couldn’t stay there. The Death Eaters were too close, probably hunting Harry and there would be too many of them for her to deal with effectively, especially with a wand that refused to respond to her completely.
She retreats a few steps, never taking her eyes off the Hooded One, the Time-Turner does another 'click' and turns again and Hermione is desperate to get it off her neck. The noises get closer and closer and she retreats more, yet the person in the cloak does nothing to stop her. So she concludes that he could very well be an "ally" but what he did to her, she has no idea.
Hermione takes one last look at him, before turning her back and running as fast as she can. The Time-Turner does another 'click' and spins again.She is running in the Forbidden Forest with Death Eaters hunting, searching. She's not the prey they want - they want Harry Potter - but if they catch her, they'd probably use her as a bargaining chip in exchange for Harry and Harry would certainly accept the trade.
The Time-Turner does another 'click' and Hermione is worried, she wants to stop it and take it off her neck to analyse why it is making such a noise. It seems to be different and she's really scared of what this might mean. However, what makes her most angry is that the chain holding the medallion is actually locked, stuck and doesn’t look like it will open easily.
In the distance, she sees someone standing in a glade. Harry? Harry! It's Harry!
He’s standing there alone and it looks like he's just finished talking to someone. Hermione was surprised for a moment before calling him.
"Harry!"
He turns at the sound of Hermione's voice. Surprised, Harry is about to contest why she's there. She’s not supposed to be there. Then he notices the movement behind her and starts to run towards her.
"Hermione!" He warns her of danger.
A Death Eater caught her by the hair, pulling Hermione back. She sees Harry draw his wand and point it at the Death Eater as he manages to grab her arm. The Time-Turner makes one last 'click', sucking all three into a spiralling vortex.
It was like Apparating in the wrong way. That's how it felt. They were spinning and spinning in a fall that seemed infinite. Hermione only feltthe falling stopping when her body hit the ground. The impact made her sore and bruised, and she was vaguely conscious of screams and shouting around her.
The light of the afternoon sky makes her eyes burn when she opens them. Hermione tries to stand up, to know where she is but she is met with the sight of Harry being thrown in the air as a victim of an Expulso .She crawls on the ground, picking up her wand that she didn’t realize she’d dropped as she registers the Death Eater's intention to cast the Avada Kedrava at Harry. Before that happens, Hermione uses a Confringo , forcing her enemy to erect a shield.
Harry is unconscious and she is starting to feel dizzy, her vision is also starting to blur but she will not give up.

o0o

1943

Tom Riddle looked serenely at Slughorn, pretending to pay attention to the explanation he gave about a potion, but internally Tom was yawning and bored. He hated Slughorn's long lectures, but he had to endure them. Being the Head of Slytherin House, it was always advantageous to have Slughorn as his ally.
He was counting the minutes until the end of the potions class, when a wave of strong magic ran through the walls of Hogwarts. He glanced at the classroom door, his classmates copying his movement. It was impossible for anyone not to have felt this. The murmurs began, and Tom did not fail to notice when Slughorn grasped his wand. As a precaution, Tom also held his wand tightly.Accelerated steps in the hallway were heard and the potion students stood up from their chairs immediately. It was impossible for an attack to happen at Hogwarts, because the school was extremely protected through
cryptic wards, but you never knew. Tom looked at his Slytherin companions, who were also on alert. Footsteps approached and then the door opened with an audible thud.
"Professor Slughorn, Professor Slughorn ...!" He was a third-year Slytherin student. "On the courtyard ... duel ..." He pointed out of the classroom, speaking breathlessly. "On the courtyard there is a duel!"
When the sentence was completed, the students rushed out to see, despite Slughorn's orders to remain. It was impossible to stop the them and they soon left Slughorn behind. The hallways of Hogwarts were quickly filled with students from other classes and years, all of them moving in the same direction towards the grounds, curious to see what was happening in the courtyard, all ignoring the orders yelled out over their heads by their teachers.
As he came close to the area of commotion, Tom saw a girl dressed in strange clothes aiming her wand at a man who had an aura he knew from afar. Dark magic, this man was a dark magic user. The girl seemed to protect another person, a boy, who was lying on the ground and appeared to be unconscious. She lifts a strong shield before casting an Expulso on her opponent, who was thrown into the nearest wall. The sound was loud enough for everyone to hear and everyone murmured about what they were witnessing. The girl limped over to the unconscious boy, and knelt to check him.Tom wonders if he should or should not intervene. He analyses what he can gain if he helps the girl. Well, it is clear that it was the girl who is at a disadvantage.
In the end, he decides to go to the young woman's help. His decision has a bit of recklessness but he assumes that being the best student in Hogwarts it is expected of him to come to her aid. He also enjoys dueling and he would of course gain more fame and Tom enjoys reminding everyone why he is considered the best student Hogwarts ever had.He moves towards them and as if on cue, the fallen boy begins to scream, and it is loud and horrible as if he were on the receiving end of a powerful Cruciatus Curse . Oh, Tom Riddle was more than familiar with this unforgivable curse. The girl cries in shock and tries to calm the boy, who seems to be convulsing. Tom frowns, realising that the girl was very focused on the well-being of her friend and was ignoring her surroundings and her opponent, who is now standing to attack her.
Tom points his wand at the strange man in black robes. He tries to control himself, knowing he can’t use forbidden dark spells with a crowd around him watching intently. He fights, taking into consideration that his opponent is good at dark magic but Tom is better.However, when a Fiendfyre is thrown at him, Tom understands the kind of savage duel he is in. It was life or death.For an instant, he considers what these two had done to incite this kind of attack, but his thoughts are cast aside as the girl steps in front of him. Protecting him. This is the moment when Professor Dumbledore and Headmaster Dippet arrive, disarming his opponent and countering the fiendfyre before it is released.
His attentive eyes analyse the girl, noticing that there is blood on her strange clothes and they are also dirty and torn. Her hair - if it can be considered so - is more like a lion's mane. There are thin cuts on her face and she seems to be disoriented. She blinks several times as if she wants to adjust her vision and before she can take a step further, she faints, almost hitting the ground if he hadn't caught her at the last second. Tom looks at her for a moment before his attention turns to the boy screaming in agony. He notices there is a lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy's forehead that is still healing and Tom thinks this is the cause of the boy’s pain.
Tom holds the girl as he looks at Dumbledore and Dippet.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 2. Bungarus

-

Time Travel

Edited January 2024

1943

Hermione awoke, feeling her head throb. She placed a hand on her temple in a pacifying gesture to relieve her headache. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the light, she rose abruptly in the bed as she recognised where she was.

Hogwarts. I am in the Hogwart’s Hospital Wing.

She noticed apprehensively that her clothes had been changed to plain flannel trousers and a shirt - hospital pyjamas - with the Hogwarts emblem on the upper left side of the shirt. After getting out of the bed, she looked around, a little surprised and startled to realise that nothing was destroyed as she remembered it to be. The Wing was empty of patients, except her, and clean.

The school has been rebuilt. Did we win the war? Great Merlin, we won the war!

The happiness she felt was extreme. Hermione had never felt so joyous. They had won the war, otherwise, she would have certainly been dead by now.

Without thinking twice, Hermione left the Hospital Wing, running through Hogwarts’ corridors, down to the third floor, looking for her friends. The paintings moved, hiding from her, sometimes gossiping about her yet she didn’t care. She didn't have the mind set in that moment to care about her clothes, nor the state of her hair nor the fact that she was barefoot. All she wanted was to see Harry, Ginny, Luna, and all the others who had survived. She wanted to see Ron, to hug him and feel his arms around her. To kiss him again. They had finally declared their love for each other.

Hermione entered the first classroom she saw, pushing open the doors loudly in the hope of finding someone to tell her where her friends were. The smile on her face was slowly undone. The faces of several students turned to face her, whispering as they looked at her. Hermione frowned, shaking her head slightly not believing what she was seeing. She didn’t recognise any of them.

"What...?" Hermione didn’t understand.

What is going on?

She asked herself.

Hermione placed a hand on her head, trying to appease the throbbing pain in her head that started again, clouding her vision and echoing in her ears. Something was wrong. She turned and walked, only to bump into someone.

"Forgive me, miss." The voice was masculine.

Hermione raised her gaze and exhaled the breath that was trapped in her lungs. She was surprised at what she saw.

"Sirius ...?" Her eyes filled with tears.

Is this Sirius Black?
He looks a lot like Sirius.

The hair, the eyes, the face. He's just clearly younger.

As Hermione was confused she didn't notice the boy's glare. He scanned her from top to bottom, noticing the clothes she was wearing as a slight blush took over his cheeks.

"My lady, take this. I don’t think it's right for a lady to walk around in such clothes." He handed her his Slytherin robe, placing
it gently on her shoulders. Hermione accepted, still too confused and too surprised by how much the young man looked like Sirius Black to consider refusing him. Her eyes followed every move he made.

The students inside Galatea Merrythought’s class
stole furtive glances, poking their heads out of the classroom door, curiously trying to get a look at the strange girl who had invaded the classroom. The sound of Professor Galatea's shoes woke Hermione from her trance, standing by the young man who looked so much like Sirius, and in a swift movement she turned and grabbed the teacher's arms.

"Who won the war?" Hermione pleaded, shaking Professor Merrythought. Hermione's hair was wild, giving her a fierce appearance and the desperation in her voice was remarkable. Behind the teacher was the most handsome young man Hermione had ever seen, who was approaching her with suspicion written across his features. He was wearing Slytherin robes, although their cut differed slightly from what she was used to seeing. On that thought, Hermione noticed that the cloak draped around her was also fashioned in a different style, along with everyone else’s that she had failed to notice before. The majority of the male students were wearing a blazer, and few others wore a cloak.

Professor Merrythought's eyes widened in surprise when Hermione mentioned the word 'war'.

"My dear, were you in the war?"

"Yes!" Hermione replied quickly,
glad to have found someone who understood what she was saying. "So, did we win the war?"

Professor Merrythought's gaze softened and she comforted Hermione with one hand, steering Hermione to walk next to her.

"Mr. Black, you're late for class. Enter the classroom immediately and wait with the other students, I will accompany this young woman to the Hospital Wing."

In fact, Merrythought didn’t have to accompany Hermione because the matron, Olga Derwent, was running down the corridors searching for her missing patient. Hermione was advised to return with Mrs. Derwent to the Hospital Wing, which irked her a bit. Everyone was treating her like a fragile doll.

Where is Madam Pomfrey?

Unsure of what was going on, Hermione let herself be taken back to the Hospital Wing more willingly due to the headache she felt. Before following Mrs. Derwent, Hermione glanced over her shoulder, looking at the handsome boy who made curious eye contact with her.
Beside him were the young man who had a likening to Sirius and another,
as platinum blond as ... Draco?

Sitting on the bed in the Hospital Wing, Hermione waited, her mind working to understand what was going on.

Maybe it's my mind playing with me? It would not surprise me if I am going crazy and imagining all this. Not much really.

Possibly, she could very well be at Malfoy Manor, still being tortured by Bellatrix and as a protection mechanism to relieve her despair, her mind could be playing with her reality. This had happened to other people.

"My young lady, I am Olga Derwent, the matron of Hogwarts. I've been taking care of you." Derwent spoke calmly and passively as if Hermione were some kind of wild animal.

"Where is Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione dared ask. She was afraid to know the answer.

"Who?" Mrs. Derwent frowned, confused.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, swallowing hard. As she tried to ask another question, the doors of the wing opened, with Dumbledore entering. When Hermione saw Dumbledore, her eyes widened, not believing the image she saw.

I AM crazy.

"Headmaster Dumbledore?" She murmured. Dumbledore stopped, looking at her with intelligent and slightly curious eyes.

"I think you mean 'Professor.' Do you know me, child?"

"Yes, it's me, Hermione Granger! Don’t you remember me?"

"Child, how did you manage to overcome the school's Anti-Apparation wards?"

When Dumbledore narrowed his eyes in an accusatory manner, Hermione froze. She didn’t understand at first what was happening. The pain in her head increased as the flashes of memory began. She began to remember what happened and in reflex Hermione touched her neck, feeling the locket trapped around it.
Her breathing accelerated.

"Harry. Where's Harry?!"

"The boy who was accompanying you?" Dumbledore asked and Hermione confirmed, suddenly very tense. "I am afraid to say that he was sent to St.Mungo's, our dear Mrs. Derwent could not help him from the type of coma he entered. I must say I've never seen anything like it."

“But will he be okay?" She was frightened and Dumbledore noticed.

"That, young lady, only time can tell."

Dumbledore also noticed how pale Hermione was and how his words seemed to affect her. He narrowed his eyes, trying to decide whether she was friend or foe and what were the reasons for her abrupt arrival. His gaze fell to the locket that the young lady touched and he felt magic radiating from it. It was strong, suggestively protective enchantments that could very well be dark magic.

"Miss. Granger," Dumbledore said, attracting Hermione's attention which seemed momentarily lost. "I'll give you some time to get yourself in order and I'll wait for you in my office. Headmaster Dippet is currently waiting for the Aurors, who are very interested in your arrival."

"Aurors ...?" There was a little alarm in Hermione's voice.

"I dare say, young lady, that you and your friend’s arrival managed to alert the entire magical community. The Ministry of Magic has certainly sent Aurors to investigate what happened," Dumbledore explained, watching her swallow nervously.

Without much else to say, he nodded before turning around and leaving. Hermione stood there, alone. She brought her hand to her mouth in a clear gesture radiating concern. Matron Derwent came shortly thereafter, carrying the neutral Hogwarts female uniform with none of the colors of the Hogwarts’ Houses.

Hermione was quick to dress, she had no time, she needed to talk to Dumbledore before the Aurors reached her. Her hands were shaking, but she didn't really care. She needed to stay calm so she could get out of this situation. She was afraid of the question she was going to ask Mrs. Derwent. Her lower lip trembled, her heart beat hard against her chest and she took a deep breath, her legs jelly-like trembling with fear.

"What year is this?"

"1943, my dear." Mrs. Derwent replied, for a moment the matron thought that the girl had concussion or loss of memory.

The matron observed the expression of terror that took over Hermione's face, her eyes widening and her skin turning pale and for a moment, she thought the girl might faint. In the blink of an eye, Hermione grabbed the locket around her neck as if the object was choking her. Without thinking twice, she tried to turn the Time-Turner's hourglass but it was locked. Impossible to turn.

It was an unthinkable act of despair. In her defense, she would have never turned the Time-Turner in her right mind, but she was overwhelmed with the horrible realisation of being in the past.

Dumbledore. She needed to urgently talk with Dumbledore.

Mrs. Derwent was trying to convince Hermione to stay a little longer in the Hospital Wing so that she had calmed down before she met with Dumbledore but Hermione didn't want to wait. She couldn’t afford the time to wait.

As she walked along the halls, Hermione silently thanked Merlin for them being empty. The students were still in the classrooms or in the courtyard. She only stopped when she stood face-to-face with the door of the transfiguration professor's office. She took a deep breath and when she closed her fist to knock, the door opened by itself. Hermione entered slowly, with soft steps, watching Dumbledore who was sitting at his desk reading a book. She stopped in the middle of the room and Dumbledore still had not taken his eyes from the pages. Silence set in and the only noise that could be heard was the soft ticking of the clock. At a glance, Hermione noticed the crimson red of the bird's feathers. He flew around her before finally settling on his perch. The size of a swan, the phoenix opened his wings to her and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Fawkes!" Hermione smiled, walking toward the perch. The last time she had seen the phoenix, Fawkes was leaving Hogwarts. The bird's black eyes watched her as he tilted his head to the side. Recognising Hermione's pure heart, Fawkes lowered his head as if bowing, introducing himself.

Dumbledore watched with fascination Fawkes' interaction with the girl. He knew that Fawkes was an extremely intelligent bird, able to see good and evil in people. To discern between those who wanted to do good and those who wanted to do evil. A great judge of character. Watching Fawkes being so inclined to accept the young lady removed the initial mistrust he had.

Dumbledore made a sound in his throat, drawing Hermione and Fawkes' attention. Gently, he said: "Lemon drops, Miss. Granger?" He offered. She refused.

Hermione took a deep breath and ran her tongue over her dry lips. She did not know what to say to Dumbledore but he needed to know that she was not an enemy.

"Headmaster Dumbledore... I mean, Professor Dumbledore." She began, remembering that during this time, Dumbledore was a teacher. She glanced at her clasped hands, without the courage to face him. "I'm not evil," she says. "I don't want to hurt you or anyone. Neither does my friend. What happened was an accident. We don’t know how we got here, we were running away and ... and we got caught-"

"That is a very interesting locket, Miss. Granger."

Dumbledore was closer to her. Slowly, Hermione raised her gaze to face him. She felt his fingers pick up the locket that lay around her neck.

"A Time-Turner?" It was not really a question, it was more of an affirmation. Dumbledore looked at her over his half-moon glasses, raising an eyebrow. "They are controlled by the Ministry of Magic. However, this one seems a little different, doesn’t it?"

"It’s stuck. See?" Hermione tried to turn the Time-Turner's hourglass right in front of Dumbledore, but she couldn't. "My friend and I didn’t want to use it. Merlin knows we did not want to go back fifty-five years into the past."

"If the Ministry of Magic knows about the illegal use of a Time-Turner, you will go to Azkaban. If what you say - going back fifty-five years - is true, you and your friend will be in a serious and difficult situation."

"I need to help my friend and try to find a way to return to our time."

"You'll have to be very careful with your actions here, young lady. Messing with the past can bring consequences for the future. But I suppose the future is not so safe, is it? Who was the man who attacked you?"

Hermione knew that Dumbledore probably had a notion of what was going on but maybe he wanted to hear her account of the event.

"I don’t know him. Not personally," she said. "He is one of the many who defend the purity of blood and the death of muggle-borns. What has happened to him?"

"This man was accused of practicing the Dark Arts, with no scruples in using the unforgivable curses. He claims to be Edmund Pyrites. The Pyrites family denies any involvement with him, the Ministry of Magic believes he is a helper of Grindelwald, due to his ideological similarities." Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment. "He was sent to Azkaban."

"Professor Dumbledore, please..." Her voice was suffocated by the tears she tried to contain. "Help us."

She felt Dumbledore's forefinger and thumb on her chin, raising her face so that he could see her eyes.

In the brown color of her eyes, Dumbledore saw suffering, sadness, despair and truth, plus a fierce glow of determination.

"I believe we had the honor of meeting in the future, I presume?"

Hermione blinked, confirming. He ran his fingers back through the locket around her neck and narrowed his eyes to the letters around the circle that held the Time-Turner. In a swift movement, he hid the locket in her sweater, right before the door opened. Hermione gasped as she saw Dippet with two Aurors, one a man and the other a woman.

"Dumbledore, I see you're already with the intruder," Dippet said, looking closely at Hermione.

"I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding."

"Mr. Dumbledore, I'm Leeza Zabini and this is my partner, Ronan Travers." Hermione swallowed, as the dark-haired lady with almond-shaped eyes introduced herself. If she depended on the help of Zabini and Travers, Hermione would already be one foot inside Azkaban. "We were sent here to ascertain the magical disturbance that the arrival of the two young people caused and obviously their involvement with the self-declared Edmund Pyrites, who is imprisoned in Azkaban for practicing the Dark Arts."

"This young lady" Dumbledore put a hand on Hermione's shoulder "Was in contact with me for some time before her arrival from France. Grindelwald's recent attacks forced her and her friend to move and I offered shelter. In fact, they arrived earlier than expected. I had hoped they'd take the Hogwarts Express next semester to start their sixth-year classes but the war seems to have caused an unexpected acceleration of their plans."

At every word from Dumbledore, Hermione's eyes burned, she tried to maintain her composure and containher tears but she could not hold it together and found herself crying with the realisation that Dumbledore was not only saving her life, but also Harry's.

"Forgive me, Dippet, I should have told you before. The disturbance we felt in magic was caused by a Portkey."

"And the dark wizard who was with you?" Leeza Zabini directed her question to Hermione.

"He attacked us. He tried to kill us. He grabbed us when we were about to be transported." It wasn’t a lie at all. In fact, this really had happened.

"Why was he chasing you?" Travers asked.

Feeling a kind of judgment, Hermione knew she needed to give credible information that would satisfy the Aurors. She had to give personal information that satisfied the reasons for being pursued. It wasn’t
the information that would change everything, yet it was significant enough for her to have a sense of the game she would be playing from there on.

"Because I'm a muggle-born," she murmured. Her tone was cold.

Hermione noticed the slight wrinkling of Zabini's nose, just as she noticed she lifted her upper lip slightly. Disgust. An expression of disgust.

Corrupt. Corrupt Aurors by. How in their right mind did they dare proclaim to be defenders of law when they shared the same ideals that led the war?
Hermione was not fooled for even a moment. She had expected nothing less from a Zabini.

Leeza Zabini glared at Hermione, ready to absorb the lie Hermione had professed. Her gaze switched to Dumbledore. He was an exceptional wizard and a very influential figure. He was

the

Albus Dumbledore. Who could accuse him of lying?

"I understand." She eased her glare. "But we'll take the Portkey that was used. It will be taken to the Department of Magical Transport and will be destroyed."

Dumbledore removed his hands from Hermione's shoulders and headed towards his desk and from one of the drawers he took out a letter opener. Carefully, he handed Travers the Portkey.

"It was with her, as a precaution I kept it with me until you arrived." Dumbledore lied. Hermione noticed how Travers looked at the letter opener, inspecting it to see if it was somehow special. Confirming, Travers turned to Zabini.

"Before you go, I would ask that the condition of our new students be kept confidential," Dumbledore asked, aware of the exchange of looks between Zabini and Travers. "In the face of recent events and ideological positions, we wouldn’t want Miss. Granger and her friend to suffer more than they already have."

It wasn’t really a request and couldn’t even be considered a threat, it was more of a warning that if details of the circumstances of Hermione and Harry left this room and fell on the wrong ears, he would know who had spread them.

"Of course, Mr. Dumbledore. Our duty is to protect. We understand the delicate situation."

It was understood that the Ministry didn't want any more conflict than what was already ongoing. Dumbledore knew that they would protect Hermione's "secret", because from the moment the public became aware that Grindelwald's followers were hunting muggle-borns and apparating inside of the school, it would be chaos. It would be impossible to withstand the pressure of the people, and the Daily Prophet would love to spread and fuel such information. Considering also Myrtle Warren's death before the holidays, the students' parents would certainly ask that Hogwarts be closed.

"I will accompany the Aurors, and I hope to have the opportunity to talk with Miss. Granger later.” Dippet intervened, leaving with the Aurors from the room of the Deputy Headmaster and transfiguration professor.

Hermione smiled at Dippet before he left, noting that he did not look like a bad person. In fact, he could certainly remind her of someone's gentle grandfather, just by his way of speaking.

"Thank you," she murmured to Dumbledore. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." Surprising Dumbledore, she hugged him, and Fawkes, on his perch tilted his head to the side, watching.

"Would you like to stay for tea, Miss. Granger?" Dumbledore offered. "Maybe we can talk more about what happened."

Hermione accepted with a smile, the first smile she had allowed since everything had happened. A little quieter, she sat in one of the armchairs and watched as Dumbledore served tea on a low table, Fawkes distracted on his perch, preening his crimson feathers with his beak.

He sat on the armchair in front of her, after giving her a tea-cup and serving some biscuits. It provided for a cozy, warm feeling as if someone had placed a blanket over her shoulders, a calm and peaceful environment she had missed for a long while. Hermione knew that this feeling would not last long. After taking a deep breath, Hermione raised her gaze.

"I don’t know where to start and I admit I'm afraid," she said. "Not afraid of you, far from it, but I'm afraid of what I'm doing. I'm scared to be in the past with my best friend at St. Mungo's and how that leaves us. If all the books I've read about time travel are correct, I'm afraid of what I should not do or not talk about. This is not like my third year when I used a Time-Turner to be able to take as many classes as I could. It's a lot more complex than that."

She paused, taking a deep breath, watching Dumbledore's reaction. Hermione ran her tongue over her lips because they were dry again and it is also a pacifying gesture for the anxiety that begins to emerge in her.

"In the future... There will be a war. A war that many believe is worse than this one, which is happening now. A dark wizard will appear, probably more powerful than Grindelwald and everyone will be afraid to say his name. He shares ideas similar to Grindelwald's, which is the extermination of the muggle-borns and muggles. He propagates the ideals of pure blood. Nothing can stop him, no Aurors, no laws, no Ministry, except for my friend, who was sent to St. Mungo's and whom I care a lot about. Harry, perhaps, can be considered the heart of the whole problem and also, the only one that prevents this wizard from taking complete control of the wizarding world. Before we arrived here, we were in what could be considered the final battle." Hermione clasped her hands together. "It was us or them. It was about fighting for what we believed in. We've seen friends fight with us, sacrifice themselves and die for what they believed in."

She looked intensely at Dumbledore.

"We had to flee, hide and fight. Before we came here, I believe one of the followers of this dark wizard activated the Time-Turner with some kind of spell that I'm not familiar with. I escaped, fleeing into the Forbidden Forest, trying to find my friend Harry, when another of the followers pulled me by my hair. Harry went to my aid when the Time-Turner fully activated and brought all three of us into the Hogwarts courtyard and then, well, you know what happened from there."

Hermione tried to find the best words to continue.

"I know that if I say the name of this dark wizard you can probably defeat him and it's probably the right thing to do, but ...What's going to happen when we return? If I say his name, how much of what Harry and I know change, Professor Dumbledore? "

"This is a delicate situation, Miss. Granger. I certainly understand your problem. In fact, the idea of being able to avoid future conflicts is tempting, however I dare say that a simple disturbance in the timeline is not crucial to its existence. Some believe that even with interference, whatever has to happen, will still happen. Nothing can change what is marked to happen, so it is destiny. However, others say that if a time traveler moves a simple glass of water from its place, a chain of events will be impacted and may even threaten existence itself, otherwise known as the Butterfly Effect. I'm afraid I've never seen anyone travel so far into the past."

"So you think I should let things happen, even though I have the power to change the future? "

"My advice to you, Miss. Granger, is for you to be very careful about what you do here... Not only for the timeline but also for you and your friend’s lives. If the information that you are from the future falls on the wrong ears, you will be in great danger. Both, from the Ministry, and from a dark wizard."

"You mean Grindelwald." Hermione deduced and Dumbledore confirmed.

"It's really annoying to have to run away from dark wizards wherever I go." She said seriously but soon she
smiled which turned into a laugh and against all seriousness of the conversation, Dumbledore also smiled, sharing her sense of humor. Hermione wiped a tear from her eyes, still laughing but another soon fell as well and then another and another. Dumbledore had already stopped smiling, realising the girl was crying and hiding her tears in her laughter.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her tears with her hand. "It's just that it's so hard." She sniffed. "But I'm very happy to see you again."

Although not apparent, Dumbledore understood the suggestion behind the choice of words she used. Of course, he would not question her further for more information but he noted the drastic change in her mood. Remembering something, Dumbledore stood up from his chair and went to his desk and from his drawer he removed two wands and a purse.

"I believe this is yours and your friend's." He offered her the two wands and the bag.

"Our wands!" Hermione took the wand that was Bellatrix's and Harry's.

When she touched Bellatrix's wand, she felt the magic along with a flash of rejection as if to say ‘do not touch me’. It was just like its original owner - a wand that felt deranged, snobbish, discriminating. Hermione knew it was overly peculiar to describe a wand in such a manner, but she found no better way to relate it. Angry at its rejection, she grabbed Bellatrix's wand and began to bend the wood that was already slightly curved but Hermione bent it further past its limits - snapping the wand in two parts. She broke it. And it was relieving, freeing.

Dumbledore witnessed this scene cautiously, watching closely the behaviour of the young girl before him.

Hermione looked back at Dumbledore.

"This wand shouldn’t be used by anyone. You have no idea what the real owner did with that wand." She tried to justify herself and Dumbledore accepted the vague reasoning, still looking at Hermione as she tossed the split wand into the fire.

She sat down in the armchair again, this time touching Harry's wand.

"This is my friend's wand," she explained, running her hand over the war-battered wood.

Harry's wand responded to her touch as if saying 'I know you. A friend' and it complied with Hermione's magic by accepting her. This did not mean in any way that the wand had abandoned Harry, rather it was as if it knew at this point it needed to join forces with Hermione until its real owner returned. Hermione did not dismiss the possibility of a wand being sentient, on the contrary, if a wand did not understand what was happening, how would it choose its wizard? Was there a better example than Bellatrix's wand, who hated and refused to obey her? Wands understood in their own way, and in this moment Harry's wand appreciated that it was better to stay with Hermione and await the return of his owner. And luckily, the wand let Hermione's magic run smoothly, serving as a filter and control.

Then, Hermione picked up her beaded handbag, which she knew had all the things needed for survival, some books and some galleons. She breathed in relief at its familiar weight.

"What happened to Harry?" She asked worriedly.

"You both collapsed after the battle in the courtyard and were unconscious for three days. You were in and out of consciousness but responded to Mrs. Derwent's healing, while your friend apparently went into a deep coma, which our beloved matron could not help. We preferred to send him to St. Mungo's."

"Do you think he will recover?"

"I'm sure the mediwizards will do all they can to help him."

"Will I be able to visit him?"

"As soon as possible."

"Professor Dumbledore ... Can we stay here? You know, until we get a way back to our time? Hogwarts is our home and the only safe place we know."

"Of course, my young lady. Hogwarts will be open for you and I will help you with everything I can. You've been to Hogwarts, haven’t you? "

"Gryffindor." Hermione laughed, drinking some more tea and Dumbledore smiled to find someone from his House.

"I'm afraid to say, Miss. Granger, we're in the final exam phase prior to the holidays. It would only be fair to allow you to also participate to keep up appearances. Tonight, at dinner, you will take part in the sorting ceremony. It’s a little unusual for a transfer student
to be sorted shortly before the summer holidays and this will not go unnoticed but this cannot be helped."

"I understand, Professor. "

o0o

After talking with Dumbledore, Hermione felt a little more relieved and safer; surely there was no better place than Hogwarts and to be close to Dumbledore to find the answer of how to return to her time - the future. Even if she had to sit through all classes again in order to integrate, she was safer here than outside Hogwarts’ wards.

In fact, she was more relaxed and peaceful now, as she watched the setting sun
between the clouds peeking through the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

She walked towards the Hospital Wing because she remembered she had left the Slytherin robe that the boy who was so much like Sirius, had lent to her. A Slytherin loaning something to a stranger? She could almost laugh at that thought if she had not witnessed it. But she supposed it had something to do with chivalry from the 1940s.

With her handbag in one hand and holding Harry's wand in the other, Hermione entered the Hospital Wing. Mrs. Derwent's eyes were expectant when she saw her. There was no sign of Madam Pomfrey, she thought with regret but knew she had to become accustomed to it. Mrs. Derwent smiled at her when Hermione confirmed that she was a new Hogwarts student, relaying the whole story that had been concocted by Dumbledore. It was certainly better to keep a single version of the narrative. And Mrs. Derwent very sweetly said she was sorry for Hermione and her friend coming from the war -

'People are not as they used to be. You see, the whole world is at war. What is the need for wars?

' Hermione internally understood that it was something that all doctors, whether muggles or wizards thought about given the start of World War II and Grindewald’s regime.

Oh, if she knew that in the future there will be a worse war, how saddened would she have been then... Hermione thinks.

Hermione asked her for the Slytherin robe that she had left there and with a smile, the matron retrieved it for her, but she had little time to pay futher attention to Hermione as two first-year Hufflepuff students came in, one of them surely having been hit, and quite successfully at that, by a Pimple Jinx or in other words, Furnunculus. As they passed by, their eyes widened, something between fright and awe. I'm probably the source of all school gossip at the moment.
She smiled at them because they looked cute with their child-like hairstyle typical of the 1940s, and in response to her smile they were delighted with her.

With her wand and loaned Slytherin robe in her hands, Hermione threw a

Scourgify

, not because the robe was dirty, but she thought it was polite to deliver a clean robe and she does not wish any grounds for enmity, especially with the Slytherins. Even though they did like to create messy conflicts, she thought with some irony. If she wanted her and Harry's existence to remain neutral here in the past, she had to avoid being the center of intrigue. After the robe was cleaned, she carefully folded it.

She didn’t know where she'd find the boy and she certainly wouldn’t go to the dungeons to wait, Merlin free her to be anywhere but that place. However, Hermione was certain that at some point she would find him.

While walking in the halls of Hogwarts, students were looking at her as they were on their way to the Great Hall for dinner. They whispered and Hermione knew it was about her, hearing the hushes and whispers at her back. She had already gotten used to it, partially because she was a

mudblood

as the Slytherins loved to kindly remind her and also because of the adventures she had had with Ron and Harry. Somehow it was strange to witness the style of the '40s. It did not really fit her character. The boys used hair gel and the girls had styled
pin-up coifs. All of them carried an air of stylish perfection. It did not fit her at all.

By luck or misfortune, she found the boy she
was looking for outside the grand oak doors of the Great Hall with a group of Slytherins, probably all from the same year, talking.

Don’t go there. Don’t go there. Don’t go there

. She repeated like a mantra in her head.

Never walk alone towards a group of Slytherins

but there was a lot of Gryffindor courage in her to be able to ignore her own advice.

He has his back to her as she walks steadily towards him. A sandy-blond boy soon looks at her, narrowing his eyes at her sudden approach. When she's close enough, she makes a sound with her throat, trying to attract attention.

I do not need to talk to others, I just need to hand over the robe.

"Hello, princess, what can I do for you?" The sandy-blond takes a step toward her, a side smile on his face.

"Rosier, please don’t scare the girl." Said the most handsome boy she saw. His features are vaguely familiar for some reason.

The sandy-blonde, Rosier, snorts and retracts a few steps, raising his hands.

"Yes?" The boy who looks like Sirius now turns to her, staring at her intently.

Hermione takes a deep breath, she is more mature than that. Wiser than playing with teenagers.

"I would like to return this to you. Thank you for helping me earlier. I appreciate it," she says, looking into his eyes and handing over the robe. It's just strange how much he looks like Sirius.

"You're welcome." He smiles, in a light flirtatious way. "Alphard Black, at your service." Before she can stop him, he takes her hand and kisses the back of it.

She noticed how all his friends snicker, watching him with amusement at how he flirted with the school’s newcomer. All but one. This one rolls his eyes and watches closely how quickly she pulls her hand away from Alphard's uninvited lips.

"Forgive my friends, they do not know how to behave," another boy says, putting his hand on her shoulder. He has dark brown curly hair with black eyes. "Allow me to properly introduce everyone - this is Alphard Black, as you already know."

He points to the boy who resembles Sirius and she nods in acknowledgment. She notices how his black hair reaches all the way down the neck, conveying a rebellious style breaking that which is suitable for the 40’s.

"This is Angus Nott." He points to a boy who has wavy hair neatly cut, split aside and with a caramel tone.
Freckles dust his nose and he dons a lateral smile. Hermione catches the smart and malicious look underneath the eyelashes.

It can’t be.

"This is John Avery." He points to a green-eyed golden-blonde, who smiles confidently at her.

It can’t be.

"This is Polumetis Mulciber." He points at the shortest boy amongst them all, with hair that was a medium between blond and brown and who was scratching the back of his head like he was feeling awkward.

It can’t be

.

"This is Adrien Rosier." He points to the boy who called her 'princess.'

It can’t be.

"I'm Lestrange." He points to himself. "Radalphus Lestrange II."

It can’t be!

She wants to get away from him and clean her shoulder that he touched, as if he has some contagious disease but she just can't. She's paralysed.

"Is it true that you were fighting in the war?" The handsome boy asks, cutting off Lestrange's introduction. Hermione only has the strength to nod confirmation with her head. "Oh!"

"And this is your savior. He helped you in the battle in the courtyard." Lestrange smiled while pointing to the handsome boy.

"Will you attend Hogwarts?" He asks and again Hermione nods. He cannot be who she thinks he is. "How curious, a transfer student just before summer," he observes. "Anyway, what we saw in the courtyard was impressive. I hope that you will be selected into Slytherin, we will certainly welcome you."

It can’t be! When he spoke, all Hermione could imagine were snakes looking at her with a sly grin on a face with piercing eyes.

"Oh, forgive me for not introducing myself. Tom Riddle, at your service." He motions his head forward and slightly tilts it downwards, looking at her from under his long dark eyelashes with a piercing look. Never really bowing.

Her insides did a somersault.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3. Dendroaspis - The Lion or the Snake

Edited January 2024

Her legs are trembling, her throat is dry, her heart pounds against her chest, her lungs seem to ache with every intake of air and her eyes burn with the tears that are beginning to form. Hermione thinks she's at the beginning of a panic attack or is hyperventilating.

Oh, she recognises him now. The boy who tried to help her and Harry. Oh, she remembers. Remembers him fighting and how she protected him from

Fiendfyre

. She had no idea who he was at the time but if she had known... If she had known that he was the cause of so much suffering and terror that tormented her and her friends, if she had known he was a murderer and a terrorist, if she had known that he was the future Dark Lord, if she had known he was Lord Voldemort ...

She wouldn’t have thought twice before letting the

Fiendfyre

hit him. How ironic it would have been to see the Dark Lord being charred by one of his Death Eaters. Oh, she would have liked it. Merlin knows she would. She would dance in his ashes, she would set off fireworks like the Weasley’s Wildfired Whiz-Bangs, drink a barrel of mead and one of
firewhisky and laugh like a drunk. Merlin, she would swim naked in the Great Lake. All this to commemorate the death of the Dark Lord. But no, damn it, she'd saved him, placed herself in front of him to protect him from the attack.

In her defense, she thought it would have been a worthy act, to sacrifice herself and protect a student who tried to help her and Harry - even if this student didn’t know what he was getting into. It was the right thing to do and Hermione didn’t want to see any more deaths.

It would have been the right thing to do... if this person was not Voldemort himself!

Hermione mentally kicked herself. If she had let the

Fiendfyre

hit him, then all the problems of the wizarding world would have been solved. Even if it was against the advice Dumbledore gave to her, even if his early death changed all the trajectory of time, for a moment the idea was tempting to her.

"Miss ...?" He tilts his head to the side, his voice sweet and with eyebrows united, as if he were worried.

Hermione so far said nothing, she was petrified in place, still trying to absorb the idea of being face to face with young Voldemort and his most loyal followers.

This can only be karma

. A rebellious tear trickles down her face and she dries it quickly, trying to compose herself to face him. For everyone present, the girl's countenance and pallor did not go unnoticed, not even the tear.

"Forgive me," she says, swallowing. "I was recalling some memories of the recent fight."

"Oh, it's understandable that you're scared." Riddle puts his hand on her shoulder, lowering slightly, so that he is at her eye level. Hermione's eyes widen at the sight of him so close. It is not a sixteen or seventeen-year-old boy that she sees but, the pale, noseless, red-eyed monster with a snake face.

His hand is on her shoulder and Hermione thinks that as soon as she has a chance to take a shower, she will scrub her shoulder for at least thirty minutes.

"But I'm sure you're safe at Hogwarts." He smiles, trying to convey security.

"Uh ... uh, thank you." She murmurs quietly.

Their attention is drawn to two more boys who are approaching. One has white blond hair so alike to Draco’s, closely resembling platinum, with green eyes and white skin, walking serenely and yet, arrogantly. His lips were strangely rosy as if he had used lipstick, but Hermione supposed it was only the color contrast with his pale skin. The other had a rather long face, dark hair, his nose seemed a little crooked as if it had broken and never healed right or he never bothered to go see a mediwitch, however, he didn’t seem to care much about anything. He was a little more corpulent and strangely familiar.

When they finally got close enough, they stopped and looked at her with interest.

"This is Abraxas Malfoy." Riddle introduced him. Abraxas looked at her from under his nose, this being the only trace of recognition of her presence he gave.

Obviously, he was a Malfoy, such a physical appearance could only come from that family.

"And this is Antonin Dolohov."

Hermione swore that the tea and biscuits she had eaten with Dumbledore were coming back up her throat to her mouth.

Oh, it's karma

. Her stomach churned and she was sweating cold.

How did she and Harry get here? They were in the middle of the snakes, literally. Draco and his gang were nothing compared to this, they were small harmless, garden snakes, without poison and only visually threatening. Now, these ones? These were the dangerous venomous snakes, najas, poisonous and with their King guiding them

.

"This is Miss ...?" Riddle stopped, staring at her, remembering that at no time had she given her name.

"Granger. Hermione Granger." Her voice is thin and low.

Before anything else can happen, the whole group of Slytherins stiffens in the presence of Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore." Riddle is the first to speak, putting his hands behind his back, straightening his posture and raising his head in a very composed way.

Dumbledore arrives as her savior and for a moment Hermione inaudibly breathes a sigh of relief.

"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore greets, looking over his half-moon glasses. "I believe, gentlemen, that it is time for dinner. I suggest that you join your housemates."

"Of course, Professor. We were just introducing ourselves to Miss. Granger. She was returning the robe Alphard lent this morning.” Lestrange speaks and as if to confirm, Alphard swings the robe a little in his hands.

"It's true, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione confirms, more to ensure her safety than theirs. Oh, Merlin save her from being a target of this gang.

"Very well." Dumbledore accepts such an answer, releasing the Slytherins who soon enter the Great Hall. "The Sorting Hat awaits you, Miss. Granger." Dumbledore smiles slightly, before entering the Great Hall as well.

Hermione stood there, staring at the doors to the Great Hall. She admitted that she was a little anxious and so she took a deep breath, trying to calm down. When she entered the Great Hall, the conversation died and an awkward silence remained. She was the target of curious looks and as she walked towards the stool placed at the head of the Great Hall, there was a nostalgic feeling growing within her. The four long oak tables representing the four great Houses of Hogwarts, the large stone arched windows, the high ceiling with floating candles and enchanted to look like the night sky with stars, the professors’ long table at the end, the Headmaster, the ghosts and portraits. For several moments in her previous time, Hermione thought she would never see all of this ever again.

She walked confidently, feeling more assured than the eleven-year-old girl who had walked - will walk - through this Hall. She was maturer and wiser, so when she climbed the few steps to reach the Sorting Hat, she smiled at Dumbledore, who held the Hat.

She sat on the stool, Hermione was facing the Hall with all the students who were silent and looked intently at her. She took another deep breath before she felt the Hat being placed on her head. For some reason, it seemed heavier, but it was probably her impression and a result of her concern.

Hello, child.

The Hat's voice resounded in her mind.

Have we met before? Hm ... What do we have here? A paradox, are you? Interesting.

At the Hat's comment, Hermione fought against the Hat’s invasion of her mind.

Relax, child. Let me in.

Just put me in Gryffindor

. She ordered.

It's not that simple. Let me analyse you.

She was reluctant to let the Hat in and know everything that had happened to her but it seemed inevitable, so,
gradually, she let the Hat in to know all the traits of her personality and how the events she had experienced had modified her.

Hm... I see. You are loyal as those of Hufflepuff House to those who can win your heart. You are dedicated, work hard and see everyone as your equal, regardless of status. The Hufflepuff House would welcome you. Helga would certainly be happy to have someone like you in her house.

However, your brain is fascinating. You are extremely intelligent, have good reasoning and are quite logical. Independent and an insightful observer, besides having intellectual curiosity. The Ravenclaw House would accept you for who you are. Rowena would be amazed by you. But you're not as tolerant and patient as you think you are.

"It's a Hatstall," someone murmured.

"Are you sure?"

"It's been four and a half minutes." Another responded.

There’s your fear

. The Hat spoke confidently and Hermione swallowed.

The Slytherin House. You mustn't fear them, not really. Against everything you think, you really do have the traits that belong to this House. Slytherin values ambition, cunning, intelligence and determination. These traits you’ve already presented. The House also values self-preservation and you have also presented this trait, haven’t you? You don’t expect them to act in your defense and you feel they are also
judgmental. But are you wise enough to survive in the Snake House? Will you be able to manipulate people so you can get out unharmed? Remember that everyone there shares the same traits as you and they will test you to see how far you are able to go and if you will be able to settle down in that House.

Oh, please don’t! They will kill me if I enter their House

.

Salazar Slytherin himself would rise from his grave if he knew that a muggleborn was in his House. But all Hermione heard was Hat's somber laughter.

"It's a real Hatstall," one student confirmed. "It's been six minutes."

Oh, Gryffindor. Brave, adventurous, fearless, stubborn and competitive. This is the Gryffindor House. Godric Gryffindor himself would be impressed by your courage. You are fearless and face your fears and enemies for what you believe, you are faithful to your friends and although sometimes you go against their actions, you do not abandon them. You’re stubborn when you think you are right and you are competitive, always willing to win first place. And though you say you're a rule-lover, you're not afraid to break them if you have to.

"It's been seven minutes already." Another student said, impressed.

Which house should I put you in? Hm ...

Gryffindor!

Hermione ordered, the Hat laughed at her command.

Once was, maybe. I know the you of now, Hermione Granger. Your attitudes have changed, you hesitate between being merciful or being merciless. Sometimes you question yourself and seem to select those who should receive your kindness and your effort. Despite your loyal manner, you don’t belong to Hufflepuff.

Ah, here's the problem.

The Hat noticed

. I can put you in any of the three remaining Houses. You certainly have the traits of Ravenclaw, this House suits you well. With your intelligence, your thirst for knowledge and wisdom, you're a brilliant match for Ravenclaw, though ...

You would die for those you love and would fight until your last breath for them, you have already sacrificed for them and would do it again, despite fear, you face your enemies and sacrifice yourself for a greater good. Courageous, you are. But ...

What you went through, the things you had to do, changed you a little. You still question your attitudes but don’t think twice about what has to be done to achieve what you want. You would kill for those you love, you will manipulate your enemies if necessary. You are ambitious and thirsting for recognition. You want people to know who you are and that's why you stand out.
Determined, you are.

Be careful what you do here - paradox.

The Hat alerted.

Your heart is and always will be -

"
- Gryffindor!"
The Sorting Hat, with a powerful voice, announced.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, but the tension in the Great Hall was palpable and all were silent. Everyone looked at her and when a student took a sip of pumpkin juice, it was heard throughout the Hall. She felt the Sorting Hat being pulled from her head and she looked at Dumbledore, who smiled at her and then, the Gryffindor’s table burst into applause and smiles. It was like her first year, Hermione thought.

Her gray clothes turned into the colors of Gryffindor House with just a snap of Dumbledore's fingers.

More relieved and confident, Hermione walked towards her table. They made room for her to sit down and she had to restrain a smile, for sure enough, she was happier to be among Gryffindors.

"Come on, you can pass twenty galleons each." A tall, strong, red-haired boy spoke. He had green eyes and freckles on his nose and an extrovert demeanor. To Hermione, he reminded her of Fred and George.

"Argh, you're extorting me." Another red-haired boy complained. This one had lighter hair and bright brown eyes but what scared Hermione was just how much he was like Ron.

She couldn’t control herself, and all she saw was Ron. Her heart squeezed and she looked at him, fascinated.

"Well, well, if you didn't keep betting against him, he wouldn't be taking your money." The girl sitting in front of Hermione, said. She had light brown hair, green eyes, and lips coated with lipstick. "I'm Enid." The girl reached out, greeting Hermione.

"Hermione."

"Welcome to Gryffindor House. This is Bilius Weasley." She pointed to the red-haired boy sitting next to Hermione. "And this is Ectur Prewett." She gestured to the red-haired boy who looked like Ron. "Don't mind them. They were betting on which House you would enter. "

"It was a fair bet. You're a Hatstall, after three minutes the bets were made." Bilius shrugged, talking cheerfully to Hermione. "Well then?"

"What?" Hermione tried not to laugh at the look of anticipation on Bilius's face.

"Which House was the Hat in doubt about? After what I saw in the courtyard, I knew you would be in Gryffindor but our Ectur here thought you would be in Hufflepuff."

Hermione looked at Ectur and found herself blushing because he reminded her of Ron. It didn’t escape Hermione that she was possibly talking to the father of the future Mrs. Weasley. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to keep negative thoughts away.

"It was in doubt between Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor," she said solemnly.

"Thank God," Ectur murmured. "Glad you didn’t get selected into Slytherin."

"That's true," Enid confirmed.

"Look at them," Bilius said and inconveniently Ectur, Enid, Bilius and Hermione looked at the Slytherin House table. "They probably eat poison for breakfast."

Enid tried to hide her laughter before she spat out her pumpkin juice and in a very delicate way, she wiped the corners of her mouth.

"The basic rule of Hogwarts: Don’t trust a Slytherin," Ectur told Hermione, as a self- appointed advisor to the school’s newcomer.

"I'm truly surprised you decided to come to Hogwarts after what happened-"

"Bilius, no!" Enid censored. "Don’t scare the girl."

"What? What happened?" Hermione asked, now very curious about the abrupt change in tone of the conversation.

Both Ectur and Enid became silent and stared at their food plates.

"Well, I mean, it's not to frighten you." Bilius tried to undo the conversation.

"What is it?" Hermione demanded softly.

"We are really surprised that someone wants to come to Hogwarts after the attack and death of Myrtle Warren. She was a
Ravenclaw." Enid explained, more gently and politely. Trying to appease some supposed terror that Hermione, a fledgling in their eyes might have. "For a moment, we all thought the school would have been closed. But apparently, it's been solved. So you can stay calm."

As Enid spoke, Hermione lowered her head, remembering why she was there. For a moment she almost forgot where she was, seeing the students' interaction at the Gryffindor table, being in the Great Hall, engulfed by the pleasant aroma of the feast and looking at Enid, Ectur and Bilius, and how comfortable they made her feel. When she saw the resemblance to Fred and George, Ron and Ginny.

The image of the Weasley siblings... It fell apart from her mind’s eye to reveal Bilius, Enid and Ectur. The truth felt heavy in Hermione's head, as if an odd pressure had settled there. These weren’t her friends, it wasn’t even her generation.. They were their ancestors. The future parents and grandparents of her friends.

When she remembered that Enid mentioned Myrtle Warren, the Moaning Myrtle, Hermione shuddered. Now she understood where she was and whom she had talked with at the entrance to the Great Hall. The killer of Myrtle. He was there, a few feet away from her.

She didn’t resist the pull and looked at the Slytherin table, Enid's voice, Ectur’s, and Bilius’ faded away and she focused on Lord Voldemort.

Oh, it was weird. It certainly was strange to watch the young Dark Lord eating. He was educated and ate quietly, had proper posture, seemed to know about dining etiquette and made a face every time he saw someone eating and talking at the same time.

He was pale, really pale, as if his skin could not tan. His complexion was flawless, his mouth was full and of proportionate size, his nose was enviably Greek, his eyebrows were deep set which intensified his eyes, his hair was black as the color of a crow but his eyes were peculiar... They were extremely colored, a dark green which was not bright, but a color that could be mistaken as black if he were in the dark or could be gray if he were in the light. Hermione begrudgingly admitted that he was highly symmetrical, perfect almost, overly handsome and Hermione asks herself if his favored appearance could be a side effect of the

Amortentia

potion his mother gave to Tom Riddle senior.

But Hermione could see through his physical appearance, because she knew what he was capable of. She could feel the austerity in his aura and noticed the dark circles under his eyes as if he had not slept right but she knew, she

knew

it was the Horcrux. He had made a Horcrux within that time period. Hermione's blood ran cold through her veins. Oh, he had already managed to oust Hagrid. Oh, he was already a

killer

, a

murderer

.

Hagrid…

she mourned.

As if he felt himself being watched, Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, raises his gaze and looks directly at her and Hermione avoids his gaze quickly.

Now she's sure she needs to get out of here. She needs to find a way to get her and Harry back to their time.

Decided, she picks up some food and puts it on her plate.

o0o

At first, Tom Riddle observed her interacting with his servants and housemates. He noticed the look of terror she had, the pallor that her skin had become and how she struggled against tears. None of it went unnoticed by him. He found it odd, both her behavior and the fact that she appeared to avoid the smallest possible contact with him and his group; and it was surely not attributed to the propriety of a female’s avoidance of males lest she enter into contact deemed improper… No. It was something else.

His servants were trying to attract her, trying to impress her with their family names and all that it carried, as they did with all the other girls. For them, she was one of many others
and they were playing a game between them with her. She was a trapped mouse and they were snakes ready to devour her.

He remembered her from this morning, when she appeared a frantic schizophrenic, running barefoot in hospital pajamas and with wild hair. Alert and nervous.

Ordinary people had the need to have their psyche in good condition but any unusual experience breaks their minds very easily and they develop some kind of panic, which was what he had assumed had happened to the girl. She appeared to have developed some sort of post-trauma, and how did he know that? He knew from the moment her voice sounded thin and low, when she said she remembered a few moments of the courtyard fight. Tom almost rolled his eyes.

To keep up appearances however, he smiled. Tom knew that he didn’t

feel

like most people, sometimes he mused he was unable to feel any emotion. As if he were hollow, empty and nothing, and no one could awaken any feeling in him that was not contempt; and it was not like he needed to feel anything beyond that.

As a child, he was unable to convey any emotion, being apathetic and without childish charm but he had been smart enough to understand since then how the world and people worked.

Oh, it was so simple. He was an attentive, insightful observer and recorded every expression people made to convey an emotion. Happiness, anger, anxiety, fear, guilt, sadness... He memorised each and everyone one of them. He discovered how easy it was to manipulate people. To say into their ears sweet words, praise them, make them trust you, be patient and then, they start talking. Telling their fears, their secrets and when they least expect it, he has already applied the bite. Like a snake, he slowly squeezed until it broke their bones. Soon, each one was in the palm of his hand. They barely realised what they've given to him, all the weapons they unknowingly gave him so that he can destroy them.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. Touch. In order to instill trust, touch was necessary, eye contact was necessary, it masked the lies and disguised that he really didn’t care whether she was well or otherwise. The mask he puts on his face, imitating an almost genuine expression, was for her. It was the first step for her to open up to him and tell him everything he wanted to know.

He was a curious one from birth. Tom doesn’t like not knowing who the people around him are. Hogwarts is his castle and here he is King; and a king needs to know who his subjects are. If she really was in the war, as she stated, then he wants to know more. He wants to know why her arrival had such a disturbance in the magic that all wizards and witches felt it. He wants to know why she was being hunted. Well, it was no less than fair that she gave him answers, after all, he had risked himself - well, that's half truth - to save her and her friend, brother or whatever.

He also remembered that she stood in front of the

Fiendfyre

to protect him. Unnecessary, he notes. He could save himself; but he promises that her actions will not be taken in vain. He'll be a little nicer to her and if she's interesting enough and cooperates, he'll give her a favor. After all, a Lord, a King, is benevolent to those who show loyalty.

Then Dumbledore arrived. The old man irritated him.

Dumbledore was what could be considered the stone in his shoe. He managed to get all the teachers and even the Headmaster to fall for the perfect character he has created, except for Dumbledore. The old madman was like a shadow behind him, always doubting his words and attitudes - and rightly so - but it was frustrating and bothersome to have to deal with the famous and illustrious Albus Dumbledore constantly watching. Waiting for him to slip. The only person who knew his past, who knew that he lived in an orphanage and the one guilty of sending him every summer holiday to that rotten, depressing and filthy place, which he hated. He would very much enjoy burning down that orphanage with everyone inside. He hated it, its people and what they did to him.

Ah, but his revenge will be slow and deadly.

With a nod, Tom walked to the Great Hall. Malfoy, Dolohov, Mulciber, Rosier, Avery, Lestrange, Nott and Black walking behind him like puppies after their mother. If he told them to lie down and roll, they would all do it.

Fear

. Tom yawned.

What people do when they feel scared, when they feel threatened.
It's very amusing.

They walked and some girls sighed, laughing like hyenas, blushing and blinking their lashes wildly. It was disgusting. Tom Riddle smiled at them. Females could be really annoying. His group was famous among them and on the opposite side envied by the boys. Good-looking, that's what the girls said. Each of them was a kind of ideal man, they sighed. Sportsman, intellectual, musician, flirt, charismatic, introvert, cheeky and Tom Riddle, ah... Tom Riddle was

all

. A bit of each of these things in a perfect measure.

There really was an advantage of being the best, he observed. While walking, people made way for him, the Slytherins made room for him to sit at the table, looking at him, admiring, cautious, envious. Hogwarts was his castle and here he was King.

And then, she entered. Tom realized that her attitude had changed. From a frightened little girl to a confident young lady. The Great Hall was silent at the arrival of the newcomer. Everyone was curious about the girl who fought in the courtyard.

He noticed the deep breath she took before she had the Hat on her head. He stood there, watching her closely. If anyone looked quickly, they would think she was ordinary but if they stopped to notice her, they would see that she could be considered aesthetically pleasing. Her hair was really full and uncontrollable - at first, he thought her hair was that way because of the battle - but no, her hair was like the mane of a lion. Her eyes were brown, she had a few freckles on her nose, her lips were thin but not overly so, her eyebrows were held low as if she was almost always serious, thoughtful.

He thought it would be quick, but it wasn’t like that.

Come to Slytherin

. If she were selected for Slytherin House, she would be under his control. It would make his work a thousand times easier; but then, he waited and waited.

"It's a Hatstall," someone murmured at Slytherin's table and he cast a somber look on the person.

When it was past five minutes, Tom was already impatient and that had marked her on his bad side.
To add to this, in less than a day, the girl managed to garner the entire interest of the school. When it reached six minutes, tension marked his jaw.

What’s so different about her?

He asked himself, suspiciously. He promised himself that he would now pay serious due attention to the girl.

When she hit the seven-minute mark, it was indisputable that she was a Hatstall. Tom remembered when he had the Hat placed on his head. It hadn’t taken long, the Hat knew what he was capable of, how much magic he had. He was selected for Slytherin within seconds.

Slytherin was his House. It was his home.
He was the Heir of Slytherin.

"-Gryffindor!"
The Hat announced and all the appreciation he felt for the girl collapsed.

Really? The House of Idiots?

He snorted. Well, he was still going to keep an eye on her, but now she was nothing but a disgus- He notices the look she gave Dumbledore as if seeking approval. How curious. In Gryffindor House, she was right under Dumbledore's wing. The look Dumbledore gave her, he was also aware of it.

Dumbledore knew something.

Curious.

He eats patiently, tasting his meal. To each of the boys who eat with their mouths open or talk while eating, he makes a face. Tom rolls his eyes internally.

These people are mommy's little children and don’t know the least of how to behave at the table.

It was really disgusting and gave him the urge to vomit.

Tom Riddle felt it. He feels when someone’s looking at him. It was like some kind of sixth sense he had developed. A way of always being conscious of what was going on around him. When he looked up, she was looking back at him. He would have smiled at her, thrown the bait for her to catch, the girls always fell for that but before he has the chance she quickly fled from his gaze. As if ignoring him.

His jaw locked and his teeth ground with the pressure he applied. His eyes narrowed.

The Slytherin students walked back to the dungeons to retire for the night. The cheerful air between them was noticeable; but it was only between them. Slytherins didn’t get along very well with people who were from the outside and newcomers had a certain type of

'smell'

. Slytherins only fought for themselves.

But as soon as everyone passed by the stone wall, the environment changed. The Slytherins were not overtly cheerful and extroverted; it was really amazing how everyone changed from the moment they entered the common room.

And it changed because of Him.

Malfoy, Lestrange, Avery, Black, Mulciber, Nott and Rosier spread out in the common room as they watched Riddle sit on his favorite armchair near the fireplace. The combination of the darkness and the low light from the fireplace augmented him to appear more terrifying than he was. In Slytherin, there was a very obvious hierarchy and Riddle sat at the top.

Slytherin's regular students talked softly, respecting the space of Riddle's gang.

Malfoy sat on one of the sofas after taking his robe off and calmly started reading his book. Although it seemed that he was focused on reading, it was not so, he was very attentive to what was happening around him and especially the tension in the common room.

Black lay stretched out on one of the sofas, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He looked at the green lamp as if it were extremely interesting. Dolohov was sitting on the arm of the sofa that Alphard was lying on.

Nott and Mulciber were seated, starting a wizard chess match and occasionally glancing through the windows of the common room at Hogwarts’ lake.

Avery and Rosier were quietly standing talking to each other.

And Lestrange was walking from one side to another, like a caged animal.

"A waste of time," Lestrange complained. "The new one is a stupid Gryffindor."

Avery and Rosier exchanged glances and smiled at Lestrange's comment.

"Calm down, some Gryffindors are good," Avery said.

"Even if it's to kill time." Rosier completed.

Nott and Mulciber laughed, Dolohov shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. Alphard was silent, still contemplating the dark green colour of the chandelier. Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes before pretending to continue to read.

The Knights waited until the common room was occupied only by them. Some Slytherin girls said good night with a silly smile to Avery, Rosier and Lestrange, others talked to Dolohov. Mulciber and Nott were undisturbed while playing chess. Riddle, well, no one dared to talk to Riddle when he was thinking. For girls, it was like observing a beautiful painting from some museum - look, but do not touch. And now, the ‘Nines’ were alone in the common room.

"Lestrange." It was Riddle's voice that sounded.

They froze immediately when they heard Riddle's voice. Oh, they had made a mistake. They had made a terrible mistake. Alphard quickly adjusted his position, sitting straight on the sofa, Malfoy stopped reading and sat more upright, Nott and Mulciber left their chess game, Dolohov was more attentive now and Avery, Rosier and Lestrange also sat.

Their breathing became shallow as they waited for what Riddle would say. They still remembered the terrible mistake they made in their first year. They had joined up against Riddle and questioned his blood status, mocked him and cursed him, and even today they had nightmares of the remembrance of young Riddle when he had taken revenge. That... That hadn’t been normal. How could a little boy invoke so much fear in other little boys?

That pale, handsome little boy with green eyes and perfect face... With a dark smile on his face, with his wrath and strong magic around him. A magic so strong they all felt it within themselves. It was a living thing. That smile he had given while they screamed and felt as if their bodies were on fire.

If one day they had questioned what Riddle was, they never did anymore. Especially now.

"Yes, my Lord," Lestrange said in a low, submissive voice.

"Your father has contacts in the Ministry, doesn’t he?" Riddle asked, his voice calm, focused. He seemed quiet and serious.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Wouldn't it be nice if he could obtain for us some information about what happened to our new student ... What's her name? Oh, yes, Miss. Granger." Tom rested his head on his hand, which was clenched into a fist and his arm rested on the arm of the cushioned seat.

"I can try to talk to my father and try to obtain the information," Lestrange responded quickly, almost stammering. Tom frowned a little.

"Are you going to

try

, Lestrange?" There is a somber tone in Tom's voice, indicating the change of temper. Tom swung his wand lightly, playing with it between
his deft fingers. It was a trap for Lestrange, depending on how Lestrange responded, he knew what could happen to him.

"I mean, I'll get the information of course," Lestrange corrected himself quickly.

" My?" Tom insinuates.

"My Lord," Lestrange corrected himself again.

"Great." The change in Tom's voice is immediate. "Isn't it wonderful when we all cooperate, hmm?" Tom smiled. It was terrifying.

It was just terrifying.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 4. Notechis

-

The Beginning

Edited January 2024

Inside the Gryffindor common room, Hermione felt like she was at home. It's safe, cozy and familiar. Enid, Bilius and Ectur talked with her cheerfully, trying to make her comfortable.

She had the pleasure of meeting Algie Longbottom, Enid's fiance.

“See Hermione.” Enid showed her hand, moving her fingers to highlight the glittering wizard-style engagement ring. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She smiled, giving a kiss to Algie's cheek.

Algie hugged Enid closer, smiling at her. He is the Gryffindor monitor just like Enid is and everyone is certain that the two would be Head Boy and Head Girl respectively next year when they enter the seventh year.

“Enid, Hermione is the sixth girl you’ve shown your ring today." Laughed Ignatius Prewett, his comment attracted everyone's laughter.

Ignatius was Ectur's older brother and was in the same year as Algie and Enid.

Hermione still had the pleasure of meeting Frederick Longbottom, Algie's brother and Lyall Lupin, the father of the future Remus Lupin, who were in their third year, eager to start their fourth year.

"Let's go, guys, let the freshman rest. I'm sure today was a long, hard day for her.” Algie comments and for being a good leader, everyone agrees with his suggestion.

They all wish each other
goodnight, with Enid and Hermione taking the opposite way to the female dormitory up the stairs.

It's a fact that Hermione has everything in her little handbag: books, materials, money and all that is important to her and Harry's survival is in there and with a simple

Accio

, she summons a set of her pyjamas.

When she lies down, the weight on her shoulders finally lifts. It's the first time in a while that she can lie down and be a little more relaxed, even though she's still worried.

Hermione turns, hugging the pillow. Sleep came easily but she woke early the next morning - courtesy of the time she spent in the tent.

Quietly, she picks up the things she'll need for the day in her handbag and then goes to the bathroom, doing her morning routine, watching her sleeping roommates. Down the stairs, she was surprised to find Ectur already awake.

“I'm happy to find someone like me who also wakes up early,” he says, smiling.

“Good morning.” She smiles at him, carrying her school bag. “Let's have breakfast?”

“Sure.” He agrees, holding out a hand to Hermione. She looks at his hand, a little disconcerted.

“What?” She asked, not understanding what he wanted.

“Your bag, silly.” He chuckles. “Let me take it.”

Oh, the chivalry of the 1940s

, Hermione realises. She isn’t
accustomed to this kind of attitude and, awkwardly, she gives him her school bag. Ectur smiles at her behavior,
finding it somehow cute the way she behaves. Taking their bags in one hand, he offers the other arm to Hermione who hesitantly accepts.

"I don’t bite," he says, teasing out a laugh from Hermione.

The Great Hall has few students at this time in the norning, but Hermione is sure it won't be long before it gets full. When she glances at the Slytherin table, Hermione can’t tell if she's really surprised to find the young Dark Lord already there. She thinks it's a bit obvious he was there so early. Of course, Voldemort gets up earlier than the others and is probably also the last one to sleep. It’s possible that the boy mistrusted his own shadow.

Hermione thinks it will be difficult to get used to seeing the Dark Lord eat. It’s certainly hard to imagine Voldemort performing such basic, human tasks but she does her best to focus on what Ectur is saying.

At first, they don’t eat and they keep talking for a long time. Ectur is thrilled to talk with Hermione and tell her everything about Hogwarts, and she plays her freshman role very well, listening to all he has to say. Ectur is charismatic and friendly and his cheeks turn rosy with ease.

The Great Hall is filled with students. Algie and Enid sit side by side, talking to Ignatius. Lyall Lupin and Fred Longbottom are excited about the quidditch finals and Hermione watches Bilius and Ectur arguing eagerly but she smiles at them. They are eating, when a Slytherin girl walks toward the Gryffindor table. Bilius follows the girl's movement with his eyes, watching closely to where she was going. He nudges Ectur with his elbow and nods so that Ectur notices what is happening as well. Hermione is just a bystander.

"We need to talk." The girl stops right next to Ignatius.

“What is it about, Miss. Black?” Ignatius narrowed his eyes.

Apparently, the way Ignatius spoke wasn’t pleasant enough for the Slytherin girl.

"You can be sure that I wouldn’t be talking to you if it wasn’t necessary. So I need to talk to you. Now." The girl cast a grim look at the Gryffindor table. "Alone," she emphasised.

Ignatius sighed before getting up, gesturing for the girl to walk ahead. The two left the Great Hall and Hermione noticed that it was not only the Gryffindors who were watching the couple leave but the Slytherins too.

"Who is she?" Hermione asked quietly.

Ectur leaned in and whispered in Hermione's ear.

"She's Lucretia Black." He satisfied Hermione's curiosity. "See those there?" Ectur discreetly pointed to the Slytherin table at three snakes - two boys and one girl. The Black family, Hermione acknowledged. "That's Orion Black, Lucretia's younger brother, he's in the fourth year. That is Walburga Black and she is Alphard's older sister, who is sitting next to her." Ectur explained. The three of them were staring at the doors of the Great Hall. "They are relatives of our dear Bilius." He tapped Bilius on the shoulder, who made a face.

"My mother is Cedrella Black," Bilius explains. "My father is Septimus Weasley, who is considered by the Black family as a blood traitor." He mumbled with disdain the last words. "My parents' marriage was not accepted by the Black family and they excised my mother. I have no contact with any of them." Bilius shrugged. "My maternal grandmother is Lysandra Yaxley which makes me connected to the Yaxley family. My aunts are Charis Crouch née Black, she has a four-year-old son named Barty and Callidora Longbottom née Black, who is Algie and Fred's grandmother."

"In other words -" Ectur speaks. "Everyone's connected."

"I see," Hermione says. She certainly has a notion that all wizard families are somehow inter-connected, it is one of the reasons that make muggle-borns so excluded but it's certainly interesting and a bit terrifying to look closely at what these marriage connections do.

They’re still talking when they notice Orion, Walburga and Alphard, are getting up and leaving the Great Hall. It is known that the Black family cherish their members and protect themselves, so seeing them going out is an indication that problems are coming to Ignatius. But to everyone's surprise, he doesn’t take long and returns with a sulky and disgusted face.

His friends try to question him about what happened but he says he's not in the mood to talk about it and they respect his decision. Only Alphard and Walburga return to finish their breakfast and it is probable that Orion stayed with his sister.

The first lesson that Hermione will have since she travelled back to the past is potions with Horace Slughorn. Ectur and Bilius walk beside her, Ectur was holding her school bag and offering her his arm. In the corridor, as they passed by a group of Ravenclaw girls, Hermione gets a deadly look from one of the girls.

"What was that?"

"That was Mary Runcorn and you've been holding the arm of her passion since the third year," Bilius says with a laugh. It is his time to take revenge on Ectur for the comment at the table in the Great Hall.

Hermione automatically releases Ectur, which makes Bilius laugh even more. Ectur rolls his eyes and his cheeks turn pink.

"Don’t worry, Hermione." Bilius continues.

"I don’t want any trouble."

"You won’t have it," Ectur reassures her. "She and I are
nothing to each other."

"Not for Miss. Runcorn's lack of attempts. It’s likely that next Valentine's Day she will give him the greatest declaration of love ever made at Hogwarts."

"Desired you are, hm?" Hermione enters Bilius's play, only to hear a grumbling of Ectur.

They arrive in the potions room, Professor Slughorn is already there, waiting for the students. It's a Gryffindor / Slytherin class and when she realizes that Tom Riddle and his gang are there, it's like popping the little bubble of happiness she had thirty seconds ago. Hermione's blood freezes.

When Slughorn notices the presence of the celebrated Miss. Granger, about whom all the teachers were speaking, including Headmaster Dippet, he approaches with a smile for Hermione. Ectur sits next to Bilius after handing to Hermione, her school bag.

"Miss. Granger, it’s a great pleasure to meet you. Dumbledore has spoken about you. I must say you are very brave to have been in the war."

"Thank you very much, Professor Slughorn. It's a pleasure to meet you too" Hermione says.

And Dumbledore saves my skin one more time,

she thinks

.

Of course Dumbledore spoke with Dippet and the other teachers, probably to maintain the lie about her arrival.

"Congratulations on being chosen as Head of the Slytherin House. Professor Dumbledore told me." If her knowledge is correct, Professor Slughorn is given the title of Head of the Slytherin House at this time. To her relief, Slughorn opens a smile, indicating that Hermione was correct.

"Thank you, Miss. Granger." Slughorn replies. "Dumbledore forewarned us about your delicate situation." He continues. "That is why I recommend you to sit beside our dear Mr. Riddle. He's one of the best students- "

Hermione looks at the empty chair next to Riddle and then looks at him. She's pretty sure he's paying attention to what Slughorn is saying and that's why he smiles so softly and lowers his gaze as if he's shy about being praised to an unfamiliar person.

"- I'm sure he'll help you with whatever you need." Hermione looks back at Slughorn who continues to speak. "But if you have any serious questions, be sure to ask me."

Hermione is reluctant to accept. She wanted to say that there's no need to sit with Riddle, she's smart enough to learn by herself and that she knows everything about the entire fifth year syllabus; but, against her will, she sits next to Riddle. She is almost at the edge of the chair, eyes trained on Slughorn as she slowly picks up a quill and parchment.

"Good morning, Miss. Granger. I hope you're adapting well to Hogwarts," Riddle says.

"Good morning, Mr. Riddle, I'm adapting very well, thank you for asking," Hermione replies, after a few seconds debating whether or not to talk with him. But she considered it would be more suspicious of her to ignore him when, he supposedly hadn’t done anything against her.

She feels Tom Riddle's gaze on her and it is disconcerting and makes her feel insecure and anxious. He is analysing her, even if very discreetly and that is not good.

He tries a few times:

How can I help you, Miss. Granger?

Are you in need of any help, Miss. Granger?

Do you have any questions, Miss. Granger?

She denies all the questions he asks. She was almost curled up in her chair, her eyes following every move Slughorn made. Suddenly the potions class became extremely interesting, just because she was very willing to ignore Tom Riddle and go unnoticed; but when the class was over, she gathered up her materials quickly, trying to escape Tom's presence, unfortunately one of her quills fell and before she could catch it, Tom took it.

He looks with interest at her quill, before looking at Hermione.

"Here, Miss. Granger." He offers the quill to her, looking intensely, never blinking. His eyes... His eyes never looked as appealing as they are now, the color green-gray almost glowing. Attracting her to look at him.

Hermione got lost in his gaze for a moment before she understood what he might be doing.

Legilimency ...!

Terrified, she turns from his gaze, taking her quill and cursing.

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle." She says softly, before walking quickly towards Bilius and Ectur.

Hermione breathed with relief as she put more distance between herself and Tom. Bilius noticed Hermione's state of mind and how her hair seemed to bristle.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" He asked, worried.

She smiled at the worried, chivalrous expression of Ectur and Bilius that reminded her how Fred and George were when they heard Draco calling her a mudblood.

To calm them down, she placed one hand on Bilius's forearm and another on Ectur's shoulder.

"I am fine. Don't worry," She said. She wanted to feel more confident than how her words sounded. It's really hard to feel safe with Voldemort so close,
she thought.

"Did Riddle do something to you?" It’s Ectur who asked.

Oh, he did - will do - many things,
she wanted to say. However, creating enmity against the young Dark Lord didn't seem the best survival tactic and so she denied it.

"No, he didn’t do anything," she replied. "He was actually very considerate," she emphasised, but the last words didn’t sound so true to her.

"If something happens, tell us, okay?" Bilius says.

"It's true. If you need anything, talk to us."
Ectur reaffirms.

Hermione smiles at the Gryffindor spirit they had.

Hermione is much calmer for her upcoming classes with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff but as soon as she has time, she goes to meet Dumbledore. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door of the Deputy Headmaster's office.
The door opened by itself.

"Good morning, Miss. Granger. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" Dumbledore asks. "I hope your first day is going well."

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore." She greets him. "Everything is going very well. All the teachers and students are welcoming and kind," Hermione says. "My visit is not for a complaint. It's another request for help." She explained. "Again," Hermione laughs, a little embarrassed.

"What is it about?" He looks at her over his half-moon glasses.

"I wish you would please teach me

Occlumency

."

"

Occlumency

?" Dumbledore asked, suddenly very interested and curious about the girl's desire. "I want you to know, Miss. Granger, that you're safe in Hogwarts. What would be the need for you to learn

Occlumency

? Do you want to tell me something?"

Hermione passes her tongue through her dry lips.

"I know I am safe here and that I have your protection, Professor Dumbledore. I also know that you are aware of how important it is that my mind is
safe and secure. My mind has information that many wizards and witches would kill to obtain. I have the knowledge of the future and walk unprotected until I can return to my time, it worries me," she explains. "I'm worried about Grindelwald. If my arrival with Harry really did cause an alarm in the wizarding world, Grindelwald must also have felt it." She looked with uncertainty. "I'm getting prepared to research advanced information on the magic of time travel and I'd appreciate it very much if you could help me. If the magic that was used to bring me here was Dark, the answer to take me back is also there."

"The Dark Arts, my child, should not be underestimated. Though at first innocent, the temptation in them may corrupt."

"I know." Hermione looks determined. "But my desire to do good and protect the people I love is greater."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, impressed by the strength of the words she chose.

"I know the basics of

Occlumency

but I don’t think it's enough." She's sincere. "Please, Professor Dumbledore, think on what I have said. I would really appreciate all the help I can get."

She said goodbye to him, before leaving the room and going to lunch in the Great Hall.

When she sits at the table, Enid asks.

"Where were you?"

"I had some problems to solve,"
Hermione responds. "But I hope everything is right now."

She serves up some food onto her plate watching with a little envy, Enid and Algie together. If she and Ron had confessed their love before, they would have enjoyed more time together.

Probably yes.

It wouldn’t have been Lavender Brown or Viktor Krum, or jealousy and offenses, or crying. It would have been so much better; but of course, it's common for people to talk only about what they feel when they believe they're close to the end, and now she condemns herself for all the fear she felt of being rejected if she told Ron about how she felt. Now she realises she acted like a fool for not grabbing her chance sooner.

"Argh, I'm screwed in transfiguration classes." Fred Longbottom complains beside her.

"What happened?" Hermione asks.

"Transfiguration is one of the most important subjects and I cannot even finish my essay." Hermione can hear the desperation in Fred's voice.

"Your essay is with you?" She asked and Fred confirmed, handing her the parchments.

Hermione reads, ignoring her food for a moment. For her, a third-year essay is easy but she understands the desperation of Fred. When she was in his year, she was like that too. His essay is not bad, in fact, it's very good, just a few mistakes but nothing too problematic. Dumbledore will probably like what
Fred has written.

"It's very good," she reassured Fred. "You should focus more on vertebrate animals. They are the biggest challenge when it comes to the

Evanesco

spell. If you can do that, then nothing will stop you concerning transfiguration when it comes to your
OWL's."

When she finished, Ectur was looking at her.

"Why didn’t you come earlier, Hermione? I really need some help with my OWL's. " He spoke a lot like Ron.

"You mean you're a Know-It-All?" Bilius looked at her, a smile, opening on his face. "Good to know."

"And now they'll be forever under your feet." Algie laughed.

"Please, let the girl breathe." Ignatius was laughing too. He leaned against the table. "So, Hermione... Are you good at Defense Against the Dark Arts?" He murmured.

Hermione laughed softly. That sounded a lot like her time with Harry and Ron, when everyone came to ask her about something. Some things don’t seem to change.

The next morning, Hermione spent her free period in the library, meeting Madame Imogen Gleeson. She went straight to the advanced magic books section, selecting

Spell Potions and the Advanced Potion-Making

because perhaps the person who attacked her had bathed the medallion in some potion and used some spell to complete it. She also took the book of

Spells, Extreme Incantations and Abracadabra.

She tried to find something that might refer to theagic of time but there was nothing useful.

She tried to get the

Moste Potent Potions,

but Madame Imogen requested a written permission note. She could ask Dumbledore or Slughorn but she wanted the book now. She begged a little, saying it was for her OWL's. Madame Imogen advised however, that the book was with another student, in the end, Hermione had to wait.

It was then that she remembered the most terrible and dreaded book -

Secrets of the Darkest Art

- that was with her all the time inside her handbag. She took the books she requested at the library and went straight to the female dormitory, grabbed her bag and looked around. She couldn’t read that book in the library or in a place with much access, where people would see what kind of book it was, so she took everything she needed and went to the Astronomy Tower which was empty at that time.

In a 'safe place' she finally holds the locket around her neck. She looks at it a little fearful and curious, at first she thought it was some sort of heavy medallion with the Time-Turner built-in, but no, it was actually a locket. The Time-Turner's small hourglass was placed in the middle, the sand in the hourglass was emerald green and was interestingly divided equally into both sides of the hourglass.

The locket was platinum silver, there was a pattern in the circles around the hourglass - they were still perfect circles, however, in a twisted pattern, like Celtic knot circles. And around the Time-Turner were words, words she didn’t understand. They were vowels followed by vowels and many 's' and 'h'.

Hermione tries to move the hourglass but nothing shifts. It's when Hermione's brilliant mind puts together all the initial pieces of the puzzle.

Every 'click'
that the Time-Turner made represented a decade. They totaled five clicks, meaning five decades into the past. On the last turn, the hourglass stopped in the middle. Five and a half decades. Fifty-five years. This Time-Turner is different and the person who created it, wanted her to be exactly where she is, she realised. It was not a jump back in time of mere chance.

Rules, she needs rules to not make mistakes. What were the mistakes she's already made? A little desperate, she picked up parchment and a quill and began to write:

1)
Hermione Granger
-

I gave my real name.

It was an innocent mistake, she was surprised to see Dumbledore and had given her real name without thought.

2)

Harry
- Important!

Harry's identity must be kept confidential, not just for who he is and will be. If You-Know-Who knows who he is and the danger he poses to his future, You-Know-Who will try to kill him sooner. It‘s also important so that the information doesn’t clash with other people of his family. He is now Harry Evans.

3) Find a cure for Harry? - I don’t know what ailment Harry is suffering. I need to visit him at St. Mungo's. I think it has to do with You-Know-Who.

4)
The locket is the key
-

It was a special spell cast on a
Time-Turner. For each spell there is a counterspell or I'll have to create one; but in order for me to create a counterspell, I need to know the basics of the origin spell that was used.

Hermione stopped writing, again grabbing the locket around her neck. She looks at the locket, narrowing her eyes... Parseltongue!

"The spell was in Parseltongue, the words engraved around it are in Parseltongue".
There’s a tone of happiness in her voice that soon dissipatess as she realises what she has just said.

Oh, I'm so screwed

, Hermione thought. She would never be able to translate what was written on the Time-Turner, she wasn’t a Parselmouth. The only person who could do that was the Dark Lord
- Tom Riddle.

Hello, Mr.Riddle. Could you do me a favor please? Can you translate what’s written on this Time-Turner so that I can return to my time and try to kill your future self because you are a Dark Wizard and want me dead?

She snorted at that thought.

Obviously, she couldn’t ask him for help with that. If what she remembers is correct, Riddle never openly told anyone that he is a Parselmouth. The only people who knew about his skill were Dumbledore and his followers - she still has some doubt.

It would be very strange for her to ask for his help when he had never said he could talk with the snakes. Especially after the attacks came and they were looking for the Slytherin Heir.

Tom Riddle would kill her before she could say 'Ah!'.

How will I translate it?

She wondered.

With a little headache, she took the parchment on which she had noted the important steps she would have to follow and cast an

Incendio

, observing the parchment catch fire and fall in ashes.

After collecting her things, Hermione was walking down the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, when she heard voices. By reflex, she hid.

There were two people, arguing eagerly. One of the voices she recognized as Alphard's.

"Walburga, that's enough," Alphard said.

"That's important, Alphard!" She questioned him again. "He hasn’t received the letter yet."

"Merlin, Wally! You know how it works. Cygnus's birthday is during our vacation. He'll get the letter. "

"What if he doesn’t get it? What if he's a squib!?" Walburga's tone increased.

"What if he is?" He questioned. "He's still our brother."

"What are you saying, Alphard? I don’t have a squib sibling. If he is a squib, Mother and Father will throw him away!"

"Take back what you said, Wally." Alphard ordered. "Take it back, now!"

"No!"

"Wally, you do everything to be unbearable, you know?" Alphard grunted. "Cy is not a squib. He's done some accidental magic, remember?"

"He better not be. Have you thought about the shame if our friends knew that our younger brother is a squib?"

"Merlin, Wally enough! Cy being a squib or otherwise, is not the reason for me to give thanks every night. Do you know what really makes me give thanks every night? That
I'm not going to have to marry you." He shuddered at the thought. "Thank God our cousins had Orion Black and you're engaged to him. That's what I give thanks for every night."

"You're cruel, Alphard." She responded after a while absorbing his words, her voice a little tearful.

"Am I?" He replied petulantly. "Which one of us was trying to throw our little brother into the muggle world?"

"You idiot!" She pushed him, before leaving with firm and strong steps.

Hermione heard the whole conversation, trying to control her breathing.

Incest… If Orion Black had not been born, the Black family, with their fanaticism for the purity of blood, would marry Alphard and Walburga

.
She swallowed hard with that thought.

She waited a while, not hearing anything else and came out of her hiding place.

"It's very rude to listen to other people's conversation, Miss. Granger." Alphard stood there, motionless, leaning loosely against the wall with arms crossed over his chest.

Hermione looked at him with uncertainty, she opened and closed her mouth like a fish, the books she carried, weighing in her arms. She had been caught in the act.

"So ...?" He raised one eyebrow.

She squeezed her jaw and her lips became a thin line and she swallowed.

"I didn’t want to hear," she admitted. "It was an accident. I was leaving the Astronomy Tower when you two showed up. Instinctively, I hid, but I didn’t want to hear."

He nodded as if thinking over the answer she gave.

"You didn’t become one of those crazy fan girls, did you?" He asked, very indiscreetly.

"Excuse me?" She frowned.

"You know just what I'm talking about. Those girls who are constantly following us, chasing us and hiding." He gestured with a grimace, then loosened his tie.

"Wait ... What?" She looked at him in disbelief.

Their pride is so great that they think they own the world and all people would fall at their feet?

Hermione was referring to Alphard and the rest of Riddle's gang.

A minute of silence passed, they were silent and then Alphard began to laugh.

"You should see your face," he said almost breathlessly. His attitude only made Hermione have more of a poker face.

"I know you didn’t want to listen," Alphard said after he had calmed down. "You don’t look like one of the stalker girls."

"Do you have a double personality?" Hermione asked, really serious, which made Alphard laugh again.

"Oh, Merlin,
you're going to kill me."

Hermione ignored him and started walking, making her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Hey, hey, wait! Let me help you." He took half of the books she was carrying before she could stop him.

They walked in silence for a while, Hermione glanced at him a few times, realising that he looked more serious and sad. A great contrast to his laughter a few moments ago.

"Are you okay?" She asked and he shrugged. "You want to talk about it?" She was referring to the conversation he had with his sister.

"You're pretty curious, aren’t you?" It's a rhetorical question, he sighed and then spoke. "It's the same as always. Wally shouting, an exaggerated concern for Cy and the fear of shame." He rolls his eyes. "But it's just the Black family."

Alphard didn’t know why he was opening up to the freshman but somehow she seemed to be more trusting than his housemates. However, anyone seemed to be more trusting.

"That's not very Slytherin," she murmured. "I thought you loved the names of your families and the connections."

"And what do you know about the Slytherins, freshman?"

"Well, the Gryffindors do speak." She shrugged.

They both smiled at each other. That's basically how it started. It was the beginning of a strange friendship. They didn’t speak in public, she was still talking more with Bilius, Ectur, Enid, Algie, Ignatius, Lyall and Fred. But sometimes, when she was alone and he just showed up, Alphard would sit next to her and they would talk about anything.

He realised she was some sort of Know-it-All and library rat. She always had books, was always reading and seemed to be doing some kind of research. She also always seemed focused and sometimes frustrated. She really didn’t give a damn about the fame that Alphard and the others had and when he was accompanied by his housemates, she didn’t even give him a second look.

It was on the one morning that all the students were excited to visit Hogsmeade, that the Daily Prophet newspaper wrote:.

IS GRINDELWALD CLOSER?

The Ministry of Magic says there is no danger and they are working on the capture of the dark wizard Grindelwald. However, there are reports and indications that contradict this version. Where's the truth?

But obviously, no one paid much attention. Bilius and Ectur were trying to persuade Hermione to join them and the others but she refused, saying she was tired.

It was true, she was tired of reading and researching and her encounters with Dumbledore. Her head was aching, Harry hadn’t yet been discharged and her efforts didn’t seem to be leading anywhere.

She was really reluctant to go but she thought that a walk in a 'different' environment and some fresh air might help her with her headache or maybe provide some ideas. In the end, after dressing, she went to Hogsmeade alone.

o0o

"My Lord." It was Lestrange, who spoke. "Here is the letter I received from my father about the information you requested."

Lestrange hands the letter to Tom, who was sitting in his favorite armchair in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room.

He reads the letter with extreme interest, the frustration appearing in his features when he locks his jaw and his eyebrows drop.

Nothing! There's nothing about her in the Ministry!

He crumpled the letter before his hand caught fire and burned the paper in his hand. Lestrange swallowed, nervously.

He considered himself a reasonably patient person. Tom knows that to achieve his goals, he has to be a patient person but it was really frustrating to deal with Hermione Granger.

He was the golden student, the perfect and considerate boy for her. He smiled so much around her that once his cheeks actually became sore. He played the role of a young gentleman very well but nothing seemed to enchant her.

Starting with Slughorn, who served him well. Slughorn practically gave her to him, Hermione Granger. Placing her next to him in the classroom and so did the other teachers, when it was a Gryffindor / Slytherin class. Tom thought it would it make it easier for him to get closer to her but it wasn’t that easy.

She didn’t speak more than necessary, she didn’t look at him, she avoided contact. She was afraid of him.

Tom cracked his neck.

So, he was an observer of her attitudes. How she managed to fall into Dumbledore's good graces without doing anything. Was in class when Dumbledore told her:

"Miss. Granger, about those private lessons you requested, we start this afternoon, during your free period.”

Her eyes flashed and a smile took over her face.

"Thank you so much, Professor Dumbledore. I'll be in your office at this time," She replied with excitement.

He noticed every time she met Dumbledore and how Dumbledore trusted her so much that he gave her free access to enter the Deputy Headmaster's office.

But the interesting thing was that she wasn’t an idiot. When she was asked, she answered the question with confidence and wisdom but if she could avoid being the center of attention, she avoided it. It's like she doesn’t want to be noticed.

It was during the Dueling Club that Hermione revealed a little of her potential. The Club was led by Professor Galatea, a teacher experienced in DADA but what Hermione thought of the Club was summarised as shame.

She was really annoyed by the students' behavior. While most girls preferred to watch, those who tried to participate were treated as if they were made of glass when they were dueling against a boy. The boys cast the most basic and simple of spells with the false pretext of 'I don’t want to hurt you,' when they actually underestimated their opponents and laughed when the girls were hit by some spell.

But of course, the feminist movement hadn’t yet become popular. However, despite her irritation, Hermione had decided to maintain a low profile and hadn’t intended to participate in any duels but when Professor Galatea called her to perform, Bilius and Ectur asked if she was okay with it and she raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Dolohov, one step forward please. Be gentle when dueling with Miss. Granger."
Galatea spoke, gesturing with her hand for Dolohov to approach. He smiled in a very convincing manner, dressed in his Slytherin robes.

Hermione's heart stopped for a few beats. Antonin Dolohov, the culprit of herugly scar, that crossed her breasts and went towards her lower back. It seems that in the end, some fights don’t ever seem to change their characters.

Hermione admits she's afraid of him. Dolohov is known for being a brilliant duelist and for a fleeting moment she wants to tell Professor Galatea that she doesn’t want to fight but the anger she feels about him is greater. Merlin, she has a grudge against Dolohov!

She reflexively ran her fingers between her breasts, remembering the scar. Hermione felt the weight of Harry's wand in her hand. It is the first time she'd test the connection between her and Harry's wand.

She looked at the wand.

Tom saw it. When Galatea announced that Dolohov would duel against Granger, he had to restrain himself from laughing. Dolohov was an exceptional pupil, very good at dueling and a loyal follower. He felt sorry for Granger, of course, if he could describe it like this.

He looked at her and watched her trace a path through the space between her breasts. For some reason, he took a deep breath when he saw the gesture. She looked at her wand,

perhaps a little fearful?

But the next look she gave was fierce and fearless.

She began to take her Gryffindor robe off and handed it to Ectur Prewett, who stared at her astonishment.

Like a boy, she began to roll the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbow and moved her shoulders as if trying to relax. Dolohov raised an eyebrow, still with a very arrogant attitude.

Tom glanced at the movement of her skirt, which rose slightly with every step she gave while climbing the few steps to enter the dueling area.

He watched her gaze at Dolohov and how her rosy lips became a thin line. Her uncontrollable hair seemed more bristling and electrifying and he felt the reason behind it.

Magic

. She was releasing magic. Strong magic and it was electric, chilling
the hairs on his arms.

Dolohov was underestimating her and no matter how Tom understood that she could be potentially different, he still bet Dolohov would win the match.

"I promise to be gentle, Miss. Granger,"
Dolohov spoke, bowing but everything Hermione heard was a sort of teasing and she didn’t respond.

It was just too fast. Five seconds, at most. She was ready. Before Dolohov could say

Expelliarmus

, she cast a

Stupefy

. The force of the spell lifted Dolohov and threw him back in a spinning move. All the students followed with their heads, Dolohov stopping across the room. Everyone in the room was silent.

"Impossible,"
Rosier muttered beside Tom.

One of my best followers finished in seconds

, Tom thought. Everyone watched as she walked to the middle of the room, while a groggy Dolohov tried to stand up. With a gesture and a non-verbal spell, Dolohov's wand flies to Hermione's hand.

She looked at Dolohov from above, his wand in her left hand. She had an immense desire to break his wand in two but all she did was leave his wand there, on the floor.

Tom Riddle inclined his head, his eyes were in that strange gray-green color as he watched her turn away from Dolohov. She was graced by her housemates but she didn’t look so happy, just smiling gently at the comments.

Dolohov humiliated the Slytherin House, losing to Granger in a few seconds. Tom would have a special conversation with Dolohov tonight in the Room of Requirement.

"Why did you lose to Granger?" Tom asked again. The Room of Requirement was occupied with him and his followers, who were silent, observing with a strange pleasure Dolohov being tortured. Some of them had a smirk on their faces.

"Because I underestimated her," Dolohov replied in a hoarse voice after so much screaming.

"It's quite obvious, isn't it? How many times did I say that people shouldn’t be underestimated? It doesn’t matter if it's a man or woman. You were just an idiot. How can you not perform a simple

Expelliarmus

?" Tom sighed and then, "

Crucio

."
He talked like he was saying the weather was hot.

Dolohov screamed and struggled with the impact of the spell. After what seemed an eternity, Tom stopped.

"I'm worried,"
He said, gazing towards his followers who until then, were not in trouble with him. "I wonder if you are all like Dolohov?"

Nott and Mulciber swallowed hard, the smile fading from their faces.

“So I asked myself, why not train more?” Tom continued. “Let's practice some very dark spells, so you don’t make the same mistake as our dear Dolohov.”

"What should we practice, my lord?" Abraxas asked.

"Isn't it obvious? We have a perfect guinea pig right here."
Tom pointed to Dolohov. "No one leaves here until I'm sure everyone is formidable. Until I say that's enough. Until I'm tired."

It was a long, painful
night for Dolohov.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 5. Naja Oxiana - Act Like a Man

Edited January 2024

The Clock Tower courtyard was apparently empty on that sunny afternoon. Most of the students were studying for their OWL's in their common rooms but Tom Riddle was standing in the courtyard listening to the love confession of a Hufflepuff girl. She had caramel tones in her hair, freckles on her nose and cheeks, and hazel eyes.

She wasn't ugly,
and she was brave enough, Tom had to admit.

Most people didn't have the determination to deliver a love letter to their object of affection in person, but here was this girl, handing him a letter, while timidly expressing her feelings.

What a romantic place, Tom thought with disdain and irony.
Just near the old fountain on a bright sunny day.

The girl lowered her eyes, not having enough courage to look at him, running her tongue over her lips and stammering. Probably the girl's heart was beating extremely fast.

Now that the girl wasn’t looking, Tom let the 'good guy' mask drop, revealing a countenance which conveyed anger and disgust at her. It was then that he heard a sigh. The girl in front of him didn’t notice, she was too focused on talking about her feelings and too nervous to be attuned to the environment around her, but Tom listened. He looked up from the girl and saw her ... Hermione Granger.

She was standing there, a few feet from Tom and the Hufflepuff girl. Granger had a frightened look, her mouth a little open, holding a book tightly against her chest, her hair around her - loose and unmanageable.

He blinked and she turned around quickly, almost running, very frightened. It was then that Tom knew, she saw; she had watched as he took off his mask and revealed his true emotions. She saw him and was scared. She knows.

She avoided him for the rest of the day and Tom knew he had to get close to her to understand how much she saw or how much she knows.

It's really funny how fate plays in his favor. At night, while patroling as prefect, he saw her leave the library with some books and parchments, she was still on time, but it was ideal for him to secure her alone.

"Miss. Granger."

She started and slowly looked over her shoulder through a few strands of her uncontrollable hair, hugging the books against her chest.

"Mr. Riddle," she greeted him.

"Let me help you." Tom steps forward and she backs away.

"No need." She refuses quickly.

"Please, I insist. Let me escort you to Gryffindor Tower."

Granger actually seemed reluctant to let him accompany her, but in the end, she relented. He wanted to walk slowly so he could take time to make his enquiries of her, but she accelerated her steps, always looking forward.

"We haven’t had the opportunity to really talk since you arrived, Miss. Granger. I must say that I expected you to be in Slytherin, but I hope the Gryffindors are receiving you well." He continued to speak with her, but all he received was silence. "You were a hatstall, which is very interesting. You're the first student I’ve know to be one."

" Hm." That was the only answer she gave.

"By the way, what you did at the Dueling Club was impressive. I admit that Dolohov was a little angry and it's all his fault. He was not ready for you."

Tom bites his lower lip. "But I think teachers do it on purpose, you know? Put the Houses to fight against each other. I think they like to encourage the rivalry, especially Gryffindor against Slytherin. You against Dolohov. It's bullshit, isn’t it? "

"Certainly," she answers.

She is being really difficult, Tom thinks.

"You seem to be a very studious person, I realise. But don’t you worry about stress? Because I do. Sometimes we take on so much responsibility that we get anxious, don’t we? It happens to me sometimes; for example, today, I was so tired, but I still wanted to pay polite attention to the lady who was talking to me."

Okay, he had mentioned the incident with the Hufflepuff girl &
waited for her answer. He smiled internally.

He noticed as she began to breathe more quickly and as she became paler, he stopped her, holding her by the arm.

"Miss. Granger, are you okay?" He asked with false concern.

Her eyes grew larger as she saw how close he was to her. At first, he really thought it was a waste of time, but when she became very pale and started to sweat cold, he understood that she was about to
faint. Tom released the books he carried and placed a hand on the back of her neck, her expression becoming a mixture of anger and dread, but that was not what caught his attention, it was how his magic reacted to her.

A charge of energy passed between them and Tom removed his hand from her skin quickly. Something seemed to warm the palm of Tom's hand and he closed and opened his hand a few times. Tom's magic reacted invitingly and he tilted his head, moving closer to her.

She leaned against the wall in attempt to put distance between them.

"Interesting, Miss. Granger," he murmured softly, much more interested in the reason why this had happened.

"Mr. Riddle, I believe your behavior is not acceptable." She stammered, referring to his proximity

The two of them stared at each other as they heard footsteps. Slughorn was approaching, a silly grin on his face and cheeks and the tip of his nose slightly rosy. He turned and walked away, giggling like a fool, without giving Hermione and Tom the chance to explain themselves.

Oh, shit, Tom thought.

It was time enough for Hermione to collect her items and run away from Tom.

Tom returned to the dungeons after patrol, his thoughts full with the sensations and images of Hermione Granger. The noise of the Bloody Baron's chains made the seem dungeon darker than it really was and it was true that students had a pre-conception of the dungeons and Slytherins, almost always avoiding walking these areas, which in the end, gave much more freedom to the Slytherins.

Tom murmured the password, the wall moved and opened a space for him to pass. His followers were gathered in the common room, Mulciber was trying to heal Dolohov who was still injured from the night in the Room of Requirement.

"You're a horrible mediwizard," Dolohov complained.

"I wouldn’t need to heal you if you were not an idiot." Mulciber countered.

Angrily, Dolohov tried to grab the collar of Mulciber's shirt, but his sudden movement caused him more discomfort.

"Granger will pay." Dolohov threatened.

"You're mad because you lost to Granger. Pathetic, Dolohov. She's a girl.” Lestrange looked down at Dolohov, a petulant smile on his face.

“Are you all dumb?" It was Malfoy's turn to speak. "She's different."

"I admit she's a strange girl. Have you seen how she behaves?" Avery said.

"That's not what I'm referring to." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Dolohov lost not only because he is an idiot. The girl came from the war, that's what was said."

"In any case, what Granger did will not go unpunished," Dolohov argued.

Tom listened to the conversation of his housemates in silence.

"I like her," Alphard said out of nowhere.

As Alphard commented, everyone turned towards him, including Tom.

"Alphard, are you serious?" Nott asked, there was a tone of laughter in his voice as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Alphard shrugged.

"So many girls out there and you like Granger?" Rosier raised an eyebrow.

"What? She's still a girl. She's different, she doesn’t wear make-up, she has wild hair and freckles on her cheeks and nose, apparently, she has a nice body and she's smart." Alphard shrugged again. "Oh! And have I told you that she soundly trounced Dolohov in a duel?" Everyone laughed at Alphard's comment, except for Tom. "It's something new. It's refreshing. Even if it’s just to kill time."

That night, Hermione's thoughts were turbulent.

The locket reacted to Tom Riddle, she thought.
Obviously it would react to him, it likely was a Time-Turner that Salazar Slytherin himself created. But why would Voldemort have ordered one of his followers to secure the Time-Turner on her, a mudblood? Something that was a family heirloom? It doesn’t make sense, unless he wanted to make sure his younger self knew the future and was able to change what he might call "a mistake." But still, why her?

"Oh, no." She murmured, hugging the pillow.

When Riddle touched her, the cord holding the locket warmed on her neck. It wasn't bad and it wasn't good. It was kind of a reflex of magic.

o0o

Tom was lying face down on his four poster-bed, the green curtains surrounding the bed closed, giving him privacy. Tom's raven hair clung to his forehead because he was sweating, he was frowning and his lips were tight. Tom was dreaming. The eyes moving behind the eyelids.

You're special, Tom. You're different.

Tom awoke, his green eyes were frightened, and his breath was racing. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Suddenly the room had become too hot for him, courtesy of the early summer. Quickly, he started unbuttoning his pyjama shirt and threw it to the foot of the bed. He is usually very careful and organized with the few things he owns, but this time he doesn’t give a shit.

He had a strange preference for dreaming when he was asleep, but for some reason, the dream without images he had just had disturbed him. The female voice that had spoken to him was still tormenting his senses.

My mother? He wondered, questioning the identity of the voice.

His feelings about his mother are complicated, partly he doesn’t care about her and considers her weak for giving up her magic for a muggle, there is a trace of rancor in what he feels for her. He had not been enough to make her want to live for him.

On the other hand, he admires what she gave to him without thinking. She gave him the purest magical blood that ever existed. And even though he disregards her, he will not accept anyone disrespecting his mother or his family - the Gaunts.

From what he has researched, he understands how disgusting and humiliating the Gaunt family was, but if all he planned was successful, Tom will end what's left of both the Riddles and Gaunts on his summer vacation.

In the morning, everyone was getting ready to visit Hogsmeade, the last weekend before the OWL's. Virginia Flint was fluttering around Tom, hoping he would invite her to accompany him and the others to Hogsmeade, when she didn’t receive an invitation from Tom, she went to Lestrange. Of course, Lestrange with a smile said that they might meet while they were there, but that he first wanted to have fun with his friends.

Rosier coughed to hide his laughter, and Mulciber bit his lower lip.
If it wore a skirt, Lestrange would take it. But what the girl Flint did not know is that he'd said the same thing to three different girls already. Avery raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Lestrange shrugged, after Virginia Flint left. "It wasn’t me who asked her to go to Hogsmeade, she came to me because she wanted to."

"You're terrible." Nott shook his head, smiling at Lestrange's attitude.

So they left their common room and went to Hogsmeade.

o0o

Currently, Hermione was in the Hog's Head Inn, drinking her second glass of firewhisky, several bags of Honeydukes’ sweets
were next to her.

The Hog's Head was, fortunately, empty except for her. The emptiness of the room seemed to match the way she felt and the glass of firewhisky. She didn’t think she was becoming depressed, though she often was sad about her situation, however she couldn’t say that she was the happiest girl in general.
When she entered the pub door, she raised an eyebrow to the dusty snooker table in the corner. This wasn’t something she remembered from the inn in her time, but it's possible that Aberforth threw the table away after realising it had little use. After all, what wizard would play with something so muggle? She reflected to herself with irony...

Hermione sighed and drank the rest of the amber liquid from her glass. She had seen Alphard and the rest of Riddle's gang earlier, when she had left Honeydukes, Tom and the others had not noticed her presence - which she had been grateful for - but Alphard had. They nodded to each other from a distance and went their
separate ways. She, alone and he with Tom and the others.

Alphard had asked her once about her behavior when he was with his friends, Hermione had just said:

"I find them a bit intimidating. Don’t get me wrong, Alphard, but sometimes I'm afraid of them. I respect you wanting to walk with them, but I will not."

He respected this and made no further comments.

Hermione was about to leave, when the Hog's Head door opened, laughter and conversation, Tom and his followers. Hermione froze in her seat, the conversation and playfulness stopped for a moment when they noticed her presence.

"Miss. Granger," Tom said, his footsteps were heard as he approached where Hermione sat. She had her back to him, staring at the bottom of the glass she was holding.
She heard more footsteps and sensed as they spread themselves through the inn.

She glanced over her shoulder, analysing them. Avery and Dolohov were near the door, Nott and Mulciber at the tables by the windows to the left, Black and Rosier were near the snooker table to the right, Tom was close to her left side, Abraxas was on her right.

Shit, they surrounded her. Hermione glanced at Alphard, behind Abraxas. It was him. He saw where I was going and brought them here. Even though I was afraid of them.
Alphard betrayed her.

So,
this is the good uncle of Sirius?
He's a son of a ...

"Well, gentlemen, I was just leaving," she says, picking up her Honeydukes' bags.

"Oh no, Miss. Granger. Please join me in a drink. I insist." Tom took her arm gently, but didn’t let her escape.

He was silent for a moment, she looked around and sighed in defeat.

"A glass. After all, a girl shouldn’t be too long returning home to a safe place when it's dark, right?" She said the last words with irony.

Riddle released her arm as she turned. She had not settled, still standing. As soon as he entered, he realised Granger was wearing strange clothes. A pair of unusual blue trousers, very tight on her legs, defining her thighs and calves. Her hair was in a clumsy bun, she wore a dark blue summer sweater and strange thick soled boots, much like the men wore in the muggle war.

But she smelled good. The perfume - if she was wearing one - was soft and delicate, and irresistible.

Tom looked at Granger's hand, noticing the chocolate bags she carried.

"Chocolates, Miss. Granger?"

She looked down at the bags.

"Yes, they’re irresistible."

"A girl, after all." Abraxas commented and Lestrange laughed.

"What do you mean?" She glared at Malfoy.

"Don’t mind them. I also like chocolates," Tom said.

Hermione moved in her bags and pulled out a bar of chocolate and handed it to Riddle. Who knows, he might leave me alone.

Tom raised an eyebrow, but took the bar anyway.

"Thank you, Miss. Granger. On the night before -” Tom cannot finish his sentence, because two glasses were placed in front of them. Tom took his glass and brought it to his lips, but didn’t drink, as he was very impressed with how quickly Granger took the glass and drank the liquid in a single gulp.

Tom had a strange expression, Abraxas was astonished.

She drank like a boy. Like a man, Tom thought.
Weren’t women supposed to sip gently and take their time?

Placing the glass down, Hermione wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
Alphard laughed when they all stared at Granger in disbelief.

"Hermione, you're awesome." Alphard clapped his hands and she glanced at him.

Hermione? Tom was surprised that Alphard had called her by her first name.

"Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'm leaving now." She hurried. "Thanks for the drink, Riddle."

"Hermione," Alphard called out. "Play with me." He pointed to the snooker table.

"What game is this?" Malfoy asked.

"It's a snooker table," Alphard explained.

"And what does this thing do?" It was Rosier who spoke.

Oh, they don’t know. They live so much in their secluded pure-blooded world that they don’t know what this is.

"It doesn’t do anything," Hermione explained to Rosier, Tom looked at her.

"It's a muggle game," Alphard continued. "So, let's play, Hermione?"

Son of a...! He doubts my blood status. He's manipulating me, Hermione realised.

"How do you know this game, Alphard?" Nott asked.

"Is that a serious question?" Alphard slapped Nott's head. "There are those who say that those who don’t know about anything don’t know how to defend themselves."

"And how does playing a muggle game make you smarter, Alphard?" Avery asked.

"It's a form of saying, Avery. However, muggles do have some cool things. "Alphard shrugs.

"A muggle lover, that's what we have here." Lestrange rolled his eyes.

Hermione was trying to escape as fast as she could out of that place. She didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading and didn’t like the look Dolohov was giving her.

"So, Hermione, let's play?" He asked again.

"I don’t know how to play," she lied.

"It's very simple, put all the red and coloured balls in the pockets, with the white ball." He looked at her. "If you want I can teach you."

Alphard summarised how snooker was played very badly, he really had no idea how it was played, but that's fine. She was silent.

"Come on, Miss. Granger, play with Alphard. Help out the heart of this poor boy who loves you." Lestrange spoke indelicately, laughing, and slapping Alphard on the shoulder. With his comment, the boys made a hooting noise. "Everyone knows he likes you."

Hermione, like the others, approached the table. Tom was still close to her, looking with interest as to where this was going.
He watched as her gaze darkened and how she snorted at Lestrange's comment.

"Of course." She picked up a cue, holding it with her right hand, while the fingers of her left hand dragged along the snooker table slowly.

"Everyone knows you love me, don’t they Alphard?" She said, walking patiently around the table, past Tom - who followed her with his eyes - Abraxas, Rosier, and Avery.
"Yes, everyone knows," she murmured scornfully, heading toward Alphard. "You're really very loyal." She was face to face with Alphard, Lestrange made a funny face.

Hermione stared at Alphard for a moment before leaning over the snooker table with her cue. Tom looked at how her trousers seemed to tighten even more in the right places. In one play, Hermione managed to score, but she didn’t want to stay there any longer.

"I'm sorry, Alphard, I really don’t know how to play this game."

She was not referring to playing snooker, but to that kind of manipulation game that Alphard was getting her into.

Angrily, she picks up the chocolates, walking through Dolohov, but before she can open the door, something catches her attention through the window. She retraced a few steps, narrowing her eyes, looking outside at the men in black, Hermione lets the chocolate bags fall, Tom goes to her side and looks in the same direction as her, he also narrows his eyes.

Hermione senses when problems will come. She is aware of when people want to do something wrong and right now, there are five men who want to enter the pub and they remind her of the Death Eaters.

Tom and Hemione exchanged glances.

"Problems." The two murmur together.

In a quick move she turns around, Aberforth is coming down the stairs, she looks around and goes to a window at the rear of the pub, without a second thought, she opens it and climbs out of the window.

Tom and the others observe Hermione's movements. Tom also doesn’t think twice and does the same thing. If there's anything he cherishes, it's survival.

When they see their leader exiting the pub, everyone else follows and climb out of the window as well.

Tom is waiting for them and watching Hermione walk away with quick steps. She is walking towards the fork in the road that leads through the Forbidden Forest.

"What's going on?" Malfoy asks.

Before anyone can respond, an explosion of magic occurs, everyone crouches down by a simple act of reflex.

"Aberforth ..." Hermione murmured, her eyes wide. There was a fight going on inside the pub.

But none of them has much time to think, because three of the five men dressed in black who entered the pub are now outside looking at them. Hermione knows better than to stay, she sprints towards the path that crosses the Forbidden Forest.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Avery shouts.

For some reason, they begin to follow Granger or maybe it was because she was going to the only place that seemed to be an escape.

Tom is good at everything he does. So if he's running, he's fast. The boys soon seem to have an advantage over Granger, running faster. Alphard, Rosier, Dolohov, and Tom are leading the race, but the most impressive thing for them is that they begin to notice the girl with unruly hair - now loose - reaching them.

She succeeds in passing Rosier and Alphard, strives to reach Dolohov and is now side by side with Tom. Turning & jumping aside from an obstacle, Tom now understands why she wears those masculine-style boots.

Mulciber is falling behind and the pursuers are casting spells at their backs. Hermione stops and with a quick movement, turns
to cast a spell.

"Reducto!" She shouted, her spell saving Mulciber from being caught and seemed to throw the enemies away.

She was panting quickly when she stopped running. They were all breathing deeply, trying to calm down.

"Who are they ?!" Lestrange demanded.

"I don’t know, I don’t care." Hermione started walking. Lie, Hermione cared a lot about who those people were and why they seemed to have a specific target.

"Come back here, girl." Dolohov took Hermione's arm.

"Let me go," Hermione ordered.

"Dolohov, release her now," Tom ordered darkly. His temper was changing and all his followers noticed.

They began to walk in silence, heading toward Hogwarts. Could anything be worse than walking alone through the Forbidden Forest with Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Hermione would pay to see it.

As they walked, the smell of gasoline became more and more stronger. They were in the field of plants that seemed to release pus.

"It's bubotuber," Nott explained.

Tom was silent, walking beside Hermione. They hear a grunt from Rosier as he inadvertently stepped on a small bubotuber plant, squeezing it with his foot, causing the plant to explode with pus and dirty his clothes.

Tom smells the burning. Turning slowly, he watches a wall of

Fiendfyre

rushing towards them. The fire elemental spell seems to intensify with the gasoline vapour that the plants release. The wall of fire separated Tom and Hermione from the others. A kind of fire that no

Aquamenti

would erase. Both turned to face their enemy.

Tom finally pulled out his wand, holding it firmly in his hand, he gazed darkly from under his lashes, letting his magic come alive and run free.
The vast amount of power left Hermione shocked. Part of the fire surrounded Tom, working with his magic, shielding him.

But the pursuer didn’t mind Tom and turned the tip of his wand towards Hermione, casting a spell in her direction.
Hermione raised a shield protecting her and Tom and took the opportunity to attack, using

Bombarda

. Although Tom’s patience was diminishing, he still didn’t want to use the most dangerous spells in Granger's presence.

As he attacked, making the man pay attention to him, Hermione looked around.

"

Carpe Retractum

!"
A rope of light came from the tip of Hermione's wand and she used it to slap a bubotuber into the attacker as if it were a sling. The plant hit the target and exploded pus, covering his eyes and skin with the plant acid. Hermione grabbed Tom's arm and started to run.

Groaning, Tom let himself be taken by Hermione. He didn’t like to leave an unfinished fight, it gave him the same feeling of an itch he couldn’t scratch. However, he was almost casting a death spell to end it once and for all.
They were making a steep descent, when Hermione slipped, rolling down the hill. Tom tried to catch her, but she carried him along in her fall.

Tom hits the ground, he grunted in pain from the blow as he hit his head, but what he feels is the weight of Granger's body against his. She is on top of him, one leg on each side and face to face with him. Her eyes are open and savage, her full hair has become a curtain around them. She is looking directly into his eyes and her breath is very close.

He tried to move her body, but she puts her hand over his mouth, making a sign of silence and throwing a

Delusion

spell over them.

Tom glanced over her shoulder, watching his attacker search for them.
She recast a stronger

Delusion

spell, he thought.

They were silent and watched the man

Apparate

. After a moment, Hermione undoes the spell and moves away from Tom.

Before he can comment, she is already up and walking. Tom watches her, noticing her pink cheeks.

The attackers were after something. No, they were after someone ... Granger? She knows something, she did something and Dumbledore protects her.

Tom's mind begins to theorise.

It didn’t take too long before they meet up with the others again. They were gathered, staring at something, when Tom and Hermione join them, she makes a shocked noise at what she sees.

"Did you kill a unicorn?" She asked with dread and anger.

"What? Damn! Of course not!" Rosier cursed.

"Manners, Rosier. Have manners." Lestrange yawned.

Suddenly they seemed very calm, as if that run, the fight and almost being hit by

Fiendfyre

was just a fun romp, a normal part of their day.

"It was already dead when we arrived," Malfoy calmly explained.

Nott bent down and conjured a knife and began to cut the hair from the unicorn's tail, and then try to cut the horn.

"What are you doing, Nott?" Avery asked.

"You don’t have many opportunities like this. Do you know the various potions I can brew with unicorn hair and the horn?" He spoke excitedly.

Tom raised one eyebrow.

"What's wrong with you ...?" Hermione muttered.

They turned their heads toward her.

"Oh, Miss. Granger, I hope you understand that this is simply academic. My academic side can’t resist." Nott continued with a smile.

She retreated a few steps, colliding with Dolohov’s chest.

"Miss. Granger, you didn’t think I had forgotten our duel, did you?"

Hermione turned quickly, trying to escape Dolohov's grip.

"Don’t touch me!" She screamed and with a non-verbal spell, she made Dolohov's tie tighten more and more against his neck.

At first, Dolohov continued his hard grip on Hermione's arm, but he was forced to release her as his tie began to restict around his neck. He gasped and fell to his knees, breathing with difficulty. Hermione held on to the spell, her magic spinning around her, moving her hair like the wind.

Tom looked at her a little fascinated by what he was seeing.

"Hermione," Alphard called out. "Hermione, enough! You're going to kill him! "

She left Dolohov and turned her wand toward them.

"He wanted to hurt me!" She told Alphard. "He has the right to do what he wants with me, but I can’t return the favor? I saved your ass!" She's hysterical.

Alphard, hands raised, approached Hermione.

"It's okay, Hermione. I would never let Dolohov hurt you." He slowly placed a hand on Hermione's arm that was holding the wand. "Come on, Hermione, let's go back to Hogwarts. It was a very stressful day, wasn’t it?"

Avery approached Tom and whispered in his ear. Hermione didn’t like it at all.

Hermione moved closer to Alphard, using him as a shield.

"Congratulations, Dolohov. You got one more night with Tom in the Room of Requirement." Mulciber whispered to Dolohov, who was trying to get up, " You lost to Granger, again."

Hermione didn’t hear because she was already walking with Alphard to Hogwarts, a helpless girl in the midst of a nest of snakes.

All the students were returning to Hogwarts now, Tom approached Hermione just as they were about to cross the gates of the castle.

"Miss. Granger ..." Tom put a hand on the back of Hermione's neck, his hand began to warm, his magic reacting and that strange electric current passed through them, but this time he did not shrink, he looked directly into Hermione's eyes.

Hermione didn’t look away, looking into Tom's green eyes.

He looked and looked, but nothing happened. He collided with the mental barrier in her mind.

Occlumency

. The initial smile that he had, was undone when he realised that he wouldn’t be able to read anything from her.
She pushed him and entered the gates of Hogwarts, now being under the protection of the castle.

"Trying to

Obliviate

me?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

Before he could move toward her, Professor Galatea ran toward them.

"Are you all right? All the students and teachers were worried about you. You were the only ones who had not yet returned." Galatea looked at the condition of their clothes. "You were attacked? There was an assault by Grindelwald in Hogsmeade and in France at the same time."

"We're fine, Professor. We made our way through the Forbidden Forest to Hogwarts, hence why we are a little later than the other students," explained Tom.

"Great Merlin! "

"We're really fine, Professor Merrythought. I just want to go back to my dormitory now," Hermione turned to walk.

"Miss. Granger, please allow me to accompany you. It's been a rough afternoon and to be all by yourself, it must be stressful for you," Tom said with concern, taking a step toward Hermione. "It's my duty as a prefect."

"No need, Mr. Riddle. I think you've noticed that I know how to take care of myself."

She turned and started walking toward the Gryffindor Tower, a triumphant smile appearing on her face. It was only the first clash, but Hermione was glad she was victorious.

Tom's hand clenched into a fist. All this time he had underestimated her.

o0o

Her friends were very worried. They asked why she had not gone with them. They asked her how she was and if she was hurt in any way.

Hermione thanked them for their concern, but she said she was fine. What concerned Hermione was if there had been a Grindelwald attack on Hogsmeade in her time’s history. She didn’t remember. If this was an inopportune event, it meant that her and Harry's presence was seriously changing the timeline.

The next day she avoided Riddle and his gang as the devil flees from the cross, as the muggles would say. But she felt his stare on her, which is why she preferred to be in public and in the company of Ectur and Bilius. But it was when she was alone in the library that Alphard approached her.

"Is everything okay?" He had sat in front of her.

She didn’t have the patience for him.

"How did you find out?" She asked, getting right to the point. She looked up from the parchment she was writing, staring directly at Alphard.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"Granger is not a very wizard name, is it?" He whispered.

"And why did you want to throw me to the wolves?" She whispered angrily.

"I just wanted to confirm. Don’t get angry, but it was the old man with half-moon glasses who told me."

"Dumbledore?" She asked.

"Is there another transfiguration teacher who fits this description?" Alphard was leaning his elbows against the table. "The old man asked me to protect you."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"You and not Ectur or Bilius?"

"Because I'm in Slytherin," Alphard explained. "If others know your blood status, they will want to kill you."

"And what do you gain by helping me?"

"I am a mistake that the Hat refuses to admit. It selected me to be in Gryffindor, but because of my fear of my parents, I asked it to stay in Slytherin House." Alphard shrugged.

"Insightful, but not very reliable," she murmured.

"It's understandable, after yesterday. But remember, I play on your side only with different colors." He winked at her. "Shh .. your secret is safe with me."

He stood up and left.

At night, Hermione was in the Astronomy Tower, which was empty at this time. She was reading the Secrets of the Darkest Art, but when she started yawning more than three times, she knew she had to go to sleep.

She hugged the book against her chest and went down the stairs to the
Gryffindor Tower, when she turned her back, she heard the voice.

"Miss. Granger, will you please give me the pleasure of a conversation?"

Tom stood there in his Slytherin robe, his hands behind him, holding his wand. He had a raised eyebrow and green eyes, a wicked grin on his face.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 6. Daboia

-

Priori Incantatem

Edited January 2024

Hermione fortifies the grip on the book against her chest. She swallows hard, noticing the kind of look that Tom has on his face. She really tried to avoid him, tried to be the neutral, unobtrusive, quiet girl, but he had developed a kind of obsession and distrust of her.

It's like he's got a strange sixth sense

.

Fearful, Hermione took a few steps back.

"What do you want?" She asked. Hermione's expression changed from surprise to an expression of ferocity.
She knew better than to believe that Tom wanted to just talk with her.

"I think we have an unfinished conversation, Miss. Granger." Tom walked forward with a smirk on his face, twirling his wand through his fingers. "But I don’t believe that here, in a corridor, is the best place to talk. So I ask you to accompany me." He blinked a few times. "But of course, you’ll come whether you want to or not." He threatened.

Before she could take her wand out of the holster and cast a spell, Tom made a silencing gesture, much like the working of a zipper. Hermione's mouth went silent and she was unable to say a single word, she turned and tried to run but was quickly stopped by Tom, who took her arm, causing her to drop the book she held.

She stared at him, her eyes already filled with tears. She had actually tried to stay out of Tom Riddle’s reach but all the events seemed to serve as a kind of catalyst for Tom to become even more interested in her.

I tried, Harry.

Tom glanced at the book she dropped, he was surprised and angry to realise what it was. He tightened the grip on her arm.

"Where did you get this book?" He demanded, shaking her. It was impossible for this particular book to be with her because this unique book was currently with him. Inside his locked and warded trunk, along with his belongings and more dark magic books.

How did she get it?

"It doesn’t matter, you're going to tell me everything when we get to a more convenient place."

The Chamber? The Basilisk?

Hermione didn’t have much time to think, the darkness took over her and she fainted. Tom had manipulated her consciousness.

When she opened her eyes, a little groggy, Hermione looked at the ceiling of the Room of Requirement. She tried to stand up, raising only her upper body, her heart beating faster when she saw that she was surrounded with the future Death Eaters, watching her with pleasurable attention. Tom himself was in the center, looking at her in a very confident and petulant way. He obviously felt superior to her.

She glanced at Alphard, who pressed his lips together and locked his jaw in disgust at the situation that Hermione was in.

"Well, Miss. Granger, I believe our conversation can commence now, don’t you think?" Tom gently smiled at her.

She crawled, making noises very similar to those that a mute person makes, while tears ran down her face.

"Oh, of course. You can’t talk. Please let me help you." Tom snapped his fingers.

"You monster!" Hermione immediately screamed at him.

"Oh, Miss. Granger, I think this is a terrible way to start our conversation." He frowned. "Please allow me,

Crucio

. "

Hermione was struck by the vicious torturing spell, her body writhed and her screams echoed in the Room of Requirement. It was only seconds but it seemed like hours.

"Tell me, Miss. Granger, what do you know? Who are you? Why do you have this book?" He demanded. Tom's tone changed.

At first, Hermione thought she would go crazy. Bellatrix Lestrange was certainly proficient in the practice of the

Cruciatus

curse, but Tom ... Tom was different,
was special. It was a thousand times worse than Bellatrix’s

Cruciatus

. The pain was so intense, it gradually incised itself deep into her mind. She no longer felt the pain as initially and was now not aware if she was screaming or not.

Every time she refused to answer his questions, remaining silent, Tom increased the power of the curse. He realises that she is much tougher than many of his Knights, Dolohov or Mulciber would already be begging and crying, curling up in a ball, pleading for mercy from him.

In the last

Cruciatus

, he increased the potency of the spell as he gritted his teeth, the Knights were frightened, and Hermione's screams were deafening, but she didn’t break.

Tom paused, breathing quickly. His anger rising.

He laughed.

"I must say, Miss. Granger, that I’m impressed. I confess that each of these boys present here, would have peed in their pants by now if they were under the strength of the

Cruciatus

curse such as you are." He approaches her.

Hermione opened her eyes, a little numb, but still with a fierce look on her face. Her throat is dry and irritated from screaming, so she's hoarse. Tom clenched his jaw as he realised she still had that fierce look on her face. He sat atop her, with one leg on either side of Hermione's body, she is still looking at him with feral determination.

"You're going to tell me what I want to know, Granger?" He asked, pointing the wand at Hermione's neck. "Or I'm going to have to tear it from you, hm?" Tom raised one eyebrow. "Don’t doubt me, Granger. I have extremely effective methods." He put his forefinger and thumb to lift Hermione's chin.

Tom tenderly touched her hair, a thoughtful act of curiosity to know what its texture felt like, and he was a little surprised to find her hair soft and silky to the touch.

"Don’t touch me!" She ordered, fighting against his weight on her.

Tom tried to control her movements, but Hermione, full of boldness and courage, managed to grab Tom's raven hair, messing up his perfect hairstyle, yanking out few strands and spitting on his face; with Tom apparently shocked, Hermione took her chance to push him off. She gets up quickly and commands her wand from Mulciber's hand.

The Knights are staggered and Dolohov is the first to take a step towards Hermione, Alphard is the first to draw his wand - because he knows that from now on, things will only get worse. The others pull out their wands, ready to curse Hermione.

Tom rose slowly, wiping Hermione's spit with the sleeve of his shirt in the process, he laughed softly, but when he looked at her, his eyes were glowing red.

"The next one who takes a step will join her," Tom threatened.

The Knights, very fearful of Tom's anger, step back, out of sight of Riddle. Nobody wants to be the next target.

"I must admit that Gryffindor fits you well. Bold, fearless, reckless, foolish. With an undeniable desire for death." His grip on the wand increases. "You, Miss. Granger, really know how to irritate me. I know this is going to give me a lot more trouble, you know? But I'm sure I can manage everything in the end. You have riled me so much that I'm now in the mood to kill you. What do you think of that my dear Miss. Granger?"

"It will not be today, Riddle. Do you want to know everything I know? Well, I see you, Riddle. I know your tricks and the masks you wear for everyone else. The perfect boy?" Hermione snorted. "No one is more

pathetic

here than you."

Hermione convinced herself that she really had a death wish. Still, she couldn’t stop talking.

Who did Tom Riddle think he was to threaten her?

She would probably die someday, but it wouldn’t be today.

Riddle was so angry that he began to breathe faster, his magic came to life and he let the wand be the conductor of his fierce power.

"

Avada Kedavra

!"

He shouted, pointing his wand at Hermione. The Knights' eyes widened savagely as they saw the green light emanating from the tip of
Riddle's wand, they tried to hide, even if they weren’t the target of that curse. And Hermione...Hermione was there right in front of it, but she was ready. She saw in his red eyes his intention to use that Unforgivable curse and she was prepared for it. Harry had often spoken of how he managed to get out of his various clashes with Voldemort. She concentrates because she knows what will happen and holds Harry's wand - which is hers for now. - with both hands. It is when the magical shock occurs, the spells - both conjured at the same time - met and clashed against each other. Both the magic of Tom and of Hermione are felt by the other occupants of the Room of Requirement. It's the

Priori Incantatem

. Their wands remained connected, a thousand rays rising above Hermione and Tom, crisscrossing around them until they were enclosed in a golden dome-shaped web, a cage of bright light, protecting the two. There was no "echo" because neither of the two wands managed to defeat the other, it was a tie.

Tom is brilliant, from a very young age, he was a great duelist, even without facing real battles. It's his magic, he's too strong, he has magic to spare, but finding an equal is something new to him. Trying to enchant & charm her didn’t work, trying to break & torture her didn’t work and now he is tied with her in a duel. His wand is paired to her wand, his anger is diminishing as he can’t fracture the bond between the two wands. He doesn't understand what's going on.

Tom had again underestimated Hermione. He thought she didn’t know what the Room of Requirement was, that she did not know how the Come and Go Room behaved, but Hermione knew this Room very well and knew that this Room would become whatever the occupant wanted most. Hermione took advantage of the fact that the desire of Tom Riddle and the others in the Room was weak and she strongly desired that the Room transform into a labyrinth, capable of separating each occupant and showing her the exit.

The Room attended Hermione's request and thick concrete walls were erected between Tom and Hermione, between Hermione and all the other Knights. This interference broke the

Priori Incantatem

. Hermione turned her back and the Room was ready with the doors open and she ran with all her effort out of the Come and Go Room.

Before Tom could force his magic over hers, a concrete wall began to come between him and Granger, she managed to undo the bond between the two wands, the Room had become a labyrinth, and he knew this was something to do with Granger. He undoes Hermione's desire, asking the Room to become as it was before, giving him time to see Hermione running away.

She slipped through my fingers

, Tom thought.

The Knights look at Tom frightened, he has an icy look on his face. He growls and casts curses in random directions, almost hitting Lestrange and Malfoy.

Tom now has more questions than answers, however, he didn’t come out empty-handed. He has the book, the one that Granger supposedly stole from him.

Her muscles were sore from Tom's torturing spell, her throat ached, due to her screams, and despite her body requesting immediate rest, she found the strength to run back to the Gryffindor Tower, where she thought she would be safe.

Tell Dumbledore everything, don’t be stupid Hermione

! She thought.

Show him the images about Tom and end it all at once.

A part of her mind spoke.

Yeah, do it and break the whole timeline. You will probably change your existence and the existence of your friends if you do.

The other part of her mind countered.

In the end, Hermione only breathed more relieved by being in a place away from Tom Riddle, putting a hand to her breast - trying to soothe the muscles in her chest and lungs. Hermione threw herself onto one of the sofas in the common room and squeezed the wand in her hand.

I lost the book.

She thought angrily.

The only chance to find an answer and I let Riddle take the book

. Hermione gritted her teeth.

I have to find a way to get the book back.

Grunting in pain, she drags her feet to the female dormitory. Hermione's roommates are already asleep and it doesn’t take Hermione much effort to fall asleep either.

When Hermione woke in the morning, her body felt more sore than the day before, she took one of the muscle pain potions she had in her medical kit. Relieved, but not much improved. What gave her strength to face that day was the anger she felt about Tom Riddle.
She was like a ferocious lioness, anyone who crossed her path today had to be careful.

She already has an idea of how to retrieve the book, but for this, she needs Tom Riddle to be preoccupied and away. Far enough away for her to be able to transform into him with the last

polyjuice

potion she has in her bag. It's the worst idea she could have, but it's the only one that gets her access into the Slytherin common room and into Riddle’s room, where the book probably is. She needs a hair from Tom Riddle and she plans to test if Alphard is really reliable now.

At breakfast, Bilius and Algie are trying to talk to her but Hermione is serious and quiet, her eyes glaring at the Slytherin table and its members. She sees the looks that Tom's gang give her and it annoys her so much that she gets up from the table, abandoning breakfast. Ectur follows her, worried about her state of mind.

He touches her arm and she grunts through aching muscles, Ectur frowned.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ectur." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t worry."

Ectur did not seem very convinced by her words and paid close attention to her movements and behavior. The first lesson she has is herbology, being a Gryffindor / Ravenclaw class. Hermione can’t say that she was really focused on the lesson, humbly saying, she's already been through the fifth year, but that’s not the reason why she is so distracted, it’s anger. A kind of anger bubbling inside her, giving her a feeling of discomfort, snorting every five minutes.

Her facial expression is clear - today she has little time for friends - low brows, lips like a thin line, tight jaw, a bright, fierce look and uncontrollable, loose hair. That's how Tom Riddle and his gang meet her when they pass her in the hall. Rosier and Mulciber do not know how to react to her presence, being unsure of what to do, but in general, everyone maintains a stoic expression. Hermione can see the glow of anger in Tom's gaze, few would notice, especially because he opens a smile. Imitating a 'welcome' expression. Hermione knows otherwise.

Hermione's bubbling rage threatens to burst but she is adamant about her role here. She controls herself.

"Miss. Granger, you're-" Tom has his sentence cut off as Hermione walks straight past them, she doesn’t even look at any of them, mostly ignoring him.

He wanted to play with her psychology, torture her in public, manipulate her and determine how much she has told anyone of their meeting last night, but he wasn’t prepared for it. Tom blinks, his facial expression falls a little, especially his smile. She passes between him and Abraxas, her movement makes him smell the perfume of red fruits from her hair. No, he wasn’t prepared for this kind of courageous behavior. He expected fear in her eyes, tears, a jaded attempt to run or bargain with him, even if she later begged him for mercy, but he did not expect to be ignored.

Tom breathed more quickly, his temper changing. Oh, she can actually activate conflicting feelings in him and that's not welcome.

He turned, casting a look at Granger's back.

"Miss. Granger." It is Abraxas, who speaks, demanding that she turn. She simply ignores it.

"Miss. Granger, why are you doing this? Did I somehow unknowingly cause you hurt for to ignore me like this? If I did, I humbly ask your pardon, it was certainly an unintentional mistake on my part."

Tom pleads, his voice laden with false concern. Oh, Tom plays with her,

two can play this game and the best will win

. They have an audience, students who lick the floor wherever he goes - no matter which House.

Even with his theatrics, she ignores him.

"Granger." It's Dolohov who chases her, taking her arm. Dolohov has a short temperament, his patience is very limited and now, Hermione is his target. She was added to Dolohov's rancor list that night in the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione is prepared and with a simple movement, she turned and pointed her wand at Dolohov.

"Don’t touch me," she commands.

They have an audience, but she doesn’t care, even though all the students are looking with great interest at what is happening.

Tom breathed in.

Oh, the magic.

Tom is an admirer of magic because this was the only thing that has never failed him, he feels it like no one else will ever feel and he believes that magic is the only thing that matters. Feeling the strong magic of Hermione, her wand waiting to be a conductor of such power is amazing and it enraptures his attention. He sees the magic differently and can see her magic, acting around her, intensifying the environment and it’s like ... like his. Her power somehow equals his and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

He really doesn’t know how to deal with her. Last night was a fucking disaster, a catastrophe and he didn’t control his impulses, she saw something she shouldn’t and she's alive and he doesn’t know how to handle it. She prevented a Death Curse - no one can stop a Death Curse, no one could ever stop any curse that he really wanted to do, but here she is. She stopped it. - She fought against his

Cruciatus

, she did not break and retaliated against him and he lost.

No, he really didn't understand

. Tom tries to calm his wounded ego.

It was a tie.

A fucking tie and this has never happened to him. He just doesn't know how to deal with this situation. How to handle her.

Tom is divided between the interest of who she is or the threat she represents. If he can’t break her attitude and control her then he'll be leaving loose ends, someone who doubts him. Of course, he has a thousand people in favor of him, supporting him against one, but this 'one' has an ally that is the stone in his shoe. Granger is in Gryffindor House, right under Dumbledore's nose, she has free access to the Deputy Headmaster's office and shit, Dumbledore protects her. She’s a loose end, who saw him casting a Death Curse. She's a dangerous loose end.

However, there is something wrong. He feels, he sees. He doesn’t know where Granger's interests and loyalty lie.

With Dumbledore?

He was beginning to doubt it.

If she is Dumbledore's new favorite student, then she is a failed student. Her attitudes don’t match with Dumbledore's idealism.

You see, he's not really complaining,

but the girl who is Dumbledore's new star pupil tried to strangle Dolohov

?

Oh can you feel the Dark Magic? And reads the darkest magic book?

Her actions put him in check.

Who is she? What does she really want? Is she like him? Is she manipulating Dumbledore?

Oh, he likes that last thought.

If so, then she is more precious and poisonous than I thought.

Being able to wrap the old half-moon glasses on her little pinkie.

And the book ... She didn’t steal it.

His book was still with him, in his secret place, with his belongings. Tom stayed a long time in the night, looking at the two books, perfectly alike.

What would a Gryffindor girl be doing with such a dangerous book? Having her own added to her personal collection?

So he had asked the question to himself for the tenth time:

Is she like me? The answers are there, dark & powerful magic, the duel, the tie, the academic interests.

He doesn’t know what to do, how to proceed.

"Miss. Granger, why are you doing this?" Tom asked again, trying to get closer to her.

She still has her wand up, this time pointing at him. She snorted at Tom's question and then smirked, before turning and walking away. He looks at Granger moving away from him. Bold, but foolish, she has supposedly offended the Hogwarts golden boy in some way, if it depends on the other girls and even some of the other boys, Granger is a dead person. It's so delicious to play with people's psychology in public.

Hermione feels like a mess. She’s starting to better understand the kind of pressure Harry was under with Voldemort always there, waiting for the slaughter. She is currently in the office of the Deputy Headmaster, stroking Fawkes - which is the only thing that calms her recently and Fawkes seems to notice and gladly lets her touch his feathers.

"Alphard spoke to me." She tells Dumbledore, who is writing on the parchment, not taking her eyes off Fawkes. "He told me that you asked him to help me. Why him?"

"Mr. Black is an interesting young man, I must say, I was surprised that he had entered the Slytherin House. He seems to have distinct ways of thinking different from his housemates." Dumbledore is still writing on the parchment. "I dare say, Miss. Granger, as I believe you know, that the recent ideological positions in the wizarding world are influenced by pureblood families. Many of the members of these families reside in Slytherin and your blood status may not please everyone." He looks up from the parchment to her.

"Why Alphard? Why tell him?" She asked.

"Mr. Black seems to have a tolerance for the status of your birth, something unusual in the Black family. He seemed like the right person who can work within Slytherin to mitigate anything that might occur against you."

"How much does he really know? He knows that I came from the future?"

"Mr. Black is only aware of your blood status. I suppose our idea is to keep your identity hidden."

" Good," Hermione murmured, turning back to Fawkes.

A few minutes pass, before ...

"Granger." Hermione hears Dumbledore's voice behind her, she turns and Dumbledore is looking directly into her eyes.

Legilimency

. He looks at her and nothing happens, but Hermione can feel that light creep of Dumbledore trying to subtly pass through her

Occlumency

shields. "Good, very good, Miss. Granger." Dumbledore walks away from her. "I must say you are a quick and formidable apprentice."

"Thank you." Hermione sighed. "Professor Dumbledore, what happened in Hogsmeade? Were those people really allies of Grindelwald?"

"I'm afraid your fear is real, Miss. Granger. Those men were Grindelwald’s and I believe he knows about your arrival. He, like everyone else, felt it when you arrived."

"But how did he know I was in the Hog’s Head Inn?" Hermione asked.

"I believe, Miss. Granger, that the Time-Turner trapped on your neck is to blame. There is a strong and unique magical signature attached to it, but it’s still discreet as if not wanting to attract attention. Few would be able to notice such arcane magic."

"So he's tracking me because of the Time-Turner’s
magic?"

"That would be one way of saying it. Grindelwald is Grindelwald, a powerful wizard, that's why he is aware of Time-Turner. But I believe magical barriers can hide its presence."

"Like Hogwarts." She finished and Dumbledore nodded. "How is Aberforth? When we left the Hog’s Head Inn, he was fighting off some of the pursuers."

"My brother is certainly hard to defeat. He's fine."

"That's very good. I'm so happy he's okay. What about France?" Hermione asked anxiously. "Was there really an attack?"

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "The British Ministry of Magic along with the French Ministry of Magic are still deciding what to do."

"They're planning to unite the countries and combine forces to try to conquer Grindelwald," Hermione realised.

"But it's relative," Dumbledore said. "Many people in power are in favor of Grindelwald's cause, even if they don’t publicly assume so."

"Yes, I know." Hermione lowered her eyes. "However, it is dangerous. If Grindelwald knows the location of this meeting - which may or may not occur - then he will kill all the representatives. Or he can offer amnesty to those who join him," she said. "He's already taking over magical Europe, isn’t he? That's why it's so hard to catch him."

Dumbledore let out a sad sorry sigh. "Yes"

But Hermione knows more, even though it’s terrible to see Grindelwald's invasion and dominion with her own eyes, she knows that in the end, he will fail. At this very moment, she was looking at the only person capable of stopping Grindelwald. Dumbledore. He wants to avoid dueling Grindelwald, his former friend, but he will not escape it and soon he will be victorious.

With compassion, Hermione touches Dumbledore's shoulder.

"Everything's going to be okay, professor. I truly believe in that."

o0o

Hermione is getting more and more annoyed, if she has to divert any more silly spells, the next person casting some jinx toward her will be hit by a

Bombarda

.

It's really weird how Riddle and his gang have a kind of fan club or whatever it was. 'The crazy fanatical girls' as Alphard had said. Hermione is no stranger to this kind of behavior, she saw it with Krum, with Malfoy, with Diggory, with Harry and his fame as 'The Chosen One' and even with Ron to some extent in the sixth year, but to this day she couldn’t understand how some people could
be stalkers. She just rolls her eyes at this kind of behavior and gets even angrier at Riddle for setting his fan club onto her, like a shadow hunting her.

She waits for everyone to enter the Duelling Club, it's the last class before the OWL's, waiting for Alphard. Incredibly, he's always late for class.

"Hermione?" It's Alphard's voice. Hermione pulls him into a corner.

"I need your help," she says flatly. Alphard frowned.

"What?" He asked.

"I need your help," she repeats.

"Are you okay?" He's worried. "I mean, after yesterday, you know what happened." No one talks about what Riddle does in the Room of Requirement. "You were tortured with

that curse

and escaped

that other curse

," he whispered.

"I-I'm fine," she responds.

"No one escapes that curse, Hermione. Nobody escapes from Riddle. And you did it. He wants your head now."

"You think I don’t know?" She replied, letting her anger leave with her words. "Why are you with them, Alphard? You're not like any of them."

Alphard looked surprised, but recovered his facial expression quickly.

"I saw what Riddle does to those he considers an enemy, I don’t want to be at the tip of his wand."

"Is that it? Because of fear?"

"Oh, please, Hermione, I'm a survivor. The Hat didn’t accept my request to stay in Slytherin by chance. Inside Slytherin, things are different. You don’t know anything."

Hermione hesitated.

"All right," she says more composedly. "I still want your help. You promised that you would be by my side, just in different colors. Prove it."

“What do you want?"

"I want you to get Riddle away from the Slytherin dormitory. I want you to tell me where his dormitory is and the access password to get in."

"Do you want to invade the Slytherin House? Are you crazy?"

"Riddle stole something from me and I want it back."

"Even if I do all this, the other students will recognize you."

"Luckily, I know how to take care of myself. Help me, please Alphard "

"You know, if Riddle finds out, you're going to die, don’t you?"

"He already tried to kill me, remember?"

Alphard seemed uncertain about helping Hermione, it was too risky. If Riddle found out that he had betrayed him, he and Hermione would both have targets on their backs. Riddle would never let this go unpunished.

"Please, Alphard." Hermione intensifies the request.

Shit, he doesn’t know why he's going to help her.

"All right." He accepted after a while. "We have to set a day for that to happen. I'll tell you the password and the location of his dormitory, but do nothing but take what's yours. If Riddle finds out, you will also be putting me in the line of fire."

"I would never reveal your participation.

"After OWL's, it's better. On the last day of class. I'll tell you all the information and it will give me time to think of a pretext for Riddle."

"Thank you." She smiled at him gently.

"Whatever."

The two of them enter the Dueling Club room together. Their sudden entry is noted by Professor Galatea and some students. Galatea always noticed Black's tardiness and today is no different.

“Mr. Black, Miss. Granger would be kind enough to set an example for the other students and take part in a duel."

Hermione grunted internally, Alphard froze as he felt the eyes of Riddle and his companions.

"Come on, Alphard. Finish with her." Mulciber whispered, Alphard gulped.

"Huh ... Professor Merrythought, I'm not feeling very well. I think I'd better not duel." Alphard said. He is not crazy enough to step onto the duelling area with Granger on one side and Tom sleeping in the same dormitory as himself.

“Mr. Black - "
Galatea begins, but is interrupted by Tom.

"Please, professor, allow me to duel with Miss. Granger. She was brilliant in the last class."

Rosier and Avery exchange glances at Tom's request.
Professor Galatea cannot refuse a request from the golden boy, Alphard has gotten out of it, but the one who is actually trapped is Hermione. She almost says she's not feeling well either.

"All right." Professor Galatea agrees.

Tom is waiting for all that behavior Hermione does while preparing to duel, but she doesn’t give him this pleasure. She didn’t take off the Gryffindor robe, didn’t roll-up her shirt sleeves, and he correctly interpreted it as if she thought he was unworthy of her.

She is on the other side of the duel area, looking at him fiercely determined. He wants a rematch, he doesn’t accept what happened in the Room of Requirement, but he cannot begin the duel with fire.

He waits, but she casts no spell in his direction, forcing him to move first. Tom casts some simple spells, but she diverted them all. She makes no move, she's defensive. He begins casting more spells, spells that are more powerful and specific to battles, but she deflected and lifted a shield.

Tom's anger shines in his eyes.

He's going to try to kill me.

That's all Hermione thinks.

"

Expelliarmus

!" The two scream simultaneously, the 'sisters' wands connect again, the

Priori Incantatem

occurs. The strength of the spell is so great that both are thrown to the extreme sides of the room. The noise of their bodies hitting the floor is loud, but the two rise. Tom has an angry and surprised stare, looking directly at Hermione. She has a more fearful look, but no less angry.

She was trying to prevent this from happening. Tom noticed. Whatever the connection between the two wands, she didn’t want it to happen again.

"Great Merlin! Are you both okay? You must go to the Hospital Wing now." Galatea orders.

"I'm fine, Professor Merrythought," Tom reassures her.

Hermione can't say the same. Her body still has the effects of Tom's

Cruciatus

curse and now, being thrown across the room, it just made her limp more.

"Miss. Granger, you must go to the Hospital Wing. Mr. Riddle, accompany her."

"No need, Professor Merrythought, I can go to the Wing by myself," Hermione said. Not even in her dreams will she be alone with Riddle after the duel.

"I insist, Miss. Granger. I was the one who asked for the duel, I'm responsible for your state of health now."

Hermione thought of screaming for help.

"Let me take her, Professor." Ectur appeared as Hermione’s knight in shining armor. Hermione smiled at him and looked at the teacher, but Tom intervened.

"Mr. Prewett, let me take her. I am responsible for the accident, you must attend the class and also, it is my duty as a prefect."

There is no way to argue with the golden boy and responsible prefect. Soon Hermione finds herself walking at Riddle's side in empty corridors, heading toward the Hospital Wing. It's a nightmare. Hermione tries to walk faster,
but her leg won't let her, she wants to get away from him as fast as she can.

Riddle walked beside her in silence, without making any menacing movements. She's surprised, but Hermione knows best,

it's a trap. It's a trap.

And she's not wrong, as soon as they're away from the classrooms and in an empty hallway near the Hospital Wing door, Riddle's peaceful expression changed, he turned and cornered her against the wall,
wand pointing at her temple. But Hermione is also prepared and pointed her wand on Tom's neck, right under his mouth. He smiled at that.

This is Hermione's golden chance.

"Get away from me," she ordered.

"No, no, no, Miss. Granger. I'm the one making rules here."

"I want you to get away from me." Hermione grabbed Tom's hair by pulling a few strands and shoved him.

"Who do you think you are?" His eyes glow red, he grabbed Hermione's hair as well and placed her against the wall again. "Who are you, hm? Loyal to Dumbledore? I think not. What are you doing with that book?"

"It's none of your business!" She pushed him again, this time slapping Tom's face.

It's a ‘slap!’ very loud in the ears. Tom turned his face, his pale cheek soon turning a reddish color. Tom's raven hairs are falling against his face. His face slowly returns to the ideal “charming boy” position, there is no red glow in his eyes, but his eyes are the purest green color she has ever seen.
He looks at her amazed. The big, beautiful, bright green eyes. Slowly he touches his red cheek and then looks at his hand as if his hand were a Boogeyman. His hands shake.

"You ... You hit me," he says softly as if he didn’t believe what he was saying. He looked at her.

His eyes are green one second, in the other, they're red, in a blink of an eye.
He raises his wand and points it at her head. That's when Hermione knows, she's gone too far.

The door to the Hospital Wing door opens, and they both glance in that direction.

The matron opens the door, finding Riddle and Granger. He's got one hand on her shoulder, in a weird grip, but she doesn't notice it. All she sees is his smile.

"Mrs. Derwent, we came because Miss. Granger was injured during the duel in the Dueling Club." Riddle said.

"Oh, come here young lady."

Mrs. Derwent points to one of the beds, Riddle is reluctant to let Hermione go, but the matron doesn’t notice. All she realised is how messy his hair is and how his cheek is red and how Miss. Granger also has messy hair and a frightened and limping look.

Riddle leaves Hermione in the Hospital Wing but not before giving her a look. When he returns from the patrol at night, his followers are gathered in the common Rrom as usual.

"What happened to your face?" Abraxas is the first to notice.

"That looks like a slap mark," Mulciber commented. "What is it? Have you been rejected by a girl?" He laughed lightly, but he swallowed his words like acid, by the mortal look Tom gives him.

But Alphard knows who possibly left that mark on Riddle's cheek.

Tom goes straight to his dormitory. Already lying on his bed and with the curtains drawn around the bed, he touched the cheek she had slappe:. Of course, he could have healed himself, but for some reason, he didn’t. His cheek is usually pale, now it is red and hot.

Fierce, aggressive, strong, uncontrollable, that's what she is

and he doesn’t know how to deal with her, but he's having a dizzying feeling.

o0o

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Alphard asked for the thousandth time.

"I have to." Hermione is determined. "You already know you have to keep him away for at least an hour."

"Good luck." He wished Hermione. "You'll really need it."

The OWL's are finished and she's not worried about it. She had waited several days for this moment. After what happened in the Hospital Wing, Riddle ignored her. What Hermione didn’t know was if it made her calmer or more worried. By this stage her diversion of the spells from his fan club has become routine.

Students were a little flustered with the end of the OWL's and tomorrow being the last day before the Hogwarts Express departs for the start of the summer vacation. She’d planned everything with Alphard for today, he would divert Riddle from the Slytherin dormitory for at least an hour, it would have to be long enough for her to find the book.

"Thank you, Alphard," she murmured to him again.

He, very disconcerted, reconfirmed the plan. Alphard still didn’t understand why he was helping Granger, of course, he had made a promise to Dumbledore to help her, but this was too risky. What he was doing was going against Riddle, which is practically going against the whole Slytherin House. He understood that what Riddle was doing was 'wrong' on some level, but shit, joining Riddle's personal circle was a free pass for less trouble, or so he thought.

He glanced at Hermione again, before turning away.
Merlin and Morganahelp this girl, Alphard wanted as less information as possible about what was happening, but he would do what he had promised

Hermione watched Alphard leave, the count-down on the clock started from now. She removes two small jars from her school bag, one containing Riddle's hair that she had taken during the incident outside the Hospital Wing door, the other was the last jar of the

polyjuice

potion she had.

She took the strand of Tom's hair very carefully, bringing the hair up to her eye level before adding the hair to the potion. Before drinking, she transfigured her clothes into the masculine version of the Slytherin uniform. The

polyjuice

potion became dark, a black color with some green reflections, when she drank it, the taste of the potion was the taste of Death - if she could describe it that way. It was like swallowing ice cubes that cooled her throat and burned at the same time. It was slimy and for a moment she thought she was tasting a touch of snake's skin - even though she had never tasted such before - but only at the end, in the last sip, did the potion become sweet, but it wasn’t enough for her to remember the taste or to forget the other sensations.

When she finished, Hermione looked at the mirror in the ladies' bathroom, the famous Moaning Myrtle bathroom. It was certainly ironic the place she had chosen to become Riddle, but this is one of the few places that students didn’t dare to enter. The moment she entered the bathroom, she wondered where Myrtle was, Hermione called out to her a few times but Myrtle didn’t appear.

As she was still staring at the mirror, her stomach turned and she felt a little sick, her skin began to bubble like hot wax as it slowly turned into Riddle's pale skin.

This was literally the worst idea that I could have

, she thought.

In the end, Hermione looked in the mirror, watching as her face became the perfect replica of Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. She took a deep breath, staring at her reflection - now Tom's appearance - and then took another deep breath, looking into her eyes - now green. She took a few shallow breaths, taking courage to leave the bathroom. She swallowed and settled, ten minutes had passed, the clock was running. She left the bathroom.

With quick steps, she headed toward the dungeons, everyone looked at her, seeing Tom. The girls smiled like fools at her, the boys made room for her, all because they thought she was Tom Riddle. Hermione now understood the kind of popularity Tom had. Some looked at her with expressions of confusion, but let it pass.

In the dungeons, the Slytherins looked respectfully at her, and very eagerly she murmured the password to enter the Slytherin common room. They found Riddle's behavior strange, it was unusual for him to demonstrate his expressions, but of course no one commented.

Upon entering the common room, she sucked in her breath. Divided between something classic and somber, the common room was a reflection of its upper-class members, but what surprised her most was the temple-like silence that formed with the few people there. They all looked at Hermione - Tom - with respect and admiration, hoping to hear what she - he - would have to say. But Hermione - Tom - very clumsily went upstairs to the men's dormitory. Troubled and anxious, this wasn’t something common in Tom Riddle.

Dormitory, dormitory

. It was all Hermione thought.

Last bed, the bed farthest in the room, near the window.

She was repeating the information Alphard gave in her mind.

Last cupboard, last trunk.

She rushed into the cupboard, feeling the magical protections. She supposed these magical protections for Tom's housemates or for other people would be complicated, but not for her. She was Hermione Granger, the girl who was part of the Golden Trio.

She searched in the cupboard, the dresser by the bed. Hermione was surprised to find his few things very well organized. She was so focused that when she came across the diary, she froze. Her hand began to tremble, with the slight inclination of the diary being so close. The

Horcrux

. But she felt the magical protection in it more powerful than all the others, it was too dark. Dark Magic. And it was whispering to her.

She ran, abandoning her search. Feeling dizzy, nauseous, strange. Tom's dark magic was infiltrating her, whispering things, crawling, licking her skin. She just had to run away, run away from that thing. Desperate, she ran away like a five-year-old girl. Running, she passed by Abraxas, who looked at her in a very suspicious way.

She needed to get back to a safe place.

Upon arriving at Myrtle's bathroom, Hermione ran to one of the sinks and poured water on her face a few times, trying to feel grounded and less dizzy. In the mirror, the reflection of Tom Riddle stared at her. Not even the frightened look on her face had undone the perfection of Tom's face.

What aroused Hermione from her dizziness was a few slow claps. She looked toward the entrance, the real Tom was there, with Alphard
diagonally behind him.

"You're so very interesting, Miss. Granger." Tom smiled at his last words. She looked at Alphard accusingly and he tilted his head to the side. "You know, Miss. Granger, being friends with some ghosts or having people loyal to you, does have its advantages." Tom wasn’t looking at her, he was contemplating, philosophising.

Alphard approached her, circling, looking closely.

"And didn’t she really become you?" He arched one eyebrow, talking to Tom.

Tom looked at Granger, seeing her transformed into him. He looked up and down.

"Leave us," Tom commanded.

Alphard glanced over his shoulder at Hermione and glanced at Tom's back and then left. Tom stood there, hands behind his back, waiting silently for Alphard to leave.

Hermione, transformed into Tom and Tom Riddle himself, were alone in that bathroom that was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom approached with calm steps, deliberately slow, looking at her from top to bottom, a strange gleam in his eyes. Hermione didn’t understand what that look meant, what was going on in his mind, it is likely that no one would ever be able to decipher him. He was releasing magic into the air, it was in his aura. Powerful, domineering, demanding respect, this was his magic.

He circled her, watching intently, his hand sometimes touching the Slytherin robe she wore. In one of his moments, his hand moved up her arm to her shoulder. He circled once more, stopping right in front of her. Now that she was transformed into him, they were the same height. Tom Riddle looked at her, looking deep into her eyes, meeting his own green eyes, but they conveyed emotions that Tom Riddle himself could never convey.

She didn’t look away, they were a few inches apart, his gaze had a strange glow and she noticed a kind of smile before she felt his lips graze hers.

Tom was kissing her. Now crushing his lips against hers, surprised, she tried to pull away, but he pressed her against him. His tongue invaded her mouth, savoring her taste. He pushed her against the bathroom sink, she was contained between his body and the sink, being kissed. In a quick move, Tom turned her to face the mirror, he kissed her neck a few times before placing her head over his shoulder and with one hand, he held her jaw, making her look at their reflection in the mirror.

His eyes flashed gray-green, a smile on his face.

"Don’t you think you're perfect like that, Miss. Granger?"

He asked, looking at her reflection just as she was looking at his. In the mirror, the image of two Tom Riddles was reflected. One domineering and the other submissive and kissed. The real Tom Riddle was holding Hermione Granger tightly in his arms.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 7.
Acanthophis - The Mortal Kiss

Edited January 2024

Moving away, Tom tightened his grip on her jaw, forcing Hermione to look at him. The

Polyjuice

potion was losing its effect and Hermione's features began to appear. The hair that was once dark returned to the brown tones of Hermione and began to grow and rebel, the green eyes reverted to light brown, the face became feminine and she decreased to her normal height.

Tom looming above, watched her, observing with interest the effect of the potion ending.

The kiss didn’t mean anything. Nothing but the urge to tease her, to taunt her psychologically, to torture. If there was any interest, it would be nothing more than the narcissistic love that Tom Riddle had for his own image. After all, he considered himself perfect and of course, he wasn’t wrong. Regarding his appearance, Tom had no flaws or imperfections.

Not taking her eyes from Tom's furious expression, Hermione felt his fingers sink into her cheeks, whilst he forced her to look at him. A rebellious tear slipped down her face.

"Don't tell me you're afraid, Miss. Granger?" He tenderly murmured close, making her feel & smell the warm breath of mint on her skin.

Hermione didn’t dare reply, she didn’t think she would be able to control the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling, she would probably scream and cry and yet,
Hermione did not stop staring at him.

He regarded her, his eyes taking longer than necessary, noting her expression in his mind. Tom swallowed, still feeling her taste on his tongue.

"Let's make things clear, Miss. Granger." A soft threat was present in Tom's voice. There was a slight tilt in his upper mouth corner that indicated the shadow of a smile, a sneer. Feeling the hand that was holding her by the cheek, fading back into the tangle of her hair, Hermione found herself being forced to tilt her head back, Tom Riddle's pale, long fingers tugging her curly hair at her nape. His wand pointed at the small space between her eyes.

"You will not
do things like that anymore," he ordered. "You will respect me, you will obey me. The book, Dumbledore and all matters I wish to know, you will tell me." With a muffled laugh, Tom continued. "Otherwise, I'll make sure to make your life hell." He threatened, very seriously.

"So, I politely suggest," Tom's voice suddenly softened, a rapid and almost unbelievable shift "to you that you cooperate with me, because all I have incited against you up until this point is not one tenth of what I am capable of."

He looked around the ladies' room, his gaze discerning as a Machiavellian smile slowly unfolded.

"You know, I hear you're a good friend of Bilius Weasley and Ectur Prewett, even Longbottom and Lupin. You wouldn’t want to see your friends harmed, would you? No, I don’t think you would. I thought for a while..." Tom released her, contemplating, one hand holding his wand and the other hand, with his index finger tapping his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "Which one do you care most about? Which would be the one you would cry and beg and plead for me to stop the most? Of course, we can easily make theory into a practice, after all, they are all readily available. What do you think, Granger?"

He turned to her.

"I'm giving you options, consider yourself fortunate. It's so much more than I grant
most people. You take the easy way or the hard way. It's your choice, Granger. I'm very willing to take either of the options, believe me." Appearing pleased with himself, Tom took a deep breath. "Take the holidays to think about which path you will choose. I must also remind you to be very careful about what you say. You've seen things you shouldn't, so... to make sure you don't spread unfounded rumours... There's a curse placed on your tongue."

"You're lying," Hermione accused, her breath racing as she considered the possibility.

"Am I?" Tom raised one eyebrow. "I would not test it if I were you." A victorious, arrogant grin appeared on Tom's face. "Oh, don’t cry, Granger. I liked you better when you were ferocious, but sometimes, all we need is for the right person to show us where we belong." Tom patted Hermione on the head as if she was some kind of dog. "Thank me later Granger, for reminding you, of your proper place."

Proud of himself, Tom left the bathroom, leaving Hermione alone in the ladies' room.

Hermione was shaking, a few tears falling down her face as she stared at the door, where Riddle had just left. Her tremors were more due to imminent rage than fear, though deep down there was a trail of terror about what Tom Riddle could do to her.

Like a fool

, that's how she had behaved. She has not secured the book, she has been threatened by Riddle and there is a curse on her tongue given by a deadly kiss. But the worst part concerns Alphard Black. She fell for his charms and his friendly flirtations, which felt so much like Sirius Black and especially, for his tolerance of her blood status -

and that shouldn’t even be considered a quality, because everyone here is a wizard or a witch

. But everything was a lie.

Still staring at the door, Hermione cried. She finally let the emotions flow, such emotions that were trapped, contained like a dam. She began to sob. Hermione was desperate.

As if by thought, Alphard entered the ladies' room. He had a startled look but what surprised him the most was to find Hermione in Slytherin men's clothes, her hair bristling and rebellious, while she was weeping and shaking.

"Hermione!" He ran to her, holding her by the shoulders, trying to calm her down. "Are you okay?"

Angrily, Hermione moved away from his touch. Alphard tried to hold onto her but she did not allow it and when she looked up at him, Alphard moved away as he noticed the anger of her gaze. Hermione pushed him, trying to hurt him physically, obviously the use of the wand was more practical, but Hermione was not a torturer. She hadn’t reached that level yet.

"Idiot! Traitor! How dare you touch me after what you did!" She shoved him again. "Bringing Riddle here, denouncing me to him!"

"Did he do something?" Alphard asks, and Hermione shuddered at the suggestion behind Alphard's choice of words.

No, he didn’t do that and Hermione thinks it's impossible for Tom to have some sort of obscure sexual desire but perhaps it wasn’t so strange to think he was capable of such a repulsive act. After all, it would be one more thing to add to Tom Riddle's list of cruelty. However, she doubts it, Riddle considers himself as refined and elegant. He rarely gets his hands dirty and seems to have a strange albeit extremely dubious moral compass.

Hermione shook her head. He did many things, he tortured her, cursed her and threatened, but she will not accuse him of this kind of crime. It's the Gryffindor side
asking her to be fair.

"But what's the point?" Hermione asked accusingly. "Isn’t that what you wanted? You didn't want him to discover the truth? That he would torture me? Isn't that why you brought him here?"

Listening to the accusations,
Alphard replied sharply.

"I saved your life," he said and Hermione snorted at that comment. "You can say what you want but nothing will change the fact that I saved you. You're smart, but you don’t seem to understand how things work."

At this comment, Hermione looked at him, the tears still trickling down her face.

"Riddle needs to think he's always in control, that he knows everything. If he later discovered what you did, I'm afraid of what he would do to you. And to make matters worse, Moaning Myrtle found out and told him about you," Alphard explained. "Riddle cannot be deceived and if he is, for a mere second, his vengeance will be worse."

They stared at each other for a second, before Hermione turned around and with a defeated sigh said,

"Just leave me alone." Her voice sounded defeated and weak. She went to a corner of the bathroom, sat on the floor and hugged her legs, hiding her face.

Alphard observed her for a few seconds and sighed, he walked and sat down next to her. One thing Alphard hated was seeing a girl cry. It could be his flirtatious nature or perhaps it was the etiquette education that he received about to how behave with ladies, but the truth is that

a crying girl always has her reasons

. However, he seems to be more inclined to Hermione. He had developed a fondness for her very quickly, that doesn’t mean he'll be having afternoon tea with her any time soon - both have too much of a divergence of opinions - however, he cares for her. There is a fire in her that he has never seen in another girl. The boldness, courage and ferocity has charmed him. He even envied her on a certain level.

With a wave of his wand, Alphard transfigured Hermione's clothes into the Gryffindor women's uniform.

"Don’t cry," he mumbled beside her, tucking a few strands of her rebellious hair.

She looked up at him and he could see the suffering expression on her face.

"What went wrong, Alphard? What did I do to arouse Tom's interest?"

"You turned out to be a formidable opponent." Alphard answered simply. It made sense or at least it was more logical, but no one could say with a hundred percent certainty what was going on in Riddle's mind. No one ever did.

Hermione snorted and rested her head on Alphard's shoulder, stretching her legs and weeping, and Alphard allowed himself to be a friend's shoulder to sob on. He let her cry and cry, not questioning her motives and the reason she seemed to be so desperate.

It's a fact, girls don’t always make sense.

At some point, Hermione fell asleep and Alphard very slowly lifted her into his arms. He had to take her to the Gryffindor Tower and to deliver her to Enid.

When he was leaving the ladies' bathroom, he was startled to find Pearl Lovegood in the hallway. Dressed in the colors of Ravenclaw, the girl turned her face at him, her straight blond hair so pale it almost looked platinum, contrasting with the blue hair tie that was large enough to look like mouse ears.

The girl was crazy.

Some said she was part Veela, because despite being crazy, the girl was very beautiful.

"Alphard," she greeted him.

"Pearl," he replied.

Pearl looked with interest at Hermione with her clear blue eyes.

"Is she okay?"

"Sleeping."

"Mhm... She doesn’t look very well."

"She was crying." Alphard suddenly felt himself under scrutiny.

"People can die from crying," Pearl said suddenly and almost insensibly.

"Can?" He frowned, Alphard didn’t know if what she was saying was literal or figurative.

"The Broken Heart." She said as if that explained everything and that's why Alphard was sure he would never get into Ravenclaw. In the ranking of the best students, Tom was in first place and Pearl was second.

"Do you want to accompany me?" Alphard asked, and Pearl nodded. Maybe it was better that Pearl accompanies him to the Gryffindor Tower, it would be very strange if he, a Slytherin, took Hermione all the way in his arms alone, as if they were a couple.

o0o

Hungry ... Hungry ... Master ... Hungry ... Alone

- The Basilisk was whispering in the Hogwarts pipes, chasing rats. The Queen of Snakes - yes, queen, because the basilisk was female - was talking with Tom, following through the pipe network of Hogwarts, complaining that she was hungry and that she felt alone. Obviously, the monster felt alone, it had been dormant for such a long time until Tom's arrival. Tom knew he had to visit the Chamber of Secrets once more before the summer holiday to put the Basilisk to sleep again, however, today he ignored the complaints of his monster.

Arriving at the Slytherin common room, he was greeted by Malfoy and Lestrange.

"My Lord." Malfoy addressed him, as did Lestrange. "Do you find yourself well?" Abraxas dared to ask, probably noticing Tom's sudden change of behavior this morning. Abraxas had confused Tom with Granger this morning and now, Tom knows that little witch could play a dangerous game.

Tom did not deign to respond, going up the stairs to the male dormitory. Abraxas may belong to the Malfoy family, one of the most important families of the wizarding world, but he knows his place. So stingy and arrogant, the Malfoy family has more dirt on their hands than Tom's shoe sole, claiming to be one of the purest lines of wizard blood that has ever existed -

what a lie

. Everyone knows and comments how the Malfoy family has intermingled with muggle aristocracy, banishing their squibs and denying involvement with muggles. So, Abraxas shouldn’t even think about questioning Tom.

That's how it has to be

, Tom thought, already lying in his bed after doing his nightly routine.

I need to keep control of my Knights

. Tom cannot afford to vacillate on his control over them, otherwise they would turn against him, and Granger threatened all his control with her behavior, confronting him in front of the Knights, resisting the

Cruciatus

, challenging his magic.

Tom knew that the Knights whispered amongst themselves, it was only human nature, but if they began to doubt his power, then they would rebel and this is something he cannot accept, so ... punishing Granger was necessary, not only for himself but to reaffirm the control that he has over the whole Slytherin House.

Well, he can’t be fooled, which brings him to Alphard Black. It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom, Alphard's behavior towards Granger or how he seemed frightened when
Moaning Myrtle told him that there was a strange girl in the ladies' bathroom. '

That's what I came to say, my Lord,

' Alphard said. Curiously, he found Granger transformed into him, scared and nauseated. I can still taste it on my tongue, Tom thought.

Honestly, it wasn’t Tom's first kiss. He doesn’t see much logic in sharing saliva with people who don't matter to him, which reduces the number of people to zero. However, Tom has used his masculine beauty and flirtation to achieve goals with certaingirls, other times it was out of curiosity. You see, groups of young boys with raging hormones constantly talk about their experiences and desires - some desires are so dumb that they make Tom roll his eyes - but Tom is happy that much of the time he can suppress such primitive impulses that make him so human.

It's dawn and Tom has not been able to close his eyes and sleep, his mind is very alert, the Basilisk is whispering, he's thinking about Granger and Tom's roommates are still asleep. He is tired of lying down and with an impulse, he gets up from the bed.

Anyway, I have to put the Basilisk back to sleep

, he thought with a shrug.

Picking up his wand, Tom also picks up the Diary. Wearing his robe, he left the boys' dormitory and the Slytherin common room In the dungeons the Bloody Baron is making noise with the chains. All of Hogwarts is asleep and he walks peacefully to the ladies bathroom & Moaning Myrtle, Tom knows this castle like the palm of his hand and knows how to walk unnoticed. In the bathroom, he looks around before entering.

"Tom?" Moaning Myrtle says, she is levitating near the window.

"Hello, Myrtle." He says her name like a caress. He knows she doesn’t like to be called 'The Moaning Myrtle'. If ghosts could blush, Myrtle would look like the color of a tomato. "Thank you for yesterday, Myrtle. What would I be without you?" Tom flirts with her, knowing the one-sided, platonic, pathetic love Myrtle feels for him. While alive, Myrtle couldn’t even see him without blushing and running to hide. The muggle-born girl was extremely passionate about the carefully curated image of the perfect boy Tom had created.

Myrtle gets so excited that the edges of her ghostly image undulate. Tom makes the sign of silence and Myrtle confirms repeatedly, before she cannot stand in Tom's presence any longer and flies to one of the toilets to hide. Tom stood, watching the scene, before shrugging and turning to the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets. He looked at the tap with the figure of a snake.

Open it

. He commanded in the tongue of the snakes, in that strange sussuration.

The tap shone with white light and began to turn, then the sink began to move. In fact, the sink disappeared from sight, leaving exposed a large pipe, a pipe big enough for a person to enter. Tom slipped into the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets. He didn’t quite understand why Salazar Slytherin had chosen the main entrance to be a slide, but he supposed Salazar didn’t have many options to hide the Chamber.

At the bottom, Tom stood up and brushed some of the dust from his shoulders. The hall of the Chamber lit up with the dark green color of the wall torches as he walked. Tom stopped in front of the solid wall with the carved image of intertwined snakes.

Open

. He ordered again in parseltongue.

The snakes' gaze seemed to light up as if they were alive, and the solid wall retracted, opening Tom's path to the true Chamber of Secrets, which illuminated in the presence of the Slytherin Heir.

Tom stood in the center of the Chamber, looking at the statue of Salazar Slytherin with his mouth open, which meant that the Basilisk was free, hunting to feed. But Tom knows the monster will not be long in returning since she probably felt the presence of her master. Tom's gaze flickered to the corner of the Chamber, he walked over and looked at the gray brick wall, groping until he found a slightly dislocated brick and pressed it in. The bricks trembled and another passage opened for him.

He entered the room, looking around. Here was the 'lair' of Salazar Slytherin. There was a bookshelf never known by other wizards, which held arcane books and grimoires of various potions, spells and dark magics. Some books were so obscure that black magic sang at the touch of a wizard. A fireplace heated the room, a large bed in the colors of Slytherin and a good place to practice the alchemy of potions and spells. Obviously, Salazar Slytherin spent some of his precious time here, studying and perfecting his magic.

Tom sat on the bed and took a deep breath, opening the Diary, after obtaining a quill to write.

Hello

. Tom wrote.

Hello, Tom. How are we doing? The Diary replied.

We’re fine. No one found out about the Chamber of Secrets and Hogwarts won’t be closed.

What's bothering you?
The Diary asked.

Tom mused, should he tell it about Granger? Yes, he should. The Diary is made to protect him, the Diary must know about everything.

There's a girl.

A girl?

Tom could almost hear his own voice of disbelief.

Yes, a girl. Granger. Hermione Granger .

He waited for the answer, even the Diary itself seemed to think. It was unusual for Tom to worry about anything and anyone, especially if it was a girl.

What is wrong?
The Diary replied.

I'd better show.

Add the memory

. The Diary ordered.

This version of the Diary was the old version, without the knowledge of Granger's arrival and what happened afterwards. This is why the Diary must be fed with new memories, such memories that contain Tom's emotions, thus allowing the Diary to be equal to Tom himself.

Tom took the wand and took a deep breath before pointing the wand at his temple. A bright white line came out of Tom's head and he directed the memories into the Diary and with a firm gesture, he cut off the memory link with his wand. The Diary brightened as he received Tom's recent memories and emotions. Tom waited until the Diary absorbed everything.

So...? Tom asked the Diary's opinion.

She's different

. The Diary didn’t know how to describe her better.

She resisted our magic, she faced us. Keep an eye on her.

Tom smiled at the conclusion of the Diary. Not unlike what he himself had decided.

See you.

See you later, Tom. The Diary said good-bye and then it closed.

Tom sighed and put the Diary in the cabinet near the bed, sealing it with protective magic. Here, the Diary would be safe. Under the protections of Hogwarts, beneath the castle, protected by his own magic, hidden inside the Chamber of Secrets, protected by the Basilisk, in a place that only him --Tom Riddle-- could open. The

Horcrux

was safe.

Master ... Master ...

The susurtation of the Basilisk outside the room.

Tom left, watching the Basilisk, that great snake, raised before the statue of Salazar Slytherin, swallowing a rat that had just been hunted. The wall of the hiding place inside the Chamber closed behind Tom.

He went toward the snake, which slid on her scales, whistling - growling if that were possible - surrounding Tom with her large body.
She looked directly at Tom, with those hypnotizing, murderous yellow eyes, but Tom wasn’t shaken and simply tilted his head to the side. The Basilisk was, somehow, in need.

She opened her mouth, showing those big, grotesque, poisonous teeth, the drool dripping.

The Basilisk lowered her head and Tom put his hand on the scales and hard skin of the snake, and he felt the snake's breath. She was sniffing him, recognizing Tom. He stroked the snake a few times.

It's time to sleep

. He whistled in parseltongue to the snake. The snake retracted, showing her row of teeth, her yellow eyes shining, the snake's tail sliding from side to side. She was against the idea of sleeping again.

Tom smiled. The Basilisk was a very simple animal, very clean and not very demanding. She'd just been a little excited to finally use her skills after a long time of sleep.

Go to sleep.

He ordered. The snake slithered to the statue of Salazar Slytherin, entering the statue's mouth, heading for her hiding place. The statue closed it’s mouth and it was as if the giant snake had never been there.

Tom took a deep breath, lifting his chin as he stared at the statue of his ancestor. Proud of himself.

In the morning, before lunch, that's when he saw her. All the way at the Deputy Headmaster’s office, Tom was cursing Dumbledore mentally. That stupid old man. It was as if Tom was walking to his death because he knew he would have to hand his wand to Dumbledore and that to him, meant death.

He knocked on the door a few times, taking a deep breath and doing his best to keep the expression on his face stoic. The door opened by itself and he entered, surprisingly meeting Hermione. She was sitting in an armchair near the phoenix’s perch, drinking tea and reading a book. She took her eyes off the book momentarily, narrowing her eyes in anger when she saw him, and then returned her attention to the book. Tom tried to read the title of the book, but her hand prevented him from seeing it.

"Where is Professor Dumbledore?" He demanded.

She ignored him and he gritted his teeth at her behavior. It hadn’t been a day since their meeting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and she payed no heed as if none of that had ever happened. That's it, he definitely hates being ignored. Whether or not this relates with his supposed feelings of being an orphan or something about abandonment, Tom doesn’t give a shit. However, the truth is that she knows how to trigger conflicting feelings in him.

"I asked you a question," Tom says.

"If you hadn’t noticed, it's just me who's here," she answers, not taking her eyes off the book.

"You shouldn’t be here. What is your relationship with Dumbledore? Don’t tell me you ... "

He can’t finish because Hermione interrupts him.

"Be very careful what you suggest, Riddle. I will not allow you to impinge my integrity or that of Professor Dumbledore," she responds angrily.

Tom swallows his words.

"Answering your first question: Professor Dumbledore left. He used Floo the network." Hermione pointed to the fireplace, still keeping her eyes on the book. "He said it wouldn’t take long."

Hermione would never tell Riddle that Dumbledore was assisting her to visit St. Mungo's to see Harry. She would never tell him about Harry Potter.

It's an embarrassing silence that sets in, and when Hermione notices that he has made no move to leave the room, she finally stares at him.

"Well, what do you want?" She asks, very seriously.

"You didn’t forget our conversation, did you?" Tom tilts his head a little, at the mention of what happened, his eyes seemed to glow in a vivid green, the shadow of a smile appearing on his face.

Hermione touched her jaw, her lips turning into a thin line.

"It's a little hard to forget, isn’t it?" She replied.

Before the conversation could continue, the crimson bird, the phoenix, flew out the window, taking a few turns before settling back on the perch near Hermione. Both Tom and Hermione swallowed their nervousness of being
observed by Fawkes.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom, that Hermione also restricted her comments in the presence of the phoenix, but anyway, he was the only one who seemed to be at a disadvantage in this room. Since the phoenix seemed to choose Hermione's side.

Dumbledore had the bird protecting her.

"Until lunch, Ms. Granger. Thanks for the information," Tom said softly, a smile on his face. It was such an abrupt change that Hermione had to blink a few times to understand what had happened and before she could respond, Tom was already gone.

At dinner, Tom saw Dumbledore. The reality was that Dumbledore had arrived some time before, but Tom didn’t bother to look for him. Sitting at the Slytherin table, Tom watched Hermione at the far end of the Hall, she was there, sitting equally as a beautiful challenge, and when she looked at Dumbledore expectantly, Dumbledore nodded and her smile appeared.

He didn’t know what kind of relationship she had with Dumbledore, but Tom was sure they both had secrets.

Headmaster Dippet gestured to the students to calm down and pay attention to what he was going to say. Dippet was making the year-end speech, which Tom has already memorised in his mind - if he wants, he could even repeat it.

This is another year gone and blah, blah, blah, blah

... - now, Dippet was talking about the incidents that happened and about the death of the muggle-born Myrtle Warren, which was tragic and difficult for all but mostly for the Ravenclaws. Tom bit his lower lip to hide a giggle. Dippet would now present the Hogwarts Cup.

"In fourth place, Gryffindor with three hundred and twenty points, third place Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two points, second place it’s Ravenclaw with four hundred and sixty-three points. Five hundred points, Slytherin. So, gentlemen and ladies, this year the Cup will go to Slytherin House."

Clapping, the Great Hall was decorated with the colors of Slytherin House. The students applauded in celebration, especially the Slytherins.

"Go ahead, Tom. Go get the Cup." Otis Parkinson spoke and the whole Slytherin table agreed.

Tom rose from the table and walked to Dippet, who held the Cup in his hands, very happy to present it to his favorite student. Slughorn was radiant because Slytherin had won. Tom felt the Cup in his hands, being the center of attention, listening to the claps of the other students and the teachers. He looked around, feeling euphoric, drunk with emotion, the taste of power in his tongue.

He looked at Winky Crockett, the Slytherin House Headboy, who nodded. Tom didn’t need anyone's approval to do what he wanted or what he thought would benefit him. Although Winky was the Headboy, Tom was in charge of Slytherin House.

"Headmaster Dippet," Tom said. With the sound of Tom's voice, they all stopped the celebration, silently watching closely what was happening. Tom did his best to look happy, innocent and worried, even a bit hesitant. His facial expressions, more convincing than any actor on the stage.

"Tom?" Dippet asked.

"We, from Slytherin House, are very happy to receive the Cup. My housemates and I worked hard for the points. But we agreed that if we won the House Cup, we would present the Cup to Ravenclaw House. It was very horrible what happened this year." Tom looked down, still feeling the weight of the Cup in his hands, imitating an expression of regret. "Especially with Miss Warren. So... " He offered the Cup to Dippet again.

Tom looked at the rest of the Great Hall and gave a weak, hesitant smile. The girls from all the Houses were bursting with hormones, all wishing they had Tom Riddle. Tom looked at Slughorn and lowered his eyes, pretending to be embarrassed.

"Well..." Dippet took the cup. "Students, this is an extremely honorable act of Slytherin House, who thought of their classmates first instead of gratification. Miss. Dorothy Greengrass, please come and receive the Cup on behalf of Ravenclaw."

Dorothy Greengrass, in her uniform perfectly neat and her hair black with not a strand out of place, walked up the stairs to Dippet. In front of Tom, she reached out for a greeting and for a moment Tom saw that familiar glow as she looked up at him. Lust, longing and libido. She smiled at him with those red lipstick painted lips and then turned to Dippet, picking up the House Cup.

"Thank you very much, Headmaster. Thank you very much, Mr. Riddle and thank you to every one of the Slytherin House. Your act will not be forgotten by the Ravenclaw House. "

The girl could very well have been a Slytherin.

The Great Hall burst into applause again. When Tom sat down, Greengrass was still staring at him from the Ravenclaw table. Her pining gaze told him much as she bit her bottom lip. Rosier and Avery noticed the look Greengrass was giving Tom and they looked at each other as they snickered.

"Looks like someone wants to have her skirt lifted today," Lestrange muttered and Mulciber and Nott laughed.

Tom snorted and lifted an eyebrow, propping his elbow on the table, while his hand was supporting his head. Behind the figure of Miss. Greengrass, Tom noted the 'exquisite challenge' at the opposite end of the Hall, Granger. Hermione Granger. She looked at him too, her lips in a thin, serious scowl. And Tom knew,

she knows.

She knows it was all pure theater.

In the common room of Slytherin, Dolohov complained.

"I can’t believe we won in Quidditch and had to hand over the Cup to Ravenclaw."

"Whatever." Alphard shrugged, sitting on one of the sofas as he watched a girl.

"Anyway, we'll get the Cup next year," Rosier concluded.

"Don’t be stingy," Lestrange said and everyone looked at him in disbelief that he was the person saying this.

"No, Lestrange is right," Tom murmured, sitting in his favorite armchair. His comment caught the eyes of everyone. "Give alms to the poor. It's the moral code, isn’t it?" He chuckled, making others laugh.

Tom watched the others silently and attentively, paying special attention to Alphard, who was leaning slightly over Madame Blentchley, with one hand above Madame's head, smiling at her and biting his lower lip. She, in turn, was blushing.

Tom got up and left the common room, heading toward the Deputy Headmaster's office. He didn’t even have to knock on the door because it was already opening for him and in the center of the office was Dumbledore. Granger was out of sight.

"Come in, Tom." Dumbledore said.

Tom's jaw clenched with a bouncing nerve. He took deliberately slow steps, holding the wand with an iron grip.

"Professor," Tom greeted. He looked at the phoenix, who stared at him with the same intensity of gaze, resting on the perch.

"Lemon drops?" Dumbledore offered, and Tom declined. "Well, Mr.Riddle." Dumbledore raised his hand, leaving the palm upwards, asking.

Tom squeezed his wand more, refusing to give it up to Dumbledore, his insides were corroding with the idea of relinquishing his wand for another summer.

"Professor, please," he begged, looking at the wand in his hands.

"We've had this conversation before, Tom."

"Please, let me stay. I don’t want to go back to the orphanage. Let me stay in Hogwarts this summer. I promise I will not cause any trouble ... you will not even feel my presence here. I’d do anything! I’ll even help the elves!" Tom spoke quickly, almost without pause. Offering himself to do any job, because all he wanted was to stay at Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry, Tom. But you must go back to the orphanage," Dumbledore said. He felt that Tom had grasped magic and power very quickly, Tom needed to have contact and interaction with muggles and the outside world to alleviate the ambition that Dumbledore saw so much in him.

"Please, Professor! I would do anything! I helped find the monster that was hurting the students! I don’t deserve this reward? I shall return the medal!"

Dumbledore had seen Tom's despair for a moment, recognising the genuine emotion that these green eyes conveyed. However, when Tom quoted the supposed 'monster' of Hogwarts, Aragog, Dumbledore's suspicion returned.

"I'm sorry, my young man," Dumbledore denied him with regret in his voice.

Tom lowered his gaze again at Dumbledore's refusal, the grip he held on his wand was so strong that it was possible to hear the sound of his hand clutching the wand's wood. Tom took a deep breath, regrouping and raised his head to face Dumbledore, his chin slightly pointed up, wanting to indicate superiority. Dumbledore has no idea how difficult it was for him to beg to stay at Hogwarts. He hates to beg, it gives him the same feeling as someone tearing his skin off. His pride makes him angry.

"Here." He placed his wand in Dumbledore's hand. Refusing to face Dumbledore for another moment, Tom turned and walked toward the door.

"Good vacation, Tom." He heard Dumbledore say, before closing the door.

Someday I'm going to drown this old man in his own blood and with my own hands. Or who knows, I can throw him off the Astronomy Tower.

Tom returned cursing Dumbledore more than when he went to his office. In a corner of the hall, Tom stopped, hiding behind a pillar. He saw Granger and the two Prewett brothers. They were talking to each other, with Granger and the younger Prewett comforting the older Prewett, Ignatius. Granger hugged Ignatius, an act that surprised both brothers, including Tom himself. Her hands went up and down Ignatius's back, as if she were comforting a child. Above Ignatius's shoulder, her face had a strange expression. A mixture of anguish and understanding. When she separated from Ignatius, Ectur put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, as if to say 'thank you.' Ectur waved at her and patted Ignatius on the upper back. The brothers asked Granger about something, bid her farewell, and made their way to Gryffindor Tower. Granger stood still, watching them depart and then she turned to view the dusk with the new moon shining in the clear sky. A clear summer night with a few stars sparkling. The wind blew her hair lightly, she sighed and made her way towards Tom, not knowing he was hiding.

He leaned against the pillar, folding his arms. The figure of his person mingling with darkness, the only color that stood out was the green of his eyes and the green of the
Slytherin uniform.

When Granger noticed his presence, he observed her hesitation to continue on the path, but in the end, tapping into her Gryffindor courage, she continued with firm steps. Riddle raised one eyebrow and looked with interest as she passed him. His only movement was with his eyes, those green eyes following her. He waited and finally striked with a 'snake-like grip', grabbing her arm.

"Making your way to Dumbledore, Granger?" He asked, holding her arm. "Shall I remind you again of the curse?"

Of course he didn’t overcome her ignoring him, even after all that had happened. It's not common for his victims to ignore him.

She snorted.

"Now I'm sure you're bluffing about this curse on my tongue. You wanted me to be scared, to cry and beg you." She replied, face to face with him, even though she was still under his grip.

A smirk appeared on Tom's face. If he couldn’t curse Dumbledore, he would punish his favorite student.

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow. Tom leaned down so that his lips were touching her ear. His breath shivered Hermione. "It would be a shame if the snake image under your tongue released the curse and infected you. This curse would rot your tongue and cause necrosis in your mouth until nothing remained. You would not look so pretty then"

Tom turned to look at Granger's face and see the look of horror on her face.

"Of course, this will not happen if you don’t say anything about that night in that room or in that bathroom. Because, let's face it, Granger, our little secrets shouldn’t fall on the wrong ears. They’re
our secrets are they not?"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 8. Crotalus -
Locked with a Lioness

Edited January 2024

Hermione took a deep breath and assessed her clothes for the third time, due to the looks she was getting from her appearance. She was not wearing the appropriate women's clothing for the period. People looked at her with pity -

maybe she was eccentric or had permanent brain damage

, that's what they thought.

For a long time, Hermione believed the wizard community was more advanced than the muggle world when it came to being less judgmental, but little by little she understood that this wasn't quite an absolute truth.

She sighed, in her thoughts, the clothes were the least of her worries.

Realising her mood, Dumbledore squeezed her shoulder in an act of companionship. She smiled weakly at him, very eager to reach St. Mungo's fourth floor; the floor for people who are 'severely injured' by jinxes, hexes, charms or brain damage. It was on this floor that her friend Harry Potter was a patient. And that scared her.

Many things were scaring her. Riddle scared her. He is strangely compulsive, cold, arrogant, malicious, and perhaps it is worse to deal with a young handsome Dark Lord than with a snake-faced Dark Lord. While the future Riddle has become a powerful, impulsive and incoherent wizard, young Riddle is much more controlled but no less deadly, he is sneaky and intelligent. And that doesn't even make much sense since Hermione still doubts how sane he is.

Which leads her to the magic snake tattoo under her tongue. After that fateful night speaking with Riddle, she felt the magic in her tongue. In the Gryffindor dormitory ladies' bathroom, Hermione picked up her wand and looked in the mirror, she raised her tongue and used a spell to reveal the curse. On her pink tongue, the black outline of a snake appeared. The snake was curled into itself, resting, which meant it had not activated the curse. If she remembered well, Riddle said the curse would be triggered specifically if she talked about what happened in the Come-and-Go Room or the Moaning Myrtle bathroom, which left a huge amount of space of what not to do.

Well, we all agree that she can't talk about these events. But Hermione doesn't know how far this curse goes.

Can any word that is connected with these events activate the curse? Can I write about what happened? Can I make someone guess about what happened?

There are many theories, and she selfishly admits that she will not test them. She values her life too much for such foolish risk taking, preferring to spend a few hours studying a way to break the spell.

All her thoughts are cut off when she finally reaches the fourth floor. Her heart clenches, her breathing falters and her hands begin to sweat. Hermione walks deliberately slowly, admitting to herself that she is afraid to see what condition Harry is in.

To answer her questions, a healer is waiting for her and Dumbledore. He guides them both to Harry's bed, opening the curtains so she and Dumbledore could see him.

Harry was… fine, or so it seemed. Hermione's breath was ragged as if her lungs couldn't expand fully as she inhaled. She took a few steps toward the bed, her hand lifting to gently touch Harry’s face. At first, she saw nothing wrong with him. Harry was without any injuries, however, he was a little pale. His dark hair was a little longer, rebellious and growing in any and all direction, reminding Hermione of his hair at the Yule Ball.

She sat on the edge of the bed and lightly ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the strands from his forehead. With her thumb, she traced an invisible path across his forehead, where the jagged scar that made him recognisable should be. To her astonishment, the scar was no longer there. She looked down at his face, watching his eyes tremble behind his eyelids.

"Harry…?" She tried to wake him.

"It's no use." The healer in green medical robes said. Hermione lifted her head, finally paying attention to the healer, still not leaving her position by Harry’s side.

"What's wrong with him?" She asked.

“All the injuries that were possible to heal, we have healed. But your friend still doesn't wake… There's normal brain activity, but it's like he's sleeping. A very deep sleep. We do not know what this is. We've tested everything. We have not seen this before. All tht's left now is to wait.”

Hermione's nose wrinkled in dismay at the healer's response, she really couldn't blame him, but she had expected better news.

"I would like to see the medical report please," Hermione demanded. Dumbledore was surprised by the tone of her voice.

"Child, I believe a young lady such as yourself would not understand it." The healer said.

"I will be the judge of that." Hermione held out her hand, waiting for the report.

The healer looked at Dumbledore for guidance and Dumbledore nodded for him to do as she asked.

No jinx.

No hex.

No charms.

No torturing spells.

No injuries.

Patient Status: Unconscious - Deep Sleep.

Hermione's hands began to shake as she finished reading. She wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and ran a hand through her hair to
pacify her growing anxiety.

This is bad,

she thought.

This is very bad.

If the St. Mungo's healers have already done their best to resuscitate Harry through potions and spells, and yet he still hasn’t woken up, then this is very bad.

Hermione hung her head in both hands, trying to think, trying to find a safe path for her and Harry, but nothing came to mind. She felt her eyes sting as she fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

She looked at Harry, realising that his eyes were still moving fiercely behind his eyelids.

"Harry…?" She tried again, taking his hand in hers. "It's me, Hermione."

Harry's grip tightened as she mentioned her name. Her brows drew together as a strange expression of sadness and happiness took over her face. The tears she tried to hold now were streaming down her face.

Somehow Harry recognised her voice.

"I'll remain with Harry," she said suddenly.

"Miss, I believe—" The healer was interrupted by Hermione.

"I'll stay with Harry," she said. Her tone showed that it was non-negotiable.

She couldn’t leave Harry. They were best friends. They were like siblings. Harry would die for her and she would die for him. It was the meaning of loyalty. Not even when Ron left the tent did she leave Harry, even though the sadness in her heart was immense. All three were at the height of tension, and the Salazar Slytherin locket did nothing but intensify their fears and the stressful situation. However, even then it was not able to divert her from what was right or make her forget about Harry's friendship.

She didn't even realise that the healer had left, her energy focused so completely on Harry Potter. Hermione felt as Dumbledore sat in an armchair near the bed while she was still holding Harry's hand.

"Your loyalty is remarkable," Dumbledore muttered. "I'm impressed."

"Harry is my best friend," Hermione replied, not taking her eyes off him. “I always thought there was a difference between the friendship that Harry and I have as opposed to his friendship with Ron. Don't get me wrong, the three of us are friends, but I'm not a boy - obviously.”

“However, when Harry and I entered the wizarding world, we immediately understood each other,” she continued. “We knew nothing about the wizarding world being raised as muggles, we were innocent and ignorant of its traditions and ways, even though Harry was a half-blood wizard. He knew how I felt; he always knew.”A tear fell down her cheek. “I always say that Harry is my best friend, but the truth is that he's like a brother. A brother I never had. And Ron… Oh, poor Ron. He must be going crazy with worry.”

She looked down to observe the clasped hands of her and Harry.

"Ron…" Hermione smiled as she quoted him. “He always brought joy & laughter to us. Admittedly, some of his comments were quite acidic, but that's… Ron. He complained too much, was too scared, but never turned his back when we really needed him and always defended us. To this day I remember when he tried to protect me from Draco when he called me a mudblood. Ron cast the

Slug

spell, but his wand was broken and the spell rebounded on him.” She laughed at the memory. "Harry was the first to realise my feelings for Ron, just as I realised about the way he looked at Ginny."

Hermione looked at Dumbledore, her lips trembled as she avoided crying like a child.

“I have to stay with him. I have to find a way to help him and find a way back to our time. I have to find a solution… I can always find a solution, but I… I…”

She didn't want to tell Dumbledore that she was really afraid she couldn't find a way out of this whole problem.

“Patience, my child. If we always act in despair, we will miss important moments of our journey. Take time for yourself and calmly think about what has to be done.”

Dumbledore kept her company all afternoon, he was reluctant to leave her there, next to Harry, but she assured him that it would be okay, after all, she had her special bag. She sat in the armchair that was recently occupied by Dumbledore. Hermione is aware that she cannot keep Dumbledore with her, she knows that he is important during this time and she cannot be a distraction to him when Grindelwald is at the height of power.

She never unclasped Harry's hand, she talked to him and tried to reassure him in his deep and disturbing sleep. Somehow Harry seemed to be a little aware of the surroundings, even though he was sleeping. That's what she thinks, because all the while Harry's grip never loosened.

Eventually, Hermione fell asleep leaning over Harry's bed, however, constant murmurs aroused her. Sleepily, she opens her eyes, blinking a few times and licking her dry lips. She recoils from the position in which she fell asleep, feeling a slight pain in her neck and back. She looks around, noting the bluish light coming through the windows that indicated it was dawn.

She sighs and looks at Harry, who was still unchanged and sleeping, when her ears notice the constant mumbling sounds in the corridor. Hermione gets up slowly from the chair, her breathing becoming low as she takes her wand out of her holster. With slow steps she walks toward the sound in the corridor, her wand ready for any confrontation.

Hermione was surprised when an elderly man grabbed her by the arms, coming face to face with her. Startled, she does not react, but stares into the blind, cloudy white eyes of the old man with gray and tousled hair and a long beard. He muttered meaningless things, shaking her like a rag doll. Hermione fearfully wanted to let go of the man's grip, but what he said made her stop momentarily.

"I see. I see!” He shouted at her. "This is not your time, but I see!"

"Please, let me go!" She asked. "You're hurting me."

"Mr. Mopsus!” A nurse was running down the hall, accompanied by two male nurses. “Mr. Mopsus, you can't run away like that, running all over the hospital.”

“I saw it! I saw it! ” Mopsus was being led back by the two nurses. “I saw the dead lioness with the snake coming out of her mouth! I had a vision!” He shouted as he was taken back.

"Don't be afraid." Hermione was startled when the nurse spoke and touched her shoulder. “He is Chaos Mopsus, of the Mopsus family, descendants of the great wizard seer Mopsus. Apparently, clairvoyance is hereditary, or so he thinks. He may not make sense, but he doesn't hurt anyone. However, this morning he was very agitated for some reason.” The smiling nurse in the crisp white uniform said. “By the way, I'm nurse Poppins. How can I help you?”

"I ... I'm
with my friend." Hermione said.

"And who would he be?" Poppins asked.

"Harry P-Evans." Hermione almost said Harry Potter.

Poppins seemed to think, that's when she looked in the direction Hermione had seemed to come from.

"Oh, poor thing," Poppins muttered. “Your friend is the sleeping boy. I hope he gets better soon. We're doing our best, but I think it's just a matter of time before he wakes up.” Poppins smiled and winked at Hermione before making her way down the hall.

Hermione returned to Harry’s room and leaned over him and again traced a path on Harry's forehead where his scar should have been. She made a repetitive movement of back and forth with her thumb as it occurred to her: You-Know-Who.

She let out a gasp of breath she didn't know she was holding.

She felt anger in her heart, a merciless desire to hurt. She locked her jaw as she tried to reconcile those emotions with logic; the logic she almost threw out the window. No one could really blame her for having such impure and angry thoughts; the irresistible desire to hurt Tom Riddle. After all, it was all his fault.

Hermione clenched a fist, closing her eyes, trying to control herself. She sat in the armchair by Harry's bed and crossed her arms, rocking back and forth, looking at him.

There was a strange whispering voice deep in Hermione's mind, telling her to go after Riddle and put an end to it. To put an end to Him.

Was it possible that Riddle's death would awaken Harry? What would the odds be?

She wondered. For all she knows, it should be easier to kill the young Dark Lord.

He wasn't that powerful yet, was he?

Maybe she could kill him.

He already has a Horcrux. Well, he only has one Horcrux; this is much easier than six. But, oh, shit ... It's the Diary. It's the fucking Diary. Merlin knows where he kept it

. Hermione
was exasperated. No one ever knew where Riddle kept the Diary during his time at Hogwarts. She scratched her head at the obstacles and the potential failures of her plan.

It was July. Hermione was there at St. Mungo’s, always beside Harry, sitting in that armchair, sometimes praying for a force beyond her comprehension to help them both. Other times she experimented with spells to try to help Harry. She talked to him constantly, even though she never had an audible answer, Harry pressed his hand against hers and she knew that maybe he understood. The armchair next to Harry's bed could already be addressed with the name of Hermione Granger, because she barely left this place. She was very much like a mother, but no one can judge her, because, over the years, Hermione has developed a strange kind of maternal protective
instinct toward Harry and Ron.

She developed a friendship with nurse Poppins. At first, Poppins passed her just to check on Harry's health, then , during her break time, Poppins would chat with Hermione. Until one day, the two had lunch together. The conversation between them was friendly and lighthearted, but not so deep. Hermione would never open herself and divulge her story and fears, however, she thought it would be beneficial to have someone who cares and who can tell her about Harry's condition when she can't be there.

After that strange night with Mopus, Hermione slept less and remained as alert as possible. Dumbledore always sent letters, often protected by magic. In the letters, in most of them anyway, Dumbledore gave her news and advice. Important advice or just updating it, telling her about the kind of ideological war within the Ministry or of Grindelwald's advances. It was nothing very specific, he didn't go into details. Until one day a letter protected by warding spells arrived. A letter with a message she couldn't ignore.

Hermione,

Dangerous. Move. You have been in one place for too long. You must find somewhere new to stay. Your dear friend will be fine. I give my word.

Albus Dumbledore.

Nothing more need be said, she knew who it was: Grindelwald. It meant that Grindelwald was tracking her, either out of curiosity or self-interest and well, she wasn't in the mood to find out what Grindelwald's motivation was.

Hermione thought it wouldn’t be too long before an attempt would happen. However, she also thought the strong magic wards protecting St.Mungo's made Grindelwald's search for her more difficult, and let's face it, nobody attacks a hospital. It's against the rules of war - if war really has any - or rather, it's immoral.

Hermione looks at Harry once more, pressing his hand against hers and lowering her face until it is level with his ear.

“I have to go away for our own safety, but I'll be back, Harry. I'll find a way to get us out of here.” She whispered to him and felt his hand squeeze hers. Harry trusted her, he always did.

She bites her lower lip. She hates what she's doing, she doesn't want to be apart from him. Separating makes both weaker. Together they are stronger. But it's necessary.

She takes one last look at Harry before turning her back.

o0o

She is walking through the crowd on the north side of Diagon Alley, which never seems to be empty. Hermione already has everything she needs in mind, which is why she goes straight to the Eeylops’ Owls Emporium. She needs a long distance owl to deliver her letters, an owl who was quick and smart and who was good at camouflage tactics.

As soon as she entered, the bell at the door indicated Hermione's arrival. She looked around curiously, noting some differences in the store. The assistant surprised Hermione when she suddenly appeared in front of her.

"Hello, how can I help you, Miss?" She smiled.

The girl didn’t look much older than Hermione, she had light hair in an almost undone messy bun, with owl feathers in her hair. She had pale, kind green eyes with freckles on her cheeks and the tip of her nose, her lips were thin and her two front teeth were slightly larger than they should be, and they were square. Hermione smiled as she noticed something in common with the girl. She remembered well what her own teeth were like.

"I'm looking for an owl." Hermione replied.

“Oh, feel free to look around the store. The manager is not here, but anything you want, you can call me. My name is Jane.” She introduced herself. “Oh, by the way, I believe owls are like wands, you know? They choose their owners. Well, at least that's what I think. So be calm and don't be afraid. We don't want an accident like last week,” Jane muttered. “An owl's claws can be quite destructive when they want to be, but owls, in general, are calm and well behaved. Of course, it’s not very easy for those who are afraid of birds of prey, but, try to be composed…”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, quickly realising that if she didn't move away from Jane, the girl would continue to talk endlessly, rambling on with her owlish conversation.

Hermione walked further into the store, her boots clattering on the hardwood floor. She looked around at the owls. Every time she tried to get close to an owl that caught her eye, the owl would fly away or simply turn its neck one hundred and eighty degrees so it wouldn't have to look at her.

Owl feathers slowly fell to the floor and Hermione followed them with her gaze as a black feather slowly descended into her open hand. She held the quill and brought it to her eye level, observing the details until in her field of vision she noticed a dark cage in the corner of the store. Curious, she moved closer, squinting to make sense of the image she was seeing.

That was when a pair of ruby-red eyes looked at her when the owl turned its head. Hermione was surprised for a moment, staring at the owl that winked calmly at her. Unlike the other owls, this one didn't seem to want to get away from her and reflected in her ruby eyes was the same curiosity that Hermione had.

"Asio Stygius or also known as the Devil Owl." Jane's voice made Hermione jump in fright. She put her hand on her chest to calm her heartbeat.

"Come here, my sweetie." Jane opened the cage and with a leather glove, letting the owl land on her arm and then she brought the owl into the light so Hermione could see.

At first, Hermione thought that because of the owl's appearance in the darkness, the owl looked like a little demon, with dark feathers and red eyes and two small, horn-like feathers above its head. But as soon as she saw the owl in the light, the initial picture fell apart.

The owl still had black feathers, but in the belly area it had yellowish and white feathers, the darker feathers above the head were still up like little horns, but now it gave the owl a cuter expression. And the eyes lost their ruby shade to be a brighter orange colour.

It was a large owl with claws curling into Jane's leather glove and as if to show this fact, the owl spread its wings before bringing them against its body.

“This is an owl from South America. The eye tint is typically yellow or orange, but when the light reflects on the owls' eyes in darkness, the eye color turns red. Combined with the color of the feathers, these owls became known as Devil Owls.” Jane explained. "But really, they don't hurt anyone, right, my boy?"

Hermione looked at the owl and smiled. The owl was calm and blinked again, looking at her. Hermione put her index finger close to the small feather area near the owl's beak and petted it a few times.

"Looks like this boy here likes you," Jane said.

"I'll take him."

"Great!" Jane smiled. “I will prepare his things. Let's go to the cashier.”

Hermione closely followed Jane with her new owl.

While putting the owl in the cage. "Oh, those owls are really nocturnal," Jane said. "So, do you already have a name for him?" She asked.

Hermione looked at the owl, who quickly managed to camouflage himself in the darkness of the cage. It was then that Hermione spoke the first name that came to mind when she looked at the owl.

"Nix," she answered.

"Nix?" Jane questioned.

"Yes. Nix This is his name.” Hermione concluded. “Despite being a female name, Nix was the deep night goddess and protector of witches and wizards according to Greek mythology. Isn't that a proper name for him?”

“Well, looking at it that way.” Jane shrugged, a smile on her face. "Looks like Nix is a good name."

Jane handed Hermione the cage with Nix inside and some snacks for Nix after Hermione paid with galleons.

"Well, it looks like it's you and me." Hermione told Nix, who winked at her again.

Hermione apparated, holding Nix's cage and her small bag. When she reached the destination she desired, she smelled the salt spray and listened to the roar of the sea, the boots she wore sank into the sand, the sky was a clear and blue and the sun shone on this uninhabited and safe place. She looked back and watched the ocean before starting to walk over the dunes to a flatter area.

"Come on, Nix." She murmured to the owl, who was now her constant companion.

Hermione set Nix's cage on the floor and pulled her wand from its holster. Her gaze faltered a little as she focused on the spells. She began to erect the same magical wards and barriers she used when she, Harry and Ron hunted the

Horcruxes

.

"

Cave Inimicum

," she whispered. "

Protect Totalum

." She continued. “

Salvio Hexia. Repello Muggletum. Muffiliate. Disillusion Charm

.”

Hermione used a sequence of protective spells for her and Nix's safety. She was confident of the spells she cast. Following basic reasoning, Voldemort was considered more powerful than Grindelwald, if the Dark Lord couldn’t track them while hunting the

Horcruxes

, then Grindelwald wouldn’t find her either, if she warded with the same sequence of protective spells.

She let out a relieved breath. From her small bag, Hermione called the tent with an

Accio

and began to set up her camp with magic. And there she was, that damn tent that reminded Hermione of the worst moments of her life and yet it was the only place Hermione could call home.

When she had finished setting up and entered, Hermione placed Nix's cage in a corner and conjured a perch for him beside the bed. Then, she opened the cage and let Nix out, he quickly flew and settled on the perch, spreading his wings momentarily. She gave him some snacks, but Hermione would let Nix hunt tonight. It would be good if he developed a bond of trust with her.

Focusing on arranging things allowed Hermione to escape her anxieties and concerns. She spent all afternoon putting everything in place, the books on the shelf, making a place for alchemy and brewing, putting away clothes and food, cleaning and making the environment cosier. In the early evening, after she had finished the magic, Hermione took a hot shower and put on her pyjamas and put the kettle on to boil, so she could make tea and let Nix out to hunt.

As she sipped her tea, Hermione began to think of the next steps she should take. Here, she would have time to research how to break the curse that was upon her tongue, perhaps how to resuscitate Harry and how to return to her time. Unconsciously, she picks up the Time-Turner around her neck and looks at the object that has caused so much trouble. The fine emerald sand inside the hourglass seems to glow in the light. She runs her fingers gently over the parseltongue words and feels the magic in the necklace. Hermione raises the Time-Turner to eye level and for a fleeting moment, she thinks she can hear the same murmurs that enticed her to enter the Forbidden Forest. Startled, she lets the Time Turn fall around her neck again.

Even if it was short, the intensity of her interaction with Time Turner gives her a headache.

Hermione finished the tea quickly, brushed her teeth and went to bed. Tomorrow she will send a letter to Dumbledore and another to Poppins.

-

Professor Dumbledore,

This is Nix, don't be alarmed by his appearance. He is a quiet owl, but so far, he's lovely. I followed your advice. I'm in a new place where the sun, the sea and the sand is a constant. It's a familiar place that I can call home. Don’t worry about me. Please keep me informed. I hope everything is alright.

Hermione.

Dear Nurse Poppins,

I apologise for not saying goodbye to you in person, I had to return home quickly. I hope everything is fine. I'm worried about Harry. Would it be too much for me to ask you to keep me informed about him? Forgive me for the inconvenience. I hope one day we can repeat that afternoon when we had lunch together. Thank you for everything.

Hermione

PS: Don't be afraid of the owl. He’s called Nix.

That morning, after writing the letters, Hermione handed them to Nix for him to take. She wondered if it was impolite or unkind of her to ask Poppins for that favour, but big problems call for desperate measures. She just hoped Poppins's response would be positive.

The month of August was when Hermione used her vast knowledge about magic. She tested potions, read books, and used spells. One time, as she tried to break the curse on her tongue, it made her tongue heat up as if she'd eaten pounds of pepper. She cried and for a moment when she thought her tongue might rot.
Another time, she tried to reveal the soccery in the Time-Turner, but it bounced off her magic and she looked like a poodle when the electricity of the magic hits her hair.

The constant failures were starting to overcome Hermione and soon she was becoming more stressed minute by minute. And without any company, but Nix, she was feeling a little lonely.

Fortunately, Poppins responded positively to Hermione and she constantly sent letters. Dumbledore too, however, he explained that he was constantly in the Ministry of Magic - and that he was afraid of Grindelwald's growing
influence at Durmstrang.

But it was on the nineteenth of August that she received a letter from Poppins.

Hermione,

I'm sorry, your friend has not yet awakened ...

Hermione didn’t dare finish reading the letter because her hands were shaking so hard that she crumpled it. Hermione's breath became quicker and she panted as drops of tears wet the paper in her hands. That familiar anger began to rise within her. The same anger that Harry described.

It's all his fault

, Hermione thought.

It's all Riddle's fault.

She couldn't control her impulsiveness, a trait of her personality that was little used, but which had made her a member of Gryffindor House. She really couldn't control it. Her emotions spoke loudly and then she

apparated

.

She was in an alley in London, which wasn't quite as she remembered, but she was sure she was in the right place. After all, when she came here, London was different and modern, but she doesnt need much. It is 1943, during the time of World War II.

Hermione walks out of the alley she apparated into, casting her wand to transfigure her clothes into women's clothing of this era because now she would walk amongst muggles.

Her steps were steady, she was determined, emotions bubbled up inside her.

As she neared the place where Tom Riddle was born and raised, her steps slowed. Hermione analysed Wool’s Orphanage carefully, her eyes narrowing. When she stepped on a discarded newspaper, she looks, reading its headlines.

Churchill, Roosevelt and Mackenzie King meet in Canada.

The First Conference of Quebec,

Hermione acknowledged in amazement. Her attention was captured when she heard rapid footsteps, someone running toward her. She looked up and saw. Tom Riddle.

He stopped just inches from her, panting from the run, his cheeks red and he is slightly altered. There was an adrenaline smile on his face that faded as he recognised her. His eyes widened, two green orbs that glowed red for a second. He swallowed, then his mouth made an 'O'.

They were both standing outside the main gate of Wool’s Orphanage.

Hermione inspected him from the top of his head,
down to his feet, and her eyes caught the ring on Riddle's finger. That ring. The second

Horcrux

.

“Granger…?”

The large double entrance doors of Wool’s Orphanage opened and a man, who limped out on one leg, came out with an angry red expression on his face. Both Tom and Hermione turned their faces to see the man approaching.

"Boy, come here!" The man shouted, presumably to Riddle. He opened the entrance gate, his eyes firmly fixed on Riddle until he noticed Hermione. He looked at her from top to toe and the voice softened a little. “Forgive me, Miss. I hope he's not bothering you.”

Hermione just shook her head in silence as she watched the man grab Riddle by the back of his neck, tilting Riddle's head and chest down as a form of punishment, and pushing him inside. They entered and Hermione could hear the man grumble and curse. For a moment she saw Riddle's gaze on her. It was a cold look.

o0o

Tom was now locked in the mildewed, dark basement of the orphanage, the place of punishment for those who break the rules. He touched the damp, cold gray wall after he took off and threw his jacket on the floor. By reflex, he touched the left corner of his lip, wiping the small trail of blood from the hard slap he had received from brutish Mr. Wool.

None of this would have happened if he had not run into Granger. She distracted him and important seconds were lost. If she hadn’t interfered, he would have returned to the orphanage in time, and Mrs. Cole would never miss him and warn Mr. Wool. But no, Granger had to come and see him in that humiliating situation, had to know the conditions he lived in when he was not at Hogwarts.

Did it have to be her?

He wondered.

Calm down.

He said to himself.

You still have the power in this situation. You are more powerful.

Yes, he was more powerful. Tom touched the ring on his finger, looking at the dark stone. It was the other

Horcrux

. His second

Horcrux

.

I did it, I killed them all. Tom smiled.

There was no one else alive carried the muggle blood of his blood. His father, grandparents, were dead. Everyone dead by his hands. By now his uncle must be on his way to Azkaban. Tom raised a hand to the sunlight streaming through the small basement window. His skin paled, the ring stood out in his hand, the dark stone didn’t shine. That's when his attention went to his own skin and he felt the beads of sweat.

Now he was realising that his breathing was heavier and he was starting to feel cold and was sweating. He leaned his forehead against the cold wall, trying to appease the warmth that seemed to be in his head, caused by the slight headache. Tom closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath.

The small price to pay to escape death. Before the 'immortality' given by creating a

Horcrux

, comes the severe fatigue. The body is tired and adapting to the loss of a part of its soul. And Riddle was feeling it now, and it was definitely worse than the first time, but that's what made him stronger and more powerful. Or so he thought.

Tom was still leaning his head against the wall when he felt that familiar 'whoosh'. A pressure of gravity that broke the standards of muggle logic. Magic. He lifted his head a little and slowly looked out of the corner of his eye at his new company. The invader.

She was there, she had conjured an armchair for herself, which she made look like a queen's throne, sitting upright with her arms resting on the armrests and with her legs elegantly crossed.

Tom watched her. Her hair was still full, but somehow more controlled, she had a clip to hold some strands of hair to one side. Granger was dressed in a short-sleeved white ladies' social shirt, the godét skirt marking her slim waist, and the length of which was just below her knees in dark blue.

He didn't resist, looking too hard at her calves, his gaze rising over her skin until the sight of her legs was hidden by her skirt.

It was then that he looked at her expression. She was passive of emotions, her expression was serene and he felt she was analysing him. Her cheeks were tanned and healthy from the sun, wherever she was on vacation, she was definitely enjoying it. She tilted her head slightly and her left hand moved, drawing Riddle's attention to the wand she held.

What was she doing here?

Tom wondered.

Is Dumbledore involved in this? Does he know what I did and sent his golden student to find out? Because it’s too much of a coincidence that she knows exactly what orphanage I am in.

Riddle contemplated his options, because now she seemed a threat. He could do magic without using his wand, the problem though is that the spells he would use wouldn’t be considered accidental magic. Obviously, wouldn’t be considered accidental magic, him, an exemplary student with formidable magical control. Of course, there could be exceptions, but this would not be one of them.

He could steal her wand, however, wands can be traced. It was with this method that he was able to make his uncle, Morfin Gaunt, guilty of the death of the Riddle family. And if Granger got hurt by a dangerous spell caused by her wand, Dumbledore would probably investigate. That is, he has no way out.

He really has no way out until he knows what Granger wants. Tom now realises that it is she who is playing the game at that moment. And he notices, she breathes and raises her chin in defiance when she realises that he understands.

He is locked with the lioness.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 9. Echis
-
All This and More

Edited January 2024

Tom felt as if the surroundings were spinning as he moved to face Hermione. He was feeling weak and tired, but he didn't want to give her the pleasure of seeing his true condition. So, he did his best to stand, putting his hands in his front pockets and lifting his chin a little.

"Well, to what do I owe the honor of your presence, Miss. Granger?" He asked, with a tone of disdain in his voice.

His attitude didn't impress Hermione, who was still passive and with an 'air' of superiority. She blinked solemnly.

"What is the counter-spell for the curse you put on me?" She asked calmly.

Tom snorted.

"What makes you think I would tell you?"

"Must be because I have the advantage here." She replied, unshaken by Tom's words.

"I don't think so." Tom grinned mischievously. “It doesn't look like you have the upper hand since you need to ask how to break the curse.”
It was Hermione's turn to smirk.

“I always try to ask politely first, in order to have a clear conscience later. The answers I get are not always positive, so I stop and think: Well, no one can judge me, I tried to be kind.” She answered thoughtfully. “Which brings me back to you. So, yes, I have the advantage here.”

“What makes you think that?” Tom raised an eyebrow. He knows he has to manipulate her.

"You have no wand." She answered quickly.
"Why do you suppose that?" Tom's nostrils flared as his face changed to something dark, the veins showing in his jaw.

"Silly boy." Hermione snorted. "You're obviously without it, otherwise you would have already raised your wand toward me." She calmly observed. “Let's face it, you do that a lot, why be different this time? So, we return to the point where I have the upper hand.”

Tom narrowed his eyes, breathing like a bull, focusing on Hermione as the basement seemed to swirl with the discomfort he was feeling. That little witch managed to push his buttons in a way no one else ever could. Her smart remark caught him off guard.

"You don't look very well," she observed. "Something left you cold?" She asked very seriously.
"What are you implying, Granger?" Tom practically growled. He didn't like the insinuation in Hermione's words. It is impossible she was referring to the death of the Riddle family, there was no way she could know. Maybe it was his imagination, obviously, he would be suspicious of anything.

Hermione shrugged, putting a blank mask on her face.

"Where were we? Ah! Yeah. What's the counterspell, Riddle?” Hermione's tone had changed. It was insistent, demanding, almost an order.

"I thought you were smart enough to solve it on your own." Tom licked his lips. She would never find it out, this was true. Because it was a spell that he had created.

"Oh, I could try." She replied and Tom coughed to hide the laugh that threatened to erupt. "But I thought for a while ..." Tom's green eyes returned to Hermione, paying attention to what she was saying. “Why not get the answer from the source of all my problems?” She continued.

Hermione stood up, the conjured armchair disappearing. She used her full height, being 5’5”, to intimidate Riddle. That wasn't what made Tom Riddle pause however, it was the wand she raised toward him.

"Are you going to torture me, Granger?" Tom almost laughed at the thought. “What would Dumbledore think of his favorite student torturing someone?”
"Why wouldn't I do that?" Hermione spoke through gritted teeth. She didn't like the fact that Tom didn't seem to take her seriously. “You did the same thing to me. Why shouldn't I return the favor?”

“Ah, so here's the reason. Revenge.” Tom said. “But I'm not surprised. The world revolves around it.”

“My motive is much bigger than that.” Hermione contradicts him. “You think you know me, but you don't know anything about me. But I know a lot about you. What you're capable of, the things you do, the place you live.” Hermione looked around. “Such pride coming from someone who lives in a muggle orphanage.”

What a low blow, Hermione thought to herself. The truth is that Riddle is not to blame for where he was born and raised, it was not his choice and probably not something anyone would choose. No one wants to be an orphan and grow up in an orphanage.

Her words seem to hit him because she notices the swirl of uncontrollable emotions in his eyes that reflect her. But strangely, there is a sneer on Tom's lips.

"I didn't think you were so cruel, Miss. Granger.” he said. "I'm downright surprised," Tom continued.

"Proof you don't know me," Hermione replied.

"So...? What is going to be? The Cruciatus ? Or are there some other dark curses hidden in that little head?”

“Nothing more than what you deserve,” Hermione said, raising her wand and pointing toward Tom.

Tom narrowed his eyes when he noticed the glow in the tip of the wand, she was decided, and then the sound of the basement door opening caught their attention. They both glanced toward the basement stairs when they heard footsteps, they looked at each other momentarily and a breath escaped their mouths before Hermione cast a Disillusionment charm, hiding herself from the muggle's vision.Tom glanced at the place she hid, right in the corner of the basement, but still giving her a privileged view. For a moment he was jealous of her, that she could use magic so freely, then Mr. Wool appears, coming down the stairs with a buggy whip in his hand. Tom's eyes went straight to the whip. Mr. Wool stopped in front of Tom,
he could smell the stink of cheap rum on his breath.

"Where have you been, boy?" He asked brutally.

In fact, even if the orphanage was named after this gentleman, it was Mrs. Cole who handled most of the administration and
child-related matters, but whenever punishment was needed, specifically for the boys, then it fell to Mr. Wool to conduct it, a task he seemed very willing to undertake. Of course everyone grew up afraid to challenge Mrs. Cole and her severity, which became worse when it came to Mr. Wool, but of course, that fear didn't apply to Tom. He was too sneaky, too smart to be caught in any breach of the rules he committed. Doubt could always hang in the air, but no one could point a finger at him and accuse. There was no evidence.
Here, they were afraid of Tom. The weird things that happened around him and how somehow he always seemed to be involved in the problems that happened, even if they couldn't prove it.
Mad, had problems, evil incarnate, demon, the antichrist. Tom has been called all of that. Doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, priests and even the beginning of an exorcism attempt. All of this had once been attempted on him, but obviously he managed to escape with the help of something that made him unique: Magic. It was easier at that time when he was a child, where even terrible things could be justified such as lack of control and self-preservation. Simply a child's attempt to defend and protect himself, not now. Not when he is supposed to control magic.

So Tom blames Dumbledore again. Dumbledore 'hamstrings Tom' when he leaves him without his wand - supposedly defenceless - because of the stupid rules he is so attached to. And of course, Mr. Wool, with the immense grudge he bears Tom, wouldn't let his punishment pass and to make matters worse, he has Granger as an unwanted audience and he's nervous and sweating like a pig.

"Where have you been, boy?" Mr. Wool asked again, almost growling.

Tom refused to answer, avoiding eye contact, trying to focus on anything other than Mr. Wool's red face with his rum breath. But apparently looking around was not a good idea. The basement seemed to spin more with the dizziness he was feeling, the pressure in Tom's ears made him ignore what Mr. Wool was saying, which was when the whip split the skin of Tom's arm.
Tom turned his head so hard toward Mr. Wool, that he looked like a big cat. He growled, jagging and baring his teeth in anger. The wound appeared in the shape of a bloodline, the fabric of Tom's shirt tearing. The sight of his own blood made Tom's volatile emotions bubble.
How dare a muggle try to hurt him? The heir of Slytherin. He would not allow himself to be flogged.

Tom reacts, trying to take the whip from Mr. Wool's hand. He's sick of having to come to this shitty orphanage, he's sick of faking it, taking orders from foolish people and having to put up with it all with a smile on his face. He will no longer accept it. No longer.
But his body falters, doesn’t cooperate with the instructions of his mind. All he knows is that he reaches for the whip, but his hand catches the emptiness. It is dizziness that makes him see things where they are not.

Mr. Wool pushes him, Tom falls to the cold ground and gets whipped again. This time the whip hits the center of his back. He grunts in pain.

“Where have you been, boy?” Mr. Wool snarls.
"I got to meet my father." Tom answers through his teeth, trying to get up.

He stares angrily at the gray basement floor, fighting the tears of hatred and the burning pain in his back. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"And apparently Daddy discarded you again." Wool sneers. “But I can't blame the man. Who would want a child with that horrible woman? Who would want to have a child like you? She gave birth to a demon. You don't fool me, boy.” He points to Tom. “I see the evil in you.” Mr. Wool makes the sign of the cross. "God took pity on that poor man and drove him away from you."

Tom began to laugh at Mr. Wool's last sentence. Did God really have mercy on Tom Riddle Snr or the Riddle family? That could only be a joke .

Still laughing softly with the last remnants of his laughter, Tom turns his face toward Mr. Wool, he's still on the floor leaning on his arms - shaking with the effort - he swallows a shaky breath as the pupils in his eyes widen. His laughter dies and he breathes heavily like a bull.
"Yes." Tom agrees. "Yes, I'm all that and more." He says. "And I'll be your worst nightmare." Tom looks under his lashes. “And I promise you, that you and everyone else will pay for all the pain you have caused me.”

His threat is not intended as an empty one. He will fulfill it by whatever means necessary.

The whip hits him again and again and again and doesn't seem to stop. His back hurts and stings with each blow, but he refuses to cry or scream.

Hermione looks at that scene. At first, she thinks he deserves every blow he gets - that someone may condemn her - but Tom Riddle is vile and mean and all the evil things he has done - and will - deserves the most torturous punishment. However, when the whip hits him for the eighth time, her eyes start to burn with hot tears. She's scared at how he doesn't scream, just grunts in pain, but she can see his eyes full with tears yet he refuses to give in. When a lonely tear runs down her cheek, she knows she can no longer stand it.
Then she closes her eyes, but the sounds of the whip hitting Riddle, tearing the fabric of his shirt, Tom's grunts of pain and the old man's anger, seem worse.
She covers her ears, shaking her head from side to side, refusing to see or hear. But then, the unmistakable scent of blood seems to be carried by the basement dust into her nostrils, that's when she opens her eyes.
Hermione looks around, drawing her arms close to her body, a frightened look on her face. She has seen and experienced many acts that caused her shock, but she has never been a spectator of such torture. Mr. Wool is nowhere to be seen and all that remains in the basement is her and Riddle.

She takes an uncertain step forward but hesitates. Riddle is there, a few steps away from her, lying face down with the back of his bloody torn and shredded shirt. He is pale, so pale that the color of his skin is almost white and the contrast with the crimson blood is bewildering. Strands of black hair like the color of a raven, falling down his face.

She swallows as she watches the fallen Dark Lord like a King who has suffered a checkmate. Her breath sounds too loud for the environment that has become so quiet, and it is likely that the Disillusionment charm she has cast upon herself is gone, as Tom Riddle's eyes open and he looks straight at her.

Hermione can't escape eye contact, she's stranded like a deer in a car's headlights. Tom's eyes are bright green and pure, but there's hell burning in their color. The red veins are highlighted in the white sclera of his eyes, from the contained crying or even the hatred he transmits in the simple look he gives her. He shudders, with involuntary muscle spasms, he makes a deep throat sound as if he wants to contain the sound, but his eyes never escape her eyes. He doesn't even blink.

She doesn't know what to do. She runs away. She Apparates to the safety of her island. To the safety of the tent.

Hermione almost vomited, but she managed to retain the contents of her stomach. She walks into the tent, putting her hand to her heart to calm the heartbeats, looking at Nix on his perch, who returns her gaze.
Hell, no one could judge me for leaving Riddle there . That's what she tells herself for the thousandth time that evening, after taking a shower, trying to forget the basement scene.
She is sitting, staring at the wood of the table, her fingernails drumming on the porcelain cup of tea she drinks.

My conscience is clear . She sighs, trying to make herself happy.

Hermione gets up, throws away the rest of the cold tea she was drinking, brushes her teeth and lies on the bed. Lying down, she looks up at the tent ceiling, her hands folded above the blanket, her thumbs tapping repeatedly, a reflection of her anxiety and thoughts that wouldn't shut up.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. She repeats several times, but the sight of Riddle's beaten and bloodied body on the floor is very fresh and vivid. He deserves it. Of course he deserves it. Hermione tries to convince herself.

She spends the next day trying to convince herself that she is doing the right thing in ignoring Riddle's condition. Let's face it, he's done things a lot like that to other people, but she can't stop thinking it's too cruel. Maybe it was a catalyst for Riddle's anger, maybe it wasn't, but what she knows is that no one deserves such treatment.
She reminicences about being tortured by Bellatrix - Riddle's fault again - and how she had prayed for someone, anyone, to save her. Of course, Harry and Ron came to her rescue, but for a fleeting moment, she thought she would die and had the same hatred for Bellatrix that Riddle exhibited to Mr. Wool.

“Don't even think about it!” She told herself. “No, no, no! It's out of the question to help Riddle.” Hermione continued. “What would Harry think? He will kill me if he knows! And all the others? What would they think of that? Obviously they would be unhappy! Oh! But what about my parents? Argh! My mother would talk until my ears bleed because I didn't help. So…? He's Voldemort and I'm a muggle-born Gryffindor. Riddle wouldn't think twice before letting me die there if the situation were reversed.” She took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. We must come to a conclusion.”

Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it.

Hermione apparated to the orphanage's basement.
She looks around to see if there are any muggles and to her surprise, Riddle is still there, in the same position she’d left him. He has his eyes closed and is shaking like a jackhammer.
Hermione hesitated for a moment, really reluctant to help him, but when Tom grunted slightly in his misery, she advanced toward him.
What am I doing? She wondered for the thousandth time.

She knelt beside him and gently put a hand on his back, making him hiss in pain like a snake when threatened.
“Riddle? Riddle?” She called a few times. Hermione saw his eyelids flutter before he opened his eyes.

"G-Granger…?" Riddle muttered with a husky voice and dry lips.

“I'm here to help you. Can you get up?” She asked, watching his eyes roll in his eye sockets. "Come on, Riddle, help me so I can help you."

Hermione wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him tightly around his abdomen, her grip causing some more grunts of pain from Riddle.

"Sorry," she quietly muttered.

She noticed his effort to get up and when he stood up, his entire weight fell on Hermione. She flinched, trying to steady both of them. For a slender, muscular boy in perfect health, Riddle was considerably heavy for Hermione to manage. His head tilted forward, sweat-damp hair falling down his face. He tried to look at her, but when he opened his eyes, he probably thought it was a bad idea, given how quickly he closed them again.

“Riddle, hold on to me. Try to hold on tight. I won't let you go.” Hermione ordered.

At first, she doesn't know if he really heard her, but the squeeze of his hand on her shoulder made her realise that at least he was aware. She Apparated .

The first thing she did when she reached the tent was to put him on the bed, face down, lying on his stomach. In addition to easing his weight from her, she needed to take care of his wounds. Riddle was at this point almost unconscious.

With the tip of her wand, she made a straight line on the side of Riddle's shirt, and cut it off his body. Underneath his dress shirt, he wore a white men's vest, which Hermione also removed with the help of her wand.
As soon as she looked at Riddle's back and arms, she let out a long breath she didn't know she was holding. There was much blood and several deep line-shaped wounds with the flesh open. She wiped at the blood, feeling him shudder every time she touched him, then she took the potion kit to ease his pain and aid the healing process and lastly, Hermione applied an ointment to seal the wounds and then bandaged them.
It was hard work, she wasn't a St.Mungo's healer, though she had plenty of knowledge learnt the hard way in the field. She took care of him like she took care of Ron, spending much of the night looking after him, sitting in an armchair near the bed, with Nix beside her on the arm of the chair.

He had a fever, she had noticed. The way he was sweating indicated that he had become worse over the last few hours, which she diagnosed as a result
of his injuries, almost as if it could be an infection. She put a damp, cold cloth on his forehead to help reduce his temperature.
Hermione wondered how Riddle couldn't defend himself against a lame man like Mr. Wool. Riddle was a tall, strong young boy, surely he could beat or push Mr. Wool away from him, yet she noticed that he had been acting strangely since she had arrived in that basement. This is when Hermione looks at his hand.

The ring , she recognized. The Horcrux . Creating a second Horcrux had left him temporarily weak.
Hermione sighed, suddenly the notion of helping the young Dark Lord felt like a bad idea to her. She didn't know how he would react when he woke up, but she knew what he had already done and she wondered again if it was right to save Riddle.

Unwillingly, she fell asleep. Taking care of anyone required a lot of attention, taking care of someone with Riddle's injuries was tiring, and certainly being alert against someone like Riddle required all of her focus and effort. Hermione wakes up in the middle of the night when she hears a loud noise. Riddle fell off the bed as he tried to get up.
“Riddle? Riddle!” She runs to him.

He is kneeling, breathing heavily, placing a hand on his head. She bends down to his level and tries to help him, but with one hand he shoves her and she stumbles to the ground.

Hermione gets up to rest on her elbows, looking at him, startled and surprised. She watches him stand up, tripping over his own feet, his wobbly walking as he bumps into things and throwing everything he touches
with his hand to the floor.

He is delirious . She insightfully notes.

She doesn't know what caused this. Maybe it was his fever, maybe it was his belated reaction to try and defend himself. Hermione watched him take a few steps before falling hard onto the hardwood floor. She and Nix look at each other and then she slowly gets up and walks towards Riddle. With a strange expression, mixed with curiosity and fear, Hermione hesitantly approached him. She notices that he has passed out.
After she puts him to bed again, Hermione checks his injuries. She does so because she believes that some of Riddle's sudden movements may have reopened the cuts even more. Fortunately, it's nothing serious, on the contrary, he is much better than a few hours ago. Magic is really amazing.
Hermione doesn't think Riddle would die if she had left him in the basement of Wool’s Orphanage, having a Horcrux made him technically immortal. Unless someone destroys the Horcruxes , Riddle would not have the final encounter with death, yet he can feel pain and hurt himself as far as she understands. Well, it's obvious he only has two Horcruxes , and it's nothing compared to seven.

Her gaze falls on his ring. The Horcrux is right there, just inches from her, so easy now. Just take the ring off his finger and destroy it. She would be doing everyone a favor. Hermione took Riddle's hand, staring at the ring. Some might say she had a soft heart, she was definitely empathic, she was classifying herself in this way. That is, she has compassion and understanding for broken things and people. Even if she was angry, Hermione tended to forgive or feel for people when she recognised their motivations. For example, Snape. Snape was never kind to her, his comments to her were always sour and sarcastic. He thought she was just a Gryffindor smart-ass, yet after all that, she still couldn't stop crying when she saw his death.
There was also Grawp, or when Dolores Umbridge injured one of the centaurs - that was cruel and she is ashamed of harming a centaur indirectly in order to rid Dolores from Hogwarts. There were also her attempts to give rights to the Elves.
She doesn't know if Riddle turned into Voldemort because he was born this way or if it was a series of factors that contributed to creating the monster, the only thing she knows is that things are really complicated.

Hermione drops his hand from hers, ignoring the ring. Ah, that urge to destroy the Horcrux is there, just slip the ring off his finger and it’s done. But she couldn't do that, first because as soon as Riddle awakensp and misses the ring, he was going to kill her and second - and most importantly - was the timeline. Destroying the Horcrux could trigger a series of events that would irreparably change everything she knows in the future.

You are already destroying the timeline. The voice of her conscience was speaking. Riddle shouldn’t be in this tent.

That is right. Riddle shouldn't be here, however, she doesn't want to worsen the damage already done.

She looks at Riddle's face. Perfect is too inadequate to describe it. Tom Riddle is really very handsome, Hermione knows that Riddle supposedly benefited from all his father's stunning genetics, but damn… she's pretty sure the love potion his mother gave Riddle Snr must have contributed. The reality is Tom Riddle Jr is the perfect combination of his parents' genetics. He took all the beauty of the Riddle family and took all the magic of the Gaunt family. A dangerous and lethal
combination, certainly.

o0o

Tom opened his eyes slowly, blinking repeatedly to adapt to his blurred vision. He looks up to find a pair of big orange eyes staring at him, surprised he retracts in one swift motion, banging the top of his head against the wood of the bed. He lets a little ouch come out of his lips. He looks around, lifting his chest and leaning on his elbows, trying to understand where he is.
The owl above his head flies and lands on the perch, looking curiously at him. He watches his surroundings, noticing a broom that sweeps the floor alone, the sound of a boiling kettle and the smell of soup.
He looks under the blankets, realising that he is not naked as he had originally thought. He still wears the same trousers he remembers. Then he makes an analysis of his chest and arms, which have been treated and are well bandaged with clean linen.

"Finally. I thought you would never wake up. ”

The female voice catches his eye and he looks at the entrance and sees Granger. Her hair is loose, a few strands to the side, she’s wearing cropped trousers that reach her calves and a short-sleeved shirt. Tom freezes, looking at her with huge unblinking green eyes, he retracts on the bed, his gaze never leaving her face.

That's when the memories come back to him. Granger saw things she shouldn’t see, made threats she shouldn’t do, and they offended each other, yet in the end she helped him. Granger sat in a chair near the bed and looked at him.

"Are you alright?" She asked softly.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"What do you want?" He almost growled at her, but she didn't seem surprised by the tone of his voice.

"Nothing. I don't want anything,” she replied. A moment of silence passed between them before she spoke. She sniffed a little and scratched her nose slightly as if she were as uncomfortable as he.

“I'll get the food. You must be hungry. When you're done, I'll check your injuries.” She gestured with her finger.

"I don't want your pity." Tom almost spits out the words.

Pity is for the weak, for the foolish and he doesn’t want to be part of this segment of the population. She offends him in the worst possible way with her pity. She shakes her head and sighs before getting up from the chair. Tom watches her movements curiously, indecisively, with anger still encapsulated within him. She comes back carrying a tray with a plate of soup and he looks at her like she's crazy.

Hermione makes no mistake, she's not a formidable cook, but she's not as bad as Ron made her out to be either. Obviously she’s not had years of experience or a knack for cooking, but her food is not bad. Ron's criticism was largely based on the influence of Salazar Slytherin's locket.
She sits in the chair she was occupying moments earlier with the tray on her lap and the soup bowl extended toward Riddle.

"I hope you enjoy it. You need to eat.” Hermione speaks softly. She doesn't want to attract Riddle's wrath and wants to be patient with him.

Riddle looks at her in disgust.

“I'm not hungry.” He speaks and it seems he's so happy to deny her effort with his words.

"You need to eat." Hermione tries again.

"I'm not hungry." Tom growls at her.

Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration, her patience over. Just like that, so fast. He makes her crazy. He is like a spoiled and rebellious child, delighting in undoing the help and efforts of everyone else.

She took a deep breath, glaring at Riddle.
"Fine," she says abruptly. "Don’t eat. Starve yourself. ”

She gets up, taking the tray away from Riddle and turns her back on him. Riddle watches her from the bed, and that's when his stomach decides to make a long rumbling noise, loud enough for both of them to hear. She tries to control the threatening laughter.
Well done , she thinks wryly.

Of course, after two days without waking up, waking up only on the third day at noon, Riddle would wake up hungry.

Tom looks at her taking the food away. He knows she heard his stomach complain with its lack of food, but she doesn't stop and doesn't come back with the tray. This little witch… If she's thinking he's going to beg her, she's very wrong, however, she is moving further and further away.
Damn it! He curses mentally.

"Wait!" Tom says. She stops. "The food," he says. “I want the food.”
She turns around, tray in hand.

"What's the magic word, Riddle?" She asks with a sneer on her face.

What a bitch!

“P-please.”

The word came out, almost as if he was choking on saying it.
Hermione almost corrected him, that he should say the word more softly, but she was content for the moment with his discomfort and his need to ask her. So she returned, sitting back and resting the tray on her lap, taking the soup bowl and lifting the spoon toward him, offering.

He narrowed his eyes again at her.

"I have hands," Riddle said and Hermione dropped the spoon into the soup bowl, which splashed a little on him.

"Ignoramus," Hermione murmured, covering the word with a slight throat clearing. But that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Luckily she didn't take the soup away, handing him the soup bowl. He mixes the soup back and forth, trying to figure out what it tasted like. Hesitantly he takes the liquid to his mouth, tasting. Not bad, but not wonderful either, though it was certainly better than the cabbage soup he was eating at the orphanage due to rationing.

He ate a few more spoonfuls, his stomach warming as he received food. It was quiet, but Tom knew he was being watched by her.

"I don't want your pity," he murmured, keeping his eyes toward the bowl.

"I have no pity."

At her response, he turned his head toward her.

“Why did you get me out of there? We don't have a good relationship, in fact, we are practically declared enemies and if I remember correctly you would probably like do something similar as Mr. Wool. What a hypocrite.” He shrugged.

"The hypocrite is you," Hermione replied. “You had already tortured me with one of the unforgivable curses. If I did hit you, it wouldn't be any different from what you did to me.”
“Then why? Weren't you happy with what you saw? Didn't you like it?” He said, throwing the tray with the bowl and spoon away, splashing the rest of the soup on the floor. With the noise, Nix flew off the perch.

"Pity and compassion are different things!" She shouted at him, rising from her chair.

They both fell silent, breathing heavily.

“If you didn't like my help, that's fine. Get up.” She walked to a trunk and took off one of Harry's shirts. "Get dressed." Hermione tossed the shirt on the bed. “I'll take you back to that place. Come on, let's go!”

Tom fell silent, his hands gripping the covers tightly. He didn't want to go back to that place, not to that hell. His relationship with Granger was complicated, but she's familiar, with her he doesn't have to fake it, he doesn't have to hide his magic.
He looks around. He sees the bookcase full of books about spells and potions, even some muggle books. He sees the alchemy table with the cauldron, he sees the broom sweeping alone, he sees the owl that returned to his perch. Here is something he likes. All this is what he likes, what he considers normal, is an environment he dreams of obtaining for himself, this is magic and she is giving him the opportunity to stay.

"Otherwise," Hermione speaks more softly as she observes the negative movement of his head. “Don't treat me badly. Don't act like I've done something horrible to you.”

He nods. A moment of awkward silence sets in.

"Okay, get up," she says. What? But I hadn’t agreed with her? You can never trust . “Sit here, I want to check how the wounds are.”

Her words cut his thinking. He blinks solemnly and after a few seconds he gets up slowly. When he is standing, Tom feels his leg muscles tremble, because of the long-time lying in bed.
He takes hesitant steps toward the stool she indicated. As he sits, he feels her settle behind him. She begins to undo the bandages and when it is over, he feels her fingers gently trace the wounds.

“They are healing. One more day and soon they won't be visible.” She explains to him, rubbing the ointment on his back and arms. “I think you can move now, they certainly don’t bother you as much anymore. However, I'll still continue to apply the ointment and bandage you up to finish the healing process.”

Tom simply keeps silent. He feels her begin to wrap the new clean bandage around him, the silence is awkward, but he ignores it. Her warm breath touches his skin as she approaches to wrap the bandage across his chest, signaling him to raise his arms a little.
When she finishes, he feels her move away. She doesn't seem to mind seeing him basically half-naked. He knows he's considered handsome by the other girls, he understands that his physique is attractive, he doesn't know how comely he is for Granger now that she has seen the scars on his back. But damn, he knows what seductions he’s capable of, not with Granger, though.

Tom turns toward Hermione, who is handing him clothes. The shirt and a clean pair of trousers this time.

He approached her, looking at her with his eyes slightly closed, the intense green color of his iris was fervid. He was taller than she, which forced Hermione to raise her head a little to face him. The intensity of his gaze was different from other times and she didn't know how to react to it, and against her will, her cheeks flushed.

Tom watched the color on her cheeks before she blinked and cut eye contact, she offered him the clothes. He took the clothes with one hand. Suddenly Hermione snapped her fingers, the broom stopped sweeping and went toward Hermione's hand, which she caught.

"Take it." She handed the broom to Tom.

"What am I going to do with it?" Tom asked. It was an ordinary broom, a muggle broom.

"Clean up the mess you made," she replied, pointing to the floor with shards of the bowl and the rest of the soup that spilled. "I'm not your maid."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 10. Micrurus

-

Nowhere

Edited January 2024

After he finished cleaning the floor - something he did whilst mentally cursing her all the time - Tom curiously looked around, trying to figure out where he was and to see what Granger had. The first thing he did was look at the books about magic. He realised she wasn’t obsessed with just one discipline, in other words, her interests were wide and varied, there were several types of books about diverse and arcane subjects as well as assorted spells and potions. Intriguing.

Frankly, Granger has a vast knowledge range

. He admits to himself grudgingly. But what surprised him most was that she read very advanced magic, far ahead of Hogwarts’ fifth and sixth years. Well, he can't judge her for that, given the fact when he was in the second year, he had already read and practiced the magic of the sixth and seventh years, but this behavior is not common.

But then, what is normal when it comes to Granger?

He looks at a slightly misplaced book as if recently placed on the shelf.

Magic and Time

, he reads, but doesn’t touch.

Tom peruses, walking his long, pale fingers on a smooth path across the table to where the cauldron and potion pots were. He makes a mental note, looking with interest at everything visible, yet he doesn't touch anything. Granger seems too organised to not notice if something was out of place.

He goes into the small room with a two-seater sofa, a shag rug with a coffee table and an armchair. He doesn't have to step far into the kitchen, there is also a small dining table. This entire setup all seems very lonely to him, so he asks himself a question:

Where are Granger's parents?

Tom has decided, he needs some answers and he will get them from Granger. He looks to the right where daylight enters and finally decides to go out and talk to Granger. The first thing he does when he leaves the tent is to stumble. And guess what? This is not common for him. Tom Riddle always had impeccable posture and balance, however, he wasn’t prepared to step onto soft sand. Tom quickly steaded
his composure, now looking back and forth, not expecting to see the beach landscape. He looks left and then right, noting the length of the beach and the foliage that indicated he was far from civilisation. Or at least, far from industrial civilisation.

His eyes finally fall on the small figure sitting on the flatter sand, facing the sea, watching the sun. Granger. He walks over to her.

Hermione had to distance herself from Riddle's presence in an attempt to get her thoughts in order. She didn't know how she should act since she had rescued Riddle and brought him to the safety of the island, to her refuge. It’s one thing to be in his presence whilst he was still unconscious, but now he is lucid and awake. Hermione knows she won't escape Riddle's questions, he is very observant, she just needs to maintain the same line of reasoning and keep a safe distance with the 'walls of protection' erected forcefully against him.

“Where are we?”

Speak of the devil

,
she thought.

Riddle had stopped right beside her, she looked to her right, expecting to find his face, but all she saw was his
pelvis, his hips and his legs. She blushed at the sight and his closeness, Hermione looked up to find Riddle staring at her from above, his hands in his trouser pockets. She blinked a few times.

"Where are we?" He repeated.

Tom looked at her, watching the way she sat, hugging her legs and the wand in one hand. Her cheeks were rosier than he remembered and he looked toward the sea and the sun she was staring at.

Here is the reason. Now things were making more sense.

She got up to face him.

"Nowhere." She answered simply, Tom narrowed his eyes at her answer.

“I'm not kidding, Granger. Where are we? ”

“Nowhere,” Hermione replied again, raising both eyebrows as she explained to him.

“Can you answer the question?” His tone increased slightly due to the frustration he was beginning to feel.

“We're, literally, Nowhere.” She raised her voice a little, gesturing around. "It's an island."

Tom narrowed his eyes again at her, doubting the credibility of the words coming out of her mouth.

“We are on a small, and I mean very small, island that is surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean somewhere near Europe. Apparating without knowing or seeing the chosen destination is really difficult. Naming the place you want to go makes it easier for the wizard or witch to apparate to. When I first came to the island, I only imagined a secluded, safe place that was close to the sea and well, here we are. So I named the island.” Hermione explained.

"You mean to tell me that you apparated here blind and then named the island 'Nowhere,' Granger?" Tom asked skeptically and Hermione shrugged. "Such a lack of creativity." He continued and it was Hermione's turn to narrow her eyes at him.

Tom Riddle made a mental note for later.

She knows how to apparate. Not only that, she’s at an advanced level and knows how to apparate long distance.

He sighed and rolled his eyes as she began to speak, trying to justify herself and explaining that it was not a lack of creativity.

Oh! Sure she's from Gryffindor, she's always trying to make a point

.

Tom scratches his ear with his little finger, trying to tell her that he doesn't give a damn about her explanation, that she's talking too much and that her words make him bored at best. But a sound that shouldn’t be in this heavenly environment catches Tom's attention. He stared in alarm at the horizon of the beach.

"Shut up." He orders Hermione.

Hermione is about to answer, her tongue itching to say no one tells her to shut up when she hears the sound too. She stops, looking in the same direction that Riddle is looking, hearing the sound approach. Hermione steps forward.

"Granger." Tom calls her, recognising the droning sound that was coming their way.

"Shut up." It's her turn to order.

Riddle takes her wrist with an iron grip, but not in a way that hurts her. It is at that moment the owners of that noise appear. Warplanes, the Luftwaffe, the German Air Force, passing right now over their heads.

Riddle's hand goes from her wrist to her arm, holding tightly while keeping his eyes trained on the planes until they disappear over the horizon.

"They ignored us," he muttered.

"Not interested, essentially because they couldn't see the island."

"What did you do?" Tom asked, his head gesturing at her wand.

"I set up wards and protections," she replied. "Repello Muggletum is one of them."

"What is the extent of the spell?" He asked curiously.

"The whole island?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Fascinating." Tom complimented. Hermione was astounded by the acknowledgement, her eyebrows raised in surprise and her mouth formed a small 'O'. Realising what he had done, Tom soon corrected himself. “Don't be so happy, Granger. I just hope you didn't put us on a war route.”

He seems particularly troubled and walks back towards the tent as if he already owns that island.

In the tent, there is the awkward silence as Hermione sets the dinner table. Riddle is sitting in the far armchair of the room, quiet and unmoving, his legs crossed in a male fashion, looking curiously around, sometimes looking at her in a very fleeting way.

Yeah, certainly very lonely.

Tom notices. He is waiting for the right moment to start questioning her, to know how much she says is true, where the lies are. There is something wrong with this situation, he is sure of it. So, he manipulates Hermione in a way that she doesn’t appreciate is under his domain, namely: Silence.

People are generally uncomfortable when they are in a situation with someone who is silent. People feel the need to bridge silence, to establish a conversation, something to build empathy, long periods of silence bother them. Tom waits patiently for the perfect opportunity to commence his task.

"What do you think?" She asked softly.

This is the perfect time

, he smiled to himself.

“About?” He replies.

"The airplanes. This is the first time I've seen them pass over the island.”

“For more accurate information, we'd have to go to muggle civilisation.” Tom shrugs.

"Do you think something happened?"

"Something's always happening," He continued. "Muggles are at war."

"It's not much different, is it?" Hermione muttered. "The Muggle War and Grindelwald’s War."

"I don't know." Tom looked at her. “I've

never

been in a war.” There was malice behind his words, judging the truth of the facts that Hermione had told everyone else.

"No." She looked down, her gaze thoughtful and sad. "It's not very different."

And it wasn't very different. The Grindelwald War, the Muggle War, the Voldemort War all had awful, brutal and sad similarities.

"The soldiers were knocking from door to door in each orphanage, looking for young boys old enough to enlist" Tom admitted, drawing Hermione's gaze to him.

"And what did you do?" She asked curiously.

"I'm not old enough-" He didn't seem to care about her curiosity, “- yet.” Tom finished the sentence.

"You don't want to enlist, do you?" Hermione deciphered.

“It's definitely something I have very little interest in.”

They sat at the table after Hermione set the plates, sitting facing each other. Hermione silently keeps her eyes toward her plate.

"I need the knife," Tom says suddenly. Hermione's gaze goes to the fork he holds. She hesitates, unsure that it would be wise to tell him where the knives were.

"Or you could lend me your wand for me to do a simple cutting spell." Tom suggests, raising one eyebrow, the upper corner of his mouth slightly raised with a mini smile.

Hermione stops, holding her cutlery, she swallows hard.

"They're in the top drawer in the kitchen." She responds quickly.

Tom gets up from the table and she hears a little laugh from him, it doesn't take long for him to come back and sit in his place again. He cuts the meat on his plate, looking straight at her.

"You're afraid of me." Tom states.

Hermione debated internally what she should say.

"It's not fear; it's caution.” She doesn't deny it but also gives a more appropriate name for her attitude. “We have a history of interactions that are, to say the least, interesting.”

They eat in silence for a few more minutes before Tom asks:

“Where does the food come from?”

“Hm…” Hermione finished chewing before answering. "I

apparate

, buy what I need and come back.”

"So, you know how to apparate," Tom says. "I thought we'd only learn that skill this new year at Hogwarts."

Hermione has trouble swallowing and almost choked, coughed a few times before drinking the glass of water offered by Tom. She makes a noise in her throat and takes a deep breath.

“I learned.”

“Don't we need a License to Apparate? If not, isn't it breaking the law?” Tom raises an eyebrow, bringing a piece of meat to his mouth with the aid of his fork. "How curious." He smiled as he chewed.

Hermione understood the intentions behind his words.

"I learned from someone in the -"

"war in France." He concluded the sentence for her. She looked at him, realising then how much she had already used this excuse.

"Yeah, that's right." She held herself back. “This person told
me that I needed to
have a fast means of escape when the situation became too dangerous, if not then I could die. That's why they taught me to apparate.” Hermione lied, the words flowing smoothly like water and she was impressed with herself.

"France, isn't it?" Tom put the cutlery on the plate. "You have no accent."

Hermione blinked, politely wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

"Accent?" She questioned.

"Well, if you came from France, fought in the war in France and studied at Beauxbatons, your English should be - if only a little - affected." He concluded. “But you're very

English

, to be honest.”

“That's because

I'm English

."

“Oh. So please clarify the events for me. I'm afraid that I'm a little confused.” Tom leaned his elbows against the table, being drawn towards Hermione. “Where are your parents, Granger?”

Tom watches her gaze fall, the slight intake of air she takes and how she clasps her hands in her lap. He doesn't need an audible answer, he already knows what the answer is.

Death

.

“More than far enough away that I may never see them again.” Her voice wavered at her mysterious words.

"If you're English, why did you go to Beauxbatons?" He asks.

“I didn't attend.”

“No?”

“No.” She replies. “That's why I don't have a French accent. I went to Ilvermorny.”

“The American school?” Tom frowned in confusion. Hermione watches his eyes, trying to connect all the pieces of the story she was telling. "Why? Why not go to Hogwarts from the start?”

Oh, Merlin, this story is getting worse and worse,

Hermione thinks.

"I don't know. I just chose one of the schools, I think.” She shrugged. “I was born in England, just like my parents and I chose to go to Ilvermorny, I studied for a few years there, my parents moved to France, Grindelwald happened, I went to their aid, they left, I continued to fight until I couldn’t, I asked for Professor Dumbledore's help and here I am.” Hermione lied, that was the most fibs she had ever said in a minute.

"Where does Dumbledore fit into all this?" Tom asked, tilting his head to the side, his piercing gaze still on Hermione.

“Dumbledore is a longtime friend. A kind of godfather,
would be a better way to describe it.” She licks her dry lips.

Tom squinted, the mention of Dumbledore's name lovingly coming out of her mouth leaves a small spark of anger in him.

"Does he know I'm here?" He asked. “With you?”

Why did he want to know about that?

Hermione wondered.

Would it be wise to tell him the truth? Say no one knows the location of the island? That nobody knows their whereabouts?

"I doubt that very much," Hermione replied, watching his reaction, noting how he relaxed - almost imperceptibly - at her words and how the scowl on his face melted away. "You really don't like him, do you?"

Tom paused for a moment, looking back at her.

“There's really nothing to like.”

“Why? He's a good man, a good teacher, a good person.”

Tom snorted at her comment.

“He's as evil as Azkaban's worst prisoner. Dumbledore is so afraid. A coward, that's what he is. The neutrality and impartiality he seeks so much will be his ruin.”

“That's not true.” She contradicts Tom.

“It's true and you can't deny it. If you think he's so good, why didn't you tell him about our interactions at Hogwarts? I mean, before I put the curse on your tongue. Do you think he didn't know something was wrong? That he didn't notice? He may not know what it is, but he knows that something is going on. In the Ministry, everyone gossips about what the Mighty Wizard will do, yet he hides. He does nothing. What a coward.”

“That's very Gryffindor

coming from you

.” Hermione narrows her eyes and hears a low, hoarse laugh from Tom.

“It's not me he's embarrassing. It's you and your House.”

She stared at him, only then noticing the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You are teasing me" Hermione muttered, earning a sideways smile and a raised eyebrow from Tom "If this was a provocation, then tell the truth: Why don’t you like Dumbledore?"

"More than half of what I said is true. He is an old fool and a coward and I don't think he deserves the title he has. That's why.”

“You hate him because you disregard him? There has to be more.” She frowned in confusion. If there's one thing she learned about Riddle is that he was a complex person.

"If is true, why don't you find out then?” Tom challenged her, his green eyes sparkling.

Hermione stared at him, her gaze didn't waver, she sat up straighter.

"I-I think ... I think you hate him because he knows about the orphanage and the things that happen there, but he did nothing to change that." Hermione looked down after seeing Tom’s expression turn white.

Some seconds passed, but it seemed like hours, when she looked back up at him, Hermione found him staring at her, the shadow of a smile wanting to appear and a mischievous look staring at her.

“Um… what do we have here? A smart girl.” Tom's long, pale index finger lightly tapped Hermione's nose. The action made Hermione freeze in shock and surprise. Tom didn’t deny it, yet he didn’t claim that what she said was correct.

Before they could continue, Nix made a noise, demanding that Hermione allow him to hunt.

"What is it?" Tom asked.

“It's Nix. He wants to hunt.” She replied, going to Nix's cage and freeing him to fly.

Tom watched Hermione's owl fly out into the night sky.

“Did you name him ‘Nix?’”

“Yes, because Nyx was—” Hermione couldn't finish speaking because Tom already knew the answer.

“The protector of wizards and witches. Yeah, I already know.” He answered. “But is this serious, Granger? Nix? For a male owl?” Tom raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You have a bad taste for names."

That night Hermione showed Tom where the bathroom was and handed him a new change of clothes that belonged to Harry, to make him more comfortable when he went to sleep. She waited for him patiently, avoiding thinking about what she was doing all the time. When not confronting him, it was much easier to question her actions.

When he came out of the bathroom through the steam, Tom was shirtless, wearing only his trousers and holding the towel around his neck. She was there, waiting for him, ready with her wand, the bandages, and healing ointment in hand. She looked him up and down and then gestured for him to sit in front of her. Tom walked slowly to her and sat on the stool she indicated. She repeated the procedure she had done this morning, adjusting his bandages well. As soon as she was done she got up with a sigh coming from her lips.

“You should dry your hair well. You’ve just recovered from a fever.” Hermione scolded him gently. She didn't know why she was saying it. It's not like he could die.

Tom Riddle looked at her, slowly putting on the shirt she had offered while he was still sitting. He is trying to figure out what she gets by doing all this and watches with interest as she goes from attack mode to defence mode and then to kindness within minutes. The meaning of the word ‘strange’ is inadequate to describe what Granger is. However, he thinks this is only part of her personality. Curiously, she was afraid of him and yet here she was worried about his health.

I can almost laugh.

She stops for a moment, the wand in her hand, she whispers a spell and he feels his hair dry.

Magic is amazing.

Granger smiles softly at him, a polite and restrained smile.

"While you were in the bathroom, I prepared a room for you," Hermione said. Tom stood up and followed her closely. She opened the door to a small but decent room with a bed with blankets and pillows. Beside the bed, a small table with a lamp. It wasn't much, but it was cozy and it was enough. It didn't look like she was expecting any company on her stay on this island.

He nodded, entering the room, looking around. Tom turned to her, she was standing in the doorway.

"Well, I think it's good night then." Hermione turned and closed the door.

After doing her nightly routine, Hermione was lying on her bed in her room with her wand under the pillow. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, her hands on the blankets with her thumbs repeatedly tapping against each other. She was nervous and would probably have trouble sleeping tonight. Yeah, it would really be hard to have a peaceful sleep, when the young Dark Lord was a few feet from her, conscious and regaining his strength. Hermione was trying not to think about their conversation, but it's inevitable. Talking with Tom Riddle is one of the things she never thought she would do. She tried to remove her compassion and focus on the logical part. Maybe if she lived with him, analysed him well, she could better understand him. Decipher him. And maybe when she returned to the time in which she belonged, she could foresee his actions and then help everyone.

She fell asleep after a few hours. It was the relaxing first part of sleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath she took, and at that moment, the locket that was on her neck began to pop out from under her t-shirt. Even though still trapped around Hermione's neck, the locket levitated, the

Parseltongue

whispers began again. The green detailing - very similar to the color of Slytherin House - of the medallion seemed to glow.

Hermione woke up, sleepily blinking a few times to adjust her eyes and was startled to see the locket levitating, the only thing keeping the locket from rising further was the cord that held it around her neck. In one swift motion, she held the locket in one hand and lifted her chest to look around. Everything, exactly everything, was levitating.

Hermione got up, took her wand and left the room. In the rest of the tent everything else was also
levitating. Not even Nix, inside his cage, could escape. She went straight to Riddle's room, as she opened the door, she found the blankets, lamp and everything else floating, just the bed and Riddle remained where they should be.

Magic.

She looked at him, noticing that he was still unconscious, asleep. Hermione slowly approached him, not realising that her presence made the floating objects return to the place they should never have left.

She raised a hand toward Riddle, when he spoke a few words in

Parseltongue

, she stopped instantly. Hermione didn't understand what he was saying, but judging by the scowl he was making, Riddle might very well be having a nightmare. She waited for a moment, their breathing the only sound in the room, trying to figure out what might disturb the Dark Lord's sleep. The answer was simple:
many things
.

Who knows what Riddle saw or did. Maybe this was a form of punishment, never having peaceful slumber.

When he scowled and whispered something else, she decided it was time to wake him up.

“Riddle?” She called him quietly.

Before Hermione could touch him, Riddle's hand caught Hermione's wrist and his green eyes widened in shock, which soon turned to anger and caution.

"What are you doing?" He asked accusingly.

Surprised, Hermione tried to pull her arm from his grip, but Riddle wouldn't allow it. She sighed.

"You were having a nightmare, I think ..." She said passively. Someone had to be the logical person in this situation. He stared at her for a few seconds, looking her up and down warily, before letting her arm go. He sat up, leaning his upper body against the wood of the bed and Hermione sat on the edge of the bed.

"Are you okay? Feeling feverish?” She asked and before he could answer, she put her hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back to measure the temperature. "Um ... no."

He swallowed.

"I'm fine, Granger." Tom answered quickly and removed her hand from his forehead. The constant contact with her, made him feel weird with feelings he didn't recognise, and so, he wanted to avoid it.

Hermione didn't force him.

"You don't always have to be defensive," She said.

"Look who's talking." Tom snorted.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“I am trying to fly the white flag. If we're living together, I think at least we don't always have to keep an eye on our backs. What I mean, is that I've had countless opportunities to hurt you, and yet I chose not to. You don’t see? I don’t want to create enmity with you. I don't want to be your enemy.” She said. At least not in this time.

To her surprise, he said:

“Very well. I won't pretend to you, I haven't done it before, let alone do it now. You saw what you saw, you know what I am and what I am capable of. Maybe your unwillingness to be my enemy is the best thing you ever did.”

She growled at him.

"No threats."

He gave a little laugh.

"And what fun would it be?"

A minute of silence passed longer than it should. Hermione hesitantly looked at Riddle and found him staring at her intently, as if he'd never stopped staring at her. He folded his arms in front of his body.

"Tell me what you want to tell me." Tom rolled his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She tried, speaking softly for fear of his reaction. It was understood that she was referring to his dream.

"No." He didn't even seem to think about Hermione's proposal.

Who would believe it? Granger as my private psychologist.

Tom watched her slight tremor with the raw tone of his voice. For some reason unknown to him - which he was unwilling to give meaning - Tom made a sound in his throat before redeeming himself for his brutality.

"No. Because I don't remember.” He tried to make his voice softer.

No one bites the hand that feeds it.

Hermione nodded and didn't push anymore, but another minute of awkward silence passed and she was more than willing to evade the uncomfortable situation when Riddle said:

“My magic reacts to you. Why?” He asked.

“What?” She turned her face toward him in one swift movement, her expression slightly confused.

“Do you think I didn't notice? Now? Tonight? Just like the time I touched you at Hogwarts? My magic reacts to something in you and I want to know why.”

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione quickly denied it.

In one swift motion, Riddle reaches forward, his pale long-fingered hand stretches behind Hermione's neck, his fingers circling perfectly. Treacherously, the Time-Turner betrays Hermione when the skin of Riddle's fingers touches the steel of the cord. The Time-Turner seems to heat, a charge of energy sears through both. It's not Hermione specifically that Tom's magic reacts to, it's the Time-Turner. And apparently when she, him and the Time-Turner get in touch ...

Boom!

It happens.

They gasped, letting out their breath. Riddle was very close to Hermione on the bed, his face only inches from her face. She could feel his breath caressing her skin, both caught in each other's eyes. Tom smiled. It wasn't a smile of happiness, not a polite smile, it was a smile that showed his confidence or the sense of power he was feeling, and it made Hermione's eyes widen wildly at the realisation.

"That's what I'm talking about." He told her, his eyebrows lowered, matching his piercing gaze. "What's this?" His gaze went from Hermione's face to her neck, where he saw a part of the steel cord.

Hermione turned away from him at once, removing his hand from her neck.

"What's is it?" He demanded.

"It's a necklace." She answered and Tom narrowed his eyes.

"It's not an ordinary necklace."

"It's a magic necklace."

"Tell me what the necklace does and why my magic reacts to it." He ordered.

Hermione frowned, outraged at his demand.

"It's a magic necklace that's what it is."

"Granger." His tone was a warning.

“I don't have to tell you anything! If you want to know about the necklace, then why not tell me about your ring?” Hermione said, playing with the one thing she knew would make the young Dark Lord retreat, and she wasn't wrong. As soon as Tom heard the word 'ring', he backed away, hugging his hand to his chest. "Do you think I didn't feel the magic?" She continued.

Hermione watched as Riddle clenched his right hand into a fist with his left hand covering it, denying her the sight of the ring.

He looked at her, licking his lips to moisten them.

"Very well, we'll each keep our secrets for now."

Hermione jumped to her feet.

“I don't care about your secrets, so I don't think you will know about mine. I don’t even care about what you did. It was you who dragged me into the Room of Requirement!”

“ What? What did you say?” He asked.

“That I don't want to know about your secrets?” She wondered at the sudden change in his tone.

"No. At the end. You said 'Room of Requirement'. How do you know the name of this room, Granger?” He rose from the bed slowly, Hermione's gaze widening as she belatedly realised her mistake and even more so as she watched Riddle rise from the bed.

"Never mind.” She turned and started walking back towards her room. Tom followed her closely, the sound of their heavy footsteps echoing.

"Granger, get back here!" He ordered, pointing to the floor like she was a pet.

Hermione entered her room and turned to face Tom.

"Good night!" She slammed the door in his face. She heard him practically growl on the other side, his retreating footsteps and how he slammed his bedroom door too. Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

o0o

Tom awakens after a turbulent night with thoughts of Granger. After that heated discussion, of course, the

little witch

would stay in his system, taking away his peace.

He gets out of bed and as much as he tries to ignore it, he makes his bed. It is a custom that was ingrained at the orphanage. All children must make their beds immediately on rising.

Tom opens the bedroom door, he is prepared for confrontation.

All weapons raised

. But all he finds is silence. He goes to the kitchen and is surprised to find breakfast ready for him. Tom is tempted to refuse the food, his pride is taking precedence, however, he knows that food is a source of energy and if she decides to kick him off the island, this will be the last decent meal he will have when he returns to the orphanage.

He sits at the table and waits for her for five minutes, hoping she will join him, but the answer is obvious. After he finishes eating and tidying what has to be cleaned, he does his morning routine. There are clothes waiting for him in the bathroom. Tom narrows his eyes, but he finds himself unable to refuse. When he comes out from the bathroom, she is waiting for him in the living room.

"Good morning." Hermione is polite.

"Good morning." He replies.

She gestures for him to sit on the stool in front of her, Tom does what she asks. He looks at nothing, much more focused on the soft-touch she makes on his back. It's very different from the burning aspect of her personality that confronts him every time.

"You're bipolar," Tom said suddenly.

"What?" She paused for a moment.

"You're probably bipolar," He explained. "Your swings in emotions and actions are constant."

She snorted.

"I'm not bipolar." She denied. "But my 'constant swings of emotions' are greatly influenced by your attitude."

"Oh! I do apologise." Tom replied, not really expressing regret. He could hear her little laugh as if she knew he would never apologise and he found himself joining her.

Hermione was silent, she concluded that her work was done. Riddle's back was smooth and uninjured, except for some small scars that resembled the whiplash injuries Riddle had received. These small scars looked old and healed and were at the base of Riddle's back, she probably didn't notice them because she was so focused on his larger wounds.

She found herself tracing the path of the scars with her fingers and felt Riddle stiffen under her hand.

He sighed, forcing himself to relax.

“I hadn’t seen these.”She murmured, very kind and soft.

"Once for never again," Tom said.

"Hm?" She looked over his shoulder, trying to see his face, but he was staring at the rug.

"Once for never again," he repeated. "Once caught, never again," he explained.

Hermione knew that there was more. She wondered if he would react brutally if she asked, but she didn't hold back.

"What happened?"

He mused, it took a while for him to respond, probably wondering if he would give her a different part of the story of his miserable life. - The life he will change. Because one thing is he sure of: One day he will be on top.

"I was a young child," Tom replied. “I wanted sweeties. I went into the hidden pantry in the orphanage, grabbed a few sweeties and went to my room, Billy Stubbs ratted on me, Mrs. Cole came along with Mr. Wool and I was punished. First was my hand, so that I would learn never to steal. I healed my hand because it was unacceptable to have such a visible reminder. But, I leave the marks on my back for me to remember that I was once caught but never again."

It was then that little Tom Riddle’s rebellion began. After a few more such events, little Tom began to become cold and calculating. He took the other children's things for the simple pleasure of doing so and not getting caught, of seeing their frightened expressions.

Definitely once for never again.

Hermione listened attentively and silently, with her wand and ointment, she did magic. A few seconds later she got up and took a mirror with both hands.

"Well, why don't you see for yourself?" She suggested.

Tom got up slowly, he took his full height and looked over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror. His back was smooth as it always should have been. His ivory skin was perfect and as healthy as it could be in its hue.

All the wounds were gone, all the wounds had been healed.
She had healed everything.

Tom's eyes go from his reflection to her. He looks at her intensely and sees her in a new light, one that he may have denied at first. She is valuable. He will give her the benefit of the doubt, more patience and he will listen to what she has to say. She is smart and talented. He will give her two favors. Rewards for what she has done for him. She gave him a safe place to be, protection and took care of his health, even after all their difficult history. She also took him from the miserable boring orphanage. Much more than the others have ever done for him.

Tom completely turned his body toward her.

“When we get back to Hogwarts, I'll take off the curse I put on you.” He speaks suddenly, never saying this is a form of thanks.

Hermione blinked, surprised that this subject had come up. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish, not knowing what to say.

"That would be really nice," she replies, almost wanting to smile.

Tom walks slowly towards her, Hermione tries to look anywhere but at him, he's still shirtless and she has to admit to herself that Riddle makes her disconcerted and embarrassed. She can't stop the slight flush that starts on her cheeks. Without realising it, she holds the mirror, trying to put a barrier between him and her. She can tell that he seems to be at least a little amused by her attitude.

Tom's confidence returns as he looks at her flushed cheeks. Somehow she is not immune to him.

“So…?” He makes his voice sound purposefully low. "Do you want to tell me about this necklace you wear?"

"Do you want to tell me what this ring is?" Hermione arched an eyebrow. Riddle snorted and retracts a step, Hermione smiled inwardly at herself.

She walks away, putting the mirror back in its place, watching Tom put on his men's vest and then his shirt. When he is done, Tom looks at her, tilting his head to the side, his gaze intense. Suddenly he closes his eyes and smiles without showing his teeth. Hermione swallows, watching his expression. Whatever thought he was having, she only knows one thing:

It all started from now.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 11. Dispholidus

-

The Carriage from Hell

Edited January 2024

Tom was looking at her and then turning his head away. He did this several times. Looking at her from under his lashes, his green irises seemed to shine with reflected
light that came into the tent entrance and which graced his face. He looked at her again, this time taking longer, taking in and considering every detail he could.

Her figure was silhouetted against the glare, the edge of her shape shining in the sun, her hair turning a strange shade of brown and honey in the light, her cheeks pink from the sun and the few freckles on the tip of her nose. Her lips were also pink and not with lipstick, Granger looked like a girl who seldom wore makeup and only dared when absolutely necessary. It was the sun and wind that gave her a healthy, natural look and color. She had
long straight lashes and
deep, almost, feline eyes with a color that could turn a vibrant caramel when the light touched them or become as dark as the rich brown of a tree trunk in its absence.

Why did he notice all this? Because he thought she was beautiful and he didn't know how much it affected him. Tom is not taking it too seriously, he can consider and appreciate what he thinks is beautiful or ugly, which appeals to him, however, he is also able to ignore this if it does not benefit him. He just thinks that she has a natural beauty that can be considered unsophisticated and quite different from the cosmopolitan standard of beauty that frequents Slytherin House.

Granger was in an armchair, her legs tucked aside, while she rested her chin against her fisted hand with her elbow resting on the armrest. A muggle book was on her lap and she was concentrating on reading. Her hair was tied up in a side ponytail with a few loose strands.

Such uncontrollable hair,

he thought.

Tom put the book he was reading aside and rose from the couch, putting his hands in his trouser pockets.

“We need to go back to the orphanage to collect my things. We will be returning to Hogwarts soon.” He spoke, his face expressionless.

Hermione paid close attention to what he was saying. His tone of voice was demanding, a kind of order and his face was a stoic mask, not revealing
whether
he had any expectations from her. It was only then that Hermione understood a little more about him. He needed his belongings for the return to Hogwarts, that trunk is in the orphanage - obviously - and he

doesn't know how to Apparate.

That is, he needs her help but he doesn’t want to ask directly. The way he spoke was nothing more than him trying to corner her in a way that he didn't need to ask for something. It's like he doesn't know how to ask or if he does then it's not something he can do with people who know his real 'self', his true persona.

He definitely looks like a spoiled child, very petulant indeed. The situation would be comical if it were not tragic. However, Hermione expects nothing less from him.

"Okay." She replies, watching his expression become serene.

She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because one can never tell with him. He could strangle someone whilst smiling lovingly into their eyes. However, she considers them to be on relatively "good terms".

No, no, good terms is too much.

Perhaps the right words are 'living together peacefully for now'.

This is more appropriate.

She doesn't know how long this peace between them will last and she is 100% sure that they will be in conflict again at some point, she just hopes that this period of peace will be long enough for her and Harry to leave without causing too much confusion. Hermione also wonders to herself whether young Riddle will meet Harry and, if so, how he will behave. She already has a sense of how Harry will respond, but Riddle, he can be a box full of surprises - many of them unpleasant. She also ponders if this possible encounter between the two will fuel the young Dark Lord's obsession.

"I'll get ready so I can take you." She continued, walking past him and heading towards her room. Hermione saw the slight wrinkle on his forehead with her last words. He is certainly proud.

Tom didn’t wait long, when she came out of her room, she was wearing a knee-length khaki A-line skirt and white poplin cuffed shirt, her hair was loose but tied at the side with a green ribbon and
held by a few hairpins. She wore white plimsolls on her feet.

"Shall we go?" Granger asked, extending her hand to him.

He rolled his eyes and took her hand.

"Hold on tight," she ordered.

"More than this?" Tom frowned. He really wasn't holding her hand tightly, it felt weird to do something like that. To touch her.

“You don't want to be thrown away from me whilst we

Apparate

. I can say that with one hundred percent certainty.” Hermione explained and she felt his grip tighten. "Ouch!" Escaped from her lips. "Don’t
break my fingers."

"You are the one who said to hold on tight."

"You did it on purpose."

He shrugged and loosened his grip a little. They

apparated

to the alley next to the orphanage, which was known to both Hermione and Tom. Tom knew it because he had always lived there and Hermione ... well, Hermione knew it because she had visited the orphanage this summer
with the clear intention of removing the curse on her mouth and destroying Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord, Voldemort. This young boy that she was willingly bringing to collect his school belongings from Wool’s Orphanage.

Oh the irony of her situation!

When Tom felt his feet touch ground and Hermione’s magic dissipating, he exhaled. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye, seeing what she considered an almost genuine smile from him. That ‘not quite’ smile was so slight and practically nonexistent, that if she hadn't solved the puzzle that was his expression, she could have sworn that smile never existed. The pupils marginally dilated, the eyebrows a little raised, the breathing moderately fast and heavy and that strange red flush on Tom Riddle's pale face.

Adrenaline.

He liked the feeling of adrenaline.

It was the first time Tom had Apparated, she means - the first time he had Apparated consciously. He didn't yet know how to do this magic by himself and if he did have some idea how to do it - which she is sure he does - Tom was hesitant to practice. He didn’t want to risk splinching - something that Hermione very much doubts would happen to him. Let's face it, everyone knows Riddle was good at any spell and she is sure that in his first Apparition class, he will obtain his license with great ease.

She was caught looking at him as he looked back, with curiosity.

"Shall we go?" He asked, removing his grip on her hand. Hermione nodded and followed the path beside him.

When they arrived at the orphanage, Tom opened the main iron gate and gestured for her to pass through first. She didn't know if it was a gentlemanly act because they were in public or if he was really kind and that could be a cruel question. Then, he did the same thing with the large, heavy wooden front door of the building, gesturing for her to walk ahead.

Hermione's shoes made a squeaky noise as she stepped onto the shiny polished wooden floor and looked around curiously, trying to find similarities with the orphanage of her time. Although it was clean, this was a gloomy and depressing place. It had dark colored heavy furniture and was decidedly not a cheerful place, it didn't look like a home for raising happy and balanced children. Even the lamps didn't emit enough glow, creating weak, shifting patterns on the walls. It was a sad place. The aura of the orphanage was dejected, dark and dour. Hermione was not naive to imagine that an orphanage could be classed as ‘happy’ but it should have a certain ‘warmness and empathy’, be a ‘safe place’, but at Wools it was different. Very different.

She paused and looked back, seeing Riddle standing at the door with his hands in his pockets, looking around like her. Hermione noticed the slight wrinkling of his nose, it was disgust and contempt in his expression.

He hates this place

, she realised.

And he is probably right to do so

.

He walked over to her with a serious, hard expression. Mrs. Cole was coming from the main hall, her shoes making a constant noise, something that sounded like '

tack, tack, tack, tack'.

She was wearing a long-sleeved burgundy dress that reached a little below the knees. There was a gold brooch pinned to the silk ruffled collar of her dress. The pale blond hair was tied in a perfect bun in the style of the period.

Hermione improved her posture and looked at Mrs. Cole calmly when she finally stopped in front of them.

"Riddle." Her voice was stern when she addressed Tom and Hermione swallowed, remaining still. "Where have you been all these days?" She continued.

"You gave me permission to spend the vacation with my schoolmate." Tom replied calmly, this time gesturing to Hermione, as if introducing her.

It was the first time that Mrs. Cole looked at Hermione, frowning.

"Don't you remember?" Tom spoke, approaching Mrs. Cole. Hermione felt the environment around her cool with magic that didn't come from her. She looked at Tom, who approached Mrs. Cole, looking intently at her. "Allow me to make you remember."

Mrs. Cole was caught in Tom Riddle's gaze like a deer blinded by light, her eyes widening, her eyelashes fluttering as she tried futilely to fight the mental invasion and her mouth hung open a little. Hermione tried to understand what he was doing.

Legilimens?

Was he reading her mind and implanting false memories?

Confundus?

Was he creating confusion in her memories?

Or was it a strange combination of both?

"You remember." Tom said in a friendly tone of voice that was not a question but a statement.

“Of course, Riddle. I remember." She smiled. Mrs. Cole's expression softened into strange happiness and calm.

"Great." Tom Riddle smiled with satisfaction. "Now walk back to the office and stay there." He gestured like a nobleman, shooing Mrs. Cole away as if she were a chicken and she obeyed.

That was

Imperius ...

The realisation shocked Hermione and she looked at him in astonishment. He had just cast the

Imperius curse

wandlessly in front of her and without any visible effort.

When Tom looked back at her, he smiled arrogantly and purposefully slow brought his index finger to his lips, making the sign of silence to her. This was another little secret between them. The first of many.

Tom approached Hermione, she took his arm, looking alarmed.

"Did you just put her under a curse?" Hermione whispered, scolding him.

He looked at the hand holding his arm and raised an eyebrow suggestively at her, when Hermione noticed, she quickly removed her hand. Tom sighed and with that index finger, undid the light wrinkle on her forehead, forcing Hermione's expression to relax.

"Keep calm." He rolled his eyes. “At least she'll be happy for the rest of the day or until I decide to end the spell. Telling her to stay in the office is better than doing what I always wanted to do with her and Mr. Wool. Trust me." He advised her.

Hermione retracts when she hears his words, they are a warning, an advice. He could do something worse and she understood it so much that it filled her with fear. Reluctantly, she agreed.

"Very well." Hermione took a deep breath, trying to control her tone. She needs to look like she still has control of the situation. Tom nodded.

"Let's go." Tom nodded for Hermione to follow him upstairs.

“She can't go up to the boys' dorm, Riddle. Rules."

The boy's voice caught Hermione and Tom's attention. Tom's expression darkened when he took his gaze to the boy leaning against the hall wall. Hermione inspected the boy.

He had dark blond hair, pale blue eyes, with a lot of freckles on his 'potato' nose and cheeks, he was Riddle's height, with broad shoulders and could be considered muscular for his age. He wore a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves to the elbow and navy blue trousers with braces.

This was Billy Stubbs.

"Don't get involved." Riddle almost growled.

"Billy, what's going on?" The girl who was accompanying Billy asked. Her curly hair was tied with a ribbon, the girl's brown eyes looked at Tom, before she looked down quickly.

“The girl with Riddle is a weirdo just like him. She attends the same school.”

Amy Benson looked at Hermione and wrinkled her forehead. Hermione watched Riddle's hand clench into a fist.

"We are not weird." Tom snarled at Billy.

“Ah, yeah, what is the term that Mrs. Cole uses? A school for the 'gifted'. Hm ... I know ... It's just a fancy word to say that you are mad.” Billy laughed.

This time it was Hermione who spoke, irritated by Billy Stubbs' offense. As a child, Hermione was called similar things.

"Do forgive us if you don't have the necessary skills and abilities to attend the same school as us."

Billy narrowed his eyes in anger at Hermione. Tom stepped forward and Billy retracted. Whatever expression Billy saw on Tom, it stopped him. He went pale with fear. Amy held Billy's shirt, also in fear.

"Come on, Billy." She murmured to him. He locked his jaw, looking scared and angry, but unable to face Tom. He just nodded to Amy and they both passed Tom and Hermione.

"Aberration." He murmured very quietly as he passed Tom, who followed him with a cold gaze.

Tom and Hermione stood in the hall of the orphanage in silence. Tom was the first to move, but stopped momentarily, looking at Hermione over his shoulder.

"What are you waiting for?" He asked.

Great, he was already pissed. There is nothing better than the angry young Dark Lord. Hermione wondered if it really was a good idea to bring Tom here. She followed him, gathering all the patience she could, because apparently this place managed to expose the worst of Tom Riddle's personality.

They were walking down the hall to the dormitory, when up ahead Hermione saw a woman cradling something in her arms. A small unmistakable noise came from the pile of fabrics. It was a baby. The woman was lulling a baby, absently singing to him. As soon as she saw Tom and Hermione, she became scared and held the baby closer against her chest, hugging him protectively.

Martha was frightened by Tom Riddle's presence. She was a nurse at the orphanage, she helped deliver him but now she feared him and remembers to this day how he was a baby and as a strange child. He never cried, not even when he came into the world. He never got sick, not even when everyone had chicken pox. She doesn't even remember seeing Riddle with a cold.

"R-Riddle." She spoke, her voice breaking for a moment.

Tom passed Martha without acknowledgment, but Hermione stopped for a moment, looking at the newborn baby in the woman's arms.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, with sympathy looking at the baby with a skin tone very similar to the color of caramel, with pink cheeks and a small heart-shaped mouth. Hermione's expression soon softened.

The woman, Martha, looked at Hermione for a moment, not recognising her from anywhere.

"He was abandoned at our door two days ago." Martha explained. "Poor little thing, he was very hungry."

"Does he have a name?" Hermione asked, gently touching the baby's small tuft of curly hair.

“They haven't given him a name yet. But I call him George.”

It was at that moment that Tom came back into Martha's field of vision, she fought the urge to protect the baby, she did not trust that boy and thought that Riddle's punishment was valid. How much contradiction in one person.

However, Riddle made no move to approach her or the baby, he was just curious about the child's appearance. Hermione watched Tom's expression with interest, but he looked stoic and just raised an eyebrow at the baby in Martha's arms.

"Come on, Granger." He uttered to her and turned back towards room 27 again. Hermione looked at the child once more before finally following Tom.

Martha wanted to reprimand Riddle's about having a girl in his room, however, she fell silent and was content with the distance between her and him. That boy gave
her the creeps.

Tom made no chivalrous effort towards Hermione when he entered his room. Hermione gathered her hands against her chest, looking around and shivering with cold. How was it possible that in the middle of the summer, the room could be so cold?

The room, like the orphanage, did not convey any joy. Gray-painted walls, a rusty iron bed, an old, much used wooden wardrobe and a small table with a chair. That was all Tom Riddle had and that still didn't belong to him. There was a lonely window overlooking the main street, the only visual distraction for an extremely intelligent and skilled child. One could say, a magical genius. This was a part of the boy's childhood in front of her.

Hermione sat on the bed, the springs creaked under her weight, as if very worn. She was silent, watching Tom open the wardrobe to grab his trunk.

"Don't worry about the baby, Granger." Tom said. “He is going to be adopted. Babies are always adopted.”

Whether he was trying to reassure her or mock the her, she couldn't say.

"You were not adopted." She stated.

Tom stopped the second he heard Granger's words. The room was quiet, there was no sound, the orphanage was deadly quiet, the only thing that seemed to move were the dust particles slowly drifting through the light coming from the window. Hermione immediately wished to retract her words. One didn't have to be smart to understand that she had

'thrown shit at the fan'.

The suspense in the room got worse when she noticed Tom locking his jaw, his shoulders stiffening. The only sound in the room was the rasp of fabric from his clothing as he turned slowly towards her. He snorted in disbelief and looked at her.

"No, I was not adopted." Tom confirmed.

Hermione didn't know if it was safe to look at him, but the sound of his shoes as he walked towards her, aroused her curiosity and she was unable to avoid looking at him. Her eyelashes fluttered, trying to form an expression.

"I am the

antichrist

, according to Mr. Wool, remember?" He laughed grudgingly, making her remember the words the lame old man said to Tom as he whipped him.

"Are you trying to tell me that he prevented you from being adopted?" Hermione asked, trying to digest the information.

"

I'm saving families,

that's what I grew up listening to." He shrugged, indifferent.

Hermione looked down in a thoughtful and emotional way. Was the whole future a mess because Tom Riddle was never adopted? All because of a mean small-minded man who didn't understand that people could be
different? Because Tom was denied the chance to know what a family is? To be loved and cherished? Are these the factors that contributed to the formation of the Dark Lord? To his muggle hatred?

"I-I ... I'm sorry." Hermione said in a choked voice.

Those were the wrong words. Tom's expression darkened, his mouth turned into a line, while he locked his jaw and looked angrily.

"I don't want your pity."

"I ... I ..." She didn't know what to say. Hermione stood up, undecided.

"Get out." He ordered. "I’ve changed my mind. Go away."

She walked to the door, looked at him for a second and turned away, leaving room 27, leaving Tom Riddle alone in his cold and lonely room at the orphanage. Tom heard the sound of her shoes as she left. He rested his hands on the small wooden table and looked out the window at the busy street.

"Hell" Tom exhaled and turned sharply, taking his trunk from the closet and following after Hermione.

Hermione stopped in the entrance hall, taking a deep breath, looking back up the stairs.

"Are you okay, miss?"

Hermione started in surprise when she heard the male voice, a boy was coming to her aid.

"I'm Eric Whalley, miss." He held out his hand to her. "Nice to meet you.”

“Hermione. Hermione Granger." She shook his hand in greeting.

Eric Whalley had brown hair partially hidden by the black beret. The white dress shirt and gray trousers with braces appeared to be the men's standard uniform for the young boys at the orphanage.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, but aren't you too young to adopt a child?" He asked. Hermione paused for a moment, confused by his question, but understanding soon came to her.

“Oh, no, no, no. I'm not here to adopt ...” She raised both hands in a negative gesture. "I'm here ..."

"She's with me, Whalley." Tom Riddle's voice overlapped Hermione Granger's. He was walking down the stairs calmly, holding the trunk with one hand, as if he hadn't run to catch up. He would never tell her that he ran to be with her.

Eric took a step back and swallowed.

"You changed your mind very quickly." Hermione murmured when Riddle was close to her.

"We’ll talk about this later." He explained to her.

"Is that true, miss?" Whalley asked. Although he was afraid of Riddle, Whalley was cordial and polite, and would never leave a lady he thinks is helpless.

Tom narrowed his eyes at Eric's insinuation. Irritated, Tom addressed Hermione.

“Let’s go, Granger. He's not like us.”

Hermione was about to refute when more people came and stood behind Eric Whalley. Amy Benson, Billy Stubbs, a few other orphans and even Martha. Amy Benson whispered something in Eric's ear, which brought a surprised look to his eyes.

The gaze of each of these people was the same, it was strange and critical. It was like being judged. There were curious looks and yet they conveyed a kind of fear and disgust, a strange kind of discrimination.

Tom took Hermione's arm and shot everyone a look of anger and contempt.

They are not like me. They are not like us.

With that thought he took Hermione outside, holding his trunk with the other hand.

o0o

“Well, can you tell me what that was about?” Hermione questioned him, crossing her arms over her chest.

They were sharing a table near the window, away from the other tables, in a sort of cafeteria.

"Muggles are strange." He shrugged, gesturing for her to give him the newspaper with the headline: Soviet Forces Conquer Kursk. It was obvious, he didn't want to talk about what happened at the orphanage, dealing with it as if it were nothing. Deliberately ignoring Granger's questions.

"I am not talking about them, although we will talk about them soon, I am talking about
you
."

It is at that moment they are served with tea, sandwiches, cakes and scones, considered a luxury, due to food rationing, but mainly because in the eyes of others, they were a young couple who could not afford such expense.

Tom smiles at the waitress who deliberately takes time to serve them just so she can admire him timidly. When she walks away, she is so dazzled by his smile that the poor thing stumbles. Unfortunately she didn't see that as soon as she walked away, Tom rolled his eyes and his expression became serious.

He pretends to be reading the newspaper just to ignore Hermione. She narrows her eyes at him.

"Hello! I'm talking to you Riddle."

Tom exhaled slowly, lowering the newspaper and placing it folded on the table. He paused for a moment’s consideration and then looked at her.

“I hated that look of pity you gave me Granger. You told me that compassion and pity are different things and I tell you that if you give me that look of pity again, I'm going to shove this newspaper down your throat.”

Hermione looked at him indignantly.

See? This is what happens when you help the Dark Lord. You discover what his personality is like and as soon as he knows that you know, he gives it to you in spades. Wonderful!.

She understood that he was not really threatening her, because she already knows what it's like to be truly threatened by him and this is definitely not a threat. He is just irritated, exasperated by the situation. However, she reproaches his action by slapping the table.

Taking a deep breath, she says:

“Okay, I understand. I just thought it was wrong that he deprived you of being adopted.”

"Get over it." He said, picking up the newspaper again. Tom didn't want to care, he preferred not to think about these things too much. It would only lead to hurt.

"Weren't you angry?" She asked quietly. It was an extremely stupid question, because who wouldn't be angry with a situation like that.

Tom looked up at her. He didn't understand what she was getting at and what she wanted him to admit. He could not see what she or he would gain from talking about his past, he is only certain that he will not tell everything, he doesn’t know how reliable she is and what she will do with the information she obtains. But the truth is he doesn't mind giving her this information, because he no longer considers it to be valuable and it's not like it matters anymore.

"At first, when I started to understand, yes, I was angry, but now ..." He shrugged, reading the newspaper again. “Don't you realize that an orphanage is like going to a pet store? Just the sign saying 'for sale' is missing. I stopped caring and you should do the same thing.”

His words, the tone of his voice, the way he behaved, everything was cold and insensitive. There was no trace of regret, nothing that Hermione could sense as a feeling of sadness. He was detached, Tom Riddle didn't care anymore about not being adopted.

“It is almost a rule in an orphanage: Babies are always adopted. As you get older, the chances are less. When the twelve-year mark is reached, the chances are over.” He explained, still reading the newspaper, talking to her as if they were talking about the weather. “Honestly, I'm sorry for the adoptees. They barely know what to expect when

Mummy—”

He scoffed. "Has a biological child."

“Besides, Granger, we are not like them. They look at us as if we were freaks

, an aberration - ”

Tom continued, remembering the words Billy Stubbs used, laughing without joy. “But the truth is that we are the best. Muggles are nothing.”

"This is not true." She contradicts him. There was hatred in him for muggles. Hermione wondered how long it would take him to also show his deep disgust for muggles. Unfortunately it didn't take long.

"It is obvious that it is." He looked at her like she was a simple child. “Granger, we are obviously better than them. The things we are able to do are incomparable. They are bad and the fact that we have to hide our existence from them makes me extremely angry.”

"There are good and bad people on both sides, Tom."

"You have got to be kidding me." Tom rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're a muggle lover, Granger?" He looked her up and down.

“We are not going to argue about this. I'm sure we have different opinions on this matter.”

She didn't want to talk about bloodlines, muggles and muggle-borns with Tom Riddle. Not with him. That opened the door to a very dangerous debate, and judging by his gaze, she could see the gears in his brain working, which is not a good thing. On the way back to the alley, they walked side by side. Tom Riddle had not made any aggressive moves or asked further questions when she ended their
discussion abruptly, in fact, both preferred to walk in comfortable silence, entertained with their own thoughts. Of course, Hermione knows that now Tom Riddle is thinking and analysing everything she said, the danger of the situation is there. However, he had a calm and serious expression, looking ahead, beside her, closer than she ever thought he would be. It was as if he was escorting her, marking territory, the strange part of the masculine behavior of the forties.

Something caught Hermione's attention, causing her to stop and Tom stopped too. She was looking across the street, with a thoughtful look and a small frown of concern between her eyebrows. Tom followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"I would like to change this whole situation." She murmured, looking at a mother with three children lying on a London sidewalk.

The mother who was holding a baby in her arms was almost in tears when she saw her two other children complaining about being hungry. A mother's desperation, Hermione supposed, is not being able to feed her children.

It was sad how many other people passed by and had the capacity to ignore this scene. Hermione looked at the brown paper bag she was holding, it contained what was left of what she and Tom had eaten at the cafe.

Should I intervene?

She wondered. It didn't seem right to do nothing, yet, Hermione knew she shouldn't have any attitudes in the past. Doing nothing, being impartial, was so difficult, it was not human. And against everything she knew, against all advice, there was that impulse that told her it was right.

"Do you mind?" She asked Tom, showing him the cafe bag.

Tom shrugged with indifference, watching as she took a deep breath and crossed the street. If this was her act to have a peaceful night with her head on the pillow, he wouldn't stop her. At first, Tom thought that her kindness, compassion, pity - whatever you want to call it - was extended only to him by Hermione out of self-interest. That she hides something? This he is sure of. Does she act differently? No. She is the same as before, in that way sometimes - impulsive, rough, sometimes kind, intelligent and far too emotional.

He didn't quite understand why she was doing this, it's not like she was going to feed everyone in poverty. She would give this family something, but there would be others in worse shape. That is the world, it is not easy, just or gentle. However, one day, he will have control of everything, so he will be the order and the law. The judge and the executioner.

It was the sunny afternoon of the next day, Tom Riddle had already settled in and was treating the tent as if it was his home, which surprised Hermione. He actually let all the masks drop, or so it seemed.

Nix made a noise when he flew into the tent, carrying a letter stuck in his beak.

Tom watched with interest when Hermione took the letter, Nix flew towards him, waiting for some snack for the good work. Tom tried to calm the owl on the perch by smoothing
his feathers. Incredibly, Tom got along better with animals than with humans.

When Hermione saw whose letter it was, she glanced over her shoulder at Riddle, noting how her owl seemed to get along so well with him in such a short time. She felt a little jealous, but her concern for the contents of the letter was greater. Opening the letter quickly, Hermione read the words that crushed her hope once again. Her friend was still not better and there was no change in his condition.

She wondered again how much her interference in this time affected Harry Potter.

Hermione looked again at Tom Riddle who was unchanged in the face of everything, she let the letter in her hand catch fire through magic and burn to ashes, while that strange feeling of bitterness grew. She pulled away, needing to stay away from him.

Which did not go unnoticed by Tom.

Whatever she read in the letter, it stirred her emotions.

He thought, watching her go out of the tent. Tom put Nix in the cage and closed it, then walked over to find Hermione on the beach.

She was sitting on a rock, hugging her legs, while the waves calmly lapped the sand in front. Her hair flew against the breeze as if it had a life of its own, she looked at the sea with longing and devotion and Tom wondered who was the person who could give her that kind of look.

He walked over to her, rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. When he approached her, he noticed her embracing her legs tighter.

"What’s upset you? Tell me?" He asked, sitting next to her.

Tom heard a small snort coming from her and she shook her head, as if she found something funny in his question.

She lifted her face slightly, her brown eyes very much like mahogany, looking under her long lashes. Her gaze hit him and Tom found himself swallowing heavily, as if to dissipate a lump in his throat.

"Nothing to worry about." She answered.

Tom looked down, looking at her hands.

“You know about and ask about my past. I don't think it's fair.” He looked at her face again, raising an eyebrow.

"A friend." Hermione spoke in a strong voice. “He’s in St. Mungo's. The news was not promising.”

Understanding showed on Riddle's face.

Too emotional

, he thought. Or maybe it was he who was very unemotional, or else, no one had managed to activate that side of him.

Thank Merlin!

He thought to himself .

He looked around, not knowing what to say.

"I want to ask you something." Tom took her hand, he heard the air leave her lips in surprise, it was her right hand, the one holding the wand. She never walked without her wand. Hermione watched with curiosity as he traced her hand, there was no strength or brutality, only softness, but she ingested the air a little distressed by the situation when he touched the wood of the wand. The same curiosity that was in her eyes reflected in Tom Riddle's eyes. Admiring the wand with almost childlike interest, Tom asked:

“What happened in the Room of Requirement? What was that? With our wands?” He looked at her, his hand still holding
hers and her wand.

The questions, the curiosity, she had known they were going to come at some point. Hermione thinks it took too long, but maybe he was testing the waters with her, to see how far he could go. It is not surprising, however, that he remembers everything and every detail; Riddle is like that, she supposed.

She then wonders what she can say that doesn't provide him with valuable information and what he doesn't already know.

Was it safe?

She wondered.

"

Priori Incantatem

." Hermione murmured to him.

Tom stopped for a moment, looked at her and then at her wand.

"Sister wands." He concluded. He had read about it when he was fresh at Hogwarts, he had learned about wands and about the school, trying to gather as much information as he could so as not to be an ignorant layman, yet it was never enough for his House.

He traced the wand's wood with his fingers, ignoring Hermione's tight grip, she was still afraid to let the wand go and he admired her for being so smart. The wand, even with Hermione holding it, reacted to Riddle, perhaps because Riddle's wand was the sister. Tom then remembered the incredible connection between the two in the Room of Requirement.

Yes, a connection

. He looked at Hermione again. One more thing that made her connected to him.

"Is that why you didn't want to duel?" He asked and she snorted.

"Yes. Among other reasons as well.” Hermione scolded him with a look. "You wanted to harm me."

"Is it possible to duel?" Tom asked, ignoring Hermione's last sentence. He's not thinking of dueling with her, it's just a curiosity, a possibility that he wants to be prepared for.

"I believe so, but if both spells are cast at the same time -"

"The connection occurs." He finished the sentence for her. "How do you know about the Room of Requirement?"

He sees the hesitation in her, she licks her lips and looks down. He's still holding her hand.

“I read it in a book about Hogwarts and some of the mysteries in the castle. Given what happened, I just concluded that it was the Room of Requirement.” She lied. "And how did you find out?" She asked.

Tom looked out to sea, the sun is slowly starting to set between the clouds and the waves, and the sky is a strange palate of luminous colors of orange, red and purple.

“In a book too. A book that talks about the castle.” He answered in his mysterious voice.

This book he was referring to was inside the Chamber of Secrets, written by Salazar Slytherin himself, one of the founders of Hogwarts, explaining the entire construction of the castle.

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds, seeing Riddle's profile and how his hair flew against the wind, returning to the same perfect position. They fell silent, watching the sunset, listening to the sound of the waves and smelling the sea air. Riddle was still moving his fingers against Hermione's skin, it didn't seem he was aware of what he was doing. However, when he moved to hold her left hand, his fingers going up the wrist, he stopped. Tom blinked a few times trying to focus, he looked down at her wrist, his thumb gently pressing the delicate flesh. He turns her arm over, and Hermione tries to understand what he is doing with curious expectation. Tom stops again, exposing her wrist to him, his index finger traces all the way to the fold of her arm over her sleeve, this is when Hermione knows.

“I feel magic here. It's a charm to hide something.” He says, frowning.

Hermione swallowed and she put her hand with her wand over her arm to hide it from Riddle's view. Tom looked at her, watching as she bites her bottom lip and pulls her arm towards her body.

"What's it?" He asked.

He notices her looking to the right side, then to the left side, running her tongue over her lips.

Undecided and stressful behavior

, he deduces.

"A scar." She whispered almost inaudibly. Tom narrows his eyes at her when he catches her looking at his ring. "I… .I need to think, excuse me." Hermione rises from the rock where they were sitting and walks away from him, walking along the beach, lost in her own thoughts.

He watches her from afar, watching her walk on the beach in her sundress, her hair loose and unruly against the breeze. Tom looks at the iron cord around her neck and asks himself a question.

Unconsciously he plays with the ring on his middle finger, while still looking at her.

It's possible?

He wonders, thinking about the protective behavior Hermione exhibits with that necklace he has never had a chance to see completely.

No, of course not.

He denies it to himself.

Granger doesn't seem like the type of person who would do such a thing.

Tom looks at the ring that doesn't shine in the light.

Or am I mistaken?

He turns his head in the direction she's gone.

It is dawn and Riddle was in his dreamless sleep, resting in what was now his room, after a silent dinner between him and Granger. Both retired early to their bed rooms after completing their nightly routines.

He's snoring softly in the darkness of his room when a scream echoes. At first he doesn't move, he just grumbles as he turns to the other side of the bed, but when more screams of terror echo, Riddle wakes up instantly. He listens carefully and turns to the other side again, willing himself to ignore it, but she screams and
cries. Tom lifts his chest from the bed, looking around, listening to the screams coming from Granger's room. Throwing the blankets away, he gets up, opening the door quickly and walking with heavy steps to her room, ready to act if necessary.

He has his hand on the doorknob when he pauses for a moment, not knowing how she is dressed inside the room, but when he hears her moan 'no' in whimpering stress, he opens the door.

Tom swallows his breath when he sees her like that. She has her lower body hidden by the covers, her hair is loose and spread over the pillow, some strands of her hair are stuck to her forehead, a drop of sweat runs down her forehead, down her cheek, going towards the chin, her eyebrows flutter and he thinks she is crying in her nightmare, her breathing is fast, giving him the view of her chest rising and falling.

Riddle's eyes appear to glow green in the partial darkness of the room; he walks slowly and silently to the edge of the bed, looking at her from above. There is a crease between his eyebrows when he frowned.

His gaze rakes over her body structure, passing over her face, stopping on her lips for a moment, then on her chin to her slender neck, where he perceives the main vein; the jugular, descending into the small space between her collarbones, to where her breasts are hidden by the strange shirt she wears. The necklace, which he is so curious to know, is hidden in the valley between her breasts, under her shirt. Her skin is flushed and dimpled with little beads of sweat. Unconsciously he licks his lips and fists his hands, it was his body trying to control his impulses. He takes a deep breath and seems to get dizzy when he smells her fragrance.

Tom looks again at the iron cord, the desire to touch and pull the necklace from the valley hidden by her shirt is great, but there is something that goes beyond that. It is the strange feeling in the base of his stomach, a kind of tug, spasm or as if there are birds flying in there. His blood is running in all directions, but the one he can feel most is there and in his ears.

However, the cry from her, starts him back from his thoughts and he shudders with his ears aching. He locks his jaw, shakes his head to concentrate.

"Granger." He moves her shoulder, trying to get her to wake up. "Granger." Tom calls her again, but it is only on the third time that she wakes up.

Hermione raises her chest, breathing quickly, she blinks a few times and puts her hand against her forehead, trying to calm herself. She looks to the side, finding Riddle standing.

"Riddle?" She murmurs in a broken voice. He's wearing a set of gray pajamas, the top four buttons on his shirt are undone, giving her a partial view of his collarbone and chest.

"You were screaming like a pig being taken for slaughter." He says, confirming to Hermione that she was having a nightmare. A nightmare that left her shaken, after all, dreaming about Bellatrix Lestrange and the torture she suffered, always makes Hermione look like this. She thinks it was worse this time because she quoted the Dark Lord himself about her scar.

"Sorry." She murmured, resting both hands on the bed.

"Hm." Riddle shifted his weight to the other leg. Hermione moved restlessly, stroking her wrist. "It's about the scar." Tom doesn't ask, he just knows what her nightmare is about, she demonstrates this in her behavior.

Hermione watches him sit on the bed next to her and then lie down, looking up at the starry ceiling created by magic in a spell that was very similar to Hogwarts. Not knowing what to do, Hermione looks at him for a few seconds, before finally lying down too. Riddle has the decency to lie on top of the blankets.

"Can I see?" He asks, of course he is referring to the scar.

"No." She replies and swears she can hear a small laugh coming from him, she is probably wondering too much.

A few more seconds pass, both of them were silent watching the magical starry sky that Hermione created, until he asked again:

"Was it an accident?"

"No." Hermione replied. "It wasn't an accident."

"Hm." Tom murmured. "You were tortured."

Hermione's silence was all the confirmation he needed, now the puzzle pieces were starting to make sense to him.

"Was it a muggle?" He asked.

"No."

"Oh, a wizard."

"A witch." She corrected him.

How strange and ironic,

he thought. While he had been tortured by muggles, she had been tortured by wizards.

"Was it in the war?" He continued, looking at the sky that was now showing the constellation Ophiuchus - or in other words: Serpentarium. He liked it.

"Yes." She murmured in a distant voice.

"Is the witch alive?"

"Yes."

"Hm." He exhaled, waited a moment and asked again. “Would you take revenge on her? Would you kill her if you had the chance? ”

Tom waited for her answer, at first all he received was silence. He even thought she had fallen back to sleep, but then she replied,

"Yes."

He thought for a few seconds about her answer.

"Good."

o0o

“I can't believe we're almost too late to catch the train.” Hermione grunted, being followed by Riddle, as she walked the train corridor
to choose one of the Hogwarts Express carriages.

"You were the one who was late packing up your things, remember?"

She didn't even realise that all this time he was guiding her, even though she was walking ahead.

"Ah, yeah, is it my fault now?"

"Whatever, Granger." He didn't want to argue with her. "It's that carriage."

She rolled her eyes at his behavior, pulled the carriage door aside, and when she looked inside, she gasped and opened her eyes wide. It took less than a second for her to turn around, however she collided with Riddle, who was at all times behind her.

"Have you gone crazy?" She whispered to him.

"Get in the carriage, Granger." He ordered, a side smile appearing on his expression.

Stiffly and slowly, Hermione turned to face the carriage interior. Inside sat: Black, Lestrange, Malfoy, Mulciber, Rosier and Avery. Everyone was looking at her.

She had just entered the cariage from hell.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 12. Bothriechis
-
An Agreement with the Devil

Edited January 2024

Hermione turned and looked at him for several breaths, panting a little faster than normal, his expression adamant that they would not argue about this. She was going to remain in that carriage with him.
Feeling the looks on her back, she takes one or two deep breath and straightens her posture, lifting her chin a little and swallowing hard. Hermione turns around slowly, looking at those inside the carriage. On the right were Malfoy, Rosier and Lestrange, on the left were Alphard, Avery and Mulciber. There were two empty seats opposite each other, both adjacent to the window. Either she sat on Malfoy’s
side or she sat on Alphard’s side and she didn't even have to think too much, she preferred to stay on the known side a thousand times over, with Alphard. However, before she even moved, Riddle sat in that empty seat, leaving her to sit with Malfoy, Rosier and Lestrange.

Hermione wonders again if her sins are too much that she must not only be trapped in this carriage, but she must also sit beside the most loyal and cruel Death Eaters.

She settles stiffly beside Malfoy, sensing him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, but Hermione ignores him, maintaining the posture of her body with her hands together in her lap. Her face is expressionless, as she looks at the culprit of her confinement in this tense situation. The carriage is as silent as a graveyard and the only one who seems to be enjoying it is Riddle, although he does not have a smile on his face, she is already beginning to recognise the small twitch in the muscles around his eyes and the glow in those green irises. The small lateral tilt of his head is also an indication that he knows that she knows that he is enjoying it. In any case, she prefers to lower her gaze for a moment, just to control her emotions, when she raises her head, Alphard is looking at her.

There is a clear question in his expression:
What the hell are you doing here?
And the only way she can respond is with a slight shrug, keeping their conversation silent and hiding the strange rapport between them.She lets her eyes roam around the carriage, there is a nascent sociopath sitting directly in front of her, a future manipulator beside her, a cruel boy sitting next to him, a sadist sitting at the end, a diabolical alchemist with no morals on the opposite side, then next a malicious boy and everything revolves around a question:
How did she come to sit with them?
This only increases the personal terror she feels. All in all, they were teenage boys, young adults at most, yet they were able to do what even adults didn't dare to do. The thought froze her inside and Hermione knows that if there is a plan between them, if they act, she will have to fight right here. They outnumber her, it was five against one - she excludes Alphard from her calculation, because she cannot predict how he will behave if something happens - and they were considered powerful, anyone of them would be hard work. But, she is sure of one thing: she will not fall without taking at least one of them with her.

That's when she looks at Riddle again, feeling betrayed, used, deceived. Was that his retribution? It's not like when she helped him, she was thinking of some sort of retribution or payment, but after all, she figured he would at least want to make his intentions clear, that at least he would say 'I still want to kill you' and that would make it all clear to her.
He is full of surprises.
The Hogwarts Express departs from Kings Cross station, catching Hermione off guard, with the sudden jolt of the train Hermione is
thrown forward and she is forced to rest a hand on one of Riddle's knees to steady herself.

It was a quick moment for the others in the carriage, but for the two involved, time passed a little more slowly when their eyes met. Hermione recoiled as if Riddle's body was on fire, quickly rectifying herself back to the correct, rigid position. Her mind started to think of escape plans, she looked out the window, watching as the landscape moved quickly by. She wondered what her chances of survival were if she preferred to jump from the moving train. She could always use magic to help.
If nothing happened, then it would be a long and stressful trip to Hogwarts.

At first, Riddle found the awkward silence amusing, the exchanging looks asking what he was up to, the fear and submission of everyone inside. But then she leans on one of his knees to to steady herself, looking at him, and in those brown eyes, he sees fear, dread, betrayal, accusation everything directed to him. She retracts, looking at the landscape, the hands on her lap in the shape of a fist, he watches her move her fingers as if she misses taking the wand from her holster and holding it and she probably has a thought that she discards, due to a small huffing sound.
He prefers to ignore it, taking a book from his satchel. It was one of her books, which she didn't mind that he had picked up to read. Riddle would not give in to her and would not explain to the Knights what he wanted, at least for now.

For more than half the trip, the silence was harsh and unbearable, everyone appeared to be minding their own business. When he looks at her from under his lashes, he is surprised that she still maintains her rigid posture. The Knights have not spoken since Granger arrived, they don't know how much they can say or be themselves in front of her and more importantly, they don't understand her role here, among them. They are too curious, they want to know if they can finally relax, but none of them dares to say anything so far.

It was at that moment Lestrange made a clearing sound with his throat.

"Riddle ...?' There is a secret question in Lestrange's tone of voice, Riddle exchanges a look with him and Hermione wonders what is going on, if this is when things will start to get worse, however, against everything she thinks, Tom replies:

"She is with us."

The Knights of Walpurgis exchange glances, wrinkling their foreheads a little, wondering how Granger went from being an enemy to 'with us' and why Riddle and she arrived together. The need to sate the Knights' curiosity, Riddle knows he will have to do, however,
how ,
when
and
if
he will explain, is his decision. And one thing he definitely doesn't accept is being questioned. But for now, this short statement seems to be enough. They exhale and automatically relax. Lestrange stretches his legs on the upholstery on the opposite side, Mulciber loosens his tie, Avery yawns as if bored, Alphard cracks his neck, Rosier rubs his fingers, Malfoy crosses his legs and talks to Mulciber about the summer holidays.

The amusement transforms to ignorance and then to boredom, he did not want to be moved by Granger's behaviour, but if she gave him another cautious glance, he knew he would care.

"For Merlin's sake, relax, Granger." Riddle practically screamed, demanding that she relax her posture and muscles.

She swallows, finding the inner fire to debate with him.
“You can't blame me. If I remember well, the last time I was with you all, it was not pleasant.”

Riddle snorts and the small superior smile he gives, along with the sounds of laughter from the others, show that at least they find what happened funny. Alphard silently watches the scene.
Annoyed, Hermione tries to kick Riddle's shin, an act that none of the future Death Eaters would think of doing. Alphard looked at Hermione as if a second head had grown or as if she had a death wish. However, to everyone's surprise, Riddle dodges Hermione's foot, looking more amused than annoyed. Alphard couldn't say how Hermione had moved from the girl Riddle wanted to torture and kill, to the girl who had the audacity to try to kick Tom Riddle. If this situation is not strange enough, he doesn't know what else it could possibly be.

"How much negative emotion you have, Granger." There is fun, irony and arrogance all combined in Riddle's tone of voice. “Look on the bright side. There is always a way to get something beneficial out of a bad situation. See where you are now.”
"I really don't know if I'm in a good position," Hermione responds with sincerity and a slight intonation of anger. “Your advice? Are you sure it’s not for youself?”

He stops for a moment.
"Let's say I'm an expert at this." There is a slight inclination towards the upper corner of the right side of his lips, indicating that such an expression can be considered a smile. She doesn't doubt his statement for a second, Riddle must surely be a master when it comes to achieving the best out of the worst situations.

"Let's be realistic," Hermione says, leaning her upper body slightly towards him, in response to her approach, Riddle also leans in, anxious for the Gryffindor girl's smart thoughts. "S-Should I trust you?"

Tom raises his eyebrows a little and assesses her expression up and down out of the corner of his eyes. He thinks about her question for a moment, at most three seconds.
"Could I trust you that day and every other day?" He answers with a question, even if it was a trick question willing to catch a lie, there is truth there, in those words.

Even surrounded by his most loyal followers, there is no desire in Riddle to expose these details to them. What Granger saw, participated in and offered to him, belongs to him. There is a degree of intimacy with her that puts her on a different level to the others, a different way of relating. For all intents and purposes, she saw more about his life than he ever allowed others to see, and even though the two hated each other in the beginning, he assumes they are fine now. However, she will also have to give a vote of confidence in him. He finds her fear interesting, even funny. As if she is ready for anything, ready to put her claws out and fight if she feels threatened, but for now, this is unnecessary behaviour. He has no intention of harming her. She will just have to believe this, as he also believed that she would not harm him.

Riddle holds her gaze with his for a moment, before exhaling and putting himself back into a more comfortable
position again.

"Just relax, okay." He nods at her.

Hermione holds his gaze a little longer, before nodding and also correcting her posture. She makes a slight movement with her shoulders, forcing the trapezius muscle and all other muscles to relax. Against all rational instincts and facts, she trusts him for now. She wants to believe what he said to her, here in the carriage and in the tent and wants to believe that for now she is safe from the future Death Eaters, because the only one who can keep them away is Riddle. It is Riddle who holds their leash and, apparently, what he says is the law between them.

This is what it is for today,
she thinks.

For Riddle, they both have more similar situations than he likes to admit and he realises, it doesn't bother him as much as it did at the beginning. After all, strangely they seem to compliment each other, but as far as this goes, he has yet to see more. Granger's behaviour is nothing more than her leaving her comfort zone. They
“played”
when he was in her territory, now it was her turn to come and play in his.

Riddle picks up the book again and the others take it as a cue to return to acting normally. Hermione looks at the horizon through the window, watching the sun in the landscape before water droplets appear one by one until it starts to rain. She frowned a little, confused.
Summer rain. More rain as the Express continues the journey, the downpour seems to intensify, the sun stopped shining, hidden by the heavy rain-laden clouds that left the sky dark.
"It looks like the weather has changed." She heard Lestrange comment and looked in his direction.
At that moment the train slowed, the carriage lights dimmed and Hermione exhaled, and at the same time she
and everyone else noticed their strange icy breaths
indicating a drop in temperature. Riddle stopped reading, raised his head in Hermione's direction and everyone looked at each other, paralysed in their seats when the temperature seemed to drop immediately to freezing point. Hermione shivered with cold and on instinct, looked at the window and watched in horror as it began to frost over. Riddle also looked on with fascination and suspicion, until from the bottom corner of the side where Hermione was sitting, appeared long, skeletal fingers, the hand dragged itself across the surface of the window sensing the presence of those in that carriage. The humanoid creature covered in torn dark robes with a black hood came into view slowly, the noises it made - very similar to when a person is short of breath or who wants to suck in more air than is able - could be heard through the window.
The cabin occupants now stood with their eyes fixed on the horrific spectacle unfolding before them, watching this creature that could only have come from the most terrible of nightmares.

"Dementors ..." Hermione whispered. Dementors were not Hermione's dread, but it would be foolish to say that she would not fear to be near a Dementor.

The Dementor placed his mouth - which looked more like a small bottomless hole - against the window and as if in anger spread his skeletal hands on the window in a sudden, loud movement, which startled Hermione. She threw herself back against Malfoy, pushing him so she could get away from the window. Malfoy pushed Rosier who pushed Lestrange.

Riddle stood up and stared at the creature with interest, dazzled as if it were a new scientific discovery for him. He had never seen a Dementor before.
Hermione was about to pull her wand from its holster and cast the Patronus spell when the Express started moving again. The Dementor shrank away. The light inside the cabin came back, but it still didn't seem strong enough. They all reseated themselves. Hermione sighed and leaned her head against the seat,
this didn't seem like a good sign.

"Wow, did you see that?" Mulciber spoke, more excited than afraid. "It was a
fucking
Dementor!"

"That was awesome!" Rosier agreed.
"You had to see your face." Avery pointed at Rosier, laughing. "It looked like you were going to pee your pants."

"Damn, my Father said the Ministry was going to station Dementors as guards on the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade perimeters after the attack happened, but ... hell, I never thought I'd see a Dementor." So much joy could be heard in Lestrange's voice that any Dementor would be most pleased.
Hermione looks at them with shock and disbelief.
What's wrong with them? She wonders. She agrees, on a certain level, that seeing a Dementor is a once in a lifetime vision, it is certainly incredible for anyone, but their reactions were not normal.Riddle interprets Hermione's shocked expression to the verbiage in the carriage. Somehow, despite everything he knows about her, he considers her a 'lady' to maintain the appearances of politeness and sophistication.

"We have a lady in our company, boys." He nods towards Hermione, a clear order that they must compose themselves.
"Our apologies, Miss. Granger," Mulciber says. "Forgive us for our inappropriate behaviour."

Hermione lets out a small, low sound of disbelief that only she could hear. She doesn't believe that. She doesn't care about the words they choose to express themselves with, but about how easily they obey Riddle. It was clear that they were much more afraid of his reaction than anything else.

Alphard is silent, feeling Riddle settling beside him and continuing to read his book. He looks at Hermione, analysing her expression, seeing how shaken she looks after the meeting with the Dementor. He doesn't know if it was really the Dementor who left her like this, but he can't help but notice that the window remains frosted, meaning that someone in the train compartment is still sad, which is why he gets up, picking up a small bag with sweets he had bought. She looks at him, watching the movements he makes when he gestures for Malfoy to give him space to sit.

Alphard sits down, his face turned towards Hermione. He knows he's probably drawing attention to both of them.
"What are you doing?" She asks in a soft, low voice.

Searching in the small bag of sweets he removes a chocolate from there, he opens the chocolate bar and offers her a piece. She looks at him suspiciously but takes the chocolate.

"You probably know that, but Dementors feed on people's happiness," Alphard explains, fiddling with the chocolate packaging.

Hermione smiles, Alphard looks at the frost on the window, lessened but it was still not enough.
"Endorphins." She says, with scientific knowledge superior to his.

"Yeah, something like that." He smiled. "Here, choose one."
"Bertie Botts?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking at him and noticing a defiant expression on Alphard's face. She reached into the package and took out a red bean.
Usually red is a good thing.
Alphard also takes one, the bean is also red, perhaps more the colour of wine.

She puts her bean in her mouth first, chewing as she imagines a worse taste and is pleasantly surprised to find cinnamon. Soon after Alphard places his into his mouth, he chews more confidently.

"Damn." He murmured, wincing unpleasantly at the taste of
worm, shivering with disgust.

Hermione laughs. The laughter is shy, cheerful and inviting. The frost on the window thaws and the light in the carriage seems stronger. The expression on Hermione's face is brilliant and she looks at him with a sparkle in her eyes that looks like happiness, but for some reason, he thinks there's something more there as if she's seeing someone else instead of him. Especially when she, still with a smile - this time more restrained - looks at him, taking in all the details that she can see and suddenly there is a small crease between her eyebrows. She tilts her head to the right side and brings her face and hand a little closer, with her fingers, she tucks the strands of his hair behind his ear, her touch moves down to the earring he's wearing on his left ear.
Alphard feels his face heat up with her contact, which is unusual for him. His normal bold behaviour gives him enough charisma to make people blush, but to him?….It rarely happened.

Hermione runs her fingers over the earring. It is an earring dangling in the shape of a small prickly ball that looked like a sea urchin. She raises her eyebrow and he sees the small twitch in the left corner of her mouth - a small smile - and shakes her head in a very maternal way like a mother watching her son play.The kind of look he never saw in the eyes of his mother, Irma Black neé Crabbe. At best she is cold, at worst she is glacial and much to his displeasure, his sister Walburga 'Wally' is very similar to her.

He looks at Hermione and sees her sighing, she crosses her arms under her breasts and leans her head against the window and he understands that she needs personal space, he gets up and when he turns around, he finds Riddle looking at him intensely. Alphard swallows his saliva in a ' gulp' .
The intensity of the gaze sends chills down his spine. It is not a normal look, there is no heat there or shine or emotion, it is cold and fearful. Alphard is unable to maintain eye contact and finds himself looking down to avoid confrontation.
Riddle takes a deep breath, feeling his heartbeat furiously against his chest as an unknown emotion begins to rise with bubbling anger in his stomach. An emotion that he could only compare with selfishness and possession.
What caught his attention was the sound of her laughter that he had never heard, at least not directed at him, but then he realised that she was laughing at Alphard with pink cheeks and sparkles in her eyes, the light of the sunset lighting up her face and the strands of her hair.
He locked his jaw and looked under his lashes and when Alphard laughed too, his eyes narrowed.

What does that mean?
He asked himself. Their rapport raised the deepest confusion and suspicion, but that was momentarily put aside when he saw Granger touch Alphard's hair and trace a path through his ear to the earring Black wore.

It was an act with no ulterior motive, but in Riddle's view it was intimate and very close and he found himself squeezing the cover of the book until his knuckles turned white.
If her kindness is given to everyone in such a banal way, then her the actions towards him this summer didn’t mean as much as for him and Tom doesn’t know if he is annoyed by the closeness between her and Black or if he is admitting to himself that she has special meaning for him.
He grits his teeth, not liking what he was feeling. Tom doesn't like to be taken by surprise, he usually needs time to sort and analyse, otherwise, he can be unpredictable and his unpredictability can be dangerous.

Tom watches Alphard sit next to him out of the corner of his eye, maybe I'll have a conversation with him later.

He looks at Granger, who now leans her head against the window, absently watching the sunset, this time he isn't even trying to hide it; he is openly studying her. Tom wonders if there is any relationship between her and Alphard, Alphard is attractive and charismatic enough to attract other girls but does Granger fit into the 'other girls' type? Tom has a hard time believing this, but it seems that way. The problem with the question is how did they become so close. So, he remembers that it was Alphard who lent her the Slytherin robe, he was the one who arrived with her to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, he was the one who accompanied Tom to the bathroom of Moaning Myrtle.
How curious?
For now, he will be more of a spectator, however, that does not mean he will not take action, he just needs to connect everything. Having a thought, he closes the book in a ' paf'.
"Granger." He gets her attention.

"Yes?" Hermione turns her head against the window.
"I made a promise to you and I keep my promises," Tom spoke and Hermione looked more suspicious. "I will do you a favour, anything as long as what you ask me does not get me expelled from Hogwarts, or put me in Azkaban or doesn’t kill me and doesn't expose me in a degrading way." He maintained his posture as if he were talking about business. "In other words, I'm offering you a vow."

Hermione adjusts as she hears his words, she blinks repeatedly trying to understand what she heard.

"An Unbreakable Vow?" She asked, incredulous.
"Of course not, silly." Tom shook his head. “But don't take my words in vain. I don't just say this to anyone.” He stood up and held out his hand. “All you have to say is: What I want is… And that's it. In return - whatever you saw, know or heard concerning this - you won't be able to tell anyone about it. What do you say?”

Lestrange and Malfoy looked at each other and a small smile appeared between them.

A vow with the young Dark Lord? This was crazy, but then the opportunity to have Riddle grant a favour was too tempting to be rejected. She could save Harry Potter when they both returned to their original time, she could stop the battle if he made the connection between this Hermione and the Hermione that he wants to kill in the future. It was too tempting and yet inaccurate.

She gets up, about to make a decision, it is at that moment Enid opens the compartment door, dressed in the Gryffindor uniform and with the Head Girl badge pinned to her robe, her hair was partially loose and in a beautiful pin-up style.

“Riddle, finally, I was looking for you. We have to meet with the other prefects, best go get ready.” Enid spoke. She was early because Riddle is never late, it was probably the nervousness of being the new Head Girl.

Her eyes roamed the carriage occupants until they reach Hermione.

"Hermione!" She smiled. "What are you doing here? We were all waiting for you in the other carriage. ”

Hermione opened her mouth, but it was Riddle who spoke first.

“Miss. Granger and I met at the station, she was having some difficulties with her trunk and I helped her. We talked and I invited her to join us. We have become friends, haven’t we, Miss. Granger?”

"Of course ... I suppose so." Hermione had no choice but to agree, Riddle was pressing for her to confirm what he had just said.

“Oh! Really? Well, that’s great.” Enid tried to be kind. “I will call the others, we will be waiting for you, Riddle. Algie is already with the Ravenclaw prefects.”

"Right."

When she was gone, Hermione sat down, Riddle picked up his things and walked to the sliding door of the compartment. He turned and said,
"Boys -" Everyone looked at him "- take care of Miss. Granger." And closed the cabin door, leaving Hermione there.

They spent just a second looking at the shut door and then they turned their attention to her. Hermione leaned her back against the window feeling cornered and for a moment imagined the hissing of snakes in the carriage. Malfoy looked her up and down and she heard a small laugh from Mulciber. She took a deep breath, making herself more courageous because they seemed to enjoy the fear.
"What is your relationship with Riddle?" Avery asked.

"Why don't you ask him?" Hermione suggested, watching a nerve in Avery's jaw bounce. "Don't tell me you are afraid to ask such a simple question?"

Oh, no.
Talking to them would be like stepping on thin ice. She didn't know what to say to them, but she knew she shouldn't say much. She played with him and they seemed to notice. Avery narrowed her eyes and stood up quickly.

"Avery." Malfoy scolded him. “Sit down. Now."

Malfoy and Avery exchanged a long look and Avery sat like a sulky child.
Oh, right, Abraxas Malfoy is second in command.

Lestrange laughed, happy to be watching that scene. "Why do things seem to be more fun when Miss. Granger is with us?"

"Don't be so happy," Rosier said. "She's a problem," Rosier spoke as if Hermione wasn't even there. "By the way, Alphard -"

"What?" Alphard grunted.

"- If your brother hurts my sister, I will finish him."

Alphard sighed and rolled his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake, he's only eleven! What do you think Cygnus is going to do with Druella?”

What? Wait! Were they talking about Cygnus and Druella? That Cygnus and that Druella?

Malfoy made a noise in his throat.

"It's time. We have to go get ready.” He got up. "Miss. Granger." He opened the door with a gentlemanly gesture.

Hermione took her things, gave a half-ironic smile and went to put on her uniform.

o0o

“Hermione!” She heard Ectur and Bilius call her on arrival at school. She stepped away from the Riddle gang and walked briskly to them, a smile on her face.

"How are you?" Hermione hugged them.

"We are fine. I wanted to write to you, but you never gave me your address.” Ectur spoke, his cheeks turning pink.

"It is true. It broke our hearts.” Bilius crossed his arm over Hermione's shoulders. It was more a friendly gesture than something like 'she's my girl'. Meanwhile, Ectur grimaced and elbowed Bilius in the ribs, forcing him to release Hermione. Hermione smiled and shook her head.

"How was your holiday Hermione?" Ectur observed the details on her face, her sun-coloured cheeks and her wild hair.

"It was a little complicated." She seemed somewhat lost in thought. Ectur interpreted her response as loneliness and concern for trying to start a new life after the war.
“It must be difficult for you. I mean, after the war. ”
“We are not going to talk about sad things, are we? Hermione is here with us and now we are definitely veterans!” Bilius tried to change the subject, attracting more of Hermione's smile. She thanked him mentally, however, Ectur grunted at Bilius' interruption.

They sat at the Gryffindor table, waiting for the new students. It didn't take long for the first years to arrive, this time they were following Professor Slughorn, while they queued for the Sorting Ceremony. Headmaster Dippet announced about the new school year with Dumbledore beside him, holding the Sorting Hat, the famous stool empty waiting for the new students.

Slughorn joined Silvanus Kettleburn, Galatea Merrythought and Dumbledore, who were standing to greet the students who would be classified into their Houses.

When the first name was called, Hermione almost got up from the seat she was in.
Alastor Moody?
She lifted her neck, trying to see as the young boy walked over to the stool.
It was Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody.
There was nothing unusual about that boy who was sitting with the Sorting Hat on his head. There were no scars, nor the electrifying blue eye that moves on its own, he had both legs and most importantly,
the nose was complete. In fact, he was cute with big brown eyes that were childlike features, plump and pink cheeks, strawberry blond hair and a look that showed his insecurity for being in front of so many people.

"Gryffindor!"
The Hat announced.

The Gryffindor table burst into applause, she put her hand over her mouth trying to hold back the smile and tears of happiness when she saw Moody sit at the Gryffindor table. Harry should have seen this, he would be so happy.

The next to be called was Cygnus Black. Hermione didn't understand the fear Walburga had when she looked at Cygnus. The boy clearly had magic and was acting like a noble, but somehow he was different from Draco - who was immature. Cygnus was slender for his age and had a more physical resemblance to Alphard than to Walburga, combed black hair and grey eyes with long lashes and a slightly upturned nose. He had a serene, confident, calm and certainly lonely expression.

“Slytherin!” The Hat didn't even seem to think.

Slughorn shook Cygnus's hand with a smile on his face and gestured for him to sit at the Slytherin table, which now applauded his presence.

Damocles Belby, the creator of the Wolfsbane potion was selected for Ravenclaw House.

It was Druella Rosier's turn. Pretty, with blue eyes, long blond hair and pale skin. Narcissa Malfoy had inherited all of her mother's genetics. The girl had a curious look and tilted her head when she seemed to hear something coming from the Hat, she wrinkled her forehead disagreeing with anything that the Hat seemed to be saying.

“Slytherin!”

She nodded confidently and proudly of whatever she had said to Hat. It was certainly a threat to burn him until he put her in the House she preferred.

Erica Stainwright, Everklena's future creator, was selected for Ravenclaw.

Ethel Selwyn. A member of the Selwyn Family, possibly related to that man who threatened Xenophilius Lovegood.

“Slytherin!”

Evelyn Thomas had brown eyes, a channel haircut and front upper teeth slightly separated. However, despite her teeth, she would become a beautiful girl when she grew up. When the Hat was placed on her head, she seemed to smile at the voice that was in her mind.

“Slytherin! ”

Gethsemane Prickle, the future Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was selected for Hufflepuff House
Pomona Sprout. Pomona Sprout? Professor Pomona!
Hermione smiled when she saw Professor Pomona's happiness at having the Hat on her head. She was short, with a big smile despite having one of her front teeth missing - it was probably a milk tooth. - Her hair was dark brown with endless curls. Big shiny eyes and an appearance of being an adventurous child and without fear of getting dirty.

"Hufflepuff!"

Selina Sapworthy. That Selina who's going to have a painting here at Hogwarts?

"Gryffindor!"

Hermione was watching history happen, but even with the happiness of seeing Moody, Pomona and others, Hermione was more concerned that she was seeing Voldemort's allies. It was his army gathering right before her eyes, one by one.

"Two! Just two? What's happening?" Bilius grunted. "I mean, I understand that it is a classification, but only two have entered Gryffindor so far?"

"Most of the first years entered Slytherin House." Ectur glanced over his shoulder at the Slytherin table.

"Whatever." Ignatius shrugged. "In today's times, most people are cowards."

Hermione did not dare to debate the matter, watching the rest of the new students being sorted. Slytherins are not nice, cheerful or easy to get along with, but she also doesn't believe they are cowards - in the meaning of the word which is the opposite of brave. In her view, those who belong to Slytherin House are courageous, because it must not be easy to live there.

After the Initiation Ceremony, with the students already in their proper Houses and the end of the teachers' speeches and meetings, Dumbledore and Dippet are in the Deputy Headmaster’s room.

"Many students joined Slytherin House this year," Dumbledore commented.

"Say what you mean, my dear old friend." Dippet looked at the fire in the grate.

"I am clearly against judging a House by the values it carries and I believe that each one has a good and a bad traits -"

"But ...?" Dippet waited.

“-These children don't learn those values alone. They are largely influenced by their experiences or their parents.”

"I appreciate what you mean." Dippet needed no further explanation. “You fear for young Miss. Evelyn Thomas. A muggle-born sorted into Slytherin.”

"For a moment I actually questioned the choice of the Sorting Hat, but the Hat never makes a mistake."

Dippet and Dumbledore looked at each other.

“She is not going to adapt. Not in that House.”

Dippet sighed.

"Perhaps, my dear friend, this new generation could be the reason for a change in mentality."

Dumbledore looked at his teacup, very sceptical of the possibility that Dippet suggested.

"I hope so, my friend, I hope so."

At that moment there is a knock on the door. Dumbledore makes a gesture with his hand and the door opens by itself, and who was standing waiting to enter was none other than Tom Riddle. Tom was not able to last another day without his wand, he needed to feel its weight, feel the wand lead his fierce magic.
If Dumbledore was surprised, he didn't show it.

"Tom! My golden boy, come in, please.” Dippet invited him in. With a low gaze and perfect posture, Tom Riddle entered the room.

"What brings you here at this hour, Tom?" Dippet asked.

Smiling, Riddle replied. "I came to retrieve my wand from Professor Dumbledore."

"I expected you to come and pick it up tomorrow".

“I know, but tomorrow will be my first day in the sixth year and I would like to not be late for classes. I think I'm a little anxious.” He gave a half-smile, wanting to indicate shame and nervousness.

Dumbledore rose, went to his desk and took Tom Riddle's wand out of the drawer. Tom's hand itched with an eagerness to snatch the wand, he almost took a step forward in anticipation but managed to remain in control with much effort.

"Here it is, Tom." Dumbledore handed him the wand.

As soon as his hand closed on his wand, Tom breathed a little easier, a little more relieved and with a strange feeling that mixed euphoria and pleasure, Tom felt the wand responding to his magic.

He raised his head, this time he was no longer smiling and gave a slight nod.

"Thank you."

He was about to turn away when Dumbledore asked:

"How was your holiday, Tom?" He looked over the half-moon glasses.

“It was actually surprisingly good. You were right. I think I should have enjoyed it more.” He gave a restrained smile with his eyes closed. “Well, if you'll excuse me. Good night Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore.”

He turned, closing the door behind him.

“He's a brilliant young man, Dumbledore. Probably one of the best students this school has ever seen and he is capable of becoming even the best of them all. Maybe he will become better than you, my old friend.” Dippet chuckled as he took another sip of tea.

Outside, Tom's friendly expression was gone in less than a second. He rolled his eyes, the left corner of his upper lip rising in a clear expression of disgust and arrogance. He took a deep breath, not having the patience to deal with Dumbledore and Dippet at the same time. However he was happy, he had his wand now. He could use magic. He was at home.

"My Lord." Mulciber greeted him when he entered the Slytherin Common Room. “Walburga, Lucretia and Araminta are
presenting
how Slytherin House works to the new girls. Dolohov and Nott are with the boys.”

"Hm." Tom took off his Slytherin robe and held it. He looked down at the floor below him, where the sixth and seventh years gathered. It was the seniors’ party. "Malfoy." He called.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Bring Granger to me."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 13. Aipysurus - The Snake Pit

Edited January 2024

"A party?" Being pulled by Enid into the Gryffindor common room to meet with her housemates, Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, it's the seniors’ party."
A party right after the Initiation Ceremony? If it is a custom, then this custom has been lost over time, because it did not happen in her original time. Looking around, Hermione realized that the participating students were sixth and seventh years, however, Moody and Selina were also present.

“This is a party where housemates celebrate the arrival of the new students, but since tomorrow is their first day, they will go to bed earlier. Only the sixth and seventh-years remain. Last year was my first time.” Enid smiled whilst explaining. “Although the intention is to introduce the House to new students, the party turned out to be special for older students too. For us, we celebrate the passage of being more experienced and mature. We are almost adults, Hermione. The sixth and seventh years
are where the most accomplished students at Hogwarts reside, we should be respected by our housemates.”

Enid liked the image of being seen as accomplished. Being mature. Of course, she also liked to be seen as a debutante who had already made her first appearance in fashionable society, who was ready for adulthood and who was already engaged.

Hermione was stirred from her thoughts when she saw Moody being carried by the boys, while the rest shouted his name and clapped rhythmically. Moody was laughing as he was being bounced around in the boys' arms.

"Moody! Moody! Moody!"

She smiled and found herself unable to not join the group of Gryffindors chanting his name. As soon as the boys arrived at the centre of the common room, they lowered Moody - who had pink cheeks of euphoria. Suddenly everyone was silent when Enid stepped forward.

"Alastor Moody." Enid's voice was confident and explanatory. “Welcome to Gryffindor House. Everyone here is very happy to welcome you. Our colour is red, we are governed by the element of Fire, we are brave and determined. Each year new students arrive and others leave. But there is something that is passed on to each new student. Something to for you to remember where your loyalty should always be. ”

“You can choose one of the tokens inside.” Algie held out a red velvet cloth bag, much like a medieval coin bag with the Gryffindor Lion symbol on its outside, to Moody. "Put your hand there and take just one."

Moody hesitantly looked at the bag and Hermione held both eyebrows up. Cautiously not knowing what was in there, Moody put his hand in the bag and his eyes widened, he blinked a few times and from the bag removed a small tie-pin in the shape of a lion's head.

"Look at what is written on the back," Algie instructed. "And you'll see whose it is."

Moody peered at the pin close to his face and read aloud.

“Percival Pratt. You mean I have the pin from Percival Pratt?
Alastor Moody selecting a poet's brooch? If there is no irony in this situation, then Hermione does not know what is there. The Moody from her original time is a good person, but is rude and brash, and doesn't hide what he thinks. She has not yet spoken to the inexperienced young man who is the newest member of Gryffindor, however, something tells her that the arduous years of battles have contributed to forming the brutish side of his personality. But for now, she is happy to witness his innocence, happiness and talent.

Algie confirmed with a smile, then he looked up and looked at Selina.

"It's your turn, Selina."

Selina, who was distant and shy, looked startled when Ignatius approached her and lifted her bridal-style in his arms. The twelve-year-old blushed, placing her hands on her cheeks, as she heard the new housemates chanting her name. Ignatius placed her on the floor next to Moody and bowed, playing with the girl who saw him as a prince charming. She looked at Algie and put her hand inside the bag without even thinking twice.

"Pony hair?" She asked, confused when she removed her hand.

"Well, they say it's the hair of Sir Cadogan's pony." Algie laughed.

Hermione was finding it all very funny, but when Algie, Enid and everyone else looked at her, she knew something was wrong.

"It's your turn, Hermione," Enid said.

"Wait. What? Me?" She pointed to herself.

"Well, we thought since you arrived at the end of the last school year, that now would be a good time for you to undergo your initiation into Gryffindor." Explained Algie.

Not knowing what to do or what to say, Hermione took a small uncertain step forward. She realised that it would be very rude and even suspicious to deny anything that would confirm her loyalty to the House, however, she always felt that loyalty should be given to people, never to symbols, but Gryffindor is now her only home in this time, as well as in the original timeline, she has nowhere else to go and she is loyal here and to everything
this House represents.

Hermione looked hesitantly at Algie, but he encouraged her with a nod. She sighed and put her hand inside the bag. For a fleeting moment, Hermione thought she was touching something, but the object slipped through her fingers and seemed to be lost into nothingness. There didn't seem to be anything inside the bag. When she withdrew her hand, she looked at her empty palm and frowned in disappointment.
Meeting Algie's gaze, Hermione murmured.

"I-I didn't get anything."

An awkward silence formed as she received glances.

"Um ..." Not knowing what to say, Algie looked at Ignatius for help. This had never happened before, a real Gryffindor can always take one of the tokens left by previous Gryffindors.

"Gosh, so now we see that Hermione is definitely not a freshman." Ectur said. He put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and shook his head as if he thought that awkward moment was unnecessary. Luckily, the housemates found his comment funny.

Algie seemed to accept that answer after watching Hermione for a moment. This was indeed a rite that only happened to first year students who had just arrived, it might not work with older students. Turning his back with the lions' bag in his hand, Algie stopped and saw Enid taking Moody and Selina to their appropriate dorms. Even though he already had Hugh Biggs's quidditch glove as his Gryffindor treasure - which is not as splendid as the hair of Sir Cadogan's pony - he put his hand inside the bag and was surprised to be able to grip another Gryffindor treasure. This time he took Jason Charmer's sock, eww!. He returned the treasure to the lions' bag and looked over his shoulder at Hermione, who was being consoled by Ectur.

Ectur still had a hand on Hermione's shoulder and turned her slowly to face him.

Hermione felt strange, disappointed, sad. In part, it was better not to have touched anything, she was from the future, but that upset her. It was like she wasn't Gryffindor enough. Maybe she couldn't get something because of the time travel, maybe it was something else ... Hermione thoughtfully touched the locket that was hidden under her shirt. Even though she was suspicious about why she didn't take anything, it didn't make her feel any better.

"Hey, don't be like that." Ectur put both hands on her shoulders and lowered slightly to come face to face. "Don't be sad. This is a childish game, just to make new students be less scared and to feel welcome.” He explained. “We are not even 100% sure that the things in that bag are really real. That they belonged to those people. And if so - so what? Doesn’t mean anything. It doesn't make you less Gryffindor. The Hat put you here.”

"Not before debating for a long time." She lowered her head. After all, has she changed so much to the point of raising such doubts?

“But it made a decision. You are here, with us. Those tokens are other people's legacy. As long as each of us took a reminder of someone's legacy, you are free of that obligation. When your turn comes, when you finish the seventh year, you will leave your legacy and anyone will be lucky to take Hermione Granger’s token.”

Looking up, Hermione found him smiling at her with a warm glow in his eyes.
"Are you sure?"

"I have no doubts," Ectur replied confidently. Hermione looked down, touching her ear, a little shy by the confidence that Ectur conveyed, but was startled when she heard music coming from an imitation old Muggle radio. She saw the young people gathering to dance, smiling at each other, while some were already clapping to the rhythm of the music, however, her attention went back to Ectur as she watched him take off his Gryffindor robe and throw it to the side, rolling up his shirt sleeves and loosening his tie.

"Let's Dance?" Offering his hand, he asked.

"What? No, no, no! ” She cannot help the smile of despair while gesturing with her hands. "I can not dance." Hermione justified while noting how the student couples danced at a fast pace to the music.

“Come on, Hermione. It is nothing you cannot do. You shouldn't even be that bad.” Ectur took her hand, pulling her into the middle of the Gryffindor circle.

She was definitely not bad, but she wasn't the best either, and she would probably be the very worst of all if he imagined she could do the Swing dance.

"Ectur, I really don't know how to dance like that." She tried to pull him by the forearm, afraid of the likely humiliation that she would endure in public.

Ectur stopped when he felt her two hands on his arm, he looked at her and smiled. It was not a smile dispelling Hermione's fears, quite the contrary, if this smile could be compared to anything, it would be admiration. He thought she was beautiful, really cute, and he found it amazing how this girl who was normally so confident and intelligent, still had her insecurities. It made her real and a little less perfect than he was used to seeing.

"The question is not about knowing how to dance, Hermione." He reassured her. "It's about having fun and I want to have fun with you."

Then he took her hand, walked her to the centre of the crowd and spun her around, when Hermione stopped, she looked at him startled like a cat. Ectur moved, his feet sliding from right to left in a coordinated movement and she realized that he was demonstrating to her how to dance.

From what she saw of the other girls dancing, she understood that, she needed to stay on her tip toes to be able to move smoothly and lightly.

“Remember, Hermione, it's not about knowing. It's about having fun.” Ectur repeated.

She was a quick learner by nature, things didn't come easy for her in the wizarding world, she needed to dedicate herself to always be one step ahead of everyone else who were half-bloods or pure-blood wizards, it was the way she had to learn, defend herself, to protect herself. To say that she was also important, that she had value. Hermione knew that if she was dedicated enough, she could probably master the dance as well as everything in life, only this time it wasn't about knowing, defending, protecting herself. It was about having fun. And she allowed herself to have fun.

"And...?" Enid asked Bilius, watching Hermione and Ectur dance as they laughed at each other in the middle of the Gryffindor circle. "He likes her?"

"That soldier over there is in the middle of the crossfire and the bullets she is shooting are cannonballs," Bilius replied, scratching his chin. He had thought that a beard was growing, even though Enid couldn't even see a hair.

"What does that mean?" She wrinkled her forehead, not understanding thereference to muggle war.

“It means that he is one step away from being hit completely. That is, he is starting to like her too much. He wrote me letters over summer and in them, he always asked if I knew Hermione's address or if I had heard from her or had any contact with her.”

“This is bad. His parents ... ” Enid murmured thoughtfully.

"Yes." Bilius agreed.

"Tomorrow Ignatius will announce his engagement to Lucretia Black." Enid and Bilius looked across the common room, where Algie and Ignatius were talking.

"Poor little thing." Bilius nodded and Enid elbowed him in the stomach. It was the second time that night that he had been elbowed.

"Don’t talk like that. He's not going to die and it's not going to be his wake.”

"You are very positive, eh?"

"Um ... Maybe they will learn to love each other?" She suggested and Bilius raised both eyebrows in disbelief as if to say: really?

Enid stopped the conversation when she noticed Algie coming towards her, inviting her to dance and she would not deny herself this opportunity to be with the one she loved. She just felt lucky, she was getting everything she wanted and there was nothing better.
For his part, Bilius found himself walking towards Ignatius and sat down beside him. The normally cheerful Ignatius Prewett was quieter than usual and much more thoughtful, silently watching his housemates having fun. Bilius, noticing the darker aura coming from Ignatius, tapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of companionship, which Ignatius acknowledged as an attempt at solidarity.

Breathing fast, Hermione found a place to rest after dancing three songs in a row and Ectur followed her. She put her hand on her chest trying to calm the rapid heartbeat, then she fanned herself when she felt hot. The two exchanged looks and laughed together. Hermione was not a very outgoing person, but it was really good to release the pent up energy and to finally de-stress. That didn't mean she wasn't worried, but for a moment, a brief moment, it felt good to be alive. She was still a seventeen year-old girl, a girl who was often too mature for her age, but she was still only seventeen.

“I have to admit, that was great fun. Even though I did it all wrong.” She commented, running her hand over her face to wipe the perspiration and to remove the strands of wild hair
sticking to her neck.

"See? I told you."

They stood for a moment, side by side, watching Enid and Algie - like the exemplary couple they were - dancing. Enid could dance a thousand times better than Hermione, she moved subtly and let herself be guided by Algie in the dance.
Watching them could be demotivating for anyone who was suffering from love, observing them dance while laughing and Enid's engagement ring sparkling in the light, brought joy but also aroused the insecurities of the heart. They were an example of a perfect couple, in fact.

The thought made Hermione remember Ignatius' situation, turning her head to the side, she murmured to Ectur:

"How is your brother's situation?"

On the eve of the departure of the Hogwarts Express at the end of the summer term, Hermione had found the two brothers talking. Ectur was comforting his older brother, who had just received a letter from his parents saying that they had accepted the Black family's proposal to bring the two families together through the marriage of their children. It was the same night that Hermione found Tom Riddle in the hall, hidden in the darkness with green eyes shining at her.

On the day Lucretia Black went to the Gryffindor table asking for Ignatius, she already knew that her parents were meeting with the Prewett family about their betrothal contract, and demanded Ignatius speak to his parents to deny the marriage. The point being that if the Prewett family denied the contract, then Lucretia would be the one who would be disgraced for being denied, unless the Blacks managed to reverse the situation. However, Ignatius had no say in the matter, his parents were already determined.

"It was very strange, Hermione." Murmured Ectur whilst sitting. He placed both arms on his knees and rested his head on his forearms, looking at the floor absently while talking to Hermione. “I have never been so uncomfortable in my life. My parents invited the principal Black family members to dinner. Can you imagine how strange it was to eat with Lord and Lady Black and Lucretia and Orion? The cutlery could be heard.”

Ectur commented.

“I heard that Lady Black was kind during her years at Hogwarts, she was a Hufflepuff, like a good Macmillan. But I think the years of living with the Blacks changed her much or all they said about her time at Hogwarts was only gossip. I've never seen anyone so arrogant in all my life.” He made a face. “Lucretia demanded an opal engagement ring and her parents agreed that their daughter deserved nothing less. Ignatius presented her the ring while listening to Orion's sarcasm. That guy is usually quiet but I think his
tongue cuts worse than a knife. Tomorrow Lucretia will probably start wearing the engagement ring.” Ectur sighed. "The only matter they discussed was the ‘prestige of the Black family, that dinner was the worst of my life and it was horrible for my brother."
Looking at Ignatius, there is a slight crease of dismay on his forehead.

“I don't want to be miserable like him, Hermione. I will not accept it.”

What could Hermione say? What could she do? She did not wish to pry and she wanted to remain in the shadows, just being a spectator, not taking action.

"By the way, thankyou for what you did." He continues and she frowns in confusion. “For comforting and embracing him. You really are a good person, Hermione.” Ectur smiles softly.

Hermione shook her head at the compliment. “It was nothing. I didn't do anything too much.”

He nodded toward the center, taking her hand to dance again.
At that moment, while Ectur and Hermione were talking and dancing, Enid is called by one of their classmates who whispers in her ear, pointing to the entrance of the Gryffindor Tower common room. Her eyebrows rise when she hears her colleague's comment, waving to her friend, Enid goes to check what was going on, while the rest of the students are distracted enjoying the party.

Out into the corridor by the entrance, Enid is surprised to find Malfoy waiting.

“Abraxas? What are you doing here?" She says, looking at the empty corridor.

Abraxas was dressed in the Slytherin uniform, but his robe was nowhere to be seen. He takes her arm and gently pulls her away from the Fat Lady painting.
"Shhh!" His eyes are wide, whilst he looks the Fat Lady, who was probably pretending to be asleep. Annoyingly, he thinks. "Keep your voice down."

When they are a little away from the Fat Lady, he lets go of her arm.

“I need you to bring Granger. I need to talk to her.”

"What? Do you know what time is it? It’s past curfew. Nobody can walk the corridors at this hour anymore, Abraxas.”

"For Merlin's sake, just talk to Granger and bring her here."

"What do you want with her? What are you doing here? You know tonight is the seniors' party. You shouldn't even be here.”

"Oh really?" Abraxas stiffens his face. “You shouldn't be here too, if I remember correctly. According to the rules, you should be in Head Girl's room, but you're not there, are you?”
"Are you threatening me?"

"No, of course not. I am doing you the favour of reminding you.”
Enid crosses her arms over her chest and turns her head wildly.

"Right." She agrees. "But don't get caught, otherwise I will also suffer the consequences."
Abraxas nods, agreeing with her.

"Wait here."
Out of curiosity, after he saw her go, Malfoy, who had seen the painting door ajar, dares to enter the Gryffindor Tower. As soon as he passes through the opening, he could hear the vivacious sound of the students. It was noisy and in his opinion, it was classless. The music was playing in the background, he walks up the stairs a little bit, just enough to look and not be noticed and watched Granger and Prewett dancing together as well as other students. She had no decency, flirting with Alphard in the carriage of the Express and now with Prewett.
Seeing Enid speak in her ear, he knew it was time to retract, he went down the stairs and waited outside.
Moments later Enid and Hermione arrived in the corridors.

"What's happening?" Hermione was talking, but she noticed the boy waiting. "Malfoy?" She asked with a confused expression. "What does this mean, Enid?"

Enid shrugged.

"Do you know each other?" Hermione asked. Her question was more about whether they had a friendship. Because if the answer was yes, she certainly didn't foresee it.

"We are childhood aquaintances," Enid replied.

"I need to talk to you," Malfoy commented to Hermione and then made a noise in his throat. "Alone."
"I understand." Enid held up both hands. "Don't get caught, regardless of what you're doing." She looked at Malfoy and gave Hermione a much more suspicious look.

Hermione and Abraxas waited for Enid to enter the Gryffindor refuge, before turning their attention to each other.

"What you want?"
Hermione cautiously asked.

"He wants to speak with you," Malfoy replied. It was understood that ' He' meant Tom Riddle.

"Now?" She narrowed her eyes. “I'm sorry, but the answer is no. It is too late, I am tired and I seriously prefer the company of my housemates this night. Tell him that I will talk with him tomorrow.” She was ready to turn and head back towards the painting that hid the entrance to the Tower.

"Wait." Taking her arm, Malfoy captured Hermione while his tone hardened. Hermione glanced at the hand on her arm and then at his face, her eyebrows lowered and her lips became a thin line. Noticing her expression, Malfoy let her arm go.

It was not typical for someone to refuse to speak to a member of the Malfoy family, it was not typical for someone to refuse his presence, but this girl was anything but typical. As a manipulator and observer, Abraxas realised that she was very evasive, strangely aggressive and seemed somewhat disgusted by his presence. However he cannot judge her, they have spent little time together and the last time at school, she was being tortured with the Crucio curse by Riddle, who shortly afterwards almost killed her with another unforgivable curse.

Hermione turned and narrowed her eyes, Malfoy locked his jaw. He looked down for a moment, swallowed, and looked back at her.

"We will cut with the falsehoods." Said Abraxas. “We both know what He is like and what He is capable of. You saw it, you felt it. He asked me to bring you to him, what he wants, I don't know. If you don't come, things are going to get very, very ugly. And I may not be referring to my situation.” Malfoy glanced down the dark corridor from where he had come, which had only night lights and then looked back to the Gryffindor Tower entrance.

It was Hermione's turn to stiffen.
“Look, you somehow managed to get on his good side. I doubt you want to go back to the bad side. So, please come with me.” He said in a very polite and purposefully courteous manner. False cordiality and serenity could be a cruel trap.

Hermione hoped she wouldn't regret this decision, but something was telling her that the night would be long. With doubt, she left her wand ready in its holster.
"All right."
Malfoy nodded and made his way down the dark corridor, hoping that Hermione would follow him closely to the Slytherin Dungeons. They walked in silence, Abraxas made no effort to talk, while Hermione always kept a cautious step back. In his silence, Malfoy was trying to understand the girl. He doesn't know much about her, no one does, except - apparently - Riddle. He is not very surprised by this, somehow Riddle has always been one step ahead of everyone, always knowing what others didn’t, always being very powerful. If he considers it - which he doesn't - there is envy and a certain kind of admiration for his Lord, Tom Riddle. He admires what Riddle is and envies his power.

In different circumstances, if he were more powerful, Malfoy would not hesitate to strip Riddle of the position he had, only he is not. One of the main characteristics of being a Slytherin is knowing how to recognise your weaknesses and strengths and how to use them to your advantage, as well as recognising those who will achieve greatness. And Riddle will achieve greatness. And Malfoy knew that. Slytherins interpreted the school years at Hogwarts as preparation for adult life, that is, it is at school that you analyse the people with whom you want to make connections, you nurture these relationships as a kind of sponsorship and exchange of favours for when you finish Hogwarts and start adulthood, you’ll have gathered enough people and connections to start climbing the ladder of power.
Also taking into account that in his House, most of the students are born in a golden cradle and come from the most prestigious families, almost always the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so - practically - everyone has been seen or been mentioned in some important meeting or affluent parties or balls of high society wizards and would probably get married through a betrothal contract at birth or when the union of a couple was rarely approved by both families.

In any case, 'Riddle' was not a name associated in any shape or form with the Sacred Twenty-Eight and it was not a wizard name, but no one within Slytherin House dared to confront the idea behind it. Besides, Tom Riddle was extremely reserved, but because he had so much power, everyone believed that he must be related to a strong wizard from a distinguished family.. Like a good Slytherin, Malfoy and others noted that Riddle will achieve great things and chose to be with him rather than those who once questioned the purity of Riddle's blood.

Never again, Abraxas remembers the day when Riddle had turned on them. It was terrible.

Over time, they saw his natural talent and with envy, they wanted to have the resourcefulness and ability to do what he did. Like how easy he could cast a spell or destroy someone's mind into dust. Then, greed appeared, they wanted to know how to do the same things. It all started on the day they attacked two muggle-born Ravenclaw students, one of whom had given too sharp and intelligent a response for Lestrange's pleasure, and incredible as that may be, Lestrange can be very much more inflexible and cruel than he initially appears and certainly, much more uncontrollable. Dumbledore undertook an inquiry to discover the reason for the fight, being the only one who was in the mood for the truth.

Dumbledore, the one who seems to have a suspicion or perhaps a veiled hatred for all Slytherins .

But to everyone's surprise, Riddle intervened, telling Headmaster Dippet one of the tastiest lies, which put an end to it before it had even really started. Riddle had saved them, even after they had tried to attack him.

They watched from afar as Riddle fell into favour with the teachers and Headmaster Dippet, sometimes he even received a gift from a teacher and always managed to break rules without consequence. Slughorn also presented Riddle’s achievements to members of the Ministry of Magic, always praising him and quoting Riddle in his letters to anyone who was interested in the child prodigy, sometimes even telling Riddle to contact them when he left school. Riddle hadn't even finished school and was already climbing the ladder of power and gathering his network. And neither Riddle nor they had even started attending the Slughorn Club yet.
So, they relented in their silent war and decided to offer the hand of connection and sponsorship and it seemed that the young Riddle was just waiting for this moment. It was at that point, between the ages of thirteen, almost fourteen, that everything had started. However, Riddle also had the power of choice, he did not choose the weak and those he saw who had no future. Those people had no right to be associated with him. Thus, those with whom he developed a 'friendship' felt privileged. One of them was Malfoy.

Each of Riddle’s group became the prestigious students of Hogwarts, being practically the lords of the school for the students, considered the best by the teachers and the future leaders, thanks in part to the meetings that Slughorn offered in his club. They partook in questionable and terrible acts, forbidden spells, cruel curses, corrupt morals, but this gave them a strange feeling of dominance and freedom. Things they only achieved through their Lord, Tom Riddle.

"How do I know this is not a trap?" Hermione muttered under her breath, but due to Hogwarts' empty corridors and silences, Hermione's voice was loud enough for Malfoy to hear and take him out of his reverie.

Blinking a few times to adapt to her question, Malfoy looked slightly over his shoulder, realising how cautious she was. If possible, Hermione swore that he almost smiled, his face partially lit by the night light that made his hair look white, only he didn't smile. Hermione conjectured that Malfoy did not smile often, with his expression that always seemed cold, he raised an eyebrow.

It seems that time in the company of Riddle influenced him as well.

"I truly believe you perceive us in the wrong way, Miss. Granger," Malfoy replied solemnly. "We are much more prudent than that." In other words, what he meant was that: Fool, I would not leave a witness like Enid.

When the two finally arrived at the dungeons, the noise of the Bloody Baron's chains could be heard rattling loudly. That terrifying ghost. Hermione wasn't very comfortable in the dungeons and entering the Slytherins' abode, but as Malfoy intimated
between the lines, she had Enid as a favourable witness in case something happened.

Malfoy came near the bare stone wall and whispered the password. The wall slid, making way for them both. Malfoy passed through the opening without hesitation and waited for Hermione, who looked back over her shoulder at the dungeon corridors as if reconsidering one last time what she was doing. He began to get impatient, she was already there. What would it cost to take two more steps and enter at once?

Taking a deep breath, Hermione went through the opening. She was more aware of her surroundings than she had ever been in her life, starting like a rabbit when heard a loud noise, ready to run if necessary.

Following Malfoy, she went downstairs to the real Slytherin common room. The flickering lights of green tones illuminated the gathering of the sixth and seventh years who were present. Their laughter and conversation could still be heard, but they were certainly quieter than the Gryffindors. And was there music too, something slow, like mercurial blues?

When Hermione had entered previously, in her desperation and haste, she could not appreciate or notice how beautifully decorated the common room was. This time she paused to regard all of the fine details. The Slytherin common room was divided over two floors, the upper floor was where the dorms were located as well as study nooks filled with bookshelves and with balconies over looking below. The ground floor gave access to the towering and imposing bookshelves that reached from floor to ceiling and the rest of the common room. The windows were large and tall, reaching all floors and literally overlooked the bottom of the Great Lake, the large stone support columns had snakes of the same size engraved twisting around them. Above the vast fireplace was a large stone snake symbol, there were elegant leather sofas and armchairs, study desks and wizard chess tables, green blankets and cushions, the prevailing colours were silver, green and black. Compared to other houses, Slytherin House seemed to have the largest, refined and most sophisticated common room.

At the bottom of the stairs that accessed both the entrance and the common room, a girl was standing.

"Abraxas ...?" The girl frowned when she noticed Granger beside Malfoy. When the two passed her, Hermione asked Abraxas.

"Who is she?"

“Araminta Meliflua Black. Daughter of Charis neé Black and Caspar Crouch, a cousin of the Blacks. She has a brother named Bartemius.” Malfoy explained as if he were bored.

Oh, Ectur had mentioned the Crouch family before in explaining the lineage of Bilius and the Black family.
Araminta had extremely straight black hair, and dark eyes that probably came from the Black genetic heritage. She was thin and considerably tall, with an inverted triangle shape face, her nose was aquiline and she had thin but beautiful red lips.

Araminta ... The one who will want to legalize muggle hunting.

As she followed Malfoy, the Slytherins looked at her with curiosity and mild irritation, considering Hermione an intruder in their House.
Lestrange was leaning against one of the columns talking to a girl while smoking a cigarette that probably came from one of the stores in Horizont Alley, a shopping street which was close to Diagon Alley. Malfoy passed him and nodded, receiving a similar greeting, but when Hermione passed, he made a point of blowing smoke towards her face. Hermione coughed slightly, as she fanned the smoke away from her face, drawing a few laughs from Lestrange and the girl who was in his company.

Hermione saw glasses and bottles of alcoholic drinks like congac, some types of whiskey and vintage wine, as well as seeing other students smoking. She narrowed her eyes at this inappropriate behaviour, certain that cigarettes and alcohol were not allowed inside the Houses.
Receiving hostile glances at her presence, she wanted to turn around and return to Gryffindor Tower, while there was still time, but Malfoy stopped her, looked at her and said.

“Go up the stairs to the first floor. He 's waiting for you.”
Malfoy turned and left, joining Avery and Mulciber who were sitting on one of the sofas. The three looked at her through the group of Slytherins who were present and murmured among themselves. Hermione paused and looked around, searching for a specific familiar face and found the person she wanted partially hidden in the shadow of a column, kissing a girl. Alphard Black was kissing someone. Seeming to sense that he was being watched, Alphard looked up and promptly met Hermione's gaze. His eyebrows went up and his expression was shocked.

What was she doing there? He asked himself.

Alphard was about to go to her when Hermione turned. She was not upset, if she was feeling anything, it would be a surprise that Sirius Black had such a womanising uncle. She looked at the stairs leading to the first floor, before going up to meet Tom Riddle.

She found him standing with his back against a bookcase and a book in his hand, he was not wearing his robe or grey sweater. There were two armchairs and a coffee table, a tray with glasses and two bottles of alcohol. The area was empty except for them. Whether it was an order from Riddle or if the Slytherins thought it was more fun down there, Hermione couldn't say, but she thinks it's more likely the first option.

She made a noise in her throat to get his attention.

"Malfoy said you wanted to talk with me."

Tom turned around, closed the book he was reading and looked her up and down.
"What happened to you?" Asked Tom, raising an eyebrow.

"What you mean?"

He gestured with his fingers to her hair. Feeling conscious, Hermione touched her hair, realizing that her hair was tousled and much more rebellious than normal and what caused this was the fact that she had danced.
Quickly Hermione takes her hair and puts it over her left shoulder, to give the impression of tidiness and control. In general, she is not a girl who cares about her appearance, but sometimes even she is irritated by her own hair.
Tom Riddle noticed her appearance as soon as he saw her, certainly her hair was unruly, but this time it was really uncontrollable. He also noticed her clothes, she had no robe or jumper, the white feminine shirt of the uniform was tucked into a dark grey skirt, with the first two buttons of the shirt undone and it was also a little wrinkled and she was not wearing a tie. Her face was flushed.
"What have you been doing?" He asked curiously.
"I-I was ... dancing." Hermione justified herself.

Tom blinked, not expecting it. He could have imagined several things, but Granger dancing was not one of the possibilities.
"Why am I here?" She looked out of the corner of her eye, uncertainly.

"You are my guest." He gestured to the armchair for her to sit, before sitting down in the opposite armchair facing her. His eyes caught the modest movement she made as she adjusted her skirt before sitting down. "Would you accept?" Asked Tom, offering to pour a glass of firewhiskey for her.

Hermione shook her head.

"If I remember correctly, you managed to drink a glass of firewhiskey very well."

"Desperate feelings, desperate measures." She mumbles. Hermione particularly likes sweeter drinks such as butter beer, but she was not generally an alcoholic drinker. However, that particular day, she wanted the alcoholic numbness to relieve stress, but all she got instead was problems.
Glancing to her right, specifically downstairs, she notices the difference in behaviour between Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"Your housemates don't look very happy that I'm here." She comments, this time looking around, particularly curious about the architectural details that differ from her own House. “I didn't think that was allowed; I mean, people who are outsiders. And that there was a party. We were having a party too ... kind of."

“It is technically not allowed to have a party without something significantly commemorative that belongs to the school calendar. But, you know what? Teachers and Headmasters probably know this is the case. All houses do.” He explains. "What are you looking at so much?"

"It’s different," Hermione says. "Your common room looks ... larger."

"Didn't you come here once before?" Tom remembers. Now he is looking at her with an intensity that catches her off guard and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I didn't have much time before." She murmurs, caught in his gaze. It was as if his eyes were mesmerising her, glowing in the purest hypnotic green colour. Then she feels it, it was like a fog crawling slowly and smoothly so as not to be detected. If she weren't wise enough, she wouldn't even notice the act. "Stop what you're doing." Hermione orders.

Tom Riddle blinks a few times, the colour of his eyes remain green, but this time, less intense.

"Stop trying to read my mind."
"My mistake." He doesn't look guilty at all. “But I'm curious and much more surprised that you feel my legimens and have an occlumency barrier in place. What do you hide in your mind, Granger?” Tom tilts his head a little to the side.

Hermione locked her jaw and stood up, beginning to feel threatened. "If you summoned me here for this, I will leave or will I -"

"What?" He questioned her before she finished the sentence. "Sit down, Granger."

Hermione was breathing faster, a little more upset and angry. They held their gaze for a while before Hermione settled in the armchair again.

The Gryffindor spirit, Tom thought. It's like poking a lion with a short stick. They don't know how to maintain their composure.

"Don't do that again." She orders.

Tom narrowed his eyes. He doesn't like to be ordered
and if she thinks she will start to exert power over him, then he will have to set some limits. It doesn't work like that, Granger, he thinks. And despite being challenged, Tom knows very well how to control his impulses.

"As I said, I was just curious."

It is half true. There is a curiosity in him, he wants to know what she hides, her deepest secrets, but there is also the feeling of security that he seeks. As a talented legilimens and with a great aptitude for this skill, he usually - sometimes even unintentionally when he was younger - reads people's minds. For safety, with people who are close to him, Tom reads their
thoughts here and there, making it clear to his Knights that it was a very bad idea to ever lie to him.
He had been kind to her, gentle, it was meant to be just a soft caress, just to catch the 'loud' thoughts she might be conveying, but she felt him and promptly erected her the occlumency barrier. Normally he was not like that, kindness and softness were not in Riddle's legilimency dictionary, invasion and pain were his tools of choice. He liked to cause suffering and to subdue, there was a pleasure in seeing another person submit to him; Granger should consider herself fortunate that he chose kindness for her and that she was again the X paradox of the
equation. He's really trying not to ruin what she did for him, because one thing is right, he won't go to her and say 'thankyou', but she has to cooperate and meet him part-way.

"Have you tried this with me before?"

He considered this. If he had ever tried to read her thoughts? Of course, just once as soon as she arrived at Hogwarts. If he had tried again? No. Especially when he saw her relationship with Dumbledore. He wasn't about to invade the mind of Dumbledore's favourite student and mess it up, so they would come after a culprit, mainly because Myrtle Warren had died a few weeks earlier. It would have been a mess and at that time he was not planning to be kind, wanting to invade Gryffindor Tower and finish her once and for all. But if there was always a desire to read her mind? Of course.
"No." He lied. She doesn't seem to believe it, but she doesn't question it either. "How do you know occlumency?"
"How do you know legilimency?" Hermione returns the question to him.

She is evasive, she always is. Which raises Tom's suspicions.
How to answer her question? Is it natural for me? I was born this way? Am I talented at this? I like to be good at this?

He snorted.

"How do we know these things?"
Yes, how do we know these things?

She does not answer.

“Anyway, I didn't call you here to talk about this. I called you to ascertain
your answer to my proposal. ”

"About the vow?"

Tom nods and confirms.

"It could be anything? Anything I ask for?” Hermione tests the waters with him.

“If it's within my reach. Of course. Do you remember the conditions?”
“As long as it doesn't kill you, that you don't go to Azkaban or get kicked out of Hogwarts and that it doesn't expose you in a degrading way. In addition to my not telling about what I saw, heard and knew.” She repeats each of the words that Riddle used, which seems to satisfy him.

"Very well." He praises as if he were teaching a child something, it makes her a little irritated, but she lets his behaviour pass.
"What do you say?" Tom gets up and extends his hand for a handshake as if he's doing business with her. Hermione looks at the outstretched hand: Is this wise? Would it be smart to accept his hand? Agree to this accord with him? She looks down at her hand, hesitating and Tom notices the emotion that prevails in her expression. "You are afraid." He almost smiles. "You are afraid of me."

She looks under her lashes when she hears Riddle's comment, realising that she is like an open book to him.

"You have your wand in your hand." Hermione murmured, this time looking at the yew wood wand with the bone-shaped handle, it is sinister, that Riddle holds.

"Oh." Tom grips his wand close to his eyes, the long, pale fingers of his left hand brush the wood of the wand like a caress and Hermione can see the attachment and zeal he has. He’s focused on his own wand, but his gaze meets hers and he smiles in that malicious way that he has done so many times before. "Come on, Granger, I won't wait forever." Tom extends his hand to her again.
He doesn't make promises to her but makes it clear that if he wanted to curse her, he could do it.

Hermione hopes she is making the best choice for everyone when she gets up and takes his hand. He inhales when he feels the touch of her hand, joyful, proud of himself. Then he moves his wand and a bluish light connects and binds their wrists, like a chain. Startled, Hermione tries to pull her hand back, but Riddle holds on tightly.

"It is purely symbolic." He explains, finding her behaviour amusing. Certainly, she has no fond memories of the last time he used the wand.

Hermione steps back as soon as she could, looking at her right hand for any unusual or suspicious look in Riddle's direction.

"Are you sure?" She asks, maybe a little harshly.

"Of course." Tom reaffirms, a little bored with her questions. This time he was being true, it was totally symbolic. If it wasn't, he was sure she would be on her knees in front of him. Well, some details are still missing here and there, but he is planning a spell that would not be just a symbol, a mark.

"I want the book you took from me." She asks.
“So is this the favour you want from me? The book?"
"I thought you could give it to me?" Hermione suggests and Tom raises an eyebrow.

"How do you have this book?"

"How do you know about the contents of this book?" She returns the question.

Touché.

“I believe that knowledge should have no limits; I assume you think the same thing. ” That is, if you want to take me down, I will take you with me. But in a way, Tom Riddle likes to know there is a part of her that is free of certain chains.
Hermione is faced with a situation that she had not foreseen. Riddle would only return the book if she used the vow or maybe if she admitted what she was looking for. She found herself cornered, she couldn't use the vow. She had to save it for something more important and make him return the book spontaneously.

"Are we going to the second part?"

"What?" Hermione narrows her eyes, still holding her hand, being a little paranoid.

“The curse I put on you. I said I would remove it. Unless you liked it that much. ” Tom teases.

"Are you ... are you really going to remove it?" She murmured after a while. "I tried to undo it, but I was just hurting myself ..." Hermione confesses.

“You could have really been hurt. The curse rejects anyone other than the person who cast it” In a way, Tom boasts that his creation is so successful.

"What is?" She's curious about what that spell was and how to undo it.

“Is this the favour you are asking of me? That I
explain it to you?” He puts his hands in the front pockets of his trousers.

"What? No!" Hermione responds quickly and Tom shrugs, amused. "I thought we could have a conversation about it." She tries.
"Come, approach me Granger, so I can undo the curse," Tom beckons her in a gesture with his index and middle finger.
Releasing a sigh, Hermione walks towards Tom, her steps are slow from his perspective. Unconsciously Tom looks at her from the bottom to up, lingering too long on every exposed part of her skin. She finally stops when she is close to him and looks up - due to the difference in height - towards his face. Tom Riddle feels trapped in those brown eyes, where he can see the glow of fury that she hides so well, that she keeps in abeyance. It is precious and exciting. He takes a deep breath and with his thumb and forefinger, touches her chin. She looks down to try and see his touch on her skin, but he lifts her chin so that Hermione looks back at him.

"Your tongue." Tom murmurs and it's almost a whisper, if she didn't control herself, he would see the chill in her arms. Hermione's expression is one of surprise and confusion and she almost took a step back. She thinks that I am going to kiss her, he muses.Swallowing, Hermione opens her mouth, showing only the tip of her pink tongue. Tom smiles almost imperceptibly. He points the wand towards her face, at an angle so that his hand is above her head. Instinctively, Hermione has a percentage of fear running through her blood. Intelligent is the one who fears Tom Riddle. He says something in a whisper, it's so low that Hermione can't quite hear and understand.

She thought she would feel different, but only a small amount of black smoke comes out of her mouth when the curse mark dissolves. It is over?

Tom takes a few steps back, looking at Hermione with a strange regard. It was intense, but different from when he was trying to read her mind.
Suddenly, Hermione feels a pang in the pit of her stomach as if she's been punched. She places both hands on her abdomen, in a gesture of peace for her pain, but she feels the sting again. Then, she is short of breath, trying to breathe as if she is choking on something. Hermione felt something move inside her
moving up her oesophagus towards her throat. She coughs a few times, now breathing faster, while she gasps as if she wants to vomit. Her legs are shaking and she finds herself on her knees, spreading her hands on the floor, trying hard to vomit whatever was coming up to her throat. She coughs a few more times and feels the scaly skin sliding at the beginning of her throat, going towards her mouth. In her peripheral vision, she realizes that the veins in her hands - which are usually blue’ish - were dark in colour.
A snake, it was a snake that was coming out of her mouth. Startled, Hermione vomits the rest of the snake on the floor. Alive! That thing was alive!

The little black snake hissed, before turning to black smoke. Hermione coughs, trying to clear her throat as she runs the back of her right hand over her mouth, she looks at Tom Riddle who was passive, with his hands in his trouser pockets. There she was, on the floor in front of Riddle.Taking deep breaths, Hermione looks at her hands, but her veins had returned to her normal colour.

"Here," Tom said. There is a glass of wine offered to her. "It will get better."
With shaking hands, she takes the glass and stands up slowly.

“You were going to kill me. This thing would kill me from the inside out.” Was that always inside me? The curse would not only necrotize her mouth, but it would also kill her.
"I took it out, didn't I?" There is no justification for it other than that. "I couldn't do anything about the rest." He said, referring to the moment she just passed through. “The curse was not meant to be painless. On the contrary."
"Is there anything else I need to know?" She asks angrily.
"No," Tom speaks simply, sitting on the chair again. "You will feel better if you drink."

"How do I know it won't try to kill me too?" Hermione looks at the cup.

"My methods now are ... different. I like to catch my enemies off guard -" He raises his glass to his lips, drinking the sweet wine. How on earth did he get to this point? To speak freely about his methods and death with her? "- like when I kissed you."

Hermione stops drinking as soon as she hears his comment. "What? That was not a kiss!”

Tom frowned at her refusal. “Oh, please do specify, because, by definition, a kiss is when two people touch their lips. Don't tell me it was your first kiss, Granger?” He disdained.

"It wasn't my first kiss!" She raised her voice and Tom's hand tightened on one arm of the chair. “And it was not a kiss. That was you placing a vile curse on me and a kiss is ... something else.” Hermione ended the sentence by mumbling, ashamed of the direction the conversation was taking.

"Oh." Tom tilts his head. "So what would it be?"

"Is it not obvious? Sometimes it's love.” Hermione replied and Tom laughed at the idea, from his perspective, naive. Calling her a fool without having to say the words. "Or it happens when two people like each other." She runs a hand over her neck, a little embarrassed. "And you don't like me." This time she said it with the utmost certainty.

How could she be so sure?

"Who was the lucky guy?" It is understood that he is referring to who was her first kiss.

"Someone special." She responds cryptically, not giving him the pleasure of belittling the little experience she had, while looking at the glass of wine. And it had indeed been special. Viktor Krum was special to her and always would be. He had been the first boy to see femininity in her and that was special. Someone had seen her as more than a Know-it-All and noticed her imperceptible physical changes into womanhood, that sometimes were
inconvenient even for her.

Could it be someone from here? Tom doubts this, she has had very little time at Hogwarts. Probably someone from the past that she refuses to talk about. This bothers him more than he lets himself realise, ignoring it mainly because he perceives her cheeks to be pink. She moves around, a little restless and bites her bottom lip, the more he looks at her, the more he feels strange. The sight of her a few moments ago, so close to him, suddenly appears in his mind and he feels a tug in the pubic area.

Uh-oh. This is not happening , he thinks as he crosses his legs and settles in the chair.

Their conversation is interrupted when a child's cry is heard by everyone. Hermione and Tom get up when a girl runs down the stairs while shaking her head to get worms and wasps out of her hair. On the bottom step, the girl stumbles and falls in front of the whole Slytherin House. They all laugh at her, without a hint of conscience or benevolence. The girl sucks in the air several times and starts to cry, feeling the worms stuck in her hair, while she is dressed in her new bunny pyjamas that she received from her mother.

The girl was Evelyn Thomas. The muggle-born Slytherin. Evelyn Thomas wept even more, when she noticed the group of girls coming down the stairs, including Nott and Dolohov with the new Slytherin students.

Araminta joined Walburga and Lucretia Black who were accompanied by Virginia Flint and Wanda Yaxley. In front of them were the new Slytherin girls, one of whom was Druella Rosier.

“It's your turn, Druella. She's a mudblood. Show her her place.” Araminta murmured when the common room was silent.

Druella, who was dressed in a nightgown which was a long dress with green ruffled sleeves, looked at her older brother. Seeking some help or maybe approval.

"Druella-"

Rosier quoted her name, but his sentence was cut off when Walburga placed both hands on her shoulder.

“She belongs to the Black family now. In the future, it will be official.” Walburga said. “You know what to do, don't you, Druella? I chose you."

Druella looked at Cygnus who looked down and smiled a little, that's when Druella received all the approval she needed. She raises her wand and casts the wasp spell.

"A mudblood must not be in our House." It was a girl's voice. An even sweet and certainly childish voice that was saying those cruel words.

Hermione was horrified by what she was seeing. Children were torturing another child. She knew that she had to do something to help, so, she ran down the stairs, leaving Tom Riddle behind, who slowly drank a sip of wine while watching the scene from above with morbid amusement and satisfaction. Knowing very well what Granger's reaction would be, after all, all these days, he was studying her.

Hermione passed Nott and Dolohov with her wand already in hand and placed herself in front of the girl.

"Depulso!" She shooed the wasps, flicking them away. The movement of her hand felt like she was manoeuvring a whip, but the spell had worked. She never made a mistake when she wanted to cast a spell.

Druella winced at the strength of Hermione's magic.

"What is your problem!?" She asked. Evelyn clung to Hermione's skirt.

"What is she doing here?" Dolohov growled, taking a step towards her and Hermione pointed her wand at him.

"Stay away."

The snakes hissed in unison.

"Who do you think you are?" Walburga sawed her teeth and Hermione now pointed her wand at her.

She was disgusted by their behaviour.

"You disgust me." She said to Walburga, who was also pointing her wand at her. Araminta and Lucretia also had their wands in hand, as did Nott and Dolohov.
"Hermione, put your wand down." Alphard put his hand on Hermione's wrist.

“Do you agree with that? She is a child!"

“Put your wand down, Hermione! She is my sister!”

"Is that what you choose?" Hermione asked Alphard. How could he find this behaviour right? How could he choose his family even though they were absolutely wrong, that it was a child they were torturing.

"I always choose my family," Alphard replies, much more seriously than she has ever seen him. Her breath hitched when she heard his response. Walburga smiled at Alphard's reply, confident. "Put the wand down, you're not going to get out of here in a good state."
Hermione grunted.

"Do you want to bet?"

She would fight with them. She had done this before when they were more experienced in dark magic, but now it was she who was the most experienced. She was going to do it,
she had to do it and she did it. The tip of her wand flashed when the unspoken spell threw Walburga against the stairs, it was an Expulso . The girl shakes behind Hermione, Druella takes Cygnus's hand and grabs his arm, Araminta tries to hit Hermione, who protects herself with a Protego . Walburga was about to cast a spell, but Hermione casts a Stupefy . She stopped when Alphard pointed his wand at her, Malfoy and Rosier too.

It is at this point that Tom Riddle chooses to descend the stairs slowly, his hands in his trouser pockets. He stops in the middle of the confusion, in front of Hermione. He is calm.
“I think it's better if we all go to sleep. We are a little excited and tomorrow will be a long day.” He says it composedly as if he's talking about the weather. Students understand that it is time to retire, walking quickly to the dorms. "Except you."

Whoever was involved in the situation knew that they should stay. There was no need to say names explicitly. Hermione feels Evelyn press her forehead against her, shaking. When only she, Evelyn, the gang of Riddle, Walburga, Araminta, Orion, Cygnus and Druella remain, Hermione knows that things will only get worse. She would continue to fight, but her biggest concern was going wand to wand against Riddle.

The music has stopped, the silence is hard and tense.

"Stop this." She asks.

Tom's expression is calm, he taps his index finger against his chin, pretending to be thinking, then he looks at her.

"Is that what you're asking me for?" Tom asks.
He was going to make her choose. He would not let it pass, after all, she was certain that he had planned this moment. When the muggle-born girl was classified for Slytherin House, he knew what his housemates would do to her. What Walburga and the other girls are going to do. Slytherin House really works as a sponsorship pyramid, where older students choose new students to mentor. The system is very simple indeed, exchanging favours and covering up lies in return, the new student who is chosen is under the protection of their mentor and thus, as adults, the possible union of families and privileges - often in the Ministry of Magic - makes it a vicious circle of patronageWalburga had chosen Druella Rosier and Druella had gone through her initiation, nothing better than to judge the muggle-born girl. And Tom knew that Hermione had a soft heart for those who could not defend themselves, just as he knew that Alphard would choose his family, just as he had ensured Hermione would be here this evening.
Blacks always protect themselves.

Hermione was divided, she couldn't lose that vow. She needed this to protect Harry, however, she felt the girl trembling with fear behind her and she found herself in that girl. Because if it were her, she would also be terrified of being there. Hermione looked at Alphard, still not understanding him. How could he?
She looked down and did what her heart asked, nodding.
"You can go," Tom said to her.

Suspicious, Hermione looked at him and took the girl's hand. She took a step, just testing the truth of his words. Was it that simple?

"You can't be serious, Riddle!" Walburga grunted in exasperation.

Riddle turned his head towards her.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

Now, that was cold. Hermione didn't need a second warning, she left the Slytherin common room with Evelyn Thomas in a hurry, leaving them to kill themselves.

As soon as Hermione was gone, Tom crossed his arms.

"Now, what am I supposed to do with you, Walburga?" He spoke, his voice cold and calculating.

“She started it! She shouldn't even be here!”

"Shut up, Walburga," Alphard grunted, very angry with his sister. He looked at the little brother who watched the whole scene, impassive. He didn't want his brother's first night at Hogwarts to be like this.

"Alphard, how about you fix your sister."

"What?" Alphard choked on his sentence and Walburga froze inside. Lestrange smiled sadistically.

"Riddle." Orion Black stepped in, placing a hand on Walburga's shoulder. "She's a girl."
Tom frowned in confusion, not understanding what Orion was getting at. She was a girl, so what? He snorted.

"There is no gender privilege here, Orion," Tom replied. "When I get back, I hope to have results, Alphard." There was a 'Or' suspended in the air.
He stopped in front of Cygnus, who did not seem surprised, elated or touched by his siblings. Druella was clinging tightly to his arm, but Cygnus didn't care, after all, she would be his wife in the future. At least, that's what had been announced at his big birthday party. Cygnus looked at Tom, there was no fear there, just curiosity and Tom found it interesting.

"Your siblings -" Tom was not going to console Cygnus, quite the contrary. But he was surprised by an unexpected response.

"I don't care," Cygnus said, Druella squeezed his arm even tighter. Tom smiled.

"You know ... I choose you." Tom said, to Alphard's terror.
Malfoy, Lestrange, Mulciber, Nott, Dolohov and Avery congratulate Cygnus.
"Felicitations, Black." Lestrange taps a finger on Cygnus's forehead, making the others laugh, as they walk into the boy's dorm.

"You know what you have to do, Alphard," Tom remembers. You either do it or I do it.

Unlike his gang, Tom goes after Hermione and they all leave Alphard, Araminta, Walburga, Orion, Cygnus and Druella there.
Because, the Blacks protect themselves. They think, at the same time as Alphard, grudgingly casts the Silencio spell on his sister. So that no one could hear the screams.

Slytherin Common Room

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 14. Melanoleuca - Fire. Fear. Frenzy.

Edited January 2024

Hermione was comforting Evelyn, using magic to clean the little girl's hair. Evelyn was still sniffling, trying hard to stop crying and trembling, but little by little she was calming down. Both girls were sitting on the stairs that led to the dungeons, with only a pale beam of light coming from a window to illuminate and cast shadows of their silhouettes on the medieval stone paved floor.

Afraid and with tears in her eyes, Evelyn Thomas dared to look into the face of her saviour, in the eyes of the little girl, her champion was beautiful, gentle and powerful. She just didn't understand why she had been helped by someone who didn't even belong to Slytherin House.

"You can tell me what happened." Hermione murmured, tidying a few strands of hair that were on Evelyn's forehead.

The girl looked down, specifically at the small nails of her hand. Should she tell her saviour what had happened? She had been warned to divulge nothing that happens in Slytherin House, because in addition to being a mudblood - a term she didn’t understand the meaning of - she would then also become a traitor to the House itself, which meant things could only get worse for her. Evelyn didn't think things could actually become worse than how she was currently treated, but she thought she shouldn't push her luck.

“You can tell me, I am not going to tell anyone. I promise." Hermione continued, noticing the girl's hesitation.

Two minutes had passed and the girl had said nothing, keeping her eyes on her nails to avoid looking at Hermione as a few drops of tears fell and wet her pyjama bottoms, which had small hopping bunnies designed onto them. Hermione was already giving up on finding out what had really happened, whatever had happened. Some invisible obligation seemed to guarantee the young girl's silence, but to her surprise, Evelyn started to speak.

"I was so happy to come to a school of magic, I felt I was somehow special." The sweet, childlike voice rang out into the emptiness of the dark dungeon corridors. “Everything was fine until we went to the dormitory. They said that new students had to follow an initiation rite, to prove that we were proud and worthy of being a Slytherin. But then, they looked at me strangely and called me mudblood. What is a mudblood?” Despite the sadness in the girl's voice, there was also curiosity.

What was a mudblood? Hermione asked the same question herself when she was the same age, if not a little older than Evelyn. This word had plagued her for many years, she had it engraved on her skin, the term used by those who consider themselves pure blood wizards. Sometimes she dreamt of Bellatrix carving the slur on her skin, sometimes she still heard Draco Malfoy's arrogant voice. It wasn't easy, it never was, but over time she had learned to cope with it. If in this time, she hid the scar on her arm, it was not out of shame for her birth status - she would never be ashamed of her parents - but for the ugliness of the scar and the bad memories that it awoke.

“Mudblood is a very ugly word used by those who consider themselves pureblooded wizards and witches to denigrate those who were born to muggle parents. A muggle person is a non-magical person. A pureblood person comes from a family that has never had a relationship with a muggle, maintaining the bloodline with other wizards. Those who call you a mudblood are insulting you in a vile way.” Hermione explained and Evelyn's eyes becane bigger as she listened.

Realising that it might be much worse to hear such things, Hermione continued to explain, but this time softening the words. No child deserved to be discriminated against at such a young and tender age.

“Believe me, they only say this because they are unsure of how powerful you can become and feel threatened that you may steal their place in society if they pale in comparison to you. Don't let it affect you, you will only feel worse.” Hermione wiped away the last teardrop that threatened to fall from Evelyn's face. “Being muggle-born doesn't make you worse or better than anyone, just as being a pureblood doesn't make them better. What will make you different from everyone is your attitude. Some people have a hard time understanding this, but they are always proved wrong time and time again. Be proud of who you are.” She smiled at the young girl, who returned her smile.

Evelyn looked at Hermione from head to toe with a look that could be described as very ‘Slytherin-ish’.

"You're not a Slytherin, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm from Gryffindor.”
"Hm... your House seems to be... better." Those were the words of a child who did not want to return to the dorms of the House to which she belonged. Hermione couldn't blame the girl, if she were in the girl's shoes she wouldn't want to go back either. "I would like to know what it is like." Evelyn blinked a few times, her brown eyes that were already big because of her round childish face now looked even more angelic and shiny from the tears she had cried. Hermione picked up that she was trying to manipulate her in the way that only a child could.

Oh, her Slytherin side. So young and already cunning.

"No House is better or worse than the other. Each one is good in some way, but to tell you the truth, it is very difficult to have the qualities to enter Slytherin House. The founder, Salazar Slytherin was a little demanding."

Hermione understood what the girl wanted. She had to find a place where Evelyn could sleep and then probably have a conversation with Dumbledore. Despite not foreseeing how much her actions were changing the timeline, Hermione found herself increasingly having difficulties in standing aside and in not taking action.Looking at Evelyn's face, something caught her eye in the dark corridor of the dungeons. A shadow was moving, coming towards them. She hoped it wasn't the Bloody Baron or one of the Slytherin students, but she usually was not very lucky, so she prefered to be safe than sorry.

The darkness that seemed to embrace the walls gradually fades away when the One who all will fear to say his name, comes into the light. Evelyn's breathing stops the moment she realizes that Tom Riddle is there. Hermione stood up and Evelyn copied her movement. If Riddle had come here to fight, she didn't feel ready.
He stops in front of her, at a distance of around ten meters, gives her a long look without saying anything, the sound of his breathing reverberating loudly in that empty corridor. His gaze travels to the young girl, just behind her, and clinging to Hermione's skirt.

“Go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day for new students.” His voice was calm but demanding. His words were not in dispute, it was a command and the young girl had no choice. "As a prefect, I must ensure
order is restored."

In other words, Tom Riddle had enforced order and control over Slytherin House. He might not like the girl, he might not be happy to manage the situation, but for now, he made sure that the night ended calmly with everyone in their proper beds.

Evelyn flees Riddle's eyes, uncertain, afraid and hesitant. From everything the girl had learned, what was most prominent in her mind was that she should respect the older students and the hierarchy that existed inside her House.

"She is not going back there."

The young girl tightens her grip on Hermione's left hand when she hears the words that are, from Evelyn’s perspective, bravely uttered in her defence.

"The Vow. I stopped the persecution.” Riddle says and to Evelyn's ears this has no meaning. But she understood that it was a private conversation between the two older students. "She needs to go back." Now, that was an order.

"Did you really stop it?" Hermione asked, suspicious. She couldn't let a child return to that situation, but she also couldn't alter what should happen... Could she?

Riddle nods. "For now."
He looks at Evelyn Thomas, who looks at Hermione, who against all her heart's wishes, confirms for Evelyn to return to the Slytherin dorm. Evelyn hugs Hermione.

"I will never forget what you did." Slytherins remember those who help them as much as they remember those who harm them. They have a good memory and are a little bit resentful to those who did them wrong. Her arms tried to exert maximum strength before she let go and turned away from Hermione. She still didn't want to go to the Slytherin dormitories, but she didn't seem to have much choice and that was terrifying.

She passes slowly by Riddle, who follows every movement she makes with his eyes, and as soon as she was out of his field of vision, she ran. Tom and Hermione watch the girl disappear into the shadows of the corridor that lead to the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Hermione is concerned, but she has to believe that Riddle is telling the truth, even though she is not satisfied with the situation.

And so, she is alone with Riddle. They look at each other in that quiet environment, and he reaches for her. Invading her personal space as fast as an arrow, specifically holding the wrist on the side where he knew the wand was in the holster - a detail he realised by watching her - his left hand holds her slender neck and part of her jaw, not to strangle - even though he was in a favourable position for such an act - but only to immobilize and corner her against the wall. As close as he was, he could feel her warm breath against his skin and the sweet smell of the alchohol they had both drunk.

"You shouldn't have attacked the members of Slytherin House." He softly chides her. For Tom, it is a complicated feeling. Even though he finds it exciting - similar to the adrenaline of a spell hitting its target - that she is powerful, intelligent, and he even admires her stubbornness a little, but he cannot have her fighting his Knights and the other members of Slytherin in such a rampant way, especially when it was he who had invited her to the snakes’ den. It is not that he cares about the health of his housemates, far from it. Of course, few will dare to question him, but if this becomes common behaviour, the Knights' bloodlust would have to be fed and they will begin to question too much. That's why he needs to keep everyone on a tight leash, so no one will ever be comfortable enough to try to go against him.

He also could not disregard her actions forever, just as he could not disregard the Vow. Tom will not allow her to keep an ace up her sleeve to use against him whenever and however she wants. He had to retaliate in return so he wouldn't feel indebted to her, especially after what she saw and knew, but he also has to be in control. Otherwise, the lioness that she is could turn relentless. But he doesn't want to think of her as an enemy - even if he doesn't trust anyone blindly - yet she is so far proving to be safe, allowing him to be himself. Unassuming. But she has only truly seen a third of what he is capable of and yet, his head is starting to fill with thoughts of her being his formidable ally.

But above all, there is something about her that makes him have feelings and sensations that he is inexperienced in. Her fierce expression moves him, trailing goosebumps on his skin like a caress and he finds himself unable not to look all over her face and focus on her lips. What is this?
He wonders, and somehow he knows what it is. He's not a fool. However, it is the why and how he is feeling that disturbs him the most. He does not generally care about these things, as he is as detached from this idea of intimacy as anything else that does not interest him - where there is no benefit, there is no interest. But Granger is starting to get him interested in it, making him try to see the benefits and he is a voracious hunter of emotions that make him feel alive and powerful.

There is a fire in her, a spark of determination in her eyes, within her pupils. An inner furnace . She wasn't the type to be submissive if she didn't want to be. However, that inner fire is currently aimed at him and it is certainly not friendly. Hermione grunts and squeezes Riddle's wrists so she can get him away from her. She pushes him, gaining a little personal space.

"So, are we back to this?" She asks, hurt by the order in his voice and the short period of peace between them. It hasn’t lasted even a day at Hogwarts. Her words seem to affect him. He looks at her angrily as the beginning of his desire is forgotten for a moment, his jaw stiffens in disgust at their new clash. “Isn't there a day when we can return to Hogwarts and not hate each other again? And stop doing what?” She asks with a defiant expression. "Prevent them from hurting anyone?"

"She's a mudblood!" Tom snaps. In his thoughts, he thinks she shouldn't be so attached to a mudblood.
"She is a child!" Hermione counters. “She is magical and that is what matters. You more than anyone know that what matters is magic!”
They face each other. Hermione couldn't say whether Tom Riddle hates muggle-borns and half-bloods because of what he considers to be his own blood impurity or if he really considers himself the purest of wizards because he is the last known descendant of Salazar Slytherin. But the truth is that Tom does not have hatred towards muggle-borns - or so he thinks - just a great disdain for everything and everyone he considers inferior to him. Even a pure-blooded wizard from one of the most renowned families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight could be under the sole of his shoe, being just a disposable pawn in his great game of chess.

"I will not discuss this with you." She seems to be resentful. "Nothing I say can change your mind, can it?"

If he is surprised, he doesn’t show it.

"Very well," Tom replies, lifting his chin slightly. “Nobody's going to want the mudblood girl.” When Hermione makes a confused expression, Tom continues. “We have a sponsorship system within Slytherin. You will have to protect her, I guarantee it.” He says, already turning his back on Hermione.
Irritated by his lack of empathy and for her having let Evelyn go back, she shouts at Tom Riddle, who is already walking towards the entrance to the Common Room.

“Okay, I will protect her! I'll take care of her -”Hermione doesn’t care that anyone can hear her or that the Bloody Baron himself appeared "- just as I took care of you!"

He stops at once and turns to face her, but she is already gone.

Running up the stairs to follow her, Tom Riddle grabs her arm to prevent her escape. She looks over her shoulder with a furious expression and tears in her eyes; tears that she would never allow herself to shed in front of him. Her breathing is fast as she loses control of her emotions, aware that the impulsive part of her personality is manifesting.

Tom releases her, as if she is hot as fire and he has attacked her in the worst way. But for Hermione, that's exactly how she felt. The attacks on Evelyn Thomas roused Hermione's defence system as if she were the one being assaulted .

He wants to go after her when she leaves and he almost does, but his day and night have been long. He would deal with her eventually and by eventually he means tomorrow.

Lying on her bed in the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione kept replaying events. Her housemates were already asleep and everything was quiet, making her realise that she had spent too much time in the snake pit. One of the worst parts of that night was Alphard Black's betrayal. It was not quite a blunt betrayal, but a choice that showed how far Alphard was prepared go for his family. That he could make horrible choices, even though he knew his family was wrong, that they were all wrong. He was someone she trusted, kind, who until then had had no problem with her being a muggle-born, but this was the second time he had done this to her.

And what was up with Tom Riddle? She had no words to describe her encounter with him.

o0o

Tom entered the common room, already calm and silent, the students in their dormitories. The flames from the fireplace were the largest source of lighting in the dark greenish room. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed the small figure sitting on one of the sofas in front of the fireplace. Walking calmly towards the person, Tom Riddle approached, perhaps not too surprised to find her there.

"Shouldn't you be in your bed?" He asked, watching as she winced when she heard his voice, possibly not noticing his presence.

Oh, she has a lot to learn, Tom thought. If the girl was going to stay in Slytherin, she would have to learn to be alert. In fact, in her little muggle world , she could probably
be considered a smart girl, attentive to everything that happened around her, but here, in Slytherin, everyone shared the same basic characteristics that made a student suited for this House. Some were more proficient than others. So, if she was here, she needed to improve on those skills. Although personally, he thought she wouldn't last long.

He walked around, his shoes making small noises with each step until he sat on his favourite chair. The one that was closest to the fire, where he has a privileged view of the flames and everything that happened around him. He noticed how she stiffened when she caught on to what he was thinking.
He stood, moving to the fire, and she tried to escape his gaze, but he doesn't even need to use Legilimency to know that she must be thinking about how to get out of here. He smiled, his left hand entered the flames of the fireplace and he played calmly with the fire, moving his fingers through it without burning himself.

She held her breath and he saw the impressed and covetous look she had, she longed to do the same .

"I asked a question." Tom removed his hand from the fire and blew out the magic flames that dissolved into nothing, looking directly at her.

She looked down and the small hands grabbed her bunny pyjama pants, casting a look or two in his direction and she thought it prudent to not fail to answer his question.
"I am afraid." Evelyn's voice sounded soft, childish and low, submissive and inferior.

"Afraid?" He questioned, sitting again. “Fear is for the weak. Are you weak?" He had no empathy for her. To be honest, he had no empathy for almost anything. She was no exception. She trembled and shook her head, a pathetic attempt to deny the truth to his eyes. He laughed, a small, almost cheerful laugh.

Evelyn dared to look at him when she heard the sound of his laughter. There was something so strangely attractive about him and she associated it as the synonym for power. Sitting in that armchair, the illumination from the fireplace casting shado and lights on his face, he looked undeniably powerful. He was darkly angelic.
"What did she say to you?" He asked, curious. His question caught her off guard and she noticed that she must have been looking at him for too long. He rested one arm on the chair, closed his hand in a fist and rested his head on it, his eyes never leaving hers. When she was slow to answer for not knowing the right answer, he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow speculatively.
"I asked her what it meant to be a mudblood ."

White teeth appeared when an unfriendly smile stretched over his face.

"She said it was a bad word used by wizards and witches who fear that I might become more powerful and steal their magic." Evelyn continued. She looked down when she finished speaking and shook her legs, trying not to be disturbed by the silence and by his presence. "Is it true? What she said, is it true?”

Ah, the ignorance of a muggle-born in the Wizarding World . Reluctantly he compares her situation to his. He was also a novice once, obviously, he is no longer.

“She is not lying. You are just a mudblood to everyone.”

"I will prove them wrong."

Tom Riddle gets up, a smile with eyes closed.

"Really?" He asked, approaching her, stopping in front of her. “Then you will have to face a lot . Be careful not to make enemies that you can't beat.” He put his hand on top of Evelyn's head, her hair is soft to his touch. There was a strange urge to grab the girl's hair, but he just patted her on the head as if she were some kind of pet.

"I am going to bed." She got up, naively ignoring the danger. Tom let her go.

He was particularly uncomfortable with children. He had spent too much time with them at the orphanage. For him, they were usually loud and inexplicably vile. Somehow, there would always be drool or mucus coming from somewhere on them.

On the first step of the stairs, she stopped and looked at him.

"Fear is for the weak, isn't it?"

"Yes." He confirmed. "Fear is for the weak."
He watched the girl finally go to the dorm and for a fleeting moment, his eyes shone red, as vivid as the colour of blood. Tom made a movement with his neck from side to side, cracking the tension there. He walked, finally alone, the only sound coming from the fireplace - where the wood burned endlessly - and his breathing, stopping in front of the flames.

His thoughts were full of the events of that night, especially of Granger. He was still absorbing what the little muggle-born had said about the conversation she had with Granger, but his mind was now and again
replaying the moments he had been with her. Tom was trying very hard to control himself, but his mind was enveloped in a haze of thoughts that focused on the closeness between them, both when he had removed the spell he had cast on her, and the one just now in the corridors of the dungeons. Goosebumps formed on the skin of his arms up to his neck like a caress, sensations and feelings
he couldn’t control and didn’t
understand. He looked intently at the crackling fire, opening his mouth a little to exhale a little faster.

The flames danced, licking the wood, burning endlessly in the fireplace, they took shape and Granger's face appeared in the fire. The flames mimicked the smooth movement of Granger's uncontrollable hair and the vigour of her determined expression. But it was obvious that this was happening to his eyes only, that he was only seeing the image of Granger in the fire, because of himself. It was his magic creating the image of his unconscious desire and with disbelief, he lowered his gaze, taking emotional control of the situation and not allowing himself to believe it. With that, the flames returned to normal, but the crackling noise of the wood would in the future always be a constant reminder henceforth of this moment and of her.

"My Lord."

Tom Riddle blinked, recognising the voice.

"Malfoy."

Abraxas Malfoy came down the stairs dressed in black satin men's pyjamas.
"I thought you were already resting, my Lord."

Malfoy's voice broke the music coming from the flames of the fireplace, the quiet peace of the common room and Tom Riddle’s silent contemplation, despite his incessant thoughts. Riddle's temperament was like the phases of the moon, constantly changing if he let himself go, and Malfoy's voice, the inconvenience of his presence in this moment of intimate reflection seemed to bring Riddle's anger to the surface. Honestly admitting to himself, that this side of him was always lurking just below the surface, with the potential to unleash in the blink of an eye and apparently it would grace Malfoy now.

Abraxas Malfoy, in Tom Riddle's view, was the most loyal of his followers, along with Lestrange. He bestowed upon Malfoy a level of trust, yet it was not with blind confidence. He
trusted Malfoy to make others follow the order of things when he was not present, and that false sense of power seemed to guarantee Abraxas' loyalty, yet it did not impune him from punishment. At that moment, the pupils of Tom's eyes involuntarily contracted as he advanced towards Malfoy. He grabbed him by the collar of his pyjamas
and pushed
him against one of the stone columns of the common room, it was so sudden that Abraxas had no time to react and with wide eyes Abraxas looked at Riddle's face, fearing what his Lord would do.
Riddle's proximity was unsettling and Abraxas faltered under the influence of it, and as if without a sense of personal space, Tom took advantage of the moment to get closer. So close, that Abraxas could not look away as he knew he must not avoid Riddle's gaze.

"M-my Lord ...?" He tried. Malfoy didn’t understand what he had done wrong. But before he even had the chance to apologise for anything he might have done, he felt it. It was like a grip, like digging nails into his head, into his brain, into his thoughts. Riddle was invading his head mercilessly, violating the privacy of his memories. Malfoy felt the sharp disorienting sound in his ears as if he was going deaf. He didn’t know what his Lord was looking for in his thoughts, in his head and as much as he was reluctant, he did not resist and instead let Riddle see whatever he wanted to see rather than suffer through mental torture.

Malfoy didn’t know what his lord was looking for, however little did Malfoy know that Riddle did not know either. There was no clear purpose but to torture Malfoy out of a whim of irritation. He invaded, piercing, without even thinking twice, breaking the natural mental barrier that any human being held as if it were dust. Tom was not kind, he rifled through Malfoy's thoughts and emotions, dismissing them as if they were nothing, however, leaving a mark of pain. Outside of his reality, he could see Malfoy twitch involuntarily. He was not looking for something specific and for the time being, he had no interest in his conversations with his family or with the Knights, nor in Abraxas’ intimate life, he just wanted to cause pain. This was
the reason.

However, Riddle's subconscious seemed to have a purpose and he found himself pausing at Malfoy's memories of Granger. In the memory, he sees through Abraxas' eyes, and Granger was dancing.

I was dancing ... Riddle remembers the explanation she had given about her hair being so rebellious. What she had said was true, she hadn't lied to him, but she forgot to mention that the younger brother Prewett was involved. Laughing, smiling, so blatantly cheerful for Prewett. This left him with a strange simmering in his stomach, which burnt inside him, similar to the sensation he had had on the Hogwarts Express when Granger interacted with Black.

His anger seemed to be reflected in his mental attack as Malfoy gasped in pain.

Tom discarded the memory, focusing on the next, the warm clash between Malfoy and Granger in the corridor. In Malfoy's emotions, he didn’t seem to hate Granger, he seemed to be relatively neutral to her presence, but there was curiosity and suspicion. Like any good Slytherin.

Thus, Riddle retracted the mental invasion and let Malfoy go. He looked at the state of Abraxas, who was visibly dejected, pale and shaking, eyes fraught. A trail of blood ran down one of his nostrils and he, with his right hand shaking, touches the hot liquid, then looked at his hand and then back at his Lord. Mentally weak, Malfoy crumbled upon himself onto his knees, panting quickly and with an incessant headache that felt would
last for days.

"I'm going to retire." Tom said politely, as if nothing had transpired between them, going up the stairs to the boys' dormitory and leaving Malfoy there, collapsed on the floor.

-
Tom let the hot water cascade down his body. He was in one of the five showers in his dormitory bathroom.
Now that they were in the sixth year, they had
more space. As always, he preferred his bed to be the furthest away from the door, this time he had a privileged view from one of the windows overlooking the lake bottom. Sometimes it was possible to see the tentacles or even the whole of the Giant Squid itself.

He rested his arms against the tiles in the shower and let his head fall, water running through his dark hair, as he stared into the dark hole in the drain where the water was draining. Even though the hot water bathed his skin, his arms shivered.

I'm sick. That was the only answer for him. Which was, in fact, wrong and ironic. He never got sick, not once that he remembered, but he was starting to think that this was the case, because he was unable to stop thinking about Granger.

Tom opened his mouth to release his gasping breath. He tried to erase her image from his mind, but it was unsuccessful, which left him so frustrated that he punched the tile. Stop, fuck. But his mind clenched at the remembrance of the closeness between them and what he did not want to happen, happened. His member started to harden into an erection.

No. He tried to deny it - I'm not going to do that.
He did not want to 'stoop' to doing this act, it would be admitting that he desired her sexually, which would go against a part of him that he believed he managed to control. To be honest, the only time he had masturbated was at the age of thirteen and he didn’t even remember the reason that made him want to do it. He attributed it to
a phase of puberty, indicating physical changes. After that day, never again. Of course, he would consider some girl pretty or ugly, arrogant or shy, see the size of her breasts, rear and thighs, he harbored some scientific curiosity about the female anatomy, but he largely ignored these things because there was no sexual interest on his part unless he could gain something out of it, other than that he always remained in control. And then, Granger came to test that side which had never before awoke.
Fuck it. He was not a puritan at all and did not have strict obedience to anything, following only his own personal code.

He did what had to be done. He put his right hand around his member in a slightly tight grip and moved his hand back and forth, the friction, the movement was good enough to overwhelm his mind’s sensory receptors and pull a sigh from Tom's lips, causing him to close his eyes. He felt himself grow stiffer, pulsing, enlarging and quickly becoming fully erect. He tried not to imagine anything, tried to leave his mind blank, while continuing with the repetitive movement of his hand, but that didn’t seem to work and the pleasant relief seemed to elude him, which was frustrating and made him ache somehow. Then, reluctantly, he let her image infiltrate his most intimate thoughts.

Tom didn’t know what her body looked like, not without clothes, the silhouette of her bodywas the outline made by the uniform and he didn’t know what she looked like under the layers of fabrics. What was the real size of her breasts, what were their shape, were they tear shaped, round, were they perfectly identical or were there small differences between them? What was her belly, waist and hips, the apex of her thighs and the intimacy between her legs like? Of course, he knew, biologically speaking, what the female body looked like, but he specifically wanted to know hers.
He didn't notice in the moments he was with her such details. What he studied and what interested him at first was her personality, behaviour, attitude, intellectual and magical levels and that in itself drew his attention to the point that he started to consider her a formidable ally. But now, here he was, touching himself and thinking about her.

The lack of detailed knowledge about her body left room for imagination and it was exactly what he did. He saw her body, within the proportions he could deduce, the valley between her breasts that he once had the curiosity to touch to get the necklace she hid between, the legs that were dressed in those strange tight trousers that shaped her thighs and calves, Tom clung to the memories where he had perceived her body and combined the two memories into one, this time imagining her naked. The image made him falter and the rhythm of the hand increased. He was close, but it is not enough. She never called him by his chosen name, she called him 'Riddle', but it seemed wrong to imagine her there, calling him 'Riddle' - his father's muggle name - it didn’t convey the intimacy necessary for him to come, so he imagined how it must be her calling him 'My Lord'.

Oh. In the right timbre, sighing in his ear, the auditory fantasy of her worshipping his power sent pleasure impulses through his body.

"Ah...!" He muffled the sound with a clenched first to his mouth. This felt right . At that moment he did not understand why he had deprived himself of this for so long. It didn’t make sense. His cock twitched in excitement, the throbbing member still full in anticipation.

What else did he need to do to come?
His vivid detail of her turned more audacious and formed into an image so contrasting to her demure demeanour which greatly appealed to him, imagining her touching her breasts, the tips of her nipples and the areola that were probably pink, squeezing and groaning at his worship. Dangerous combination. One hand continued on the breasts, while the other traveled a sinful path down her flat belly, going towards, further south. The way of sin. The hand hiding between her supple legs that were closed, and when he pictured her slowly parting her legs for him, he comes.

“ ...! ” He clenched his teeth to keep out any sound while the orgasm encompassed his rationale. He came in his hand, while the rest fell on the shower floor, running down the drain along with the water. Tom found his mind to be blank for a fleeting moment as spasms of pleasure ran over his body.

He lifted his head upwards to let the water cascade down and wash over his face. His chest expanded and retracted to follow his heavy breathing.

Lying on his bed after a long shower, dressed in gray second-rate cotton pyjamas - something very different than what Malfoy, Lestrange and others had - Tom's body felt relaxed, his head heavy on the pillow, while he stared at the dark green - almost black - canopy of the bed.

He decided that he would not condemn himself for what he had done. He had masturbated thinking about her, so what? How many people didn’t fantasise and act on carnal needs? It was not like he was touching her against her will. He would not condemn himself and would do anything to make this act last before the next, but he was not so sure whether he could commit to it. He had enjoyed immensely the feeling, even if quick, euphoria
had exploded within his mind and as a voracious hunter of emotions, he felt he would need
more and soon.

Nobody knew and neither did she ever need to know this.

In the morning, Tom was already finishing getting dressed in his uniform, while some of his dormmates were waking up. Nott was trying to knot his tie correctly, Malfoy was still in the shower, Rosier was waking up, and Lestrange was coming out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. Without any modesty, Lestrange removed the towel from his waist and tossed it on his bed, picking up his uniform trousers so he could put them on.

" Fuck , cover it up over there." Nott said with an expression of disgust at Lestrange's blatant nakedness.

“What is it, Nott? Never seen a cock in your life?” Lestrange replied.

“I still need to have breakfast. That sight makes me sick.”

“If you continue to complain, I will think that you are a little girl. ” Lestrange pulled the zipper and buttoned his trousers.
Tom rolled his eyes. Malfoy came out of the bathroom, running a hand through his blond - almost white - hair.

"Malfoy." Tom attracted his attention. “You will inform me how the Blacks are doing. Lestrange, make sure that no one from Slytherin House says anything about what happened yesterday.” Lestrange smiled with joy and Malfoy nodded.

“And the mudblood girl ?” Nott questioned.

Did Tom care about the girl? No. He 'saved' her because of Hermione. He had done his part. There was nothing else to do. If the girl stayed, she would have to learn
how to cope, he would not babysit her. She didn't matter to him.

Tom shrugged at Nott's question.

o0o

She was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, resting her elbow on the table while massaging the left temple of her head. Hermione had woken up early, even earlier than Ectur, there were very few students in the Great Hall besides her. She had a huge headache and last night's events prevented her from sleeping well. Even the simple sound of the teaspoon she was stirring in her teacup felt like a cat scratching a blackboard to her.

Repeating the sixth year, who would have guessed?
She snorted, annoyed at anything.

The doors of the Great Hall opened and to Hermione's surprise, it was Evelyn Thomas who had entered. She still looked lost, but she preferred to follow her own path alone than to be with the other girls from Slytherin. She looked around, there were few students at this time of morning and she thought that if she came earlier, she could have breakfast peacefully.

Her eyes met Hermione's and she smiled slightly. Hermione returned the smile. The Gryffindor table,
Evelyn thought. She wanted to go there, but she knew that her path was the opposite way to there. She was a Slytherin, after all.
With that, she took a deep breath and walked over to the Slytherin table. The five students at the table looked at her with disgust when she sat down. Evelyn looked down, but thought of the words Fear is for the weak.

Hermione looked at Evelyn, a little concerned for the girl, who was alone at the Slytherin table. Hermione took a long drink of hot tea when someone dropped divination books on the table in front of her.

"Are you going out with Malfoy?" Enid asked, leaning over the books, too impatient to sit before spilling her words out.
The moment she heard the question, Hermione spat out the tea, snorting some of the liquid inelegantly out of her nose. Painful, certainly. But nothing could be worse than the assumption she was dating Malfoy.

"What!?"

"I'm asking if you're seeing Malfoy." Enid asked again, finally sitting down opposite Hermione.

"Where did you ever get that from?" Outraged, Hermione asked.

"Maybe it's because you guys met last night."

Not that it was Enid's business, but Hermione had nothing to hide. She was clearly not going out with Malfoy, nor did she intend to. Merlin, free her from this burden! But also, Hermione could not divulge what happened at Slytherin House, if she opened her mouth about it, then Riddle’s gang would never leave her alone.
"Definitely not. I am not with Malfoy. He wanted to say that Riddle was waiting for me in the dungeons to return
a book he had borrowed from me, nothing more.” Hermione lied in part.

Enid looked at her for a moment and Hermione held her gaze, and she seemed to accept that answer.

Bilius and Ectur arrived moments later and sat at the table next to them. As Bilius devoured breakfast, Ectur took a strand of Hermione's unruly hair and curiously pulled it out, watching as the curl of her hair returned to the same position as a coiled spring. She smiled, before putting the stray hair behind her ear. Her hair didn't seem to cooperate with the fashionable pin-up style of the period and she didn't insist on taming it, opting to leave her hair down.
Her hair was certainly more tame now than in her early years at Hogwarts, but was still rebellious.

The Great Hall soon became full of students with the noise of incessant conversation and cutlery. Algie sat next to Enid, talking to Ignatius. Ignatius Prewett became the new Quidditch captain. A murmur that started at the end of the table, passed from person to person - the first gossip of the day - 'Lucretia Black is wearing an opal engagement ring.' 'Ignatius and Lucretia are engaged.' 'Ignatius is going to marry a Black.' 'Lucretia Black is going to marry Prewett.'

When the conversation reached Prewett's ears, he stopped eating and threw his fork and knife on his plate. His facial expression was sulky and he locked his jaw.

"Ig..." Enid murmured and Algie put a hand on his shoulder. Ectur looked at his brother complacently and Hermione smiled sympathetically.

At the Slytherin table it didn't look any different from Gryffindor. Everyone was gossiping and commenting, while from Hermione's view, Lucretia looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.

It was at that moment Riddle and his most loyal followers entered, Riddle at the front and center. They were boys, inexplicably handsome, and even Hermione couldn't deny it. They strutted as if they were the owners of the school, and it seemed to everyone to be in slow motion. It was obvious that they were the most elite and popular set and as always, anyone who was included as part of their social circle was 'privileged.'They sat at the head of the Slytherin table and it was only then that Hermione realised a hierarchy truly existed there. Her gaze passed over all the table until it reached the end, where Evelyn was sitting like a doormat, for the Slytherins, the lowest place. Hermione clenched her hand under the table.
When she looked back, Riddle was staring at her. She ignored him and focused on the jam toast that was on her plate.

In the background, Dumbledore as Deputy Headmaster was saying something about the best students in each year in the prior term. She was largely ignoring what was being said, much more focused on eating toast. She was glad that such an oddly public distinction was not practiced during her time as it fueled intra and inter House animosity. Jealousy festered rather quickly and Hermione was all too familiar with the antics of hormonal teens, having been part of the Golden Trio.
"- And to my surprise, and that of the Headmaster Dippet and of all the other teachers, we obtained a tie for first place in the fifth year."

"Hey, Lovegood and Riddle tied?" Bilius commented to his friends, but Hermione was still oblivious to what was being said, and rather stubbornly preferred to ignore this announcement, Ectur shrugged and so did Algie, as if they didn't understand what was going on.

“Second in the ranking of the best fifth year students, Miss. Lovegood. Pearl Lovegood.” Dumbledore announced and the Ravenclaw table clapped for Pearl. “First place, Riddle. Tom Riddle.” The Slytherin table did not fall short, they clapped and cheered their most distinguished student. “But in joint first place, there is also Miss. Granger. Hermione Granger."

When the Gryffindor House table cheered as they clapped, Hermione was startled to reality.

"Hermione, it's you!" Ignatius said from across the table.

“Hm? What?" She asked without understanding.

“You managed to beat Riddle in the finals ranking. You drew with him!” Ectur spoke beside her.

From the far end, Riddle was looking at her again. Whether he was happy with it or not, he didn't show it.

In any case, she had attracted too much attention to herself and it couldn't happen again.

-The first class they had that morning was transfiguration with Professor Dumbledore.

"Can you believe that?" Bilius complained, while he, Hermione and Ectur walked towards the transfiguration classroom. "Most of our classes are with Slytherin this year."

"What classes did you sign up for, Hermione?" Ectur asked.

"All but divination and astronomy."

Tom Riddle was already seated, waiting for the transfiguration class to start. The space beside him was empty because he believed that Granger would sit next to him in class, as she had done in the past few weeks last term. But that did not happen, instead she had joined Bilius and Ectur, the three obliviously discussing divination classes, which she seemed annoyed about. He overheard her clearly claiming that the subject of runes was better.
Granger hadn't even looked at him properly, preferring to sit next to Prewett, making his hand tighten into a fist. The image he got from Malfoy's memories was still fresh in his mind. He controlled himself, was impassive again, even though her laughter was bothering him.

He is still digesting the information that she managed to tie him in the ranking, Tom doesn't know how to feel about it, obviously, he doesn't like to share. The darkest and most suspicious part of his mind says he should keep an eye on her.
The class begins, Dumbledore is a teacher more of practice than of theory, but sometimes he expounds with long speeches mixed with sermons, today is one of those days. Explaining what it means to be a sixth-year student and how it changes the approach to their studies and the syllabus they will follow. From now on, things will become more serious. And none of the students doubted it.

“To move forward, it is necessary to regress. This is the theme that I and all the other teachers agreed to cover over your first two months this term. We decided that before you move on to new topics, we need to refresh your previous studies. So, don't be alarmed if you are initially tested on subjects that belong to the fifth, fourth or even first years.” Dumbledore explained. "So, who remembers how to conjure a perfect bubble stream?"

What a childish thing. Tom rolled his eyes and without saying a word, made a non-verbal bubble-conjuring spell. His magic was so strong and he was so skilled that he filled the classroom with bubbles in a matter of seconds.

As much as Dumbledore might think there was something disturbing with Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boy he once visited at the orphanage, he could not deny or fail to admire Tom's magical abilities.

"Very well, Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore praised. “How about something more difficult and solid now? Something
from the fourth year?”

Hermione, unable to stop herself from grasping the opportunity of being taught by Dumbledore - something she had only imagined - conjured a chair, practically a throne, fashioned in true Gryffindor style for Dumbledore. He smiled at her.

"Very well, Miss. Granger."

Thus followed the class, each student having the opportunity to prove their knowledge. When Dumbledore informed them that the end of the class was over, everyone started to pack to leave.

"Miss. Granger, may I have a word with you?"

She stopped the path she was taking to leave the classroom, Bilius and Ectur as well, but she made a sign indicating that they could go.

"Of course," Hermione responded to Dumbledore's request. Riddle passed by her and their eyes met, for a moment she noticed distress, maybe even fear and reluctance for him to leave her there. But she turned and he had no other choice than to leave the room. "Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore was sitting, looking at her. "How are you?"

Hermione gave a half-smile, tinged with some sadness. "Well, I think. Worried about Harry. I still haven't been able to find a solution.”

"I may have been told that you always keep an eye on him."

"I am very worried about him." She replied sincerely, frowning. “I don't know what caused this, I have some ideas, to be certain. But... He's not waking up and it scares me.”

"Maybe I can help if you tell me some of those ideas."

“Oh, I wish I could tell, I would like it so much. But if I tell… ” Hermione looked at her nails. "I wonder if we are already changing history." She looked at Dumbledore. “I am afraid, Professor Dumbledore. A type of fear I never thought I would ever feel.” Her voice became more choked in the end. “There are things, things that I did, that I think I shouldn't have done. But I couldn't stop myself. There was something that told me it needed to be done and I couldn't stop myself, it didn't go according to how I thought it would. And maybe, I don't know, maybe... ”

“How you tied with Mr Riddle for the top ranking?” He suggested, drawing a smile from Hermione and smiling back to her.

"My fault." She smiled. "I can not avoid it. Sometimes it is a compulsion to answer correctly.” Hermione looked under her lashes like a child who had been caught doing something wrong. "I didn't even think about the ranking." She defended herself.

That was when Dumbledore smiled the most she had ever seen him since meeting him during this time. "How was your holiday?"

Now, that question made Hermione stiffen. What should she say? Should she tell Dumbledore that Riddle had spent the holiday with her? That she saw his abuse at the orphanage? Should she tell him everything she knows about Tom Riddle?

"My holiday was good." She said simply. The tone of voice was devoid of emotion. It was not that she was suspicious of Dumbledore, far from it, but it reminded her that Dumbledore knew what was going on in the orphanage and had done nothing to change it, had done nothing to rescue Riddle from abuse, which affected Hermione's thoughts and emotions on this subject. It was not like she was living in a field of flowers with Riddle, it was more like a field of thorns, and it was not like he was or made an effort to be a good person. But she would not say anything, otherwise, everything would be ruined.

If Dumbledore noticed her vague response - which he obviously did - he decided not to comment.

"I spent most of it studying and researching how to get home." Hermione continued. “The truth is, I don't know where to start. I'm lost."
"How about you start from the beginning?"

"Hm?" She wrinkled her forehead.

"Where do you think your necklace came from?"

It was then that Hermione knew he was aware of the amulet having magic related to Slytherin. Of course, no one was a fool in this time - especially Dumbledore.

"You know, don't you, Professor Dumbledore?"

He shook his head. “Try to begin your research there.“ He suggested. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss. Granger, I think you'd better go to your next class before you're too late."

"Oh, right." She held her school bag and glanced over her shoulder at Dumbledore to say, "Thank you, professor." Grateful to him for the advice he had given.
When she opened the door, the first-year students rushed in, looking forward to the first transfiguration class. In the background, as she closed the door, she heard Dumbledore commence the class, smiling at the new students.

In fact, she wasn't too surprised to find Tom Riddle waiting for her in the corridor with arms crossed over his chest and leaning slightly against one of the columns, dressed in full Slytherin uniform that was very attractively fitting.

She passed him and he followed her.

"What are you doing here?" She asked. "Aren't you going to be late for your next class?"
“Waiting for you of course. You got lost on the way to your next class and I'm helping you find your way. ”

“No one will believe this. I'm already familiar with the school, Riddle.”

They continued walking in the empty corridor.

"So, we lost time talking in the corridor," Riddle said. "Which is what we are clearly doing." He took her arm, preventing her from continuing. "Look at me when we're talking, don't ignore me."

Hermione turned to him and looked at him with a frown.

"What did you say to Dumbledore?" His jaw was locked, his face an expression without friendship, an angry gleam in his eyes and the tone of his voice made her arms
shiver.

Oh, so is that it? She wondered. Of course, he wouldn't let her go without knowing what she had said to Dumbledore, not when she knew too much about him. He thought she would break the little trust he has placed in her. He felt threatened by Dumbledore, who was the only person who kept him in check.

"Nothing." She replied and he released her immediately. "I said nothing." Hermione shook her head to emphasize her point of view. Tom looked her over from head to toe, not knowing what to say for a moment.

“I didn't say anything, okay? This is between us.” She continued.

"A secret? With me, Granger?” He wasn't complaining, but he imagined that as soon as she had gotten back to Hogwarts, she would open her mouth and tell Dumbledore everything. That was his biggest fear, that's why he made the Vow with her. But again she proved to him that she was not as Dumbledore imagined her to be and it satisfied him more than he could put into words.

He comes closer to her.

"I don't know what you want from me anymore." She walks backward, leaning her hand on the protective stone balustrade that prevents any student falling from the second floor of the castle, while looking at the horizon behind Riddle. “Look, I don't care what you do to your ' friends' , nor about your darkest thoughts -“ Lie, she knows she is telling lies. She cares more than she wants to show “- but leave me out of it. I don't want to get involved, I don't want to be involved with your friends. I don't want to be involved with anything you do.”

It was a lie, she would care if he hurt someone, she would care about torture and dark spells as he gradually built up his vast army of followers, but she didn't want to be his target. She didn't want him to pay attention to her.

"Make them stay away from me." She asked, still looking at the horizon. Riddle leaned back against one of the columns, looking curiously at her, trying to assess her as if assembling a puzzle.

"Are you afraid of them?"

She snorts.

"I can protect myself." Hermione turns away, leaving Riddle alone in the hall. He looks at her as she walks away.

We are only at the beginning.

He had started walking to his next class when he suddenly stopped. He looked suspiciously over his shoulder at every corner of the empty corridor and swore that someone had been watching him and Granger talking.

o0o

That night, Tom had decided to go to the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve the diary. He needed to feed the diary with new memories and emotions, just as he needed to share his thoughts.

Hermione was rereading the same page in her book for the fifth time, the fireplace flames in the Gryffindor common room no longer seemed to offer any warmth. She needed fresh air, judging by the late hour - with her housemates already asleep and she being the only one in the common room - the prefects must have already eased-off their rounds by now. She decided to sneak out.

Tom arrived at moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. He didn’t find her there. Who knew where that weeping ghost was and he frankly didn’t care. He turned to the sink and whispered in his ancestral language. Parseltongue. “Open.”
Hermione was walking in the corridors, the moonlight between the clouds illuminated the path for her, but it also cast
the shadows of the columns on the floor. She breathed in the cool, cold air and sought some help and companionship in solitude.

Tom was in the Chamber of Secrets, looking at the statue of the famous Slytherin Salazar. The Basilisk was asleep, still obeying his Master's last order. He walked towards the secret room inside the Chamber.

Clouds hid the moonlight and momentarily the corridor went dark, she took a deep breath and she saw something in the darkness. Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to identify whatever was standing in the dark. The clouds passed, and the moonlight returned and Hermione's expression turned to shock. She took a step back.

Tom picked up the diary with a smile on his face, feeling his own magic. His first Horcrux . One of his greatest creations. The magic was strong and dark, but it recognised whom it belonged to. Tom opened the diary.

Hermione looked at the figure covered in a black cloak that crawled at a slow pace over the floor, with long sleeves that hid the hands, the hood covering the head and where the face should have been, there was only darkness looking back at her. The culprit of her and Harry being thrown back in time to the year 1943? How did he get here too? What did this person want from her and Harry? Who was this person? They faced each other, the person turned from her, moving away, luring Hermione, and Hermione ran after them.

Tom wrote.
Hello.

Hello, Tom. How are we doing? The diary replies.

Hermione runs, she runs fast as if her life depends on it. And in a way it does. She follows the path that the Hooded One takes, running down the stairs, following him or her, without stopping.

A lot has happened.
Tom writes.

What would be 'a lot'? I'm curious. The diary enquires mischievously, with the same morbid and sombre sense of humour as Tom Marvolo Riddle.

When Tom hesitates, the diary demands the memories:

Give them to me.

Hermione cannot believe they are close to the Great Lake at Hogwarts

"Come back here!" She almost screams, demanding that they stop running. She stumbles over the gravel on the edge of the Great Lake, but quickly recovers and points her wand at her target. The Hooded One stops and turns, looking into the dark depths of the face was somehow scary.

Tom points his wand at his right temple, a bright white line comes out of Tom's head, he directs the memories to the diary and with a gesture, cuts the memory link with his wand.
The diary page lights up after receiving the memory and emotions of each event, and Tom waits until the diary absorbs everything that has happened. And then:

Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Granger. Granger. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Hermione Granger.

Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Granger. Hermione. Hermione Granger.

The diary has gone into a frenzy.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 15. Hydrophis - A Mother's Love

Edited January 2024

She pointed her wand, her breath panting fast, her heart pounding like a galloping horse. The moon served as the sole source of illumination for the serene night, the glow reflecting off the calm, dark waters of the Great Lake, which always seemed to have a layer of fog around it, even on summer days.

“

Expelliarmus

!” Hermione cast the spell before the Hooded One even had a chance to react against her. So serious and fierce, she glared at her enemy, her bravery overcoming her initial fear. She heard the sound of a wand falling on gravel.

"Tell me who you are." The words came out of her mouth slowly and strongly. An explicit order. A demand. "Now." The tip of Hermione's wand flashed, eager to comply with any command from its caster.

She was met with silence, the darkness stared at her before she heard the susurration of Parseltongue.

The locket attached to Hermione's neck opened automatically, shocking her as she witnessed Salazar Slytherin's medallion start to react,
clicking and whirring . The writing on the rings adorning the hourglass glowed green and the time turner began to spin.

This person had activated the Time-Turner!

"Stop this!" She ordered. "Shut up!

Silencio!

” She cast the spell, hitting the Hooded One in the chest, but it was too late. The ground below her feet opened up to a vacuum and as she was swept in, she felt as if she was apparating the wrong way.

Her body hit the wet, icy cobblestone. She automatically sucks air in on impact and then rolls slowly onto her back. Hermione blinked a few times watching the night sky; snow falling slowly to clump on the ground.

This cannot be happening

, she feared. Her eyes stung with hot tears that threatened to fall.

Not again

, she wanted to scream and cry at the same time.

Rising, she shivered with the wind. The snow clinging to her hair, the warm breath she exhaled contrasted with the cold air. Hermione looked around, trying to recognisze the place where she was, and surprisedly noticed that it was close to what she remembered as being Wool’s Orphanage.

What…?

She didn't understand what was going on. Was someone trying to show her something? She wasn’t sure. She just knew that all these events always lead back to Riddle.

Hermione hugged herself, cautiously examining the empty street as she walked on towards the iron gate of the orphanage. She looked at the mansion that housed the orphans and noticed some lights on, and she was about to push the iron gate when she heard a noise coming from that infamous alley at the side. There were low whimpers, a kind of cry that very much resembled a wounded animal.

She took a step back away from the iron gate, walking hesitantly to the alley -

may as well be called the Alley of Wailing

she thought - hesitating at the beginning of the passage.

Further into the alley it was pitch-black dark, the crying sounds did not stop and a scene from a horror movie seemed to play before her. Hermione was about to investigate when she heard footsteps coming towards her. Observantly, she noticed they were not steps that were walked steadily, it sounded like someone was dragging their feet. She held her wand tighter and then a figure was revealed by the moonlight.

It was a woman. A woman so pale that her skin looked translucent, her dark hair was dull, long and extremely straight, the dress she wore was dark brown with a high collar and long sleeves, her coat too thin to protect her from freezing temperatures and even then, Hermione noticed that she was thin, too thin to be considered healthy. However, her stomach was swollen and round.

She is pregnant.

The woman staggered on, shivering with cold or fear, tripping over her own feet and using the bars of the orphanage fence to stabilise herself, she ignored Hermione's existence, her hand going under her round belly as if to keep the baby safe. Among her cries and murmurs, there were grunts of pain.

Hermione was frozen in place, watching the scene, recognising
where she was
and
what time she was and who this was.

Destabilised and weak, the frail woman fell against the iron gate of the orphanage, accidentally opening it and falling into the snow. Dark hair contrasted with white. The noise must have attracted attention, as the main door of the orphanage opened and a young Mrs. Cole appeared holding an old oil lantern high.

That night of dark part-cloudless sky where snow fell and the moon illuminated the dark streets with bluish light, that night was December 31st. In some of the busiest places, far away, people were celebrating and partying because after all, it was New Year’s Eve. And less known to many it was the day of Tom Riddle Jr.'s birth.

And that wailing woman was
Merope Gaunt.

The young Mrs. Cole and a practically adolescent Martha rushed to the help of Merope, who squirmed with the pains of childbirth. Hermione, who was on the other side of the pavement, cast a spell of disillusionment on herself, watching the scene with numbness.

The young Mrs. Cole and Martha managed to lift Merope with effort, placing her in the middle of the two, while each held one of Merope's arms to help her walk.

"Miss. Cole, look ..." Martha observed, drawing Cole's attention to the state Merope was in, and at that very moment, Merope grunted in pain.

“She is in labour. We have to get her inside now!” Cole ordered.

Martha and Cole walked Merope slowly into the orphanage.

Behind them, an invisible Hermione followed, unknowingly leaving footprints in the snow along with the oil lantern that had been forgotten.

Inside the orphanage, it had become chaos between the three women. Hermione was close to them, but not close enough to interrupt the scene, perhaps in a quieter moment all three would have awakened their innate sixth sense of being watched, but this point in time was far from it.

Martha ran to heat the water to boiling point and fetch clean towels, while Cole led Merope downstairs, to the basement. While Hermione found Martha's desperation gentle and innocent, but her curiosity and attention were on Merope.

With the help of Mrs. Cole, Merope descended the stairs to the basement, almost slipping twice because of the contractions of childbirth. Her baby was looking forward to coming into this world. Hermione wanted to help out of instinct and empathy but with great force of will she stilled herself, becoming just a spectator, following like a shadow. Sometimes doing nothing was the worst job of all. She deduced that the choice of the basement over the infirmary was largely based on the idea that the commotion of childbirth could wake the children who were asleep on the second floor.

Upon reaching the basement, Mrs. Cole placed Merope on a single iron bed - something Hermione didn't remember being there when she was in the basement with Riddle - and quickly turned on a light, meanwhile Merope grunted in pain, writhing from side to side, sweat making her damp hair stick to her forehead.

Martha came down the stairs quickly bringing the towels, then immediately went up and returned again, this time bringing candles and matches to increase the brightness in the dim basement. Poor thing, she was so nervous that her hand was shaking as she tried to light the candles. It was only her first month working at the orphanage. As a country girl who came to town seeking a better life, it had not been easy for her, but here she had a roof over her head, a place to sleep without hunger. She just dealt with babies and children, she had never delivered a baby, this would be her first and by God, she hoped to do nothing wrong.

Hearing the kettle whistle, she went up again and it was Hermione's chance to get a little closer so she could better see. She walked smoothly, skirting Mrs. Cole and approaching the headboard where she could see Merope Gaunt's face. Mrs Cole was helping to remove Merope's coat, and as soon as she managed she made a little "Oh!" and Hermione opened her mouth in kind.

Merope was too thin, really angular

.

Looking at her face now that she was in the light, it was noticeable that her cheeks were hollow, they were

'sucked in'

, her lips were purple and dry. The eye looked too big for her thin face. It wasn't normal. She had probably never
been healthy from what she recalled of Harry’s stories, but this was extreme. Now she could understand why Merope would not survive childbirth.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at where Hermione was, and even though Hermione knew the spell she had cast on herself was still active, - otherwise, Mrs. Cole would already be screaming in fright - she shivered. Even though Merope wasn't seeing her, she could have felt her magic. Hermione was devastated that so much talent had been wasted by Merope’s mediocre, indifferent life and the family that she had had.

Her eyes looked in opposite directions simultaneously and this she noted was strabismus most likely caused by inbreeding. Another devastating fact which had affected this woman’s unfortunate destiny.

The magical ability of Merope was probably great, but untapped. Suppressed by years of physical and mental abuse, there were no great opportunities for her to have explored such magic. And what made
Hermione think that? The simple fact that when she was given the chance, she had made the Amortentia potion perfectly to the point of making Tom Riddle Sr. fall in synthetic love with her without ever arousing suspicion, bar the moment she had stopped giving him the potion.

In a way, the choices that Merope Gaunt had made could not be judged so coldly or in isolation. One thing was certain, it was impossible to force someone's love, the feeling would more likely become hatred, yet Merope Gaunt had reached her

rock bottom

. Emotionally isolated and always unloved. The lowest level anyone could reach out for crumbs of affection. This is what had happened to her, so desperate for love and attention, she resorted to the only method she thought could fulfill her deepest desires.

o0o

Watching Tom Riddle Sr. riding from the window of the Gaunt’s small and
dilapidateddelapidated
house was her moment of peace. Sometimes Merope imagined herself to be Cecilia - the young muggle who was often with Tom - riding through the gardens and walking through the streets of Little Hangleton, arm in arm with Tom. Other times, she felt pure jealousy to the point that when observing the two together, Merope was scratching the wood of the window until her fingers bled.

Cecilia was everything Merope wanted to be and what she should hate too. She wished so blindly to be Cecilia, to look like the young, elegant
lady of Little Hangleton, to wear expensive dresses and to ride a horse, to be courted by young men, to live in the good house that Cecilia lived in, to have the family that Cecilia had and especially to have the attention

Tom Riddle.

But these thoughts were punished in the worst possible way: by magic.

Her brother and her father hated her for thinking that way. How could Princess Gaunt, whose ancestor was Salazar Slytherin, wish to be a muggle? Live like a muggle?

Squib! Squib! Squib! Squib! Squib!

Her memories were mixed up, mixed and scattered, for the countless times her father tortured her, with her brother watching and laughing meanly in the background. Even though she sometimes felt the urge to run away, she had not found enough strength to do so and she too had a love, an affection for her father, she just hoped that deep down her father might have had some similar feeling - however small it was. And despite everything, in the end her father had been right: Tom Riddle Snr., had not returned her love. She was a fool, a fool in love, who couldn't get angry enough to hate Tom. Even if it was through magic, the time she had spent with Tom Riddle was the happiest Merope had ever lived.

However, everything that is good has to end. Or so it was with the Gaunts. Although her family could be considered a kind of 'royalty' in the wizarding world, due to their greatest ancestor, nothing that was happy and good survived in the hands of the people who belonged to this family. In this moment, she just hopes that the child she carries can be different. If it is a girl, she wants to name her Cecilia, but if it is a boy, there is no doubt: He will be Tom Riddle Jnr.

She doesn't want the child to be like her or her family, she wants it to be detached from magic and everything that connects to this magical and terrible world which she belongs to. She wants the child to be normal, to have an ordinary life, and to be happy. More than anything, she wants the child to be happy. And to let the child
know that she loves it even if no one else wants the child, just as no one ever wanted her, she does. She loves it very much and has survived until here for this little thing that grew inside her, the only reminder that at one point in her life she had been happy.

"Spread your legs, dear." Young Mrs. Cole ordered.

Merope had no way of refusing and resisting, although at some point if she was more lucid she would have been ashamed, yet now she was too weak and the pain she was experiencing prevented her from fighting. Besides, there was an instinct in her already tired body that made her comply with the request and to push.

Hermione watched the scene with distress while young Mrs. Cole lifted Merope's dress and took off her underwear. At that moment, Merope threw herself against the pillows, her hair making a halo around her, her skin damp with beads of sweat, her breath panting and fast. Her hands grabbed the thin sheet and she grunted in pain, her eyes closing in suffering.

Martha came down stairs bringing hot water and placing it next to Mrs. Cole then came to Merope’s side, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a damp towel.

"The baby is coming, she has to push," Cole tells Martha.

"Come on miss, you have to push, the baby is already coming." Martha, in a soft voice, tried to convince Merope. Merope squeezes
but quickly returns to the pillows, too weak to do anything. "She's not going to make it."

"If she doesn't, both the baby and possibly her will die," Cole said. It was such a fatalist statement that even though Hermione already knew the outcome, her stomach clenched at it.

Martha took the initiative, even though she had never delivered a baby, she had only once delivered her father's cow. She hoped it would be similar, as she was just a young woman who was not a nurse, and barely had any experience with anything.

Martha gently moved Mrs. Cole a little to the side, she softly held Merope's legs, and said seriously,

“Come on, miss. Count with me and when I say, you must push. You have to do this for the love you surely have for your unborn baby!”

That must have done the job or else it was the pain Merope felt because then she moved her body forward and pushed, the blood flowed, staining the sheet crimson and she threw herself against the pillows again, her breathing even faster.

"The head, I can see!" Martha exclaimed. “A little more, miss! Just a little more!”

At the very moment Tom Riddle Jr., was about to enter the world, whilst Merope was making every effort, all the lights including that of the candles went out simultaneously, leaving everyone in the dark, scaring Martha and Mrs. Cole, including Hermione. And when Merope screamed, making the last effort to bring her baby into the world, the lights returned, illuminating the basement, with the central lamp shattering. Mrs. Cole crossed herself while looking at Merope and the baby.

The baby was there, in Martha's arms.
It didn't wail or do anything. With bloody hands, Martha looked at the baby, a little surprised, distressed, afraid. The baby was not crying and announcing its arrival to the world as it was supposed to, nor was it moving.

Was it dead?

Martha wondered, her eyes already filled with tears. Martha looked at the baby's mother, who had collapsed and whose breathing was slowing.

Coming out of her stupor, she took the towel and wrapped the baby up warmly, while trying to clear the nasal passage so it could breathe easily. It was then that the baby moved, shaking its small legs and arms, feeling for the first time on the sensitive skin the sensation of the temperature change.

Martha looked down and noticed,

a boy!

She let a smile grow on her face, happy that she didn't have someone's life on her conscience.

"It's a boy!" She announced it to both Merope and Mrs. Cole.

She approached Merope with the baby in her arms, Hermione took a step back in shock as she saw it all unfold before her.

"See your son, miss," Martha softly
murmured to Merope, and with the lack of response, Martha became scared and gently patted one of the lady’s arms. Merope opened her eyes and Martha put the baby next to Merope where she could see and cradle her son to her breast, then she retreated, giving space to the mother and newborn baby.

When Merope saw her baby's face, she cried hot tears streaming down her face. She tried to hold her son with shaking arms and hands. Her son blinked a few times and opened his eyes and more tears came down her face.

He was perfect

, so different from her.

It was

Tom.

She knew from the start. She had felt it.

She traced her son's face, who had the shadow of dark hair, and smiled through her tears.

My dear,

Tom.

You have your father's nose

. Yes, that perfect little nose, he has is nothing compared to her ugly nose.

You have your father's lips

. Those perfectly bowed lips, so different from her thin, shapeless lips.

You have your father's hair.

That dark hair, which she knew would be silky like his father's.

You have your father's essence.

Yes, that essence, that aura, she could feel it, that came only from the Riddle family.

You have your father's eyes.

These eyes were unmistakable. So green, greener than the father’s.

You are just like your father.

He was just like his father.

Please, Tom, grow up like him.

She asked, she begged the baby to be like his father, in every way. That he did not have the features of her family, that he was not like her - that was what she asked for most -
that he was nothing like her
. That he was a muggle, an

ordinary human being -

because nothing good came from magic.

But most of all, she wanted to let him know that she loved him, loved him so strongly and that he was for her

the only and precious one, Tom.

"You are different, Tom. You are special. You are my only and precious one, Tom.” She whispered in the baby's ear.

She closed her eyes, tired, and enjoyed the moment. Her baby was real and she loved him so much and for a moment, everything was peaceful, even though she felt the blood running down her legs, her life slowly fading. Then Merope's fears took over her mind.

She did love her baby, but what could she offer to little Tom? She had nothing; no house, no warm and cosy home with food, clothes, or toys that she had seen other children have, not even his father was present. Her love would not be enough for him. And most of all, she didn't want to see the look of shame from him, growing up, knowing that she was his mother;

this horrendous woman that she was

, with the strange magic she had. She was the hindrance to the happy life he could have.

Oh, God.

She cried harder.

I can't even be good for my baby?

She asked herself. In her mind, hearing the voice of her father, Marvolo, calling her useless, weak, unwanted and her brother agreeing. The voices were there.

Ever since Tom had abandoned her and she had been alone, the voices had become constant. Sometimes it was memories, sometimes it was all the people around her talking at the same time in her mind. It hurt and she covered her ears to try to block it, but it never worked.

But now, at that very moment, she heard her father, her brother, Tom Snr., and all the people who harshly judged her when she walked the streets like a sewer rat.

She was useless even for her baby. Merope shivered with uncertainty. Martha intervened, taking the baby.

Mrs. Cole approached when she saw that look on the young mother's face, she knew it well enough to know that her end was near.

"So, miss, please what's the baby’s name?" Mrs. Cole gently asked, taking Merope's hand in both of hers. Feeling Merope's cold, clammy skin.

"
Tom
...!" Merope responded immediately and without hesitation. It seemed like she wanted to say more when she murmured, which brought Mrs. Cole closer.

Suddenly Merope leaned forward and grabbed the strands of her hair, as if trying to pull it out, her eyes darting in opposite directions when she opened them. The surprise caused Mrs. Cole to become stock-still for a moment.

Father! Please, Father! Please! Father! Father! Marvolo

!

Merope covered her ears and shook her head from side to side repeatedly.

“
Marvolo!”
She shouted.

In Merope's mind, the voices of her brother and father were mocking her, harassing her, cursing her every time she begged for her father. They were punishing her.

You are a Gaunt ... Gaunt ... Gaunt ... Gaunt ...

A muggle? Are you in love with a muggle ?!

Squib! Squib! Squib!

She's in love with that man, Riddle ... Riddle ... Riddle ...

I'm Cecilia, I wanted to be Cecilia ... Cecilia ... Cecilia ...

Do you really think that muggle will look at you, little sister? The lady who is always with him is going to marry him. You are a Gaunt. You will never be a Riddle ... Riddle ...

I married Tom, I am a Riddle. I married Tom, I am a Riddle. I married Tom, I'm a ...

"Riddle!”
She finished, shouting to make the voices stop. She held out her hand for a fleeting moment, as she remembered Tom Riddle Snr., abandoning her once again, and just as before, she let go and lay against the pillows. The voices continued whispering in her ears, she cried shrinking into herself, sadness overtaking her at last. Her heart was broken.

With her last moment of lucidity, she wished someone was good enough for her little Tom. That someone would give him a happy home and embrace him and, above all, that someone would have the capacity to love Tom.

Please, that someone would love him.

She wanted love for him. The love she had never had.

Eyes open, with one last tear, Merope Gaunt took a final shuddering breath on a bloody red bed, where she had given birth to Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And everything went silent, be it Martha, Mrs. Cole or Hermione herself who could not believe that this was how Merope had died and how Tom had been born.

A little in shock, Hermione placed a hand to her mouth in a gesture to stifle the tension and sadness she was feeling.

Martha held the baby while looking in shock at Merope, Mrs. Cole made the sign of the cross and approached Merope's body, and with a strange gentleness closed Merope's eyes and placeding a white sheet over her. Mrs. Cole was shaken but tried to carry on.

"Go take care of the baby, Martha." She ordered. "We will call the gravedigger in the morning."

“But, we don't even know who she is. How will we notify the family?” Martha asked in a tearful voice.

“We will put an ad in the newspaper, if she has a family, the baby will be lucky. Otherwise, he is already where he should be.” She turned to Martha. "And may God have mercy on that woman's soul, because the things I saw today were not normal."

Mrs. Cole went up the stairs as if she wanted to get out of the basement as fast as possible, leaving Martha and the baby behind.

Martha stood there, the nightdress she wore was bloody, just as the blood on her hands reached up her forearms, she held Tom, who made the first noise, waking her from the shock. She looked at the baby and then at Merope's body and with youthful purity, she murmured.

"Sorry." And she followed Mrs. Cole up the stairs quickly.

Hermione stayed there, walked a few steps and stopped in the centre of the room while looking at the body of Merope Gaunt. She would be buried tomorrow, without fanfare or glory, without someone to mourn her and would be forgotten. Or maybe she would be cremated, her ashes scattered in the wind. In both cases, she would probably be freer dead than she ever was alive.

"Rest in peace." Hermione whispered, placing the rest of the sheet over Merope's face. How many more deaths would she have to see?

The candle wax burned bright, the light went out slowly until everything was in darkness.

o0o

When Hermione went up the basement stairs, everything was dark except for the light coming from the orphanage kitchen. Hermione walked slowly, as the wooden floor was making noise and overheard the conversation.

"Poor thing, she was not pretty." Mrs. Cole watched while Martha heated the water for her bath, which will be shared between the two of them with her taking the first turn as the oldest.

"Mrs. Cole!" Martha was startled by such sincerity from her mentor.

"Nor was she healthy." Mrs. Cole didn't stop criticising. "What a strange name she has called the baby.

Marvolo

? Maybe she came from the circus."

"She was young, she couldn't have been more than my age," Martha suggested.

"Young ladies today. Cadlish and vile men can charm and steal their purity and then abandon them as if they were nothing and then, they end up like this, like her." Mrs. Cole murmured, her voice charged with what could be considered bitterness, as her eyes looked at nothing, a memory taking place in her mind.

"These men don't want responsibility for their children and so we, women, have to take drastic measures." Mrs. Cole looked back at Martha. "Watch out for wolves in sheep's clothing, Martha."

Martha looked down, specifically at her hands. Under her nails were still a little reddish with blood, even though she had washed her hands and forearms repeatedly. Not knowing what to say, she continued onto another matter.

"The baby, Tom, is okay. I gave him a bottle and he drank it. I put him in the nursery. He doesn't make a lot of noise, nor does he cry. He ... He just keeps looking at me."

Mrs. Cole tilted her head to the side. "Well, be thankful. We don't want a cry baby at dawn. For this very reason, when the gravedigger arrives tomorrow make sure the children remain in their bedrooms. In the meantime, I'll talk to Mr. Wool and I will explain what has happened.”

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight, Mrs. Cole."

"In fact, I can't even sleep myself."

Stopping listening to the two ladies talking, Hermione continued up the stairs. Her steps were smooth and slow, she was taking the path to the nursery. Hermione opened the door a crack, trying to avoid any noise that might wake the babies, however there weren't many, surprisingly just one. The one who had just been born.

There was an attraction, specifically a curiosity that made her approach the cradle and support both hands on the protective bars, her brown gaze falling on the little being that lay there.

The baby was clean, Martha had probably given him his first bath and put on the cloth diaper, but there was still the usual remains of vernix caseosa. Baby Tom was very well wrapped in a blanket, not even the tiny ears were visible, only his little face was showing. The small mouth was making a sucking motion common among babies.

Hermione tilted her head to the side, trying to understand. Her mind was still unable to register the idea of seeing the Dark Lord in the most helpless state that a human being could be.

Her eyebrows tried to form an expression. It was at that time, then, that the greatest moral test was imposed on her. There, right in front of her, is the chance to end everything that will happen in her future. She can make it painless for him and prevent future families from suffering the loss of their loved ones. She can do that. Maybe she should want to do this and a dark part of her logic says that it is cruel but necessary, but she cannot find the strength to take that step, to do that act. The idea fills her with shame and she hides her face in her hands.

As if sensing danger or maybe just her presence, Tom opens his eyes. He blinks a few times and looks around, looking for what was bothering him and Hermione freezes when she realizes this, afraid it will make him cry. As much as she knows the disillusionment spell is still present and she is also aware that newborn babies can barely see, it scares Hermione that Tom is looking directly at her, as if he can see her.

It's as strange as the situation appears. Hermione looks back at him. He is a healthy and pink baby, the irises in his eyes are bright green - when he grows older, the colour will fade to a less obvious green.

In any case, Tom is a beautiful baby, but he interacts strangely. Martha is right, he doesn't cry or complain, he just looks and blinks solemnly. But even so, watching him brings out Hermione's kind instinct. Hermione strokes the small crease on his forehead with her thumb to soothe the expression he is making.

He's cute,

she thinks.

Even though he doesn’t see or understand what is going on, she knows Tom still feels the heat coming from their contact, it is something new and strange for him, but it seems he enjoys the feeling.

When the baby gives a half-smile, Hermione finds herself copying the expression. However, her smile soon disappears when she remembers the circumstances that brought her here and in which Tom was born, especially the fact that his mother is lying deceased in the basement below.

She retracts. The voices coming from the corridor seem louder and she barely realises that the sand from the Time-Turner is oozing, counting the time for the end of this trip, making 'clicking whirring' sounds as the sand reaches the end of the hourglass.

Strangely, something created from nothing arises, increasing in size, like a passage. The image in front of her is a little blurry, like a mirage. The edges of this phenomenon are flickering green like the colour of the sand in the hourglass of the Time-Turner and suddenly, this passage is sucking her in, only her. Leaving no chance for her to escape.

Hermione finds herself passing through that portal, being transported to another time. She breathed heavily and was frightened, looking at her hands trying to understand what kind of magic was being triggered by the Time-Turner. She looked back, noting that in the entrance to the portal was the nursery where baby Tom rested, the edges of the portal were closing like a seam. Hermione only hears Martha's voice trying to prevent someone from entering the nursery, before the portal disappears.

She swallowed and looked around, still scared, realizing then, that she was still at Wool’s Orphanage. She was in the hallway of the dorms and could hear the children playing outside, there was conversation too, someone was walking up the stairs with other people. Hermione ran to hide, entering one of the bedrooms. She closed the door and waited, feeling her heart beat like a hammer.

When the people passed by the room she froze in position, the

Disillusionment

charm that she had cast was fading and she needed to concentrate to put the charm back in place, however, it was becoming difficult to maintain concentration.

She sighed in relief when she heard the people walk away. Moving away from the wooden door, she looked around the room which she was in. The bed, the wooden wardrobe and a table with a chair, Hermione already knew the furniture in the bedrooms, only this time, on the wooden table, there was a rabbit in a cage. The cage label
had scrawled on it the name Billy Stubbs.

Oh! I'm in Billy's room.

She remembered very well the boy who had called her and Tom weird.

The children's voices catches her ear She looked out the window watching the children play. There was snow and they were running from side to side, playing a snowball war. But while most were playing, there was one boy who was sitting on a bench, reading a children's book and largely ignoring everyone around him.

Tom,

she recognized. He must have been six or seven at the most. He was dressed in grey pants, which in Hermione's view did little to protect him from the cold, a grey sweater with a coat over it, a brown scarf was wrapped around his neck, a pair of fingerless gloves on his hands that Hermione couldn't tell if they were black or brown, and he was also wearing a beret.

Not surprisingly to her, he seemed to feel that he was being watched and looked up from the book to scan the windows of the orphanage. At that very moment, he was hit hard very close to his ear by a snowball, Tom quickly wiped his face, trying to remove the cold contact of snow from his skin.

He glanced at Billy, before returning his attention to the book, but he was hit again.

"Billy, stop!" He asked.

"What will you do? Gonna cry?" Billy teased Tom as he approached.

In the background, the remaining children laughed happily. Tom narrowed his eyes, anger started to rise, but he preferred to ignore it, trying to read his book again, but it stopped when Billy hit the book, causing it to fall in the snow. Tom got up to face Billy, who pushed him back onto the bench, Tom pushed Billy back and Billy pushed him again, this time making Tom fall into the snow. Hermione can imagine the cold wetness seeping through his threadbare clothes.

She watched as Billy kicked the snow towards Tom's face, then suddenly the two were grappling, fighting.

Billy Stubbs was large and very burly for his age, making him look relatively bigger than Tom. The two only stopped when Mrs. Cole intervened, pushing them away from each other and threatening more drastic punishment while hitting Tom's and Billy's hand with a stick. Hermione watched as Mrs. Cole sent everyone back inside the orphanage. Playtime was over.

She left Billy's room and entered Room 27, Tom's room. Anxious to understand what he was like in childhood, Hermione checks to see that the

Disillusionment

charm is being maintained, focusing on keeping the magic in place. She heard footsteps approaching and stood in the corner of the room, watching as little Tom opened the door, entered and closed the door.

He walked over to the table and placed the book on top of it, then he took off his beret, scarf and finally his gloves,
depositing them neatly and carefully on the bed. Tom stopped for a moment, looking at his hand, closing and opening his hand a few times for the blood to circulate. His hand was sore and the glove did nothing to prevent the burning of the blow from Mrs. Cole's stick. He sighed, walked over to the table again and looked at the cover of the book, checking carefully for any damage. It was a used book, donated to the orphanage.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

Hermione tilted her head, trying to get a better look at him. Tom inherited no physical resemblance to his mother, except for his paleness. Even as a child, Tom was pale - perhaps something that was intensified when he was older by the creation of the

Horcruxes

- however, the cheeks and the tip of the nose were childishly pink. His black hair, long eyelashes and green eyes, along with the orphanage's clothing, made him look like a gothic doll. The fact that he was a beautiful, cherubic child with perfect physical features
did little
to escape his eerie disposition, his otherness.

Again, even within this time Hermione witnessed that he felt watched as he looked around his room. This strange intensified sixth sense that he had was denouncing Hermione's position. Tom looked directly at the corner of the room she was in. He frowned and narrowed his eyes, hesitantly walking towards her with one hand outstretched. Hermione, understanding, if he approached
any closer, that he would touch her, she had to do something to divert his attention so she magically made the book crash into the wall. It scared him, made him withdraw and he walked over to the book and picked it up off the floor.

"It's happening again." She heard him grumble.

Tom put the book back on the table, this time he stared very intently at it. She could see the determination in his gaze and the small crease between his eyebrows and then, it happened, the book was levitating.

Hermione, impossibly, smiled. It was magic. His magic.

He looked amazed, the book levitated for a few seconds before falling into both of his hands. Tom held the book within his tight grip and looked at his reflection in the window. Realisation came to Hermione. It was the first time he had intentionally done magic, with all the other times probably having been accidental.

Still looking at his reflection, Tom smiled to himself. However, something caught his eye. Putting the book down, he moved closer to the window, placing both hands against the window. He looked at the street intently, specifically at a couple with a son walking the streets. The mother was holding the father's arm, while the son ran and played in the snow, a little ahead of the two.

He looked down for a moment, his finger moving against the glass, forming a pattern. When he was satisfied, he stopped, looked at the drawing and then laid down on the bed turning to face the wall. Hermione only moved when she heard him lightly snoring, fast in a deep sleep.

She looked at the drawing he had made on the window. With a sharp pang she sees it was a birthday cake

.

It's his birthday.

Hermione looked at him, her eyebrows coming together as she felt sorry for him. Because he was a child, because of what he was going through, because he was so lonely. She still couldn't digest that a few moments ago she saw him being born and saw his mother die. Leaving him in that condition...

Merope Gaunt had not wanted this for him, she had cried when she had seen his face. She had loved Tom instantly.

Unable to ignore it, Hermione bent down and whispered the words that his mother had said at his birth. She was doing this as a way of comforting him and reminding a child not to be afraid.

"You are different, Tom. You are special."

At that moment, the portal opened and Hermione waspulled back to the starting point, where her adventurous journey this evening had initially begun. The Great Lake of Hogwarts at dawn. She fell to her knees hitting them against the damp gravel, a little dizzy and panting fast. Her gaze lifted from the ground, The Hooded One was there gazing at her. Hermione looked back, watching the passage close with the image of little Tom sleeping.

"W-what is that?" She whispered, teeth chattering without realising it was not from the cold.

She then passed out, unconscious, on the shore of the Great Lake, the water partially lapping her body.

The Hooded One approached Hermione’s unmoving body, crouched down and whispered to the locket, which opened revealing the Time-Turner. The hourglass locked, preventing Hermione from traveling any further in time.

A Mother's Love.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 16. Austrelaps

-

I Heard You

Edited January 2024

Tom Riddle never felt fear, hesitation perhaps, but never fear, because few things in both the wizarding and muggle worlds could threaten his existence, especially now with the creation of his

Horcruxes

. However, as he watched the Diary absorb his memories, his Horcrux going into a kind of frenzy startled him, and the writing repeating Granger's name, to the point where the ink ran down the pages like blood. He closed the Diary abruptly, his hands and breathing trembling.

It took him a while to steady his breathing and to control his own thoughts, staring at the Diary in his hands. Tom opened it again, hoping it had calmed down, the Diary's sentience improved as he added new memories.

Are you feeling better?

He asked.

I'm sorry

. Tom could imagine the tone of his own voice the Diary would use as it pulled itself together from the spectacle it had caused.

I think I had an overload of information and feelings for a moment

.

We think about her a lot, don't we?

The Diary asked.

The things you did...Tsc...Tsc...Tsc...Tsc... You liked it. You want to do it again. I know. I feel it.

Tom raised an eyebrow at the words written on the page. His own Horcrux was studying him, not in an aggressive way - because they both had the same goal, always, and he was the creator - and it was not like Tom was hating it, after all the Horcrux was a part of himself, so it would behave the way he would behave, which actually pleased him. For a fleeting moment he thought the Horcrux could be defective, but knowing that everything was in its proper place cheered him up immensely.

She sounds very interesting. Could she be an ally? Perhaps

- the diary answered itself -

She's seen a lot of things about us. Oh, I'd like to feel her

. The Diary got excited. The Diary's sentience worked from touch, so the it wanting her touch was a simple fact that it would like to read her.

Talking to the Diary was like talking to himself, they both had the same line of reasoning - something Tom really liked because few people around him could follow his thoughts - besides, it was a debate without rules and without judgements about assumptions, ideas and paths to follow.

She could be a formidable ally, yes

, he thought.

Tom lifted his gaze and stared at the ceiling of the hiding place in the Secret Chamber, leaning back on his arms on the bed with the Diary on his lap. A sigh escaped him, his thoughts racing in an attempt to understand Granger.

Of course, the memory of their time together was coming back to mind as well as all the other things. There was something about her that disturbed him. The constant hesitation, how she always managed to deflect focus from herself and
onto something else, even her conviction with which she defended Dumbledore, as much as he loathed it. But the fact she hadn't said anything to Dumbledore about everything that had happened between them made Tom think that she was probably rethinking her judgment of their illustrious professor of transfiguration, which Tom
really welcomed.

And then there was more: the book she so desperately wanted back. What did she want with it?

What are you after, Granger?

he thought.

What do you want? What can I offer you?

He must offer her something to tempt her. The Knights wanted power, some special place in the world he intended to build. They were influential, but too slow to realise they were following just another young man the same age as them, but this man was smart enough to know he was destined for great things and that those who would not join him the first time he offered, would not get a second chance to do so. Tom was not usually merciful, not without an ulterior motive behind the act. Everyone had a price and he wanted to know what Granger's price was.

There was the small annoyance that she was tied with him in academic ranking, but his annoyance was not something certain, for sure. It was her intelligence and power that drew him to her, he liked that, he coveted that. She'd better be an ally... Otherwise, oh, what a waste. Of course, those who were not on his side, were against him.

But then, again, he didn’t like to share anything, yet he could make an exception for her, just so he could study her better.

He sensed that she was hiding something, a secret, as simple as it was, but it was there. His intuition had never been wrong about these things, and Tom found it hard to believe that it was something simple, after all, a person as emotional as she was could not hide when she felt she was in danger.

His gaze returned to the Diary. Perhaps this was the moment to test the other abilities of the Diary.

If she came into contact with the Diary, it could certainly influence her mind. What worried him was Dumbledore's annoying ability to stick his nose where it
did not belong, and Granger’s perception of him. Moreso, her being in Gryffindor placed her practically on the other side of the castle, and this did little to further his plans, and their casual encounters in classrooms and the library were insufficient. But, Tom paused, if there was one thing he was sure of, it was Slughorn.

If he was correct, which he was, Slughorn will invite her to the Club and most likely to some of the separate classes he held for favourite students.

That will give him time with Granger. Tom didn’t want to use the Diary aggressively on her. During the short time he spent with her in the holidays, her reactions to him
gained her some credibility in his eyes, but if he was to consider
her as one of his Knights then he needed to understand her as a whole.

He closed the Diary after writing goodbye on it.

On his return to the dungeons, he stopped for a moment to observe the rain that was falling. If he concentrated hard, he could hear the Grey Lady's chant. Her voice sounded like a murmur rich in rhythm, but one that conveyed loneliness and sadness. She was a ghost who, unlike Myrtle, should be feared. While she could be a shy and taciturn ghost, hiding in Ravenclaw Tower, and gentle when necessary, it was said that she sometimes frightened - even if unintentionally - students when she roamed.

Tom contemplated the grounds outside the Castle, a strange feeling was alerting him to something, however he was unable to interpret it before Algie Longbottom appeared in the corridor.

"Riddle...? What are you doing? Rounds are over."

Tom scanned Longbottom from top to bottom quickly before replying.

"I know, but I was trying to convince Peeves not to set a trap for the new students in the morning."

Algie didn't seem to realise that it was a lie, quite the opposite, since it was something Peeves was sure to do.

"Thank you, then, Riddle."

Algie thanked him for his diligence and Tom watched as he made his way to the Head Boy's dormitory, or so it seemed, but Tom’s keen eye suspected his path was to the Head Girl's dormitory, which was not so coincidentally in the same direction.

Tom, of course, had noted Longbottom's rosy cheeks and the fact that he seemed overly surprised by Tom’s presence there, almost as if he had been caught doing or planning something inappropriate.

It seems the Head Girl will have a private visit tonight.

That night, when he lay down and finally relaxed his body he dreamt of her. Either because in his subconscious his thoughts were filled with her or for unknown reasons.

When he woke up, he felt that he had dreamt about her, but he did not remember much details. In any case, it was strange for him, as his sleep was usually dreamless.

o0o

Ectur Prewett stood on the second floor of the Castle and gazed at the rain falling hard without seeing anything. His mind was too far away to register that today was going to be a damp, dull, rainy one, summer was making way for
autumn, which was making its presence felt with each passing day, the foliage was turning brown and falling faster and faster. Still, none of this was picked up by his mind, not with much interest.

"What's wrong?" Ignatius -Ig- asked.

"Nothing." He muttered to his older brother, in a clear voice for him to leave him alone.

Ig raised one of his red-haired eyebrows at his brother's blank behaviour. He looked at Ectur's expression in detail, recognising that dreamy look and sighed.

"Oh, no. I know that look."

This sentence causes Ectur to look at his brother. Ig was taller than him and it was not that Ectur was short, in general they shared the same traits, apart from height, Ig’s lighter eyes and hair that was less red than his own.

His brother crossed his arms in front of his chest, making the arm muscles stand out in the shirt. His brother was losing his youthful features to become more masculine, more mature, this summer holiday was a precursor to such changes that were also extending to him and all the sixth and seventh-year boys.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Ectur blurted out in conversation.

"You don't fool me, little brother. I'm your elder brother, I know you very well." Ignatius pointed out the obvious. "That look there - " he pointed to his brother's face " - is of someone in love. Who is the girl?"

Ectur stood up stretching his back and neck, letting one of his legs stretch out.

His relationship with his brother was excellent, they rarely fought. Their fights had remained in their childhood years, but even at such times, they were more friends - playing and having fun together, more than arguing. The two knew they could count on each other in any situation, so much so that Ectur felt the pain for his brother's arranged marriage alongside him, and as the good friends they were in addition to being brothers, they often shared their concerns.

So when Ignatius observed the faraway look on his brother's face, he knew then that what he had said earlier - as a joke - was actually very serious. His brother really liked someone and that made his smile drop and the look of worry came to the fore. He squinted his eyes, putting together the puzzle that was Ectur's behaviour, finally realising.

"Oh! is it Hermione?"

Ectur cringed the moment he heard Miss. Granger's name. Not for nothing, but he really wasn't in the mood to have his brother mocking him at this time.

"Ectur, you know very well about that." Ig scolded him.

Both brothers had previously spoken about the idea of nurturing tender feelings for another person, especially when their parents seemed to have strict ideas about whom their children could marry . The Prewett family was still a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the brothers didn't want to hurt someone they possibly liked.

"I know, right," Ectur replied. "But, I could talk to Father and Mother. They might like her. Father would probably like Hermione." He tried to justify to himself.

"What? You're going too fast!"

"Look, I'm not saying I'm going to...I don't know...propose to her. It's not that. At the moment I just like her very much and I didn't want to feel like it's wrong somehow."

"You know that - " Ignatius could not even finish speaking because Ectur interrupted him.

"I don't want it to be like how it is for you!"

As soon as the words came out, Ectur regretted them and they both knew that they should not have been said. Embarrassed by his sudden outburst, Ectur lowered his gaze and muttered an apology. Ig, at first surprised, relaxed seconds later and placed a hand on his brother's head, ruffling his hair as a sad but brotherly smile broke out on his face.

The condescending look Ignatius gave made Ectur feel even more ashamed, and forced out from him a vocal apology.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's not like I want to be in this situation either." Ig tried to smile.

"You're never going to talk to her again, are you?" Ectur asked.

They had talked over the summer about this matter. Ig had met a girl, a muggle girl, at Christmas last year. Ever since then he had kept her in his head - how she smiled, how her voice sounded, and how good she was at ice skating. That was until their parents found out about it.

"It'll be better for her, I think." Ig sat down next to Ectur. "I don't know if she would understand how we are." He looked down at his wand.

"I'm sorry," Ectur asked once more, but Ig just shook his head.

"You know that...you can count on me, right?"

Ectur looked at him and confirmed with a nod. That was all he needed from Ig.

Ignatius made a sound with his throat. "Okay. Good." He took a deep breath, put his hands on his waist and looked in any direction other than at his younger brother's face.

"Okay, um... I support you, okay? But if you miss quidditch practice, I'm done with you, understand? I'm the captain now, my name is on the line."

Ectur smiled at the abrupt tonal change in conversation, his brother wasn't a big fan of melodramatic moments, so he always took the conversation to a lighter tone in the end.

"Okay, okay. I get it." He stood and raised both hands to declare innocence.

"Why don't you… I don't know, woo Hermione? Don't tell me you need some advice?"

"Okay. Enough." Ectur stopped him, he knew Ig was already starting to mock him. "I have to go."

"Don't forget the practice!" Ectur heard Ignatius shout, as they both went their opposite ways.

As he made his way, Ectur thought about meeting Bilius and the possibility of seeing Hermione and this possibility created a warm spark within him. She hadn't shown up for breakfast and neither the first or second classes, if she wasn't there for lunch, he would ask Enid or one of the other girls to check if she was all right, perhaps hiding in the girl's dormitory.

As he was turning in the hallway, he collided with Mary Runcorn.

Mary Runcorn had light blonde and slightly curly hair, her eyes were brown and her nose was slightly snubbed with a few freckles spreading over her cheeks, which were slightly pink when she noticed who she had inadvertently collided with.

The alchemy and potions books she was carrying scattered on the floor. Mary bent down to collect them with the help of Ectur, who kindly picked up most of the books for her.

"Thank you." She murmured, shyly. Putting the books in her bag. Embarrassed, she fiddled with one of the locks of her hair, avoiding looking at Ectur, otherwise, she was liable to stare at him. Nevertheless, she couldn't resist especially when she noticed that he was smiling at her.

"You're welcome." He replied cheerfully and that made her legs go wobbly. "I hope you have a good day, Miss. Runcorn. See you later!"

Her twin brother would probably laugh at the whole situation and blame her for not being able to start a proper conversation, especially since she kept staring at his back like a lovesick fool as he walked away.

It’s true, she had liked Ectur since the third year and in a few ways, she had already tried to declare her love to him, all of course fruitless. Still, Mary couldn't eliminate that feeling.

While in the Great Hall, Ectur found Bilius talking to Lyall Lupin, they greeted each other and chatted for a while before Ectur asked Bilius.

"Have you seen Hermione?"

Bilius and Lyall promptly replied in the negative.

"I haven't seen her since last night to tell you the truth."

In the distance they saw Enid coming towards them, but with hurried steps and looking worried.

"Enid!" He stopped her. "What is it? What's wrong?" Ectur intercepted her and asked, beside him Bilius formed a barrier so Enid couldn't pass them.

Enid was a little startled, avoiding making eye contact, she bit her lower lip to try and hold back her words
looking around, waiting for the rest of the students to move away.

"Enid...?" It was Bilius' turn to inquire and pressure for a reply.

"There's a problem." Her gaze was tense.

"What problem?"

Sighing, she replied.

"Look, don't tell anyone. Please." She pleaded. "Don't spread the news."

"We're your friends, Enid. We would never do that."

Enid held the gaze of the two in a serious way to ensure the truthfulness of their words.

"Hermione is missing."

"What?!" Bilius and Ectur said in unison.

"

Shhhh

! Keep it down!" She caught the attention of the two, who stopped for a moment.

"The Hogwarts beast is back? So is it true that it really exists?" Bilius asked.

The idea the Hogwarts monster was real and that it hadn't been expelled, as was believed, and was now taking new victims, chilled Ectur inside.

"We don't know. For all it matters, Hermione could be anywhere." Enid replied. "Dumbledore asked me to gather the prefects, so we can search the castle and grounds, I'm going to meet everyone in the Deputy Headmaster’s room now."

She barely finished speaking and started walking.

"Wait, we're coming with you!" Ectur spoke up.

"No way! No one must know about this yet, Ectur. You promised."

Enid didn't even wait for a response before walking towards the Deputy Headmaster's room, leaving Bilius and Ectur behind, who watched her walk away.

Bilius and Ectur exchanged glances, before running towards Dumbledore's office.

o0o

When he woke up, Tom completed his full morning routine. He felt positively good, even in the face of recent events. Tom was ready for anything, putting his ‘good boy’ mask into practice again, keeping his emotions in check so that no one had a clue about his thoughts, about his opinions.

It was a strange rainy day, which was practically
dark due to the inky blue and luminous grey clouds that hid the sky, the sun had a weak yellow light and didn't even appear properly, it was a rather windy too.

While eating breakfast at the Slytherin table with his housemates, he cast well-disguised glances at the Gryffindor table, not locating the reason for his search, which made him look more brazenly, squinting his eyes when he didn't see Granger at the table.

Tom wondered if she would miss breakfast, from what he had witnessed, she was an early riser and exceptionally well organised. It didn't seem to be typical of her.

But the realisation of her absence in class was more unsettling, to say the least. The apprehension increased from their last conversation. She was not in their first class, herbology, nor was she in the next, arithmancy.

During herbology, he internally mused and questioned what she could possibly be doing, spending most of his class distracted on speculation. It was not as if the herbology lecture was interesting, but Tom was not one to dismiss such a subject entirely. Plants had the power to kill, plants had the power to save, and a good portion of potions used some sort of plant, whether dark magic or not.

In arithmancy, he felt much uneasiness, a feeling which carried over and increased in transfiguration. Only being soothed by the thought that she might possibly be preferring to keep Dumbledore away from her...trying to keep out of Dumbledore’s way.

Tom kept his eye on Dumbledore, trying to pick up any sign that he knew anything, he did the same thing with the other Gryffindors, but especially with Weasley and Prewett, two people with whom she seemed to have a greater bond of friendship. But most of the time it was disappointing because they were - in Tom's view - boring and barely intelligent. Even just thinking a little deeper about them, Tom felt the beginnings of an inconvenient headache. He was still trying to understand what benefit Granger saw in associating with them. It could only be exhausting and irritating for her to have them close.

Between breaks, he chatted with the Knights about their next meeting.

Nevertheless, he continued his surveillance and his rumination on where Granger was. He watched, of course, Alphard Black slipping away here and there. Since the event involving Alphard and Walburga, caused precisely by Tom, Alphard had been avoiding any direct confrontation. Every time he was in his presence, Alphard lowered his eyes and Walburga learned to keep her mouth shut. And of course, the situation didn't get any better for the muggle girl -

whatever

.

Later Algie interrupted his reading about Magical Relics.

"Riddle."

He lifted his gaze from the book. "Yes?" Inwardly, he rolled his eyes at the interruption to his reading.

"Dumbledore is summoning all prefects to his room," Algie explained.

Now that did get his attention, leaving him on alert. What could Dumbledore possibly want?

Tom walked alongside Algie to Dumbledore's room, frankly surprised to find all the prefects, including the Head Girl there. Such a situation made him wary, because this was unusual, which meant something was up. He took the time to observe the confused looks of the other prefects as well as to analyse the attitude of Dumbledore, whose body seemed tense. With his hands behind his back, Dumbledore walked around.

"Headmaster Dumbledore...?" Enid's voice sounded, hinting at the start of the conversation.

"I thank you for your presence." Dumbledore began. Tom kept his posture upright, trying to predict where this conversation would go. "For answering my call."

Who in their right mind, being a prefect, would deny a request from Dumbledore?

"I must ask for your help, as responsible students, for a mission that brings me sorrow if what I fear is correct." Dumbledore continued. "Miss. Granger is missing."

Tom Riddle blinked repeatedly, trying to compute what he had just heard. "What?" he inquired vehemently, for a moment surprised and probably showing more emotion than the other prefects. "When?"

The fact that Enid and Algie Longbottom expressed nothing made him realise that Dumbledore had spoken to them earlier.

It didn't make sense to Tom that she was gone, vanished,
when she had made it explicitly clear to him yesterday
that she didn't intend to say anything about what happened between them to Dumbledore, but it also explained her disappearance this morning. For all that he understood, Dumbledore had already searched the Gryffindor dormitory and Tower, someone must have alerted him to her absence from class, which meant that Dumbledore was possibly keeping a close eye on her.

Tom's attitude must have caught the attention of Dumbledore, who looked directly at him.

"All indications are that the disappearance occurred sometime last night."

"Has the Hogwarts monster returned?" Eugene Runcorn asked.

That made Tom shudder inside.

The Basilisk had attacked Granger? Impossible.

"I want to believe it hasn't," Dumbledore replied to Eugene but kept his gaze on Tom, who remained unmoved by the direction of the conversation.

"I would like you to assist in the search for Miss. Granger's whereabouts, Mr. Pringle is already doing his bit, searching
the areas forbidden to you in the castle. Your help will be of great importance."

"The other students, do they know?"

"I must say the answer is no, Mr. Abbot" Dumbledore explained. "Our intention is not to create an unnecessary fuss or alarm, at first we will keep this matter between us. If nothing is resolved..."

"We will do what we can to help, Headmaster Dumbledore." Algie Longbottom spoke up, getting a nod from Dumbledore in response.

The prefects were dismissed to commence their search, however, when Runcorn opened the door to Dumbledore's room, everyone was amazed to find Prewett and Weasley there.

While Weasley stayed behind, Prewett moved forward, bumping into some perfects to get closer to Dumbledore.

"Is it true?" He asked Dumbledore. "Hermione is missing?"

This surprised everyone slightly, the news had barely reached the prefects' ears and it had already leaked out.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Prewett."

While Bilius Weasley swallowed dryly and approached Dumbledore, Prewett didn't seem bothered by the others' presence there, forgetting even the correct etiquette.

"Where did you get this information from?" Tom questioned Prewett in a firm voice, which got his attention momentarily. And it did not go unnoticed that Enid grimaced upon hearing the words.

"It doesn't matter." Ectur replied, which almost earned a retort from Tom, if not for Dumbledore stopping him with a gesture of his hand.

As always, in Tom's view, Dumbledore seemed malleable, biased and partial when it came to his beloved Gryffindor students.

"Is it true, Headmaster Dumbledore?" Ectur continued. "If it is true, we can help. We can help look for her."

Dumbledore placed his hand on Ectur's shoulder, looking proudly at the member of Gryffindor House. Of course, Ectur Prewett seemed to be synonymous with what it was to be a Gryffindor with his chivalry, impulsiveness and courage.

"I'm afraid that it's true and I'm sure Miss. Granger would appreciate your concern, but the right thing to do now is to prevent more students from being hurt if it's something serious. Therefore, we are warning the House Headmasters to order all students to return to their common rooms."

"But, Headmaster... She's our friend." It was Bilius Weasley who spoke up.

"I understand, Mr. Weasley. Your loyalty is commendable, but we value everyone's safety." Dumbledore concluded. "Mr. Longbottom, please escort Mr. Prewett and Mr. Wesley to their common room."

"Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore."

With that, they all headed towards the door, leaving to commence their search, but before Tom could leave, Dumbledore called to him.

"Mr. Riddle, may I have a word with you?"

With polite words and forced courtesy, Dumbledore, to Tom, was a Snake disguised as a Lion. It was a good thing he knew how to handle snakes very well.

"Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore?" Tom turned, walking back to the centre of the room as the door closed.

Whenever he was in Dumbledore's presence, Tom was conscientious
to remain alert, aware, mindful of everything he spoke and did. He could not afford to leave anything for Dumbledore to investigate him further, he could not relax, not in his presence, not with him. After Myrtle Warren's death, Dumbledore remained far more perceptive of what he was doing. It was very clear to Tom then that Dumbledore had always known or suspected his bloodline. He could still remember Dumbledore's expression when he first met him and had said that the unique ability he had to speak with snakes was dark, of course now it all made much more sense .

"Tom." Dumbledore's voice sounded a more serious. "This is a conversation that will remain between us. Last year, you

encountered

the monster that was terrorising the students - Aragog."

Tom's jaw locked as he stared at Dumbledore, he was certain of where this conversation was going.

"If there is another incident like that, Hogwarts will have to be closed. Are you aware of this?"

"I know, Headmaster Dumbledore. It would be a horrible thing to happen." Tom controlled his tone of voice, his words, his emotions. Dumbledore was surrounding him, giving him a warning and putting him against the wall in the hope that he would slip up and provide information.

Did Dumbledore think he had something to do with Granger's disappearance? Why?

"Miss. Granger is a friend. I intend to do what is necessary to find her." Tom continued.

Something in his words must have surprised Dumbledore.

"I was not aware of your friendship with Miss. Granger."

"We discovered, while talking, that we have some things in common." Tom imposed a limit on Dumbledore's probing. He wouldn't let him stick his nose where it didn't belong.

He couldn't wait to leave that room, and his unease must have been apparent, with Dumbledore releasing him forthwith.

As he left the room, he took a deep breath. The fresh, clean scent of rain entering his nose, calming him temporarily.

Damn it, Granger. Where are you?

Tom stepped out in search of her.

o0o

"Come on, Algie," Bilius grumbled.

"No." Algie promptly responded negatively. They had been doing this for a good two minutes.

"Come on, we want to help." This time it was Ectur.

"You heard Dumbledore," Algie explained. "By the way, how did this news reach you?" He asked, frowning. Bilius raised one of his eyebrows as if to say 'really?'

The realisation soon became clear to Algie. "Shit. Enid..." He sighed. "Look, I know you guys want to help, but I can't break a rule."

"You're not going to break a rule," Ectur replied.

"Not if you say we ran and you didn't want to jinx your friends in the back."

"That's the dumbest excuse I could give." Algie rebutted with reasoning.

"It's so dumb, it must be true. After all, you do have a good heart, don't you?" Bilius raised both hands in a gesture that meant '

it's very simple’

.

"Imagine if it were Enid? Or Fred? Or one of the two of us?" Ectur pointed to himself and to Bilius. "I know you would."

Algie closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead, then pressed with his thumb and index finger between his eyes.

"Go, now." He spoke, much like a father giving his children a loophole to escape some maternal punishment.

Bilius and Ectur smiled at him and ran off, leaving Algie in the corridor that led to Gryffindor. He turned his back to the Tower entrance.

Meanwhile, Tom Riddle found Enid on the first floor, searching just as he did. The corridors of the castle were empty, the students were in their common rooms. The rain didn't seem to let up and the sky looked increasingly dark and grey and blacker
as the afternoon wore on.

"Enid." Tom intercepted her path.

"Tom?"

"I understand it was you who communicated the news to Mr.Prewett and Mr.Weasley."

"Tom..." She tried to clarify, but Tom stopped her.

"It's fine. I don't care about that and I don't even intend to tell Dumbledore." He smiled, reassuring her momentarily so he could inquire further. The fact that he said he didn't intend to tell Dumbledore
made her relax a little. Perfect, he thought. "I know you two are friends."

"Thank you, Tom." She murmured.

"Oh, come on, Enid. We're a team, aren't we?" His slight smile was fake, but it was unnoticeable to her eyes. "I'd just like to ask you, how did Dumbledore know about Granger's situation? I mean… Well, someone must have told him, right? Someone must have figured it out."

“I know, right?" She agreed, not realising that slowly Tom was obtaining
information that she, as Head Girl, was privileged to receive. "To tell you the truth, Dumbledore initially called me to ascertain whether Hermione was in the Gryffindor common room or her dormitory. In fact, I had not seen her get up for breakfast this morning. When I replied no, he had all the other prefects assembled."

"If we knew who had communicated this to Dumbledore, we could ask that person where Hermione had last been
seen."

"I believe Dumbledore has already done that."

"That puts me at ease then." Tom replied though he felt unsatisfied with the outcome of this conversation. "We have to go, time is running out."

As Enid walked away, Tom thought about what he would do. He considered casting

Appare Vestigium

, but it would be of little or no use in a magic school due to the wards,

obviously

. And Dumbledore probably had already used some variation of this spell to find Granger, which he couldn't use.

He looked to the side, seeing that he was alone, he cast the spell. It was a spell that could very well be mistaken for Serpensortia due to the summoning of the snakes, however, it was much darker and more obscure, difficult to perform and few were aware of its use - if not, only Salazar Slytherin himself. It was convenient to have access to Salazar Slytherin's personal library within the Chamber of Secrets, where Tom expanded his magical knowledge with the books and notes about spells and potions. Some hadn't even been divulged, perhaps for fear of reprisal, perhaps not, he did not care. Dark Magic or not, Tom did not see much purpose in separating spells that should or shouldn't be used as the Ministry dictated, magic was magic and to him the power of that magic was all that mattered.

From the tip of his wand a blacklight emerged, from the shadows came ringed serpents in red and black unfurling from each other, hissing as their tongues moved. This spell could be used for tracking, the intention of the witch or wizard had to be clear and whatever was asked for had to be physical, touchable and possess magic. It was much easier to control snakes on what they had to look for when the caster understood what they were saying. But of course, even that spell had a limit to its range.

"

I am your Master

." Tom spoke in Parseltongue. The snakes turned instantly upon hearing the hissing.

"

Parselmouth

" They hissed.

"I want you to find someone for me."

He ordered. The snakes knew who it was, the intention was clear. Their tongues swayed in the wind as they picked up heat and essences, mostly magic.

They took their time, there were many magical beings around, many smells to be picked up and collated, but something caught their attention. Normal snakes tended to like a rainy and humid environment since amphibians and rodents were their primary food source, but snakes like these ones - the core and base of this spell - did not feel these needs nor were they influenced by the weather, their only weakness was the counterpart who created them.

Following the orders of the sorcerer who summoned them, the snakes crawled towards the rain, outside of the castle, into the green grounds with purpose. Tom felt strange for a moment, his brow furrowed. For all he knew, Granger was in the castle, but apparently everyone was wrong, he thought about what he might find if he followed the snakes and in the end, decided to see what awaited him.

-

"Is that true, Ectur?" Bilius asked, incredulous.

"It's a possibility." Ectur cringed at the thought, but if he stopped to think about it, it made sense. "Well, last year Myrtle was killed there..." He swallowed dryly. "If it's someone who did something to Hermione, maybe there could be some symbolism behind it?"

"It's Myrtle's bathroom, Ectur. No one goes there for any reason." Bilius pointed out the obvious.

And it was true, nobody visited that bathroom where Myrtle Warren died, firstly because it became forbidden due the death that occurred there, secondly because nobody wanted to come face to face with her ghost and thirdly, who in their right mind would want to enter a place where a murder had taken place? All right, apparently everything had been solved, but come on? It did not make much sense to Bilius.

He may not be top of his class, but he was not an idiot.

"Maybe Mr. Pringle hasn't looked there yet?" Bilius suggested.

"We won't know until we try, we weren't even supposed to be outside the common room." Ectur kept walking purposefully. "Come on, Bilius." He gestured with his head for Bilius to follow him urgently.

Bilius considered himself an idiot up to that point, because he was accompanying Ectur to Myrtle's bathroom.

They were on the second floor of the castle, and every so often stopped to hide when they found a prefect on the same path as them. They tried some classrooms, some bathrooms - which were not forbidden - but there was no trace of Hermione's presence. Frankly, neither of them wanted to believe that anything that happened to Myrtle was similar to what could have happened to Hermione, they had too much faith and credibility in her to think she couldn't defend herself, but if she couldn't, then it was because it was really serious.

Bilius was taken out of his thoughts when Ectur stopped and he bumped into him. Ectur took a step back, unintentionally stepping on Bilius' foot, who muttered an

'Ouch!'

"Shh, look!" Ectur pointed to a window, outside to the horizon, barely paying attention to Bilius' complaint. Bilius stopped for a moment, looking intently to where Ectur was pointing. It was Riddle, sprinting in the rain towards the lake.

"He found her." He muttered. His words seemed to rouse Ectur from his trance, who started running towards the stairs down to the first floor.

On the way they bumped into Eugene Runcorn, Mary Runcorn's twin brother.

"W...What are you guys doing?!" Eugene shouted.

"Tell Dumbledore we're going to the lake." Bilius replied. "I think Riddle found Hermione!"

Bilius and Ectur left Eugene behind.

-

Tom ran fast, the rain soaking him through to his skin. His clothes were sticking and heavy, cloying to his body and his Slytherin robe was drenched and almost dragging off his shoulders behind him as he moved - nothing that was horrible, but annoying and hindering. The snakes he summoned were leading him into the Great Lake, the water droplets were preventing him from seeing clearly, but he noticed the body on the banks of the lake. With a gesture, he made the snakes dissipate like ashes from a blue fire as he neared the shore.

His breathing was quickening, the adrenaline in his body rising. She was lying on her back on the banks of the lake, her face upwards to the rain and the cloudy sky, her eyes closed, her body partially submerged in the lake waters. Tom ran to her, pulling her out of the water, he knelt down, at first surprised to find her like this. Her wand was in her hand.

He lowered his face so he could hear if she was breathing. Her breathing was shallow, but still.

What had happened?

Tom touched the skin of her face, brushing away the strands of hair that stuck to her face, then ran it over her cheekbones feeling how cold she was, her lips were turning purple, she was probably
hypothermic. On the tips of her eyelashes, drops were accumulating and dripping down the side of her face, making it look as if she was crying.

He held her body, partially lifting her chest, while supporting her head so it wouldn't hang down. He shook her gently to make her wake up.

"Granger! Granger!" Tom called out her name a few times. He heard her mutter and watched as her eyes worked behind her eyelids in an attempt to wake up.

Whatever had happened had exhausted her.

From the movement of lifting her body, the locket around her neck hung a few inches off the ground, drawing Tom's gaze. He felt the weight of the locket, feeling the metal - initially cold - against his palm. Did his magic react to the locket or was it the locket that reacted to his magic? He could not tell, all he knew was that the energy was warm and inviting to him. But he also felt it was protective and dark. Something based on Dark Magic.

Playing with Dark Magic, Granger? Hm…

Tom was ready to carry her in his arms, when in the distance he heard Prewett's shout calling her name. He was running towards them, Weasley right behind.

Prewett skidded
over, stopping opposite him and pulling Hermione out of his arms, almost pushing him in the process. At first he looked at Prewett, indignant at his attitude, then he wondered,

what the hell are they doing here?

And then came anger, especially when he saw Prewett smoothing her hair over and calling her name like a fool. Tom curbed his desire to grab Granger, even though it would seem childish to the point of the two of them
fighting over her like she was a doll.

Prewett practically ignored him as he put one of his arms behind her back and another under her legs, carrying her like a bride as he stood up.

Tom stood up as well, tilting his head down a little and to the side as he stared at the scene, his dark hair sticking to his forehead, obscuring half of his face. More sensitive and attentive people would notice the change in his demeanour and the feeling that something was starting to go wrong. Tom's dark magic was starting to uncoil, like tentacles of temptation, the urge to hurt something or someone ominously emerging.

He definitely did not like Prewett’s nor Weasley's interference and he was about to make a move when he saw Granger's eyes open. She blinked a few times, looking at Prewett, and Tom could tell for sure that she mumbled something, before closing her eyes again.

Her wand slipped from her hand, falling into the gravel, but Prewett and Weasley did not notice, as Prewett carried her back to the Castle with Weasley's help. But Tom did. He knew, she would never be without her wand, ever. So he bent down and picked up the wand, placing it in his robes before following Prewett and Weasley, watching.

When they arrived near the entrance to the castle, Dumbledore and Dippet were there accompanied by Matron Derwent, with the prefects and Mr. Pringle. Tom noticed the sigh of relief that Dippet released, just as Dumbledore seemed to relax. Matron Derwent moved close so that she could check on Hermione.

"Let's get her to the Hospital Wing immediately." Derwent, with the help of Mr. Pringle took Hermione, and Tom’s gazed followed the last of her.

He, Prewett and Wesley took shelter from the rain.

"I must say I'm rather proud of you, prefects." Dippet began. "Excellent work."

It was noticeable that Dippet was very anxious for things to turn out favourably. No one wanted to be the Headmaster whose school closed during his governance.

"Mr. Prewett and Mr. Weasley - " Dumbledore called out "how about we talk further in my office?" It hadn't been a suggestion, though it was worded gently as a question.

There seemed to be a clear understanding between Dippet and Dumbledore, that Dumbledore would now act as the Headmaster of Gryffindor House, while Dippet would release the prefects back to their respective Houses.

Prewett and Weasley stiffened their posture at the same instant they heard Dumbledore's words, following him after Dumbledore had cast the Hot Air charm over them so he could dry them off.

"Tom."

Dippet turned to him after releasing all the other prefects to return to their common rooms, which also meant that classes were over.

Tom turned to face Dippet, he was soaking wet from the rain, the water pooling at his feet and forming a small puddle, water droplets falling from his raven hair. Tom ran his hand through his hair, pushing back the dark strands from his pale forehead.

Tom

really

did not esteem Dippet, even if it did not appear so to outsiders as a result of his public persona, he was only able to endure his presence. However, based on the fact that Dippet was chosen as Headmaster of Hogwarts, he never underestimated Dippet's power. No one who was in such a high place was weak, Dippet was quite suspicious by nature, however when he trusted someone he became easily influenced and maleable , even a bit naive and that seemed to be his main personality flaw. He valued order, discipline and wizard culture highly. His loyalty was to Hogwarts. He also favoured the status quo, be it blood or position.

One of Tom's greatest triumphs was that he had gained Dippet's trust.

Dippet held him in such high regard that he often didn't question him at all, absorbing every word Tom had to say, because before asking Dumbledore to stay at the school for the summer holidays, Tom had turned to Dippet who seemed to genuinely consider it, even stating to him that he would give special permission if school was 'safe' -

Hmm, that’s
my luck.

It was then that he had asked Dumbledore, because Tom had known that the only person who had significant influence over Dippet was Dumbledore. But what was the point of reminiscing
now? His holiday had been even relatively good, because of a certain girl.

Granger

.

At the end of it all, despite Tom not respecting Dippet, the Headmaster had fallen for his mask and carefully controlled behaviour as the 'Golden Boy'.

In response to Dippet, Tom gestured with his head, thanking him for the acknowledgement, this seemed to satisfy Dippet who copied the movement back to him.

"Get some rest, Tom."

"Thank you, Headmaster Dippet."

Going their opposite ways, Tom headed towards the dungeons, drying himself off on the way, using the same charm Dumbledore had used moments ago. On arriving at the Slytherin common room, a good portion of the older students were on the ground floor while the younger ones were on the first floor.

His Knights, noticing his presence, exchanged glances between each other. Malfoy had a look that asked what had happened and why the students were told to remain in their common rooms. And of course, they thought they could get that information from him, because although it was a tiring responsibility, being a prefect had its advantages.

Tom did not deign to take a second look at his companions, however, it did not go unnoticed that Alphard was standing aloof, sitting on the bay window, staring intensely at the lake as if intently avoiding his gaze.

Let him have his dramas

, Tom rolled his eyes, but smiled internally in contentment at Alphard's behaviour.

It was somewhat funny.

--

Alphard looked at the reflection of Tom Riddle in the window walking up the stairs to the dormitory. He thought of Hermione, hoping she was alright. If Riddle was back from his prefect duties then it was likely that she was fine. He had noticed her absence in class this morning and had been worried and had wondered at that time if he should notify Dumbledore, as the professor had asked him a while back to keep him informed about her and due to recent events, he had seen no other course of action than to bring Hermione’s
absence to his attention.

Matters were escalating very quickly and it was getting hard to keep control, because no matter how protected he was by the Gryffindor Headmaster, Tom Riddle was always present and it was almost impossible to fool him.

Alphard didn't quite understand what was going on between Riddle and Hermione, all he knew was that they were in a precarious dance of dominance.

He was startled to see a fin swiftly pass by on the other side of the window, snapping him out of his thoughts. A mermaid was swimming near the surface of the lake.

–

Tom made his way to his dormitory and when inside, he began to remove his charm-dried clothes, starting with his green tie. Even though he had dried his uniform, he left the clothes there for the elves to pick up and clean, his mind strongly conveying that no matter how dry they were, they weren't really clean. He put on his bathrobe and headed to the bathroom, taking a hot shower to remove the cold chill from his skin, after that
he put on his grey uniform trousers and white shirt, running a hand through his hair to shake off excess water and finally sat down on the bed. His wand lay next to him while in his hands was Hermione Granger's wand. He ran his fingers gently over the wand, turning it from side to side, curious at how the energy of the wand seemed in tandem with his own and yet still managed to be different.

Tom thought about the pros and cons of having her wand in his possession. Holding it now in his hands, it was a curious bauble, to say the least. Maybe he would play with her, maybe he would make a trade. But seeing her wand, having it in his hands, reminded him of the reason for her having been near the lake.

What had happened?

It clearly looked like she had been attacked by someone.

Who had dared to hurt Granger? So many questions were running through his mind.

As a manifestation of his unease, he was fiddling with her wand, passing it from finger to finger in a rapid manner. Something was wrong, that was for sure. He just didn’t know what it was. He still couldn't grasp it.

o0o

The following night, he watched her lying on the bed in the Hospital Wing, asleep or nearly so.

Tom had spent the entire day with the desire to see her and questioning what had happened to her, but he waited, writing down in notes the important things said during class, doing his job as a monitor, denying any information he deemed important to his Knights and making it clear for them not to pester him.

At night, after his rounds and feeling that the excitement in the castle was finally over, with everyone probably asleep, he left the dungeons with a clear goal. Now, he found himself here, looking at her.

He bent his body, bringing his face closer to hers. Even in the darkness with only the night blue light entering the windows of the wing, Tom could see that she was already better. The colour of her skin had returned to a peachy shade with a slight pinkish tinge. Her hair was spread out on the pillow in a leontine manner, rebellious as it always was.

Suddenly she opened her brown eyes, wide with surprise. The action slightly startled him being unexpected as it was, however it did not affect him outwardly.

"Boo!"

He whispered, with a mischievous smile at her frightened and fearful expression.

--

Hermione froze, startled by his proximity and at him being there. Tom turned away from her, and she noticed his chest shaking as he laughed genuinely. She looked up at him, confused as she tried to take in his presence. Obviously, when she had woken up earlier that morning, she had felt overwhelmed by the new information she had from witnessing his birth and a part of his childhood, and followed by visits from her housemates, topped off by Dumbledore's enquiry.

While on one hand she was happy and grateful for the housemates visits, she - very, very vaguely - reported what had happened, filtering out information depending on her target audience. The fullest disclosure was made to Dumbledore, however the actual story was heavily censored, not because she didn't trust him, but she needed time to collect, process and interpret the events and her own thoughts. But in the end, she also knew that she wanted to face Riddle.

Hermione watched him walk away with his hands behind his back, turning around to settle in an armchair near the bed she lay on.

"You're an anxious person, you know that?" One of his eyebrows was raised in a mocking manner.

She puffed her chest, straightening herself on the bed so she could face him, her hands gripping the blanket as she stared at him, her mouth sealed
as she still didn't know what to say. So engrossed in trying to understand him.

Something in her expression seemed to bother him to the point that he was compelled to continue speaking, as bereft of words as Tom was.

"I brought flowers for you." Tom said. "As well as wishes for your swift recovery." He cast a glance at the table beside her bed, noting the vase with a rather extravagant bouquet, which was surely from Prewett. "But it no longer seems necessary." He looked down at the flowers in his hands.

"Give them to me." She asked, reaching with her hands to take the bouquet, much to his surprise. She took the plain bouquet. "Thank you." She murmured, looking at the petals.

His eyebrows drew together. "Did you hit your head?" He asked.

"No." Hermione replied, not quite understanding why he would ask such a thing. However, a little fascinated by his strange chivalrous behaviour. That certainly was not something she would expect from Tom Riddle.

"What happened, Granger?" Riddle asked and she stopped fiddling with the petals immediately.

"I don't know." She replied genuinely.

"Preposterous!" He complained. "I know you're lying. I'll ask you one more time. What happened?"

"I don't know!" Hermione raised her tone as well. "I don't even know why you care." She rolled her eyes.

Tom avoided her question with another question.

So frustrating.

"Did someone attack you?" Tom asked. She stopped, remaining silent.

Touché

, Tom thought. "What happened?"

She had to admit that he was being very nice to her,

by Voldemort’s standard

and this was not the way he would react normally. Usually, he wouldn't object to getting her to talk in any way possible, even if the method made her scream.

"I don't know."

Hermione knew Tom could see that she was starting to get nervous and uneasy at his presence and enquiries. Her hands opened and closed involuntarily as if she missed her wand.

"Look, I don't know what happened." Hermione replied frankly. "I have no idea, I can't even explain it." She shook her head. "I don't know how to explain. I don't know..."

In her mind, she still couldn't absorb everything that had happened. Things were getting more and more crazy, out of logic, dangerous... Her mind could barely interpret the image of him as a new-born baby, as a young cherubic child,
nor the death of his mother.. It was not something she had woken up to feeling good about, no matter about
who the person was. And now, she was face to face with him, her eyes tried to find the similarities to the child she had seen in those memories that were not hers. She could see that he had matured and grown, but she could not find the purity she saw in the baby and the hopeful longing she saw in the child. She saw

Voldemort

in the young adult standing in front of her.

He had changed. Life had changed him. People made him change. And while that terrified her, elsewhere she cries out of grief.

Hermione lowered her gaze and unconsciously hugged the flowers.

"I know you're lying." She heard his voice, attractive, tempting, seductive,
an accusing low pitch. "I know. I could look for the answer, you understand. Right there in your mind."

"Why do you care?" She braced herself like a lioness.

He rose from the armchair, moving closer to the bed, moving closer to her again. And this was one of the differences between

Tom

and

Voldemort

. Tom was physical and used bodily intimidation, while Voldemort would focus on psychological terror.

Tom propped one of his arms on the headboard of the bed and leaned towards her.

“Do you think you can fool me? You think I don't know there's something weird going on? Hm, Granger, I expected more from you. You think... that I don't feel the dark magic?"

He raised his hand and with his magic, he was calling out to the necklace she hid under her flannel pyjama shirt, but before he could touch the locket, she stopped it with her hand, keeping it away from him and causing the locket to hover between the two of them, still attached to her neck.

Tom smiled at her. The locket's magical energy was reacting.

"Reacts to mine and your magic, why?" he asked, far too interested in the mystery and why Hermione was so protective of it. He was already cornering her.

"Secrets, Riddle. We talked in the tent that we would keep our respective secrets." She made sure to remind him.

His green eyes grew intense, but to Hermione’s relief he sighed and turned away. But not before he ran his hand through her hair, feeling how silky it was despite the volume, and made it fall across her face, which Hermione pulled away quickly so she wouldn't lose sight of where Riddle was.

He sat in the armchair again, giving her a look she couldn't interpret. Hermione knew he wouldn't let it go, he would continue to pester her for answers.

Tom rested his left hand on the arm of the armchair and fisted it so he could rest his chin on it and watch her. She was placing the medallion back under her pyjamas, which made him look in that direction; Hermione understood that he noticed she had no undergarments on, because more or less he probably could see the outline of her breasts. This made her feel immediately self-conscious, and she tried to discreetly puff her top up so it would not rest directly on her skin, but she knew Tom was intimately aware of her state of dress from the way he intently stared at her.

"When will you be discharged Hermione?" he asked, which caused her to squint at him.

Really, Tom?

She frowned, noticing that he had changed his approach. Going back to acting like a normal person, which was odd. "In the morning." Hermione replied.

"Hm. That's good." He muttered and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Alright, what do you want?"

Hermione saw the side corner of his mouth curl into a smirk, so when he moved and his hand went towards the inside of his robes, it left her alarmed. From there, he pulled out a wand and she instantly recognised it.

"My wand." She exclaimed, lifting one of her hands in its direction.

"

Tsk-tsk

." Tom made a negative movement with his index finger.

"Give me back my wand." She ordered.

"What's the rush, Granger. I'll give it back - " He replied, waiting a beat, much to her frustration " - in the morning."

"You'll just have to pick it up." Tom continued.

"I'm not returning to the dungeons." Hermione quickly replied which made him roll his eyes.

"You don't have to go there. Just meet with me." He replied simply.

"And what's in it for you?" She doubted the simplicity of his words.

"Nothing." Tom looked at her. "Absolutely nothing."

"Doesn't sound much like you."

"We're partners, aren't we Hermione? We have a secret." Tom stood up. "By the way, congratulations on the tie."

That almost seemed genuine, almost. He didn't look happy, she realised.

"Thank you." She played along with him. "I still want my wand." She continued.

Tom laughed, in that way only he could. Like he thought she was a bit silly and naive. Hermione had not noticed when he had managed to come close to her again. He touched the flowers that Ectur had given her.

"He's your hero, eh." He changed the conversation. "Prewett."

Hermione didn't know what to reply when he turned to her.

"Who attacked you, Granger?" He asked, his expression changing so quickly that she wasn't prepared, his voice soft and serious.

She lowered her gaze, her mouth making an expression that looked like a smile, but certainly wasn't. Hermione wouldn't tell, obviously, not because she doesn't know who it was and even if she did, she wouldn't tell. She felt his presence even closer.

It was intense, just him being in the same room as her, his presence was extraordinary and could probably be noticed for miles, but he still managed to be sneaky when he wanted.

What makes you so different

, she asked herself.

What is going on in your mind?

She took his hand, which drew Tom's gaze into her touch. Her fingers touched his, her brighter skin against his paler tone.

"Thank you." She whispered, as she could not say it louder, but her voice was clear. "Tom." She tried his first name. "I know it was you who found me first." She says. "I heard you then."

----

They stared at each other, their breathing the only sound in the room.

How funny

, he thought. He felt quite strange.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 17. Azemiops Feae

-

Love and Sorrow

Edited January 2024

Harry, which piece were we in chess?

Dear Harry, You are probably finding it strange to have to answer this question. Well, I enchanted the letter with a question that only we both would know the answer to.

As you have no doubt guessed by now, it is a security question, where the letter will only open to reveal its contents if the answer is correct.

It is very difficult to explain what has happened to us both, but I ask, first of all, that you listen to what I have to say and do not jump to hasty conclusions.

A significant piece of information you should have is that it is the year 1943. It sounds impossible, I know, but it is the truth. During the battle at Hogwarts, we were transported back in time by a Time Turning device that is really quite 'special'. It is a matter of grave importance that you do not reveal your real name to anyone, the name that people know you by in this period is Harry Evans. I was sure you wouldn't mind having your mother's surname for the time being whilst we are here.

You are currently convalescing at St. Mungo's. Keep all
information to yourself, Harry. Do not confide with anyone. All that's been said is that we were attacked by one of Grindelwald's followers and you got hurt. Can you imagine? I will explain everything to you when I see you in person. Dumbledore is covering for us, he more or less knows all of the truth.

I am currently attending Hogwarts and I’m anxiously waiting for you there.

Wishing you the speediest recovery. I miss you.

From your best friend,

Hermione.

This was the sixth letter Hermione had written, all the others didn't seem good enough, but this one was reasonably well written and managed to explain the main issues and problems that Harry should be aware of. After all, how do you write to your best friend to explain that you have both traveled back in time? It was complicated and at the very least, Harry would have doubts about the veracity of the events she described. She couldn't blame him, if she was in his place, waking up in St.Mungo's in a bed, she would also doubt everything and everyone. And let's face it, Harry had become a suspicious person,
unfortunately with good reason.

Being true to herself, this is the best-case scenario of what could happen. The worst, for all she knows, is that Harry might wake up with no memory of what happened, of who she is or who he is, and then, she would surely be up the creek without a paddle.

Hermione banged her forehead lightly against the wood of the table, praying that the universe wouldn't be so cruel.

That would be unfair. Haven't we been through enough already?

She hopes to be at Harry’s side when he wakes up, like a friend, like a sister. Someone he would recognise and for him to know he is safe.

Hermione stood up from the table, placing the goose quill pen in the inkwell. Her Gryffindor uniform was impeccable, she felt the cool metal of the locket against the skin of her neck, her hair in a neat braid.

Calmly, she made her way to the owlery, one of the highest towers at Hogwarts. It was there she would meet Riddle - Tom.

What had gotten into her? Calling him ‘Tom’?

Hermione's mind went over all the recent events.

Merlin, that's a lot

. She couldn't resist, it felt right, she had seen too much of him, knew too much about him to be so cold towards him. He had found her and saved her, how could she not call him Tom? He seemed to have been genuine, even if her interactions with him were awkward and strained in a way she couldn't explain.

And besides everything else, what could she say to Dumbledore? Tell him everything? Tell him that there is someone out there who is throwing her back and forth through space-time to view specific events in Tom’s life?

Hermione snorted in derision. When had her life become such a joke?

The wind was cold and rather strong, she climbed the stairs that led to the top of the owl tower, her stomach had nervous butterflies due to the height as she tried to avoid looking down. Her fear of heights was not over, only overcome in dire emergencies.

The higher she climbed, the more determined her thoughts were. She was going to put a stop to everything that happened between her and Riddle, it was too risky and she was sure he would no longer settle for her half-truths. Tom was already investigating her, hinting, analysing, searching for what she was hiding. And, to tell the truth, her empathy for him was growing, and this frightened her. Because now she understood more about what he had suffered since he was a baby.

Remembering all that she had seen brought tears to her eyes that she blinked away.

Was there still something good inside him?

Hermione stopped as she reached the top of the tower, at the entrance. All thoughts of stopping any kind of interaction with him silenced, thrown out the window as if they were nothing as soon as she spotted him. She found herself holding her breath, watching him in all his glory with his height and perfect figure.

He was standing with his back to her, his hands clasped together behind, looking out over the scenery that one of the tower windows provided. His Slytherin robe billowed gently in the wind, which was almost always present in the owlery.

The sight of him aroused in her an empathic interest in Tom. Now, more than ever, she sought, fought to have the power to interpret and understand him. One or two things about his behaviour, she could already recognise, know the meaning behind the act, after all, she had lived closely with him over the summer during their time in the tent. But, his reactions should never be underestimated, he is generally unpredictable most of the time.

Sensing her presence, Tom glances over his shoulder, turning slowly so he can receive her. He scans her from top to bottom, his face slightly tilted diagonally downwards as he looks at her out of the corner of his eyes and from under his lashes. Hermione realises in that moment, that he is kind of copying her movements, as just like him, she is also hesitant and wary, testing whether or not she can approach. Both treating each other as if they were dealing with a wild animal, which needed to be handled with care.

Tom stops right in the middle of the floor, straightening his posture in the process, waiting for her to approach him.

Hermione walked up to him, not knowing what to expect, dodging the bones and carcasses of mice and other small animals brought in by the owls. She stopped in front of him and held out her hand, silently asking for her wand. Feathers of various types of owls fell lightly around them like rain. Tom raised one of his eyebrows and looked at her empty hand for a moment, before returning his gaze to her face.

He noticed immediately that her hair was plaited into a braid, which meant her face was unobstructed, free of anything that might prevent him noticing her expressions. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with a shy blush, but even though she seemed somewhat timid, she didn't look away from him.

"That fast? Good morning to you too ... Hermione."

Tom audibly tested her name out loud for the first time with her.

He remembered clearly that when he left the hospital wing, he kept her voice in his head, opening and closing his hand by reflex as the sensation of her touch on him was persistent. She made him feel strange, very strange. She was a constant unknown in his head, always leaving him puzzled.

"G-good morning." She replied softly. Perhaps, a little embarrassed by her rash attitude.

"You look better." Tom continued, walking around her, a few owls that were present, standing at the highest point of the tower, observing the two of them with interest.

Hermione followed Tom’s every move with her eyes, the situation is strangely familiar, she can't help but fear he will do something to her as this is the perfect ambush opportunity, but she can't sense any aggression from him, just the uncanny way about him that always seems to be peeking out at her.

"I feel quite good. Very good in fact, considering"

She felt it when he stopped behind her, his breath making the hairs on the back of her neck twitch, her eyes widen and her mouth opens exhaling a sigh. She was unable to move her body, to move away, taken aback by his proximity.

His light touch travelled down her arm, stopping just short of the cuff on the robe, in his hand was her wand - Harry's wand - being offered to her.

Slowly, she touches the wand, feeling the wood and enveloping her fingers around it completely. Without reluctance, he lets her have her wand back. Finally having the wand in hand, she feels safer, feels the flow of magic and how the wand responds to that flow. It is the same, nothing is different.

Hermione steps back, creating a little space in order to watch Tom's face. She frowns a little, wary of how this was all too easy, but she can tell by Tom's body language that he isn’t aggressive, if anything
he had a slightly confused and bemused expression at her behaviour.

Is there still something good about him, I wonder?

Fascinated, she takes a step forward towards him, her left hand raised in the process. He follows the movement of her hand with his gaze, trying to understand what she was doing. Hesitantly, she reached out and grazed his cheek with her finger tips, his gaze dropping to where he felt the touch. Where once he had pushed her away, now he allowed her to touch him. His gaze returned to her face expectantly as he raised one of his eyebrows.

Hermione then placed her hand on his cheek, his skin seemed to be a little cooler than hers to the touch, an slight indication that something was wrong for more perceptive people, but there was still some warmth due to the blood circulating in his body.

Hermione could finally conclude that his paleness was indeed a genetic trait that he inherited from his mother and that was aggravated in the future by his actions, making him as white as chalk. The slight dark circles under his eyes didn't make him ugly at first, but it perceptively indicated to her that something was not right. She looked at the green irises of his eyes, such an intense colour did not belong to his mother, that came from his father. Those eyes, one day they will have blood-red sclerae with slit pupils similar to a cat's. Her fingers stopped near the base of his beautiful nose, where she felt him
exhale softly, this would become something striking in the future, where it would become reptilian. When he would
no longer be fully human.

Hermione understood that what she was doing was somehow intimate, but her curiosity over came the better of her. Her mind raced to process all the mental images she had of Tom: as a baby, as a child, as a teenager and as Voldemort, Lord Voldermort. Even knowing everything, it was hard to envisage that all those versions were just one young man standing in front of her.

He was a handsome young man, incredibly handsome and even though this is not the first trait she would look for in a person, she had to concede and admit that somehow, he managed to charm.

Hermione awakens from her musings when she feels his hand grip her wrist, stopping her from continuing her curiosity.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

Yeah, what am I doing

? Hermione wonders, blinking as if coming to her senses. She takes a step back, but he holds her wrist, not in a way that hurts her, but not allowing her to separate from him that easy. Tom seems to watch her just as intently, allowing his eyes to travel to her ajar lips.

The tension of the moment seems to fall between the two of them, both caught in the silence, the owl feathers floating down slowly until they fall to the floor.

The exact moment is broken when a black owl appears, swooping around until it settles at a good enough height for either of them to gain access.

"Nix." Hermione acknowledges, feeling Tom's grip soften until she can no longer feel his hand.

Despite being a twilight and nocturnal owl, there was nothing to stop Nix from flying during the day if need be. The preference of time was more out of instinct and camouflage than anything else.

Nix readily recognised the two. He spread one of his wings and with his beak, straightened his feathers after the flight. Tom walked over to Nix and stroked the feathers on his head that looked like horns, which drew a sort of happy sound from Nix.

Hermione also reached over and pulled a snack and a letter out of one of her pockets, which drew his gaze to the envelope. He let her have a moment with her owl but didn't pull away.

She stroked Nix's feathers, murmured endearments to the animal, as well as offering a treat, he had probably returned to the owls’ refuge after having spent the evening feeding.

"I know you must be tired, Nix. But would you please deliver this letter for me?" She asked, offering the letter to the owl, who somehow understood what was being asked.

With his claw, Nix took the envelope and then bent down to pick it up with his beak. Hermione glanced out of the corner of her eye at Tom, before quickly turning away. If he had known that this letter was being sent to his future arch-enemy, what would he have done?

Hermione and Tom both take a step back as Nix spreads his wings and quickly launches himself towards the tower balcony, flying in a spiral, gliding before flapping his wings towards the horizon.

They both made their way to the balcony, watching the owl fly away. The wind was a tiny bit colder and stronger, making their clothes billow. Curious and a little hesitant, Hermione looks at him, analysing, noting the distant look he's wearing, that the 'gears' of his brain are furiously working.

He is questioning something.

She would pay a good amount of gold just to be able to know, to understand, what made Tom Riddle want to be Voldemort.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Tom asks.

"W-what?" she blinked, trying to adjust to the question that had been asked, that was so at odds to her musings .

"The scenery." He tilted his chin towards the horizon. "It's pretty, isn't it?"

So, can he appreciate such things?

Hermione looks at the view the tower afforded them. Even with the wind and clouds, a few evening rays of sunlight were touching the trees and mountains of the valley.

"It is, it is very beautiful."

"To think that something or someone created all this."

His reflection piqued her curiosity and she finds herself asking before she can prevent it:

"Do you believe in any god or gods, Tom?"

Hermione wants to slap herself mentally. Where did that question come from? It is clear to her that he will mock this question, so she expects the sound he makes whenever he finds something silly. But she is surprised when he replies:

"Yes, I do." This time Tom looks at her and she is unable to look away because in those green eyes there is nothing, no emotion or expression that can be interpreted. "What is a god but one who has the power to create and destroy? The one who has the power of all things? One who controls life and death? Immortal? I believe in

that god

, Hermione."

It's a very vague description, many gods and goddesses from various cultures had such abilities. By logic and from growing up at the orphanage, Tom probably attended the Christian church, but...

Hermione stopped, her eyes becoming bigger and bigger at the moment of
realisation,
the understanding of what was conveyed between the lines of what he said. Tom Riddle didn't just want to be remembered as the best and most powerful wizard that had ever existed, he wanted to be some kind of god.

"Well, I am going now. See you in class, Hermione."

He said, ever so simply, returning to 'normal' in a heartbeat, leaving Hermione standing there, dumbfounded and unresponsive. She turns around in time to see him descending the dangerous owlery stairs, the hood of the Slytherin gown over his head.

o0o

Hermione spent the morning classes with a painful headache that would make a rock crusher envious and as much as she followed the classes that she shared with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students, she couldn't concentrate enough to care.

Her mind was racing with all the information she had received, there was too much of it, she was going to go crazy with it all. And even though the headache had eased somewhat
with the help of a potion, there was still a feeling of distress in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't leave her.

She walks alone through the corridors of the castle so confused as to what her next steps should be, feeling lost and in the dark, with someone unknown out there who can send her "back and forth" in
time as they please, with only the power of a few words. The limit of that power is unknown. When will they strike again? But the worst part? This "person" apparently can apparate into the grounds of Hogwarts.

Hermione feels like a bird trapped in a cage, "protected", "at the mercy" and with nowhere else to run. An easy target..

"Hermione." The voice wakes her from her reverie. She turns towards its owner. Leaning against one of the pilasters, there stood the young man with the earring that looked like a sea urchin.

"Alphard." She recognized him. Ignoring him would be rude and also not the best idea, after all, he was still keeping that secret about her.

"Are you alright?" He asks and she frowns. "I heard you were in the Hospital Wing."

"I'm fine." Hermione answers as briefly as possible. A little annoyed, perhaps.

His presence rekindles her memory about Evelyn's situation. Very likely Alphard noticed it; if the prolonged silence that followed wasn't any indication.

He sits on the ledge, feeling his legs weak, his hands open and close, clenching the fabric of his school uniform trousers. He's not very good at these things, but he had prepared, had mentally gone over a thousand times what he was going to say to Hermione, yet his mind went blank as soon as he opened his mouth, just like it did sometimes when he was taking a test.

"Are you still mad at me?" Alphard tried, grimacing - as if he had a stomach ache. Hermione tilted her head to the side, a serious expression on her face. "Okay. I guess that's a yes." His broad shoulders wilted. "Look, I'm sorry."

The line between Hermione's eyebrows became more prominent.

"I had no choice. I have nothing against the muggle-born." Alphard swallowed dryly. "- Evelyn." He corrected himself. "- but I had no choice. Wally is my

sister

. What was I supposed to do? She's part of my family. How could I let someone hurt my sister and brother? What kind of brother would I be if I let that happen? I have to protect them," Alphard explained.

She understood. Hermione really understood what he meant. Understanding made the features of her face soften. It was his family and she couldn't judge him, everyone does whatever it takes to protect their families. She has done it, Ron has done it and many other friends have had to do it. Hermione realises that she may have judged Alphard too harshly, which doesn't soften the anger, but keeps it in check, because, at the end of it all, Evelyn Thomas is a living being, with a beating heart and with feelings, she is a child.

But it is irrefutable that between Walburga and her and Evelyn, that Alphard's choice was obvious.

Hermione closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to get used to this idea. When she opens her eyes, she looks straight at him. Alphard is not a bad person, on the contrary, he has shown himself to be kind and this may be one of the reasons that in the future, he helps his nephew, Sirius. It may even be that he can see Sirius’s behaviour in himself. It seems then, that the only Black who took the phrase "
the Blacks protect themselves"
seriously was Alphard and Andromeda, that regardless of magic or not, Alphard protected his family.

"Don't think Wally got away with what happened." Alphard preferred to say so that Hermione would understand that in a way justice had been meeted out as a consequence of what happened that day. "
He
made me punish Wally."

Hermione looked away, knowing that in someway she is to blame for what Alphard had to do to his sister, it was the vow she had made with Riddle, she certainly doesn't want the details but she knows that magical torture was applied.

"I'm sorry." She murmured, turning back to face him. Hermione noted that there were stress lines on his face. "I don't want you to change who you are, Alphard. Nor what you think is right to do." She craned her head. "It's your family. You're right. I just hope you extend that feeling to all members of your family, regardless.” She remembered Sirius.

Alphard opened his mouth as if to reply, but the childish voice made them both turn in the direction it came from.

"Brother?"

Alphard softened his expression at the sight of Cygnus.

"Hermione." He turned to her. "This is my younger brother, Cygnus."

Cygnus looked like an adult trapped in a child's body if you can understand that expression. His posture was very serious, his earnest facial expression was fixed and the way he bowed his head in a gesture of recognition, made Hermione think he was trying to look more mature than he really was because she was sure he was still capable of throwing tantrums.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Cygnus."

"The pleasure is mine, miss."

"Well, I have to go." She told Alphard, bidding Cygnus farewell with a gesture and turning her back on the Black brothers.

"Wait here," Alphard asked his brother, as he went after Hermione. "Hermione!" He called out to her, stopping in front of her so he could speak. "Are... we friends?"

Hermione didn't know how to answer such a direct question, so she just shrugged, stepped around Alphard and made her way to potions class. She knew she would probably meet him in class, but for now, she preferred to leave him in her brother's company.

o0o

The Grey Lady floated by holding a book in her hands, concentrating on what she was reading, and was taken aback when she noticed the young man in the corridor.

"Oh!" she let slip and Tom smiled gently.

"Miss. Ravenclaw." He greeted warmly.

She lowered her gaze, a little embarrassed. It had been many years since anyone had called her by that name, her name being replaced by 'Grey Lady'. In fact, as much as she missed just being referred to as Helena, she preferred to hide her real identity, letting herself be recognised by the name that students over the centuries had given to her. She couldn't bear the thought of using her mother's surname, the surname which reigned over one of the Houses of Hogwarts, after her vile betrayal of her.

Thinking about it made her sad and melancholy, the evil she did always returns to her thoughts, the karma she carries, the weight of the ghostly life that is now hers. If there is one certain truth to know, it is that ghosts are executioners of their own happiness. As intelligent as she claimed to be, she should have been wise enough to know that she was meant to have moved on by now, there was nothing left for her on this earthly plane, but then, her regret, guilt and fear were so deep that they served as a heavy anchor to keep her here, trapped. She couldn't get there fast enough to ask forgiveness of her mother who was on her deathbed, nor could she find her in the afterlife.

The name "Grey Lady" suited her just fine, she concluded. For she was always crying silently, full of remorse and sorrow, grieving for many reasons.

"Call me by my name 'Grey Lady,'" she commanded, lifting her chin, daring the young man to contradict her. Few knew her real name and those who did had done their research.

"As you wish." He tilted his head to the side, the gentle smile never leaving his face. "I fear it is impolite not to have introduced myself. Tom Riddle, at your service."

"I know who you are." And she did. She had watched him grow with each new school year, as she had many other students. Yet she had never come into direct contact with him. However much she had heard the portraits and paintings talking about how kind, intelligent and skilled he was. In the Ravenclaw tower, she had heard his name often mentioned. At celebrations, she had consistently seen him placed top in the student rankings. So yes, of course she knew who he was.

She normally avoided socialising, often preferring to stay in the Ravenclaw Tower wing. She wandered around the castle sometimes, but one thing was not in doubt, she would never, ever visit the dungeons if she could help it. Not when the Baron was roaming there.

Uncertain and caught off guard by the silence, she looked around searching for a way out of the situation. Her translucent fingers tightened around the book as she thought about making her escape through the walls.

"I've always had a curiosity for Ravenclaw." He spoke suddenly, unexpectedly getting her attention. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, tilting her head, considering what he was talking about. "I never understood why I wasn't selected for that House. Not to brag, but many say I'm intelligent, I wonder if my other personality attributes influenced the Hat so much."

"Nasty snake traits, I suppose," The Lady replied boldly, nodding at the Slytherin emblem on Tom's uniform. Proud of her comment, for a moment she wondered if she offended him deeply, but to her surprise, the young man laughed. A little embarrassed, she apologised for the rude and mean comment.

"Maybe." He shrugs. "I heard you were the best student in your school days."

"Yes, the best." She doesn't deny it, proud to be acknowledged. Her intellect, perhaps, is only just below that of her mother's.

"I'd like us to be friends if it's not disrespectful to ask." He suggested.

It wasn't, but she wondered why. It was unusual to prolong unnecessary contact with the living ones.

"Why?" she asked, floating around him.

"It may sound presumptuous of me, but I would like to talk to someone with wisdom and intelligence. Sometimes it's frustrating not having someone to speak with who can understand me."

The Lady, Helena, smiled. Presumptuous, but he managed to get her attention. Finally, she understood why his name was on the lips of many girls. She would have yielded to his charm and allure if he had attended Hogwarts at the same time as her.

The Lady had never experienced romantic love, not for lack of wooing. Many young men followed her around and tried to gain her attention, and many times she was proposed to. All of which she fervently declined, her standards were too high for those men, she would accept nothing less than her ideal.

She wondered if this young man had been born at the same time as her, would she have considered him.

She probably would have.

Perhaps her life would have taken a different path if so.

The Lady shook her head, clearing her mind of such frivolous thoughts.

No use thinking about what could have been

, she thought.

She sat down on one of the stone seats, straightening her puffy dress as she would have done if she were alive. It was just a polite, ingrained custom she hadn't lost. The weak sunlight seemed to grace her, but it was actually passing through her person, making her image almost seem invisible. Long dark hair floated a little around her.

The appearance and the ghostly effect might frighten some people, but she meant no harm.

With a brief smile, she said:

"Talk then. Entertain me." That was what she used to say to the gentlemen of her time.

It had been a good, long time since she had talked to anyone. Well, a

proper conversation anyway

.

Am I needy?

She wondered. No, it wasn't very logical. She'd never been very emotional or so she'd always thought.

So wrong about herself.

Tom sat down next to her, not too afraid or impressed by her ghostly appearance, and smiled. His eyes closed and a smile appeared on his lips.

She's just another one. So gullible.

---

Hermione looked hesitantly out of the corner of her eye at Tom as she stopped writing. She was in potions class, with Ectur sitting on her right side and Bilius sitting behind them next to Arabella McLaggen.

The class was silent, except for the scratching and dry rustling of nib on parchment as everyone took notes.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for the practical
demonstrations." Slughorn interrupted the students.

Hermione paid close attention to what Professor Slughorn was saying. He was leaning against his large oak desk at the front of the class. It was interesting and a little scary to watch him teach, and not in a bad way. In general, Slughorn was the same as she had known him in ‘her’ time.

Slughorn removed from his hard briefcase, five pre-prepared potions. Of the five, Hermione recognised four, Felix Felicis, Laughter Potion, Hate Potion and Amortentia...

Resting her chin on her hand, she watched him with renewed interest. Her mind racing to interpret how this class would proceed.

"Now class, would anyone care to tell me what emotions can be considered opposite to each other but can be felt at the same time?" He asked, looking cheerfully at the students. "Hm? Anyone?"

"Love and hate?" Hermione heard someone call from the back of the classroom.

"A good answer, indeed. But is it possible for a person to love and hate someone at the same time? Of course, emotions are much more complex than a simple question like that, nothing is 'black and white'."

Hermione thought and looked at the bottles of potions presented by Slughorn. Slughorn's question could be answered just by observing, the answer was there, right in front of everyone. At that very moment, she and Tom both raised their hands to answer the question.

She looked at him and he returned her gaze, both slowly lowering their hands. Her thirst for learning had gotten the better of her again and without realising, there she was trying to answer questions as if she was attending sixth grade as a normal student. She mentally scolded herself.

But more controlled than she was when it came to hiding her expressions, Tom gestured for her to speak first. Again, she couldn't tell if he was actually being solicitous or if it was just one of his public acts of generosity.

Slughorn watched the exchange with a smile on his face, as if the interaction between the two was something pleasurable to watch, looking on them both like a sort of 'Father' as he watched his favourite students interact.

Ectur regarded her expectantly, having cast a glance towards Tom. Clearing her throat, Hermione explained her theory.

"Love and Sorrow." She muttered. "The answer is Love and Sorrow." She continued.

"And why is that, Miss. Granger?" Slughorn pressed her to explain herself.

"We can love and still feel sad."

"Excellent, Miss Granger."

Hermione gave a sideways smile, half embarrassed. Ectur beside her gave her arm a little squeeze, congratulating her.

"Allow me to introduce you to the potions we will be studying in the next few classes. The first is Felix Felicis, also known as Liquid Luck. The second is the Laughter Potion, the third is the Hate Potion, the fourth is Amortentia and the fifth is the Longing Potion."

Hermione knew the Felix Felicis potion well, only she knows how frustrating it was trying to make the Death in Life potion, competing with Harry and the Half-Blood Prince's diary, so she could have the chance to win the Felix Felicis. She can't deny that losing left a bitter taste in her mouth until she understood the situation.

"You may be wondering why I asked you that question. You see, each of these potions directly influences our emotions. They are dangerous and should be used with great care and caution. In fact they could be described as a drug as they can be addictive and are poisonous in a very particular way. Today, my students, we will study the Potion of Longing, also known as the Potion of Sorrow."

Slughorn took the small flask that looked like a crystal chalice with a lid, which contained the dark, black liquid, the surface of which glowed like ink and handed it to the left side of the class. Tom was the first to pick up the chalice, he frowned as he touched the flask. The interest could be seen in his expression as he wondered at the steam rising from the trapped liquid.

Tom turned and handed the chalice to Malfoy, who shared it with Mulciber, both of whom found the sensation odd and so on it was passed to Avery and Rosier, Lestrange and Nott, Alphard and Virginia Flint until all the sixth year Slytherin students had interacted with the potion, soon after which it was passed to the Gryffindor students. Hermione waited patiently for her and Ectur's turn after Bilius and Arabella handed it to them.

She and Ectur watched the liquid and with the tip of her finger, Hermione tapped against the glass of the chalice, noticing that the potion was barely moving.

"What is it?" Ectur asked.

"It's not just its impression, the potion has a thick texture." She explained. "That means if we have to reproduce it, then we must deliver it with that texture."

He looked at her, a little befuddled to say, "Wow."

She smiled at his expression and then handed Slughorn the chalice.

"Does anyone know anything about this potion?" Slughorn asked.

Hermione refrained from answering, and she really didn't know anything about this potion. However, she was not surprised when she saw Tom raise his hand.

"The Potion of Longing is a potion that is forbidden and controlled by the Ministry of Magic. Quotations about this potion are found only in the oldest tomes from the 15th century. Some believe that Zygmunt Budge is the creator, but this has never been confirmed. The Longing potion is considered poisonous for its hallucinogenic effects and it can be ingested or its vapour can be inhaled. Consuming it makes the effect longer and more effective, but both ways are extremely efficient and risky if used in excess. It creates the perfect illusion of something we miss, not necessarily a person, but this is the main
reason for its existence and its biggest use. The illusion is so powerful, it makes a person believe that perhaps, a loved one is present and alive. It is said to be so perfect that many go mad and prefer to live in the fantasy created by this potion."

She wasn't surprised that he knew the answer, but maybe a little dissappointed in herself for not knowing anything about this particular potion. She couldn't even remember Snape or Slughorn mentioning it in her time. She didn't doubt that Snape knew the potion, but the lack of lecturing on the subject made her think that the Ministry of Magic really wanted to prevent witches and wizards from knowing about these more esoteric potions. It was such a shame to hide such knowledge.

"Excellent answer, Mr Riddle. Ten points for Slytherin!" Slughorn congratulated Tom, who gave a sideways smile.

Okay...

She bit her lower lip and turned her face in the other direction so she wouldn't have to see him,

this is clearly turning into a competition.

"An excellent answer, indeed." Slughorn continued. "But I would also like to add that so potent is this potion, even those around the user will catch a glimpse of something."

Slughorn removed the lid of the chalice and the greyish vapour of the potion began to rise. Strangely it looked like a kind of smoke, but it didn't smell bad, quite the opposite, it was attractive in some peculiar way. But such was often the way of those potions that try to trick the mind, they are a tainted lure.

The potions professor, tilted the chalice so that a generous drop fell onto the floor, the students leaned in to watch, curious about the reaction the potion would have. The thick liquid fell, making contact with the floor and much like ink, it had stayed consistent until it was magically absorbed.

"What happens now, Professor Slughorn?" Mulciber asked.

"Each of you will see something, that doesn't mean it will be something specific to you. It could be your classmate's next to you."

"I don't see anything," Ectur muttered beside her and Hermione was about to reply that she couldn't see anything either, but was silenced by the clear image that came to her.

Without realising it, she found herself affected by the smell of the potion which was now influencing her mind, creating a small illusion. A glimpse to which she succumbed. The image that emerged, caused an ache in her heart, catching her off guard as if a supernatural force was squeezing her heart tightly.

"Ron."

She saw Ron, tall and with the flaming hair that belonged to the genetics of the Weasley family.

"Mione." He called out to her, extending his hand for her to take and join him. Beside Ron stood her parents, smiling so warmly it was impossible to resist.

She almost raised her hand to take Ron's hand.

"Hermione." Ectur brought her back to reality, his voice serving as an anchor. She blinked, adjusting to her surroundings again and looked at Ectur, a little confused and pale from feeling so exposed and easily caught in the effects of the potion.

"I-I saw something..." She muttered.

"I know," Ectur replied seriously. "I'm not sure what it was, but I saw you interacting as if they were here. Who's Ron?"

Hermione stammered at the question but was relieved of the question when her and Ectur's attention went to Bilius and Arabella, who seemed to be enjoying themselves. Wow.

For a moment she laughed at the reaction of the two, but that didn't erase what she saw and felt, even more so when she looked away, finding Tom's gaze so intense and questioning. A crease between his eyebrows showed.

She looked away, not daring to look at him or Ectur, preferring to concentrate on Slughorn. As the rest of the students came to their senses. Some are affected, others not.

From the back of the room, Alphard Black watched the interactions.

Well, well...Could it be?

He wondered as the thought came to him.

When class was over, all the students were putting away their belongings, Slughorn stopped her, asking her to stay for a moment. Bilius left for lunch, while Ectur signalled that he would wait for her in the hallway.

Tom walked past her, glancing from under his lashes at her, a small, sideways smile wanting to appear on his face. Convinced that Slughorn would invite her to the private club, he was not surprised. It had been just as he'd predicted.

o0o

Closing the door to the potions classroom, Hermione found Ectur standing in the corridor as he had promised.

"Hermione?" He asked, finding the expression on her face a little strange. "What is it?"

"Hm...Slughorn invited me to the Club." She said, holding the strap of her leather satchel that she wore, with both hands.

Ectur blinked at her answer and then cracked a bright smile. "Hermione, that's great!" He congratulated her. "Do you know what that means? It means that he considers you to be one of the best students!"

Yes, Hermione knows what the Slug Club means and all the members of it who are hand selected. The reason behind the creation of the Club could be genuine, a way for Slughorn to benefit his favourite students in the wizarding world, but surely there were also the benefits Slughorn received.

"You accepted, didn't you?" Ectur asked as they walked towards the Great Hall.

"I said I would think about it." She replied. "Professor Slughorn just said that the Club would have a meeting and would let me know when and that if I wanted to attend, then to just turn up."

"Hermione, you have to go! It's the chance of a lifetime!" Ectur encouraged her. "Slughorn is a great networker and he has many contacts that could pave a path for you into adulthood."

Hermione had no way to answer him, so she kept quiet as she considered the situation. In her mind it was clear, nothing was going the way it should.

They walked in silence for a moment, until Ectur spoke:

"About the question, I asked in potions class... I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, no. It's okay." She muttered.

"It's just...I just asked because you had said that name before." Ectur kept his tone of voice soft and low. He didn't know if he was being too prying or not and he didn't want the conversation to reach the ears of others, as it seemed like something very private to her. "To me." He added.

"What?" Hermione inquired. There was no way she could remember mentioning anything about Ron to Ectur.

"Well, yes. When I found you at the lake. You opened your eyes and mumbled the name: Ron." He ran his hand over the back of his neck. "What happened, Hermione?" Ectur gently asked.

Hermione stopped, recognising the memory of when he had helped her at the lake. Looking at him, she could see the small details that made Ron and Ectur alike. For a moment, while she was being rescued, she saw Ectur and thought it was Ron who had come for her.

She didn't want to speak about Ron, not for some dark reason, but Ectur's pleading eyes for an explanation broke her.

"Ron..." She murmured his name softly, wistfully. The tone of her voice attracted Ectur's attention even more. "He's special to me." She continued. "You remind me a lot of him." Hermione gave a brief smile. "I've known him since I was eleven and grew up with him and met his family. He's awkward, a little bit grumpy, with a unique comic sense. He always tries to stand up for his friends. He's...Ron." She sniffled and with the heel of her hand, tweaked her nose as she looked down at her shoes. How to describe Ron? "You look just like him." Hermione looked at Ectur.

Ectur understood. He couldn't be jealous, not of that.

"Is he okay?" Ectur asked. Maybe it wasn't the right question to ask, not when he noticed the white part of her eyes start to redden as she bravely fought not to shed tears.

"I don't know," Hermione replied softly, her voice numb. "I want to believe so." She sniffled again, swallowing all her tears. "I have to hope."

Ectur hugged her. It wasn't right, it could be considered inappropriate, but if for one second she was surprised, the next she returned the embrace, hiding her face in his grey sweater.

If anyone had seen them standing in the hallway hugging, they would probably get the wrong idea, but he couldn't care less.

When they parted, Ectur put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, she smiled at the gesture.

They heard a noise coming from someone's throat and quickly separated to face the person.

"Hm...Huh...Professor, I mean Headmaster Dumbledore...!" Ectur stammered. "It's not at all what you're thinking, sir! We just...I was..."

Dumbledore, whose hands were interlocked in front of him, looked at Hermione and Ectur and raised one of his eyebrows at the young boy, who was turning red with embarrassment.

It was hard to keep the expression on his face, as he found the Prewett boy's behaviour a little comical and to tease him, Dumbledore spoke:

"The act of hugging a friend is commendable, Mr. Prewett, but I ask that other affections be for another time."

"What? No, no, no, Headmaster Dumbledore! I wasn't going to...I mean...I wasn't going to do anything."

"I understand, Mr. Prewett." Dumbledore smiled. "By the way, aren't you both late for lunch, Mr. Prewett ?"

"Yes, yes. We were just going."

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask for some of Miss. Granger's time."

"Huh, all right. See you later, Hermione." Ectur waved goodbye to Hermione, who confirmed with a nod.

As they watched Ectur walk away, Hermione let a soft chuckle escape.

"We really weren't doing anything." She explained. "He was consoling me. We were talking about Ron." She continued, walking alongside Dumbledore. "I didn't say much, but the subject came up. I guess I needed a friendly shoulder, I miss that... It's just... He looks like Ron."

"I'm sure he does, Miss Granger."

"No, Professor Dumbledore.
He looks a bit like Ron.
" Hermione emphasised and realisation appeared on Dumbledore's face.

"Oh, I understand now."

"It's hard because I know who he is and what he's going to be." She tried to smile to soften the words.

They were silent for a second, absorbing the weight of the words.

"I would like Miss. Granger, for us to talk in my office about recent events."

"Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore. I would appreciate that."

---

Taking a comfortable seat in the armchair of Dumbledore's living room, she looked around and then deposited her satchel beside the armchair. On a tray in front of her on the coffee table were sandwiches and a glass of juice. A courtesy from Dumbledore for getting her attention during her lunch hour. Fawkes was nowhere to be seen.

"I believe we can talk freely now." Dumbledore sat down in the armchair opposite her.

"Yes." Hermione agreed. As she looked at the never-ending flames dance in the fireplace, memories of what had happened flashed through her mind . "The Time-Turner activated." She muttered. "I travelled back in time again. I went to the past and returned." She continued. "Its magic is not normal -" She shook her head. " - No Time-Turner has the power to work in that way. It's extraordinary in itself to have travelled fifty-five years into the past, but to then travel even further in time and then return to this point, makes me think that this - " She held up the iron cord attached to her neck. " - doesn't follow the same patterns. It is unique and it’s in some way coded to me."

Hermione lowered her head to look at the locket, the important part of which she now held in her hands.

"I've witnessed history... things that until now I didn't understand and judged harshly without knowing. That doesn't change anything, I think... But it makes me think. I don't want to justify what I know with what I saw, but I have a hard time understanding. I thought I understood...now I don't know ..."

"What did you see, Miss. Granger?" Dumbledore, very cautiously, asked.

She raised her gaze, it was possible to see the watery gleam in her eyes because of the emotions she felt.

"I saw ... a part of the dark wizard's childhood I told you about." She swallowed, trying to placate the lump forming in her throat at the words. "It wasn't pretty and it wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It was ... sad, cold, cruel. Lonely. It doesnt justify what he's going to do in the future. But I feel strange ... because he was naive and hopeful once ... I think ... I don't even know anymore. The weight of all these things … Of everything I've seen, everything I've been through, everything I was taught, everything I thought I knew …this new perspective has just made it all different. It's starting to weigh on me. I worry about Harry, I worry about what I'm doing, I worry about whether or not I'll make it back, I worry about Ron, I worry about my parents - if I'll ever see them again." She wiped away the tears that were trickling down to her chin. "I'm scared."

Hermione showed the part of the closed locket, which held the Time-Turner, to Dumbledore. "That's not normal. It's like it opens some kind of portal. A passage? There is -"

Hermione was interrupted when the fireplace in Dumbledore's office spat out a letter. The letter glided softly until Dumbledore picked it up with one hand.

He opened it and read carefully, Hermione noticing how downcast he seemed by the contents it contained and how hard he tried to control his expressions.

"Professor?" She tried.

"Unfortunately Miss. Granger, I’m afraid that we have to postpone this conversation." He said suddenly, rising from the armchair in the same second. Placing his hands behind his back as he was wont to do. "There are certain things that need my attention urgently, but don't think that I'm not interested in your position. I say only to you, have faith - " Looking at her over the half-moon glasses, he continued. "- and be careful. This journey was felt. It may have been softer than the other, but it was not missed by attentive people. Magic speaks for itself."

Hermione found Dumbledore's behaviour strange, whatever was written in the letter had completely caught his attention. When at the door to his office she glanced back over her shoulder before heading off to her next class.

As soon as Hermione left, Dumbledore opened the letter again, he propped his hands on the table and bowed his head, a little embarrassed and a little disappointed. On the letter was written:

For the Greater Good.

It wasn't handwritten, but those words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

--

The person who sent the letter was standing motionless, sensing
that the letter had been delivered at just the proper moment for everything to happen as it should.

A black heavy silk cloak covered the entire body to the ground, the hood preventing the light of the cloudy temple from touching their skin, the charm on the face allowed no one to know the identity or gender.

The words written in the letter had a salient meaning for Dumbledore, the person knew. It was

For the Greater Good,

a greater good for itself. The person will not be the cause and motivator of everything, it is only a little push here and there to ensure that destiny takes its correct path.

The Hooded One looked with interest at the scene, after all, watching Gellert Grindelwald receive information from Leeza Zabini, who had been on a mission and then obliviating her mind, was absorbing, to say the least. Of course, this was only one step towards chaos and then peace.

With a simple *

whoosh

* the Hooded One apparated away.

o0o

"Some Aurors have been attacked," Lestrange commented one evening.

"How do you know that?" Dolohov, who was sitting on the sofa asked. All the members who were the Knights of Walpurgis, including Tom, were in the common room after dinner.

Lestrange showed the letter that was in his hand. "My father wrote it."

"And what does that mean?" Rosier asked.

"It means danger." Abraxas Malfoy cleared Rosier's mind.

"It's sending a message to the Ministry," Tom said.

"Tom -" Lestrange, very carefully, spoke Tom's name. They spoke the name as 'Tom' or 'Riddle' in public to keep up appearances, as it would be very odd to say 'My Lord' to a young man the same age as them, however, that was how they referred to him when they were in Tom's presence. Lestrange had nothing against that, after all, 'Riddle', 'Tom' or whatever the reference was, nurtured and showed him the paths to the sense of freedom he sought."- It's right." He continued.

"How so?" Mulciber raised one of his eyebrows.

"The Ministry of Magic will summon Dumbledore." Nott exchanged glances with Lestrange, Malfoy and Tom. "They're saying that the only thing that's stopping Grindelwald from taking over Great Britain, is him."

"My father says they might ask for Dumbledore's help, after all, many members of the Ministry hold Dumbledore in high esteem and consider him a powerful wizard. Especially if he is an ally."

"Dumbledore will not fight. This is the third time the Ministry has requested his presence." Malfoy observed.

"Well, the difference between Spencer-Moon and Fawley, is that one of them is taking it very seriously."

As they spoke, Tom absorbed every comment made, his mind processing the information.

Why?

He wondered. It's not typical of Dumbledore to deny help, especially if it's something that's not against his ideals, but him vehemently denying any kind of confrontation...

Why doesn't Dumbledore want to fight?

Tom paused, the light of an idea arising, like when you manage to solve the mystery of a potion or a spell. Maybe the right question wasn't that but rather: can Dumbledore fight against Grindelwald?

Unlikely he couldn't, but...

---

A few short days passed, Hermione began to focus more on herself and the situation she found herself in. The focus of her studies were the following topics:
portkeys, the Time-Turner and Salazar Slytherin.

From everything she understood, the Time-Turner fastened around her neck was extraordinary and the fact that she had travelled back in time to a specific place reminded her of how a portkey worked. At night, in the women's dormitories, she would spend her time reading, thinking, and sometimes trying to draw the Time-Turner to obtain a better idea of its handling and mechanics. As much as she could open the locket, she couldn't activate it, the sand of the hourglass remaining in place without moving.

How had someone managed to combine time magic with transport magic? This is an amazing feat of magic.

Come to think about it, both spells had an equal base. But that discovery didn't do much to help Hermione's train of thought, rather making her more frustrated than pleased.

For the Slytherin part, Hermione was concentrating on the book about the Founders of Hogwarts, paying close attention to everything quoting the famous parselmouth wizard. She doubted there would be any useful or unusual information in a book like this, but she couldn't rule it out, after all, there are often riddles hidden within the written word.

Her attention was taken away momentarily when she saw Evelyn smiling and waving at her from across the courtyard, Hermione reciprocated the kindness like a loving older sister, watching Evelyn rush off to her next class.

It was fresh in Hermione's mind how she still had to defend Evelyn from some Slytherin girls in her class, but not that Evelyn was weak she was doing very well with the spells and potions that Hermione was teaching her, so much so that as a thank you, Evelyn gave Hermione a whole jar of moonstone powder that she had won for being the first student to perform the potion in class.

Hermione had smiled at her but said that she should keep it, as she had won a class prize for the first time, yet Evelyn insisted. She hugged Hermione's waist and ran off to the dungeons.

Hermione had stashed the vial in her bag, but a thought occurred and she found herself looking to where Evelyn had left. It could be thanks, yes, but the words Tom had said to her about how relationships worked between the Slytherin students, made more sense now.

It's like a two-way street

.

Hermione closed the book on the Founders of Hogwarts and picked out another from her school satchel, a book written specifically about one founder: Salazar Slytherin.

She ran her fingers across the leather cover, the name of the parselmouth wizard in large, silver embossed letters. It brought back to her bitter memories of one recent day when passing by the hallway of the Ravenclaw wing.

Hermione saw him, Tom, talking to the Grey Lady. She was smiling sweetly at him, her ghostly voice sounding more lyrical than Hermione had ever heard. The Grey Lady, Helena, seemed content if it were possible...

alive

. This left Hermione terrified.

Not because of the presence of the ghost of Ravenclaw House, nor because of Helena's cheerful simplicity, but because of the possessor of such contentment. Because at that moment, Hermione realised what he was doing and how everyone, ghosts included, can fall for the charm he exudes. Because right there, he was scheming and actioning his plans to obtain the Ravenclaw diadem.

She didn't know how many times they had met, because yes, that seemed like a secret meeting, nor how many times they had spoken, nor if Helena had told Tom all about the diadem yet. She clearly understood in that moment Tom Riddle wanted to be Lord Voldemort,
Who Must Not Be Named
. It terrified her.

Hermione had turned away so quickly from the scene she had witnessed and while her mind said she had to interfere, she couldn't stop herself feeling ... disappointed. The same young man who saved her is still the same wizard who wants to exterminate her existence.

Ironic, isn't it?

"What are you reading?"

She was startled at the voice which pulled her mind away from the memory.

Speak of the devil...

He sat next to her at the stone picnic table, while her body was facing in the right direction, with her legs under the table, Tom sat the opposite way, his back facing the table where he propped his elbows in a significantly relaxed position.

She squinted at him, Tom didn't shy away from meeting her gaze. Hermione turned her face away, turning back to her book, reading the first page. Tom frowned and raised one of his dark eyebrows at her behaviour.

He looked at the books on the table, curious.

"Well...?" Tom tried to bring some response from her.

"I want to be alone, Tom." She said, without even looking at him.

The tone of her voice was like a knife - ouch - she sounded hurt and, frankly, offended.

What had he done now?

Tom wondered. He clenched his jaw and looked around. Honestly, he was getting tired and his patience was running out, she had avoided him these last few days, the estrangement from her was disturbing, to say the least. But on the other hand, he saw her smiling at Prewett. He didn’t know why but he didn’t like it.

He was aware of the friendship she had with the Prewett brothers, with Weasley and the Longbottom's, but he knew how to recognise when there was something more involved; and he was referring to Ectur Prewett.

The Prewett boy was indicating that he wanted more than her friendship, whether she realised it or not

... He looked at her again, down at her, bothered by the thought.

She was largely ignoring him, not acknowledging his presence and it made him angry. Tom tugged at one of the strands of her unruly hair, not hard enough to hurt, but just to get her attention.

How childish

, he thinks, but he delights in the frown she offers, particularly proud of himself for managing to snap her out of her cold behaviour. She's not very good at that.

He can see her taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, gathering all the patience she could.

Delightfully sensitive

, he wants to laugh.

"I'm reading Tom, that's what I'm doing." She replies, her eyes going back to the book, but she didn't seem to read it.

"Fair enough. But that's not what I asked."

Hermione blinks, her eyes still on the book, her fingers caressing the page, where it said about Salazar's genetic heritage, that it came from Herpo the Foul, who everyone believes to be the first parseltongue.

This reminds Hermione of what she had promised herself after she recovered from everything that happened, but especially seeing Tom with Helena Ravenclaw.

"I was curious about a topic -" She begins, still not looking at him. "- I mean, about the Founders of Hogwarts. So, I started reading about them and the legacy they left. And can you believe that at this very moment, I'm reading about Salazar Slytherin?" Hermione turned towards him, face to face, this close, both of them staring at each other.

She had promised herself that she would make Tom Riddle reveal himself to her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 18. Hemachatus

-

What Do You Fear?

Edited February 2024

Part I

Once she asked him if he loved her, it was one of the few times she asked that question of him and one of the few times he saw insecurity in her. It was a sincere question, where she laid her feelings bare to him. Her eyebrows drew together in a gentle question, but one that demanded an answer.

He said "yes I do", though it wasn't entirely true, empty words they were not, he just doesn't know how to define it and he knows she knows it because he doesn't believe in love or maybe he loves her differently. In his own way. To him, 'love' is too vague to define what he feels for her. She was a strange obsession he couldn't get rid of, something that circulates in his bloodstream, an irresistible motivation, an irrational act.

o0o

"Is that so?"

"Yes." Hermione reaffirmed. "Do you know -" She continued "- there is a myth -" Hermione remembered Professor McGonagall speaking to her, Ron and Harry. "That Salazar Slytherin created something magnificent, monstrous and secret during his time at Hogwarts?"

"And what would that be?" In Hermione's vision, Tom presented a kind of veiled interest.

She gave a small smile at his curiosity and moved closer, whispering, like a secret or gossip that had to be shared. Attracted by her closeness, Tom also came closer.

"A monster, Tom. Something only an

ophidioglot

can control."

At her words, Tom retracted, the mischievous grin on his face faltering and crumbling.

"What do you mean, Hermione? What are you getting at?"

She lowered her gaze suddenly, rethinking what she was doing.

Is it wise? Is doing this, having Riddle's attention focused on me, is it wise?

Probably not, she's certain. But in those few seconds, she thinks about all that he means to achieve and how necessary he is for her and Harry to escape this time, why the only one who speaks the language of snakes
is him, and why the key to it all is a necklace that is securely fastened around her neck.

"The basilisk," Hermione replied. "It's a snake. The king or queen of all snakes. Some say Salazar Slytherin hid the monster here, in the castle and left it so his descendants could continue the work he didn't finish."

"And what led you to this investigation?" Tom arches one of his eyebrows at her. Hermione reckons Tom can disguise very well when he's bothered by a subject because if she didn't know how the story would end, she might believe him.

"Hm..." Pretending to think, Hermione made a sound with her mouth. "Curiosity?" She tried, playing the fool.

"Do you really think that all headmasters and professors wouldn't know if a monster like that was in the castle? Hermione, it would have come to light by now. It's probably just a myth to scare the younger students."

"How do you know?" She wanted to prod him with a challenge. Hermione was aware that Tom liked a challenge and especially if it was one in which he could show superiority. "Salazar Slytherin was considered a brilliant wizard, surely he could hide something like that."

Tom snorted at her, "Let me see the book you're reading." He took the book from her hands without blinking.

"Hey!" Complained Hermione, but she was ignored by Tom, who flipped through the book quickly, his green eyes scanning through the contents of the book.

"Not much content, believe me." He closed the book and handed it to her.

Hermione frowned, a little offended by his criticism. "What do you mean?"

Tom made a sound like

'humph'.

"If there's one thing in
Slytherin House, it's books about its founder. Believe me."

Staring at the leather book, lost in her thoughts, Hermione felt small like an ant that could easily be crushed by him with her attempts to find a way out being insufficient.

What am I doing wrong?

She asked herself.

Tom squirmed, watching her reaction as she ran her fingernail across the letters of the book's title, thoughtful.

"I understand Professor Slughorn has invited you to the Club dinner."

Hermione looked at him, the mane that was her hair swayed with the movement of her head, she blinked a few times.

"Are you going?" Tom asked.

"I don't know." She swallowed dryly and silence settled, the only noise was the swaying and susurration of the foliage in the wind.

Tom observed the profile of her face, the freckles that decorated her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, how her lower lip was fuller than her upper lip, his gaze lowered to her neck, where he watched the movement when she swallowed, then to her shoulders that rose and fell as she breathed, and finally to the swell of her breasts beneath the layers of her school uniform. Despite catching his gaze, he forced himself to return his eyes to her face. Before he could formulate anything, she suddenly stood up.

"I need to go."

Hermione was stopped abruptly when a hand closed around her wrist. She looked over her shoulder, Tom was holding her down. He lifted, his height overlapping hers.

"Come to the Club, Hermione. Accept Slughorn's invitation. You'll finally be with people who might be on your level."

She didn't know what to make of his request, nor why he seemed so interested in the invitation Slughorn had extended to her. Hermione just stared at him for a few seconds, blinking solemnly.

"I'll think about it." She replied, before turning and making her way back to the Griffinory Tower, her hand slipping from Tom's grip.

Tom reflexively wiggled his fingers with the loss of touch from Hermione's hand. It was his turn to watch her leave. In his mind, it was clear as moonlight on a dark night.

She knows.

As he lowered his gaze, he changed the angle of his hand, the ring stone on his middle finger, the

Horcrux

, did not glow in any light source.

I wish it were simple to gain Hermione Granger's trust. He thought.

-

''
Hermione, are you okay?'' Ectur asked, watching Hermione for a good two minutes before he began to think her behaviour odd. After all, she was spending those two minutes sitting on the floor staring at the flames in the fireplace of the common room, making various expressions that ranged from wrinkling her brow, to a smile that he considered oddly megalomaniacal, like when someone comes up with yet another theory that will one day be applied to make new generations of students lose their minds.

"Hm? What?" Hermione awoke from her reveries, being lured back to reality by Ectur's voice.

"Well, you were looking at the fire for quite a while."

"Ah, yes. Don't worry." She smiled. "I think I found the solution to something I was thinking about."

"Is that so?"

"You know, I think you were right. Maybe I should go to the Club, just to see what it's like. I don't know if I'd fit into that group, but why not?"

"Really? That's excellent news, Hermione." He came to sit beside her in front of the fireplace. While Hermione was sitting crossed legs, much like the seiza position, Ectur sat with one of his legs bent, his arm resting on his knee and his other arm serving as a support on the floor.

Hermione looked at the fire again, she lifted her chin a little finally feeling a little superior. A way to get to Riddle was always in front of her, Slughorn was her chance. It would be a rather risky game of cat and mouse, but it was the best way to cultivate Tom in her favour. If it was an indication, he wanted her presence at the Club dinner too, his ulterior motive
worried her, but Hermione had already made up her mind that it was all or nothing.

"You're doing it again." Ectur pointed out.

"Sorry, sometimes I get lost in my thoughts."

Ectur didn't really understand, but he could tell that Hermione was often adrift in her thoughts, she had a sad look about her but there were a few times he saw her smile happily.

"Hermione."

"What?" she asked when Ectur spoke her name. She turned her face towards him, and felt his hand go to her hair, behind her ear, Hermione heard the soft fluttering noise of a wing flapping and Ectur retracted his hand, on his index finger was a butterfly origami, whose wings were slowly flapping. With magic, he snapped his fingers, bringing the origami to life and transforming it into a real butterfly, which flew around Hermione before landing on her nose. She giggled at the tickle and moved her nose to one side and the other, startling the butterfly which seconds later shattered into a glow.

Ectur laughed at the grimace she made, Bilius came up behind him, a packet of goodies in his hand.

"Um...If you guys weren't at school, I'd think you were on a date." He went to Hermione's other side and lay on the floor against the light of the fire in the fireplace.

"Shut up." Ectur frowned at Bilius, almost narrowing his eyes, which made Bilius smile bigger. Hermione's cheeks turned slightly pink, to disguise it she took one of the sweets offered by Bilius.

"We'll have quidditch training tomorrow. Will you be coming, Hermione?"

"Blimey! That's right, I had forgotten!" Ectur grumbled.

"That's because you're the captain's brother."

"Ig would kill me if I missed it."

"What are your positions in the team this year?" Hermione tried to to engage with their conversation. The truth was she wasn't much of a sports fan, she preferred the company of a good book, but she had spent so much time hanging out with Harry and Ron that it seemed easier to follow and cheer for them and the team in general.

With his thumb, Bilius pointed to himself and gave a wink. "The best Gryffindor beater that ever lived is right in front of you, Hermione."

"He's a bit cocky." Ectur raised one of his eyebrows but soon scrapped the expression to smile at Hermione. "Seeker, right here, at your service."

"Come on, Hermione. It'll be nice to go and watch us train. Algie will be there too and at least it will be a moment without having to study and the opportunity for fresh air." Enid arrived, bringing with her a plate of mixed sandwiches. She sat down next to Hermione and gave each of the boys a sandwich and then offered the plate to Hermione, who thanked her as she took it. "Gilmey prepared it for us at my request," Enid explained. "She's a very lovely elf. Who knows, maybe I'll ask her to be my house elf when Algie and I get married."

"You're already preparing for the event? That's quick."

"Yes! Mother and I spent the entire summer looking at wedding dresses. It was so much fun! Oh, Bilius, I'm so happy. Now, Hermione, when I next go for a dress fitting, why don't you come along? Some of my friends will also be there, it will be wonderful to have you there. Mother would so much like to meet you."

Hermione remained silent, but Enid didn't seem to mind as she considered Hermione's silence due to the fact that she was chewing the sandwich.

"Have you picked a date yet?" Ectur asked, wrinkling his nose a little.

"Just as soon as we finish the school year. At the height of the summer in July. We're still deciding on the location, but we'd like it to be in a field, specifically growing camellias."

"Why camellias?" Bilius put the question to Enid.

"They were the first flowers Algie ever gave me. Red camellias, do you know how sweet that is?" Enid gave an emotional sigh. "Surely you agree with me, don't you Hermione?"

"Hm...Yes?"

"Ah, don't you know the meaning of red camellias, Hermione?

My heart burns for you.

Isn't that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?"

Bilius and Ectur fell into a laugh, to the point where they put their arms around their stomachs to appease their laughter.

"I'll never let Algie live this one down." Bilius, with his index finger, wiped the tears from his eyes.

"It's not funny, okay? Only a mature gentleman of responsibility has the decency to show his feelings. Something that by the looks of it, neither of you two have." Enid lectured, hitting both of them on the head with her napkin, before turning to Hermione and showing her teeth in a perfect smile as if nothing had happened. "Oh, Hermione, it's the language of flowers. A silent poetry."

Hermione understood little about the language of flowers, her knowledge was not vast on that topic, even if she found beauty and peace in nature, but only by her own choice. However, the meanings - in general - never went unnoticed if she felt the urge to research them.

"Maybe I can talk to my Aunt Muriel, she has a house near Ottery St Catchpole, she has open fields there, if we do some spell to grow camellias it might help."

Enid's eyebrows rose to almost touching the root of her hair.

"Oh, Ectur! Yes, yes. Please!"

"What's all the commotion?" Algie asked, moving closer, sitting down next to Enid and leaning his back against the sofa.

"Oh, wonderful news. Maybe we'll find the place for our wedding." Enid replied, pouring a cup of black tea.

"To think you guys still have a year for that," Bilius commented, emphasising how Enid seemed to be thinking ahead of time on the matter.

"It may not seem like it, but weddings are complicated. There are so many preparations. It's never too early and I also want everything to be perfect on the day. Oh, I can imagine..." She continued, closing her eyes and resting her head on Algie's shoulder.

"

She won't stop talking about it

" Ectur whispered, no sound came out of his mouth, only his lips moved.

Bilius propped himself up on one elbow and with his other hand, he signalled as if Enid was going a little bit crazy.

Hermione placed her fingertips against her lips to stop herself from laughing over Bilius and Ectur's comments, even Algie held back, though genuine happiness was present in his facial expression.

"Hm? What's that?" Enid lifted her head, opening her eyes again.

"Nothing, dear."

"Nothing."

"Humhum,

nothing

"

All three responded at the same time.

"I know you guys are messing with me." She replied. "Including you, my dearest." She slapped lightly against Algie's chest, with a false grimace of anger.

"Well, to the bride and groom?" Bilius suspended a cup of tea as if to make a toast.

"Certainly, to the bride and groom." Ectur reached for a cup and Hermione did the same.

"To the bride and groom." Hermione smiled, lifting her teacup.

Both Enid and Algie took their respective cups in thanks. They toasted and each took a sip, Bilius was the quickest to finish.

"Bleh, I hate black tea." He muttered, visibly shuddering and drawing laughter from everyone.

How strange

, Hermione thinks,

this feeling...

It was easier to explain it as something warm, like when you snuggle in cold weather. It would be so easy to forget, moments like these making her feel this way. But she knows, it can't be something true or lasting, she has no intention of staying here, during this period. She wants to go back, to see her parents and her friends again, however, she was confused and concerned about what she would witness when she returned -

if she and Harry ever did

. The '

if

' is unpleasant, with the imposition of a condition and an uncertain future, Hermione doesn't like such unpredictability.

o0o

Tom learned over time to appreciate watching her as she got ready, there were many processes he frankly didn't fully understand, but the final effect was stunning in his eyes and every move she made seemed strangely sensual. The waves her hair made to be pinned into a bun near the nape of her neck, with a few strands - always rebellious - to decorate her oval face, shone, the gesture of so slowly painting her lips the colour red was inviting and as she lifted her gaze to look at him through the reflection of the mirror, it drew him to her.

He stood up from the armchair he was sitting in as he watched her like a VIP spectator and walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, before offering his hand for her to take so she could get up from the dressing table, Tom led her over to the standing mirror so she could see herself completely. She looked perfect in the straight black evening dress with long sleeves, the fabric of which shimmered and sparkled depending on her movement, but there was still something missing. Yes, he took the velvet box that held the gift he had bought for her, he fastened the necklace around her neck, the emerald colour matched.

Ah, she certainly looked more than perfect.

Placing his hands on her, letting them roam down her arms in a slow caress, the tip of his nose rubbing against the skin of her neck as he let out a chaste kiss or two. His fingers caressed the outline of her chin, watching in the reflection as she touched the necklace he had given her.

He loved it when she was like this because she was one of the many ways in which he displayed the power he had, through her, he displayed the economic power he had gained.

She didn't ask for many things, in fact almost nothing, although he saw her genuine expression of surprise with the jewellery she received.

"Am I not enough?" She once asked. He wanted to say yes, but why does everything have to be a choice? Why can't he have everything? So he did.

Tom turned her towards him, looking into her deep brown eyes, he placed one hand against her face, his thumb resting against her cheek, while his other hand rested on her waist. He kissed her. She would probably have to retouch her lipstick and he would have to wipe his own lips.

That night, when they returned from the party, he would make love to her.

o0o

"Isn't there anything I can do to change your mind Hermione?" Ectur asked, offering his right hand to her as he stood mounted on his quidditch broom, dressed in the Gryffindor quidditch sports outfit. The sun between the dark clouds formed a golden halo when the light touched his hair, quite unlike Bilius whose hair in this light made his head resemble fire.

Hermione gestured in denial with a simple polite smile. Strands of her brown hair flew against the wind as they detached themselves from their braid.

"So you are afraid of heights?" It was a rhetorical question, the conversation in the common toom last night was long and pleasant and at some point, Hermione cited why she didn't ride broomsticks, not if she could help it. "That's something I'd find hard to believe."

"You can go, Ectur, I'll be fine." She meant it. They had already been on the quidditch field for a good fifty minutes, while she was sitting in the stands reading a book of translations for Magical Languages, Ectur, as well as the others, were training. The thought of denying the invitation to come and watch the training occurred to her, thinking that being in the presence of others while she tried to read and make notes might irritate her, but the opposite happened, the open air, the wind and even the sound of the sticks as they hit the balls were a background sound to her concentration. Well, apart from Ectur who would come up to her, again and again, to ask if she was feeling well or comfortable.

While on the one hand it made her feel good or cared for, on the other, Hermione realised that Ectur Prewett had been much more aware of her presence since the

incident at the lake

.

Ectur levitated, reaching more altitude and moving away from the stands while keeping control of the broom. Bilius stops next to him as he fixes his gloves, Ig passes quickly above Bilius and Ectur's heads, and Algie followed close behind, such had been the speed with which they passed that they made a gust of wind strong enough to catch everyone off guard. Ig was the first to raise his arm, with the right angle and a somewhat surprising force, the quaffle was thrown towards the centre ring, drawn like a magnet towards the goal, though the explanation of such movement was simple practical physics. But what appeared to be an inevitable goal, even if the keeper was present in the ring, was not. The quaffle was largely rejected from the goal when the bat hit the centre of the ball, reversing direction to Ig - who deflected in time before the ball hit against the centre of his chest.

"What the fuck?!" Hermione heard Bilius exclaim, as loud laughter was heard. Lestrange proudly juggled the bat, before keeping a firm grip on the object. He raised his eyebrows and then lowered them, completing the expression with a cynical smile. Lestrange knew how to tease someone.

"Uh-oh," Enid muttered.

Dolohov caught Bilius off guard, kicking the base of the broom and pushing Bilius towards Ecutur, causing them both to almost fall, then joined the rest of the team, who were slowly taking over the field. The

green cloaks

had arrived.

Before she could scream or say anything,

he

stopped the broom in front of her. With the agility of a feline, he dismounted from the broom and balanced himself on the protection of the bleachers, letting the broom float as he held it in one hand. Alphard Black was dressed in the full uniform of the Slytherin quidditch team, he had half his hair tied up in a short, masculine ponytail, a small lock of hair falling in front of his face. Alphard smiled at her. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

Although she was going to question him about what he was doing, her attention was stolen as she looked over his shoulder at the field. Now the team from Gryffindor was gathered against the team from Slytherin.

"I wanted to talk to you." Alphard crouched down, still balancing on the protective bars.

"About?" She frowned, in the background, she heard Ig growling against Lestrange and Algie trying to separate the two as the voice of reason.

"I rephrased it. I improved what I had to say."

"Hm? What?" she didn't understand.

"What I had said before." Alphard explained "I still want us to be friends. We are friends, right? I mean, not that we ever go out together or drink together or anything like that. It's never been our kind of friendship. Can that be considered friendship? I like you -" He pointed at her and Hermione automatically made an expression, rejecting. "Not in that way, it's obvious.'' - He shrugs. "But... you understand."

"Why?" She shook her head, the question seeming to catch him off guard. Alphard blinked, the long eyelashes looked like a hereditary Black family trait. His forehead wrinkled.

"Actually, that's a good question." He glanced over his shoulder, sighed, rolled his eyes and then turned his attention back to her. "Do you want to take a walk?"

"W-what-" Before she could finish formulating her sentence, Alphard climbed onto his broom and slipped his arm around Hermione's waist. As soon as she felt her feet were no longer on something solid, she dropped the book she was holding, watching it fall open, the pages wetting, only for her to hold on to Alphard's grip. She screamed, alarmed.

Turning as far as she could, she braced herself against him. Alphard laughed out loud, as if this was a comedy and increased speed as he climbed, Hermione's eyes opened wildly and her stomach churned as she noticed the height she was at and the speed of her descent to the ground, as he made a

parabola

turn, at the same instant her hands became like claws to prevent her from breaking free of him. Looking for a safer place than Alphard's arm, Hermione quickly groped for his shoulders and pulled as hard as she could, unconsciously tugging at his shirt, including the collar.

Alphard's neck resisted the squeeze as he tried to straighten his position on the broom.

"Hermione, you're choking me." He tried to warn her, but she didn't seem to be listening, especially when she was screaming.

And what Alphard means by 'screamed' is that it was loud, like a banshee, rivalling even a mandrake. He felt her squeeze against his ribs and how she lowered her head into his chest to avoid having to see the lovely sight that height affords.

"Put her down" Bilius ordered, stopping in front of him." She's scared, you idiot."

Well, in Alphard's view, Bilius Weasley didn't need to state the obvious, he had already noticed it himself, after all, she was kneading his ribs with an iron grip.

Alphard gradually lowered his height while still trying to breathe through Hermione's chokehold grip and when he was close to the ground and she was still grasping him in the same position, he made a sound with his throat to get her attention.

"Hm...Hermione, you can let go of me now. We're already on the ground."

Hermione lifted her head so fast that she almost hit her forehead against the back of Alphard's head. She was sitting still in the same position as if the muscles of her body couldn't respond to her mind's commands. The colour of her skin was probably green with nausea.

Hermione pulled away from him, her legs wobbly, barely able to support her weight and her throat dry.

In the background, she heard a small audience laughing at her state and even though she felt momentarily weak, she wanted to launch balls into the centre of their foreheads just to shut them up. Falling onto her ass, feeling the icy grass through the fabric of her skirt, her hands served as support and she took a deep breath to get back to normal and eliminate the momentary feeling of panic she felt.

Ectur, Ig, Algie, Bilius and Alphard surrounded her, their bodies blocking any air passage that might help her. Hermione could hear their questions about how she was feeling, if she had been hurt, but her mind could barely reason.

Veronica Grimm, from Gryffindor, pushed each of them away, ordering them to stand back. She lightly slammed her fist dressed in the protection of her sportswear into the centre of Ig's chest to make herself understood. Thanks to her, the feeling of being choked left Hermione and she soon recovered.

Standing up slowly, her legs still weak, Hermione
slowly raised her hand towards Alphard, who understood as if she needed help. In one swift movement, she grabbed his collar and pulled his body towards her, even though Alphard was taller and probably had more physical strength than her, he found himself following the movement involuntarily, caught off guard by her.

Alphard found himself face to face with her and widened his eyes at the fierce expression on her face, his hand immediately releasing his broom.

"If you do that again, you'll regret it." She warned and he fell silent. "Do you understand me?" She asked and he shook his head like a child. "Good!"

Suddenly, he found himself sitting up, legs stretched out and wide-eyed. He hadn't even noticed when she picked up her wand, let alone when she cast the spell. He only felt the electricity run through his skin, up his body until it reached his hair. The straight, black strands of his hair shivered with the static.

Hermione cast a glance at the others, who broadly moved away from her. Bilius raised both hands.

"I didn't do anything, I swear."

Alphard laughed, his laughter was loud. He threw his head back, the spiky earring sparkled with movement. He understood then, she never really hurt him, and the spell wasn't even aggressive. It was something childish, a joke, something he even did when he was smaller to get the rare chuckles out of his brother Cygnus. At most, it made him look funny.

Alphard stood up quickly and ran to catch up with Hermione, who had started to leave, as soon as she realised he was coming towards her she quickened her steps to get away from him, however, she felt his hands on her waist as he whirled her around and reversed the direction she was going.

"Put me down, you

brute

," Hermione said, for lack of a better adjective. It wasn't her intention to offend him and apparently, he understood that, as his laughter increased. As she was lighter and smaller in stature, Alphard swung her around like a doll, though he placed her gently on her feet afterwards. It was obvious he was just teasing her, joking around and something made Hermione think that Sirius' personality when young must have been similar to his uncle's.

Their friendship seemed strange and disconnected from reality, they had never been seen together and didn't even seem to talk, no more than the polite

good morning, good afternoon and good night,

however watching the teasing made those around them feel strange. Alphard was not known for being haughty, but he came from one of the richest families in Hogwarts and lived amongst his peers of equal class, not that the Prewetts were poor, but it was clear that they did not have the same kind of wealth in the family vaults, however, their name has value. If it wasn't for that, the Blacks would never have given Lucretia's hand to Ignatius. For Hermione's colleagues, it was unbelievable to see him, a Black,
interact with anyone outside his circle of close friends, even though he was generally charismatic to the point of being quite popular.

Alphard put his hand on Hermione's head and messed up her hair a little more to get
further reactions, though he should be worried about his own appearance, as his hair had still not returned to normal.

"Hey -" Ectur stopped him. "Enough,

okay?"

With a serious face, he kept a grip on Alphard's arm.

Alphard frowned and then raised one of his eyebrows. He wasn't much for confrontation, he preferred to avoid it if he could. Casting a glance up and down at Ectur, he read the facial expression and realisation came to him.

Ah, so that's really it then.

Alphard knew that look, he'd received too many of them in his short life, God knows how many boyfriends and fiancés he'd pissed off to recognise the jealous look he saw on Ectur.

"Relax, Prewett." He spoke, yet Ectur did not loosen his grip. "Hermione and I are good friends, aren't we Hermione?" Alphard looked at her for confirmation. "Hm? Hermione?" He looked around for her, raising his arms and looking around as if she had disappeared into his clothes.

She wasn't even there anymore, pulling away before she got more involved. Hermione didn't have the patience, the will or charisma to deal with teenage boy dramas, not anymore. She strongly believed that her time for such situations had passed, even without her actually realising it. The reality of the situation she found herself in her true time had robbed her of most of those types of adolescent experiences and now, she believed she was '

adult'

enough - too mature even - for that.

She was making her way to the stands to collect her belongings when she stopped suddenly, realising who was present, she couldn't even contain her expression as her mouth opened into a small 'O'.

It was clear that

He

would be there, with the rest of the sixth and seventh-year Slytherin students. His gaze roved over all the commotion, stopping at Alphard and Ectur and then focusing on her for a moment before his gaze drifted to his feet. Tom picked up the book she had dropped. Wiping the cover of the book with the sleeve of his robe, Tom quickly read the title of the book, before raising his quizzical gaze to her.

There goes another book,

Hermione thought.

He closed his eyes and smiled at her and all Hermione did was swallow the lump stuck in her throat in an almost audible 'glup'.

o0o

He touched, kneaded, felt in his fingers, in his grip, the soft flesh that was her body. His breathing was hot, panting, and he couldn't control himself. His movements were irregular, yet strong. He was at the peak of arousal, the wet sounds coming from the collision of their coupling, skin on skin, as he held her from behind. He spread his hand against one of her small breasts, kneading it, feeling how well it fitted against his palm. With the force of the relentless movements he was making, she leans on the bed with one hand and with the other, she holds the wrist of his hand that was teasing the flesh of her breast. With her plea, he pulls her towards him, her back against his chest, his other hand squeezing her hip, to try and keep her as close as a fuck could allow, the other hand now, making a trail up along her jaw, turning her face, calling her mercilessly for a kiss. A tongue kiss so erotic it would make the most puritanical blush with debauchery.

Ah, the spoils of war.

Victory did that to him. He gets so high, the adrenaline running free in his blood like a drug, the feeling of winning was addictive to the point that he felt restless inside his own skin, with the immense desire to do...more. To take more, to have more, to consume more, to destroy more...more and more. Destroy every single enemy he made throughout his life until there are none left.

And when the battle is won and he has nothing else on which to dissipate his cumulative energy, he goes to her. Because if not her, then some or many will pay far worse until he is sated of something. It is either the pleasure or it is the sadism of his 'reign'.

It's in most people's best interest that he ends up here until the orgasm hits him and his reasoning returns to normal. Restoring his thinking to intentional coolness instead of volatile emotions and bloodlust.

But now he doesn't think about it much, he can't even say he's thinking coherently. All that's happening at that moment is an instinctive knowledge rooted in his brain about how he knows how his and her bodies work together and how they achieve that pleasure that seems to last for such a short time, but is too good to be left out of a lifetime.

Today they celebrate.

That night he wants nothing more than to celebrate beside her, or rather inside her, his - their - victory in a good fuck that would make her twist her toes and grab him for her life.

Then, he promises, he will make love to her, to placate her desires, just as she placates his.

He just wants her to feel the same pleasure and euphoria that he's feeling, and if the juices that are making his cock wetter every time he enters and exits her pussy were any indication, then he's doing a good job.

He feels the half-moon marks of her nails in the strong grip she keeps on his wrist; he stops, gasping, and rests his forehead against her back, stroking her slowly. The non-movement is almost unbearable, but it's no worse than pulling away from her completely; the air is cold compared to the tantalising warmth of the interior between her legs and he wheezes. He takes a step back and she turns towards him, her hands go to his pecs and his remain on her hips, pulling her towards him and this time, he is the one lying on the bed, bringing her over so she can mount him.

He moves further back, more towards the middle of the bed, with her on his lap. Her hands are on either side of his face as she kisses him. He holds her hips and lifts her just to get into position, before lowering her to be buried in her warmth again. There is the intake of air as she feels him inside her, she stops the kiss to focus, to adjust to the position and he smiles mischievously, he has his grip on each of her thighs and urges her hips to move. She rests her forehead against his, her lips separated from his by only a few inches and she undulates her hips, causing him to close his eyes.

It's sensual and erotic at first, such smooth and controlled movement. It's something of hers and he loves it, really, but he wants more than that now, he wants her to fuck him.

He lays down fully and rests his heels on the bed, his hands keeping a grip on her thighs, and starts fucking. She leans on him, spreading her hands on his chest.

He is proud then, as his muscles are fully developed. Although in his school years, his body was very good for his age, he realises that he had by no means reached full manhood, he was just a green boy.

And so did she. Her breasts grew just a little more, the soft curves of her body became more prominent, and this form was simply that indicated in her adolescent body all those years ago when she had not reached the aṕice of womanhood.

"Harder." He asks, taking his hands off her thighs and holding her wrists, bringing her hands to his neck. She knows what he is asking and she squeezes to give him the suffocating sensation. She never squeezes hard, never completes the act, she just squeezes so he can feel her hands around his neck. Just enough to partially restrict his airflow.

He closes his eyes in euphoria, pleasure forming at the base of his spine, in reward, his thumb makes circular motions on her clit, feeling her movements become erratic.

[...]

The sound of the movement they make, the moans and the pleasure, is too much. Soon he will come.

He turns and is on top of her, she doesn't even have time to be surprised when he starts to move. He gets on his knees, holding her legs wide open for him, getting the spectacular view of his cock being sheathed by her pussy several times, her hands are on his abdomen, looking for something to hold onto when she closes her eyes and throws her head back.

Her hair is long and full, spread across the bed.

She comes, her breathe halting
for a moment, the tightness around his cock enough to make him come. He props his hands on the bed to avoid putting his weight on her, as the ripples of orgasm rush through his body and out in spurts.

Her thighs press against him and she wriggles incessantly, seeking friction.

Pulling out of her, he collapses beside her on the bed, their rapid breathing matching. He puts an arm against his eyes, his left hand searching for hers until he finds and squeezes, though her grip is weaker than his, she curls her fingers into his.

After a good moment of recovering from the act, he gets up from the bed. She is still lying there with her eyes closed, still coming back from the waves of pleasure. He envies her a little, that she feels this pleasure for longer, but he is also proud in equal measure to be the man who gives this to her.

He unceremoniously steps on the clothes thrown on the floor and goes to the drinks trolley, where he pours himself a glass of firewhisky and drinks, for her, he pours a glass of sweet dessert wine.

When he returns, she is getting up on the bed, staying on her knees. He hands her the glass and lies down, one arm behind his head for support, his fingers caressing her leg.

She drinks and looks at him. They exchange glances.

"Ours is the victory."

-

"Hermione, what was that?" Enid was following her down the corridors.

"That what?"

Enid turned around, to interrupt Hermione's path, who almost collided with her.

"You and Alphard." She shook her head as if the topic of the subject was clear. "Are you two...I don't know...together?" She tried. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but are you going to have to deal with a large...amount of

fans?"

Enid blinked repeatedly, her big eyes glittering as if she couldn't find the right word to convey her thoughts.

"No!" Hermione promptly denied it, walking on.

"No?" Enid ran to keep up with her steps.

"No!"

"So -" Enid interrupted Hermione's path again. "First Abraxas, now Alphard?"

"Malfoy would be the last person in the world I would look at. Alphard is a friend and nothing more. I'm not interested in either of them." Hermione clarified, to put a prompt stop to the matter.

"Is that so?!" The mirth in Enid's voice made Hermione frown.

They make the curve of the corridor and Hermione stops immediately as soon as she realises that He is standing there, leaning against the wall, looking at the shoes that were not new, but were immaculate just the same.

When he notices their presence, he raises his gaze and pulls himself away from the wall. Tom goes to meet them, his gaze moving from Enid to Hermione.

"Hello, Enid. How are you?" he asks.

"Very well, Riddle. Kind of you to ask." She replies, smiling. "What brings you to the Gryffindor wing?"

With their exchange, Hermione watches intently, undecided between staying or not. To bury the nervousness she feels, she clasps both hands behind her back.

"I would like to speak to Hermione, if possible," Tom answers Enid, but his gaze is on Hermione.

Enid also looks at Hermione, waiting for her response.

"Of course. Please go ahead , Riddle." Hermione finds herself saying, though she doesn't rule out Enid's presence.

Whether he knows what she is doing or not is hard to say, but as always, he finds a way around it.

"I wanted to return this." He pulls out of his satchel , the book she left behind on the bleachers. "There's something else too. I wonder if we could talk in private. Sorry, Enid."

Hermione won't let that happen, she takes the book before it's too late to be in her possession.

"I'm sorry, Riddle, but there's something I need to do. But I thank you for retrieving the book I left. I will not forget your favour." She denies being left alone with him. "Shall we go, Enid?" Hermione entwines her arms with Enid's, as girls normally do, and they walk into the Gryffindor common room, leaving him behind. Here, Riddle has no dominance.

-

There is a clear hierarchy among those who serve the Dark Lord and order of mission importance depending on which types of servants can visit.

On the lowest level was a mass of support, loyal but not significantly important for the Dark Lord to deal with personally, the Death Eaters passing on their master's order. Also non-humans, with varying degrees of sentience or humans under the imperius curse, were on this level.

Snatchers are the second lowest level, yet with greed, they aim to climb higher in the ranks of the Dark Lord, Fenrir Greyback is a notable member.

Above the snatchers are the nascent Death Eaters, but unmarked. Because their loyalty is fragile, but they were useful enough in the Lord's eyes.

The true Death Eaters are the ones who are marked. Who have the honour of bearing the Dark Lord’s sigel. They are the Dark Lord's inner circle, the ones who are intimate with his planning and have far more freedoms than everyone else. Loyal, motivated, experienced, highly useful. The markeds had elite status in the Dark Lord's twisted social order.

For the person who was receiving a 'visit' there was a relative degree of probability of coming out alive depending on which rank was coming for you. Your chances dropped rapidly the higher the rank, but then, when the Lord, in the flesh, came ...

It was a black mass, dark as pitch, a shadow that moved with tentacles, making the air icy, a clear warning that what was bad could and would get worse. Out of the darkness, he stepped, walking slowly, the black mass behind him coalescing into the very shadow his body emitted. The Death Eaters were stunned at the Dark Lord's arrival, as the whimpers of despair grew louder.

His footsteps made a wet sound as the blood on the floor was fresh and he was leaving footprints.

"My Lord, please..." He heard someone pleading. "Have mercy."

But already the pleas? He hadn't even done anything.

He stops, turning part of his body and his face, as he senses her arrival. With a *pop* too audible for the terrifying silence, except of course from the clamouring and crying, she appears.

She walks over to him, her eyes glued to the ground. She has no desire or courage to look at the corpses, but it doesn't feel good to look at the blood trails either.

Lift your fucking gaze. He wants to tell her.

She lifts her gaze and stares at him, soon after standing next to him. Her gaze falls on the people cowering on the floor, some are under the tables and she swears she smells urine somewhere, but the smell of blood is preeminent.

-

It is the night of the Slughorn Club. Tom and his housemates are already present, they drink punch while waiting for Lovegood, Black, Runcorn and Granger.

There is a soft knock on the door before the handle turns and Granger enters. She is wearing a large red jumper that seems to swallow her whole and doesn't look her size, let alone feminine, her plain skirt coming halfway down her calf in a tedious beige, with plimsolls on her feet.

By etiquette, all the young men rose from their chairs in the presence of a lady.

"Miss. Granger!" Slughorn exclaimed upon seeing her. "I am so glad you decided to grace us with your presence." He walked over to her, placing one hand on her shoulder and bringing her to the table.

"Thank you so much for inviting me, Professor Slughorn. It's an honour."

To Hermione, this was as strange as the feeling of déjàvu.

She was placed facing Riddle and Lestrange.

"Miss. Granger." Lestrange is the first to greet her, there is something behind the smile as if he is constantly bragging.

"Lestrange." She acknowledges his presence.

"Hermione." Tom is second.

"Tom." She gestures with her head.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 19. Boulengerina

-

What Do You Fear?

Edited February 2024

Part II.

Loving him was like a losing game, she thought. He would never change, he adapted, it is true, but he never truly changed. Still ... She closes her eyes, her breathing comes out shaky, and he is panting to the point that she watches the movement.

He turns to her, the expression he makes is one of hatred, anger, and agony. His gaze shoots over the magical map he created together with her, the map of the entire wizarding world. He is losing the battle in a very important place, his secret is at stake.

He strides towards it, crossing the map, the spectre of the map shattering before gathering and reforming again.

His hands held her face, he rested his forehead against hers and looked deep into her eyes. His green gaze is beautiful, but it is wild and desperate.

"Go." He asks, and he commands. "But know that I will avenge you. That is a promise and you, more than anyone, know that I do not make promises lightly. I swear, I will avenge you. I will have you back."

He understands completely what he is doing, what Dumbledore and Harry Evans - Potter, are making him do. Like in a chess move, he is sacrificing his strongest piece, the most skilled and the most feared. His Queen. His Dark Lady. It is a risky move, but he swears, he will get her back.

She tries to smile, to appease the decision he is making and his heart fills with resentment and hatred for his enemies.

The flames of the fireplace were the main source of light in the room and illuminated as much as it cast shadows on their faces.

She kisses one of his hands that holds her face, and he sighs. She goes and he remains, staring into the void, before breaking everything he finds in front of him.

oOo

Hermione listens more than she participates. Slughorn talks to his students, asking questions about whether they have the same dreams and goals as last year.

When Alphard's voice sounds, it causes Hermione to raise her eyes in his direction. He is diagonally to her left, sitting next to his second cousin, Orion Black.

"I still have the same goals, Professor Slughorn. I will be the best catcher the world has ever seen."

Hermione frowned at hearing his words. Sirius had never even commented on his uncle's wishes about quidditch and she, for one, could not recall any mention of an Alphard Black being a globally celebrated quidditch player, though she could not say for certain as she was not a sports aficionado.

Does he give up those dreams?

It would not be unusual, how many children or young people change their minds over the years. She had a different idea of what she would become before she received her letter to Hogwarts.

Slughorn chuckles at Alphard. "Of course you do, my boy. The way you played last year, I'm sure a bright future awaits you. Those hands -" Slughorn points to Alphard's hands, who then holds them up proudly. "- are absolute gold. Slytherin House will surely be remembered for having one of the greatest quidditch players whoever existed. And what about you, my young Orion? Do your tastes resemble those of your cousin?

Orion gently clears his throats and straightens his glasses with his right index finger.

"I'm afraid we're opposites,
Professor Slughorn." He says, with seriousness and a surprisingly deep, low voice. "I intend to aim higher."

Alphard rolls his eyes and throws an olive stone at Orion's head, who casts a deadly glare at him, but quickly ignores him to continue his conversation.

"The Department of International Cooperation of Magic catches my eye. Recent behaviour has highlighted their incompetence in dealing with certain situations."

Diplomat. Orion brings more serious matters to the table. Hermione, like a keen observer, notices that the students spruce themselves up and look towards Slughorn intently, searching for some political influence he might offer.

"Perhaps we can leave that subject for later, my students? An after-dinner debate? Our minds will be sharper and this gives you time to consider the matter further."

Hermione raises her gaze and is surprised that the whole time she is being watched by Pearl Lovegood. Hermione cannot say how closely Pearl is related to Xenophilius Lovegood or Luna, but she can tell blood runs thick in the Lovegood family, that or certain Lovegood genes are consistently expressive in each generation.

Pearl can be considered beautiful. She has big light blue eyes, almost grey, platinum hair decorated with a dark blue ribbon. Her nose was snubbed and she had small pert ears. Overall, Pearl was thin and diminutive in stature, smaller even than Hermione. Her legs and arms were long, but her torso was small. She had little or no expression at all when looking at Hermione, she blinked infrequently and made low humming sounds. The truth was that Hermione found it strangely intimidating to meet her gaze, though Pearl smiled warmly at her.

Hermione soon realises that she wasn't only being observed by Pearl, Riddle is also looking at her. Not as strangely brazenly as Pearl, but he makes it clear that he was paying attention to her wiles. He is leaning slightly to the left, one arm straight across the table, his index finger making circular motions at the base of his wine glass.

She glances over to Slughorn's side of the table where Eugene Runcorn sits. His arms are crossed, and he is staring at her as if trying to see through her or silently judging her. He was not aggressive, but somewhat studious. Hermione lowered her gaze quickly.

What on earth is going on?

She thinks. Hermione feels intimidated, much more so than before.

Then she realises, that, unlike the Slughorn Club of her time, these students are, in part, more observant, attentive to behaviour and especially alert to questions of social standing.

"What about you, Miss. Granger?" Slughorn's question turns to her and she gets more additional attention than she wants. Her confidence is fading quickly.

"I...well, I'm not sure yet." Hermione tells the truth. "I'd like to make a difference in society, make things better, but being at the centre of attention is certainly not my ultimate goal."

"You? I find that hard to believe." Tom speaks before Slughorn can speak up.

"I confess I share Tom's thoughts, Miss. Granger. You certainly surprised everyone with your student rankings in the previous school year."

She smiles softly at Slughorn's words, ignoring Tom's arched eyebrow and questioning look.

"I've always enjoyed arithmancy, the history of magic, spells, potions and magical creatures. Several branches, and I suppose my indecision lies therein."

"Will I perhaps have a historian or a researcher sitting here today?" Slughorn laughed. "I have acquaintances who might be interested in whatever direction you might decide, Miss. Granger. I see a splendid future and I am certain that I will hear great things from you."

Little did she know how true those words would be. Slughorn would certainly hear much about her.

The dinner was actually interesting and calm, from Hermione's point of view - taking away her nervousness and unease about feeling intimidated - she discovered much more about the dreams and promises of each person sitting at that table. Many of their aspirations, she realises, will not come true or they escape her knowledge and others, well, are just the hint of things to come.

However, it is Tom's words that make her shudder.

"

I would like to be a teacher. Take a Master in my speciality. Maybe even become Minister of Magic."

He speaks with ambition and desire and Hermione cannot say with one hundred percent certainty whether he is lying or not. He is aware that his words appear self-absorbed and ambitious and to maintain the appearance of humility, Tom softens with the next sentence.

"It doesn't hurt to have dreams, does it, Professor Slughorn?"

However, no one seemed shocked or even surprised, on the contrary, perhaps they expected it. That this was his fate. Except, of course, for Hermione herself.

Tom's speech sounds like music to Slughorn's ears, Hermione notices, especially from the warm smile that graces the professor's face. She understands then, that Slughorn did hold Tom in very high esteem and that he considered him the Golden Boy and it was probably him who passed this title on to the other teachers. She could have sworn that Slughorn, despite expecting favours from former pupils, had a fatherly affection for Tom and truly wanted the best for him.

It must have been a great disappointment for Slughorn,

she thinks.

The path that Tom decided to follow.

To chase away the lump stuck in her throat, she drinks some white wine. It is deliciously cool and she sips it covertly, taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes for a moment, and when her eyes open, her thoughts are determined.

It is at dessert that the conversation becomes a debate around the table. She crosses her hands politely and watches with keen eyes and a quick mind.

"Magic is magic, Radalphus."

"No, it's not." He replies confidently. "It's not only magic that makes us different from the muggle and the ... -" Lestrange stops, thinking better of the following words he would use. " - muggle-borns."

He says the words as an insult, it makes Hermione's blood boil because it directly attacks her in a personal way. Because the woman who tortured her arm and defaced her skin with a supposed smear carried the name Lestrange, even if she is not that by birth.

"And what is magic?" She asks, drawing Lestrange's gaze to her. His gaze is heavy and analytical, like an eagle, and he looks frankly surprised, given that this is the first time she has spoken in this debate. "Define magic and what makes us different?"

"We are different, magic runs consistently in our blood, Miss. Granger. Our blood purity has kept us alive, kept our society alive, to admit outsiders would be to exterminate what is left of it. I do apologise, Professor Slughorn, but I have never hidden the fact there are certain valid points which Grindelwald raises that I agree with."

With his reply, Lestrange gained 'hmmm, hear, hear, quite right,’ murmurs of approval from most of those around the table, though Tom himself remained silent, watching, waiting.

"Strangely enough Grindelwald himself agrees that all magical beings can and should have the right to access that world which belongs to us all." She retorted.

"I didn't say I agreed with everything." Lestrange squinted." Though I do agree with the sovereignty of our species."

"We're not a different species from the muggle-borns, Lestrange."

At her correction, Radalphus locked his jaw.

"Allow me to rephrase: The sovereignty of our particular group."

Hermione smiles.

"If I cut off your hand, what will I see, Lestrange?"

Radalphus snorts in derision, yet still answers.

"Blood, skin, muscle tissue, veins, bone."

"What colour is the blood?" She asks.

"Is that serious?" He raises an eyebrow. "I thought we were having an adult debate here."

Hermione just inhales, waiting for his response. "Red," Lestrange replies.

"If I cut off the hand of a muggle or a muggleborn, what will I see?" The question is rhetorical. "Isn't it the same colour as our blood? My point is that biologically we are the same, we originate from the same ancestors. What I believe separates us is our brains. Although, anatomically, they are also identical. What differentiates us is our worldview. No one knows what magic is, only that, like the human race, it originated in Africa. My theory is that magic is nothing more than our ability to control matter in a way that is specifically different from the muggles, well... scientifically speaking -..."

"Atoms," Tom concluded for her. He was paying attention to what she was saying, a little fascinated.

Hermione looked at him, noting how he seemed to be following her reasoning. "Correct."

"Still, your explanation did not remove my assertion, Miss. Granger. On the contrary, it seemed to enforce my argument." Lestrange punctuated his words with his index and middle finger against the table.

"Isn't it obvious?" She raised one of her eyebrows. "Every time the wizarding world has decided to fight against the muggle world, there have been significant losses Lestrange, and it hasn't been on their side." Hermione's speech left the table silent. "Every time we've fought against the muggles, we've lost. The Witch Hunt is, perhaps, the pinnacle of defeat. We are, by and large, a small population that seems to further decline every decade." Her gaze went from Lestrange to Professor Slughorn. "To win in a, supposed, war we have all to be focused on one goal. This is difficult, because politics is complicated and fractious, and there will always be opposition, and opposition is definitely
division. And division is separation, which results in fewer numbers of witches and wizards behind one goal, Lestrange." She looked at him again.

His jaw was hard with a locked smile that was a not-so-happy expression.

"I never asked,

Miss,

but you are a descendant of Hector-Granger, correct?"

Hermione's mind briefly fretted at his questioning of her descent, it wasn't the first time someone had asked that question, but she had never looked deeply into whether or not she was related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, because to her, it didn't matter. Not knowing how to answer, she was saved by the curfew with Professor Slughorn alerting them all that it was time to depart, though everyone at the table seemed to have expected an answer from her, except Alphard of course, who grimaced, knowing just where this conversation was heading.

At the sound of the third chime of the clock, all the students rose from the table, looking at Slughorn, asking for silent permission to leave.

Saying goodbye, Eugene was the first to the door, opening it and gesturing so that she and Pearl could retire from the room first. Pearl smoothed out the navy blue skirt she was wearing, before walking over. Hermione, even though she wasn't friends with Pearl or Eugene, hoped to make her way back with them, given the fact that they will be taking almost the same route to their respective common Rroms.

"Miss. Granger?" Slughorn called out to her and causing everyone to pause for a moment. "Tomorrow, before first class, I would appreciate a moment of your time please."

She paused for a moment. "Hm... of course, professor." Hermione tried to smile. It was something unexpected. The Slytherin boys looked at each other, Eugene arched one of his eyebrows, but Tom looked from her to Slughorn and lowered his gaze, his fingers working incessantly on the ring, a mania he acquired whenever he was thoughtful.

In the corridor, the group of students parted going in opposite ways. As the Slytherins, who were the greater number, were heading back to their common room, Lestrange paused for a moment, watching Hermione and narrowed his eyes. His jaw locked and a restrained smile indicated some mischievous thought circulating in his little head, which sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.

She shifted her gaze from Lestrange, who had just turned his back on her, to Tom. His body position was half-turned in her direction. Tom met her gaze and although he was not particularly expressive, his eyes were green pools of indecipherable emotion. Hermione, for once, wished she was a legilimens.

"Good night, Tom." She tried. He delighted in making her uneasy with silence, especially when he scanned her up and down. He huffed, put his hands in his trouser pockets and turned away, joining the others. She had come to this dinner to get closer to Tom, laden with ulterior motives, but it seemed that what she did was to sink deeper away.

Pearl and Eugene were waiting for her at the top of the stairs, though silent, Pearl cracked a smile.

"I appreciate you waiting for me." Hermione sighs.

"It's not a problem, is it, Eugene?" Pearl's fingers intertwined, her hands in front of her.

"Hm," Eugene confirmed but didn't seem interested enough to continue the conversation.

"You know -" Pearl continued. "I am happy for your presence at the Club. I hope you intend to continue with us." Eugene was walking further ahead, letting Hermione and Pearl have their conversation without interrupting. "It was quite enlightening, your theories, although I'm not familiar with muggle science."

Eugene cast a glance over his shoulder.

"And I am largely in agreement about your idea that magic is magic. And that all beings deserve respect. Eugene and I, we sometimes have a tough time at the Club when we try to make a point, don't we, Eugene? All beings are alive in some way, Miss. Granger. Even the rocks. I listen, you know? They talk to me."

"Pearl, please don't start." Eugene stopped, catching her attention so she wouldn't continue with her strange reverie.

Their path split here, Eugene and Pearl would go one way and Hermione would go the other. Pearl looked down at being scolded, a little embarrassed. Eugene just sighed and shook his head, solving the puzzle that was the entrance to the Ravenclaw
common room.

"I know what they say about me, that I'm weird and a little mad." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I'm not." Pearl declared vehemently.

Hermione, who finds Pearl strange, felt somewhat guilty right after Pearl's speech. Even though she had not been an active participant in the conversation, she was listening to what Pearl had to say.

"I saw it, you know? You and Alphard. He carried you the entire way from Myrtle Warren's bathroom to the Gryffindor Tower." Pearl's big blue eyes met Hermione's as she gestured with her fingers as if they were walking. "I told him that people can die from a broken heart, but he didn't believe me. I have an intuition for certain things. Professor Najla thinks I'm good at riddles and intuition." She said, staring into nothingness. She put her index finger under her chin, thoughtfully. "Hm... but I think it's okay!" The change in the tone of her voice and the cheerful expression she assumed on her face was sudden and left Hermione even more confused. "So is your ancestry, I suppose."

"O- what do you mean?"

"You are a muggle-born, Hermione." She smiled. "Good night!" Pearl turned and held up her skirt so she could skip up the stairs more quickly to her common room.

"Wait! Pearl!" Hermione tried, but Pearl didn't give a second glance.

Hermione's heart dropped to her stomach in one beat. Pearl knew. While Hermione was not ashamed of what and who she was, or her parents, this
was information that should essentially remain a secret.

-

"Hermione?" Ectur rose from his armchair the exact moment Hermione entered the common room. It was empty, the students having retired for the night to their proper dormitories. The flames in the fireplace was the major source of illumination, although other lights were also on, but dimly lit for the night. Hermione was still a little bewildered. "Are you okay, did everything go okay?"

"I think so, I don't know..." Hermione sits down on the carpet, a little numb.

"Aren't you supposed to... I don't know... be happy?" Ectur approaches, hiding something behind him, Hermione notices.

Hermione snorts. "It feels like everything I'm doing isn't working out. Everything is falling apart right in front of me." She blurts out but knows he won't understand the weight of her words. Looking at him moving from one leg to the other, she asks. "What is it? What are you hiding?"

She can see the colour appear immediately on his cheeks up to the tip of his ears.

"Heh...promise you won't laugh?"

She stood silently, waiting for him. The hand he was hiding carried a book. Hermione doesn't quite understand why he would think she would laugh at him because he was reading a book when she had already let it be known that her passion was reading and studying.

"I am not an avid reader - ." Ectur sat down beside her. "I don't spend my hours reading or studying. Nor do I get the best grades; well, that's not sounding too good, I guess - "He scratched the back of his head. "I just have trouble sleeping and sometimes, reading manages to make me sleepy."

Hermione smiled softly. Ectur showed her the cover of the book. The light blue cover made Hermione's eyebrows go up, now she understood why he had asked her not to laugh. After all, it was Swan Lake he was reading.

"It's from Ig."

"Ig?"

"Sort of," Ectur said. He showed the first page of the book, which contained a dedication. "She gave that book to me as a gift. I kind of helped them find each other." Ectur explained. "Mother and Father were always strict, especially about some things, Ig would ask me for help so he could meet Margot. My parents didn't seem to mind seeing me and my brother out together, until... they found out." His voice got sadder at the end.

Take care of Ig for me.

A gift from your friend and sister-in-law,

Margot.

"Margot is the girl Ig is in love with, Hermione. She's a muggle." Ectur tried to analyze Hermione's expression. "Ig was going to burn the book that summer past, but I stopped him. I knew that was not what he wanted to do. He hides it now like some kind of precious possession, he'd kill me if he knew I had the book again."

Hermione ran her finger through the pretty handwriting of the girl she had never met.

"Keep reading, Ectur, I don't want to disturb you."

Ectur smiled serenely and Hermione reciprocated. They read the book together, silently, by the fire.

However, after a good moment, Ig came down the stairs from the men's dormitory with his hair tousled and his sleeping dressing gown open. Ectur, as soon as he realised it was his brother, hiding the book under the cushions.

"Ig?" He asked, concerned about his brother's nervous state. "What is it?"

"I-I don't know, brother." Ig squeezed the fabric of his pyjamas, in the centre of his chest, as if he was hot, and at the same time, sore. "I don't feel right. It feels like something's wrong."

Hermione and Ectur got up immediately. They spent much of the night trying to calm Ignatius, not knowing what made him like this. He had said that he woke up from a nightmare with flashes, not understanding what it was, but that it made him like this. Hermione gave him a cup of tea and said that it would be all right, that it was just a bad dream.

Margot had fled the city of London with her parents and younger brother to a small village on the east coast. They thought they would be safe from the bombing. Margot's story is just one among many similar such calamities, where families fled the big cities out of fear.

Margot, her mother and her father died that night in a bombing raid. Her younger brother was found three days later in the rubble. Orphaned and hard of hearing due to the explosions. Ig would never know what happened to Margot and her family.

oOo

Death has been with him since birth. It never leaves him alone and from a young age it robs him of opportunities, chances and paths he could have potentially followed. Leading to a different life.

So he uses it as a shield and directs it towards others. He bends the rules and does the unthinkable, the unforgivable. The dance with Death will be eternal. The game of cat and mouse will never end. Ah, love, however, is the opposite. He avoids it with ardour. For many years he could not say he loved or was loved, nor that his path was crossed many times with the fallacies of what that 'feeling' is.

There is nothing for him about love. She told him there was still goodness in him, he laughed at her and now what he wants most is to say it to her face:

See? Didn't I tell you? I was right!

Because there is nothing left. Because it was stolen from him once more. Because the remnant of goodness, of something good, is in a coffin seven feet under the earth, on this cliff, on this island. Nowhere.

He guards her final resting place like a guardian, dressed in black in mourning. Dressed in black like Death. The sea breeze, the sound of water lapping against rocks, the sun between the clouds; he closes his eyes and inhales the sharp sea air, saline, freedom. He gives it to her. The grass beneath his shoe is green, beneath him she rests, as in a peaceful sleep, in the glass coffin, the magic placed keeping her perfect lest the rot consumes her cold, morbid flesh, lest it steals the beauty she possesses. Even now, he circumvents Death's rules. There is no end to that. But if he will be eternal, so will she, even if it is in sleep.

He didn't quite know what he was thinking of when he cast that spell, or maybe he doesn't want to admit it out loud, but one day, maybe, he'll dig down and pull her out of the darkness of the earth, climb up onto the coffin and admire her beauty once more. Remember and worship her. Maybe he'll lie down on the grass beside her and talk, make plans, and speak about what's on his mind like they did when together lying down on their bed. She'd be still, eyes closed, he'd imagine she's just catching up on her sleep, he'd reach out to her hair and feel the coldness of the glass and that would wake him from the beautiful illusion.

She doesn't sing loudly. She doesn't have an extremely good voice for it, but she makes sweet soft, low sounds that are pleasing to his ears. Sounds that remain in his head, that suit this place.

He smiles at the memory.

It's the good smile, is what she would say.

It's the last good smile he gives.

He partially turns his face to acknowledge the person who came for him.

-

Her fingers knock against the wood of Professor Slughorn's office door. The door opens and Hermione sees a contented Slughorn chatting with Tom Riddle, equally entranced in conversation.

What the hell is this?

She wonders. They both turn to greet her.

"Miss. Granger, come, come. Come in, please." Slughorn gestures for her to come forward, beckoning with his hand.

She takes a few steps, closing the door as she enters. Tom makes a small gesture with his head to greet her, stepping back a little and looking at the books on Slughorn's bookshelf with disguised interest.

"Good morning, Professor Slughorn," Hermione replied. Tom's presence made her curious as much as suspicious. "Have I done something, Professor? Something that has displeased you?" She asked, trying to find answers to Slughorn's invitation and Tom's presence, casting a glance over her shoulder just to find out where Tom now was. He was standing still by the bookshelves, his hands behind his back and looking down at the floor.

"Of course not!" Slughorn quickly shrugs off her suspicions. "You have been extremely brilliant. I must express that I am proud to teach both of you." Slughorn places his hand on her shoulder. "The reason I called you, was academic. You see, Miss. Granger, I have a gift, I know how to recognise the good, the great and the best students and I see you as one of the very best, you have a glow for knowledge that I admire."

Whilst it was good for her ego to be recognised as one of the top students,

again

, Hermione wasn't quite sure where this conversation was heading.

"I was certainly impressed with your willingness to debate yesterday. I must say that your theories caught my attention and from all that I have seen of you in potions, with your experiments, I wish to extend an invitation -" Slughorn continued.

"Ahn... What do you mean?" She cast another glance over her shoulder at Tom, then refocused on Slughorn.

"A study group, Hermione," Tom explained, intervening momentarily, but managing to make Slughorn smile at the interruption.

"Yes, a slightly more selective group than yesterday. Our dear Tom, had the brilliant idea of inviting you and I must say, I agree with him completely."

"This is a group to enhance our studies." Tom's steps were coming closer. "Professor Slughorn helps us, he even permits us to use his personal office and potions bench. By the way, thank you for your kindness again, Professor Slughorn." Tom stopped beside her, her eyes instantly going to him, meeting his gaze in equal measure. He blinks, expectantly and invitingly.

So that's how the Death Eaters started,

Hermione thinks.

Right under Slughorn's nose.

Tom had the professor, the Potions Master, Headmaster of House Slytherin, right in his pocket.

As if something or someone is listening to her prayers, now is the chance to get close to Tom, to obtain what she so desperately wants. However, it doesn't make her any calmer, on the contrary, more than ever she will have to be cautious, skilful and be able to use all the tricks she knows.

"I-I appreciate the invitation." She replies and for a fleeting moment, she can see Tom narrowing his eyes thinking she will decline. "I would be delighted to join and to make the most of our school interests. Thankyou very much for the invitation.
It's wonderful to know that I've been noticed for my abilities."

"It's wonderful to welcome you too, Miss. Granger." Tom crosses his arms. "Didn't I say, Professor Slughorn? It's a shame she's been selected for Gryffindor. I still think the
Hat got it wrong for the first time."

Tom's words make Slughorn laugh, both of them having a private joke about Gryffindor House, something that makes Hermione's hair stand up like a scared cat, but when they both turn to her, she smiles.

"Perhaps, my dear student. Although, I believe the Hat would not put two brilliant minds in one place at the same time." Slughorn says, deep in thought.

The chimes of the clock cut off the subject.

"Well, Professor, I think we have to go, don't we, Miss. Granger?" Tom speaks and Hermione confirms. "We have to go to our first class of the day and Professor Merrythought doesn't like latecomers." Tom straightens the satchel he wears. "Shall we go, Hermione?"

Leaving the room, Hermione walks up the dungeon stairs, heading for the North Tower. She had promised herself that she would never set foot in the dungeons again, but it seems it was a promise in vain, these days she comes here more than her trips to the library.

"Well, what was that?" She asks for an explanation. Tom laughs at her.

"That what?" He stops and arches one of his eyebrows at her, Hermione returns the gesture and shrugs her arms. "It's an invitation."

She looks sceptical.

"You're quite the suspicious one, aren't you?" He places his hand on her shoulder, his thumb accidentally touching the metal of the necklace. Static passes through the two of them, both of them jumping and pulling away more out of surprise than any kind of pain.

They face each other, Tom's hand still extended in the air. He takes a few steps to the side, his eyes never leaving her form, inspecting her.

"It's a type of energy. A kind of magnetic field that's attractive and reactionary. Not painful, it's like something's missing..." His hand goes up, his index and middle finger intertwining with a rebellious lock of her leonine hair. Just like at the Tower of Owls, they pause and look at each other, the morning light seeping through the window panes, touching her face, giving a pinkish peach hue to her skin, highlighting the tiny freckles decorating part of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, her eyes becoming caramelized like honey. She stares at him like a doe and he can see a small amount of fear in that look.

Tom knows, she lies to him. Sweet lies. Half-truths. He knows because he's told so many that he's become an expert at spotting them. She thinks she can play him, but little does she know it was him who has invited her into the trap. He wants to unravel her, to know why she is so harried, why so suspicious, to understand her mystery and what she is hiding.

While it irritates him that she thinks she has the power to manipulate, he is also strangely captivated by the challenge. She is intelligent and skilled, he cannot deny it. And, it would be a waste of such intelligence and skill to fall into mediocrity.

She would be such a good weapon if used correctly,

he thinks.

He has spent the night thinking of how to turn the game in his favour and when to do so, it is necessary to isolate her, to cut the ties that bind her to others. In due time, in the fragility in which she finds herself, then he will introduce her to the Diary.

If the blood that runs in your veins is of pure ancestry...

They heard someone knocking something over and the two turned to see who was observing them. Both Hermione and Tom, half-closed their eyes and peered towards the empty corridor to their right. Tom took a step forward, ready to investigate the intruder, but Hermione soon pulled back, willing herself to run away from the situation. Noticing her evasion, Tom turns also so he can follow her steps.

When they get close to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they can hear Professor Merrythought's voice and some students laughing.

Opening the door slowly, they secretly enter the room quietly, the professor and students distracted by the conversation.

"Ah! There you are!" Professor Merrythought exclaims. "Come on, come closer, Mr. Black."

"Why me?" Alphard asks.

"Don't be silly, come on." She slips her arm over Alphard's shoulders, almost dragging him along, positioning him in front of the sealed trunk.

"I think that's so unfair, you know? Every time it's something terrifying, you call me first. I still have nightmares from my first experience with it. Is the lady in love with me?" It is said as a joke, drawing laughter from the class, including a soft chuckle from Hermione herself, who hides it well through a pacifying touch with her index and middle finger on her lips.

Despite wanting to look angry, Professor Merrythought laughs, though she pulls the hood of Alphard's uniform down over his face and leans against her desk. Alphard makes sure to get his vision back quickly when he hears the

tap -tap of

Professor Merrythought's boot's toe against the wood of the trunk.

The trunk opens so fast that it almost topples backwards, Alphard is already in a fighting stance. The dark mass in the trunk, emitting a kind of white noise of its being, seemed to think, undecided as to what form to take when a nest of rats came out of the darkness.

"Oh, shit-" Was all that could be heard from Alphard. "

Riddikulus!

" He shouted, before it spoke, after all, if there was one animal he hated, it was rats. The monstrous grey rat, abnormally large and the size of a six-foot human being, soon turned into a small, fluffy white rabbit.

"Congratulations Mr. Black, you certainly did better than last time." Professor Merrythought praised. "If I remember correctly, you left here running and screaming down the castle corridors."

"It's not fair. Everyone's talked about it for days." Said Alphard, he didn't seem to have an iota of shame about his faults. But he had learned that the best way to come out on top of a situation was to either take it in good humour or not make such a big deal of it, otherwise, no one would let go.

He turned to rejoin to the Slytherin queue, making faces as Professor Merrythought spoke, making the class laugh, but received a slight hex on his buttocks, cast by the professor.

"I saw that." She condemned him.

Alphard raised his hands in surrender, smiling and giving a wink to his teacher, who rolled her eyes. Professor Merrythought was practically fifty-five years old by now, and even though Alphard wasn't the best student in the class, he was the kind of student who would leave good memories.

Professor Merrythought was observing how fast the students could cast spells they had already learned, before attempting to teach the new defence spells. Because, from sixth grade onwards, the curriculum
became more advanced and it was, for her, necessary for the students' minds to be sharp.

"You know what to do." She commanded the class, who had happily formed themselves into a line, and were much happier and more confident than the first time they had attempted the

Riddikulus

spell.

Hermione made little or no point of being first, second or third she was content to be almost one of the last. Her mind was very much focused on Tom, who left an unrecognisable feeling in the pit of her stomach. His words, so analytical, so sure, a quick learner and observer, that's what he is.

"Are you afraid?" His voice is very close, but it is low and for her ears only.

He is behind me.

She shakes her head, denying it. It's easier to make the gesture because her voice needs a moment to make its appearance. "Look at that, such silly childish fears. Spiders, mice, clowns, crows, the dark, cats… and so on. Childishness, it feels like I'm stuck in third grade."

All the fears mentioned, some continued, others modified, but all were overcome with the laughter of joy. They take a step forward, closer to the Boggart.

Tom wants to change, he feels a constant need to evolve and experience things he's never done before. One of the few things he can say he is he loves, or rather feels appreciation for, Hogwarts, yet at the same time he feels trapped by the norms, morals and ethics and he has to constantly maintain in his role as a good boy.

"It's normal to be afraid of something, Tom. It's natural. Everyone is." She responds and can feel his smile stretching across his face. "Let me see, you're not afraid of anything?" Hermione says with irony. At her core, she is so curious to know what the Dark Lord fears. An answer, a weapon to be used against him. Just like that.

"No, I don't." He is confident, so confident. She almost answers, but her attention goes to Ectur, who is staring at his fear. His mother. She watches his hands shake before he casts the spell.

"So he's still afraid of

mummy

, it seems that hasn't changed."

"It's not funny, Tom." Hermione cuts the sentence off before he can continue to mock Ectur's fears.

"What do you think, hm? Why is he so afraid of his mother?" he whispers, close to her ear. She can feel his breath on her ear and his head above her shoulder, and through the field of vision, she catches a glimpse of the movement of his eyelashes. Hermione is about to rebut, when he says, "Take one more step, we're almost there, Hermione."

Ectur walks past her, the glint in his eye at the sight of Riddle and her, she can feel the fleeting touch of his fingers on her hand as he passes to join the others who have already undertaken the test. The line moves quickly, the students getting Merrythought's approval.

"Your taste in freckled redheads, it's questionable. I expected more from you."

"Why are you like this?" She asks, it's an honest question. Perhaps inappropriate for the moment. She has seen something rare, he was once a quiet, perhaps gentle child. A naive baby, Hermione cannot understand when he has changed. She turns to him. "Don't talk about him." To her it's like,

Don't talk about the Weasleys, don't talk about Ronald, don't talk about Harry, about Neville, about Luna, about Minerva McGonagall, don't talk about everyone else. Don't talk about my parents.

Tom doesn't respond to her.

"It's your turn." That's all he says.

She turns around and finds herself at the front of the queue, Professor Merrythought gesturing for her to come closer. Hermione takes a step, watching the bouncy stuffed monkey that was left by the last student before her. She faces the Boggart, up until that moment, she wasn't afraid, but the bouncing monkey stops with his back turned to her, his head turning unnaturally by one hundred and eighty degrees to face her. The stuffed toy’s red eyes stare into her soul, fixed.

The truth is that I was very undecided, there were many fears within one person, especially within myself, and I was an endless feast for the Boggart.

With a snap, the non-being transformed. A black hole, making

clicking

sounds like the Time-Turning device, the screams.

Mione!

She heard someone shout her name, the sound of glass falling in sequence. The battle at the Ministry. The sound of spells being cast, growls from Fenrir Greyback, The Fall of Hogwarts.

Mione, Hermione, MIONE!

Everything stopped suddenly, silent for a second before a laugh, soft, ironic, melodious, endorsed by madness.

Hermione let out a sigh, freezing in place like a deer, her pupils increasing in size as her eyes burned with unshed tears and her body turned icy and pale.

"

I see you, filthy little girl."

She sings, the exaggerated laughter echoing.

From the dark form, hands with black painted nails emerged, paving the way to make herself present. Her long, dark hair waved over her face, her black dress with a corset, lush, and beautiful. The years in Azkaban never stripped
away Bellatrix Lestrange's alluring beauty.

It was a predatory, wild, untamed, uncontrollable beauty and Hermione knew what it meant, being sucked into her personal fear, which was the sum of many traumas, but encased in the personification of Bellatrix.

She took a step back, and the Boggart, Bellatrix, took a step forward. Although Hermione understood it was imaginary, a non-being, she couldn't connect to make her brain work in that sense, she was just afraid.

"

I'll make you scream, your friends won't save you this time."

She remembers being trapped in the

Crucio

curse, screaming, her mind begging for help, and her body aching. She was close to breaking if it was not for Dobby, Ron and Harry.

Hermione shivered, from head to toe.

Dobby was dead.

"

You won't make it, you'll be stuck here. I'll make everyone see who you are, I'll kill you. Crucio

"

Bellatrix

moves forward so fast, Hermione bumps into Tom, who puts his hands on both her arms, before placing his body in front of hers, stopping the Boggart, which transforms. Turning back into the dark hole, but unlike Hermione, the transformation for Tom was immediate and it was...
nothing
. It had no sound, no movement, it wasn't an animal or a person, it wasn't an object, it was nothingness.

Tom had no fears.

Confronted with a person who had no fears, the Boggart squawked, shrill and high-pitched in frustration. Revealing, perhaps, its true voice, before running to the bottom of the trunk and locking itself in.

If there was laughter before, now everyone was petrified by this strange horror show of the last few moments. Most of the students were frightened by Hermione's fear that had pronounced a forbidden curse, by Tom's lack of fear, and by the true voice of a Boggart, since there are few if any accounts of its true form.

Hermione was still frozen in place, paralysed as she was confronted by her fears, fears that were far worse than Professor McGonagall giving her a bad mark. Real fears that would haunt her for the rest of her life. She stares into nothingness as she is forced to confront the concept, a silent sigh coming from her lips.

"Hermione." It is Bilius who approaches her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She startles and although it is Bilius who is closest to her, her focus goes to Tom, who is staring at her with big, green eyes.

It's not just him, she realises. It's the whole class. Everyone is whispering. It's horrible and she feels pathetic. She does what she does best recently, she runs. Leaving the class without looking back.

Idiot, fool, dumb, dumb, dumb!

Hermione curses herself, using the heels of her hands against her eyes, the fingers in the front roots of her hair. She doesn't know if she's cursing herself because she froze in front of Bellatrix Lestrange, because she didn't fight back, because she's in the mood to cry, or because the words of the Boggart and the memories have affected her so strongly. Cowardly, she runs, she wants to hide, because, in her ears, she can hear

everyone else

calling her name as if she had abandoned them, she can hear the broken glass falling as well as the structure of Hogwarts suffering from the attacks of Voldemort's army, she can smell the rain as she can also smell the food her mother used to prepare when she was at home.

It is painful.

All she knows is that she kneels against one of the benches in the hallway and hides her face in the nest of her arms. She feels useless

, the great and clever Hermione Granger, is here.

Where has the brightest girl gone?

A short time later she hears:

"I found you."

She lifts her gaze and finds Ectur standing a few feet away from her, his breathing quickening, holding his Gryffindor robe in one hand and his satchel in the other. He approaches her as if she were a wounded animal. Cautious and sympathetic.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks. Hermione lowers her gaze and denies it with her head. She feels him sitting down next to her. Silence is everything. "It's not my mother I'm afraid of." He says after a while. Ectur looks to the wall, gazing at nothing specifically. "It is of what she represents. Of the control, she has over my future. The suffocation of family expectations. People don't understand if I don't explain it."

Hermione looks out of the corner of her eyes. His expression is both
guilt and sorrow. She can't say she fully understands his feelings because her parents are good, no, they are great parents. Who always tried to be as supportive as possible for her.

She places a hand on Ectur's forearm, to signal empathy.

"...I froze because I couldn't focus on something good and fun so I could do the spell - " Hermione thinks she should say something since he is opening up and confessing to her. "- but every word it said reminded me of worse things. I was in a vicious spiral. It was pathetic." She craned her head, looking at the bench in front of her. "It seems the only one who isn't afraid of something is Riddle."

Ectur frowns, turning his face towards her. "What are you talking about, Hermione? Of course, he has a fear. His fear is strange. In the third year, Riddle saw his corpse, freshly dead, half decomposing and bloated. It was horrible. It was weird."

At Ectur's words, Hermione lifts her gaze.

"What?"

"Well, yeah. That was it. In the third year, when it was Riddle's turn, he saw his lifeless, putrid body. Shocking, to say the least. It was the only time I ever saw him flinch during a spell.”

This makes Hermione analyse Tom’s actions; being afraid of death, is...well, basically, that’s normal. But it's not something you're constantly thinking about on a day-to-day basis. You don't wake up on a Sunday morning thinking you're going to die crossing the street or taking a shower, nor does it even stop you from living life normally.

But as she thinks more carefully, she can see the reason, the irrational fear that has controlled Tom to the point where he created

Horcruxes

.

Is that why?

The dark cloak of Death was upon him long before he was aware of it, he should not make it the guide to life and yet he has.

Ectur seems to think her silence is some kind of dread - though he’s not entirely wrong - with a mild questioning expression, his features are slightly reminiscent of Ron, and Hermione leans forward without a second thought, hugging him. The movement seems to catch him off guard, as he takes a moment to reciprocate. Feeling safe, she closes her eyes momentarily, savouring and enjoying the comfort, but when she opens them again, she sees him: Tom. Standing, a few feet away, staring in shock at her and Ectur.

Hardly any situations take him by surprise, when they do, Tom tends to keep his expression neutral. He controls as much as he can to not show anything, something that is difficult. When he said he had no fears, he wasn't lying. If he was once afraid of death, there's nothing to be afraid of anymore, not when he can't die - at least not in a conventional way. All the other factors can be controlled, remedied and masterfully overcome.

However, what he saw in the classroom did not make him afraid, but surprised him, when yet another piece of the puzzle connected about Hermione Granger and made sense.

A witch,

he remembers her voice.

Would you kill her if you had the chance?

He asked.

He would have gloated at everyone's expressions, had he not been involved in the situation himself. Tom had made a gesture to hold her, but she had moved, turned her back and ran as if her robes were on fire. It didn't take long for Prewett to follow her,

the knight in shining armor,

Tom rolled his eyes.

Now he was here, watching her throw herself into the red-haired freckled man's arms like a lover. Watching the scene, made his stomach lurch and he unconsciously clenched his hands into fists. He gritted his teeth when he saw her reveling in the embrace, but especially when he saw Prewett tightening his arms around her body, reciprocating.

Then she opens her eyes and looks directly at him, staring. Mysteriously, her brown eyes paralysed him for a moment. Luring, insinuating, probably taunting him, as if to say: see me with another.

Tom clenches his jaw.

He desperately wants to curse her, Prewett, them both. His fingers twitch, eager to lower his wand from its holster.

He turns and walks away, with quick steps, angry looks and disgust, he doesn't want to analyse these emotions deeply, especially the reason behind them.

oOo

Someone had broken into her sepulchre, stolen her jewellery, and denigrated her final resting place. He is furious. How dare they? He thinks.

The sight of the island disgusts and infuriates him in equal measure, as well as awakening anguish in his chest. A feeling he does not want.

The island, once a natural paradise, is now a port island, with metallic sounds, machinery, cement, smoke, and the smell of gas. He stares at it, not understanding.

How long has he stopped visiting, that Nowhere has now turned into...this?

He searches for the cliff, the cliff where she should be. The advance of the sea caused coastal erosion. Although where she was buried had been designated a protected nature reserve, it hasn’t protected her. The cliff collapsed suddenly last night, large amounts of earth and rock falling away and taking with them, her coffin, into the deep and almost eternal darkness of the sea.

When she looked at the sea and the sun on afternoons on the beach, was it her destiny that she saw? He wonders.

Nowhere, no longer exists.

Under the eyelids of his closed eyes, he feels the sunlight diminishing, the sky darkening, the wind getting stronger, and the clouds darkening. Which is the beginning of a storm. Which is the beginning of chaos.

He looks at the landscape that has become dark, the sea seems infinite and turbulent. His face is expressionless, somehow even strangely angelic.

The muggle world now knows the Death Eaters. The muggle world knows the Dark Lord.

-

He's more withdrawn these last few weeks, but much, much more attentive. His eyes are trained on her behaviour. She's showing off, flirting, brazenly.

He thinks, no, he's sure.

Tom folds his arms across his chest, if he ever thought she was different, to him, she is no longer. He can see through her actions, she is no different to other girls, all she wants is to climb the social ladder, get married and have a 'comfortable life'.

Well, Ectur Prewett is an idiot, because he falls for her charms with ease, following her wherever she goes like a lost puppy. It irritates him more than he wants to admit. Tom has never paid attention to Prewett before, the world could end and have a long list of names, he would frown and wonder:

Who is this?

But that's not the case anymore.

From where he is, on the second-floor balcony of Hogwarts, he can see Prewett and her. He watched them talking, and though he couldn't hear what they were saying, it was all smiles and laughter. He frowned to himself, unsure of the feeling that was morphing at the base of his skull. A headache? No, it was too nauseating to be a headache.

Not wanting to watch them anymore, he turns away, his ears picking up a giggle from Granger.

His thoughts don't calm down, not for a moment, all the voices are background noise in his mind. Tom enjoys divination class, Professor Najla is explanatory but not tiresome, however, even though he enjoys the class, he cannot say he is fully concentrating. Working in automatic mode, Tom still manages to be faster than his classmates. The crystal ball in front of him is hazy. He is obsessed with the future, prophecies and all the mistakes he can avoid.

Narrowing his eyes to mist in the crystal ball, he tries to see something, just an insight. There is a movement, the mist is undoing and creating shape, and something will appear...

"You forgot your books in arithmancy class."

Tom blinks, lifting his gaze to her, the tormentor. She makes a confused, innocent expression at his silence.

"Why are you here?" he asks, she hadn't signed up to take divination. She had some kind of disdain for the subject.

"The books, Tom." She gestures. "Professor Finley asked me to give them to you." Hermione turns to Professor Najla and Tom watches the movement of her hair half pinned-half loose. "Thank you, professor, my apologies for interrupting your class." She uses politeness to say goodbye.

Motioning to go, he notices that she's without her Gryffindor robe, so that her Hogwarts uniform is more visible, it's not uncommon for girls to wear it like that, but it draws his attention to her form, the pleated skirt and pantyhose. The whole ensemble, to be honest.

When he turns his attention back to the crystal ball, he is mesmerised, through the reflecting orb he can see that his eyes are wildly open to the image within: blood dripping, he and she standing by a large stone fireplace, someone hooded, she crying and staggering to help someone - he behind her, a dead lioness with a snake sticking out of her mouth.

He stands up, shivering - it's not fear. Attracting everyone's attention, Professor Najla narrows her eyes.

"Mr Riddle?" She's much more sensitive.

Making a gesture with his head, he sits down. The students slowly return to their respective crystal balls.

"Are you okay?" Pearl asks, he just nods 'yes'.

His nights were becoming long and headache-ridden, sitting in the armchair facing the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, Tom watches the fire dance incessantly. He taps his index finger against the arm of the armchair, rhythmically.

In the fire, he imagines what he saw.

His peace is disturbed, by Araminta, coming down the stairs in her long red satin nightgown and dressing gown. Tom arches an eyebrow.

"Still awake?" Her voice is sultry, soft, lyrical even, deceptively gentle. Araminta is as fierce and sadistic as Lestrange.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss. Black?" He asks. Araminta's real surname is Crouch, although she prefers to use her mother's surname and to stroke her ego, Tom often uses it when addressing her.

"I'm not here to disturb you, it's just that,
… company." She leans on the arm of the sofa she sits on. "We can keep each other company." She smiles.

Tom looks her up and down in disbelief, however, he does not comment. Turning back to watch the flames. Slowly he can sense that she is uncomfortable with the silence, that she wants something, biting her lower lip, undecided about how to approach him.

"Tom - ?" She tries again.

"Go to sleep, Araminta. I want to be alone." He orders, not giving a second glance and cutting off her sentence before she finishes.

She gets up and stands for a while thinking he will change his mind, but when he says nothing, she gives up. She's lucky, he could be in a worse mood. He could do things to her of which she would regret coming to him, or maybe not, maybe she would like it and come crawling back for more. Who knows?

Araminta's intentions are clear to him as the sun is to the day and the moon is to the night, but she is not aware of the intentions that call him. It happened again, he masturbated thinking of Granger, mixing his darker side. He imagined himself fucking her after killing Prewett. Bizarre,

fuck,

he doesn't care.

He leans back, resting his head against the backrest, and he thinks of the island. He thinks of her and all the strange moments they spent together. He thinks about the magical static in the locket she wears, he thinks about what he saw in the crystal ball.

That's enough. He gives up, stands up, and makes a decision. The route he takes is hidden and avoids the main corridors, especially when Mr. Pringle may be making the early dawn rounds, although Tom has no fear of confronting him.

But it is in the place of his ancestry that he is most comfortable. The Basilisk sleeps in its resting place, trapped in an eternal sleep until awakened by Tom's call. Even though he misses the huge snake, that is not why he has come to the Chamber, it is for the Diary. As he feels the diary in his hands, the bond with the

Horcrux

practically sings. He opens the pages but writes nothing, propping the journal against the study table, he raises his left hand and holds his wand with his right hand. Aiming the tip of the wand at the flesh of his palm, Tom performs a cutting spell. The flesh slowly opens up, red contrasting with the paleness of his skin. The dermis and epidermis are bruised, blood comes to the surface, the liquid dripping is audible in the eerie silence, and the blood trickles. The pages of the diary drink from the blood of their creator.

So be it.

Let the Diary poison, corrupt and consume the mind of its victim at the behest of its creator.

May the Diary rule Hermione Granger's mind.

For fate is yet another link closing in the chain.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 20.
Hoplocephalus - It's Poison

Edited February 2024

Hermione stares out of the window in a classroom of the castle. It's autumn, leaves are falling, and the sun is shining through the clouds. However, she isn't appreciating the view because she is only thinking about one thing: Am I foolish or naive?
She shudders when she hears Avery laugh. All of the future Death Eaters are present. Hermione could have jumped off a cliff, instead she has only put herself in danger.
So, she sat quietly in the room's corner, looking out of the window with a thoughtful expression, hoping they would leave her be. Sadly, luck wasn't on her side.

Lestrange sat partly on a table in a relaxed position whilst conversing with Avery and Mulciber. Rosier leaned against a bookshelf accompanied by Malfoy, with Alphard, Araminta, and Dolohov following closely behind. Hermione shut her eyes as she sensed the arrival of the last person, knowing she was in trouble.

"I don't understand why you're even here, Alphard," Mulciber said. "I embody creativity and -" he gestured with his index finger, "charisma."

"Where were you last night? We didn't see you at the Club, Araminta," Avery enquires.

Lestrange raises an eyebrow as he takes a bite of an apple.

"I was feeling unwell."
Avery teases, "Girl trouble, huh?"
"Why don't you mind your own business, Avery?" Araminta casts an angry glance towards Avery, who takes a step back with his hands raised in surrender.
Lestrange emits a noise by pursing his lips as if sucking on a straw. "It's hot", he chuckles.
However, his distraction is short-lived as he feels uneasy with Hermione's quiet presence. Lestrange meets the gaze of Avery and Rosier, bites a chunk of the apple, and throws it in Hermione's direction.

Hermione stood motionless for a while, avoiding eye contact with any of them. Abruptly, she senses something adhering to her hair, prompting her to blink and reach for it. Upon recognizing the lump, she glances at Lestrange, who is grinning as he tosses another one in her direction, this time hitting Hermione's forehead.
She gazes at him skeptically and briefly considers speaking her mind, but decides against it and remains silent.Her aloof demeanor appears to irk Lestrange even more, causing him to rise and maneuver his wand. The apple is abandoned on the table.

"Pardon?" Can you not take a joke?"

Hermione sighed, appearing tired, and turned to face him.

"What's the issue?" She spoke in a neutral tone, which seemed to unsettle him.

"You're
the problem."

"Please, specify. Is it my presence that bothers you? Don't you think that's juvenile, Lestrange?"
"You believe you're quite clever, don't you?"

Hermione shrugged, not denying his words. Lestrange seems to think this is an insult and takes a step towards Hermione, but Alphard stands in his way, placing a hand on Lestrange's chest, restraining his advance.

"Hey." Alphard catches his eye. "Calm down."

Radalphus is fixated on Hermione, who is oblivious to any offense she may have caused him. However, she detects a hint of resentment or similar negative emotions in his gaze.

"Come on Alphard, where's the fun?" Rosier queries.

"Why are you doing this, Alp?" Araminta chimes in, while Dolohov chuckles lightly.

"Guys..." Alphard admonishes them, but they back Lestrange's decision, whatever it may have been, with most of them now in agreement.
"That's enough," Abraxas declares, but is unable to finish his sentence as the classroom door opens and Tom walks in, with Nott trailing behind him.

With Tom's appearance, everyone takes a moment to move away from each other, including Hermione, who returns to the window. Lestrange sighs and holsters his wand. Araminta takes a seat and examines her painted nails. Avery, Rosier and Malfoy regroup, whilst Dolohov leans against Araminta's desk. Alphard lowers his head and massages his forehead with his fingers to ease the sudden headache.

"It's not going to end well," he predicts.
As Tom approaches, the commotion comes to a halt. His analytical gaze falls on everyone in the classroom, but ends when his focus stops on Hermione, who is in the far corner.

"What a pleasant atmosphere." Nott ironically comments, with one eyebrow raised.
Tom passes most of them, but stops when he hears Araminta's words."Why is she present, Riddle?" Araminta has the impudence to ask the question on everyones lips, but they lack the courage to pronounce. Furthermore, she is a tad oppressive, as evidenced by her continued inspection of her nails. "Why is she here after attacking my cousins?"
Araminta maintains eye contact with Tom at this point, exhibiting no sign of being shaken, every inch the entitled self-important witch she is.

Tom initially ignores Araminta as her behaviour unsettles him, leading him to believe that it may be necessary to firmly suppress her rebellious spirit before it becomes a problem.

"She's one of us," he utters the same phrase he used on the Hogwarts Express. He then turns his attention to Hermione, challenging her, "Isn't that right, Miss. Granger?"
Hermione quickly scans the faces around her, who now regard her like a test subject, before finally responding,

"I-I suppose so." The initial stammering is attributed to the palpable tension and nervousness in the room. "However, would you kindly provide a definition of 'being with you'?"
Tom's sarcastic reaction, as he crosses his arms, follows the latest remark.

"She's not with us," Lestrange emphasises. Dolohov is about to interject but hesitates when Tom silences both him and Lestrange with a stern glance.

Hermione acknowledges her unwelcome presence among the members of the Black family, who find it reprehensible to share a room with her after the incident in the Slytherin common room. Dolohov is clearly recognised as an enemy, and somehow she has incurred Lestrange's enmity.

Upon Professor Slughorn's arrival, everyone assumes a guise of exemplary conduct. Pre-established pairs leave Hermione isolated until Tom mutters something to Nott, who nods before sitting with Malfoy and Avery, vacating the space next to Tom.
Tom observes Hermione still standing, beckons her over with his index finger and notices her swallowing before taking slow steps towards the desk. She removes her satchel with great care, and sits down next to him, sorting through her materials methodically. He observes that she is extremely systematic, but then he is too.
He leans back against the chair, with his arms crossed, attentive to her but never disconnected from his surroundings. He comes to a realisation that Araminta, along with Hermione, is angry and annoyed. It's evident because Hermione looks stiff, sitting with her back straight and not relaxed, indicating that she is not comfortable.
From his perspective, he observes her head turning slightly to the right, indicating that she is intrigued by something. He traces her gaze to Alphard, who sits next to Dolohov on the opposite side of the classroom. The attempt to conceal the interaction proves futile. Some quiet conversation seems to transpire but abruptly ends when Alphard catches Tom looking and hastily averts his eyes.

Frowning, he notes Alphard and Hermione's behaviour as something he has somehow exceptionally overlooked. He wonders how this has happened, as being lenient isn't in his character.

Memories flood his mind of moments when he saw them together, from the very start of their acquaintance, during her arrival, in Myrtle Warren's bathroom, in the Forbidden Forest, on the Hogwarts train, in the common room ... Tom raises his gaze towards Hermione, but just manages to restrains himself from using legilimency even though he is aware of the occlumency she practices. He feels uncomfortable with her lack of answers and is tempted to be more aggressive. He thinks about mentally breaking down her barriers one by one, since he has been more patient with her than anyone else.

"Tom?" She calls his name, his silence causing her confusion, suspicion, and a hint of fear. He watches as she moves her throat and lips, repeating her question once more. "Would you like me to begin making the potion or shall you start?"

Tom glances at the blackboard, focusing on the list of materials needed for the potion, while Slughorn's explanation fades into the background noise. He rises without fanfare, in unison with his partner, to retrieve the necessary materials and ingredients from the cupboard. As he returns, she deftly assembles the cauldron they will share, situating it on the work surface.He arranges the ingredients, and when she offers to assist, he signals for her to stop and she stops instantly.
"I'll do it. I don't want you to spoil the potion."

Hermione automatically grimaces, confused and rather annoyed by his suggestion that she wasn't fit or clever enough to make the potion properly.

"It's for us to do together, to share. "
"You'll spoil the potion."
"You know better than that, Tom." The way she says it sends shivers down the back of his neck. "Isn't that why I'm here?"

Isn't that why she was here? Why was she here? And this question had nothing to do with the invitation to take part in this group, it was a question that had much more depth.
She's good with potions, he knows. Too good , but he is better. Nevertheless, she takes the knife from his hand and starts to cut the stems of the Angel's Trumpet. He almost reclaims it but refrains since Slughorn is observing them at that precise moment.As she finely chops the stem of the flower into a paste, he meticulously divides the petals. In the distance, the sound of Nott expressing concern over Malfoy and Avery can be heard. Out of the boys, Nott is the most proficient in potion-making.

"I had no idea it would happen like this.” Hermione spoke quietly.

"Like what?"
"Make the potion and research its purpose and history? Well, it's actually quite interesting."

Tom smiles at her naivety.

As he twirls the flower between his thumb and forefinger, he reveals its name: "Angel’s Trumpet." Hermione stops cutting the stem and watches with a keen eye. The light shines on Tom's face from the other side as he appreciates the flower. “The plant contains hyoscyamine, scopolamine, and atropine, making it highly toxic depending on the type. Contact with the flower can lead to mental confusion, tachycardia, and hallucinations. The substance we produce can only be described as -”
"Poison." She completes the sentence for him, her gaze frightened.

"How can something so small be so harmful?" Tom asks, glancing at Hermione and raising an eyebrow. He then throws the flower petals into the bubbling potion in the cauldron. Hermione takes a moment to respond before approaching Tom. The delicate petals disintegrate rapidly in the heated liquid, taking on a peculiar milky appearance. Despite the flames still ablaze, her reflection is visible in the liquid before the sudden cessation of the rolling boiling due to the decrease in heat now required.
He observes her mental preoccupation as she queries,

"Is that correct?"

"Right or wrong? There's no such thing, Hermione. Not if you want knowledge. Don't you agree?"

"W-well, of course... But -"

"But what?" he objects.

But there has to be a limit, a moral boundary, she thinks . Right?
"Tom." It's like a plea and he wrinkles his brow at the tone of voice she uses. "It's poison." There's more in that sentence than can be comprehended on the surface. She places her hand on his forearm, her intense brown eyed gaze peculiarly penetrating.

Tom's throat becomes unexpectedly dry, and he finds himself taking deeper breaths.

"Perhaps it could be an antidote, Hermione," he suggested, shrugging. "Not all things toxic are necessarily harmful." It's not the fault of the plant, just as it's not the fault of a rose that it bears thorns. They serve as defence mechanisms."

"I'm not referring to that, Tom. I comprehend all your statements completely." Hermione blinked a few times, refreshing her confused thoughts. "But I'm sure we shouldn't be learning about how to kill someone by making poison."

Tom laughs.

For those around them, it's a real eye-catcher, as Tom and Hermione's conversation seems to be fuelled by whispers, giggles and every kind of facial expression possible - most of them made by Hermione.

"Hermione, tsk...tsk...tsk." He exhales. “We currently occupy Hogwarts, an educational establishment situated on a precipice overlooking a lake inhabited by vicious sea creatures, as well as a treacherous forest. Therefore, I think that learning to brew a poisonous potion is not something we need to worry about too much.” Tom kneads the cut pieces of stem while Hermione pours a thick liquid from a frog's cerebrum.
"And who mentioned killing anyone? Your evil little mind, huh?"

They poured the entire mixture into the cauldron. In the background, Araminta avoided the liquid from her own cauldron, which almost spattered on her skin. Tom and Hermione gazed at the green shade of the potion, it had a flowery fragrance and the hue of mint gum, strangely alluring and addictive.
...
That shit was poison . And she was right , Tom thought. It would be lethal within ten minutes. Tom retains this information and will definitely add Angel's Trumpet to his apothecary collection.
It troubled him to have to concede that she was correct, although he also had a notion of what the potion was, but it was more complex than that. His annoyance with her appeared to have not abated; on the contrary, the cause was silently still very unsettling and causing him anguish.
He felt a throbbing pain at the back of his head as he realised how he had overlooked facts and deliberately ignored things he had quietly noticed for some unknown reason. But, he knew that was not the case. He got too engrossed in the twisted game of trust with her, which made him stop questioning and diving into the matter. He made many empty promises to himself but did not fulfil any of them.' Who are you? ' he wondered, pondering what he might discover if he devoted himself, as he had to all things in life.His mind was consumed with questions, but he found it hard to focus on anything but his particular obsession. Pausing in his writing, he gazed at her as she continued to diligently work on her task. Her handwriting is drawn, not as much as his, but enough to be noticeable as a child who had worked hard on
literacy.
"Tom?" She looks at him and blinks.
He's done it again, getting caught up in watching. He returns to writing on the parchment, ignoring her gentle inquiries.

Is she on our side? Is she on my side?
No, she isn't.

When did this happen? When did the white flag make her impervious to his actions? He owed her a debt that had already been paid in reality, so there should not be any moral chains stopping him now. However, he acted more recklessly with her than he did with anyone else. Can she be with us? Can he control her? He doesn't doubt his abilities, he can do it. The question is whether it will be the easy way, the hard way or the tortuous way.

What a shame.

He sighs and blots the parchment, gritting his teeth in frustration. He's going to have to start writing everything from scratch, it's not something magic can fix - although he's more than capable of fixing the text with magic - the inconvenience it brings is nothing less than starting again, it's a matter of necessity.

He starts again, avoiding mistakes, so that everything is as it should be; perfect.

o0o

" Be careful with Lestrange. You don't want to pick a fight with him, Hermione. "
That's the advice Alphard gives her. "Don't underestimate him." He believes what he says so vehemently that the normally gentle expression on his face is too serious and angular, making him look much more like Orion Black.

I don't want to. She wants to say. What did I do wrong?

Hermione's heart softens as she feels his concern, causing her to let out a gasp and hesitantly place her hand against his cheek. Despite the ups and downs of their unusual friendship, she feels affection for him and wants Harry to meet him.
Reflecting on Alphard prompts thoughts of Sirius and his paternal relationship with Harry, and the events leading to this point persist in her mind, creating an endless cycle of thought. The repetition is evident.

He appeared to suddenly perceive a sense of sadness as he furrows his brow in confusion.

"Hermione?"
Hermione is confident in her self-awareness, acknowledging that she can be highly critical and judgemental - if she's honest with herself. While she does tend to scrutinise other people's attitudes and language, she is also capable of empathy and compassion, particularly in specific scenarios. She often experiences a sense of anxiety, questioning whether her expressed opinions were overly harsh. Contemplating Alphard's actions in the Slytherin common room - a topic still nagging her like a constant thorn in her side - she tries to empathise with him, questioning if she would have acted similarly.
"Never change," she whispered, repeating a phrase she had previously uttered to Alphard. She couldn't help but ponder the impact his absence would have on the Black family tree, despite her knowledge that he remained fiercely loyal to the family he was born into. Hermione's mind raced as she considered the implications of Alphard's sudden departure. As she recalled Sirius's effusive praise of his uncle, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the assistance he had offered.

He gave her a shy yet youthfully wistful smile in response. Alphard embraces her, and she reciprocates the gesture, tousling his hair as he had done with her on the quidditch pitch. She perceives it as the restoration of their friendship.

Tom scrutinises the scene with his own judgement, feeling somewhat offended and sceptical. He tilts his head from side to side, easing the tension at the nape of his neck. Although he has witnessed their interactions before, this time it feels distinct.
It was Abraxas who signaled by tapping on the shoulder and gesturing with his chin, eyes and eyebrows, to observe the situation happening in the shadows on the opposite side of the courtyard.
"It appears that Alphard has a target in mind."

"Wow," exclaimed Rosier, nudging Avery who giggled slightly.

Alphard was a well-known charmer with a contrived persona, as Tom was aware that Alphard's affability was an act. Additionally, Tom knew that Alphard was the weakest and most vulnerable member of their group.

The two embrace, their torsos touching, she tousles Alphard's hair and slides her hand down to his cheekbone, before smiling.

Who knew?
It seems Tom had underestimated her and her 'miss independent' attitude; she captivated the heirs of the Black, Prewett and Weasley families.
-
Much of her time is spent in the library, where she reads and jotting down her extensive knowledge of magic. On one particular day, he catches sight of her in the library, nestled amongst the tall bookshelves. She sits at a distant table with a candelabrum and a stack of books, her fingers tinged with redness, likely from writing excessively. Her locks, askew with a sweaty complexion, blinking for increasingly longer periods and yawns interject more and more frequently, with desperate attempts to rub her eyes and keep tiredness at bay.
It is the freckled Prewett who comes to Hermione's rescue, offering her a bottle to drink, which she eagerly accepts.

"Come on, Hermione," he says, "put the books away." You need to rest,"

"I need to find something that will help," Hermione says, frustrated and stressed.

"Hermione, I see you studying non-stop, even in the common room.” Ectur gathers the books scattered on the table, methodically assembling them as Hermione watches on, hesitant.

As they pass, Tom fades into the shadows.

Yet, it is on a damp autumnal afternoon that she finds herself in solitude. With closed eyes and a face directed upwards towards the rain, she senses the fresh air and the scent of damp earth.
Realising his presence, she opens her eyes and turns towards him, one hand resting on the protection of the third-floor balcony. A sour expression takes over her features as a thought seems to occur to her, she opens her mouth, as if to say something, but hesitates. He approaches with slow steps.

"What's the problem?"

She lowered her gaze, her cheeks turning a rosy colour.

"You-"

He observes the chill on her skin. He wonders if it's due to the cold weather or his presence.

"There's a potion in that book," she says courageously. She speaks up, finally.
She is referring to Secrets of the Dark Arts. "The Book
that belongs to me and I require it."

His grin is sly as he advances towards her.

"What do I get in return?" He smiles mischievously at her, moving closer.

Shutting her eyes ever tighter. Hermione succumbs, closing her eyes, "Tom," she concedes,

"There's two. Two books."

"I believe one of these belongs to you," she said with increased certainty. "Or rather, it is in your possession."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"What compensation do you wish for the book?" She attempted to negotiate.

"Do you not realise the potential consequences of being caught with that book?" he asked. "Indeed," he nodded with seductive confidence.
She replied, "Only me?"

"Surely you comprehend that I am attempting to prevent you from taking the book without proper authorisation from the Headmaster?"

She grimaces as he mocks her and indicates the excuse he would use. With a sigh, she asks again.

"I understand that you will not give me the book without expecting a favour in return. It seems you have been waiting for this opportunity for quite some time."

"Being patient is a virtue," he says in a straightforward manner.
She forces a smile at his tasteless remark.

"That moment has arrived," he observes she is struggling to speak.

"What do you expect in return Tom?" Triumphantly, he responds,
"Show me the spell you intend to cast, and I'll decide what I want from you."

"That's not equitable."

"It's either that or nothing," they face each other, and her expression reveals an internal struggle about what action to take. It is immediately apparent to Tom that she would concede as her shoulders droop when she realises she is trapped.
"Ok."

Her lips tighten. "Damn," she mutters. "When?"

"Tomorrow evening, in the prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor."

"How can I be sure it's safe?" she wonders.

"You can't be sure." His fingers glide over the centre of her palm, imparting the required password.
The next day, Tom waits for her. The inclement weather prompts most students to retreat to their common rooms, creating a deceptive sense of seclusion. While uncertain of what may occur, he is certain that this "encounter" will not become public knowledge.

"I'm here,"
She fills the silence with her voice. For a moment he thought that she would give up, that she would cowardly not show, but then, she wouldn't be an example of an impulsive Gryffindor. In fact, there was nothing particularly Slytherin about her. Any good student selected for the Slytherin would have found a way to turn the situation to their favour.

He turned around to observe her presence. The Gryffindor robe was absent. Instead, she wore only the female school uniform - a dark grey pleated skirt, white shirt, grey v-necked cardigan
with a red and gold tie in her House colours.
Her shoes created a small rattle over the bathroom tiles as she confidently strode forward, clutching her wand firmly in her right hand.

"The book?"

Tom smiled as she asked about the book immediately on entering. He was in a hurry, but he wanted to enjoy this moment. It is safe? she had asked, and he had been honest with her. There was no way of knowing if it was safe , so he would take this opportunity to exploit her lies. He was no fool, and she wouldn't get away with it this time. The irony of it all?

"It is right there -."

He removed his robe and grey blazer, allowing them to fall to the floor while she observed, narrowing her eyes but still taking notice of his actions.
"Without the book, the agreement will not proceed," She stated. She stepped backwards in response.

"Behind you," he said, pointing beyond her. Hermione turned to see a deep, large bathtub surrounded by fish and mermaid sculptures. The book was located near the stained glass window of the mermaid, whose waves crashed against a rock as the mermaid stared at Hogwarts Castle.

As Hermione attempted to retrieve the book, the face of the mermaid depicted in the stained glass turned towards her.
The sudden movement caused the mermaid's hair to stand on end, and she emitted a hiss, revealing her sharp teeth, which momentarily frightened Hermione.
Meanwhile, Tom approached, giggling, and passed Hermione to retrieve the book himself. The mermaid then returned to her original pose, turning her face away.She observed his actions, but when he presented her with the book, the expression of doubt that had been persistent on her face lessened, or rather, softened.
"What makes you desire the book so strongly?"
"Is that what you require in return? A question?"She responds in jest.
His lips curl slightly at the corner. Tom doesn't fully comprehend why he relishes these witty exchanges with her, or why it elevates his mood, but it does. He withdraws his outstretched arm as she takes a step forward, instantly conveying to him her keen interest.
"The potion, Hermione."
She takes a deep breath and walks towards him with slow steps, lowering her gaze. On reaching him one of her hands smooths the dark cover of the book he is still holding.
"Surprise me," murmurs Tom. Hermione picks up the book and meets Tom's gaze. She lowers herself, sitting in a seiza-like position. After a few seconds, she feels Tom sit down next to her. He is in a more relaxed position, with one leg bent and his arm over his knee. With a quick movement, he retrieves the macabre wand that belongs to him. Hermione swallows her saliva, feeling very watched.

"Tom." She avoids looking up. "Please," she implores.

"Remember, you do not beg?" The words are delivered in a hushed tone, yet they bring to mind memories of her agonies under the Cruciatus Curse in the Room of Requirement, never once pleading for mercy. She had proclaimed it herself in the tent and on other occasions, but it gratifies Tom to savor her despair.

Keeping her gaze fixed on the cover, she opened the book. Although a wicked notion of cursing Tom and swiping the book briefly crossed her mind, she also recognised that she would not emerge from that bathroom unharmed. She browses through the pages of the book, her eyes glancing over the text, and her fingers almost seizing up upon the Horcrux page. She glances at her companion who watches her with such intense focus that it sends shivers down her spine.
However, the potion she seeks isn't malicious, though the methods of acquiring its ingredients may be questionable.

"Here it is." She indicated the potion's description in a hushed tone. With a glimpse from the corner of her eye, she observed his green eyes scanning the text. Hermione sensed him drawing closer, his warm breath grazing her neck as he leaned in to read. A moment passed before he let out a noise.

"Ah-" he exclaimed, immediately followed by laughter. It was obvious he was mocking her. "By all the gods, Hermione, how foolish of you. You won't succeed."

She slammed the book shut, her expression neutral.

"What is your plan? Will you attempt to kill Dumbledore's bird to collect a tear? Who would have guessed it was you?" Tom leaned back, his hands supporting his weight. He appraised her with interest. "I must confess, you are quite intriguing."
"I will not harm Fawkes," she asserts. I never would.

"Do not make promises," he sneers. "Hermione, you are in need of one of the most powerful ingredients in the wizarding world, which, interestingly enough, can heal and even revive individuals. Who is at death's door?"

If her silence were a coffin, the recognition Tom perceived in his gaze would be the lid closing.

"Your friend," Tom deduces. "The one at St Mungo's."
"Tom -" She can't finish, and Tom has no mercy to offer.
"I already know what I want." He steps forward, towering over her, his hand pressing the book down hard. "Let me in."

Before she can register it, she feels a sense of urgency and the desire to grab and take everything it can find, creeping over her mind. She quickly puts up the occlumency barriers.

"A deal's a deal." Tom narrows his eyes. "Keep your end of the bargain, Hermione." He grunted hard. There was an implied threat in his sentence, unsettling but unmistakable.
She breathed heavily, her heart pounding in her chest like the hooves of a horse, overwhelmed by his intense gaze.

"A-Alright," She managed to say between breaths. "Alright." She swallowed, his head gesturing slightly.

Slowly, Hermione places the book aside, avoiding Tom's gaze throughout. Her fingers briefly smooth the cover before she adjusts her pleated uniform skirt, buying herself time.

Tom addresses her with her name, noticing she is still holding her breath and avoiding eye contact. He grasps her chin between his index finger and thumb, gently turning her head towards him. He tilts her face upwards to make eye contact. Gradually, her gaze rises until it meets his. Unusually, he is unable to determine her facial expression or how she is interpreting him. Nevertheless, her pupils dilate and she emits a sigh through her lips.
Tom doesn't waste any time. He appears hurried as he seizes the opportunity to enter her mind. He feels as if he's slamming into the walls of occlumency or her attempts to resist his mental intrusion.
Legilimency is similar to a creeping mist that adjusts its speed in accordance with the user's will. It looks for false or accurate information, embeds visions and apparitions, controls emotions and even communication. The psyche is relative, and thus the legilimens witch or wizard also has to adjust accordingly. This makes it challenging.
The mind is akin to water, occasionally placid, at times surging like a rising tide or even a tsunami. The range of human thought can be likened to a puddle on a rainy day or the fathomless depths of the ocean, as warm and inviting as the Caribbean or as frigid as the Arctic. A skilled legilimens can harness this power to their advantage.
Hermione's mind was a vast expanse, as serene and placid as a calm sea, with unexplored depths that neither repelled nor resisted.
After the initial rush, he focused on stabilising their connection.

With one hand on her cheek, he pulled her closer, unaware of his actions.

Click, click, click... The sounds belonged to her mind, and he went in search of their source. As he realised his goal, he saw flickering green lights and a memory connected to the sound surfaced. It is unclear to him and frankly incomprehensible, but he understands that it is important due to her emotional denunciation.
The sounds blend into a piercing noise of her name, incantations, screams, and conflict. He is unsure of what to seek, distracted by his own self-image, or rather, by her perception of him. All goes quiet and disappears, receding into stillness and vastness.
Far away, he observes her with the small box held tightly in her hands, knowing it contains all her secrets. The mist crawls frantically, reaching for her, but a glass circle shields her "I", surrounded by invisible walls becoming stronger and stronger.
Hermione closed her eyes, attempting to escape.
"No!" He grabs her just as he
completely breaks through the occlumency walls.

"That's enough."

Tom is convinced of his victory in the upcoming fight, now he knows her occlumency shields can be breached.

"Isn't that sufficient, Tom? A deal is a deal," she reminds him before departing with the book, leaving him on his own.

This time she emerged victorious.
But not everything evaded Tom, after all, who is the infamous He Who Must Not Be Named? Or the bizarre green and metallic sands that seem to flow endlessly – are they the product of a fertile imagination or a memory? And that's where her emotions lay. Further probing into the meaning behind it would have shattered the calm of her mind.

o0o

"What exactly is occlumency?" Hermione inquired during one of her occlumency lessons with Dumbledore. She was already familiar with the subject matter and the fact that it wasn't taught at Hogwarts due to its dark nature, but desired to hear Dumbledore's interpretation.

"Occlumency is often misconstrued as a mental barrier, yet it is simply the act of leading the intruder into a calm labyrinth of nothingness," explained Dumbledore. "Passivity, contrary to popular belief, is the most arduous attitude to adopt. We all possess an innate desire to take sides, and it is inevitable that our memories, recollections, and speech are linked to our emotions, Miss. Granger." That's why occlumency is a difficult skill to master, because in order to defend yourself against a legilimens, you have to hide your emotions, which in turn means that you must hide your memories. If not hide, at least control."

"It's almost impossible." She murmured. "All memories, speech and attitudes are triggered by an emotion. Whatever it is."

Dumbledore gestured, agreeing with the thought. "That's the key," Hermione explained.

"The memories are figuratively locked away inside a box in your subconscious. You must clear your mind and control your emotions, but as soon as a legilimens disrupts your calm state, the truth will start to be revealed."

She considered everything she had learned about occlumency so far.

"It's essentially a form of manipulation." She admires the flickering fire in the grate and listens to the flapping of Fawkes' wings from his perch. "A high-level form of manipulation," she states. "It's no surprise that it is one of the forbidden arts.”

“Nevertheless, it's not entirely terrible. Allow them inside but refrain from making yourself comfortable. Admit the intruder, but never give them what they desire. Let them believe they have control, but do not divulge that you are the one charting their course. Allow them to see what you want them to see.”

"What if I don't succeed?"

"It's true that your mind won't simply open like a book, but it will be easier to navigate the more you practice."

—

She was momentarily unsuccessful in defending against his invasion of her mind.
The fear and anguish of having him inside her memories caused her emotions and anxiety to almost reveal the calm facade that protected them.Nonetheless, the book was acquired, but at a high cost she was not particularly willing to bear.
Hermione observed Tom's intense interest, which appeared to have been provoked by her in some way.

"Come here, Fawkes," she beckoned the bird while leaning over the perch. Fawkes, a bird of prey, is larger than a swan and resembles a harpy, with eyes so dark that the iris is barely distinguishable. "Just one tear please," she pleaded.
The bird appeared to comprehend but remained still.

"The tear of a phoenix is valuable. What is your purpose for it?" Dumbledore enquired, positioned in the entrance of his office with his hands clasped in front of him .

Although Hermione enjoyed the freedom of access that Dumbledore had granted her to his office, she was aware that this could come across as invasive.
She took a deep breath and played with one of Fawkes' tail feathers before stating,
"I have stumbled upon a potion that could aid Harry’s recovery.
However, one of the required components is a tear of the phoenix, which possesses potent medicinal qualities." Hermione glanced over her shoulder.

"Any potion that requires this ingredient is of an advanced level. I even suspect it is a relatively unknown potion."

Hermione did not contradict.

"The tear of a phoenix can remedy any physical injury."

"I am not looking to cure Harry's physique, his body. It is his mind that I wish to mend." She did not avoid Dumbledore's brief questioning look. "I have a theory that it's Harry's mind that needs to awaken. As I explained, Harry is connected to the dark wizard I previously mentioned. This dark wizard is present in this time period, but the event that caused him to be linked to Harry has not yet occurred." Hermione's facial expression turned sombre. "It was a connection of the mind and the soul," she stated, grasping Dumbledore's hand. "Harry is a Horcrux . Or he was”

Dumbledore released her hand, and she sensed that he comprehended the gravity of the situation, which had not hit her until this moment.

"How do you heal something that has not yet occurred but its effects can be felt? I firmly believe that Harry is experiencing it." She expressed her conviction.

"And from where did you acquire this potion, miss?" Hermione could detect the disapproval in his words as he placed his forefinger and thumb under her chin, and she lowered her gaze, feeling embarrassed.
"In the same book that describes the creation of the Horcruxes ," she murmured, "There is a healing potion for the soul which is not violent and does not relate to Horcruxes .” She made a swift clarification.

"The soul, being the most valuable possession of any individual. This book may not be suitable for sixth-formers, and possibly not even for adults."
"If I don't try this, Harry might not wake up." Hermione attempted to rationalise her actions. Then she realises her error of judgment. This was not the same Dumbledore from her time. He had not yet fought and defeated Grindelwald, let alone been through the first war against Voldemort, or even understood what had happened to Harry Potter.

She crossed her arms, not as a form of rebellion or confrontation, but as a way of making herself look smaller and less threatening, if that was how Dumbledore was perceiving her. However, she didn't realise how threatening she could be to him, to the one and only Albus Dumbledore.
"Your future self trusted me, just as he trusted Harry and Ron to find the solution. We were and are willing to risk our lives for what is good and for justice. You saw that in us." Hermione paused for a moment. "I absolutely think this book is vile and I've never been tempted to practice its teachings, but I don't see another choice."

Dumbledore listened in silence, before giving her a long look. "Where's the book?"
"In this time? You'll have to find it. The book that I have? It belongs to the future." She turned round, was about to leave when she muttered. "I'm sorry, Professor."

Angel's Trumpet

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 21 Tropidechis - Why?

Edited February 2024

Dear Ectur

-

No.

Scrunch

. Paper ball.

Please,

Ectur -

Very desperate.

Scrunch

. Paper ball.

Dear Mr Prewett

-

Very formal.

Scrunch

. Paper ball.

Ectur, would you like to be my date to the Halloween Ball?

I look forward to your reply.

-Mary Runcorn.

Perfect!

Mary folded the letter.

Well, I hope it's all right. Please, God! Please!

She begged. Her heart hammered against her chest and she felt strange butterflies in her stomach. She clutched the letter to her breast and gathered her courage, her mind begging the universe to fulfil her wish.

Please!

-

Hermione leaned her head on her arms, looking dejected as she sat at the breakfast table. Ectur noticed her gloomy expression and asked, "Hermione?"

However, she did not answer. "Would you like a brownie with strawberry pieces? It's good.”

Hermione declined, however appetising,
she didn't feel like eating.

Lyall Lupin inquired, "What's ailing her?"

While she wasn't focused on the communication around her, she observed a perplexed shrug from Ectur. Hermione was surprised by the stillness when they ceased speaking,
Ectur's clearing of throat broke it.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, while Hermione felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up and met Dumbledore's gaze through his half-moon glasses.

He placed a small, thick and pearly vial next to her on the table, which he is giving her out of kindness.

She stood up, appreciating the vote of confidence he has given, she thanked him profusely.

"Professor Dumbledore…," Hermione whispered.

Meanwhile, Ectur, Bilius, Lyall, and Fred Longbottom watched with confusion but still smiling all the while. Across the Great Hall, a furious Tom Riddle observed the scene with an iron grip on the knife he held in his right hand. He angrily pierced the smoked ham with his fork. His thoughts were highly inappropriate, and if acted upon them, they would certainly result in a lifetime’s imprisonment in Azkaban. The scene left those in the Great Hall shocked and terrified. Avery observed Tom's tightened grip, along with others, but nudged Mulciber quiet before he could ask anything.

Tom’s gaze follows her as she quickly gathers her belongings and walks away from the Gryffindor table without a second glance. Ectur Prewett mentions attempting to follow her, but is halted by Bilius who makes a comment, causing Ectur to sit down with a look on his face resembling a kicked dog.

Tom Riddle promptly rises from his seat without any formalities, leaving no room for interruption or following.

To hell with the first lesson of the day.

He has more pressing matters to attend to.

He discovered her clandestinely entering the potions and alchemy class room, capitalising on the school timetable when the majority of students and teachers would be eating breakfast before embarking on the day's activities. Her appearance was unkempt, and her movements were actually not that covert, exhibiting more haste than discretion. It was evident she simply wanted to obtain what she needed and leave as soon as possible.

Upon arriving at the doorway, he observed her in the room.

"Ah, well. What do we have here?" Tom quickly locks the door behind him and with another swift motion, secures the windows, making the room darker. He notices her close her eyes at the sound of his voice and place the bottle she's holding safely on the table while taking a deep breath.

Tom watches her patiently,
his presence seems to bother her.

Irritated, he asks, "Did you tell him?"

"What precisely did I tell?" she responds. "May I ask to whom you are referring?" Hermione turns to face him, her expression quickly softening to Tom's great delight.

So annoying.

"Who do you think it would be Hermione?" His jaw tenses up.

"Dumbledore has absolutely no knowledge of any agreements we have made."

"So he magically gave you the phoenix tear, from Fawkes, unaware of any details?" He raised an eyebrow, circling the table, slowly approaching like a hypnotic snake, peering down.

Hermione observed Tom's chilly and doubtful expression and the glint of viciousness in his eyes. She understood that being alone with him now was more hazardous than ever before. Hermione doubted she could strike any bargains with him or pacify his malice or curiosity.

"Tom," she ventured.

"Do you believe I'm foolish, Hermione? Do you genuinely expect me to believe what you are saying?"

He articulated the words as if Hermione were a Death Eater-in-waiting.

"I speak honestly." She desired to maintain her position, but the task was difficult as she observed the firm grasp he held on his bone wand, causing her hand to itch to call her wand - that belonged to Harry - from its holster.

"Is that truly the case?" Tom inclined his head to one side. His tone held a slight hint of sarcasm. Both he and Hermione gazed at the bottle holding Fawkes' tear before returning their attention to each other.

"Accio

!" They both yelled simultaneously, the vial
hovering perilously between them as an unseen force tugged it in opposite directions. Upon observing the vial veering towards Tom, Hermione intensified her concentration, and cast her summoning spell stronger. Tom was becoming increasingly agitated at the sight of her determined efforts, and her lack of submission. The visible veins on the side of his face and neck indicated his rising frustration.
In order to release the pent up anger that had been building over the past few weeks, he felt the need to vent.

Anyone who entered the classroom would experience an intense, invisible magical duel underway. Two sister wands wrestled for dominance with opposing desires and remarkable power.

Hermione roused with the sound of the vial slowly developing minute cracks in the glass and witnessed the spectacle from a new perspective. She was taken aback by the intense loathing in Tom's gaze, directed squarely at her. It was unclear what had prompted his anger.

The glass vial continued to develop small cracks, causing Hermione's heart to skip a beat as she anticipated the bottle shattering soon in their tug of war.

"Tom please!" she shouted. The force of her release caused her to overbalance and collide with one of the tables, injuring her hip and elbow. Tom also lost his balance as a result of her sudden movement, but he managed to grab and maintain a grip on the vial of phoenix tears.

She took a few quick breaths to steady herself, as using intense and focused magic had a severe draining effect. Hermione observed Tom, noticing that he was examining the vial in his hands.

A sinister, self-assured smirk spread across his face, causing the hairs on Hermione's arm to rise. Victorious, he raised his arm high with the seeming intent of smashing the object upon the ground. Logically, as sentient magical beings, it would have been easier to shatter the bottle with magic. However, it would not have been as satisfying to him in witnessing Hermione's despair as she watched

"No! Please Tom, I beg you!" she shouted, holding out her hand to stop him.

Tom halted, the top corner of his lip raised. "What's the matter, Hermione? Can't Dumbledore give you another one?"

"I promise you that I didn't tell him anything!" she slowly repeated, her fists clenched, but with her wand still held in one.
The wand tip emitted a bright glow, causing the class tables and chairs to shake. It was involuntary magic. Hermione, an advanced-level student, found it unsettling and illogical. As a rule, she always tried to keep her emotions in check. She struggled with magic that utilised feelings. However, even the best-known wizards
sometimes could not always control themselves.

Tom appeared unconcerned by Hermione's lack of restraint, in fact, he seemed to be enjoying it and mocking her, as he was visibly able to easily draw strength from his emotions, where she could not. The contrast between the two was in how they channeled this power.

"Perhaps you would consider returning the book to the library? It is difficult to predict what Dumbledore or even Dippet might do.”
Hermione suggested. “You could face expulsion, Tom."

Hermione's warning carried significant weight given her positive relationship with Dumbledore. Tom's eyes were the shade of
greyish-green marble. Hard like flint.

He lunged forward with the intention of intimidating or attacking, he didn’t care which by that point, only to be stopped by the end of Hermione's wand. The glowing tip rested against the centre of his chest as the furniture in the room ceased shaking when Hermione eventually focused her magic.

"You underestimate me."

Tom was not afraid or distressed by the overt threat since he firmly believed he was not capable of being physically hurt. Even when angry, Hermione expressed herself by glaring at him.

"Why are you like this Tom?" In that brief moment, Tom recognised disappointment in her voice and enquiring gaze.
"Why do you act in this manner and especially towards me?"

"I have no obligation," he growled. "And certainly not to you, Hermione."

Hermione extended her hand.

"Please Tom, return the vial to me. Otherwise, I swear to God that I'll report everything to Dumbledore and Dippet. It belongs to me. You can threaten or curse me, but Dumbledore will eventually uncover the truth if you harm me - that is certain."

Hermione didn't wait for an answer, her outstretched hand grabbed the vial, then picked up her satchel, storing the other ingredients and potions, never taking her eyes off Tom and never lowering her wand.

"Just so you know, I really didn't say anything. But that doesn't matter anymore… I don’t owe you anything now" She unlocked the door quietly, exiting the room backwards, still facing him her wand pointed. This left Tom with no opportunity to attack her from behind.

Then she ran. He paused to consider and then he gave chase, moving with heavy footsteps, his Slytherin robe billowing behind, reminiscent of Professor Snape. In his hand was the white wand seemingly made of bone. She turned her head to glance back and
saw him pursuing her. As Hermione turned back she collided with someone, causing her to lose her balance.

"Hermione, are you alright?"
Ectur reached out his hand to stabilise her as she regained her balance.

Tom called out her name in an authoritative manner and approached them. "We need to talk," he commanded.

Recognising that something was amiss, Ectur intervened.

"Riddle -," he began.

Tom glared at Ectur, feeling both angry and scornful. "This has nothing to do with you, so please excuse us." He shooed Prewett away with a flick of his hand, annoyed that Hermione was hiding behind him.

Although Ectur felt offended by Tom's demand, he looked to Hermione for guidance about what she wanted. Understanding the question with a gaze, Hermione spoke.

"Come on, Ectur. There is nothing I want to hear," she said, taking Ectur's hand and leading him away from Tom, ensuring their safety.

Tom, however, did not want to be left behind and so he grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Miss. Granger, it is not that simple."

Ectur, sensing the tension between them, intervened pushing Tom slightly, although he was unaware of the reason for their argument. He was not trying to be confrontational, but rather to create distance, but Tom perceived this as an offense, and he swiftly pushed Ectur's hand and arm away.

"This matter is private and does not concern you, so keep out of it, Prewett!"

Professor Slughorn who happened to be passing nearby, and whose stockroom Hermione had recently ransacked, overheard an argument loudly permeating the corridor. Slughorn's surprise was evident as he beheld two of his best students bickering.

"What is happening here children?" he inquired.
Professor Slughorn observed the scene before him, with Tom Riddle and Ectur Prewett in a heated argument, while an uncomfortable Hermione tried to pull Prewett away. They all stopped at once, mouths agape.

Tom was prompt to accuse and point, "Them, Professor Slughorn!"

"What?!" Hermione and Ectur spoke simultaneously.

Slughorn raised his hands in a pacifying gesture as he was overwhelmed by the amount of information. "Please calm down, everyone. Let's proceed to my classroom, shall we? I need to understand why two of my top pupils are having a disagreement."

The trio found themselves seated before Slughorn's desk; Tom occupied the far right, Prewett sat in the centre, and Hermione on the far left.

"What has occurred?" Slughorn queried, gesturing towards Tom. As customary, he offered the opportunity first to Tom, who smirked sardonically at the others in his vicinity.

"I was merely fulfilling my obligations as a prefect sir. It came to my attention that Miss. Granger was searching your stockroom and laboratory without permission." During informal interactions, Tom usually addressed Slughorn as either “sir” or "Headmaster" instead of "Professor," given that he was the Head of Slytherin House.

Slughorn and Prewett appeared taken aback, even shocked, by Tom's account of the incident.

"Miss. Granger?" Slughorn enquired.

"It is a misunderstanding, Professor Slughorn."

"No, it's not!"

"Really?" Tom interrupted Hermione. Hermione countered.

"I was in the laboratory, but I did not take anything
at all from the stockroom!" Hermione stood up abruptly and said to the professor, "I was just preparing and organising some potions that I'm uncertain about so we can discuss them at the next Club meeting." She then proceeded to upend her satchel on Slughorn's desk, urging him to take a look. All that was present were books, parchment notes, some sweets and her small beaded handbag. "I did not take anything."

“And you, Mr. Prewett?”

“Ah... I was looking for Miss. Granger. We had arranged to study arithmancy together," Ectur explained, feeling the weight of Hermione's stare, while Tom's intense attention seemed to pierce Hermione, if possible.

Whilst Slughorn gave some kind of lecture, warbling on, his voice was in the background of Tom's mind, as he watched Hermione, his gaze moving to the objects on the table, analysing, studying what she had
done to hide the ingredients, how she had tricked him.

"There was nothing to worry about, Tom." She said objectively. She turned to Tom before continuing, "While I believed we were friends, I am deeply offended by your behaviour." She then turned away from him in her seat, arms folded across her chest in a closed gesture. The language used is clear, formal and balanced.

"Tom?" Slughorn caught his eye.

"Yes?"

Headmaster Slughorn indicated his expectations to Tom with a nod towards Hermione.

Tom appeared to swallow a lump in his throat before making a sound and turning towards Hermione. She was astonished by his ability to maintain a passive and inexpressive demeanour, finding it actually quite impressive and intimidating given the circumstances.

"I offer my sincere apologies, Miss. Granger, for any misunderstanding and inappropriate behaviour," Tom stated. "I hope this matter does not cause any awkwardness between us but I must explain that I believed myself to be acting properly and carrying out my duty as a prefect. I also hope that we can maintain a cordial relationship without any animosity."

Hermione approached Professor Slughorn’s desk to
repack her bag, there was no denying Tom’s public apology and it had placed her in a delicate position with the Slytherin headmaster. She made a sound that could be interpreted as agreement, "Hmm," before leaving. "I do apologise for any misunderstanding, Professor, with your permission..”.

Both, Hermione and Prewett turned to face Professor Slughorn, with Prewett nodding in acknowledgement. He then offered his arm to Hermione in a chivalrous manner and escorted her out through the office door, which he had opened for her.
Tom watched the scene intently and didn't miss a single gesture, with his primary focus being on Ectur. After Hermione passed through, Ectur followed and closed the door.

"An unfortunate but relatively common error in judgement Tom," he remarked. Slughorn’s voice roused Tom from his reverie, and he inclined his head at the sound. "This doesn't take away from the brilliance of your work, young man." Slughorn paused. "Emotions can momentarily cloud the direction of our thoughts, it's normal to feel threatened."

Threatened?

Tom furrowed his brow, trying to decipher Slughorn's cryptic words.

What was Slughorn talking about?

Tom paused, unsure of Slughorn's meaning.

"The hearts of the young," Slughorn sighed. "But if I were you, I wouldn't let her go. Fight for her, my boy, or young Prewett may take her first. I must admit, I'm on your side."

Tom considered this statement carefully: "What makes you think Prewett poses a threat to me?"

"Well, judging by your physique." Slughorn indicated Tom's fists, which he had not even noticed were clenched. This appeared to perplex him for a moment.

Horatio Slughorn was no fool, in fact, as a good Slytherin he was quite observant, and he wouldn't have come this far if he hadn't been a good and astute teacher. Foolish were those who underestimated him.

You underestimate me.

Hermione's words echoed in Tom's mind;

—

"We weren't going to study arithmancy together."

Hermione was the first to speak. "You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it anyway."

There was silence.

"Did you get them?" Prewett inquired after a moment, placing his hands in his trouser pockets, staring at the floor as they strolled down the hall leading out of the dungeons. "The potion ingredients. Did you get them?"

"No,"
she responded. The lie came easy, too easy. "Do you doubt it?" She asked.

"N-no! I mean... I didn't mean any offence."

"It's all right, Ectur, no offence given." She smiled. "Why don't you go to class? I'll see you later." Hermione proceeded to the Gryffindor girls' dormitory without giving him an opportunity to argue.

o0o

"What is Fawkes doing?" Hermione inquired, observing the bird of prey stretching its wings and preening its feathers, as if searching for something. The phoenix then shook itself, causing its feathers to bristle before resettling into place. A feather came out of Fawkes' long tail, slowly gliding in a spiral towards the ground, but stopped by its owner, who held it in place with his beak, flapping his wings and flying out through Dumbledore's office window to who knows where.

"A donation, that's what he's doing. Fawkes rarely gifts one of his feathers, but he thought it was necessary. I'm would never stop him. Fawkes' loyalty to me is a friendship, I don't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do. That's not how friends work."

"A donation..." Hermione murmured, her gaze falling to the wand in her hands. Harry's wand.

—

What is sex if not human reproduction? What is sex, in a more complicated way, than the incessant search for pleasure? And what about attraction? Isn't it inevitably linked to sexual desire? Natural sexual selection in choosing a compatible partner? Augmented by adornment, perfume, behaviour? Even genetic, psychological or more amorphous qualities?

It's mainly when there's some kind of connection? A reciprocity, perhaps?

THE HALLOWEEN BALL!

FIND YOUR PARTNER FOR THE DANCE.

The Halloween Ball was the talk of the school, with whispers, laughter, and comical attempts to secure a partner. Hermione longed to escape the noise, but she couldn't avoid receiving an invitation to the festivities.

She let out a deep sigh and leaned her head against the cold stone walls of the castle, closing her eyes.

"I know you've done something."

Tom's voice startled her, and she opened her eyes in surprise. He stood next to her, with one foot resting against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. Hermione couldn't fathom how he had suddenly appeared so quietly and stealthily. "You cannot deceive me."

He didn't express any menace, nor did his facial expression suggest anything aggressive. Contrarily, he remained neutral, impassive, and meek. Hermione naturally harboured suspicion about his behaviour, yet she fixed her gaze on the medieval paved stone floor as if it held the solution to all her problems.

"I'm unaware of what you're referring to, Tom."

"Don't play the fool." He cautioned.

Ah, there it is; that behaviour, I recognise it.

"God forgive me for thinking such thoughts." She shrugged while Tom frowned. "I was taught by the best," she sighed.
"What can you accuse me of now? There's no way of proving it." Hermione lifted her head and turned towards him.

He was also staring at her, with a momentary expression of disgust.

"Would you like some advice?" Hermione asked, but he didn't reply.
"Return the book to the library, without anyone seeing."

She swiftly departed, leaving him to ponder her words, but she knew giving Tom time to contemplate was akin to providing the enemy with ammunition. Nevertheless, it was necessary for the ‘greater good’.
The book in Tom’s possession should be returned to the library shelves to allow Dumbledore to locate it and restore everything to its correct order.

She was not doing Tom a favour, but rather herself.

On that night, Tom inspected the contents of his trunk in his dormitory. Tom's eyes landed on the book titled The Secret of the Dark Arts. He gathered his belongings and slung his satchel over his shoulder before turning to leave. However, he accidentally collided with Avery, who was in the middle of putting on his pyjama shirt. "What's going on?"

Avery inquired, noticing Tom's rushed demeanour.

"It's none of your business," Tom responded. Tom interrupts Avery without considering his feelings, causing Avery to feel insignificant and reminding him of his subordinate position.

"Apologies, sir," Avery's voice lowers, but Tom does not have the time to hear his remorse. He strides past Avery and leaves the dormitory. One advantage of aspiring for the position of Hogwarts prefect is the ability to move around with ease during the night, albeit with certain limitations for those individuals who did not hold the titles of Head Boy or Head Girl. Nonetheless, there was a certain degree of freedom that he made full use of.

He made his way towards the library, enveloped by the shadows of the night that concealed his presence. After pausing for a moment to wait for Madame Imogen to look away and let her guard down, Tom seized the opportunity to enter the library. Madame Imogen was taken aback when one of her parchments flew off her desk. She scanned her surroundings to identify the source of the breeze, but found nothing within her field of vision. The candle that never melted flickered, and the library door closed softly.

With a disillusionment spell in place, Tom carefully slipped unnoticed into the forbidden area of the library, nullifying the magical alarms that would report unauthorised
access. He checked the area and he hummed softly as he explored the
restricted books. With gentle caresses, he ran his fingers over their spines, which did not frighten him in any way.

Then Tom discovered the small, obscure slot reserved for the darkest book in the library, nestled between two thick tomes.

Removing the book from his satchel, he performed a levitation spell, causing The Secrets of the Dark Arts to float in the air according to his command. As he heard an approaching commotion, he paused.

Dumbledore's footsteps resounded down the corridor as he entered the library, where Madame Imogen stood up upon seeing him.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, to what do I owe this pleasure? How can I be of assistance?" she inquired.

"Is everything in order, Madame Imogen? You needn't fret - I'm simply here to retrieve a book that should no longer be accessible to the students."

"A book? Which one might that be? Some books can only be accessed with written authorisation from a
Headmaster or teacher. I strictly enforce the rules, Headmaster Dumbledore."

"I know you do and am confident in your efforts, Madame Imogen." Dumbledore turned his back to her and walked further into the library. Madame Imogen attempted to follow closely, but her short legs and high heels made it difficult, especially with Dumbledore's long strides. Madame Imogen's shoes made a constant clacking noise as she briskly followed, clearly displeased that the section of the castle under her supervision was being thoroughly investigated.

"Which particular book are you looking for? I am well acquainted with this library."

"I am certain," replied Dumbledore, before halting and proceeding to the restricted area shelves. With a snap of his fingers, the Secret of the Dark Arts was retrieved from the highest shelf.

Madame Imogen gasped and clutched her chest theatrically.

Dumbledore scrutinised the book like an eagle, his eyes narrowing. "Have any students recently come in contact with this book?" He enquired of Imogen, who took a few steps back at the sudden change.

"No, absolutely not," she quickly responded. "That book has never been taken off the shelf."

"Someone has used it recently."

"That's impossible." Madame Imogen's pince-nez glasses nearly fell off her nose as she denied any student contact with the book. "I can confirm with absolute certainty that this book has not been in contact with any student," she said.

Despite her statement, Dumbledore was more upset than he appeared. Whilst he did not question Madame Imogen's innocence, it was clearly evident from its magical residue that a student had managed to secretly obtain the book. At that moment, a glimmer of light caught his attention from around the book shelves in the far corner of the library.

"Tom, what brings you here?" asked Dumbledore in a composed tone, with Madame Imogen standing beside him.

As he approached, he found a peculiar sight. Tom sat before them, surrounded by scattered papers, taking notes under the flickering light of a chandelier.

"Wh-what's the time?" he asked.

Tom looked up astonished as the questioning attention of both of them was upon him.

"Tom." Dumbledore slowly pronounced his name, and Tom discerned the hidden message behind the tone of voice.

"I believe I've forgotten the time sir. I’m preparing for the next divination lesson on symbology, and I was so engrossed in taking notes that I completely lost track of time." He spoke abruptly.

Dumbledore turned to Madame Imogen, causing her to flinch.

"I didn’t notice him arrive, so I suspect he was already here."

Dumbledore placed the tome on the table, over the exquisitely penned divination parchments, prompting Tom to peer at its cover as if it were evidence of wrongdoing and he was being interrogated. He glanced at the book with a haughty expression, despite bowing his head in front of them.

"Have you read this book, Tom?" Dumbledore enquired, and Tom opened his mouth to reply however Dumbledore continued, "Pretending will not solve anything, young man."

Tom inhaled deeply, expanding his chest, before exhaling. "I did not do anything sir," Tom said as he continued to stare at the book cover.

"Tom," Dumbledore admonished.

"I did not do anything," Tom said as he continued to stare at the book cover. "I am unaware of what you are referring to."

It is not ethical to assert oneself against a Headmaster and a teacher. Although it was one of the most significant statements that Tom had ever made in his life, he continued to insist that he was merely studying for divination and had not committed any wrongdoing.

Madame Imogen interrupted, placing a hand on Dumbledore's arm even though she did not want to infringe upon the Gryffindor Headmaster's authority.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, Tom Riddle is a diligent young man who loves reading and has never violated any rules. It is not uncommon for him to study late, and it is not the first time he has done so; however, this time he has exceeded his welcome." She looked at Tom, not so much irritated with him as with the situation. "I am most confident in the boy's integrity."

It was Madame Imogen who resolved the impasse between Tom and Dumbledore. She reached for the book in question, picking it up. He then gathered his belongings, packed them into his satchel and slung it over his shoulder.

"I apologise sincerely for the inconvenience, Madame Imogen. I promise it won't happen again." Tom nodded respectfully. "Headmaster." Dumbledore's name was not spoken and with a wave of his wand, the candles flickered out. The three figures were immersed in a murky twilight, and Tom was the first to depart, brushing past the librarian and Dumbledore.

The latter watched as Tom left the library, who was looking deeply upset as if unjustly blamed. Madame Imogen clung to the book, dark though it was, it remained a book. Dumbledore now pondered whether his actions had been too hasty.

Outside the library, Tom exhaled audibly, feeling the onset of a headache at the base of his skull. He stretched his neck to both sides, attempting to alleviate the discomfort. With a sense of relief he smiled and thought, "That was a close one," as he made his way back to the dungeons. Suddenly, he paused, sensing a chill creeping up his spine and the sensation of being observed.

This was not the first occurrence.

Being watchful of his surroundings, he scanned the hallway shadows for any movement.

Tom whispered "Lumos." The light beam emerged from the bone wand's tip..

"Who is there?" he inquired, taking cautious steps toward a column from where he had detected a presence. As he drew nearer, he discovered nothing, but the uneasiness didn't wane. His innermost instincts signaled that something was amiss, yet he couldn't determine the culprit. Hermione Granger's name flickered in his mind. It made sense that it might be her; after all, she had encouraged him to return the book.

Now, no longer disregarding the persistent sensation he continued his return to the dungeons.

Later that same evening, as he rested his head on the pillow, Tom gazed upwards to the bed canopy, his mind racing through the events of the past few days. Amidst everything, he concluded that his anger towards Dumbledore remained unsatisfied and, on the contrary, it hurt his ego deeply that he couldn't respond as he would wish. He suspected that Dumbledore had disliked him since childhood and this irritated him like an annoying splinter in his finger. Tom asked why?

The intense desire to hurt was coursing through Tom's veins, causing him discomfort. He felt a blind urge to act, yet remained unmoving.

He squeezed his pillow while turning from side to side, attempting to divert his thoughts. In his mind's eye, he saw a chaotic scene - shattered glass, emerald sand slipping through his fingers, and a faint whispering in parseltongue. It wasn't a dream, nor could it be considered imagination. It was akin to a slightly displaced memory that he struggled to fully interpret.

"Tom!" he heard a sigh, a moan that he first interpreted as a sign of distress, but was soon disproved by a gasp - so real he thought it was right next to his ear.
A chill ran down his spine; he shuddered at the intensity of the sensation.
As Tom struggled to decipher the reality of the experience, he questioned if it had been a dream or a figment of his imagination.

In the morning, he awoke feeling groggy with a throbbing headache like a hangover. Nevertheless, he proceeded to prepare for the day with his customary efficiency, exhibiting his emotions minimally. Nevertheless, there was something eerie in his gaze, a restless gleam that appeared to mirror the remnants of the unsettling experience from the previous night.

As Tom dressed, he tried to push the invading images of the night out of his mind. He was resolute in remaining composed and not allowing the incident to impact him. However, the whispering voice triggered his primal instincts.

Like the emblematic animal of his House, Tom Riddle had been waiting patiently, in his opinion, for too long to seize a perfect opportunity. He was discontent with recent events' progress and the absence of satisfying answers to his thoughts.

Annoyed because she, Hermione Granger, looked, frankly, radiant. As if everything was going wonderfully, perhaps openly mocking her victory against him, because that's how Tom saw it. Her happiness pushed his temper buttons. However, even in the face of this, Tom knew he couldn't be reckless, not with her, after all she seemed to know very well how to play him, so he waited. His moment would come, that much he knew for sure.

Hermione was content and pleased to have found a solution for Harry's well-being. She would prepare the potion tonight in a secure location. She intended to begin without delay. She anticipated the progression of the day, lessons, lunch, afternoon, studies, dinner and discussions in the common room. Time passed unnoticed as she prepared for bed, her heart racing. Resting her head on her cotton pillow, she counted the minutes until the dormitory fell silent. Having established that it was safe to leave without causing a
disturbance, she quietly donned her Gryffindor robe
over her pyjamas and dressing gown, and retrieved her satchel before venturing into the corridors of Hogwarts.

Her goal was to reach the first floor where the statue of Gregory the Smarmy was located, as it concealed one of the secret passages that led to Hogsmeade.

The robe obscured her figure and the hood covered her hair, enabling her to blend into the darkness like an executioner.

Tom was conducting his prefect duties and finishing his rounds when he heard a sound. It was not footsteps, rather a noise resembling something being dragged or moved. He halted, narrowed his gaze and attempted to listen more intently. When he retraced his footsteps to the corridor he had just left, he tried to remain calm, in case it was a student, although he questioned this idea. The person, whoever they might be, was stealthily moving up behind the statue of Gregory, prompting Tom to ponder their intentions. Despite Tom’s identification of the dressing gown and robe as belonging to a student, he
could not identify the individual.

However, it was the sudden disclosure of the lurking individual’s
countenance that piqued Tom's interest.

It was Hermione Granger, sneaking around the castle.
He was perplexed by her destination and the significance of the statue.

Where to? Why the statue?

"Revellium."
With a whispered incantation and a wave of the wand, the statue's back opened to reveal a hidden passageway. She paused to survey the tunnel, then determinedly moved forward. At first, Tom remained in situ, observing as the passage closed and the statue returned to its original position. With slow steps, he approached the bulky white marble statue, its imposing size casting a shadow over him, studying its intricate details. A small smile began to spread across Tom's face.

Muttering the same spell, the passage opened for Tom to enter and he followed.

His heart raced with excitement as he proceeded along the concealed passage. Though he had heard tales of the covert network of tunnels through and under the castle, he had never envisioned the chance to explore them on his own. The tunnel was dimly lit and musty, but Tom persevered, keen to discover its end and what Hermione was up to.

Since he couldn't detect Hermione ahead of him, it was probable that she had already exited the passage.
Tom hastened his pace, spurred on by his inquisitiveness. The moist, dank atmosphere gave him chills, but he refused to halt. He was determined to learn the tunnel's destination. The walls were a rough construction from stone. As he walked, he ran his fingers along them, feeling their texture. However, he soon began to sense wood and detect the scent of fresh earth. Eventually, he could see light ahead.

As the path became narrower, he crouched down to exit the tunnel. The frigid night air embraced him, significantly colder, and the moon peeked through the clouds, illuminating his way. Tom surveyed his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was. It quickly became apparent that he was at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, a long way from Hogsmeade. A thick, partially buried tree trunk was the entrance to the secret passage.

Tom's thoughts drifted to Hermione Granger, whom he saw in the distance. What could she be doing here, on an autumn night and so far from Hogwarts? He followed her determined strides up the hill to a deserted Hogsmeade cottage, where she eventually came to a halt.

The derelict house had stood undisturbed for years, gradually decaying with no obvious incentive for anyone to venture inside, unless inclined to inhale dust and mould. Nevertheless, as Granger gazed from the entrance, her Gryffindor robe billowing in the wind, her intentions were evidently distinct.

For Hermione, the house could serve as a shelter due to its lack of usefulness to society, which made it relatively safe and discreet.
It had not yet succumbed to the notoriety of the screams and shrieks, which would haunt it one day, or the fear that others might have. She found herself standing in front of what would one day become the infamous Shrieking Shack.

It was at that moment she turned swiftly, and the clouds dissipated to unveil the radiant full moon, which illuminated her and her companion's silhouettes in the gentle silver light. Surprised, she said,

"No!"

Unsure of how or when he arrived, and for what purpose, she cries out in a commanding voice, "Do not come any closer!"

He advances up the hill towards her with wide, confident gestures, he appears calm. He momentarily halts in response to her cry.

Catching her off guard, his resumption towards her causes her boldness to collapse like shattered glass, all of which was observed by Tom

"No," she states firmly, while casting several spells to prevent him from coming closer to her. He deflects them all. As he neared, almost close enough to touch, she attempted to flee, yet he grabbed her by the forearms. She twisted around and struggled to break free from his grip, shoving him and fighting for personal space, a tussle that she found herself quickly losing.

"No!" she commanded. "Don't make me harm you, Tom!"

He slammed her against the wall of the house, causing the wood to groan slightly. His hands restrain her while there is just a slight gap between their bodies.

Despite mixed emotions, she is afraid and shaking, causing the wand to slip from her grasp. Her large deer-like eyes fixate on him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The top left corner of Tom's mouth twitches upwards, the start of a triumphant smile. He cannot help but show his excitement this time, especially as she has no choice but to confront him.

Tom observes Hermione's facial features, including her freckles and parted lips. His gaze then shifts to her outfit, which includes pyjamas concealed by a Gryffindor robe, and wellies. Tom expresses a keen interest in the bag she carries.

As he presses her against the house, her breath quickens and her hand instinctively reaches for his chest - though he notes her trembling fingers betray an attempt to still escape his grasp.

There is much at stake, and it is clear who now holds the upper hand. This presents an important opportunity to uncover her deepest secrets, delve into her memories, and to extract all the self-assurance and pride she projects until nothing remains. Clarity and logical progression are crucial for a successful outcome.

He tilts his head and pauses, observing her eyes widen in terror at his expression.

Long, pale fingers stroke her hair back from her face as he lowers her hood, uncovering her tawny mane, dampened by the weather and bushier than normal. The back of his hand gently brushes her cheek.

"Why are you so scared?" he inquires, his smirk conveying a sarcastic, ironic tone. She emits a sound that is a blend of sobbing and hopelessness in the back of her throat.

"Shhh...shhh

," Tom murmurs. Despite this, he genuinely wants to know the answer.

He grins, relishing the terror he incites, but witnessing her tears accumulating elicits a different response. She tilts her head, attempting to withdraw from him in defeat. However, he stops her. He lifts her chin so that she doesn't evade his gaze, and then he truly sees her.

Why?

Why?

This is a question he will ponder later. At present, there is no answer, and he has not yet conducted a self-analysis of this perplexing situation. He does not want to delve deeper because he is not ready to face the potential answers he may uncover. Nevertheless, this does not stop him from what he is about to do.

There is no enchantment, there is no spell, there is no curse. It just happened. Without a second's thought. Longing for more.

He kissed her because he desired it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 22. Pseudechis - The Boy in the Chamber

Part I
He kissed her.

At first, it felt more like he was crushing his lips against hers, a desperate act to satisfy an unknown feeling. Her lips were firmly closed together, although he didn't realise it. He persisted, releasing her arms and favouring her shoulders instead to gain more control over her. He then started kissing the corner of her mouth in a softer manner.

“Let me in,”
Tom whispered. He paused for breath. He wasn't sure if he was asking for access to her tongue or her mind. She gave a soft sigh and opened her lips slightly, which he took as permission. Their tongues entwined with urgency and dominance, eliciting a brief moan from her. He pressed his body against hers, feeling the contrast between his hard, angular lines and her softer more pliant ones.
A small, almost imperceptible sound of surprise escaped as he pulled her closer, the kiss intense, as if he was trying to prove something to himself or to her. He was discovering a new world in that simple touch of lips.As he kissed her, he felt an explosion of sensations in his body. His heart racing and the warmth in her hands. He had never felt anything like this before, it was as if all of his senses were amplified. Her perfume invaded his nostrils and he felt dizzy from that enveloping aroma. He could feel her heavy breathing and the heat of her body against his, but then, she pushed him away and walked away, walking backwards.Her eyes widened in fear and confusion as she raised her hand to touch her swollen lips. Tom could see the shock in her eyes. She shook her head, trying to process what had just happened.
"No..." She whispered, denying it, pale as chalk, tears welling up at the bottom of her eyes.

If Tom could see himself, he too would have looked surprised, but less regretful.

“No-” Hermione repeated, more resolute this time, still shaking her head.

If she had understood him better, she would have comprehended his behaviour. However, it was too much to ask of her at the moment, as she was confused about him, herself, and the tingling chills she felt. Her heart was racing and waves of adrenaline threatened to consume her stomach from inside.

“No.” Her voice sounded stronger, despite a solitary tear running down her cheek. She tried to ignore the signs in her body, but all she could see was that he was being deliberately mean. A torturer.“I can't do this.” Her voice was almost a choked cry. Tom realised that the last sentence was not directed at him; it was more like a thought spoken out loud, her internal reflection.

He watched her walk away in an attempt to get some distance between them and to collect herself. He had never kissed someone like this before. Carefully, he moved towards her, but she pulled back even further. The rejection left him yearning and with a bitter taste in his mouth.

His expression quickly changed from surprise to disgust.
"I despise you." He said in a moderate tone, neither shouting or alarmed.
To be honest, he was struggling with his own unknown emotions. Tom was unable to comprehend why she was rejecting him so vehemently, which only served to fuel his anger. Tom, petty as he was, with his feelings of rejection, refused to admit it and continued to want the last word.
'I hate you so much, you have no idea what I want to do.'
He sneered, although his words sounded harsh and cold, they merely reflected the anger and frustration he was experiencing. His ego had been bruised and he was unsure how to
deal with it all.
Hermione stumbled, trying to gain more distance, her hurried steps almost causing her to trip over her own feet. Tom's anger echoed in her ears.
"No, Tom, you don't understand," she murmured, fighting against the tremor in her voice as she tried to process what had happened. "This... this can't happen."
Tom, in turn, came to a stop, lost in a mix of frustration and bewilderment. He observed Hermione with inquisitive eyes, attempting to decipher what she meant. Anger burned in his chest, but there was something more, something he couldn't identify.
Confusion settled on his face, and for a moment, the mask of disdain disappeared. "Why? Why not?"
Hermione swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Tom's words hanging in the air. She looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of understanding, but all she found was a cold and challenging intensity.
"Because it's not real, Tom," she said firmly, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Whatever is happening, it's not right."
Tom stared at her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What do you mean by 'not real'?" He crossed his arms, defiant."This isn't love, Tom. It's... just an illusion, a confusion, but it's not reality. I barely know you." Hermione took a few steps back, maintaining a safe distance. She could feel the tension in the air, the charged energy between them. Tom, in turn, seemed perplexed, as if he were facing something he couldn't control.
Love? Who said anything about love? Certainly not him.
"You're afraid," he said, more to himself than to her. "Afraid of what's happening, of what could happen. But fear is a weakness."Hermione shook her head, determined.Tom fell silent for a moment, processing his own conflicting emotions. The anger still burned, but now it was mixed with a hint of confusion and curiosity.
"You don't understand me, Granger," he murmured, but there was something different in his expression, something more vulnerable, though she couldn't decipher it herself.Hermione sighed, feeling the weight of the moment. "And maybe I'll never fully understand, Tom."
His eyes fixed on the well-polished shoes, albeit now a tad muddied. There was a faint, patronising smile before he uttered, "So let it be fear."

As he lifted his gaze, Hermione let out a sigh, sensing the shift in his demeanour. For a moment, she froze, before darting off and feeling pursued by Tom. In the darkness of the night, with only the moonlight as their guide, she tried to flee towards the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Her tormentor followed closely behind, albeit more calmly, which in itself was terrifying. To exacerbate the situation, the atmosphere grew unnaturally colder, indicating the presence of unfriendly beings.

Dementors.

Sinister creatures that sensed human presence, driven by their hunting instincts, were swiftly approaching their location. In response, they both halted. It was akin to a swarm of wasps stirred up and heading their way, encircling them. Hermione had no idea about the effects of Dementors on Tom. Tom was human, although she wasn't sure how the Dementors would react or how Tom himself would react to possibly having his soul sucked out.

The Dementors drew nearer, their dark, hooded forms gliding through the cold mist that surrounded them. Hermione could feel the air growing heavier with each step, as if darkness itself were closing in around her. Meanwhile, Tom remained calm, his expression inscrutable as he watched the Dementors approach. He had never faced these creatures before, but something in his mind seemed to stir in response to the imminent threat. As the Dementors drew closer, Hermione desperately tried to focus on conjuring her Patronus, but her mind was clouded with fear and confusion. She knew she needed to act quickly, before it was too late. Suddenly, a strange sound cut through the air, causing Hermione to stop abruptly. She looked around, searching for the source of the noise, and then she saw it. The bright, almost blinding light pushing the Dementors away with a wave of magic. A corporeal Patronus, warding off the threat. A raven.

The Patronus was a raven, which chose to perch on one of Tom Riddle's shoulders. Wide-eyed, Hermione seized the moment of distraction and ran into the Forbidden Forest, much as she had when fleeing from the Snatchers. The Wellington boots she was wearing weren't the best footwear for running and made quite a bit of noise for the dark and silent forest.
As Dementors withdrew, Tom took a deep breath, attempting to harness the adrenaline and channel the energy still pulsating within him. He glanced at the raven, now calmly perched on his shoulder, feeling a mixture of surprise and fascination. He turned to the crow, its form gleaming bright and translucent white, and the raven stared back, tilting its head to the side before flapping its wings and flying into the Forbidden Forest, leaving a trail of bright light behind.Tom found himself engulfed in tumultuous thoughts. This wasn't his Patronus, as he didn't know how to perform the spell, and it didn't come from Hermione's direction, which meant... there was someone else. With a resigned sigh, Tom pushed aside the confusing thoughts and focused on the present, tightening his grip on the bone wand. He knew he needed to find Hermione and whoever else was in the Forbidden Forest. With renewed determination, he began to follow the trail of light the raven left, staying alert for any signs of danger.
Meanwhile, Hermione ran through the dense trees of the Forbidden Forest, her breath ragged and her feet stumbling over roots and stones on the uneven ground. She knew she wasn't safe there, but the need to get away from Tom and everything that had happened was stronger than any fear she felt. The forest was dark and silent, with only the faint light of the moon filtering through the treetops. Hermione felt as though she was being watched, as though something was lurking in the shadows around her. She knew she couldn't stop, couldn't afford to let fear take hold.
Suddenly, a strange noise echoed through the forest, causing Hermione to stop abruptly. She tensed, her senses alert as she tried to identify the source of the sound. Something was moving among the trees. With determination, she raised her wand, ready to defend herself against whatever was lurking in the darkness of the forest. But it was from behind her that she felt the presence, that survival instinct every human has, making every hair on her body stand on end. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the silhouette and quickly turned.
"You!" Her expression turned automatically to anger and frustration. "Who are you? What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?!" She demanded, letting all her negative emotions speak louder, yet receiving no answer. The silence bothered her more than not knowing the identity of the perpetrator of all this confusion.
Why not just attack him? Hermione wondered. Don't be afraid. She gained more confidence and channeled magic into her wand, even though the cloaked figure in front of her hadn't made any threatening moves, even though he was clearly staring behind the charm of darkness that hid his face. What was the point of waiting for some kind of gesture or threat when this person did what they did, leaving her in this mess of life?But the next action surprised her, as it was unexpected to feel arms enclosing her and pulling her into a hug. A tight embrace, which for some reason seemed to convey a feeling of longing.
"What -?" Hermione's mind couldn't even process what was happening. She just felt the person burying their face in her hair, fingers gripping the fabric of the robe she was wearing, and if she weren't crazy, she could swear she heard a somewhat agonizing sigh. If she had any doubt before, it was now clear that whoever sent her back in time was a man, as the body structure was very indicative.
Caught off guard, she didn't know what to do with her hands, which remained suspended in the air. With the same unpredictability, he placed his hands on her shoulders and released the hug, both of them staring at each other. Hermione blinked. "Who are you? What do you want me to do?" She asked more gently. She saw a hesitation, and it was at that moment that the Patronus came. The bright, yet gentle light. The raven gracefully lands on the shoulder of the cloaked person. The image of the situation left her perplexed, and in the background, she heard Tom's call. He was coming for her. Hermione glanced at the highest part of the slope in the forest. If Tom found her, she knew she would be in big trouble.
With his hands still on her shoulders, the cloaked figure pulled her closer, placing his head next to her cheek, and from the darkness where his face should be, she heard the soft whispers in the almost forbidden language that activates the time-turner. Behind her, she felt the magic of the portal just as it happened at the lake.
"No!" She tried to push him away, but it was her who was pushed into the portal. Almost losing her balance, Hermione reached out with the intention of preventing it from closing, but it was too late. Her breathing was heavy, and she found herself looking at nothing, in shock. Hermione automatically hugged herself, practically curling up, not from cold, but from the desire for comfort and survival. Slowly, she turned around, and all she thought was: Where the hell am I?
Tom arrived shortly after, unaware of what had just happened to Hermione. Standing at the top of the slope, he stared and was stared back at, the appearance of not being able to recognize who was looking at him was disconcerting, and yet, Tom Riddle was never afraid of the dark. The Patronus dissolved, the spell's light fading away. Tom stood still, his eyes narrowing as he tried to discern who was in front of him in the darkness of the forest. The figure remained shrouded in shadows, their face hidden by the hood, which only added to the mystery.
"Who's there?" Tom demanded, his voice echoing through the forest. He tightened his grip on the wand, prepared for any eventuality. The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, they remained silent, as if assessing Tom. Finally, after a tense moment of waiting:"Who I am, at the moment, doesn't matter." The voice was calm, almost serene. "What matters is what is to come." The figure responded enigmatically. "And time is about to become your ally and your enemy."
"Reveal yourself." Tom ordered. Unlike Hermione, Tom had no qualms about using force if necessary.
—

"You betrayed me."

She turned to face him, Tom, who seemed much darker than his usual self, dressed in dark attire. Blinking a few times to adjust to what was being said, caught off guard by the insinuation of the words.

"Betrayed?" She repeated, not understanding. The 'welcome' smile that was on her face slowly fading. She was equally well-dressed, waiting for his arrival so they could celebrate what would be a special night.

"You betrayed me?" He asked.

"What are you talking about, Tom?" She frowned in confusion. "I've been here all day. I—" She gestured to the overly long dining table, which normally seemed more suitable for ostentatious displays than cozy dinners, but on this day, on this special occasion, it had been set with two chairs close to each other, demonstrating her desire for intimacy.

"You betrayed me!" He shouted accusingly, hurling the plates, cutlery, and the candelabra, along with the dinner prepared by Dobby at his lady's request, to the ground. In response to such behavior, she took a step back, frightened by his anger. "Harry Evans, or should I say Harry Potter?" He tilted his head in that way only he could, a gesture that could be as beautiful as it was menacing.

In response, she narrowed her eyes at him. She knew well what he was implying, so she lowered her gaze and looked at their clasped hands, where on the ring finger was the symbol of their union at first sight, but it was on the skin where the mark that made him hers as much as she was his.

It doesn't matter, she thought. He had ruined everything with his abrupt mood change. In that same instant, she turned away, avoiding the shards of porcelain and polished cutlery, and ascended the stairs. Her eyes burned with tears that she refused to shed.

"Don't turn your back on me!"

Tom was following her closely. His footsteps echoed through the hallway as he relentlessly pursued her. She ignored his pleas, continuing to climb the stairs towards the bedroom, determined to put distance between them.

"You can't just ignore me!" Tom's voice echoed behind her, full of anger and frustration.

She didn't respond. Her heart was heavy with pain and disappointment. She reached the top of the stairs and hurried down the hallway towards the bedroom, her legs trembling with the intensity of her emotions. Tom caught up with her before she could close the bedroom door. He held her by the arm, forcing her to face him.

"I..." He began, but the words died on his lips when he saw the hurt expression on her face.

"No, Tom," she interrupted, her voice trembling with the strength of her emotions. "I don't want to hear it. You've messed everything up today." With one last look, she closed the door, leaving him in the hallway.

Today? Oh! He reasoned for a moment, quickly opening the door again, only to find her kneeling with her face hidden in her hands. Her hair was longer than it was during their school years, no less full, yet more controlled, and yet, it will always be a striking feature of hers. It was clear to him that she was silently crying, and when she felt him entering her personal space, she looked over her shoulder only to then try to ignore his presence. He knelt beside her, and she turned her face away even more so he wouldn't see how emotional she was. When he tried to touch her chin to make her look at him, she recoiled from his touch.

"We can't go on like this," she gestured with her head. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

Tom swallowed hard, realizing the gravity of what was happening. "I didn't mean to hurt you."When she didn't respond, standing firm in her words, he continued, "You can't leave me. Never. Ever." He leaned his forehead against the side of her face, closing his eyes and swaying them both in a calming, reflective rhythm. For of course, he would rather kill her, knowing that she would always be bound to him, than let her go.

And in the spacious master bedroom, the two of them knelt in the center. All that luxury that adorned and provided comfort, bought with blood. Blood of enemies, often blood of innocents.
—"Confringo."
Tom didn't even think twice before using a combat spell, followed by a silent Diffindo. Two very serious combat spells, one after the other, could catch anyone off guard, it would take someone skilled enough to deflect both. Which Tom quickly realized. Whoever this person was, they were a very well-trained wizard, and by the magical aura they emitted, someone with raw power, which made him grit his teeth.But instead of providing a good fight, the unknown skillfully avoided the spells Tom had cast, when tendrils of shadow and darkness turned into thick smoke, the person launched itselves into the dark sky, flying without any kind of support or broom.

What the hell?

Facing the fact that he had easily been subdued and brushed aside as if he were nothing more than a mere annoyance, Tom Riddle stared at the night sky, whose large, spacious trees from the Forbidden Forest blocked most of it, he shouted angrily. When he lowered his eyes, if anyone were present they could witness the green eyes turning red from the cruelty he was willing to practice.—Hermione didn't know where she was, although it seemed vaguely familiar, like déjà vu, she wasn't sure. However, looking around, she understood that she was in a Mansion, someplace well-kept and affluent. With slow and very suspicious steps, she walked down the hallway, trying to figure out why she was here. What was here that she needed to see? In the background, there was a partially open door, avoiding the corner table with a vase of flowers, she leaned against the wall, approaching slowly, listening to two people talking. A miraculously positioned standing mirror allowed her to somewhat watch what was happening in that room, and for that, she narrowed her eyes before widening them.It was her, it was Mérope Gaunt sitting in one of the armchairs with Tom Riddle Sr. kneeling at her feet.
"Tell me you love me," Mérope asked.
Tom Riddle Sr. was just like Tom or rather Tom was just like Tom Riddle Sr.; his father. Even kneeling, Hermione could see that Tom's father was tall, just as handsome, with aristocratic features that Tom inherited, but while Tom's eyes were a green-gray color, his father's eyes seemed strangely gray, or that's what Hermione could see from a distance. Tom Riddle Sr. seemed disconnected, apathetic, and robotic when he replied:
"I love you."
Mérope Gaunt's mouth turned into a small 'o' and then, out of nowhere, she slapped him. The sound loud enough to be heard. Tom Sr. turned his head automatically, but did nothing more. Mérope's apprehension was heard by the choked sound of the cry stuck in her throat. Through the reflection, Hermione saw her scratching herself and squeezing the fabric of her skirt, making a back-and-forth movement with her body.Mérope jumped up and Hermione noticed Mérope's pregnant belly, which should have been in its fifth or sixth month. Unable to fully see what Mérope was doing, Hermione heard her scream and stomp her feet, and one of the dressers made noise, and the glass fell, with the repeated voice saying no, no, no .
Throughout the whole time, Tom Sr. remained in the same position, almost servant-like, but gradually he blinked as if starting to come out of a trance.
"Drink!" Mérope ordered, and Tom Sr. seemed hesitant. "Drink!" Her voice rising as she handed him a vial. "Now."
Looking very reluctant, Tom Sr. took the vial from Mérope's hand, and Hermione saw the pink liquid in the light. It wasn't mixed with any water or beverage, that was pure Amortentia.
As Tom Srn began to ingest the potion, through the mirror's reflection, Hermione saw Mérope put both hands to her mouth, a desolate and ashamed expression on her face as she began to cry, sobbing like a little girl. A moment later, a voice was heard:"Darling?" Lovingly spoken. "Why are you crying?" Tom Sr. stood up, reaching out to Mérope and bringing her into the safety of his arms.
She lifted her face, tears still streaming down, and asked, "Do you love me?"
To this, Tom Srn gave a charming and charismatic smile. "Of course. What kind of question is that?"Mérope clung to him like a leech, her hands going to the vest he was wearing. "Make love to me."Tom Srn recoiled. "Darling, are you alright?"
"I'm feeling fine, great." A phrase that didn't match the big smile or the teary eyes.
"And the baby?" He asked.
"The baby?" She blinked, a bit absent-minded. "The baby is fine." Mérope looked back at him."Do you love the baby?"
"Of course. It's our baby."
Then Mérope started crying again. It wasn't a cry of happiness or anything like that, it was clearly guilt and remorse, but even so, she led Tom Srn to the bed.
"That's not love," Hermione whispered, stepping away from the room, a bit shocked.
Behind her, Hermione felt the portal open, and now she knew it was the way back. For Mérope, the next morning, she decided not to give Tom Srn the love potion anymore, partly out of guilt and partly because there was a glimmer of hope that when Tom Srn came to his senses, he would understand the situation. Truly love her and she was sure he would take care of their baby. After all, he loved their baby.—When Hermione returned, she knelt on the ground of the Forbidden Forest and took long gulps of a deep breath. Feeling suffocated and frankly nauseous, her complexion was greenish and sweaty. Placing one hand on her head, closing her eyes against an imminent headache, she realized that everything had become even more complicated. Why are all these events, these time travels, connected to Tom ? She wondered. What am I missing here? Surely there was something she had to witness. Either that or someone was trying to drive her insane. Feeling a hollow stomach reflux, Hermione tried to locate herself; from what little she could see of the sky, it was already dawn, and she had to return to the Castle. With luck, she wouldn't encounter more danger, but she wasn't so sure.
o0o
Hermione Granger was far from being seen. She didn't show up at any of the meals or even in classes, and all Tom Riddle could think was that whoever was in the Forest with them had done something to her. May the gods forgive whoever crossed his path, for Tom was in a terrible mood, a glaring look thrown at the flames of the main fireplace in the Slytherin Common Room. The aura he transmitted was a clear rejection of contacts and social interactions; at this moment, no one would escape his wrath if they provoked him. Paranoid, that's how he felt, because to him nothing made a damn sense and it bothered him to know that in the end, he was playing the fool.
But it was the next morning that he saw her, in one of the corridors, walking with Bilius Weasley by her side, somehow it was enlightening for him, because he definitely didn't intend for her to escape without an explanation about what had happened. Although he wasn't very comfortable facing her about that ill-fated kiss. Because there wasn't much logic in the act, and he didn't even question himself about it, yet even admitting to himself that there was something more complex there, it could have been just his desire to disturb her state of mind into something more chaotic, after all, somehow, Tom enjoyed the chaos he caused. He waited for the moment when she was alone, on the third floor of the grand Castle, looking at the Forbidden Forest, lost in thought while blowing warm air into her hands.
"What do we have here?" If the sounds of well-polished shoes didn't announce his presence, his voice did.She lowered her gaze for a moment before looking over her shoulder.
"Tom." Hermione recognized his presence, but didn't say more than that. Her silence was unnerving to him and bothered him as much as any rebellious act on her part. It was as if she were being condescending with him, as if he were easily dismissible. For her behavior, he tilted his head and studied her. Whatever expression he was making, he noticed a slight tremor from her.
"Where were you yesterday?" He questioned her bluntly. "Who was that person in the forest?"
Why interrogate her? Why not go straight for torture, pressuring her until the end?"What's that supposed to mean?" Her eyebrows knitted together.Tom's jaw tightened, and any trace of a scornful or malicious smile vanished. He swore by heaven and hell that he would throw her off this floor."Don't play dumb." He warned, grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer, narrowing his eyes at her behaviour."Careful, you're starting to hurt me." In response, he tightened his grip even more, yanking her hand out of his reach. After a long moment, she continued, "I don't know what you're talking about."If she was trying to make him look like a fool, he could show her what madness was, but he didn't believe her for a second. However, it seemed that luck wasn't on his side lately, as her biggest saviour appeared. Dumbledore. Beside him were Slughorn and Professor Najla.Professor Najla could be considered a reserved person, with a soft yet firm voice, and wisdom in her cerulean eyes highlighted by kohl lining her eyes and her hazel skin, accentuating the bindi on her forehead. Imposing as she was, her hair was as dark as coal with grey streaks, tied in a long braid that easily fell past her waist. As she approached them, she narrowed her eyes. To everyone's surprise, it was not Dumbledore who spoke first, but Professor Najla."What is going on here?"Hermione didn't interact much with the Divination professor, mostly because she chose not to take that subject and because of her own disdain for topics she found illogical. But that didn't mean she lacked respect for the professor herself. If only Tom would stop staring at her, it would be less obvious that something was wrong, but he didn't bother, causing Hermione to roll her eyes and face the teachers."Tom was apologising to me, Professor Najla," Hermione replied. "We had a misunderstanding recently, which Professor Slughorn is aware of." She gestured towards the mentioned professor. "But Tom was just apologising for it, weren't you, Tom?" She turned to him and smiled with perfect teeth, teeth she had thanks to Draco Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey. I'm going to throw her off here, is all Tom can think, so infuriated by her behaviour. The presence of the professors buys her time and inhibits Tom Riddle's challenges. It's like perfect timing in her favour, and Tom wonders if someone else is helping her. It's not as if he doubted this theory, not after what he witnessed in the Forbidden Forest. And when she suddenly asks to speak with Professor Dumbledore, there's a hint of vulnerability in her voice, which Dumbledore recognises, making Tom aware that Albus Dumbledore knows much more than he lets on. He isn't a guardian or anything like Hermione once claimed. No, there's more.Tom was momentarily stunned by how Hermione manipulated the situation in front of the professors. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he observed the interaction between her and Dumbledore. There was something there he couldn't fully decipher, but he was determined to find out. Professor Najla's soft yet firm voice cut through the air, bringing a palpable tension to the corridor. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed confident and controlled, as if weaving a carefully planned web around them. Tom remained silent, watching every movement, every expression.Hermione's intervention, claiming that Tom was apologising, was a twist he hadn't expected. His face remained impassive, but inside he seethed with frustration. He felt manipulated, as if Hermione was a step ahead, playing a game he didn't fully understand yet. As Hermione walked to speak with Dumbledore privately, Tom felt a knot form in his stomach. Something was happening behind the scenes, something he couldn't fully control. The vulnerability in Hermione's voice hadn't gone unnoticed, nor had Dumbledore's subtle reaction to her request to talk.The professors' presence was an insurmountable barrier at the moment, and Tom knew he needed to withdraw strategically. With a cold glance at Hermione, he kept his composure as he walked away, moving through the castle corridors. His mind buzzed with questions and suspicions. He knew he needed more information, needed to understand the games being played around him.With a dark expression, Tom decided he wouldn't rest until he uncovered the truth behind the unfolding events. The next steps would be crucial, and he was determined to uncover the secrets hanging in the air like restless shadows.Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Tom, realising he was becoming more careless. The carefully crafted mask of the perfect student was cracking, and his impulsiveness when he wanted something was the catalyst. Although she had initially claimed she didn't want to be in a bad relationship with him, preferring her presence to be ignored, nothing ever went as she wanted. So she had to work with what life gave her. Manipulating situations wouldn't be easy, not with Tom, who wasn't easily fooled.She didn't know what made her act as if everything that happened in the Forbidden Forest was nothing more than a hallucination on his part. He wasn't an idiot, but she hadn't had time to prepare for being questioned by him. Hermione had no idea what she would say to him.However, she confessed, she hadn't slept a wink due to the mental debate she had and still had about recent events, as well as arguing with her Housemates. It was horrible and selfish of her to easily dismiss everyone's concern for her well-being." Hermione! " She remembered, it was Algie who exclaimed and was the first to see her. " What happened?" His gaze dropped down her body, noticing the wet and muddy boots, a glimpse of the pyjamas she was wearing covered by the Gryffindor cloak protecting her and her tangled hair.Enid, who was standing with her arms crossed staring at the crackling fire in the fireplace, turned, as did other familiar faces with worried expressions." Thank God!" Enid's voice sounded more like a matron to Hermione's ears. " We were worried, where have you been?" " I-I was walking. It was n-nothing. " Feeling cornered, Hermione had little room for that in her thoughts, as she was disturbed, having just returned to the castle, literally, from a time travel, a memory, or whatever the hell it was." Walking? All night?" Bilius asked, finding little sense in it. It wasn't a common attitude. The tension in the room was palpable as Hermione faced the concerned looks of her Gryffindor peers. She felt as if she was in some kind of impromptu interrogation, and the last thing she needed was to answer a series of probing questions. Bilius raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical about her explanation. Hermione felt the frustration bubbling up inside her. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?The endless questions began, too many inquiries. It was a mix of why and what. "I'm fine, okay? I'm not a chi ld." She almost growled, the irritation evident in her voice. "I needed a moment to myself. " Hermione suddenly turned, her voice sharp as a blade. She just wanted everyone to shut up so she could think, couldn't they see that? "Excuse me?!" Enid was clearly offended. Enid's voice echoed like an insistent echo in her mind, pressing her for answers she wasn't ready to give. Hermione felt a lump form in her throat as she struggled to find the right words. She could feel the weight of every gaze in the room on her. It was as if they were all trying to decipher what really happened that night, but Hermione wasn't ready to share the details. "Forgive us for being concerned about your well-being, Hermione. But we thought we were your friends, though clearly, we were wrong, considering how evasive you are. What's your problem?" " Enid—" Algie tried to interject, reaching out to Enid, who completely rejected him." No, Algie. She needs to hear this. I'm very disappointed." In her impulsiveness, Hermione didn't even think about her response. She turned, and the words flowed freely, words she would later regret." Disappointed? I don't owe you anything." A pin could be heard dropping in the silence that followed. The shock on everyone's faces was as expressive as Hermione's gritting teeth with the fierce expression she wore. And yet, when nothing was said in retaliation, she quickly came to her senses, as shocked as they were by what she had said. "I…" She tried but retreated. "Forget it." Turning her back, she stormed off to the girls' dormitory, leaving her Housemates behind, who exchanged glances to understand her behaviour.On her way, she bumped into Ectur, whose face showed the utmost concern. For a moment, a lump lodged in Hermione's throat. He held her both to steady her and to feel that she was really there. "Hermione…" he murmured, and she felt her stomach churn, so upset with the situation and incredibly irritated by how, in some way, he resembled Ron, which was ironic since Ectur was a direct ancestor of the Weasleys she knew. Hermione chose to pass by him without a second glance."I travelled through time again," she finally told Dumbledore, letting go of the memory of the previous night. Her hands clasped behind her back as she looked at the aesthetic structures of the corridor, whose solitude gave her the freedom to speak, even though it wasn't a subject to be discussed in public. At the sentence, she felt Dumbledore cast a very studied look at her, his silence clearly indicating for her to continue."I wonder, what… do they want me to see? Am I changing what I know?" She paused, looking at the stormy clouds through the stained glass. "I'm having a hard time believing.""Do you act or are you merely an observer?" With a simple question, Hermione turned, facing the professor she so admired."Should I act? Are these opportunities I'm missing? Is that it?" She was so serious that lines of expression were visible. "What I saw yesterday was despair, remorse, coercion. Did I have so many opportunities that I let slip by, could I have ended it by taking a baby's life? Would it change everything? Would I be trapped here? Or do I observe, be a spectator, a... coward." She shook her head. "You yourself said that if I happened to change the place of a single glass of water, a chain of significant events would change, they could even change my existence. I never changed anything.""Yet I believe you have already changed much, though I'm not sure if it's destiny or not.""What do you mean?" Suspicious, she turned, trying to see through Dumbledore and grasp what he had already perceived and she had missed. There's something, she thought.
Because the intelligent eyes of the Headmaster of Gryffindor do not lie. "Professor...?" Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, his piercing blue eyes fixed on hers, as if pondering the best way to explain what he knew or suspected. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but laden with gravity.
"Hermione, the nature of time is complex and sometimes paradoxical. I believe you've realised that. Even when we think we are mere observers, our presence can influence events in ways we cannot foresee. There is a difference between deliberately altering the course of events and being part of a natural flow of happenings.""What is the difference? How will I know when my choice is part of the natural flow or when I am deliberately changing the course of time?"
Dumbledore smiled, an expression of patience and understanding lighting up his face. "That, Hermione, is the most complicated question of all. The line between a natural action and a deliberate intervention is thin and often indistinguishable. However, I believe the intention behind your actions can help discern this difference."
Hermione frowned, absorbing his words. "Intention? So, if my intention is just to observe and understand, that doesn't count as deliberate interference?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Exactly. When you act with the intention of learning and understanding, you are allowing yourself to be guided by the very flow of time. However, when your actions are driven by the desire to alter or control events, that's when you enter the territory of deliberate interference."
Hermione reflected on this, trying to apply the concept to her recent experiences.
"Then, the events I saw, my presence there was part of this natural flow, even if it was a disturbing event?"
"Perhaps," replied Dumbledore. "Your presence there might have been unusual, but not necessarily an interference. It's possible you were meant to see that, to understand the complexity and depth of the situation."
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions within her. "But what if, at some point, I feel I need to act to prevent something terrible? How will I know if that action is justified or if I am interfering too much? How will I know if I didn't overstep?"Dumbledore nodded his head and through the stained glass window, where Hermione's focus was on the thick clouds, this time it was on the group of Aurors making their way through the courtyard below. Leeza Zabini was leading them."Albus! Albus!" It was Headmaster Dippet demanding Dumbledore's presence.Hermione looked at Dumbledore."Go. Go to your dormitory. Don't leave."She whispered a thank you and ran to the refuge of the dormitories, but not before hiding around a corner in the corridor, ears keen to the conversation. Hermione heard scattered words, spoken loudly by a nervous Headmaster Dippet."Dementors, Patronus Charm! Another magical wave? This school will fall, Dumbledore!"To Hermione, the words translated as: The Dementor attack alerted the Ministry of Magic just like the time travel did, and all she could think about was Harry Potter.

o0oTom Riddle was obsessed with knowing about his future, as well as riddles and predictions. Being always one step ahead of any situation is what intelligent people do, and he considers himself quite intelligent. That's why he tries again with the magic of a crystal ball, an Orb, for those more adept. The swirling fog is frustrating, but it's nothing more than Tom's consciousness unable to settle, as the first step is the relaxation of the mind. To achieve what he desires, Tom takes numerous deep breaths, each hand on either side of the Orb, closing his eyes to concentrate. It was supposed to be easy and in a way, compared to other students, it is. After all, Tom has an extreme affinity for magics that involve the mind, but the state of mind, when it comes to disciplines like this, is mostly fundamental for any result.
Crystallomancy, like divination itself, is viewed with a certain scepticism, which even he agrees with in some aspects.He opens his eyes, hoping to find some image, but all he sees is the same thick fog. Clenching his teeth, he stares at the Orb, his own image reflected in the glass, the predominant colour being the greyish-green of his eyes. But then, it happens... There it is, and not unlike the last times, he sees a dead lioness, the black snake coming out of the lioness's mouth, crimson drops... blood ? A scar.
The creak of the door doesn't startle him and Tom recognises the presence. Ghosts make noise sometimes too."I was good at divination. Although I didn't completely understand its function." It's Helena, the Grey Lady, above Tom's shoulder."We are all curious to know our future, Helena." He speaks gently to her. Helena passes through him, the table, and the Orb, leaving a sensation of icy water where she goes, Tom's skin bristling because of it. She turns, looking over her shoulder."What is there to know? Everything changes all the time, Tom." She smiles, and Tom thinks she is somehow flirting. "My mother used to say..." Helena stops and blinks a few times, even though she doesn't need to, it's more reflective, as if the memory of Rowena Ravenclaw disturbed her. "That nothing is immutable. That is the foundation of any knowledge." Helena gestures to the side of her head."Really?" Now Tom feigns innocence, but is more interested, as Helena opens up to him, now being much more talkative, especially when they are in private. She sits next to him, or almost does and Tom knows that soon she will start to release ectoplasm if she stays still for a while.Helena sighed, an ethereal sound that echoed through the room. "Yes, my mother always believed that knowledge and wisdom come from the ability to accept and adapt to changes. She said that rigidity of the mind is the greatest obstacle to true understanding."Tom watched closely, his mind sharp as a razor, absorbing every word. He knew Helena possessed vast knowledge, inherited from her mother."That's fascinating, Helena," said Tom, choosing his words carefully. "But what do you think this vision I've been having means? The dead lioness, the black snake, the blood, and the scar?"Part of the cloak Helena wore floated in the air and as if pondering the question, she said, "Visions are often symbolic, Tom. The lioness may represent courage or strength, perhaps even someone close to you or a part of your own identity. The snake, as you know, can symbolise many things: transformation, rebirth, or even betrayal. And blood... well, blood always carries deep meanings, of life and death, sacrifice and power."
Tom leaned forward, the intensity of his grey-green eyes never wavering. "And the scar?"Helena hesitated for a moment. If she were alive, her eyes would be large sapphire-blue orbs. "Scars are permanent marks, Tom. They remind us of events that shaped us, of wounds that never fully healed."Tom considered her words, feeling a mixture of frustration and excitement. He always knew he had a grand destiny, but these enigmatic visions left him unsettled. Helena seemed not to notice the subtle change in Tom's posture, or perhaps she didn't care. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, reliving memories of her past life."My mother was a remarkable woman," Helena continued, a melancholic tone in her voice. "She understood that true knowledge isn't fixed, but a constant flow. Just as a river changes its course, our minds must be flexible."Tom leaned in a bit more, feigning genuine interest while his mind worked at full speed. Every fragment of information about Rowena Ravenclaw was valuable, a potential piece in the puzzle he aimed to solve."That's an interesting perspective," he commented, keeping his voice soft and persuasive. "But tell me, Helena, what else did your mother believe about the future? About destiny?"Helena seemed to consider the question for a moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the Orb. "My mother believed that the future isn't something written in stone. She said that our choices, our actions, are what truly shape our destiny. It's a power we all have, but few understand."Tom smiled to himself, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That makes sense," he said, nodding slowly. Tom absorbed Helena's words, each one fueling his determination to fully understand these visions. "Helena, you said your mother believed the future is shaped by our actions. If that's true, then it's possible to change destiny, isn't it? To mould it according to our will?"Helena pondered for a moment. "In part, yes. But it's important to remember that not everything is under our control. There are greater forces, circumstances we can't predict or avoid. Still, our actions can greatly influence the course of our lives.""So wise..." he murmured, sarcastically to himself, though it was clear Helena didn't notice. "Did the diadem help her in this regard? To interpret the future?"Helena froze, her ghostly body making the air colder and her hair floating to partially cover her face in a somewhat terrifying manner."Tom." Suddenly, she was on the other side of the room, her back to him."Don't go, I'm sorry," Tom pleaded. "I didn't mean to upset you. The Baron, he often murmurs about it."She turned her head slowly."It was just a curiosity of mine." He stood up, setting the Orb aside. "I thought we were friends, Helena, I only wanted to satisfy my curiosity. I apologize if I was intrusive."Helena remained silent for a moment, the tension in the room palpable. Tom knew he had touched on a sensitive topic, but he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. He needed to know more about Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, believing it could be a crucial piece in achieving the power he so desired."Friends?" Helena finally replied, her voice soft but carrying a deep sadness. "Perhaps we are, Tom. But there are secrets even friends do not easily share."Tom approached slowly, keeping his voice sweet and persuasive. "I understand, Helena. And I respect your secrets. I only wanted to understand better the visions I've been having. If the diadem helped your mother see the future, perhaps it could help me decipher my own visions."Helena turned to face him, her penetrating gaze as if trying to see through him. "My mother's diadem was a source of great wisdom, Tom. But it wasn't merely an instrument of divination. It amplified the mind, the clarity of thought. And with that, many things became clearer, including the future.""So, you think the diadem could help me?" Tom asked, barely concealing his excitement."Perhaps," Helena replied cautiously. "But as you well know, the diadem has been lost for centuries. My mother hid it, and to this day, no one knows where it is."Tom nodded. "I understand, Helena. Thank you for sharing this with me."Helena watched Tom for a moment longer before floating closer, her cold presence sending a slight shiver through Tom. "Be careful, Tom," she said softly. "The power you seek can be dangerous. Often, the price is higher than we can imagine."Tom smiled, a controlled and calculated smile. "I appreciate your warning, Helena. I will be careful."She nodded once more before disappearing into the shadows, leaving Tom alone with his thoughts. He turned back to the Orb, watching the swirling mist with renewed determination. Focusing intensely, he closed his eyes once more and let his mind quiet.When he opened his eyes again, the mist inside the Orb seemed less dense. He could see shadows moving, shapes beginning to take form. The dead lioness, the black snake, the blood, and the scar reappeared. But this time, there was something more.A figure emerged in the midst of the scene, indistinct at first but slowly gaining shape. It was a tall and imposing man. He held a wand, and around him, figures fell, one by one, lifeless.
The shadow she cast from the top of the staircase froze everyone. Even him. She looked ethereal, even with tears in her eyes or her white silk nightgown. The elf stood behind her, fearful and not for himself.

"What have you done?" she asked, suspicious.

The Death Eaters present took a step back, leaving her and her victim. It was beautiful to see the drama and the breaking of a friendship, but not at the cost of him and everything he and she had built.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The lamentations of a guilty man were not pleasant sounds to his ears, they irritated him even more.

He paced, his shoes the only sound in the room, the black clothes he wore a stark contrast to the white that adorned her skin. The scream she let out was magical, a Sonorus, her voice echoing throughout the hall.

He would surely let his Dark Lady have her revenge.

...

He found her later, standing and watching the orange sunset through the large window, resting her head against the wall. Melancholy. She knew of his presence but refused to turn to face him, so he approached. She lowered her head and he touched her chin, this time pressing the side of his face against her soft, fragrant hair, retreating as he felt her movement. Her eyes rose, and she looked up through her lashes.

Her whisper was tempting. Words that further poisoned his soul. How could he deny it? How could he deny it when he himself was determined? She didn't need to say it, but it was good that in the end she asked, said the words, for she had always been so reluctant.

He had wanted to instil this in her from the beginning: The enemy is the enemy.

"Kill them. Kill them all." Her voice was determined, but her gaze was pleading. "Please, Tom."

He felt a dark pleasure at hearing her words.