idiosyncrasies

The Room of Requirement had been initially unhelpful. Although it had produced a comfortable and quiet room to work in, warm with lit braziers and with a well-stocked library with several books on time magic, she quickly realized they were almost entirely theoretical. Frustrated by the lack of practical guidance, Hermione had then scoured the books library on magical artifacts, wondering if, perhaps, Hufflepuff’s cup had some special properties that may have sent her back.

At some point during the night, she’d drifted off, slumped over a stack of parchment. The fire in the braziers had burned low, casting a soft glow over the tables as she slept. When she’d woken, bleary-eyed and chilly, she examined the notes she’d taken - it was frustratingly little, but the cup’s abilities seemed open-ended enough that she couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility. But then, she hadn’t really been able to rule out any possibilities, so it still felt like a dead end.

She sat now at a desk in the back of the Defense classroom, her head foggy. Eerie dreams left her more exhausted than before. She couldn’t recall much - it was a disconcerting blend of Tom Riddle's handsome face morphing into Voldemort's twisted features, and a woman's voice whispering in a language she couldn't comprehend. 

Professor Merrythought paced at the front of the class, her robes swishing as she lectured the class on dueling techniques. Hermione tried to focus, but the words blurred together. She already knew most of this material and felt her attention slipping away, despite her best efforts.

Stifling a yawn, Hermione's gaze drifted to the front row where Tom Riddle sat, attentive as usual, again sitting next to one of his pure-blooded cronies. He’d just provided an articulate answer that had drawn an approving smile from Merrythought.

She glared at the back of his perfectly groomed head, a flicker of irritation sparking within her. Stupid evil Head Boy with his stupid perfect answers, she thought bitterly. 

Professor Merrythought’s voice droned on, each word blending into the next. Hermione’s gaze drifted, catching on the flickering torches along the stone walls. Their shadows shifted like dark figures in her peripheral vision. 

She blinked, trying to refocus, but the faint scratching of quills and the rustling of parchment around her seemed louder than usual, grating against her already frayed nerves. A cough from the row in front of her made her flinch, and she clutched her quill, silently willing her mind to stop wandering.

"Now," Merrythought announced, her voice cutting through the murmurs, "Pair up for practical application. One of you will cast Incarcerous, and the other will practice dodging and, if necessary, cast a counter-spell to break free. The objective is to avoid letting your wand arm become immobilized. This will test your agility as well as your spellwork - so don’t be too hard on yourselves if it takes a few tries."

Movement filled the room as students began to shift and find partners. Hermione looked around anxiously. Neither of the few friends she'd made in Gryffindor were in N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the acquaintances she did have were already pairing off. 

Hermione clutched her books to her chest, scanning the room for anyone else without a partner. The sinking, familiar feeling of being left out settled heavy in her stomach.

"Everyone settled?" Merrythought's voice prompted.

She glanced around once more and realized – Riddle was approaching her comfortable, private spot in the back of the room. Her heart dropped. She glanced over and saw his usual companions, Travers and Nott, already working together. Why is he coming over here? she wondered, a knot of apprehension forming.

"Miss Granger," Riddle said politely as he reached her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Would you mind if we partnered for the exercise?"

She blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, I can work alone," she replied hastily.

He raised an elegant eyebrow. "It's a two-person exercise," he pointed out, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Unless you'd prefer to sit it out?" He looked around pointedly - everyone else was already in pairs.

Her jaw clenched. There was no reasonable excuse to refuse without drawing unwanted attention. "Fine," she said.

"Excellent," he said softly.

Hermione paused for a moment, collecting herself, as Riddle joined her in the back. She glanced down at her parchment and felt a flush of embarrassment wash over her. 

She had taken frighteningly few notes during the lesson, a rare lapse for her. Scattered phrases and half-formed sentences stared back at her, a testament to her exhaustion. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Riddle’s immaculate parchment filled with precise handwriting, perfectly organized. 

"Would you like to borrow my notes again?" Riddle asked. He looked even more amused, having caught her looking.

She looked up sharply. "I'm perfectly fine, thanks Riddle." she replied curtly.

"Of course," he said, inclining his head slightly. "Shall we proceed, then? I’ll cast Incarcerous first, and you can try to dodge - and then we’ll switch off.”

She took a second to answer. Instead of meeting his eyes, she fixed her gaze on Riddle’s gleaming Head Boy badge, which was neatly pinned to his perfectly pressed robes. She idly imagined him polishing it obsessively every night like Percy Weasley did, until he could see his own smug reflection. 

Hermione didn’t love the idea of Voldemort casting an Incarcerous on her, but there was nothing for it. She nodded and stood, moving to a clear space and gripping her wand a bit tighter. "Yes. Ready when you are."

With a swift flick of his wand, Riddle cast - "Incarcerous."

Thick ropes shot from his wand, aiming directly for her. Hermione reacted instantly, sidestepping and narrowly avoiding the ropes as they attempted to wrap around her arms. She cast a Relashio to disperse the remaining tendrils that had wrapped around her wrist.

"Good reflexes," Riddle commented, his tone friendly. "But you know, it’s more challenging if you don’t just dodge."

She shot him an irritated look. "Duly noted. My turn to cast."

Riddle inclined his head. “Go ahead.” 

Hermione raised her wand, focusing. "Incarcerous!"

The ropes sprang toward him, but he too dodged most of them, letting only a single strand brush his arm. He shook it off effortlessly.

Hermione glared at him. “Didn’t you just say not to dodge?”

Riddle chuckled, a low, unexpected sound. "Force of habit, I’m afraid. I’ll restrain myself next time."

"Fine," she said, challenge in her voice. "Your turn. Ready when you are."

He smiled slightly. "Very well." He cast the spell again, and this time Hermione fought the urge to dodge, standing her ground as the ropes shot towards her like striking vipers. When they were almost upon her, she swiftly moved her wand and cast "Emancipare," and the bindings fell before they could tighten on her wand arm.

Riddle’s wand lowered, but his gaze didn’t waver. He studied her silently, his expression unreadable. The prolonged pause made Hermione shift uncomfortably, her fingers tightening on her wand.

"Impressive," he said finally, his voice approving.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "My turn," she said. "Don't dodge this time." 

He tilted his head, a sly grin forming. "As you wish." Hermione was unsure what to make of the playful tone of his voice. She imagined the ropes wrapping around his neck.

She cast Incarcerous once more. True to his word, he didn't sidestep. As the ropes wrapped around him, he easily performed the counter-spell, nonverbally too, the bindings falling away instantly. 

"Oh, showing off now?" she said before she could stop herself. She couldn’t help it - he was just so irritating. “I can cast it nonverbally too.”

He smirked. “Prove it.” Before she could fully prepare, he flicked his wand, casting a quick and nonverbal Incarcerous.

Caught off guard, Hermione felt the ropes snaking around her, coiling around her wrists and tightening around her arms and chest. They began to constrict her wand arm, threatening to immobilize her completely. Summoning every ounce of her focus, she managed a silent Emancipare, barely able to perform the motion, but - 

The ropes snapped away, innocently falling to the ground.

She scowled at him. "Could’ve given me a warning."

Riddle’s eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief, but before he could respond, Professor Merrythought approached them.

“Excellent work, both of you,” she said, her gaze lingering approvingly on Tom. “Mr. Riddle, as outstanding as ever. And thank you for helping Miss Granger get up to speed. I knew you’d be the perfect choice to guide her.” She cast Hermione a warm smile.

Hermione’s face flushed. Of course when she’d successfully cast something, it would be attributed to Tom Riddle’s efforts.

Merrythought then addressed the class. "For your homework, I expect three feet on effective dueling strategies with the spells we discussed today, due next week. You are dismissed."

As the students began to pack up, Riddle turned to Hermione.

"Truly, impressively done," he said. "Nonverbal magic isn't easy." 

Hermione blinked, thrown. She hadn’t been expecting him to continue speaking with her, let alone compliment her. "I... appreciate that," she replied cautiously. "Your nonverbal casting is very… precise as well."

"Thank you,” He offered a warm smile, with teeth, as though they shared some understanding. "I’ve had to work hard for it over the years." 

She raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his casual vulnerability. "Oh?"

He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words. "When I first came to Hogwarts, I knew very little about magic," he admitted, almost confessional, as though he was letting her in on a secret. "There was a great deal I needed to learn very quickly."

"Well," Hermione said, trying to mask her unease, "you’ve certainly… more than caught up."

Riddle’s smile flickered, his gaze intent, though still warm. Hermione looked away, examining a faintly vandalized desk where someone had carved their initials. "You understand. You were homeschooled, weren’t you? That takes a different sort of discipline."

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "Yes, in France," she said carefully. "My parents were... very talented."

"Granger," he said thoughtfully, rolling the name over his tongue. His tone remained friendly, but there was an unsettling sharpness beneath it. "Not a common French surname, is it? And you speak English without the slightest accent."

Hermione’s nails grazed the inside of her palm as she forced herself to remain calm. Her eyes were still averted, so she could not read his expression. He sounded just genuinely curious, but Hermione felt a flicker of apprehension. 

Since Dippet, she had not had anyone ask her too many questions about her backstory, given the circumstances that brought her to Hogwarts, and the tragedy surrounding it. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that Tom Riddle was the first student to truly question her. "Uh, my parents were English," she said quickly.

The classroom was beginning to empty as everyone had gathered their belongings and headed out. Taking the opportunity to change the subject and end the conversation, she cleared her throat. "By the way, thanks for lending me your notes for Ancient Runes. They were helpful." She reached into her bag. "Here, you can have them back."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Keep them. I've already made another copy."

"Oh... thanks," she said, slipping them back into her bag.

"Of course." His gaze held hers. "I'd be happy to help you catch up with anything else as well."

She forced a polite smile. "Oh, no, that's really… not necessary, Riddle."

"It’s really no trouble, Hermione," he said smoothly, his tone light but insistent. “I’d hate to see you fall behind.”

"Right," she mumbled. "Well, I should be going."

"Of course," he said, stepping aside to allow her to pass.

✦✧✦✧✦

After leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Hermione’s exhaustion became intense. A dull ache had settled behind her eyes, and her throat felt scratchy and dry. The corridors seemed longer than usual, students’ chatter echoing distantly as she walked to Gryffindor Tower.

The portrait swung open, and she stepped into the familiar common room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a comforting glow over the scattered armchairs and worn rugs. A few students lounged about, engrossed in their own activities. Hermione barely acknowledged them as she climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

Pushing open the door to her room, she was greeted by the familiar sight of her neatly made bed and the soft light filtering through the curtains. Without bothering to change out of her robes, she collapsed onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress. 

Just a short nap, she told herself, pulling a blanket over her. The moment her head hit the pillow, sleep claimed her.

She drifted into a dreamless slumber, the quiet of the dormitory enveloping her. Time slipped by unnoticed until the sound of footsteps and the rustling of curtains stirred her awake.

"Hermione?" a voice called softly.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, her vision still blurred with sleep. The dim dormitory light felt like it was pressing into her eyes, and her head pounded faintly at her temples. 

When she tried to push herself up, a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her limbs felt heavy and slow, as though weighted down by stones, and her mouth was dry, almost sticky. She blinked, turning her head to look out the window. The sky outside was inky black, with only a faint glow of moonlight casting shadows across the room. Her heart sank as she realized it was night - she’d slept through the entire day. A wave of guilt crept in, but her body was too exhausted to let the feeling linger.

She blinked again, trying to focus, and saw Aurelia standing beside her bed, concern softening her features.

"I didn't see you in the dormitory last night," Aurelia said gently. "Did you get any rest at all?"

"Yes, a bit," Hermione replied, her voice quiet. "I’m fine though, I might just be coming down with something."

Aurelia frowned, but her eyes were sympathetic. "Hermione… these late nights in the library can't be good for you."

"I suppose," Hermione admitted, though she knew it was more than just fatigue. The stress of her situation, the uncomfortable interactions with Riddle. It was all taking a toll.

"Listen," Aurelia said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You need to look after yourself. Get some proper rest tonight. The world won't end if you take a break."

Hermione sighed, a hint of irritation slipping into her tone despite Aurelia's best intentions. "I don't know," she said. "I just have so much to catch up on."

“Hermione,” Aurelia said, her voice softening, “I used to be the same way. Last year, I nearly made myself sick trying to study for my Transfiguration O.W.L. on no sleep. I was certain I’d fall behind if I took even a minute’s break. But it cost me, you know? I almost ended up in the Hospital Wing for it. I’m only telling you this because I recognize the look - you’re heading down the same road.”

"Maybe you're right," Hermione relented. A part of her bristled at being told what to do, but she pushed it down.

"Tell you what," Aurelia offered brightly, standing up. "I'll bring you some supper from the Great Hall. You can eat here and get some rest."

"That's really kind of you," Hermione said. "But, really, I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble at all," Aurelia insisted, standing up. "You just relax."

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely.

Aurelia smiled warmly. "What are friends for? I'll be back in a tick."

As Aurelia left the room, closing the door softly behind her, Hermione leaned back against the pillows. The silence pressed in around her. Her head still hurt, a dull throb that refused to fade.

She had initially planned to sleep a bit more, but now that she was fully awake, her mind was buzzing. If she could just make a bit more progress, anything at all, maybe she'd find a way to get back home.

Her limbs were heavy against the sheets, and the blankets were warm. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself into rest. The thought of returning to the Room of Requirement flickered. She fought the urge, telling herself she needed to recover, to get a full night of sleep. 

Hermione knew it was irrational, but falling asleep felt like giving in. If she was home, back in her time, she could actually be part of the fight, help her friends, make choices that mattered. Here, she was trapped, forced to watch the beginning of everything she was supposed to stop, yet powerless to act on it for fear of ruining the timeline. She hadn’t achieved nearly enough for how drained she felt. Being in the Gryffindor girls’ dorm was deceptive, she thought, because it wasn’t really her room. The framed photos on the walls, the cozy clutter around her - all of it was wrong, just close enough to remind her of home but still so distant.

And then - the thought of actually going home, of seeing Ron and Harry again - and she suddenly blinked back tears as she thought of them - 

Ron would probably call her mental for spending so much energy looking at books, muttering to himself about how “Hermione’s gone mad” with that exasperated look he always got. But he’d still be trying, she knew that much, even if it wasn’t in the library. He’d probably be poking around in restricted areas for clues.

And Harry - he wouldn’t sit around either, but he’d be brash about it, probably have already tried to confront Riddle himself if he thought it’d help, or sneaking around under his Invisibility Cloak. She knew they both would’ve taken action by now, even if it was something foolish or half-baked.

The room felt stifling, the weight of not doing anything was pressing down on her. Maybe just a little more work would help, she reasoned.

Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed. Ignoring the protest of her aching muscles, she stood up, determination overriding her exhaustion. Grabbing her cloak, she headed toward the door, her decision made.