Peremo

"Oh." Hermione stopped in her tracks, surprised. "Hello Edward. What are you doing tucked away in here?"

It was a gorgeous day. It might even be the last nice one of autumn. Not the sort of day for a fourth year to be cooped up by himself under the stairs in the Entrance Hall.

"Um. Hullo, Miss," he greeted timidly, before he went on to explain, "I've got three tests coming up this week, you see, and Mum said if I don't start improving, then I can't come home for the Christmas break." He gestured to his open textbook.

Hermione frowned.

"Potions is my worst class, too, so if I don't go over this now..." he trailed off. "And no offence, Miss, but I don't really fancy spending my Christmas with you and the rest of the professors."

"Right," said Hermione, features softening. "Well, if you need a hand with your studies, feel free to pop by the infirmary after your classes. Providing I'm free, I'd be happy to help you out."

"...Are you good at potions?"

"'Good at potions'?" she parroted, hands on her hips. "Please, who do you think brewed your potion the other week?"

"Oh. Well then... you'd really help me?" Edward straightened. "Thanks, Miss!"

"Of course," she said. "And if you ever would like to sit somewhere else other than under the stairs, there's a free desk in the infirmary office you could use."

Edward looked unsure.

Hermione checked to make sure there wasn't anyone else in earshot. "Cygnus would never think to look for you there," she added, finding the coast clear.

That seemed to do it. Edward nodded and smiled tightly. "Well, if you're insisting, Miss..."

"I am."

"If you and Madam Spindle really wouldn't mind..."

"Of course not, we'd love to have you."

"...Thanks."

"That's quite all right," Hermione said. "Now enjoy the rest of your lunch before the sun goes away."

"Yes, Miss."

Good deed done for the day, Hermione left Edward under the stairs and carried on circling around the castle.

She was on a mission.

It was lunch time. The weather was fine, her workload in the infirmary was good, and it had been a few days since her meeting with Avery. She knew Riddle would be free, and she had decided, that this would be the day she would strike. It was a good a time as any.

All she needed, was to find where he was hiding.

He hadn't been in the History classroom, hadn't been in the library, hadn't been in the Great Hall. She'd tried both the owlery and the astronomy tower, and now, out of other options, she was on her way out to the grounds.

He had to be somewhere.

She considered that he might've gone to the chamber, but dismissed that idea speedily. Surely he wouldn't risk opening it again and waking the basilisk, not so soon.

...

Hopefully not so soon, anyway.

No, he must've just been tucked away in a corner of the castle she hadn't checked yet. She'd find him.

Hermione headed out the through the side entrance of the Entrance Hall, around the winding hallway that led out into the main courtyard.

It was packed, being this time of day. Students were congregated all over, and it was a task to scan them all. Riddle often wore black, and though he was tall, so were many of the sixth- and seventh-year boys. He'd be hard to spot amongst them all.

But Hermione was up to the task. She was no quitter. She weaved between the clumps of students, eyes roaming over them all, giving quick 'hellos' to those who greeted her.

She finally made it through into the courtyard. Still no sign of Riddle. Hmm.

In the centre of the grass, she noticed a group of fifth-year girls. They were giggling amongst each other, plainly gossiping. She then noticed that that group of girls wasn't the only group out in the courtyard. There were two, three other clusters, all seeming to be deep in their own discussions.

Hermione continued around the grass a bit further, and—

Ah. Bingo. There, under the shade of the large tree by the well, Tom was sitting at a lone, clearly transfigured desk, with his lunch and multiple books spread out in front of him. He looked deep in his reading, seemingly oblivious to the students around the yard.

He looked a little comical, really. But that didn’t calm her nerves.

All right.

All right.

She could do this, she told herself. It's just a conversation.

He wouldn't kill her in the middle of the day, in the middle of the courtyard, in the middle of all of these students. That would be ridiculous.

There was nothing to be scared of.

She forced herself forward.

"Good afternoon, Tom," Hermione said brightly when she reached him, intruding in his piece of shade. "Would you mind if I sat with you?"

He looked up, and though at first, he looked a little bit surprised she was speaking with him, his features quickly formed a warm smile. He didn't say anything, simply picked up his wand and transfigured a twig into another chair across from him.

"By all means," he said, gesturing to the new chair, and leaning one elbow onto the desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, psssh," she sounded, taking up chair. It was sturdy underneath her weight. Solid transfiguration work. "What makes you think I want something?"

He raised his eyebrows.

There was a pause.

"Fine, you see right through me," she admitted with a nervous laugh. "I was actually... hoping I might be able to pick your brain, a little bit."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. I've received another invitation for contributing an article in the Prophet, you see, and Avery mentioned you might be able to provide some valuable insight."

He took a slow bite of his sandwich. "I'm listening."

"It's about Hogwarts, actually, and the founders. I'm sure you know—you are the History professor, after all—that each of the founders had... well, how should I put it? A special object, you could say."

She was specifically watching for it, a tell-tale sign of interest. The slight stiffening of his muscles, dilation of pupils, aversion of eye contact, but—

No. Not a single sign of any sort of increased interest. Nothing. Just an open, polite expression that one would give to show that they're listening.

He was just brilliant, wasn't he?

"And what, exactly, did our good friend Avery say that makes you think that I could be of use you?" Tom asked when it became clear that Hermione wasn't going to go on, a slight, maybe even playful curve to his lips.

Her heart rate pricked.

"Well... he might've mentioned that you'd spent a few years working at Borgin and Burke's near Diagon Alley, handling rare and valuable objects. That you might have some expertise on such items."

"Ah," Tom sounded, leaning slightly in on the table toward her. "And is that all Avery mentioned of me?"

Hermione frowned, a little uncertain by the question. "He... um... might've also mentioned that you have an exceptional hand at arithmancy?"

"Oh?"

"He owed his passing of the class to you."

Tom's smile widened. "By my memory, it wasn't limited to that particular class."

Hermione laughed. "You can't very well expect him to admit to all of his short fallings."

"No, I don't suppose I can," Tom conceded. "So, you spoke of me quite a bit thoughout your time together?"

"Um... just... a little bit," she said, perhaps a bit too honestly. But she was quite thrown off now, and didn't know how else to answer him other than honestly. "But you are our mutual friend, and this was our first meeting. You're one of our commonalities. It's only natural that we spoke of you."

"'A mutual friend'," he mused, a strange, vague smile on his lips. "Are we friends, Hermione?"

"I..." Hermione couldn't pinpoint his smile. She was becoming rather confused, and she was starting to suspect it was a trick question. "I would think so. Yes."

She hoped it was the right answer.

"Hmm. Well then," he said rather suddenly, breaking her eye contact to close up his books. "If you would care to come with me, then I think I might have something that could help you. You know, between friends."

"Oh." Hermione straightened, growing more uncertain by the moment. "Um. All right."

When she got up from the seat, Tom flicked his wand again, and the table and chairs returned once more to their initial state of being as twigs.

"This way," he said, putting the rest of his sandwich in his mouth as he picked up his bag. He started to lead the way back through the courtyard, back toward the entrance hall.

It was remarkably easier to get through the clusters of students with Tom with her, though Hermione had to hurry along to keep pace with his long legs.

"How was the rest of your date with Marvin?" Tom asked when they'd passed most of the students and reached the Entrance Hall.

Hermione frowned. "Pardon?"

"Our mutual friend," Tom said, and when she didn't immediately reply, he laughed. "He didn't tell you his name?"

"I..." Hermione trailed off as she realised. M. Avery. Of course. "It wasn't a date."

Tom looked down at her questioningly. "That's not how he describes it."

"You... now, hold on. Does that mean you spoke of me?" Hermione asked, referencing their discussion out in the courtyard.

"Ah, Hermione, you're one of our commonalities," he said, laughing loud enough that the silken tone echoed in the empty hall. "It's only natural that we spoke of you."

She blinked. He was smirking down at her. His eyes were bright.

He was—

He was teasing her. He was teasing her.

Tom Riddle was... who was he? Light, easy, carefree... was this truly what he'd been like? Is this the Tom Riddle that Dumbledore and Slughorn had known before he'd become Voldemort?

She thought she was beginning to understand it now. Why so many had loved Tom Riddle, why so many had fallen for his façade, why no one, not even Dumbledore, had truly seen Voldemort coming. If he had her wondering—someone who knew what he was, that he'd already murdered, that he'd already destroyed his soul—then what hope was there for those that didn't?

"You're quite clever, aren't you?" she said as they reached the stairs.

"Others have described me as scintillating."

Hermione gave him an eyeroll. Tom laughed again. It sounded like honey and whiskey.

As they began their ascent, Hermione took notice of the direction they were heading in, and her stomach constricted.

Was he taking her to the second floor?

No, no, surely not. Surely not. She hadn't done anything, hadn't made any missteps. He didn't know who she was, didn't know what she knew.

...Did he?

Oh, good, bloody Merlin, maybe he was taking her to the second floor. Maybe he was leading them to the girl's bathroom, and he'd lock her in there while he opened up the chamber, before tossing her down the chute to the basilisk.

Her pulse sped up. Her palms were sweaty. She should turn and run now while she still had the chance. If she took him by surprise, she could outrun him. She might even be able to get to the headmaster's office before he stopped her.

Yes. Yes, that's what she would do. She would just turn, and run, and—

But then, Tom turned again, and Hermione suddenly could breathe once more, as he continued to lead them up the next flight of stairs, up to the next floor.

She suddenly felt rather foolish.

They kept going until they reached the fourth floor corridor, and made it down to the history classroom.

He led her inside. Her nerves were bubbling again, now that they were alone in a secluded classroom. She tried not to think about it.

"Wait here," he said, quickly ducking back into the back office, leaving her by the front desk. His desk.

It was much tidier than Binns had kept it in his time. An unused mug was perched on the corner of the desk, holding multiple white quills. There were some spare parchments piled up nicely. His chair was lined with a velvet, soft-looking green fabric. It looked comfortable.

The desk was also conspicuously absent of personal effects.

"Here," Tom said, reappearing from the office. He offered her a small, ragged book.

Hermione glanced uncertainly between him and the book.

Tom raised his eyebrows.

Hesitantly, she plucked it from his fingers. The book didn't look like much. There wasn't a title on the worn cover, so she flicked through the first few pages, finding the initials R.R., and the year 933 scrawled on the inner page.

"Is..." Hermione gasped. "Was this... surely this didn't... did this belong to Ravenclaw?"

"Supposedly," said Tom. He was watching her intently, but Hermione didn't notice.

"How... how on earth did you get this?" Hermione asked in a daze, transfixed by the book.

"It was given to me, by one of my past clients," Tom explained.

Stolen, more like, but even knowing that, Hermione was mesmerised. She hadn't even known such a diary existed. "This is... incredible."

"There are handwritten notes in there, about her diadem," Tom said quietly. "It might help you with your piece. You may borrow it, for a short time, but I'll need it back when you're done."

"Yes, yes, of course," Hermione gushed, but now, she was frowning. She just... didn't understand. "I'll take fantastic care of it, I promise."

Tom watched her and tilted his head. He looked amused. "What's the matter?"

"Oh—it's nothing," she said quickly, but when Tom just raised an eyebrow, she sighed and added, "it's just... this is... remarkably kind of you. I didn't expect... I could be anyone, and this—" she gestured with this book, "—is invaluable. Do you really trust me with this?"

Tom gave her a one-shouldered shrug. "What are friends for? And besides, I know where you live."

It was plain in his tone that he meant it as a joke. But she thought there might've been a threat in there, heavily veiled.

"Well... you needn't worry," she said, clutching the precious diary to her chest. "When it comes to books, you can trust me."

"I certainly hope so.”

The irony didn't escape her. This diary, one of his, she would protect with her life.

The other... she would give her life to destroy.

Hermione didn't sleep that night.

Not for a single minute.

She thought of Tom instead, the whole night through.