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Hermione brushed her hair out of her eyes as she strolled down the corridor, a light skip in her step. The conversation with Ginny had gone well, she thought,
although it was a little awkward with Tom sitting on the other side of the mirror.
Poor Ginny. She seemed so upset. Hermione was adamant that Harry was not tiring of her--he loved her too much to do so. He was always talking about her whenever
Hermione had the chance to see him, and as happy for him and his newfound love as she was, she felt a little bit left out.
Harry hardly ever asked her how she was doing anymore, and that hurt. There used to be a time when he had looked out for her, but anymore he didn't even look
for her at all. He was too busy with his own life.
However, he had seemed pretty exhausted the last time they'd seen each other. She could literally see the tiredness in his eyes. She knew Harry well, and so
she was fairly certain that was the only reason he would fall asleep like he did.
Hermione was still puzzled as to why Harry would want an Auror job, considering he'd fought and destroyed the Darkest Wizard alive, but he seemed to enjoy the
rush of putting himself in permanent danger, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
She thought back to her conversation with Ginny, and her eyes widened when she realized the other topic of their discussion. They had just been talking about
the war, and how Harry Potter had killed the darkest wizard in their world.
There was no doubt that Tom had heard her, since Ginny had not been speaking quietly, but he didn't seem to react much at the news of his own death. Maybe he'd
been a little confused, which would be expected, but not much more than that.
What if she was changing the future? Hermione wondered with a gasp. She stopped in her own tracks for a moment and pondered the situation. She had just allowed
Tom Riddle--the darkest wizard in the world, known to all as Lord Voldemort--to listen in on a conversation between her and Ginny about how her best friend had
killed him.
"What have I done?" Hermione muttered to herself. "What will he do?"
Was she the one that had set Harry up as a target to Lord Voldemort all along? Was it her conversation, and not some prophecy, that had set events in the order
they had taken?
It certainly seemed like a possibility right now. Tom had been sitting there throughout the whole conversation. They had mentioned him both as Lord Voldemort,
and as the Dark Lord, so he knew they were talking about him. He knew about the war, and that he was killed by Harry Potter in the end.
Hermione was dazed and frightened that this had happened. She was certain that Tom would not take the news in stride--after all, he was the Dark Lord. But she knew
there was nothing that could be done about it at this point. Tom knew what he knew, and she could not change that.
The whole conversation and all of its ramifications would have to be forgotten for now. As Head Girl, she needed to focus a lot more than she had been
recently. And she certainly didn't want her schoolwork to suffer either.
She walked resolutely towards her next class: History of Muggles. She wasn't in the mood for it today; she wanted to spend time in her dorm, talking...
talking to Tom. She wanted to know his thoughts, and not just his thoughts on the war and his imminent death. She wanted to know everything. To just listen to
his voice as he spoke to her, to hear the smooth baritone timbre that always thrilled her to the bone.
The thought of it washed over her in a warm heat that settled somewhere in her middle. She really wished she didn't have to go to this class. She already knew
most of the things they were covering because she had, herself, been brought up in the Muggle society. It seemed stupid to go to a class on Muggles when you
were, in fact, a Muggle.
But she knew that she would go, because she wanted to get another NEWT out of it. Another stepping stone to a bright future.
Yet what would her future be without Tom? He was dead in her time, but her need for him grew with every single breath she took. How had she allowed herself to
want this man all these years, to yearn for him so much that she had actually called him up in a wayward mirror spell? There had to be more to it than mere
coincidence, hadn't there?
Hermione was suddenly snapped out of her musings by the sound of shouting somewhere up ahead. She paused and listened, silently, and then ran to the next
corridor.
"Hey, what is going on here?" Hermione demanded. "You Slytherins leave that boy alone."
Pansy Parkinson froze and turned slowly towards Hermione, her eyes wide. "Granger?" she scowled as she stepped away from the pack of boys who surrounded
her. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough," Hermione hissed. "What do you think you're doing picking on a second year... and a Hufflepuff, no less?"
Parkinson just glared at the small boy and hissed at him. The Hufflepuff scrambled up off of the floor, grabbed his bag and dashed down the corridor past
Hermione. Slowly, Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle turned back to face her.
"We were just having a friendly discussion," Parkinson told her.
The boys snickered.
"And it sure seemed like it." Hermione scoffed. "You're a seventh year, Parkinson; you should be a bit more responsible."
Pansy stepped towards her, her eyes gone dark with anger. "And what are you--a low down, dirty little Mudblood--going to do about it?" She lifted her pug nose
into the air triumphantly, as if she had already won the battle.
Hermione just smirked. "50 points from Slytherin for disrespecting authority, Parkinson," she declared sweetly. She turned to the other Slytherins, and
added, "And another 50 points to be taken from each of you, for your childish, reckless behaviour. You should be setting an example for the younger students,
not harassing them."
The Slytherin's all fell silent, aside from some slight mumbling.
Hermione's eyes flickered to the six students that stood in the corridor, watching. "Any more comments?"
They kept their mouths shut.
But someone was mumbling. Hermione couldn't make out everything the voice said, but she caught the words, "Can't even have a bit of fun…stupid rules…
Gryffindors."
She furrowed her eyebrows and glared at the group again before waving a hand at them and saying, "You may go now."
The four Slytherins glared at her as they retreated in the opposite direction to the poor little Hufflepuff boy. Hermione stood silently and listened
intently to the muttering she could still hear, trying to figure out where it was coming from.
She followed her ears to her bag and furrowed her brow, holding it to her ear, "What the—?" she began, and pulled open the flap of her bag to rummage around
inside, listening harder.
When her hand pulled out a compact mirror, she gasped. "No! He didn't!" She shook her head in disbelief as she flipped it open.
There was nothing out of the ordinary in the reflection she found there aside from the blonde figure she could see standing behind her.
"Nice display there, Granger," Draco whispered into her ear. Hermione snapped the mirror shut and spun around to meet his eyes.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she growled. She was irritated enough already. She'd had to take points from another house, and she'd not had the time for her
meeting with Tom before she'd had to leave the dormitory. She wanted her release--to feel alive as only Tom could make her feel--but she'd have to wait for that.
Malfoy certainly wasn't helping her stay calm in the meantime.
He smirked down at her. "What do you think I want?" he asked as he lifted a hand to brush one of Hermione's curls from her face, tucking it behind her
ear. Hermione gasped slightly as his hand brushed against her cheek. "Granger, you look tense," he muttered pityingly. Then he looked in her eyes with a large
grin, as if he'd gotten an idea. "We should shag."
She swore she heard a growl that didn't emit from her. Her eyes glanced towards the compact mirror she'd placed on the top of her bag, and back up to Malfoy.
"Malfoy, you can go shag Hagrid's dog for all I care, but you can't have me."
Draco raised an eyebrow in shock and his jaw dropped slightly. Hermione smiled and pushed the boy away from her, storming off towards her next class. Since he
was also in the class he tagged along behind her, not yet willing to admit defeat.
Hermione took a seat near the back of the room, and no one had sat beside her yet, so Draco plopped down in the chair next to her with feigned innocence when
she cast him an annoyed stare.
"What do you want now?" she complained as she went about arranging her books on her desk. She grabbed the little mirror out of her bag and surreptitiously
looked inside again, hoping she would catch a glimpse of the suspected mumbler. Either Tom was too quick for her, or she was simply imagining things.
With a heavy sigh, Hermione shut the lid again, but found that she could not put the small, circular object down. She ran her fingers over it absently, her
eyes far away, as she thought of the man himself. Tom; she breathed him in, seeing him just as if he were in her arms. She could almost taste his lips, almost
feel the softness of his hair between her fingers as she mussed up his perfectly combed locks with devilish glee.
"What are you thinking about, Hermione?" Draco inquired as he put a hand over the one she was using to caress the compact. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear
you were in love with that thing."
"What?" she asked, pulled immediately out of her reverie. "I'm certainly not in love, what do you mean?"
"Of course you are," he cajoled her. "You know that you have secretly always loved me. You like the fact that I am a powerful, handsome wizard, destined for
greatness."
"I liked you better when you hated me, actually," she said with a pointed stare.
"Don't touch her!" the compact snarled. Hermione opened it again, quite certain this time that she had not imagined Tom's voice within. She just barely
caught a glimpse of his eyes glaring out before he disappeared again.
"What the hell?" Draco gasped. "Did your mirror just snarl at me?"
"Leave, Malfoy! Now!" Tom told him.
Draco did not hesitate to do as the commanding voice said. Hermione tried not to laugh at the look on his face, but it was just too comical to ignore.
"Why did you do that, Tom?" she whispered as she looked into the compact again. His eyes looked right into hers, and she could see mischief in their depths.
"Just a bit of fun, Hermione," he said with a sly smile. "Some of us do like to have fun sometimes. Will you be in early tonight?"
"No, sorry, I can't," she said, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. "I have to attend a meeting with Malfoy and the prefects tonight. We're supposed
to come up with an entertainment for Yule."
"How about a masquerade?" Tom suggested. "Wouldn't it be a lark if I could be there, too? Bet I'd certainly surprise everyone at midnight, right?"
"I don't think you'd be very welcome, Tom," she told him honestly. "At least, not by the others. But if you were there, I would be honored to dance in your
arms all night long."
"Mmm, you know I would love to have you in them, my dear," he assured her.
Hermione blushed, and said, "Well, class has started, I suppose I should pay attention now."
"I'll see you tonight," he answered, his eyes sparkling. She could tell he really wanted to dance with her--and not just at some silly masquerade.
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