More asleep than awake, Hermione entered the common room. She had been lying in her bed for a long time the previous evening, thinking about how best to go about opening a salon. The little study room for seventh year students would be ideal, but she wondered whether she would be allowed to use it exclusively for one evening. That led to her deciding to ask Tom Riddle for help. If he gave her permission, the other students surely would comply, too.
“Good morning, Miss Dumbledore,” she was greeted by Beatrix Parkinson, who was smiling so sweetly that Hermione instantly got suspicious.
“Good morning,” she replied tight-lipped.
Beatrix obviously wanted to talk to her, because she stepped forward with another pleasing smile: “Would you do me the honour and take breakfast with me in our little study? Many of us eat their on Sunday mornings. What do you think?”
Surprised, but not unwilling, Hermione agreed. She followed Beatrix to the room next door, where all of the other female students were already seated. The usual armchairs where nowhere to be found, making place for a bigger table with several chairs, prepared with everything one would need for breakfast. With a contented sigh, Hermione sat down on one of the chairs, reached for the teapot, and poured herself a cup.
It was Beatrix who finally started the conversation after she had poured herself a cup, too: “Now, Miss Dumbledore, surely you know how we all long to know about your evening yesterday. As you are aware, Tom has never asked anyone out before, and the other boys prefer to take the younger students to Professor Slughorn’s club.”
Hermione tried to explain once more how she ended up getting invited by Tom: “You see, it was not Mr Riddle who asked me to the club. Actually, I got directly invited by Professor Slughorn himself. That was the sole reason why Mr Riddle even thought about taking me as companion.”
Her words did not have the effect Hermione had hoped for. The faces of the other girls only turned even more begrudging, except for Beatrix, who showed a wide grin: “Good for you! How extraordinary! Professor Slughorn never before has invited a woman. You must have left a deep impression.”
Irritated, Hermione put her cup back on the table. She understood the undertone in Parkinson’s voice perfectly well, and the looks the other girls shot her were telling enough, too. Did they really want to accuse her of using other than intellectual traits to gain Slughorn’s attention? Trying to look unfazed, Hermione grabbed a slice of toast and spread orange marmalade on it.
“If any of you decided to take Potions on N.E.W.T.-level, you would have impressed him just as much,” Hermione told them lazily, pretending to not have understood the implications, “I actually am surprised to be the only girl in Potions. Why is that?”
The other girls looked at each other, obviously thinking that Hermione was mad. What was she overlooking? Why were they this hostile? Was it really just Riddle?
With an indulgent smile, that Hermione really wanted to slap from her face, Beatrix answered: “We’re taking Charms, Transfiguration and Astronomy. No woman needs to take classes like Potions.”
Actually surprised, Hermione asked: “Why ever not?”
Everyone chuckled, before it was again Beatrix who deigned to answer her question: “You cannot possibly be serious, Miss Dumbledore. What good does Potions do in a marriage? Or Ancient Runes? Or Arithmancy? Your schedule is abnormally stacked, as I already observed.”
Slowly it dawned on Hermione. Of course, during this time and age, emancipation of women had yet to take place, not only in the muggle world, but also among wizarding people. She gulped. No wonder she stood out like a sore thumb.
“Where I’m from, it’s not a certainty that a woman will marry advantageously, so I learned from young age that I need to study and educate myself, just in case I had to care for myself.”
Loud, spiteful laughter rang through the room: “If it actually is true that where you’re from women don’t usually marry prudently, I no longer wonder about anything.”
Annoyed, Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course the other girls had purposefully misunderstood her words. She should not forget that most of the other girls present were only seventeen years old, while she herself turned nineteen next week. Different from these shallow women, she had already fought in a war.
“Good morning, ladies,” Riddle’s melodic voice interrupted the laughter, “You’re all so animated this early in the morning!”
Happily, Beatrix gestured for him to sit down next to her: “Oh, we’re having so much fun. You need to hear what Miss Dumbledore just told us. Please, do us the favour and repeat your words.”
Unimpressed, Hermione chewed her toast, staring challengingly at Beatrix. She had no intention to raise to the provocation, just as she was sure the other girls had every intention to repeat her words in great detail. She could not understand how these girls were able to speak so intimately and flirting with a stone cold boy like Tom Riddle, though it was likely he only ever showed them his chivalrous side.
“Miss Dumbledore is telling jokes? What a nice surprise,” Riddle grinned, obviously more than willing to engage in idle small talk. “Now, come on, Miss Dumbledore, please tell your joke as well. Pretty please?”
“She doesn’t dare to admit to it in front of you, I’m sure,” Beatrix cried happily. “She just told us, you have to understand, that where she is from, women don’t always marry prudently, sometimes even not marrying at all! Imagine our surprise!”
“What a surprise indeed!” Riddle nodded in agreement, but Hermione was certain that there was a sarcastic undertone to his words. Though she did not like it, she had to admit it was impressive how quickly he had understood the situation she was in. He obviously had noticed instantly that the other girls were making fun of her, just as he was not interested at all in what they were saying.
She allowed herself a small smile when she replied: “Miss Parkinson most artfully misrepresented what I have said. But as I am not someone to spoil a good joke for my dearest friends, I will stay silent on this topic, so that everyone can judge for themselves how meaningful and important my words were. Nothing of course is more amusing than to judge based on distorted facts, don’t you agree?”
With that, she stood up, nodding politely to everyone in the room, and left the room. As far as she was concerned, Tom Riddle could spend all his time alone with those horrible girls. He, though, did not do her that favour. Instead, he followed her.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Hermione she demanded to know immediately after the door to the common room closed behind her.
“And you’re back to being rude,” Tom retorted with a raised eyebrow.
“Because you’re making everything harder for me!” she hissed. She did not like his attention right now, not when the window in the common room that showed the lake promised bright sunshine outside the castle. She wanted to take a long walk in order to calm her tumbling thoughts.
“I didn’t even exchange three words with you, yet you act extremely inappropriate. I don’t like that. Just yesterday you told me that you no longer wanted … war, did you not?” Tom dug deeper while he walked right next to her as if it was the most natural thing on earth.
“Are you aware that every single girl back there has a romantic interest in you?” Hermione answered his question with one of her own. “And from there, can you possibly imagine how you paying so much attention to me could lead to the other girls banding together – against me?”
As if surprised, Tom raised his eyebrows: “Really?”
“Don’t act so innocent, Riddle!” Hermione spat. “You know exactly how those girls react to you. Ever since you publicly asked me out to Slughorn’s party, all of the female students of Hogwarts meet me with hostility and jealousy. Just great how you arranged that.”
“That was never my intention, but I have to admit, it amuses me immensely,” Riddle answered calmly.
Hermione snorted: “Yeah, I imagine that. Now, can you please let me be?”
“No.”
Frustrated, Hermione stopped. What did Tom Riddle want from her? Did he plan something? Did he want to lure her to some deserted place to get rid of her? Sullenly she stared at him.
“You still don’t like me,” he said. It was not a question, but a statement. He shook his head depreciatively: “I pay you every imaginable attention, yet here you are, still insistent on hating me.”
Hermione’s hands shook when she clenched her fists, but she forced a smile on her lips: “I do not hate you. I just learned to distrust friendliness. Furthermore, you added enough yourself to my dislike.”
Slowly she continued her way. Hermione wanted to shake her head for the whole time, because their conversation was just too absurd. One week ago she had decided to stop being openly hostile against him, to perhaps get on Tom Riddle’s good side. He obviously did not yet trust her intentions, but here she was, talking about the relationship they had, which was just too absurd. He was her sworn enemy, even though he did not know that yet. That point was not debatable.
“I’m not a bad person.”
Yeah, sure, Hermione thought derisively, but she forced herself to remain indifferent on the outside.
“You seem to think that I am a bad person,” Riddle insisted once more.
This time, he got a reaction out of her: “You gave me every reason to believe you are! You threatened me, or did you already forget about that? You made me cry and enjoyed it. What else is necessary to make a bad human being?”
“That’s not how I normally are. Seriously,” Tom told her with a quiet, throaty voice. “I’m not a bad person. I just don’t know how to deal with rejection. I really don’t know what happened last time.”
Again, Hermione stopped and stared at him for several seconds. What was his intention? Did he really think she would believe his remorse?
“You’re insulting me,” she finally replied.
“I’m insulting you?”
“You already recognized that I’ll never believe that you’re an empathic person. You admitted as much. Tom,” Hermione said seriously, suddenly seeing a totally different way to get to him, “I haven’t known you for too long, but I know a side of you that you keep well hidden. There’s no need to hide that from me. I saw it and I can live with it.”
Hermione felt tense when she stared right at him. His face was just as indifferent as she hoped her own face was, but she was sure something was working inside him. Did he understand what she just hinted at?
“I didn’t get the impression you were too impressed by my less chivalrous side,” he finally said. It was him this time who continued their walk, directing them towards the stairs that led up to the Great Hall.
“Because you threatened me. I don’t care how you treat other people,” Hermione explained in the most uncaring tone she could muster, “as long as your less civil way isn’t directed against me, I can live with it.”
“Why did you provoke me from the start, then? You positively begged for me to hex you to the other side of the world.”
She still could not decipher his tone and that caused her head to ache, but she forced herself to remain uncaring and cold: “I felt provoked. Where I’m from, people are rather open to each other. Friendliness is rare. I saw too many people fall for friendliness and thus getting tricked. Interest and curiosity I’d have believed, even politeness, as you are the head boy. But the way you smiled at me, how I heard you talk with other students – all that reminded me of exactly that kind of friendliness I came to watch out for,” she explained. Hermione was surprised by herself how convincing and without any hesitation she was able to tell these lies, especially since that was not her best trait. She hoped she had done a good enough job to convince Riddle, too, so she continued: “As soon as I didn’t react to your friendliness with gratitude, it melted away. Which only proved my point that it was false from the beginning. How can I trust someone who wears a mask at any given moment?”
“You’re too smart for your own health,” Riddle murmured, while he opened the door to the Great Hall for them. “Remarkable how quickly you see through people – even Beatrix and her girls. I don’t know whether I like it.”
They both had automatically adopted a pleasant smile as they walked through the crowded Great Hall, strolling through it with pretend ease and conversing happily, not giving any attention to the other students and their breakfast, appearing deep in conversation.
“You’re threatening me again, Riddle.”
“You didn’t want a mask, so I’m frank.”
“I appreciate frankness. I just wonder why you feel the need to threaten me.”
“Perhaps because I feel threatened by you?”
“Oh, of course,” Hermione laughed, “Tom Riddle the Great feels threatened by me.”
When they reached the other side of the Great Hall, he again opened the door for her, waiting until they both went through, and then immediately dropped the smile. Hermione forced the unreadable expression back on her face, too.
“As I said, you’re far too clever for your own health,” he repeated, “I don’t like when people have my number. I like it even less when people force me to admit that circumstance. You did both.”
“It’s interesting how cranky you get,” Hermione said airily, while at the same time raising an eyebrow in provocation. “Are you hiding something or why do you fear that someone might not be absolutely under your spell?”
“Perhaps I do,” Tom retorted. His tone was icy and Hermione suddenly wondered whether she went too far with her provocation. Perhaps it was better to avoid this subject for the time being. Nervously she waited until he finally continued: “If I actually was hiding something, don’t you think it would be wise to not provoke me?”
A weak smile appeared on her lips – yes, it definitely was better to stop here for the moment and not force him into a corner. Defensively she raised both hands: “Okay, okay, Riddle. I just wanted to tease you. If I went too far, I apologise. I don’t actually care whether and what you’re hiding.”
For a moment he just regarded her with cold eyes, as if he thought about making her disappear after all, but then his friendly mask returned and he nodded: “Apology accepted, Hermione.”
With a chivalrous gesture he offered his right arm, obviously intending to accompany her on her walk. Trembling, Hermione looked up to him. It was shocking how handsome he appeared with this pleasant smile. She really did not want to walk with him, especially not while holding his arm. His physical closeness made her nervous and she was only too aware that it was not just fear and disgust that rose in her. Tom Riddle’s appearance and his charm were dangerous weapons against which she was only immune because she knew the monster inside him. She wondered what she should do if in the process of getting closer to him she actually would discover likeable traits in him.
With a sigh she finally gave in: “Fine, if you insist. But do not expect me to do polite small talk. I need to think.”
“Suit yourself, dearest,” Tom grinned, “I’ll not say a word.”