The Light and Darkness Anthology

"Do you trust me?"

"Do I trust you? No, but I'm merely giving you a chance to prove me wrong." Hermione cocked her hip and pursed her lips at him with all the confidence of a full grown, formidable woman.

Tom looked at her, a slip of a witch with bushy hair and drooping stockings. He did not know what to say. For someone new at Hogwarts, she certainly knew what she was doing - or she had no idea. For instance, she had known to avoid Slytherin eye contact since day one. She had instinctively known which staircase moved when and what doors worked where. One of her inexcusable mistakes was her uncanny knowledge of where each of the classes were.

She had no friends. He knew why - he had seen girls like her before. Without someone to attach herself to, she blurted out whatever came into her head. What redeemed her a little in his eyes was her ability to blurt out something that was not about Quidditch, boys, other girls, her appearance. No, the first thing he heard her blurt out was an accurate, precise list of potions ingredients for the Calming Draught while in front of the Great Hall about to be Sorted. He thought she would be a Ravenclaw - who else would recite potions ingredients to cope with performance pressure? - but being in Gryffindor did not help her when it came to ingratiating herself to him.

And then, she actually had the nerve to raise her hand in Charms when he had raised his hand. This is how he knew she had no friends - a friend would have warned her. When Tom raised his hand, you sat down and shut up - you did not want to get in the way of Tom's ambition for Head Boy. It was right up there with not getting caught after hours by Pringle. It simply was not done. And yet the annoying witch raised her hand, and the bloody teacher called on her. And she answered the question like she blurted out everything else. A swotty little girl who needed to constantly assert her knowledge, waving her arm like it was a flag, overly eager... pathetic.

Until she began to cast her spells, her irritatingly piercing voice lulled into an almost husky purr, tasting every syllable of magic that passed through her lips, worshipping them. His ears caught the music through the inept fumblings of the other students, and his gaze rested on the glow of her countenance as it beheld her handiwork.

He wondered to what other uses that music could be applied.

An annoying swot, but one that had a foundation. A know-it-all, but not one who lorded herself over the others. Eager, but controlled in her wand-waving. He watched her as she cast spell after spell - sometimes in the darkness of dusk on a blanket with a few other Gryffindors who invited her to an evening picnic out of politeness. He had never known a more beautiful sight than the curve of her neck as she bent over a book, her hair shielding her face from his gaze so that her intensity was felt rather than seen. When the skies were pouring their wrath, he thought of that bare patch of neck and wondered what she would do if he dropped a kiss upon it, then vanished.

When she interacted with any person, from student to teacher, her hoity-toitiness grated on his nerves, but he was rewarded when she spoke instead to the magic within. He wanted her to speak to him like that.

But she was a Mudblood. She skirted around Slytherins like they carried the plague, like she knew the barbs that would be thrown her way. Her cringing eventually caught the attention of some of the more observant purebloods. Her novelty made her a target, even if a passing one, for many students, and it was inevitable that Patrick noticed her. Tom saw the fire and fear in her entire demeanor at the first 'Mudblood' and knew that it was true. One swish a second later from his slim wand that obeyed him so smoothly, and Patrick caught his gaze. A half smile from the older pureblood indicated he understood Tom had begun his game, however he was prepared to play it out.

So he had followed her. Not stealthy, not as he should. Like a bumbling fool. Intentionally. The slap of his shoes on the floor alerted her to his approach, and she whipped around, her wand at the ready. He watched as the glint of recognition surfaced in her eyes.

He grinned in his charming way - oh, he had charmed so many - but she just stood there, prissy as a high-horsed Gryffindor, even after he had apologized for the older Slytherin's behavior. Even after he had told her that he was half blood and got that all the time.

When she snorted, he fought his temper. How could she possibly know? No need to make himself a professorial focus, particularly for the Transfiguration professor on the other side of the corridor.

"Don't you trust me?" he had asked innocently.

One glance from his hair to his boots stripped him, and the utter contempt she exhibited went as far as to shock him - a girl who may be less than his standards who dared to scoff at his brilliant act.

"Do I trust you? No, but I'm merely giving you a chance to prove me wrong," she said. "I've been waiting for you, Riddle."

"Waiting?" Tom murmured, stepping closer.

"I'm not afraid of you, but I don't trust you. I think you know why."

She couldn't know.

"I'm willing to help you, Hermione," he said. "You're an intelligent witch, but Slytherins don't always value intelligence. They value power. I can provide that."

She smirked. "I'll bet you could. You haven't won me over yet."

Tom was baffled. This insecure little girl was maybe not as insecure as he thought. She certainly thought a lot of herself. Catch her off guard.

"How might I win you over then?"

"You really want to know?" She began to back away. Good girl, not presenting her back to the approaching Slytherin, the stalking Slytherin.

"Sure."

"Give it up, Lord Voldemort, and get over yourself." In the time it took for Tom to realize that she had used the name that he only used in his thoughts, Hermione ran into the Transfiguration classroom.

He had underestimated the little witch.

That curve of her neck, her music.

Maybe if Tom could not win her, Lord Voldemort could. He smirked, his alter ego curling contentedly in the wake of her knowledge. A little knowledge could go a long way, and he was prepared to show her that. He followed her into the Transfiguration class. Oh yes, he thought, as she determinedly looked straight ahead, he would enjoy showing her that.