Tempus Viatorum

Chapter 9

November was a particularly dull month. It was raining more often than not, and it was cold. Even more cold than she was used to, now that she was stuck in the dungeons. Hermione cast warming charm after warming charm on herself, to no avail. She was sure she was going to get frostbite before spring.

She had been studying rather meticulously, already having set up a schedule for herself. It felt oddly comforting, doing something she had always been doing. Her loyal homework planner had been with her throughout the semester of course, chiding her whenever she was less than a week early with her assignments.

Other than focusing on her work, she had continued her lessons with Malfoy, and tried her best to not stay away from Riddle. She had given him tentative smiles and conversed with him whenever he tried to. But she had to confess herself not trying that hard.

It was hard being around him. If not for the knowledge of the person he would grow into, then for the effect he seemed to have on her body. She knew he was attractive, but she hadn't been prepared for just how attractive he was. Tom Riddle was the poster boy for tall, dark and handsome. And there was something about his eyes that made her want to just gaze into them day out and day in.

To her utter dismay, she had dreamt about him twice more since the library incident. Both times he had touched her body in the most exquisite way, making her wake up rather flustered. And if that hadn't been enough, he had also whispered how beautiful she was, telling her how much he craved her.

That's how she knew it was a dream.

Tom Riddle would never admit to finding anyone beautiful. Would he? And why was she even having these dreams? They all came during the day, whenever she fell asleep after reading in the common room. Was it a result of her daydreaming?

It was preposterous. She wouldn't have it. And so... she opted for avoiding his gaze and continuing her polite answers.

It didn't feel like he was buying it though. More often than not, she'd catch him staring at her questioningly. Like he was assessing her very being. She dreaded the day he'd turn to legilimens.

Truthfully, she wasn't all that sure in her abilities with occlumency. Everything she knew came from secondhand experience through Harry, or books. Not that she distrusted the books, it was just hard to practise something she didn't quite comprehend.

In any way, it was safe to say she wouldn't stand a chance of any form of legilimency.

Hermione was seated in the library, it was a Friday night and she had a meeting with Malfoy later on. Glancing at the big clock in the middle, she figured she could squeeze in at least two hours of studying beforehand.

She had just made herself comfortable, placing everything in neat little stacks in front of her, taking up a few sugar quills to still the sweet tooth she had developed, when a shadow fell over her table.

Surprised, she looked up and almost startled from the sight that greeted her.

Dolohov stood there, wringing his hands. He looked everywhere but at her.

"Um, hello?" She greeted him carefully. "Can I help you?"

An awkward silence met her and Hermione pursed her lips. What the hell did he want?

"I was thinking that you could maybe help me, yes," Dolohov finally said in a thick Russian accent.

"Oh?"

"I am having trouble with Ancient Runes. You take that class, no?"

He finally looked at her. Dolohov had almost black eyes and a pale complexion. His dark brown hair fell almost to his shoulders, and more often than not he would tie it in a knot at the back.