#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
The Saturday evening of much waiting arrives without a moment's delay or miniscule moment of interest. Rather, Hermione spends her morning and midday in the library, finishing some of her essays and preparing new ones. Tom is nowhere to be seen, gratefully enough as Hermione assumes he is off on some occasion as Head Boy or for some darker purposes (she believes it is the second). But whatever the case, Hermione finds herself at peace with the tomes surrounding her and knowledge growing, though not to great extent. And by the time dinner arrives, having dropped her school supplies in her room and walking from the Common Room, she is at genuine peace with this 1940s world.
Thinking too soon, as per the usual in Hermione's genuine lack of luck, the girl almost runs into the Head Boy as he sweeps into the Slytherin dormitory with utter confidence and slyness. She steps back and away from his path, though it serves to little extent as his eyes sweep onto her and stay there, ignoring everyone else on their way out of the stone door.
"Wait one minute," he orders, dropping her gaze as he moves to his own room and disappears through the door. Hermione stifles a huff in his direction, impatient to eat and her stomach growling its disfavor at the Dark Lord. But to the extent that he is quick on his toes, Tom Riddle returns shortly, looking no different than moments before but pocketing a book in his black cloak. He gestures for her to follow him from her position beside the door, holding said fixture for her and following her out of the Common Room.
They move in silence to dinner, paying no mind to the lingering and chatting Slytherins near them, yet mentally removing themselves from all other company. Finally, and as they move to the ground level, Hermione finds the charge to speak and dissolve the awkward attention that only she feels.
"I've been meaning to ask: why have you been sitting with me lately?" she questions, serving both as a tension breaker and needed relief from all her ponderings. "What has changed?"
Tom looks down upon the fuzzy-headed bookworm, surveying her soft features permanently tensed into a facade of coldness. From the thick eyelashes and eyebrows to her rosy, petal-like lips--rarely displaying a smile--it would seem Hermione Granger is as soft as a Hufflepuff without a whim for bad in her every bone. And yet, the coldness she exerts, around the Knights and strangers, sings of her dark past and secrets she'll never divulge.
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"You're powerful and intelligent," Tom Riddle responds casually and earnestly, looking forward so as to avoid her penetrating gaze that would make most men tremble. "You're a threat to my plans but also the perfect ally, so I've decided I must keep you by my side."
"You do not fear treachery?" she asks, looking up to him and casting a gaze upon his high cheekbones, lovely red lips and dark hair, a picture of Greecian beauty and nothing less.
