Pure

Sometimes Blonde Doesn't Mean A Ferret

Potions finally ended after what seemed to be hours of torture. I stood up quickly and scurried out of the classroom. Tom Riddle stood as well, moving for the door.

At that point, my natural instincts were the only thing to move me. 

Run.

I headed briskly up the stairs leading away from the dungeon. Frantically, I turned around, checking if he was anywhere near me. I didn't see him, but I couldn't be sure, so I kept moving.

I swirled into an empty classroom, full of dust and empty cages. The only furnishing  was a cabinet in the corner. Despite all the traps Harry had pulled me into in years past, (future?), I had never stepped foot in this classroom before. I turned against the now closed door and shuffled down to the floor, running my hand down my hair. It was particularly disheveled from my frantic behavior.

What was I supposed to do now? My worst enemy, now rejuvenated to his youth, possibly more dangerous than ever was less than a few walls away from me.

I sat quietly on the cold floor, listening to my own breath begin to settle.

It is a common misconception that my brain works a million different ideas in only a moment of time. Yes, in a certain circumstance I should have been able to think of something, but this was something I had never dreamed I would have been so unfortunately chosen by fate to endure.

Think, Hermione. Think. How much of Voldemort has consumed this dark boy? What was Voldemort doing  in his 6th year at Hogwarts?

An image popped into my head. Ron, in second year. Tom Riddle had received special services to the school. What was that date?

194...19...  I couldn't remember! Of all the things I could have forgotten something so simple, yet wildly important. I could recall the antidote to most potions at the top of my head. I could think of any spell taught from not only  any year at Hogwarts, but also from the excessive reading that I pursued. I could even tell anyone of the relationship between Wrackspurts and Nargles if they so unfortunately had the desire to know.

But the year that Tom Riddle was awarded services to the school? Nothing. 

Checking the trophy room was an option, but it would be dangerous with Tom Riddle lurking about. At the same time though, I could not think of any other way for me to ensure Tom Riddle's development into Voldemort.

It was decided then. I would check the trophy room for the award. Tonight. Time was of the essence, and I didn't want Tom Riddle to find me looking at his service award if it was there. Night seemed the better option.

I didn't want to seem inconspicuous to other students in the castle either. I hadn't completely formulated my fake identity yet, and until I did, I wanted to remain as unidentifiable as possible in the crowd of Hogwarts students.

Tonight it would be then.

If Tom Riddle had not opened the Chamber of Secrets, it was likely that he hadn't made any horcruxes either. Did he even know he was the heir of Slytherin?

I refused to think it, but the innermost of my mind told me anyone can be saved. The only question was, would he be worth saving?

                    ~~~

The classroom door closed behind me and I turned to head for my next class. I moved past a corner, but before I could see around it, I ran into something, no, someone.

My first instinct was Tom Riddle, and I tensed, pulling away, attempting to get out of their grasp, which had found me on impulse, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't budge.