March 28, 2018 Chapter One: Provoking Offer {Torment} acina_is_amazing

If you'd ask Hermione Granger who Tom Marvolo Riddle was, ally or enemy, she wouldn't be able to answer you. You see, that enigma of a boy had always been a sort of rival to her. At times, he'd take things too far, but other times, he'd be so overly polite, and kind, she'd felt like she'd just choked on hundreds of chocolate frogs and had died of heart complications. Even the words kind and Tom Riddle would never fit in the same sentence! But overall, he was an outstanding student, but Hermione would never admit he was better than her. She was the brightest witch of her age after all, but her pride wasn't that big, because from what she could see, she could still perceive that she could not be at par with him when it came to manipulating people. He was the brightest wizard of the same age too.

It confused her greatly. She was drawn to his impassive, enigmatic nature. Who knows what kind of thoughts Riddle had going through his mind? Hermione had heeded his intelligence, and his skill to charm people; fool the heart with his words, play the mind with his actions. He could be a perfect villain, she told herself sometimes. But she couldn't say he was an entirely evil villain either.

What had drawn Hermione Granger to Tom Riddle was the fact that the boy himself was drawn to her. First of all, she was a Gryffindor, but at least, a Gryffindor with much more brains and competence in studies, than the average person from Gryffindor has (or Hogwarts, to be exact). Second of all, Riddle never talked to anyone else—unless he had to—if that could excuse the fact he was always surrounded by the most bigoted, arrogant, and prejudiced family heirs from the most corrupted Purebloods which stopped him from ever being interested in anyone else. And third of all, Granger was just Granger. Hermione wasn't really a stand out when it came to looks, or of status. She loved to prove herself to other people, but was not interested in capturing the eyes of the Slytherin Prince, even when Hermione Granger was the Gryffindor Princess.

Never to be swayed, never to be plucked.

All that Hermione Granger ever knew, was that when Tom Riddle had asked to sit with her during one of the Winter Holidays, wanting to talk to her for quite a bit—as he had stated himself for once in their past four years there—Hermione could never say no when his eyes were empty like a bottomless pit, and when his usual exuberance and charm that was always plastered onto his face was not there. She didn't even say yes before he went and sat across her.

She admired the way he sat, and his always perfect hair and those—were those reading glasses around his collar?—and the way he stayed as a mystery still, even when he was sat across her. That day, Harry and Ron had already went to the Burrow for Christmas, but a day before, Ron and Hermione had a row about "Hermione's bad habits of trying to seek Riddle's attention during class (which was his jealousy probably)" and always neglecting herself for studies—when it was only the simple rivalry of who can answer much more questions than the other between Riddle and her, though Riddle had darker intentions Hermione had been enamoured by.

Hermione had spluttered incredulously after Ron had told her in a pitying voice that didn't need to try her best for an evil, cunning bloke like that, and she had argued back that everything he had assumed was not right. To say the least, Harry couldn't even do anything to diffuse the tension.

So, Ron and Harry had left for the holidays as Hermione was still too angry to even care. She cooped herself up in the library and avoided everyone's attempt to try and talk to her, until Tom Riddle had sat across from her. Hermione could not dismiss the darkness around him, as Ron had said about Tom's cunning and evil manipulative mannerisms. But a deeper, darker part of Hermione thirsted to know of what Riddle was trying to cultivate all these years, maintaining the distance between everyone, holding leaps and bounds of abilities, far away from anyone in Hogwarts, though Hermione was fairly close. From what Hermione could see, he was trying to reach something far beyond him.

He made his grades, his abilities, his looks, and his words the poster to his fame. But behind that, Hermione had already known something was wrong. That something much darker lied behind his smile whenever they had small rivalries within the classrooms, he seemed challenged by her wit—but his eyes sparked with anger. Fury—as it always did.

He made others do his bidding, always sought to escape Dumbledore's clutches, and always separated himself from the masses when it came to skill, knowledge, experience, and maturity.

So, yes, maybe he could be a villain as Hermione had once agreed, but there was something about him. A fragile dark side that always left itself untouched. A broken piece of him. She was taken by the notion of his lack of understanding towards other people. Hermione was always compassionate, but she always seemed blinded by that part of her.

So, when Riddle had sat across from her in the library, everything was quiet. Questions ran through her head, but she dashed them away just as quickly when he looked up at her and stared at her with no shame, quirking up one brow. She stared back at him with equal interest too.

Tom spoke first. "You haven't gone back home for the holidays," he stated, watching as Hermione raised her brows in question, before putting down the book she had been reading.

"You haven't as well," Hermione followed, sitting up straight as she cocked her head back quite a bit. "Though, you don't seem to ever go home during the holidays. Why is that?" She remarked, then squinting her eyes at him as he scoffed, a small smirk playing at his lips. A buzz of energy zapped through the two of them, feeling it potent in the air as it danced across their finger tips and touched their lips in a furious manner. But a cold, calm chill sat in the air, sated—waiting. It wanted to be provoked.

"Oh, quite the curious one, are we?" Tom drawled, his long fingers interlocking with each other as he put his hands below his chin, leaning forward. A dangerous glimmer entered his eye and it caught Hermione at that moment with the sweet sound of his lull, coming from his lips. But his posture betrayed him—and so did the unyielding intuition of Hermione. "You see, I love to do much more important things over the holidays. Things that benefit me in the future. I love to learn and improve even at times that don't beg of it."

Hermione leaned forward as well, pondering over his words before he spoke once more. "I know you don't like wasting your precious time in these holidays waiting for nothing in particular. You'd rather be invested in more—challenging and articulate things." He looked at her—straight through her—as if he knew her, or knew just what she was like. She wanted to scoff him, but her curiosity took over her, though she wasn't very intent with falling into the mouse trap. She wasn't sure what he was talking about, but then Ron's naive voice entered through her head once more.

No, she inwardly shook her head, they couldn't stop her from making her own friends. She'd find out herself if Tom Riddle was evil or not. Unmask the man they were convinced was a villain.

Hermione looked at Tom Riddle inquisitively, feeling up the dangerous air around him—challenging and articulate. Yes, she could manage.

"You speak as if you know me quite well, Riddle," Hermione quipped, as if broaching him and prodding him forward. They both knew what she was doing, and he smiled a sickly sweet smile.

"Maybe I do want to know you quite well, Granger." The hair at Hermione's nape stood on end and she could feel goose flesh up and down her arms and legs. The air felt cold and constricting, yet it was rising to something stranger. Hermione was breathing in something that was an anomaly—a potent and intoxicating feeling. It might be content, power, or elation—her curiosity grew strong.

She breathed it all in.

"What is it that you want me for so eagerly?" The air around them both crackled dangerously, as if it was awakening the life of Hogwarts, from the dusty and creaky old castle to its once powerful, yet ancient aura, cocooning them in a bubble where their fates were sealed and both of their desires went spiralling, and the screams of their souls went unheard. All drowned out by the beating of their hearts, the vision that lingered in their minds.

"Join me," Tom prompted, his voice dropping down to a whisper that caressed her ear and sent a tingle down her spine. "Join me and you'll see." Something pushed Hermione, constricting her around her chest once more, yet freeing her of any other thought. Her conscience screamed at her and warned her of this man to no avail. She waited for a moment. Two moments. Three.

"Show me," Hermione spoke finally, and that was where the spiral of their hearts and minds began, their fates intertwined and sealed at this moment of history as the torment they would finally give each other began.

But both never regretted it.