Tom and Hermione stumbled out of Professor McGonagall's office nearly three hours after their initial arrival.

It had been exhausting explaining what had occurred - that no, he had not taken a portkey; yes, he really came from 1942; no, he was not up to any "funny business"; and yes, he was telling the complete truth.

Tom couldn't believe how many questions he had to answer - it wasn't like he had vanished from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons! It was this very castle that he had left after having inhabited it for seven years - and he was the fucking Head Boy, not to mention one of the most intelligent wizards ever to have existed.

And he certainly wasn't being arrogant when he called himself intelligent. It was just a fact in his time: the sky is blue, the grass is green,Tom Riddle is incredibly smart. Simple enough. The entirety of the castle knew it to be true in his time - he had never received anything less than an O in any of his classes and his professors were basically tripping over themselves to talk to him, hoping to make a lasting impression for "when he was off doing bigger, better things". It was pathetic, he knew - but he enjoyed the attention.

He struggled to keep his internal dialogue just that - internal. He could feel it bubbling up inside of him, threatening to spill out with every second that passed. How about we actually get to something productive, instead of interrogating me like I'm some bloody criminal, questioning every answer I've given-

Professor McGonagall had looked frazzled when he had explicitly asked, in the nicest voice he could muster up despite his rising temper, "Why can't we take a look at my file? Surely, all the information you're searching for should be there." He schooled his face and body to appear merely calm and inquisitive; a friendly smile with a slight dimple in his cheeks, his body language open and receptive, his broad shoulders set straight and his right leg crossed over his left. He was the embodiment of calm, not allowing a single speck of his internal turmoil leak through his perfect defense system: his appearance.

She had given him a stern look, her mouth seemingly permanently pursed in displeasure - did the woman ever smile? - before wandering off to Merlin knows where to find it.

He just couldn't grasp why this was such an issue. He was Tom Riddle, for Salazar's sake. Why was this not a more scandalized affair?

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, counting backwards from ten and imagining himself to be anywhere but the overwhelmingly small office. He had almost wished Dumbledore was there, if only to save the time of going over this nonsense. He snorted internally at the thought, knowing damn good and well that he wasn't looking forward to his eventual introduction to 'Headmaster Dumbledore', fifty years older than the last time Tom saw him.

"You'd think they'd be a bit more organized," the girl beside him said, shuffling in her seat to look at him. He had forgotten that she was there - she had sat so quietly in the seat beside him, assuredly taking in the poor excuse for a conversation that unfolded before her. "The rumour of the disappearing Head Boy has been going around for ages. Everyone just assumed it was a bluff to keep students from wandering the halls alone at night."

"Oh, brilliant, I've become a parable," Tom growled.

Hermione laughed at him - something that those familiar with him would be weary to do - and he felt a tightening in his stomach, disappearing almost as quickly as it had come.

"Are you always this despondent?"

"Certainly not. Only when it appears the entirety of Hogwarts has forgotten my existence."

"It appears nobody had forgotten your existence, Mr. Riddle," Professor McGonagall regrettably interrupted, returning with a thick file dedicated to him. "It says here that you discontinued your education to follow other scholarly pursuits. Yet here you sit, appearing to not have aged in the fifty years since your.. Disappearance." She hesitated on the last word as though she were uncomfortable to say it aloud.

Tom stared at the aging witch in front of him as he processed the information. He forced his voice to stay even and his face to stay somber, struggling to keep his insides from combusting-

The muscle in his jaw ticked, the only outward display of his displeasure. "I don't know who decided to fabricate my disappearance, or why, but clearly they had ill intentions."

"I.. I see that, Mr. Riddle. It will be reported to Headmaster Dumbledore immediately upon his return."

She gave him a look meant to comfort him and he felt bile rise up in his throat, none too happy that the old witch pitied him. He was not the type to accept others' attempts at empathy. Empathy was synonymous to weakness, and if there was one thing that Tom wasn't, it was weak.

"I promise you, we will get this figured out. The proof is directly in front of me," McGonagall gestured towards Tom, "and now that you have returned, we will make sure that you have everything you need to finish your final year here at Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Professor," he said, voice low and appreciative, "I look forward to Headmaster Dumbledore's return so I can speak with him about the matter." Tom gave a half smile as he lied seamlessly. "He was my Transfiguration professor, in fact, so he should certainly remember me."

Fucking Albus Dumbledore. Tom seethed internally, hatred for the older wizard running through his veins. This whole plot had something to do with him - he felt the truth burn down to the core of his body - and he intended to find out just why the old bastard had hidden his vanishment within a rumour, telling students that he had gone to other scholarly pursuits-

He was sure that it was so convenient that all of this happened when he was about to graduate, when he was to take his knights and show the world who was truly the greatest wizard- and it certainly was not Albus Dumbledore.

He had tuned out McGonagall as she rambled on about the Ministry of Magic, the current time period, and whatever else seemed to come to mind. She was talking merely to prevent the room from going silent and he found it to be incredibly boring. Small talk is indicative of small minds, after all, and was something he did not like to participate in. Why meander around a topic when you can get straight to the point?

Hermione interrupted Professor McGonagall, and he could've kissed Merlin's feet for the reprieve. He had already escaped one annoyance tonight and would like to avoid any more.

"What do we do about Head Boy? There's never been an event that has lead to having two Head Boys - it would've been in Hogwarts, a History."

"I'm well aware, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied. She raised an eyebrow at Hermione but her eyes softened as she looked at Tom. "However, I think he's gone through quite enough. I see no reason that he and Mr. Malfoy can be.. Well, co-head boys, I suppose. That seems fitting."

She flicked through his file again briefly before looking between the two students with a small smile on her face.

"And it appears the two of you will be taking most of your classes together, so I see no reason why Ms. Granger here couldn't be your go-to to ensure that you transition comfortably."

"Oh, Professor McGonagall, I'm sure Tom is entirely comfortable with this transition. I mean, really, to assign him - well, a babysitter of sorts - surely offends him greatly."

"Of course, I'm completely capable of managing this on my own-"

"Nonsense. There's no need to be noble; you're going to be working together as Head Boy and Head Girl, I'm sure you'll build a rapport quickly." Her voice slipped into a more business-like tone, eliminating the possibility of a rebuttal from the two students. Where was this woman five minutes ago? Tom straightened in his seat, finally interested in her dialogue. "Mr. Riddle, you'll be joining Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy in the Head's dormitory. The castle has a tendency to adapt to its student's needs, so a room should be ready and waiting for you. You'll stay in your original house, Slytherin, that is overseen by your Head of House, Professor Slughorn; luckily that should be familiar to you. All required items for your classes should be waiting for you by morning, I'll send ahead for them. Here's your lessons schedule - as I mentioned before, you and Miss Granger have several together, so you should at least have a friendly face with you most times."

She stood to dismiss them and her eye's met Tom's, an expression of resolve set on her wrinkling face.

"We will get to the bottom of this, Mr. Riddle. Have no qualms about that."

And with that she ushered them out into the deserted corridor, shutting the door behind her with an audible click.

Hermione awoke the next morning, groggy from a lifelike dream that had encompassed her fully. She decidedly was not a morning person; she regularly needed at least eight hours of sleep or she'd find herself resembling a grumpy Crookshanks, glaring at any person that bothered to talk to her before ten in the morning. There was a reason he was her familiar, after all.

She stumbled into her bathroom in a haze, stripping her pajamas quickly and tripping over her flannel pajama bottoms. She stumbled forward and swore under her breath, rubbing the knee that had collided with the toilet in her awkward attempt to catch herself from falling.

Her day was not off to the best start.

She turned on the shower and allowed the room to steam up, stepping in and taking comfort in the nearly blazing water that would hopefully relieve some of the stiffness in her neck. Whenever she was stressed - which, honestly, when wasn't she? She was the bloody Head Girl - she would develop an awful soreness in her neck that only a skin-burning shower could cure. She rested her head on the cool tile of the wall as the water poured over her, trickling down her lightly tanned skin and disappearing down the drain. She wished she could curl up on the floor and return to her rest while the water kept her comfortably warm. She could stay in the shower for hours if she could get away with it, but unfortunately it never seemed to be one of those mornings.

The Head Girl regretfully shut off the water after washing her hair and body quickly, rinsing off and stepping out of the shower. Her mind was thankfully blank from the pounding that would certainly make a return after her deep but restless sleep.

She couldn't remember the last time she had a dream that was so vivid; usually she awoke with only a glimmer of what had passed through her mind during slumber, and by breakfast it had slipped from her mind completely, never to be brought up again.

She dreamt of time travel and a ridiculously handsome boy who had an unfortunate habit of being a bit too snarky and sarcastic - his smile had promised trouble and mischief, but she found herself drawn to him all the same. Warmth pooled in her stomach at the thought of the dream boy - Tom, she remembered - and she wanted to laugh at herself for being attracted to someone her mind had made up. Her only problem was he dream had left her feeling out of sorts, almost as if her mind had stepped out of her body for the night, returning only when the tug of her inevitable awakening demanded her to return. She felt a bout of anxiety shoot through her at the unfamiliar feeling.

She approached the mirror and took a hard look at her body, almost as if she was trying to reassure herself that she hadn't changed overnight. Gazing quickly over her form, she ran through a mental checklist to ensure everything was still the same: unruly hair that had already started to frizz, brown with slight highlights from spending time in the sun; freckles lightly coating her cheeks and her nose; a slender body that wasn't entirely fit but certainly wasn't anything to frown about; a slight curve in her hips that had developed around fourth year; and finally, completely average legs that were covered in bruises and cuts from her unfortunate clumsiness that had plagued her since she was a child. She released a breath she wasn't aware she was holding upon the normality of seeing her body, convincing herself that since everything about her was still the same, everything else was the same as well.

Hermione blinked and the girl in the mirror blinked back, bright brown eyes staring back at her that swirled with speckles of amber. The girl seemed to be sending Hermione a message that the seventh year wasn't in the mood to decipher at that moment.

She quickly finished getting ready and stepped out into the common room of the Head Girl and Boy's dormitories, trying to run a brush through her Merlin-forsaken hair but not quite accomplishing her goal.

She began gathering her things that were already scattered across the room, mentally scolding herself for the disarray; it was only the second week of classes and she'd already let her studies take over most of her time, and evidently, most of her space. She found books on the comfy black sofa, parchment sprawled across the ottoman with her small and barely legible writing, and two empty bottles of ink sitting on the coffee table.

Hermione had gotten into an argument with Malfoy about 'the fucking disaster' - his words, not hers - and it was one thing she felt she could ever agree with him upon. She knew she was disorganized when it came to her studies, but disorganization was her form of planning; she never had any of her fellow Gryffindors complain. She did realize that was probably because she always helped them with her homework, but they abstained from complaints, so she took it as a minor inconvenience for everyone else. When she had brought it up Draco had disagreed vehemently, acting like she had performed the Cruciatus on his mum, and insisted that she keep things more tidy, that they weren't 'bloody trolls'. She imagined he had quite a few house elves cleaning up after him at home and possibly in his room when she wasn't around - she refused to have a house elf do things she was completely capable of doing on her own - but she kept her commentary to herself, resolving that it would be good for her to try to organize.

"Good morning, Granger," a deep voice greeted, causing her to sigh as she prepared for the inevitable argument regarding her belongings.

"Before you start, Malfoy, I've not had the best morning, so you might want to think about that before you start nagging-"

A low melodious laugh echoed through the common area and Hermione stopped in the middle of picking up her things, a book half-hanging from her hand as she searched for the origin of the sound.

All the colour drained from her face as she realized that in her exhaustion she had foolishly convinced herself that the events of the night before were merely a dream.

Tom Riddle, the infuriatingly handsome boy with the smart mouth, leaned casually against the wall adjacent to her with his arms crossed and a mischievous smirk on his face. He must have quietly descended the stairs that weren't there the day prior which she assumed led to his newly developed room, courtesy of the Hogwarts Founders themselves.

The entirety of the night before flashed before her eyes and she felt the heat of a blush forming on her cheeks.

Oh, fucking hell.

"Now's the point in the conversation where you greet me back," he said innocently, like she had only just began to learn English and she needed help with her sentence structures. He raised an eyebrow as she glared at him and she mentally cursed herself for finding his blatant rudeness attractive.

"I'm bloody well aware of how to have a conversation, Riddle," she growled back at him, "I was simply under the impression that to have a conversation, both parties must be willing participants."

"Ouch. You wound me, Hermione." He held his hand over his heart briefly, adding a dramatic flare to his words before winking at her. "Are you always this short-tempered in the morning? We'll have to work on that."

She counted to ten in her head, begging for patience that she found to be incredibly fleeting before eleven in the morning.

"Yeah, she's always a bitch in the morning," Malfoy grunted, descending down the stairs from his dormitory, dressed for the day with his silvery-blond hair slicked back in the trademarked Malfoy style, not a wrinkle to be seen on his uniform or robes. Hermione flinched at the insult, missing the dark look that settled on Tom's face when Draco spoke. "Part of the Granger charm."

"Oh, get bent, Malfoy," she said dismissively, making sure her voice was unaffected by his rude commentary. She was used to name calling from him, but still wasn't pleased by the way the Slytherin talked to her like she was beneath him. She was beneath no one, and was unafraid to show that whenever given the opportunity.

Tom pushed off the wall after observing the two student's interaction and took what felt like two steps - seriously, how long were his legs? - to stand next to her, his face blank as he looked at Malfoy. She cast a quick accio to gather her remaining items around the room, angry at herself for not thinking to do so before - and shoved them in her bag.

"Hermione and I are going to hang back a moment so we will not be accompanying you to breakfast," Tom said pragmatically, not giving her the opportunity to rebut his decision. "She needs filled in on what happened after she went to sleep, and I will relieve you of that task."

A look flashed between the two Slytherins that Hermione couldn't decipher before Draco nodded, walking past them as he exited the portrait hole.

"Something happened after I went to sleep?" the Head Girl turned towards him, her brow creased in confusion. Admittedly, she had thought her entire interaction with him was a dream, but she didn't need him to be aware of that in any way.

"You could've been the inferi with the way you stumbled into the common room, Granger," He let out a soft chuckle. "I don't think you were up to the task of introducing me to my.. Fellow Head Boy." She could hear the distaste in his voice at the title he now shared with Draco, his annoyance flashing in his eyes. "But don't worry, we've been acquainted, so I suppose your misstep of forgetting to introduce me is forgiven."

Hermione blushed as he called her out on her mistake but raised her chin defiantly, not willing to let a bloke she'd just met chastise her. Honestly, who did he think he was?

"Since it appears you're capable of putting sentences together on your own, surely it wasn't necessary for me to be involved in the first place."

They stared at each other for a moment, both seemingly annoyed with the way their conversation had turned; her bright brown eyes swirled with shades of amber and gold as they met his, dark and cold, glowing like two obsidian orbs. She noticed his jaw was set as he thought very intensely about something she couldn't quite pinpoint - certainly he couldn't be upset with her for her response, he didn't get to be a prick without expecting retaliation-

"Fair enough," he murmured, so quietly she could barely understand him. His face softened and he stepped away from her, motioning towards the portrait hole.

"We better get to breakfast - don't want to miss out on meeting my new classmates," Tom said too brightly, making his sarcasm known.

Hermione took an extra second to stare at him in disbelief before slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Y'know, you should probably see someone about those mood swings of yours," Hermione mumbled, making to walk past him and out of the common room without waiting for his response, but she tripped on the foot of the coffee table. She swore under her breath as the pain shot up her calf, more than likely already bruising underneath her stockings. She was extremely thankful that she hadn't fallen on her face in front of the new Head Boy, but it appeared he hadn't planned on letting her crash to the floor as he had grabbed her elbow, securing her in place.

"I'll be sure to do that, Granger - just as soon as you get a handle on walking." He smirked and let go of her.

Hermione snorted out a quick laugh and covered her mouth immediately, mortified that she had made such a weird sound around the seemingly perfect Tom Riddle.

She saw him make a weird look at her that disappeared so quickly she figured she imagined it, then shot her a quick smile.

She could've melted on the spot if she was being honest with herself. He had dimples - bloody dimples! - and she immediately decided that she should not be honest with herself, mentally stomping on her stupid, overly Lavender Brown-like thoughts. Hermione was smart, she didn't need to let herself get distracted by some overly attractive boy who showed up out of nowhere - she needed to focus on her N.E.W.T.S., and getting a halfway decent job when she left Hogwarts. She didn't find his almost-black hair attractive, though it curled just right to frame his face perfectly. She didn't think he had the best bone structure she had ever seen on a man. She didn't think his eyes, although incredibly dark, were hiding secrets that she wouldn't mind being privy to-

"You know, it's rude to stare, Hermione," Tom interrupted, laughing quietly as he bypassed her and gracefully leapt out of the portrait hole into the corridor.

"I wasn't staring!"

Her retort was heard by her alone as the portrait closed shut, leaving Hermione standing in the common room.

Fucking Tom Riddle.

A/N: There you have it, background and such that'll pop up again later in the story. Keep in mind that this Hermione hasn't been through the horror that canon!Hermione battled with, so she's going to be a little.. softer and more nervous, not having the confidence that she gained through fighting her whole life. Don't worry, she'll develop into that eventually. OH, and Tom hasn't made any horcruxes yet. More on that later.

Much love, guys, I appreciate you reading! Leave me a review or comment just to say you're still interested lol xxxx