A Tale Of Two.

-

Summery: She had no need to prove herself of anything. She was it. Brave. Loyal. Logical. And even sometimes rash, she was the ideal Gryffindor. And so, she was rightfully called the Gryffindor Princess. As for him? He was witty, acidic, intelligent and cunning. Subtlety was one of his finer qualities, unlike his patience. Heir of Slytherin. They were suited for their roles incredibly, although, there was one little snag. After all, mortal enemies were never meant to fall for one another, now were they?

Note: This story is completely and totally A.U. No specific time line. Expect to see people in different age groups then they actually are, and also people from very different time-lines coming together in one story. Muggleborns are especially rare in this world, especially if the the Muggleborn is a woman, as the only exceptionally powerful witches would be Helga HufflePuff and Rowena Ravenclaw, who were pure-blooded. (I looked it up and it had said nothing of their blood, so I'm only assuming so for this story.)

I studied a bit on British ranks and such, but please, forgive me if anything is incorrect.

Tom/Hermione.

She hated parties. Balls, social events, anything that required her to deal with the flock of those idiotic girls who often swarmed around her, or look for possible and acceptable suitors. She loathed them. With a passion. It was true, she did have a few friends whom she could speak with, dear friends of hers, but because they were knights and were currently stationed outside of the palace, she had no choice but to submit to her father's wishes and mingle with her peers.

It was not as if she were being obnoxious, because she wasn't, but the ladies of the court were so shallow and idiotic she could step into them barefoot and not get wet. And if there was one thing Hermione despised, it was idiocy. True, her friends, aka Harry and Ronald, were not the smartest people in the world, but they were intelligent in their own right. Harry was an excellent knight, and performed his duties splendidly. As for Ronald, he was a strategist, and would often advise her father when circumstances called for it. Although, even when he was perhaps the best Strategist the Land of Lions has ever seen, it did not mean he did not put his foot in his mouth.

If only Ginny was here! Ginny Weasley, along with Luna Lovegood, were perhaps her two best girl friends who she ever had the pleasure of meeting when she was eleven. Ginevra, or Ginny, was the youngest of the Weasley family, a family fairly close to her father, Godric Gryffindor. She was the youngest of all the Weasleys, being born after Ronald, and the twins, Fred and George, Billy, and Charlie. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were servants at the castle, but were wonderful people whom she loved very much. Her father was rather fond of them as well, and no matter their rank in society, they were always invited to any ball he was the host of.

As for Luna, she was the daughter of Count Lovegood. Although they were perhaps the most silliest of people she has ever met, believing in Crumpled horn snorkhacks, or whatever they were called, they were Ravenclaws, and were intelligent as well. Luna was a very calm, happy sort of person, whom of which believed there to be good in everybody, and saw little wrong of anyone, unless, of course, they were Slytherins. Even then, though, she gave them all a fair shot. Lune was an only child, having lost her mother at a young age, but that never seemed to bother her.

Right now, at this moment, though, neither one could be found, unfortunately. She had the misfortune of dealing with all these girls alone, and Hermione was ready to whip out her wand and hex a good many of them, and she was not above a few curses at the present moment. She was annoyed to her wits end with these girls, all babbling about the latest fashions, or her hair, and how she looks that evening. All of them were saying how wonderful she looked, adding in gorgeous even, but Hermione knew that they were all stuck up and would stab her in the back later on, should they ever get the chance. They talked about her. She was no idiot, she knew they did. She heard them. But it did not bother her. Not one bit.

As she waded through the masses of ladies, Hermione looked around desperately for any sign of a friendly face. Absolutely none. She would have to go to her last resort, then. Stick to Daddy. Hermione made a bee line for her father, who was currently chatting it up with Rowena Ravenclaw, possibly her favorite Queen. She would absolutely love it if her father married her, however, she could not stand her daughter's obnoxious behavior, and that would be the only regret she could ever have for having such an intelligent and wise woman for a step-mother.

As it was, the girls following her, although they revered her father Godric greatly, were afraid to go near him. It was the absolute perfect escape route from them, and she would be damned if she didn't take advantage of the situation.

So, Hermione went ahead and stood next to her father, listening to his conversation with Rowena involving the advantages and disadvantages of reading books and playing Quidditch, of which he was so engrossed in. Rowena was also captivated with it, and did not notice Hermione standing beside them. Of course Hermione agreed with Rowena, never at all liking Quidditch as much as Harry and Ron did, but she did also agree with her father that getting a bit of sunshine once in a while would be much healthier than staying in the Library.

The ladies who followed her previously had by now backed off, of which she was so terribly grateful. She could now see all of those in the ballroom, and observed each and every one of them. Quite a few men were staring at her, either they were from the Land of Badgers, or rather those under Helga Hufflepuff's rule, or they were from the Land of Ravens, rather unoriginal but still, being under Rowena's rule. Slytherins were very much welcome here on this day, as it was her sixteenth birthday, and her father having previously been a friend of Salazar, but considering who she was, they would not.

Those born in the Land of Snakes were sly, cunning, witty and intelligent. They were also pig-headed, completely and utterly biased, and believed in pure-blood supremacy. And each and every Slytherin hated her. Why? It was simple, really.

She was Muggleborn.

Godric Gryffindor was not her real father. On her ninth birthday, long after discovering she had magical powers, something that was fairly rare in her parent's world of Muggles, her parents were murdered by Slytherins. They had meant to kill her as well, but, she had been in school, and they would rather not step into a Muggle school if they could help it. Their hateful ways had both saved and destroyed her life. It was then, in an outright cry of anger and sorrow her home had burst into flames, and a disguised Godric just happened to be passing by.

Finding her distressed, Godric had tried to comfort her the best way he possibly could, bless the man. It was apparent he was unused to children, but he found her terribly amusing, and he had taken her in, and from then on, he had resolved to give her the best childhood she could ever have. And he did. She had a wonderful childhood. It was true she missed her parents terribly, but Godric was as much as her father as her biological father had been, and she loved him so much.

Often, when she was younger, and even then still, Godric would comment on how studious she was, believing her to be more of a Ravenclaw than anything, but she had proved him wrong on many occasions that not only was she a Gryffindor through and through, she very well could have been his biological daughter, as she was everything he was, and a little more.

"Enjoying your party, Hermy?" Godric asked fondly. Her eyes narrowed, and a grin tugged on his lips. She absolutely loathed that name, but he insisted on using it.

"Very much so, Father. Tell me, would you know where Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood are?" she asked him curiously. Godric shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, dearest. Perhaps they are dancing?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm afraid not, Father. They would have wished me a happy birthday already, but I have not seen them."

"Hermione," Rowena called with a smile. Hermione turned to her friend, her eyes shining, knowing what is to come. Aunt Rowena loved riddles, and as far as she knew, only her subjects and Hermione herself could solve them. "It's more powerful than God. It's more evil than the devil. The poor have it. The rich need it. If you eat it, you'll die. What am I?"

She frowned. She has never heard of anything more powerful than God.... It was true she wasn't very religious, but if she looked at it from a religious point of view, at least for the first two lines, what would she find? As far as she knew, nothing was more powerful than God, and more evil than the Devil. As for the poor, they don't have much. And the rich, they have everything, so what could they possibly...

"Nothing," she said with a snap of her fingers. "Nothing is more powerful than God, and nothing is more evil than the Devil. The poor have nothing, the rich need nothing, and if you eat nothing, you will die."

Rowena smiled proudly. "Very good, deary. Now, off with you, and try to enjoy your birthday. I am sure there is many young men who would love to dance with the Gryffindor Princess," she ushered. Hermione smiled, but shook her head as she walked off. She wasn't going to dance with any young men, however. She was going to read a book, no matter what her father said.

She maneuvered her way through the ball room, giving thanks to all of those who stopped her and wished her a happy birthday, conversing with those only when she was forced to. Finally she managed to slip out, and a sigh of relief left her. No one would notice she was missing, and perhaps if they did, they wouldn't find her unless they knew her completely, and that was a rare few.

The clicking of her heels were the only sound heard throughout the halls, aside from the soft echo of live music playing and the rustling of her dress as it was dragged along the floor, and her calm, even breaths that filled the air. A sense of serenity filled her, and she only had to look out the window to see the peaceful full moon lurking above them. Hermione blinked twice, before returning to her path that lead to her precious library.

The library was her home, her sanctuary. It was her safe-haven, and her escape from reality. She loved indulging in her studies, and sometimes even reading for just the enjoyment of it. She loved reading of different people and their lives, learning with them, crying with them, and the satisfaction of finishing a novel. Hermione lovingly pushed the oak doors open, stepping inside, embracing the silence warmly. She breathed in, allowing herself to feel the comfort only thousands of books could bring, with the never ending knowledge and satisfaction it often brought.

Her father's library was well equipped. In her early memories of living in Godric's Hollow, the library had little to no books, and the few he did have were of adventurous young lads saving damsels in distress. She loved those books well enough, but it would often get repetitive and boring. So, she had requested that there be books of all sorts, novels, novellas, short stories, and academic books of all levels. The Library was her own, her own personal room besides her chambers, and in it were all sorts of books she had collected over the years. The Academic books were on all subjects such as Transfiguration, Potions, Divination (although after reading a few chapters and her lessons with Professor Trelawney, a previous tutor, she believed it all to be a bunch of rubbish), Defense Against the Dark Arts, Caring for Magical Creatures, Charms, Astronomy, Herbology and History of Magic.

The History of Magic was a surprisingly small amount, though she was not all that surprised. Still, she wondered if there was a bit more that no one knew. She was taught for seven years, along with Harry and Ron, by select tutors, although Harry and Ron were only taught by them because Hermione had demanded it. Usually children would be taught by their own parents, but a bit of tutoring couldn't harm anyone. She loved all lessons, but she was particularly good at Arithmancy and Transfiguration, along with Potions. Her teachers said she did excellent in every subject, aside from Defense, but then again, she wasn't failing that class either, and Hermione prided herself on her intelligence.

Still, though. Aside from all the vast ranges of knowledge she could learn, it wasn't the comfort of knowledge that she sought. It was her Muggle Literature. She had managed, with her father's help, to save quite a few books that her real father and mother had managed to collect over their years, and she insisted on keeping them all. With some quick spell work, Godric had saved her books for her, and their were only a few with a burn mark on them. So it was there she was headed. It was her own little sin, for she knew that it wasn't really accepted amongst the wizarding world. Not even Godric approved, even though he understood the sentimental values of the books.

Only Rowena Ravenclaw understood her need for them, and for that she was truly thankful.

As she moved forward, she knew she was not alone. Her wand out, she steadily walked around, browsing the books, hoping she looked like she knew not of the person's presence. However, she was no Slytherin, and she knew she was terrible at being subtle. Hermione browsed the books, going down aisle by aisle, until she found him.

Looking at her Muggle Literature.

The first thing she noticed about him was that he was garbed in green and silver robes. He was most definitely a Slytherin. Not only that, but he was pale, and his fingers were long and slender. His hair was long, but well cut, and looked to be like ebony ribbons descending from his head. He was tall, much taller than her, and he was reading her Muggle Literature. Hers.

"Forgive me if I am incorrect," she said, hands placed firmly on her hips, "but are Slytherins not also taught things such as manners?"

The man turned around, and Hermione could not help but think him handsome. He had a handsome face, one that looked to be carved by angels. She was wary. He smirked, and, with replacing her book, of which she noticed to be Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, he replied,

"Manners play in with respect, my little witch, and respect is only given to those that deserve it." he replied. Hermione's eyes instantly narrowed.

"Then it is agreed that I shall not and will not ever respect you?" she retorted. Now it was his turn to become angry, but he seemed unaffected. He looked amused, and that annoyed her greatly.

Instead of dignifying her with a reply, he asked, "No doubt this Muggle Literature is yours?" Hermione nodded tersely. "I wonder, why is it that you are still so fond of your other world? They would reject you should they find out who you are, and the wizarding world will never truly respect you should you not break off from it."

"Considering myself a Muggleborn and a woman, they hardly respect me as it is. I hardly see the point in hiding it. I am fond of my parent's books, Slytherin, and I am damn well proud of my heritage. The Wizarding world may as well get used to it." she told him angrily.

"One should never be proud to be a Mudblood." he told her.

"I am. I will never be ashamed of my birth, and nothing you do or say will convince me otherwise," she replied stubbornly. Hermione paused, and with a frown she asked, "Why is it that you are here in the first place? I was told Salazar would rather burn in the deepest depths of hell than go to a Muggleborn's birthday ball, as for all Slytherins."

At this, Tom smirked, which irked her greatly. "No doubt, my little witch. But, I am here merely to give you dear Salazar's present." Dread washed over her as he said this. His voice was cold, chilling her to the bones, and his smile evil. She found herself not even wanting to know the answer, but she felt she had to ask.

"Which would be?" Her voice was weak. His smirk grew. He smoothly bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and in one fluid movement, he headed for the door. Just as he was about to leave, he flicked his wrist, and her Library, her precious Library, burst into flames. The flames formed words, words that made her want to cry and lash out in anger at the same time.

'Happy Birthday, Mudblood.'

-

To say Godric Gryffindor was enraged was an understatement. He was absolutely furious at his past friend for threatening Hermione, calling her a Mudblood, and once more, destroying her books. He was pacing about the throne room as Hermione sat in his throne, with Rowena, Ginny, and Luna by her side, attempting to comfort her. The flames in her Library had grown at too fast a rate for her to even attempt to save her beloved books without being killed, and so she had left her safe-haven to it's unfortunate fate. A part of her felt empty. She had spent so long finding all of those books, and some were original copies of texts, given to her by Rowena. There were no others, and now they were completely lost.

The guests had left, and Harry and Ron had been summoned for Hermione. She just needed them to hug her. She had lost her most valued possessions in the entire world, all thanks to a man in Slytherin. She had no idea what his name was, and the cheek he kissed was burning, as if his heavenly lips had been laced with acid. She hated him, along with every other bloody Slytherin on the earth. Nothing could convince her otherwise.

She refused to cry about all of it, though, no matter how many times her friends assured her it would be fine. She would not cry. She would rather die a thousand deaths than give the Slytherins the pleasure of seeing her tears.

"Who was the boy," Godric demanded from her once more. "I will surely hang him from the highest tower by his throat for this! Salazar will pay, now, Hermione, describe him to me!"

"I told you, Father! All I remember was that he had long ebony hair and pale skin, with slender hands and onyx eyes. He looked to be pureblooded."

"No doubt, aren't all Slytherins purebloods?" Harry asked as he entered the room. Hermione shook her head.

"There are quite a few Halfbloods among their ranks, Harry." she told him calmly.

"Are you alright, 'Mione? Bloody hell, you look like the Library was burned down..." Everyone glared at Ron, aside from Hermione, because he was not helping at all. Hermione sighed. Poor man, he put his foot in his mouth far too often, she felt for him. Instead of yelling at him as she would have done before, she simply said,

"That's because it has."

He stood dumbstruck, and Ginny whacked him on the head. "Sometimes, Ron, I can't believe you're my brother."

"Er.. Hermione... are you, alright?" he questioned softly.

"No she bloody well isn't alright, Ronald! Honestly, all of her books have burned to a crisp, and you ask if she is alright? How idiotic of you!" cried Ginny, and Godric heartily agreed with her.

"Now now, let's just calm down, alright? Hermione needs to calm herself, not listen to you two argue." Luna told them gently, and Hermione smiled in thanks. She did need a bit of peace and quite, she had quite the headache at the moment, and she really wished to go to bed. When she told her father this, he absolutely refused to allow her to sleep without any guards, and immediately, Ron and Harry volunteered to stand outside her room. She was greatly against this, but agreed with her father's reasoning. What if she was attacked? Although she could defend herself pretty well, it would be better to have Harry and Ron beside her than have no one at all.

And so, Hermione was lead to her chambers by Ron and Harry. The silence that filled the air was an awkward one, and one Hermione so dearly loved. Upon entering her room, Hermione bid the two goodnight, before turning away and meeting the amused gaze of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was leaning against the bed post, his arms crossed over his chest in a nonchalant manner, watching her with the smallest of smirks on his lips. Oh how she wanted to kill him.

"What is it that you want?" she nearly screamed, but her deadly voice came out only above a whisper, which was perhaps a good thing for Riddle.

"Oh, I was merely wondering if the little witch had enjoyed her present," he smoothly replied, standing straight now. Hermione walked over toward him, her wand hand twitching. She wanted to hex him, or curse him, it didn't matter which, not to her. If he died, so be it. If he suffered from humiliation, so be it. As long as he suffered, she didn't care how.

"How could you do it? How could you burn books, books! You destroyed my Library, my haven, my home! Why?" she cried, furious.

Tom shrugged. "A Mudblood, no less a woman, does not need so many books- it might encourage you to actually think." Hermione's eyes narrowed, and in response Tom cocked an eyebrow. She was furious. How dare that arrogant bastard! She wanted to kill him at that moment, but the goodness in her would not allow her to. Quickly, she whipped out her wand and repeated all the most humiliating spells she knew, and some were quite damaging.

With immense satisfaction she watched his eyes widen in surprise before he deflected them, one by one, and the duel had begun. In the earlier parts of the duel, she had cast a muffliato so that Harry and Ron would not hear the battle. This was her revenge, and hers alone. She did not want to be interrupted, and she certainly wanted to get to him before they did- it was her library he burned, after all.

Neither one lost or gained an inch, the match was equal. This, somehow, amused Tom while it infuriated Hermione. She wanted to beat the living daylights out of him the Muggle way, which was no less dangerous when dealing with someone with a wand.

"Might I explain before you actually try to kill me?" Tom asked as he dodged a stunning spell.

"What is there to explain? You destroyed my library because I am a woman and Muggle-born, what more reason could you possibly need?!" she growled, casting another crude spell.

"Those were my King's words, not my own, Hermione."

When he spoke her name, she stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed as she measured him up. Could she trust him? No- he was a bloody Slytherin, of course he couldn't. Still, she did not raise her wand again, which gave him a bit of encouragement.

"Explain." Hermione demanded tersely.

"Salazar detests Muggleborns, as you very well know. And, when he, the Gryffindor oaf, had taken you in, he was... less than pleased. And so, he had declared a sort of cold war between the two lands. His birthday present to you on this oh so happy occasion," he practically sneered every word, but she ignored it. "was a burned down library. Fortunately for you, I found most books to be quite useful and far to valuable to be burned, and your library, in it's entirety, is in one piece. Well, it will be, if I could perhaps reach it."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Harry and Ron are guarding outside- how is it that you plan to go there? You know you very well can't Apparate within Godric's Castle," she told him.

"Very aware, little witch. But, I was hoping you could, perhaps, help me with that."

-

It turned out that helping him would involve knocking Harry and Ron unconscious so that the two could slip out of her room together without their notice. She glared at Tom every few minutes while he continued to smirk and stroll along the halls of Godric's Castle as if he owned the place. Pompous, arrogant bastard. If it didn't work, and she did not get her library back, Salazar Slytherin would have one less heir to show off.

"Relax, little witch, I assure you that it will work," he confirmed calmly.

"It better," she growled. Silence surrounded them once more and Hermione was deep in thought as the rhythmic sound of their footsteps clicking against the floor echoed in her ears. She knew, without a doubt, that even if her Library was somehow restored to it's former glory she still would not forgive him. Her entire collection had been burned to a crisp, and that was something not so easily forgiven.

Once they reached the doorway leading to her precious library, the smell of burnt parchment and ink filled her nostrils, it made her nauseous. She murmured under her breath, casting a quick repelling charm on herself and Tom did the same. Tom pushed the door open as they slowly entered the charred room, and Hermione bit her lip to hold back the sob that was sure to erupt. Everything in the room, the beautiful library she had cherished with her heart and soul, was charred and burned, barely recognizable. She severely hoped that he would be able to fix it, because she was unaware of any spell that could. Slowly though, Tom began to chant and she recognized the Dark Arts immediately. Dark Arts was banned from Godric's Castle, but from a few trips to Rowena's Kingdom and into her library, she knew quite a bit of it.

"Tom, when you're finished, you will have to leave. My Father has wards to alert him when the Dark Arts are being used," she explained, but he did not reply. She didn't expect him to, after all, using a chant like that required all of someone's concentration, he blinked, and that was all she got as a response. Hermione turned to her room, and to her astonishment, her library was slowly restoring itself. The wooden floors were returning to their original honeyed color, and the cherry wood bookshelves were repairing themselves as well.

Watching magic like that was simply amazing, and soon her magnificent Library was back to normal. Hermione beamed, about to turn toward Tom in thanks, but she realized that he was already gone. She was still angry at him, but he could be forgiven, if, that is, he completed one thousand tasks to earn her forgiveness.

It would be a month later until she saw Tom again, and it had been very briefly. He had given her a note, and a peck on the cheek (it still burned, but she somehow... liked it, as alarming as the thought was) before he left. She did not call after him, but smirked slightly as she opened the note.

'I do hope that my gift soothed your temper, my little witch.

Forgive me?

Tom'

Deciding not to appear in the Land of Snakes for many reasons, Hermione had owled her response instead. Her lovely owl, named Cheshire, was a snowy owl and happened to be Hedwig's mother. Cheshire often resided in the owlery, but she knew when Hermione needed her, and so today she was waiting inside her chambers. Hermione pet the animal affectionately before sitting before her desk. She grabbed some spare parchment and wrote,

'One thousand things you must do

to compensate for one of my books, times two.

Nine-hundred Ninety Nine things to go

How will your repentance show?

Hermione'

Smiling, Hermione rolled the parchment up quickly before tying it with a silver ribbon onto Cheshire's leg.

"Give this to Tom Marvolo Riddle. Stay hidden in the trees until you find him, darling, as he resides among the snakes." She kissed the owl's forehead affectionately before Cheshire flew off out the window, and off into the distance. Hermione busied herself in the days that passed with her lessons, and dwelling in her library. Harry and Ron were often her constant companions, but when they were not available she called on Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley. Ginny and Luna were perhaps her two most cherished friends, besides Ron and Harry, and she loved them both dearly, despite Ginny's boyish behavior and Luna's odd quirks.

Finally Cheshire returned to her in one piece, and this time a parchment tied with a red ribbon was attached to her leg. Hermione gave Cheshire a treat before retrieving the letter, and she unrolled it with a small smile on her face.

'What a silly little witch you are, my dear. Nine-hundred and Ninety Nine things?
Surely you are jesting. Still, if you are not, I shall do my best to please you.

Tom'

She noted how he did not use a silly rhyme, but she could not help herself when she wrote that. Still, at least he accepted her challenge. Still, though, it made her wonder.

What exactly did Tom Riddle want from her?

Hermione was not a fool. She knew fairly well of the evils that Slytherins claimed to be good, how they studied the Dark Arts above everything else. She also knew of Tom's affection for it, which was why she was a bit hesitant when it came to him. He was obsessed with the Dark Arts just as he was obsessed with following Slytherin's ideals and the magical world ruling over the Muggle one. She was hesitant, but not driven away. Not yet.

Months passed, and slowly things were crossed off. He sent her trinkets until she finally asked for him not to do so, and then he sent her books. They were all on the Dark Arts, so she was forced to hide them in Rowena's own library if she wanted to read them, with her permission of course. Every time she visited Rowena (which was a lot, and not much had changed due to her books) she would sit in the library and read them. Although Rowena was good, she did not, however, claim to not be evil. In fact, she often stated that what she was mattered to no one and nothing so long as she did the right thing, and how she spent her time mattered to no one but herself. So, it wasn't particularly odd for her to have Dark books in her library. And so Hermione would not be suspected.

Hermione had long forgiven Tom for burning her library, and well, he had only three things left to do to 'fully' earn her forgiveness. Aside from books, he often took her out. Slowly a relationship formed between them, but Hermione, even with all her knowledge, had no idea of what the feelings were, or where they originated from. But the excitement of kissing him on the cheek, or even a deep kiss, or the mere thought of sneaking out so the two could meet along the borders, it was a thrilling experience. And she doubted she would be strong enough to relinquish their relationship, whatever it was.

Dancing, singing, or even the theater, Tom made sure that they had a wonderful time until dawn approached, and then they would have to depart. But no matter what, each and every night they would meet at the border, and then go to the Muggle world where they could easily hide away from those that would disapprove. She always felt a certain sense of joy when around him, especially when he would smirk, or, on rare occasions, smile.

It was true that more often than not that they would argue. Occasionally, it would be on the little things, but then sometimes it was something big, but bickering between the two was not uncommon. They would challenge each other mentally and magically, pushing the other to their limits. They were equals.

And, if Hermione contemplated on it for too long, she would say she was in love.

Love. Not often was that something she would have ever considered. She loved her father, she loved Rowena, she even loved Harry and Ron. It was easy to love them. It wasn't easy to love Tom.

Sure, he took her out. They had fun together. But more often than not something would come up, like his fascination with the Dark Arts, and the fact that he is a Slytherin, come into play, and she being a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor, they clashed. She knew the Dark Arts, but she did not speak of them with such love and obsession as he did. She was intrigued by it, but the thought of actually using the spells she had learned in the books he gave her repulsed her beyond belief.

But then, something struck her. It was something that her mother had told her a long time ago, when she was a little girl. It had always been embedded into her brain, as Hermione had always taken her mother's advice to heart.

"Love is a choice, dearest. You will soon learn that. It is not the gushy, sentimental feelings, although they will start that way. Soon the spark will fade, and you are left with a choice. Continue loving the man with all your heart and soul, despite his flaws and weaknesses, or don't. It is the most difficult choice you will ever have to make, dear, but I have faith in you."

As her mother's words faded, Hermione sighed. She had no idea what she felt for Tom, and she knew that soon she would have to make the choice of whether or not to love him or not. When, she did not know. But soon.

Her eyes fell onto the bracelet that he had given to her. It was made of the finest gold and silver, mixing, while rubies and emeralds dotted the surface. Slytherin and Gryffindor united. She smiled and slipped it on before glancing at herself in the looking glass. She wore simple Muggle clothes so that she could blend in with the crowd when she and Tom entered the Muggle World. Her hair was pinned up in a bun, although a few loose curls tumbled down and framed her face.

Thinking she was decent enough, and lovely enough to at least go out with Tom, Hermione walked out onto the balcony. There she grabbed her Firebolt, which her father had bought for her to encourage her to fly. She deemed it a useless effort, as she will never stop being afraid of hieghts, but it was a rather useful thing to have when she needed to fly off the balcony and to the Apparating point. She felt bad, because all she used the Firebolt for was to disobey him, but what else could she do? While within the boundaries, she could not apparate. As she held on tightly to the Firebolt, nearing the Apparation point, she noticed three people, one being her father. And he looked angry.

She descended, falling to the ground gracefully before looking up at him curiously. He was angry, but why? Looking at Harry and Ron, they appeared sad. What had happened? Realization soon dawned on her, and she could not believe it. Surely the didn't know, did they?

No.

They couldn't know. She had been careful when leaving, she had always been careful. But surely... Looking into her father's eyes, pain struck her heart because she knew, without a doubt, that he knew. And he was angry for it. Once more, she was angry at herself for disappointing him.

"What have you got to say for yourself, Hermione?" He boomed angrily. Hermione flinched, tears glistening in her eyes. She was so sorry. But she couldn't... she couldn't give in now. She just couldn't.

"Father, I am confused, I-"

"You have been fraternizing with the enemy!" He yelled. A tear fell, but it had gone ignored. Not once in her entire life as his daughter had she ever been yelled at, for she had always been a well-behaved child. There had simply been no reason for it. Yet, here he was, her father, yelling at her. She could not help but think she deserved it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but it had gone unheard as a sickening crack filled the air. All eyes were drawn to Tom, who was watching her carefully. Her father was glaring at him, and if looks had the capability to kill, Hermione was quite sure that Tom would be dead right now. Tom payed him no mind, however, and that, possibly, made her father even angrier. But it made her happy, as Tom only had eyes for her.

He walked toward her in even strides, and not a word was spoken between them. He simply brushed away her tear, and their fingers intertiwned. As warmth, joy, and inexplicable bliss filled her very being, she knew without a doubt that she loved him. Despite his flaws, she loved him, and she never wanted him to change, no matter what happened, or what he did. She would always love him.

"We will be together forever, Hermione," Tom said as he stroked her cheek. "I give you my word."

It was then a large crack filled the air once more, and three Slytherins, including the Slytherin King himself, stood on the other side of them. Salazar's eyes, as Grey as the purest of silver, studied her they were filled with immeasurable hatred, and that was something that could never change. She was a Muggleborn, after all, and he loathed them just as Godric loathed the Dark Arts. No words were spoken, only wands were drawn. By doing so, Salazar had declared war on the Land of Lions, and so Godric was forced to accept. Slytherins on one side of Hermione and Tom, Gryffindor on the other. They were stuck in the middle, forced to choose a side.

But as two misfired curses flew, a flash of green surrounded her, and Hermione felt nothing, nothing at all, as she felt the life leave her, as well as Tom.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

I promise I will write another chapter, and trust me, it's going to be a bit different from this one. More modern. Please review, or else I may just be tempted not to update for a really really long time.