DISCLAIMER: Still not J.K Rowling... Fingers crossed though, cause being rich would be pretty cool.

The next morning saw Hermione speaking normally once more, much to the relief of Lyla and Georgia who had thought it very improper for a young lady to sound so undignified, and the disappointment of Septimus and Alphard. Tom, however, maintained a stony silence all throughout breakfast, where he spoke mostly to Pollux Lestrange and Abraxas Malfoy, and their first class Herbology, where he worked with Alphard and Lucas. His absence left Hermione with Lyla and Georgia, who were very pleased with this, as neither one of them wanted to even go near the Restless Rhododendrons they were supposed to be re-potting.

"Really, Hermione, I don't know how you do it," Georgia remarked, watching her stuff the writhing plant into its pot."

"What?" Hermione snapped, wiping her face and leaving a long dirt mark on her forehead.

Lyla shuddered delicately. "All this dirt. Honestly, we've just got a house elf to maintain mother's garden, and none of this Restless Rhododendron nonsense, No we've got proper Flutterby bushes and Twining Tulips and such. What plants do you have in your garden, Hermione? You seem very experienced in re-potting and replanting."

Hermione sat back on her heels. "I don't keep a garden, Lyla. Could you pass me the dragon dung please?" She asked, subtly changing the subject. Lyla smirked slightly, and levitated the dragon dung fertilizer to Hermione. "I've noticed you never speak about your parents," she observed, leaning away as Hermione opened the bag of fertilizer and dumped some into a new pot. "Really?" Hermione replied indifferently. "Yes, we know little to nothing about you," Georgia responded, waving her hand in front of her nose to dispel the scent of dragon dung.

"Why the sudden interest then?" Hermione asked, as she wrenched another Restless Rhododendron out of a too-small pot.

Georgia shrugged elegantly. "We've roomed together for a year. We should at least know a little about your background, wouldn't you say?"

More like mummy and daddy were curious about the half-blood who outscores the purebloods, Hermione thought bitterly to herself.

"I suppose," Hermione hedged. "But there really isn't much to know. I'm very readable."

Lyla looked as if she would continue the conversation, but just then Darian Robbins from Ravenclaw tripped over a Venomous Tentacula tendril and upended a pot of fertilizer over her head. Hermione smiled.

After Herbology was Potions. Hermione and Tom always sat together for this class, and after the incident that had occurred the previous morning, Tom had no choice but to continue sitting with Hermione to keep up the image of a dutiful friend. This gave Hermione the opportunity to talk to him properly, as he'd been ignoring her since History of Magic the previous day. Sliding into the seat next to him, Hermione poked him in the side.

Tom tensed. "Tom, what's wrong?" she asked innocently. He scowled and looked away. She poked him again, twice, and he snorted. Hermione suppressed a laugh. Who could have known that Lord Voldemort was ticklish? She bared her teeth in a fearsome grin and leaned over, fingers wiggling. Tom scooted away from her, face still turned away. "Tom, why are you upset?" She asked, taking a leaf from his book and pouting dramatically. "T-Tom," she sniffled, hiding her face in her hands. She heard Tom exhale loudly, and smiled into her hands. A moment later, she felt Tom hesitantly patting her on the back.

"There there," he said, uncomfortably. Hermione lifted her face out of her hands, grinning. "Thanks, Tom," she said, smirking. Tom blinked, then scowled at her and pulled the gurdyroots towards him.

"You weren't really sad, were you?" he demanded, glaring at Hermione as he sliced the gurdyroots. She shrugged unapologetically. "You weren't speaking to me," she replied, mashing the newts eyes into a gooey pulp in her mortar. Tom rolled his eyes. "Well don't associate with that dolt Weasley then. I find him extremely distasteful." He stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione sighed as she added spider legs to the goopy mixture in her mortar. "Tom, you can't be my only friend you know. And you're fine with Alphard and Lucas and the others, I don't see why Septimus is any different."

Tom glared mutinously at her. "If you're just going to do the same thing again-"

"Let's not argue," Hermione said quickly, snatching the gurdyroot slices away from him and dumping them unceremoniously into the cauldron along with her disgusting mixture of animal body parts. "Grab the billywig stings, would you?"

After brewing what Slughorn declared to be an "exemplary burn salve", Hermione and Tom headed to the library.

"I think I'm going to try and learn a bit about warding," Hermione mused. "It seems awfully interesting, and they don't teach it at Hogwarts." Tom inclined his head thoughtfully. "I suppose. I think I saw a section on it—I'll show you." After making up, Tom and Hermione had easily slipped back into their first year routine.

However, no sooner had Hermione wandered into the stacks in the library, than she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. Filled with dread, she turned to face the black haired girl she knew as Death.

"What now," Hermione snapped irately. Death's lips twitched downwards. "I'm sorry," Death replied. "But it really was time for them to be moving on you know—" Hermione held up a hand to cut her off. "What is it you want now, Death?" she said sharply. Death sighed, leaning against the bookshelf. "Well, I was going to tell you the day you got to Hogwarts but, er, as you know…things happened. But anyway, it's official—today's the day Britain and France officially declare war on Germany. I just thought you might like to know. Heads up, y'know. Especially now that I know you don't like surprises like that."

Hermione nodded stiffly. "Thank you. Is that all?"

Death pouted. "Don't be like that! Come on, what do I have to do to make you not hate me? Turn into a pink flying unicorn? I'll do it, if you want."

"Hermione?" Tom called, rounding the corner. "I thought I heard you talking to someone," He said, his slight Irish accent a sharp contrast to Death's indescribable voice.

Hermione shook her head. "Nope, just looking for books," she said, pasting on a fake smile and turning towards the bookshelf once more, sensing Death fading away behind her.

She ran her fingers over the titles, A Compendium of Modern Day Wizarding Families, Pureblood Genealogy… She felt Tom's gaze burning into her.

"Do you ever wonder about… you know," Tom said, softer than usual, nodding at the books on the shelf.

"Hmm?" Hermione replied, locating "A General Guide to Family Wards" and pulling it off the shelf.

Tom looked frustrated. "Don't you want to know which one of your parents was magical?" He asked in disbelief.

Hermione shrugged. "Not particularly. I don't have anywhere to start, really. I was just left on the doorstep one day in December with my name pinned onto my blankets. It's not like knowing would change anything anyway."

Tom's intense gaze shuttered, and he looked at his feet. Hermione knew that this was not the answer he had been hoping for.

"You've been looking, haven't you?" She asked, gazing at him intently. Tom nodded, lip curled. "I know it can't have been my mother—she died so she can't possibly be magic, but then it has to be my father, and I've looked in every compendium I can find, and all the school records but he's not there and everyone says that Riddle isn't a pureblood name, but I know I can find it, the answer is here somewhere," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a stream of frustration and anxiety as he indicated the books on the shelves, running a hand through his hair in frustration, tousling the jet black locks that reminded Hermione so much of another orphan boy she had once known, with killing curse eyes and a lightning bolt scar.

"Having magic doesn't make us immortal," Hermione said quietly, remembering the Last Battle—Ginny on the floor, Ron not moving. Her breaths came quicker now, and she gripped the bookshelf tightly for support.

"Hermione?" Tom asked, moving forward, tilting his head curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she choked out, as she stared into the face of the young Lord Voldemort. He's not him. Not yet. She reminded herself. Nevertheless, she pushed herself away from him and scurried out of the library. It had been a long time since she'd had one of her flashbacks, she reflected, as she hurried down a corridor. But they always reminded her that the boy she knew and had befriended had a spark of darkness in him that was waiting to be nurtured into the evil that had devoured her world.

She sighed, and settled down next to a window to read her book. She would return for her school things later, and apologize to Tom for rushing out like that.

Tom accepted her apology with a bland expression that even Hermione couldn't read. Mentally shrugging to herself, she packed up her things and began heading to the Great Hall for dinner—alone as Tom had told her he would go to the common room to pick up his astronomy things for their after dinner class- when she was accosted by a familiar black haired blur.

"There you are, 'Mione," Alphard said, grinning down at her. "Where've you been? Oh, never mind," He said, catching a glimpse of the multiple warding related books Hermione had stuffed in her bag. "Library. Of course. So anyway, Quidditch tryouts are in three days, and I was thinking of trying out for Beater. You will come down and watch won't you?" He pleaded, widening his pale grey eyes and staring at her beseechingly.

Hermione laughed. "Oh, can I talk now?" she asked, prodding him in the shoulder. Alphard pouted. "Of course I'll come watch," Hermione assured him.

"If it isn't the filthy Granger girl and her blood traitor boyfriend," a sneering voice said from their right. Hermione and Alphard turned to see Nestor, Darin and Lyndon emerging from behind a tapestry.

"What do you want?" Alphard asked shortly, glaring at the three older students.

"Payback, of course." Darin said, glaring at Hermione. "You've made an enemy of the Mulcibers, Granger," he spat derisively. Hermione snorted.

"Big deal," she said scathingly. "It's not like any of you has any more magical talent or intelligence than a troll anyway." Alphard snickered, and Mulciber pointed his wand at her, eyes dark with anger.

"Oi, break it up," Quintus Weasley yelled as he passed by on his way to the Great Hall, his prefect badge glinting in the light from the torches.

"Shut it, Weasley," Nestor snarled, even as Lyndon reached out to shove Darin Mulciber's wand arm down.

"I'd watch your back, Granger," Lyndon said, leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed. "You might be good, but one day we'll be better, and then," he said, sauntering towards her, "when you've got everything to lose, we will destroy you."

"Painfully," spat Mulciber, shoving his wand back into his pocket.

"Please," Hermione said scornfully. "Your threats don't scare me a bit. The next time any one of you raises a wand against me or one of my friends, you'll find that you wont have a wand for very much longer." Seizing Alphard's arm, she dragged him towards the Great Hall, leaving the three Slytherins behind, ignoring the rude hand gesture Alphard made at them.

"Inbred ogres," Hermione grumbled, as they walked toward their table. Alphard sputtered in mock outrage.

"Watch who you call an inbred ogre, you old toad," he cried. "We ogres take offence very easily! For that you will let me copy your History of Magic essay, otherwise, I will never forgive you."

"What, too stupid to do it yourself, Black?" Hermione teased, as they passed the end of the Ravenclaw table.

"More like stunned by the fact that an imbecile like you can string enough words together to come up with that sentence," Alphard joked back. She punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Idiot," she said, reaching over to mess up his hair. He scowled and patted it carefully. "Hands off the hair," he said grumpily, as they took their seats at the Slytherin table.

"How'd you get here before us?" Hermione asked, staring at Tom, shocked. Tom raised a single eyebrow elegantly.

"By not dawdling," he replied. Georgia giggled. Hermione looked at him disbelievingly, before shaking her head.

"Whatever you say," she replied, serving herself some chicken. Lyla sighed deeply from her position next to Tom.

"Honestly Hermione, you can't possibly want to eat all of that?" she said, staring disbelievingly down at Hermione's plate, which now was heaped with salad, two drumsticks and a baked potato. Hermione went pink. "I'm hungry!" she defended.

"A proper lady does not pile plate on her food like that," Lyla sniffed. "Well then it's a good thing I'm not a proper lady then," Hermione replied, cutting open her baked potato. "You're going to fail Household and Etiquette," Lyla said warningly.

Hermione stared at her blankly. "What's that?" she asked, confused. Lyla smirked. "Of course, I forgot, you don't know very much about being a proper witch, do you? Household Charms and Etiquette is taught to female students in Hogwarts in third year. Just like Care of Magical Creatures. And from what it looks like now, you're going to fail it."

Hermione blinked. "Household Charms and Etiquette? What a useless sounding class. I'm certainly not going to take it."

Lyla's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "If you say so," she replied, shrugging elegantly and turning to engage Cassiopeia Black and Lucretia in conversation regarding the recent trend towards robes with wider sleeves.

A/N: As always, thanks to rpeh for betaing! R&R! :)