THE EXPERIMENT - Part 1

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March 20th, 2004

Her hair was hideous.

No, it really was horrible, resembling something that could have come out of an Alien film.

And, as if her big hair occupying most of the shop wasn't enough, she was drenched and shivering, droplets hanging from her wild curls and her dark eyelashes, the water soaking her clothes and shoes puddling onto the floor, staining the old dusty carpet Burke claimed he had bought from a yeti in India.

Can't manage a simple Impervius Charm, girl? Tom sneered inwardly, plastering a pleasant smile across his face when the girl walked up to the counter.

"Hello," he greeted her smoothly. His wand was hitching to dry the mess that she was when she kept looking around, seeming oblivious to her ghastly state. "How can I help you?"

"Oh, erm, good morning," the customer said absently, her eyes busy surveying the place around her. Tom had the feeling the woman was growing nervous with each second spent in there- nervous and confused considering that it was afternoon, not morning. Granted, the sky didn't look much different from that of five hours before, still dark and pouring down rain as it had been for more than a week. It was March after all.

At last, deciding that in order to leave it was better to hurry, the woman looked up at Tom with an uncertain smile.

"I ordered a book. Mr Burke sent word that it was to arrive this morning..." she trailed off, tilting her head. When Tom didn't move but merely kept smiling down at her, she raised her eyebrows and gave a little jerk of her head.

"Many articles came in this morning, I need a title," the young man finally drawled, pulling a notebook from the counter's drawer. He skimmed yellowed pages until he reached the list of items acquired that week. There weren't really that many items, but better let the visitors think the shop was swamped by orders and offers - or so Mr Burke had told him when he had first started working as an assistant at Borgin and Burkes.

Glancing up from the records, Tom found the woman searching her coat, cursing under her breath for a good thirty seconds until she felt what she was looking for in the pockets of her jeans.

Clearing her throat, she slipped a small card on the counter. Tom's eyebrows shot to his hairline upon reading the scribbled words.

His gaze flickering back and forth between the items' records and the girl's card, Tom checked if there was some mistake- there wasn't.

"One moment," he muttered, swinging around. The girl made to say something, but he was already in the back of the shop by the time she probably realised he was gone.

With trembling hands he went for the chest where they put the artefacts arrived in the morning and wasted no time removing its wards with a flick of his wrist. Hidden from view by a curtain, he Summoned the book and then blinked twice when the tome shot in his hands. It was real.

For a good minute Tom awed over the rare book in his hands, opening it gently, careful of the binding falling off. He was feeling it, his magic calling to the words dancing under his wide eyes. Perhaps it was the book that was calling to him.

If I make it disappear now, Burke will have my balls later.

The girl, on the other hand... she didn't seem that bright.

I can take her money and Obliviate her easily enough.

Yes, that would do.

Returned to the front of the shop, Tom arched an eyebrow at the sight of a completely different person standing where the girl had been.

So she does know how a wand works, he mused, peering at her from under his eyelashes while crossing her order in the notebook. The woman was dry now, her mane still wild but appearing more like actual hair. The pool of water on the carpet was gone.

"The truth of Magick – Beyond the Dark and Light Arts by Hereward," Tom read the title of the book lying between them on the counter. "What could a girl like you want with such a reading?"

The woman curled her lips in a stiff smile. "That's this girl's business."

Bitch. Tom kept his own smile in place. "Of course. It isn't my place to ask, I hope I haven't offended you-"

"You haven't," she reassured him. Her guarded eyes said otherwise. "It's one hundred twenty galleons, right?"

"And eleven sickles," Tom nodded, waiting for her to find her wallet or wherever she kept the money.

"Eleven sickles," she repeated, patting down her front and backside.

"That's what I said- Do you need help?" Tom asked, seeing her struggling in her quest. Her hair was starting to stand dangerously about her head as if electrified.

"Thank you, but no," she said, huffing.

She eventually found a small mokeskin pouch in the breast pocket of her coat with a satisfied "There!", and drew out a handful of golden and silver coins. She quickly counted them before handing Tom half of it.

Tom, of course, counted them again, meticulously separating the galleons from the sickles to place them in their right compartments - and maybe that's why he missed it, his chance, because as soon as he finished verifying the payment, the sound of a bell ringing had his head snap towards the door.

"Oh, no- Hey!" Tom called after the girl, rounding the counter in a flash.

He lunged for the door through which she had left without so much as a 'thank you', but she was already half-way in the busy cobbled street, her figure a blur under the shitload of rain lifting dust and a thin layer of fog off the ground- and within the next blink of his eyes she disappeared.

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April 18th, 2004

When April rolled around, a new wave of customers hit Burke's shop, much to the owner's happiness and irritation, and business picked up a better pace. That meant more missions for Tom to rescue objects of value and to sell items from and to knut-pincher collectors, something he always handled with the best of his skills of persuasion and deception.

Burke still complimented his employee for the more than positive results he presented him, always amazed with how much ease Tom managed to obtain both money and invaluable articles, but what the old man still didn't know after all these years was that Tom had had years of practice as a student at Hogwarts and as a poor boy in a Muggle orphanage. If there was something that hunger and poverty had taught Tom as a child, it was how to sharpen his abilities and that giving up was for the weak.

"Only two hundred for this locket?" Burke whistled, looking intently at the silver locket dangling from its chain in front of his nose. "This is a treasure. You really know how to work your charms on that old hag, boy."

Without anything to say, Tom gave his boss a small smile and the man shooed him away with his hand, dismissing him for the day.

The afternoon sun was a pale disc in the sky, its rays not enough to chase away the cool air lingering after weeks of rain, so Tom hugged his coat closer around his limbs, too lazy to draw out his wand and cast a Warming Charm on himself.

Tom liked solitude, or liked the familiarity of it, having always found himself alone in an empty room or in a crowd since a child, but today, strolling through Diagon Alley, his eyes half-heartedly roaming over the passers-by and vendors and the shop windows lining the busy street showing new products and goodies, he didn't feel like going home just yet. The prospect of stepping in his ramshackle flat just to sit in bed and get his head in a worn out book wasn't appealing.

Ambling down a narrow side street, Tom considered sending an owl to either Malfoy or Nott, but, again, the idea died just as it came, knowing that the company of his friends wasn't what would fill the emptiness that was starting to yawn inside his chest- the sensation that was gradually leaving him utterly frustrated.

Walking back to the main street, Tom sighed, deciding just to go back home and be done with it. Pushing his way through the horde of people heading in his opposite direction, he clenched his jaw not to snap at the jostling bodies stumbling in his feet. It seemed that people were stubbornly trying to get in his way this afternoon.

Whatever, Tom thought, his gaze catching the signboard of Flourish and Blotts two shops down the road.

The bookshop wasn't packed, but it looked busy enough with the number of customers huddled around the counter and the occasional person wandering down the aisles between rows of floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

Tom hadn't visited the shop in a while, not since the last time he had bought school books- more than five years ago.

And at the age of twenty-two he was still here, working as a shop assistant in a notorious shop of Knockturn Alley- a hole, really, facing on a dark alley frequented by unsavoury people looking for dark artefacts, illicit products or a cheap fuck.

But it wasn't the people that bothered Tom, and neither did his work. No, what made him grit his teeth was the fact that he was still here, that the strings his 'friends' were pulling for him were slow to work and easy to break, that after six years his name was still Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Young and gentle Tom Riddle.

Patience, Tom reminded himself, eyeing the books stacked on the shelf in front of him. Patience.

When Tom approached the front of the bookshop after an hour of idle roaming between the bookshelves, dread rose from the pit of his stomach as he got in line.

"Thank you, sir. Have a good evening!" a cheerful voice exclaimed from behind the counter.

Nodding, the man in front of Tom tucked his purchase under his armpit and walked out of the shop, making the voice's owner come into view.

The corner of Tom's lips curled downwards.

Oh no, not her.

As if reading his mind, the woman glanced up from the cash register and her smile promptly faltered, but only for a moment.

"It's you," she stated, blinking.

"Me," Tom confirmed, refraining himself from rolling his eyes at the way she was so unabashedly staring at him. Clearing his throat, he placed a pile of books on the counter and slightly pushed it towards her.

"Oh, right," she choked out, busying herself with Tom's purchase. "Big reader?"

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks, Tom shrugged. "Something like that."

Indeed he was buying quite the number of books, enough to keep his hands full for a few weeks, although the titles were nothing compared to what was currently in her possession.

While the girl checked each volume, Tom bit the inside of his cheek and peered down at her, noticing that her hair wasn't as big as last time. Several soft dark-brown curls framed her face, escaping from her neat ponytail and swaying with the tilts of her head.

Not like Alien at all, Tom thought, surprised by the stark difference between this girl and the one who had entered his shop weeks before.

He had to admit that she was... pretty. She had pretty eyes, warm and chocolate-like. Her nose wasn't bad either, it was little and pert, a faint sprinkle of freckles covering the bridge-

"-a bag?"

Snapped out of his contemplation, Tom met the girl's eyes again. He frowned at her smile.

"I asked, do you want a bag?" she said, her knowing smile widening.

"Yeah," he nodded. He clenched his jaw, annoyed for some reason that he didn't want to acknowledge. Shaking off the odd feeling, he casually inquired, "So, that book you bought from us, have you read it yet?"

The girl didn't have the time to shoot Tom a warning look that a disembodied male voice cried from the back of the bookshop, "'Mione, you traitor! You bought a book from another shop!?"

The girl exhaled, glaring at Tom as if it was his damn fault that the unseen man had heard.

"It's not what it sounds like!" she replied loudly, chucking Tom's books in a white plastic bag with unnecessary vigour.

"That cliché line only proves you are guilty!"

"Will you throw me in Azkaban if I admit my sins?"

A tall man appeared in the doorway giving to the back.

"Depends on the book," he said, grinning down at the girl, who was now scoffing and shaking her head.

The newcomer was a man in what appeared to be his forties, with greying hair and intelligent green eyes. Scars ran across his face and neck, all faded but looking like something that had been a deep and ugly reminder of pain once upon a time.

He gave Tom a smile and disappeared behind a bookcase. His colleague emitted an exasperated sound before her attention shifted back to him.

Scooping up his bag, Tom quirked an eyebrow. "So, have you?"

"I'm reading it," the girl answered dryly.

"Why?" Tom casually leaned against the counter.

Her smile disappeared, her expression now more similar to the one she had worn that time at Borgin and Burkes. Tom understood his dealer tricks weren't working on her.

"Because it's an interesting reading." She pointed at the bag hung from Tom's arm, "Why are you buying those books?"

Irritation washed over Tom's face. He wasn't going to waste time buttering her up after this.

"Fine, don't tell me." I don't care any more.

Tom briefly turned his head over his shoulder and noticed a reforming line.

Looking back ahead, he found the girl smiling again. Bitch.

"Well, thank you for your purchase. Have a good evening," she airily waved him off.

Tom inclined his head in response and walked out of the bookshop.

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April 28th, 2004

"Tom, m'boy!"

Preceding his belly, the booming voice of Horace Slughorn greeted Tom from the other side of the crowded room.

Tom painted a smile on his face, even when a small part of him was genuinely glad to see his old teacher again. A part that was going to disappear soon enough.

"Tom!" the Potions Master cried when he finally managed to make his way through the mass of guests crammed in the magically enlarged office. He clutched Tom's shoulder and beamed, "So glad you made it, so glad!"

"I couldn't miss your birthday party, Professor," Tom said, blushing and feigning to look around him in wonder. The old man's office extravagantly decorated and covered in silks and velvet was by now a familiar sight, having Tom spent many a fine and boring evenings in said setting- formal dinners, Christmas parties and of course many intimate gatherings for a selected few. Now, those he had enjoyed.

"Oh, now now, I'm not your teacher any more. You can call me Horace, m'boy!" The man squeezed his shoulder, smiling up at him with twin dimples forming in his already pink cheeks. Tom suspected Horace was slightly tipsy already by the way he was swaying on the balls of his feet. "I was so glad when I received your response to my card, Tom, so glad!"

Slughorn sent out invitations to his birthday party every year, but Tom had always politely declined until this very day. Considering the various failures of his 'friends', Tom thought that a direct word with determined people couldn't hurt; in fact, it could only help, appearing in public, ready to handle affairs and willing to sharpen his connections in first person.

That's why Tom was there, forcing himself to mingle with strangers at a sort of party he hated, one he'd had to attend for years as a Slytherin student. He didn't like it, the colourful hangings, the loud music, the sound of munching and laughing- the people.

After twenty minutes of socialising, Tom ducked under a dangling lamp, escaping an old lady hell-bent on introducing him her thirty-two years old daughter, and stalked towards an empty corner, grabbing a glass of elf-wine on the way.

Tom closed his eyes for an instant, the feeling of being crushed between the stuffy walls receding, the air stolen from his lungs returning, setting back the beats of his heart to a normal, steady pace.

"You don't look good."

Tom looked up and Feodor Nott grinned back at him.

His former classmate was dressed to his finest in dark green robes, his dark hair groomed back.

Scoffing, Tom pushed off the wall and straightened his spine. "If you mean to say I'm underdressed, I know. Otherwise, I'm completely fine." He took a sip of his elf-wine (Slughorn did have excellent taste), and added as an afterthought, "Good choice on the tie, it brings out the blue of your eyes. Evelyn's doing?"

"No, the house-elves'," Feodor responded dryly, his eyes narrowed. Tom made to comment but his friend swiftly changed the subject. "If you're underdressed, then what should my brother be?"

He snorted with a glance at a lively group of people chatting in the middle of the room.

Indeed there he was, a young man wearing Muggle jeans and a white Rolling Stones t-shirt under a leather brown jacket, barking in laughter at some obscene joke. Theodore Nott. The picture of blood traitor, the black sheep of the Nott family- Feodor's older brother.

Next to him stood his best friends Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, the first wearing standard dark robes, and the latter dressed more like Theodore in what was surely Muggle fashion at the moment.

Accompanying them there were two girls, both Slytherins if Tom's memory served correctly.

"Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass," Feodor pointed them out. "They all were in the same year."

Tom nodded, already disinterested.

"How's your wife?" he asked, his eyes sweeping the room for a glimpse of other familiar faces.

"Pregnant," was Feodor's answer. He didn't sound too excited.

Tom looked back at him, arching an eyebrow. "You didn't tell me."

"We discovered only yesterday."

Tom lifted his glass of wine. "Congratulations then."

"Don't-"

The rest of Feodor's sentence was drowned out as Slughorn's cries made everyone near their corner jump, the man practically skipping to a much smaller group of people standing not far away from Tom and Feodor.

"There they are!" Slughorn exclaimed, clapping his hands in excitement. "You made it! Best present ever!"

Tom turned his head towards the noise and saw that the group receiving all the attention actually consisted of two people of which he could only see the backs.

"Come on you two, have a drink, have a drink!"

Tom averted his gaze the moment Slughorn thrust two goblets brimming with elf-wine in the strangers' hands and began peppering them with questions.

He was like that, Horace Slughorn, the perfect gossiper, skilled in weaving his web around important people, securing himself a high position as adviser and favours for the future. It also took a lot of passion, doing what he did, speaking with people with very different roles in their wizarding society, British and foreign, and Tom admired him for it. Slughorn could reveal himself to be a great ally in the near future.

"Are you going to wash his brain later?" Feodor asked him, seeming to read his mind.

Tom smirked, raising his flute of wine in mock salute, "I might need a favour or two-"

"Nott, Riddle, join us!"

Suddenly, Tom and Feodor were spun around by chubby hands and the two came face to face with a man with messy black hair and green eyes framed by round spectacles, and-

Salazar's sake, not her again! Tom felt displeasure welling up at the sight of the woman working at Flourish and Blotts, a still untouched goblet in her hands and an indecipherable look upon her face when their eyes met.

"Mr Potter," Feodor greeted them politely with a small bow of his head, not extending his hand. "Miss Granger."

Mr Potter. Miss Granger. Tom's displeasure increased. Of course, Harry Potter, legendary youngest Auror of the century, and Hermione bloody Granger, hero's female sidekick and brains of the Golden Trio, as well as the smartest witch of her generation.

Being two years younger, Tom hadn't had the chance to really interact or look at the Golden Trio for more than three seconds when they had been students, but he knew their names and the adventures they had lived, or what people took as the truth. He hardly believed the three of them had helped a dragon escape from the deepest vaults of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the safest place of the wizarding world.

So the bitch girl is Hermione Granger.

Yet the third wheel of the trio was missing-

"These two young Slytherins!" Slughorn roared to Potter and Granger, wagging his podgy hand in Feodor and Tom's direction. "Two of the most brilliant students I've ever had the pleasure to teach. Very talented, very clever- why, their potions skills may have rivalled yours..."

Slughorn kept rambling on and on, recalling events of the past, referring to either Feodor or Tom from time to time, but mostly keeping the highlight on Potter and Granger, a gleam in his eyes when talking about the mischief of the trio, how they had managed to dive into trouble and still got away with outrageous luck and the most ridiculous excuses, the year he had taught them.

Tom absorbed every word, trying to connect the picture painted by his former teacher with the one standing before his eyes, blushing prettily and shuffling her feet, speaking up only to confirm or attempt to deflect the conversation onto another subject, failing miserably.

She cleans up nice, Tom observed.

Granger's hair was indeed nice tonight. It cascaded freely on her shoulders in soft and smooth curls, a few strands appearing golden under the dim light of the lamps illuminating the office.

The girl wasn't wearing much make-up, only a thin layer of peach red lipstick; hugging her figure, she was wearing a simple brown dress reaching mid-tight paired with brown heels, the colour complimenting her chocolate eyes- that were staring back at Tom, questioning.

"Hey," she said, her voice low and soft as not to interrupt Slughorn's speech. "Long time no see."

"Hmm," Tom made, averting his eyes. When he looked back at her, he let his lips curl upwards, "It seems I have a stalker."

Mock indignation flooded her face. "Excuse me, but you're the one who came in my bookshop last time!"

"A mere coincidence. And I wasn't aware it was your bookshop."

Granger flushed. "It is. It's mine and Remus's."

"Remus?" Tom echoed, the name ringing a bell. Of course she meant the man he had seen in the bookshop last time. "Remus Lupin? The werewolf?"

"Yes. What about him?" Potter interrupted his conversation with Slughorn to snap his head towards Tom, scowling. He demanded again, "What about Remus?"

Tom shook his head, a mask of indifference falling into place.

"Nothing," he said coolly, shoving his hands in his slacks' pockets. "Miss Granger was informing me of her job at the bookshop in Diagon Alley."

Potter made to retort, but fortunately Slughorn interjected with an overly dramatic gasp, "You're still working at Flourish and Blotts, Miss Granger?"

Granger confirmed, shifting uneasily on her feet.

"Merlin, Hermione," the man shook his head in disappointment, "to think that at this time you could have been working for the Ministry, and with an important position at that. Wasn't it your goal, to improve our relationship with magical creatures and fight for their rights?"

"It is," Granger confirmed again. She straightened her back before going on, "And that's what I'm doing. I'm fighting for the rights of a friend who isn't allowed to work at the Ministry or have any other job of importance in our society regardless of his more than extraordinary talents because of his status as 'magical creature'- by helping him in what's now our bookshop. We've bought Flourish and Blotts, a shop now owned by a witch and a werewolf. I hope the position I'm taking, that the shop is taking, sends a message to everyone. First, to our customers, who are increasing in number compared to when the shop was owned by Mr MacDougal...

"You see, I believe actions speak louder than words, especially words sent to the Ministry, who's been ignoring all the letters I've sent about the delicate subject of magical creatures. Yes, I could change our society from within by working for the Ministry, I could change a law and let werewolves and house-elves and many others have the same rights of wizards, but can I change the way people think? No. I need to set a complete example first, make people see with their own eyes that what I'm fighting for is right."

Tom's eyebrows had shot up at some point during her speech. He had never heard a young woman speak so... fiercely.

Slughorn, who had been rendered speechless, regained his faculty to speak within moments and stopped a house-elf walking nearby (the poor creature had been skirting legs and chairs and carrying a tray over his head the whole evening). The man grabbed two flutes of champagne and handed Granger one, uncaring of the untouched goblet held in her other hand.

"The words of a true lion, Hermione," Slughorn thundered after having knocked back the champagne. "A royal Gryffindor. Mr Lupin is very lucky to have a friend like you."

"The world is lucky this lioness doesn't bite," Feodor commented with a wry smile on his lips - surprising Tom with his sort of compliment to the girl.

"Oh, she bites alright," Potter grinned, glancing over his friend. "She's just restraining herself for everyone's sake. In fact, the Minister is lucky she's not kicking his arse."

"Harry!" Granger swatted Potter's arm, only managing to draw more laughter out of him.

The air around them turned light and playful, remains of tension dissipating in the cosy air of the office, and Tom studied the two old friends interact. Anyone could guess the two had been in each other's company for a very long time by the way they stood close, nudging their elbows, scowling and rolling their eyes, joking as if it was the most natural thing in the world. They loved one another.

It wasn't annoying, the knowledge, but it wasn't comforting either. It reminded him he was nothing like them, that he couldn't laugh like him, couldn't show adoration the plain way she did. Couldn't show love like her. Couldn't feel it.

The thought sent a wave of dread down his guts.

Hermione Granger may have acted like a bitch to Tom, but she surely wasn't one. The way she talked, the way she thought, like a true bloody Gryffindor- Tom could see her as the honest person she was, simple, her expressions authentic.

The smile she wore in the company of someone she loved was mesmerising: it lit up her face, warming her eyes into molten chocolate, making her golden skin glow like a fairy. It was contagious. Even Feodor was smiling.

When Slughorn finished choking in laughter, three flutes of champagne discarded on a table, he knitted his eyebrows, his eyes searching something beside Granger.

"Where's Mr Weasley?" he asked with a double take. Tom didn't fail to notice the question was more for Granger than Potter.

The young woman gave their former professor an apologetic smile. "He couldn't come. He's in Germany on a business trip, but he's really sorry he couldn't be here for your birthday, sir."

Slughorn nodded, interested. "Weasleys's shop doing good, I hear. Good lads, the Weasleys. I had the chance to teach only William before Ronald and Ginevra- pity, I'd have loved the whole set... seven Weasleys, now, that would have made the shelf."

He paused his little monologue to draw in breath, his eyes turning distant for effect. After that, he shook his head, presumably of memories and regrets, and opened his arms, looking right at Granger with a knowing expression across his tilted face, "And now you are engaged to one of them, a Weasley! It will be quite the event of the year, your wedding-"

Tom's mind went blank, the rest of Slughorn's words unheard. That feeling of dread again. He glanced at Granger's left hand. Sure enough there it was, a simple silver ring on her finger.

Tom clenched his jaw and averted his gaze from her, from them, looking past everyone, towards the nearest window and into the starless night beyond, missing the way Hermione was now standing rigidly beside her best friend, a stiff smile cutting her mouth, her fingers tightening around her flute of champagne.

Tom didn't care. It wasn't his business.

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June 21st, 2004

He was changing.

His skin was paler than before, his eyes dull, his lips bloodless. His dark hair was straighter, the curls that had once fallen over his forehead now plain locks covering his temples. He charmed them like what they had been before, but the result wasn't the same. It was fake.

His blood was colder.

Tom stared at his reflection in the bathroom's mirror.

He was still handsome, but the beauty was gradually deserting him, he could see it, leaving behind only a shadow of the young man he was.

A small price for what I can have, Tom reminded himself, reassuring, trying to feel that stir of excitement in his stomach at the promise of power- but it just wasn't there.

He felt empty.

Hours later, in the shop, he was utterly irritated.

"But, sir, I can send the book with an owl," Tom tried to convince Burke, his tone firm despite his mental struggle, I won't go there I won't go there I won't go there. "Or I can notify the client the book's arrived-"

"Now, Riddle," Burke nearly snapped, growing annoyed at Tom's protests, "you've always been happy to go on errands, why the change? Just go and take the rest of the day off."

Tom shut up, knowing that this time he couldn't push. Burke was a reasonable man, but underneath the mask of smart merchant was a snake capable of strangling the victim to death the way he sucked money away from clients, and this implied a tendency to cruelty. Tom didn't want to know what anger could trigger- not that he was afraid of his boss, for Tom himself was likely more powerful and much crueler, but he didn't want to appear a coward or a lazy assistant to begin with. Tom respected Burke and wanted to maintain his façade of perfection.

And so to Flourish and Blotts Tom went, praying Salazar he could enter the shop, deliver the package to Remus Lupin and leave without complications.

Tom didn't dwell on what exactly was complications as he took off for Diagon Alley.

Salazar hadn't heard Tom's prayers.

Tom stepped into the bookshop and his eyes immediately fell on Lupin and then Granger. Perched on stools behind the counter, the two lifted their heads the moment the bell above the shop's door rang.

Granger and Tom's gazes locked. Tom instantly shifted his towards Lupin and stalked up to the counter to lay the package.

He could feel Granger's stare on him, but he shook the uncomfortable sensation off, his eyes not straying from the man's face as he greeted him and said, "Here's your book, Mr Lupin. I believe you've already paid Mr Burke last week for it."

"I had no choice, boy," Remus grumbled, pulling the package towards his chest to tear the brown paper and inspect the content. "The man demanded the payment in advance... what I believe is that, had Burke not succeeded in obtaining this book, my money wouldn't have been returned with some piss poor excuse such as the cost of time or whatever nonsense you traders use."

Tom agreed, but said, "Mr Burke is an honest man. He had to use several contacts to reach your book, sir."

Which wasn't true since Burke had tracked down the Potions book in less than an hour.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lupin smiled up at Tom, "You're a good liar."

At Tom's bewilderment, the older man pointed at himself, still smiling. "Being a werewolf has its perks, Mr Riddle... Anyway, feel free to check our shop. Any book you want, you can have a special discount on it."

Unlike Burke, I'm generous, is what Tom heard in Lupin's tone.

Deeming rude refusing such a generous offer, Tom nodded in thanks and turned for the bookcases while Lupin stood with a groan and left Granger alone at the counter. Walking down the aisles, deeper into the shop, Tom heard the woman hissing at his colleague, "And I'm the traitor?!"

When Tom emerged from the shadows with two books in his hands, Granger was still alone.

She gave him a strained smile before reading the titles of the two volumes Tom had placed under her nose. Her eyebrows arched. "You like your Dark Arts."

"Fascinating subject," Tom shrugged, forcing himself not to tap his foot and count the seconds until he could dart out of the shop.

Granger hummed, checking the books.

True to his word, Remus shouted from the back of the shop to let Tom have a discount of the twenty-five percent.

"He's in a good mood," Granger informed Tom with a tentative smile, putting a fistful of coins in the cash register, not bothering to separate the galleons from the sickles.

At last, Tom looked at the woman before him- really looked at her. He frowned.

Her hair was frizzy, wild curls shooting everywhere. But what drew his attention was her face, pale and tired, her cheeks hollow. There were bags under her red eyes.

It wasn't Tom's place to ask what was wrong. He didn't even want to, knowing Granger would revert to her bitchy self in a matter of seconds. He didn't care either.

That's why he simply said goodbye and walked out of the bookshop.

The library was deserted, with the exception of Madam Pinch and a couple of professors, those who rarely left the castle, even for the holidays.

A boring life in the eyes of anyone, but not him. Living within these beloved walls had been his dream once. The idea was still sweet, but there were people who didn't want him here and they had told him so without much circumlocution, therefore the plan had changed; if he couldn't teach, he could learn. Surely Albus Dumbledore wouldn't deny him knowledge as well.

Yet Tom knew the old fool loathed the idea of having him in the library. In fact, when Tom stepped into the immense space bathed in the warm light of the afternoon, he immediately felt an insistent stare on the back of his head, almost penetrating his skull. Sighing, he turned around, and sure enough, the headmaster was looming there in a corner, standing with Severus Snape and eyeing him over his colleague's shoulder with suspicion and accusation and outright revulsion.

Feeling's mutual, Tom thought, walking away. The old oaf could glare at him how much he wanted, Tom wasn't going to let their encounter unsettle him anyway.

"Tom. What have you done?"

Tom clenched his fists, heading to the archives, leaving the memory of chambers and blood and a dark-haired girl behind.

"I know you're lying. Don't choose this path."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Ten minutes later, Severus Snape found Tom huddled in his favourite spot.

"Riddle", the cold man greeted, running his impenetrable gaze over the parchment and directing books littering the table.

"Severus," Tom nodded, his eyes not leaving the scroll of parchment in his hands.

"It's Professor Snape." He sounded as irritated as he usually looked. Tom sighed when his former teacher took a seat across from him, still eyeing curiously the titles the young man was searching.

"Whatever you say, Sev."

Severus made to protest by banging his fist on the table and opening his mouth, but Tom cut him off by snapping his head up. "How come the library doesn't have any book that mentions Hereward?"

The other arched an eyebrow, "And why the interest, Riddle?"

Tom shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I had the chance to hold one of his books recently, but I can't find it anywhere. Clearly, Hogwarts doesn't have it."

A smirk graced Snape's lips. "So that's how Granger managed to find The Truth of Magick, huh."

"You know that b- witch?" Tom couldn't help but vocalise his surprise and annoyance. The presence of that woman was everywhere. She was persecuting him as obstinately as the Bloody Baron haunted the Astronomy Tower.

Severus merely folded his arms across his chest and ignored his accusation, "I doubt you'd find it an interesting reading. It's not about dark magic, but- balance. Hereward talks about the dynamics of magic, mostly. The theory is very effective in potion-making and I would say all real Potion Masters possess Hereward's knowledge."

"He's a grey-sider."

"Let's put it this way."

"What do you know about Ravenclaw's diadem?"

If Severus was surprised by the drastic change of subject, he didn't show it.

"Not much. It went lost a long time ago," he answered slowly. His eyes imperceptibly narrowed. "And I wouldn't ask those who might remember."

Tom pushed back his chair and stood. "I'll keep that in mind."

And he did.

In a remote courtyard of the castle, in the shadow of a column, away from the last rays of the setting sun, Tom watched the ghost of a woman shy away from him, tormented by ages of pain.

He saw it, when she glanced back at him and gave in, her moment of weakness, the revelation leaving her bloodless lips in a soft whisper.

"We were bound... He did atrocious things... And now for eternity I go back..."

Tom saw it in her eyes, the chains and the blood.

"I'll tell you where it is..."

Tom smiled.

The next morning, Hermione Granger appeared at Borgin and Burke's, a plastic bag dangling from her arm.

Reached the counter, the woman deposited the bag and, at Tom's barely concealed surprise, said, "You forgot this- yesterday."

Tom stood up, biting the inside of his cheek. He had remembered about the books last night, already tucked in bed and drifting asleep, and had spent the morning wondering how to get them without going back to Granger's bookshop.

"Thank you for bringing them here," he said at last, inspecting the bag with deliberate slowness not to look at Granger. "It's very kind of you."

Tom saw her shrug from under his eyelashes, her hands fidgeting with the buttons of her denim jacket. Her fingers were white and her nails blue because of the chilly air outside-

Tom blinked, only once, the books his hands were feeling forgotten as his eyes lingered on her left hand.

Straightening his spine, Tom made himself look at Granger. He almost flinched at how pale she was, but at least her eyes weren't as puffy as yesterday, though still void of that gleam of determination he had seen during their first encounters.

"Is Remus Lupin making the Wolfsbane?" Tom asked the first thing coming to his mind. Granger lifted a questioning eyebrow and Tom clarified, "The potions book. I shouldn't assume, it's not my place, but I couldn't help but suppose his purchase had to do with his, erm, problem..."

Tom trailed off, unsure how to continue, when Granger made an odd expression. A few seconds passed in which he thought she was debating whether to slap him or not, but then she did something he wasn't expecting at all.

She laughed.

Granger burst into laughter. The corners of her eyes crinkling, the sound of her laugh invaded the gloomy shop.

"His- problem," she chuckled, shaking her head at Tom, her wild curls bouncing on her shoulders, "Sorry, I just remembered- Harry's father, James, calls Remus's condition 'his furry little problem'. Remus hates it."

Granger giggled some more before regaining a semblance of composure. Blushing, she cleared her throat, "We're experimenting. We want to try to modify the Wolfsbane."

"You two alone?" Tom tried not to sound too doubtful.

"Two friends are helping us, actually, a naturalist and a Potions Master."

Having nothing else to say, he nodded. Granger bit her bottom lip and twisted towards the door, her eyes glancing between Tom and the narrow, empty street outside.

Tom's eyes dropped to her left hand again, her fingers now toying with a loose thread on her jacket.

Granger gave Tom a weak smile, "Well, I should go-"

"Have coffee with me."

Tom blurted it out before his brain could stand between his mouth and his stupid instincts. As soon as the words left his lips and realisation hit him, Tom began to pray in his head, Please say no Say no Say no.

Granger just kept staring at him, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, unsure.

Wait, I made it sound like a question, right? Tom wanted to kick himself. Fuck, I didn't.

It had sounded more like an order rather than an invitation.

Granger seemed to think the same by the way she arched her eyebrows.

But then a small smile poked at the corners of her mouth and she nodded, much to Tom's relief.

Rounding the counter, his wand drawn to close the curtains and put on the usual wards, he grinned at Hermione, "I'm Tom, by the way."

.

.

A/N: This is the first part of my new short story. It will grow darker from here, a sort of crescendo in the next parts (because I don't want to call them chapters). By dark I don't mean horror, but this story definitely contains sex, violence and a bit of gore in the last three parts.

I'd love to know what you think of the story so far, where you think it leads. I didn't know myself when I started, though I knew I wanted to write certain scenes, especially the first one at Borgin and Burkes. And as a true pluviophile, I couldn't not make it rain right from the beginning!

I really hope you will enjoy this story!