Have you noticed how the world keeps on spinning, Tom? No matter how much is lost, no matter how much is broken, it just... goes on. The sun rises, the stars fade, and people just keep moving forward as though nothing has changed. It's infuriating, really, how easily the world forgets.

_______

It had been a few days since that unexpected meeting in the library. Tom and Hermione's interactions kept increasing in their mutual classes and in the discreet hours spent in the library together. Their exchanges were subtle: a shared glance, a quiet remark, or a brief discussion over a complex spell, yet they carried an underlying tension.

Hermione knew it was a game. Tom Riddle was charming and astute, more so in a compromising, seductively threatening way that made her stomach churn with both dread and fascination. It pained her to see how her thoughts could so easily be betrayed, escaping into realms from which they shouldn't. She knew exactly who he was, what he was capable of, yet there were moments she couldn't help herself. And Tom, perceptive as always, had noticed.

For his part, Tom noticed the small fissures in her firmness and considered how he could and should use them. He needed to understand why Hermione, Harry, and Draco were here, what secrets they were hiding. Yet he couldn't afford to misstep. Legilimency was tempting but too risky; Hermione, like Milfoy, might have protections in place. At this time, he would be cautious, wooing her gently, encouraging her to be less guarded. Time was against him, though. Harry's progress in the hospital wing meant there was less and less time to mine her secrets.

It was with this urgency in mind that Tom had approached Hermione after a Transfiguration class at the beginning of the week.

"Greene," he had said, in a voice perfectly smooth and measured, as if the words had been prearranged for their greatest impact. "If you're not busy this weekend, perhaps you'd like to join me and some others for a trip to Hogsmeade."

Hermione had looked away from her book in surprise at the unexpected invitation. Tom Riddle's eyes were on her, dark, yet his expression was composed, impenetrable. The room fell silent; the stillness of the classroom transitioned to the quiet of the room behind her. She paused, her mind racing. Why would Tom Riddle, of all people, ask her to come with him? They weren't exactly friends.

Her rational part cried out at her to say no, to invent an alibi, and to stay out of range. But, a milder, kooky voice asked if this perhaps really could be the start of something interesting. She'd already seen how dangerous Tom could be, how effortlessly he manipulated those around him. But if she needed to expose his secret, or deny him the chance to reveal hers, she couldn't totally ignore him. Staying close to him might be her best chance at staying ahead.

Still, the unease was impossible to ignore. This wasn't a casual invitation. Tom Riddle didn't do anything without purpose. She was playing a game now,  but it was a game she was not yet ready for.

"I suppose I could," she answered at last, her tone firm although the trembling in her chest betrayed the situation. She refused to gaze directly into his eyes. "Who else will be going?"

His lips closed up with a smile that barely reached his eyes, "Oh, just a few familiar faces, the usual lot."

Thoughts about being locked in with his own entourage made her head spin, though she kept it at the back of her mind. "Alright," she said finally, carefully masking her apprehension. "It could be... interesting."

"Interesting, indeed." Tom mused, his tone hushed with a veil of opaque emotion, "I'll see you at the gates, then. Saturday morning."

And as he looked back and started to get up and step away, Hermione breathed deeply, her fingers gripping the book's edge. She realized, this wasn't just a visit to Hogsmeade. Tom was most likely up to something, though what exactly remained a mystery. This was a test, she was certain of it; a game of wits, and one she couldn't afford to lose.

The question was: who was playing whom?

-

Saturday came and Hermione ended up strolling through the gates of Hogwarts together with Tom and his disturbing entourage, to say the least. Draco was walking with them as well, taut, visibly uncomfortable, his usual smug facade would have been out of place. They were both trapped in the midst of Tom's friends; Malfoy, Lestrange, Dolohov, Rosier, and Avery. Behind them stood a couple of Slytherins girls, Walburga Black and Alison Selwyn, to name just a few.

Hermione had encountered Walburga and Alison before and found them intolerable from the start. Walburga, with her sharp temper and piercing stares, had always looked at Hermione as though she were something unpleasant stuck to her shoe. Alison, with her blonde curls and always wanting everyone to focus on her, wasn't much of an improvement herself, sending her looks as nasty as she could every time she saw her with Tom.

"So," Alison said, her voice dripping with false sweetness as the group made their way down the path to Hogsmeade, "are you enjoying your time here, Miss Greene?"

"It has been... educational", Hermione replied flatly, locking eyes with Alison, with a composure that she did not feel.

"I'm betting," Walburga mumbled to herself, loud enough for all to hear. A few of the boys chuckled, but Tom said nothing, his expression unreadable.

Draco, walking beside Hermione, leaned closer. "Ignore them," he muttered. "They're insufferable."

"I noticed," Hermione whispered back, her lips twitching despite herself.

As soon as they reached the village, everyone split into smaller parties, but Tom kept together with Hermione. They walked through the streets stopping for a few moments at some shops. Hermione remarked on the changes in the dynamics of the group as a result of Tom's being present or not. With him, they were deferential, hanging on his every word. Without him, petty squabbles and snide remarks were bubbling to the surface.

Eventually, they found their way to the Three Broomsticks; the cozy, noisy feeling of the pub was, somehow a stark contrast to the chilly streets outside.

When they clustered around a big table at the back, the group altered its dynamics once again. Walburga sat at Tom's side, her piercing eyes occasionally focusing on Hermione. Alison leaned in conspiratorially, her teasing a little too strained as she valiantly tried to maintain Tom's flow of conversation. At the same time, Lestrange and Avery were in a bid to outdo one another in nastiness, making icy comments about fellow students.

Hermione, was already on edge from spending so much time in Riddle's calculating presence, and her nerves became even shorter with every passing moment. She didn't need his sycophantic friends to make things worse for her by their constant biting and mockery, and certainly she wouldn't allow them the chance to think that they could unnerve her. If they wanted to play their little games, she would "play" just as well.

"Well, Miss Greene," Walburga started, her voice dripping with disapproval, "what exactly led you to Hogwarts? A transfer student, it's quite uncommon to see, especially one that turns out to be so... unremarkable."

Hermione's lips set in a line but she refused to be hurt by the remark. Instead, she met Walburga's gaze with a cool smile. " I've hear so many things about Hogwarts, its glorious history, its wonderful graduates, and... its occasional lapses in character judgment. I thought I'd see it for myself."

Lestrange choked on his drink, laughing. "You've got a mouth on you, don't you? Dangerous, that."

"Just to the people who underestimate me," Hermione replied, sweetly, but with a warning.

"Careful, Lestrange," Avery said, humour in his voice. "You might actually find yourself outmatched."

Alison rolled her eyes, her voice turning saccharine. "Oh, please. She's just another bookworm who's just been lucky enough to get a seat at our table. Don't flatter her."

Hermione tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "You're right. I shouldn't flatter myself. Indeed, it's got to be exhausting maintaining the facade of being interesting."

The table went quiet for a brief moment before Dolohov's quiet chuckle shattered the silence. "I think like her," he said, filing back in his chair.

Tom, who had been silently amused, said at last, "Well. She's no pushovers, as you'd hoped." his voice was calm, yet there was a sparkle in his gaze which sent shivers down Hermione's spine.

"She's irritating," Walburga snapped.

"She's clever," Tom corrected, his voice soft but commanding. "And cleverness should never be underestimated. Isn't that right, Miss Greene?"

Hermione's heart raced, but she held his gaze. "Well, that depends on who is being underestimated," she replied placidly.

Draco sat stiffly beside her, his discomfort was palpable. He was nursing a butterbeer but barely touching it, his eyes darting around the room as though expecting an ambush. Hermione tried to focus on the conversation, but her attention was drawn to something else: the ring on Tom's finger.

She hadn't seen him wear it before, and yet it felt... familiar. The black stone looked to flicker strangely, emitting a disturbing aura. Her breath caught as recognition hit her like a blow. The Gaunt ring. She'd seen it time and time again, in a potential future that seemed to be lightyears away. It was the same ring that Dumbledore had once tried to destroy, the one that had cursed his hand. A Horcrux. Her stomach turned, fear merging with the chilling understanding that Tom had started to break his own soul.

She made an effort to look away and to focuse instead on the chatter behind her.

"What's the matter, Greene?" Lestrange asked, his tone mocking. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Well, or maybe she's just overwhelmed by such a distinguished crowd," Abraxas interjected, an arrogant smile on his face.

Hermione raised a sceptical eyebrow, and asked in dryly. "Overwhelmed? Hardly. However, if this is what one means by "esteemed company", I'm beginning to see why the Sorting Hat doesn't put everyone in Slytherin. Standards, you know."

Lestrange chuckled, though it carried a sharp edge. "Feisty, aren't you?"

"Observant, aren't you?" Hermione shot back smoothly, taking a sip of her butterbeer as though the conversation bored her. The tension buzzed, but she would not give them the satisfaction of a tremble.

Tom's eyes landed on hers, and she experienced the heavy presence of his stare. He didn't miss her response to the ring. But he remained silent, only looking at her with that placid, calculating stare that always unsettled her.

Draco shifted beside her and murmured, "We're not supposed to be here."

"I know," she whispered back, her voice tight. "But we don't have a choice."

The chatter coming from the table grew louder, Tom's friends were preoccupied in their own ongoing bickering, with disturbing stories and cutting remarks, but Hermione's thoughts were far away. Seeing the ring again still lingered in her mind, its presence a manifestation of the very dangers of the timeline that existed in this reality. She couldn't let herself lose focus, not now.

Her eyes darted toward Tom, who sat at the head of their little gathering with the ease of someone who knew he controlled the room. His gaze wasn't on her, at least not at that moment, but she knew better than to relax. Tom Riddle was never far away, even when he pretended not to be.

The ring on his finger reflected the light and caught Hermione's attention again, her stomach twisted. If he already started making Horcruxes then he was even more powerful, and more dangerous, than they had thought. But it also meant she might have an opening. If she could just work out what other objects he might pick for his future Horcruxes, it would save them some precious time when they would go back to their own time. It was a risky idea, one Harry would never agree with, but she was beginning to understand that caution could be insufficient to make it through Tom's games.

As they made their way back to Hogwarts, the group splintered slightly, Rosier and Abraxas laughing loudly as they lingered behind, while Avery and Lestrange walked ahead, deep in conversation. Hermione found herself closer to Tom than she would have liked, his presence unnervingly calm beside her. She struggled to concentrate on the way ahead, and her eyes gave her away, darting back and forth towards the ring.

"You find it fascinating, don't you?" Tom's voice broke through the silence, smooth and unyielding. His dark eyes were on her, sharp and probing.

Hermione's heart beat, but she tried to keep still. "I was just curious," she said, feigning nonchalance. "It's... unusual."

Tom's smile faltered, but his eyes sparkled with a coldness much, much deeper. "Unusual, indeed. A family heirloom. It's been with me for some time."

Hermione nodded, wanting to stop talking at that moment, but she somehow couldn't help herself and added "It's... distinctive."

Tom looked at her a while longer, and Hermione had the impression that he was peeling off the surface of her consciousness, looking for something within. She stopped breathing at the same instant, wishing the potion that Dumbledore had supplied them was working.

As they continued their walk, Tom's thoughts churned, turning over the fragments of interactions he'd had with Hermione Greene. There had been something in her gaze; a flicker of recognition when she looked at the ring, like she understood its significance on a level she couldn't quite conceal. There was also the way she'd reacted to his name during introductions; just the barest hesitation, quickly masked by a polite smile. Or a flicker of recognition when he'd just casually spoken of the Hogwarts founders. And also the odd look she'd given him in the library when he'd spoken about power and legacy, as if the words struck a chord she was desperate to hide.

Every moment had been brief and inconsequential in itself, but taken as a whole, they gave a disturbingly precise picture.

What was it about her? She wasn't just clever, cleverness alone didn't account for the way she seemed to anticipate things, as if she already knew where the conversation was heading before it got there. It was more than intuition. It was as though she were operating with information no one else had. Could she be a Seer? The thought intrigued him. True Seers were highly unusual, their visions capricious and frequently bewilderingly cryptic. But Hermione Greene did not seem like a product of randomness or violence. Her intelligence was sharp, deliberate, precise. If she knew something, it wasn't because she'd glimpsed it in a dream. She'd learned it, somehow.

And then, there was the matter of how she moved, not as a student who had recently enrolled at Hogwarts, but as someone who knew it already. Her movements through the castle were fluid, confident, as if she were retracing steps she'd taken a hundred times before. Even her reactions to things that should have been new to her were muted. She'd pretended to be interested enough, of course, but Tom could tell the difference between genuine curiosity and an act.

The ring had been another clue, although he had not anticipated it. He'd worn it on purpose, halfway for the sake of vanity, and halfway, to test its potential for eliciting a reaction. And it had. The flicker of recognition in her eyes had been undeniable. But what did she know? Did she suspect its deep nature, or was she driven by curiosity? Tom doubted it was the latter. Curiosity on its own would not account for how she looked at it, how she managed to stay equally attentive, or for how her posture changed subtly when she noticed it.

As the castle loomed closer, a thought formed itself in his mind. She wasn't just hiding something; she was guarding it. The difference was subtle but significant. Those who kept secrets often hid them out of a sense of fear, but those who protected them did so deliberately, as if the secret had some power. A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. He had underestimated her, but not anymore.

For her part, Hermione sensed the weight of his gaze falling on her, every step back to Hogwarts feeling like a walk toward an execution. She realized she was wronga and she knew that Tom was too cunning to ignore her blunders. But she also knew she couldn't give up. Whatever game Tom Riddle was playing, she would have to play it better; loosing was not even an option.

-

At the time of her return to Hogwarts that evening Hermione's head throbbed with fatigue. The afternoon at Hogsmeade had been draining; the constant pressure of Riddle's presence and the insufferable arrogance of his friends left her nerves frayed. She got to the hospital wing, feelings of relief settling on her as she came to Harry's bedside. Finally, she could talk to someone who understood.

She watched Harry, propped on the bed, a pile of unread books on the nightstand table. When he spotted her, his face lit up and a real smile spread across his mouth. "Hermione," he said, relief evident in his voice. "It's about time. I thought Madam Pomfrey had you banned."

Hermione smiled sympathetically and then pulled a chair to the bedside. "She might as well have. She's been insistent on you getting some rest."

Harry's grin faltered slightly, but his tone remained light. "Well, it's good to see you. How've you been?"

Hermione hesitated, glancing down at her hands. "It's been... complicated," she admitted. I've been trying to understand what's going on, keep us safe, but it's nothing short of tricky."

Harry's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? What's been going on?"

Hermione sighed. "Well... I've had to spend more time around Riddle."

Harry's expression darkened instantly. "What? Hermione, you know very well that's dangerous! You know how manipulative he is."

"I know," she said firmly, cutting him off. "I'm careful. But he's... interested in me, Harry. I cannot keep running away from him without raising suspicion."

"You shouldn't have to run away from him because you shouldn't be around him at all in the first place!" Harry snapped, his voice rising. "What if he figures out who you are? What if he decides you're a threat?"

"Do you have a better idea?" she shot back, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "I've been looking through time travel books for days and not found anything that could be useful. Dumbledore is apparently due to reappear next week, though even he might be unable to give us the answers we need. Meanwhile, Riddle is right here. If we waste this opportunity..."

"It's not worth the risk", Harry said, more softly. "You can't fight him alone, Hermione. You don't have to."

Before she could answer, Madam Pomfrey appeared, breaking the tension. "Good news," she announced cheerfully. "You'll be discharged on Monday, Mr. Ponty. You'll be able to return to classes."

Harry's shoulders shivered a moment and he smiled. "Finally. I was starting to think I'd spend the rest of the term in here."

Madam Pomfrey left the room. Hermione's mind churned with questions.

Harry noticed her frown. "What's wrong?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

Hermione shook her head, offering a weak smile. "Nothing. Just tired."

Harry lay down on his pillows, clearly relieved by his imminent discharge.

But Harry was not the only student that would come out of the hospital on a Monday.