Riddle [Tomione, On Hold]

Chapter Seven

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march 30, 2018

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Chapter Seven
The First Step

For the first time in her entire life, Hermione Granger could truly, wholeheartedly admit her absolute loathing for Slytherins.

Well, for one Slytherin in particular.

"And this—," Tom Riddle jabbed his finger towards his left, smiling smugly as Hermione jumped at the slight brush of their shoulders. "—is the library. Most people come for either the books or the seclusion; the latter of which being the most awkward to walk in on."

For the most of the tour, Tom had kept his arm firmly wrapped around Hermione's shoulders (her slapping him seeming to have been forgotten) as he steered her around the Hogwarts castle, parading her around as if he was establishing his claim on her and glaring at any student who would peer or glance curiously at them.

Despite the undeniably uncomfortable situation, the most difficult task for Hermione was not her forceful attempts for the smirking Slytherin to drop his arm from her shoulders or to resist punching the smirk off his gorgeous face but, rather, to pretend that she had absolutely no clue of the layout of Hogwarts at all. It was already vexing enough that Tom found it of uttermost importance to give her a smug look every time she would feign amazement whenever he would guide her to a new room or explain an interesting fact, but to have him actually think that he knew more of the school than Hermione did was, the annoyed witch decided, far too much for her to handle.

So before Tom could drone on and on about the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall (which they stood at the center of; Hermione gazing fondly at the room as Tom thoughtfully observed her expression), Hermione opened her mouth and began prattling about everything she knew from Hogwarts: A History, giving the Head Boy a self-satisfied smirk once she had finished. His reaction, however, was the complete opposite of what she had expected it to be as he patronizingly, almost pityingly, patted her head— The nerve of him! Hermione thought to herself— and chuckled.

"If I were you," he said in a low voice, bending down to level his gaze with Hermione's. "I'd rather be focusing on the gaggle of glaring and whispering Slytherins than denying the inevitability of being second-best."

It was only then that Hermione had finally noticed the low murmurs that had been filling the room ever since they had entered, a few clanking of plates and chairs screetching against the floor masking the words being said. Although most whispers sounded merely curious, there were a little too many which seemed hostile and uninviting and Hermione could almost feel the burning glares on the back of her head as she involuntarily shivered.

It was as if she was back to being a first year again, when Harry and Ron still hated her and she was branded with sarcastic insults such as Know-it-all and Mudblood.

"Breathe," Hermione could feel Tom lower his hand to her back as he gave her an encouraging— though almost forceful— push towards the Griffyndor table.

"Hold your head high—" Hermione felt an invisible force softly pushing her chin up. "—and walk confidently to those frea—"