Chapter Text
Hermione sets out her writing equipment on the table, being careful not to crease the edges of the rolled parchments. Textbooks, ink bottle and quill in place, and with a quick scourgify of the chair covered in some unknown food substances, she takes a seat at the table.
She has been studying for weeks now in preparation for her O.W.L.s, using whatever free time she has when not in class, performing prefect duties, or with her few close friends to catch up on her studies in the library. The library was, as it has always been, her safety and refuge, the one place she feels at most ease and within her element.
The scent of ageing books keep her calm on days when the pressure is just too much to handle. Including the days when her housemate's silly antics disrupt her quiet reading time in the common room or the Great Hall. Even Harry and Ron frazzle her nerves at times, especially when they do not take their studies with the same importance as her. But it has never deterred Hermione, because she is self-sufficient, and for the most part can manage her work without any assistance from others. If her peers do not understand the significance of their studies, well, that is their own issue, there is only so much she can do to help them. It does not, however, prevent her from checking over their homework and assignments, she still wants them to at least achieve passing marks. And feel secure about herself and her abilities afterwards, of course.
Currently, she's working on a detailed text translation for Ancient Runes. The passage is difficult in particular, it focuses on cryptic messages revealed in the magick caves near the Black Sea. She chews the end of her quill, deep in thoughts on exactly which numbers the symbols for a Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon and Horned Serpent translate into. Would they be 9 and 13 or?—
She remembers there's a textbook which covers the classification on magical creatures in runes, with a chapter in specific about magick caves. It's titled Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, and she knows the library holds a copy of it. She feels proud about that fact, because at the moment there was no one else who knew the library's content as much as she did. Madam Pince, however, was about as helpful in finding and recommending books as the moths settled in the dusty alcoves of the ceiling. But Hermione has learnt how to search the library properly after coming across a passage in Hogwarts: A History.
She taps her wand in mid-air to materialise a roll of vellum listed with every textbook, scroll, and various other resources held in the library. Flicking her wand upwards on the roll, she reaches the section on Ancient Runes and finds the title of her book and its location. Bingo, she muses. Without any further delays, and her wand guiding the way, she strolls over to the designated shelf, clutching her robe closer to ward off the slight chill dispersed throughout the library.
She arrives at her destination in a short while, stopping at the narrow bookshelf, which held only single rows of books on each shelf. Her wand signals with a glow towards a broad, indigo spine crammed in the shelf, the title embossed in flecking silver letters. The book is placed just above her eye-level, and so she places her wand back into the pocket of her robe.
Standing on tip-toes, her hands reach out to grab hold of the book, fingers digging into each side. She pulls at the book, but it doesn't budge. Thinking that perhaps it was stuck in place because of its weight, she tugs again, only for it to pull back into the shelf, going further back than its original position. "What in the name of Merlin?" She mutters to herself, and deduces that the book may be jinxed to play a silly prank on whoever tries to hold it. Despite that, she pulls at the book again, and is about to draw out her wand before she hears a voice from the other side of the bookshelf.
"It would be courteous of you to let go of the book, now."
The voice-deep, male, is vaguely familiar, but she cannot quite place whose it was, and her view is obstructed from the rows and columns of textbooks. Well, so much for going over the anti-jinx spells in her mind. Now she is just annoyed.
"I'm sorry, but I was here first, and so I ought to think you should let go of it, thanks." Her hands were still gripping the book firmly.
"I don't think so," he replies nonchalantly. His voice is familiar in an irritating way but she just cannot remember.
There is a slight rustling from the other side, before the book is pulled back again with a shove, and now her patience is wearing thinner. "Stop being silly—" She yanks the book back towards herself "—clearly I was here first."
"It doesn't matter, my use for the textbook is greater than yours right now, Granger."
So he knows her! Then she definitely knows him, she really does, it just wasn't coming to mind. There is another tug from the other side, and her arms pull into the shelf, squished by the books on each side. Being careful not to lose her balance, she continues to hold the textbook, but the situation had become absurd and she is not one to just give up. How insulting of him to insinuate his needs are greater than hers!
"Let's settle this politely," voice seething, her fingers tighten around the spine again, and she makes an attempt to jerk it back, "or else I will have to resort to other measures with my wand." The book doesn't budge this time.
"Go ahead."
She gapes, and pulls with as much strength she can muster but the book does not move at all. Has he placed a sticking charm? The nerve of him! In her scuffle, her robe had slipped down her arms, and she is sure her hair is looking more of a frizzy mess than usual.
"Fine, if you want to resort to that—" her reprimanding words are cut off as the textbooks on each side of her arms vanish, and then the book was out of her grasp just as she catches hold of the shelf to keep support.
And there, through the now-visible shelf, in his pristine robes and stupid perfect hair, and stupid, stupid conceited grin stood Tom bloody Riddle.
All she wants, right at the moment, was for him to choke on his emerald and silver striped tie which was not holding a single crease and which was still, stupidly, neatly in place. She wishes she had cast a stinging hex if she knew right from the start it was him she was quarrelling over.
"How—how dare you steal my book from me!" She stands back, and her wand is in her fist now, but she hasn't pointed it towards him just yet.
His eyes flicker towards her wand and he raises a single, dark brow.
She remembers then that Madam Pince can hover over to them in any minute if she hears the commotion. But oh, it was maddeningly difficult to control her sensibilities around someone like him!
"Steal? Your book? Now you're being even more foolish," he rebukes, adjusting Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms securely under his arm. "Furthermore, if your ingenious self doesn't know already, I'm taking my N.E.W.T.s. next year, which grants me first preference access to all the resources in the library," he gestures lazily with his free hand towards the thousands of decrepit books around them, some which have not been opened in decades.
She takes a deep breath, fighting the uncontrollable urge to curse him off his feet. If looks can kill, she knows he would not be standing so arrogantly in front of her right now. Riddle is an anomaly to her, because she knows, despite her reservations, that he is the most intelligent wizard in the school, a prodigy, in fact. And although he is a grade above her, she has been trying to top his marks every year, succeeding to do so in some subjects but not quite successful in others. He received 12 O.W.L.s last year, and she is determined to achieve the same or if not better, marks than him.
"This is unfair, Riddle," she replies with barely contained resignation, folding down the sleeves of her robes, "only moments before I searched this textbook up. How is it that you just happen to come across the same book at the same time?" She crosses her arms, hiding her wand into her sleeve but still holding onto it.
"I ought to be asking you the same question. My precise search bought me here," with a tap of his wand he reveals the same vellum scroll she had been using, "and if you look closely, Granger, nowhere does it state your name and ownership of the book." Another tap and the scroll disappears.
So much for thinking she was the sole individual aware of the scroll's usage. Most of the students were left with Madame Pince's half-hearted citations, and never bothered to utilise the library's complete search features. But of course, Tom Riddle knew how to read, he knew not just to skim through a textbook for Potions' homework and then shut it away, and of course, he has read many texts, just as she has since forever.
"Well I'll have you know that my precise search also bought me here," she counters, and for good measure, she taps the scroll into existence for a brief moment as well. He has to know he's not the only one capable of performing complex library spells. "My name doesn't need to be written on here, Riddle, but I have just as much've a right to borrow that book."
"Please, not with that 'self-righteous' talk," he replies with an eye-roll, and moves away from the shelf until he is at her side and standing in front of her. "As I've mentioned already, my use for the textbook is greater."
"You!—You're being incredibly unfair! Has no one ever taught you that your 'wants' aren't 'greater than others'?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. They are in fact the greatest above everyone, but maybe," he pauses, as though weighing his words, "maybe not more than yours," and he gives her that insipid, smug smile again, and she loathes his attempt at sarcasm.
"Very funny, Riddle, but I'm not buying it," she retorts, hoping her words convey enough annoyance. He has to be aware, at every moment, of just how much she dislikes him. "And I don't think you actually care about whether or not I can have the book, I think you just want to put me down."
He tilts his head, appraising her words, but otherwise does not reply straightaway. She was expecting a sharp jibe in response, but now he was just…staring at her. And she-she wasn't expecting this, and she knows he's always so good at entrancing everyone in his company, but Merlin, why is he still looking? Has he forgotten how to talk or what?—Can't he just turn away?
"Is that really what you think of me, Hermione?"
She feels her neck heat up, reaching her ears, and the flayed edges of the textbooks were suddenly more interesting. Oh no. Damn Riddle and damn his gold-spun words.
Unlike her 'know-it-all' self, Riddle was actually likeable amongst everyone. Because unlike her, he had a knack for smooth-talking and putting on a charming front towards all those he met. He held the reputation of being a 'poor but brilliant boy' who grew up with a single mother with limited resources. Truly, everyone was bewitched by him and his moronic manners and 'politeness'—ugh. Even Harry and Ron had remarked on how 'nice' he was—"Really Hermione, we know you're both at odds with each other after that one time, but he isn't all that bad," Harry had said between spoonfuls of treacle tart at dinner, after Ron decided to play a game of 'who's Hogwart's biggest swot?' Ron elaborated that despite being from the same house, Riddle was a contrast to the insolent and crass tendencies of Draco Malfoy.
But she was never one—or used to be, until that incident-to buy into his charm. It reminded her of Honeyduke's Fudge Flies, sickeningly sweet and just as gross. (And it was a while before she forgave Ron for pranking her with those chocolate coated flies in Halloween during their third year). Tom Riddle, however, was adept at confounding almost all he came into contact with.
He was such a fake.
So, she responds with the best when under such duress, when experiencing an unaccountable act of attentiveness, that she knows, is undoubtedly filled with nefarious intentions.
"How much longer are you going to fake your act, Riddle?" She snaps, bitterly. He narrows his eyes at her and looks away (thankfully), although he shows no other outwards sign of being vexed at her accusation. But she isn't done yet. "Do you really think you can get me to—as in, persuade me to fall for your words? Because it's not working, and—"
"Okay, truce," he stops her mid-sentence, holding up a hand and ignoring her criticisms. "Let's settle on an agreement—
"—I don't want to agree on anything with you."
He shrugs, appearing unbothered by her retort."I'm offering you an incentive, unless you're more than happy to let go of this book for the remainder of this semester."
He has her then. She needs the book, after all. How else is she supposed to complete her assignment, receive top marks, and in effect, beat Riddle in her O.W.L.s. this year?
"Fine," she quips, and flicks a stray curl from her forehead. His eyes follow her movement. "But I will only agree on fair terms, nothing less." There.
"Sure," he looks pleased with her admonition. "As easy it is for me to keep hold of this book for weeks on ahead, I'll let you borrow it from me next week. And I hardly doubt that your assignment is due so soon."
"Even if that's true, it's still quite unfair that you snatched it off me." She pulls a thread from the sleeve of her robe, snagging it off. She cannot give him any further sense of satisfaction, no matter if he was correct in knowing that her assignment was not due for several days, in fact.
"Not unfair, you were just unlucky," he replies, leaning back against the bookshelf with a hand in his pocket and looking down on her, triumph curled on his lips.
Not wanting to spend another minute longer in his unpleasant and aggravating company, Hermione strides off, keeping her posture straight to maintain her dignity. She still wishes she had hexed him, thereby taking her rightful hold of the textbook, and thereby not allowing him any sense of victory over her. She does not think about why he asked her that question, because if he's that smart, he should already know what she thinks of him and why. It wasn't like a complicated transfiguration spell that he couldn't've worked out the first time. She also doesn't think about how he said her first name, because she doesn't care. At all.
"Next week, same time. Remember," she hears Riddle say behind her. But she does not look back, and instead continues to walk away. She doesn't care.
And upon Merlin, she will get back at him.