Green Eyes

Hermione found that lessons at Hogwarts were much the same as they had been in the 1990's, except for the fact that she already knew most of the seventh year syllabus. Despite this, she found herself still spending most of her time working in the library with Minerva. She also enjoyed these study sessions because they offered relief from the curious gazes that followed her wherever she went. Apparently, a mysterious past and a bunch of glamour charms where the key to school-wide popularity.

I don’t know what’s so great about being the centre of attention - it only gets in the way of homework. Hermione thought huffily, trying to concentrate on the History of Magic essay in front of her, and avoid the glances of some nearby Hufflepuff boys as she and Minerva sat studying in the library one day. No wonder getting Harry to study was like squeezing fire whisky from a stone.

“Ay me!“ Minerva threw up her hands in despair. “I just can’t understand how Dumbledore transfigured that owl into opera glasses. He wants us to have the transfiguration mastered by Friday!“

Hermione answered automatically. “Oh, its actually simpler than you think. You just have to master that swish and roll motion with the wand. I was so glad when I finally learnt how to do it though - I had to do that transfiguration twice in my practical NEWTs!”

Minerva was looking at her strangely. “What do you mean, in your NEWTs? They’re not for another two months!”

Hermione suddenly became very interested in her essay on the role of magic hats in the Seventh Goblin Rebellion. “Oh - um - in Ireland, I - I did some practice NEWT exams.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. She didn’t need to tell Hermione that practice NEWT exams didn’t exist for Hermione to know she had told a very bad lie. “Hermione, are you sure you’re not hiding anything about your past?”

Hermione was saved from answering by a book bag that sailed through the air and slammed onto the table.

"Oi! Slackers! Time to get to work!" Max marched up, and collapsed at the table. The handsome blonde had cheerfully dedicated himself to distracting his studious companions as much as possible, and had gotten good at it.

Hermione grinned. "And he has the cheek to call US slackers!" she remarked to a chuckling Minerva with mock severity. "Call the kettle black on your own time, Max!"

Ignoring her, Max pulled out an absolutely gigantic roll of blank parchment. "Right - I need to fill this paper with something that looks like a transfiguration essay before next period. Anyone care to help me?" He pulled a puppy-eyed grin at Hermione and Minerva and waggled his eyebrows.

Minerva raised her eyebrows severely, impervious to the sky-blue eyes of her boyfriend. "Max, What on earth did you do to get that", she jabbed the wad of paper - "as punishment?"

"I called Professor Wallace's nose a 'malformed masterpiece' when the old bodger was standing behind me." Max grinned, apparently unashamed of either his rudeness or his carelessness. Hermione gasped, but let out a tinkling peal of laughter despite herself. Mr. Wallace was the most disagreeable - and the ugliest - Professor currently at Hogwarts.

"I suppose he didn't take kindly to that?" she trilled in her Irish lilt.

"Nup. It seems he is sensitive about the thing. Don't know why though - it's only large and splotchy and expands when he's angry," Max joked.

Minerva and Hermione rolled their eyes and returned to their work, and Max pretended to do the same. However, he watched Hermione out of the corner of his eye - her delicate face, composed and concentrated; her long tresses of black hair; her slender hand gracing across a piece of parchment.

Max had tried and failed to quell the rising tide of attachment he felt towards Hermione. However, he couldn't help it. His instinct was naturally protective, and she was continually being mobbed and stampeded by people wanting to squeeze the secrets out of the mysterious newcomer. She was just so delicate - although Max knew the formidable magical power that her little frame hid.

Hermione looked up and caught Max looking at her - her captivating green eyes cut emerald shards into his heart. She smiled warmly and went on working; as yet, she had no idea of Max's traitorous feelings. That was the way he hoped to keep it for now.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a chill wash over her, and the hairs on the back of her neck quivered. She looked up, but somehow already knew what she would see.

As she had suspected, Tom Riddle was watching her.

Like some sort of pale shade from Hades' Underworld, he was leaning against the Library check-in desk, arms loosely folded across his chest. His perfect face and defined cheekbones were, as always, an emotionless mask - except for those incredible eyes, which at that moment were fixed on her with an intensity that could melt glass.

Even when Hermione returned his gaze, Riddle did not react. He was studying her with his shadowed eyes like nothing else existed. Hermione's cheekbones slowly began to stain pink, and her legs began to tremble.

Finally Riddle nodded to her slowly. In return, Hermione gathered her courage, stuck out her elfin chin and shot him the most contemptuous look she could muster. When she again looked up from her work, he was gone.

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A/N - Comments welcome! By the way, I'm assuming that Hermione has already taken NEWTs in the 1990's. Sorry canon nazis!