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Root of Desire	By : MegiiOfMysteriOusStranger Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 42312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Harry Potter or anything else quoted within. I make no money from writing this. Zip. Zilch.

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Tom had kept in rather close contact with Hermione Wilkins in the days and weeks leading up to his debut in the magical world. Although he had memorized his textbooks from cover to cover, Tom had been filled with questions and inquiries; and Hermione had answered each and every one to the best of her ability, which was saying quite a lot. To Tom's young mind it seemed as if she knew all that there was to know about anything and it made him hunger for both her presence and for information. How much there was to learn, that he wanted to learn! Sure, the Wizarding world had had its fair share of war and conflict, but compared to the Muggle world it seemed like a utopia.

The amount of time he spent around the other children in the orphanage dropped dramatically, in preference to reading his new books and writing to Hermione. It suited him just fine and it suited the others just fine. And that was just fine.

Tom didn't detail his life at the orphanage too much in his letters. Although he didn't doubt that Hermione would have understood, it was not a place he cared about; and so, he took care to try and forget about it at every opportunity. Soon enough, he would be leaving the awful place for the majority of the year. And all in due time he would be able to leave Wool's Orphanage behind for good.

Hermione too seemed tentative about exposing too much of her personal life or past—not that he really understood why, she was going to be his, after all, and it wasn't as if he was a child—but he enjoyed her letters about those, even more than her answers to his many questions. With each letter he grew a little more infatuated, a little more possessive.

When the long awaited September 1st came he couldn't get out of the orphanage fast enough. The Hogwarts Express was even more magnificent than he had imagined it would be: enormous, bright red, gold and black, and bearing more carriages behind it than he could count. From the outside, the carriages seemed small and cramped, but the insides were just the opposite: roomy and immensely comfortable. Tom wasn't sure if he'd ever sat on something so soft or luxurious. He chose a room quickly after it had become apparent that there wasn't much use to exploring. The compartments were all the same, only the people were different and Tom had never been the type who excelled in social situations.

However, there was no hiding the pleasure—he refused to admit it was joy—that pulsed through him when Hermione stumbled into his compartment. His chest swelled and his lips pulled back in an eager smile.

"Hermione!"

She blinked, surprised for a moment before beaming at him.

"Well, hey!"

She had been helping an underclassman search for his escaped pet rat, which—through a series of pointer and summoning spells—was found two compartments over from Tom's, unintentionally terrifying a group of girls. Said girls happily shoved the rodent into its owner's sweaty hands and slammed the door. The boy thanked Hermione profusely before rejoining his friends down the hall.

"I'd ask how you've been, except I think it's rather a moot point with the way we've been writing these past weeks. What do you think of the Hogwarts Express?" She asked Tom, sitting opposite him.

"It's brilliant, really," he admitted. There was no reason to be disappointed, but he rather wished she had sat next to him where he could touch her. "But, I expected the people to be…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"More extraordinary?" Hermione offered. "Less like normal people."

"Yes!"

Her smile was lovely but heavy. "I'm afraid that people will be people, no matter where you go. If you take away the cultural differences, there really isn't a difference."

"I guess."

"If it helps, I felt the same way when I was in my first year too." Her expression turned wistful. "I didn't get on well with the other children in primary, and when I got my Hogwarts letter I expected to fit in right away, but, well, that didn't exactly happen. I was very lonely until two of my Housemates saved me from a troll on Halloween. They became my very best friends."

Tom's eyebrows rose. "A troll?"

"Hogwarts is surrounded by mountains, plenty of them live nearby, but it's rare that they get so close to school. One of the teachers accidentally let it in during dinner. However, I was in the bathroom at the time and it found me. I probably would have been killed if it weren't for Harr—old and… Ronnie. Ironic, really, since it was Ronnie's fault I was in there crying in the first place."

Internally, he perked up. This was new information. She hadn't ever written about the other people she knew at Hogwarts, and somehow it hadn't occurred to him that there was anyone in her life beside himself and teachers. He bit his tongue, feeling foolish and jealous.

"They aren't going to be with you at Hogwarts this year, are they? Since you're finishing late and all."

For a moment, it looked as if she had stopped breathing. She was hiding it admirably, but he could tell that she was very, very sad.

"No, they won't be there. Harold and Ronnie… well, they're gone now."

"You mean…" he rolled his hand, not wanting to speak the word "dead" aloud for fear of upsetting his companion. So many newer orphans broke down into tears and wailing when they came across something that reminded them of their losses. He hated those moments.

Hermione simply rolled her shoulders and turned her brown eyes to the window, which he took to mean 'no, they aren't dead, but they are as good as.'

Tom shifted a bit uncomfortably in his seat. It had not been his intention to upset her; this gloomy Hermione was not a Hermione he liked all that much, and he had no idea how to go about lightening the atmosphere. Still, he was glad to hear that her friends would not be around. Stubbornly, he refused to break the tense atmosphere, unwilling to be the one to speak first by saying an apology.

So, naturally, she spoke up first.

"What class are you looking forward to most?" she asked, lifting her elbow to the armrest and setting her chin on her open palm. Her fingers were long and girlish, but her fingernails were extremely short; she probably bit them.

Tom released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He took a moment to reply, considering the question carefully. "All of them, but if I had to chose I would say Transfiguration."

Her surprise was obvious. "Transfiguration? You do know that Professor Dumbledore teaches that class, don't you?"

He couldn't hold back the smirk curling his lip. "Yes, and that's the point. I want to see if he's all that he shows off to be."

Hermione blinked then chuckled lowly. "Definitely Slytherin."

"You think? I think I'd do pretty good in Ravenclaw too." He said looking down at his robes, imagining what color the trim would end up being, green and silver or blue and bronze? He liked Sytherin's serpent mascot, but blue and bronze sounded like fine colors, the kind of colors King George might wear.

"I suppose you would. You're certainly smart enough." She leaned back in the seat, tension sliding away from her pear-shaped frame. A light flush crossed Tom's cheeks at the praise. "I was almost a Ravenclaw myself, but it was decided that I was too passionate. The library is still my favorite place in Hogwarts, though."

"How do they decide what House you go into?"

A grin stole across her mouth for a moment and she winked. His blush increased tenfold. His hair felt like it was standing on end.

"That, Mister Riddle, is a secret. It's tradition, you see."

'To hell with tradition, tell me now!' He wanted to exclaim, but he recalled just how well his "powerful words" had gone over when he told Dumbledore to admit he was from an asylum, and thus kept quiet. The corner of his mouth turned with displeasure and he looked out the window, arms crossed.

Beside him, he felt the seat cushion sink unexpectedly. He nearly leapt out his skin, his head snapping over to come eye-level with his cabin-mate's chest.

'Girls!' His mind supplied exasperatedly. They were all nosy and annoying, the lot of them! He lifted his eyes until he met Hermione's amused gaze and quickly looked away again.

"There's no need to sulk, Tom."

"I ain't sulking," he said sulkily.

"If you say so," her voice was much too cheerful.

"I do say so."

"Okay then."

And then, suddenly, there was a hand on his head, wriggling and writhing through his hair. Her touch was quick, as if she were afraid of being bitten, gone as soon as it came. All the same, Tom leapt away from her, eyes wide and stiff like a cat caught in the road, his mouth open a fraction.

"What?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Y-you messed up my hair!" He exclaimed, awed and angered. How dare she! Didn't she understand how important it was to make a good impression, to not show up looking like some ratty child off the street? Appearances were important!

Hermione didn't laugh outright at him, but she did roll her eyes, which sparkled with mischief.

"Oh, come on, it's not that big of a deal, see?" She wove her fingers through his scalp a second time at a sideways swipe and it settled. "No harm done. Good as new."

Tom kept glaring.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll thank you kindly not to touch me without permission again." He hissed.

Her eyebrows rose into her hair. She scrutinized him for a moment then nodded. "Alright, I apologize. I promise not to touch you again without your permission or unless you make contact first."

He felt her promise, a spark, magical and strong like a knotted piece of string, smelling like a bit of burnt ozone. He relaxed, tension and anger slipping away in the wake of wonder. While he had never been one to take people at their word he hadn't expected her to make a magicalpromise. It bound her, he knew; she really wouldn't be able to touch him without his say so.

The words "Thank you" seemed ill fitting and he didn't want to say them anyhow. He nodded shortly and they slipped back into conversation. Every so often, he found his eyes wandering to her hand, which lied idly on her thigh when she wasn't waving it around as she spoke. She was a very animate talker.

When the train finally pulled into its station, a tiny, dark platform, she got off with him, her face bright and eager compared to the anxious nerves squirming in his gut, though he kept his head high. Above the students heads bobbed a bright yellow lamp.

"First years, over here! First years, to me!"

Hermione smiled down at Tom, her expression somehow reassuring and she waved goodbye to him and departed, climbing into one of the many horseless carriages lined up nearby.

Tom followed along with the rest of the students his age, which followed the gnarled, bent-up old man carrying the lamp. He led them down a dark, narrow path, the trees tall and imposing, pressing down on the children from both sides so that they huddled together. Most were quiet, but an excited, hushed murmur hung over them like a fog, until at last the trees thinned and shrunk down into the rocky shore of a dark, glassy lake.

Tom hardly registered what the guide said next. Hogwarts was too beautiful for words, rising like a shadowy cutout against the deep blue sky, its lighted windows shining like the stars in the sky. As they sailed closer and closer its magnificence only grew. Tom's breath was stolen away and he felt the magic reverberate in him all the way down to the bone. It felt like he was coming home for the very first time.

He was home.
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Root of Desire