The Caretaker of the Riddles
by vixoss
Genre: Angst/Horror
Rating: M
Summary: How had he gotten in? She reacted fast, reaching for her wand right beside the bathtube but he simply accio'd it wordlessly with wandless magic. She hurried to get out of the bathtube but he was on her in a second, his strong hands catching her bare, wet shoulders, his skin hot on hers. This was not what she had expected as the caretaker of Tom Riddle's grandmother. AU
A carriage pulled by two Thestrals brought Hermione to her destination: the Riddles.
She was going to be the new caretaker of their family member starting today. When her job was done and she received her payment, she would be finally able to pay the enrollment fee required to study at the renowned Hogwarts-University, which she had always wanted. She had already collected a good sum of money with the diverse manual jobs she had done in the past and only needed a bit more to achieve her goal. Then, she would finally be free.
No more physical labor that was taken for granted.
After she had enrolled in Hogwarts, she would receive a scholar-ship because of her excellent grades and extraordinary magical talent in spite of the fact that she was a Muggle-born according to the headmaster Dumbledore with whom she had talked already. Just one more thankless job and she would finally be free. Just a bit more.
Hermione bid the driver, an old kind man wearing a hat and clothes typical for his job, goodbye after she was about to pay him for his services but he told her that the Riddles had already taken care of it. She was pleasantly surprised, someone had done something for her, which was not something that occured often. With anticipation and just a hint of excitement, she entered the refined mansion of the Riddles.
A paper-dove spelled to life with magic awaited her, greeted her at the door, "Welcome Miss Granger. My master and my mistress are already awaiting you. Please follow me."
Hermione was instantly charmed by the elegant, lovely paper-dove, following her with curiosity. The mansion of the Riddles was elegant, aesthetic yet somewhat shady, the play of shadows stronger than the one of light, full of dark promises to their visitors.
In the living room, her employers were waiting for her. A sweet melody greeted her; a Muggle piano song. The pianist was male, and she only saw his back at first until he noticed her presence, turning around to look at her. A young man, a beauty beyond this world with pitch-black eyes and hair like the feathers of ravens, dressed in formal dark emerald robes, surpassed her expectations by far. She had expected another elderly man, most likely bald and marred with skin blemishes, but definitely not this gift for the eyes. He was a stark contrast to the old hag seated next to him in a luxurious arm-chair, her black eyes containing the most venomous of poisons as she glared at her, her white hair ungroomed, her skin wrinkled from old age. She was dressed in black robes that gave her body a shapeless appearance in spite of her boniness, making her resemble a Dementor.
Hermione shuddered.
The young man's expression lit up with joy and he stood up as he saw her, "Miss Granger, I'm so glad you're here."
She approached him timidly.
"Good afternoon Mr. Riddle."
"There's no need to be so formal. I think we're actually around the same age, so on second thought you should just call me 'Tom'."
"That might be so, but you're still my employer. It wouldn't be appropriate."
His lips curled into an amused smile. "You're a rather reserved young woman."
"I'm sorry about that," she apologized but apparently that wasn't what he wanted.
"Oh no, no, don't apologize. A young lady who sticks to the rules and formalities is a gem."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at his compliment.
After a bit of small talk, he explained her the details of her job as his grandmother's caretaker.
First, she would live with them to facilitate her job and save travel time.
Second, he would have to leave the house for work from 9 in the morning to 7 o'clock in the evening, but he would have breakfast with them.
Third, he expected her to take care of his grandmother, Agatha Riddle, during his absence, making sure all her needs were attended. She musn't feel neglected or lonely under Hermione's care.
Hermione had to bathe the old woman, first.
She was a scrawny and unsightly thing, her flesh wrinkled from old age and bones protruding but that was not the most disgusting feature about her. There something inhumanly malicious about her, which seeped through every pore of her body and was unveiled by the piercing glare of her black eyes. Those eyes occasionally focused on Hermione and Hermione tried to avoid looking at them. It was as if they could poison her with their look alone.
Hermione almost didn't want to touch her, even though it was her job. She wasn't one to be mean-spirited but she couldn't help it with this woman. There was something so ugly, so evil about her that it was nauseating.
She squeezed out the sponge in the foamy bathwater to scrub her ugly back when the old woman's hand snapped around her wrist with surprising strength and hissed at her," Filthy little mudblood, how dare you to touch me, to bathe me? Just what is Tom thinking?"
The old woman tightened her grip on Hermione's wrist to a bruising degree but Hermione tore her wrist out of her hand. She always fought back, rebelled against the abusive cruelty of those women with pitch-black hearts but they always hurt her worse in return. Sadly, it seemed to be her fate to attract those women like moths to a flame because every of her employer had been female except for her current one ,and had a heart made of dirt and worms.
Hermione glared at her. "He is thinking that I need to take care of you! And, I've to do so because it's my job."
'It's not a pleasure to touch you, just so you know. But someone has to do it since your own nephew refuses to do so, you damn old hag.'
Another part of Hermione, however, pitied the old woman, not even dreaming about retaliating physically, completely unlike some other women would've, because she had a strong moral core - unfortunately.
Tom's grandmother pressed her lips into a trembling line and kept her mouth shut and averted her gaze from her but not without glaring at Hermione first.
At least, Hermione could finish her task of washing the old woman in peace.
While Hermione was able to finish her task of washing the old woman in peace, she could not dry her off with an over-sized towel without being pushed by the nasty excuse of a human being and stumbling forward. The muggleborn witch glared at her silently but let it slide this time, not wanting to prolong her time in the presence of the revolting glory of Agatha's naked body.
After she had dried and dressed the old woman, she made them dinner. Traditional German beef stew, rich in nutrition and taste, not wanting to deprive Tom's grandmother of anything.
Of course, she wasn't grateful.
The first thing she did was to throw a spoonful of almost boiling hot at Hermione, who however had fortunately fast reflexes because of her brawls with the shitty boys at the orphanage in her childhood and avoided the splash by jerking her body to the side.
Clenching her spoon, Hermione stood up angrily, the chair rattling against the wooden floor. "Don't play with your food, Agatha," she reprimanded her calmly, even as her eyes blazed with unspoken fury.
The old woman clicked with her tongue in annoyance but then returned to her soup and ate it like a savage in the woods. Opening her mouth wide, she let the soup drop into her mouth, which was lined by decaying teeth, and made the same noises as a rabid dog. Hermione sighed, not bothering, not able to look at it. She forced herself to eat her own supper and ignore the bestial eating noises. She was like a caricature of a human being.
At seven, Tom was finally home from work.
"How was your first day, Miss Granger?"
"Awful to be honest, Mr. Riddle," Hermione answered with a forced smile.
He smirked. "I told you to call me 'Tom'."
"And, I told you it would be inappropriate."
"Alright, alright."
Then, she changed the topic, offering him some of the dinner she had made like a good employee. "By the way, would you like some dinner, Mr. Riddle?"
"Oh, I would love to. I'm quite hungry."
She set the table for one, and served him some of the left-over stew.
"This is quite delicious," he said. "What is this?"
"German beef stew," she answered.
"Mmmh, wonderful."
Her expression turned serious. "Mr. Riddle."
He raised a curvy eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I actually need to talk to you about your grandmother."
He frowned, his pleasantly curious expression replaced by a serious one. "What is the matter?"
"Her behavior is unacceptable. In the bath, she bruised my wrist and pushed me. And, during dinner, she threw a spoonful of scalding hot soup at me, which I dodged however."
Tom put his spoon down and looked at Hermione sadly. "You must forgive my grandmother, Miss Granger. She is a lonely and bitter woman. She never had any friends in her life."
'Why does this not surprise me?'
It was Hermione's turn to frown. "You'll talk to her, won't you?"
"Of course," he said as if it was a matter of fact. "But I still need to ask of you to cut her some slack."
"Of course," she replied, biting the corner of her bottom lip hard because she didn't feel like cutting that old nasty woman some slack.
The bedroom, which had been prepared for her, was dark, eerie yet ironically cozy. The covers of the bed were pitch-black and above it hung decorative bed mobile ravens, the harbinger of death and wisdom. The decoration obviously not made for infants but for young adults and those of older age, making a slightly sinister impression in the bedroom. There was a mahogany closet, empty bookshelf and desk at Hermione's left, blending in with the gentle ochre color of the walls, which was hit by the light of the fire in the chimney.
Because of the decoration and colors, the bedroom had a gothic touch. It was alluring yet frightening like Tom Riddle.
It was different from the bedroom she had the orphanage, where she had grown. It was infinitely prettier and tasteful but it lacked comfort and warmth just like the bedroom in her orphanage, the Eagle orphanage. The orphanage was located in the outskirts of London, in the middle of somewhere, which made the rainy days even more shitty.
She undressed, and changed into a white short-sleeved nightgown, which she had taken with her. The day had tired her out, so it didn't take long until she fell asleep after she had slipped under the dark covers.
At the next day after Hermione had breakfast with Tom and his grandmother and he left for work, Hermione had decided to spent some time in the Riddle's enormous library (with permission, of course) but with the instruction to spent the time taking care of Tom's grandmother.
Hermione was immersed by the beauty of the library and the variety of books: books of the wizarding but also muggle-world. There were spellbooks, documentations, fiction written by the magical also dramas, fantasy and romance novels by muggle-writers. In spite of the great splendor of the books, she did not forget Tom's order to spend time interacting with his grandmother, so that she wouldn't feel neglected.
"Which book should we read together, Miss Riddle?" Hermione asked her cordially, but in spite of her kind tone, the old woman's hateful eyes narrowed spitefully.
"Who says I'm going to read anything with you? Filthy, little mudblood sticking her nose in Tom's library. Just what is Tom thinking?"
Hermione tensed her muscles in an attempt to control her attempt. "Shall we read the "Little Mermaid?"
A muggle-story about a pitiful little Mermaid who sacrificed her voice for a handsome Muggle boy. Hermione wondered if she would end up making the same mistake as Ariel? If she would end up sacrificing something truly important just to be together with someone to fill the void in her heart? It was one of her deepest, unconscious fears.
"What makes you think I would want to read a filthy muggle story with you?"
Agatha asked, angrily slapping the book out of her hands. Hermione sighed, picked up the book and chose another book from the shelf, this time for herself, however.
A book about the dichotomy of power.
In the middle of the night, Hermione was woken by something.
The ravens of the bed mobile shook, rattled by something, their dark eyes appearing crimson in the darkness. The harbringer of death and wisdom to humans. But it couldn't be. It had to be a trick on her eyes.
Nevertheless, Hermione sat up and got off the bed as if entranced by a spell. There was something dark and forbidden in the air, and she had to follow it. Brown eyes unfocused and hazy, she followed the trace of dark magic she was unaware of, walking down a staircase and into a room where Tom was boiliing something vile: the pale corpse of a young, beautiful woman in a kettle big enough to sustain her.
Madness. Pure, malicious, ridiculous madness.
In blank horror, Hermione screamed.
Tom was immediately alarmed by her scream, surprised at first, then angry.
"Stupify!" He cast the spell with wandless magic, his hand outstretched for her heart.
It hit Hermione's square in the chest, knocking her unconscious to the ground. She collapsed in a heap at the mercy of Tom who approached her defenseless body, eyeing her with scorn and disgust because she was filth. Then with an elegant wave of his hand, he cast another spell," Obliviate."
He eyed her for a moment longer before he bent down and collected her in his arms, lifting her and carrying her to her room without any effort at all. Gently, completely in contrast to what he had done to her before, he laid her down and covered her with the blanket as if she was something precious, which in fact she was.
At the next mornig, Hermione woke up painless but without memories as well.