CHAPTER FIVE

It was dark in my room as I jerked awake from the dream. Another dream that I could not remember once my eyes opened. The dim light from the dying embers in the library fireplace bounced off the reflective floors and walls of my prison to give me an idea of my surroundings, but not much else. It was unnaturally warm as I rose from under the sheets, toes touching the smooth glass-like floor tentatively before I made the move to stand. I was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, my heart was still racing from the dream I couldn't remember, and I could feel his eyes following me, but where he was lurking I didn't know. It was confusing, and enthralling, as I placed my feet carefully one in front of the other.

Ten years.

I had literally been living in a mirror for ten bloody years.

I had read almost every book in the vast library, taken notes until my fingers bled, learned more from Voldemort's younger self than any number of teachers during my time at Hogwarts, and had been tortured more than I cared to admit. And yet, I was still sane, and still standing.

My spare time was spent at the only way out of this cage. The mirror within the mirror, I called it, even though it was a glass wall. I sit on the floor and look through at the Voldemort I had known from my own time. I watch him heal, or watched him, heal. He used to be a ghostly image hovering over a stone altar. Now he's completely solid, and looking incredibly normal compared to the serpentine visage that supposedly died during the Final Battle in my timeline, but still incredibly the same. I think the wizarding world had burned the body, because he had pieced himself back together with ashes and bits of bone. A grey statue turned flesh. Like a phoenix, he was rising from the ashes, in a sense. To be born anew. And I have been watching the progression for the last ten years. The healing, the rise and fall of his chest; the breath of life and color in his bone-white complexion. I was certain if he were to open those eyes they would still glow a scarlet red, but he was still beautiful to look upon when I was alone.

I knew that my research in the first few years had been pieces of a puzzle that Riddle was using to keep his future self alive, to heal and restore him. There was something I was being kept in the dark about, something to do with how Voldemort had survived his final encounter with Harry Potter, but I wasn't going to bother asking. I would get no answer, so why risk another ten seconds of that torture curse Riddle so loved to use on me? Ten years was enough time to learn how to act under a Dark Lord's rule. I had given up trying to escape years ago, this was my home now. And to be honest, I didn't want to leave. I had books and I was too dependent on what Riddle still had left to teach me. I was being greedy, yes, but there was so much left unlearned. This was an honor I didn't want to give up, and he knew it. That's why he taught me, to keep me hooked and interested. Knowledge was my weakness, and after so many years it was easy to let go of my defiance and stubbornness in order to soak up all that the Dark Lord had to offer.

Really, I just wanted to look upon his face. Three months was far too long to go between lessons. He was usually far more frequent, and far more punctual, to be gone for so long. It was clockwork, every Wednesday he arrived and berated me on my research, or my "coursework" and then he would insult me through the correct approach - his approach - to doing things. Yes, he was incredibly derogatory in his statements regarding me and my muggle heritage, but the chance to learn from him far outweighed the sting of his sharp tongue. I still wanted to be the best, brightest witch of my age, and to study under Riddle was a dream come true to a scholar such as myself. His intelligence was something no one had seen since Albus Dumbledore. To listen to Tom Riddle explain such things that shattered the boundaries and limitations of magic, and wizarding nature, was truly remarkable. And, of course, I absorbed it like a sponge. I took his abuse because one day it would all be worth it. I may be learning vast new subjects no one would dare to tread, but I was also searching for any possible clue as how to destroy him, once and for all.

Although, saying that just now, it felt like a lie. I didn't want to leave my cage, because I was comfortable now, but also because I didn't want to leave the Dark Lord, either of them. Even though I missed my parents and sunshine on my face and laying on freshly mown grass to read at my leisure, I had changed. I had feelings for Lord Voldemort, and I knew how ridiculous that sounded. In my head it even sounded utterly asinine, but it was the truth. He challenged me, and I liked it. He was a stimulating conversationalist without trying, and I liked it. I was aware he was a murderer and dangerous, and possibly certifiably insane, but I still liked it. I liked him. Not love him, never love him, because he is evil and he is the Dark Lord, he doesn't know or understand love. He was extremely intelligent and breathtakingly handsome, and having only him for small periods of social interaction for ten years was enough to manifest some form of feelings toward him. He was still Lord Voldemort, but it didn't mean I couldn't fantasize about him. My thoughts had started drifting years ago, from hatred to imagining his lips on my own and how it would feel to have him pressed against the front of me. What it would be like if he were to reach across the space between us and brush a frizzy curl back behind my ear. Would I shiver? Probably. Would he notice? Yes. It seemed impossible to think he hadn't witnessed the vulgar path my mind had taken when I was around him. Stray thoughts that got away from me before I could recite Hogwarts: A History to keep him out of my head. It was impossible to think he had not noticed the way I chew on the end of my quill as I try desperately to focus on the book in front of me. In fact, it seemed as though he went out of his way to make me blush.

From the bedroom to the only exit out of my prison, my feet had guided me to the glass barrier that kept me inside. The surface was hard and smooth until I pressed my palm to the wall. The surface rippled like a pebble in a pond until it showed me the image of my timeline's Voldemort, sleeping soundly still. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to press my lips against those pale, thin ones of his. Would they be cold and lifeless? Or would my touch breathe more life into him than all my research combined? I had this silly question in my head of if I were to escape this prison and lean over him, press my mouth to his, would he awaken like Sleeping Beauty? It was a ridiculous notion, but I could not stop myself from wondering. If I had learned anything from Riddle in the last ten years, it was that the laws of magic were only restrictions. Once the boundaries were shattered, a kiss could definitely bring this Voldemort back to life.

It should feel wrong to have these thoughts, I'm painstakingly aware of the fact, but I don't feel as though they're wrong, at all. Daydreaming about kissing the Dark Lord didn't feel dark and unnatural. It felt as though it was incredibly natural. And the dreams I had been having weren't exactly pure, either. Riddle doesn't help matters, though. Always finding a way to touch me, hover over my shoulder and graze his chin across the top of my frizzy head; that's exactly what he did these days. There had been numerous moments over the last fives years of being close enough to touch my lips to his. Those moments had proven to be effective fuel to the fire that burned pleasantly inside of me. The almost kisses pushed my dreams further and further; more touching, more snogging, more skin exposed. It was what I lingered on when I wasn't so involved with my studies. The almost-moments and my studies, those were what had kept me going for so long.

"I can feel you in the shadows," I said, still watching the rise and fall of the comatose Voldemort's chest through the barrier. "I can feel you watching me."

Suddenly Riddle was directly behind me. I could feel the warmth of his breath against the nape of my neck. It caused a shiver to run down my spine, and I was itching to take a step back to feel his firmness. I restrained myself, though. I always held back, just like he did. It was just how he and I were; too logical, too hesitant. And with Riddle, he was also very calculating. I understood that if he ever did lean in and snog me proper, it would be for an underlying reason. Or I would have so infuriated him it happened out of impulse, without any logical thought behind it. Sometimes I thought of pushing him until he leaned in so close out of anger that all I had to do was rise up onto my toes and cut off his insults with my mouth against his. It sounded titillating in my head, but I was thoroughly aware it would not end the same in reality. I would probably end up on the floor, screaming and scratching myself to bloody shreds. It was a lovely scenario to play out in daydreams though.

I could feel him smirking behind me.

"You shivered, mudblood."

A breath stuck in my chest as his fingers touched my shoulder, following the line of my arm down to my wrist. His hand covered mine, keeping it pressed against the barrier. He moved my other arm up, pressing that hand to the barrier as well. Leaning in over my shoulder, Riddle breathed across my ear and I could sense he was waiting for my cheeks to flush. Other than his hands over mine, he wasn't touching me. He wanted to see me squirm, and I was trying not to give him any satisfaction. It was hard, considering this is Tom Riddle and his hands feel amazing over mine, but I fought the blush as long as possible. I even recited passages from A History of Magic to calm down the heat rushing through me.

"What scandalous thoughts are you attempting to hide from me, Hermione?"

There was a soft chuckle in his voice. It was his I-know-exactly-what-you're-thinking-about chuckle. I hated the chuckle. It was smarmy.

"Is there something you need?" I asked, voice a bit shaky. It made him smirk more, I could feel him grinning at my struggle.

"You watch him more than I realized," Riddle whispered, and I was aware that it was intentional, the way he did it. That sensual tone laced with a hint of curiosity. "You look at him differently than you do me."

"He's unconscious," I said, voice more firm and I was thankful for that. "It's not like he can torture me for staring...Is there something you needed?"

"Your time with me is ending," he replied, hands pressing down on mine as a tension gripped him. "He will be taking over once I wake him."

I swallowed hard and wet my lips, "How?"

"How will I wake him?" Riddle sounded too amused, but I wanted the answer so I held my tongue. I wouldn't get the answer if I made a snide comment regarding the enjoyment he experience because I hadn't figured it out yet. He chuckled again, that chuckle I despised, and let a long, hot breath out over my ear. I could feel his lips just barely grazing against the outward curve of that ear, and it set the skin on fire. I was proud of myself of the fact that, even with my ear burning and tingling from that lightest of touches, I still hadn't flushed with desire. I just nodded to answer his question, and waited for his response. "First, you will retrieve him for me. Then I will give you an idea of...how I plan on waking him."

The way he said it was deliciously sinister. Almost a breathy hiss and the low baritone of it flowed over my skin and made something deep inside me clench tight. It was a pleasurable sound, so pleasurable. If he used that tone every time he spoke to me it was a fairly accurate assumption that I would have given in a bloody hell of alot sooner. I would have been lulled under the spell of his voice and I probably would not have been aware that I was handing over so much vital information. I would have been powerless against him, even being aware of how lethal he is wouldn't have been enough to save me from this tone of voice. It was sinful and inciting and scintillating, all wrapped up in one intoxicatingly handsome vessel.

Riddle, chuckling next to my ear, moved his hands from mine to press his palms flat against the glass barrier keeping me inside this prison. The surface gave way and rippled outward, and my hands slowly pushed through. Passing Riddle's, his stayed pressed against an invisible force, and soon I was a swirl of particles, expanding and enlarging, until I was my old, normal self; not a doll in height, trapped in an odd little house with no way out. And now I was out, and all I could think of was what Riddle had told me what I would do. He gave me the instructions without actually giving me the instructions. He was confident in whatever loyalties he suspected I had in regards to him, and I could not dispute his reasoning. Six months after my initial imprisonment in the mirror I had given up on my escape attempts, because he was teaching me. I was comfortable with the routine, the education I was receiving, because there was no one else in the wizarding world as intelligent as Tom Riddle now. Dumbledore was dead, and quite honestly, I doubted he would have taught me anything while he regarded Harry as the center of the universe. In my mirror, with only books and parchment and knowledge, I could pretend that I was the center of someone's attention. That someone was taking the time to mold me, help me to advance, and Harry wouldn't charge in and steal it away.

Funny how enough time passes and I can clearly see the biased dynamics of our little trio. How Ron and I were treated, compared to Harry, especially if we - not Harry - had solved the puzzle, created the solid foundation for the Chosen One to save the day. McGonagall wasn't even entirely unbiased. There was blatant favoritism at times regarding Harry, when it came to the professors at Hogwarts. There was only one teacher I could remember, who was honest in his treatment towards the students. The reason, I have started to believe, behind Snape's attitude towards Gryffindors was completely honest. He viewed all Gryffindors as vicious little James Potters and Sirius Blacks. And the only reason he was less harsh on the Slytherins was due to his affiliations with those students' Death Eater parents. He had a reputation to uphold, a persona to keep solid in case the Dark Lord ever returned. And Harry Potter? Snape was nothing but honest in his attitude towards Harry. I could understand the hostility, because Harry did resemble his parents. It had to have been difficult looking at an eleven year old boy and seeing the classmate that terrorized Snape for seven years. And painful to see the love of his life's eyes staring at him constantly, and accusingly.

But enough about Snape and Harry and never being acknowledged.

I was outside of my prison, and I was acutely aware of the fact that I could flee. I could kill the sleeping Voldemort and run. Riddle could not stop me. He couldn't pass through into his future without damaging the past. It was one rule he hadn't even tried to ignore. He was very aware of how much damage could be done if he tried. That was why he had spent so much time over the last ten years trying to get me to slip up and divulge little pieces of information here and there. Those were the times I was reciting details about the Goblin Wars, and trying extremely hard to not think about anything that could give him a glimpse of the future to come.

Free. I was free, and all I could do was take tentative steps towards the stone altar. The hybrid version of the serpentine Voldemort and Riddle hovering over the stone looked just as breathtaking to me. He was entrancing, so peaceful in sleep that I couldn't look away. I wanted to lean over him. I wanted to feel his breath flow over my cheek. I wanted to see if it was warm and smelled like spearmint, like Riddle's did. I wanted to see his features up close and personal. I wanted to touch his hand without it recoiling. He was vulnerable and unaware, I could take liberties, couldn't I? It wasn't as if I was going to molest him in any way, I just wanted to see if he felt as warm as he looked. I didn't think it was creepy. It was a viable curiosity.

Blinking, I shook the fuzz from my head and looked around the cave. It didn't look like what Harry described, and I couldn't hear the waves crashing against the rocks. It smelled of soil and trees and damp, not sea spray and cold. Was this the cave in Albania? The one he hid in for over a decade in total after Harry defeated him as a baby? Was this the same cave? It looked to be more spacious than I thought it would be. Though, he must have felt this place was a sanctuary because he had taken the time to ward it, and decorate. Somewhat.

There were torches alight along the walls, burning blue and I knew those flames intimately. Bluebell flames, forever burning and safe enough to leave because they wouldn't spread. There were silver, glass and bronze objects in shelves that had been carved into the cave walls. Nothing gold though, which was odd, but who was I to question what the Dark Lord hid in here? Right? Then there were was the familiar object encased in glass case. It reminded me of Beauty and the Beast, the rose on the pedestal that counted down the time to when the Beast's curse would turn permanent. I stepped away from the stone altar and closed the distance between myself and the object in the glass dome. It was incredibly familiar to me, and I couldn't place it. As I neared, I could see it better and yet I still could not place where I knew this object from. It was a ring; white gold with small rubies and emeralds surrounding an understated diamond. It was old, extremely old, and I remembered that it used to be my great, great grandmother's ring. It looked more worn and older than I remembered it being. My mother had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday, but I had never worn it. I had kept it in the velvet box it had originally been bought in and stuffed it down in my little beaded bag. I remembered the many times I pulled it out at night and wished my mother was there. To bore me with the story about how my great, great grandfather had proposed to my great, great grandmother with this ring. And how she turned him down at first because she thought it was ugly. Now I would like nothing more than to listen to my mother tell me the story again, but my parents were gone. I took their memories and there was no getting them back. There was no getting my parents back.

The ring glinted in the dim light, and I was still confused as to how it came to be encased in glass on a white stone pedestal in the middle of a cave in Albania.

"Granger, I do not have all day," Riddle's voice echoed out from the mirror. "Retrieve the body and return to the mirror."

Ten years ago, I would have defied him for his tone. Now I just blinked and returned to the Voldemort hovering over the altar. I could have run - I should run - but I was curious. I wanted to know how this Voldemort would be awakened. I knew I should take this opportunity to save myself, but I just had to know. I had to see it for myself. It was almost a compulsion, to know the how and the rest of the details. I wanted to see it with my own eyes, witness it, because when would I ever get the chance again? I was probably going to be killed, or trapped in my cage for the rest of my life as Voldemort's pet mudblood, but bloody hell, I had to know.

I leaned over the comatose Voldemort, examining his noseless visage and finding him just as handsome as Riddle. What was wrong with me that I found this serpentine image attractive? I couldn't possibly proved an answer, but I could memorize these features from this close a distance as possible before I angered Riddle with my dilly-dallying. I just wanted to see. Just for a moment.

His skin was cool under my fingertips, not cold but not warm either. Just cool to the touch. He had eyelashes, something I had never seen from my place in the mirror. Short, black eyelashes that added to the handsome, snake-like features of his face. The lips were thin and pale, and his breath coming out in slow, shallow puffs was warm against my face. I could feel his heart beating underneath my palm. A strong thump, thump, thump that made it all real for me. Voldemort was really alive. He had actually survived death three times. Wait - when Harry was a baby, when Harry sacrificed himself in the Forbidden Forest, the Final Battle. Yes, three times. How could he have survived after all his horcruxes were-

I realized it before I finished that thought. Horcruxes. Dumbledore and Harry had said there were seven. What if there had been a seventh before Harry had become a horcrux when he was a baby? What if this cave was the hiding place for the original seventh horcrux? Dumbledore had been wrong. So wrong, all along. And the fact that the Dark Lord had been able to keep his original seventh horcrux unknown to Dumbledore, it was amazing. I was actually in awe. The Dark Lord had trumped Albus Dumbledore, and the old wizard wasn't even around to have it rubbed in his face. Harry would never see Voldemort coming this time. It was over. It was so over for the Order, because the Dark Lord would come swiftly and with such vengeance. It was literally jaw-dropping.

Leaning over the hovering body of Voldemort, I took in the soft and peaceful look upon his face before closing the distance. I pressed a gentle kiss to his thin lips. My hand splayed over his cheek, cupping it ever so slightly, and I could feel a warmth spread through him. His lips had always been slightly parted, and I breathed into him. Another wave of warmth flowed through him, turning his cheeks a pale pink. I couldn't help but smile as I pulled away, flicking my wand with a whispered spell and watching him float from the altar to the mirror. I was still overwhelmingly impressed with Riddle, and how great the lengths were he had taken to ensure his survival. Eight horcruxes were extremely dangerous, and volatile, to have made, but in all seriousness, how could anyone not be impressed? I should be disgusted with myself, because I knew the friends I had known were going to die. The traitors to Voldemort, the Order of the Phoenix - so many wizarding folk - were going to suffer. They were all going to die, and all I could be was in awe of the Dark Lord's brilliance.

What had happened to me?

I was confused as we both exploded into whirlwinds of particles and entered my mirror. Riddle was nowhere to be seen when the unconscious Voldemort and I materialized. Though, I could hear the echo of running water through the mirror and assumed I knew where I was supposed to go. I hovered the comatose Voldemort in front of me as I followed the sound of the bath filling. It struck me as odd how easily I was changing sides. How easily my allegiance to Harry had withered and died, only to be replaced by an allegiance to the Dark Lord. Funny how these things happen. After ten years, I didn't even feel guilty about the inevitability that I was betraying everyone I had ever known. I should, but I didn't. I felt as though I wanted to, but I couldn't connect with that part of myself anymore. Knowledge and advancement and the Dark Lord was all I could care about.

There was a green glow reflecting off of the surfaces outward from the bathroom. It was eerie and made the hairs on the nape of my neck stand straight, but I maneuvered the serpentine Voldemort through the archway in front of me anyway. I wasn't going to show my nerves, I wasn't going to show weakness. Besides, I doubted I would be able to leave this mirror without a bit of Riddle's help. I had chosen to stay. This was the path I wanted to take, and I could not back out. I would not back out.

Not now.

The green glow was emanating from the small pool that was the in-ground bath. Somewhere in the center of it, under the water, something was glowing green and sinister. I stood there, staring because I couldn't figure out what was under the water. It was illuminating the steam coming off the bath, creating a presence even more eerie than before. I felt as though I should send the floating form of Voldemort to hover over the green light, whatever it was.

Strange thing, this scenario in front of me. I distinctly remembered Harry painting a picture similar to this one after his trip with Dumbledore to retrieve Slytherin's locket. I briefly wondered what it was about glowing green things in the middle of bodies of water, inside caves, that Riddle enjoyed so much. It was starting to become a theme in his horcrux hiding places, didn't it?

"I knew you would follow through..."

I gasped.

Riddle was behind me, a hand on each of my shoulders as his breath flowed over the nape of my neck. It sent shivers down my spine, and goosebumps rose over my arms. He was using that tone again; the low baritone that was smooth and seductive and sinful. It enveloped me completely, creating a heat that burst in my skin and rushed through my entire body. Like a sizzling electric jolt that struck hard at first and then slowly built up the temperature. I hadn't even felt him in the shadows. Not even his eyes watching my every movement. It was like he hadn't been there at all and just spontaneously appeared. How was that even possible? Why was I even asking that question? Anything was possible when it came to Riddle. Nothing was impossible with him. It all came to him so easily, like a second nature. As easy as breathing. And even that he did with masculine grace.

Riddle's grip on my shoulders tightened, and I could feel him smirking at my reaction to him, "Why are you still dressed, mudblood?" He leaned down to breathe against my ear without touching it, "Remove your clothes and join me."

The hands released my shoulders and Riddle walked around me towards the bath. His skin glowed pale and green and perfect. It mesmerized me until I realized that I could see his skin, all of his skin.

"Oh...M-mer-Merlin," I gasped, stuttering as I took in the glorious curve of his backside before covering my mouth and turning away from the sight. "You're...You...You are naked! Oh, Merlin...you're completely nude! Are you aware that you have no clothes on?"

He snickered in a snarky way, "I am very aware that I have no clothes on, Granger. Get undressed and join me. I will not repeat myself again..."