Author's Note: Huge does not even come close to describing the writer's block I faced with this chapter. I am still rather disappointed with it, but figured it'd be best to move on to bigger and brighter things.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the plot. Everything belongs respectfully to JK Rowling and I am not using this fanfiction to make money.
Riddle sneered almost inhumanly. A look of pure hatred spread across his face, his eyes flashing tinges of red. His face seemed to pale considerably, as if all the blood had drained out of his face and flowed into his eyes. If Hermione hadn't feared Riddle before, she definitely feared him now. "Now, my dear father," he snarled. "Why don't we go talk in private?"
Tim seemed almost resigned, looking in the distance. However, he seemed…oddly peaceful, as if he had been expecting this. "Of course, Tom." He said, before Hermione could interrupt. She stared at him; didn't he know how dangerous Riddle was? He shouldn't know about magic of course; he was a muggle. But if his wife was a witch, then he should know about it to some degree. Had he never see Tom cast a curse before? Being alone with him while Riddle was angry was as good as a death wish, wizard or not.
"B-but Tim!" Hermione found her voice and protested weakly. Abraxas glanced over to her sharply, as if telling her to be quiet. Hermione barely glanced at him; she knew that he was still angry at her for her killing curse stunt on the train, and she was sure that anything she did, Abraxas would frown upon it. Riddle, however, paid her no mind and kept his eyes trained on his father. The two of them locked eyes, and though they looked quite similar, Hermione could pick out the differences. Tim's posture more relaxed, though how he could be relaxed at a time like this, Hermione didn't know. Riddle was glaring, his whole body tense and alert. His hand was fingering his wand, and Hermione glanced down at it nervously.
"Shh, Hermione. It's alright." He patted her shoulder, and Riddle's eyes finally strayed away from his father's eyes and down to the hand that connected her to Tim. His anger flared even more, if possible. Why would he care? It wasn't him being touched. "Tom, I will come with you, but before that, may I speak to Hermione in private?"
A look of shock crossed Riddle's face, and he blinked a couple of times, before he said firmly, "No."
Hermione scowled at him. Tim was supposed to be Riddle's father. Where did Riddle get off ordering him around like that? "I don't care what you say, Riddle. Tim and I are going to talk, and you can't stop me."
Riddle clearly thought that he could, but he came to the conclusion that dueling her would take up his precious time and energy. Not to mention it would make a mess in the back alley, and there was a highly probable chance he would be caught. He glared full heartedly at the two of them, but didn't make any move to stop them as Hermione dragged Tim away.
However, as soon as they were out of earshot from the other two, Hermione found out that she had nothing to say. After the frightening presence of Riddle was no longer looming over them, Hermione's heart beat calmed. The two of them stood awkwardly, a couple feet between them, neither meeting the other's eyes. Hermione crossed her arms and huffed out. The anger that she had felt when she found out she had been deceived by Tim was now returning.
"You're mad at me." It was a statement, not a question, and Tim had spoken it so quietly that Hermione wasn't sure if she had imagined it or not. He stared down the path which they had come from. It had seemed like hours ago; in reality, it had only been ten minutes. Ten minutes ago, she had been the most carefree she had been in years, forgetting about all her worries. Now, they all came crashing down on her.
"What's your name?" Hermione said, as if Tim had never spoken at all.
"Tom Riddle."
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"Look, Hermione, I know I haven't been completely truthful to you…"
Hermione wanted to yell at him for lying to her, but that would make her a hypocrite, wouldn't it? She was the master of keeping secrets, of lying to people. She wasn't in the position to lecture anyone, not Tim, not Riddle, not nobody. She remained silent.
"My name is really Tom Riddle, and other Tom Riddle is indeed my son," Tim said softly. "The reason I gave you a fake name was because I recognized you."
"Recognized me?" Hermione felt fear rising up inside of her. Recognized her from what? Did he know about her mission? Did he find about her father? So many choices, not one of them good.
"That you were magical, of course. I've been around magic for such a long time, I know what a magical person's aura feels like." Here, he slightly frowned at her. "Yours is exceptionally strong, though. The only other person who I've ever felt it so quickly was with Tom."
Great. Riddle and I are alike.
"I had to make up a name. There aren't too many magical folks that ever come to Little Hangleton, and the fact that someone as strong as you was here meant that Tom probably was as well. And you know Tom; wherever he goes, people will know him."
Ah, so now I'm a Riddle indicator. Tim stared at her, as if expecting to get a reaction. She gave him none, and met his gaze evenly. He eventually looked away, sighing. What did he expect? For her to suddenly change her mind and hug him?
"That's why I had to change my name," Tim continued, though. "I knew you would most definitely recognize me if I said my name was Tom. To top it off, I even look like him. Or he looks like me. I don't suppose it matters. I just knew, when I saw you, that I had to gain your trust."
"Gain my trust?" Hermione was so bewildered, she forgot to sound angry.
"Yes," Tim sighed. "If you hadn't noticed, Tom is a bit…troubled."
Troubled? Riddle? The same Riddle that almost killed me over a ring? The guy who's trying to make my life worse than it already is? "Troubled would be an understatement," Hermione said finally.
"Tom hasn't had enough people care about him in his life," Tim said quietly.
"So you're saying that because he isn't cared about, he turned out troubled?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. "I didn't come here to tell you to make excuses for Tom, Tim. I'm sure they're other reasons. He has people who care about him-"
"Of course there's other reasons," Tim replied smoothly. "But one of the biggest ones is the fact that Tom has no friends. He has followers, of course, and then there's the people he pretends to befriend until they serve their uses. But Tom has no real friend, nor does he have any family members that care about him. Essentially, Tom is alone in the world."
Hermione raised her eyebrow, but didn't argue. She waited for him to continue. She didn't see what was the point of his story. Was he trying to make her feel bad for Riddle? Well, tough luck. She wasn't going to pity Riddle anytime soon.
"I made the mistake of pushing him away," Tim admitted. "The last time I saw him was his second year in school. Professor Dumbledore made him came back and visit me, something he was displeased about. He already had suspicions that I was not the wizard that he thought I was, and that I was, in reality, a muggle. He was always smarter than me, so he must've gotten his intellectual genes from his mom. He came all the way down to Little Hangleton, yet I refused to open the door. I didn't even hear him out. I just ignored him." Tim looked away, embarrassed. "This was before he turned as evil as he is now."
"The door?" Hermione replied weakly. She didn't know where Tim was going with this.
"Yes, I yelled at him, but I didn't even have the decency to open the door and face him man to man. Maybe I was afraid about the splitting image of myself that I would see. I knew he looked like me, though he had no idea what I looked like. Maybe I didn't want to see how Tom had become. Maybe I was afraid of magic, and the role it played in my life. Nevertheless, I feel as if I pushed Tom over the edge. I was the only true family member he had, and I pushed him away."
Hermione remained silent.
"After that time, Professor Dumbledore never made him come again, so I never saw Tom until today. However," Tim paused slightly. "I have been getting news about Tom. Professor Dumbledore decided that even though I was a muggle, Tom was a special case, and he needed help. Otherwise, he most definitely would've erased my memory. He tried to persuade me by sending me news about Tom's life to take him back. And it was true; Tom was getting progressively worse. Even I could see it. However, any time I thought about taking him back, I thought of Merope. And that thought always pushed me to refuse."
"Merope?" Hermione inquired curiously.
"She's my wife, and Tom's mom." Tim sighed. "Long story short, she fed me love potion and made me run away with her. She had decided that after a few years, I was genuinely in love with her, and decided to stop giving me love potion. I am a very horrible person, Hermione." Tim's voice cracked. "I am very violent. When I found out that I had been manipulated, been cheated on, I forced her to leave. If Merope stayed, I most likely would've killed her. That wasn't the worse part. She was pregnant at the time, with Tom."
Hermione gasped softly, but Tim either didn't hear her or decided to ignore her.
"She died as soon as she gave birth to him, leaving Tom at an orphanage. The reason I didn't take him back then or any of the other chances that I had was because I was afraid of magic. I didn't want any reminder of what I had done to Merope in my life. I was a coward. I was running away, trying to live a normal life. Professor Dumbledore offered to erase my memory, but I was too prideful to forget. So I lived on, the guilt slowly digging its way into my life. And by the time I really realized what I had done, Tom was beyond help.
"I don't know how well you know Tom, but he likes to manipulate people. He's a very cunning boy with a lot of trick up his sleeves. If you don't play him right, he'll backstab you. He uses people, builds a fortress around himself, and then dumps them. That's just the way Tom works. He's smart, and so far, he hasn't met anyone who's his competitor."
Hermione couldn't resist asking, "I didn't know Tom had such a background before, and I start to understand why he is what he is right now, but I don't understand why you're telling this to me. Shouldn't you be telling Riddle this?"
Tim ignored her and looked far away into the distance. "You must know that I'm going to die, right?"
Hermione was shocked, and for a few moments, she wasn't sure she heard Tim right. "You're going to die? Are you sick? Do you need help?" Tim said nothing in response, instead, just stared dreamily into space. The silence made her panic. "Tim, please tell me what's wrong. Is there anything I can do? Oh, Merlin, should I get a doctor?"
"Merlin. That's a funny word. It must be wizard language, isn't it? I've never heard Professor Dumbledore say it before, but then again, I've never heard him say 'God' either." Tim finally turned back to her, and he chuckled. "You must don't know Tom as well as I thought you did," he mused quietly, though Hermione wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to her. "Tom doesn't like people. He hates everyone on various degrees. However, to make him enraged is a very difficult thing to do. Tom is all about controlling his emotions. If he's enraged, then you might as well be dead."
"What?" Hermione's voice raised several octaves. "Are you saying that as soon as you go back, Riddle's going to murder you?"
"Why not?" Tim looked her straight in the eye. "Even if you don't know him well, you should know he's perfectly capable of doing that, especially if he has his wand."
"T-then," Hermione stuttered, her brain going into panic mode. She couldn't think clearly. "You can't go back there! You have to run away, and-"
"Now, Hermione," Tim sighed, and Hermione closed her mouth, her worried expression still etched on her face. "I have done enough running for a lifetime. I was prepared, when I saw you walking with Tom today, that it was my last day. There was only one reason why Tom would visit Little Hangleton, and that would be me."
"You can't just die!" Hermione panicked. "You have to tell someone. The police, Professor Dumbledore, someone-"
"You know how Tom is. Do you honestly think he can be caught by a muggle police?" He had a point there. "As for Professor Dumbledore goes, he has lost his faith in Tom a long time ago, and would like nothing more than to see Tom behind the bars. He thinks Tom is a lost cause. I thought Tom was a lost cause. But I believe all he needs is a second chance."
"I don't think he deserves a second chance."
"Don't you get it, Hermione?" Tim asked gently. "I want Tom to curse me. I want him to get rid of his anger of his muggle father. He's been building up too much hate over the years. I'm hoping that it will help him relieve some of his anger."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Well, I won't be here to see that, won't I?"
Hermione gulped, but before she could say anything, Tim sighed and said, "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. It's not that bad. And I got to meet you today, didn't I? I had loads of fun. Let's talk about today."
"What?" Hermione all but screeched. "N-no! I want to talk about what's going to happen to you when you get back-"
"Hermione." Tim responded warningly.
There was so many things Hermione wanted to say, to protest against, but the look on Tim's face stopped her. She said weakly, "So, are you the person who separated me from Tom in the crowd?"
Tim's lips quirked up. "I was wondering when you'd ask that. Yes, I did." He didn't elaborate, and Hermione was too shocked and panicked to question him further. She had been right; it wasn't possible to get lost so quickly unless it was set up by someone.
"I decided to befriend you," Tim continued. "I had heard about Tom monthly from Professor Dumbledore, of course, but I wanted to see how he was doing with his companions. You were staring at the bookstore dreamily, so I decided you would be the easiest to lure away. Not to mention, I always love someone who's well educated."
"Riddle and I are not companions," Hermione muttered under her breath.
"Acquaintances, better?" Tim said smoothly. "I expected you to be a suck up snobby brat like all of his other followers. After all, even as I tried to stay out of the magic world, I was drawn into it repeatedly, and it dawned me after awhile that I would never be able to escape it and live the normal life I yearned so much for. I know what purebloods are like, and I thought you were one of them." Tim cast her a sideways glance. "You're not even a pureblood, are you?"
Hermione shook her head.
Tim laughed, though Hermione couldn't see what was amusing about the situation. "I talked to you, and got to know you a bit. I discovered that you weren't at all like I expected, and you were nothing like Tom at all. You were the exact opposite."
Riddle and I are more similar than you think. "I-I'm actually the slave." Hermione blurted out, unsure why she was telling Tim this. "I'm the slave at the Malfoy Manor, which he happened to come by. That is why we're not alike-"
Tim simply looked at her, amused. "Does it matter your social status?" He asked quietly. "The world is too focused on wealth and power now. Slave or not, Tom asked you to accompany him, didn't he?"
"More like ordered," she answered truthfully. "And I'm sure it's only because he wants to find out about my life. I haven't been telling him much, and it's annoying him." She smirked slightly at the memory of his frustrated interrogations that yielded no results.
"I'm sure it is," Tim smiled slightly. "Tom likes knowing the answers to everything, and you're a mystery. You said you were a slave, right? Well, I haven't had a slave, but I don't think normal slaves can take out four grown men single handedly." Hermione blushed slightly. "And maybe he wanted to find out more about you, but he would never ask or order someone to go on a trip as important as this one just to find out about their background. In fact," Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "If I remember correctly, since you're a girl, if he wanted information out of you, he would've just slept with you. Though I suppose if you were a boy and he wanted it bad enough, he would sleep with you too."
Hermione was mortified. "I would never sleep with Riddle!" She declared.
Tim chuckled. "My point is, Tom has other means of getting information, and this certainly is not his usual way. Is there anything you can think of that makes you different than other people?"
I can think of one pretty major thing, but I can't tell you about that. "Abraxas," she said finally. "The blonde you saw him with is Abraxas. He's the youngest son at the Malfoy Manor, which is where I work. He and I, we sort of became friends over the last week or so."
"I thought so," Tim said, and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "The way he looks as you clearly shows that you and him were more than slave and master. However, out of curiosity, his eyes were guarded, especially when you looked at him. Any idea why?"
Hermione looked away. "I almost killed him on the train."
The look Tim gave her indicated that he thought she was joking. "Abraxas is one of Tom's followers that has the closest shot at being a 'friend' to Riddle. That was why I was not surprised when he came with Tom here. But seeing how you managed to win Abraxas's friendship, I am guessing that Tom, deep down, figures that if you can understand Abraxas, you can also understand his situation. Tom may be a very evil person, I'm not denying it, but he is also someone who yearns to be loved, to be wanted, to be understood."
Hermione had never thought of it that way. "Riddle wants to be loved?" She almost snorted at the absurdity of the statement. "I think you're overestimating Riddle," she said. "Maybe he's just sadistic and wants to go far away from the Ministry of Magic to take advantage of me."
Tim shrugged, his lips quirking slightly. "Maybe, but I told you this for one main reason; for once in my life, I agree with Tom." He held his hand up when she tried to interrupt, and she fell silent. "I want you to get to know him better, to understand him better, to break down the walls he's placed around himself. I hate magic, Hermione. Understand that, because I truly do. But I love Tom. Those are two things that I thought of as different, when they were, in reality, the same. Tom's magic is a part of him. I realized that too late. I want you to give him his second chance, but don't mess it up like I did."
Hermione's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "You want me to befriend Riddle?" she asked incredulously.
"No, no. I don't think it's possible to become Tom's friend." Tim chuckled. "I just want you to understand him a little, look at things from his side. No one has ever done that before. He's always been pushed away before he had a chance to explain." Tim closed his eyes. "I'm not asking you to become his girlfriend, or even a companion. All I ask is if the chance ever appears, please take the time to listen to him, no matter how absurd his argument is. He needs someone in his life to be his pillar, and I've failed him. I can only hope that someone will do that same." He looked at her gently and whispered, "A father wants what's best for his child."
Hermione felt a lump in her throat, but felt herself nodding. The guilty and sad look on Tim's face was what had gotten her to agree. He seemed to be internally weeping, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to pull him into an embrace. He looked like a little child who had broken someone else's toy. Maybe he had broken Riddle, but Riddle had also broken himself as well. It wasn't Tim's fault.
"Promise me,"
Hermione closed her eyes. Say no, her mind chanted at her. Say no, say no! Father told you not to get emotionally tangled up. "I promise."
"Thank you," Tim whispered softly. "And now that we've talked about Tom for awhile, I would like to say thank you for making this day worth living for me. I was considering ending my own life when I saw Tom today, just to keep Tom from executing one more murder, but I'm glad I didn't. Please know that it was a pleasure meeting you today, and I wouldn't change anything if I could go back."
Tears dripped down Hermione's face; she had forgotten about his dilemma for the past few minutes. It sounded so much like a goodbye. "You're not going to die," she said. "I won't let Tom curse you. I-I'll go negotiate with him. I'm sure he'll understand-"
"He won't," Tim said gently. "You'll only get hurt. And besides, I want this. Tom needs to be rid of me so he'll finally move on past his hatred of me to something better. I need to repay the debt of the lives I took. I killed Merope, and I might as well have killed Tom. I killed all that was good in him, and what better way to repay him by letting him kill me?"
"That's not true," Hermione argued. "There's a lot of good in you. It was an accident. You were confused. Everyone would be in your case. You reacted better than I would've in your situation! You had just been under the effects of love potion for so many years, and you suddenly had a wife and a child. It is expected." Hermione noticed that she now sounded as if she were pleading and begging. She didn't care. "It's not your fault, Tim."
"I appreciate it, Hermione, but you must know that there's no changing the past. What is done is done. I don't have any say on that. What I do have a say on is the future, and I've decided a long time ago that this was the moment where I finally rid myself of my cowardice. I'm not going to run away from this anymore, and nothing you say or do will stop me." He paused. "Life is testing me right now, and I don't plan on failing it."
I could stop you by force, Hermione thought to herself. I could knock you and out and lock you in a far away room so Riddle will never find you. However, she couldn't do that. It was Tim's own decision to make, and she could see that he was determined to do so. He had obviously planned this for awhile. "I'm so sorry this had to happen," she blinked away the tears, but they fell anyways. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this."
"I don't deserve your kind words," Tim said. "As much as it looks like, Tom's not the bad guy here. I am. He is simply a victim of my cruelness. And now, he has come to finish me off. Isn't that what happens in movies? Bad guys must die, don't they?"
"You're not a bad guy," Hermione's voice barely came out as more than a squeak.
Tim laughed. "I need to say one last thing. Though we only met for a day or so, I feel like you're the daughter I never had. I'm sure that if we had more time, I would've grown on you, and tried to be a better parent than I was to Tom. However, since we don't have any more time, I will just ask that you keep your promise about Tom, and you'll someday find the strength to forgive this old man."
"You were like my father too. There's nothing to forgive," Hermione couldn't help, but start to cry. She embraced him, not caring that she had just known him for one day. He would be gone all too soon, just because of his stupid plan of giving Riddle a second chance. Why did he have to pay with his life to give a second chance to someone who didn't deserve it? Tim wrapped his arms around her gently, like a father hugging his child. Her father never hugged her. Her father never touched her, except for an occasional slap. "But, I forgive you for everything. Everything that you did, and everything that you didn't."
"Thank you. And Hermione? Please don't tell Tom about this."
Hermione opened her mouth to ask why, but someone cleared their throat irritably behind them. Hermione lifted her tear stained face to see Riddle and Abraxas standing there. Riddle's face was devoid of any emotion, and if he was surprised to see his father and Hermione hugging, he didn't show it. His face was so composed, that Hermione would've never guessed what he was about to do if she hadn't been forewarned. Abraxas, however, openly gaped, his blue eyes wide and startled.
"Father," Riddle said emotionlessly. "It's time to go."
Tim detangled himself from Hermione's grasp and stepped towards his son. "Yes, it's time to end this." He looked back towards Hermione and smiled at her one last time. "Don't forget the promise."
The two of them were gone before Hermione could respond, and she sank to the ground, unable to control her trembling and shaking. She felt someone's hand—Abraxas's-patting her shoulder awkwardly, but she barely noticed. He was gone. Tim was gone. Forever. Off the face of the planet. Her dream dad had appeared and vanished before her eyes. Her sobbing grew louder, and she replayed Tim's words in her brain over and over again.
She would never forget the promise.
ஐ
The door opened quietly and a person stepped into her room. Hermione lay on the bed, paying it no mind. She was thinking about her day, and the events that had happened. From the train ride to Frankie's to the four men in the back alley. It had started off pretty bad, and then brightened considerably, then ended on the worst possible note.
Hermione had barely spoken to Riddle on the way home, answering in monosyllables. Riddle himself was deep in thought. What was he thinking about? How to murder another person who had angered him? And she had thought that he was alright, that he wasn't in any way like her father. How very wrong she was. She would never trust him ever again. Hermione felt disgusted that she had let herself be affected by him. She had felt so happy when he patted her head. Now, Hermione knew she was just delusional, like Lavender. Riddle couldn't care about anyone, no matter how many chances he got. She should just kill him now, before he hurt anyone else. All it took was for her to break into his bedroom while he was sleeping, and then a simple Avada Kedvra. Then she could just vanish without a trace. What could go wrong?
The answer was simple. She had broken her father's number one rule: do not get affected by other people. If she successfully killed Riddle, Harry and Lavender would become immediate suspects. While her father wouldn't think twice about it, Hermione herself had a heart. She cared about both of them. She couldn't just leave them behind, being blamed about the crimes they did not do. And then, on top of that, she didn't want to leave Abraxas.
Abraxas, she didn't know what he was thinking. While he seemed to forgive her killing stunt earlier, and he had embraced her when she had fell apart in the back alley, he had sat very far away from her, avoiding eye contact. He hadn't spoken to her at all either. Nothing. When she reached out to open the door and accidently brushed against his arm, he flinched and moved away.
This is how it is, is it? Hermione thought angrily to herself. My supposed 'friend' will never talk to me again, and his friend turns out to be a murderer. And the one person who hasn't turned on me yet is dead.
She desperately needed Abraxas's cheery mood at a time like this, but he didn't volunteer and Hermione didn't ask. Her mood plummeted whenever she met his gaze, and his familiar smirk didn't appear. As if Riddle wasn't hard enough to deal with already, she had to get a moody Abraxas.
However, even though he wasn't talking, Abraxas just being there provided a sense of safety for her. While Riddle could still attack her while Abraxas was in the same compartment, she felt better when Abraxas was there. When he went to go to the bathroom, Hermione scuttled to follow him. Riddle had cast her a glance, but seemed to be too absorbed in his thoughts to thoroughly process it. All the better. She didn't want him to question her. There was no way she was going to admit being scared of him, but she couldn't think of any other excuse either.
But the main thing that plagued Hermione's mind was the promise she made with Tim. How could she look at Riddle's view of things, if she wanted nothing more than to murder him? She couldn't bear his presence, much less talk to him in a civilized conversation. She couldn't possibly understand his mind, as much as she could understand her father's. They were both murderers and she didn't feel the slightest bit of pity for them. She had no interest in learning the sick ways of killers.
But then, there was the fact that she had promised Tim. And she knew that wherever Tim was, a better place, that he would be angry if she didn't fulfill her promise. It had been a rather important promise. She didn't want to let him down, and she didn't want to let herself down. But still, Riddle was Riddle…
"Hey," It was Harry, and he closed the door softly. He sat down on the edge of her bed, giving her her personal space. The bed sagged slightly under his weight. Hermione noted absentmindedly that the black circles under his eyes had darkened.
"Hey Harry." Hermione didn't bother to open her eyes. Maybe if she pretended to look disinterested, Harry would go away. She was not in the mood to talk, and she was afraid that she was going to say something rude to him that she would later come to regret. She was never pleasant to talk to when she was irritated.
Harry obviously didn't pick up on her subtle hint, or chose to ignore it. "When did you come back?" he asked gently. She hadn't realized she had missed his brotherly personality, even if she had only been away for fifteen hours. "I didn't see you come in."
"I was trying not to be noticed," Hermione admitted. It was true; after the long, awkward train ride, Hermione had ran away from the two and returned to the Manor before them. She had been planning to let herself in through the front door, but she spotted Gabriel's blonde hair and Walburga's frizzy black hair on the path that lead to the front door. There was no way she was going anywhere near there.
She had snuck down to the cellar and found her way back to the servant's quarters from there. She hadn't run into anyone, thank Merlin, but she was hoping to see Lavender. She wanted to apologize for her actions. Now that she now found out what a manipulative, evil bastard Riddle was, she took it her own shoulders to make sure Lavender was safe, even if it would make the girl hate her even more.
Harry was silent for a few moments, and then said, "I missed you. It wasn't the same without you here. I talked to Lavender a few times, but I was mostly on my own. That is, of course, if you don't count Gabriel's and Walburga's presence." Harry made a face. "The two of them have decided a bedroom isn't enough, and have expanded it to nearly the whole house. It's gross, when you're walking along, humming your own tune, and then trip over two bodies. And then to wrap it up, you get a healthy dose of cursing."
Hermione giggled, and then grew serious again. "How's Lavender holding up?" she asked quietly.
Harry raked his hand through his hair. "She's as well as she can be," he admitted. "She's been running around the house, whistling, but I heard her crying earlier in the bathroom. I went to talk to her, and, er-" Harry looked at her sheepishly. "I think you should go talk to her."
Hermione stared at him. "Me? Why should I go talk to her?"
"She's really sorry about what she did to you." Harry said. "Though she's going slightly over the top with it. Did you know she wrote down a very long apology note, and went berserk when I accidently spilled my coffee on it? It was just a little stain, but she threw a fit and rewrote the whole thing."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Accidently?" She inquired teasingly. It reminded her of when Nick would make fun of her for being so OCD. She hated wrinkles on papers, especially papers that she spent so long working on. Nick hadn't understood the power of a clean piece of paper. Of course he wouldn't; his was always crumpled up in a ball.
"It was accidental," Harry protested, grinning. "But my point is, she rewrote it a lot of times, and spent a lot of effort on it. At least, listen to her side of the story. I'm not telling you that you have to forgive her, but at least let her know that her effort wasn't in vain."
Hermione's smile slid off her face. That sounded so much like what Tim had said. "Harry?" she said quietly, and her friend turned to face her. "What if someone you know has done a very bad thing, and you hate them, yet you made a promise to someone to consider it from their point of view and give them a second chance?"
Harry frowned. "This has nothing to do with Lavender, right?"
Hermione shook her head. Lavender was already forgiven in her mind; she would just have to go find the girl later and make it up with her. It seemed so small and petty, their fight, and Hermione had bigger things to worry about.
"Well," Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It's not as if they're asking you to befriend that person," That's exactly what Tim said. "Considering it from their point of view isn't that bad. That's what you're supposed to do anyways; you're supposed to look at stuff from their point of view before hating them. Seems to me that you've skipped that step though," Harry grinned at her sheepishly. "Rather impatient of you."
"No, Harry, you don't understand," Hermione struggled slightly. She had no idea how he was going to react to this. "What if it was something you couldn't just forgive and forget? What if…" she paused. "What if it was a murder?"
Harry's eyes grew dark and cold. "There is no excuse for murder," he muttered darkly, though Hermione wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to her. "That is the worse crime that one could possibly commit."
"So," Hermione tried to continue, noting the very evil look on Harry's face. If looks could kill, the whole room would be dead. His fists were clenched tightly. She must've triggered some sort of memory. She wanted to comfort him, yet she wanted his opinion at the same time. "You're saying that I shouldn't lessen my hate?"
"Oh, you definitely should not do that," Harry calmed himself down, though his teeth were still clenched. "Of course, if it's someone who's like your best friend, you should consider their point of view. There must be some reason that they did what they did. No one just kills a person for fun, aside for insane people. And if you hadn't noticed your best friend is insane, then there's something wrong with you as well."
Yes. Riddle and I are best friends. Hermione thought sarcastically. "And what if that person isn't your best friend, or even a friend? Maybe, an acquaintance that you were starting to warm up to?"
Harry looked at her. "Is this acquaintance crazy?"
Hermione thought for awhile. She didn't know much about Riddle, did she? She didn't think he was crazy, but then again, she didn't think that he would actually murder someone. Then there was the conflict that Tim had told her about Riddle's background. While it wasn't a good enough reason to drive someone into murder, at least Riddle wasn't coming out of nowhere. Maybe he just had anger controlling issues. Or maybe his habit could be killing people. Hermione didn't know. For the sake of the argument, she shook her head.
"Then, like I said before, there must be something," Harry replied easily. "There must be some sort of tragic past that caused them to act the way they did. I'm not saying it's justifiable, of course, but at least they are not beyond help. You could help them, by lending an ear. It's not too hard."
"I agree with what you're saying," Hermione said slowly. "But what if the 'tragic past' isn't enough reason? I don't think that the tragic past was tragic enough to have driven them into murder though."
"Everyone thinks differently," Harry said simply. "What you might think is not tragic enough might be different for me. Speaking of which, I've been curious for awhile now. Can you tell me what the situation is? I can tell you more if I know the context."
Hermione didn't feel it was her place to go sharing stories about Riddle, no matter how evil he was, but she was very curious about Harry's response. Riddle didn't deserve her kindness, anyways. She wouldn't mention his name, so at least his identity would be safe. Hermione nodded and said, "So, once upon a time, there was a kid. He was rejected by his dad, and called a freak and everything just because he had magic. Also, the dad had kicked out his mom when she was pregnant with him." Hermione winced. She was making it seem like Tim was the bad guy. "So he developed hatred over the years, and then went back to where his dad lived and murdered him."
Harry was silent for awhile. "So, you're asking me about the kid, right? Not the dad?"
"No, not the dad," Hermione replied sadly. She could never, ever look at things from Tim's perspective ever again, even if she wanted to. She would never need to give Tim a second chance. She believed that even though he had committed some ugly acts in the past, at least he had learned and changed. Tim. I will never see him again. It was a sad thought, and Hermione quickly pushed it out of her head. She could cry herself to sleep later; there was no need to start bawling in front of Harry.
"Sounds to me," Harry scratched the back of his head. "Like the kid has it pretty rough as well. It seems like all he wanted was to be loved by his family. Of course, murder is not the option; it is never the option. Though, I can see why he did it." Harry shrugged. "Sometimes you just want to free yourself from the pain." He cast a sideways look at her. "Did he get arrested?"
"No," Hermione replied. "I was the only one who knows, and I haven't reported him. It was…er…his dad's request. He wanted to give his son a second chance."
Harry looked surprised. "See, just because you start out as the bad guy doesn't mean that you can't turn out good," he commented. "His dad can change, so why can't the kid change? I think, in this case, you go talk to him as much as possible. He sounds like he needs as much help as he can get."
"You want me to be his therapist?"
Harry laughed. "You'd make a terrible one," he answered truthfully, and Hermione huffed. "No, I'm asking you to just make him feel comfortable. Not befriend him, unless you want to. Just make him feel like there's no need to kill another human being just to relent his anger. Calm him down a bit. You never know, Hermione, you could be saving another's life."
"I know, but, it's hard," Hermione admitted. "Every time I go near him now, all I want to do is murder him myself. I might be saving another's life, but I might be taking his. That's how much I hate him now."
Harry leaned over and pulled her into an embrace. "Nothing in life is easy," he told her. "It seems like his dad was laying a rather big job on you. It shows how much he believes you can do it. I'm sure he wants you to do it, but won't get mad at you if you can't."
"He's dead, Harry." She stared at him pointedly. "Dead people can't get mad at me, so I don't need to worry about that."
"Fine, I'll rephrase that," Harry grumbled. "You're worried about disappointing him, right? From the way I see it, you don't want to do it, but you feel like you have to." Hermione nodded slowly. "It's really up to you, Hermione. No one can make you choose what you do. But think about it. That kid need someone to lean on. You could be that person. It seems like you already know more about him than the average person." He paused.
"I don't," Hermione muttered. "Trust me, I know nothing at all."
Harry grinned, standing up. "Think about it," he told her. "Everyone can change, they just need to find the right motivation to. Speaking of which, I am in the process of changing as well." Harry glanced at his watch. "It's rather late, so I'm going to be heading to bed early for once. I'll see you in the morning. Should you decide to go confront the kid, don't stay out too late." He waved at her, and the winked evilly. "Have fun with Riddle."
He left before she could throw whatever was in reaching distance at him. Hermione was left wondering how he knew right away who she had been talking about, and more importantly, what to do with her conflict with Riddle.
Does Riddle deserve a second chance?
The answer was obviously a no. But would she give him a second chance? She would try; not only for Tim's sake, but for Riddle's as well. She would try to talk to him. There was no harm in that, was there? She would see how things progressed from there.
ஐ
He had finally done it. After so many years of resentment, he had finally killed his pathetic excuse for a father. The old codger had underestimated him, letting him keep his wand and leaving his 'father' unprotected. Or maybe the old codger had wanted his father to die as well. Riddle's lips curled up into a snarl.
It had gone perfectly. His father had followed him back into his house, where Riddle pointed at something at the floor. His father had seen his parent's bodies, twisted at weird angles, their eyes open but not seeing. He had turned back to Riddle in shock, only to meet the killing curse head on. He would never know what hit him, and the police would never be able to trace it back to him. He had gone back to alter Morfin's memories so that he would believe he was the murderer. He was careful about not leaving any clues.
When he had seen his father touching Granger, he had felt his anger flare. Granger was his conquest, and he hated to share. No one would touch her ever again, not unless they wanted to face the wrath of Tom Riddle. Granger was off-limits; he had a hard enough time controlling his temper when Abraxas touched her. If every male she met did as well, he would flip.
As for Granger, she added another item onto his list of mysteries to solve. He had seen the way she handled the mudbloods like they were nothing. She didn't even use her wand! If it was him, he would've killed them all. It prevented witnesses, and required almost no effort. But no, Granger went and knocked all of them out by hand. While Riddle thought she was extremely stupid, his interest in her grew.
She was definitely coming to Hogwarts with him. Nothing anyone said or could do would change that fact.
Unfortunately, by the time he stopped replaying the scene in his head where his father fell, dead, Granger had already rushed back into the Manor and buried herself in the servants chambers. No matter how curious he was about her, there was no way he was going down to filth. He had followed Abraxas to his room, listening to the boy talk endlessly about stuff he didn't bother to understand. He had eventually excused himself as politely as he could, as his parents were in the room right below them, and Abraxas, remembering who he was talking to, paled considerably and immediately shut up. He would deal with him later.
On his way back to his room, he saw the Lavender girl picking up some dirty laundry in Gabriel's room. She had looked up when Riddle passed by her, but to his surprise, her eyes hardened and she looked away. There was no longing in her eyes anymore. What was with her? Just because he insulted her a little, and now she was giving him the cold shoulder? Riddle didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because, in his mind, the only one that he would bother to chase was Granger. All the other girls were supposed to bow down to him.
As he passed by her, he made sure to brush his arm against her back. She had jumped, and Riddle smirked, moving away. Any second, and she would be back, lusting after him. However, he soon realized, irritated, that it had just the opposite effect on her. She had turned around, glaring at him, and then dusted off her back. Riddle almost flipped when he saw that gesture; how dare she, like his touch contaminated her. He was a wizard! She was nothing but a slave, not better than the gum below his shoes. Smirking slightly at that thought, he walked away from her. He didn't need to impress her. If she didn't like him, it was her loss. He had gotten her tiara, and that's all he needed. He didn't need her love; in fact, he was quite glad to have gotten rid of it.
Still, it irked him to no end. Did that mean his charms were slipping? He would have to perfect them before he went back to Hogwarts. It wouldn't do if not everyone was positively smitten with him. He was going to be a Prefect this year as well, and it would be easier to bend the rules if everyone was willing to obey him.
Riddle looked around. He had wandered to the garden, one of the only places where one could be free from the racket that Gabriel and Walburga were making. It was a nice garden, but not as good as Hogwart's had been. He would always leave the castle and wander around. The Slytherin common room was always nosy with first years, and any classroom in the castle could be easily detected by the old codger. He didn't want to be interrupted while deep in thought. Strike that, he was furious when he was interrupted while thinking. Riddle thought of the last boy who had dared to disturb him. He ended up with a bloody nose and two broken bones in his right arm. Dumbledore had been furious, but then again, he had no proof, as always. The boy had mysteriously lost his memories of the incident, and Riddle had never been more proud of his wand work.
Riddle sat on one of the benches and looked up at the sky. The day had been a tiring one, but successful at that. He felt calmer now, a mood he knew wouldn't last, but he enjoyed it when he could feel peaceful. For a few moments, he could almost delude himself into thinking he wasn't a freak, and that he fit in with everyone. Reality usually came crashing down later, but there were a few moments that Riddle himself was just…another human boy.
That thought scared him, yet enthralled him at the same time. He was by no means just another human. He was so much more than that. However, he hated being the outlier. He hated how other people used to look at him like he was below them. Well, he had taken care of their smirks quite quickly, and now no one else would ever look down on him.
What was there to do when he got back to Hogwarts? He had gotten the real ring from his uncle, who would be well on his way to Azkaban as soon as he delivered his 'confession' to the Aurors, the tiara and the diary. Abraxas had gone to secure the latter for him over the break. He had been awarded by being invited to come to Little Hangleton with him. He knew that Abraxas wanted to get as close to him as possible, and while that thought was revolting, Riddle found himself continuously asking Abraxas to tag along. It also helped that Abraxas was a devoted follower and always set the example for his other Knights. If only everyone was as obedient as Abraxas was.
He also had to pay a visit to dear Hepzibah Smith. No one got away with lying to her like she did, feeding him with lies and giving her fake heirlooms. However, she did have her uses, and he would have fun making her squirm and give up her other precious items. He would go visit her during the Christmas break; any other time would make the old codger suspicious, and he was already watching Riddle enough as it was.
Then, of course, there was the topic of Granger. He would have fun with her. No girl had ever rejected him, and for her to keep it up for three days was a new record. It should irritate him, but instead, he found himself even more intrigued than he already was. Of course, she was still affected by him, he had seen the way she had trembled when he got close to her, but at least she wasn't as brain dead as all of his other conquests.
"Hey,"
Riddle turned around, irritated. Couldn't they tell that he was in the middle of a deep train of thought, and that he would have to start all over again? However, he caught a glimpse of the bushy hair, and his anger immediately faded.
Granger stood near the door way, her usual rags replaced with a hoodie and some jeans. Riddle wondered if the Malfoy family knew she had hidden clothes stashed in her room. He wouldn't tell anyways; he liked this outfit more, though her being almost naked in her rags was always a plus as well.
"Hello, Granger," Riddle answered smoothly, moving over on the bench to give her some room. He almost allowed a smirk to cross his face, but hid it at the last moment. Now, she would have no choice but to sit next to him, or seem rude. She could leave, of course, but she had been the one who had sought to find him, not the other way around. She wouldn't have gotten his attention if she didn't want to talk.
Granger slid into the seat next to him. Good, they were close now. Close proximity with a girl was always Riddle's strong point. Granger, however, was not looking at him, and was instead gazing dreamily around the garden. The girl was really something, though Riddle wasn't as angry as he thought he would be. She must've been the first girl who thought that the plants were more interesting than he was.
"So, what are you doing out here?"
Huh, so she wanted to make polite conversation, did she? Well, he'd play it her way. "I come out here to think," he drawled, trying to gauge her reaction. However, her head was turned, and he couldn't see her face at all. This was irritating; how was he supposed to charm the back of her head? Her bushy hair couldn't even be tamed, much less allured by his voice.
Riddle smirked. Granger was breaking an unspoken rule; never turn your back to a wizard. He could kill her right now, but it would be a waste. He wasn't sure he wanted to try the Imperius after her stunt on the train, and the Cruciatus curse clearly had no effect on her. Damn, the three unforgivable were out. They were his best friends too. What should he do, stun her and feed her Veritaserum? It would work, but there was no Veritaserum in the Manor, and it would take forever to brew it. Not to mention, it would look suspicious to the family, and Riddle didn't want to involve them anymore than he already had.
"What about you, Granger?" Riddle asked, trying to think of a question that would make her slip and give up something important. "Why did you decide to grace me with your lovely presence tonight?"
Granger rolled her eyes. "You should know by now your sweet talking does nothing to me, so save your energy."
Riddle smirked and grabbed her left hand. He noticed how she flinched when he touched her, but he ignored it. He would work that out of her later. It would do him no good if she was afraid of him. He leaned close to her ear and breathed slowly on her. "On contrary, Miss Granger, I think you're mistaken."
"Am not," Granger snapped at him, pulling her hand away from his and scooting over as far away from him as possible. He grinned cheekily and sat back against the chair, noting how her cheeks tinged with red.
"So, erm…" Granger tried to break the silence. Riddle had sat there, watching her, while she was fidgeting. "Are you going off to Hogwarts soon?"
"Yes," Riddle replied. "We're leaving next week."
He looked at her, slightly amused, as she twiddled her fingers nervously. She looked so much like a child that he had forgotten how strong she actually was. "What is it, Granger?" he asked, amused. "What's on your mind?"
Granger scooted around, not meeting his gaze. "Erm, if it wouldn't be too much, can you tell me a little bit about Hogwarts? Abraxas wouldn't tell me much, but I really want to know, so…" she looked up at him and did the unthinkable: she gave him a puppy face.
Riddle had seen his share of puppy faces over his life time. Most of them were from his girl conquests, though he had seen some on guys, and those were thoroughly disturbing images. They were all the same; opening their eyes up wide, puckering their lips. What they didn't know was that Riddle thought they all looked stupid. He smiled at them though, and encouraged them, and they kept coming. He didn't even know why he put up with them anymore. He just wanted them to satisfy his needs, but that didn't include putting up with their wacko faces.
However, when Granger did it, Riddle felt the unexpected urge to snog her senseless. It was not the reaction he was supposed to be getting, and he covered it up with a smirk. Inside, he cursed himself; he was really losing his grip. He was supposed to be charming Granger, not the other way around. With her hair all bushed up, he couldn't even tell why he thought she was attractive. No, it was most definitely just because he wanted to find out her secrets. That was the only reason why he wanted to snog her, Riddle told himself. He wouldn't act like this if it weren't the case.
"Hogwarts? What do you want to know about Hogwarts?"
Granger's eyes shown brightly. He had never seen her look at anything like that, not to her slave buddy, not to Abraxas, not even to his father. "What about the teachers?"
The teachers were a joke. Most of them couldn't even match up to his intellectual level. "The headmaster is Armando Dippet," he told her. He's the most naïve person you will ever meet, and I have him wrapped around my finger. "He is the best headmaster Hogwarts could have ever had." Riddle almost threw up at the sickening sweet tone of his voice as he talked about Dippet. "Other teachers include Slughorn, Binns, Kettleburn, and others."
Granger seemed to get more and more excited. It was fine with him; the more she was intrigued with the subject, the more likely she would lower her guard. "And the subjects?" she asked happily. "What subjects can you take?"
She was really like a little kindergartener.
"There's potions," He said, amused. "And there's transfiguration and charms and care of magical creatures. There's also some courses you don't have to take, like muggle studies," he spit the last two words out with venom, but luckily, Granger was still daydreaming happily and didn't notice.
"Which class does Albus Dumbledore teach?" she asked him. "Does he teach charms? Wait, no, transfiguration. Maybe potions though…nah, I think transfiguration. Was I right?"
There it is.
Riddle narrowed his eyes at her. "How do you know about Dumbledore?" he demanded.
Granger's eyes widened as she realized her mistake. "I-I…er…you told me?" she stuttered.
"I did not," Riddle's voice dropped lower, threatening. "I said Slughorn, Binns, Kettleburn and Dippet. Those are the only for professors I named. So I will ask again. How. Did. You. Know. About. Dumbledore?"
To his disappoint, Granger's face quickly cleared of all her fear. "Abraxas told me about him once," she answered him confidently, all traces of her stuttering gone.
Damn it. She was right. He had listened to their conversation, and the old codger had popped up. However, based on her reaction, she had heard about him from another place. She wouldn't be so nervous if it was just Abraxas who told her. She got lucky this time; he would assure she would never have such an easy escape route in the future.
Granger was still staring at him, no longer trusting him. He needed to win it back. He flashed her an easy grin, which she didn't respond. "So, Granger," he drawled. "Had enough of Hogwarts yet?"
Granger shook her head. "I will never get enough of Hogwarts."
"I have an idea," he had no idea how well it was going to work out, but he could always result to force if all else failed. "Why don't you come to Hogwarts with Abraxas and me?"
Granger stared at him as though he was crazy. Well, he had expected that. "I can't possibly go!" she protested, her voice rising higher and higher. "I'm a slave, imagine what would happen if I went, I can't possibly go…" she rambled on.
"Why can't you go?" Riddle asked smoothly. "I'm sure with a little bit of persuading, the Malfoy family will let you come with us. I am…very talented in the persuading department." Granger rolled her eyes.
"I can't go, Riddle." She said firmly. "And that is that." She looked down. "You got a new ring."
Riddle raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment on her conversation change. He would confront her again about that later. "Really?" he looked down at his ring. How could she have noticed? "Why would you say that?"
"It's shinier," Granger replied automatically. "Your old one was kind of dull, and grayish colored. This one is shiny and black. I'm guessing the other one was fake?"
Damn. Even Granger could tell that it was fake. Was he really that stupid to think that Hepzibah Smith game him the real one? "I wasn't aware you were analyzing my finger," he smirked, watching delightfully as a blush spread across her face.
"I was not," she scowled at him. "But after you nearly killed me for touching it the first day, I paid some attention to it."
He had nearly killed her?
Oh right. The first day, she had put her little fingers on his ring, and he had felt his magic go berserk. He was simply used to people not touching him, especially slaves. They were usually warned to be extra careful around him. Still, Riddle mused to himself. He hadn't 'nearly kill her.' All he had done was slam her against some wall. If she said that, that meant that she had never seen a blown out torture before.
He would have fun showing her.
"Sorry," Riddle replied easily, though he didn't sound apologetic. "Natural reflex."
"Do you play Quidditch?" she asked immediately.
Riddle furrowed his eyebrows. She sure was one to continuously change the subject. "No…" he replied slowly. "I have much better things to do with my time."
"Like?" she pressed on.
Riddle frowned. Why was it he who was now interrogated? Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be asking questions? "Like my studies," he said finally. "There's so much more out there around magic I could learn, and I find it much more fascinating than anything else."
Granger nodded thoughtfully. "You seem like you know a lot, already, though."
Riddle stared her. What was she planning to accomplish? For him to submit to her just because she complimented him? Riddle countered, "What about you? What do you like to do?"
"I..don't know," Granger admitted sheepishly, looking away. "I don't really know what I like to do. People just tell me, and I do it. They're all orders."
Riddle was surprised. Maybe he had been wrong about her? Maybe she was just another slave before coming to the Manor as well? It didn't explain her magic casting abilities, nor the reason why she was hiding her blood status, but it would answer a few questions.
"Where are you from?" he tried. "Why did you come here?"
Granger turned to him, smirking. "Nice try, Riddle." She didn't say anything else.
Riddle sighed. Why wasn't she revealing all her secrets? She had lasted longer than all his other conquests, that was for sure, but even this game was getting slightly irritated to him. He didn't expect her to tell him everything at once, but he had expected more slips. The only things he had managed to piece together was the fact that her mother was dead, and that she was a capable witch who was surrounded by secrets. It seemed the more he questioned her, the more mysteries popped up.
"Tell me about the houses."
She had a rather adorable pout on her face, though he would never be caught dead admitting it to anyone. It simply would not do if word got out that the famous Tom Riddle was turning into a mushy glob. "What did I tell you about information regarding Hogwarts, Granger?" he tsked her.
Granger rolled her eyes. "It's the houses. It's common knowledge. I know all about them, anyways. I just wanted to hear it from a real Hogwarteer."
"Hogwarteer?" Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Have you lost your marbles?"
"Fine. Person who goes to Hogwarts. Happy?"
"Very," Riddle smirked. "There's four houses. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor." He couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice at the mention of the last two houses. "Slytherin is by far the best."
"You only say that because you're in it," Granger grinned slightly.
Of course he liked Slytherin because of its belief, but then there was the fact that he was the heir of the Slytherin. He was related to one of the four founders, and the best of them, at that. It was unfortunate that he couldn't boast about his status to others, that would have to remain a secret, but he could show his superiority in numerous other ways. He established himself as a perfect purebelood student, and everyone worshipped him. Very few people knew of his disgusting blood status, and those who knew were too frightened of his powers to ever look down on him. Good. He liked it that way.
"The other houses are disgusting," he scowled, ignoring her flinch at his flippant tone. "Ravenclaw is the closest to being like Slytherin, yet they are still miles away. Hufflepuff is a joke. It's for wimps. And Gryffindor," A dark look crossed his face. He was surprised, and even slightly impressed, that she didn't flinch at all. "The old codger runs that house. Anything he supports I will never come in contact with. I would rather die."
"Sounds like you like this person a lot," Granger teased. "Who is this old codger you speak about?"
"Dumbledore."
A strange look crossed her face, but it disappeared quickly, leaving a thoughtful expression on her face. She remained silent, however, staring off into the distance.
"What?" Riddle finally snapped at her. What did she have with the old codger? Was she already associated with him? If she was, he would never talk to her ever again. Secrets be damned, he wasn't that curious. He felt disgusted already.
"Nothing," Granger replied smoothly, turning back to him. She lied quite easily, didn't she? Almost as good as him. Almost, but not quite. He was perfection, after all. "Which house do you think I would belong in?"
"You? How should I know? You think I watch you?"
"Yes."
Riddle sighed. He did watch her, but that was for information about her past, not about her personality. He knew very little about the latter. "First off, definitely not Slytherin."
Granger raised her eyebrows, and for a second, Riddle saw a small smirk grace her face, almost as if she knew something that she didn't. "Why? You think I'm too much of a loser to be in the 'best' house?" she asked him.
Riddle scowled. "You're too…nice to be in Slytherin." Granger smirked at his word choice. "You don't have the qualities. Maybe you'll be in Ravenclaw. They are all quite the bookworms. Maybe Gryffindor as well, they all share your short temper."
Granger smiled, and then said, "Too nice to be in Slytherin, huh? If only I was." she cast her eyes to the ground and drowned herself in her thoughts. Her eyes focused on invisible objects in the air, and she clasped her hands together gently. She looked vulnerable, and for once, Riddle wanted to reach over and take her hands into his. But he was Tom Riddle, and he simply did not go comforting girls. Not in the past, not ever, especially not now when she brought up another mystery.
"If only you were?" Riddle stared at her, his face impassive. "What?"
Granger was immediately jolted out of her thoughts, and Riddle noted the red tinge that stained her cheeks. "I-I…I'm just not that nice. That's all." She looked away. "So, you think I would be in Gryffindor?"
Riddle clenched his jaw. She really had to stop changing the subject whenever she was in the spotlight. It was really annoying him. "I'm not saying anything. Your personality matches that in Gryffindor, but no one knows. No one, except for the Sorting Hat, of course."
"The Sorting Hat?" She had the glint in her eye again. "Tell me about the Sorting Hat."
Did she ever stop asking questions? Why wasn't he stopping her? Wasn't it supposed to be him asking the questions and her giving the answers? "What do you want to know?" Riddle sighed. "It's just an old rag that happens to contain magic."
"Don't say that," She scoffed. "The Sorting Hat is an amazing magical object that dates back even to the-"
Riddle smirked. It didn't surprise him that she knew everything to the smallest detail. He had never, and he doubt he would ever, meet someone who was as much of a bookworm as she was. He didn't even spend so much time with books, though he doubt that she would beat him in any subject. He let her ramble on for awhile, before he interrupted her, amused. "Are you done yet?"
She flushed again and glared at him. He smirked back in response. "Is it true," she asked, ignoring his last statement. "That the Sorting Hat talks to you?"
"Yes." Riddle wondered why she was asking him. She obviously knew all the answers.
"What did it say to you?"
Riddle scowled, his mood instantly plummeting. She was treading in dangerous territory now. He didn't like it when others asked personal questions. "It's not important."
"Why not?" Tell me." She pressed.
Riddle unleashed his full-out glare, though rather than flinching, Granger met his gaze head on. He stood up abruptly and said firmly, "No."
"Alright, Riddle," Granger held up her hands in defeat, though he didn't miss her eye-roll. Who did she think she was? "Keep your secrets to yourself."
Riddle raised his eyebrows at her. "Bit hypocritical, don't you think?"
"This is different," she crossed her arm.
"How so?"
"It just is," Granger replied, standing up as well. Riddle couldn't prevent a smirk from working its way up his face. That had to be the lamest comeback he had ever heard, and he had heard his fair share. "Well, it's getting dark, Riddle, so I'll leave you to your musings. Good night,"
She moved away from him. "Hold on," he said in a commanding tone, and she stopped walking, but didn't turn around to face him. "I want you to come to Hogwarts."
He heard, rather than saw, her sigh. "I told you already, Riddle." She sounded tired. "I can't come, and nothing you will say will change that."
"Is that a challenge?" Riddle raised his eyebrows even though she couldn't see it. "Why don't I make it easy for you? If you don't come to Hogwarts, you will find your friend in a rather…peculiar state."
She whipped around, and for the first time this evening, Riddle could see traces of anger etched on her face. It was about time she dropped her calm façade and show a bit of emotion. She glared at him, narrowing her eyes threateningly. "You wouldn't," she hissed at him.
"I would," he responded evenly. "Of course, all you need to do is come to Hogwarts. I'm not asking you to jump off a bridge."
"You might as well have," Granger glowered. "Why are you doing this? Why are you so set about me going?"
He tsked her, tapping her nose. She smacked his hand away. "You forgot something, Granger." He replied, his voice melodic. "I don't owe you anything."
Turning around, he gave her a sickening sweet grin. Her face was a mixture of disbelief and anger, he noted, rather pleased. He continued his journey back into the building, but not before calling over his shoulder, "See you around, Granger."
She glowered and stomped her feet down loudly. He had never been more self-satisfied.
This was going to be fun.
To Be Continued…
