Take me to places

That I've never been,

To the edge of light

Where darkness begins.

Hermione bit her lip as they cut a path through the library, keeping the massive serpent in the corner of her vision, still braced for it to strike and sink its fangs into her tender flesh.

Tom noticed her rigid stance and glanced down, running the pad of thumb along her knuckles, breaking her from her frightened trance. She swallowed, gazing up demurely.

"I'm sorry… she still frightens me. I know you say she's harmless but-"

"I never said she was harmless," he interrupted with a wry grin. "I said she wouldn't harm you. There is a difference, I assure you."

Hermione released a slow breath, gazing back at the reptile, feeling a chill steal along the length of her spine as the creature watched her with an eerie stillness that hardly seemed lifelike.

"How did you come to own such a pet?"

She did her best to keep her focus on Tom and not the massive beast at their back.

"Nagini was gifted to me many years ago by a village in the far east after I spent several months treating them for marsh fever. One of the children named her. She was a much more manageable size back then, able to wrap around my wrist and travel on my arm. Fast forward to present day and she's opening doors."

Hermione smiled at the sound of his deep laugh reverberating pleasantly off the walls.

"How ever did you manage to teach her such a task?"

He hummed low in his throat, gazing over his shoulder and locking eyes with the creature in question. She came to life beneath his stare, bobbing her head and undulating in her spot on stone.

"She's remarkably intelligent. I admit she is self taught. One day I accidently closed her inside my lab and as I was leaving I heard the door open behind me. She caused me quite a fright that day, I assure you, I reacted in much the same way you did."

Hermione blushed. "You mean you screamed your head off and promptly fell onto your back side?"

He smirked, placing his hand over hers where it rested on his arms, making her heart race anew. "Not quite, though I admit I did utter a rather undignified shout. Perhaps we can keep both of our colorful reactions a secret? Yet another to add to the ever growing pile."

She smiled, still lost in the sensation of his hand on hers, such a casual yet intimate gesture that should be off putting, she hardly knew the man. But she couldn't bring herself to pretend she wasn't thrilled by his touch. No one was around to witness the transgression, impropriety be damned. She caught enough flack for her affectionate relationship with Harry, who she had long considered a brother. She could only imagine the gossip that would erupt if the elders knew she was conversing so openly with a stranger, alone in the Castle no less.

The idea of breaking the mold society had cast for her since birth was exhilarating, and in the back of her mind she thought this night truly was an Initiation of sorts, certainly not what she'd expected, but no less effective. She wasn't going to shy away from the prospect of adventure now. She'd be returning to her mundane, uneventful life soon enough. Tonight she would stop over thinking and simply enjoy.

As she made the vow to herself she unconsciously drew her shoulders back, standing taller. She didn't notice Tom's eyes flash beneath the torches steady glow, his pupils rapidly expanding and contracting. When their eyes finally connected she saw nothing but calm seas gazing back at her, putting her at ease even as he set her blood aflame.

She gave one last wistful glance over her shoulder at the library before ascending the staircase, Tom following two steps behind like a gentleman, ready to catch her should her clumsy nature rear its ugly head once again this evening.

She drew a deep breath as they emerged in the low ceilinged central chamber of the Tower, once again faced with the three mysterious doors, though she felt far more assured knowing what lay beyond each of them. Of course, she had yet to access the upper Tower, so really, she was only imagining what lie ahead, but statistically speaking-

"It's fascinating to watch you get lost in thought."

She spun on her heal, gasping at his close proximity, taking a step back and flushing. The corner of his mouth tipped up.

"It happens to me quite often, but I never have the chance to see it from an outside perspective."

She smiled tentatively. "I tend to run on a bit in my mind. My friends tell me I overthink things, that I need to learn to be a bit more impulsive."

He laughed. "If only they could see you now."

She nodded, feeling a surge of boldness take root within her heart. "Yes. If only."

He studied her in dimly lit space for several more seconds, the shadow play transforming his face, casting masks of shifting darkness, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise. Then he stepped forward, towards her, and she forced herself to stay in place, hands clenched at her sides, only to release a slow breath as he swiftly passed by, walking to the solid metal door and procuring a set of iron keys from somewhere within his dark coat.

She tilted her head and watched as he placed one of the large keys in the equally large keyhole beneath the knob, turning it swiftly and causing a loud click to echo off the stone.

She furrowed her brow.

How did he come by those? And why does he lock one door and not the other? Shouldn't he be more concerned about blocking access to his hidden lab rather than his sleeping chambers?

Tom glanced over his shoulder and, as if he read her thoughts, he supplied her with an answer.

"I discovered these hanging on the wall in the Tower one level up. I only lock the door when I'm not behind it, in case something happens and I'm not able to access the keys. At the very least, I'd like for Nagini to be able to escape."

She blinked. That made sense, she supposed. But she was slightly annerved he seemed to respond to her mind's question before she could voice it aloud. He must have been extremely intuitive. She nodded mutely, eyes betraying her eager curiosity as he pulled the heavy door open. Despite its obvious size and age the hinges were silent and seemed to offer him little resistance.

As it opened it spilled more flickering torch light into the chamber, this time from sconces stationed along with winding stone wall above.

"Please, ladies first."

She smiled hesitantly, slowing stepping forward and gathering her skirts to allow her the ability to follow the narrow steps up, up, up-

"We can dine on the second level, there's a landing with an arched doorway ahead."

She nodded, eyes wide as the opening appeared, and as she stepped through it revealed the cozy room beyond.

It wasn't filled with much beyond a small table surrounded by four chairs, one of which didn't match the others. There was a threadbare rug laid out beneath and a small chest in the far corner, but beyond that the space was barren, desolate, much as she would have expected an old, ransacked Castle to appear.

She felt her chest deflate slightly at the sight. For some reason she'd expected… well, something more. Something equally grand and mysterious to match the sights of the basement.

"Wasn't quite what you were anticipating?"

She quickly pivoted on her her heel to gaze up at him. "Oh, no, it's lovely."

He smiled, shaking his head. "You're so very polite. The room is abysmal, but it gets the job done. I hardly ever venture up here, I usually eat downstairs if I remember to eat at all."

She nodded, peering around the room once more. "I know the feeling. Time tends to get away from me when I'm in the middle of my studies."

"Seems we have that is common as well," he stepped deeper into the room. "I'm afraid I don't have terribly much to offer, had I known I'd be rewarded with your company I would have prepared something, anything other than what I have…" he walked over to the chest, leaning down to open the lid, withdrawing a wrapped bundle and a dark glass bottle.

He turned to face her once more. "I hope cheese, bread and wine doesn't offend."

Hermione bit her lip. She hardly ever drank wine, usually only a couple sips at celebrations. But she didn't want to appear even more childish than she already had earlier in the evening.

"Not at all. Please, allow me to help."

"There's a couple goblets in the chest, if you don't mind."

She crossed the room, her shoulder brushing his arm as they passed, causing her nerve endings to tingle along the length of the limb. She glanced away with a blush, keeping her eyes averted to the open chest, and then she peered inside and gasped.

Tom glanced over his shoulder as he set the bounty on the table. "What is it?"

She reached down and tentatively touched the gleaming silver.

"Oh, yes," he said, returning his focus to opening the wine. "Those were a gift I received in Morocco many years back."

"They're splendid. I've never seen anything so… superb." She slowly raised the pair of goblets to the light, mesmerized by the ornate etchings along the gleaming metal, her own reflection peering back upside down and distorted.

"I'm pleased you find them appealing."

His low voice drew her focus, and she felt a fever steal through her veins at the sight of his hooded, storm cloud gaze. She swallowed lightly and slowly approached, sidling next to him in order to set the goblets on the table. He tipped the bottle and poured a healthy amount in both.

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, peering at the deep berry liquid, then glanced up as he moved around her, fingertips grazing her skirts by accident as he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit.

Yes, it was certainly by accident.

She smiled nervously as she took her seat, folding her hands primly on her lap as he took the chair at the opposite end, the table so narrow she could easily reach out and touch him.

What a silly notion...

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the flurry of useless thoughts and impulses, copying his movements as he raised his own goblet towards her.

"To new friends, and new beginnings," he said with a slow smile, face devastating and perfect.

Her heart was racing so fast she practically vibrated in her seat, but she managed to hold her own goblet steady as she extended her arm and clinked her goblet gently against his.

"To new friends and new beginnings," she repeated, too overwhelmed by his close proximity in the low light to comprehend the words.

He watched her steadily over the rim as he took a steady swallow. Her eyes drifted down to watch the gentle convulsion of his throat, the bob of his adam's apple, as she took a delicate sip.

"How is it?" He asked, setting his goblet down before him.

She licked her lips and flushed, scrambling for the mature, proper way to describe the flavor. In truth her palate was unrefined when it came to such beverages.

"It's delicious."

He held her gaze a moment longer before chuckling low, the sound so pleasant she hardly minded it was delivered at her expense.

"There's no need to pretend with me, Hermione. I myself rarely partake in wine. I usually use it as a sleep aid more than anything else. Also as the occasional ingredient for a tonic or brew. I can get some water if you prefer-"

"No!" Her outburst startled them both, making her blush anew. "I mean, no, the wine is good, I like it. I don't mind it."

His eyes darted between hers, searching, searching, but she had no idea what he hoped to find. Finally they settled, as did the smirk at the corner of his lips. "Excellent. Wine it is, then. Would you like some bread and cheese? I myself am not hungry at the moment, but please, help yourself."

She absently traced her fingernails along the etching in the stem of the goblet. She eyed the wrapped bundle on the table and felt her stomach turn at the thought. She was too anxious to eat, her appetite buried beneath the storm of emotions the night was quickly unleashing within her.

"No, thank you, I'm not hungry either." She blinked. "Did you say you use wine in tonics?"

He smiled. "I do indeed."

"How fascinating," she took another sip of wine, this one larger than the first, unbeknownst to her. "Where did you learn to do such a thing?"

"My practices are quite varied, many of my methods borrowed along my travels, traded with others in the field of healing."

Hermione drew in a breath. "Do you mind if I ask, where have you been?"

He leaned back in his seat, effecting an air of casual calm as he traced a fingertip along the base of his goblet. "You can ask me anything, Hermione." Her heart stuttered painfully before he continued. "I've traveled throughout the Qing Dynasty, New Spain and the Ottoman Empire. I spent time in the Holy City and visited the New World before returning to Europe."

Hermione felt her heart rate increase. She'd never met anyone who traveled further than the coast line. "That's incredible. I can only imagine all the amazing sights, everything you experienced."

"Yes, it is quite astounding. Cultures vary so greatly. And yet through the field of medicine we see just how similar we all are, at the most fundamental level."

"Did you seek out destinations to treat the ill?"

"Usually. After a while my work became known and villages would send messengers to request my presence when outbreaks would occur."

"Weren't you fearful of falling ill yourself?"

His smile took on a breaktaking gleam. "I have been blessed with a strong immunity to most common ailments, it's what first sparked my curiosity in medicine."

Hermione felt her chest swell. "How curious. I'm the same way. Both my parents have fallen ill from various afflictions plaguing our village but I always manage to avoid succumbing."

His eyes dazzled in the flickering light, beautiful, hypnotic. "Fascinating. How lucky we are, to be blessed to be different."

Something in his wording gave her pause, broke her free from her trance.

"Well we can't be that different, you just said yourself that medicine is based on the principle that we are all fundamentally the same."

"Yes. We're all built of the same materials. But their final arrangements are so vastly unique." He blinked, seeming to come out of a trance himself. His expression softened around the edges, became more inviting and less intense. "Disease shows us just how resilient and delicate the human constitution truly is."

She intertwined her fingers in her lap, trying to curb her eagerness. But her face still held open excitement. The wine was singing through her veins, making her cheeks flush.

"What sort of conditions have you treated?"

He tilted his head, long fingers lingering on the stem of his goblet. "As an apprentice I studied Miasma, are you familiar with the theory?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that certain illnesses are caused by night air, invisible toxins released by rotting organic material, such as Lavernia."

He raised a dark brow, eyes roaming her face, making her breath shorten. "Very good," his voice was honey thick, eyes slowly finding their way back to hers. "However I never gave much stock to such archaic beliefs. I am of the theory that Lavernia is caused by insects."

She blinked. "Insects?"

"The disease is prevalent throughout hot, humid climates where there are an abundance of flying pests that feed off host blood. I think the disease is transferred through these creatures as they move between humans and livestock. It is a more plausible explanation for why the sickness spreads rapidly but doesn't decimate the entire group. If it were truly airborne then everyone would suffer adverse effects, not just portions of the population."

Hermione's mind reeled. "I… yes, that makes sense."

"I tested the theory by providing local villages with nets to string over their cots and around public markets. As the number of insect bites decreased so did reports of the affliction."

She shook her head, eyes wide. "That's… incredible."

"Hardly. I merely found a way to decrease the chance of exposure. I have yet to find a cure for those already infected."

"Still…" she wet her lips, once more drawing his gaze lower. "What else have you done?"

The corner of his mouth turned up, as though pleased by her interest, before his expression turned stoic once more. "I take it you're familiar with yellow fever?"

Hermione inhaled sharply, nodding mutely. Yellow fever had swept through her own Village twice in her lifetime, most recently taking the beloved Molly and Bill Weasley, along with several others. Neighboring towns were hit even harder, she heard, some losing up to half their population in a matter of weeks.

He seemed to understand the nature of her somber mood. "I'm sorry, perhaps we should change the subject-"

"No, please, I am eager to hear what you know about the sickness, it may benefit my Village in the future."

He nodded slowly. "I was first introduced to it many years ago, when a whaling ship brought the disease to an isolated island community that didn't know the first thing about treatment. Missionaries traveled there but prayer did nothing to stop the rapid spread, and eventually they succumbed to the Fever themselves. That's when I was asked to venture out and try to stop the entire population from falling under."

"Were you able to cure them?"

"Unfortunately no, I was only able to stop it from spreading further. To this day my inability to reverse its effects haunts me. I have been working on finding a cure ever since. The problem is that the Fever is so feared and widespread it is difficult to overcome long held beliefs on treatment, such as turning to medicine instead of prayer alone."

He drew back in his chair, drumming his fingers along the table top.

"Many illnesses are shrouded in such mystery and reverence that people overlook common solutions."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of beriberi?"

"The weakness disease?"

He smiled, as if once more pleased with her broad knowledge base. "Yes, among other other symptoms such as swelling of the legs and feet, loss of appetite, and sharp pain in the limbs. It's most commonly found in extremely poor villages, though cases do pop up from time to time in wealthier communities, primarily among those who abuse wine and spirits."

Hermione glanced to her own goblet with trepidation. His low laugh drew her gaze back. "Not to worry, a glass or two with supper will hardly bring the sickness on. It takes many years of daily dependence before the effects are seen."

He leaned forward, pinning her with his gleaming stare. "Tell me, Hermione, what do you think the common thread is between beriberi sufferers in destitute villages and those wealthy enough to be overtaken by their vices?"

Hermione felt her pulse throb steadily in each limb under the heated weight of his gaze. Her mind took an extra moment to process his words, the wine and his undivided focus slowing her usual rapid fire thoughts.

Finally, the connection sparked.

"Poor diet? A nutrient deficiency?"

His smile was mesmerizing, eyes glowing brightly beneath the flickering flame. "Brilliant girl."

She released a slow breath.

"All it takes is a rounded diet inclusive of grains and red meats to lessen the symptoms, eventually eradicating the illness altogether, but suffers are often unable or unwilling to alter their eating habits. They instead rely upon outdated or ritual based treatments that do nothing but provide a temporary placebo effect."

His words became more clipped as he spoke, fingertip steadily circling the wide rim of his goblet. "I cannot fault people for putting faith in the customs of their culture. But it causes me great frustration to witness unnecessary pain and suffering, especially when prevention and treatment is so readily available."

He sighed deeply, eyes drifting to a random spot on the table, almost as though he'd forgotten she was there. "Even worse is witnessing barbaric practices take the place of modern convention because people are so terrified of change they'd rather usher in death than innovation."

Hermione gently cleared her throat, once more catching his attention and finding herself pinned beneath his intense gaze.

"What sort of practices?" she asked tentatively, almost afraid to hear the answer but desperately curious.

"Amputations, bloodletting, trepanning."

She blinked, spine rigid, a cold chill stealing across her limbs. "People still practice trepanation? I thought it lost popularity with Paganism."

He shook his head. "It is still widespread throughout the world, either for ritual purposes or as an applied medical treatment. I've met a few well appraised physicians who consider it a legitimate cure for seizures, but many merely use it as a way to release evil spirits."

Hermione swallowed. "How terrifying for the patient, someone already suffering mental anguish made to undergo such a barbaric procedure."

Tom lifted a shoulder. "I consider the procedure itself to be trivial compared to other invasive acts, it's the lack of practicality that I find unendurable."

Hermione tilted her head, studying him carefully. "But surely you're against such brutal practices, regardless of their efficiency?"

He held her gaze steady. "On the contrary, I have nothing against any treatment as long as it serves a logical purpose, however unorthodox."

She swallowed, somewhat unsettled by his declaration. She took another long draw of wine, allowing the flood of warmth to suffuse her.

His eyes roamed her at leisure. "I take it you've never traveled from your Village?"

His words were delivered without a hint of mockery or scorn but she flushed brightly nonetheless, fumbling to set her goblet down. "Um… no, I haven't had the means or opportunity unfortunately. I was interested in taking an apprenticeship down the coast, where there's a larger prevalence of infection and disease brought on by the shipping routes, but my parents staunchly refused, claiming it far too dangerous."

"They aren't wrong. Beyond the threat of disease itself, a young beautiful woman shouldn't be out in the world on her own, no matter how brilliant she may be."

The wine soothed her frazzled nerves, otherwise she would have surely reacted more strongly to being called beautiful and brilliant in the same breath. Instead her face formed a sardonic smile of its own accord, displaying just a hint of bitterness. "You sound like my parents. And my friends. They think I'm liable to fall into a dark hole the moment they take their eyes off me."

Tom tilted his head. "On the contrary, I think you far more capable than most. And you're perhaps the sharpest mind I've encountered in years. But your keen intellect can only help you avoid dangerous situations, once you're in the heat of them, you're rendered quite helpless."

His voice went down at the end, as did the lights along the wall. The flames seemed to dim at once, casting shadows around the room, across Tom's face. And just like that charged moment down in his lab, she felt a thrill of fear course through her, steeling up her spine, making her rear back on a silent gasp.

She blinked one, twice, but his eyes still held their eerie glow, watching her carefully, the rest of his posture eased back in his chair, arm strung casually over the back, the other toying with his goblet. She swallowed, gathering handfuls of her skirts as though poised to run, but finding her legs quite numb.

"Hermione…"

She blinked again, heart stuttering. She couldn't tell where the voice came from, as foolish as the notion was. Obviously it had to have come from Tom, but she was certain she didn't see his lips move, and the air around her seemed charged, alive, frantic. She found she had trouble breathing.

Tom leaned forward slowly, drawing her focus in, a cheshire grin curving his lips as he folded his arms on the table, intense gaze rendering her motionless like pins through a butterfly wing. His eyes slowly roamed her face, then her neck, then her chest, and slowly ascended back up.

"Since we're skipping the meal portion of our dinner, perhaps you'd like to see the library again? I noticed your excitement earlier, and I have many rare volumes I think you'd be interested in."

His voice was deep and steady, more command than request, and she struggled to find her own. She wet her lips and tried to swallow, and suddenly her eyes fell on the goblet.

Of course! Idiot girl, getting tipsy in the presence of a strange man... how could you be so careless?

Because surely it was the wine having this effect upon her. There could be no other rational explanation for it.

She drew her gaze back to Tom and he licked his lips, causing her breath to catch. "I should have warned you, this wine is a bit strong compared to most. Perhaps a walk downstairs will clear your head."

She closed her eyes, hands still clenching her skirts like a vice.

Say no.

Tell him goodnight.

Go get Harry.

She parted her lips and issued a simple. "Okay."

Her eyes snapped open, dazed. Where had that come from? It was as if some other force had control of her vocal chords, her limbs, directing her movements as she slowly pushed away from the table and stood on unsteady legs.

She placed her palms flat on the table for balance, and suddenly there was a flicker of shadows and Tom was at her side, arm wrapped delicately around her waist and balancing her against his body. She swallowed heavily, gazing up with wide, glassy eyes. She hadn't seen him stand from his chair, how did he get to her side so fast?

"Shall we?"

His eyes practically burned beneath his long lashes, scorching her through to the core. She nodded weakly, thoughts scattering as his all consuming presence took up shop in the forefront of her mind, pushing all other inclinations to the side.

He awarded her with another disarming, silver grin that stole her remaining breath away, before pulling her further into his lithe frame.

She continued to gaze up at him in a dream like trance, allowing him to walk her back towards the archway, oblivious to the sconces lining the walls behind them, their flames dancing wildly in an invisible current.