Personally, I'm not quite pleased with this chapter. However, I've reworked it and redone bits of it enough that. . .well, you win some you lose some. Every author has that one chapter that is absolute shit. For me, this is that chapter. I hope you enjoy at least a little bit of it.
Chapter 9
When Tom opened his eyes he was assaulted with a blinding light that immediately forced him to squeeze his eyes shut again. It took a moment, but he quickly realised that it was the sun, beginning to set, and angled perfectly to stream in through the window, onto his face. He couldn't make any sort of use of his left arm, which was throbbing painfully, and so used his right hand to yank out his wand, and the window was immediately covered. He could still see, but the light wasn't so bright that it blinded him.
Recalling what had happened, Tom shot upright in the bed – why was he in a bed? – and immediately regretted it. His head protested, and he bit back a groan. It was entirely likely that the Mudblood was still in close proximity, and it wouldn't do to show weakness in front of her. After blinking several times, Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed, noting the ice-pack in a stasis charm. He smirked. The Mudblood had tried to take care of him, had she? He winced when he moved arm. She'd not done a very satisfactory job, had she? Of course not. Stupid Mudblood.
He clutched his arm to him, as he stood, careful not to jar it with his movements. He limped to the door, his ire rising when he realized that the girl had done next to nothing to heal him. Exactly who did she think she was? Idiot girl! There were several scrapes and abrasions on his torso and his legs, and the blood was starting to show through the cloth. He slipped out of the room, pausing in the front room, and looking across to the sitting room. He couldn't help it when his eyebrows shot up. The Mudblood had completely repaired the wall of the sitting room. Not only the wall, but every cracked mirror, ever scuffed floorboard, even the cushions on the chairs had sown themselves back together.
So she hadn't been ignorant of how to heal him, Tom noted. She simply hadn't wanted to. He looked down at the repaired coffee table, seeing the box with the red cross emblazoned on the top. She expected him to heal himself. Rubbish. How was he supposed to do something like that with his left arm entirely out of commission? Stupid girl.
Magic, he heard her say tauntingly in his brain.
Another's magic typically worked best, Tom mused, as their magic wasn't draining his energy, which would only make his wounds that much worse. He looked about himself, searching for any sign of the girl. A sound from the bathroom caught his attention, and he limped towards it cautiously. It sounded like singing, but he wasn't sure. He pressed his ear to the door: Water was churning as well. She wouldn't hear if he left.
Another thought, much more devious, clipped across his brain, and Tom cast a Silencing Spell on the door. He waited, listening again. There was no break to the churning, and her singing didn't stop. Tom grinned, and turned the handle, pushing his way into the room.
Her clothes were in a pile on the floor, and a towel was neatly folded next to the sink. The water in the bath wasn't running, but it was churning something fierce. She must have charmed it, he mused. The singing didn't stop, so Tom could only assume she hadn't seen him yet. He limped forward, still quietly, and saw that Granger was leaning back against the tub, eyes closed. Her expression was completely relaxed, and the singing he'd heard in the other room happened to be her own.
"Whether you're a brother
Or whether you're a mother,
You're stayin' alive,
Stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin'
And everybody shakin',
And we're stayin' alive,
Stayin' alive,
Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive,
Stayin' alive,
Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive."
What in fuck's name was she singing?
"Well now, I get low
And I get high,
And if I can't get either,
I really try.
Got the wings of heaven
On my shoes.
I'm a dancin' man
And I just can't lose.
You know it's all right,
It's okay,
I'll live to see another day.
We can try
To understand
The New York Times'
Effect on man.
Whether you're a brother,
Or whether you're a mother,
You're stayin' alive,
Stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin'
And everybody shakin',
And we're stayin' alive,
Stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive,
Stayin' alive,
Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive."
That had to be the most ridiculous song he'd ever heard in his life. It would only make sense that a Mudblood would sing it. It would probably play on a constant loop in his head later. Remembering that he was up to no good, Tom limped forward, still cradling his arm, and looked down at the girl in the bath tub.
The churning water blocked out most of what he would otherwise have seen, but Tome could tell she was much smaller than he'd realized, and she was well fit to boot. It was a pity she was a Mudblood, he mused. She'd have been such fun in bed. He grinned. Granger still hadn't noticed him; she was caught up in her stupid song.
"Silly Mudblood," he said gleefully, and Granger's eyes shot open.
He hadn't anticipated she would use her wand.
Before he knew it, Tom had been thrown back into far wall of the bathroom. The air left his lungs, and he slumped forward onto the floor, landing rather ungracefully on his bad shoulder. The next thing he new she was out of the tub, and reaching for the towel. Unashamed, Tom glanced, pleased to see the curves uninhibited by clothing. But then the towel covered her up, and she was sealing it with a sticking charm.
There was a tingle of magic, and Tom felt himself lifted off the floor and settled against the toilet. He managed a second's look at the furious expression on Granger's face, and then she was raining blow after blow down on him, each one punctuated with a furious word in her angry tirade.
"You. Sick. And. Perverted. Son. Of. A. Bitch. Don't. EVER. Come. In. While. I. Am. In. The. Bath!"
By the time she was finished Tom was reaching for his own wand. Apparently she wasn't having any of it, because the minute his hand touched his pocket the wand was being yanked from his grasp and chucked across the room. By Merlin, he had underestimated her. She was incredibly powerful for a Mudblood. He would need to remember that in the future.
When the blows finally stopped, Tom peeked out from behind his arms. "Are you quite finished?" he said sardonically. There was tooth rattling slap across his face in reply.
"Now I am," she said primly. "Next time, don't be such a pervert."
She moved away from him, and Tom felt himself slide partially off the toilet. "Don't you think that was a bit of an over-reaction?" he said condescendingly. She had really hurt him, not that he'd ever let her know that. He silently cursed the blonde boy who'd managed to jinx him.
"No," she said shortly. "Over-reacting would have been use as many jinxes as I know on you, and believe me, that's a lot."
There was a swooshing sound, and when Tom looked again she had performed a simple switching spell, and her clothes were hugging her figure again. They were Muggle clothes, obviously, Tom concluded, but they weren't women's clothing. . .he didn't think so, at any rate. Jeans, a shirt, and a jumper were usually relegated for men's fashion, not women's. They looked quite delectable on her, though, Mudblood or not. Her feet were bare and petite, and all her toes were perfectly proportioned. The shirt and jumper flattered her figure, and the jeans showed her legs quite well. And such pretty legs, too.
"Not the usual Muggle ware, there, Muddy," he said, lowering the pitch of his voice. A rage of satisfaction streaked across his chest at the two red spots that appeared on her cheeks.
"You had this morning and the incident in Borgin and Burke's to bring that up," she said tetchily, the red spots darkening. "Now, what exactly do you want?"
She would be easily malleable. Tom smirked. "You against the door."
The blush crawled down her neck and disappeared beneath her shirt. "That's why you disturbed my bath? To be immature? What are you, twelve?"
"No," he said, pushing up from the toilet, cornering her against the doorframe. "I disturbed your bath because there was a good chance I could catch a Mudblood in the nude." It didn't seem possible that she could turn even redder, but she did. "I've never seen one before. Are you much different from Pureblooded women?"
Tom had expected another slap. He hadn't expected her knee to connect so harshly to his groin.
He buckled, unable to help the vomit that crawled up his throat. As it dislodged onto the floor, the Mudblood's knee snapped into his face. Tom could hear the bones in his nose crunch under the pressure, and blood began to slowly dribble from his nostrils. He landed on his knees, holding himself and breathing laboriously through his mouth.
He was pleased.
She marched past him, and he snatched her ankle, tripping her up. "Let me go, you pompous, arrogant, reeling-ripe joithead!"
"You are feisty, Granger," he said darkly. "However. . . ." He reached with his other hand, ignoring his body's protestations, and pulled her other foot out from underneath her. She fell, but just barely managed to avoid hitting her head. It caused him considerable pain, but he clambered on top of her to pin her down. There was a struggle, yes, but Tom bit his tongue and wrestled until her arms were pinned to her sides. She looked at him, not with fear, but anticipation. She'd clearly never been in this position. "Now that I have your attention, Muddy, I've a small favour to ask of you."
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to ask you."
"The answer's still no."
"Oh, it'll hardly kill you."
"It might."
"I need you – "
" Absolutely not.'
He growled and covered her mouth with his hand. "I need you to help me heal myself. There are certain things I can't do on my own."
Granger's eyebrows shot up. "Oufmafosmeefolelou?"
He removed his hand, rolling his eyes. "Yes, Muddy, I'm asking you to help me. There are some parts of my back that I can't reach, and I don't fancy letting them fester, not to mention," he gestured to his left arm, "this particular appendage will likely give me some grief."
She eyed him warily. "Fine."
"I'll need you to help me set the shoulder. It does ache something dreadful."
"Fine," she ground out. "But you have to get off me for this to work."
His shoulder was protesting in earnest now, and his testicles felt like they'd swollen to the size of a quaffle. His nose and mouth were both covered in blood, and his back was quite sore. When he rolled off her, onto the floor, it was all he could do to not faint with the pain.
"I imagine that took quite a lot out of you, did it?" Granger said coolly.
"Shut up, Muddy."
She snorted. "I thought it might." There was a tingle of magic, and he felt himself being lifted off the floor and hovered to the sofa. Instead of dropping him, like he'd expected her to, the Mudblood lowered him gently onto the cushions. "I'll do your nose first," she said, and without warning, "Episkey."
Tom's nose felt very hot, and then very cold; he touched it gingerly, satisfied that it seemed mended. Before he could open his mouth to say more, Granger summoned the ice-pack, and caught it deftly in her hand. Satisfied that it was still cold, she dropped it onto Tom's aching groin. He inhaled sharply, glaring fit to kill. "Watch it, Mudblood," he hissed.
"Serves you right," she sneered, "sneaking into the bathroom like that."
"Are you one of those females that never lets anyone off the hook?"
"That's me," she retorted. "Deal with it, or heal yourself."
Tom considered retorting, but reasoned that he was probably not in the best position to be rude, so bit his tongue. "If you could hand over the anti-septic, please?"
Muddy shook her head, conjuring another pack like the one nestled between his legs. "Your shoulder is out of commission; you'll do nothing until I'm satisfied with your state of health." She waved her wand, and his shirt disappeared.
Tom smirked. "Rather forward of you, Muddy."
"Don't be difficult," she replied wearily. Digging some tape out of the box, she strapped the pack to his shoulder, eyeing the swelling. "This should be all right if you don't overdo it. Your arm will have to be in a strap for a couple of days. I do hope you're not left-handed."
"More's the pity," he sneered. "I am."
Muddy shrugged as if to say, "Not my problem." She dug dittany from the box as well, and Tom winced as it was applied to some of the scrapes over his torso. "Can you sit up?" she asked.
In answer Tom gripped the side of the sofa with his right hand, hauling himself up, trying not to jostle his arm. With some difficulty he wriggled his way into a sitting position. His back protested, but no way in hell was Tom letting on to a Mudblood that he was in pain. She must have guessed, though; she was clever, and her movements were quick, and before he knew it, Tom's legs were being pulled around, and he was seated properly.
"We'll have to go old school on these," Muddy said, gesturing to the very deep abrasions on his chest.
"Just give me the jar, and I'll – AAAAHHHH!"
She hadn't waited before pressing a piece of gauze to his chest. It had been saturated with the anti-septic and stung like hell. Muddy looked at him innocently. "I'm sorry. You'll what?"
He glared. "Oh, very funny, Muddy. Very funny, indeed."
She shrugged. "I've no idea what you're on about, but fine."
The wounds were properly mended, Tom taking care this time to not start in alarm when the wounds were cleaned and the stinging ointment applied. He tried not to think about how badly it would likely hurt when he would remove the bandages later; adhesive had never been his friend. He watched Muddy as she sat back, eyeing her handiwork.
"Are you satisfied?" he challenged.
She was quiet a moment longer, and then shook her head. "Not quite. We've still got your arm."
"Conjure a sling and be done with it," he snapped.
"No," she replied calmly. She waved her wand, and two straps appeared. "Stand up."
"Why?"
"Just do it," she retorted.
He huffed and gave in, taking his time and adjusting the ice on his groin. Muddy waved her wand, and his shirt reappeared, buttoned and hugging his form. She reached beneath his collar, removing the ice and straightening his arm, pretending not to notice him wince. One strap went around his chest, linked and tightened until he couldn't move the top of his arm. The other went around his waist, securing at his wrist. Muddy seemed to think for a moment, and then adjusted the binds so that the buckles were behind him, on the part of his back he couldn't quite reach. Tom scowled.
"What is this?"
"This is me fixing your arm, you great louse, what do you think it is?"
"This is not how one fixes an arm, Muddy," he said condescendingly.
"Actually, according to modern medicine, it is. Internal rotation is believed to be worse for you than external rotation."
"Modern medicine?" He hadn't thought of that. She would have at least fifty-plus years of scientific discovery on him. That might be something to use; it was her advantage now, but if he could sway her. . . . It would give his Death Eaters an edge.
"Indeed."
He sighed. "Very well, Muddy, I will humour you. But just this once. Now, then, be a good lass and make some tea."
She snorted, and laughed. "Make it yourself, Dark Lord." She turned her attention back to the box, replacing all the things she had taken out of it. Everything went into a particular place, and when she was finished the top closed with a clean snap. Tom was thrown an innocent smile, and then she made her way to her bedroom, probably to stow the box away. When she returned he had taken to trying to adjust the straps around his torso. "What are you doing, you stupid man?"
"Don't start with me, girl," he snarled, "and I'm trying to arrange these so I can actually reach them. What does it look like I'm doing?"
"It looks like you're trying to hurt yourself."
"Where's my bloody wand?" he snapped irritably, marching past her and scanning the floor.
"In the corner," she retorted. "And for goodness' sake, leave them where they are!"
"I need to be able to take them on and off, you filthy Mudblood," he bit out, stalking over to the part of the room she had indicated. He had to restore some sort of order, else she'd be taking all sorts of liberties with him. To his surprise, the Mudblood quip had no effect.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said. "Fine. Do what you want. Don't bother using magic or anything; that would make you a sensible wizard. If you hurt yourself, it's on your head anyway. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to finish my bath."
"They're uncomfortable now,"Tom growled, quickly becoming annoyed with her impertinence. "How long were you in there before?"
"Not long enough," she answered vaguely. "The door's over there; feel free to go away."
He had retrieved his wand now, and turned just in time to see the door snap shut; a clever retort died on his tongue. There was a hum of magic, and Tom smiled: She had put up wards to keep him out of her way. She was a clever Mudblood. She'd underestimated him, though.
Just as you did her?
'Shut up,' he thought savagely. Pointing his wand at the door, he cast a spell to test the strength of her wards. They were quite weak, which meant she anticipated his leaving. She must think he was fed up with her, or had no more use for her. "Au contraire, silly Mudblood," he whispered softly. She was in luck, though. He cast Tempus, and nearly erupted with fury at the time it read. Unfortunately for him, the day had grown old, and he was required to be back at Borgin and Burke's come morning. Violently cursing the inconvenience of his schedule, Tom conjured a piece of paper and a self-inking quill. He scribbled five simple words, and placed it on the coffee table in point of focus. Turning on his heal, he Apparated out into the Hogsmeade street, directly in front of Madam Puddifoot's. Rollo and Rudolph Lestrange choked on their tea, and Abraxas Malfoy stood up sharply. Several tables had been placed out front, most likely in celebration of the Scotland spring.
"My Lord!" they all exclaimed at once, but Tom waived them off, sneering.
"Oh, yes, you're all concerned now," he said dryly. "Tell me, Abraxas, exactly where were you when the walls of the Three Broomsticks were blown to smithereens?"
"I was following the men who placed the bombs, My Lord." He was trying valiantly to cover the terror in his voice.
Tom had no doubt that all three of them wouldn't mind seeing him dead in one way or another. "Was it a useful venture, Abraxas?"
The blonde shuddered. "No, my Lord. They disappeared."
"Disappeared," Tom repeated softly. "They simply vanished?"
"I did my best to follow them, My lord, but – "
"Your best was hardly good enough to pass you in Potions class," Tom snapped venomously. "Really, Abraxas, you should know better than to allot yourself the task of following anyone." He turned his glare on the Lestrange twins. "And where were you?"
"We were in Dervish and Banges," said Rollo, "and the wall went in."
"It was the wall directly facing the inn," supplied Rudolph, rather unnecessarily. "We think there may have been wards cast to keep the blast concentrated on the – "
" – ground floors, yes, of course it would," said Tom, brushing off the remark. "It was an assassination attempt, not a random act of terror, you foolish boy." But by whom? In a bid to keep his temper in check, he turned from them and faced the High Street.
"Do you know – "
"Don't finish that question, Lestrange," he said, the warning clear in his voice. The other fellow shut up immediately, and Tom thanked his lucky stars. He had to think. He'd heard somebody say something about red cloaks, but he wasn't sure who. The only organization he knew of whose supporters wore red cloaks was Grindelwald's army. They, however, had been out of commission for a little over a year. That wasn't to say there weren't still some of them running amok unchecked, but they couldn't possibly know of Tom's agenda. His profile was too low. "No one we know, then," he said, more to himself than to his bootlickers.
"My Lord?"
"They know us," he said, ignoring Malfoy, "but we don't know them. Oh, this will be fun." Perhaps he could enlist the Mudblood's help? There was an attractive thought. It was a plan he would have to form very carefully, or it could blow up in his face, but, yes, she would be an invaluable addition. Clever Mudbloods were hard to come by, and having regular access to someone who could tell her arse from her head would be quite a treat. "Go home, boys," he said quietly. "And see to Rowle and the others. I have business to attend to." That business, of course, being his job at Borgin and Burke's.
"What of the Mudblood and her friends, my Lord?" said Rudolph.
"Leave them to me," Tom replied. "Don't bother posting lookouts; the Mudblood would dispatch them within the day." He looked back at his men. "I, and I alone, will be the one to deal with the Mudblood. Am I clear on this?"
They saluted him, and Tom nodded. One by one the young men Disapparated from the street until Tom was completely on his own. He took one last look up at the Mudblood's suite, and a plan to lure her into his clutches began to formulate in his mind. "Yes, Muddy," he said. "You will give in, and you will not regret it." Then, turning in place, Tom Disapparated back into Diagon Alley.
Back in The Three Broomsticks, Hermione was coming out of the bathroom, still half-expecting to see the Dark Lord perched on some piece of furniture, glaring daggers as he iced his testicles. To her surprise and relief, he was gone. She made doubly sure, exploring the suite in a bathrobe; there was no sign of Lord Voldemort.
As she made her way back into the main room, a piece of paper on the coffee table caught her eye. She paused to pick it up. The words on the paper caused her heart to sink, and Hermione let out a small groan. She'd hoped this was over.
I will see you again.
