Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: I thank everyone who read, alerted, fav-ed and reviewed.

Review replies can be found at our Tomione forum (link in profile under the story title heading).

With thanks to my lovely betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

xxx

The Prisoner

Chapter 10: No Touching

'You're remarkably late,' Tom said coolly as she entered the cell right after lunch.

'I don't recall us agreeing on a specific time that I should be here,' she snapped, tossing some loose pieces of paper and her notebook on the table. 'Just because I've been here every morning at nine, doesn't mean I always can be here at nine.'

'Cranky,' he muttered, watching her stomp away to hang up her coat. 'That time of the month?'

Taking a deep breath, she decided she wasn't going there. A deadly glare became her only response.

'I guess the honeymoon is over,' he joked, glancing over the papers before looking up again as she plunked down next to him on the bed.

'Funny, really funny. I take it you're aspiring to become a stand-up comedian next,' she snarled.

'What's got your knickers all in a twist?' he asked, placing the papers on the table and turning towards her.

'Aren't you going to read that?' Hermione asked, flabbergasted.

After using the Translator Charm, she'd copied a few of the seemingly harmless Isis Potions and had brought those with her for him to translate. She'd thought he'd be all over it, considering Isis was famous and the quality of the Potions she created was the stuff of legends.

'Aren't you going to answer me?' Tom rebutted.

'Nothing, it's one of those days,' she replied, moving as if to shake off her ruffled feathers before staring at the wall. She couldn't believe what had just happened. Why had Professor Eleftheriou died? It made no sense.

'One of those days?'

'Sorry.'

Tom raised his eyebrows at the clipped tone of voice being used with that clearly insincere apology. He stared at her intensely before he turned away and took the documents that she'd brought him back in hand.

'What am I supposed to do with this if I may ask?' he asked, voicing the latter in a snarl.

'Well, I don't know. The Isis Potions in Parseltongue,' she mocked, 'thought it would be a no-brainer.'

Silence fell. Warning signs were flashing all around her. From the cool, collected way he was now observing her to the rigidness of his posture. A dark, malicious glint flickered through his eyes, and there was a slight curve of his mouth that would've made Godric Gryffindor himself run for the hills; however, Hermione was too upset to notice any of it.

'This seems to be a copy—'

'Gee, and I thought the Egyptian Historical Society had given me the original,' Hermione interrupted, rolling her eyes.

'—a copy of three, nonconsecutive parts of the scroll,' he finished quietly, his tone of voice expressionless.

'Really?' she snarled, moving her head over to pretend-investigate the document in his hand. 'They didn't tear it out of the priceless, ancient, original parchment? How—'

'Of course they haven't,' Riddle interrupted coldly. 'How could they when they lost the original oh give or take forty-five years ago?'

She couldn't believe her ears. Somehow, she knew she should've known. It fitted his profile after all. Still, this was just too much. He already had seen the entire document, and she'd gone to Professor Eleftheriou to prevent Riddle from reading information he shouldn't have when he already had it. That man was dead because of it. She swirled around, angry as hell.

'Is there nothing you wouldn't stoop to?'

Riddle regarded her for what seemed to be forever, until he leaned forwards past her face, his breath brushing her earlobe as he spoke.

'Tread carefully, my wife,' he hissed warningly, freezing her in place. 'My patience isn't endless. Continue to disrespect me like this and you will feel the consequences regardless of our previous agreement.'

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling them water. She deserved to be punished. The professor had been an okay enough fellow, hadn't deserved to die just because he had an ugly, dyed goatee and she happened to drop by. She bit her lip; her chin trembled. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Not over someone she'd hardly known. Not over someone who was incredibly old and standing with one foot in the grave already anyway. She'd buried enough people, younger people. This was … No, she couldn't care anymore. No more. She was done crying over the dead. It had been an accident. She'd not planned to kill him. It wasn't her fault. Flashes of those she'd killed in battle moved in front of her mind's eye. They all fell like the professor had. Lifeless bodies struck the ground over and over again. His body struck the ground over and over again. Why had her spell gone so wrong? It was harmless.

She moved away from Riddle, clutching her hands around the edge of the bed and rocking back and forth as she tried to control her emotions. She didn't look at him, had her face deliberately turned away, afraid that upon getting contact with another human being, or an alleged human being, the dam would break and she wouldn't be able to hold it in anymore. She had to hold it in. She sniffed a couple of times, breathed in deeply: in – out, in – out, in – out, in – out.

The noise of a pen scratching on paper reached her ears. Such an ordinary sound. It was soothing in its normalcy. The world hadn't turned completely upside down on her. Not all of it. Some things remained the same, like breathing: in – out, in – out, in – out.

In due time, she stopped rocking and tilted her head all the way back, inhaling extra deep before letting it all go with an exaggerated exhale. Her hands wiped over her face, removing the evidence of some silently fallen tears, and she sighed, not daring to look sideways. Merlin, she'd made an absolute fool of herself. Why did that always have to happen in front of him though?

'These are three of Isis's most basic potions,' Tom said evenly. 'I have no problem supplying them with the translation to these. From what I recall, they almost had everything correct already. They just misjudged a couple of measurements and the timescale on which these had to boil.'

Inside, she felt incredibly thankful he was ignoring the entire outburst she'd just had. Hermione was sure if he addressed it now, she would not be able to keep her newly found composure.

'There are, however—'

Click!

The entire cell had gone pitch-black. She couldn't see a thing in that darkness.

'Great, Russell's on duty,' Tom muttered beside her in annoyance.

'What just happened?' Hermione asked, looking in the direction of his voice but unable to see even a shade of him.

'Russell finds it entertaining to turn the overhead lights off during the day. He thinks this is torture.' Riddle snorted. 'Well, the only torture he dares to administer,' he mocked, 'nice and safe, from afar.'

Hermione thought she heard him add, 'safe for now at least', but she pretended not to hear that.

'What do we do now? I don't have a flashlight on me, and we can't do anything in this darkness.'

'Oh, I can think of a thing or two,' Tom said lightly.

She scowled at him, forgetting there was no use to that since he wouldn't see it anyway. 'I'm scowling right now,' she added in good measure.

'I figured as much,' he replied humorously. 'Well, aren't you going to fix this problem, Saviour of the Light?'

'More scowling,' Hermione retorted immediately, hearing him snigger in reaction. 'So, how am I supposed to fix it, Lord of Darkness? Snap my fingers or something?'

'If you open the door and turn on the switch in the corridor, we could use the light coming through the window.'

'Oh, good idea.'

She got up carefully and turned left. The door was right in front of the table she recalled. She took four steps to be sure she'd cleared the table and then started to walk blindly, keeping her arms stretched out in front of her.

'This is hard,' she mumbled to herself.

'Well, if you hadn't felt the need to rat on me being able to open the door, I could've done this.'

'Yet, it's not a problem,' she added cheerfully, very pleased he wasn't capable to do that anymore.

She heard him snort. It caused her to frown. She'd expected him to have a bigger reaction to her betrayal as he would undoubtedly see it. But he was obviously undeterred. Not that she wanted him to get angry with her since, well, that could turn potentially lethal. Yet, this uncaring attitude was rather disconcerting to her.

'You would've got sick though, if you stuck your hand around the corner,' she added seriously, trying to minimise the extent of her treachery.

'Three days of vomiting and headaches,' he replied dismissively. 'Not a big deal.'

'Oowee, tough guy.'

'Granger,' he said warningly, causing her to smirk, 'watch out for the—'

Boink!

'Oww!' Several coarse words left her lips as she rubbed her painful shin with both hands.

'—toilet,' Riddle added.

'Gee, thanks for the timely warning,' she sneered, following the wall with her hands as she moved sideways.

'You're welcome.'

She ignored him and opened the door upon finding it. Light from the corridor blinded her eyesight. After a couple of blinks, she flipped the switch causing the light to also pour into the cell through the huge window. She closed the door and turned around, blinking to adjust her eyes once again to the different lighting. It wasn't as bright as normally, more like some kind of romantic mood light. It would definitely not be enough to sit on the bed and be able to read or write, but on the floor near the window would do.

'Be a dear and bring us a glass of water,' Riddle ordered, pointing to the sink. 'You can have one yourself, too, if you like.'

'That's mighty big of you,' Hermione said, giving him a look.

However, she turned towards the sink anyway and filled two glasses with water while he picked up everything else and moved to the window, sitting down with his back against the glass. She curtsied when she stopped next to him before placing the glasses down on the ground.

'I hope this is to your highness's satisfaction?'

'We shall see,' he replied, amused. 'It better be.'

Hermione slid down against the window, sitting next to him. 'Or else?' she dared him.

He smirked, checking over his writings. 'You really don't want to find out.'

'Hmm-mm,' she replied, not really saying anything before taking a sip of her water. 'Before the lights went out, you said something about the potions but you didn't finish. Something you weren't going to do?'

'Yes,' he said, looking at her seriously. 'I don't know how much of that scroll they allowed you to have, but I won't be translating that entire scroll for them. Those potions are far too valuable to share with dunces like them. In fact, they can pretty much kiss their arses goodbye to the majority of it.'

Mischievously, Hermione's eyes flickered down, changing the meaning entirely.

'I said they, Granger, not you.'

'Katie will be expecting something,' she tried.

'Well, that's just too bad then, isn't it? I'm all heartbroken. She'll have to learn to deal with disappointment—tell her to expect that. Now, onto more important matters, did you finish reading that book I told you to already?'

Her nose wrinkled. 'You mean that delightful, monotone read? Bleh.' She stuck out her tongue in disgust.

'I can't teach you how to merge subjects when you don't get the basics.'

'You're just trying to slowly bore me to death,' she complained, yawning to exaggerate her point. 'That witch takes more than a thousand words to explain that water is wet. After a couple of paragraphs, I have to start reading all over again because I can't even recall what I read a second ago. It's just so over-the-top, utterly boring contents.'

'She's not taking a thousand words to explain that water is wet; she's informing you it's dry as well.'

'Yeah, so I won't be needing a towel next time I shower,' Hermione sniggered.

'You need to get your head out of the sand, Granger, and become a bit more open-minded.'

'Oh, now look who's talking.'

'You're so keen on all the boundaries set by the mediocrity that you don't see that magic is in essence limitless,' he said, shifting his upper body towards her as he talked animatedly about his favourite subject, 'so fond of the laws of magic that you don't even see that they don't exist. They're a construct of the mind, a false fence created by frightened fools. However, those forcing themselves to stay behind it when they can achieve so much more are the worst kind of fools.'

He gave her a pointed stare, causing her to cringe inwardly. She really wanted to measure up to his challenges. She felt horribly embarrassed when she didn't get things he took for granted. It was just such horrid writing. She couldn't get through it.

'Magic is everything and nothing, endless, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And yes, you don't need a towel after showering. If you can't see that, I am wasting my time. Don't bother coming back here till you've finished that book.'

'Wh–what?' she spluttered.

'You heard me,' he said, turning away from her and bringing the glass to his lips.

'But … I … I …'

Not knowing what to say, she could feel her cheeks burn in embarrassment. She had real issues understanding that book. If only it were a bit more entertaining and clear, she would've finished it ten times already. It wasn't the size. It was the stupid author not being able to communicate properly.

'And there will be a pop quiz on the contents,' he added viciously.

'Now you're just being an arse,' she snapped.

He whirled around fast, slapping the palm of his hand against the window next to her head. She flinched at the sudden fury in his expression.

'You have no idea how much you're off on that statement there, Granger, how lenient I've been with you. But if you insist, I am more than willing to switch that part off and show you the true meaning of pain. Get that book out of your coat's pocket at once and read the first chapter.'

'He–here?'

'Yes, he–here,' he mimicked, grabbing her notebook and starting to write with harsh, furious strokes.

She had no idea what he was working on since he'd finished with the translation some time ago, but she didn't dare ask now.

'You're not leaving until I am satisfied that you have absorbed the knowledge,' he added.

Hermione bit her tongue. A part of her wanted to deny having the book with her, but she had a feeling he'd turn over her coat and, once he'd found it, she didn't want to contemplate what he would do to her then. Not in the state he was currently in. Cautiously, she rose to her feet and went to get the blasted book. Too bad the author was dead already. Otherwise, she would've had a practise target for some of the more creative curses she'd invented. Marietta's pimples would be children's play compared to what she wanted to do to this bitch.

As she was reading the first chapter, she realised this was the ultimate recipe for disaster. She was seeing the letters, combining the words, reading the sentences but not getting it. She'd be stuck here forever. Upon reaching page twenty-nine, she'd got to the end of the first chapter. A sigh left her lips, and she scratched her neck nervously. She had absolutely no idea what that chapter had been about. Again. She raised her hand to flip back to the beginning when Riddle spoke.

'What's the conclusion of the chapter?'

She didn't know where to look. Correction: She did know where she didn't want to look—at him.

'The main theme then? The general question she's stating? No?' he asked, searching her by now thoroughly red face for a reaction.

More questions followed that she had no answer to, and she felt herself becoming smaller and smaller in the process. This was utterly humiliating.

'I already said I didn't get it at all,' she said barely audibly. 'There is no need to rub it in.'

'I am not rubbing it in. I am trying to find the full extent of your confusion so I will know how and what to explain. I am very aware that it's a horrid chapter. It's a horrid book. The woman couldn't write, but she was brilliant. Her theories should be taught, not discarded because they're too difficult to understand.'

He asked her three more questions, and on the last one, she had a vague idea what the answer might have to be so she blurted it out, immediately noticing he brightened up.

'But I don't know what that means though. I am just quoting what was on page five,' she added quickly, worried he'd think she understood that and skip it in his explanation.

He smirked. 'At least you recalled what page it was on and what it said. That's a start. Now,' he grabbed his notes and pointed to a schematic that he'd created with his pen, 'magic as Dolcea sees it has the same point of origin and ending. Around it, it can flow everywhere, depending on the source, the environment and the recipient.'

'I don't get that,' she replied, frowning. 'This whole ending is also the beginning is giving me a headache. It's annoying, circular reasoning.'

'You had the use of a Time-Turner during your third year, yes?'

'How did you know that?'

'I have sources. Reliable ones. Who can read.'

'Funny.'

He smirked at her. 'You recall the rules of time travel?'

'Yes.' Even though he hadn't asked, she rapidly recited all of them.

'Impressive,' he said. She smiled until he wiped it off her face by adding: 'None of it is true. The limitations we have with the Turners originate out of the false presumption that nature wouldn't allow such dangerous occurrences as paradoxes to be possible, so it was never investigated to go further. To an extent, you can bend the forces of nature with magic, hence the couple of hours we were able to travel backwards and in which we were told to strictly abide by all the rules to avoid the collapse of time itself. Correct?'

Hermione nodded. That was what she recalled from it, and it made sense to her. You could only go so far in changing the various foundations of the world before it would explode in your face. It was irresponsible to want more. Perilous. If you were playing Russian Roulette with magic, eventually, nature would catch up with you.

'It's bullocks, Hermione, think about it. Really think. Once you go back one hour, what's to stop you from turning again and again and again and again until you've passed your birthdate or even beyond that?'

She figured lecturing Mr 'Let's-Split-My-Soul-Into-A-Kazillion-Pieces' on the moral implications would be a complete waste of time. 'Nauseousness,' she quipped instead.

He snorted.

'Meeting you as an obnoxious toddler,' she added.

'I've never been a toddler,' he quipped back.

Hermione sniggered, on a roll now. 'So … you're admitting you're obnoxious?'

'Depends on the perspective of whom you ask, I suppose,' he replied, his eyes glinting.

'I'd so drop you on your head.'

'Really? You wouldn't want to teach me love, change my evil, wicked ways and turn me into a good boy?'

Hermione scowled. 'And hold my breath while I am at it?'

He brought his hands to his chest in mock shock and despair. 'You wouldn't even try?' he asked in a tiny voice, sounding positively hopeless.

'Nope,' she replied immediately, making a face at his impeccable acting skills. 'I am definitely dropping you on the head. Better result, much faster.' She nodded, smiling brightly at the visual in her mind.

'Pah, you're too much of a goody-two shoes to cause a temporal disturbance of that magnitude,' he scoffed. 'It's not allowed to alter the timeline. We must not be seen,' he said in a bossy voice that eerily reminded Hermione of herself.

'Goody-two shoes?' she snorted. 'Seems your reliable sources have been napping.'

'Why, what did you do: Cross the street without using the zebra crossing?'

He brought the glass of water to his mouth and tipped it.

'I killed someone this morning.'

He nearly choked. The water flew straight back in the glass as well as travelled up his nose. Tom coughed violently, quickly placing the glass to the side. Hermione patted his back, but there was a mocking edge to her assistance. When he'd finally stopped coughing, she held out her glass to him. Tom drank up the rest of her water and then turned to her immediately.

'Did anyone see you?'

Her eyebrows rose. That was his first comment, not whom, why or how?

He grabbed a hold of her upper arms and shook her. 'Granger. Did. Anyone. See. You?' Tom asked, urgency flowing through his clipped tone of voice.

'No,' she said, pulling away in irritation. 'What's the matter with you?'

'Are you positive about that?'

'Yes, well, there were two people who saw me enter the building, but I wore a Glamour and they were Muggles. However, it doesn't matter. It's going to be ruled as a natural death anyway.'

'How'd you manage that?'

'I cast a damn Sleeping Charm, okay. I didn't mean to kill the bloke, but he died on me. No idea why. People aren't supposed to die from a simple "Somnus".'

'He died from a cast Sleeping Charm?' Tom asked, furrowing his brow.

'Yes, and he was ancient already, trying to hide it by dyeing his goatee black. They're going to find that he died in his sleep, which he did.'

'People don't die from a Sleeping Charm,' Tom stated surely.

'Tell that to the Professor.'

'No, I am serious, Granger. People just don't die from Sleeping Charms, not even from miscast ones.'

'I didn't miscast anything. It was perfectly executed.'

Tom ignored her remark. 'Sure, they can go into a coma if it's too powerful, but die? I never heard that before.'

'Me neither,' she acknowledged, withstanding the impulse to once again remind him she'd not erred in her casting.

'Maybe he had some underlying condition that triggered it in combination with the Sleeping Charm?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Never read anything about him having health issues. He seemed healthy enough for a hundred-and-eighty-year-old.'

'You killed Ammon Horus Eleftheriou?' Tom exclaimed, amusement ever so evident in his expression.

Crap! Too much information.

He leaned in towards her. 'I wonder why you'd possibly be interested in talking to him of all people,' he teased, laughing in an obviously gloating manner.

'Yes, yes, you win,' she intervened. 'You already had the scrolls so I wasted all my time trying to keep certain potions from you.' She'd rather he'd hold that over her head instead of him realising she'd allowed the professor to translate the collar. 'And that poor man died for nothing.'

'Poor man,' he scoffed. 'Don't be such a bleeding heart. He lived the last forty-five years on borrowed time, insisting that Parseltongue verbs come before nouns just because they're on another line, and don't remind me of all the negating dots he miraculously kept seeing everywhere.' A disparaging noise left his throat, followed by some incomprehensible, irritated muttering.

It was silent as Hermione moved her arms around her knees and leaned forward, staring angrily in the other direction. She felt even worse now, knowing she'd done him a favour by killing Eleftheriou. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he casually crossed his ankles and was apparently lounging on the floor.

'Still odd though,' he mused, breaking the silence. 'I was expecting you to experience some magical issues, but they should only be related to the amount of power you cast with, not—'

Her head flashed back in his direction. 'You were expecting this and didn't warn me?' she hissed.

He eyed her warningly. 'As I said,' he began slowly, 'any magical issues should be related to the amount of power of a casting, not change the whole meaning of the spell as it did with that Sleeping Charm. Did you have any other incidents besides that?'

'No,' she immediately replied, but then her mind recalled it. 'Well, actually … I blew up a rock when I tried to erase a rune I carved into it. I had no explanation why that went wrong, too. Still don't. I never mess up on my casting like that. It's weird.'

Tom seemed positively puzzled. 'This certainly is interesting,' he said, scratching his neck. 'What you should experience are surges in power when you accidentally mingle my magic with yours upon casting.'

'I thought that was impossible with you in here,' she countered.

'It's not possible for me, but it sure is for you,' he replied, looking at her meaningfully. 'My blood carries my magic, and that was used to form this bond. It is, therefore, present outside this cell and accessible to you. It's why I need you to read that book fast and get a firmer understanding on how magic works. I can't have you be overwhelmed by it.'

The snort escaped her. 'You sure think highly of yourself.'

'I'm being realistic, Granger. To suddenly have access to an additional source of magic you're not used to can be a disturbance to a degree that it could kill you. I really need you to start taking this seriously and pay attention.'

'So that is how I killed the professor?'

He shook his head. 'If you'd cast anything that upon adding extra power to it could be deadly, I'd be the first to affirm your conclusion. However, Sleeping Charms are never deadly. Something else happened, something I can't explain—' He pinched the bridge of his nose, and a brief flash of annoyance was ever so visible in his otherwise blank expression. '—which makes it even more urgent that you learn how to control the power. You need to be aware of your magic when you cast and you need to learn to integrate it with mine, fast. If we can exclude that and once you're more aware of what you are doing—'

Hermione huffed in indignation.

'—precisely,' Tom emphasised, 'then maybe we can deduce the reason behind those unusual occurrences. So, back to the theory in this chapter.'

He handed her the notebook and began walking her through his explanation. After a long, heated debate and many scribbled diagrams later, Hermione smacked his arm, enlightened.

'But that means that if you can sense the essence of your magic, the control you have over it would be endless,' she said, excited.

Riddle smiled and nodded. 'And that means …?'

'When something is endless, it's everywhere at once. It's the beginning and the ending. Oh, now I get it!' she exclaimed, relieved. 'Magic flows with a certain degree of power, and that power is related to the surroundings it is used in, the caster and the receiver. And one can vary that by changing one or more of the three components. And if you got enough control, you can influence it all at once. But how to get that to work?' she mused to herself.

'Practise,' he answered.

Hermione looked up.

'Which is exactly what you need to do,' he added seriously. 'Since you're dealing with two sources, now that our magic has mingled for you, you need to be able to identify what's yours and what's mine at all times and use it properly. Go someplace uninhabited and start with something small. Try isolating your source first and cast with that. Get a good feeling of your own magic before drawing in mine and then casting again. Make sure you take proper precautions because the result of that casting will likely turn quite volatile. It's imperative you learn how to merge my magic with yours quickly, Hermione. Your life may very well depend on it one day.'

The sheer urgency and seriousness he was displaying made her swallow, and she nodded to indicate that she got the severity of the situation.

'Until you've got it under control, be careful with the amount of power you put behind your spells, and don't cast when you're emotional under any circumstance. Emotions tend to double the raw power normally. In your case, I am assuming it's going to be somewhat more than double the energy. I can't be sure how much it will enhance the force of your magic, or maybe even alter considering we have no idea what caused those misfires yet, so this will be a trial-and-error learning curve for you.'

Hermione rubbed her fingers through her hair, massaging her temples, and sighed. 'Anything else?'

'Well, you could always do some practising on your ex,' he suggested playfully. 'Maybe test out that Sleeping Charm on him.'

Sighing tiresomely, she closed her eyes and softly banged against the window with the back of her head. She wasn't dignifying that with any verbal response. Nope, definitely not.

'I have something for you, by the way,' Tom said, handing her a piece of paper.

Hermione's eyebrows rose as she read what clearly was a shopping list. 'You want me to buy this?'

'If you don't mind,' he said, winking at her. 'You won't have to pay; it'll be taken out of my vault.'

'You have a vault?' she asked, frowning confused. 'Why did you put your Horcrux— Oh, of course, so nobody would realise you have one and look for it.'

His triumphant smirk said enough.

'Well, if that's all,' she said, making a face before rising to her feet, 'then, I have to go. It's late. I'm late.'

'I'm sure,' he said, rising, too.

He was in the way. In between her and the door. Was he going to stop her from leaving? She didn't understand where that thought had suddenly come from —he never had before— but yet, this time, it felt like it. There was something in the air that hadn't been there before. Hermione bit her lip, not knowing what to do. Finally, she raised her chin and met his eyes. Her breath got stuck in her throat with their proximity and the intensity of his eyes. His blank mask was firmly in place; his calmness was the complete opposite of her nervousness, and there was a certain edge of knowing victory to it.

'We have a "no touching" rule,' she said hoarsely.

He nodded. 'I know. There is no need to freak out, Hermione. It's your choice. Now, be a good girl and leave the switch in the "on" position on your way out. That way I can still get some reading done.'

'Of course,' she immediately agreed. 'No problem. I'll … I'll just get my things then and be out of your way.'

She stepped sideways to move around him at the same moment as he stepped sideways to let her pass, blocking her again. They both moved in the other direction, again being in each other's way.

'Oh.' She laughed, tossing her hands in the air in surrender and dropping her head back.

Tom sidestepped and made a courteous gesture towards her. 'My lady,' he said, smiling brightly.

'Thank you,' Hermione replied, getting her coat and her things before moving out. In the doorway, she stopped, unsure of herself all of a sudden. She turned back towards him. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

He gave her a blank stare.

'I didn't mean to—I have responsibilities—I just can't—I—'

'I'll see you tomorrow,' Tom interrupted calmly. When he saw her still hesitating, he added, 'It's all right, Hermione. I knew you'd report it. I would've been disappointed with you if you hadn't. Now go. It'll be morning in no time.'

'Yeah, I know. See you then,' she said cheerfully, sending him the brightest smile he'd ever seen her give him.

As the door closed behind her, he smirked triumphantly. Everything was going according to plan perfectly. Well, perhaps not everything. A frown appeared on his forehead when he recalled Hermione's incident with the Sleeping Charm. Now that was definitely an issue he needed to figure out. And … there were two potential witnesses that needed to be eliminated. Glamour or no Glamour, Muggles or no Muggles, it was too big a risk and he wasn't about to lose everything on account of his wife getting arrested for murder. He'd have to have someone tie those loose ends as soon as possible—someone who could handle something like this discreetly. He knew just the man. However, his contact to the outside world wouldn't arrive for another fortnight. He kicked the table in frustration. Two weeks, he hoped it wouldn't be too late.

xxx

Dark-grey thunderclouds rolled by above her. The atmosphere was menacing, unruly and deadly. Her hair flew wildly around her face. Her robes billowed in the cold, harsh wind as she stood in the desolate landscape: feet slightly apart, arms out wide, her wand outstretched, held loosely between her fingers. A lone figure at the end of the world. Nothing lived here; nothing ever could. Yet, her brown eyes were determined as she focused every tendril of her being on the spell she was about to cast.

She had come to sense it, clearer and clearer: her magic. How it roamed inside of her, never sitting still, never staying in one place longer than necessary, moving endlessly, without boundaries or limitations. It went as it pleased, jumping from cell to cell, node to node, sailing the swirling streams of blood or diving into the waterfalls of lymphatic fluids, flying over her spinal nerves, bouncing from brain cell to brain cell, activating and energising everything in its wake. She'd never been aware of all this before. She'd taken magic for granted, cast the spells without consideration, without a second notice, without wondering where it all came from, without real and true focus.

No more.

Hermione Granger had found her way, her magic, and it was wondrous.

She'd followed its lead, searching for where it went, how it was shaped, how it moved, what it wanted and when she saw the essence, the true nature, she'd taken the leashes back in hand, never to give them up. Her wand swept through the air in an arc. Out of nowhere thousands and thousands of tiny crystal spheres erupted around her. Keeping all of them levitated individually was a feat worthy of a Charms Master, but it wasn't enough for her. She moved them around, at different speeds and in different trajectories, her focus so immaculate that none collided, a true conductor of the dance of the spheres.

This was bliss. Heaven. The ultimate joy.

Yet, she felt a disturbance at the edge of her shadow, pushy, controlling, domineering. Power so alluring, so overwhelming, that she didn't dare touch it. Power so dark, so pervasive, that she was sure to drown within a moment's notice. It whispered to her, whispered in soft, gentle tones, a warm breeze within the cold, harsh wind.

Let me in … let me in … let me in.

Her spheres changed colour, one by one. Controlled, coordinated, she steered her magic to do her bidding with ease. It felt like coming home after a long, exhausting trip. This was how you were supposed to cast. As one.

Something roamed in the corner of her eye, something that lingered in darkness, hiding, biding its time, waiting for a brief moment of negligence to slither in and take over. Calmly, she observed, analysed and … experimented.

That moment was coming again.

Fire this time, she decided.

Magical fires had always been a specialty of hers. It came easily to her, instinctively—she never really had to learn how to cast them. She now understood why. Her magical essence was hot. It loved the heat, the flames, the burning, crackling noise. And inside herself, she felt her magic's joy at the prospect of transfiguring all these crystals to blue bell flames. It wanted to do that, already connecting to her wand's core for the amplification—dragon heartstring. All of her wands had dragon heartstring cores. That made perfect sense to her now. Fire, her wand and magic wanted to breathe fire.

Yet, she held her magic in check, focusing on that what wasn't hers. It stilled at the attention, darkness drawing inward, ready to pounce. Cautiously, she turned one crystal into a blue bell flame and send it at that force in the shades. The flame flickered then burned with a soaring intensity that made her avert her eyes.

So, you like fire, too, she concluded.

Her mind acknowledged the connection. Something to draw upon. Finally. Maybe this time she wouldn't get blown off her feet.

Her wrist twitched, and another blue bell flame came to life. Slowly, she steered it towards that outside source of magic.

Come on, come on, react! Give me something. Anything.

Dark tendrils drew towards the flame, making her do a little jump of joy inwardly. She forced the blue bell flame back quickly, sensing the tendrils reach and miss. It roared, contained, bellowing furiously at the missed opportunity. It tried to break her barriers, tried to force its way in as it had done before and thunder all over everything that made her who she was. But this time, she was prepared and didn't allow it passage inside.

She held up her left hand in a stop sign, whilst her wandhand moved the flame a little closer but just out of reach.

It happened; she sensed the slight withdrawal and moved the flame towards it instantaneously. Again, she had to close her eyes at the intense burn of fire that followed. But it was worth it, for when she opened her eyes again, everything felt different. There was an expectancy to the force now, a patient quality. She created a new flame, and the darkness remained stationary. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the flame soaring towards it. The generated heat of the added burn was still intense but with a sense of control and restraint. This was what she'd been hoping for: cooperation. Whilst crystals all around her transformed into blue bell flames at the command of her magic, Hermione turned the wrist of her left hand, palm open towards his magic, inviting it in, cautiously.

Tentatively, the force approached her, touching her fingertips first. She didn't fight it; she kept her open stance. It was welcomed like this. It was a weird sensation, feeling it move on, crawling inside her arm and slowly spreading onward. It was different than before when it came barging in and caused her to crumble into a heap on the floor, unable to move or do anything, feeling like she were at the centre of a black hole being crushed together by the sheer force of his magic until she passed out. Now, it twirled around her magic, moving forward in cohesion instead of eradication. A tingling feeling spread over her skin; her body temperature rose as did her energy levels. She felt the sudden connection between his and her magic, the link it made to her wand, and instinctively, she cast.

All around her, the fire roared and bellowed, transforming from harmless blue bell flames to violent Fiendfyre. White-hot flames reached for the sky, crackling and hissing. Figures erupted in those flames, dancing around her but never touching. Her control was absolute. She could sense it. Oh such joy! Such delicious desire. She spread her arms wide to absorb the full extent of the power. It was intoxicating. She lived and breathed power.

'Oh yesss,' Hermione moaned, tossing her head back and closing her eyes.

It gave her wings. She floated on the power, feeling invincible, untouchable, all-powerful and all-knowing. This was her time. She couldn't lose. The sheer magnificence was overwhelming. This would never end.

She opened her eyes to find she was hovering thirteen feet up in the air along with the Fiendfyre. A terrified shriek left her lips, and she plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud.

So much for being in control.

Pain shot through her body. Hermione groaned, lying still on her back as she watched a roaring lion in the sky shift to a giant eagle whose wings spanned beyond her eyesight. The Fiendfyre was expending rapidly even without her adding power to it. She had to stop it. Carefully, she moved her sore limbs to check for any broken bones and let out a relieved sigh when she seemed fine apart from her battered muscles and what would obviously become a set of ugly bruises. Scrambling to her feet, she acknowledged that not only had his power been infectious, his arrogance was contagious, too. Hermione shook her head at herself. Then, she focused on turning out the Fiendfyre. She knew the countercharm. However, since this Fiendfyre was fuelled by her and his magic, she would need both to extinguish it. Hermione closed her eyes, going inwards, searching and finding. She'd not expelled his magic this time and it was still there, lingering, slithering around seemingly harmless until called upon.

Which was what she did.

Satisfied, Hermione looked up to the thunderclouds rolling by in the sky. The Fiendfyre had been properly extinguished, and she decided to call it a night. This had been a productive session and it was best to stop on a high note. Now that his magic was working with hers instead of against, she felt secure enough to go back to the civilised world and use magic without blowing everyone to pieces accidentally. Besides, she was supposed to be at the Burrow for dinner half an hour ago. Tonight, after the party, she was going to tell Ron their relationship was over.

xxx