WARNING: Violence towards the end of the chapter.
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CHAPTER 9 - Salvation
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I hate her. I hate how she seems to be the only person able to wake him up, even at the distance of a corridor or two from me, even with three tables or a whole courtyard between us.
I'm avoiding her. I've been avoiding Granger for weeks now because every time I'm near her, that thing residing in my blood starts reminding me how badly I should hurt her and how badly he wants her... how much he wants to feast on her flesh.
But she's always there. Every corner I turn, every bloody corridor I walk, Granger always finds herself in front of me and she doesn't run away, she doesn't hesitate to give me an awkward 'Good morning', but I do. I ignore her and walk away, the hisses stabbing my temples mercilessly until I can't bury the very thought of her existence deep inside the recesses of my brain.
My own twisted mind is torturing me, imagining to torture her.
She would deserve it. Yes. Yes, she would. She's a thief and a liar.
"Oh Tom," a shrilling voice snaps me back to the present. "I can't wait to see you fly tomorrow!"
I turn my gaze on the hand grabbing my arm and then move my eyes upwards, to the face of its owner. It's an effort not to cringe at the sight of Calia Greengrass smiling with heavy-lidded eyes, pressing her breasts very subtly into my side. She has been rubbing herself against me for the duration of dinner- meaning, it's time to get away from her since I'm done eating the few bites of meatballs I have managed to ingest.
"Tom, you should eat," Calia pouts, leaving my arm in order to let me finish my food. "You need your strength for tonight's training."
Thinking of the nicest words a man can say to flatter a woman to silence, I lean over the table and force another small bite in my mouth – Calia is unfortunately right, I can't walk to the pitch only to faint from lack of sugars in my system, but I still resent the girl when she places her hand on my elbow, again.
"Who are you going to cheer for, Caliadne?" Rosier asks, smirking behind his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Heard your fiancée will catch the Snitch for you tomorrow."
I glare daggers at Rosier for his involuntary but stupid reminder of my zero chances to catch the bloody Snitch and make Slytherin win, but he remains oblivious of my stare as he keeps his fixed on Greengrass and the bosom she's pressing into my arm, probably wishing to be in my place. If only we could switch places, now I wouldn't be about to vomit at the prospect of failing for the first time in my life in front of the whole school.
"I doubt Charlus is faster than Tom," Calia laughs, rolling her eyes.
Truth be told, Charlus Potter is really the fastest seeker that Hogwarts has seen in at least two centuries; only last year he broke the record by catching the Snitch at the tenth minute in the game.
Lifting his eyes over the Evening Prophet, Flint shakes his head, smirking at Greengrass. "But my dear, it's here where you're wrong. It's not the player that's fast, but the broom..."
He pauses for effect.
"Take Tom, for example. Even if he's crap at playing, he has a quick and steady broom to compensate."
Rosier bursts out laughing so loud that students at nearby tables turn to look at us; I grit my teeth as Calia giggles that high-pitched giggle that only she can render so revolting and then I look askance at Flint. I want to bang my head, or his, on the table when he just shrugs his shoulders, smirking, and I have to remind myself that there are too many witnesses to hex Slytherin's Captain into oblivion right now. I had almost liked and even respected him before this last stunt.
"So this is how rumours about my skills start," I say, keeping my voice light, "from your jokes."
My cold glare still doesn't have the desired effect on Darius.
"Among the others," he admits, tilting his head to enjoy the sight of Greengrass blushing behind her hands. "Don't worry Riddle, you are not the only one who doesn't know about the reputable special talents that girls and guys seem to know so well- and from personal experience, as they sometimes claim."
"Heartening," I mutter, bringing a goblet of water to my lips.
Flint shrugs again. "At least you are good at it, according to the gossip. Other guys aren't so fortunate."
I don't see how having people talk about my special talents is fortunate, but I let the conversation drop and so does Flint when Calia reminds us she's still here. Rosier isn't that perceptive.
"Worried our vulgarity will deflower you?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. "Not that that flower of yours hasn't been touched yet, according to rumours spread by your fiancée."
Calia huffs indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "What disgusts me is that you have no sense of decency and no consideration of your surroundings. We're eating, for Merlin's sake!"
"What? Your plate is empty!"
"That's not- You know what, whatever." Calia shakes her head and opens the latest number of Witch Weekly. I'm thankful that no part of her body is touching mine this time.
Deciding to wait for tonight's training here in the Great Hall, I take the newspaper that Flint has just finished reading and fold my arms over the table. The image of an army of wizards clothed in a dark uniform draws my eye.
'NEW ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE OF CURMING'
This morning, a new terrorist attack destroyed the village of Curming, at less than 1 mile from Cummingston. 23 people were killed with the Killing Curse, including 7 children. 10 people were Muggles. No person seems to be missing.
The responsibility of the attack has yet to be claimed, but-
There's no need to read the rest. Grindelwald is behind it, just as he was behind the attack on Hogsmeade. I don't know how I should feel about this; I may be disgusted and sad and angry because a wizard is killing and probably torturing people for a cause he won't win, spilling pure and less than pure blood indiscriminately, but, on the other hand, I shouldn't feel anything. Who am I to judge him, even if only in my mind? He is a murderer and so am I. He's no better nor worse than me.
What if... What if he felt like I did- when he killed people? What if he felt that perverted satisfaction from taking a life, a feeling that I also seem to like so much?
Clenching my hands into tight fists, I take a deep breath and tell myself that, no, I don't kill for sport, I never did. Those... accidents... they were beyond my control.
The man in Hogsmeade, he purrs. He wasn't an accident.
I want to retort and tell him that I saved a child that time, that I wasn't planning to relish the taste of murder, but Calia takes me back to reality.
"How can they put something like this on the cover?!" she's complaining, waving her magazine under Ian Rosier's nose. I glance at the cover of Witch Weekly: a pretty blonde girl in a white swimsuit is lounging on the reddish sand of a paradisiacal island.
"Why shouldn't they?" Rosier asks in confusion, taking a look at the offending cover. "And why a swimsuit already? It's still January!"
"This model just can't wear Saab's swimsuit!" Calia says hotly, holding up the magazine and tapping her finger right in the face of the model for Rosier to see. "This swimsuit is beautiful and she's ruining it with legs that are toothpicks-"
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to the newspaper. Waiting for Flint to get his arse off the bench (the guy eats more than Feodor on his worst days), I make myself read the article of the attack in its entirety, but in the end I find nothing I don't already know except for a list of the names of the victims and speculations about the terrorists.
This is the third attack in two months. Traces of magic left in the village seem to lead once again to Grindelwald's army, a unit of Dark Wizards based in Europe commanded by Gellert Grindelwald. "Aurors are working day and night to defend our country", Minister Spencer-Moon tells the press. "Minister Churchill and I are cooperating to ensure the safety of both our communities from the two fronts that are trying to penetrate the country-
I narrow my eyes at the moving picture of Grindelwald's army and let them slide past the article, past the names and numbers, to reach him, a black and white face looking apathetically ahead.
You want power. You want to cheat Death and rule over the countries. You want the Muggles to submit to us, to you, so why kill wizards and witches too? They aren't mere collateral victims, they are your aim... Why would you attack Hogsmeade? There are no Muggles there.
A strange feeling in my guts makes me swallow and for a bizarre moment I think that Grindelwald is looking at me from this thin layer of parchment, but then I realise that someone is really watching me, just not from the Evening Prophet.
I lift my head, the feeling in my guts intensifying, and scan the Great Hall. It takes me only an instant and no need to search over a sea of faces: my gaze just falls on hers on its own volition.
Holding a copy of the Prophet in her trembling hands, Granger is staring at me. Through me. She looks paler than ever, tired, angry, confused, and her eyes are filled with the same questions I've asked myself.
I stare back, a scowl forming on my forehead, as I eventually discern what's beneath her anger and shock: fear. She's scared.
The nerve she has. The nerve she has to seek me out only to let me see how scared and utterly hopeless she is, the nerve she has to remind me how easily I could make her hate and fear me some more, just like Grindelwald.
My eyebrows slowly lower themselves in a more neutral expression. Deep down I know that her fear is not for me, but the attack. Her attempts at reconciliation after what I did that night in the Tower are evidence, but it's so easy to forget when a part of me can count only her faults.
My eyes almost soften when I understand the reason why she chose to communicate with me when Evelyn and Feodor are sitting right beside her, a reason that takes me back to a rainy night spent in the library, talking about books... and Grindelwald and the Hallows.
She looks desperate now and her eyes widen just a fraction, pleading. All those awkward attempts at greeting me and at crossing my path in the corridors are because of this, then: she's asking for forgiveness for her lies and I didn't even give her the time of the day.
What should I do with you? Exasperated, I nearly ask the question out loud.
Kill her.
Just a look in her direction and I feel less than human, again.
She wants you so badly you should kill her.
My scowl returns in place and she flinches.
She's a liar, a thief, a Mudblood.
This is why I hate her. This is why she must stay away.
Undelivered apologies forgotten, I sneer at Hermione and divert my eyes.
"Tom, don't you have to go down to the pitch?"
Calia is looking at me expectantly. Flint is already by the door with Nott.
I nod and pick up my satchel. Making to turn and follow Flint out of the Great Hall, I still feel Granger's eyes on me. I swing around and smirk at Caliadne Greengrass. Leaning over her flushing form, I bring my mouth to her ear and whisper softly, "Potter won't catch the Snitch for you tomorrow. Slytherin is going to win."
I leave the Great Hall without looking back at Granger.
The last training session is bad. Flint is a monster, like usual, but if I thought that the team had seen all of his sadism over the past weeks, tonight we all experience an entirely new level of torture as he snarls insults and drains all our mental and physical capacities. Many times tonight I find myself thinking that if we go on like this, there won't be strength enough for tomorrow's game. I tell Flint so.
"Riddle, do I look like Slughorn?" he asks calmly, Bludger Bat in hand.
Hunched over my broom in the middle of the pitch, utterly exhausted, I reply that, no, he looks like a hysterical mammoth, not a walrus.
"Then get your royal ass up there and GET THE FUCKING SNITCH, RIDDLE!" he barks back, brandishing the bat menacingly. "No favouritism from me!"
Fortunately, I discover that with a few tricks I can really catch the Snitch. Granted, I've succeeded only three times, but my chances to win are decisively higher than two weeks ago, and all thanks to my special skills – patience, creativity and, of course, cunning. I'm a Slytherin and I certainly don't want to break the tradition of playing dirty against Gryffindor, even though this type of dirty is much more elegant than the childish shoves of Flint or cursed Bludgers of Mulciber.
I grin when the pull of an easy yet undetectable Location spell drags me towards the Snitch, but I immediately scowl because the stupid golden ball is still too fast and there's only so much that a charm can do.
The broom though... After endless hours of training, I'm still not accustomed to the presence of a stick between my legs, not one that's not attached to my body and tries to make me fall at every opportunity. One thing is to ride something steadier and larger, like a horse or even a Muggle motorcycle, another is to fly on a slim and polished stick of wood that tends to not turn when I need it to. This is a problem because the time I spend concentrating on staying in saddle is equally wasted time of ignoring the pull towards the Golden Snitch.
"No copulation tonight," Flint warns us when the two hours and a half are up. "And no cuddling. No exchange of liquids. No alcohol. I want you as fresh as roses tomorrow morning, so go to sleep."
I curse Darius Flint on the way from the locker rooms to my bed, knowing all too well that there won't be sleep for me tonight.
The next morning starts as badly as the previous night ended.
I look at my coffee and half-eaten croissant, ignoring Calia's attempts at cheering me up. At least Nott is sitting here today, even if his head keeps turning over his shoulder. Pathetic.
"Why don't you go sit with her?" I ask bitterly, grabbing another piece of the warm croissant.
"She's with the Gryffindors," he answers darkly, turning his eyes again to the other end of the Great Hall.
Curious, I lift my gaze and, true to his word, Evelyn is sitting with the Gryffindors- and not only her. Zaiden is also there, the little traitor. And Granger.
I glare at her bushy head as she sits in front of her best friends, with her back to me- coward. She's a coward.
I forget my coffee and just stay motionless for two full minutes, staring and waiting for Granger to turn and face me like I did yesterday, because surely she must feel my eyes on her... she doesn't. When she keeps her nose buried in the Daily Prophet, pretending to read, I feel the urge to walk up to her table, yank the stupid newspaper from her hands and tear it to pieces.
Already back to avoiding me, are you? Coward-
I squeeze my eyes shut. I forgot that this was what I wanted. I try to calm down the inner turmoil of conflicting thoughts and remember that this is how it's supposed to be.
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Hermione was feeling his stare on her, insistent and furious. The hypocrite.
First he ignored her or treated her like shit, then he demanded her to look at him and for what exactly? To let him sneer at her while whispering sweet nothings to that bitch of Caliadne Greengrass-
Woah, some repressed rage she had. Caliadne wasn't to blame, no matter how much Hermione wanted to throttle her only for looking at Tom bloody Riddle. And touching. And pressing her big breasts against him.
Hermione's face fell further from behind the Daily Prophet when she took a glance at her chest. Sighing, she closed the newspaper and dropped her head on Octavius Weasley's shoulder. The Gryffindor boy stilled for a moment and slowly turned to look down his freckled nose, but he immediately relaxed upon realising it was her.
"What's wrong, kitten?" he asked with a smirk. "Worried for my safety? Scared I will fly too fast and smash my skull into a goal post or, worse, a Bludger?"
Hermione hit his chest, hard.
"That's not funny," she told him seriously, glaring at Evelyn as the girl interrupted the conversation with Alphard Black and Zaiden to laugh at her.
"Come on, kitten, cheer up! At least if Weasley ends up in the Hospital Wing, you will have the honour to cry at his bedside," Alphard joked, making Hermione roll her eyes.
"First, my name is Hermione," she tells him, broadening Alphard's grin, "and, second, if Octavius gets hurt, you will be the one at his bedside. I've had enough of the Infirmary."
"Whatever you say, kitten."
Alphard looked way too smug in Hermione's opinion, but, again, he was a Slytherin and being a Slytherin meant 'arrogant prick', even when said arrogant prick was sitting with the Gryffindors. Stretching herself over the table to get the bottle of pumpkin juice, Hermione couldn't suppress a smile as Alphard stole the goblet from her hands to pour the juice himself. The boy made a show of conjuring a rose from thin air and pull off a pink petal, dropping it into the goblet. Hermione laughed.
"Here, my lady," he said silkily, offering her flower and drink with a perfect bow of his head and wave of his hand.
Hermione gasped dramatically, "My, aren't you a gentleman. Thank you."
Groaning, Octavius stood and looked directly at Alphard, and something in the air shifted with the action.
"You first?" he asked. His voice was as solemn as his eyes and his back was perfectly straight. The other Slytherin stood as well, fixing his composure into a similar formality.
Hermione, Evelyn, and Zaiden shared a look.
"Charlus Potter," Alphard stated simply.
Octavius primmed up his lips. "You sure?"
Alphard just arched an eyebrow.
"All right," Octavius conceded. "Riddle."
"Tom?"
"How many Riddles do you know?"
"Many. This thing all things devours:
birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites-"
"Yes, Tom Riddle."
"You know we are supposed to say name and surname. We have been doing this for years... Any road, we are both up for a real challenge this time, Hallelujah!"
Octavius sighed heavily, "Prize?"
"Your sister."
"Absolutely not."
"A kiss from your sister."
"Black..."
"A slap from your sister?"
"Are you serious?"
"Salazar's sake, no, that's my uncle, Sirius Perseus Rigel Black."
Octavius groaned again and hid his face in the palm of his hand. "Why I still put up with you after eighteen years I don't know."
Alphard grinned, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. "Because I'm funny and your best mate. Now, as I was saying, I will gladly accept a slap from your sister. Anything from her beautiful hands... and that mouth..."
"So," Octavius interrupted him, his hands balled into tight fists to not choke his best friend for good. "I want you to shut up for a week, seven days-"
Smirking, Alphard asked instead, "Prize?"
"What? I already told you-"
"You keep forgetting how our negotiations work. Respect the order of things. Prize?"
"A Silencio cast on you for the duration of seven days."
"That's cruel!"
"That's a blessing for the whole school."
Octavius and Alphard stared at each other for a couple of seconds in which Hermione shared another glance with her two friends: they both looked confused but amused to no end.
"Who would be the caster?" Alphard asked regretfully, slumping his shoulders in defeat.
"Why, Hermione of course," was Octavius' reply. At once, the boys turned to Hermione with two identical questioning looks and Hermione widened her eyes.
"What!?" she cried in disbelief, frantically shaking her head. "No, no way! No way you will involve me in your stupid bet!"
Octavius hissed. Clutching his chest and curling the corners of his mouth downwards, he tilted his head towards his best friend, "Heard that, Alphius? She called our negotiation a 'stupid bet'!"
"I heard it, Octard," Alphard said indignantly, his face screwed in outrage and Hermione rolled her eyes so hard she felt pain in the back of her skull- but she still had that fraction of a second to appreciate how Alphard's face remained nauseatingly attractive even when grimacing.
Centuries of inbreeding, Hermione, she reminded herself.
"Evelyn?" Octavius asked the blonde girl, his voice filled with hope.
Evelyn shrugged, "Sure."
Hermione wrinkled her nose when Octavius and Alphard spat into their palm and clapped hands, grinning like fools, but the disgust was soon replaced by respect as she realised that two pure-bloods had just sealed their stupid bet the Muggle way, so she smiled and then laughed heartily at Octavius' request to kiss him good luck on the cheek.
Hermione still felt his fierce glare on her back, but she slid off the bench to stand all the same, shrugging off the feeling of his dark eyes following her every movement, and she lifted her head with determination, even when a part of her, the old and wise Hermione Granger, knew far too well that the feeling was still there, that she couldn't just will it away. But she could turn it into a weapon.
Standing on her tiptoes, Hermione placed a hand on Octavius' cheek and kissed the other with a resounding smack. This was hardly revenge for what he had done, especially when Octavius ruined the moment and turned to get a kiss from Evelyn ("Kiss number two!") and two other Gryffindor girls sitting nearby ("Three and... four!").
"He's the fifth player on the team," Alphard explained. Hermione was about to say something, but a loud smack that didn't sound like a kiss at all made her look over her shoulder: there, in the middle of the Great Hall, stood Octavius Weasley rubbing his cheek and keeping his wide betrayed eyes fixed on professor Merrythought's back. The woman was walking to the High Table, smirking.
Hermione had to admit that she was feeling much better, thanks to Alphard. After Octavius had left the Great Hall to go and get warmed up for the game, the Slytherin boy had entertained Hermione with funny stories from his childhood, mostly pranks he and Octavius had set in sunny days of summer spent at home or stunts pulled in the castle, specifically the dorms, to teach a lesson to bullies. She'd gaped when Alphard mentioned that the bullies were usually Slytherins, his own housemates; he'd just smiled sadly when Hermione observed so, and said that he had few friends in his House in any case, not that he minded.
Hermione had talked with Alphard and Octavius before, Evelyn had introduced them months ago, but only now, as Alphard explained how he and Weasley had managed to elude the enchantment on the staircase to the girls' dormitories in their second year, she realised how close the two boys were, like inseparable brothers. Like twins, she thought with a pang of homesickness in her chest.
Furthermore, if the pair of best friends painfully reminded her of Fred and George, Alphard looked like his nephew Sirius in appearance and more, with his wavy black hair and charming smile that promised mischief as soon as a back was turned. But his eyes weren't grey, they were a warm brown, and his voice was younger and light, not haunted and deep, and that's why Hermione didn't like it when Alphard called her 'kitten', because she knew that he wasn't Sirius and couldn't delude herself in believing the contrary. Granted, she had never liked it when Sirius had called her 'kitten' in that mocking tone of his, especially after she'd told him off for treating Kreacher like shit, and that had happened more than once, but the memory still made her close her eyes and regret all their shouting contests and the days of silent treatment that had always followed.
Sighing, Hermione made herself look back at Alphard only to find him staring back through narrowed eyes. Evelyn and Zaiden luckily chose that moment to reinsert themselves in the conversation, saving her from offering an explanation, or a lie, for her mood to someone who was much more perceptive than Sirius. Yes, Alphard was definitely his own persona.
"Huh, Alphius...?" Evelyn crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side. "What are you betting on this time?"
"As if you are not doing the same-" he tried to distract her, but Evelyn just waited, tapping her finger on her forearm in a perfect impression of Professor McGonagall. Yes, Hermione remembered the face of her dear professor, waiting for an explanation from Harry and Ron after having been caught wandering somewhere forbidden in the castle or, most of the times, outside the castle. Hermione suppressed a giggle and then wondered if she was finally getting hysterical.
"Alphard," Evelyn threatened, squinting her eyes at him. Alphard's Adam apple popped audibly.
"Alright, alright," he exhaled, holding up his hands in surrender. "Merlin's balls, woman, you are a spoilsport."
Evelyn pinched his arm.
"Who ends up first in the Hospital Wing!"
"What!?" Hermione and Evelyn both cried, but the idiot didn't appear ashamed in the least.
No one said anything for a while (the Ravenclaw girls looked murderous, daring Alphard to utter another word), until...
"Five galleons on Potter," Zaiden said, spitting into the palm of his hand.
Alphard grinned and did the same. "You are in, mate."
Almost all students had already left the Great Hall by the time Hermione and her friends decided it was time to go. The sun was already high in the sky and shy rays filtered through the windows when they walked into the Entrance Hall to get to the Middle Courtyard.
"So Charlus Potter is engaged with Caliadne Greengrass," Evelyn was telling Hermione while they walked leisurely across the corridors, Zaiden and Alphard following behind. "And his girlfriend, Scarlett Prince, is engaged with Orion Black, who is in third year, but Orion's pretty much in love with Walburga, who won't even look at him, of course, poor thing... She's such a-"
Alphard grunted.
"-a lovely girl indeed. She's Alphard's sister. Slytherin, our year, so you must have seen her. Can't really not notice her." Hermione's eyebrows shot up.
"I didn't know you two were twins!" she said, glancing over her shoulder to see Alphard shrug, an indecipherable look crossing his face.
"Anyway," Evelyn continued, "point is that Charlus told Greengrass he's going to catch the Snitch for her... in front of Scarlett. Poor girl was standing there and the git winked at Greengrass-"
"Yes, well, half of the school has promised something to Calia," Alphard interjected, in spite of all his attempts at ignoring Evelyn's gossip, a part of the girl that Hermione had discovered only recently. It wasn't as annoying as Lavender and Parvati's tittle-tattle, mainly because Evelyn often seized the opportunity to make fun of their classmates, so Hermione didn't mind at all.
Evelyn scoffed, but Hermione and Zaiden looked confused, so Alphard clarified, "Only yesterday Tom swore he would be the one to catch the Snitch for Caliadne."
"That trollop has her snakes wrapped around her little finger-"
"I'm a snake and I'm certainly not wrapped anywhere around her-"
"Of course not, you are better than that!"
"Glad you know. Besides, she may be pretty... but you and Hermione outshine her."
"Ha ha, heard that, Hermione? Hermione...?"
But Hermione didn't hear Evelyn. In fact, she hadn't heard a word since registering what Alphard had said. Standing in the middle of the corridor, she thought that it was silly, really: he was just a boy like any other, a kiss didn't mean anything, their kiss hadn't meant anything, not for him nor for her; he was free to show interest for any witch he wanted, free to catch the bloody Snitch in their names, free to take them to Hogsmeade, to the Astronomy Tower or into his bed.
So, why was she feeling her chest constrict in pain... she shouldn't feel this way. So why?
"Hermione?" Evelyn called her again, walking back to her. Hermione snapped her eyes open and blinked a few times before nodding, forcing a smile on her lips. Evelyn shook her head, worry and guilt painted on her face. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"Hermione Granger?"
Startled, Hermione straightened her spine and swung around to see a tiny girl with black curly hair and black eyes cross the corridor in a sprint.
"F-from professor Dumbledore," she gasped, handing Hermione a letter and then doubling over her knees to catch her breath.
Somewhat amused, Hermione forgot all her senseless worries and peered curiously at the creamy envelope, turning it over in her hands.
"Thank you," she said to the girl, receiving a timid smile in response.
"I wonder what he wants on a Saturday," Evelyn frowned.
Hadn't he said he would ask a friend about cursed scars? Hermione bit her lip, knowing it was better not to get her hopes up.
"You go to the Quidditch Pitch, I will join you later," Hermione said absently, her eyes still scanning Dumbledore's letter, for what she didn't know. "Save me a seat, please."
Evelyn, Alphard and Zaiden were already at the end of the corridor when Hermione tore her eyes from the envelope and called them back, "Do you have the coins I gave you?"
Her friends nodded at once, patting their pockets, and Hermione felt her chest constrict again, but for a very different reason this time.
"Good", she muttered and, ignoring the worried look that Evelyn and Zaiden shared, she turned away and ducked inside an empty classroom before her friends could catch up with her; Hermione usually didn't open Dumbledore's letters in front of others for fear they would pick up something she wasn't ready to explain yet, but there was something else about this last missive, a sort of anticipation.
Still biting her lip, Hermione opened the envelope, pulled out the parchment and unfolded it. Foolish girl. It happened all too quickly and it took an instant for her to realise that the few words elegantly written at the top of the parchment weren't Dumbledore's, an instant in which she managed to read the two lines before a loud CRACK sucked her into the inevitable space warp.
It is his Highness' pleasure that the queen
Appear in person here in court. Silence!
.
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Gryffindor is in disadvantage and Flint's sneer can't be wider. Hovering over the Quidditch Pitch, both hands holding the handle of Abraxas' Comet 180 in a death grip - "They gave you the Comet 140? That broom is a joke," he had said, "you use my 180 against Potter's Cleansweep" - I look below at the ring to follow another spectacular save of Nott as he dives in front of the smallest hoop and knocks the Quaffle with the broom's head, tossing it to the nearest Lestrange.
"And Nott saves the Quaffle again," a slightly dreamy voice exclaims in the megaphone of the commentator. The dirty blond locks of Zaiden's best friend Lovegood are visible even from here. "Slytherin's keeper hasn't missed one yet-"
Of course he hasn't, I think with a grin. No matter how hard Feodor tries to hide it, I know that he is having fun playing the keeper and making the audience hold their breath for several agonising seconds when the Quaffle gets too close to the hoops: Feodor is Slytherin's ace.
"Nott is our ace,
he always saves the Quaffle with grace,
he hisses in Potter's ugly face,
to stick his broom in that place,
because Nott is the only ace!
We shout worse than a mandrake:
here he comes our snake,
win he will Slytherin make,
because Nott is our ace."
I roll my eyes as Lovegood hums the song in the megaphone, but the Slytherins don't seem to mind, on the contrary, the choir rises volume and- and then I feel it. The spell pulling me towards the Snitch. I dart forwards and there it is, a little shining dot floating closer and closer; I keep my eyes trained on it, swearing to myself that this time the little devil will be mine. Too bad that Charlus is thinking the same; I curse loudly when he rushes to my side, stretching his arm and kicking my broom with his leg. Fuming, I give him a hefty shove of my own and, making him momentarily lose control of his broom, I don't waste time: willing the Comet to reach its highest speed, I lunge forwards, squinting against the sun, the wind grazing my skin-
"AARGH!"
Potter pounces on me with all his weight and I howl in pain as he sweeps me away, hurling me with my broom earthwards, spinning, and, with my horror, loosening my grip on the handle. I blink furiously as the broom decelerates and my gloved hands slide rapidly on the shaft to its helve.
No No It can't be No
My ears ring and blood pounds under my skin, running to my face, and I find myself clinging to the broom with my legs dangling into the void at over 100 feet from the ground and I can't hear a thing except my erratic and broken breathing. Clenching my jaw and gritting my teeth, I tighten my grip on the handle and try to drag it down, but the stick is like moving concrete.
No I can't fall Not now I can't let him win No
I kick the air, trying to heft myself up and pull the Comet down, and fail. If only I could reach my wand-
"-me that! COME ON, RIDDLE!"
Evelyn yells in the megaphone and after seconds or ages, I finally hear again the noise of the crowd over the ringing of my ears, but I don't really like it.
"Get on that broom, Riddle. NOW!" Evelyn keeps shouting angrily. So much for encouraging me.
"Get down this instant, you, stupid broom," I growl, using my remaining strengths to move my right hand higher as if I were wielding a thick rope.
"COME ON, TOM! I placed a bet on you and Morgana forbids that I give my precious ten galleons to Alphard-"
"Miss Clearwater!" Dumbledore's shocked voice reaches my ear, magically amplified. The crowd laughs and cheers and shouts nonsense and I lift my knees. Just another push of my arms-
"Professor, why are you here- Tom, quick, Potter lost it!"
Angry and tired and adamant that Charlus Potter can't win this game, I address the stubborn broomstick, "If you don't collaborate, I will burn you."
The threat does the trick and, at last, I move the broom easily, hoist myself over the saddle and blindly follow the pull of my spell in a low dive, past Potter, past the stands, until my fingers wrap around a familiar small ball of metal.
The crowd explodes in a roar of applause and I don't quite remember landing the broom back to the ground or letting professor Slughorn hug me and Alphard shake my hand for his new 'little prize' (something about thanking Salazar that Potter has at least a scratch on his arm worth of the Hospital Wing and hoping a redhead is going to slap him very hard), but I do have a vague memory of Calia asking me about the Snitch. I don't recall the exact words I used, but it's obvious that the girl doesn't like the way I've reminded her I hadn't precisely said I would have caught the Golden Snitch for her, only that I was going to make Slytherin win. The notion that Caliadne Greengrass won't be talking to me for an entire week doesn't make me feel guilty in the slightest.
Abraxas, who's been granted the permission to leave the Hospital Wing for the game, greets me on the door to the locker rooms and I have the sudden urge to strangle him, but one look in Flint's direction halts me. Darius is the epitome of happiness.
"Sorry," Abraxas says sheepishly, looking at his polished shoes. "I forgot to tell you that my broom requires a sort of... reciprocal understanding-"
"Abraxas..." I sigh, taking off my gloves.
"-it's a handy feature when you want the broom to do as you think-"
"Abraxas, it's fine," I shut him up, walking past him into the stinky old room to sit on the bench. "Well, not really fine, but I won't punish you because your broom doesn't understand me," no one does, "and we won for once, so don't worry."
Abraxas breathes a sigh of relief. "You know, you flew well."
"Thanks," I say, extricating myself from equipment and soaked uniform.
"Your technique isn't bad, but if you try to keep one hand free-"
"Don't push your luck, Malfoy," I tell him coldly. I wait for him to swallow whatever punishment he's picturing in his head before flashing him a smirk. It's not like I've physically hurt him before, but Abraxas knows how my little mental games work and they have grown gradually fascinating with time, from simple dares, like steal Veritaserum from Slughorn's storeroom and slip it into Charlus Potter's morning tea and see how he makes a fool of himself, revealing the most shocking yet unsurprising truths, to more difficult tasks, like find an untraceable book (that hasn't been found yet) or send annoying people to the Hospital Wing without getting caught by Albus Dumbledore.
"Well done, Riddle," Flint steps in the locker rooms and claps me on the shoulder. I nod back at him. "And Nott! Damn you, you somethingball player-"
"Football," Feodor mutters, dropping himself onto the bench and yanking the uniform over his head.
"You were crazy, better than Avery-"
Sagging his back against the wall, Nott's words are final, "Don't even think about it, Flint."
Nott is late for lunch. I sit in my usual spot at halfway of the Slytherin table, between Flint and Rosier, who are reviving the match for a change, and slowly chew my food without really savouring it. My pocket watch is ticking against my heartbeat, warm and heavier than usual in a distracting way, but I blame the last two hours of exertion and Charlus Potter for that, even if, now that I think about it, I could have conjured wandlessly a Cushioning Charm on the ground to soften the fall, had the situation required it. When has it deserted me, the capability to think clearly?
My guts clench and twist and can't fathom why: I'm fine and the Snitch is floating over the table.
"The Ravenclaw girl bet on you."
I turn to look at Flint, who is shooting smirks at the Lions' table. I ask, "Clearwater?"
Nodding, Flint moves his gaze back to me and smiles, no trace of his usual sneer on his lips. "Yes, I overheard the little one, Davies, saying that she was sure you would catch the Snitch."
Strange, Evelyn hasn't spoken to me in days, limiting herself to glare daggers in my direction the few times we've crossed paths.
"So Alphard bet I wouldn't?" I ask, not knowing how to feel about that. I hardly know Alphard Black.
Flint shrugs, "He's a Gryffindor at heart. Anyway, Davies was saying Clearwater was pretty certain you would make us win. And the Granger girl too, said you were going to catch the Snitch 'cause you wouldn't have it another way... I'm starting to like these Ravenclaws."
There it is again, that feeling in my stomach, tightening, making me gulp and sweat and hear the sodding tick tock loud in my ears and up my throat- yet her eyes don't meet mine when I ultimately raise my head to acknowledge whatever she's been trying to tell me. I can still hear it in my ears, vibrating strong as if she shouts a whisper and I know it's her voice or a memory of it, telling me to follow a thread and just look at her, but even though I'm listening hard, I don't see her. She's just not here.
.
.
Hermione didn't know where she was. She couldn't make out a shape for it was dark, so dark she thought she was going blind. Her head hurt, but it wasn't the kind of hurt felt after a fall, and she knew that she had fallen at some point; the feeling was more subtle, like a rope gently fastened about her mind to not let her escape but not alarm her as well.
Of course, she thought. She'd been bound with the Full Body-Bind Curse; Hermione knew that she could undo the curse relatively easily even without her wand, but then what, how to proceed from there? She didn't know where she was, everything was so dark and quiet here, and moreover, she didn't know who her captors were. Because she was aware there were people here, close, so close to her body.
Had it been possible, Hermione would have screamed, more in outrage than fear, when someone silently levitated her in the air, taking her only Morgana knew.
Morgana, huh... Now of all times Hermione had to question since when she had started to invoke Morgana, or Merlin or Godric, instead of God. But then, this might well be the last time she would have the chance to think, question and pray- before facing Death.
Death... I wonder if I could invoke him, or her, like Morgana. Not that she has ever answered me. Hmm, have I ever actually asked her something?
Either her captor had four feet or there were two of them, she thought as they turned left and walked in a cosy corridor, the sound of footsteps now clear but muffled by something, probably rugs. She could hear and see now, not much, but at least her senses were coming back; she was surprised to find a warm light in this remote place. Oil lamps lit the walls covered in dark green carpet and the traditional wood coffered ceiling with a dim yellowish glow.
Dear Death, this is the first time I pray- to you. I mean, I used to pray to God, but now that I'm already down here, wherever here is, I think it's more appropriate, you know, talk with- to you.
The place smelled nice, of parchment and burning wood and something else not unpleasant, like the cigars that her grandpa used to smoke in the attic, in front of the wide-open window.
"Just another drag off my cigar, Hermione, I promise..." he'd always said when the little girl caught him red-handed. "Just don't tell your grandma, please?"
Little Hermione had clasped her hands behind her back all the times, though, batting her eyes innocently, a little smirk creeping on her lips. "Mama took the gummy bears."
Moist gathered in Hermione's eyes as she remembered her grandfather roll his eyes and lift her in his arms; more than once they had run into the kitchen to grab the forbidden sweets, stealing them from the highest shelf of the cupboard, holding their breath for fear that Helen or Grandma Ariadne would detect them.
The tears couldn't run down her cheeks nor Hermione could blink them away. Her eyes were starting to hurt.
Dear Death, I don't know what, who is waiting for me, just- just help me, okay? I promise I will be good, I promise I'm going to follow when you call me, without question I'll come with you.
Arrived at the end of the hall, one of the two men knocked firmly on a door, for she knew her captors were both males by their heavy footfall. Blood rushing through her veins to her head too fast, her eyes unfocused, Hermione barely registered being moved into a room and lowered onto something soft until a warm hand settled on her shoulder. Wincing, her body found the movement unrestrained.
Oh please help me I promise I won't smoke I promise I won't indulge in sugar Please take me back to Hogwarts
"Hello, Hermione."
That voice. She had heard it before and hoped she would never again, but hope had never worked, hadn't it? No, she had to face him this time, alone, and no Dumbledore would come to rescue her. No Evelyn, no Zaiden.
Without trembling under his gaze, without taking that shuddering breath threatening to spill from her throat, Hermione wiped her eyes with the pretest of massaging her forehead, taking her time to regain her composure, and, at last, she raised her head.
"You," she said steadily, unwavering.
Crouched before her, Gellert Grindelwald released her shoulder and stared up into her face, studying her as if she were a rare creature. He looked almost normal with his short blond hair and light-coloured eyes, though one was darker; the thin lines adorning his face did nothing to lessen the beauty she had seen ages ago in Rita Skeeter's book, in fact they enhanced his spine-chilling perfection, the fine and sharp bones, the thin lips of his mouth curled in a kind smile. A mask so flawless that Hermione just couldn't let herself be deceived.
"Me," he nodded, a smirk twitching on his lips.
Hermione let her eyes dart around for an instant before forcing herself to look at him again. A window, a door, a fireplace, no grates. The room looked like a study. Her wand, where was it- no, it's still here, up her sleeve, good. It's raining, that told her nothing of where she was, it could have been anywhere, damn it.
Standing in one swift movement, the man walked to the fireplace and leaned against the side of the mantel, arms crossed over his chest, appraising her, again.
"You know, I've been wanting to talk with you for quite some time," he said, his eyes not leaving hers. His voice wasn't deep, but it was masculine. His accent was unidentifiable and seductive, subtle and mysterious. "Since that night, actually. Do you remember that night, Hermione?"
Hermione clenched her hands, lashing words ready on the tip of her tongue- Yes, I remember that night, how can I possibly forget, I remember the bodies, the children, you killed them, you, bastard- but her lips remained sealed and a crease formed on her forehead as a crackling sound caught her attention; she hadn't realised that the stupid Portkey was still clutched in her hand.
"Ah, yes." This time the smirk remained there. Grindelwald's gaze followed the parchment fall at Hermione's feet. "I hope you appreciated the, ha, poetry in it. An elegant and fitting idea, I dare say, for the invitation of a lovely and brave woman to my humble abode."
"Does that make you the crazy king?" The question pushed past her lips before she could control herself. Hermione suppressed a sigh of relief when the man just chuckled.
"I prefer the title of Lord," he admitted, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "But you flatter me, Hermione."
She didn't have to be scared. Had Grindelwald wanted to kill her, he would have done it when she had first appeared in his study, or probably that time in Hogsmeade. She needn't be scared.
"Why am I here?" Hermione asked stiffly and then widened her eyes, feeling a powerful wave of anxiety creep on her skin when he pushed off the wall and crossed the room in three long strides- to sit beside her on the couch, on the very opposite end of it, lounging over the arm.
"Why, I wanted to see you," he said with a grin, making her anxiety increase considerably. "Don't worry darling, you are not here for a trial. I have a proposition for you."
Hermione kept her mouth shut while she thought about what this man- Dark Lord could want with her.
"What kind of proposition?" she asked cautiously, trying not to narrow her eyes.
Grindelwald didn't answer her question right away, choosing this moment to draw his wand and summon a tray carrying two crystal glasses and a decanter of spirit. He flashed Hermione another smile before turning to the silver tray hovering over his knees; he poured three fingers of the amber-coloured liquor in each glass and offered one to Hermione. She didn't want to take it, nor drink it, and she debated for several seconds. Grindelwald just looked at her with that damn smile, keeping the glass within her reach and daring her to decline the drink and his courtesy. Biting her lip, Hermione took the drink, careful to not touch his fingers in the process, and she slowly brought it to her lips and halted it there, waiting. Grindelwald knocked back half of his own.
"See?" he smirked. "It's not poisoned."
"You may have slipped something in my glass before I arrived," Hermione narrowed her eyes this time and the man rolled his.
"I swear on my blood that your drink is clean of anything lethal, Hermione."
Hermione wanted to debate and say that alcohol could be lethal, but she didn't want to dwell on superfluous details, not when she was walking on a tightrope. Waiting for Grindelwald to resume the conversation, she sipped the spirit. Although strong, it didn't burn her throat like she had expected to; in fact, it tasted very good, so hot and refreshing at the same time that she took another swig and kept the liquor in her mouth, swirling it over her tongue in relish.
"I want you to work for me."
Hermione choked on her drink and Grindelwald laughed at her, earning a glare that didn't scare him in the slightest, not when the girl was spluttering all over the carpet and her dignity was flying out of the window.
"You waited on purpose," she accused him when the coughing stopped. Her face was burning with embarrassment.
Grindelwald shrugged, "Just good timing. So, what say you?"
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and rubbed her sweaty hands on her pleated skirt.
"You do realise I'm a Mudblood, right?" she asked bitterly, tilting her head sideways. Grindelwald arched an eyebrow and she realised only too late her choice of word.
"I had my suspects and now I know, but your blood status doesn't concern me," he replied, sending their empty glasses back over the desk with a flick of his wand.
Hermione was incredulous. "What? You spent your life torturing and killing people like me!"
The smile on his lips disappeared completely. Grindelwald turned on the couch to fully face her. "Don't presume to know what I have and haven't done in the past, Hermione. Now, suffice for you to know that I fight for a right cause, protect our world."
"By killing Muggles," Hermione jerked out, fear and caution now replaced by a familiar anger. "And wizards too, apparently. Tell me, are the half-bloods and pure-bloods only collateral damage for you or legitimate targets in your attacks?"
Hermione held her breath upon seeing a muscle work in his jaw, a glint of annoyance in his eyes.
His voice was colder but still calm. "I don't expect you to understand. You are young and don't know how our society works. There is a limited number of ways to obtain real results, to show people where their trust should lie. Disorder is one of such means. It's necessary... and temporary."
Unable to suppress the rage any longer, Hermione finally snapped, "It's fear! What you are doing- It's terror! You are no better than the Muggles!"
Grindelwald abruptly stood up and stared hard at her, his voice coming out in a chilling low murmur. "Don't you dare compare me to those creatures! Do you know how hard it is for us to hide from that- that scum? Every day, every minute, wizards and witches have to look back their shoulder to do even the simplest spell for fear they will see. Your Ministry wants you to believe that this secrecy is to protect them, but the truth is that Muggles are dangerous, a threat to us!"
Combing agitated fingers through his hair, he paused to heave a placating breath, and then went on, "Do you know how many witches and wizards they have killed over the centuries, Hermione? Many, too many. And they inhabit the ninety-eight percent of Earth while we are forced to live in constant disguise and stand to watch and suffer when another of their stupid wars destroys entire cities. Have you seen London these days? Berlin?"
But Hermione had lost him a long time ago. She tried to speak but words were glued to her palate. She swallowed and tried again. "What do you mean... they killed wizards? How- why?"
Grindelwald shook his head, the corner of his lips curling downwards. "Don't tell me you really believe that wizards survived the stake, Hermione. Because they didn't."
"B-but, the books... History of Magic-"
"What would you have thought, I wonder, reading that once upon a time Muggles killed people like you?"
Hermione gaped at him, scared that he could be right. No, he couldn't be, she couldn't have been taught a lie.
"But they had a wand," she tried to reason, "surely they could have protected themselves-"
Grindelwald interrupted her, furrowing his eyebrows. "You forget that not all wizards had the luxury of owning a wand, Hermione," he said sombrely.
She didn't know why, but Hermione wanted to cry. They were talking about something that had happened centuries before and yet...
"Today, perhaps at this moment, Muggle-borns like you who don't even know of the existence of our world, their world, die for the most different and unthinkable reasons by Muggle hands. You do know what's happening in Germany, don't you? And other nations in Europe? Do you know how many children end up in..."
He didn't finish the sentence and words hung in the silence, clear like the images they evoked. She knew, of course she knew, she had read everything about it, the numbers, the names-
"But you are killing people too..." Hermione murmured, closing her eyes, the silhouette of bodies sprawled on the white snow burnt for eternity behind her eyelids.
"It's a necessity."
"You are a cruel man."
"This is the second time you flatter me, Hermione. Do you really think I'm alone in this?"
Hermione opened her eyes, a shadow of horror falling into her gaze.
He didn't smile or blink. He answered her silent question. "No single man can obtain terror, as you called it, from entire nations."
Hermione wanted to counter but she didn't say anything. Grindelwald picked up her thoughts with only a look in her eyes.
"Oh, you think about the Muggles and that leader in Germany, don't you? He isn't alone, my dear. His beliefs are shared by many others."
She was sure that he wasn't using Legilimency on her, but he always seemed to know what was going on in her head. Was she so easy to read?
"I don't share your views, Grindelwald." It was the first time she spoke his name. It felt terrible, hearing it in her own voice. "I can't work with you."
Grindelwald arched an eyebrow. "No? Are you sure?"
Hermione leapt to her feet. "No, I won't kill people, I'm not like that. Goodbye."
She went straight for the door. It was locked. Bugger.
"Oh, I know, Hermione," he said. She could hear a condescending smirk in that alluring voice of his. "You are too good, too brave to kill innocents. Because that's what I do, right? Kill innocents. You would readily shield a kid with your body."
She turned around just in time to see his eyes travelling over the length of her. There was no lust in his gaze, no hunger, but she could detect something else, something dangerous. Something she had felt months before, that night, in that clearing. She was a prey to him.
"Just like me, you are too loyal to your beliefs," he continued, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "And so heroic. So heroic that, one evening of winter, you would cut yourself off from the rest of the world with a powerful protecting enchantment to save an entire village. So fearless that you would duel your potential killer within your wards to save an entire village, without an escape were I going to be less inclined to let you live. They told me you are a Ravenclaw, but your virtues combined would make you an awfully perfect Gryffindor."
Hermione could only stare at him, a sparkle of fear reigniting deep in her stomach.
"They?" she repeated, removing unnoticeably her hand from the doorknob. She turned slightly on her feet and let her hand slide over her hidden hip.
Grindelwald just smiled and Hermione started to understand.
"Open the door," she said. She rubbed her arm against her hip, trying to free it-
"But Hermione, you just got here," he frowned, taking a deliberately slow step towards her.
"They will come looking for me if I don't go back." She managed to raise her sleeve-
"I don't think they will even notice your absence. Slytherin against Gryffindor, Hermione? Not a chance."
"You caught the perfect opportunity," she observed, seething inwardly. "And to even know that I wouldn't open a letter from Dumbledore in front of my friends... It's brilliant, really." She rubbed her arm down her side, lifting the resistant fabric-
"It was only a guess. I imagined that whatever you meet old Albus for is private. The fact that you were alone when you opened my invitation was pure luck, nothing more."
"What if someone saw me disappear?" Her sleeve was now pulled up as far as it would go without Grindelwald noticing her movements.
"They would be taken care of," Grindelwald said simply, taking another step forwards. Hermione nodded, impressed, screaming on the inside.
"The question now is, how do you know so much?" she asked. The wand fell in her waiting hand.
"Oh, there are far too many articles around, about the most anticipated Quidditch game of Hogwarts, the Prophet doesn't talk about anything else these days. I'm sure you can figure out the rest without my help."
Hermione swung to fully face him, backing up against the door, her wand hidden behind her thighs. "You have spies in the castle" she stated.
His smile was captivating and appalling. "Only one... for the moment."
Hermione blanched. "You want to turn me into a spy," she chocked out.
Grindelwald clapped his hands twice, a broad grin contorting his face. "You really are intelligent."
Hermione shook her head so hard it hurt, "No, never! I will never work for-"
"Imagine," Grindelwald halted her with a hand, his wand-hand. There was no wand, but Hermione still flinched, knowing what this man was capable of. "Imagine my surprise when not only the girl I was duelling was quite powerful and skilled, but close to one of my dearest friends... Touching, how he ran to save you like your knight in shining armour, that night."
Dumbledore.
Hermione felt her knees nearly buckle, but she forced to keep it together. She had to get out from here.
"I won't spy on Professor Dumbledore," she told him, the hold on her wand tightening. "Now, open the door."
Grindelwald closed their distance with two unhurried steps. His voice sounded sad. "I can't, my dear Hermione, not yet. You see, Albus cares for you. You, working for me, it would be just perfect."
"Open. The. Door," Hermione articulated through gritted teeth, standing tall against the door, just a breath away from the dark wizard who was now smiling condescendingly down at her.
He caught a curl between the pad of his fingers and murmured, "Not yet."
This was it. She didn't think or blink, only acted as fury consumed her. She pushed his chest, her wand aimed, revulsion and anger dripping from her order, "DON'T TOUCH ME! Expelliarmus!"
But he was too fast and the Disarming Charm bounced off his Shield Charm, crashing Hermione against the door, her head slamming so hard on the hard surface that her sight failed for a moment.
"You, foolish girl!" Grindelwald spat, a spell ready on the tip of his stick. Hermione hastily dodged it and bustled past him, over the couch, planning to dash behind the desk, reach the window, blast the glass, jump-
"Don't even think about it, Hermione!" he bellowed and something tight and bruising seized her ankles, making her fall on the carpet, dragging her back. Hermione cried in pain, feeling ropes fastening around her limbs, and her body was yanked across the floor to the centre of the room. She tried to wriggle and kick and arch her back, but the curse kept her firmly fixed to the ground; her pinned spine and ribs ached and Hermione couldn't suppress a sob.
"I don't want to use force on you, Hermione." The sight of Grindelwald standing close, so close to her body was blurred. "Tell me you won't escape and use your wand on me again and I shall free you."
Hermione wanted to shout, Fuck you!, but the pain was unbearable. She nodded.
"Good girl," he purred and then she was free to sit on the floor and all the pain melted away. She didn't protest when the man made her stand and then sit down on the couch, his warm hand gently leading her on the shoulder.
Crouching before her, he tilted her chin. She could see every pore on his skin from this much more intimate proximity, every line at the corner of his eyes- his eyes. She feared his eyes, one so light and transparent and cold, the other so dark and warm.
"Now, Hermione," he told her, his voice as kind as before. "I just want you to hear me out. I believe you will need time to make a decision."
Hermione just looked at him.
"I don't like it when people get in my way and you got in my way that night, Hermione. Fortunately for you, though, you are... special. And useful. You see, in his extensive knowledge of things, Albus Dumbledore is aware of certain things I need to know. The whereabouts of something I've been looking for. My spy tells me you and my old friend are pretty close."
"I could tell him everything when I return. Everything you told me today," Hermione whispered. It wasn't a threat, only a statement. She needed to know how far this bastard would go to ensure victory.
"No, you won't," he retorted easily. "You won't open that pretty mouth of yours because you surely don't want to suffer the next time we see each other. Oh yes," he nodded gravely when her lower lip quivered, "there is going to be a next time, love. Either here, in this quiet study, or at home. Remember Hogsmeade? It's so close to Hogwarts, isn't it?"
Hermione felt nausea rise in her throat and fog her brain. He had plans to-
"But you can avoid it. Besides, you have friends at Hogwarts, don't you? Miss Clearwater and Mr Davies- and Mr Nott and Mr Riddle and even your professor Noel. Say you will work for me and you all are out of danger. Everyone else too, if you ask me nicely."
Hermione's mouth was dry. Her voice came out in a raspy murmur, "And if I don't accept?"
Grindelwald took her hand and held it between his, massaging her white skin with his thumbs. "Then, the next time we cross paths, I can't promise that your death will be quick and painless. I'm actually going to give you a taste of what will happen to you and your loved ones should your answer not please me- now, before I return you to your school."
Hermione shivered, feeling her face drain of colour once again. She tried to wrench her hand from his and get away, but the grip that downed on her shoulders was heavy.
"Oh, Hermione," he tutted, "God knows I don't want to hurt you, but I have to do it. For you, darling."
Hermione choked on a sob, straining her eyes to not leave his, even as she was breaking down, the memory of hours of torture in a dark drawing room echoing in her head.
"P-please," she implored him, "don't."
Grindelwald sighed and stood up. How could he sound so sad when his wand was still in his hand, waiting to be lifted?
"I'm sorry, Hermione, I really am. This is to persuade and punish you. You did point your wand at me, after all. If we are going to work together in the future, you must know that I don't take kindly to insubordination. Mutual respect is essential."
Hermione knew what was to come and that being ready for it wasn't going to help her. Had she been a coward, she would be on her knees right now, begging for mercy, but she couldn't even lie to herself; she couldn't fight either, for this sick, dark wizard was too powerful against her limited experience in fighting. The least she could do was swear to herself she wouldn't cry nor scream.
Grindelwald raised the Elder Wand and the last coherent word Hermione managed to form in her mind, before breaking her vow, was predictable.
"Crucio."
Thousands knives transfixed her skin, speared her temples, stabbed her stomach, fire burned through her veins, bubbling in her lungs, making her scream and cry and scream over and over again. It was like nothing she had experienced before and it hurt and Bellatrix was laughing at her, the blade in her hand, and then Darkness threatened to engulf her but didn't want to go through with it She was defenceless against the Dark and the shocks abusing her nerves-
The curse was lifted. "Hermione, do you know what I'm looking for? They told me you are quite informed on the subject. That you know the meaning of a particular symbol."
Panting heavily, Hermione snapped her eyes open and found herself on the floor, curled into fetal position, sweat and tears coating her face.
"I-I," she stammered, trying to formulate what she needed to say more times in her head, still failing to bring words onto her tongue. "I-I d-don't know-"
"Pity. To think that I could stop now... Crucio."
It was worse, so much worse. She could hardly make out her own screams and what she heard were the thuds of her heart exploding in her ribcage and then shouts vibrating to her core- where those hers? Make it stop Stop Stop Fucking Stop She trashed her legs and arms, kicking, screaming, begging
It stopped. "Hermione, the symbol."
She found herself stretched out on her back, her hands buried in her hair, fingers scraping her scalp. Her legs ached and blood flowed down her tights, spilling from gashes, over the flesh she had flayed herself, with her own now split nails. Gulping air in generous lungfuls, Hermione guided her hands back down her sides.
"I-I only know... a f-fairy tale... brothers- Nurmengard... Hallows... d-don't exist... myth-"
"But, do you really believe it a myth?"
And in a moment of lucidity, Hermione knew what he was going to do and only a breath later he was there, looming over her weakened form, his eyes everything she could see through a tunnel of darkness, and he was staring back, into her, probing her mind. But for this she was ready.
Grindelwald didn't fall into a bottomless sea of hidden memories. Hermione let him see it: her reading the Daily Prophet, explaining the symbol to Zaiden, talking about the Hallows in the Library- "It's just a story... In the end every wizard ends up with an ordinary object,"- "I bet they don't exist... Beedle isn't so different from the Grimms... can't say I have never seen you eat a book before-"
Hermione sighed in relief when Grindelwald retreated his mental claws from her mind.
"Looks like you were honest." He was disappointed. "You will forgive me, Hermione, but just to make sure you get the message..."
No No Please No more
She didn't hear the incantation because screams erupted from her chest, suffocating everything around her. Flames, ardent blood coursed through her, like Fiendfyre, liquid fire, and she was burning from the inside and she hated him, she hated herself, she hated the pain and she wanted it to stop.
Oh Please, Death, make it quick Too late to ask for salvation, Death, take me Stop it, Death, can you hear me Fucking stop it please I'm dying I'm burning to ash It hurts
And Darkness was there, Death only behind, but they didn't move, her soul wasn't being lifted yet, why? Why?
Hermione screamed and screamed her throat hoarse, her body convulsing in electric storms, but was the storm within or outside? Somewhere up there, she thought she could hear drops of water falling on the roof, beating down on the window, magnified against the wooden walls, and she was drowning and she prayed Please save me Stop Why isn't it enough You kill me Please I can't-
Tom, please, take me away from here Please please Harry, take me to Harry, Death, where are you- Pain So much pain, too much
"I'm sorry Hermione, God, I'm so sorry."
And she was weeping in his chest, barely conscious, a remote part of her aware he, the bastard, her killer, was carrying her through the corridors, whispering comforting words in her ear, wasting his breath telling her she was brave, "So brave, my little Ravenclaw, no more pain, just say yes and I will care for you, child-"
He kept saying her name, stroking her hair, and she hated him, she had never hated someone so much, but he held her tightly, not caring that her bleeding nose was pressed into his white shirt. She hated him so much more just for that.
"I give you three days, Hermione, three days to say yes," he told her, placing her on the floor of an empty room. He knelt in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. I hate you, I hate you, you sick bastard. "Write your answer on this, so I will know it's you."
Grindelwald gave her something, a piece of parchment. He put it into the palm of her hand and forced her fingers to grasp it, gently. Hermione tried to look down to see what was in her hand, but tears were swimming in her eyes. Everything she could see was his sodding sad smile when he tilted her chin.
"I can't wait to see you again, Hermione."
The Portkey had taken Hermione back to school, just outside the gates. She had collapsed to the ground. Grunting, she tried to call for someone, her throat being too raw to even vocalise a word, but no one was watching the Entrance Gates. No one was supposed to witness her return to the castle, it was obvious. She even wanted to laugh hysterically over the genius of her captor. He had thought of everything, the plan had been perfect indeed.
Hermione wanted to stand and be brave and tell herself she had been through worse, but she couldn't because she hadn't been through so much pain before, she had never felt such hunger for death, not even under the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. Not even when she had seen her best friend die.
Will you die here? Really? Hermione pushed herself up on her knees and spat blood. How useless was it, to be sent in the past only to die?
No, this wasn't the time, she knew, so she mustered all her strengths and rose to her feet, wavering, her wand already pointed in her shaking hand.
The incantation for the most potent Unlocking Charm echoed in the air, still no one stopped her when she walked in familiar grounds. No one saw her stagger on the pathway to the castle and clamber up its steps. Her knees failed her on the third.
"A-Accio Galleon." The fake coin landed in her waiting hand. Hermione struggled to warm it up, her hands kept shaking, but after various attempts she succeeded. She could have done better and add her location, but she was so tired...
Hermione remained there for an eternity, on the steps of Hogwarts, waiting for the world to end. It wasn't so bad after all. It was... peaceful. She wasn't even in pain, not when she couldn't feel her muscles under the weight of fatigue. It was like going to sleep.
Voices and footfalls. They were coming to get her. At last.
Someone inhaled sharply and Hermione strained her neck to see, to blink back the darkness that was dragging her, back to somewhere unknown- A pair of shoes.
Tom? Hermione squinted her eyes and then her head fell on the cold marble. People here didn't wear sneakers. She wasn't here. She was going and Darkness covered her eyes-
No No Take me away, Hermione wanted to scream when Darkness faded and someone lifted her from the armpits, like a child, I will care for you, child- No, she didn't want to stay and see him, she wanted to run, she had to run, but arms were wrapped around her so tight-
It's over. I'm still alive.
"Hermione."
She waited. She waited for Death to end his stupid joke and just fuck off, she waited for the hallucination to disappear, because she knew this was nothing more than an illusion, she knew that his voice could be heard only in her head and never more in her ears. But his warm hands didn't let her go.
Hermione pulled back from his warm chest and slowly lifted her head, ready to see his face fade away. Green eyes were staring down at her, tearful, angry, familiar and then she suddenly decided that she didn't care.
She didn't care if she was alive or dead because Harry was here. And she was safe.
.
.
A/N: Yes, I know I said I would update last week, sorry! It seems I can't keep my promises, ever. Anyway, here it is, chapter 9.
I must admit I'm kind of nervous for this chapter. I have the feeling that readers are abandoning my story for its complexity and this chapter is long and definitely not an easy reading. I absolutely don't want to abandon this story myself, because I like it, I love the characters and I already know where their destination is, but I also have the feeling that this is getting too serious and slow. Maybe it's me overthinking everything, maybe I'm still not that mature as a writer, I don't know.
Anyway, the quote on the Portkey is from Shakespeare's Winter's Tale. The first part of the conversation between Hermione and Gellert also refers to the play. The title and theme of the chapter is inspired by Editors' song Salvation.
Thank you so much for the reviews! I really love reading what you think of my story and knowing that you enjoy it does things to my heart!