Yes, I know it's been months, and for that I am terribly sorry. However, I'm moving to Maryland in the next couple of months, so I've not had as much time as any of us might have liked. That being said, I also apologise for the appalling shortness of this chapter. I shall try to have a lengthier addition next time I update.

Please review this! Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!

~AI

Chapter 13

By the time Hermione made it to the Old Bailey, she could hardly breathe. It had been difficult enough to run from The Leaky Cauldron all the way to the train station, but to run another mile and a half nearly killed her. The Old Bailey wasn't anything close to being a whole piece, and there were a good number of people milling about for obscure purposes which Hermione couldn't be bothered to analyse. She began looking up and down the street, even wandering around the edge of the building in search of the boys.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Nil. They were nowhere to be found.

Stumped, Hermione made her way back to the front of the courthouse, plopping down on the steps, confused. Just as an idea popped into her head, a familiar figure came into view, grinning ear to ear. Hermione clenched her teeth, willing herself not to explode.

"I'm impressed, Muddy!" he said. "I truly didn't think you'd make it before I did."

"What have you done with the boys?"

"Do you ever just stop for a chat?"

"Not with Dark Wizards," she snapped. "What have you done with the boys?"

"My boys intercepted them at Glasgow," he said with a smile.

Hermione leaped up from the steps. "You. Did. What?"

"Yes," the Dark Lord replied, apparently unconcerned. "You see, I wondered how it was, exactly, that you knew they were in London. According to Avery, they told no one where they were going, and they'd only left a note with Rosmerta. But, you see, you told me it was the word on the street. Nothing about their trip to Glasgow, nothing about their plans to meet you at Platform 7, and nothing about your plans."

"That wasn't part of the deal," Hermione obligingly pointed out to him.

Riddle looked down at her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Wasn't it?"

She understood a little bit better now: He didn't want her to think like a Slytherin. He wanted her to play like a Gryffindor. She was not to take advantage of his loopholes, she was not keep secrets.

"Who did you kill?"

"I don't know. One of the men. I couldn't be bothered to get his name."

Hermione sank back down onto the steps. What about his family? What about his friends? What would happen to them? Did he have children, a wife, parents? "Where did you dump his body?"

"Aha," said Riddle. "Here we reach the other component of my thoughts: I realised that I'd forgotten a key element that makes a game so interesting. No goals have been set for you." Hermione bit her lip and buried her face in her hands; now mightn't be the best time to inform him she had been planning to sneak home behind his back. "Here." He held out a tightly rolled scroll of paper.

"What is this?" she said.

"The newest bit of the game."

Hermione swallowed hard and unfurled the note. A riddle was written across it in Riddle's very distinct hand. "You want me to find him." This had been the ulterior motive. He had wanted to see her survive without magic before he released "the newest bit of the game." She was tempted to call it the most polite he'd ever been, but she had a hunch he was feeling very let down by her abilities to survive.

"Indeed." Riddle was becoming giddy with pleasure. "And when you find him there will be another riddle attached; solve it in time, and you may just prevent the death of another Muggle. When the other two have been killed or released, depending on your success rate, we'll make this even better, up the ante, if you catch my drift."

Hermione did catch it, and she didn't like what she was finding. "Not the boys."

"Oh, yes." This time he actually giggled. "Oh, Muddy, this could prove to be an exceptional experience for both of us."

"Please, not the boys."

"Why ever not?"

"We just want to go home!"

"Yes, and I don't want to die," he retorted. "D'you see how this is working out, Muddy?"

"Please!" Hermione wasn't above begging.

"What, so you can go home and kill me, happy as larks?" He wagged his finger at her. "I think not."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to play the game."

"If I find the Muggles in time, you have to let them go free, and you have to help us go home."

Riddle rolled his eyes. "What part of 'I make the rules' did you fail to understand?"

"There has to be a compromise, some way I can insure the boys' safety."

Riddle looked like he might actually take this suggestion into consideration. "I shall consider the idea and apply it accordingly." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Fair warning, Muddy, you may not like the terms of the compromise."

"If you've got anything to do with any of them, I'm sure I won't," she returned scathingly.

"Now, now, Muddy, don't be so hard on me. I may turn this in your favour. It's not likely, but I may. If I am . . . duly pleased. I think this could work very well for both of us."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?"

"You're not going to make me kill anyone, are you?"

He shrugged. "I didn't have it in mind, but now that you mention it –"

Oh nicely done, Granger. Very nicely done.

She could reclaim this fight. She wasn't sure how, but she knew she could. "What do I get?"

Riddle actually snorted in amusement. "I'm sorry?"

"What do I get? Besides the clue. There has to be something else."

His eyes seemed to dance with humour. "Oh, very well, I'll play along. What is it you want?"

Hermione was thinking quickly. "You said Dumbledore was off limits, and I couldn't go to him for help."

"Correct." His eyes narrowed; he was sensing her exploitation of a loophole.

"But you never said I couldn't contact the dead."

"Granger –"

"There is a mirror that will be in Borgin and Burke's –"

"Yes, I know it!"

Hermione could smell victory, but would she get to taste it? Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, had revealed a chink in his armour; he didn't want her to have help from Dumbledore, and while the dead might not have been the easiest or most peaceful way of doing things, she would have greater success than trying to do this on her own. The mirror, an artefact salvaged from the Salem witch hunts, could be accessed by any soul not trapped inside its own body, if allowed by Hermione, becoming a house of sorts. Theoretically, she could speak to souls trapped inside dementors, possibly even free them, but Hermione only knew a handful of people who had been fed to dementors; none of them existed in this time, and she wasn't all that keen to speak to them anyway. The only question was –

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on!"

"No, Granger."

"Why not?!"

"I don't want you getting help from beyond the grave."

"He's my age!" she spluttered. "He's not actually as clever as I am, but I can bounce ideas off him."

Not the nicest you've ever been, Granger.

"Him? Your help, your dead help, is a him?"

"Well . . ." Hermione knew she couldn't lie to him now. Rabastan would know of the incident, and he would probably set Riddle straight. "Technically he's not dead."

"Go on."

"He was going to be fed to the dementors, so I – well, I hid his soul inside my body."

"You stupid girl!" He was right about that one, actually. Ironic in a very unironic way; it was a very dangerous thing to have done, and if any of her former professors had been there to see it, Hermione would have been given the worst hiding of her life, probably by Professor McGonagall. "Do you have any idea how much jeopardy you placed yourself in?"

"I don't think the man who spent several years trying to kill me and my friends is allowed to sound so upset about this," said Hermione sternly.

Riddle crossed his arms over his chest, his chin resting on his fingers; he was weighing the pros and cons to this, Hermione could tell. Would the pros outweigh the cons in her favour? She hoped so.

"What's his name?"

"Sorry?"

"What is the soul's name?"

Best not lie about this one.

"Draco Malfoy."

Riddle's eyes lit up. "A Malfoy?"

"S'what I said."

"You gave a Malfoy permission to house his soul inside your body?" Riddle sounded almost gleeful.

"More or less."

He thinks you were foolish. He probably expects to manipulate the situation.

And he would use the mirror as bait for his trap.

"Oh, how delightfully Gryffindor of you."

He didn't actually expect to use Draco as leverage, did he?

It wouldn't be difficult, especially with a dementor handy.

This was a path best travelled carefully. "So, may I?"

"Use the mirror?"

"Please?"

"Dear me, how can I possibly refuse the word 'please'?"

"You're getting more out of this than I am, I'll have you know," Hermione snapped.

Dammit, don't tempt him, Granger.

Yes, it would probably be much more successful if Riddle thought it was his own idea.

"All right, you can have the mirror – "

Dammit.

" – but I will exact a means of payment, in some form or other."

Do not use your imagination.

"What will you want?"

Riddle shrugged. "I'll let you know."

"That won't work for me."

Riddle laughed. "That's not really for you to decide, is it, Muddy?"

"Actually, it is." When Riddle laughed again, Hermione got to her feet. "You see, you might make some sort of demand – let's say, for the sake of my Muggle history, you want me to turn straw into gold. That requires magic, and can't be done any other way. But if I'm not allowed magic – "

"What I have in mind for you, Mudblood," Riddle interrupted, "will be much more accessible and much easier to provide than golden straw."

Hermione bit back a frustrated sigh. "And here we are, back at Square One."

"I'm not going to tell you what to expect, Muddy. Use your imagination."

"I'm not liking what my imagination's conjuring up."

"That's not really my problem."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but before she could begin to form the words, an arm sneaked around her waist, pulled her quite close, and she suddenly being Apparated into Borgin and Burke's. As quickly as they arrived, Riddle released his grip on Hermione; she was ready for it this time, and caught her balance with a small step backward. Riddle hardly noticed, as his back was turned and he was scanning the shelves in the dingy shop.

"The mirror is extraordinarily expensive, Muddy," he said. "Have you any money?"

For your sake, Granger, he'd better be playing prick.

"Nope."

"Then you're out of luck, aren't you?" Riddle replied, turning around and letting a small grin tug at the corners of his mouth. "No money, no mirror."

"I was thinking about stealing it."

The grin faded immediately. "That's a very foul crime, Muddy."

"Oh, because murdering Myrtle was completely legal," Hermione retorted.

"As an employee of the company, Muddy Granger, I cannot allow you to steal a piece of store property." He was sounding quite pleased about this.

An object on the shelf opposite Hermione caught her eye. "Fine. What's that?"

Riddle furrowed his brow. "What's what?"

As fast and hard as she could, Hermione delivered her best punch to his kidneys. Riddle's knees buckled, and he reached out his right arm to steady himself on the shelf closest. Hermione caught the appendage and brought the edge of her hand down on his throat; the breath caught in Riddle's throat, and he dropped to the floor like a brick.

Hermione wasn't sure how long he would be unconscious, so she worked quickly. Sneaking his wand from his pocket, she cast as many detection spells as she knew; they all came up negative. Clearly Borgin and Burke relied on the reputation of their shop to keep thieves away. As Riddle began to stir, Hermione cast a Sleeping Charm, and reached for the mirror. As soon as it was in her grasp, she felt a swooping, cold sensation throughout her body, and the mirror began to glow. After a very long and confusing moment for Hermione, she saw a barely discernible face peeking at her through the glass.

"Well done, Granger, even if it was a bit stupid."

"I'm making do," she said, tucking the wand back into Riddle's pocket. "Now, then, I believe we have a very dead body to find."