Chapter 21

Stay.

Don't leave.

It was the third day since the attack on Hogwarts. Tom sat on a worn out bench in a countryside park as he perused a copy of the Daily Prophet that he had acquired from the post office in the Hogsmeade village. The school was in shambles. Tom hadn't visited it but he had heard enough rumours to piece together a clear image of what had transpired over the last two days. Contrary to what he had told Hermione, he was in no immediate danger himself. He read through the lines intently as the beginnings of a hazy plot began to assemble itself in his mind. He had been brainstorming for the last couple of days. The newspaper had not coughed up any amount of meaningful information except for one tiny piece. Most of the students had perished, Tom hadn't doubted that for a second. The Aurors who had turned up after the attack had testified to the fact that the Transfiguration teacher had come in late at night to enquire about the happenings but had fled when they asked him to accompany them. They believed his complicity in the massacre. The Headmaster, too, was believed to be dead. Foolish men, did they not understand that the Headmaster was the only one who could have allowed them entry into the castle and the succeeding sealing of the entry ways? No, Tom had no doubts that the Headmaster was up to his neck in the conspiracy and had fled the scene. He was probably prostrate before his current master, doing his bidding. Servants are rather predictable. But there were so many loopholes. Tom could not ascertain whether Malfoy and his other followers had perished as well. They had not known of the plot, that was certain or they would have come running to him for a reward. He could apparate to the Malfoy Manor and verify the facts but he did not need the fact of his survival getting around. They weren't important now. If his plans worked, he wouldn't need school boys for followers. The newspaper also mentioned that the Minister had demitted his office as a consequence of his failure to protect the innocent school children and was currently refusing to face people. To Tom's shrewd eyes it meant that he had been disposed of for good. It probably also meant that Grindelwald had infiltrated the ministry. No, he certainly did not want the news of his being alive getting out. But what might he do with the new development?

Severus Snape. The man was alive. How was that possible? And especially when he had seen the man attend the Ball. There was only one way. He had left before the attack. Unlike the Ministry buffoons, Tom did not for a second believe that he was responsible for the attack. He was a clever man and would not return to the scene of his own crim. The man was... intriguing, to say the least. He had survived. He was Hermione's guardian. Legality would not be an issue here but he needed Hermione to trust him. He was perplexed as to which alternative would best serve his purpose. The man was on run. Should he inform Hermione of the same and gain a little more of the fruit of trust that she in her naive innocence forbid him? Or should he keep it a secret and let things lie as they are? She would not find out about him if he chose to suppress the information. He would make sure of that.

Trust was the major issue. But he wondered if he had gained enough ground to nudge her in the direction he wanted. He frowned as a muscle twitched in his jaw. She wasn't stable yet. She seemed to be on the edge... most of the time.

It had been three days since the attack. Tom was... oddly at a loss. He had his plans. He had means to put them into action. They would materialise and bear fruit. But the ruin of Hogwarts had unnerved his deeply seated sense of self assurance. The great power and value that had lain with the Castle had broken. He could feel it. Hogwarts had been his home. Tom was not the kind to mull over loss and wallow in grief. After all, he had not really lost anything. He was cruel and heartless. He knew of these traits that aided his power and multiplied his strength. But he was no fool. He could see Grindelwald as an explicit threat to his own present and future. His ambitions would not be quelled by the likes of him. And yet, a small doubt had meandered through the dark matter in him and landed its feet in his cunning mind. He had plans. For immortality. And the way things were right now, he would have both within his grasp within a year if he played his cards carefully. He had only one potion left for restoring the element of fire. His being would be untarnished as before from whence he would be able to venture upon the road to immortality. He had it all in his hands.

But power... it was slowly slipping away. He had not planned on a direct attack for many years. His mode of operation lay in secrecy and stealth. But this... If Grindelwald had a hold over the Ministry and Tom had every reason to believe that he did, Britain was doomed. Grindelwald. His motives were unclear as they stood. Prejudice was an effective means of control but Grindelwald seemingly did not wish to control. His intent seemed to be one of destruction and wide scale massacre. He would not accomplish much by it. No, Tom was perplexed at the French dark wizard's actions and motives. They were not coherent as they used to be. His progress on the continent had been sped up by Dumbledore's death, he believed. And if Tom were honest to himself, he would allow that Dumbledore could have defeated Grindelwald. The French wizard had power and cunning. But as of late, his actions seemed disjointed. They hinged on unpredictability. Tom did not know many things about the current scenario and this was too dangerous. For the time being he was mortal and he had to save himself. He shuddered as he realised that he could have died had a killing curse hit him that night. He did not want to die. Death was weak.

He loathed weakness.

He drew up one leg and placed it on the bench as he smoked a cigarette. He liked these muggle objects. They worked well for stress. He blew out a few puffs of smoke and looked at the oddly shaped tree that lay straight in his line of sight. Yes, this is what he would do. He gathered a thick parcel covered in brown paper that lay by his side and apparated away.

He espied her sitting by one of the transfigured cots when he entered the shack. She startled but settled back in the chair once she saw who it was. She was beginning to trust him against her own will. He placed the parcel on the table and drew out the chair. The room had begun to darken as he sat and looked at her huddled form. He could still see the scars on her hands. He knew that she had lied to him. No bystander could get such scars in war. She must have been an active participant in the war to have been on the receiving end of such dark and potent curses. A warrior... She was certainly powerful enough. He had felt strange when he had examined them. Oh, he had examined them very carefully when she had gone to sleep. He had memorised every blemish on her exposed skin. He did not know why. Of course, one reason was curiosity regarding her past. But it was coupled with something else. Something hitherto unknown to him. It didn't matter. Her lies had fallen apart as his expert eyes had taken in every deformation on her skin. He had memorised the curses that may have caused them. A few were unknown to him. He was puzzled and intrigued to the utmost by this girl. The manner in which she kept herself enclosed in a flimsy cocoon of her own building was something he had not witnessed before. Of course, by degrees she was growing to trust him. These three days had made her used to his presence in some measure. They had had a few civil conversations. She was still wary and with good reason, Tom smirked to himself, but she would give way. Soon. He had to convince her somehow.

"Do you still want to appear at the Ministry tomorrow?" he unwrapped the food in the crisp brown paper as he asked her. She seemed motionless for the most part but a stiff nod signaled her response. Yes, now was the right time to begin. He drew out the copy of Daily Prophet that he had acquired and offered it to her. She rose from her seat and took it gingerly as she sat down at the table. He laid out the plates in front of her and kept a keen watch on her face as she read the front page. Her face paled a bit. She frowned when she couldn't read the entire page due to the torn part. Tom looked on without emotion. He knew she would be frustrated at not being able to read the entire report. But the last portion had held information about the elusive Professor and she could not be allowed to know of him. He had torn that portion away. Selective truth seemed to work better in her context as compared to fabricated lies. Mostly. She drew a sharp breath of surprise and looked at him before returning to her perusal of the paper. In certain ways, they were alike. They read between the lines. She was bright enough. Perhaps convincing her would be easier than he thought.

"So... so many died... No one did anything." she voiced out as she pushed the paper away. Tom looked at her lower lip that trembled just a bit. "I don't understand, the Minister refuses to address the public?"

Tom took his time to answer her unasked question. Is there hope? Is there refuge?

No, not for as long as you are with me, he thought to himself. He ate the last bit of food on his plate and cleaned his mouth with the napkin. He needed her to wait. He needed to convince her.

"I think it proves the hypothesis that the Ministry has been infiltrated." he whispered quietly so that she would not doubt the sincerity of his statement. He needed her to believe him.

"I don't... it can't be..." she mumbled but he could see that there was no conviction behind her utterance. She was breaking. Perhaps the incident had affected her more than she let on. Interesting...

"I am sorry." he reached out and laid his hand on hers. She did not flinch away. Tom frowned at her non-response. Her lips were parted and his eyes automatically slid to them as he pressed her palm for comfort.

"I don't know what I'll do now. " she looked fixedly at the remains of her half eaten meal and spoke in a quiet voice. Good, she was comfortable enough to confide her fears in him. He felt another unknown emotion cross his heart but ignored it. The next few sentences would have to be carefully crafted.

"I will have to leave tomorrow." he spoke nonchalantly and withdrew his hand. A short spasm in her hand confirmed that she missed the reassuring warmth that he had provided. She swallowed and nodded mutely. His grey eyes followed her progress as she cleared the table and went to the tiny basin on the other side. She had tidied the gloomy hovel to an extent and he could breathe without worrying about spiders getting lodged in his nostrils. A slight spasm in his arm drew out a verbal sigh of pain from his mouth. Fucking pain. He needed the potion soon. Little drops of blood soaked into his shirt. Visible drops.

"Tom?" he heard her speak. He let the crimson slide out of his silver eyes as he scrunched up his face in a facade of pain. Some of it was real. Partial truth worked too well with her. Could it work? Would it make the task easier for him? He scanned her face for any sign of her thoughts. She seems concerned at the pain. Could he turn it into a concern, if slight, for himself? It shouldn't be difficult. Not in her state. She was emotionally vulnerable. Weak.

"It's nothing... just a symptom." he mumbled and looked away from her searching eyes, giving her time to ponder while he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She took a cautious step towards him and stopped. She bit her lip and frowned.

"Is it... some injury from the attack?" her words provided the cue for him. Now was the ripe time.

"No, not from that night."

"Oh. Then what...?"

"A curse. It runs in the blood. The Diabolique curse..." he muttered hesitantly and his heart gave out a triumphant leap as her eyes widened in horror. Good, she knew of it. This made the task easier. "I did not know until recently that it had contaminated my blood. I found the remedy a few weeks ago. That is the reason I need to leave. Before it claims my life."

He looked at her for some confirmation that his words had hit their mark. But she seemed... conflicted. He did not have the genetic disease, of course. But the cure potion required the same ingredients as his restorative potion for the element fire. The lie had to be partially true. It should have worked on her. Why was she staring at the broken pot and frowning, seemingly in deep contemplation? Did she know he was lying? That was impossible. But then, she knew a few things that he had never thought she would. That part of her along with a lot of others was still a mystery to him. He had not let go of it but had let it rest until the variegated folds under which she hid her secrets revealed themselves. He scrutinised the minutest expression on her face and looked for reasons as to why she was not cooing in pity over his misfortune. Like anyone else would have.

"How... how long have you known of it?" her measured voice had something strange in it. Her honey coloured eyes had the shield of wariness erected in them. He was baffled. How long?

"Two months." he was careful to keep any emotion out of his voice but noticed that she relaxed visibly at his response and the suspicious glint in her eyes was extinguished. It was... perplexing, to say the least. Another mystery. Another unknown to add to the list of things he did not know about her. He clamped his eyes shut for a moment as anger took hold. He was patient but things had taken a dangerous turn and he did not like these secrets. If force could yield the desired response, he would tie a green lace around her neck and strangle her. But he knew her to be strong enough to withstand torture. He couldn't risk it. In any case, her secrets were secondary to the prime use he had for her. No, it wouldn't do to compel her at all.

"Does it... hurt?"

He nodded and settled into his own transfigured cot by the small window. He appeared uninterested but his hooded eyes staked her every move from his position.

"The remedy is a potion, I guess."

He nodded again and feigned ignorance about where the conversation was headed.

"You'll brew it?"

"Yes. There aren't any apothecaries that keep a stock. I wouldn't risk a journey to the Diagon Alley. I need to find an essential ingredient that isn't sold there."

"The silverlace." she mentioned absently as she plucked at the hem of her dress. The paleness in her face hadn't subsided but her cheeks had taken a rosy hue after the meal. She seemed to oscillate between despair and pain, it seemed. He had heard her sobbing quietly last night but had refrained from letting her know of the same. Despair was conducive to his purpose. It would keep her vulnerable.

"You are aware of the ingredients, then."

"I read about them once. It was for an... experiment."

"I see. Maybe you could help me?" he offered with an indifferent friendliness in his tone.

"I don't ... I... it wouldn't..." she mumbled incoherently but fell silent. He took the opportunity.

"Where will you go...?"

She was silent. She seemed to be thinking. Tom thought it entertaining, seeing her search for alternatives to his company but reach no conclusion, he could get used to watching her despair. Pain was refreshing when it belonged to others.

"I don't know."

He got up and walked over to her seated form. Taking her hand gently in his, he stroked it to calm her. She flinched but only a little and did not draw back. She looked at him with widened eyes. He could taste a little fear in her but it seemed to recede as he stroked her hand.

"You don't have a wand. You can come with me while I go to collect silverlace. For the time being, you may stay and when things are better, if they do get better, you can decide on what to do. It wouldn't be prudent to go unaided in your state, in any case... I could use some help with the potion, in case the pain decapitates me..." he whispered and looked at her lowered head. "will you help me?"

Her lips parted a bit. He watched her silently, for a moment, as the darkness shrouded them both. She was still as a statue. Her hands felt cold against his. He lifted her chin with his thumb and looked into her eyes. They were frightened and weary and yet he could see something else in them. Was it trust...? He did not know. He reached for her lips and brushed softly against them. He did not draw back but stayed in the same position, savoring her fear and uncertainty, her vulnerability and her misery. It tasted of wet grass and chalk, cherry and pine... His upper lip held her lower one gently and he stayed immobile against her. She did not draw back and stayed still as her eyes closed. If it were love, it would have been a moment stolen from time. If it were affection, no mortal may have savored the likeness of his touch. If it were desire, it wasn't one that burned but rather that which caressed and nurtured. But it was none of those things.

It wasn't a kiss.

She closed her eyes once more and shuddered.

I desire you.

He traced her jawline with his thumb slowly and sighed against her as he breathed the air that gave her life. He did not know if he played her in this moment. The scent of her life was refreshing. It was different. Perhaps if he truly desired her, his act would be more fruitful like it was right now. It wouldn't matter in the end.

"No..." she whispered against his lips and he felt warm breath caress his skin as she drew herself away from him. He stared at her in puzzlement. "No..." She touched her lip with her fingers and looked back at him. Suddenly, with a swift movement she jumped out of her chair and ran out of the door. Tom's grey eyes reflected the moonlight that peeped in through the open door.

She hugged herself as the cold permeated her bones. The moon light inundated the vast stretch of nothingness around her. The shack, the Gaunt house, was situated in a deserted area. No rumour in sight. No human being could she find.

What had she done? Fuck, her head hurt as though it had been pierced with a thousand needles. What the hell was going on? Riddle... Tom hadn't followed her, thank goodness for that. Cooped up in the musty shack, the last three days had been... strange, to say the least. He kissed her. No, he touched her lips with his. Not a kiss.

I desire you.

He had the Diabolique curse running in his blood. He won't survive it unless he gets the potion. Could he be lying? No, that had occurred to her before. He said it had been two months. Precisely the amount of time she had been here in this time period. The mucked up tear in time had changed things, she was sure of it. He had helped her. He had fed her and sheltered her.

It had only been three days, though. But she could see the changes in him. Lord Voldemort hadn't had any curses on him. Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle.

Lord Voldemort had Horcruxes. He couldn't have died with them intact. Tom said the curse would claim his life. She had seen his blood smeared shirt. He hadn't lied about being hurt. Did he really have the curse running through his blood? Why weren't her thoughts coherent?

But by this time, in the original time period, Voldemort had already made two Horcruxes. Two. And one of them had been hidden in the ruins of the very shack wherein she had sought shelter. She had, under the pretext of cleaning, searched the entire wooden building but hadn't found a trace of it. The lack of a wand had prevented her from performing more advanced detection charms but she was fairly certain that it wasn't here. There were too many deviations. Too many variants. Apart from the fact that Tom didn't feel... wrong anymore..

But he was a good liar. He had already hurt her before... this. But he had apologised. No, no, no, I need to think right. Thinking logically works just fine. Sometimes. She felt delirious.

She had seen the human side of him in three fucking days. She had seen him act as a perfectly normal boy. She had seen him whine about being bored. She had also seen fear on his face once when he thought the wards on the shack had been broken. It had been a false alarm. Was it possible that the crippling monstrosity in him had not reared it ugly head? Three days. What was happening to her?

"Where will you go, Hermione?"

His question repeated itself in his voice in her mind. She did not know. The newspaper proved that it would be unsafe to visit the Ministry. She had no trouble believing that Grindelwald had taken over. It was logical enough. She had also seen the Government collapse under Voldemort in her time. It didn't work. The cold ground made her spine shiver.

Could it be true? Could it? If it were, she wanted to believe it. It seemed true. What purpose could he have in helping her, anyway? She was no use to him. He said he didn't think less of her due to her heritage. Did it matter? Where would she go? Without a wand... Maybe she could sneak into the Diagon Alley. But she would have to ask for his help.

Her head hurt.

He had kissed her. Not a kiss.

No.

The boy inside wasn't Lord Voldemort. Not anymore. He couldn't be. He wasn't. But she was wary of him, all the same.

She was cold. She shook herself. Her thoughts were scattered all about her. A part of her mind could discern the flight of thoughts from one moment to the next in a detached manner. No, she wouldn't let insanity creep up on her so easily. She would fight. She was beginning to love the life within her and would protect it as long as it was within her power to do so. She touched her belly gently. A soft outline could be felt against the fabric. It wasn't the kind one would notice. Just the kind that one could feel with their fingers. She ran her finger over it and came to a decision. This is what she would do.

"Um... Tom?"

He heard her enter before he registered the sound of his voice. He hadn't followed her through the door. He had miscalculated to an extent. He knew that she would probably insist on leaving in the morning. Not that she had anywhere to go, but still, Tom did not want to force her. He would put the contingency plan to use just in case she did what he was sure she would do. The pain in his arm was fucking unbearable.

"I owe you a life debt," she whispered softly as she sat beside him and looked at the parchment in his hands. Her eyes then slid to the bloodied sleeve of his shirt. He hadn't bothered to clean it up. He knew it would affect her.

"So you do." He agreed.

"Would you hold it fulfilled if I were to help you with the potion, not that you would need help,"

Tom stared intently at her face. He was flabbergasted at her response.

"But I need a wand."

"A wand?"

"Yes. Do you think it is possible for me to get one? From the Diagon Alley?" Tom frowned at her request. Was it a test? It could be the best way to gain her trust. She wouldn't be able to harm him, no matter what. She wanted the life debt fulfilled. Tom would not let that happen. Not so soon. Or easily. A wand...

"I believe that might be possible," he answered her carefully. She smiled wanly at him.

"What happened earlier... I..." she began to speak but he stopped her.

"It wasn't proper of me. There is no need to discuss it further." He got up and moved towards the boarded window. "You don't need the feel obligated to help me with the potion. Where will you go once you have the wand?" He saw her hesitate. She moved her eyes to the floor.

"I don't know for sure. I could help... with your potion, though that shouldn't take more than a few days. I... do you really think there is danger... in venturing out, that is? I can see that the ministry has been infiltrated. But the common masses... I don't know. Maybe I'll find a job somewhere away from London. A small town, I'm not sure..."

"I see. If it helps, I am not sure of the path ahead either. I had planned to get a job after I graduated. Now, it seems rather redundant..." he volunteered information about his plans. He wanted her to trust him at this stage. A wand... shouldn't be very difficult to procure. But if he let her come with him, she might not feel threatened. Tom did not doubt that there was implicit danger for her, Paul's speech had made it clear enough, but he wasn't sure of what held the danger. He scanned her face. He would acquiesce. It would earn her trust.

Trust.

A deceptive word.

"Very well. I suppose we could hazard a trip to the Diagon Alley but it would be a risk, " he said in a low tone. She nodded in response.

Severus blanked out for a moment. The violence in that man's memories was... mind numbing. Not that that wasn't his state anyway. In any case, he needed to breathe. He needed a short while away from the stifling room. He walked away from the scene and threw open the doors to the balcony. The house was protected by Fidelius charm. It belonged to the former Minister Rowan Smith. So far, he had met the many people who supported Smith in the Auror department. Much work had been done in two days' time. The Minister was rather receptive and shrewd. He understood Severus's directions and obeyed them. Quite a few from the Auror Office had responded in affirmative to his call for a covert war against Grindelwald. But no one, excepting those who were already doomed, was allowed within the walls of this house apart from him and Smith. There was another secret location for their meetings with the Aurors. Quite a few of them had responded. It would be possible to at least attempt an underground resistance.

The man whose mind he had so effortlessly brutalised a few moments ago was another one they had managed to capture. He had been involved in the attack but he was useless as a source of information. Nothing more than a mute soldier. A cold gust of wind hit his face as he stared into the horizon. He felt dead and spent. But that was fine. He would go on until his enemy perished or die trying. He did not care about his fate either way.

He felt a shiver run down his spine. If he had another chance, he might have acted differently. He felt the acute sting of death in his bones. But he wasn't dead yet. Someone else was. He swallowed the non-existent moisture in his throat. He hadn't slept in three days. He would perhaps seek repose tonight. With the aid of a dreamless sleep potion. A muscle twitched in his face.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made him turn.

"I have to discuss something." Smith looked past him at the long line of trees. Severus gave him a curt nod and walked back into the room with him. The man lay on the floor in a huddled position. Severus paid no heed to him and sat down on one of the armchairs.

"I communicated with Rogers. He has new information." Smith looked straight into his eyes. Severus nodded.

"You will be able to meet him tomorrow at five. Near Appleby Glade."

Another curt nod was Severus's only response.

"If I may..." the former minister hesitated a bit, "Why are you so intent upon gaining this information about Grindelwald?"

"It is needed."

"An underground resistance wouldn't solve anything. We cannot undertake a direct confrontation. There isn't too much support either..."

"I know."

"Who died at Hogwarts..?" Smith's question made him clench his jaw. He would not discuss anything other than what was absolutely necessary with Smith.

"It isn't one of your concerns." Severus answered in an expressionless tone. A little something wrenched in his heart. Many had died... Some deaths were more personal than others.

"Was it a relation...?"

"You would do well to desist from questioning now, Minister." Severus's tone was venomous. Smith flinched and looked away. He wouldn't risk infuriating this dangerous man anymore. He would have his answers some other time.

"Do you want me to put him in the cellar?" Smith asked Severus cautiously and pointed at the now mentally broken man. Severus scrutinised his face for a moment or two. Then, without a word, a jet of green light shot through his wand and hit the man on the floor. He was dead. Smith closed his eyes in shock and gulped. He got up with shaky feet and fled the room with a madman in it. He could not escape him but he would certainly not be in the same room as him right now. He breathed deeply when he reached the sanctuary of his own room.

The man could kill in cold blood.

Without a trace of remorse on his face.

He shuddered inwardly.

Severus sat in the same place for a long time. He sat in the same room where a corpse lay rotting. He was seemingly oblivious to its presence. A small plan was beginning to take form in his mind. But it would require work. He ran his pale fingers over the wand. He needed rest. He had been occluding for three straight days.

Alright, so I am struggling with the story a bit. it would be nice if you left a review.

Thanks to everyone who has helped me by letting me know of their opinions so far.

Please review.

Hope you liked the chapter.