Chapter 25

Because love battles,

I will finish off by taking the path away,

to those who between my chest and your fragrance,

want to interpose their obscure plant.

"Tom…"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do now?" Hermione gently tickled a tiny golden Glowfairy that sat in her palm. It twittered and rolled on her back, giggling, as it tried to get back on her feet. Tom looked up from the book he was reading and frowned.

"It would be night soon. I thought we would do what everyone does." He smirked at the scandalised look on her face and closed his book. "I meant sleep." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. The tent was lit up with the shimmering lights that Glowfairies had sprinkled around. It gave the spacious apartment a festive look. They were missing a Christmas tree, though.

"No, I meant after Christmas… Were you, that is, did you have any plans about where you are going after…?" She bit her lip. She tried her best to not let the dread show in her face. She didn't want him to know how afraid she was that he would simply abandon her and leave. She did not want him to leave.

"After Christmas…?" he spoke as he got up from his seat and came to sit beside her. "Where do you want to go?"

"No, I asked about your plans…" she huffed. Tom looked at the Glowfairy in her hand and blew it off. It stumbled a bit as it whooshed through air but regained its balance quickly. Then, twittering still, it stuck out its tiny tongue at the two of them and zoomed away.

"Why did you do that? Now it's never going to come to me…" Hermione protested.

"There are plenty of them, and if nothing else works, I can always convince them…" He played with her curls as he spoke. She scooted closer to him and placed her head on his shoulders. She sighed as his fingers came to a rest and he wrapped his arm around her.

"How did you know of that river, Tom?" she asked him suddenly. She shuddered slightly as she remembered how she had been sorely tempted to taste the dark water and forget. Memories were funny things. You wanted to remember, yet, when you remembered, very few things were worthwhile. It wasn't that she wanted the gory details of her past to stay with her, no, that would be idiotic. She simply wanted to not forget the happier times, few as they had been in the last two years of her life. She had been unnerved at Tom's insistence, gentle as it was, and had refused to speak to him for two days. But the stifling silence and the need for company, human compassion, had made her see reason. He hadn't meant to harm her.

"I have my ways." His gentle murmur was offset by the cheeky grin that he offered. But she didn't reply. She had just noticed a long scar on his wrist. She grabbed his hand and turned his palm over in order to examine it carefully.

"How did you get that?" she asked him, running her thin finger over the silver spread. "It was cursed, wasn't it?" She felt Tom stiffen above her. A long silence followed her query.

"At Hogwarts," he replied, after a long time, and leaned against the support. "I wasn't always a popular Head Boy. Being in Slytherin and having no plausible noble lineage did attract trouble, you know."

Hermione looked at the pale mark once more and let out a soft breath. Of course, she had never paid attention to that. She had never thought that Tom, with no family to support him, would have been a soft target in his younger years. No, she had never connected anything remotely human with the Lord Voldemort of her time. Dumbledore had essentially painted him in black. But now that she reflected on it, and now that she knew Tom, she realised how naïve and impressionable they all had been. No one was born evil. There were always extenuating circumstances.

Always.

"I'm sorry," she replied and pressed his palm with her own. He returned the gesture.

"There's no need to be sorry. I did get my revenge after all." Hermione did not wonder about the implications of what he said. She did not want to.

"Was it very difficult, growing up like you did?" she gave him a sad smile as she enquired. He examined her with an unreadable expression of his own.

"It wasn't easy, but it helped that I never knew anything else."

Hermione nodded and looked at the log being consumed by fire. She felt a strange ache in her chest, a raw burning pain that she knew so well.

"My parents died during the war," she said. It was true enough. Despite her actions to provide them with some amount of security, they had been found by the hostile forces. She had come to know of their deaths only after the war had ended. She hadn't shed a tear. She had been bled dry by that time and could feel nothing.

Tom looked at her with that curiously strange expression of his. A nerve below his eyes twitched as she gave him a wan smile. His eyes travelled to the soft bump on her belly and he looked away.

"I never knew my parents. My father did not want me, I am told, and my mother was too weak to fight for me," he said, with a faint touch of bitterness that Hermione hadn't noticed before. "I despise weakness…" His tone was soft but it had a steel edge to it and for a moment, Hermione thought she saw his soul laid laid bare for her to see. Her hand went to her stomach and she stroked it gently. She had never been abandoned before, well, not by her family at least, but she knew the feeling. She understood him. Perhaps. Would her baby feel abandoned because its father wasn't... alive? She felt her throat begin to choke and so she drowned the noise of memory, however unpleasant it was, and stifled her pain. Do not go digging up the graves. Let the dead sleep.

"Where are you going to go, Tom?" she repeated her earlier question, fully aware of how pathetic she sounded even to her own ears.

He chuckled and summoned his wand that lay on the other side of the room. Hermione felt a strange nervousness creep up on her as she waited for him to speak. As soon as the wand landed in his hand, he waved it and the lights went out. She felt his arms leave her as he got up.

"Sleep, Hermione. Worry about what is to come when it comes," he said and kissed her softly on forehead, before slipping out of the doorway. She knew he had gone to check on the wards and would probably not return to his room for an hour. She missed his snug embrace as she threw herself on the cold pillow. Sleep was long time in coming but it came, nevertheless.

The curse ruled from the underground down by the shore,

And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before...

"Why so despondent, Hermione?" he asked as he laid down a few unusual herbs on the table. It had snowed the previous night and she could see small flakes lodged in the lining of his cloak. His face had a frosty look but his grey eyes shimmered as he looked at her. It was the morning before Christmas. She sat near the makeshift fireplace in her room and plucked at the hem of her skirt.

"He died today," she replied after a long time and looked away. The crackling fire was reflected in her brown eyes. She felt empty inside. She wanted to curl up into a ball and wither away. If only she could…

"Who? Ron?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice to issue her words, and lowered her head. She felt him kneel down in front of her and remove his cloak. He held her chin gently and turned it upwards. She felt her eyes moisten around the corners and tried to fight the awful stinging feeling in her throat.

"It'll be alright," he said. "Come on, I have something to show you." And before she could protest, he dragged her out of her room. She was amazed at the pleasant sight the greeted her as soon as she emerged from the room, her hand still protectively clasped in his.

A very tall Christmas tree rested on the floor. She could smell the scent of holly in the air and looked up to see mistletoe that hung by the ceiling, as well. The tree was overhung with decorations of all sorts that made it glitter and twinkle cheerily. A few Glowfairies had grabbed hold of the numerous bells that hung by its branches and were dangling from them in order to make them chime as loudly as they could. Hermione felt her lips turn upwards in a reluctant smile.

"H… How did you…?" Her sentence was left unfinished as he tugged at her hand once more and led her closer to the tree. It was now that she sighted a small pile of gifts that lay underneath it. Tom sat down near them and motioned for her to do the same. She sat down beside him. She looked up at the tree in wonderment; it felt alive with a strange life force of its own. It was no mere Muggle tree. It seemed alive and happy. It was alive. She felt the bough tingle with life and it made her feel… peaceful.

"I wouldn't have let you open the gifts till tomorrow morning, but since you are adamant on being melancholic, I think I shall allow you the liberty…" he supplied smugly and picked up a golden coloured package and offered it to her. She opened her mouth to say something but then shut it. She took the package from him and opened the golden wrapper that bound its contents.

A small silver hair pin fell into her lap. She looked up at Tom in puzzlement.

"I want to say thank you but…" She held up the pin in her hand. It was inlaid with thin wavy green jewels that looked suspiciously like snakes. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

Tom gave her his high and mighty stare and snorted. He took it from her hands and pinned a few curls that fell on her face. He then conjured an oval mirror to showcase the effect and when Hermione looked into it, her mouth fell open. Her hair had changed colour. It was now raven black, curly still, but smooth and shiny. She touched her hair and felt the smoothness meet her skin. She met Tom's silver eyes and gave him a smile of appreciation.

"Thank you. It is very… well, I want to say useful but I think the appropriate word her would be… um, flashy?" She gave him a small grin. He raised his eyebrows at her and picked up another package that lay under the tree. It was green this time. She unwrapped the paper, with less ceremony than she did with the golden one, and out fell a golden bracelet on the floor. Really now, she scowled, did he think she liked jewels or something?

"Can't say this is useful either, Tom… I don't fancy trinkets, just in case you have the wrong idea…" She dangled the bracelet by her finger in front of him but shut up when she saw him smirk at her. He took the bracelet from her and placed it on her wrist. Well, now that she saw it, it did look quite pretty. She wondered if the diamonds were real.

"It is not a mere trinket, as you so eloquently put it." He moved backwards a bit and crossed his arms over his chest. "Watch."

She looked at him curiously as he closed his eyes and murmured something under his breath. She wondered what he was doing. Then, suddenly and without warning, he said,

"Ignis!"

Hermione felt her heartbeat stop as she heard the whispered curse. The flame curse. It was a curse that had claimed many lives in front of her, incinerating, burning, and choking all who stood in its pathway. Her throat constricted and she felt herself unable to move. She was afraid. She watched in slow motion the curse's trajectory as it travelled towards her, lashing at the air and emitting smoke. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for it to strike. She had no wand. Nothing.

But it didn't hit her.

She felt a distant noise erupt around her and saw the curse collapse into an invisible shield. Her mouth flew wide open and her eyes slid to Tom's haughty face. Her eyes travelled to the bracelet on her hand and she turned her wrist once more.

"I put the most advanced defensive spells on this bracelet," he said as he smiled at her. "Nothing short of an unforgivable or a few very dark curses would be able to pierce the shield."

Hermione could only murmur a simple 'Thank you' in return. She marvelled at the amazing feat he had just accomplished and not even thought much it, apparently. If such defences had been available in her time, she choked at the thought; many lives could have been saved.

"How did you extend the enchantment to cover more than just the boundary of the object?" she was fascinated and could not suppress her curiosity. "It is supposed to be impossible."

Tome merely shrugged at her and ran his fingers over the object encircling her hand.

"Nothing is impossible," he said as he looked at her with a ponderous expression. "May it serve you well in time of need." He kissed her palm and drew out something from his cloak. It was a newspaper.

"If this doesn't cheer you up, I don't know what will…" he said as he handed her the paper. She took it gingerly and unfolded it.

Her heartbeat stopped for a moment as she saw the tear stained faces of her friends on the front page. Joseph and Lucia. She read through the entire news report in one go. The paper was dated to about a month back. Suspicion crossed her mind and she asked Tom tightly,

"Why didn't you tell me that they were alive?"

"I only just acquired this," he said as he got up. "You should be happy that your friends survived."

Hermione watched him go with a distant longing in her heart. Yes, she was happy that they had survived. Apparently, Joseph and Lucia had sneaked into the Hogsmeade to buy something before the party and had heard the explosions go off around the castle before their return. They had, wisely, stayed away.

She wondered if Tom had spoken the truth. He probably had, she thought. He had gone out on an urgent errand the day before. Perhaps that was when he happened across the newspaper, she thought as she clutched the paper to her chest and got up herself. To follow after Tom.

"Tom?" he heard the girl before she spoke. He was contemplating the next course of action, standing by the large boulder, and wondered at the desolation in his own heart. Was it the environment around him, painted in shades of grey and silver, which bothered him so much? Or was it her? He let her reach him and felt an untold yearning cross his own heart as she slipped her small hand in his. The warmth that it lent to his cold fingers was welcome and… confusing?

"What are you thinking?" her voice was distant; it sounded as if she too was suffering from the cold emptiness that surrounded them. He wondered if he should tell her what bothered him at the present moment.

"There's a war brewing," he whispered and drew her closer in his arms. "They did not fight before, you know. The government was under Grindelwald's control before the common masses even knew what had transpired. They are fighting now. I don't know what has changed, but something or someone has launched a massive underground campaign to enlighten the masses of their peril. The civil war grows in strength and expanse. They are fighting back."

He noticed her look at him with sorrowful eyes and lower her head.

"They are fighting…" she echoed his words, "my friends, I could have sought them that night. I could have saved them. But I didn't. And here I am, hiding in this chimera of peace, while people die out there…"

"There was nothing else you could have done," he interrupted. He didn't want her to fall prey to one of her break downs once again.

"No, it isn't true. I could have. And what's more, I still could. But I chose to hide here, didn't I?" She shook her head and Tom's grip around her shoulders tightened. "I have become a coward."

Tom closed his eyes and wondered what to say. He noticed a few tears fall from her eyes and land in the snow. They left no imprint in the cold whiteness.

"You're not a coward. No," he spoke in tones that brook no argument, "you're not in the right condition to fight. In any case, I am not sure what is happening out there. These are mere rumours that I gathered from the nearby village." That, Tom mused, was a lie of course. He did not want to have to restrain her forcibly in case she decided to run off and fight, as she probably would. Gryffindors were rather headstrong, weren't they? You never could tell what they would do, brash as they were in their actions. He had to change the course of her thoughts.

"You know what, this snow makes you skin look pink," he tickled the side of her neck and wiped her tears. She gave him a wan smile and turned away. Tom drew in a long breath and caught her by the waist. He had to make her forget what he had inadvertently mentioned to her just now. He had to make sure she did not dwell on it.

"Tom… what?" her muffled question met his eardrums as she landed against his chest with her back to him. Tom felt his body react to her closeness as he sniffed at her hair. It did smell amazing, of cherry and vanilla…

"It's going to be Christmas soon. I plan to have my revenge for you not getting me anything," he murmured playfully and his hands snaked under her cloak to meet the underside of her arms. An involuntary giggle escaped her as she fought against him but that simply aggravated him further. He tickled her once more and felt her slip away from his grasp.

"Oh no, you don't," he said and caught her by the hem of her cloak as she tried to run away. In the confusion, she tripped over and fell into the white snow, dragging Tom down with her. He watched her smile, unencumbered by burden, and for the first time admired the snowflakes that had become tangled in her hair. She looked at him with her huge brown eyes and gave him a grin. He got up and gave her his hand. She took it.

"Come on, let's go inside. It's too cold out here," He pulled at her hand but she withdrew it. He turned around in confusion, to question her, but his words were left unsaid as a huge snowball hit his face. What the…? He staggered backwards and heard Hermione's ringing laughter fill the chilly air around them.

"Vengeance is sweet, right?" she shouted and hit him with another snow ball and ran away from him. Now it was Tom's turn to be surprised. He was startled to see this playful side of hers and wondered what he should do. Should he fight back and throw snow balls at her, he wondered. It was too juvenile. He saw the way her curls flew behind her as she ran and the manner in which her small feet rarely left any impression on the white stretch beneath her feet. He felt a strange longing to hold her in her arms and whisk her off to his dark castle. Not that he had one, mind you, but he had plans for it. Her bubbling laughter sounded once more and he felt the stinging cold of a snow ball that hit its mark once again. This was getting ridiculous; he thought as picked up some snow and shaped it into a ball. He threw it at her but she ducked and made a mocking gesture towards him with her hands.

Tom groaned in dismay. He had no time or patience for such childish games but it seemed like he would have to participate. To appease her and claim her. He sighed and picked up more snow to make a snow ball. What crass games those stupid Muggles had invented, one would have expected them to keep away from the frozen cold rather than revel in it and play around with it.

"Did you take as good care of others as you do with me?" Hermione asked. They were seated by the warm fire. She placed her head on her knees and closed her eyes. She felt Tom's soft hands trail up and down through her hair as he brushed her unmanageable curls. He did it for her every night. She had felt strange at first that he wanted to do something like this for her. She had no patience for the task. But he seemed to enjoy it and so she let him proceed with it. She had to admit that her hair felt lighter and smoother after he was done with it.

He brushed her hair silently, not replying.

"Tom?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. The gentle strokes reminded her of her mother.

"I asked you something," she pointed out.

"So you did."

"And you did not answer."

A protracted silence followed her statement. The only sounds were those of the crackling fire and the plastic making contact with her hair strands. After a few minutes, Tom stopped and put the hairbrush away. She observed him put out the candles, the paraffin lamp and shut the door to the Glowfairy castle. The only light that remained in the room was that from the chattering fireplace. He came back and sat beside her.

"Would it make you feel better if I said no?" he asked. Hermione stared at the soft light that radiated from his face and she thought that he looked more like and angel as opposed to… human. She shook her head at him, at once both clearing her head and directing his thoughts.

"Do you know that you hair looks golden in the firelight?" he said as he ran his pale fingers through them. She smiled at him. She liked the feeling of his hands in her hair.

The clock chimed eleven and she looked into the burning fire once more.

"It'll be Christmas soon... I'm sorry I have nothing to give you," she spoke and looked at her bare hands. It would be her first Christmas without family or friends. She missed them, sometimes, in this isolated Eden of hers. It would be the first time she wouldn't have anything to give to anyone… She was empty handed and as things stood, she would probably remain so for some time to come. Suddenly, she felt Tom's larger hands on hers. She gazed at his face, for a long while, before the intensity in his grey eyes forced her to look away.

"Close your eyes…"

She looked at him in puzzlement but relented and felt her eyes close of their own accord. She felt him draw nearer and felt his tender touch on her neck.

"There's mistletoe above us…" he whispered as he gently brushed his own lips with hers. She revelled in the liquid warmth of his kiss and wrapped her arms around him as he drew her closer… deeper… warmer…

He drew away, a few moments later, and Hermione's eyes fluttered open. Her lips missed the union and she looked down, wondering, watching, waiting… And for one horrifying moment, she wondered if he didn't want her anymore. She… needed him.

She saw him smirk at the confusion on her face and realised that he was teasing her. She huffed and crossed her arms. He could be so aggravating at times.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he said and kissed her on the cheek. They both retired to their rooms an hour later.

"Will you please stay? I… I don't want to be alone," she muttered as she hugged herself. She was seated in her bed. It wasn't morning yet. The room was a mess, her covers lay strewn about and the lamp had fallen to the floor. She had had another breakdown. Tom had heard her hysterical cries and had come to help her. Now that she was calmer, he had got up to leave. But she didn't want him to go. She was afraid. The flimsy enclosure stifled her and the dim light was strangely reminiscent of harsher days. No, she couldn't do this. She couldn't be alone. Not now, not at a time such as this.

But would he stay, she wondered as she looked at him. He seemed uncertain as he stood by the door. She felt the seconds trickle by as more darkness engulfed her being. She couldn't stay alone…

"Please…" she pleaded in a broken voice. That seemed to settle him and he nodded as he sat down on the other side of her bed.

"What are you afraid of, Hermione?" he spoke softly as he folded the sheet that lay on the floor and put it beside her. He then went on to repair the broken lamp and replaced it on her bedside table. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I…" she hesitated and put her head between her arms. "I don't want to be alone."

"You're not. I am in the next room, you know."

"I know, but just… don't go. Not tonight." She raised her head and met his eyes which shone in concern. He gave her a smile of reassurance and eased out of his cloak as he prepared to retire. She closed her eyes and reclined against the back support of her bed. She heard the bed depress under his weight as he took off his socks and got under the covers, beside her. He then proceeded to envelop her in his stronger arms and drew her closer. She felt herself grow calmer. She felt protected.

Odd, wasn't it?

"Do you want me to read to you?" he asked her. She gave him a small nod as she shifted to a more comfortable position and buried her face in his chest. He began to strokes her hair gently. The repeated motion of his fingers soothed her panicked mind. He picked up the book that lay by her bed side, and flicked through a few pages before tossing the book aside.

"The book is no good," he said and shifted a bit. "I'll recite something from memory, shall I?"

"Yes."

"With thee conversing I forget all time;

All seasons, and their change, all please alike…"

"I know this verse, you know…" Hermione looked at his face before her eyes came to rest on the ceiling. She was surprised that he knew and had made an effort to memorise a Muggle text. She breathed in and closed her eyes as his chanting voice filled the air around her and encased her in its gentle sweetness. The panic had left her.

"Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night

With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,

Or glittering star-light without thee is sweet…"

Tom finished and rested his head against the wall. His fingers, still intertwined in her brown curls, stroked them tenderly and he took in the white light that danced about her face as she slept. He had repeated the verse to her till she had fallen asleep. A dark look crossed his face as he summoned his pale wand to himself and looked at her once more. She was… innocent, even after all that had been done to her and all that she had done, she was naïve and… sweet. He sighed and waved his wand in a complicated fashion, causing the bracelet on her wrist to glow bright.

He traced a black pentagram in the space and tapped it with his wand. The dark figure shrunk in size and sank into her skin, leaving no trace behind. Tom replaced his wand under the pillow and drew her closer, nuzzling against her neck and closed his arm possessively around her waist.

It was nearly time for the last part of his plan.

"Send a Patronus to Marcus saying we have the situation under control," Severus said as he crept down the wooden stairway with three Aurors. They made as little noise as possible, going forward in a file with Severus in the lead. It had been a long and cruel night. They had raided a safe house, with as little force as possible and had ended up with fewer man alive than before. Severus reached the iron door at the bottom of the stairs and his face hardened as he understood the wards that guarded it. Blood magic. He chanted in a mellifluous voice, coaxing the dark magic to recognise his signature and bend to his will. He sighed and sliced his palm, made the payment and healed the cut before the door opened to let them in. This was the last barrier. All the enemies outside were dead. A quick shuffling of steps later found them inside an oval room. There were only two men in the room. They seemed to be armed and wary and eyed them with apprehension.

"As you can see, we outnumber you," Severus held his wand nonchalantly in his hand as he spoke. "Surrender now and you may yet live."

Severus watched as the ginger haired man, who looked more frightened than his partner, looked at them in uncertainty. He looked back again at the other man who gave him a tiny nod. This made the man lower his wand.

"Put it on the table." Severus nodded to the Auror on his left, Michaels his name was, and gestured for him to take over from there. He withdrew as he saw the others take control and slipped out of the door. Quietly, he walked upstairs and peeped out of the window. He sighted a red haired man standing near the mailbox, trying to look inconspicuous. The messenger was here.

Severus hurried outside; he had very few minutes to waste here. The Aurors would be gone to the temporary prison house that they had erected near London. He too had to leave quickly. Walking with long strides, he reached the redhead and signalled for him to move to a more secluded spot.

"Any leads?" he enquired as he leaned against the tree bark and examined the redhead's face closely.

"There was an Apparition trace from Little Hangleton to a rundown inn in a far off village. From there, we found nothing. I believe someone obliterated the Apparition trail."

"Where was this inn?" Severus enquired as his fist clenched. The man told him. Severus nodded to him before the night engulfed him in a manner strangely reminiscent of the Dark Lord's reign.

He Apparated to the small inn that the redhead had informed him about. It was nothing spectacular and certainly a Muggle establishment. He entered the dusty visitor's room and sought the innkeeper. She was a small, mousy haired woman with the kind of overdone makeup that he detested. He sighed inwardly.

"I need some information, Madame, and later, if possible, a room." He kept the silky velvet quality thick in his voice as he placed a few crisp notes on the counter. The woman eyed them greedily and then looked at him in question.

"I need information about a boy and a girl who came in here some time ago," he said. "They'd be young, barely out of teens. She had brown hair."

The woman frowned as she thought but then, to his dismay, shook her head. She did not know? Had the informant made a mistake? Or had… No, of course not. Riddle, he reflected bitterly. He looked around and seeing no one, he beckoned for the woman to lean forward. She complied, somewhat nervously. Swiftly, Severus drew out his wand and tapped it on her forehead, drawing the last shreds of magic out of her. He was satisfied to see that she had had her memory modified with a simple 'Obliviate'. Thank heaven for small mercies, he thought as he reversed the memory charm. The spell worked and quickly, before she had the time to recover, Severus replaced his wand inside his cloak. The woman seemed a bit dazed but on catching his eye she stammered,

"Oh forgive me, sir. I must have… never mind. Yes, there was a boy and very handsome too. He came with a girl, unconscious, in his arms." Severus's jaw tightened at this. "Expecting, she was, I tell you. Yes, they stayed here for two days. Do you know them?"

"I am a relative."

"Yes, I thought so. I don't know where they went," the woman said as she pocketed the notes and gave Severus a toothy grin.

"Give me the room they stayed in for the night," Severus commanded. The woman hastily drew the key out and handed it over to him after he made the payment. Room 206, it said. Severus located the room on the first floor and entered it. The first thing that he noticed was a faint odour that hung about the air. He was a potions master and a damn good one at that. He had no doubt that a potion had been concocted in the recent past in this very room. Perhaps twenty days ago. He noticed that the bed was unmade. Now that he came to look at it, Severus realised that it had not been cleaned since the last occupants had vacated it. He warded the door and the room before turning to draw down the blinds. He spotted an armchair by the window and went down to sit in it as he examined the room.

The smell was faint but distinctive. A hint of Silverlace, he thought. There weren't many potions that used that particular ingredient. In fact, most of them were medicinal ones. Why would a wizard make a healing potion in this room? He looked around for more signs of life and noticed deep scratches on the wooden floor. He frowned at the marks. Where had he seen them before? His lips parted as he remembered the first time he had come to learn of Hermione'e breakdowns. Did that mean she had had a breakdown in here? Was the healing potion for… her? No, that was unthinkable. Why would Riddle, the name left a bad taste in his mouth, even bother to help another person? He closed his eyes and tried to connect dots with things he had learnt in the previous few days.

He had dropped Riddle out of his calculations entirely. If he had Horcruxes, and Severus had no doubt that he did, he wouldn't have been killed in the attack. It seemed that Hermione had been with him since that fateful night at Hogwarts. There was no other explanation for it. He had interrogated Joseph and Lucia and they had affirmed that Hermione had not been with them in Hogsmeade. She had been at the castle. How, how had she escaped? Could it be that Riddle…? No, that was preposterous. Dark Lord did not help anyone.

He stared at the ring on his finger, visible now since he had taken off the disillusionment charms, which shone by the soft moonlight that filtered through the closed blinds. I have a duty, he reminded himself. But was it duty only? She hadn't sought him out. Had she thought that he was dead? Or was it that she did not want anything to do with him anymore? His dark eyes glittered as he contemplated upon the next course of action. He had mobilised the forces now that he knew Grindelwald would die. And die he would, for not even Dumbledore had been able to withstand the machinations of a sullen Time trying to mend its fabric. On the top of it, he had Dementia Elai which would incapacitate him within a year, if not sooner. No, Grindelwald's deeds were reversible if only they could hold out a little longer. In the absence of a powerful wizard to lead, his forces would collapse and disperse. That was the one reason why he had attempted this seemingly foolhardy task. All he needed no was to find Hermione and keep her safe. The second her… their son took its first breath would be the last one of Grindelwald's life. Elemental magic would work its way and kill. Severus experienced a strange sensation of pride as he pondered upon the possible implications of this last bit. Why Grindelwald? Why was his death bound to his son's life? No, elemental path was dangerous and untapped and Severus had no real answers except the fact that his unborn son must carry within him an unusual amount of power.

If only he could find something with her DNA in it, he'd have a means of finding her… Severus looked around and searched for something, anything that could lead him to her. He saw nothing, absolutely nothing. He had visited the shack at Little Hangleton which had been destroyed by Grindelwald's forces. The Aurors had got the wind of the entire affair before it had reached the Ministry and they had disposed of the bodies secretly. Ten people had been killed. Their corpses were rotting with dark magic by the time Severus had examined them. Severus had no doubt that they had gone there to capture Hermione. To… to kill her, he swallowed and closed his eyes. He reflected upon the gruesomeness of her plight. She, in her fragile condition, had been forced to flee from one place to another and seek help from the likes of Riddle. He loathed himself for it. He loathed the fact that he could do nothing to help her, even now. The thoughts left a bitter ashen taste in his mouth and his coal black eyes took on a haunted look.

He knew how it felt to be abandoned and alone with no one for company. He had felt it before. With his parents, with his friends, with Lily… He had. The winter was beginning to settle down and he did not want to think about her predicament worsening when he had no hope of helping her. Oh Gods, what have I done! Not for the last time, he cursed himself and thought bitterly. If only he hadn't disregarded the warning contained in the ring, if only he had done something she would not be in this precarious position.

Why did the entire circumstance affect him so strongly? He wondered. After all, many girls at Hogwarts had died. Many were of childbearing age and a few might have indulged in carnal relations of sorts. Why should she be any different?There was a difference, wasn't there? She was married to him. That made all the difference because the child she carried was his. No, there was no reason to analyse this further. He had made a promise to himself and he intended to keep it. No matter the cost, he would find her and undo whatever wrongs he had inflicted on her.

But he was weary and desperate. If something happened… if Grindelwald managed to find her before… No, he wouldn't think of it. And if Riddle had seen fit to help her, he thought wryly, she'd probably stay alive till he desired otherwise. But why was he with her? Had he helped her or was she being held captive? This last thought made him cringe as he reflected upon the possibility that she may well be dead before he found her. It seemed unlikely though, she had survived the worst. He assuaged the dread that prickled his skin every time he thought of her death. No. Not again. Not now. He wouldn't let it happen.

He looked at the unmade bed and sighed. Now that he was here, perhaps he should get some sleep. Mayhaps tomorrow would bring hope. He had to go to the barracks the next day. He had been able to gather around many of Hogswarts' survivors, especially those who had witnessed the massacre first hand. They were willing to help. It was funny what changes staring at death in face could bring about.

He got up and slipped into the bed. He thought he could smell something akin to her scent in the cold covers. Vanilla, was it? Could he really? He had never paid attention to what she had smelt like before. He had never even looked at her without disgust and loathing in his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before turning to the other side. His eyes caught sight of a thin strand of brown hair that lay on the other pillow. He touched it and held it in front of his eyes. Was it hers? Could it be? He got up abruptly and fetched a small silver case from his cloak. He put the hair sample in it and shut it tightly. If it was hers, finding her would be easier. He had a potion which, if difficult to brew, was nevertheless a sure way to find lost things.

No, not things, he muttered to himself as he slipped back into the bed. It was a means of finding her.

Was he too bold in hope or was it a way for him to find… home?

Well, I so love writing Tom... Is he really creepy? I only ask because when I write him, I feel like I have put in too much sweetness in his actions. At least towards Hermione. Do let me know.

Sigh. You know what, I feel so bad for both of them, a bit more for Severus of course.

Oh well, thanks to everyone who reviewed. Lisitza, Shizyldrew, Amar 2, Obey the Muse, Hope Leslie Hermnharry. I love reading your reviews.

Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter. Do review.