Chapter IV
The Witch, The Portrait, The Game
Hermione looked the cold veil of white her breaths painted on the window.
Night had fallen already. Even though most of the girls of the dormity now gave her a wide breath, some of them had still dared to assess her, a gleam of curiosity appearing in the most confident gazes. She was not in the prey category anymore, but she was not the only predator here, and she had attracted their interest.
She let her head fall against the cold glass. She was burning up again. She was always burning up. But in the midst of this perpetual fever, her mind was quite clear. Perhaps even clearer than it had ever been. Even if she could sleep, she never felt tired, and, if she had always been a solid girl, it was now as if her body was ever stuck in its most healthiest shape and condition.
She mechanically turned the golden bracelet around her right wrist, her gaze fixated on the ink colored mass transpiring through the window. This abyssal length of darkness was not the night sky but dark waves and currents of the lake. Water, and water, vast emptiness like dark heavens with no stars. It was what was surrounding the Slytherin dormity and common room. Thick tapestries of green embroided with silver thread covered the walls, and the mural candelabra shone with pale golden light, their complexes ornementations glimming like diamond under their flammes. Like dragons, the Slytherins had chosen the deepest, and coldest place in the school to hoard their treasures.
In every nook, every corner was another strange sculpture, a frighteningly beautiful representation of their perceived nobility. The obvious abondance of wealth was always and ever carefully presented, escaping the risk of burlesque with an almost casual arrogance. It made her think about what kind of treasures the creatures of the lake could possibly hide.
The creatures of the lake.
Immediately she straightened herself, detangling her legs from under her. They should know something. They could know something. Tom Riddle's eyes were everywhere and she could not very well inform herself in the library without someone knowing. The more of her ignorance was unveiled, the more dangerous it became for her. She had to learn in secret. And she could not very well return to see the basilisk, show herself dependent on it, she would be more mad than she already was if she started to trust the old and cunning thing.
She descended the stairs of the dormity fast enough to fall but orienting herself in the dark with a distracting facility. As she prepared to leave the common room, she was stopped in her tracts by the glimming gaze of the only portrait who was not sleeping.
The eyes of Salazar Slytherin were fixed on her, and his grey eyes pierced through in the dark. She almost jumped back when she met his gaze. It was not normal. Salazar Slytherin was never awake. His usual tall figure, would always be slightly reclined on his ebony throne, his head falling into an slumber on his shoulder. Why was he not sleeping ?
But before she could think on it the blinding heat on the stone on her arm set her once more ablaze. So the thing and him... they recognized each other.
"You do seem in quite a hurry young lady. Which may not be very prudent if one also notice just how lost you are, here." he said, and his charming and deep voice had the mocking tilt of the too-gifted, too intelligent ones looking down on the populace.
So some of Salazar Slytherin did stay in the school after he left in the 11th century. And that part was not as dormant as most people would like to think. It was not that surprising, when one did think of it, the man had not been able to resist engraving an image of himself as grandiose as the one commanding over the chambers, of course he would have left other traces of himself.
Salazar Slytherin, no matter what one thought of him, was an outstanding wizard. He was abnormally intelligent and gifted in what seemed like every single stream of magic existing, as well as a shrewd politician. He had created his own wand, he had bred, tamed and put the basilisk asleep as well as attached it to his own family. He had been a collector and an inventor, surrounding himself with wealth beyond mesure, which had taken more than eight centuries to his descendants to squander to the sad shadow of its grandeur it now was.
She had to thread very carefully with this man.
"You...know who I am."
"I know who you are. I know what you are. And I happen to know where you are naively trotting away. Something as valuable as you should know better than to jump into the claws of creatures known to be vicious collectors."
"I am not naive, sir. I am desperate."
"So you see the cliff...but you still jump. Just what do you think you will find at the bottom ?"
"I don't know. But at least I will find something. My choices are very limited."
"Yes, they are. You are playing a very, very dangerous game, young lady."
Again he looked at her, and he seemed deeply amused by the events unfolding themselves before his eyes. He studied her for a long while without speaking, his eyes falling on the golden band surrounding her wrist. She slowly bended her arm as if to hide it behind her back, and the grey eyes of the house founder followed her movement with what seem like a dark amusement.
"What do you want to know, hallow ?" he asked in the same condescending and mocking tone. Hermione still did not make the mistake to believe him uninterested because of it. It was not an actual mark of condescension, but a sign of power. There was to be no illusion of who had what the other wanted, and he did not want her to believe for one second that she could have the upper-hand when he was involved.
"Enough not to a be a pawn."
"You are in the wizarding world, dear one. You will be a pawn. The question is what kind. And what will you allow to control yourself. Think very well. A man with no ambition of his own is controlled by other's, a man with no identity of his own will only be a sad reflection of other's and a weak man can only fall prey to the wickedness of others."
"What of a good man, sir ? What of a fair man ?"
"Do you believe yourself to be good, hallow ?"
"I try to be. I will always try to be."
"It is quite easy to let oneself become corrupted."
"I seldom choose what is easy, sir."
The man looked at her intently, letting his head fall onto his fist. When he spoke again, the mockery had left his voice "Why have you not gone into the chambers again ? I know something there which is always delighted of your visits."
Hermione opened her mouth without any words coming out. So he knew about her visits to the chambers too. How much had he seen of her ? She looked into the piercing silver eyes of the man. They were the eyes of an old king, a dangerous king, one who would not like being lied to. "I don't trust it."
The lips of the man seemed shook for a second, as if repressing a smile "Then you are not stupid."
"I try hard not to be, sir."
"And you want to be good..."
"Someone has to be, sir."
To that he rose his head from his fist and let himself slowly fall back on his throne, the shadow of pleasure now dancing on his features. "Someone has to be..." the corner of his lips now seemed to rose just a bit "Is it why you gave up on running away ? Do you think you can become good enough not to be corrupted by him, not to become his pawn ?"
There it was...Everything came back to him, did it not ? Tom Riddle. Was Salazar worried about his heir ? She tried to study each of his features as quick as she could. No...It just did not work. If he was, he would have tried to speak to him. Suddenly a cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Why had he not try to talk to his heir ?
"Well I am not any pawn, now am I ? " she said, forcing her voice to be as calm as she could.
Why had he not try to talk to his heir ?
The question turned and turned inside her head, as she stilled her features. She mustered every bit of courage running in her veins and approached the painting. The silver eyes intently looked at her approaching.
"You do know that. You know I am not any pawn. But you do not know just what kind I am, right ? How well I will fit in your game ?"
All traces of smile had disappeared from Salazar's face, he had become completely motionless again. But he was far from asleep, his gaze was like fire upon her. Why would Salazar not speak to his heir...He knew that the Chambers had been opened, he knew that Tom had awakened the monster. Surely he had known previously of the demise and fall of the Gaunts. And suddenly Tom Riddle had appeared, coming in his monstruous greatness. "You know what he is. " she said slowly "You know what kind of thing he is. Unparalled potential. Ruthless. Not good, certainly not, but Great. And this is all that matter to a man like you, isn't it ? You should be pleased...Why would you not teach him ? Why would you not-..."
Thoughts came into her mind like a rumbling chaos, before finally she saw. She looked at the throne of Salazar, the dark wood shining of deep, eerie tones, and whispersed. "Unless he is too big already, isn't he ? With you, he would grow too much. If he were to become more than he is, then the world would not be able to contain it. In his greatness, in his hunger, he would finish by eating himself. And you have seen it. You know...You have seen him rise and you have seen him fall. You don't know how he could escape the fall...You don't know how he could not finish by devouring himself in his greed. And now you want to know...What kind of pawn I am. Who knows...Maybe I could quench some of his hunger, could I not ?"
The man said nothing, only slowly looking at her up and down before finally his lips broke into a full smile, this time. It was not a happy thing, and it did not illuminate his severe face one bit. It was this eerie thing, dark and strange. "You know nothing...And yet you understand everything. Well...Everything you can."
The wood of the walls around the portrait started to crack from the ceiling to the feet of the fireplace. A small trap opened, and from it, and a necklace fell. It was a dainty, silver chain with round but heavily ornated pendant. She looked at it before raising her eyes to meet his again "What is it ?"
"A miniature of my portrait. Take it. And I will teach you...not to be a worthless pawn."
A strangled laugh escaped from Hermione as she said "I know that you want to manipulate me. I know that you must be doing it right now, and it could take me years before seeing through all your plotting. I thought we had established that I was not stupid ? Why would I take it ?"
"Because we have also established that you are lost, and most importantely desperate...and that you have very limited choices." he said, and the mocking tone was back, but with something else in it, still sharp but lighter.
He looked at the pendant on the ground, then back at her and arched an elegant eyebrow.
When she picked it, he smiled again.
§§§
"Don't you ever sleep, Rowle ?"
The dormity was supposed to be empty at this hour. Hermione had specifically planned to come back later to prepare so that she could escape the harpies. And it was effectively empty of all students...but one. She looked at the girl in front of her. Black hair, falling in perfectly fashioned waves around a cherubic face, red lips and cold blue eyes, pale and bright enough for them to become unsettling.
"Why ? Could you be worried about me ?" she simply asked, standing straight, shoulders back, preparing herself for any eventuality.
The witch in front of her seemed deeply amused, and did not change anything about her elegant and unconcerned posture. "Worried...Yes, I suppose you could say that. You should be careful with that." she said gesturing vaguely to the way Hermione stood. "We're not playing the same game, here."
"What do you mean ?"
The Slytherin started to move, walking around Hermione with slow and measured steps, her eyes studying her from top to bottom. "It is quite clear that you are not from here. You do not stand right. Your arms are not positionned right. And your face...shows everything. You should be more careful...well, if you don't want to be eaten alive."
She had not thought about that...Of course, she didn't act like someone born and raised in the wizarding world. In a pureblood family of the wizarding world. The fact that she belonged to the Rowle family did give her a little bit of leeway but...she had to be careful.
"I can take care of myself."
"Really ?"
The witch's red lips stretched in a disbeliving smile. "Listen, Rowle. You seem like a smart girl. I'll even suppose that you are smart enough to know how dangerous it is to only have ennemies. And Heavens know you seem to be good at making them."
The brunet took several books awaiting for her on one of the commode of dark wood, before advancing toward the door. "It was nice meeting you, Rowle. If you ever want to play the game right, call for Callidora Black."
§§§
Hermione did not know what to think of Damocles Rowle.
The nights belonged to her alone, but during the day, his hulking figure had become a second shadow to her. He never said much but his gaze was always fixed on her, and he watched avidly each of her movements. Noting them, observing them, without a doubt reporting them.
The strangest part of it...was maybe her reaction to him. She did not felt threatened by him in the slightest. More and more, she found some kind of queer comfort in his silent and oppressing presence. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Damocles was one of the rare Slytherin not to wear a mask. What you saw, was exactly what you got.
He was dangerous, prone to violence, with a very short temper, and a clearly cruel streak. He was also smart and quick-witted, the perfect and terrifying definition of the intelligent brute. And still...He never lied. For all his faults, and they were many, he was not a liar. And she could not even begin to explain the depth of relief she felt when she understood that. He may be the only one here who just couldn't lie. Mostly because he couldn't be bothered to.
"Where are we going ?" she finally asked.
"Professor Slughorn has asked for you to receive one last check-up before going to classes."
"How thoughtful...Does he know that I was healthy enough to beat up students yesterday ?"
"The informations may...not have come to him." answered Damocles, a smile dancing on his lips.
"Right."
Damocles didn't need to say more. They both knew what that meant. So the king had spoken. Tom had prevented the events from arriving to the ears of the professors. This shouldn't surprise her.
As they arrived close to the informary, she suddenly stopped.
Something smelled bad.
What was that ? What was this smell ? Hermione put her hand in front of her mouth, as a wave of nausea was rising inside her. It smelled...like death.
"What is it ?" asked Damocles.
She had to be wrong. There was no way that she could smell that. And yet...There it was. Almost overpowering was the smell of a body, rotting. And even worse, she knew that it was a child. How she couldn't say, but her heart seemed squashed with an uneasy grief and the death of a child was the most unnatural thing she could think of.
She shook her head, swallowing the spit that accumulated in her mouth and pushing back the bile. Taking a deep breath as if she was preparing to dive into deep waters, she pushed the door of the Infirmary and entered the room in hurriedly confused steps.
As soon as she did, she took a step back, her hand searching blindly for the wall as her body bended under the stench. Her hand had grabbed the arm of Damocles, holding on to it in a death grip.
She forced her stomach to settle and finally saw where the smell came from. She was right. There was a small body on one of the bed, a boy. He couldn't be older than twelve. His skin was even whiter than the bed under him, and his lips had an unnatural colour, something like the final result of a batte between purple and green.
He was dying. No, he was already dead.
"No...No...No...It's not-"
Hermione let go of the arm of Damocles and almost run to the bed, starting to pat the boy's head, and then his shoulders, his arms, putting her head on the small torso in the hope of hearing a hearbeat. Nothing. No breath, no beats. The rotting smell was making her light-headed.
From afar she could hear Damocles getting out of the room and calling for the head nurse, Merry, but she felt as though her ears were ringing.
She was just seventeen. She had seen nasty things, but she had never seen a dead body before. She had most certainly never wanted to see a dead child.
The witch passed her hand through her hair, pulling at them, searching to calm herself through the pain. But, she couldn't. Her eyes were fixed on the face of the boy. And then there it was...The boy had just died. She knew it. She just knew it. So then why did he smell like he had been rotting on the inside for days.
On the inside...
Hermione stopped pulling at her hair and slowly lowered her head, until she was just above the boy's stomach. On the inside...There. Something was rotting there. The stone on her wrist burned harder and, as if pulled by a string, her hand came above the child's belly, and then sank on it. And then sank in it. She watched in horror as her hand disappeared, as if absorbed by the skin through the cloth.
A silent cry for help passed through her lips, as her left hand grabbed the sheets, taking support from the bed to try and get her right hand out. Slowly, ever so slowly, her hand came out, but it came out full. It was full of a dirty blood and what seemed like little flesh stones covered in a slimy black substance.
She looked with horrified and wide eyes at her hand, the stone on her wrist ever burning and embedding itself more painfully in her flesh, surrounded by pumping veins, as if it were her second heart. When she felt like she could move without falling, she immediately turned toward the boy. But...he had no blood on him. No wounds. And his pale complexion was becoming more and more alive as the seconds passed.
Alive. An incredulous and strangled noise came from her as she heard like deafening drums the sound of his heart beating again.
"What the hell happened here ?"
Hermione turned toward Damocles, and gripped on his shirt with both hands, dirtying the white cloth instantly. "Get me out of here. Get me out of here. I need to get out of here. I need to-"
The wizard looked at her hands with an almost starstruck gaze before getting a hold of himself and pushing her behind the heavy curtains.
"Mr. Rowle ? I thought your sister was here with you ?"
"She was. But I think we will have to do the visit another time, Professor."
"What- ?"
"Corvus Lestrange is awake." he cut her.
"What are you sayin-...? Oh dear Merlin, the boy is alive ! Tell Martha to come and have a look at him, I'll call Professor Dippet !"
Behind the curtains, Hermione let herself fall on the ground, closing her eyes and praying for it to be a dream.
§§§
Hermione was seated on the ground, completely hunched on herself, holding her head between her hands as she tried to breath through the chaos of her mind.
"Do you need something ? Are you tired ?"
She rose her eyes to met Damocles' ones. His stormy blue eyes were full of excitement, as if straining to contain the storm of their enthousiasm. Since they came back he had not dared to touch her, looking at her as she was a Christmas morning, only putting his uniform jacket on her so she could hide her hand.
She just looked at him, not saying anything before finally understanding his question. She...was tired. For the first time in a while, she felt like she could sleep. She felt..."Hungry."
The word had left her dry lips before she could control it. She was hungry. So hungry.
The wizard hastily nodded "I am going to bring you something. Don't worry, Avery and Nott are at the door of the Common Room, no one will enter but Tom for a while."
A strangled laugh escaped her, and it was maybe slightly hysterical. Of course, he would come, it was coming back to him once more, wasn't it ? She let her head fall back into her bloody hands. She didn't have the strenght to play a game right now. She had to think. Think. But her mind was like a rumbling mess and she just wanted to lie down and sleep.
Not now.
Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to sit straight, her back against the green leather sofa behind her. So...she had smelled a child die. She had smelled that what had made him dead had been in his stomach and she had taken it away. Damocles Rowle was there, he had not seen everything but he knew that the boy was dead, and that when he came back he was no longer dead. If Rowle knew, then now Tom Riddle knew.
Alright, it was not anything he didn't knew before, was it ? Or was it ? She took the jacket of and tried to wipe her hands with it. Let's see. He had the confirmation that the Resurrection Stone could resurrect the dead. It worked. It worked without being ordered to.
She could make it work. Or could she ? It had not asked for her permission. It had used her. The question now was...did it felt that she was upset about the boy's death ? Or dit it just...do whatever it wanted to. Could she control it ?
"I have been told that you were hungry."
Hermione rose her head fast enough for her neck to crack. There he was...Tom Riddle was standing up close to her, calmly and wandlessly levitating a full plate and a glass of water, letting it land at her side. His appearance was, as always impeccable, there was not one crease on his white shirt, the silver cufflinks of his jacket's uniform were shining, just like his black shoes. Everything was perfectly controlled but his eyes were ablaze. Their deep blue had become almost black, his pupil was blown under excitement and the air around him cracking with an almost unatural pressure. His hands were in his pockets, like a mask of forced decontraction being the last barrier to a complete loss of control.
His voice had been deep and soft, coaxing, sweet like a charm. She averted her gaze with a bitter smile, if she tried to play the game with him, she would lose, that much was clear.
"How is the boy ?" she asked in a tired voice after emptying the glass of water.
"Alive." Only one word, but his voice was almost shaking as he said it. She furrowed her brows. He seemed to be rapt with wonder, and it was wrong. Tom Riddle was not supposed to fell wonder...Or was he ? Tom Riddle did feel wonder in front of magic. Magic was his one true love. The only thing he lived for, the only thing he could not bear to lose.
She could do something with that. Her wrist burned once more, and the flicker of hope was lit. She...was magic. She was a hallow. She could do something with that.
Hermione rose her head once more and met his gaze and there she saw something that had escaped her. There was no surprise in them. The excitement was more like a mad joy in front of the exact gift he had expected.
"...You knew that Corvus Lestrange was in the Infirmary. You knew that I would meet him today. And you knew he was going to die."
He had the decency not to despise her intellect to the point of denying it. A small smile appeared on his lips and he just slightly bended his head on the side in a sign of acknowlegment. He had played her. So easily...She had been governed by her emotions since the first day she had been here, and he had wanted to know if her feelings had a role in the direction of her powers.
So no matter how she played the game, she would end a pawn. Then...
"I don't want to play your game." she finally said, this time refusing to lower her head. "You know. You now know far more than I can even guess. But I don't like riddles. I don't like games. I won't play it."
"And you have a choice in the matter ?" he asked, in his sweet tone had a frighteningly similar mocking tilt as Salazar's.
"I do. I won't play it." she rose to her feet, she then pulled at the golden bracelet on her wrist and tossed it as hard as she could against the wall. Already she felt her anger rise up, muzzling her fears with a strong hand. She rose her chin as high as she could so that their eyes met each others. "I'll tell you what you want to know. Yes, I do have free-will, I do feel empathy, and I genuinely do not like being treated like a guinea pig. No I can't die, even if right now I would give everything to just jump out of the window. Yes I could smell that this poor child was dying from a mile away and yes I knew that something inside of him was just rotting."
The air was now cracking with something entirely different and much more dangerous. Hermione knew that in this moment, he was keeping a very tight leash on his anger, and that if he wanted to hurt her, he could do it in ways that she could not even fanthom. She had a very high opinion of herself and her capabilities, but she was in no way delusionnal and she knew that even at seventeen, Tom Riddle was his own category, his own inhuman measure. Maybe it was that, maybe it was this knowledge that this was a game that she could in no way win that gave her the courage to stand up in this moment.
She had been tortured before. She knew pain. She was afraid of it. But even shaking in fright, Hermione Granger was no coward. And she was no liar.
"Look at you. You could be perfect. And yet you're falling...You're falling. You are not even whole ! And yet...A silver of you, a piece of you is still greater than the most complete man of this world. No one will survive you. But even you can't survive yourself...When I look at you I feel so angry and grieved that I-..."
She passed her hands through her hair and pulled at her curls, before closing her eyes. "I am too tired for this. I am going to wash, and I am going to sleep. And what happen of all of it...I don't care. What you are...plotting with all of it, I don't care. If you want to hurt me, hurt me. Hurt me and destroy yourself some more, just cut yourself some more. I just-..."
When she opened her eyes, his gaze was still fixed on her. But the rage that she had expected was not here, only an impatient kind of confusion. Huh...So he hadn't planned for that. He had thought that the stone would be as wickedly manipulative as him. It seemed that even if he had understood that the stone was capable of being affected by sensibility, empathy and human emotions, he could not very well imagine someone that was not even the slightliest bit twisted. He had most assuredly never met one. The closest to that he had ever seen was the professor Dumbledor, but he only attracted his distrust and condemnation.
She had to think about it. But later. First she had to sleep. Who knew what she could say. Who knew what he would say, each of his word was like an impeccably crafted spell and she left almost running toward her dormity before she could be lulled by his speech.
To be continued...
So...after a very long break, I am happy to tell you that the Resurrection Stone starts again ! I am very sorry for the wait, and happy to know what you think of the new chapter !