The drama is never dead, folks. We're chugging along – only two more chapters! I'll try to wrap this up by Thankgiving!
Many thanks to all those who read and support!
-XXX-
To use Legilimency upon Hermione feels like an act against himself. He does not enjoy violating her mind, especially in her weakened state. But he needs to know everything. There is no other way.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly before casting the spell upon her.
She just closes her eyes.
The memories that flash before him are informative. He sees her meeting him for the first time, spending afternoons in the Hogwarts library, tying a red-and-gold tie, Christmases and chess games –
But he is being blocked. There is something preventing him from seeing everything. Furious, he rams at it. Hermione squirms unhappily.
Finally, she allows a little of memory to slip through – just enough to give him what he's searching for. She lets him see meeting the younger Dumbledore, her terror of Tom Riddle, her work as an Auror-Unspeakable liaison. He watches her duel Death Eaters, explore number 12 Grimald Place, creep through Malfoy's hidden storeroom. The silver box automatically catches his eye.
He pulls out of her head, reeling.
"You didn't come here on purpose," he pants. "None of this – it was an accident. That box sent you here. Malfoy's box, correct? I could tell, the inbreed weasels, that one looked just like Abraxas. You were looking at the box and it sent you back and you've been trying to find a way back the entire time."
There is no answer. Still, he knows it to be true. Hermione came with no mission. Her only intention is to leave.
Months ago, he might have let her slip away, but now the idea is inconceivable.
"I'm not letting you go," he tells her the morning after her attempt. "Don't you see now I cannot?"
He is met with only silence.
-XXX-
"I have something I need you to do for me."
Abraxas's pale brows rise. "Anything you require, my lord," he agrees cautiously. When the Dark Lord asks one for any kind of "favor" one must always be cautious.
Tom removes a small silver box from his bag. Yesterday he'd temporarily nicked it from Borgin and Burke's, claiming he was taking it in for a proper polish. Instead he'd brought it back to his to make a few adjustments. It took a few tries, but he managed to spell the box with a variation of the kind of wards used upon wizarding locations as a way of keeping muggles way. His version keeps all people save Hermione from noticing the object. And only she may open it – and when she does, in whatever time she came from, she will be pull into 1946. He cannot specific where – he does not know where she specifically landed. That is a merely a detail. Either way, she will be sent to him.
The spell required Hermione's touch. He approached her the very evening he stole the box.
"I need you to place your hands upon this," he told her softly.
Hermione glanced at the music box, her eyes turning hard at the sight of the offending object. But she does as instructed without much hesitation.
Giving it to Abraxas, he orders him to hide the thing in his dungeon keep. The Malfoy heir accepts the music box with a curious expression.
"Why ever would you need me to hide this thing?"
Tom just smirks. "Trust me, it is important. Just keep it there until I need it."
"Right, my lord. Just as with the diary."
"Yes."
Malfoy clasps his hands, bows his head, and prepares to part from their table. He is stopped, however, when Tom calls him back.
"One more thing, Abraxas."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Don't tell any of the others of this."
-XXX-
It troubles him to no end that she refuses to speak. Since the night he stopped her leaving – nearly five days ago now – Hermione has been utterly silent. This week he took off work, claiming illness, so that he can stay with Hermione in her flat. Her upturned lips make it more than abundantly clear that she resents the babysitting.
"You need monitoring," he tells her, running his fingertips along the length of her arms. "I dare not leave you alone now, Hermione."
She simply shrugs her shoulders in reply, shrugging off his touch without a sound.
He catches her wrists instead, tightening his grip until she winces, holding her against his chest. Hermione refuses to struggle. Instead she goes a little limp, waiting for him to release her. And he always does after spending several long seconds staring into her chocolate-colored eyes.
Every morning she wakes late, drifting from her bedroom to the kitchen where she sets about making herself a cup of tea. After the tea, she settles on the couch to read until dinnertime, when he transfigures a table before her and works at forcing the consumption of at least a few bites. She does not fight him, but stares at her plate blankly, pushing around her fork. After she's eaten enough to suit him, Hermione stands and trails into her room, shutting the door, extinguishing the light. But she does not sleep. Several times a night Tom checks in on her. He always finds her awake.
Nothing he can do or say will tempt her from her silence. Hermione will not speak. Not for anything.
-XXX-
Not even the twinkling blue eyes of her old headmaster can cheer her. Hermione sits across from Dumbledore, stirring her soup absentmindedly as she listens to him recount a wonderfully amusing tale of a misspoken spell in his classroom that turned two students into goats. She laughs at the proper places, but it is a rather hollow sound.
Dumbledore naturally picks up on this. He delicately dances around the subject. "I do hope the last several weeks have been kind it you, Miss Garner. It does sound as though your experiments took a promising turn recently."
She smiles half-heartedly. "I thought they had, yes."
"But?"
"They were interrupted," she says flatly.
His brows rise. "How so?"
Hermione hesitates. Professor Dumbledore is politely, sipping his port, looking about the room. The idea of telling him the precise truth makes her uncomfortable. He is quite aware of her situation with Tom, their odd relationship. Of course, it makes the transfiguration professor quite uncomfortable. Hermione does not wish to worry him. She finally speaks, slowly, with great consideration.
"I wrote you, but I suppose the letter never came," she begins wearily. "He knows. He told me, last week. I was terrified of what Tom might do, so I was resolved to go – once and for all, back to where I belong. So I fled him and prepared. But I was found out. He stopped me."
"How?' Dumbledore asks sharply.
Eyes downcast, Hermione takes a breath. "He stopped me mid-spell."
"But surely you can try again?"
"Of course," she lies effortlessly. She swallows before going on. "Once I have the chance, I will certainly try again."
"Good, good." Dumbledore nods solemnly. "Should you need anything, Beatrice, let me know immediately. Safe haven, protection, support…should you require anything at all…"
She takes up his hand, squeezing. "Thank you, Professor. I shall keep that in mind."
Dumbledore smiles at her fondly and offers to pay the bill.
-XXX-
Her eyes are a little brighter than they'd been when she left. Tom watches her from the corner of eye. She opens the curtains, plumps the pillows, and walks on lighter limbs. He is inadvertently pleased to see her more at-ease, however, he is less pleased in knowing who gave her this comfort. "Blasted old codger."
Must Dumbledore have a finger in every pie? Particularly his, Tom's, pies?
Of course, he knew seeing Dumbledore would have some kind of effect on her. Oh, when she'd spoken finally after over a week of silence, he thought he would kiss her out of relief. But no, she simply wanted to inform him that she might go out for lunch with the batty old professor. He was a little sour that she had not asked any kind of permission, but he acquiesced. For the first time in days she dressed in something besides a nightgown and bathrobe. Tom watched her put up her hair, lingering in the threshold of her room. As ever, she avoids his eyes.
Upon her return, Tom ventures to speak with her properly.
"And how was Professor Dumbledore?"
"Quite well."
"And your lunch?"
"Nice."
"What did you talk about?"
"All manner of things."
He sighs. "How did he take the news of my interference?"
At this, she glances up sharply.
"I know of your relationship with him. How he has helped you this last year in trying to get back. I simply wish to know of his reaction when you told him." A pause. Hermione drops her gaze. "Oh. Oh. You did not tell him."
"I did not tell him everything," she corrects.
Tom is surprised. Pleasantly so. He moves to meet her in the kitchen, where she has been preparing herself a cup of tea. Hands rest on her waist, drawing her near. In his arms Hermione grows stiff. Tom does not relent, however, and holds her before him.
"Why?" he asks her. "Why not tell him everything?"
Hermione closes her eyes. "I did not want him to worry," she whispers. "He is already extremely wary to let me remain with you. If I told him you entirely prevented me from going, I have no doubt Professor Dumbledore would spirit me away."
His fingers brush her cheek. "No one shall spirit you anywhere, save me"
"Dumbledore could," she bites back fiercely. "If anyone might, he could."
"I would like to see him try," Tom replies before leaning into kiss her on the mouth, hard.
She fights him. Tom ignores her beating fists for a few seconds before catching them in his grasp. Without his hands on her form, Hermione wrenches away. Pulling back, she sees that Tom Riddle's eyes are a bright, brilliant red. The witch gasps. The color flashes, then fades.
"Tom," she cries. "You –"
"I won't let you go," he hisses. She tries to bolt, but his grip tightens. "You belong here, Hermione."
He kisses her again so that she does not argue.
-XXX-
Please note that what I am portraying is in no way a healthy relationship. Tom is possessive and controlling and generally an ass. Which, in my head canon, would bit fitting – in no way to Tom Riddle conduct a healthy, normal relationship.
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