A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody! We have now broken the hundred mark and I squealed VERY loudly when that happened, hahah. Shameless plugging now: there's a sequel to The Night Before the Morning After, called The Years that Followed the Morning After. It's enjoying daily updates and there's lots of Tom, Abraxas and Arcturus, plus Emily, the little cutie who was too young for Tom. Also I posted a one shot called Sweet Scandal about Tom Riddle Sr and Merope. It's cute, I quite like it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think!
Tempora Abducto.
by Flaignhan.
"You have to clear your mind of everything; try imagining a blank space enveloping all of your thoughts and feelings. Remember, it's not just what the attacker can see that will give you away – if they can sense that you are tense, then they'll know you are lying."
Hermione nodded and tried to wash all of her thoughts away but each time she achieved anything like a blank space, another thought popped into her mind, arrogantly painting away the white walls she had mentally built.
"Are you ready?" Dumbledore asked.
Hermione shook her head, her eyebrows drawn together in a troubled frown.
"It won't be perfect the first time," he told her gently. "And I can assure you I will have seen much worse in other people's minds than I could possibly see in yours, if that's what you're concerned about."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh bitterly.
Dumbledore sighed and sat down in his chair. "Is it that bad?"
"Well, it's no barrel of laughs," Hermione said, her shoulders sagging in defeat as she temporarily gave up on her quest for an empty head. "But my best friend was at the centre of it all...and I was with him too."
Dumbledore nodded. "Well, I suppose that makes it even more important that you learn to be a competent Occlumens," he said. "The effects of your knowledge leaking out could be disastrous, so we must take every possible measure to stop that from happening."
Hermione blinked and looked at the floor. "What if...what if I didn't remember at all? What if there was no knowledge, and thus no risk?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "It would do more harm than good, do not even attempt it."
"It was just an idea," Hermione said quietly, "I think I'd be too much of a coward to go through with it though. I wouldn't want to forget them."
"We can't afford to forget those who have loved us, otherwise we live a life without love, and a life without love can lead to terrible things."
"You're telling me..." Hermione said quietly, her mind flicking to Tom as it did more often than not these days. She pushed her hair out of her face and let out a deep breath. "So, a blank space," she frowned for just a moment. "I'm not used to not thinking," she said with a small smile.
"The trick is to make your attacker think you're not thinking. You can still think, but you will need to learn to think more deeply, leaving the surface of your mind clear."
Hermione nodded, and imagined her white space again, pushing away any thoughts that tried to intrude upon her process. She looked up at Dumbledore, not wanting to speak in case it ruined the wall she had created, and he nodded once, before raising his wand.
"Bit of hush please, folks," Slughorn was sat at the front of the dungeon, his round belly visible over the desk, like a large tweed sun rising over a wooden horizon.
The class silenced almost immediately, most students pausing as they packed their books into their bags. Some, more eager to leave, students continued, sliding their belongings off of the desk quietly, looking up at Slughorn and pretending that he had their full attention.
"Now, for next week I want you to prepare a presentation on a potion of your choice, as long as it is not one we have previously studied. I want to know what the ingredients are, how it's brewed, what the effects are, common errors and any legal constraints upon it. This is the bare minimum I expect," he stood up, arching his spine, one podgy hand resting on the small of his back. "Of course some students will be able to provide us with more information," he looked at Tom, who smirked, just a little, "but I will expect you all to deliver a full, informative presentation in next week's lesson."
Hermione looked around, noting the scowls on the Slytherins' faces and the looks of frustration worn by the members of the other houses. Slughorn hadn't seemed to notice.
"I will also expect you to all take notes on each presentation. In previous years, several of the presentations have proved useful in the final written exams that you will be taking for your NEWTs. Now, I've organised you into pairs -"
There was a collective groan from the class. Being organised into pairs by the teacher had never, not once in the whole of history, been beneficial to anybody.
Slughorn ignored the obvious lack of enthusiasm and ploughed on, reading names from a scroll of parchment, held at arms length from his face so he could make out the untidy writing.
"Dylan, you'll be with Shyanne, Richard and Eric, you're together, and last but not least, Tom, you'll be with Hermione."
Hermione closed her eyes, trying to remain calm. She had expected this. The further Slughorn had got down the list without reading out her or Tom's names had caused the blood in her veins to grow colder and colder. He looked over and smiled widely at her. She contemplated bashing her head against the desk for a moment before she realised that this would seem to be an overreaction for being put with a person who was actually the most intelligent student in the school.
"Professor, I can't work with Richard, he's a Gryffindor," Eric said, his hand raised, nose scrunched up as he glanced sideways towards Richard before looking back at Slughorn.
"It's not a disease, boy," Slughorn replied. "Get on with it. You don't have to be best friends, you just have to work together. Tom and Hermione are managing to get on with it!"
"Yes," Tom agreed. "As a seventh year you should be setting an example of inter house unity to the younger years," Tom said, turning to Eric, who sighed but stopped arguing immediately.
Slughorn winked at Tom and he nodded, as if giving the Professor permission to continue.
"That's all then. I don't want to hear any arguments about pairings now off you go," he turned around and went back to his desk, as everybody got to their feet to leave. He opened the drawer and rifled inside before he pulled out a chunky piece of crystallised pineapple and popped it into his mouth.
Hermione whipped her head round to look at Tom and he was already standing next to her desk.
"Come on, to the library!" he said cheerfully.
Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times. However no words formed and Tom waved his wand, sending all of Hermione's belongings neatly into her bag.
"Come along," he said, "enough chit chat."
Hermione stood up and he handed her bag to her. She took it from him, but made no move towards the door. The classroom emptied around them and soon became too quiet for her to talk to him without Slughorn overhearing so she swung her bag over her shoulder and headed towards the door.
"Cheer up, you could be stuck with Vera," he said as they strolled along the corridor.
"Funny how Slughorn's got some crystallised pineapple isn't it?" she said, her eyes focused on the corridor ahead, moving a little closer to Tom to avoid getting trampled when a group of burly sixth years passed them in the corridor.
"Is it?" Tom asked mildly. "You've got an odd sense of humour Hermione."
"Did you bribe him?"
"I wouldn't say bribe," Tom replied, and Hermione could see his lips twisting into a smile out of the corner of her eye. "How did you know?"
"I told you, I know everything about you," Hermione said, frowning at some first years as they ran down the corridor and up the stairs.
"Walk!" Tom called after them, his voice filling the hallway.
The first years froze, looked behind them and then continued their journey at a more reasonable pace.
"You don't know everything," he added, a moment later. "You might think you do, but you don't."
Hermione looked over at him, but he was avoiding her eye. Was there more to him? Or was she just underestimating how much she actually knew about him? She had played a pretty major trump card when she revealed what she'd known about the ring, but if there was something she didn't know, would it be worse? Worse than a Horcrux? There wasn't much that could top a Horcrux in terms of evilness, granted, but she wouldn't put it past Lord Voldemort to come up with something.
"What about this one?" Tom asked, leaning against one of the shelves in the restricted section, a tatty leather bound book open in his hands.
Hermione looked over his shoulder, her face contorting when she saw the diagrams on the page. "Put that away!" she scolded. She pulled another book off of the shelf and scanned the index.
"There's nothing interesting in there," he told her, taking the book out of her hands and putting it back on the shelf.
"Well what are we going to do then?" she demanded, her hand resting on her hip as she waited for an answer.
Tom raised an eyebrow at her stance. "Not something boring."
"What do you define as interesting then? Something that causes immeasurable pain?"
"It'd certainly be a good read..."
Hermione huffed, pushed open the door of the restricted section, and headed out into the main area of the library. Tom rolled his eyes and followed her.
"Something new," she said when he caught up with her.
She was flicking through the magazines in the media archives, pausing whenever she passed an interesting looking potions journal, before skewing her lips to one side and continuing her search.
A magazine appeared in front of her face, the cover fresh, not faded, as so many of the magazines in the library were. She took it from him, and read the main splash on the cover.
GOT SPATTERGROIT?
DAMOCLES BELBY HAS A CURE.
Hermione's lips curved upwards in a small smile and she nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Let's do that."
"Does it work though?" Tom asked, "I'm not wasting my time doing a presentation on something that doesn't even work."
"Fair enough," Hermione said, and she passed the magazine back to him.
"So it's a load of old dung then?"
"What do I know? It might work, it might not. But right now, nobody knows for sure."
Tom stepped forward, blocking her against the cabinet. "You know."
Hermione leaned away from him, her back pressed uncomfortably against the handle of one of the drawers.
His eyes searched hers and Hermione immediately imagined a blank space, hoping it would be enough to deter him if he was attempting to read her mind. Three lessons in and she was beginning to get a grasp on Occlumency; it wasn't a very strong one, but it was still a grasp of some sort.
"All I want to know is if it will be a waste of time. I'm not asking for anything unreasonable."
"You're asking to know more than the rest of the world knows," Hermione said, sidling between Tom and the cabinet.
Tom grabbed onto the cabinet, his arm blocking her in.
Hermione froze, a lump forming in her throat as she looked up at him. He was a good a eight inches taller than her, his grey eyes staring her down.
"Let me go," she whispered.
"Just make a decision as to whether we can do this for our presentation. It's not difficult, Hermione."
"Let me go," she repeated, closing her eyes as she tried to tell her heart to stop racing.
"Yes or no," he said, not making any move to release her.
"Tom I need to get out of here," she said, though try as she might she was unable to keep her voice steady.
He sighed and dropped his arm. Hermione pushed past him, rushing out of the library as quickly as she could. As soon as she found an empty classroom, she went in, locked the door and slid down to the floor, her back resting against the wall.
She covered her face with her hands, breaths coming out in short sharp bursts, eventually slowing, along with her heart rate.
It had hit her for the first time in the library how real her situation was. Somehow, the idea that she was at school with Lord Voldemort hadn't really sunk in. But now, with her fingers still trembling and her skin raised in hundreds of tiny goosebumps, she realised that she was working, on a Potions presentation, of all things, with a wizard who would become so feared by the entire magical world that no one would ever dare say his name.
There was a click as the door unlocked and was pushed open. It bumped gently against Hermione's toes and Tom peered around the edge of it. He said nothing, and closed the door behind him.
"Did I scare you?" he asked.
"No," Hermione said defiantly, not meeting his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to, I just don't like to waste my time and I consider it to be a waste of my time to learn about something that doesn't even work."
"It's a slippery slope though," Hermione said, pulling some fluff off of her woollen tights. "If I tell you about that then what's next? Do I tell you what happens next week? Next month? Next year? In fifty years?"
"I wouldn't ask," Tom said. "Because I know you won't tell me."
"You wouldn't let me go when we were in the library," Hermione said. "Just over a stupid potion. If you were that concerned about that, then what about more important stuff, concerning your future? Where will you stop then? You wouldn't think twice about using the Cruciatus on me, would you?"
"I wouldn't think once," Tom said, squatting down so they were on the same level. "I wouldn't hurt you and I'm sorry that I scared you."
Hermione laughed and looked away. "Liar."
"No," Tom said. "I'm being honest. I do not want to hurt you. Not even for information about the future."
"Yeah, I'll believe that in fifty years time..." Hermione muttered.
"In the future, do I know what happens? Do I know anything?" his palms were resting flat on his knees, and Hermione found it hard to feel intimidated, despite the panic he'd thrown her into when they'd been in the library.
This was what he was good at though, this was what Dumbledore had warned her against. This was why Hepzibah Smith would allow him into her house every week, and this was why Professor Dippet could sleep soundly with a murderer prowling his corridors every single day.
"I don't know..." Hermione said quietly.
"That means no, but you don't want to admit it. So obviously you never told me anything. And obviously I never hurt you."
Hermione sprung to her feet. "In fifty years time you will perform the Cruciatus Curse on me in front of hundreds of people while my best friend is lying dead on the floor. Then you will send me back here, to go through even more rubbish, and everything I've already been through all over again! So excuse me, if I find it difficult to believe your lies about not wanting to hurt me. The reason you won't know anything is probably because I'll have died before you get any information out of me, not because you're a good boy who doesn't take what he wants when he wants it."
Her eyes widened as she realised what she had done and her hand flew to her mouth. "Forget that," she said hurriedly. "All of it, forget it."
Tom stayed still, his eyes looking at the wall that Hermione had been sat in front of just a moment ago. His hands were clasped together, his expression blank.
"Tom, forget it," she said desperately.
He didn't reply.
She bolted from the room.