Chapter 14

The next day, Albus Dumbledore came to see her again.

Is was sometime shortly after breakfast, the tray of nibbled toast and jam already removed from her bedside. Through the windows, Hermione could see the grey clouds that were beginning to collect on the far horizon. It was one of those days that she was grateful to be snug indoors, away from the damp, chilly breeze. A tiny thread of sympathy spun through her mind, for the students trekking out to Care of Magical Creatures, or the Herbology greenhouses.

Her eyes felt gritty, as she rubbed them with the back of her hand. Sleep had been long in coming the night before, as she mulled over everything that had happened. She had lain awake until the first touches of dawn light had filled the room, trying to find an explanation for her actions. A simple way to make sense of why she had wanted to him him.

Tom Riddle, the soon to be killer of hundreds, if not thousands of people. The old, forgiving Hermione argued that he hadn't done these things yet. The logical part reminded that he was no innocent. That he hadn't been innocent from the first time he had killed, and had written his own guilt more firmly with the second.

It was the small, long silenced voice in the back of her mind that chose this moment to step foreward. The bearer of the harsh truth that he was the closest thing she had to a friend here- and the idea of spending the rest of her tomorrows alone was almost more then she could bear. Already the days seemed to stretch on forever, as lonely and bare as she had ever known.

Hours and hours spent fending off memories she couldn't bring herself to face. How many times in the last week had she read something, only to remind herself to tell Harry and Ron when she saw them next? The gutted, hollow feeling when she realized that not only were they gone, but that they had yet to even be born. And late at night, when she would lie awake and pretend that she was home. That in the morning she would wake up, and all of this would just be a terrible nightmare.

Dawn always came with the harsh light of truth, shattering her careful illusions into shards so tiny that she had no hope of putting them bak together again. Those moments were the worst, the despair a burning, tangible thing that she could feel in every inch of her body.

The weak tea in the little china cup had long since turned cold when the Professor stepped into the Infirmary. The Headmaster had given him a strict ultimatum, and one he was forced to adhere to. Either the girl was moved to St Mungo's where she would get more comprehensive medical treatement- or she was sorted into a House, and enrolled to take classes. It had been a week, and in Dippet's eyes, it was a week too long for some strange girl to take up residence in his school.

It was with great relief that Hermione seemed to be doing better then the last time he saw her. Though still disturbingly pale and wan looking, she had lost the cadaverous thinness that had been so apparent on his last visit. Dark magic was so very touch and go, and Albus honestly wondered if she would ever be wholly rid of the touch of the black arts. Madam McAllister had come to him the first night, explaining that the curse was like nothing she had seen before.

Resistant to all forms of healing magic, leaving behind the telltale, delicate black, lace-like pattern of dark magic scarring. They could only hope that in time her body would cleanse itself of the taint. She was a mystery, this girl with no family and no history, appearing in a place she could not have apparated to. Practically swathed in dark magic, and bleeding profusely from a stomach wound. Perhaps, he had wondered in the days before she awoke- it would have been kinder to turn a blind eye, and let her pass on quietly.

"Hermione, good morning." He said, pulling out the chair at the bedside. The young woman didn't smile, but she did nod, her face schooled into something both pleasant and impassive.

"Professor. What brings you here?" She turned to her side to face him, her head propped up on one hand. He supposed he couldn't blame her for cutting right to the facts. Albus pushed his half moon glasses up his nose and settling them securely on the bridge, before he began his piece.

"Madam McAllister has told me how much progress you've made, and it has been decided by the Headmaster that you should be offered the chance to take classes here. If you like, we could probably have you sorted into a house, and settled in by dinnertime tonight." He said smiling. But Hermione had spent too long reading faces, and in her mental state, her mind was clear to pick up the little details most people would have missed.

"And if I don't?" she said after a heartbeat. Dumbledore looked at her carefully, judging the best coarse of action. Honestly seemed to be the only, and the best option- there were very few ways to say 'we would send you away, and leave you alone.'

"If you do not feel up to it, then the Headmaster has decided to have you moved to St Mungo's, where you can receive more through medical treatment."

She nodded, not looking one bit surprised at the news. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even really all that good- but he was offering her the chance to rejoin the human race, in whatever capacity she could. It was most likely the only opportunity she would get, unless she opted to wait through St Mungo's, and hope for the best.

"I'll take the first, sir." Hermione said at last.

…

The Headmaster's office was not how she remembered in. In her time, it was full of tiny spinning silver instruments. Delicate things with little arms and wheels and dials, but what purpose they served, she never knew. A little crystal dish of lemon candies sat on the edge of a desk, so cluttered by papers and things that you couldn't even see the wood underneath it. A fire burned always burned in the hearth, and it has always seemed a safe place. A place where all the wrongs of the world had a solution.

Even later, when the hard realities had come crashing down around them- it had still seemed a safe place. Filled to the brim with memories of better times, when justice and truth still had a place in the Wizarding world.

But as she entered now, Hermione resisted the urge to recoil from this sterile and blank office. The familiar, sturdy desk was neatly ordered with little stacks of papers; all topped with matching, cube shaped paperweights. The hearth was cold and swept clean of ashes, and even the portraits of the previous Headmasters seemed dimmed and diminished in their frames.

This was the office of a man that adhered to order and organization as more then a religion, and more then a lifestyle. It was the office of a man who used these traits to define his own existance.

The man himself was wholly unremarkable. Of average height and build, his grey hair was parted carefully down the middle, and trimmed to exactly the same length all the way around. His robes were a dark, professional navy blue, and the cut was so generic that they had nothing to recommend them. His voice was a balanced monotone as he greeted her stiffly, and passed over the ancient hat to Professor Dumbledore.

Still clothed in her white hospital nightgown, Hermione took the proffered seat in front of the desk. She couldn't help but feel like she did on her first day of school here, nervously awaiting the decision of the Sorting Hat. The weight was almost familiar, the fabric worn soft by hundreds of years of care. It was still big on her, slipping down over her curls- though it no longer threatened to totally block out her vision by covering her eyes.

Miss Granger… You have a great deal locked away in here, a true challenge to place. Gryffindor before, I see- but not now. The fight is not gone from you, but it is not the same as it was when you were a child. You have changed a great deal, oh yes..

Ravenclaw or Slytherin then, I think would suit you best. You are both determined, and quick witted, perhaps the house of Salazar would suit you best… Ah, but you have no stomach for intrigue anymore. Seen enough of it, have you? Mmhmm, it's all locked away in here, and I can see it all.

You want to hide away, and despise yourself for what you see as cowardice. Miss Granger, you are no coward. Nor a fool to rush at the world head first anymore- hit the glass ceiling a time or two, I see? Yes… Your ambition does not drive you as it once did, and I wager you will see both sides of the coin before you settle into this new life.

Slytherin or Ravenclaw, Miss Granger? In Slytherin you have a friend, as well as those who would harm you. In Ravenclaw, nothing but a blank. Even those sorted there as children sometimes find the academic lifestyle too much of a strain- but your mind is up for the challenge.

Alright then, I suppose you are best in—Ravenclaw!

The voice cut through the quiet room, both older men waiting patiently while the Hat mulled over this young girl. Older students always took longer to place, though rarely so long as it had taken with Hermione.

Robes and supplies were covered by a fund set aside for students who did not have the means to pay for such things themselves. It was a practice that went back as far as anyone could remember, back to the time of the Founder's, some believed. Tragedies should not stand in the way of the rest of your life, people must be given a way to keep moving foreward.

….

Tom made his way up the staircase to the Infirmary. It had been an entire day of pouring over her actions, and he had reached his wits end. One moment she was asking him to leave. Having the Matron turn him away at the door, no less. And the next, stepping into 'rescue' him from the uppercrust, pureblooded snobs, lead by Abraxas Malfoy. Since that fateful Saturday afternoon he had been left in wait; patiently, he believed, as it was now approaching the evening hours on Tuesday.

This woman had made him doubt and question his actions, even his very thoughts- and he would stand for it no longer. He was Tom Riddle, and he would be great, a powerful; she was only yet another block in the path towards his destiny. His fine, artistic hands clenched and relaxed, as he pushed open the Infirmary doors.

Hermione stood there, the dark student's robes turning her pale skin the color of cold milk. The early evening light slanted through the windows behind her, casting a nimbus of golden light around her, sparkling with tiny motes of dust that danced through the air with every movement.

His eyes trailed over her slowly, seeing her for the first time as a woman his own age, rather then a beautiful thing that was too fragile to be out in the world. His heart lurched painfully against his ribcage, tolling with every beat the truth he had tried to deny. That one day she would grow strong enough to leave this room.

She would go out, and make friends of her own. Begin a life separate from the world they had spun together in their silences here. No more nights would they sit here, reading until it became too dark to clearly see the text against the page. The suffocation sensation of loss nearly bowled him over- snapping him from the tidal wave of Nevermore that was threatening to pull him under.

"What are you doing?" He questioned, closing the door behind him out of habit. The expression on his face was calm, save for the maelstrom of violent emotions that crashed and warred behind those deep grey eyes.

Hermione looked up at him, shock etched clearly across her features. Blinking away the surprise, she shrugged slightly, setting the dust motes to swirling around her sleeves, radiating outwards from her body in the tiny eddies of displaced air.

"I was just-" She began calmly, but his voice slashed across hers, interrupting whatever it was she was going to say. He didn't want an explanation, didn't want to hear that she was moving on with her life. He made his way farther across the room as his tirade gained force.

"What is wrong with you? You know you can't do this! You're not nearly strong enough- don't be foolish."

Hermione bit back the urge to wince at the fury and frustration that laced Tom's usually calm voice. Like pouring bitters into a sweet cordial, vinegar into a rich red wine. It was wrong, and she refused to avert her eyes and back away from it. Finally out of the hospital whites, she felt more herself then she had since she had wokn here, in this strange place.

"What are you talking about? I'll be fine as long as I'm careful!" She shot back, stepping towards him. Tom matched her step with his longer legs, bringing them no more then an arm's distance apart. Hermione could see the bright almost-color flashing in his eyes, shining in the dim like like brilliant twin candles.

"What do you know? It was dark magic that cursed you!"

"I know more then you could even imagine, Tom Riddle!" Hermione hissed, a searing wave of fury burning through the layers of apathy that had been building up around her. Cleansing fragements of the Nothing from her mind, reducing them to little more then psychological ash. The name was like a curse on her lips; days, weeks of paralyzing doubt and helplessness as the catalyst to this.

"Just think about this for one moment, you can't understand what you are getting yourself into!" He retorted bitterly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Adrenaline fueled his rage, the first true emotion to break through his near perfect mask in years. Reaching out reflexivly, he grabbed her wrist tightly- knowing, somewhere in his mind that it would leave bruises come morning.

"Let me go!" She cried, pulling against the vise-like hold he kept to her. Disgusted by the part of her that wished her would pull her closer. Help her dash to pieces the Nothing, craving the blistering emotion to tear the numbness away from her soul. "You don't know anything about what I am capable of!" She added, twisting her arm around, trying to loosen his grip.

"Don't do this!" He said sharply. A flush had risen up in her cheeks, and Tom forced himself to focus on her words, and only her words. Not on the way his entire body seemed warmer, or the way her breath rasped across her lips in a cruel parody of a gasp. But his willpower had never been up to the challenge, the power, she possessed, and with a sharp tug he pulled her closer to him.

Even as she craved it, Hermione was repulsed, bracing herself against against his chest with her free hand. His face was only inches from her own, eyes locked in a battle so fierce that you could almost see the intensity of the sparks that flew between them. His entire expression was nothing but complete and utter concentration- entralling, and exquisite in it's passion.

That though struck a nerve, chilling her to the very marrow of her bones. Her next words held all the warmth of an arctic glacier, sharp edged and cutting deep into Tom's mind.

"I don't take orders from murderers."

- ---

A little bit of tension there, for those of you who have been waiting for something to break.

Thanks to everyone who had taken the time to review, it means so much to me! Almost 100 reviews, I am totally floored!

Vanikoro

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Stevie K- this is what happens when you don't deal with the issues, lol

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