This chapter is dedicated to Cristina and Ryn, for helping me to make sense of my very conflicting ideas for this chapter- I couldn't have done it without you!

Jukebox Plays- Signal Fire, by Snow Patrol

Chapter 16

Tom stood there with all the silence and frozen solemnity of a Grecian statue. His hands hung limp at his sides, face tiled towards the cold, gray flagstones of the Infirmary floor. He could hear the unbearable choking sobs of the woman behind him, and closed his eyes against the noise. Of course it didn't help, and only served to amplify the sound until everything else was blocked out of his mind.

It would be easy to make her stop. The thought crossed his mind with bitter clarity, spinning around the interior of his mind like a diseased mosquito, waiting for the opportune moment to pass on the infection. She was so close, pleading with him not to leave her alone in her abject misery. But he had no words for her, no sympathy left in the battered ruins of his soul to offer as balm to her pain.

But oh the noise was a familiar one. He could remember so clearly, the dark, endless feeling that nothing was ever going to be right again. That he was helpless, hopeless to change the inevitable tides of change that were tearing all the good away from his life. That his grasp was simply never going to be enough to hold onto her.

Tom! You're back from school!

One more chapter before bed?

Oh don't worry about me, silly.

It was almost like swallowing tacks or razorblades, the piercing edges stabbing outwards from his stomach. Pinioning him against the corkboard of his own memories, drowning beneath the echoes of a familiar voice he had so carefully blanked from his life.

It had been a cold day when he returned to the Orphanage, in the summer before his sixth year of school. It had rained recently, and the streets were still slippery and clean, scrubbed clean of dust and debris by the downpour. But he didn't care, as he had kept his eyes peeled for one little blonde head amidst the cluster of children in the yard. Most of them he had known since they were born, names and faces that had begun to blur together with the years.

They came, and families took them away. And in the end, it was just the two of them that were left. No family wanted him, he was too old, too strange. There was something about him that had always caused the prospective parents to simply move onto the next child in line. It was an intangible thing, but it had only reinforced his own impression that there was something wrong with him, something that could never be loved.

But Emily… She was lovely, and sweet, and perfect in his eyes. But the families never wanted the blonde girl with the freckles, and soon enough she grew too old as well. He had never understood why she was never chosen, but it had suited him well enough. Emily was the sister he had never had, the closest thing to family, in a place where the very word was a curse and a cherished dream.

And he had read her stories under the old tree in the corner of the yard, and taught her to play chess as best he knew how. Emily had loved 'Alice in Wonderland', and he had learned to love it for her. She told him that his ability to coerce people to his opinion was a gift, and not a curse. And when she had gotten trapped out on the slippery rocks when the tide came in, he had carefully picked his way along to rescue her. He barely even noticed when a nasty fall had smashed his arm against the submerged rocks, breaking the bone.

She had been ill when he left for his fifth year. Told him that a cold was no reason for him to miss the train back to the school he loved so well. He had told her stories of the wonders of Hogwarts, and if she had believed the tales to be fictional- at least they were beautiful and fairytale like. She had told him to go to the place where he belonged, "There are some places we just can't follow each other."

And she had been gone when he returned. Her words proving more true and awful then he could have imagined in his worst imaginings. There should have been a cure, and they should have brought her to the Hospital earlier- but it spread too fast. Tuberculosis, and the Orphanage was nearly shut down. And when he returned, there was only a little stone with her name, to mark the place where his heart had been buried.

They had sent him to the father who did not want him. It was not safe of the Orphanage until the doctor's were sure that no sign of the disease remained there. And it was as though the rug had been pulled out from under him, and cast him into the shadows. His soul had made the sound that Hermione was making now, as he had laid the wilted daisies over her grave.

Tom lightly fingered the wand in his sleeve, pressed against his skin like the answer to all of his problems. This girl knew too much, that was all too clear now. Her very presence had done nothing but distract, threatening to undo all that he had worked so hard for. Her silence and presence sliding beneath every fault in the walls he had though so perfectly crafted.

With seemingly no effort at all, Hermione had held up the mirror in front of his eyes- and shown him that his defenses were only perfect because nobody had ever tried to look passed them. Made him doubt every plan that he had so carefully pieced together, every action that had lead him to this impasse.

That with the newly liberated humanity, he wished only to tell her that it would be alright. That she was nothing like the tainted and twisted creature that he was, that for all he appeared human, it was something wrong beneath that surface. To keep her safe, and well, and his. But it had been too long, and the silence only served the purpose of the other side.

She could not be trusted to keep his secret. That while there was even the slightest chance that she knew what he had done, then he would never be able to rest easy. Tom could not bear the thought of someone having that kind of leverage over him, that a single whisper could bring his entire life to a halt behind the cold stone and wrought iron of Azkaban prison. To never again walk free, to be labeled for what he truly was- a Him he could not face.

Tom felt the slim wand slide into his hand, bringing with it the calming numbness of a decision made. His eyes revealed nothing of his previous indecision, only the cold and calculating frozen grayness that had for so long been its norm. All shade of color drained from them, all humanity, sympathy, pity cleared from his mind. There would be, couldn't be allowed to be, a place for those weaknesses in the way of his greatness.

He turned to face her, the one he had let come too dangerously close to disarming him completely. She was perched on the edge of the narrow cot; her knees pulled up tightly against her chest, braced against the metal rails. His movement attracted her attention, as her red lips formed a faint plea of help. Don't leave me. But the words were lost in the pounding of blood against his eardrums.

Leveling his wand at her heart, Hermione's bloodshot eyes flew open in horror. The expression on his face could not be confused as anything but pure nothingness. As though he had become the embodiment of the place she had drifted so long. She reached out with one hand, shaking her head and setting those chocolate colored curls to spring and glance off her reddened cheeks.

"Avada Kedavra,"

And in a flash of brilliant light, the color of ripe limes and crackling energy, Hermione collapsed. Her eyes were open, but nothing dwelled within them any longer. One spiral curl rested against her cheek, and with an indifferent hand, he brushed it off her already cooling skin.

"It is better this way…" He heard himself say softly under his breath, watching her skin return to the ashen pallor it had been when he had first seen her. When she had still been his to covet- though he had not known that he felt at the time. The magnetic pull that had drawn him to her, night after night, dispelled in a single blinding moment of the blackest magic.

NO! It's not like that!

He screamed at himself, dragging himself away from the hateful vision that had so consumed him. His wand was still securely tucked into his sleeve, still facing away from the young woman who was struggling to control the convulsive whimpers that slipped from her lips. Tom felt a frigid shock run through his body, tensing every muscle as it flowed through him.

And like so many times since meeting her, Tom came to her out of his own conscious action. Turning slowly, seeing her as he had in that vision that had rocked him to his core. That he could have even considered, for a single second in time, doing such a vile thing to this lovely creature that had placed herself at his mercy. Asking for his forgiveness, as nobody ever had before. Because she knew she had gone too far, and not because of any action of his.

Because she wanted him to know that she was sorry.

The way she looked at him, waiting on his words with her faltering courage. Appealing to the angels of his better nature that were so completely sickened at his own thoughts. Self loathing coiled in his chest, a tightness that was hard to breathe through. Suffocating him with shame. And nothing he could bring himself to say, not a single word of comfort could spill passed his paralyzed lips.

Hermione watched as the emotions swirled and spiraled in the depths of those unknowable gray eyes. Saw the moment he moved beyond her reach, and the fragile wall that was placed immoveable between them.

"I… I can't do this. I'm sorry."

Were his only words, as he turned once more, and left the Infirmary. Not daring to pause a moment longer, terrified to the marrow of his bones that some part of him might take it upon itself to act on his terrible vision- fleeing the source of his guilt. And as the heavy door closed behind him, Tom swore that he would never again endanger Hermione by being near her.

He would keep her safe from the most vile creature in existence, Himself.

- ---

Thanks so much too each and every one of you that gave suggestions- I don't think I could have finished this chapter without that invaluable insight into my little creation! Sometimes it does take a third party to put everything into perspective, and I'm pretty sure I know exactly what's going to happen from her to the end.

On that note, I do have one unpleasant subject to bring up. While I have no problem accepting corrections for spelling, grammar (ect) I do however take GREAT offence to readers who accuse me of writing Mary Sues. That is a really vile term that implies that the character in question is entirely out of the realm of good sense and taste. It is the closest equivalent of 'Mudblood' for fanfiction writers. Keep that in mind when reviewing, please.

Svelte Rose (and go check out her work people, it's very VERY good!)

Unenlightened

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Lisiegirl

Stevie

Michaela

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And Speed of Darkness

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