Jukebox Plays- What ever you like! I couldn't find anything for this chapter. Suggestions are appreciated for good music to write to.

Chapter 17

And so began the strangest game of Cat and Mouse that had been played at Hogwarts for more years than anyone could remember. The tension between the players was almost a magnetic, tangible thing- repelling any who dared to step within the space between the two opposing sides. Like some cursed comedy they circled each other, never noticing that they were not the only ones who had become interested in the discord between them.

And as the last of the bright autumn foliage turned brown, and was covered by the heavy weight of winter snow- it seemed as though the players had settled into their places, and the rest of the board waited anxiously for the stalemate to end.

The younger students gossiped amongst them selves, in childish voices they speculated about the handsome Head Boy, and this mysterious woman from places unknown. The Staff spoke quietly to each other, some placing bets on which of the players would forfeit their position first.

It was the seventh years that were the most interested though, and watched with thinly veiled curiosity as they moved from class to class with the pair. Fascinated by every averted glance and soft, bitter sigh. They had watched Tom Riddle slowly turn himself away from them, the good in him slowly devoured by the darkness that had been obvious, even as a child.

And so Hermione was settled into the Ravenclaw dorms, and began her new life. And Tom once more re-entered his state of perpetual confinement. Neither one aware that all around them, it seemed the entire world was waiting for their little soap opera to end.

Ravenclaw was strange to Hermione after the warm, rough and tumble camaraderie of Gryffindor house. The walls had been hung with banners of scarlet and gold, and it had been a friendly, welcoming place. It had been her home away from home, in those years after finding out she was a witch. Coming to terms with the knowledge that her life would never be the same again.

But this was a different sort of place. The high tower walls were the cool shades of bronze and deep blue, and shelves covered nearly every available surface. It was a hushed and quiet place, a haven for those of learning and intellect. Even the students rarely spoke to one another, preferring the impartial company of their tomes and texts. Here there were no practical jokes, no gossiping girls huddled in the corners- these were the future doctors and politicians, and they took their roles seriously, even now.

Not to say that she didn't make any friends. Even in this den of verbatim memorization, there were some students that held to the true tenants of the scholar's House. There was Aislinn, with her incredibly long, wild curls in a shade of copper that reminded Hermione of Bill Weasley's coloring. She had wire framed glasses that slide down her nose when she was deep in thought, and a little smile that made people feel at ease. She blushed and stammered when talking to new people, and it took Hermione nearly a week of careful 'hellos' to see the witty girl underneath the shyness.

There was Jocelin, who was one of a set of triplets. His siblings had all been sorted into other houses, separating him from the support they all relied on. Sometimes, late at night they would sit up in the Common Room talking, and in dim light, she could almost pretend that he was someone else. Despite being in the same year, it was Hermione that introduced the two of them. Their shared love of medicine soon drew them into a conversation that Hermione could not follow.

And in these small ways she began to change everything. Her two friends did not question her history with the enigmatic Head Boy, nor delve too deeply into what's, where's and why's of her past. For that, she could not help but be grateful- for what answer could she give them?

The days were filled with study, the nights with bitter tears soaking her pillow. And in time, those too faded. But as her grief began to ebb, one thing became more and more obviously wrong.

The curse scars that she had borne when she appeared here had not faded. Unlike physical wounds, the scarring caused by a Dark curse will fade to a dull silver color as they heal. Such a process took anywhere between a few hours (in the case of minor hexes) to almost a month (when it was much more serious magic at work) It had been September when she arrived- and as Christmas drew nearer, they remained the color of the blackest coal.

Her strength had not returned as she had expected it to, and as the season settled into the coldest months of the year, the malaise increased with every passing day. An exhaustion that had settled into the marrow of her bones, an aching chill that permeated every muscle and vein- the frigid touch of a curse that did not exist, awakening from it's long dormant sleep.

The holidays came, and the majority of the student body gladly hopped aboard the train for home. Hermione watched with bitter envy as Jocelin met his other two halves in the Great Hall, the three of them moving towards the door arm in arm. It was a comfortable familiarity that she knew would not fade with time, the only girl of the three pinned in by her protective brothers. And for a moment Hermione saw herself in them, flanked to either side by the two boys she knew she would never see in this life again.

And so it was that a handful of students were left behind, one or two from each House, that had no home to call their own. Ravenclaw tower echoed in the still emptiness, a sort of hollow ringing that had always been filled with the rustle of pages and breathing. Had it been quiet before, it now sounded to her ears like the hush of an ancient tomb.

The sun had set beyond the horizon, the misty hues of pink and purple faded and withdrew from the walls of the Girl's dormitory. Hermione sat on the window seat, looking out through the lacy artwork of Jack Frost on the glass. Her mind wandered painting out of the black and white in front of her eyes, the face of the very man she had been so assiduously avoiding.

It seemed as though that night in the Infirmary was both an eternity ago, and the barest of moments. He did not look well, in every glance she stole from beneath her eyelashes, he seemed to have paled. His eyes were shadowed by bleakness, a numb and despairing stain that made her blood run cold. Since that night he had not come near her, not even looked in her direction.

Like I've got some sort of disease that he doesn't want to catch.

She thought to herself bitterly, pulling a pillow up against her chest. But even as she thought it, doubt remained to tickle the back of her mind. She had so many questions, and not a single answer to set her mind at ease. Something had gone wrong along the way, at some point she could not define. Perhaps it was the lingering feeling that she did not belong here at all.

That Tim was an entity unto itself that should not be played with. It could not be bent to man's will, nor shaped to suit his purpose. But this had not been what she wanted! It had been her design to fling herself back half a century, into this twisted not-relationship with the man that would destroy everything. She had only wanted a few hours, to warn them- to tell them to flee while they still had the chance.

You know, they wouldna left anyway. It wasn't in their nature to run from the danger, but t'face it head on- wands a'blazin, come Hell or high water in the only way they knew how. Darlin', what more could you have done there, that what you can do now? Go back, and the best you can hope for is t'die along with the rest of them. Cast your lot to the boatman, for all the good it does.

Hermione, you've got this chance to be someone- To live, and learn, and have a life. 'Tis a rare gift, if you've the strength to take it. You've seen so much death that it's more familiar then living- so much dark that light is a foreign thing. Ask yourself- is that that they've wanted for you?

Would Harry and Ron have let themselves give up? Would they've let you give up? And more importantly- would you have let them? Or would you have stood up, and rallied them to muster wha'ever strength they had, to keep going? They're still with you, even if ye can't see them anymore. And as long as you remember, then nothing, and nobody can ever take that away from you.

The soft Scottish accented words whispered into her mind from the place where her fear still resided. As the months had passed, it seemed as though her mind would forever equate her inner monologue with Oliver Wood- a fact she thought was rather ironic. Suiting, almost, that it would be his voice to tell her to keep going, to keep fighting when all hope was lost.

Because she thinks it would make him happy to know. That something of his determination had transferred itself to her subconscious mind- never give up, never surrender to defeat. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself tightly, hugging the pillow to her chest. Disassociating the voice from the memory of the man with the broken mind, Crucio'd until it shattered, unable to process anymore. She wondered if he would have kept fighting, even then. Now she would never know.

The spider webbing of scars across her stomach throbbed painfully, beating in time with her heart. She had searched for the curse, for the cure- and came up with naught to show for her efforts but paper cuts on her fingers. Madam McAllister, and Professor Dumbledore had thrown in their efforts as well, but in the end, the conclusion was a bitter one.

The curse simply did not exist in any book, no cure seemed to combat its insidious leeching effects. And as her classes became more difficult, her magic depleting with her energy, Hermione had long since realized that it was only a matter of time until her own body was stripped of its connection to the magic- and then at last her life. With each piercing throb, the ache twinned its way deeper into her body.

Grabbing a sweater from the foot of her bed, Hermione held onto one of the posts for support. The lightheaded dizzy spells were becoming more frequent, and soon she knew traversing the staircases from Ravenclaw tower to the Great Hall would be a dangerous undertaking in and of itself. In years past she would not have needed a sweater, just to leave her dormitory- but these days it seemed even the effort of staying warm was more then her body was capable of handling.

The four long house tables had been done away with, leaving only a single, round one in the middle of the room. The sturdy wooden surface was piled high with an assortment of things, enough to feed an army. But it would be nothing compared to the Christmas feast, in just a weeks time. She quietly hoped that by then, she would have managed to divine a cure for this wretched curse.

The table was already surrounded by the gathering of people left at the school for the festive season. The hall was decorated with long streamers of holly and ivy, with tiny red berries that glittered like perfectly round rubies in the torchlight. The air was filled with glorious scents of pine and fresh bread, the sounds of happy voices and laughter.

And yet he sat alone. To each side was an empty chair, and Hermione watched from the doorway as Tom absently pushed a single pea around his plate, lost in whatever thoughts occupied his mind. He had avoided her for nearly four months, left her alone to the merciless clannishness of her own House. For that long, he had refused to meet her eye, or speak a single syllable, to anyone, she had noticed.

Picking her way around the table, Hermione nodded absently in greeting to a very few that waved hello. He was only a few feet away, and she could feel the nervousness rising up in her chest- quelling it by sheer nerves alone. This had truly gone on long enough, and she would end it here.

"Tom? Is this seat taken?" She asked, ignoring the clashing torn confusion that met her own deceptively calm gaze. It hardly mattered, as she only waiting a single heartbeat before sinking down into the empty chair- grateful for the rest. She could feel her muscles trembling as though she had run a marathon, instead of simply made her way down for dinner.

His expression was nearly priceless, as he nodded in surprise. It was true that he had not spoken to her, but equally true that she had not sought him out either. He could smell the delicate scent of vanilla from her long curls that were almost close enough to touch. And to his distress that he realized how much more wan and tired she seemed.

"What's happened to you?" Tom asked after a pause, tilting the conversation away from himself. He turned slightly in his chair, unconsciously leaning closer to the warmth she infused into him with her very presence. He had long since stopped caring that she was a weakness, his own self loathing fueling his resolve to stay as far from her as he could.

But here she was so close, and his willpower once more proving to be unequal to the task of pushing her away. And he would hate himself for being so selfish with her safety later- for this moment, he could only drink in her closeness like a drowning man viewing the shore. And he didn't have any better words, his mind trying to catch up to what the rest of him already knew. That it would be a long life, shaded in monochrome gray, without her in it.

She turned to him, tilting her head up to look him in the eye. The months apart had given her ample time to clear her violently conflicting feelings towards the handsome man in front of her. Time to realize that the darkness in him was no different from that which she knew existed within herself. And perhaps it was a thing to run from, but how can you run from that which resides in you? She would be no hypocrite to fear it in him.

Pressing her fingers against her lips, Hermione swallowed back the pride that was so much a vital part of her. It was pride and unswaying hatred that had brought them to this impasse- and the months had taught her stubborn self the value of humble pie.

"I… I didn't know as much about Dark Magic as I thought."

And it was as close to an apology as she could summon- but he asked for no more. It was an olive branch of tentative forgiveness. No carte blanche offer of friendship, and to some it may not seem like much of an apology at all. But Tom saw in her the tiny flickers of fear, and could not bring himself to cast her away a second time. Nodding slightly, his expression softened. His voice was the same smooth cadence that had become familiar to her ear, as he accepted the olive branch on his own terms.

"Well, perhaps I can help you."

And maybe they would regret it later, indeed they knew they probably would- but for that moment, they could only hope that they were wrong. And realizing that they would never know for sure unless they tried.

- ---

Hey everyone! Wow, those transition chapters are a real pain… rolls eyes And as a warning, Here Be Character OOC-ness. Obviously they were going to have to go strongly against the cannon eventually. So that's my warning- I don't want to hear people whining that 'Tom isn't that nice!' Or 'Hermione should have known that all along!' Nope, just accept it, or stop here, aiight?

However, if you had read the fact that this is indeed a romance (albeit a strange one) then you should have already been prepared for that fact, and feel free to discard said warning!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I was actually planning on writing something else tonight pokes lisie But this demanded to be written instead.

Akira

Sachita

Speed of Darkness

WamprickNyx

Ocean Reflection

Blindfaith

Unenlightened

Svelte Rose

Enviousmoon

Michaela- I love that name, just for the record!

Tom the Riddle

Nerys

Lisiegirl

Ryn

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