Chapter VIII
The Child, The Mad King, The Ghost
Corvus Lestrange was a quiet boy.
A strange boy. But Hermione didn't mind strange. She herself, had always been called...odd. He was incredibly smart, most likely very talented...and so very sad.
He could have been sweet if he had been raised in a different environnement, but being a Lestrange, he had been very careful never to become something as easily damageable and corruptible as sweet.
The witch had found herself haunting the Infirmary more and more. She liked to think that they had become unlikely friends in their loneliness, and that they both found solace in the tales of this strange and brave boy named Harry. She came to the conclusion, the bitter and ironic conclusion that she, Hermione Granger seemed to be only able to function without going mad when she had someone to protect and care for.
But when she entered in the Infirmary on this pale thursday morning of november, Corvus was not alone. Professor Dumbledor was there, dressed almost entirely in purple and director Dippet was accompanying him, seeming as ill at ease as was immaginable in front of a woman with long dark hair. She was completely covered in black clothes of expensive materials, making her palor quite frightening, her blue eyes shone with a strange fire and the smile on her thin lips looked like the rehearsed grimace of a cynical character.
This woman looked...demented.
"...I can assure you, it would be better if Corvus came with me while Lord Lestrange is traveling. I'm afraid his health is far too fragile for him to stay here." she said, her forceful tone hiding painfully behind the mask of fake sweetness and affability.
"Well, Miss Lestrange...I...I mean I would not want contradict you, absolutely not, but taking theses kind of decisions without the written permission of the Head of the Lestrange House is quite-..."
"Are you trying to tell me that you have more power than I do in the affairs of my own House, professor ?"
"I would not dream of-..."
"Then let me decide what will be better for Heir Lestrange."
"We are just trying to follow the protocole, here, Miss Lestrange. The Lestrange House should be the first to recognize the importance of traditions."
The conversation continued, the witch becoming more and more agitated at each moment, but Hermione could not hear it anymore. From her place on the threshold, her eyes encountered the gaze of young Corvus Lestrange and what she saw paralyzed her. It was the first time...that he looked like a child.
He was terrified.
The boy was almost trembling, his face white with fear, green eyes opened wide in panic. He held her gaze and ever so slowly formed two words silently.
Save. Me.
They were mute words, and yet they pierced her like an arrow, making her feet move across the room in quick movements.
"The boy will not go anywhere." she said in strong voice, posting herself in front of the bed, hiding him from the eyes of the adults, and planting her feet firmly on the ground.
The witch, the Lestrange, slowly turned towards her, and Hermione met something she knew all too well in her eyes. She was evil. She wanted to kill the boy, her hands were almost shaking under her manic desires and restrained anger. She could see it all clearly.
The witch smiled at her, a small twist of lips, encompassing enough derision and impatient cruelty to make one feel like the worst of insect. But Hermione had been looked like that before. She rose her chin high, and balled her fists, refusing to lower her gaze.
"And...you are ?" slowly asked the witch.
"Ah Miss Lestrange, this is miss Rowle. She- " tried to intervene the professor Dippet, seeming almost as relieved as he was surprised by her presence.
"I am his friend." she cut.
"Rowle ? Ah yes...The newfound addition. I heard of you." The young lady Lestrange raised her eyebrows, and observed her carefully, her voice losing some her contempt but not an ounce of her tightly leashed impatience. "Well you do have the looks...a little less blond than you should be, I suppose." she continued while pointing in a carelessly violent manner at her curls. She approached Hermione with slow steps, the click of her heels tapping the floor with a calculated intimidation. "And what would be the business of a...Rowle, in the affairs of the House of Lestrange ?"
Hermione almost smiled as she noted the genius of Riddle when he had decided to which Household she would belong. He had figured her personnality and temperament in only a few instants, and she found herself miroring the nonchalant aggression of Damocles Rowle, as easily as one would wear a coat. "My business is my own." The young witch then continued in the mocking tone of confidence "I just think it rather strange to take care of such matters without the Head of Slytherin, and without the boy's father. I would never have dreamed to see a Lady make decisions on the health of a parent without the approval of the Head of House. I suppose Lord Lestrange will be enchanted to learn how...progressive his House has become. How proud will he be seeing that you dared breach the traditions of your ancestors when he could not even bear to disrespect one iota of it."
She could feel the eyes of Dumbledor on her. The man was looking at her almost unblinking as she continued to stare down at Lady Lestrange. Dippet looked divided between incredulity and curiosity in front of the spectacle she offered. This was clearly incredibly reckless, and surely unwise as well. The professor Dippet was not a pathetic, impotent wizard, and neither was the professor Dumbledor. If theses two powerful men were being as careful as they were, there had to be a reason. But Hermione would rather die than put this child's in harm's way.
Later, when calmed down, she would think at how very... Harry she was starting to act.
This witch was clearly too mad to wear her mask longer. Her features had started to change, setting in an angry sneer. Hermione was quite sure that she would have tried to slit her throat if they had been left alone. She was a narcissist. And she was a sadist. She was bad...but in an unpolished and uncontrolled way. Even her decision to directly come to the Infirmary to search for her resurrected victim spoke of an undisciplined rashness.
"Well...you put me in quite a situation. I expected to encounter several...problems. I didn't expect you would be one of them."
"I don't want to be a problem. But I'm ready to be one." calmly answered Hermione.
The sneer was becoming angrier and angrier. "I don't think you understand what you are doing, Miss Rowle. If you did, I doubt that you would still be there. This is a dangerous game you are playing."
"I thank my Lady for worrying. But my mind is quite sound. And I don't play. I never do."
§§§
Hermione did not know much in pureblood politics. She certainly did not know how the Lestrange Household worked.
Her little stunt could only go so far, she had to find the boy protection in the castle. Someone cunning enough, powerful enough, frightening enough, someone who even the Head of Slytherin listened to with an almost ridiculous admiration.
When she arrived in the Common Room of Slytherin, Riddle was sitting in his assigned green leather armchair, like a king enthroned. When he saw her he stopped stirring his cup of tea and his lips twitched with a suppressed smile.
He had been expecting her.
"I need your help." she quickly said.
He raised a mockingly surprised eyebrow, and took a slow sip of his tea. "And what...pressing issue is ailling you, my dear ?"
Had he a hand in this ? How ? No, it was not the time to think about this.
"I am not playing the game. I am sure you know what just happened. The boy...Corvus cannot leave with her." she passed a frustrated hand in her hair, pulling at her curls "She'll kill him ! I just know she will, she had this...gaze. I...I think she had something to do with his illness."
"Of course, she had." calmly said Riddle, giving his tea a critical gaze after taking a second sip.
"You can save him, can't you ?" she continued, trying to stay calm before his seemingly casual indifference. "You would just have to say the words to Dippet and Slughorn, and I am pretty sure that you know how to contact Lord Lestrange, and make this...woman back away."
"I could." he confirmed, tilting his head on the side, while putting his teacup back on the ebony table, throwing a disappointed look toward it.
Hermione stopped in her tracts as she observed his face. It was as unfairly perfect as it always was, but there was something deeply amused now residing in it. And severely disinterested at the same time.
"You...don't care." At that he smiled, condescendingly, as if she was a child finally understanding how the world worked. "That boy is a pureblood child, a Slytherin, and he is brilliant ! But you...just don't care, do you ?"
He slowly put a finger above his lips, tapping them in a thoughtful manner. It wasn't that...It wasn't completely that. He didn't care about what she asked, he was clearly showing her that he would sleep well at night no matter what happened to this boy but...It was not what she was asking. It was the way she was asking it.
"Funny isn't it...What do you prefer, my Lord, when they fawn and praise or when they fear and beg ?" She had a dry laugh and shook her head "Well, I suppose in any case they are groveling."
This time a smile appeared upon his lips, and she had never seen him so thoroughly entertained before. Hermione thought that anger would submerge her, and burn through her heart like it always did, but it appeared in a cold manner, rumbling in her stomach like the begining of thunder. She smiled too in this moment, closing her eyes for a moment.
Even trying not to, she fell into his mindgames. Very well, if she was in his play, she would do her part just right.
"Very well." she repeated aloud, nodding as if to herself "I can't die, but I can leave."
She pressed her new wand to her neck, in one swift and violent gesture. "I do wonder what woud be the effects of the death spell... Did you know that under the stress of danger...The stone protects itself before anything else ? It takes itself away from the threat, far, far away...Maybe to another world, who knows ?"
So now his expression had changed. His amusement had disappeared and if his features were still perfectly controlled, they had taken an almost stone-like immobility. She looked at the grip that he had on the armchair and, for a moment, she could almost be happy if she wasn't so angry.
"Are you mad ?" Tom slowly asked.
"Well...this is the crazy game here, right ? What do you think, do you still want me to play ?"
"So this is how you want to do it ?"
"Well, I've got to keep you entertained. And I am happy to have found a langage that we both understand." she simply answered.
He looked at her for a long moment without talking, his fingers tapping a thoughful and steady rythm. She could tell that she was walking on very thin ice. For him to be that composed and still could very well mean that he was minutes away from exploding.
"What do you want ?" the wizard finished by asking.
"The child."
"What ?"
"The child ! No one touches the child ! He is my friend."
"You've really lost your mind...You would endanger yourself-"
"Think what you will, but I have never felt closer to my senses."
There it was. All the glass of the room broke and the ebony table close to the chair levitated to fly and crash in the wall, the armchair being sent back on the floor.
"So you care now ?"
There was nothing controlled about him anymore, the air was almost cracking and rested so heavily on her shoulders that she felt them sag under its weight.
"So you care now ?! For a snivelling kid you've known for three days. For a child you would..."
Hermione looked at Tom for a moment and almost stepped back when behind the fury she saw something. He did not seem to like the thought of her disappearing like thin air, it seemed to make him...
"You...really are afraid, aren't you ?" she had an almost strangled laugh. So he still felt that, didn't he ? "Good...Good. See ? This is what a man feels. Fear !" Her hand started to shake. "You wouldn't understand. But I won't let anyone destroy this kid more." From her other hand she pointed an accusatory finger at him "Congratulations, Riddle, in this abyss in your chest, it seems that you can almost feel like a man."
She was suffocating and the walls started to creak when then all of the sudden, everything stopped. He stayed silent for a moment and in his muteness, Hermione saw a dark amusement appearing once more. As if he had finally...figured her out.
"Almost like a man." he repeated, and a smile had reappeared on his lips, raising the corner of them in a deceptively charming manner.
Tom started to walk toward her in measured steps until he was close enough for her to see every shades of blue in his eyes. " What ? Are you worried ? Worried that I will hurt you ?" he continued almost whispersing, pretending to divulgue a secret that he took a deep satisfaction in dissecting her "No...You are afraid that I won't. You are waiting for me to hurt you. You are waiting for me to wound you, are you not ? Why ? Is it because making me a monster would be so much more reassuring for your little story ? Your little hero tale ?"
"But I am not." he continued, tapping her cheek with his hand in a condescending and soft manner "You are a brave girl. The monster is the thing you went to see under the castle in the dark. You are not afraid of monsters. You know what to do with them. Yet...you are afraid of me. Tell me...What am I ?"
Hermione looked at him and for the first time in her seventeen years of life, she didn't know what to answer. Lord Voldemort was a monster. But him...What was he ? Tom Riddle was a monster, wasn't he ? Everything about him was monstrous and dangerous from his looks, to his talents, to his power...And yet. Only men could be afraid. Tom Riddle had done everything to be monster because of this very reason, to transcend every human weakness and yet...He would feel fear all his life. No matter how much he cut himself. No matter how many times he died.
He was no monster. And it was frightening.
He was the embodiement of how high a man could raise himself and of just how low he could fall. And he was only seventeen. Of course, she had a hard time to understand. But...There was no tales where the monster was stopped in his frenzy...because he was afraid to die.
Just what was he ?
In just how many pieces had his mind fallen to feel as he felt ?
"You don't want to answer ? Not yet, right ?" He passed a hand in his hair, pulling the black locks back in an effortless gesture. "You see...but you don't want to look."
Tom smiled once again. "I'll make you look...but not yet."
"Do you want me to look ?" she finally asked when she finally put order in her thoughts once again. "Do you want me to care ?" Hermione furrowed her brows looking at him "Do you even know ? If I look, you don't know what I will see, what I will find. You may not like it." She shook her head and took a step back "You should hate me. I am a base creature entirely controlled by emotions. You can't control me and I have shown just how uncooperating I can be. You should hate me. Why would you want me to care ?"
His features had stilled once again, but not under anger this time. She could feel his eyes studying her in an almost cautious way, as if what she had just said was much more frightening than the earlier threat of death spell. And maybe it was.
Hermione felt herself smile once again, but it was an incredulous and sad one this time "I wonder which one of us is the most afraid one."
§§§
"You knew..." he said to the basilisk "You are laughing at me, right now, aren't you ?"
He had not returned to the Chamber of Secrets since the last time, and he had not intended to. But apparently the old snake had had what it wanted. And it was almost gleefully waiting for him.
I am loyal to no one but the Heir of Slytherin.
"No, you're not. Crafty old thing."
You're insulting me. Of course I am. From the first time I saw you, master, I knew that you were born to reign on this world. Reign.
He wanted to pull his hair out. She had not been here for even a week, they had had no conversation which didn't include threats and screams and already the perspective of losing her had made him feel...
He screamed.
He was almost tempted to cut his soul again. Why would he need her after all ? He could achieve immortality on his own. He could transcend himself. Make himself better, leave his humanity behind.
If he was not a man anymore maybe he would hate her. It was because of his weakness, because of these disgusting irrational things that he felt...
And yet...
He had seen her with the child. He wanted that.
The basilisk looked calmly at him as he yelled and pulled at his hair, the stone of the Chambers solid enough not to break under the assaults of his magic.
"I want her...She is mine. The stone is mine. She is mine, how dare she ?! HOW dare she ? I want it. I want her. How can I have her, I want her..."
Master...
"I have to make her want me. Yes...She has to."
Master.
"So she likes them..." Men, wizards, these weak and shriveling things. "Very well. I am one of them. I am the greatest of them all."
You are losing control, Master.
"And you still want to run away, don't you ?" he started to laugh, an hysteric and high-pitched sound "Oh my dear you were shaking, weren't you ? Shaking...No...Oh we won't play, but I will still win."
Tom stopped and breathed, listening to his heart slow his beats. "She has not always been the stone, has she ?" he slowly said, turning his gaze toward the basilisk.
The creature stood silent, looking at him almost warily, as if unsure of when would be the next outburst.
"She would not be so human, if she had been...She would not be so lost. Is it possible...that she is learning what she is ?"
Tom started to pace again, words leaving his lips as fast as they rose in his mind. "She always says "the stone" and not "me"...Which one of us is more afraid...Yes...She is terrified but not only of me. She is terrified of the thing that is now planting its roots inside of her. We do not know how much of the stone is in her. How much of the stone she is. But...she does not know it either now, does she ?"
You are yet again dazzling me with your wit, Master.
The wizard furrowed his eyebrows and turned once again toward the basilisk "You knew."
Of course, I did.
"How much do you know of it ?"
Much.
"Tell me everything."
Everything ? What is Everything ? If I told you everything you would not come back. If I tell you nothing you won't either. So I will tell you something, not everything, not nothing.
"Since when do you establish the rules ?"
Since it is me who knows. And you who don't. Do you understand what I mean, Master ?
The suffocating air of the Chambers cleared, and Tom started to laugh again. "Yes...Yes...She did not come to the chambers to search for a monster. She came for answers. For knowledge. Oh...what a weakness it is. She can not bear not to know. Of course. And she is in a world of unknown, she must be going mad. I can use that. She is just a woman. She feels fear too. But she should know that I am not the most frightening thing in this unknown world. I will show her. And then, it is to me that she will have to turn to find a haven, me she will seek for security, me she will depend on. She wants to save the boy...Very well. But who will save her ? I am the only one. I will be the only one."
He tapped a long and graceful finger against his mouth. "But let's be careful. No rush. This is not a game, this is a hunt. And a hunter ought to be prudent. How could I lure her...She seems to like pitiable things, should I make myself pitiable ?" Just the thought made him let a dry heaving noise, as nausea filled him. "Disgusting. I couldn't. She would not believe it either. But...How confused she was to see me...fear. As humiliating as it is, vulnerability seems to work. Vulnerable. Yes."
Be careful, Master. Greatness is a lonely business. And loneliness can make a man do many things. And become many more.
§§§
She felt the hair on her arms rise. She couldn't move anymore.
Hermione tried to open her mouth to speak but she couldn't, it was as if her entire being was filled with ice. All of it beside her arm that was burning with the stone.
She turned around to look a the empty corridor. What was that...Something was approaching. Something...Not someone, yet maybe it used to be someone.
Just after that, she heard the sound of shackles being dragged. Their strange cliquetis and rattle became overpowering in her ears, so much so that it suddenly seemed to be the only thing that she could hear.
As she slowly rose her head, she saw him. A ghost. The Bloody Baron. His hair fell madly around his face, his wild gaze was stuck on her.
"So it was true what they said...You are here."
Hermione couldn't move, and couldn't avert her gaze either.
"Life in the flesh, like spring in a human form."
He let a bloody hand, heavy with shackles rise to approach her face. And as it approached her, it seemed to gain in substance, it seemed more and more like the real hand of a man and less and less like the disembodied member of a ghost.
Suddenly something stopped his hand. The almost flesh-like member was gripped by and elegant and pale hand.
"I do understand your enthusiasm, baron. But one should not touch another's belongings, you are crossing the line."
The baron immediately dropped his hand and fixed the point of origin of the voice behind her. She did not need to turn to see who it was, only one man's hand looked like every single one of his fingers had been carved in ivory.
But for once, she was almost happy that he was there. And relief was not an emotion she was used to link to Tom Riddle. She did not like it. But her confusion of the moment was too great for her to dwell on it.
Ghosts...Why had she not thought about it ? How many things had she not thought about ?
She let herself fall against the wall, pushing her hands inside the mass of her curls. She was too naive. Not prudent enough. Too simple-minded. How could she just...She did not think enough. Ghosts were everywhere in the castle, of course they knew what she was. They felt it. To them she had to be like a flamming torche in the dark. The deads desired the stone...God, what was she going to do ?
"Poor dear..."
An aborted laugh passed her throat. How did he make his tone so sweet was a mystery. Rotten human being. She could almost believe it for a while. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
"Please...I am not frazzled enough to honestly believe that you feel pity for me."
"Of course, I don't. Proud as you are, I doubt that you would take kindly being pitied."
She pinched her lips.
"You just...hate being wrong, don't you ?"
Hermione pinched her lips harder, determined not to answer him. And it seemed to amuse him tremendously. Tom slowly crouched in front of her, and looked at her intently, until she surrendered and look into his eyes. They were a different shade of blue than before, brighter, and yet seeming far more dangerous. "You're actually telling me more about you when you are not saying anything. If you were just a witch...I would say that you would be quite the self-entitled, know-it-all type. But you are not just a witch, are you ?"
She squinted her eyes. Once again she felt the hairs of her arms raise, as if she was approaching a very dangerous place. What did he mean by that ?
"I suppose not."
"But you would like to be. You try so hard to be just that."
Could...he know ? Could he know that she was not just an artefact in a flesh form ? She almost snorted another laughter. Well...It would be stranger if he did not know, now. He was incredibly smart. She had rarely met anybody capable of outhink her and yet, he managed to do so with an astounishing ease.
He knew her. Very well. She knew him too. Her lips stretched into a little smile, a dry and tired little thing.
"Are you not even a little bit curious of what you could be ?" she finaly asked.
"What I could be if what ?"
"If you were not a dead man walking."
The atmosphere grew colder again and his eyes darkened. Ah, there it was. Now there no more pretense.
"A dead man walking ? I wonder if attacking me is making you feel safer."
"It is not. But telling the truth feels good. I was merely telling one. You killed yourself twice already. You know what I am talking about, let's not pretend." For a moment she felt quite proud of herself and let her hands fall in her lap "I know things too."
Slowly, a smile came to tug on the lips of Riddle "Not very many things, now."
"Enough to make you angry. So...enough."
"You are testing the limits constantly and yet you say that you do not want to play."
"I do not want to play because I never knew how. A game is never a mere game for me. I always take things far too seriously. And I hate to lose."
"Yes, I believe that." he slowly said. "I have to assure you...I am not playing anymore."
"I believe that too. But it has nothing of reassuring."
At that a surprised laugh seemed to escape him "Do you always strive to tell the truth or are you just terribly blunt ?"
"Neither. I have just changed my language for you. It is called honesty and a profound disdain of false prestenses. Between all the pleading and the praises, I imagine that you must not receive much of it."
"I do not. Fearful men are very rarely honest. Simpering ones even less. You...are an oddity."
"I strive to please, my Lord." Hermione said in a mocking tone.
He looked at her, a smile still playing on his lips and slowely rose, standing before her. "You do."
The morning light behind Tom was the harshest light that could be, and yet it complimented him in an absolutely unatural way, as he stood before her, perfectly relaxed, his hand in the pressed pockets of his uniform.
"Very well...I will give you the child. I will make him stay."
She furrowed her brows. "For what in exchange ? You are no philanthrope, Riddle, and I am not ready to either grovel and beg nor fawn and praise. I am afraid that I do not look very good on my knees."
"Oh...I sincerely doubt that." "But I am nothing if not patient."
To be continued...
I am always so happy to read your comments ! As requested, I am giving all of you more time in Tom's head, his chaotic mind seems to be widely appreciated.