"Dying is a Delicate Moment"
A fanfic by Agara
"Kill me. Kill me if you ever loved me."
And he kills her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE : IF I KILLED SOMEONE FOR YOU
Song : If I Killed Someone For you by Alec Benjamin
14.05.1944 :
Pollux's face suddenly lit up in the shade of green.
There was no sound other than the rain falling from the sky. Suddenly, she felt it, the heaviness in her right hand. The burden of the wand in her right hand. She slowly lessened the pressure on the magical artifact and finally let go of it. There, another sound, the wand hitting the floor, the echo filling the small alley. Haltingly, Hermione's gaze fell onto her hands, onto her bloodied hands. She began to shake, uncontrollably. Her mouth opened and she let out a small puff of air.
Gradually, the sound came back. It began with muffled chatter a couple of meters away from where Hermione was standing. She slowly turned her head to the side and first saw Cassandre's profile. His head was tilted backward and he was deeply breathing. Hermione noticed something, the way Cassandre kept blinking every few seconds, the way his cheeks were filled with water. Well, it was raining after all.
Then, the muffled chatter began to turn into something Hermione could actually understand. It started with Dolohov's voice and the astonishment in his tone, followed by a loud clap coming from Milton Mulciber.
Finally, she heard the steps of someone walking behind her. The warmth she felt suddenly disappeared and Hermione fell on her knees. She felt like being in slow motion in a spinning world.
She was no longer looking at Cassandre, her eyes were back on her hands before she finally rose her gaze. Ultimately, she looked at him. He was lying on his side, half of his disheveled hair drenched from the rain, or was it from the mud on the ground ? She almost couldn't see any patch of skin that wasn't bloodied. His uniform too was a mess. She had the habit of seeing him without the tie on, his shirt not tucked into his pants. However, she had never seen him that way. Then, she looked into his eyes and found him already staring back. Hermione let out a whimper, something felt wrong, deep inside of her. So wrong she felt sick.
She felt two strong hands pulling her up and she was met with a smiling Tom. "I am so proud of you, love," he told her. Hermione didn't have the time to react that he had already put his lips on hers.
It tasted wrong, so wrong, so wrong that everything came crashing back.
She stumbled back and was welcomed by a warm laugh escaping from Tom's lips. "Easy there," he chuckled. He seemed frantic, pupils blown, and a mad smile on his lips. The only thing Hermione could do was shaking her head no. Actually, "no" was the only word on her mind at the moment. Finally, she heard a small laugh of relief. She hastily turned around and saw the seven lads, all of their eyes riveted on her, and the bewilderment visible on each one of their faces.
Hermione startled as she felt something, someone, gently cradling her face. Tom was there again. Only a few centimeters were separating them. "I knew you would never let me down," he whispered. Hermione's eyes couldn't focus properly on him as he was too close. However, they did focus on something else. On him. Her eyes began an incessant back and forth between the blurred face of Tom and the still body of Pollux.
They finally landed on him. Nothing made sense for two entire seconds before she felt incapable of breathing. She felt as if she had just crashed from the fiftieth floor of a tower right onto the floor, she felt as if she was twelve feet underwater with no air left in her lungs. She felt suffocating. Tom's smile began faltering and his hold on her arms began to tighten.
"Grace-" he began but she couldn't hear him anymore, she couldn't feel him anymore. She violently shoved him away and took two steps backward. She spun around and saw the lads, their eyes still on her. She turned around one last time and noticed that Tom had not moved yet, he was simply looking at her, apparently aware she was about to bail. Hermione kept walking backward, slowly at first, before she turned on her heels and began running with everything she had left in her body. The last thing she heard before leaving the alley was Tom's voice directed at the lads, "let her."
She had no idea how long she had been running. Her lungs were burning so she stopped. She let the rain fall onto her face as she bent her head backward. Her mind was rushing, she couldn't produce any coherent thoughts. Then, the panic went crashing back. The way her head felt so heavy she needed to put it in her hands, the way her legs gave away and she fell onto the floor, the way she was unable to breathe. She tightly closed her eyes and let the fog inside her brain take control of her entire body. She began to tremble, not from the cold but from the dread of what had just happened. She began to sob, the tears wrenching her entire body, she sobbed until it hurt.
Hermione's head snapped up as she heard the sound of boots against the pavement. She jumped onto her feet and stumbled out of the alley she was in. She pressed herself against the nearest wall and listened. However, the only thing she could hear was her halting breathing. Unconsciously, her eyes fell once more unto her hands and she felt attacked by the crimson red covering them. Then, her gaze rose to meet her reflection in the shop window.
She looked at her shirt, well at what used to be a white shirt. She let out a small cry and hurried to take it off her skin. She ripped it off and let it fall on the floor. Here she was, shivering from the cold this time, staring at her reflection, a broken look on her face. She quickly retrieved it and pushed it deep inside her purse. Then, her hands. The blood had begun to dry on her skin and she felt it crackle as she moved her fingers. Hermione looked for something to clean them, and without even thinking about using magic, she crouched down and shoved her hands in the nearest puddle. It was disgusting but Hermione couldn't care less. She needed to get this out of the way, she needed to be clean. She rose to her feet and stared at her reflection once more.
She had always been an overthinker as people used to tell her. She had always had her brain running with continuous thoughts. Yet, at this precise moment, in the small alley, underneath the rain, there was nothing. Pure, simple, void.
Then, the window shop cracked. Hermione felt the magic emanating from her entire body, the small tingles in her fingertips. She was no longer standing in front of a single reflection of herself, but hundreds. She couldn't stand it any longer, she ran away.
OoOoOo
14.05.1944 :
It was well past midnight when she found herself in front of his door. The lights were all turned off. She took a step forward and knocked twice. Nothing. Not a sound, not a light. She then knocked again and as time passed by she felt the panic invading her body. She couldn't stop knocking on the door. She hadn't realised she had been crying until she let out a shuddering breath. Suddenly, the door opened and Abe was there.
She felt so cold, even the warmth coming from the house couldn't warm her up. She was freezing and yet she stayed immobile in front of Abe. She was standing in front of the only person who knew everything however she couldn't tell him a thing.
Hermione saw his mouth move and understood he was talking to her. Yet, she couldn't hear a thing. She then felt a warm hand on her shoulder as Abe welcomed her inside. He made her sit in front of the chimney and put a warm blanket on her shoulders.
She absently stared into the fire, fascinated by the odd dance the flames were doing. Abe had sat next to her, had brought her tea, had talked, and not one second had Hermione turned her gaze away from the fire nor opened her mouth. At one point, he had stopped trying to get her to talk, he had simply stared at the fire with her.
The rain had stopped.
15.05.1944 :
"She's not gonna come, she's not gonna come," Edmund was harshly whispering, panic evident in his voice, "we're fucked."
They were all sitting at their usual spot at the Slytherin table for breakfast. The chair in front of Tom was empty as Grace had yet to show up.
"Shut the fuck up," Tom ordered. The boy stilled and looked at the prefect. Tom's eyes had not moved away from the Great Hall door. "She is going to come."
He couldn't say anything else, of course she was going to come, she couldn't not. So why had Tom's leg been bouncing up and down for the past twenty minutes ?
"What if-" Edgard started but Tom's head snapped towards the boy.
"What if what, Lestrange ?" Tom snapped. No one dared talk after this.
Technically, nothing had changed. The Great Hall was still packed with laughing students, the professors were all talking at the end of the room, Pollux Parkinson wasn't there as almost every morning. Yet, everything was different.
Tom slowly turned his head and looked at where some fifth-year were gathered. Cassandre, feeling Tom's eyes on him, met his gaze. They simply stared and during these few seconds of silence, an entire conversation took place. This stare said "it's getting taken care of", it said "we just have to wait", it said "we've finally done it".
One minute, turned into two, then five and ten before Tom began doubting. Where was she ? What was she doing ? Why wasn't she here already ? She had done so well the day before, wasn't she proud of herself ? She had done more than any of the lads combined. Nothing could stop them now, wasn't she aware of that ?
And here she was. And Tom couldn't help the smile growing on his face. She was slowly walking past the door, towards them. She was standing straight, her head high, a stone-cold look in her brown eyes. She silently sat in front of him, not meeting his gaze once. The silence following her arrival was deafening. She gently picked up a piece of bread and began spreading butter on it, slowly.
"Well, I-" Dolohov said before Tom's hand hit his chest to shut him up. The latter turned his head to look at him and abruptly stopped. Tom's eyes were still stuck on Grace. She was still buttering her bread. Actually, the only sound around their table was the one of the knife against the toast.
Tom hadn't been expecting this reaction from Grace. She was acting as if she was completely alone, completely out of it. He wanted to talk to her, he needed to talk to her. Actually, more. He needed to congratulate her. Tom had never been this proud before. He had never felt as close to her as right now, yet she was miles away.
"Grace, ho-"
There, she stopped with her toast. She finally rose her head and looked straight into Milton's eyes. Tom had never seen them that way, her eyes. They were a different shade of brown this morning, they were piercing and bitter. Milton visibly shrank in his chair and gulped. Grace simply kept looking at him for another second or two before going back to her knife and bread. Tom frowned at the sight. On the one hand, he was entirely delighted to witness the power she had over the lads. On the other hand, he was not fully comprehending what was going on inside her mind.
Grace gently put down the food alongside the knife on her plate before getting up and leaving the eight boys gobsmacked at the Slytherin table.
"What the fuck was that ?" Dolohov whispered.
"I told you she was coming," Tom concluded while getting up too and following her out of the room.
He almost lost track of her. She was walking fast through the corridors and Tom briefly wondered where she was going. But then, she stopped abruptly and Tom couldn't do anything else but stare as he saw Cole approaching her, apparently in a hurry. The Headboy slowed down but didn't stop, he simply turned around and walked backward to keep looking at her.
Tom stayed behind, out of sight, and listened to the conversation taking place a few meters away.
"Have you seen Pollux ? I've been looking for him all morning." Cole asked while looking at his watch.
She simply shook her head no. Yet again, not a word was said. Cole simply smiled, turned back around and jogged out of their sight. Tom saw Grace's body shift entirely. Her shoulders slouched, her chin lowered and her hands began to shake. Tom took a small step towards her warily, she seemed so fragile at this instant. She still had not moved. He could hear her harsh breathing. As he was about to enter her field of vision, she ran.
15.05.1944 :
She had nothing left in her body, yet she kept vomiting. Hermione felt like dying, her throat was sore, her stomach in knots, pearls of sweat were rolling down her forehead. Yes, Hermione felt like dying. Once more, her body tensed and bile rose from her liver. She closed her eyes and saw a green light. She reopened them quickly before bending her head inside the toilet bowl and letting it all out. She then felt something, or someone gently keeping her hair out of the way. Two cool hands at the nape of her neck, she let herself enjoy the cold against her burning skin. "Easy," she heard. Her foggy brain didn't match the voice with anyone. Another wave of sickness flooded her entire body. "Easy love," this time it did.
Slowly lifting her head from the toilet, Hermione tried to shove him out of the way. Her weak attempt only made Tom tighten his hold on her hair as she vomited one last time. He was gently shushing her as he began to card his finger through her hair.
Her left hand fumbled on the toilet until she found the toilet flush. She let the water wash everything before she turned around, put both of her hands on his chest, and pushed with everything she had within her. Tom stumbled back as she rose up. She hastened to leave the room but heard him cast a locking spell on the door. She found herself in front of the bathroom sinks, her eyes riveted on the white porcelain. She couldn't raise her eyes, she couldn't look at him.
"Talk to me," he said. His voice was closer than she had expected. She could use magic and get out of the room, yet she only felt like being taken hostage, like she had no other choice than to stay here, with him in this room.
"What is going on ?" His voice was soft and it made her heart break even more in her chest. She tightly closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, on the feeling of the porcelain underneath her fingertips. "You seem off Grace," Tom's voice had gotten even closer. She kept wishing for him to stop talking, she couldn't handle it anymore. "I have never seen you that way, so far off. What is going on, Grace ? You cannot even look me in the eyes." Hermione's grip on the sink tightened until her knuckles turned white. "Look at me !" He shouted, anger finally replacing softness.
"Is it an order ?" She asked in a small voice, her back still facing him. He didn't answer right away and let another silence settle.
"Does it need to be an order for you to look at me now ?"
She had never been more aware of his gaze on her. It was as if it was piercing through her skin. She smelled his perfume, actually she couldn't focus on anything else.
"Look at me," he tried again, gentler this time.
"I can't." It was barely a whisper but she knew he heard. She didn't give him the time to do or say anything else that she had already cast a wandless alohomora on the door and fled the room. The last thing she heard as she walked away from him, down the corridors, was the sound of one of a mirror shattering on the ground.
OoOoOo
15.05.1944 :
Professor Wink had just dismissed the class. The students were all gathering their belongings, ready to head out to lunch. She had sat next to Belone and she had let her do the conversation. Hermione had just sat down and everything else was a blur. She snapped out of the trance she was in when Professor Wink loudly clapped his hand to dismiss everyone. She had quickly wondered what other classes she had in the morning. She had no recollection.
Belone was waiting for her by the door, enthusiastically chatting with a Ravenclaw. Hermione picked up her Charms book and put it in her purse. She closed her bags and went to leave when she felt the said book unsteady inside. She put back the purse on the desk and took it out once again. She tried to wedge it in between other books before stopping in her tracks. It was idiotic to put the book on top of the others as she would not use it until later in the week. She took it out once more and stopped to think for a second. This book was one of the smallest, which meant if she put in underneath too many books she'd struggle to find it. But if she d-
"Grace ?" Belone's voice resonated. Hermione turned her head to the right and saw her friend waiting for her, alone this time. "Ready for lunch ?" Hermione looked back down to the mess her books were before nodding. She'd have the time to deal about that later.
They reached the Great Hall in comfortable silence. Belone sat down and invited her to sit in front of her. Hermione didn't think about it twice before settling down. Mechanically, she began to fill her plate, well aware she had no intention of eating anything. Her mind was still to focus on this book issue. Hermione, just after leaving the Charms classroom, had begun to think about the right order into which she should sort them. Belone was still talking, and if Hermione was in the right state of mind, she'd be impressed by her friend's capacity to talk entirely alone. Hermione thought first of doing it by size. It seemed quite logical at first, but didn't match well with her time table. Then, she considered this idea, but the books would be too wobbly inside her purse. She had taken a fork in her right hand and began picking at her food. How about chronologically ?
"Are you planning on eating anything ?" Belone asked her. This made Hermione's head snap up. She didn't know what to answer. Honestly, she wasn't planning on eating. She had never felt less hungry than at this moment. She was about to come up with an excuse when, in the corner of her eye, she saw Slughorn walking towards the Slytherin table, a grim look on his face. She couldn't help but follow the large figure with her eyes. The potion professor stopped near a group of fifth-year students and put a hand on Cassandre's shoulder before bending towards the other's ear and whispering something. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight, her hands became clammy and she felt a lump slowly forming in her throat. Underneath the gaze of dozens of students, Cassandre Parkinson rose from his seat and followed the professor out of the Great Hall. Hermione's eyes automatically fell on the lads, down the table. They were all silent, and all looking at Tom. When Tom nodded, they all nodded back.
Her head snapped back to her plate. She still hadn't found a classifying method for the books.
OoOoOo
15.05.1944 :
Chronologically seemed to be the right idea. Hermione was doing the entire list in her head as she looked through the window of her Rune's class. She decided on taking out parchment to put down everything in notes when she realised everyone was getting out of the classroom. Hermione simply blinked, not fully understanding what was happening, before finally comprehending the class was over. She stood up, picked up her bag and left the room. She had about one hour and a half before dinner and decided it was time to finally tidy up all those books. She was walking, lost in thoughts, when she collided with someone on her way to the common room.
"I'm sorry," the other one mumbled. At the voice, Hermione couldn't help but look at him. He looked so small, so fragile at this moment. He had said those three words as if they didn't know each other, they didn't like each other, they weren't friends. And for what ? To protect the undefendable. Silas looked at her for a second, and Hermione didn't know if he was expecting something from her. Maybe he did but once more she made the wrong choice and let him walk away.
She must have stood in this corridor for another five minutes, staring at where Silas had disappeared. Her mind had gone blank, once again. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was, where she was heading. Her legs began to walk towards the dungeons.
The common room was quite busy for a Friday night. She briefly scanned the room and noticed some third-years playing wizarding chess on the far left, then a couple of seventh-year playing cards by the stairs leading the dorms, and finally the lads, at their usual spot, on the couches facing the chimney. Tom's head slowly turned to where she was and she quickly diverted her gaze not to meet his. She then felt the gaze of the seven other boys before sitting by herself at an empty table. She knew there was a seat next to Tom's on this couch that was made for her. She knew she'd only have to walk to where they were and sit down. But she couldn't.
She put out a parchment from her bag and began what she knew was something she needed to do. Her mind had not stopped thinking about this book issue since this morning. So, she began.
She had changed her mind more than four times since she had sat down. After more reflection, she had decided chronologically wasn't enough. Hermione had then opted for chronologically within categories. It seemed better. The table she was in was now covered in hundreds of papers and some books she wasn't sure where to put. Hermione looked for a second and took in the sight before her eyes. She had finally found the solution for the books, hadn't she ? So why did her mind scream this wasn't right. Once again, she took another parchment and began thinking about another solution.
"I haven't seen you at dinner." She heard it. That thing in his voice. That broken thing in his voice. Yes, Hermione heard it and she closed her eyes at the sound.
Cole knew. And she couldn't stand it.
She kept scrambling on the parchment, not lifting her head once, not even answering the unsaid question. "Grace, I need to talk to you." There again, the desperation, the sadness, the lack of understanding, the pain. Everything in one simple sentence. She needed to focus on the books. She tried to get her head back in it, but he talked once more. "Grace.." She heard the silent sob, she heard the thickness of his voice, she heard the shaky breath.
"Not now, Cole. I'm busy," she answered. It wasn't a lie, she was busy.
"Grace, I need to talk to you. You don't und-" his voice was pressing and desperate. She couldn't bear it.
"Later Cole, alright ?" She snapped, her eyes still riveted on the parchment.
"Gra-"
"Cole, not now !"
"Pollux is dead !"
There, Cole let it out, and Hermione felt like dying. There, Cole audibly sobbed, and Hermione felt her heart shatter in her chest. There, someone finally said it out loud.
Pollux Parkinson was dead.
She felt as if they were alone in the common room, just the two of them. Yet, she knew they weren't. She knew the common room had filled right after dinner, a dinner where Dippet must have announced the tragic death of fellow students. People were there, looking at them, pity in their eyes. She knew the lads and Tom were there too. How could they not ?
Hermione had not moved, not talked since Cole had spoken. Her hands began to shake lightly and she dropped the quill she was holding. Hermione closed her eyes for one single second and felt attacked by a green light invading her brain. She heard him crouch next to her and put a hand on her thigh.
"Pollux is dead," he whispered. Her eyes began to sting but she couldn't. She had no right. She closed her hands in fists and tried to pierce her skin with her own nails, just to take the pain away.
"I-" she tried but the lump in her throat stopped her. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I really need to finish this, Cole."
She felt his eyes on her face. "Have you heard what I said ?" He asked her in the smallest voice she had ever heard. "Pollux is dead." She heard the shaky breath that followed this statement, she knew he was crying, and she couldn't stand it. "Pollux is dead," he repeated, more to himself than her now. He kept saying it as if it didn't sound real. Hermione gently put her hand on top of his on her thigh. She squeezed.
They didn't talk after this. Even though Cole made no sound as he cried, Hermione felt as if his little sobs were the loudest thing in the room.
"We're gonna be alright," he finally said, trying to reassure both of them.
"Yes, we will," she lied.
OoOoOo
17.05.1944 :
"You look nice," Belone softly told her.
Hermione was facing herself in her dorm's mirror. She was standing there, in a pretty black dress, hair falling past her shoulders. She didn't look nice, she looked pathetic, with her dark circles under her eyes, her lips chapped, her cheeks hollow from not being able to eat for more than two days now.
"Aren't you going to be cold ?" Belone asked her as she walked through the room and handed her one of her own cardigans. Hermione took it delicately and put it on. It smelled like her friend and it comforted her.
"Thanks," Hermione croaked out. Belone was now standing by her sides, looking at her through the mirror.
"We're not in a hurry," Belone said, "take all the time you need." Hermione felt her hand being taken in between both of Belone's. "We don't have to go if you don't want to. People will understand if you don't."
"I'm fine, Belone," Hermione smiled.
She had repeated this sentence so many times since Friday that it made no sense anymore. She knew she wasn't fooling anyone but what else could she say ?
"Take all the time you need, I'll be in the common room," Belone said
"Don't wait for me Belone. I'll go with Cole," Hermione replied.
17.05.1944 :
The atmosphere around this table had rarely been this solemn. On top of being all dressed up for a funeral, the lads all had this look on their faces. Tom was looking at all of them, silently waiting for him to say something. His eyes landed first on the far end of the table, where Milton was seated. Then, he took the time to look individually at everyone until his gaze fell on the empty space at his right.
He knew she wouldn't come. Tom wasn't expecting her to come. This meeting wasn't that big of a deal, it was more of a celebration. Of course, Tom did consider this as a celebration. He had been working toward that for more than a year.
Tom had always had a problem with Pollux Parkinson. Not because he didn't find Pollux friendly or funny. No. Only because he knew he would never succeed in making Pollux join his ranks, and more difficult to make him obey. Even though, by any chance, Tom did succeed, Pollux wasn't reliable. The Parkinson family had always played an important part in the political scene. Tom couldn't do everything he wanted without their support. So yes, Tom had always had a problem with Pollux Parkinson.
The solution came to him in the form of the young Cassandre Parkinson, someone who shared Tom's political views, someone who'd follow Tom, someone Tom could even trust. At first, Tom and Cassandre were just talking, about politics, Cassandre's ambitions, the future. Then, Tom found out they shared more than just opinion. They share the same problem : Pollux Parkinson.
Where Pollux was the heir, Cassandre was the second. Where Pollux was listened to and valued, Cassandre was silenced and disregarded. Where Pollux was everything, Cassandre was nothing.
Of course, this wasn't enough at the time to justify murder. But Pollux Parkinson made one final mistake : denying Cassandre of the only thing he had left, Walburga Black. That night, Cassandre came to Tom with a request. Actually, more than a request, the entire fucking solution. So blinded by the hatred towards his brother, Cassandre asked Tom to kill Pollux and pledged allegiance to the cause in return.
Tom had always been okay with murder. After all, the end justifies the means. But he didn't know yet for a fact if the lads were.
Dolohov didn't even need convincing, neither did Milton and Edmund. After all, Rosier had already been given his mission. He had no care for who was killed as long as he got something out of it. Edgard and Thorus needed a little push in the right direction, they both agreed with Pollux being a problem, however, they didn't see the necessity of murder. "Nothing can justify murder !" Thorus had said. "There must be another solution !". It had only taken a few weeks to turn this sentence into "who will do it ?".
Finally, Isodor and Abraxas. On the one hand, Tom had not been surprised when Isodor had called him crazy after suggesting the idea. He had always been a good friend Pollux on top of being a child. "You're out of your goddamn mind."Isodor had told him. "How can y'all be okay with this ?". He had asked the lads. However, after Isodor had completed his little mission at Christmas, he had changed, for the better. He had simply said one thing after that about Pollux : "Just don't let him suffer."
Ultimately, the one who surprised Tom the most was Abraxas. "No." He had simply said that, in a stone-cold voice, without even thinking about it. Tom had first tried to talk him into this, promising him power, letting him imagine what their future could be like. When Tom understood that none of this worked, he used the argument that he knew would make Abraxas's mind change. "Your father still has problems with the Wizenmagot, doesn't he ?" Tom had rhetorically asked Abraxas. The other one had known where this would lead eventually, but let Tom finish. "You need allies within the Wizenmagot for your father to get rid of all of this, don't you ? Cassandre Parkinson will help you, you know it, I know it. In order to do this, he needs the title, you know it, I know it." Reluctantly, Abraxas had agreed. And this was how they all signed Pollux's death.
One last thing remained : who'd do it ? Tom knew exactly who still needed to prove herself. He knew he would ask her for more than what he had asked the lads. But she never had been at their level, had she ?
Tom finally picked up the letter he had just received from Cassandre Parkinson. As he tore open the envelope, he felt the gaze of the seven lads on his hands. He read the entirety of the letter, before refolding it, slowly. He liked the way he was building the suspense.
"Gentlemen," Tom began, "I hereby inform you we just got away with murder."
Tom saw the seven boys letting shaky laugh, sharing small smiles. While everyone was enjoying the good news, Abraxas had his eyes stuck on the empty chair next to Tom.
OoOoOo
17.05.1944 :
Tom had let the lads go first to the funeral given that they had to meet with their parents. He had just got back to the common room to fetch his jacket when he saw Belone waiting by the chimney. As soon as she spotted Tom across the room, she almost ran towards him. After briefly looking above her shoulders, towards the stairs leading to the girls' dorm, she spoke up. "Something's wrong with Grace."
Tom simply looked at Belone and briefly wondered what to answer. Of course, Tom knew she was out of it, he must have been the first one to realise that. But he knew it was only a matter of days, hours, before she would come back to normal. Moreover, they all needed to play along.
"She is grieving Belone. What were you expecting ?" Tom decided on replying. Belone was taken aback
17.05.1944 :
Hermione gently knocked twice on the door and waited for it to open. She let a minute go by before she decided on entering. The dorm was silent, and the lack of sun outside made the dorm seem darker than usual. The door creaked as Hermione pushed it open a bit more to get inside. What she was met with almost brought tears to her eyes.
Cole was sitting on his bed, all alone, a tie in his hand. His eyes were stuck on the bed next to his, perfectly made, as if no one had ever slept in it. Hermione gently closed the door and stayed there. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know what to say. She felt the pull at her heart in front of the way Cole's heart was entirely broken.
"They took all of his stuff this morning," he broke the silence. Hermione slowly approached and gently took the tie from his hand. Cole finally looked up and their eyes met. She wanted to smile, she wanted to let him know she was there, she wanted to wipe the tears away from his eyes. But she couldn't resign herself to do so. Cole rose and stood in front of her. Hermione softly draped the tie around his neck.
His eyes were mapping her entire face whereas she was focused on tying the tie. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body, she could hear his small breathing as her hands brushed against his shirt.
"I'm still waiting for him to barge in here and drag me out for a drink," Cole sadly laughed. Hermione finally looked him in the eyes and saw nothing but softness. She didn't answer so Cole kept going, "don't you ?"
She closed her eyes and the first image she was met with was the same green light she had seen for days. They snapped open immediately, and she felt her frantic heartbeat. She had just finished tying Cole's tie. She went to take a step backward but Cole stopped her by taking one of her hands and putting it on his chest, right where his heart was.
"We're gonna be alright," he gently told her.
"Yes we will," she lied.
OoOoOo
17.05.1944 :
The only thing she was focused on, was Cole's hand in hers. They were both standing in front of the gate leading to the cemetery, not far from where the lads were standing, underneath an oak tree. The cemetery was packed, and somehow it warmed Hermione's heart.
They must have stood there for a good minute before Cole turned towards her. He was about to say something when someone called for him. A few meters away were Cole's parents.
"Go," she said.
"I'm not leaving you alone"
"I'll be fine, Cole," she tried to smile, "see you in a few." He put a warm hand on her cheek and gently smiled before joining his family.
Hermione stood there for a little longer, silently bracing herself. She only had to stay here for the ceremony, she didn't have to talk to anyone. She only had to sit at a chair and stay quiet. This, she could do. She still hadn't found a sorting method for the books. This would give her time to sort that out. She internally nodded, confident in her ability to do it. She put a foot forward, then another one and then she stopped. She couldn't do it. From afar, she saw it. The coffin. A few meters down, right in front of her.
It began with cold sweats, then a heavy weight on her chest, then her eyes not focusing on anything. She took three steps backward, she couldn't do it. Her hands became clammy, she tried to dry them on her dress, but to no avail. She then looked at them, and almost screamed as she saw them entirely blooded. She blinked and the blood was gone. She kept staring at her hands, trying to get her breath under control.
Someone bumped into her. She quickly looked up as the man apologized. He was looking at her in this strange way. Was he aware ? Was he aware of what she had done ? Hermione's eyes began scanning the entire cemetery and couldn't help but feel the gaze of hundreds of people on her small frame. They all knew, they were all judging her, all disgusted by what she did. The lump in her throat was back, the panic too. They were all silently judging, whispering among themselves.
As the anxiety built up in her chest, she stared at nothing, feeling herself slowly dripping away. She sluggishly turned her head to the side and saw the lads, all staring at her. It seemed, from where she was standing, that they were worried. Worried about what ? Hermione wondered. About her cracking in front of all of these people ? About her bailing on this ? About her being found out ?
She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe. She was simply there, stuck in place, staring at them. They all wore the same grim look they had on that day. They were all the perfect embodiment of monstrosity. Hermione had never been afraid of the lads until this precise moment. Out of all the people present at this funeral, among all those politicians, all those ministers, all those aurors, those seven boys were the only ones who scared her. Then, he moved towards her, and Hermione finally looked at him. He had not let his eyes flicker away from hers for a minute. He was still slowly walking towards where she was standing. If Hermione had been able to move, she would have run away. Her heart rate spiked up as she, defenselessly, watched him approach. Out of all the emotions Hermione expected in Tom's eyes, confusion wasn't one of them. He seemed lost, almost frustrated.
"Hello sweetheart," Abe's grave voice startled her. Hermione jumped around and saw the bartender gently smiling down at her. She had not seen him since that night, when she had left early in the morning without waking him up. She had not talked to him that night either, she hadn't been able to function properly. Hermione knew Abe was closely looking at her, waiting for anything from her, a laugh, a cry, a smile, even a small exhale. Yet, she didn't give him any. He put an arm around her shoulders and they both entered the cemetery.
They were sitting at the back of the garden, where no one was.
"You knew," Abe told her. Hermione's head snapped towards him. "That's why you came that night."
"What ?" She whispered, trying to get her voice under control. Her heart stopped. She felt the tears rising to her eyes. Abe couldn't know. Hermione wouldn't survive with him knowing. Abe finally turned his head to look directly in her eyes. He delicately took one of her hands in his and smiled.
"In the future," he explained, "you knew about Pollux." She only closed her eyes and begged herself to remain composed. Had she fucked everything in the future ? She hadn't even thought about it. Had she messed up an entire timeline ? And for what ? For Tom ?
So she simply nodded, what else could she do but that after all ? "You can't blame yourself H," he then said. Hermione lowered her head until her chin touched her chest. She implored every god for Abe to stop talking. "You couldn't have done anything differently." His voice was so soft yet it felt like hundreds of knives piercing through her skin.
"Stop.." she pleaded. Abe must have sensed the distress in her voice because he squeezed her hands and let the silence surround them once more.
Slowly, she rose her head and looked as the people began to settle inside the cemetery. On the far right, she saw Cole, alongside his parents, sitting at the front. On the other side of the graveyard, Hermione noticed the Malfoys greeting some ministry's officials. Then, she saw him. He was talking with Thorus, about to walk inside. At the sight, she jumped to her feet and almost ran to where they were. Thorus whispered something to Tom and the latter finally spotted her.
"Fuck off," she simply told him, her entire body was shaking with rage. What seemed to take Tom's off guard wasn't the words she let out, but the tone she used.
Tom stared at her for a second before slowly bowing. Hermione was rendered speechless by the sight. Tom had bowed, gracefully, before leaving the cemetery. She didn't know what to make of this so she simply stared at Tom's figure walking away. Thorus was frowning, apparently stunned by what had just happened. Hermione saw him, from the corner of her eye, looking at her expectantly. She didn't even bother looking at him, she just turned around and sat on one of the chairs.
People had sat down, all waiting for the ceremony to start. Abe was still there. She briefly wondered if he had been invited by the family or by Cole. He was simply a bartender for the Parkinson family. Hermione's gaze fell on Cassandre's figure, sitting at the front row, right next to his father. He had never been in this place, it had always been Pollux next to the father. Always Pollux. Cassandre was standing straight, proud and it disgusted her. He had cried on that day. Cassandre had cried. How could he stand so proudly, in front of the still body of his brother, when he had cried as he watched him die ?
The small chatter died down as Septimus Malfoy rose from his seat and stood in front of the assembly. Hermione saw the way his face was tensed and pale. He didn't speak right away, he looked at the open coffin, and took a deep breath. Hermione had never seen Septimus Malfoy that way. He had always been proud, condescending, superior. Yet, at this moment he had never looked more human. He gently cleared his throat.
"When I was asked to be Pollux's godfather, seventeen years ago, I knew what it meant. Being there, every step of his life : first signs of magic, acceptance letter from Hogwarts, first wand, first Quidditch match. I guided him throughout his life and I would have never thought I would have to guide him through death."
Death, the word cut deep. Abe took her hand and squeezed.
"Pollux embodied the values of the Parkinson family. He was the perfect heir, meant for a bright future. He was focused, humble, respectful, honest and rightful."
Hermione frowned. He was wrong. She looked around and saw everyone sadly nodding. They were all wrong.
Pollux was not focused, nor humble, nor respectful nor honest and certainly not rightful. Pollux was a brat, a little shit. Pollux wasn't the perfect embodiment of his family's values, but the embodiment of excess. He laughed too much, he joked too much, he smoked too much, he drank too much, he cared too much.
All of this, the burial, the speech, the look on people's faces, all of this was a farce. This was not honouring Pollux, it was making sure people knew who the Parkinson family was. This was not celebrating his life, but sweeping under the rug how he died. No one talked about how he supposedly died. This was no secret within the Parkinson family that Pollux was a drunk, they had seen him falling into addiction, they had seen him and they hadn't done anything. So when Pollux's body was found, alone, beaten up, lying in his own sick in the middle of Hogsmeade they hadn't even thought about doing an autopsy. The only thing they could do was stifle the story, make sure no one talked about how he died, and take the narrative of the story. The bright Pollux Parkinson died at a young age and that was it.
Hermione knew Cassandre must have guided his parents through making this decision. They had told her, that day, Cassandre and Tom. They had told her there would be no investigation.
Septimus Malfoy had kept talking and then he had taken a step to the left. He had taken this little step and everything changed because Hermione could see him. He was lying on his back, his eyes peacefully closed, his hair perfectly styled as the perfect embodiment of the Parkinson family. He was lying on his back with both of his hands on his chest. Then, she saw it, around his left wrist. The bright blue colour of the leather band.
Hermione had already lost so much that she had always thought nothing could hurt her anymore. She was already down. Yet, this was the last blow. Pollux was wearing the watch she gave him. The stupid watch with aircrafts, the stupid watch Pollux had cried over when she had offered it to him, the stupid watch that then brought him a smile, the stupid watch he had worn with pride.
She had no right to be there. She just realised she had no right. How could have she dared to enter this cemetery ? How could have she put on the dress and looked at herself in the mirror ? How could she stay there, watching Pollux getting buried with the watch she had gifted him knowing what she had done ? Hadn't she any respect ? The monstrosity was all hers. She was just like Tom, soulless. She was just like Tom, and she needed to fuck off.
Hermione rose up, almost falling as she got up, feeling disoriented. She had no right to be there. Hermione didn't feel Abe's hand tightening to make her stay, she didn't hear his small whisper, she didn't see the lads looking at her. Her legs brought her out of the cemetery. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, she felt her heart slowly breaking once more. How could it still break ? Wasn't it already broken ? How could it still hurt that bad ?
Hermione could finally feel it, now that she had acknowledged it. The monstrosity was spreading through her entire body, burning everything and leaving it to ashes. How could she stand there, begging for everything to stop, when she had been the catalyst of it all ?
The tears couldn't fall, she couldn't let them. She had no right.
"Sweetheart," Abe's soft voice brought her back to reality. She turned around and looked at him. He must have seen the panic on her features, the way her eyes were glassy and scared, the way her breathing was ragged. Hermione was trying to blink the tears away. "You can cry, you know," he gently told her.
She simply shook her head no. "Yes, you can," he added.
"I can't," she whispered. "If I start crying Abe, I will never be able to stop."
There was no rain.
17.05.1944 :
Tom was looking at them, as he paced around the dorm. They were all silent given they had just come back from the funeral. They weren't as relieved as they were during the meeting and Tom understood why. They had just been faced with what they had done. Tom wanted to plan, to talk, to work. But he knew it wasn't the time so he had decided on giving them one night. They were all busying themselves, from putting away their formal suit to keeping up with their classes. All the boys were actively doing something. All but Abraxas. Malfoy was chain-smoking on his bed, his gaze stuck on the ceiling, not talking to anyone.
After Tom had left the cemetery, he had waited for the lads to come back, eager to know what had happened. However, no one had told him. He could have pressed, but he felt it wasn't the right time.
Suddenly, the dorm's door opened and Belone McNair stumbled in. She was still wearing her black dress but her hair was no longer in a bun but falling against her shoulders.
"Riddle !" She barked, "you need to do something, something's not right !"
Tom knew she was talking about Grace. Actually, they all knew in the room who Belone was referencing to. Tom took a step towards her and he opened his mouth to talk but she cut him off.
"She's gone back to the books ! Those bloody books ! She's been organising them for days !"
"She's grieving, Belone." Tom snapped.
"That's not grieving. Cole is grieving, Cole is crying, Cole is trying to accept what happened. She is not. She is fucking losing it ! She is your girlfriend Riddle, do something."
Tom stayed there, silently looking at McNair. He could feel the worry pouring out of her. "Go fetch her," he ordered her. Belone frowned for a second before understanding what this meant. She turned on her heels and left the room.
The lads didn't dare talk, they were all looking at the door, waiting for Grace to step in. Which she did, five minutes later. She hadn't changed either, but her dress was sadly falling on her frame.
"Out," Tom said, "all of you."
He heard the lads getting up and saw them leaving the room altogether. Here they were, the two of them. She was looking at him. Tom was waiting for her to talk, but she didn't.
"You cannot do that Grace," he started, "you cannot let people talk about you."
Nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing flashed through her eyes, nothing came out of her mouth. Tom was witnessing the wildfire she had always had slowly dying down inside of her.
"Aren't you going to talk ?" He asked her.
"What do you want me to say ?" She answered, her voice flat.
"Anything !" He almost yelled, entirely fed up. He knew the anger was bubbling inside of him so he cast a silencio before continuing. "You need to fucking talk to me, I cannot have Belone McNair stumbling in there telling me that I need to take care of my girlfriend because she is losing it. I have enough on my plate already Grace. You need to fucking snap out of it."
And Tom watched her burst.
17.05.1944 :
"Snap out of it ?" She repeated, her voice chill and composed. "Snap out of it ?" She said again, louder this time. "Snap out of it ?" She almost screamed.
She had just let go of everything that had been bubbling inside for the last couple of days. She had let go of the restraints, she had wanted to scream for days and she had just opened the vent. She couldn't be stopped.
"Isn't it what you wanted ? A fucking puppet to do the dirty work for you ? " Hermione spat at Tom. "So take a good look at your creation Tom," she mockingly opened her arms, "we're just alike now, two soulless monsters facing each other. How poetic." She had taken a step towards him. "I killed for you Tom." She said it. Finally, she said it. Tom was staring at her. "I fucking killed for you Tom ! " She yelled. "So don't you dare tell me to snap out of it because there is nothing to snap out of. Don't you understand ? This is it. This is what you created. Wasn't it what you wanted ? Aren't you proud ?" She mocked.
"Don't go there Grace," Tom's voice was threatening, "we have come so far. Look where we are ! Look at everything we have done."
"We ?" She scoffed. "There's no fucking we, Tom. I am the one who lost everything. I am the one who did the killing. And what you don't even understand Tom," her voice had become dangerously low, "is that the one I killed is me, changing what I was for what you wanted me to be. I followed your direction, did everything you asked. I hope it makes you happy," they were just a step away from each other when Hermione talked again, "because there's just no turning back."
Tom's eyes had turned coal black and his jaw was tensed. She had gone too far for Tom, she knew it, and she liked it.
"You were right Tom, I've officially lost everything. You hold nothing over me anymore," she smirked. In half a second, Tom had taken her by the chin and pressed her against the wooden door. Only a few centimeters were separating their lips. She could feel his ring against her jaw. Against all reason, her heart was racing and she knew Tom could hear it. Against all reason, her eyes flickered to his lips and she knew Tom saw.
"I have one question left for you Tom," she whispered, "do you love me more now that I've killed someone for you ?" She had spat the word love as an insult, it was full of disdain and mockery. It had burnt her tongue as she let out the word. Tom smirked and laughed at that. He put his lips against her ear.
"No Grace," he gently said, "the question is how can you still love me now that you have killed someone for me ?"
OoOoOo
20.05.1944 :
She saw Cole from afar, his arms on the wooden guardrail of the bridge. His face was barely illuminated by the candles' light. She could hear the soft sound of the rain against the wooden structure. She slowly approached and settled right next to him. They didn't talk at first, they simply stared at the forest underneath them.
"I'm leaving," he told her.
"What ?"
"After I graduate, I'm leaving Grace."
Hermione's head snapped towards her friend and witnessed him still not looking at her.
"What do you mean by leaving ?" She pressed. She became alarmed, she couldn't be left alone. Cole couldn't leave her. He wouldn't.
"I'm gonna travel a bit. I've always wanted to see the world." His voice was far and Hermione finally noticed the cigarette in his hand.
"Aren't you supposed to work with your father at the ministry ?" She asked. "We've been talking about this for months. Me graduating next year, you working with your father at the ministry, and Pol-" She stopped herself because there was no plan left for three. They were just the two of them now.
"Pollux what, Grace ?" He finally looked at her and she barely recognized him.
His eyes were hollow and tired. His mouth was pursed and his lips chapped. He looked tired and miserable. She didn't answer so he kept pressing.
"What about Pollux, Grace ? Tell me. What was the plan for Pollux ?" He stepped back from the guardrail and faced her. "Yes, we had plans, " his voice was getting angrier by the second, "we had plans and once again he fucked them all. So what about Pollux, Grace ?" He shouted.
Hermione didn't know what to do. She had never seen him that way, that angry. Never against her, never against Pollux, never against anyone. Cole was soft and calm and reassuring. He was no yeller, no irrational mad man.
"He always was the problem, wasn't he ? First, with Cassandre. Then, with us. He was a fucking hurricane, destroying everything on his path, without a care for anyone !"
"Don't say that," she pleaded in a small voice.
"Why ? Am I wrong ? He fucking abandoned you, leaving you all alone. And what are you supposed to do now ? Move on ? How can you move on from that, how can you move on from a person ?" Cole wasn't even aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks. "How are you supposed to do that ?"
He stopped for a second and stared into nothing. "He didn't care for anyone but himself," he spoke up. "He didn't love anyone but himself. He didn't love you, because if he had loved you, he wouldn't have gone and fucked himself up. He would have stayed, he would have fought."
Hermione knew he wasn't talking about her. Cole was talking about himself. At every "you" he said, she heard "me".
"It wasn't his fault, Cole," she said.
"You should have done more, you should have been there. You should have fought for him !" He was looking right at her yet she knew all this hatred was only directed at himself. "Maybe you should have forced him to talk, maybe you should have stopped him from drinking and not being his drinking buddy. Maybe if you had stopped taking care of him, he would have taken care of himself. Maybe you weren't listening enough to what he had to stay, maybe you didn't see all the signs. You should have tried harder. Because if you had tried, maybe he'd still be here."
At this moment, Hermione realised how alone she had left Cole. She had been so focused on herself that she hadn't even realised what Cole was going through. Hermione watched him, tears rolling down his face, breathing deeply. Hermione watched Cole letting out of the guilt he had been feeling for the last week.
"I'm glad he's dead," he lied, "now at least he can't fuck us over anymore."
Hermione took a small step forward and another one after noticing Cole not walking backward. She stood right in front of him and took him in her arms. She pressed her head against his chest and felt his hands circling her waist. She held him tight. Hermione first felt the hiccups, then heard as Cole cried against her.
"I didn't mean it," he kept whispering.
"I know."
"We're never gonna be alright anymore, won't we ?"
"No, we won't."
OoOoOo
21.05.1944 :
Hermione had finally figured out a sorting method for her books. She couldn't do it in her own dorm knowing Belone, she couldn't do it in the common room because she was organising her books from the future. So she had settled for the Room of Requirement. Unlike other times she went there, today the room was entirely empty. She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by dozens of books. She was checking them one by one, the date, the author, the subject.
She took one of the far left and looked at the title : History of the Wizengamot. Her eyes widened at the sight and she just understood something. Hermione opened the book in a hurry and skimmed through the content until she found what she had been looking for. Here, written in black ink, was the title she had trouble remembering last time : How did Pollux Parkinson II get the unanimity ?
Hermione read the title again and again and again until it was carved into her brain. Pollux Parkinson II, Pollux Parkinson II, Pollux Parkinson II. Until he didn't make sense anymore. She threw away the book and crawled on her knees for another book. She had spent hours sorting them but at this moment she couldn't remember where she'd put it. She pushed mountains of books aside until she found it, the history of the Sacred 28. With trembling hands, she reached the page on the Parkinson family and let out a broken sob as she read : Pollux Cassandre Parkinson the Second, son of Cassandre Pollux Parkinson and Rosemary Iris Selwyn.
She let her fingertips linger above her handwriting notes right beside their names. It had always been that way, in her own future. Pollux Parkinson had always been dead, had always been supposed to die at a young age. It meant that even in her own timeline Cassandre had been the heir and had married the one Pollux was supposed to : Rosemary Selwyn. It meant that she had not changed the future, because this was the future. It meant that she was always supposed to be sent back. It meant that it had already happened. It meant that everything she was doing was supposed to happen. It meant that she had always helped Tom rise to power. It meant that she had always killed Pollux Parkinson.
Hermione let go of the book and let out a shuddering breath. She sat down on her knees and stared at the piles of books in front of her.
"I killed Pollux," she said out loud. "Oh my god, I killed Pollux." She felt the tears in her eyes and she couldn't stop them from falling this time. "I killed Pollux," she repeated, "what have I done ?". She couldn't breathe, she felt as if she was suffocating. Every breath she took hurt. She put her hands on her chest and tried to get rid of this pain. But it didn't go away, no it only got stronger by the minutes.
She let out a scream. A scream so deep, broken and filled with pain that it resonated throughout the large room. It echoed and went back crushing in her ears. She sobbed, she yelled, she put her head on the floor. She had known she had killed, she had known she had done wrong. But she hadn't realised, truly realised, that the one she had killed was Pollux. She couldn't let out all the pain, all the guilt, all the self-hatred. She closed her eyes and saw it again. The green flash of light, however, this time she saw who it was directed to. She saw the flash of light hitting Pollux's body, she saw the way his body contorted itself at the impact. She saw the last look on his face as his eyes bored into hers. She felt the wand in her hand and she heard the spell out of her mouth.
She had killed Pollux Parkinson.
It was raining inside the room and as predicted, she couldn't stop crying.
21.05.1944 :
Tom was on the bleachers, smoking a cigarette. His eyes were flickering between the Quidditch pitch and the stairs leading to where he was.
He was waiting for her. He had been waiting for her for almost an hour now. He knew deep inside of him she'd come. She always came after all. This was their thing, smoking a cigarette on the bleachers, planning their future, planning their rise.
He had given her plenty of time to snap out of it, to let her sort those books, to let her spend time with Belone and Cole. She had come to the meetings, she had not spoken a word but she had still come.
She would come, he knew it because it was them. Crashing into each other, playing, hurting, manipulating. But they always found their way back.
So Tom waited for her.
But she never came.
Author's note : are you crying ? because we are. There had to be a shift in the story and we always knew this would be it. Pollux has been created to die. Imagine us writing for more than a year our favourite OC ever while knowing how he would die, why he would die and that this fic title was entirely linked to this moment ? we're not okay with and we're blaming ourselves. We have dozens of snippets of Pollux being Pollux we had to cut for several chapters and it gives us pain knowing we won't be able to write some more.
You can come yell at us on our tumblr : agarariddle-andhernachos
We have one last thing to say, Pollux was the light of the story. So prepare yourself for darkness. But there's always a light at the end of the tunnel, right ?