Disclaimer: See Chapter 1, please.
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"You-you," she breathed, her heart pumping furiously. "You corrupted him! Adolf Hitler is a monster.....and you made him Tom's idol?"
Johnson stared at her pointedly in the eye, unflinchingly. "Yes, I did, and I do not regret it. Tom is well on his way to revolutionise the wizarding world, and you are not going to stop him," he warned.
Hermione's nails were digging into her palms, but she barely noticed it. Johnson had started to speak again, in a silky, cunning, lilting voice.
"The basilisk's trust had to be gained, before he could control it. You asked why I was so eager for you to 'destroy' him. Truth is, you can't. You are not in the position to. There are such things as true Prophecies. But I couldn't afford to appear to be on his side, could I?" sneered Johnson.
Hermione stood transfixed by Johnson's glowing eyes, like a mouse frozen in terror, waiting for the cobra to strike. But he has already struck, she thought. His piercing, merciless words penetrated her, as Hermione's two days in the past unfolded before her very eyes. Two horrendous days of deception.
"And I knew, as soon as you told me about that book, how it looked like, what you said when you tapped it with your wand, I knew that it was a Time Portkey. How could I not," he said darkly, "When it belonged to me. I told him where to find it, just a few months ago. You should see the look on his face when he.......inherited it. For many years, since I first laid my eyes on Tom, I amused myself by waiting patiently, to see if he had the brilliance to discover the Chamber of Secrets. It took him years to find it...I didn't drop a single hint, as I had to be absolutely certain that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir. And yes, we did communicate in Parseltongue through Valar....after he learnt to control her, of course. But Tom chose Harry based on reasons only he knows," he hissed.
"Do you know, Miss Gangly, that when I heard that you were the first person to know that Tom had discovered Salazar's chamber, I could have torn off my moustache? That delinquent actually gave in to his feelings, his flimsy, insignificant feelings. Feelings make you do knightly, noble, foolish things. You assumed that he only wanted to get 'closer' for the sake of information. Darling, you're only half right. During unguarded moments, Tom confessed that.........he had never felt like that before. With youth comes foolishness. But I put him in the right track after that....."
Hermione had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling. Though she was afraid and panic was gaining momentum in her, the snippet of knowledge that Tom "had never felt like that before" cheered her up a little. But just a little.
"But you're a just a crystal ball for us, little girl......."
Hermione's hands were shaking, and she felt her face's temperature rise by a few degrees. I was used, she thought angrily. Brains, cleverness and logic? I'm just a puppet.....his crystal ball. And he sounded so sincere, Tom. Was I really foolish enough to believe that sneak, and thought that I actually had a chance of leaving this cursed timeline? God help me, she thought, breathing rapidly. And he's named the basilisk Valar? She heard Johnson whisper, "Dumbledore's future Headmaster? How unfortunate. He's such a muggle-lover."
Without a word, Hermione pushed the door open, kicked the gargoyle outside and leaned against the door, taking deep breaths. She had heard enough to last her three lifetimes. A solitary drop of colourless liquid trickled down her left cheek. I should be studying for my NEWTS, or even organising some fund-raising for SPEW, she thought, shame and fear engulfing her. Hitta.....Hitta gave me this one-way ticket to hell. Are house elves really as innocent and oppressed, I as thought?
Suddenly, she realised that once again, she had acted without thinking. I left Johnson in there, she fumed. He would definitely tell Tom that I found out about their little pact, and I'll be murdered in my sleep. Wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her robes, she sniffed a little. But a faint smile was tugging at her white lips, as she realised that Tom had told her about the secret chamber BEFORE she blabbed to Johnson that she held the book-of- what's-to-come. And.....he kept the stone that I flung at him. Is he really after my secrets, after all? But I'm not taking any chances, whether he really meant what he claimed, or otherwise. She stormed back in, after saying "Apple Pie!", snatched her wand out of her pocket, pointed it at Johnson, and said, "Silencio!"
There, she thought, as the little figure let out an inaudible roar of rage. Now, you will speak no more. She had obtained an 'Exceeds Expectations' for Charms. But she was a little unsatisfied by merely silencing him. His words had done more damage to her than the blood-thirstiest rouge bludger that Dobby could ever find. Stealing a glance at the snoozing headmaster, Hermione carefully took Johnson's portrait off the wall.
I'll throw you in the fire," she whispered fiercely, and she hurried to the fireplace, where hot flames were literally leaping out from the logs. Eternal fire, she thought, a feeling of satisfaction striking her raw emotions. She flung the infernal painting to the devouring, eager blaze, and watched as Johnson was consumed by the orange inferno.
But an unexpected image flashed across Johnson's face, an instant before the painting turned to ashes, before it was fully cremated by the spitting vermillion fire. Hermione stopped breathing for a second, as her brain interpreted the look on his visage. The look was so unanticipated from a creature that was about to be destroyed that Hermione could not comprehend what she had just seen. Johnson had smiled. He had smiled the smile of a man whose dreams had come true. Hermione's eyes widened, and she was horror- struck. Why did he smile? It couldn't be, she thought, as though trying desperately to convince herself that Johnson was gone for good. It couldn't be.....could it?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"You heard Dumbledore," scowled Ron, his thin fingers tracing the letter 'H' on Hogwarts: A History. Harry and Ron were trying to finish their Charms homework in the Gryffindor common room. Needless to say, neither was putting in much effort. "No looking for her. It's too dangerous. Brilliant," he muttered. Ron's other hand was unconsciously punching his armchair with heartfelt strength. "Dumbledore will see what he can do."
Most students had gone back for Christmas, but Harry and Ron didn't felt like returning. Harry, especially, loathed the idea of entering Number Twelve, Grimauld's Place. He did not trust himself to act civilized when Kreacher was around. Old wounds run deep. Besides, the sheer thought of Sirius stung him. The proverb boys don't cry is a stupid myth, he thought angrily.
Harry stood up, brushing away thoughts of his late godfather and his bushy-headed friend. It was late, anyway, he thought gloomily. "Well, I guess I should-"
But he was rudely cut off by a flushed Ronald Weasley. "You?" said Ron a little loudly. "Why does it always have to be you? Blimey, mate, just because you survived You-Know-Who's death curse a million times, doesn't mean that you can save her. Give someone else a chance, will you?" he half- shouted, and his eyes all but glared at Harry.
A muscle tightened in Harry's right cheek, but he controlled himself with massive effort. He felt like hexing his freckled friend, and cursing him with the worst words. Their friendship had been tested many times; when Harry became the fourth Champion for the Triwizard Tournament, and again, when Ron was chosen as Prefect. But none of those events put their bond to trial as much as that very second.
"I was going to say that I should get some sleep," said Harry very quietly. He turned his anguished face away from Ron's, as looking at the gangly teenager standing in front of him brought up feelings of intense hatred. As though an unknown force in him was urging him to seize the moment, and incapacitate Weasley.
Ron's face turned crimson, and he seemed to be radiating with heat of shame. The colour spread to his neck, and ears, giving him the comical appearance of a certain sour red fruit. "Oh, sorry, mate," he muttered. "I was so carried away that, well, you know, Hermione and all, she's our, uh, friend," he mumbled intelligibly.
But Harry had had enough. Something that Ron had said, sandwiched between his hurtful, accusing words, had given Harry a snippet of insight into Ron's true feelings. He read between the lines, and sighed.
"You wanted me to give someone else a chance, didn't you?" he asked. Ron's face was impassive, devoid of any trace of emotion. "Do you mind telling me; exactly who did you have in mind?"
Discord was beginning to weave its web of chaos through their friendship. And they both knew it.
************************************
For the second time, Hermione exited Professor Dippet's office. She leaned against the wall, anaesthetized by trepidation, and dread of what is to come. Johnson was happy, she thought. Why was he happy?
Get a grip on yourself, Hermione, she scolded. Losing your head would only bring you a step closer to the gates of hell. She swallowed when she heard the familiar clicking of a pair of modest but impeccably polished black shoes. Hermione hurriedly dabbed at her face, and prayed that there was absolutely no trace of blood on her bitten lips.
When she turned around, Hermione was drenched by shock, and she almost felt a pang of sympathy for Tom. His blue jewel-like eyes had lost their dazzling sparkle, and his steps were slow and reluctant, as though he was forcing himself to drag his slumped figure along. Instead of a straight- backed Prefect, Hermione saw a boy who had a look of utter defeat about him. His left hand clutched a struggling Snitch, while the other grasped a weather-beaten looking broomstick.
It was a stark contrast, compared to the haughty, self-confident Slytherin that Hermione had almost fallen for. Up close, she realised that the dark circles under his eyes were indeed real, and the shadow of a boy lost and pressured lingered around him. For a second, his crushed eyes met hers, but she quickly hers turned away.
Tom Marvolo Riddle? Voldemort Junior?
Hermione was puzzled by the way he passed her wordlessly, his gaze glued to the ground. Comprehension dawned on her, when she realised that she had not given him an answer, to his poem earlier. In fact, all the signs that she had been sending out were screaming: stay away from me.
With a heavy heart, Hermione contemplated calling out to him, perhaps using an inquiry about the outcome of the Quidditch match as an excuse to hear his voice. But something stopped her, before a word barely escaped her lips. It was not intuition or shyness that held her tongue. Instead, it was a sudden drop of temperature, a feeling of being watched, that made the hairs on the back on her neck prickled uneasily.
Hermione knew what she was about to lay her eyes on, even before she turned to face the creature that had somehow managed to materialised stealthily. Standing, or perhaps floating balefully and silently behind her, was the Bloody Baron.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,
With an adorned tree and a blazing fire;
I'm dreaming of the supreme happiness,
That I'll feel, when you review my chapter;
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You-you," she breathed, her heart pumping furiously. "You corrupted him! Adolf Hitler is a monster.....and you made him Tom's idol?"
Johnson stared at her pointedly in the eye, unflinchingly. "Yes, I did, and I do not regret it. Tom is well on his way to revolutionise the wizarding world, and you are not going to stop him," he warned.
Hermione's nails were digging into her palms, but she barely noticed it. Johnson had started to speak again, in a silky, cunning, lilting voice.
"The basilisk's trust had to be gained, before he could control it. You asked why I was so eager for you to 'destroy' him. Truth is, you can't. You are not in the position to. There are such things as true Prophecies. But I couldn't afford to appear to be on his side, could I?" sneered Johnson.
Hermione stood transfixed by Johnson's glowing eyes, like a mouse frozen in terror, waiting for the cobra to strike. But he has already struck, she thought. His piercing, merciless words penetrated her, as Hermione's two days in the past unfolded before her very eyes. Two horrendous days of deception.
"And I knew, as soon as you told me about that book, how it looked like, what you said when you tapped it with your wand, I knew that it was a Time Portkey. How could I not," he said darkly, "When it belonged to me. I told him where to find it, just a few months ago. You should see the look on his face when he.......inherited it. For many years, since I first laid my eyes on Tom, I amused myself by waiting patiently, to see if he had the brilliance to discover the Chamber of Secrets. It took him years to find it...I didn't drop a single hint, as I had to be absolutely certain that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir. And yes, we did communicate in Parseltongue through Valar....after he learnt to control her, of course. But Tom chose Harry based on reasons only he knows," he hissed.
"Do you know, Miss Gangly, that when I heard that you were the first person to know that Tom had discovered Salazar's chamber, I could have torn off my moustache? That delinquent actually gave in to his feelings, his flimsy, insignificant feelings. Feelings make you do knightly, noble, foolish things. You assumed that he only wanted to get 'closer' for the sake of information. Darling, you're only half right. During unguarded moments, Tom confessed that.........he had never felt like that before. With youth comes foolishness. But I put him in the right track after that....."
Hermione had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling. Though she was afraid and panic was gaining momentum in her, the snippet of knowledge that Tom "had never felt like that before" cheered her up a little. But just a little.
"But you're a just a crystal ball for us, little girl......."
Hermione's hands were shaking, and she felt her face's temperature rise by a few degrees. I was used, she thought angrily. Brains, cleverness and logic? I'm just a puppet.....his crystal ball. And he sounded so sincere, Tom. Was I really foolish enough to believe that sneak, and thought that I actually had a chance of leaving this cursed timeline? God help me, she thought, breathing rapidly. And he's named the basilisk Valar? She heard Johnson whisper, "Dumbledore's future Headmaster? How unfortunate. He's such a muggle-lover."
Without a word, Hermione pushed the door open, kicked the gargoyle outside and leaned against the door, taking deep breaths. She had heard enough to last her three lifetimes. A solitary drop of colourless liquid trickled down her left cheek. I should be studying for my NEWTS, or even organising some fund-raising for SPEW, she thought, shame and fear engulfing her. Hitta.....Hitta gave me this one-way ticket to hell. Are house elves really as innocent and oppressed, I as thought?
Suddenly, she realised that once again, she had acted without thinking. I left Johnson in there, she fumed. He would definitely tell Tom that I found out about their little pact, and I'll be murdered in my sleep. Wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her robes, she sniffed a little. But a faint smile was tugging at her white lips, as she realised that Tom had told her about the secret chamber BEFORE she blabbed to Johnson that she held the book-of- what's-to-come. And.....he kept the stone that I flung at him. Is he really after my secrets, after all? But I'm not taking any chances, whether he really meant what he claimed, or otherwise. She stormed back in, after saying "Apple Pie!", snatched her wand out of her pocket, pointed it at Johnson, and said, "Silencio!"
There, she thought, as the little figure let out an inaudible roar of rage. Now, you will speak no more. She had obtained an 'Exceeds Expectations' for Charms. But she was a little unsatisfied by merely silencing him. His words had done more damage to her than the blood-thirstiest rouge bludger that Dobby could ever find. Stealing a glance at the snoozing headmaster, Hermione carefully took Johnson's portrait off the wall.
I'll throw you in the fire," she whispered fiercely, and she hurried to the fireplace, where hot flames were literally leaping out from the logs. Eternal fire, she thought, a feeling of satisfaction striking her raw emotions. She flung the infernal painting to the devouring, eager blaze, and watched as Johnson was consumed by the orange inferno.
But an unexpected image flashed across Johnson's face, an instant before the painting turned to ashes, before it was fully cremated by the spitting vermillion fire. Hermione stopped breathing for a second, as her brain interpreted the look on his visage. The look was so unanticipated from a creature that was about to be destroyed that Hermione could not comprehend what she had just seen. Johnson had smiled. He had smiled the smile of a man whose dreams had come true. Hermione's eyes widened, and she was horror- struck. Why did he smile? It couldn't be, she thought, as though trying desperately to convince herself that Johnson was gone for good. It couldn't be.....could it?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"You heard Dumbledore," scowled Ron, his thin fingers tracing the letter 'H' on Hogwarts: A History. Harry and Ron were trying to finish their Charms homework in the Gryffindor common room. Needless to say, neither was putting in much effort. "No looking for her. It's too dangerous. Brilliant," he muttered. Ron's other hand was unconsciously punching his armchair with heartfelt strength. "Dumbledore will see what he can do."
Most students had gone back for Christmas, but Harry and Ron didn't felt like returning. Harry, especially, loathed the idea of entering Number Twelve, Grimauld's Place. He did not trust himself to act civilized when Kreacher was around. Old wounds run deep. Besides, the sheer thought of Sirius stung him. The proverb boys don't cry is a stupid myth, he thought angrily.
Harry stood up, brushing away thoughts of his late godfather and his bushy-headed friend. It was late, anyway, he thought gloomily. "Well, I guess I should-"
But he was rudely cut off by a flushed Ronald Weasley. "You?" said Ron a little loudly. "Why does it always have to be you? Blimey, mate, just because you survived You-Know-Who's death curse a million times, doesn't mean that you can save her. Give someone else a chance, will you?" he half- shouted, and his eyes all but glared at Harry.
A muscle tightened in Harry's right cheek, but he controlled himself with massive effort. He felt like hexing his freckled friend, and cursing him with the worst words. Their friendship had been tested many times; when Harry became the fourth Champion for the Triwizard Tournament, and again, when Ron was chosen as Prefect. But none of those events put their bond to trial as much as that very second.
"I was going to say that I should get some sleep," said Harry very quietly. He turned his anguished face away from Ron's, as looking at the gangly teenager standing in front of him brought up feelings of intense hatred. As though an unknown force in him was urging him to seize the moment, and incapacitate Weasley.
Ron's face turned crimson, and he seemed to be radiating with heat of shame. The colour spread to his neck, and ears, giving him the comical appearance of a certain sour red fruit. "Oh, sorry, mate," he muttered. "I was so carried away that, well, you know, Hermione and all, she's our, uh, friend," he mumbled intelligibly.
But Harry had had enough. Something that Ron had said, sandwiched between his hurtful, accusing words, had given Harry a snippet of insight into Ron's true feelings. He read between the lines, and sighed.
"You wanted me to give someone else a chance, didn't you?" he asked. Ron's face was impassive, devoid of any trace of emotion. "Do you mind telling me; exactly who did you have in mind?"
Discord was beginning to weave its web of chaos through their friendship. And they both knew it.
************************************
For the second time, Hermione exited Professor Dippet's office. She leaned against the wall, anaesthetized by trepidation, and dread of what is to come. Johnson was happy, she thought. Why was he happy?
Get a grip on yourself, Hermione, she scolded. Losing your head would only bring you a step closer to the gates of hell. She swallowed when she heard the familiar clicking of a pair of modest but impeccably polished black shoes. Hermione hurriedly dabbed at her face, and prayed that there was absolutely no trace of blood on her bitten lips.
When she turned around, Hermione was drenched by shock, and she almost felt a pang of sympathy for Tom. His blue jewel-like eyes had lost their dazzling sparkle, and his steps were slow and reluctant, as though he was forcing himself to drag his slumped figure along. Instead of a straight- backed Prefect, Hermione saw a boy who had a look of utter defeat about him. His left hand clutched a struggling Snitch, while the other grasped a weather-beaten looking broomstick.
It was a stark contrast, compared to the haughty, self-confident Slytherin that Hermione had almost fallen for. Up close, she realised that the dark circles under his eyes were indeed real, and the shadow of a boy lost and pressured lingered around him. For a second, his crushed eyes met hers, but she quickly hers turned away.
Tom Marvolo Riddle? Voldemort Junior?
Hermione was puzzled by the way he passed her wordlessly, his gaze glued to the ground. Comprehension dawned on her, when she realised that she had not given him an answer, to his poem earlier. In fact, all the signs that she had been sending out were screaming: stay away from me.
With a heavy heart, Hermione contemplated calling out to him, perhaps using an inquiry about the outcome of the Quidditch match as an excuse to hear his voice. But something stopped her, before a word barely escaped her lips. It was not intuition or shyness that held her tongue. Instead, it was a sudden drop of temperature, a feeling of being watched, that made the hairs on the back on her neck prickled uneasily.
Hermione knew what she was about to lay her eyes on, even before she turned to face the creature that had somehow managed to materialised stealthily. Standing, or perhaps floating balefully and silently behind her, was the Bloody Baron.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,
With an adorned tree and a blazing fire;
I'm dreaming of the supreme happiness,
That I'll feel, when you review my chapter;