authorsnotes: two harry potter updates in a row?! I am on a roll!
do enjoy, lemme know your thoughts
fyi, this is slow burn, slooooow burn, our bbys will get there, but not yet
songrecs: don't fear the reaper - denmark + winter cover
She felt dirty.
Had since Riddle had smiled (though not a real smile, he didn't seem capable of that, and so it was more of an evil smirk), at her nod, and then stepped into the kitchen to rifle through the cupboards. She had stayed stock still where she was, feeling as though she'd crawled through some mud and then come out the other side caked in it.
Or perhaps not mud, but something worse, something that went deeper, reaching into her soul, like making a deal with the devil, making that deal and nodding as she did.
She knew he was right, and that felt worst of all. Once she looked past him, looked at the logic; he wasn't Lord Voldemort, not yet, not here, and he had to be better than what had won, than who currently sat in Hogwarts, laughing and eating dinner at the tables, at Gryffindor table, gloating over their victory.
He could hardly be any worse.
But it still felt wrong, so wrong.
And yet what other choice did she have? Harry was dead, the Order scattered (and she had no idea about her friends, Ron, Ginny, Luna; and yet she tried to compartmentalise that, now was not the time to go into hysterics of worry), and here was Tom Riddle, perhaps one of the most dangerous men alive, offering to work with her, offering to topple the people who had persecuted her.
He was not yet Lord Voldemort, and that might have to be enough.
Part of her wanted to run, find her friends and team up with them, and yet she knew without someone, without some like Harry or Tom … they were lost. They needed a leader, they needed power.
And what was she supposed to do? Leave Tom Riddle to decide he wanted to be in power either way, stroll into the Great Hall and resume his role in charge? She didn't doubt he would, she didn't doubt he could.
They had a plan, a vague one yes, to figure out what had happened, to try and determine what was going on, and Riddle had some plan to convince her he was better than the alternative; his lackies that had seized power … in that he was right, for now.
But what was the wider plan? She thought of her friends, the Order, where were they? Were they even alive? Part of her wanted to seek them out, find them, be with them, and yet she glanced at Tom, she couldn't leave him, who knows what havoc he would wreak without her at least trying to convince him to temper his hand and find out what had happened.
She didn't know how long she would succeed, but she had to try.
There was no other choice, it was work with Tom or be alone, work with Tom or let them win.
He was not yet Lord Voldemort, he was not yet as bad as those in the hall.
That was all she had, all she could cling to, and all she knew as she stood up and walked over to Riddle … Tom (was she trying to humanise him? Could he be humanised? She thought of what she'd said to herself yesterday; there was no redeeming him, was that true?), as he was going about making lunch, she had little appetite but knew she needed to eat.
"If we do this" She saw him pause, just a touch before continuing on putting together sandwiches, she was surprised he was making one for her, but was glad, she needed to continue her point, "We have to be transparent with one another"
"Easy enough" He drawled, all arrogance still, "Keep screaming your thoughts and I'll know everything you're thinking"
She felt her cheeks darken at that, and resisted the urge to insult him, 'Take the high road!' as her Mum would always say; she felt a pang for her Mum then, imagined her sat on the sofa with her Nan and a smile, her Dad at the stove making tea and grabbing homemade shortbread, she would be in the armchair, curled up with a book.
All memories, all gone now, scattered to the wind.
"I mean we need to be clear what the plan is, our goals, a timeline" She rattled off, quite like when she'd nag the boys about doing their homework, only this was far more serious.
She longed for a time when her biggest concern had been homework, exam results, getting an E in class instead of an O. School even with its trials had been easier, easier than this, this pain, the grief, the confusion. Anything was easier than this.
The ache for Harry, for Ron; her boys, it was fierce.
And yet Harry was gone, Ron she didn't know, she hoped he was alive but he was lost to her for the moment too, regardless. She had to stay here, to try and keep Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort once more, to try and understand what happened, to try and turn the tide of the war.
She thought then, Riddle might be her secret weapon. Quickly she picked up her sandwich with a thank you, and turned to the sofa, turning her gaze away from Tom, and trying (though she had no idea how), to dull her thoughts.
Perhaps, he would be. If he had no intention of going insane again, perhaps she could convince him to do it the right way, sure he'd never give up power, and she reasoned she'd likely have to turn on him eventually, but maybe before then she could try and steer him not in perhaps the right direction (she sensed it was already too late for that), but in a better direction, nudge him towards going against the pureblood extremists, about being a touch more moderate, in the offer to help him get power.
She felt dirty again, goodness, when had she become so ruthless. When I watched my teenage friends die, she thought bitterly. There was no room for weakness now.
And so, as Tom went to the sofa, and she took the armchair, and they tucked into their food, she mulled over her little plan, it hadn't formalised in her head yet, not fully, but it was there, growing, starting.
Maybe this was an opportunity, to win the war, even with Harry gone, maybe Riddle was the key. Maybe he could help her, maybe he had arrived at the right time and place.
Maybe, maybe, maybe …
She'd have to find out.
As they finished lunch Hermione reached for her bag, summoning it over, Tom was right in a sense, she was a witch, and so it was easier to hurl the bag of books towards her, set them down and offer Tom a pick, instead of getting up.
Though it was cold, she did reach over to grab a blanket to throw over her legs.
"Same as yesterday then?" Riddle asked, placing his plate down, flicking his and hers to the sink, before reaching for a particularly leather-bound dark tome called 'Insanity Grows: Horcrux Making is Not for the Faint of Heart!', she wondered if it were idle curiosity or worry that had him going for that one.
Instead, she reached for 'Horcruxes: A Definitive Guide, Volume 2', cracking open the thick book, she normally enjoyed reading, settling into her seat, blanket over her knees, and Tom once more wordlessly and with a flick of his fingers started a fire, near mirroring her, though he had one leg resting on the other, she tucked her jean clad legs under her, curling into the chair like a cat.
She felt a pang for Crookshanks then, thankful she'd placed him in the Weasley's care, he was safe there she had no doubt, she just hoped the Weasley's were too.
She felt horrid then, for just sitting and reading, as her friends were suffering maybe, hiding out, planning even. Here she was, cosied up next to a fire with an evil wizard, said evil wizard bringing them over cups of tea before they began, lunch in her belly, a blanket on her knees, the house warmer and cleaner now.
Here she had the luxury of having a warded house, and she realised with a jolt then; she felt completely and utterly safe.
Perhaps it was a side effect of being hidden away, or more likely having one of the most powerful wizards in the world next to her, but she didn't feel in danger, she felt not a flicker of fear at the idea of anyone bursting through the door, for she knew they'd be alright, they'd win any duel, the two of them, and besides she'd felt some of the wards Tom had added before they'd left for Hogwarts, and they were lethal.
But she had that luxury, the Order likely didn't.
How many were alive? How many had made it? Were they underground? In the warded Burrow or Grimmauld Place? Was Ron okay? Was he leading them now? She felt her lunch swirl in her stomach, did they think she was dead?
"What is it?" Tom's voice made her jump, deep in her thoughts as she had been, as she chewed on her bottom lip and snapped the book shut, she hadn't read a single of the worlds she'd had her eyes on.
"My friends…" She stumbled then, not meaning to blurt out the truth, and in such a soft tone, vulnerable, she winced, there was no room for being vulnerable around Tom Riddle.
And yet, oddly he didn't mock her, just waited for her to continue. Strange.
"I don't know if they are alive, if they fled the battle and lived, what they are doing" She paused then, biting down on her lip again, near so hard she tasted blood, "I'm worried for them"
"Where would they be?" He asked then, and his expression and tone was so closed off she was near annoyed. He had perfect control over what few emotions he felt, she envied it in a sense, to be so strong, so practical, she was trying to be at the moment, when really all she wanted was to weep into a puddle on the floor, and yet it took every ounce of her to keep going, to compartmentalise, with Tom it seemed effortless, easy.
Not a sociopath? She almost scoffed, perhaps not completely, but he was certainly on his way there.
"Probably one of the safehouses" She said, her brow furrowing them, "I can't even send a message, in case they are being watched"
"Some of them died" He said, matter of factly, and she flinched, and found it even stranger as his next words were softer, why was he making the effort to temper himself for her? "I just mean I found you crying over a body"
"Harry" She said sadly, and tears threatened again, it was only through sheer force of will she kept them at bay … just. "My best friend, your mortal enemy"
"Mortal indeed" He said, and yet there was an odd sadness to his words that stopped her lashing out at him, could he feel sadness? It sounded sincere, but then she didn't know what he could fake.
"Your other friends?" He asked, and she wondered why, what was he getting out of this? Information she supposed, but that didn't explain his lack of mocking.
'You'll catch more flies with honey instead of vinegar' Her Nan had told her once with a cheeky smile, another pang, one to add to the many in her broken heart.
Perhaps that was what Riddle was doing, she knew from Harry having the memories shared by Dumbledore, that this Tom, teenage Tom, was charming, he certainly had the looks for it. He had forged connections, charmed his way through Hogwarts, smiled that insincere smile she was sure had girls swooning (not her, she insisted with red cheeks), and made it work. He hadn't always been a madman, as evidenced in front of her, was that what he was doing now?
"I don't know" She continued, shaking her head, tears welled in her eyes, but they stayed … for now, "I have no idea"
A pause then, the crackle of the fire the only accompanying sound, and the whistle of the wind outside, the weather was unpredictable, thanks to the Dementors, to Death Eater activity, it shouldn't be snowing in Cornwall in August, and yet the local news had just remarked on it as a quirk, not the sign of something wrong.
"Why don't you find out?" He asked, and she near smiled, that was so like her, when someone said they didn't know anything, her response would be similar, 'Figure it out', 'Learn it', 'Find out', but that was easy with schoolwork and facts, not tracking down her friends in the middle of a war they were losing.
Losing, and perhaps she had the only chance of winning it sat in her Nans house in Cornwall. A sobering thought.
"I…" She stumbled, why hadn't she? It was dangerous but that she didn't care about, she was Gryffindor for a reason, "I don't know"
"That is a poor excuse" He threw back, "There isn't much you don't know, I can tell that already, so try again"
Her cheeks were pinker then, there had been a compliment in there somewhere, and she always reacted embarrassingly pleased to praise.
Why hadn't she tried to find them? Focused here on books, shopping, on fighting with Tom Riddle! Why hadn't she ran to find Ron, to find them all, to fight with them and plan.
The very reason sat on the couch opposite her.
She could hardly bring him along, could hardly introduce him, her friends would have thought she'd gone mad, or likely try kill him on sight (which would likely lead to dead friends), but she didn't trust him to leave him, she'd been attached to his hip (and let him sleep in her bed) for a reason.
For now, they had some kind of accord (though what wasn't clear) she couldn't risk him leaving and losing that.
Her secret weapon.
"If you're worried about introducing me" He said with a smirk, he could read her well, or perhaps she was incapable of quieting her thoughts. "I can stay in the background"
"They'd want me to stay" She said, she'd already thought of that, "If I go to them, it would be to stay, to join their fight"
"And yet you prefer to remain here with me?" He said, mocking back in his tone now, "Why Hermione I am touched"
She shot him a glare then, daggers in her gaze, she didn't need his derision, "I don't trust you not to fuck it all up again" She said nastily, but he merely rolled his eyes, he wasn't threatened by her.
Different indeed.
"Then we will just observe" He stood then, brushing down his clothes. He wore his Hogwarts uniform still, she'd managed to find a change of clothes here for herself, but it was one supply they'd forgotten. They couldn't look more opposite, him in jumper, tie and formal trousers, she in skinny jeans and a pink hoodie.
They were different, from different times, different beliefs, and yet here they were, working together. There was that dirty feeling again.
"So, we just go and see?" She asked, feeling some hope creep up her neck, she hadn't considered that.
"Well clearly you'll be useless to the research until we do" He said with a smirk, but there was no mocking in his tone this time, "You can apparate us to each safehouse, we can check your friends are alive, or aren't, either way you'll know"
"What if I don't want to know?" She asked quickly, for it had occurred to her, better to have some hope and not know than see it snuffed out.
"You do" He said, and was so sure of himself she knew he was right, "You're like me in that regard"
"I'm nothing like you" She objected, and yet it was feeble, for he was right.
He just smirked again, held out his arm to her, "You tell yourself that" And again no mocking, just certainty, a dangerous glint in his gaze as she stood and took his arm, grabbing her wand, and backpack with supplies she'd kept by the door.
"But you know I'm right, you are just like me" He offered and before she could offer any further protest, he wrapped them both with a disillusionment charm, just as strong as before, and nodded to her, and she knew now was not the time.
Not the time to argue as she flung them away, first to the Burrow.
Though her mind lingered on his last words, and how she knew deep, deep down, he just might be right.
thoughts?
I love writing scheming hermione lol, she is terrible at it
do enjoy, the next chapter should be interesting...
speak soon