((A.N. Chapter 16. I'm back from my vacation, which was great, aside from lost luggage, bad directions (never trust Mapquest), and highly dubious seafood. In any case, I'm back and ready to finish posting this story. I'm thinking about giving you guys a preview of my new story, Somewhere I Have Never Traveled, which I can't wait to start posting. This story almost has 500 reviews! You guys are great. Thank you to EuphoniumGurl0, CareBearErin, steffy potter, Blood Tears Dying Angel, haiga, Loriliant Angelisa Snape (not quite yet, girly),Lady Moofin, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, bubble gum girl, Jay Ficlover (wow... well, I particularly liked the radioactive mineral/ meteorite one, though unfortunately that isn't how the story turns out), Jess, blaiselover, JamieGirl, Arissta Kquet, Le Saut de l'Ange, flaming-amber, flirtytype214, Sakuya Kaleido, UNOWEN (betrayal... what a concept), CountessMel, enchantedlight, SaTiNk06, avanell, cocovanilla, Black-rose23, IceHeart161(haha!), Sarcastic Capricorn (x16!), tickle the dragon, Amerise Rei (yes you can sy 'aww' now :D), Tears-That-Fall, stargazer starluver, Kathryn, BabyGooGoo2, mikki, Eccentrically Yours, vertebrata, Emily, Nathonea, Brittany, Karla Marie, slytherinstargazing, BelleLamour, GoBbleDyGoOk, Miss Mina Murray, Meg, Spicysuga, and Mitsuki Ashya. And I never forget my beta, DramaShethan. Enjoy the chapter.))
Love is a force more formidable than any other. It is invisible– it cannot be seen or measured, yet it is powerful enough to transform you in a moment . . .
– Barbara De Angelis
Chapter 16; Worst Nightmare
Like a golden pearl sinking slowly under the murky water of the sea, Dumbledore watched the sun drop below the horizon. A whirling amber instrument on his desk caught the glint of the waning light and reflected it onto his spare pair of spectacles, rimmed in shadowy silver. For some reason Dumbledore sensed an extra weight in the present sundown; he felt as if it was the last sunset that would ever matter.
Dumbledore feared that he had made a great mistake in so carelessly throwing Helen and Tom together. It was, perhaps, the biggest mistake he would ever make. And yet, there was a chance, however slight, of redemption for Tom Riddle. He realized that Helen was the only one who could save Tom from the evil that threatened to consume him so completely.
Tom Riddle was one of the most dangerous characters Dumbledore had ever known, and the main reason for this was that Tom had immeasurable charisma. There were people with so little charisma that they could make the most profound statement in the world and not one person would hear it. There were those with so much charisma that they could talk nonsense and cause all people in the vicinity to hang on their every word.
Tom was one of these.
If charisma was coupled with intelligence, however, it was one of the most poisonous combinations known to man. Not only did Tom draw people in with his words, but he had evidence to back up his philosophies and his claims. He knew that he could entrance and enthrall everyone around him, and he would use it to his best advantage.
If beauty was added into the mixture, which Tom undeniably possessed, the character of a man became twice as enticing. People of beauty were idolized in society, and with his dark and aesthetic attractiveness, Tom would ascend even more easily into Godhood.
And lastly, there was ambition.
When charisma, intelligence, beauty, and ambition were fused together into one soul, there was no stopping its inevitable ascent to power. To put it simply, Tom Riddle exhibited Napoleon's ambition, Einstein's intelligence, Helen of Troy's beauty, and the Devil's own charisma. If these four attributes were combined, and a dash of unquestionable darkness was added, a character with the potential of Tom Riddle would come to life.
In other words, there was no stopping the boy.
The lake sparkled with sapphire and ebony ripples in the pallid glow of the autumn moon.
Hermione walked slowly along the shore of the lake, gazing into the water as if she could find solace in the icy depths. Thinking was like trying to swim through molasses, and coherent thought leaked away as she peered into the still water.
"Couldn't sleep?" came a familiar voice from behind her.
The reflection in the black lake became silver, and she turned around to see Rhion Malfoy standing in front of her. Immediately, she tensed up, hand traveling to her wand.
"I'll hex you if you come any closer," Hermione told him in a passionless voice. She was about three seconds away from levitating him into the lake. Malfoys never changed.
"Go ahead," Rhion said slowly, with a slightly disconcerting smile. He looked past her, into the lake, and she had an urge to look behind her shoulder.
"I've got to hand it to you, Nestowe," Rhion continued in the same eerie voice, "you certainly are determined. You never quit, do you?"
"What are you talking about?" she asked guardedly. He stared pointedly at the lake, but she did not turn around.
"Can't you see that I've been trying to get rid of you from day one? I knew from the start that you were trouble when it came to Tom. I saw it in the way he looks at you . . . the way he still looks at you. It's obvious that you are the only thing that matters to him now. Can't you see? You've ruined everything. Our emotionless ice prince is destroyed forever and it is all your fault! He was our leader and now he only loves you! You've devastated Slytherin by taking away our greatest leader, and I hate you for it, Helen Nestowe! We all hate you!"
He was pacing back and forth in aggravation, and raving uncontrollably about how she had ruined Slytherin. For the first time, Hermione considered the possibility that Malfoy was mentally unstable. He looked purple with rage and envy, and his eyes were feverishly bright in the moonlight.
"Just stay away from me, Malfoy," Hermione said softly, as she realized that stepping back would mean stepping into the lake. "I had nothing to do with Tom's decision last night, and if you don't calm down I swear I'm going to Petrify you."
"Do it," he hissed with a bitter and hysterical laugh, "I dare you. I am going to kill you, Helen. I am going to strangle you until you–"
"Stop it," she said sharply, raising her wand to point at him. He looked as concerned as if she had threatened him with a lollipop.
He took a step closer, but Hermione could back up no further.
"You Mudblood whore," he whispered murderously, "I'm going to make you sorry for everything you've done to Slytherin . . ."
He looked as if he were about to lunge at her, and she teetered precariously at the edge of the lake.
"Is there a problem?" came a silky voice from behind Rhion.
Rhion whirled around to see Tom Riddle standing nonchalantly behind him, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
"T . . .Tom . . ." Rhion stuttered fearfully, backing up as if he had seen a rabid wolf staring at him hungrily. "N-no . . . there is no problem. Helen and I were just having a little chat . . . well, more like a conversation, in the sense that–"
"Shut up," Tom barked ruthlessly. He raised his wand and a spell lanced off of the tip that narrowly missed Rhion's head. "You're lucky I was taking a midnight stroll, Malfoy."
Another spell grazed Rhion's ear. If Tom had wanted the spells to hit Malfoy full on, they would have done so. Rhion was shaking with fear. "You're lucky I was taking a walk, because if you would have so much as touched her I would have torn you apart. Now it would be very wise of you to get out of here as fast as your miserably pampered feet can take you . . . have I made myself clear?"
Rhion responded by scampering away with a wail. Tom Riddle seemed to have an alarming effect even on full grown men.
Tom had assured Rhion that he did not care for Hermione earlier that day, but when he had seen Hermione in danger something had snapped inside of him. He did care about her, and he was ready to admit that to himself.
Tom turned to her as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Hermione supposed that he was just that used to people following his orders without question.
"Why didn't you hex him?" Tom asked curiously.
He stepped toward her, and she wondered how his emotions could change so quickly. It was frightening. A moment ago, he had been murderous toward Rhion. Now, all that was left in his gaze was concern and softness.
"I think I felt a little bit sorry for him," Hermione admitted in a low voice. " I think he's one sandwich short of a picnic. He really doesn't know what to do without you, does he?"
"I guess not," Tom replied with a shrug. "But then again, not one imbecile in this school can survive without being given orders. The human race is pathetic. I hate it, Hermione," he said dangerously, his eyes flaring. Sometimes Tom's intensity scared her.
"Hate what?"
"This world. Everything in it. The cruel injustice of all that has come to pass. The way that morons like Dumbledore and Malfoy feel the need to separate good and evil so definitively. Why can't they understand that all I want is justice?" he said, voice raising and eyes flaring. She felt the urge to shrink back from him. She had never seen him so cynical and angry. She had never seen him so much like Lord Voldemort. "I want a world where people will have consequences for their hideous discrimination. They will pay someday, Hermione. From the very moment I was born, I was cursed. I was less than them all. And then Dumbledore, with his closeminded and outdated notions of good and evil, judged me for trying to be the most that I could be! I was never even given a chance for redemption."
He was shaking, and his expression was dark and bruised. His sensual and alluring face seemed contorted into something unrecognizable. With a wrench in her gut, Hermione realized that it was recognizable. It was the face of Lord Voldemort.
Her heart began to break.
"Tom, please listen to me," she whispered, taking his hand in her own. "Please understand that I am giving you a chance for redemption. And I would never follow your orders. We are equals . . . don't you understand that?"
His face softened. Tom seemed look at the rest of the world with a murderous glare, and she knew that he could be ruthlessly brutal to everyone around him. When he looked at her, though, his entire face changed. It was terrifying, to know that if he had the chance, he would burn the world and everything in it to ashes.
Everything except her.
"You're right . . . and that is what I like about you," he said reluctantly.
They commenced in walking slowly along the lake front. They were silent for a great while, but Hermione felt as if she did not have to talk to enjoy being around him. There was a quality in his nature that she could never get enough of. The way he walked and spoke seemed direct and intense, a characteristic that so many others lacked.
"Tom," she started apprehensively, " I have a serious question. It may seem silly, but . . . what am I to you?"
"You're my worst nightmare," Tom replied, without skipping a beat. His tone was direct and genuine. "You're the one person I've always been afraid of meeting. The one who can see right through all the masks I put on, who can knock down all the barriers I built up, who can stand up to me while everyone else cowers in fear. You're my worst nightmare," he repeated softly.
He met her gaze, and his eyes were full of apprehension and confusion. He still did not fully understand what he was going through.
"Well," said Hermione with a small smile, "I'm sorry that I prove so offensive to you, Mr. Riddle. I suppose it would be best for me to leave now . . ."
And with a knowing smile, she turned to walk away.
"No," he said sharply, "it's true that you're my worst nightmare, but you're the kind of nightmare, you see . . . the kind of nightmare that wakes a person up. I've been sleeping all my life, I suppose . . . and now I've woken up."
She could tell that Tom Riddle was good at making speeches in everyday life, but now he was stumbling over words, and he seemed more confused than ever.
"And what I am saying in this moment goes against everything I have ever known," Tom said, his tone nearly unrecognizable, "but I really want to kiss you right now."
His face was pale and statuesque in the moonlight, and his dark hair proved a beautiful contrast.
"Then kiss me," she whispered.
He kissed her in the soft light of the moon, as the lake glimmered with all its alluring darkness, and everything around them seemed to fade slowly from existence.
She was not the best friend of Harry Potter, and he was not the future Lord of the Dark. They were two souls caught up in the tragic comedy of life, and her lips on his were all that mattered. She pulled away from him softly, and he ran his hand down her cheek and along her neck.
And it was in that moment which Tom realized.
What love is, he thought slowly, what love really is . . . is Hermione. Love is this, right now.
Maybe love had made him give up everything he had known. Maybe love had saved him.
It was nonsensical. It was all powerful. It was fleeting. It was beautiful. It was artistic. It was perfect. It was tragic. It was heartbreaking, and none of those words came even close to identifying it. Most of all, it was indescribable and undefinable. This was why he had never understood love.
At last, he felt as if he were going to be okay.
"My worst nightmare," he whispered softly, but couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione was a dream come true.
The kiss had been more than a kiss to Hermione. It had been light where there could only bedarkness.
He looked at her and she realized with a sudden start that Tom loved her. He still seemed cynical and haughty and troubled, but those were the characteristics that years of torment had bestowed upon him. Tom would always have a great measure of darkness in his personality, but in his own chaotic and intense way, he loved her.
Tom Riddle had changed, and the pattern of time had changed along with him. In the future Hermione created, there would not be a Lord Voldemort, and there would not be Death Eaters, all because of this great big accident she had of falling in love with him.
"I don't know what to do about you, Tom Riddle," she said, her voice trembling with emotion as she clutched on to him. "You've ruined all of my plans. You're my worst enemy and there is nothing I want more than to stand here with you and never move again."
Hermione supposed it was fate that had brought them together, but quickly discarded that idea. It was choices, she reasoned at last, that had changed the future and the past. It had not been love at first sight, but instead it had taken them months to understand their complex feelings. It was not that they were made for each other, it was that one could not exist without the other. Choices, was all that it came down to.
"I'm afraid that if we move," Tom confided in her, "that this whole night will be only a bittersweet dream and that it will dissolve like . . . have you ever been outside on a spring morning in March, when it's just cool enough for there to be a delicate covering of mist over the woods? I'm afraid that this moment will dissolve like that mist when the sun rises. So let's not move, Hermione. For one moment, let us pretend that this is real."
His eyes suddenly became glassy, and she watched a tear trail down his porcelain skin. "I'm scared to death that this isn't real," he repeated inaudibly, and held onto her as if she were the only thing in the world that contained true substance.
She remembered when he told her about how even as a baby, he had never cried. She also remembered when he had asked her why she cried on that warm fall night that could have been a million years ago.
"You can cry," Hermione said softly, "because I'll always be there to wipe your tears away."
And as he had done for her, she brought her hand up to his face and banished the tear as if it were only a drop of water.
Passion. Foreboding.
"Tom," she whispered urgently and suddenly. Her eyes appeared round, luminous, and concerned in the unforgiving gleam of the moon, "if you could go back in time and change something really awful, would you do it?"
Tom looked contemplative, then, his face tilted towards the heavens.
"I'm a firm believer that you can't change time, Hermione. Everything about time is so complicated, so intricately woven, that it is, in the end, impossible to manipulate."
Look how much I've changed you, she wanted to say.
"But it's been done before," Hermione persisted. "People have gone back and altered a small piece of time that they wanted to change, and when they went back to the future, things were different."
"Time is just a great pattern, though. It continues on and on and never stops. People who go back in time are meant to go back. It's all part of the pattern," Tom said lightly, oblivious to how much of an impact his words were having on her.
Was I meant to go back? Hermione wondered. How different will things be when I go forward? She realized that Tom would be like a better Dumbledore, in her time, in the altered reality she had created.
That was when she felt an inkling at the back of her brain, the tiniest beginning of an idea that she did not fully understand.
But that essential, precious train of thought slipped away as Tom leaned in to kiss her. If she had continued thinking for one more minute, perhaps even one more second, she would have foreseen the flaw in her plan. But right then all that mattered were Tom's lips on hers, his hands around her waist, the way she was intensely aware of his every movement.
At that moment, all that mattered was that he loved her and she loved him.
Was it not true that love conquered all?
((A.N. So what is going on here? Did Tom really just tell his right-hand man to sod off? And what was Hermione's idea? Coming up next chapter . . . well, you'll see. ;D))