Part 5
Lydia Granger sat down with a sigh in her favorite armchair. Her husband gingerly sat down on the sofa closest to her. Lydia knew he was expecting her to air the worry and concern they were both feeling but she wasn't sure if she had the energy. Two magical journeys through fireplaces had just about done her in. On top of that she was having a hard time digesting what they had been told. Compromising, she extended her hand and Alan grasped it comfortingly. In a silence that was suddenly far more contented, they ordered their thoughts.
"What did you think of the boy?" Lydia began.
"Polite. He was almost too polite."
That summed up her opinion on the matter too. She'd gained very little solid knowledge of Tom Riddle from the pleasant and utterly fake façade he'd erected. It had been disturbing how mild and pleasant he'd been. Well, with the exception of that terrifying moment when Lydia thought Hermione and Tom would come to blows. Under her daughter's careful needling, Lydia had seen something else in Tom's character. It was something that called out her parenting instincts out in full.
"Yes, but what about when he and Hermione... argued?" Lydia prodded.
"I'm not sure what to think about that. The boy has issues, Lydia, I could tell that without that lovely history lesson that Dumbledore chap gave."
"From the sound of things his upbringing was borderline abusive."
"Well, you don't grow up planning to become a Dark Lord if your past is all roses," Alan sighed.
"Given what we know of Voldemort, this won't be easy. He hates muggles. I can't imagine being forced to live here will endear us to him."
"I'll be damned if I know why that batty Headmaster implied we can do something about that. This isn't a reform school," Alan grumbled.
"Therapy is out of the question. I doubt we'd ever be able to get the boy there. I'm sure he would be offended by the suggestion. Besides, do wizards have psychologists?"
"Not any that we could trust. Dumbledore was clear that Riddle could not be revealed as being Voldemort in his youth."
"Then we'll have to do what we can. I'll check the library for books of troubled youths on the way home. You can check out the bookstore," Lydia sighed.
"Better than nothing, I suppose."
Lydia met her husband's eyes. Reassurance mixed with the heavy understanding of just how precarious their position was, radiated from his gaze. This was a task they weren't prepared for at all. Although they had done their best to learn about the wizarding world, Lydia would be the first to say they were still very ignorant about its daily workings. Even if they were born and raised in the wizarding world, Lydia doubted they would be ready to cope with a boy who was, according to what they'd heard, borderline psychopathic. The worst thing was that they couldn't even protect their daughter.
"I just don't like that Hermione is involved at all," Lydia said, giving form to her thoughts. "She's grown up so much but Hermione is still very young, regardless of what she says. The Headmaster all but admitted he was more than willing to barter away Hermione's life."
"We'll be around to look after her. Accepting the boy is the right thing to do but I'm not going to give him free rein to hurt our little girl."
"That innocent façade of his will crack sometime, Alan. I just hope we can deal with it."
"Are you expecting an explosion?" Alan asked with concern.
"I think there could be one- both literally and figuratively. I can see the tension between Tom and Hermione. That isn't going to go away. Dumbledore isn't telling us everything."
"Hmmm, then we agree on that. Let us just hope it's not something that will come back to haunt us."
After the close of her first year, Ginny Weasley had spent her life waiting for the other shoe to drop. She had gotten away from the diary all too easily for her own peace of mind. Although she dreaded it, Ginny had also begun to hunger for the conclusion to what had been one of the most difficult episodes in her life. What Dumbledore had told them was everything Ginny had been waiting for. For if Tom Marvolo Riddle returned then she could look him in the eye and know he no longer had the power hurt her. When Dumbledore had oh-so-gently told them what had happened, Ginny had felt a fuzzy ball of satisfaction well up in the pit of her stomach. It was true what her mother told her; what went around, came around. Ginny couldn't think of anything that would irk Tom more than being forever bound to a muggleborn. The only thing that tainted her pleasure was that he was bound to her best female friend.
A frown knotted on her forehead. Ginny was no stranger to Tom's wicked nature and she knew just how insidious he could be. Of course, in the diary Tom had nothing to lose. Had his plans succeeded and he had managed to take on the semblance of life, he would have rallied the Death Eaters and perhaps even join with his older self. Now his older self was gone and the Death Eaters all but dead. That made Tom's position very precarious. Would that be enough to protect Hermione? Ginny shuddered with pained sympathy. Beside her Harry's voice raised in argument.
"...deserves peace! We've been fighting since fifth year and now she's shackled to that maniac," Harry blustered.
Harry's temper had come under better control over the years but control had clearly deserted him this time. Ginny sighed. Dumbledore would always do what he thought he must and Harry was foolish to think the Headmaster would change. They had repaired the trust between them during Harry's sixth year but Ginny wondered if this was enough to break it for good. Hermione was clever and perceptive. No one would deny that she was mature enough to handle such a responsibility but Ginny didn't think that was only reason Hermione had been selected.
"I know the sacrifices that all of you have made, Harry. As much as we all would have enjoyed time to recover, it was impossible."
"There are ways, Headmaster. We both know you could have held Voldemort's soul for at least a full moon's cycle!"
"Those methods are dark magic and you know I will not turn to such methods," Dumbledore chided.
"Because you don't want to dirty your hands!" Harry replied hotly.
"No, Harry. If we use dark magic then we become the very thing we are fighting against."
Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She might have applauded the Headmaster's steadfast principles if he were a little more consistent in applying them. What had been done to Hermione was hardly pure light magic. She had also sensed there was something that Dumbledore wasn't telling them about the binding. That was something she'd have to weasel out of Hermione. Ginny guessed that her friend probably needed someone to confide in. Then there was the matter of rubbing certain things in Tom's face. She was honest enough to admit she'd enjoy that.
Personal revenge would wait, though. Ginny's first priority was helping her friend. Tom wouldn't just give up on all his plans. He was stubborn and intelligent enough to be a problem. If there was anything Ginny could do to help her friend, she would do it. Her experiences with Tom Riddle weren't pleasant but she had come to admit that it had given her a perspective on Voldemort that she wouldn't have had otherwise. After all, the best lies were woven into a fabric of truth and Tom lied very well.
Tom Riddle had thought of her as disposable. Once he regained his body, she would be dead. Anything he might have told her would not matter. Of course that wasn't how things had happened. Ginny had survived and remembered everything he'd told her. It had taken nearly three years before she gained the courage to really examine the poison he'd dripped into her ear but she had.
Ginny knew his weaknesses and soon so would Hermione.
"... I hope you'll stand by Hermione and see that she adapts to her new circumstances as best she can."
Another meaningless sentiment from Dumbledore, Ginny thought with ennui. Ginny wanted to screw her face up in disdain but she didn't want to draw attention her way. Naturally Harry reacted with affronted pride at the suggestion he wouldn't stand by his friend of seven years. The confrontation was really ridiculous. Ginny doubted that Dumbledore ever thought Hermione would be socially exiled by what had happened. Sure, none of them would like that Hermione had been stuck with Tom but they'd not desert her.
"Headmaster, can we go see Hermione?" Ginny finally asked.
"I understand that you are concerned about your friend but it would be best to give both Hermione and Tom time to become accustomed to their new situation. Tomorrow I'm sure Hermione would be happy to see you."
That was a polite but definite no. Harry's anger simmered down to churlishness as Dumbledore concluded their conversation by offering them a lemon drop. Ginny wanted to argue or to somehow make Dumbledore understand how much they both needed to see Hermione. Instead she swallowed her protests and followed Harry down the staircase.
Once outside of the Headmaster's office, Harry sighed and his shoulders slumped. Ginny felt her heart go out to him. He'd had two very unpleasant shocks. It couldn't be easy for Harry to accept Voldemort wasn't dead and gone. They had all sacrificed so much and it was for nothing. Furthermore, Hermione was now the one shouldering the burden. Tom didn't deserve the second chance that he'd been given and certainly not at such a high cost.
"I'm sorry, Harry."
"It's supposed to be over, Ginny!" Harry cried out with a mix of bafflement and hurt. "That was what the prophecy said. We won and it we were supposed to be free!"
"I'm sorry," Ginny repeated not knowing what else to say.
"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Dumbledore doesn't know when to stop meddling. There were other ways, Ginny, no matter how much he might want to pretend otherwise!" Harry growled.
Ginny found it difficult to refute this argument. They were all the things that she agreed with. Harry's eyes were wide and riddled with anguish. As much as Ginny wanted to swear and wail at the injustice of Tom's return and Hermione being forced to deal with him, she couldn't. In the past few days they had seen far too much pain and suffering. That had been on top of three years from hell. She was tired, Harry was tired... everyone was tired including Dumbledore. The idea of another war was inconceivable. She understood all too well how Dumbledore could make such a choice.
"Were there? Dumbledore could have done it but would it be safe? There are still Death Eaters out there. What if they stole the gem or whatever vessel that held Voldemort's soul? It would be the dairy all over again," Ginny argued gently while disliking having to take Dumbledore's side.
"I know... I know. But it's Hermione. How could he ask that of her? What if that bastard-"
"Harry, don't start. If you start worrying there'll be no end to it. Do you really think I don't know how dangerous Tom can be? We'll be here for her, like you said."
"I thought this was over!" Harry echoed, his voice cracking.
"I wanted it to be over, too," Ginny said softly.
Their eyes met and held for a moment. They both understood the wealth of pain behind what they had said without having to say it. Harry wrapped an arm about her shoulders and they plodded to the Gryffindor common room. Dumbledore had left them the pleasant task of explaining to Ron. Ginny wondered how many shades of red Ron's face would turn.
The fire made light play over his complexion in tones of brandy and cream. Elegant hands clasped a heavy book pausing midway in turning a page as she stepped through the portrait hole. Even if the portrait had not swept aside with an audible creak, he would have noticed her presence. This was an encounter they were both anticipating. Or perhaps dreading. They had made a truce of sorts in the Headmaster's office but here, away from the sight of their betters, would be where it would succeed or fail. The opening gambits she'd planned seemed lacking as she stood uncomfortably in the entrance. Either they seemed moralistic, arrogant or just too long winded. Finally, Hermione settled on nervously making her way to the chair that sat across from Riddle. He watched her intently but without hostility.
"So... has the Head Boy's room changed much since you were there last?"
"Not much. Small things: the desk chair, the curtains on the bed."
Silence fell and Hermione found herself grow more discouraged. It seemed that Tom Riddle had become more verbose as he aged. At least he had responded to her inquiry. Had he not replied, Hermione would probably have hexed him out of sheer frustration. Just as she was going to try to launch another frivolous question, Riddle neatly closed his book and placed it on the side table.
"I suppose it is gratifying to see that you don't know how to go about this any more than I do."
For a moment, Hermione bristled but then she relaxed when she realized he wasn't insulting her. She would never get through this if she was reacting like a nervy cat! If anything, his comment had been an admission of his own ignorance. Already she knew that Riddle was extremely proud. It would not have been easy for him to be so straightforward about such things. Indeed, what he had done was downright remarkable for a Slytherin.
Hermione wondered if it was some form of peace offering. Or was it a ploy to lull her into false sense of security? Internally, Hermione shook her head. Such doubts were useless. Even if with Slytherins you always had to wonder.
"No, I don't," Hermione admitted.
"Then maybe you should begin by telling me exactly what you thought you were agreeing to," Riddle said in a cold voice.
"What I agreed to wasn't-," Hermione started to snap at the reference to their rude awakening after the bond had been created. "You heard what Dumbledore said. I barely knew more than you did. Don't bait me."
"Really? I seem to remember that you were given the luxury of a choice."
"An uninformed choice, which is no real choice at all. Not that any of this matters now!" Hermione retorted.
"Doesn't it? No, I suppose not," Riddle replied angrily, although his anger wasn't directed at Hermione this time.
He wanted to rage and make sure his displeasure at the world was well noted. Tom always knew he had a bad temper but the situation he found himself in was pushing it to new limits. First he'd woken up in bed with a mudblood. Then Dumbledore had neatly explained the terms of his slavery. Today he'd had to smile and make nice to a couple of muggles. The muggle woman had been introduced as a doctor of all things, although in Tom's opinion the scandalous length of her skirt had hinted at a very different profession.
His life had passed beyond his control and he couldn't see a way out. Lack of control had always been something he detested. The girl in front of him held the keys to his life. It was strange how she was his jailor but also possibly his only ally. To Tom, it was clear that if he wanted any measure of control, then he would have to control the Granger girl. The first step would be winning her over.
In Dumbledore's office he hadn't done a good job at charming her. Instead, they had very nearly traded blows. Tom was appalled at his slip but was beginning to wonder if he could turn it to his advantage. Even Granger would have to be sympathetic to someone who had their life turned on its ear. A certain level of resentment would even be expected. Maybe he'd have to play the part of 'maiden in distress' but Granger's Gryffindor tendencies would set her up very nicely to play the 'knight gallant'.
"Look, there isn't an easy solution to this," Hermione ventured.
"I don't think you realize how this has affected me. Everything I had hoped and dreamed has been turned to ashes. I was meant for great things, Granger, and now I'm Dumbledore's pet," Tom replied with unfeigned bitterness.
"I sympathize, I really do, even if I don't agree with what you would have done with your life. Don't you realize that my life has been disrupted too?" Hermione retorted. "Besides, you made your choices as Lord Voldemort. This situation is the direct result of those choices."
"How convenient an excuse. You do realize I'm being punished for things I don't even remember doing?"
"What about Myrtel, Tom? Do you remember her? How about Ginny? Or all the muggleborns you would have killed if your little plot had worked?"
"I never said I hadn't been a bad boy, Granger."
"Fine, then we should stop talking in circles. Tomorrow Dumbledore will introduce you to the school. We need to look at the file Dumbledore gave you about your new identity and work out the details," Hermione replied flatly, not at all impressed with the purr in his voice.
Riddle held her gaze for a moment before sullenly nodding.
Uncomfortably, Hermione sat down on a chair beside the one that Tom had monopolized. They said little as Hermione read the file. Hermione gathered that Riddle had already gone through it before she had entered. The file that Dumbledore had given Tom was surprisingly complete. This was something Hermione felt she should have expected. Dumbledore had always been thorough in all his plots and he had the leverage at the Ministry to see that the false documents could not be discovered as such.
The contents proclaimed Tom Marvolo Riddle as being an orphan after his parents had died in a car crash. Having read that, Hermione hid her smile. Harry had confided in her that was what the Dursleys had told him about his parents' death. Clearly Dumbledore's quirky sense of humor had struck. After his parent's death, Tom lived with his wizard grandfather who educated him at home. The phony grandfather had recently died of natural, age related causes.
Hermione felt her eyebrows jump when she read that Tom Riddle had supposedly helped the Order of the Phoenix with research. That was clearly an attempt at throwing suspicion away from Tom's sudden appearance. Order members had achieved some acclaim for not only their part in the final battle but standing against Voldemort before the Ministry had publicly admitted he was back. Public sentiment was that they were beyond reproach. This was something that Hermione realized was advantageous for hiding Riddle's true past but she couldn't help but feel that such a lie was an insult to the many sacrifices Order members had made. With conflicted feelings, Hermione closed the file and handed it back to Riddle.
"Have you any ideas as to how to fill in the holes? I mean, there really needs to be an explanation as to why you weren't at the final battle. Not to mention why and how we forged the bond," Hermione asked.
"Considering I lack any knowledge about my older self's defeat and the events surrounding it, I can hardly offer an opinion."
Hermione blushed in embarrassment. He was right. The only memories he had were of his years at Hogwarts. Even if he did have all of Voldemort's memories, he couldn't possibly know of events as they unfolded for the Order. That she had made such a fundamental oversight only went to show how unsettled she was. Gathering herself, she began again.
"What do you know of the Order of the Phoenix?"
"Phoenix... I assume that refers to Dumbledore's familiar? I also assume he was involved in it up to his bushy eyebrows."
While her nose wrinkled at Riddle's dry, sneering tone, she couldn't deny his words. Quickly Hermione sketched out a brief history of the Order and Voldemort's defeat. She also gave some information on those who made up the more public members. Those she knew played a more shadowy role, she did not mention. Voldemort had not hesitated to interrogate the Order members he had captured. As a result the certain individuals and groups within the Order were only known to Dumbledore. Even now there would be repercussions for some if they were revealed to have been Order members. Hermione knew all too well how quickly public adulation could turn into public condemnation.
"What was your role in Dumbledore's pet project?" Riddle asked.
"Publicly I was well known as Harry's friend and fellow Order member. Harry, Ron and I became part of the Order in our sixth year. Privately, I worked on spell research and enchantment. I worked on adapting ancient magic and researched with Professors Snape, Flitwick and Dumbledore the magics your older self used on himself. I also took part in the final battle."
"So then I did achieve immortality," Tom said softly.
"No... not exactly," Hermione argued, goose-bumps rising at Tom's wondering and almost reverent tone. "Voldemort succeeded in keeping his soul and memories when disembodied but he wasn't immortal. When disembodied, he was little more than a parasite, reliant on a host body until he fashioned himself a new one. The spell we created worked by unraveling the numerous spells and potions that Voldemort used to create his new body. It was also meant to undo the magic that allowed Voldemort to exist disembodied but since you're here, I suspect that part of the spell it didn't fully work."
"You helped Dumbledore? And what exactly could a pathetic little mudblood tramp like you contribute?"
The sudden poison leaking off his tongue was somewhat unexpected. Hermione had though they were making headway with their truce. Yet, even as Riddle spoke, Hermione knew exactly where those bitter words stemmed from. Understanding spread like dark and sticky syrup, over her chaotic thoughts. Like a mistreated animal he had struck out at her in anticipation of blow. He'd also struck to hide the vulnerability her recounting his older self's demise had created. In a strange way Tom Riddle idolized his older self. Lord Voldemort was everything that unwanted, impoverished and orphaned Tom Riddle wasn't. She knew why he had reacted that way... but in the heat of the moment it didn't seem to matter. The assault upon her pride had an immediate reaction.
Her hand jumped out to smack the smug, satisfied look right off Riddle's face. The blow never landed. He neatly grabbed her wrist, halting what would have been the most satisfying moment of her life. Enraged, Hermione tugged against the restraining hold to free herself. Much to her dismay, Riddle also tugged and did so far more effectively. With a calculated yank, he pulled her off balance. Using the momentum from her tumble, he twirled her around pinning her neatly against his chest.
Startled by the undignified turn of events, Hermione's anger fizzled out of being. She was left with a hyperawareness of the body pressed hers. Heat from his chest seemed to sink into her flesh. She could feel as his ribcage expanded and contracted with each breath. Her own respiration drew in his strangely bitter and musky scent. Again she was reminded of coffee and sandalwood. The soft caress of his breath fanned her cheek and shoulder. Horrified at her sudden catalogue of sensation, Hermione jerked away. This time he did not stop her.
Red cheeked, Hermione looked anywhere but at Tom. She didn't want to analyze why she was so flushed. She was certain it was from the struggle and nothing else. Thoughts of how she had tried to slap him sent a new wave of red to her face. She'd never before been prone to blushing but apparently Riddle was slowly changing that for her.
Hermione didn't like how easily he had subdued her. It made her painfully aware of that while she might be able to magically restrain him, Riddle easily outmatched her physically. The last time she had physically struck out at someone during an argument it had been Draco Malfoy back in third year. That had ended amazingly well, with Malfoy goggling at her audacity. Of course, Malfoy had held the typical pureblood view on physical violence- that it was the realm of muggles and peasants. He'd also been a spoiled, skinny, pointy faced ferret then. With puberty females lost any physical advantage. Not only was Riddle physically superior to her, he'd probably participated in more than one boyhood scuffle at the muggle orphanage he'd grown up in. She had acted foolishly and had been duly defeated.
"I'll give you the Twin Oaks brochures for you to look at. Return them when you're done," Hermione replied stiffly, gathering up her tattered dignity.
Riddle did nothing to acknowledge that he heard her or cared about what she'd said. Hermione counted her blessings. It was only her pride that allowed her to exit the room with her head held high. Maybe retreating wasn't very Gryffindorish but she was tired of fighting and tired of acting so foolishly in front of the teen version of Voldemort. She had not idea why he put her on edge so easily. She was constantly putting her foot in her mouth or misjudging things. That wasn't pleasant when she was the one to prevent Harry or Ron from doing just that.
Once in the privacy of her room she flung herself on her bed and took a few deep breaths. When her embarrassment retreated to manageable levels, she pulled out the prospectus and various other articles of interest she had collected about Twin Oaks. Just looking at them seemed to center her. She was Hermione Granger, brightest witch in many generations and hero of the last battle. If she had helped Harry kick Voldemort's geriatric arse, she could certainly manage the snotty teenage version.
Tom remained frozen for many moments after the fiery witch left the room. He was positively shocked by the unexpected way things had turned out. When he'd grabbed the girl he'd wanted to humiliate her into submission, to force her to acknowledge his superiority. Instead he'd found himself responding to the girl's nearness. It was disgusting. Not the hormonal response- he was a teenage boy after all, but the fact he had no control over it. He had learned to control or, failing that, to ignore such urges. The base desires of the flesh were nothing to his pursuit of power. This was different. Tom snorted with disgust. No doubt the girl had experienced something similar. He doubted that she realized what caused it. It was the bond, of course.
What Dumbledore had placed upon them was a marriage bond. It made sense that it would 'encourage' physical contact. Tom had been told about the renewal of the bond and he had doubted it would end there. The consequences of such things were rarely so simple, particularly when it was founded on dubious consent.
Well, he'd been right but Tom was far from pleased about it. But then... perhaps he could use that. By Granger's red face, Tom doubted she had guessed what had caused such a reaction. She had probably thought it was her. Although he disliked the possibility of further intimacy with the mudblood, seduction, at least in some form, might produce the results he wanted. If he played it right, Tom considered, he might not even have to become intimate with her.
So... he would be the coy maiden in distress and play the Gryffindor mudblood for all she was worth. It would be sweet revenge for Dumbledore to watch as he subverted his precious witch. Besides, who knew how far he could press her? Perhaps his plans were not as ruined as he feared. Tom caught himself. No, it would not due to become overconfident. No matter how much he loathed Dumbledore, the old man was no fool and he'd chosen the mudblood for a reason. He would have to be cautious but if caution would give him victory then he would do it.
Hermione could tell that Riddle hadn't expected her to reappear so soon. He probably thought she would need to lick her wounds longer. She had to admit that it was partly a matter of pride that had sent her out again. If he realized he could affect her so easily, then he would take advantage of that. Surprisingly he said nothing about it and had accepted the information with what grace he could manage. Unfortunately, whatever status quo that might have followed was destroyed by the sneer that appeared on Riddle's face as he glanced over the prospectus.
"What now?" Hermione asked with annoyance.
"It seems that the wizarding world's standards have fallen when it comes to further education."
"Excuse me?" Hermione snapped crossly.
"Tell me, has this muggle foolishness completely deluded the wizarding world?"
The disdain in the boy's face was very real. Hermione felt her desire to smack it off return with vengeance but this time she controlled herself. Her choice in attending Twin Oaks had been a hard one. The wizarding world traditionally expected young witches and wizards to apprentice themselves to Masters either privately or through the Ministry or Gringotts. While this system worked relatively well, it required a young witch or wizard to decide on their career early on. It also resulted in witches and wizards who were highly specialized, with little knowledge of different disciplines.
Twin Oaks had been formed a few years before Voldemort's first rise to power. It was intended for the brightest students who wished to spend two to four years learning a diversity of subjects at a higher level. While students might concentrate on a particular area, they were still exposed to a variety of other subjects. It had been remarkably popular with Masters who wished for an arena to show off their skills and attract apprentices from the brightest in the wizarding world. To be accepted into Twin Oaks was a great honor.
Despite this, Riddle's slur wasn't unexpected. Twin Oaks had been criticized as being an unwanted incursion of muggle culture into the wizarding world as Twin Oaks was modeled in some ways on muggle universities. It was, however, a lot less formal and more self-study oriented. The criticism had slowly died down after the advantages of a broader knowledge base made themselves known. Thanks to Twin oaks there was a greater degree of cross disciplinary research being done. The results of those projects spoke for themselves. As did the later accomplishments of Twin Oaks graduates.
This, of course, was something that Hermione knew Riddle didn't know. Nor could he know that she took her studies very seriously. Biting her cheek, Hermione glared at Riddle. His face was carved with a superior, condescending look that she had seen more than once on the faces of various Slytherins. She had eventually learned that it was something of a default expression. It was also often used to hide fear or unease. More than once, Hermione wondered if it was handed out as standard first year issue along with House badges and scarves.
Tom probably thought he was saddled with an imbecile that couldn't even get a half-descent apprenticeship. This made Hermione feel a pang of compassion. No matter what she though of his ethics of goals, Hermione had respected Voldemort's mind. He was undeniably brilliant and she had appreciated how ruthlessly he'd worked to cultivate both his intelligence and talents. Tom Riddle would share that desire to succeed and Hermione could understand that very well.
"You might want to read a little more carefully, Tom," Hermione said as evenly as she could. "It's no the third rate diploma mill you think it is."
"Isn't it?"
"It was established so that people could study a variety of subjects at a higher level. Renowned Masters from around the world lecture at Twin Oaks. An apprenticeship with a first rate Master, is easier to obtain than acceptance into Twin Oaks."
"So you say," Riddle replied, with emphasis on 'you'.
"Just read it over. All the information is in there along with the information I compiled about graduates."
Tom had to restrain his wince when he realized the girl had read his discomfort so easily. The resulting anger was a balm to his new wounds. Maybe Twin Oaks wasn't the academic quagmire he'd though it was but it was decidedly muggle at heart. Tom clenched the shiny brochure and forced himself to read it. Against his will, he had to admit he couldn't find anything to suggest the mudblood was wrong about Twin Oaks success.
"You want to study runes?" Tom finally offered.
"Yes. I find their many uses interesting. Primarily, I'm interested in their ability to act as a conduit for spells but I also have an interest in how they can be used in the manufacture of magical items."
"An ambitious course of study. Most consider it a lost art or a relic of antiquity," Tom spoke a little uncomfortably, his tone suspended between compliment and insult.
"True enough but I have a... knack with them."
"You have used runes before?" Tom asked with surprise. "Hogwarts focused on translation and did not offer the practical applications of runes when I studied here."
"They still don't but I did several independent studies," Hermione replied.
"Would you be willing to elaborate?"
Hermione's first instinct was to refuse and change the subject. There was something in his voice, though, that made her suspect he expected her to do just that. Or perhaps it was the way he had hardened himself against an anticipated sharp refusal. Again she was reminded of a puppy kicked once too often. Not certain that she liked this growing compassion for Riddle, Hermione considered his request. There really wasn't any reason not to tell him about her some of her work. Even the work she had done with the Order probably didn't need to be kept secret any longer.
"Most of my work on runes is threefold. The first is to create my own personal runic script. Any serious student of runes must do so. Then, I wish to translate or decompose more known spells into a usable runic form. Finally, I have been learning to incorporate ancient and personal runes in the manufacture of magical goods."
"That's quite a diversified base of study," Tom said uncertainly.
"I would like to focus on my personal script for now, but the Order required my expertise elsewhere."
"As in the destruction of my older self?" Tom challenged.
"Yes," Hermione replied, not giving an inch.
"You're not one who is easily bullied," Tom offered with a slit-eyed glance.
"If I was, Dumbledore wouldn't have chosen me," Hermione agreed tentatively. "Would you like to look at some of the items I've made?"
It was a gesture of goodwill and they both knew it. Their whole conversation was similar to the displays that animals went through when meeting in the wild. First, there was the customary fluffing of fur or feathers to establish both individuals place in the hierarchy of things. Then there came the series of posturing and subtle indications to establish the suspension of hostility. Only then could both creatures get on with the business of ignoring each other. Hermione wondered just how long it would take. The idea of walking on eggshells for the rest of her life, was disheartening.
"That would be acceptable."
With no little trepidation, Hermione stood and indicated for Riddle to follow her. Opening the door to her room, she let him enter first. In essence she was opening her life to him in the shadow of a forced intimacy. Maybe it was a small thing to show him some of her research but Hermione still felt uncomfortable. It wasn't as if he'd offered her the same in return. Not that Hermione expected it. She already knew that if any status quo was to be reached between them, it would be mostly the result of her work. The trick would be to know how many compromises to make. Hermione knew she would have to be the better person, but she wasn't going to be the one who made all the sacrifices. At least they were now in her territory.
Giving no indication of her troublesome thoughts, Hermione went to her trunk. With practiced movements, she dealt with the wards she'd placed upon it and then opened the third compartment of her trunk. Looking upon the items she had crafted with her hands and her magic sent a pulse of accomplishment washing through her. For a moment she considered what to show Riddle. Having made her choices Hermione removed three items. They were among the first she had ever made. Perhaps, they were not great works of magic but that first rush of heady success that had accompanied their successful creation was indelibly imprinted upon her mind.
The first was an unremarkable potion vial. Slightly gray in tone; the glass was thick and opaque. The stopper was functional and almost severe in its lack of decoration. It was an object that seemed as if it could belong to any potions student at Hogwarts. That was unless you examined it more closely. If you looked carefully, a series of runes encircled the vial, neatly hidden by the vial's lip. A similar series also adorned the stopper. The runes she had inscribed expanded the vial's capacity. This was a common enough function but Hermione had added a personal twist to the runic series. It allowed for the contents of the vial to be used in precise amounts.
It was a function that had been remarkably useful. In battle, you didn't have time to measure out a correct dose of potions. In the past, if potions were carried into battle, they had to be separated into single doses. This could be cumbersome and awkward. Hermione's bottle had been a nice advantage to the Order members until an enterprising Death Eater had gotten his hands on it and copied her work. Not that Hermione had expected otherwise. Hermione was too familiar with muggle arms races to expect the wizarding world to be that different.
The second item was more whimsical than anything. It was created partly out of vanity but also to experiment with blending several different forms of magic. Hermione had spent hours carefully transfiguring delicate leaves and blossoms of a hawthorn tree from a bar of silver. The runes she had woven into its structure bid the plant to blossom and unfurl leaves as if it was a real plant. With charms she had added color wile keeping the shine of the metal. She had even made the tiny blossoms smell faintly of the almost unpleasant scent of a hawthorn tree in full bloom. Hermione intended to wear the circlet to the formal dinner all Hogwarts seventh year students were to attend.
The last item was the most important of anything Hermione had made or would make. It was the tool with which she would practice her chosen field of magic and the first thing any serious student of runes created. The dagger was ten inches long from hilt to tip and was carefully crafted for the magical carving and direction of runes. Runes in her own script encircled the hilt and ran down along the edges of the blade to end 'v'. Mounted on the pommel was a polished but irregularly shaped moonstone, surrounded by abstract designs worked in filigree silver. If Hermione were to brush her fingers over the metal, it would hum with her own energy. Unsurprisingly, that was the first thing Riddle reached out to touch. Before his fingers made contact with the steel his hand paused and he looked up at her for permission.
"Go ahead," Hermione agreed softly, a little surprised at his manners.
Long fingers skimmed the surface of the metal and lingered on the terminating rune at the tip of the dagger. She knew that he was testing the magic that she had invested in it from its creation and then later use. An echo of any magic channeled through the dagger would remain and grow through time. Hermione hadn't had her rune blade for long but already there was a noticeable buildup. The war had seen to that.
"You've used this a great deal but I can tell you haven't had it for long," Tom spoke up.
"You are correct. I made it as a special project in Runes for extra credit on my NEWTs."
"So you are ambitious," Tom remarked with a cruel twist to his words.
"Yes but unlike some I can tamper my ambition with common sense," Hermione rebuked.
Instead of angering him, the words seemed to amuse him. Hermione found this worse than if her words had sparked off another argument. She disliked being made light of and that was what he was doing. With an effort she controlled her reaction. The last thing she wanted was for Riddle to know how much that annoyed her. He wouldn't have any compunction about using that weak spot against her.
"What stone did you blend with the metal as a conductor?"
"That's a personal question," Hermione replied with a raised brow.
In the creation of a rune blade, magic was used to combine steel and a precious stone. Which stone was used depended on the creator's personal magic. The selection of the stone had to match the creator perfectly, as the magically blended metal would conduct the creator's magic. Hermione bit her lip in consideration. Already the moonstone told Riddle more than enough about her magic. The pommel stone also had to match the creator's magic as it stored and balanced her magic.
"Tell me you're not superstitious, Granger," Tom snorted. "It's no different than telling me your wand core."
He was right. His question was a personal one only because tradition made it so. All telling him her conducting stone would do was hint at her magical strengths. That he could learn from her NEWT results. Given she had access to his, it was fair enough to answer his question.
"Sapphire. The conducting stone is sapphire."
"Interesting choices."
"In what way?" Hermione asked, interested despite herself.
"Moonstone... that is often used to enhance intuition and emotion. It is also typically linked to feminine mysteries. Sapphire can help to balance mind, body and magic. It is particularly useful for enhancing clarity of thought and strengthening the will. Both stones are very focused on the powers of the mind. Either you have formidable strength of will or are deficient in those areas."
Hermione reconsidered her previous opinion about the personal nature of conducting stones. With apparently little effort, Riddle had gained yet more insight into her character than she would truly prefer. That was more than a little disturbing. Knowledge was power and already she was at a disadvantage. The Slytherin was far more cunning than she. He hid in shadows and half-truths with ease, where she stumbled.
"...somehow I don't Dumbledore would have chosen a fool for my chaperone," Riddle continued and Hermione realized she'd missed some of what he'd said.
"I suppose not," Hermione replied uneasily.
"Tell me about this," Riddle requested indicating the circlet, changing the subject, as if he hadn't noticed her discomfort. "You didn't use just runes for this."
"No, I didn't," Hermione replied with a little pride for her work. "I used transfiguration to shape the circlet, charms to give it color and scent and runes to give it the semblance of life."
"You must have used a precious metal. Nothing else would hold such complicated magic. Silver? Gold?"
"Silver. I considered platinum but I couldn't afford it," Hermione said with a sigh.
"Hawthorn... considered linked to both life and death. Considered a protective wood, particularly for guarding entry ways and portals," Tom said half to himself and turned to the vial. "Now tell me about this vial. It's clearly not what it seems or you would not have showed it to me."
Hermione balked at his tone. Riddle's words were not a request but an order. It reminded Hermione unpleasantly of Voldemort's imperious manner. Being ordered about by a pretentious teen Dark Lord did not sit well with Hermione. The temptation to snap back something rude was great but she managed to wrestle it into submission. She was becoming far too sensitive to his jibes. With new resolution, she gave Riddle a challenging look.
"Try to guess," Hermione returned.
"A challenge?" Tom asked with a smirk and then picked up the vial.
The young wizard turned the glass vial over in his hands. Hermione watched as he examined the runes and then used his wand to test the magics they contained. She smiled to herself knowing that the glass of the vial would mute the telltale auras. Glass did not conduct or absorb magic well. It was, after all, one of the reasons why glass was used to house potions.
When exposed to other magics of a certain strength, potions tended to explode or degrade at an increased rate. This was why potions classes were conducted in the dungeon and why wands were generally kept tucked away. The sensitivity of potions to wand magic was why an expanded container that measured out doses hadn't been created before. Previously all attempts to do so had been done using charms. Those charms created a strong magical field and if any other spells were used, they would interact badly with the potion. Runes magic was more subtle and did not have the heavy magical aura that wand magic often did. Hermione had used that to her advantage to find a method of combining runes, which if worked on the container, could be used to create layered effects without damaging the potion.
"Is this your personal script?" Riddle asked.
"It is."
"Unless I spend hours decoding it I suppose I shall have to resort to deduction."
"Why how muggle of you Mr Riddle," Hermione taunted, unable to help herself.
"Appropriate given who created this little trinket," Tom sneered. "I could use several spells but something tells me that you'd object."
Hermione knew the kind of spells he meant. They were Dark in nature and generally destroyed the item they were used on. The advantage was that they unraveled enchantments into their component magics quickly. From there it was a matter of reproducing them. That was probably how the Death Eaters had copied her work. They were known to favor brute force over careful research.
"I know the spells you mean and I have used them," Hermione replied. "But you are correct that I wouldn't appreciate my prototype rendered into sludge."
"So Dumbledore's prize Lioness has flirted with the dark?" Riddle drawled in a sinister whisper.
"War can put ends before means," Hermione said blandly, displeased with how he'd made 'prize lioness' sound like 'prized heifer'.
"So we've found out to our dismay... but back to the challenge," Riddle replied crossly, before turning his attention back to the vial. "Since you're flaunting your ingenuity, I doubt this is simple a series of runes to expand the size of the vial. Besides, the alignment is unique. Hmm, I doubt it's just to make it unbreakable either."
"It is both of those things," Hermione conceded.
"But more..." Riddle muttered with a frown. "Could it be? Did you find a solution to..."
"Which solution would that be?" Hermione challenged, wondering if he'd guessed correctly.
"You did. You worked out how to use runes to layer magics so it wouldn't cause the potion to degrade. Doses. The runes measure out the potion in dose form."
"Yes," Hermione said with a smile of accomplishment.
"Clever work. You've accomplished what Charms Masters have been struggling with for centuries. How deliciously ironic given how most Charms Masters consider runes as a relic of the past."
The words were reluctant but Hermione didn't doubt their truth. She nodded, accepting them as the concession they were. Hermione only hoped that it was a sign of things to come. Perhaps it wouldn't be too hard to convince Riddle to meet her halfway. It would certainly make things easier on them both.
"Sometimes it just takes a new perspective," Hermione replied with a shrug.
"Such modesty," Riddle mocked with a half-smile.
"Well, I wouldn't want to hurt the fragile egos of my betters, now would I," Hermione said with a sharp smile.
"Of course not," Riddle purred with perfect innocence, eyes dancing with amusement. "The runes are in your script... can they be rendered into traditional form?"
Her grudging respect for Riddle rose a few notches. Few wizards would have so quickly picked up on the drawback of her creation. If the runic spell could only be done in her script it would render it useless to anyone but her. If rendered with generic script, her design could be reproduced in mass.
That Voldemort was a formidable wizard was undeniable but Hermione hadn't been sure about his younger self. Voldemort had years to hone his talents and to gather knowledge, that Tom did not. Hermione was exceedingly glad of that but even now Tom Riddle had a rare intelligence. As uncomfortable as their conversation had been at times, Hermione was beginning to enjoy talking to him about magical theory.
"Actually, I began in traditional Norse runes. I only switched to my own script for security reasons."
"A wise move but I doubt that helped for long," Tom mocked.
"True and I learned from that. After your Death Eaters copied my work, I learned to incorporate security measures into my work. That slowed them down considerably."
"Your script is remarkably developed from what I've seen."
"Not really. Most of what I have completed has been linked to my work with the war. As a result most of what I've developed is rather specialized. There is a great deal of basic scripting that I need to complete, let alone-. Well, you get the idea," Hermione blushed as she realized she had started to lecture.
"At least you have the intelligence to recognize how much you don't know."
"Hmm, was that a backhanded compliment?" Hermione asked with a raised brow. "If so, then this is not the first time you've complimented me."
"I don't do flattery, Granger. Not unless it gains me something in return and there is nothing I currently want from you," Riddle retorted, lying smoothly. "I was simply stating an opinion."
Hermione wasn't so sure she was willing to accept his explanation. She didn't challenge it, though. This was the closest they had come to interacting without outright hostility. Yes, there were a few tense moments but she didn't want to spoil things. Meeting Riddle's cold, dark eyes, Hermione felt a tingle of apprehension mixed with voracious curiosity. Knowing she would coax nothing more from him, Hermione shrugged and replaced the items in her trunk.
Turning she found Tom slouching against the wall, looking more comfortable in her room than she ever had. So much for engaging him in her own territory and from a position of strength! Hermione felt the sudden desire to retreat to neutral territory. Thankfully, he didn't argue when she indicated they return to the common room.
"I assume that the work you did with Dumbledore's Order was similar to what I just saw?" Tom asked as he sat down on what was becoming his chair.
"Somewhat," Hermione replied carefully. "I created the vial and several other items specifically for the Order. Mostly I worked with the others on multi-disciplinary projects."
"Like the circlet..."
"Yes. The successes we had with mixing different approaches made me want to experiment."
"Your strengths seem to be runes, charms and transfiguration. Mine are the dark arts, charms and arithmancy. I assume you know this?"
"You cultivated those abilities in later life," Hermione agreed. "You are right about my own abilities too. Why do you ask?"
"To better create a history of the research we supposedly did for the Order. With our particular interests, it makes sense for us to have worked well together at magical projects. Particularly so if we were under the watchful eye of Dumbledore and the others you mentioned."
"The others were Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick. Snape was there... in Dumbledore's office," Hermione found herself stalling and she blushed. "He's a very skillful Potion's Master. He is also knowledgeable in the Dark Arts. Professor Flitwick is a Charms and Dueling Master. He joined the Order later but was very important in our later work. Others contributed to a lesser degree. Mostly Remus Lupin- a werewolf and past DADA teacher and Harry Potter."
"I find it amazing that Dumbledore would allow students in harms way," Tom remarked.
"I doubt he would have allowed it except for our particular history. Let me just say that the final battle was not the first time we had confronted Death Eaters or even your older self."
"My, my, Dumbledore is far more ruthless than I ever gave him credit for being."
"Like I said, war necessitates hard decisions," Hermione replied, her throat closing up at the memories that flooded back.
"Touch on a sore spot, did I?"
The cold taunt stirred her anger. Hermione felt sick at his gloating anticipation. Oh, she knew he wouldn't shy away from enjoying any pain he inflicted on her, but there was more to it. Any hurt she experienced was nothing to his anticipation of Dumbledore falling from grace. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered at the strange rivalry between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Did Tom really resent Dumbledore for seeing beyond the charming exterior he'd presented while at school? That seemed too petty a reason for such animosity.
"I think you're more interested in whether Dumbledore proved your pet theory about power right. Isn't that so, Riddle? Harry told me your little line about that."
"What if I am? Dumbledore lectures everyone about responsibility and champions fairness- as if there was such a thing. Do you really think he's not above to using his power for his own benefit? He's a hypocrite, Granger."
"Then maybe it's you who should stop putting him on a pedestal! You certainly seem to think he should be flawless," Hermione snapped.
"Me? You think I, Lord Voldemort-"
"Strange, I see no Lord Voldemort here. All I see is a boy having a tantrum. You criticize Dumbledore for being a hypocrite and I find that quite ironic."
"You know nothing, Granger," Riddle said in a near hiss. "My motives are beyond your pathetic understanding. Go back to your precious Headmaster, mudblood."
Hermione watched as Riddle swept out of the common room in a way that would have done Snape proud. The pleasure of seeing him flee from her sharp tongue was not as sweet as she'd hoped. As vindicated as she felt, their truce was in tatters. Failing wasn't something Hermione had even enjoyed and she had no idea as to how to salvage the truce from this rather brutal argument. Not willing to stay in the now too quiet common room, Hermione made her own exit. With any luck, her transfiguration homework would keep her mind occupied.