Thanks y'all for your awesome reviews! Especially to: Angelic Bladez (thanks SOO much as always!), padfootbabeinblack (thanks a lot and waffle is fine as long as its not in excess:), Twilight Elf-Maiden, Sadistically Insane (you never fail to make me happy!), sweetessence03, hermionegranger2007 (yes, he is mighty fine :), Mrs Pierre Bouvier (yay Cedric!), Pozest-Illusion (Hermione didn't go back in time yet), and BlueEyedFairy.
Wow…lots of people…well, here's the next chapter anyway!
Tom ran harder and faster than he ever would have thought possible to the scream. If he was right, he had to get to her. If she wasn't alright—he wouldn't know what he would do. He ran through countless hallways and past numerous portraits who all called after him wondering what he was doing; he hardly knew where he was going. Only that he had to get to where she was.
"H—Hermione!" he shouted, hoping to get some glimpse or whisper of where she was. "HERMIONE!"
He sprinted past another corridor, but something caught his peripheral vision. A splurge of color and a flickering light. Breathing hard but ignoring the sharp pain going through his side, he backtracked and followed the hallway, only to skid to a stop at the sight beholding his eyes.
"H—Hermione?" he whispered, looking down and walking slowly to the fallen form.
She looked up, her face shining with sweat, and wisps of her hair clinging to her face. "Tom? W—What are you doing here?" she panted, her breath coming in tight gasps.
Tom's eyes widened at what had befallen her. Large shards of glass had fallen into her side, her blood trickling onto her robes, dripping onto the tile and forming arrays of shining, scarlet arcs. Her features were now paling horribly, and her eyes were no longer bright and glittering, but dull and lifeless. Her lids were fluttering, but she struggled to hold them open. He had no idea exactly how long she had been there.
"Hermione! D—Don't—whatever you—don't—please, I—Hermione, you—you can't—" he stuttered.
"T—Tom, I—" she struggled, arms collapsing underneath her.
"HERMIONE!" he yelled in anguish. He ran to her side, paying no mind to the crimson blood seeping into his robes.
He carefully but quickly pulled out the glass, flinging it to the side so it emitted an eerie clinking sound. After all were taken out, he pulled up her shirt, only for him to look away. Her pale skin was now stained with red lines, all dripping from the cuts left from the sharp implements. His hands shaking violently, but him concentrating on the meticulous task at hand, he took out his wand, not caring that it now bore crimson lines forever etched into the dark wood.
"R—R—Redintegro." He said shakily, holding his wand over her wound and tracing them delicately.
Slowly, a bright emerald colored stream of light started to mend her gashes. His breath still coming in short and staggered gasps, he repeated the spell and movements four times, with each time her injuries lessening. He did it all one more time, but the green light would not emanate from his wand. Cursing loudly, he tried to concentrate more, but the spell would just not work.
Checking her pulse and feeling an irregular but beating heartrate, he sighed in relief. She was alive. Her coloring in her face was still deathly pale and it was glistening with sweat, but he still couldn't help but feel immensely grateful. Almost automatically, he brushed her chestnut hair from her face, and, lifting her head up into his hands, he gave the smallest of smiles. Even when by her facial expression and appearance gave the impression that she was dead, he was glad that at least he knew she wasn't taken from him yet.
"Hermione…you—you're going to be okay…everything's going to be okay…" he murmured to her.
He picked her up in his arms, all too aware of the blood marring his handsome looks and his white shirt. Looking back at the scene, he shuddered, still not knowing what had happened, but at this moment not really caring. She was still unconscious in his arms, though he knew she would be alright. She was surprisingly light even with her robes on, and, truthfully, he was appreciative of it, because he was still recovering from his two broken ribs.
Not believing his doomed luck, he did not answer any of the hundreds of questions fired at him from boy, girl, and teacher alike. All were gawking at the incredible sight: the incredibly handsome Tom Riddle who had never been seen admiring a girl, carrying some unknown young woman through the halls, and adding the fact that they were both covered in disgustingly excessive blood.
Finally stopping outside of the Hospital Wing, he pondered for a moment at how he would open the door, but settled on kicking it open, albeit with difficulty. Wincing at the red and brown shoeprint he left on the entry, he lay her on the nearest bed, still hurting inside from both her lifeless body, and his aching side. Looking around frantically for the nurse, he noticed one or two of the other patients staring intently at him, to which he gave them a murderous look. They all recoiled, and turned on their sides, which he would have smirked at had the situation been less grim.
"Oh my goodness, child! What happened?" questioned an incalculably concerned Madam Pomfrey.
"Poppy—" Tom panted, holding his side, and at the same time brushing back his fallen hair. "It—It's Hermione. Sh—She—She's hurt! I performed a Healing charm on her, but you should look her over."
"Mr. Riddle! What happened, dear?" she asked again, though bustling hurriedly over to Hermione.
"I—I don't know! I heard her shriek and ran over. All I know is that she had shards of glass stuck in her side. I took them out and retraced the wounds with the charm, then brought her here. She will be okay, won't she?" he more stated than asked.
After knitting her brow and studying Hermione's side with sensitivity, she replied. "Y—Yes, Tom. I believe she will. But, I think, had you not performed the Healing spell and brought her straight to me, she would have lost much more blood. She could have died, Mr. Riddle." Poppy said gravely, looking at him with worried blue eyes.
Tom's widened with shock and amazement, but nodded slowly. "Oh—oh, well—well, good then—I suppose. How long do you think she'll be out?"
"Hmmm…" Madam Pomfrey said studiously. "I would say about a week, just to be sure. She looked up at him questionably, but with a sadness that he could not quite identify, but he wasn't sure he really liked it.
"A week?" he replied helplessly.
"Yes, Tom. A week." She answered snappishly. She pursed her lips and looked at him expectantly.
"S—Sorry. I—I just…well, you know…"
"Yes. I'm sure I do." She said with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "Now. Let's get you looked at, Mr. Riddle."
She sat him down on the edge of Hermione's bed; he was too tired to resist…much. "I'm fine!" he persisted, shrugging off her arm.
"You are most certainly not fine!" Pomfrey exclaimed with a huff. "Strong and stubborn as you are, you have suffered immense emotional and physical pain, young man. Now stop fidgeting and lie down over in that bed next to Ms. Hermione over there. And don't you dare get up, Mr. Riddle." She emphasized, almost scarily.
He clenched his teeth, willing his murderous glare on anyone that would see it. Much as he hated to admit it, he was insanely tired. Determined not to show any weakness, but at the same time abiding her commands, Tom sat up on the bed, leaning against the cold metal frame. Soon, however, sleep overcame him, and even without a Dreamless Sleep potion, he was passed out with hardly a glimmer of an image.
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Tom awoke with a sudden start, only to find that he could not see a single thing. Heart starting to beat faster, he looked around, then settled on a supernatural glow from the giant window to his right. Breathing strictly but deeply, he remembered the events of last night. Slowly, as if in a dream, he stole a glance at the bed next to him. He smiled sincerely, the moonlight echoing off of his pearlescent skin, giving him a ghostly but empyrean glow.
His dark eyes widening at the slightest of stirs coming from the bed next to him, his lips parted in astonishment. "T—Tom?" Hermione whispered unsteadily, her eyes still closed, the phosphorescent light shining off of her splayed-out hair.
Tom swallowed, and despite his best efforts not to disturb her, he could not help his urges for her. "Hermione?" he breathed back. "A—Are you okay?"
He kicked himself for asking such a stupid question, but to his amazement, she smiled, her teeth glimmering in the dim light. "I'm as well as can be expected, Tom." She answered formally.
"If—If you don't mind my asking…" he prompted. "What happened? All I heard was your scream and then I ran here as fast as I could, but you almost immediately passed out." He said, almost excited at the prospect of her being okay and knowing what happened.
"Well…first off…thank you for rescuing me…again." She said apologetically. He nodded in acceptance, but also in wanting her to go on. "I came out of my room from crying—"
She stopped, and even though Tom could not see it, he could tell her pale cheeks were gaining a reddish glow creep into them. He raised his eyebrow and smirked in a knowing way, but remained silent. He could tell she was starting to get annoyed at his smugness, but he only smirked wider at the prospect of her getting so cute when she was angry.
"Yes?" he prompted, and although it was not spelled out, Hermione could distinguish a laughing, confident tone in his deep voice.
Smiling heavily, Hermione gasped at the blinding pain coming from her side. Wincing horribly and noticeably, she felt like crying out in anguish, but somehow could not do so. Her mind was so fogged up by now that she almost could not distinguish which events were real and which ones were dreamt. She feared if she did not relay them to Tom, then she would lose all sense of perception and reality. She didn't even question where she was, though she could kind of figure it out.
"Hermione!" he exclaimed, suddenly urgent and, with the light dancing off of his eyes, a look of worry was etched inside. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Tom." She accentuated, hearing his shoulders relax into the crinkling of the hospital pillows. She continued. "Anyway, I came out and then I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I mean, I missed them but then I thought of how I would miss you and this place, and then I don't know. It was all so confusing! It's kind of hard to remember exactly what happened, but I must have either done some sort of spell or just began crying again…I don't know…or maybe it just happened. Then I heard something glass-like burst above me, but before I could see what it was, I felt this stab of torturous agony grip my side, and before I knew it, I had screamed then collapsed on the ground."
She felt her side throb painfully, but grit her teeth to continue. "I was in a sort of state of deliriousness by then. Shapes were twisting and turning and colors were blending all around me and I couldn't distinguish what was what anymore. I was afraid I was going to die, Tom! I couldn't breathe well—my breaths were coming in short heaves, and every time my heart would beat or I would inhale, my whole body felt like it was convulsing and spattering with pain. Suddenly I was flooded with all sorts of images. Images of Ron and Harry, my parents, and even Lavender and Ginny were flashing almost simultaneously in my head. Then one stood out. Know who it was, Tom? It was you. I knew I had to hold on for my life. There was too much to live for. Some kind of force overcame me, and suddenly the shapes and objects were slowly coming into focus, albeit still a bit hazy. Then I felt these things being taken from my body, and it felt like all there was were holes. And then even the excruciating stings I felt were gradually lessening. The last thing I remember before blacking out was a deep, calming voice telling me everything was going to be okay. I know that voice belonged to you, Tom. You saved me. How can I ever repay you? I am so sorry for everything I have done lately. I've completely messed up your life and you don't even know who I am or where I have come from. No questions asked from you. Just undying emotions, whether they're affection or hurtfulness or anguish or hate. I'm so, so, so sorry, Tom." She finished, now starting to break out into wracking sobs, not caring about the ever-mounting, burning feeling near her ribs.
Tom smiled for the first time during her recollections. "Hermione." He said simply.
She looked up at him through distorted vision, feeling the droplets of water grace her cheeks. All he was doing was smiling both cockily and adoringly at her. She felt her own lips twitch with what she knew could turn into a grin if she wasn't careful. She vaguely realized she was still crying helplessly, but for joy or sadness she did not know.
Tom gazed down at the plain flooring. "Hermione, it's me who should be sorry." Silencing her no doubt protest with a look, he persisted. "No, hush for a minute. I let my emotions get too caught up in our little whirlwind…consanguinity shall I put it. I've led you on without meaning to, and there are so many things you don't yet know about me. I'm not who you think I am, Hermione Granger. I'm definitely not who you think I am. And for all that, I am terribly sorry."
To Tom's amazement, she shook her head and laughed thickly through her tears. "Tom. If you only knew exactly how much I know about you. I don't exactly know how I'm supposed to tell you this, but…I'm guessing the bluntest way is the way you would want it?" she asked, but knew the answer already. He twisted his face into a look of confusion but interest, sealing her assumption. "You—you see, Tom…I—I'm from the future."
She winced as she dared herself to look up at his face, bracing herself for his outrage, much like she prepared herself with Myrtle. He didn't say anything, and his face was impassive. She would have questioned him if it were not for the two things that led you into his soul. His eyes. They were telling her that at first he had felt uncertainty and wondering if she was still hallucinating from the aftermath of her trauma. Then they changed to one of conflagration and fury at his feeling of her being deceptive and conniving. Lastly, as she thought he detected a flicker of softening from his handsomely etched features, his abyssal and desirously hazel eyes telling her that he didn't care. Not a look of indifference or curtness, no. Like it didn't matter where, who, or how she came to meet him; she was just Hermione.
He could not say why his emotions had changed so rapidly and fast. It was as if some wave of passion had erupted over him, concealing all past hurtful events and feelings. Instead it focused on his arduous zeal for her and the part of him that had melted into a stream of compassion the moment he set eyes on her. All he knew was that no matter what time or place she came from—past, present, or future—she would still be the girl he got to know and to feel adoration for.
"T—Tom?" she asked carefully. "You—You're looking kind of distant. I know this has come as a huge shock to you, but I—" She stopped at the heartwarming smile he had given her; one she knew would cease to exist and never surface again in her time. Her eyes started to well up again just with the thought.
"Shhh." He replied, holding a finger to his sumptuous lips. "Haven't you realized yet, Hermione?" At her face of bewilderment, he furthered, "It doesn't matter who you were, just that you're here. Now, from the short time I have gotten to know you, I know that you would want me to know exactly why you are here and your ulterior motive. Yes, I know there is one, for no one in their sane minds would come back here of all times. I know and I have sensed that almost from the instant I met you; you were internally waging war against yourself as to your next actions. Even if you did not fully realize it yet, I knew. And much as I hated to admit it, it pained me inside also. For you are special, Hermione Granger. You have a fiery, intense passion flaming inside of you that you cannot wait to unleash on a subject that gets you excited or angry. You are extremely bright and intelligent and know the answer to everything. You are not particularly athletic, but will indulge in the best Quidditch game now and again. You are loved in different ways by all, whether it be in friendship, respect, love, or, abstract as it may sound, in hatred. You don't care about style or your looks, but you will, on occasion, get dressed up and impress and astonish everyone with your new but always there good looks. I know all this, yes, from the week I have known you. You see, I am very perceptive at times. So, whenever you wish to tell me the reason you are here is fine by me, or you don't have to tell me at all. But I am intrigued by your presence here, and perhaps whichever way I figure out your purposes for coming here, it will most definitely be interesting and no doubt it will be difficult. I must give you congratulations, however. You are a hard woman to figure out, Granger. That is what I know most of all. A swirl of passions and emotions, but human in the end, just like everyone else. And for that, I must commend you in the deepest way possible, for no one have I ever had the delight to meet has caused me this long for me to describe and calculate them."
He bowed his head slightly in respect for her, though his dark eyes never left her ginger ones.
Damn that was long. I could not stop writing, even though it is about 3:45 a.m. here. I hope you all liked it, and I'll try to make the chapters as long as this one, though I don't know if I can write as much. So, you know what to do (optionally), and I'll see you soon!