QUICK QUESTION! Do you lovely readers mind longer chapters? And an increase in the story's rating?
The warrior's game spilled the blood of my own.
Now a different light fuels the fire in my chest.
Slowly and steadily, Abraxas opened the door.
The Dark Lord's room had returned to its former impeccable state after his less than savory reaction. Abraxas had no doubt it had something to do with the boy. Hush their conversations were, he and his fellow Death Eaters had expressed their befuddlement to the situation. They knew Tom was far from being reckless. If there's anyone who embodied the Slytherin house, it would be him; self-preservation was a tantamount trait next to cunning and ambition. And based on Tom's reaction to the situation, it certainly wasn't something he had accounted for.
Frankly, a small part of Abraxas had thought Tom would consider finding a wife like the rest of them. He's the only one who hadn't married in their circle. Not as a means to settle himself down, but because Pureblood Society practically mandates marriage with the main purpose of having an heir.
There's also that part of him that wanted Tom to have that bit of happiness. Even though Abraxas' own marriage had been arranged, he eventually grew fond of his wife more than what's expected of their contractual partnership, and this fondness had also extended towars his son.
But then, even he would admit that to be wishful thinking. Tom was just far too goal-oriented for that and he highly doubts marriage and heirs had been part of his plans.
Fate loves to prove herself to be a cruel mistress though, and that fractional part of Abraxas' wish came true in the most ironic way.
The real question that held his breath now however, was what Tom would choose to do from now on.
Abraxas wet his lips before dipping his head towards his Lord's rigid back standing before a window, "My lord, you have summoned me?"
Tom didn't turn his way and instead answered, "I have a son. His name is Alduin Granger."
He blanched, and dared to take a couple of steps forward towards the small table provided with the suite. His grey eyes peeked over the porcelain bowl and watched the mixed colors of navy blue and void black slowly turning harmoniously together like a harmless whirlpool.
So it has been confirmed.
Tom had sired a son with a nameless witch.
Setting the mystery of how such a thing could've possibly slipped past him aside, this revelation could easily damage Tom's carefully built reputation. Contrarily, illegitimate children were considered uncommon, even rare, in Pureblood Society because of the self-preservation within the families. No one wanted to risk feuds in future successions and inheritance, and break years of alliance with other Houses.
Even if Tom wasn't married, the existence of a bastard would not endear him to those who haven't allied with him.
Not unless, of course, if Tom already had a plan to take care of this predicament.
"What must be done of him, my lord?" he asked.
"What else must be done of him?" Tom said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "Kill him."
The Malfoy head felt himself ashen at the man's dispassionate answer. Void was his voice of anything that could tell him even an inkling of what he actually felt about the decision.
Abraxas knew Tom Riddle was no saint. At times, he even believed him to be the devil incarnate. He had stolen, extorted, exploited, manipulated, blackmailed, threatened, pressured, tortured, and even murdered someone in cold blood. However… to suggest killing a child… bastard he may be… his own son…
Yes, Tom was no saint; but surely, he wasn't a monster. At least, not yet.
Abraxas suspected this tug at his conscience was from the fondness he had over his own family, but he couldn't help feeling his stomach twist and turn at the thought of it.
"We-" Abraxas swallowed a lump in his throat, "If that is what you wish, my lord. We will… take care of hi-"
"No," Tom cut him off, "I'll deal with him. Lure him in if you can, but I wish to see this through personally."
He wasn't sure whether that was better or worse.
Still, the Malfoy head bowed in obedience, "Yes, sir."
Hickory-colored eyes were on the wall behind her, but her gaze was far away; as if she was seeing far beyond the stone that made up the wall. In one hand, she kept a firm grip on her wand, while the other came up to take out the necklace beneath her shirt.
She let her gaze fall down on the trinket she had once been acquainted with during her third year. The chain that anchored the Time-Turner around her neck was still gold. The rings that held the hourglass were still gold. However, the golden sands within the glass were no more. It can never turn back the time again, but for her, it's her own personal artifact- a fragment of her past.
I mark the hours, every one. Nor have I yet outrun the sun- it used to say around the rings. Now they say: I bear the feast, this prize you yearn. Hunt, eat, swallow, this reward to earn.
It served as a reminder, that she didn't accept a gift.
Her eyelids close as her hand balls around the old Time-Turner. She relishes the feel of the cold metal, only partially warm thanks to it being kept safe between her breasts.
'He's fine. Alduin's fine. He's safe,' she chants in her head. The item in her fist was proof of that. Yet something deep down inside of her, something primal and instinctive, told her otherwise.
War taught her to trust in her gut. It taught her to think as fast as she reacts.
She loves Alduin. She trusts him. He's a very special boy, but that's the crux of it all, isn't it?
By the end of the day, he's just a boy.
She needs to get home soon.
Hermione snapped her eyes back to the corpse slumped over his seat. With a ghost of a smile on his aged face, it only looked as if he had fallen asleep. For someone who played God and created chimeras without remorse, this one did not put up a fight when she arrived. He knew the consequences of his actions and caved willingly. Not that the acrid venom his masterpiece rewarded him gave him any chance to relish his achievement.
She looked to the poor, pitiful creature writhing on the man's floor. The ritual circle painted with its own blood being the only thing that kept it alive. The only thing remotely recognizable about it was the snake head with glass eyes that never once strayed away from her. The serpentine head raised, ready to strike once more if she dared to approach. The growls laced with hisses made a distorted symphony; foretelling its nonexistent patience.
"It's over now," she said softly as if it could understand her.
But it did.
It stared for a heartbeat before lowering its head to the rest of the mass that was its body, and closed its glass eyes with eyelids no snake should have.
Hermione took a deep breath and pointed her wand towards the wizard's chest. Tendrils of gold slithered from the man's heart, like growing vines reaching towards her as if she were the sun.
She didn't stop until all the golden ribbons were gone, and all there was left was a phasm ball that fit the palm of her hand.
"My stomach is turning and churning with greed. Has someone cursed me? I'm yearning to feast. Can somebody give me more than bread and dead meat? I want to feel it squirm in my teeth," Alduin sung in a casually merry tune as he unwrapped the sandwich in his lap.
His mother hadn't returned yet from her hunt since she left some time in the night when he was asleep. Although times like this happen occasionally, it still makes him feel a bit… discontent that his mother wouldn't be there when he wakes up. Unsurprisingly, she left a plate of food for him on the table, kept warm by a stasis charm, and a note to remind him to be careful and that she'd come home as soon as she can.
He knew how important these hunts were, and never held it against her. He enjoyed his alone time as much as he liked being with his mother. Whether it be going shopping or taking a walk or reading together or even assisting her in brewing a potion, he'd choose his mother's company in a heartbeat.
She's strong and has an answer for everything; she's very kind and always warm; she's very attentive and caring but not to the point of smothering. Honestly speaking, he relishes her attention more than the people who easily fell for his smile and manners. He could tell. They don't work on her, but it's her special brand of care that he preferred.
Hopefully she would come home soon and maybe they could have a picnic in the afternoon and then take a nap under the sun together. He wanted to enjoy all the sunny days left before the chill of autumn, and eventually winter, takes over.
For a while, Alduin just sat there at his usual spot in the park. Wondering what he could do for the rest of the day since Mr. Ollivander hasn't returned yet. Maybe he should stay at home for once? That book about the creatures of Asia was the next on his list of texts to read.
Then, in the midst of his chewing, he felt a grumbling sensation deep within his midsection. He pressed a hand down at his stomach that remained flat no matter how much he ate and felt the small vibrations there.
"I'm getting hungry again," he said to himself nonchalantly before reaching out to grab another sandwich.
The only reason a lioness would risk her life to hunt, was to feed her cub.
.
Carkitt Market was an outdoor shopping area located on a side street from Diagon Alley. It is centered around a Victorian wrought iron arcade whose shop facades are painted over in a bright technicolor palette. Its most noticeable landmark was the small gothic building sitting at the center- a humble shop called Eternelle's Elixir of Refreshment.
It's an extension of Diagon Alley filled with shops of various kinds, but the everyday hustle and bustle of the crowd had to stop in lieu of a certain shop called Concordia Plunkett Musical Instruments. Of which the most soulful sounds could be heard from within the shop that seemed to have bewitched anyone who came near.
However, much to their shock, instead of an instrument charmed to play on their own, it was a little boy moving the bow along the violin's strings.
Alduin slowly opened his eyes as the last note in his song faded along with the sparks of light that glowed in sync with each beat. He couldn't plunge an entire room into an illusion on his own yet without the help of his mother, but he can already do this much as he let his music command his magic for him.
"Bravo! Bravo! Oh Bellissima! Encore! Encore!" the shop owners- Mr. Concordia and Mr. Plunkett, cheered the loudest amongst the audience Alduin had gathered.
He dipped his body down in a showman's bow as he relished the praises. This shop was his favorite after Sugarplum's Sweet Shop and Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. One thing he greatly praised muggles for was their rich culture in art, specifically music. Something which, unfortunately, the wizardkind seemed to be lacking. He was honestly disgusted that they would just charm the instruments to playing music. Not to mention he's not impressed with the so-called song artists of this realm. Compared to them, his mother had the most beautiful song of them all, and that's not him being biased just because she's his mother.
"Thank you, Mr. Concordia, Mr. Plunkett," Alduin smiled cordially at the two. Every time he visited their shop, they would always allow him to play a song for them- insist him even. He knew, that each time he played a song, it lured more and more customers into their shop. They even asked his mother once if he could play in their shop a few times a week, with pay. Of course, his mother denied them, but Alduin would allow them this every time he came by since they reward him in return either way.
"So, have you chosen which one you'll take?" Mr. Plunkett asked as he held out the bow he had used earlier.
Alduin hummed in contemplation as he looked between the bow in his hand and in Mr. Plunkett's. One of which was made of Abraxan hair while the other, Granian. He had thoroughly enjoyed Postino's gift and had played it so much with the most difficult song he currently knew until all of the hairs of the bow snapped. It was previously made of Aethonan horsehair and he wondered how different his music would sound if the bow was made of different breed of winged horse. Unlike muggle-made instruments, whose tunes rely on the instrument's pegs, the ones made from magical materials always make a difference, and he could feel his magic flow through them better.
"I like them both but…" he drawled in unnecessary suspense, "I think I'll have to settle for the Abraxan."
"Oh, are you sure? But they both sound so lovely!" Mr. Concordia said.
"I'm sure. Besides, I only have enough money to buy one of them," Alduin scratched his cheek sheepishly.
Both co-owners of the music shop widened their eyes in surprise, but just before they could offer him a better deal (or give the other bow for free), they were cut off by a woman with light, almost platinum, hair who suddenly stepped in from the front of the shop.
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, with the soft clacking of her heels, her French accent thick, "Wrap them both. I'll pay for them."
Alduin casted a quick glance over the woman who looked to be his mother's age. From her dress to the accessories and even just by the way she carried herself, everything about her screamed of a woman of high stature.
He feigned a look of shock, "Oh- no, ma'am! Please, you don't-"
"Hush, child," she shushed, "It's the least I could do after that wonderful performance you've shown. I just came from the jewelry shop across the street when I heard the loveliest sound. Never have I ever heard such beautiful music before! C'est magnifique! That kind of talent must be rewarded."
For a moment, Alduin just let himself stare at the witch with nervous wide eyes and let her stare down at him encouragingly to accept her offer.
"You are very generous, ma'am, but…" he shifted his weight on one foot to another, "But I couldn't possibly just accept someone's money-"
"Oh please, little one," her gaze softened at the adorable anxious face he made, "Perhaps… you can think of it as a gift, or reward instead?"
Something deep inside him laughed at the use of the words gift and reward, almost like a personal inside joke, but never let it show.
Alduin brought his arms together, making him look small to add to the shy and nervous look he displayed before finally nodding his head.
"I-If you insist, ma'am, then I will happily accept."
With his consent given, the witch beamed and practically shooed the shop owners to get going and have the bows wrapped with their best case.
"Thank you very much, ma'am. Even though you didn't have to…"
"Think nothing of it. As I've said, it's a reward- rather, a gift for you, Little Maestro," she winked at him to which he giggled.
"Well, if you insist," he suddenly spoke in fluent French, "Then I will cherish and be reminded of the kind lady that has given me this gift."
The witch's eyes became as wide as saucers.
"You… you spoke French… are you French as well?" she gaped.
Alduin continued to smile politely, "Not at all, ma'am."
"But you speak it so fluently!"
"Ah, but my mother is a polyglot and she has taught me many things."
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish in complete astonishment of his mastery of the language. Alduin and his mother had stayed in Paris for a year and a half, and he is nothing if not insatiable when it comes to knowledge. Fortunately, speaking in other languages seem to come as easy for him to learn, almost instinctual even, as talking to snakes.
By then, the woman's regal façade had completely broken. Her joy over meeting someone who knew how to speak her mother tongue as fluently as her and at the face of a (very beautiful) little boy, had all her reservations thrown out the window. It didn't take long for her to completely fall for his charm.
"Is there something wrong, ma'am?" Alduin asked as the witch suddenly fell silent after gushing in her excitement.
"Nothing wrong, Little Maestro- oh! How rude of me, I never even introduced myself! Dear Morgana, I am not myself today," she chuckled at herself before placing a hand over her heart, "My name is Serafina Marie Malfoy."
Alduin bowed in perfect curtsy as expected from any well-mannered pureblood boy, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy. I am Alduin Granger."
"Granger?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She hummed as she leaned closer to his face, to which he just stared back curiously, "I swore you look like someone I- oh yes! Now I remember! You look just like Tom Riddle!"
Alduin's ears perked up at the name but controlled himself to keep his clueless, polite façade.
"Tom Riddle?" he tilted his head to the side like a cat.
"Oh yes. He's a very powerful wizard, and he's also my husband's… friend."
Her pause didn't escape him and it sent a rush of excitement up his spine.
How curious.
As if this day couldn't get any better, another person came by the shop. This time, it was a man with bleach-blonde hair.
"Oh darling! There you are!" Mrs. Malfoy exclaimed as he came to her side.
The moment the man, who could only be Mr. Malfoy, took one look at him; Alduin didn't miss his shocked expression and the sudden pallor of his skin.
Behind his polite, innocent mask, Alduin's grin widened.
Knockturn Alley is a dreary, gloomy place. It still has, and it will probably will be.
The pathways are narrow and cramped, the air is humid throughout the year, the shops are unimpressive and just overall depressing. Honestly, the wizarding black market of Brazil had more life than this.
Had it been like before, Hermione wouldn't have stepped a single foot in this place unless it was completely necessary. Like that time when she and her boys spied on Draco at Borgin and Burkes in their sixth year.
But during the war, she found solace in the darkness. It was in her own shadow where she found a friend. By some twisted irony, those who hid in obscurity freely walked the streets under the sun while people like her had to resort to scuttling between nooks and crannies and become masters of hiding and illusion. It allowed her to buy some time, but in the end, it was all futile.
She could still taste the saltiness of the sea at the back of her tongue.
Her 'visit' to that chimera creator had been a success; the only thing that kept her long was because of the numerous text and research material he had, as well as the cages upon cages of monstrosities he hid in his basement. Even though it was not her responsibility, she couldn't just leave those creatures alone to continue suffering, but she couldn't let them loose in the world either.
She also learned, during the war, that it's better to be prepared for anything and not need it rather than not be ready at all. Specifically, when it comes to knowledge. If she wanted to protect herself, then she has to learn what she's protecting herself from. Just as Sun Tzu said in the Art of War- 'Know thy Enemy'.
So, she learned, she studied, she researched, she even began to experiment. And if she was being honest with herself, she couldn't tell which exact point in her life she began to see magic in its rawest, colorless form; rather than the black and white she grew to believe. If she were to hazard a guess, it would probably be when they all died.
'Ah, I still have to tame that Allsehend,' she made a mental note. That artifact was her trophy for that last hunt. She honestly never expected to find one, considering how extremely rare they were. She doesn't like Divination, still abhors it even, but that Allsehend might be the only crystal ball she'll ever acknowledge about the subject despite it being a dark artifact. Not that she'll ever use it. Even if it can retell the past, show anything about the present, and whisper things about the future, once it's been used, it will leech onto the host like a parasite and warp their mind to the obsession of showing them more and more until the host becomes nothing more than a mindless puppet with the sole purpose of taking care of it until every bit of their magic and sanity has been sucked away from them.
It makes her wonder if the prophecy they fought for in the Department of Mysteries was actually an Allsehend that Voldemort had acquired. After all, he's certainly lost his mind.
She raised a hand up and rubbed the necklace beneath her robes. After that chimera architect, her next prey to hunt lived here in Knockturn. However, compared to the last one, this witch did nothing more than practice dark magic. She left her corpse in her flat without a speck out of place with a morbid disappointment that the witch didn't have anything worth adding to her collection.
Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump…
Hermione halted in her steps when she heard that telltale rhythm.
Driven by curiosity, she turned on her heel and followed the source. She had encountered numerous magical artifacts in the past. Both dark and not. But amongst those that are considered dark, there are those who possessed a tell-tale blackened heartbeat that set them apart from the rest. Just like the Allsehend she found, those sorts of artifacts might as well have a will of their own. They won't let themselves be used, and they take something precious from those who used them. And no matter what that price was, the witch or wizard who used them will end up in the exact same fate- Death.
She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. This is Knockturn Alley after all. This was the ideal place for all sorts of dark artifacts. But then she stopped in front of the shop where the heartbeat was strongest. When she raised her head and read the sign, she couldn't help but groan and roll her eyes.
Borgin and Burkes. What a cliché.
She let her gaze fall on the cabinet beyond the dirty glass in front of the shop. The pulse was beating louder, almost coaxing her even. She never fancied herself a collector, least of all about dark artifacts. It just so happened that most of her hunts had magical artifacts she'll never get the chance to see in her life ever again. There's also the thrill of taming such objects. Each one was like a complex puzzle that require keen attention to detail and thinking out of the box.
She'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the high of satisfaction of successfully taming one.
With a deep breath, Hermione squared her shoulders and opened the door to the shop. Better to get them now than later.
She strode into the dingy shop with purpose, ignoring the rest of the items on display. Her sights focused towards the beat drumming with her magic.
Her eyebrows shot up the moment she was in front of the cabinet and had gotten a closer look. It was a necklace- a festoon necklace studded with diamonds that catch the smallest glint of light. A big ruby served as its centerpiece.
The last time she saw one, she was in Greece, and she had already tamed the one she had at home.
"It's a very peculiar piece of jewelry," said a smooth deep voice that suddenly came up behind her. Her years of practice in control being the only reason she didn't flinch in surprise.
"Peculiar…" she parroted as she kept her back towards the stranger. Except her eyes watched him keenly from the reflection of the glass cabinet. She couldn't see his face because of the dim lighting of the shop, but she can see his pressed vest and cravat. He's also very tall.
She highly doubted it was either of the shop owners.
"Yes," he drawled, unmoving from his position behind her to the right, "See, this one is charmed to accentuate the wearer's features, making them look more beautiful than they already were. It will make them… irresistible."
Hermione hummed as if in thought, "Is that all you think it can do?"
He was silent for a moment. He probably didn't expect this kind of response. She knew, just by that description alone, any reputation-hungry witch would jump at the chance to acquire such an item. But Hermione knew better.
This necklace will significantly enhance the wearer's beauty, yes, but it will also increase their vanity to the point of obsession. It gives them the confidence and conceit to proclaim themselves to be the most beautiful of them all. But the more they believed that, the more they start to envy other people out of fear until start to believe they're ugly instead. It would drive them mad till they resort to murder or suicide.
"No," he answered.
Can this stranger also feel that dark pulse? In all her travels, she had only ever met one person who can, but she already killed that witch.
Cautiously, Hermione turned around.
Hard hazelnut eyes met cold piercing black orbs. Her brows scrunched up together. Has she met this person before?
"Are you the proprietor of this establishment?" she asked innocently.
"No," he answered as dispassionately, "but you could say I'm an old friend of Mr. Burke."
She didn't answer as she continued to stare back at his eyes. They were intense, piercing, lulling, glacial. As if the void itself was behind those very eyes. It made the hairs on her back stand on end.
She didn't like them at all.
Unconsciously, she took a step back and mentally cursed when she felt the glass cabinet on her back. The blackened heartbeat of the artifact behind her now completely forgotten.
She swore she's seen this man before…
"Have we met before?" she asked slowly, carefully.
If possible, his eyes turned only darker; she couldn't tell the difference from his pupil and irises, "I was hoping you would be able to tell me."
Her brows furrowed in contemplation. Part of her, that war-honed instinct, screamed for her to heighten her senses and observe his every minute movement. Everything about this man was dangerous despite his handsome face.
Then she felt it. It was subtle. So subtle she almost didn't feel it. That featherlight brush through her skull starting from her forehead.
Legilimens.
By instinct, her walls of blue fire sprung forth, climbing ever higher to protect the vault to her memories. She could feel him push his way through the sea of searing heat, but the more he forced his way, the hotter it became. He even tried to fight back. By using his magic and sheer willpower, he tried to douse the flames.
It was overwhelming, suffocating… drowning.
She remembered the feeling of drowning.
In her panic of being reminded of that memory, Hermione force him back with the excruciating heat and force of an exploding star.
Hermione shook her head as if to help clear her mind of the haze. She realized belatedly that she was panting. Breathing heavily as if she just ran a marathon. With her back and hands bracing the frames of the cabinet behind her.
When she looked up, there was now a significant distance between her and the stranger. He, too, was bracing himself on the shelf behind him as if he was physically thrown back, but what's most noticeable about him were the tendrils of smoke coming off his hair and clothes. When he looked up, his handsome face was twisted in pain, his pale face was flushed as sweat fell from his temples, and he was hissing between gritted teeth as if he had been burnt even though there wasn't a single singe on his clothes.
"That… wasn't very… nice…" she growled between pants.
His eyes flashed a crimson red and her own eyes narrowed back dangerously to the challenge.
He wasn't the first person she met with red eyes.
"I suppose you are more than what you seem," his voice was deep, hissing with a hint of a growl that betrayed his own ire. She had to commend him for his self-control, "Hermione Granger."
Ten thousand sparks of gold radiance shot from within the rings of her russet irises.
"You seem familiar with my name," her boot-clad feet slide ever so slowly to the side, shifting into a position poised for flight or flight, "but I don't seem to recall yours."
Embers of crimson shards glow an eerie iridescence in contrast to the globe of darkness.
"No?" there was no humor in his voice. His intense, unblinking eyes never once strayed from hers as he slowly righted himself like a snake ready to strike, "Then allow me to refresh your memory. My name is Tom Riddle."
Tom Riddle.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
I Am Lord Voldemort.
The immediate flash of recognition in her eyes snapped that tense cord between them completely.
She flung a hex meant to twist every limb in his body. If he was surprised by her use of dark magic, she didn't stop to see as she all but flung herself out the door. Narrowly missing a spell aimed at her head by a hair.
Heart racing and mind going into overdrive to just run, run, run! Hermione shoved her way through the narrow streets, pushing away witches and wizards without a care, and not once looking back. A trail of black smoke raced beside her but she recognized it too late as she was pushed to the side and pinned to the wall of a dead end.
The black smoke billowed and coalesced until it took Riddle's solid form. His hands pinned her wrists up high over her head while his face looked absolutely thunderous.
"Enough!" he roared to her face, crimson eyes flashing ever brightly, "You will tell me everything you know and you will tell me now!"
But Hermione wasn't listening. She reared her head back and slammed it squarely at his nose with a shout. Riddle grunted in pain, making him release her wrists and stumble back as he held up his hands to his twisted nose where blood instantly started to drip down from.
It only made him angrier.
The second he casted a curse, her blood sung.
She conjured a shimmering blue shield with a flick of her wrist (her ever-faithful wand immediately answering to her call) that absorbed the attack. She retaliated just as swiftly with a concussive shockwave that rattle the windows of the buildings around them that should've knocked him back. Unsurprisingly, he didn't, as he negated it with a counter-spell.
The words tumbling from their lips were barely inconceivable as their arms moved in a blur of arches, slashes, and jabs. Both unwilling to give any sort of room that could be taken advantaged off.
It became clear to the both of them that any spell is free game, and neither questioned the unspoken rule as they fired the darkest spells they knew against each other.
Theirs was a battlefield of a flurry of colors. A kaleidoscope of fireworks laced with malevolence and full intention to hurt the other.
A flurry of dark dust-like material gathered from the tip of Riddle's wand and coalesced together like a spinning drill that headed right towards her. Recognizing this one had no counter-curse, Hermione hastily conjured three layers of shields around her person. Her feet slid back from the onslaught of dark magic intending to spear right through her complex layers.
Shatter, shatter, shatter.
The spinning darkness drove through each of her shields, producing cracks akin to breaking glass before they shattered completely. But with each shield gone, the drill, too, had weakened. That by the time her last protection came down with a flurry of red sparks, the darkness dissipated like fading smoke.
Hermione jabbed her wand out and a ball of golden light burst forth. Riddle conjure up a shield around him.
"Devorare!" she shouted just as the ball was a hair's breath away from his shield.
Instead of it dissolving, the ball splattered over Riddle's shield like some sort of paint. Then it began to grow. With its shimmering yellow coat of slime-like texture, it began to crawl all over Riddle's dome-like shield, intending to swallow its entirety.
Behind the goo-like substance, she missed the way Riddle's eyes widened in alarm for the first time since the start of their fight as he casted the strongest shield he knew. But it wasn't enough. Cracks started to form from all sides as the goo began to shrink in size, intending to constrict to the point his safeguard shatters and he becomes completely devoured.
Riddle had no choice but to concentrate his magic into one acute point and let it explode.
His own shield, along with the yellow substance, burst forth with his shout that covered a wide radius that surely alarmed the residents of the Alley by now. Every window shattered, all loose boards, bricks, and stones blew away with an intensity of a bomb.
Neither of them cared about the collateral damage.
Hermione peeked from behind her cloak (commissioned and especially made from an infamous tailor in Russia) that was capable of deflecting and shielding her from most spells.
Both of them were panting, hearts still racing, and blood still singing from the high and danger they engaged themselves in.
It had been a long while since she fought like this.
She shot her wand up-
"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, and the force flung her back to the wall so hard behind her, cracks like a spider's web broke the bricks upon impact. Her wand flew a couple of feet away from where she stood.
"Insolent wench!" Riddle stomped a foot towards her, his bone white yew wand aimed true to her coughing form on the ground in her hands and knees. "Remember, you struck first. I intended to be lenient but you forced my hand. I'll force the answers out of you even if I have to tear away your mind."
She couldn't care less what the hell he was talking about.
Her eyes snapped up at him with the same level of intensity. If Riddle's were the freezing, glacial pressure from the deepest depths of the ocean, Hermione's were the searing, scorching blaze of the brightest star in the night sky.
"Drop dead," she spat.
She raised her hand and summoned her familiar blue fire. She swung her arm in a wide arch and a wave of the smokeless flames rushed towards him. And as he drew up a shield to protect himself from the hottest fire color, Hermione summoned her wand back to her hand while with the other, pulled out two items the size of marbles.
One, a crystal of Peruvian Instant Darkness Power that she threw on the ground, encasing them in complete darkness.
While the other, a small globe of dancing white light like a snow globe.
She whispered hastily, "The Den." Before throwing that, too, on the ground. In an instant, a portal opened before her feet only big enough for her to go through. Beyond that, she sees the living room of her flat and didn't waste another second as she jumped down there.
The thing about magical artifacts, was that they were practically bastardized magic turned objects that can defy multitudes of established laws and theorems about magic. That's why the most competent and useful ones are so rare and limited. For Hermione, Postino, and other collectors who knew their craft, one of the best advantages of using them, was that unlike magic, magical artefacts are nigh impossible to be traced back.
"Stupefy!"
She should've known Riddle would never let her cast the last spell.
In that fraction of a window as she fell down the portal, the stunning spell hit her temple and rendered her unconscious as she dropped to her flat in a disgraceful heap. The portal closed the second she went through, and the smoke dissipated half a second later.
When Riddle saw her gone as if she were never there, he shouted in anger and frustration.
A mantra of words filled Hermione's thoughts before darkness consumed her.
No.
No.
No.
This is impossible.
Impossible!
How is he here?
He's not supposed to be here.
This wasn't the deal.
He should not be here.
He shouldn't be here.
He shouldn't be here…
He shouldn't be here…
.
.
.
Alduin
Where are you?
Gifts are given freely,
But rewards must be earned.
You need to work for your prize.
ANNOUNCEMENT TO THEORISTS OF THIS FIC: I won't tell who but ONE of you actually hit the mark very closely in unraveling one of this fic's mysteries.
Sorry, this one's late. I didn't like the flow of the first draft I made so I had to rewrite it, plus I had to do this academic paper for school. I'll try to consistently update every Monday or Tuesday (GMT +8).
Once again, I am very, VERY happy with the previous comments. I honestly didn't think people will like this story much because it's not the usual Tomione fic and it's only laying down puzzle pieces instead of showing the full picture. I'm glad you all enjoyed reading it so far.
HERE'S A TIP FOR THEORISTS: All the verses in this fic are either from Hermione's POV AND addressed to her.
Also, shoutout to those lovely readers/theorists who noticed how weird Alduin is! YES, HIS APPETITE IS IMPORTANT.
You are all very beautiful readers! Thank you for joining the ride!
Stay awesome!
Ciao~!