WARNING: Drama and family feels ahead.
I've lost everything, but I always bounce back.
It hurts to open up my past.
Can't really find the words to make you understand,
but I'll always be there when it hurts you-
Could never desert you.
I won't waste this gift I claimed.
Hermione woke to the sun's rays over her closed eyelids. She could tell from how brightly the light filtered through the curtained window of her son's room and her internal clockwork that it was probably late morning- much later than when she and Alduin would wake up on a normal day.
Alduin.
She looked down on her boy sleeping on his side; his back towards her. The events of last night had rattled them both to a degree. The clash of magic between hers and Riddle's had ignited an inferno she had never felt before. Contempt had been there for sure. Resentment, grief, and definitely anger. She had never met Tom Riddle, but she knew his dreadful moniker and that alone resurfaced too many painful, sad, and bittersweet memories.
Despite this, those emotions could never override her desire to rescue her son. The sick sensation of fear and loss reared its ugly head from where she had buried it in the darkest recesses of her past. Whether they be acquaintances, friends, or worse, family; the severity of loss was different for each, but she nevertheless felt it deep within her bones, in her own very soul, and each time she would force herself to crawl out of its murky depths number than the last.
Hogwarts was nothing more than a pile of rubble.
Ron is gone.
Ginny, Fred, George, and the rest of the Weasleys are gone.
Luna, Hagrid, Lupin, and all of those in the Order of the Phoenix are gone.
Her parents are gone.
Harry is gone.
And she's never getting them back anymore.
One might say that even years later, she would be very familiar with loneliness. It was, after all, her hardened heart and sense of independence that allowed her to survive and expounded her abilities she had never realize were actually limited. For books were a restricted source, and therefore she had to resort to think, be creative, and innovate.
But despite her claims and embrace to the complex colors of the world that took everything from her, she still yearned for those old bonds that were the seeds of her remaining happiness.
She had never planned to have a child, but Alduin gave her new reason to live again. No matter the reason or purpose for his birth, he is her son, her family. She'd set the world ablaze if it meant he'd keep the smile on his face, and spare her from the torment of loneliness she had once cursed herself to.
Because it's much easier to die for someone, rather than to live for them.
However, that inferno subsided to measly embers at the sight of Alduin hunched into a ball at the nearest corner of the living room.
She never got to ask her questions. She couldn't find it in herself to wonder. For how could she subject him to further emotional stress?
The last time she saw Alduin cry was back when he was four. When he had tripped while running around and scraped his knees and palms.
Last night, he had cried himself to sleep and she couldn't find it in herself to part from him to sleep in her own room.
She had felt her necklace burn. It only burned whenever her son was in great distress. Although the ring she had gruelled hours to design ensured his safety, it was not a panacea to all harm. The last time it burned was when Alduin had fallen to his illness and gave in to his hunger.
Her hand came up to gently comb through his black locks that were just a tad wavy compared to her many curls. As coiffed as it was most of the day, it would always easily fall into a mess when he slept. It was one of the only physical traits he resembled with hers.
A flash of Voldemort's youthful visage appeared in her mind's eye and she couldn't help the twang of resentment that churned her stomach.
She raised herself from the bed and casted silent diagnostic spells over his person to ensure that he was alright. When she found nothing was amiss, she made her way to the door, intending to freshen up and make herself a cup (or two) of tea to help with her own mental stress of what had just occurred for the last twenty-four hours.
She missed the way Alduin's eyes opened just as she closed the door behind her.
"What are you doing, Al?"
Her head cocked to the side curiously at her son. They were eating dinner at the rooftop of the building she had rented their flat from for the last year. It was their last day in Spain before they had to travel to Egypt. Señor Joselito Gutierrez had been referred to her by Postino when she confided in him about needing a portkey master to cross countries, and he had proven himself worthy to be part of her short list of associates after a back and forth of business transactions about potions and money. Her travels so far had only been around the continent until she finally decided to do otherwise.
As it was, traveling such large distances required other means of transportation. This included the muggle commercial flight and boats, and specialized Floo Networks permitted for international travel. The only problem was those required identifications and paperwork she just deemed too tedious to deal with. For one, she didn't want to leave a paper trail that might bite her back in the arse someday. Neither she nor her son needed those documents. It wouldn't matter in the long run. Furthermore, her morality against illegal trading had long since flown out the window during her time of survival.
It still unsettles her a bit- how she just knew where to look, whom to seek, and when to hunt her prey. The only consolation being those whom she had hunted were on the verge of death anyway. And now, her instincts told her next set of prey would be in Egypt.
"Listening to the music," Alduin answered. His eyes had been closed for some time now and his hands were cupped over his ears to help further hear whatever sound he was listening to.
"Music?" Hermione looked around them.
The bountiful cultural art of Muggle Barcelona, had influenced greatly with their Wizarding counterpart. She thought it was a good opportunity for her and Alduin to learn and experience other cultures along with their own brand of magic. Below, the streets were alive with the nearby night market and restaurants.
"You mean Flamenco?" she herself had grown a liking towards the lively music and dance. It was an art form both the muggle and wizarding folk of Spain enjoyed without discrimination.
"No. I mean the music coming from people."
At that, Hermione stilled. Her chocolate brown eyes widened at the boy sitting across from her whose yet to move from his position.
"You… can hear it?" she said carefully in astonishment. Although she worded it more as a statement than a question.
She didn't think it was possible. Had it been like before, she would've laughed at the concept simply because such a thing doesn't exist.
"Mmhmm," Alduin nodded before finally opening his eyes and setting his hands back on his lap. There was a wide smile on his face, "It's magic, right? The music I've been hearing."
Indeed. He had asked her one day where magic came from, and she told him what she had discovered before he was born- Magic came from the Soul, and each soul has their own song.
"Yes," she swallowed, "Do you… hear it often?"
He shook his head, "Only if I want to and if I try hard enough. But yours is the best song of them all, mother! I like listening to yours the most!"
Her heart softened at his enthusiastic and honest proclamation. Beneath the black inkiness of his eyes, a sparkle would always shine in Alduin's dark pools whenever he was genuinely excited and passionate about something.
"Thank you, Al. That's very sweet of you."
A dab of blush colored his cheeks still full of baby fat, "Mother, do you know anyone else who can also hear them?"
Hermione's smile faltered. She herself couldn't hear it and she highly doubt there's anyone else in this world who also can. This revelation of her son's ability only solidified the fact that he's unique in every sense of the word.
She casted her gaze back to the streets below as she answered, "Just one."
From her periphery, she saw his head perk up, "Really? How did you meet them?"
"I woke them up."
The continuous flow of water hitting her head brought a relaxing quality to her as she remained standing beneath the showerhead. It couldn't capture the same sensation as drowning, but that was fine. She needed something to cool herself down.
She had let her emotions run rampant last night, the first time in a very long while, but now… now a calm, rational mind was required for something like this.
Behind her closed eyes, Hermione organized a mental list of the facts before her.
One, Alduin exists and she could still feel the pull of the hunt.
That meant she still needed to work for her reward, that she's yet to earn her prize. Although, how, exactly, would she be able to know that she has won her goal remains to be said.
Two, Tom Riddle also exists.
Did her deal not constitute him? He was the crux of everything after all. He was the reason she had to make that deal.
Had she done something wrong? Did she botch something over the last ten years? Did she fail?
No.
Because if she did, they would know and tell her. It would be… uncharacteristic of them if they went back on their word. Especially since this benefited them greater than she ever would.
Does that mean Riddle has something to do with getting her prize? But they said she can achieve her reward however she wanted. That meant Riddle wasn't a necessity… but saying that meeting him was a coincidence is also wrong. Because if he exists, then what does that say about her reward?
How was he able to know about them anyway? Technically, neither she nor her son exists- on record.
She was wrong to be confident in returning to Britain. She was too preoccupied with her own demons and raising her son to even consider checking Riddle's existence beforehand.
So, was it her fault? But her hunts are set here in her motherland.
Three, Tom Riddle is Alduin's father.
A chill ran up Hermione's spine at the mere thought of it.
The initial sour taste of bile was like a warning bell, making her swallow in spite herself.
This is really bad.
The coolness of the tile spread through her head from where she pressed her forehead.
She could see him at the center. His form straight and rigid as the volatile dark haze surrounded him like a protective barrier. Corpses laid still by his feet. Their bones protruding from their skins from where their flesh once was. Shriveled up like dry leaves; one touch would reduce them into dust. When she called his name, Alduin turned his head and smiled at her over his shoulder. Bright and unabashed. Oblivious to the carnage. He walked back towards them with a skip in his step. All the while ignoring the plethora of food scattered all around him.
Her teeth grounded harshly together.
A memory? A premonition? She couldn't exactly tell, but what she did know was that Allsehend was to blame. Such a petty sentient item it was. For sure, she would never pull that memory out of her own archive willingly.
Al should be awake by now.
Letting her mind clear of everything and anything for a moment of fool's reprieve, Hermione relished the rest of her shower and took her time preparing for what's surely awaiting outside her bedroom door.
'Everyone, give me strength,' she said a silent wish- a prayer, before turning the handle of her door.
"Al?"
Feeling apprehensive, for the most part, because this was the first time such a situation had occurred to them. At least, when Al had fallen ill, her mind could only focus to the act of relieving him from his symptoms. This time, however, she had reservations, and she wasn't entirely sure what to make of them as she let her motherly instincts take the reins.
Her heart clenched at the sight of her son sitting on the stool in front of the piano. Hair amess and still in his pajamas, it was obvious he didn't bother to freshen himself up first. Which was dreadfully telling, because Alduin would always do so in the morning, as part of his routine… before greeting her a good morning.
"Morning, mother," he greeted with a small, tired smile that didn't meet his eyes, and she took note of his omission of the word Good in his greeting.
Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat, feeling suddenly parched, "Morning to you too, Al. What would you like for breakfast?"
He turned his head back to the large instrument and stared at the keys unseeingly before he answered, "I'm not hungry."
It felt like she had just been slapped.
As concerned as she was for his preference and unusual appetite, Alduin would never ever refuse any of her food. That only meant her son was more affected of the events last night than she initially thought.
Instead of saying anything else, however, Alduin lifted his hands over the white metal pieces and pressed.
Her teeth gritted together unconsciously in response to the sharp tone he missed after one sequence.
For a moment she just stood there. Watching her son miss and hit another wrong note every now and then, making him start from the beginning.
Music was more than a hobby for Alduin. It was his passion, and outlet. He takes great pride in his talent. It's where he could freely use and practice his control over his magic. Music was also his tool of expression. For all his charming politeness and ability to talk his way into nearly everything, he best shows his true feelings with music.
She would know, because he's her son, and she's his mother.
And right now, as she listened to his slips and wrong notes, she knew then that he needed her.
But how does one comfort a child?
Should she just go and hold him like she had done to Harry when they visited his parents' grave at Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve?
Should she just hug him and whisper that everything's alright?
No. That would insult him. Alduin is an intelligent child, not only book smart. A simple pat and whispered promises wouldn't be enough to make him feel better. He's young, still a child, but their travels had helped him mature earlier than most children his age.
She needed him to talk and express what he's feeling. Even though she had an inkling of what they are, it would be best for him to say his troubles himself.
But first, she needed him to talk.
Her chest heaved with her deep breath before approaching the stool. From his periphery, Alduin saw her approach and only hesitated for a moment before scooting to the right to give her space. Her heart clenched at the sight of his silent, forlorn look. She could handle his whines, his pouts, his polite demeanor, his charming façade; she believes she could even stand his anger and frustration; but this… this is an expression she never ever wanted to see.
With another breath in, Hermione raised her hands over the keyboard. She pressed onto the keys and the combined notes filled the silent emptiness of the flat. From the musical section of her mental library where she stored all of the piano sheets she had learned over the years, she pulled out one of their favorites. This one was a simple piece, fairly easy, but no less beautiful. It was one of the first pieces she had taught her son before he took up the violin.
She kept her hands on the left half of the keyboard, purposely not crossing to the right where the keys for the higher pitch was. Her eyelids fell over her chocolate brown eyes as she let muscle memory play for her, just as her magic arose in response to the soft melody of her song.
It still amazed her to this day to know that magic has music. In a way, it made sense. For if she were to succumb to that numbing darkness, she wouldn't feel as lonely if she listened to such symphonies.
It didn't take long until she heard another set of notes join with hers. The higher pitch blended perfectly with hers as their fingers played each key in complementary to each other's octaves. Only then did she feel a tug on her magic join with another reluctant group of threads did she let her lips pull into a smile.
She didn't need to open her eyes as she felt the gentle breeze through her hair and the warm sun on her cheeks. Grass rustled by her feet and birds chirped lyrically to their song. If she were to open her eyes, she would see herself playing atop a grassy hill far away from any civilization.
Hermione knew magic. She had studied them, mastered them, and even designed some of her own; but there had only been a handful of times when she could truly say, think, and feel that something is magical.
This is one of those times.
Not because she and her son can plunge an entire room into an illusion they might as well have been transported to another world, nor was it because the very melody laced with their combined magic calmed the dark artifacts within her warded cabinet, but this very moment of playing a duet over a piano with her son felt like pure magic itself.
The power behind a killing curse or the serenity of a patronus charm could never hold a candle to a moment like this.
As their song came to a close, one of the treasured rooms of her mind palace opened and she saw herself; a memory of her precious Alduin, too young to reach the keys of the piano himself, sitting on her lap with his chubby little hands over hers as she played, pouring all her love to the song and more to the son giggling and smiling up at her just as he called her Mama for the first time.
When she opened her eyes, she watched the wide-open grassy plains fade away as the last note faded in her ears, and she was back within the protective walls of their home. Her son smiled back at her and she felt a weight lift from her shoulders when it met the sparkle in his eyes.
Hermione couldn't resist pulling him close by her side and pressing a kiss on his head. She felt his arms circle around her waist.
"How are you feeling now, Al?"
She should've asked that first.
"Much better now. Thank you, mother," he answered as they pulled away.
"That's good," she said, before focusing her eyes on his. As much as she wanted to prolong this moment of peace, this topic was just not something they could just brush away, "Al, what happened last night… how did that happen?"
Alduin's lips pressed tightly before lowering his head as if in shame.
"I promise I won't be angry," she quickly amended, "I just needed to know."
She watched as he stared back at the keyboard, but unlike moments ago, his expression wasn't as depressive that belied how his thoughts truly weighed heavily on him.
.
His mother was a soldier- powerful, brave, and fearless.
She wasn't afraid to do anything. Her head would always be held up high and he would marvel with all sorts of magic she can do with or without a wand.
His mother was a muggleborn- a social outcast, discriminated, open-minded, and proud.
He was livid when he finally understood what insults were. She wouldn't blatantly tell unless someone asks, but when they do, she would say it strong and proud. She knew the life and what's best in both worlds, and she shared them with him. From then on, he found discourtesy to be unspeakably ugly- far uglier than any slur anyone would hurl about his mother's blood status.
His mother was admirable- intelligent, wise, innovative, creative, elegant, and proper.
She always had an answer to any of his questions. She taught him everything he knew, and she always reminded him to keep an open mind, keep an open ear, and broaden his point of view.
His mother loves him, and he's very fond of her.
Even though that very word- love- still confuses him with all its complexities, she never fails to tell him she loves him.
His mother was hurt.
He learned it was sorrow when they would light a lantern and let it fly to the air every Christmas Eve. He learned it was yearning when she would tell him about her family and friends- people whom she could never be with ever again.
Yes, his mother was hurt, but her cinnamon eyes would always sparkle when she would look at him.
Because she wasn't alone anymore.
His mother wasn't perfect.
He knew she doesn't tell him everything. He knew that her business with Postino and the others weren't legal. He knew that some of her magic were things society would frown upon. He knew she doesn't tell him everything when she tells her stories.
But she tries hard. She tries very hard because there was no one else. No one else to protect him, provide for him, care for him, and hunt for him.
And that's fine. As long as they have each other, it's fine.
Especially since his mother's song was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard-
-until it wasn't.
"I was curious," he finally answered her after a pause.
"About?" she prompted.
"About him, about Mr. Riddle."
When he had asked her more about magic coming from the soul, she told him a story about a man who tore their very own soul. His mother told him that story as if she knew the man personally. She told him how that man feared dying so much he willingly shredded his soul and the magic in it so there was nothing whole for death to claim. That he grew mad with fear and paranoia, and suffered in his own design till the world ended.
Despite himself, Alduin sputtered a laugh, "He's very funny."
Because he wasn't looking, he missed the way his mother blinked in confusion, "Funny? How is he funny?"
"His magic was really funny," Alduin continued, "You told me his story, but I didn't think I would actually get the chance to meet him. I was curious to know what his magic sounded like. I wanted to know what a broken soul sounded like."
"And? What did he sound like, Al?"
He stifled another giggle as he remembered how he listened to Mr. Riddle's soulsong for the first time in that alley.
"Mother's song has the melody of a piano. It is sweet, rich, and clear, while Mr. Riddle's is deep, mellow, and sonorous, like a cello. But whenever I hear him, his music would always have this bounce and squeak every now and then. It sounds like this-"
Alduin flitted his fingers over the keyboard for a simple melody until he purposely stopped half a beat and then pressed a key with a very high pitch. He would then repeat it a few more times, skipping and hitting out of tune notes randomly until he heard her try to stifle her laughter too.
"Like that," he finished, "it's as if his music sheet has missing and wrong tones. His soulsong is… incomplete."
There was a pause.
"But that's not what you're only curious about, isn't it?"
He shook his head no, "He looked like me, mother, or I suppose the more appropriate thing to say was… I look like him, don't I? He called me his son."
His dark eyes observed the way his mother's jaw tensed upon his admission. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap, and her eyes shifted uncomfortably but she held herself strong so as to not turn away from him.
"Al-"
"It's fine," he interrupted, "Honestly, I don't really care whether we're… related or not. There's just something about him that I'm drawn to. I'm not really sure. Maybe it's his broken song or just him as a person- I don't really know, mother. All I have is this feeling that tells me it wouldn't be so bad to get to know him. That's why I… I arranged a meeting with the Malfoys."
"How did you manage to do that, Al?"
Summoning his courage, Alduin confessed how he's been talking to people in Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market. How he knew that the person to go to if one wanted to find out about someone was through Mr. Malfoy. That he had considered that the only way an elite pureblood would ever notice him was by going to what he valued most- which was his wife whom his fondness towards was an open secret in wizarding society. He had heard a lot of things, and apart from music, Mrs. Malfoy also happened to be attached to her French heritage.
It was really only by coincidence that Mr. Riddle happened to be staying with the Malfoys. It was also there when he learned Mr. Riddle was someone more than he initially thought. The ones that gave it away were the peacocks and Nagini.
White peacocks freely roam the manor, but Nagini told him how she ate one and that the only punishment her master gave her for such behavior was to tell her to move her hunts around the forest that surrounded the estate. Because if the Malfoys were really in charge, Nagini wouldn't have been left off so easily and still come and go the manor as she wished unharmed.
"I actually told Nagini that I would really like it if she were to meet you," he said shyly.
His mother didn't answer immediately as she worried her lower lip with her teeth, "You like her?"
Alduin nodded firmly with a smile, "She has really nice manners, mother. Although she calls me the Young Lord, at least she was proper enough to call you Honorable Mother. I think you would like her too."
"Maybe someday."
There was a hint of reluctance in her tone but that was fine. He'd let it slide because what's more important was that she agreed to his wish.
"Riddle," his mother began carefully, "Has he talked to you before?"
Alduin nodded and recounted to her how he first met him in the alley, how he caught him using magic and their short meetings afterwards. He had an inkling then, that Mr. Riddle was curious about him too, and how he felt his interest only grew when he caught him talking with Nagini in parseltongue.
"I didn't know mother disliked him…"
Dislike was probably putting it mildly. There was more there, a stronger, more unpleasant emotion. It reflected in both his mother and Mr. Riddle's eyes.
He had seen his mother angry before; seen her bare her fangs and heard her roar. But last night, had been different.
Last night, her anger called onto her magic, and he didn't like it at all.
If he were to put a word to it, it was… hate.
"I heard it, mother. Yours and Mr. Riddle's. When you both attacked and sent your magicks against each other, I heard it."
Something coiled within his stomach and traveled all the way up to his chest. His mind replayed what he had heard the night before, and this made his breath ragged.
"It was so loud-"
His eyes widened and pupils dilated.
"-it was so loud and horrible. It didn't make any melody at all!"
His hands balled into fists.
"There was no harmony, there was no symphony, all I heard was something like this-!"
He slammed his palms over the piano keys. Pounding and smashing random notes it echoed horribly throughout their flat.
"Mr. Riddle's song may be funny and broken but there's at least something there to hear. But his song sounded uglier too, and mother's… mother's song shouldn't have been like that! Mother's song is kind and warm and strong and free, but back there- it wasn't. It sounded ugly and I didn't like it at all! Even if I tried, it was too loud I could still feel it pounding in my ears! And it hurts-"
Sometimes, once in a while, when he fancies to listen to other people's songs, he would find two people creating a harmony together. A harmony that sounded far better than they were apart.
Mr. Riddle's and his mother's… they didn't make any symphony at all.
It hurt his ears, and it hurt his chest too.
His hand clutched his shirt where his heart was, "It hurts here. Seeing mother like that, feeling and hearing her magic like that- I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all! I… I hate it!"
He didn't realize tears were once more falling down his cheeks until he choked on his sob when his mother pulled him in her embrace.
"It hurts," he choked, "because I'm the reason mother's song became like that. I ruined your song. Because I hadn't been a good boy like I promised. Because I caused you trouble. Because I-"
"No," she cut him off firmly before pulling back only to cup his face between her hands and force his teary eyes to meet with hers, "No, no, no, Alduin. It wasn't your fault. None of that was your fault."
"You lie," he sniffed. "If I hadn't acted on my own- if I just told you about it first- you magic wouldn't have…"
Mother once said that no one is perfect, and that she doesn't expect him to be.
But his mother always keeps her promises.
He promised he'd be careful. He promised he'd stay safe. He promised he'd be a good son.
He was wrong.
But he couldn't keep his promise.
"I'm sorry, Mama…"
His face was buried to her bosom when she pulled him towards her in a full embrace.
Arms cradled him strong yet tenderly, and held him there as he continued to sob.
Alduin knew he had done wrong, and he knew it was the reason for the pain in his chest.
He didn't like this pain.
He wanted it to go away.
She had been angry at Mr. Riddle, but that wouldn't have happened if he just stayed put.
And because of him, his mother's magic became chaotic and sad.
It hurt because it was his fault.
Amidst his choked sobs, he felt his mother's lips press on his head.
"Oh sweetheart," she began as she pulled away a bit only to cup his tear-streaked cheeks. Her thumbs wiped at the wet trail while he looked at her with watery eyes, "Can you do me a favor, Al? Can you listen to my magic?"
He shook his head vehemently. Why would she ask him of that? He would rather not hear magic at all if it meant he'd never hear his mother's ruined song again.
"Please, Al? Trust me. You won't get hurt. I promise," she said gently, her voice so soft only he could hear.
Alduin bit his lip in thought. His mother promised. She always kept her promises, and of course he trusts her.
He nodded anxiously before closing his eyes and focused his ears in finding that hidden music the rest of the world is deaf to.
A string of melodious notes.
Mellow and sweet. Like the soft chirping of birds on a summer day. It made his skin tingle and his heart tickle. The melody like a symphonic harmony as each tune transitions with each note with the grace of flowing water.
It was the sound of home.
"But… But I thought…" he mumbled, confused yet immensely relieved that he could hear that beautiful song again.
There was a softness on his mother's face as she wiped the rest of his tears away.
"See? You didn't ruin my song."
"But how come…" he trailed, unsure how to ask.
"I honestly don't know," she said, "I can't hear magic like you, Al, but I can feel it. Maybe… maybe my emotions called and reflected on my magic. They were very unpleasant emotions. I'm sorry my magic frightened you."
He knew, too. His mother had been angry before, but her magic didn't change and it didn't force him to hear. It was only when hers and Mr. Riddle's collided did it change.
Mr. Riddle's may sound broken, but even his got worse when his magic clashed with his mother's.
Why?
"But Alduin- I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?" his vision was clearer now, and he could see the burning golden ember behind her eyes, "Yes, I was angry for what happened last night. I wish you had never met Riddle and set foot on that place. But by the end of it all, it doesn't matter to me. You know why? Because you're here- you're safe. And that's all I ever wanted.
"As long as you need me, I would storm that manor again and again, because you're my son. You're mine. Mine to me, no matter who your father is. I don't ever want to lose you. I love you, Alduin."
This time, it was he who initiated their embrace, and Alduin closed his eyes as he relished the warmth no sun could ever give and the music no instrument could ever deliver.
Love… is such a confusing thing.
.
Magic manifested in bolts of lightning filled the dark void of nothingness. A streak that cut through the very air beheld between the deep forest and shamrock green, only to meet the swift, sharp tendrils of honey and Tuscany yellow.
They pushed with great resistance like parried swords. Electrifying and burning; freezing and suffocating; living and dying; it tore through flesh, blood, and bone till it reached the very core that was the soul. Igniting a sensation only the rarest, chosen few, could even dream of remotely experiencing. The sheer power, mental fortitude, and indomitable will forced both into a deadlock that foretold failure to be a nonexistent option.
Only for it all to be swallowed with a singular, desperate cry.
A complete negation- an obliteration- for only but a moment before a burst of color took its place. Brighter, bigger, and far stronger than the last.
Like a dying star collapsing on itself only to explode and give birth to something new.
It was a conflagration of two different forces.
A symphonic harmony that breathed into something novel.
Tom had felt it then.
However brief, he still felt it.
He felt it pierce through his very flesh, blood, and bone, and into the very tattered remains of his broken soul.
He couldn't hear it, but if he were to describe it- his soul thrummed.
Like the low, sinuous start of a deep song.
He couldn't hear it.
But he felt it.
And it unsettles him.
Tom looked down at his left arm where the sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. A salve had been enough to quell the minor blisters that erupted there. Now it just looked red and raw akin to sunburn. It hardly stung anymore, but the minute tingle of the burn and residual magic of the enchanted flames still lingered. His skin would return to its usual pallor in another hour, but for now, he would have to bear the remembrance of his son's rejection in the form of two small hand-prints on his arm.
Life is full of the unpredictable. A weak man would whine and complain, a smart man would avoid it entirely or painstakingly plan to keep things as they were, but a wise man would know how to adjust and turn the odds in his favor.
"It seems… I have acted rashly."
After all, the only thing that is true and matters in this world is power.
And Alduin and Hermione Granger has power.
Now how should he acquire that power for his own?
The shock's finally digested and now Manipulative!Tom is finally having his turn to play. Does he still plan on killing Alduin? Will he try to get rid of Hermione?
I can't not include this drama in the chapter because as pleased as I am that most of you have expressed how you've liked Alduin's character, I just needed to show how deep and strong their bond together is as mother and son especially now that Tom's entered the fray.
Also, this chapter serves as peak in Alduin's mind. As much as he resembles Tom, in looks, way of thinking, and mannerisms, he did NOT grow up like him.
I personally do love listening to classical music and attending symphonies. If anyone's wondering, I was listening to Maybe by Yiruma while writing Alduin and Hermione's piano duet.
Pardon the late update. I'm also juggling between school and work.
Nevertheless, I read all your comments and I love all of your ideas/theories even if you think they're wacky. You are all very beautiful readers!
Stay awesome!
Ciao~!