Chapter 6: A Change of Plan
Tom Riddle stepped out of his car in the desolate parking lot, a bunch of white roses in one hand. He closed the car door and locked it, then trudged through the snow toward the rows of gravestones a few feet away. The late afternoon sun glinted brightly off the sea of pure white, glittering as he moved. It was a relatively small site, with perhaps two hundred or so graves lining the lawn. His family lay in the middle, with large, white marble tombstones to mark their resting place. Riddle stepped forward and placed the bouquet gently atop the stone, wiping away the snow that had covered the engravings. It was an annual visit, one that always stirred up memories of the past.
He blamed it all on that. That was why he had practically spilled his entire life story to Granger. No, Hermione. That had to be the reason. Riddle had never told anyone about his past. Only those from Little Hangleton knew of the Gaunt murders and his connection to them. It was a small town, and quite a drive away from the bustling city of Hogsmeade. Only Parkinson knew of his past, but not all the details, not nearly as much as he'd shared with Granger. Hermione. Somehow, he didn't regret it.
Hermione. She really was something else. He never would have expected to have a normal conversation with her, what with her absurdly rigid moral compass and bleeding heart and wild hair. But it was surprisingly easy to talk to her. Aside from her obvious initial attempt at learning more about the Gaunts, she didn't pry for information or pester for more details. She simply listened. She had even cried for him. Yet, he didn't think that she pitied him. She just felt so much. That was why she was championing a forest and park when it was a losing battle. That was why she had joined the Order of the Phoenix, and why she had started her own non-profit.
It was becoming increasingly harder to think of her as just a bug to be squashed. She was so much more. She was passionate and driven and stubborn and there was a light in her eyes that gleamed brighter than any star when she was talking about what she believed in. She had lost her own parents a few years ago, and she still managed to keep that light.
Riddle sighed and looked down at the tombstone. "I'm working on a case right now." He knew it was silly, but he still talked to their graves every year. "Well, I've basically finished with it. The hearing is tomorrow. I'm going to win." The words were hollow, and somehow left a twinge in his stomach. "She doesn't think I am, but she's a terrible optimist. You would have liked her, I think," he told his family. "She's a fighter. And smart. She always manages to put me in my place, funny enough." Only the wind responded, rustling through the empty branches of the trees around the little plot of land.
What was that twinge he felt? He had never felt it before when dealing with a case. Because that's simply all this was. Another job. He'd be onto a new one next week. But then why did it feel so different? The thought of victory actually left a faintly bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn't pity. He would never dare feel pity for her, the gods knew she would tear him up again. What was it then?
He hated to admit it, but deep down, in the trenches of his soul, Tom knew that she was right. He knew that what she was fighting for was likely better for the people of the town. But a mall complex would bring in more visitors, it would stimulate their economy more and provide another avenue of entertainment. The other benefits were undeniable. It simply came at the cost of tearing down one forest. So why did it feel like so much more?
Thinking about the look on Hermione's face if a tree were ever ripped out of the ground for commercial use was enough to make him reconsider. Those brown eyes would fill with so much hurt. For the first time in a long time someone seemed to actually care about him. Even if she was the last person on Earth who should. She had given him a genuine present with no ulterior motives. She had listened to him ramble about his past, and had felt sympathy for him and understood his struggles. He was quite sure neither Malfoy nor Nott would look twice at him had he not been in a powerful position at Borgin and Burke. Parkinson may like to banter with him here and there, but they had never had a conversation of any substance.
A sudden clarity came over Riddle as he stared at his family's graves. He wasn't sure what they would have said if they were still alive, but he was relatively certain they would not be happy with how events were currently unfolding.
"Happy Christmas, Mum, Dad, Brother."
He turned around and hurried back to his car. He needed to get to his office, as soon as possible.
December 24
Hermione stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, trying to tug her hair into a bun, or any type of up-do, quite unsuccessfully. After a night of tossing and turning, her brown curls were unforgiving, resisting every attempt to be tamed. With a sigh, she gave up and began focusing on the rest of her features. Normally, she wouldn't care about what she looked like beyond being presentable in court. But something about today was different. She had butterflies in her stomach. Butterflies. That never happened. She met her own brown eyes in the mirror, as if she could intimidate herself back into normalcy. Just then there was a knock at the door.
"I'll get it!" Harry called from somewhere else in the house. He and Ron had been doing their best to relieve other stresses from Hermione's life. When she came back home yesterday, everything had been cleaned up and they had even made sandwiches and lemonade for lunch. The flat had been vacuumed and dusted, and the trash taken out. In truth, she'd completely forgotten about the whole kitchen fiasco until she returned and found them enthusiastically presenting the meal to her. They really were great friends.
"Where is she?" a female voice demanded the second the door was opened.
"Bathroom," was all Harry managed to spit out before the youngest Weasley sister was marching through the flat towards Hermione.
"Ginny! I wasn't expecting you today," Hermione greeted, giving her friend a hug.
"I wanted to make sure you looked your best for your hearing today! You know what they say, best foot forward and everything." Ginny heaved a giant tote on the counter and started pulling out a variety of products.
Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. "You've never done this before, and I've gone to dozens of court cases."
"Mm," Ginny replied, placing a hair-straightener down, "well, you've never had to go against a devilishly handsome man with a jawline that could cut diamonds and eyes that-"
"Ok, I get it, Gin. And he's not that good-looking." Hermione rolled her eyes, even as she knew that the ginger was right.
"Oh please, stop pretending that you aren't attracted to him. I'm pretty sure Harry and Ron are attracted to him. It's impossible not to be." Ginny started spraying heat treatment into Hermione's hair.
"I don't really think-"
"What I'm saying is," Ginny cut her off, now picking up a wide-toothed comb and gently picking apart tangles, "people won't just listen to arguments. Appearance makes a difference in swaying others to your side. You can't show up looking like this and hope to make an impression against Riddle. Or else you'd better hope that the panel is blind."
Hermione couldn't argue against that. It was the unfortunate truth, after all.
As Ginny was doing her magic, Hermione let her mind wander back to the conversation she'd had with Riddle the previous day. He was so much more than she expected. A lot of puzzle pieces had fallen into place about his cold personality and detached demeanor. But behind that hard exterior, there was something more. He had opened up to her and she'd seen someone who was vulnerable, passionate, driven. Maybe he wouldn't ever be the kindest person in the world, nor the most compassionate, but he could care.
"What are you thinking about, 'Mione?" Ginny asked as she brushed a light layer of blush over her cheeks.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing in particular." Hermione was glad for the newly applied blush because it made her own blush less apparent.
"No, I know that look on your face. You had it when we had Mr. Lockhart for Phys Ed," Ginny's tone was accusatory. She wielded the makeup brush like a sword as she pointed it at Hermione's face.
"Wha-? No, I just," Hermione stammered, realizing it was a losing battle. Lockhart had been years ago, and she was able to realize that it had been nothing more than a simple schoolgirl crush. This felt different. Sighing, Hermione raised both her hands in mock defeat. "I ran into Riddle, er, Tom, yesterday at Trelawney's. We got stuck together while the snow was too heavy to go outside."
Ginny's eyes widened in shock and a sly smile crept up her face. "Tom? Since when have you been on a first name basis with Tom?"
Now Hermione's face was burning. "It's nothing. We just got to know each other a little better yesterday, and it felt weird to keep calling each other 'Riddle' and 'Granger' after that. And I don't see how that means anything, I call lots of people by their first names, it's nothing new. We didn't even plan on meeting up like that and we never would have talked for long about so much had we not been forced to spend time together. And we were both sleep deprived, so I'm sure that played a role in how much we talked because normally we can't go two minutes without insulting the other, though I do sometimes think it's funny-" Hermione realized she was rambling on like a madwoman and clamped her mouth shut.
"Oh my god. You really like him!" Ginny practically shouted, and Hermione quickly tried to shush her.
"Don't say it so loudly! It's not even true!"
"Shut up, you know I'm right," Ginny was so happy it was aggravating. "Now stand still while I tweeze your eyebrows. Unless you want to lose an eyeball."
Hermione did as she was told, but continued to talk. "I like talking to him, Gin, but that isn't the same as liking him. He stands for everything that I'm fighting against. That's something that I will never waver on." Even as she said the words, she felt something deflate in her. They'd never truly be able to be friends, or even something more. Not as long as he continued to work for Borgin and Burke, spreading their chain of supermalls across the country. Not as long as he continued to debase all the environmental protection advocacy she had worked so hard to create.
"It's like a modern day Romeo and Juliet," Ginny sighed. "So romantic."
"Except for the part where they both end up killing themselves," Hermione was slightly horrified at the thought. "And besides, he barely tolerates me."
"You are such a buzzkill," Ginny said as she placed the finishing touches on Hermione's face. "But I think he'll do more than just tolerate you when you show up looking like this. Voila." She brandished a handheld mirror with a flourish and held it up so the other girl could see her handiwork.
"Oh, Gin, you really outdid yourself," Hermione was amazed at the difference. She had kept it fairly subtle. There were no longer visible bags under her eyes, a dash of blush across her cheeks and her curled lashes made her look awake and fresh. Ginny had straightened her hair and then slightly curled it and pulled it back into a half-up, half down style. Where it was dull and ratty before, it was now sleek and shiny.
Ginny beamed. "I may be a photographer, but I learned a few tricks from the make-up artists." She bobby-pinned one last stray hair into place and clasped her hands together. "Riddle won't know what hit him."
A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I'm actually just about done with this story now, and the rest of it will be up soon-ish. Thanks for sticking with it!
