TW for this chapter: dubcon/noncon for a very brief instance.
The night was still, not a sound could be heard but frantic footfalls.
The moonlight filtered through the great windows, casting gaping wounds of light across the floors and walls. A single shadow cut across them.
Hermione rushed through the empty corridors, each breath she took burning her throat and lungs.
She didn't care. She couldn't stop. She had to warn Tom.
When she reached the seventh floor she darted to the entrance of the Room of Requirement, impatiently pacing back and forth the necessary three times. Tom, Tom, Tom, she thought, tripping over even the single syllable in her head. She just needed to get in there. She just needed to see him.
She tapped her fingers anxiously against the frame of the materialising door, biting on her lips with enough force to make them bleed. She was surprised that she hadn't broken the skin by the time she burst through the door.
But then she stopped.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Her steps were cautious now. This was…different.
The entire room was different. Empty. Except for the mirror, standing bare in the middle. Suddenly the space seemed much bigger, the grey stone blending with the shadows cast by the gentle glow of the mirror. Her footsteps echoed in this space, no longer swallowed by the furniture and the fire. Her shallow breathing too, seemed amplified, more terrified, than it had sounded even bouncing off the walls of the corridor.
She felt so small.
The mirror suddenly seemed so big.
Its surface too was different. It was not a gate, it was glass bearing the stains and scratches of centuries. It almost looked misty, slightly tarnishing the reflection staring back at her.
Hermione swallowed.
"Tom?" She called. The sound reflected back at her. Tom. Tom. TOM. Tom, tom. Tom!
There was no answer.
She took another step forward. Hesitantly she raised a hand to touch the glass. It was cold, uninviting. Her reflection followed suit, neither able to push past the boundary.
"Tom." She uttered weakly, looking down at her feet. He couldn't really be gone could he?
"Hermione." Her eyes shot up. He was standing behind her, head tilted, with a smug grin on his face.
A stray tear that had been building up broke through her defences and splashed on the stone at her feet. He raised an amused eyebrow.
"You utter arse!" She cried, turning to punch him in the chest.
Her fist met air.
A chuckle sounded from behind her. "Behind you." He sing-songed.
She turned again. There she was, still reflected. And there Tom was, behind her, head resting on her shoulder, arms wrapped tight round her waist. He smiled again, a genuine smile this time, at her shocked expression.
"Hello darling." That sounded so good coming from him, whispered right in her ear. Except it wasn't. "Are you alright, Hermione? Why are you crying?" Her eyes were locked on his, she hadn't noticed the tears. Now he mentioned it she could feel them trailing down her cheeks furiously. Tom raised his hand to gently brush them away. She couldn't feel his touch.
"Hermione?" He asked. He was frowning now. He still looked pretty when he frowned. "Hermione, answer me." He was pleading now. She couldn't though. Her throat felt tight, she was beginning to shudder as she cried. She could barely get enough air let alone form words.
At her silence his frown turned to a scowl. "What? This not good enough for you, Granger? Am I not good enough for you?" The arm round her waist wound tighter, and the hand brushing away her tears found its way to her throat, holding her against him at an uncomfortable angle.
She could feel that. It was as though the air was being wrung out of her body. She gasped as his grip on her throat tightened, but her hands only found her own skin to claw at.
His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile, angry and amused at once, marring his beautiful features, taking them a step further from the boy she knew. "What would you prefer Hermione?" She squeezed her eyes shut. His grip loosened.
"'Mione? Is it me you want 'Mione?" She froze. That sounded like… Her eyes snapped open once more. Ron. He was blushing, features red as could be. "I could make you happy." He said, sheepishly, smiling awkwardly. "Is that what you'd like?" In her shock she didn't even register the movement of his hands until they found the edge of her jumper and made contact with the skin below.
Instantly she yelled, attempting to push his hands away. Ron would never…
"Not him either, Hermio-ninny? Am I want you want instead?" Viktor. He tilted her face gently towards her own with the hand not around her middle. She couldn't stop herself from turning, but she kept her eyes on her reflection the entire time. His nose grazed her cheek a second before his lips.
Hermione's heartrate sped up slightly and the blood rushed to the cheeks he was carefully lavishing in kisses. She didn't know what to do, where to go, almost didn't want to move, in case he vanished, in case Ron came back. She allowed herself to pause. He wasn't doing any harm, she needed to think. What was- Suddenly his kisses became more sloppy, more hungry, his hands tugged at her, pulling her closer, too close.
She couldn't think with him like that. She pushed against his arms again. He wasn't like that. He wouldn't do that. It felt wrong. "Viktor stop!" He kept trailing kisses, now down her neck, and Hermione couldn't help the pleasant chill that ran through her body. "I said stop!" She cried. Although she could feel the pressure, however, her hands continued to fumble against his immaterial limbs.
"Calm down, 'Mione! It's just me, it's just me." She stopped.
"Harry." Her heart heaved a sigh of relief, the pressure was gone. It was just Harry, just Harry.
"I'm here now. Don't worry." He embraced her gently from behind. It felt so safe with his arms around her, his head resting on top of her own. She'd been so busy lately she hadn't even noticed how tall he had gotten over the past year. Really she hadn't realised he was tall enough to rest against her like that. And his face, it seemed a little more carved out, a little more angular. Had he really changed so much? He smiled that boyish smile he had at her. "It'll all be alright 'Mione. I can stay with you if you like."
She relaxed against him. It was Harry. She would be okay now.
"I'm much better than those other two. I can see why you'd pick the chosen one over them." Harry wouldn't say that. But it was… His eyes. They were blue, but they were sharper than they ought to be. Hermione leaned closer to the mirror, ignoring the feeling of Harry brushing her hair back from her neck. Those weren't his eyes. He lifted his gaze to meet hers and smirked. Harry didn't smile like that.
Her eyes widened in fear.
It wasn't Harry.
Tom's hand plunged into her hair, tugging harshly backwards so that her neck lay exposed. With the other hand he teased the very edges of her skirt, dreadfully slowly dragging the hem further up her thigh.
"Is nobody good enough for you, Granger?" He murmured against her neck. Her lips parted in spite of herself, and her breathing grew a little ragged- no longer because of the tears. "Oh? Maybe we're just playing you wrong…" Tom whet his lips before tracing his tongue up her neck. Simultaneously his lower hand darted upwards. Hermione squeaked. "Oh my, Granger. Who would've guessed you like it rough?" A dark chuckle left him as he pulled her hair a little tighter and she moaned.
She coloured instantly. She shouldn't be reacting that way. She couldn't be reacting that way. She was disgusted with herself.
"Don't be ashamed, darling. You'd look so pretty begging for my love, wouldn't you? I could make you beg, if that's what you want? I can be anything you want. All you have to do is ask." His words seem to sink into her skin, blotting her with desires she didn't even realise she had. He looked so good gently nipping at her neck and shoulders, one hand winding tighter in her hair, the other intermittently brushing against the fabric of her knickers.
There was a sickening sensation building in her, she needed something, anything to get rid of it. She would do anything to get rid of it. She knew what she had to do. She'd just have to hate herself.
"Please. Please Tom." She called. Here voice was weak.
Tom buried his head in the crook of her neck. Then he loosened his grip on her hair and turned her to face him entirely.
He was really… Hermione tried to turn and check the mirror again but before she could Tom had pulled her against him and crushed his lips against hers.
Hermione's mind went blank. This was, Merlin, it was fucking amazing.
He kissed her like he wanted to devour her. His lips were soft but so demanding, his scent was intoxicating, and his body was pressed so close she wasn't sure where she ended and he began. One of his arms wound its way around her waits again and pulled her closer still and she gasped. Suddenly there was tongue brushing against her own. She'd never kissed anyone like that. Viktor hadn't kissed her like that. She could taste him, feel him, hear him, smell him, if she wanted she could even… She opened her eyes.
The thing kissing her was not Tom.
Pale. Cold. Larger, taller than Tom. More aggressive. More demanding.
Its eyes were open too, staring back at her, dark and endless and empty of all emotion.
It had slits instead of a nose. It was bald and its skin had a scaly quality to it. It was like a snake. It was a monster.
She couldn't stop kissing him.
No.
She didn't want to stop.
No.
No, no, no.
This couldn't be- This wasn't- He, it wasn't-
Hermione woke up.
The dorm was silent par her own breathing. She could feel a thick bead of sweat roll down her back as she sat up. She didn't fall back to sleep that night.
Ever since that night he'd almost died, Tom had been more careful around the girl called Hermione Jean Granger.
His brief, erratic glimpses into her mind had not been so much insightful as they had been confusing and alarming.
There was a lot to sort through after all.
He had tried to make a list of the key points before he forgot them:
-She had tried to kill him after finding out his last name was Riddle.
-According to that she knew who he was. (As well as who he intended to become.)
-It was therefore reasonable to assume she was from the future. (To be confirmed.)
-She had faced an immense amount of trauma over the last three years, alongside her friend Harry.
-This trauma was related to someone called Voldemort. (A name that Tom felt oddly drawn to for some reason.)
-She had a boyfriend called Viktor, the one she'd taken to the ball. (Good blackmail information.)
-And Dumbledore. She knew about Dumbledore. He perhaps even existed in her world, her time. (A huge obstacle.)
He knew all that. But he didn't know what to do.
He was acting naturally for now, pretending that it had never happened, and happy to see that the memory charm had stuck. In fact, revealing his full (maiden) name had had a rather positive effect on the girl's attitude towards him. She never called him by it, but he could tell that she felt better, closer, now that she knew, or at least thought she knew.
Tom Gaunt.
If that's who she needed him to be while he plucked her secrets away, that was who he would be.
He wasn't the worst person to be, after all.
Tom Gaunt had Hermione's trust. Tom Gaunt could sit near her as he was now, looking down at her as she sat on the floor, eagerly perusing the chapter he had recommended. Tom Gaunt could ask her about it. Tom Gaunt could debate with her about it. He could taunt and tease and make her fight back. He could flirt and watch her hate herself for enjoying it. He could do everything Tom Riddle couldn't.
Because if he were Tom Riddle she would try to kill him again, and he would have to kill her.
For some reason.
It didn't matter. He was Tom Gaunt for now. He could tolerate bearing the name of his weak witch mother. Better than the name of his muggle father, in any case. If it got him what he wanted, after all, then he could at least get use out of the horrid thing.
Hermione let out a disgruntled huff. She placed the book down. He averted his eyes from the back of her head lest she turn around.
She did. She opened her mouth as though to speak but stopped herself. Then turned back.
"No. Say what you were going to say, Granger."
"It's just, I get it, I get that learning these spells is useful. By learning the dark arts it's easier to stop it, develop preventative measures against it but… I couldn't possibly perform these Tom." She was talking about a series of related hexes that caused various skin deep ailments.
Tom hid his smile behind his own book. It wasn't something to laugh about, she had basically been about to commit murder after all, but there was something so pleasingly ironic in her hypocrisy. "The dark arts are all about intent, Hermione. You can perform them only if you have the will. I would remind you that even the unforgivable are useless without intent, without a true desire to control, torture, kill."
Hermione was quiet. Thinking. Not just swallowing his words as others did but tasting them, trying to detect the subtle hints they contained, no doubt.
Best not to let her memory jog for too long. "We can start with something tamer if you want?"
She nodded. She was too busy thinking to talk. He could practically feel her thought processes jumping from one solution to the next, trying to combine the most logical aspects.
He needed to distract her more thoroughly. He scooted closer to her and leaned over her shoulder. Instantly she retracted. Tom would have been offended had it not so successfully pulled her from her thoughts. "Beg pardon, but I was just going to refer you to chapter three, those spells are a bit more superficial. Binding charms and hexes. Some of them can be extremely painful but the basics revolve around merely incapacitating your enemy by restricting their movements. Does that sound agreeable to you?"
"Yes. That sounds like a decent place to start. A perfect place actually." She hummed, thinking again. Did she never put that brain of hers to rest?
"Excellent. Binding spells starting next week, and after that we'll work on motivation for stronger spells, yes?"
"I suppose…" She still looked far too pensive, far too ill at ease. Tom Gaunt was supposed to make her comfortable.
"You don't have to use them on actual people, Hermione. I won't ever make you do that, or suggest that you do. But there are plenty of good reasons to learn the dark arts."
She was biting her lip again. She always did when she felt uncomfortable. He hated how it drew attention to her lips like that. Those lips that had almost sounded his- no, Tom Riddle's- end.
He shook his head, dispelling her lips from his mind. Tom Riddle. She wouldn't hesitate to use the spells against him. But that was too close to his alias, and too connected to the memories he had erased. Voldemort, however… If he really was a dark wizard then he would probably have done something bad enough for Hermione to hate him. He certainly had a negative impact on her life and the life of her friend. The only problem was he couldn't say it outright, he needed to get her to say it herself.
"Think about it Hermione. Though we try to deny it there are dark wizards out there even as we speak. They don't hesitate to learn these spells, to perfect them. And they certainly wouldn't hesitate to use them. I'm not saying that it's right, but if you had to choose between losing someone you loved, and using a dark spell to eradicate someone who threatened them…" He let the words hang there, let them take root in her mind. As she pondered his sentiments he crouched in front of her, bringing his hands to cup her cheeks. Her eyes widened and she coloured a little. "I know you Hermione. You're smart. You're logical. You're like me. If it came down to it, you wouldn't hesitate would you? You would do everything in your power to protect what you love, no matter what the personal cost. This is the everything, Hermione. So imagine. Just for a second look at the hypothetical. A dark wizard threatens your family, your friends, and what's worse your values. Pretend for a moment that he even has the gall to call you an idiot. Your pride and everything else you hold dear is on the line, all that stands between them and him is you and your wand. Would you do it Hermione?"
"I'm not an idiot, Tom." She said, swatting his hand away.
He chuckled. "I said it was hypothetical."
She rolled her eyes and tilted her head to the side. "I mean that you don't have to present me with this fictional conundrum. I know what I'd do if the people I love were in danger."
"And?"
Her voice didn't falter. "I'd do anything it took."
"Clever girl. But that isn't always enough. You need someone."
"Someone?"
"Can you think of someone, anyone that you could more fluidly direct your anger towards? It helps immensely in casting I promise you."
Her face told him yes. Her lips told him no.
"Not one person?"
She looked away, brushing back a strand of her hair to play it off. "I don't know maybe…Lockhart, one of our professors in second year. He did some pretty terrible things."
"You don't quite sound angry enough, Hermione darling."
She flinched. "Don't call me darling, and I guess I'm not really. I pity him. He was pitiful."
"Is he a dark wizard?"
"No…Just a liar."
"Ah, therein lies the problem, darling. It has to be someone that you truly hate. Someone who is purely evil in your mind."
"I don't think anyone is purely evil, Tom."
"How sweet."
"I mean it!"
"I suppose you believe in redemption- better yet the power of love?"
Hermione's features turned proud and defiant. "Yes. Yes I do."
He scoffed. "So you're telling me if you were face to face with a dark wizard who had killed countless people you would try to save him with your love?"
"I'm saying that no person is born evil. Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves no matter what they've done." Tom had to stop himself from grimacing at her hypocrisy. Then she continued. "But if I had to choose between my life, or the life of my friends, and a murderer, I wouldn't hesitate."
Tom was silent. Was he a murderer? Did he become one?
Hermione stood and brushed off her skirt before packing away her things. "I think I'm going to go now. I'm tired and I've got to try and get some essays out of the way before I can come here and research tomorrow. Have you had any luck yet?"
"No. Not yet." The words were muted by his inner musings.
"Alright. Well. I'll be off."
"Wait, Hermione."
"Yes?"
"If you could-" The words 'go back in time' died on his tongue. Stupid question. She would see right through it.
"If I could what?"
"Could you come with me to find Helena at the weekend, instead?"
"Already? You mean you know where she might be?"
"Yes, sorry, I meant to tell you, I was distracted. I'll make the appropriate preparations to make sure you can pass through the grounds safely and let you know the plan tomorrow but if you could I'd appreciate your expertise… And, if we do find her, it would be unfair to get the glory alone."
She bit her lip again as she considered it. "I'll sleep on it."
Hermione did not sleep on it.
Sleep had in fact become entirely elusive to her. Or rather, she no longer sought it so swiftly.
The remnants of the dream weighed heavily enough on her during the day, and during every interaction with Tom, the thought of them returning with full force in her dreams was unthinkable, repulsive. To see that monster again, or to see her friends behaving in such a vile manner. It made her stomach turn. Never again. She wondered sadly if that was how Harry felt when he had his nightmares. Of course his were probably worse, he saw Voldemort after all.
Besides, she couldn't let her unconscious mind make such a lofty decision; she needed to plan, prepare, practice. If she didn't go with him he might get suspicious, he might hide something he learnt from Helena just as she had, and he most certainly wouldn't let her live it down if he thought he had singlehandedly found her first. If she went she could allay his suspicions, she could get another key to the great puzzle of Helena Ravenclaw and the lost diadem, she could learn more about Tom's world, his time, and she could see how he acted around others.
The only problem was that if she went she would be a stranger to everyone, and who knew what the passage of time would be like on the other side, and what if Tom was simply trying to trap her, and what if someone realised that she was from the future?
But she had to learn more, about Helena and Tom, about the riddles they had each given her: where to find the diadem and why to find the diadem.
More importantly than all of that, however, she recalled Helena's words.
"It is coming back to me now."
"Maybe you made him the way he is."
"Time is not binding."
Helena had recognised her.
No matter what course she took now, she had a feeling it had been trodden before.
A/N: I'm back…
Sorry it has been forever since the last update but hey, quarantine gave me more time to actually write and develop things. Hopefully, my writing style will still please you guys and the story hasn't been lost too much in these updates. You may even get some more updates soon, but I shouldn't make any promises…
~Mercy
