AN: HUGE thank you to you all, my sexilicious readers! I'm sorry about the prolonged wait, but it's freezing here in NY and I have no car - so trips to the library for Wifi ain't no walk in the park. First off, I have to say Ryn Thailoween's "deathstick" comment is ultimate hilariousness, hands down. I am now scheduling a Deathstick Appreciation Day. For those whom it may concern, Professor Chanté is back! All your speculations about him are...close (and sometimes a little *ahem* PG13). I don't want to give any spoilers, but a few questions pertaining to our Belgian blondie will be answered this update. Also, don't forget about the black cat and essences! They're seen sparingly in the next few chapters, but still très importante. ;)
In Potions Slughorn assigned the task of completing an Angel Trumpet Draught by the end of class and left the students to work, strolling around the room to observe and make helpful remarks. The top students had finished within fifteen minutes, leaving Hermione Granger to get to work on the upcoming Transfiguration essay and Tom Riddle bored. She started when she felt a hand on her knee.
His hand, of course.
"Is there something you need?" she said tartly, although other than the slight shifting of her lips she didn't seem to move at all. The rest of the class was oblivious to Tom Riddle's wandering hands. Her magic, however, roused to life instantly.
"No, I was just thinking-" She jumped a little when his hand hiked up her thigh, sending him a fierce glare. He looked at her through his long lashes innocently. "-about last night."
At the mention of her drunk episode, Hermione yanked away her leg and turned back to her paper, hiding her flushed face behind her hair. She remembered all too well the events of last night, including the partying, knocking Elphy unconscious – who was so drunk she thought Hermione was Meredith Smith – and…the hand job. And the stripping.
She cleared her throat. "What about it?"
He laughed softly and his hand was on her leg again, gliding up even farther, to the very top of her stocking before she could shake him off. She squeaked, glancing at Slughorn hastily. "I thought you deserved compensation," he said, mouth warm and ticklish as a feather against her ear, "for your efforts."
"A-aren't we going to research tonight?"
He sighed, rustling strands of her hair and sending the scent of mint toothpaste spinning up her nose. She restrained herself from moving a bit closer to that enticing smell. "Research? The essences aren't going anywhere, darling," he said reasonably. "There's always tomorrow."
Well, she supposed to him they did have all the time in the world, especially since he planned on being immortal. At this thought, Hermione was startled the reminder that he was making terrible schemes and would one day become Lord Voldemort – if she failed – did not repulse her, but in fact, it hardly fazed her. Then again, the task had been revised. She had to remind herself she didn't know Tom Riddle as well as she thought she did.
She frowned.
Tom, taking this as an admission of defeat, flashed her a dazzling grin and withdrew when Slughorn came toward them, although his hand stayed where it was – like he was reminding her of his presence. Or staking a claim.
"Another perfect potion from my top students," the Potions Master chortled, giving the Draught a stir and taking a delicate whiff. Unlike the last potion he tested, this one did not smell of ammonia and rotten eggs but of freshly-mowed grass and new pennies. He pulled back. "Very, very impressive. Ten points to each of you. Keep up the good work!" He moved on to the next pair, humming contentedly. He was so glad he hadn't decided to change the seating chart.
The bell rang shrilly and students scrambled to clean their stations, Tom clearing their own with a neat flick of his wand. Hermione followed him out into the hall and found Abraxas and Regulus lounging in the shadowy edges of the corridor as they waited for the Head Boy they so admired. Beside them, Dolohov was making ugly remarks to any Gryffindor who happened to pass by. She forced herself not to comment.
"Gentlemen," Tom greeted, assessing the boys with a brief scope of those cool black eyes. His Head Boy badge gleamed bright gold against his uniform. "You are all staying out of trouble, I hope?"
"Of course, Tom," they answered in eerie unison.
Abraxas snickered. "At least, for the most part," he muttered. He glanced at Hermione inquiringly although he did not ask after her presence. Dolohov gnashed his teeth at a first-year Gryffindor, who screamed and ran the rest of the way down the hall. Regulus rolled his eyes.
"Please refrain from traumatizing eleven-year olds, Antonin," Tom said drily. "Next time, you may just find yourself cleaning toilets in detention with Gregovitch."
A deep rumble in Dolohov's chest, akin to an apology, was the Slytherin's reply.
Hermione was about to leave and Tom looked up, catching her around the waist and ignoring the Slytherin jockeys for a moment. "And where do you think you're going?" he asked, raising a brow.
She squirmed. "I...I have to go to class."
"I know that, Hermione." He leaned closer. "What I want to know is where you get the idea you can go off without a proper goodbye."
"Proper goodbye?" she said, bewildered.
"Of course." Gently, he lifted her chin and gave her a delicate kiss. This kiss was not like the heated lip locks they shared in private, which made her feel like she'd been set on fire and possessed by a particularly enthralling sex demon – but it wasn't any less enticing. His charcoal-black eyes seared into her until her own eyelids flickered shut, giving into sweet sensation.
Over Hermione's head, Tom glanced up and met Regulus Black's shocked gaze, which averted to the floor a second too late at being caught by his Lord. He smirked and pulled away slowly, rubbing his thumb over Hermione's cheek like an afterthought. "That is how you say goodbye," he murmured. "Go to class, darling. I'll see you in Transfiguration."
She nodded wordlessly. His arrogant smile widened and he strode away, barking a command at Regulus to keep up. Hermione looked up to find an entire hall of stunned stares focused solely on her. She cleared her throat awkwardly and left for class.
Herbology passed quickly, for Regulus did not talk much during the period and Augusta had been excused for Quidditch practice. Behind closed doors, however, Regulus Black was disturbed by what he'd witnessed earlier – he had never seen Tom Riddle kiss anyone; despite all the boy's natural charms he seemed to take joy in getting his way through more sadistic means than simple charisma – and admittedly, he didn't want to see Hermione get hurt. He knew Meredith had gotten what was coming to her (although he didn't know why Voldemort required Salazar Slytherin's Locket) but what could he possibly gain from Hermione? Would she be found bleeding to death in a spare classroom, too?
Regulus didn't like the sound of that.
But Voldemort's word was law and he'd be damned if he ever disobeyed him. Hopefully, Hermione wouldn't either. Maybe then, he thought, she wouldn't get hurt too badly, in the end.
When Transfiguration finally came around Hermione was a nervous wreck. Would Dumbledore recognize her as the culprit who murdered Grindelwald? But no, all the tabloids were claiming the Mysterious Cloaked Figure was a wizard, not a woman, and it would take Dumbledore a while until he even considered the killer to be female. For once, Hermione was glad her gender was so discriminated against and underestimated in the 1940s. Still though, it would only be a matter of time until she was found out… The class broke into wild applause when Dumbledore strode in, bringing a gracious smile to the heroic professor's face. Half of the period was spent peppering him with congratulations and questions on his epic battle against Grindelwald and the mystery killer. Dumbledore ended it quickly when the subject broached his former best friend's death, however, and began the lesson by collecting everyone's essays on the Morphus Spell.
Hermione didn't answer any questions today, too filled with conflicting emotions to concentrate very well. Dumbledore had been the one who was supposed to end Grindelwald, not her, and the plan was to then obtain the Elder Wand from him and destroy it. Well, Grindelwald was dead and she had the Elder Wand, but now that she'd decided to take the task into her own hands how was she to accomplish step five? But it is only 1943, she thought reasonably. It's not like I'm running out of time here. In fact, until 1998 rolled around Hermione wasn't going anywhere, nor could she get older since time travel did not affect aging. How could her body grow when, technically, it had yet to be born? And what if the Elder Wand came in handy? Dumbledore had been powerful enough to wield it. Why couldn't she do the same?
She exited class with Hayley Abott, who was in the Dueling Club and had been raving about Dumbledore and Grindelwald's battle for the last sixty minutes. They found a surprise waiting for them outside, however, and in the form of one of the most popular Slytherins at school: Elphy Wictz.
Catching Hermione's eye, the leggy strawberry blonde swayed forward with a preening smile. "Princess, how are you? I just took the most dreadful exam in Charms. Pretty sure I got a Troll on it, in fact, and I-" She broke off abruptly, raising a waxed brow at Hayley. "Miss Abott," she said sweetly. "May we help you?"
"O-oh no, Elphy, it's fine! I was just leaving actually," Hayley reassured, blushing. "Bye Hermione!" With this, she scampered off, slipping into a passing crowd of Ravenclaws. She – and a few of her friends – glanced back twice, giggling.
"What a dolt," Elphy muttered. "Did Dumbledore force you two together for a project or something?"
"Don't be mean," Hermione said admonishingly. "Hayley is nice."
"Abraxas would say the same thing, if she had breasts to fill that lumpy bra with," her friend snickered. Seeing Hermione's look, she grinned and added, "Oh lighten up, I'm just having a bit of fun! Besides, all I ate so far today was two eggs and a cube of blasted cheese. Hunger always makes me more bitchy."
"You may be onto something."
Childishly, Elphy stuck her tongue out and looped their arms together, marching them in the direction of the Great Hall. Students in the corridor curbed the girls as they passed, careful not to bump shoulders or get too close. "So tell me, princess, where did you and Fiddle go off to last night?" the Slytheriness said slyly, glancing at Hermione with a sneaky smirk. "I've been itching to ask you all day, but didn't get the chance since breakfast was so frantic."
"I don't know if we're together," Hermione said uncomfortably. "He did – um – kiss me in the hall earlier though, so I think people will be catching on soon-"
"Holy Hufflepuff - he did what? Hermione, this is groundbreaking news! What if you're the one?"
"The what?"
"You know, the pea to his pod, the butter to his beer – oh forget that one, it wasn't romantic at all – er, the PB to his J-"
"I get it," she interrupted, laughing at her friend's terrible analogies. "I don't think 'the one' exist for Tom though. We're just… well…"
"Being frivolous?"
She blushed. "I guess."
"Well, I won't tell any of the others if you want to keep this a secret," Elphy said, drawing the friendly link of their arms tigheter, as if in confidence. She and Hermione strode past the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and half a dozen males whistled, waving their sweaty jerseys after the girls. Elphy didn't give them a second glance, but Hermione was startled by their attentions and made the mistake of looking back once. A blonde Beater winked at her, gyrating his hips inappropriately.
"Say Elphy," she said, breaking the silence. "Not to be...nosy, but you said something last night that made me wonder. Were you and Meredith…um…ever together?"
The Slytherin froze mid-stride. Hermione skittered to a halt beside her, surprised to find Elphy ashen-faced, green eyes wide with not faux innocence or iciness, but embarrassment. "I said that?" she said at last, faintly.
"Sort of." You called me Mer and asked me to be your sweetheart, that is.
"Hm."
Elphy started to walk again. Hermione matched her strides.
"So? Were you?" she pressed.
Her friend heaved a heavy sigh. "I'll never drink Dippet's wine again," Elphy muttered. Glancing around them suspiciously, she said, "Listen Hermione, Mer and I - we've never been officially 'together.' Kind of like you and Tom, except we were on-and-off and always had to keep it a secret. Not to say that worked out exactly."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean rules were made to be broken and not everyone is a law breaker." She kicked a rolling bottle of potions out of their path. "But no matter, Meredith likes boys more than she ever liked me. Secrecy is no longer a concern."
"Oh." A morose silence fell between them. After a minute, Hermione said, "No offense, but I always assumed you fancied Tom."
"That's my fault." Elphy grinned a little. "I tried to make Meredith jealous quite often. It was kind of a game between us now that I think about it, actually. In fifth year I dated Oliver Bagshot - no idea what I was thinking, honestly; he's so unattractive - but after I dumped him he went out with that Longbottom girl. Anyway, Meredith and I got in a fight over the usual things: plans after school, her parents, etc. But I said some things I probably shouldn't have and to get back at me she hoed off with Bagshot on Valentine's Day! Longbottom was almost as peeved as me."
"How did you make up?"'
"Sex." She sighed. "Really good sex."
"I've never had 'really good sex,'" Hermione confessed. "Is there a trick or something, a...technique?"
"It's all in the partner," Elphy said matter-of-factly, "but don't you worry, Fiddle will fix that - ahem - situation up for you soon enough, princess." Hermione scoffed. "No, really! I bet he secretly likes it rough and everything-"
"So I should get in touch with my dominative side?"
"More like his inner dominator."
They shared a look and burst into laughter. Elphy, at the ludicrousness of it. Hermione, at the ironic truth in her friend's statement. It made her stomach flip with both unease and anticipation.
The girls arrived at the Slytherin section then. Hermione ate a cheese sandwich and Elphy engaged in a heated argument with Abraxas over 'the hideousness of Quidditch couture,' while Dolohov blocked out their bickering with the Daily Prophet. He was currently completing a crossword. Looking further down, Hermione found Meredith sitting in the same spot she'd been in this morning, except now there was a wider gap between her and the other students. Fabia seemed to be trying to make small talk.
Meredith didn't look interested.
"She'll come around eventually," Regulus said suddenly and she looked up to find him watching her too. "She's just in one of her moods again."
So she's acted like this before? "You're sure?" Hermone asked, unsure of this new, quiet Meredith.
"Sure as the sky is blue."
The sky had been looking quite grey these days...
Over Regulus' shoulder, she suddenly saw Tom Riddle striding across the Great Hall. He looked very much like a Renaissance painting come to life with his thick dark hair and chiseled features; he could have even been Mona Lisa's counterpart with those eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere, or a penned Dore illustration of Lucifer minus the demon wings. A smile involuntarily spread across her face as her magic immediately reacted to his presence, sensing and anticipating it. Not for the first time, she wondered what it was that made her feel this way. It hadn't been like this before, had it? Before their magic only connected through touch and even that was only on occasion. Now however, it seemed stronger, or at the very least more sensitive.
Regulus followed Hermione's suddenly sparkling gaze to find Tom Riddle approaching the Slytherins. He nearly jumped out of his skin and quickly turned back around, stuffing his face with mash as fast as humanely possible. Voldemort had never said it explicitly, but Regulus had the feeling the Head Boy didn't like his befriending Hermione Granger. After his last horrific experience with him... he was in no hurry to anger his Lord again.
He shuddered.
Tom took his seat and Elphy met Hermione's gaze, giving her a secret smile to which the witch responded with a roll of her eyes. Her friend looked away, laughing silently.
Hermione's eyes fell on the staff table behind Elphy Wictz. She saw Dumbledore, jauntily conversing with the Charms professor and fingering a glass of port wine. What would she do, she wondered, if he did find out it was her who killed Grindelwald? Did she tell him about time travelling and the task? Would he even believe her? And if he did, would he try to send her back? What if killing Grindelwald didn't help the future, but hurt it? Hurt Dumbledore?
A cool hand found hers under the table, interrupting her thoughts. Hermione looked up to find Tom on the other end of it. He was still speaking to the others with that expression of stony indifference ingrained into his handsome features, not seeming to contain any emotions other than cool reserve and self-reassurance. As always.
The long fingers encircling her wrist tightened.
"Can anyone tell me the name of this-" Professor Chanté held up the caged creature for the class to see with some struggle. "-eighty-five pound bugger?" he gasped.
Hermione's hand immediately shot into the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"It's a kappa, a water deity that eats human organs, drowns people and animals alike, and pulls nasty pranks for fun. That indentation on the top of its' head is a sara, filled with water giving it strength. Kappas are also extremely polite as well as maleficent. They reside in the ponds, lakes and springs of Japan, and sometimes sewage systems," Hermione rattled off. Here, a frown creased her forehead. "But professor, aren't they dangerous?"
"Correct!" he said, beaming at his best student, who was pretty sure it was illegal to remove kappa from their native habitat since they were an endangered species as well. "They're also mischievous, intelligent, and much more lethal than they look – a lot like Mme. Wiber." He winked and the class chuckled. "Now, I want all of you to observe your kappa's behaviors – no, Mr. Dolohov, do not poke them – and record what you see. If they interact with you, don't respond (it'll only make them angry), but write down what they say. It could be important. You'll have a pop quiz on them sometime later this week so take good notes."
He waved his wand and a round of red sparks flew out the tip, spraying the ceiling like frazzled pop rocks. "Allez!"
Everyone immediately scrambled into pairs and although the buzzing class was plenty distracting, Hermione's eyes fell on Meredith Smith in the fray, aloof and still at her desk as students hurried about her like a colony of racing ants swirling around a bare apple core. She looked bored.
Across the room, Minerva McGonagall was heading toward her friend Hermione. Rosy Parkinson suddenly strode by, 'accidentally' knocking her scrolls out of her hands with a large bump of her hip and snickering when the Gryffindor shrieked in outrage. "Better get that clutter off the floor, little lion," she drawled, already sashaying away. "Someone could trip."
"Bloody Slytherins," Minerva spat and hastened to recollect her things, watching through slanted eyes as Rosy Parkinson skipped up to Hermione. Since when were they friends? she thought furiously.
"Hi Hermione! Do you want to partner up?"
Hermione turned around, surprised to find Rosy beaming back at her. "Oh, um, sure," she replied slowly. "Where do you want to sit?"
"Wherever you'd like to."
"OK... How about over here?" she said, leading them to one of the last empty tables in the back. Rosy agreed and trailed after her.
Hermione took the cover off their caged kappa, which passed gas that smelled horribly of bad sushi when they didn't respond to its squeaky death threats. She began to record notes while Rosy gabbed about Christmas break and an upcoming family vacation to Switzerland – or something along those lines anyway.
"Listen, Rosy, that's all really nice," she interjected, after fifteen minutes of the girl's insipid blathering, "but we need to get to work if we're going to finish this in time."
"What? Oh, you should've said that at the beginning!" Rosy laughed tinklingly. "Let's get to it then." Promptly, she took out her quill and parchment, following Hermione's lead and taking careful notes on the kappa.
Hermione wrote blue prune-like skin, webbed feet and hands, large watery eyes, and carapace under characteristics. She had just finished when Rosy suddenly elbowed her in the arm. Hermione blew out an annoyed sigh.
"Yes?" she said shortly.
"You missed it!" Rosy hissed, dismayed. "Professor Chanté was just staring over here for, like, two entire minutes."
She peered at their wrinkly specimen. "Was the kappa doing something strange?"
"Not at all. In fact, I think Charmant Chanté was staring at you."
She dropped her quill in shock, but picked it up as soon as it splattered ink all over her notes. A blush burned her cheeks as she charmed off the stains. "That's ridiculous," she grumbled. "What if he was looking at you, hm?"
"I think I'm going to put that theory to the test." Rosy raised her hand. "Oh professor, can you come help us?" she called, batting her eyelashes and attracting the attention of half the class.
Hermione's head whipped up. "What are you doing?" she yelped, trying to drag Rosy's arm back down - but it was too late.
Professor Chanté looked up from where he was assisting Minerva and Meredith, who had been lumped together as the only partner-less students of the class, and smiled – indeed, charmingly – at the Slytherin witches. "I'll be there in a moment, Miss Parkinson."
"Thank you, professor," Rosy sang, finally lowering her hand.
Hermione cursed the moment she first drew breath.
A minute later Professor Chanté was walking toward them, the blue quill always residing behind his ear twittering merrily, a smudge of ink on his chin. The crouched on the opposite side of their desk, resting his elbows on Hermione's half comfortably. At this, Rosy gave her a pointed look she ignored.
"Hello, ladies. What d'you need?" he said, happy as sunshine.
"Noth-"
"You see, professor, I ate cucumber salad for lunch and since kappa are known for really liking cucumbers I was wondering if I was in danger of being eaten," Rosy said, straight-faced. "I'm quite concerned for my life actually."
The professor looked stunned. "That's an…odd question," he muttered, flicking his quill. His blue eyes glanced over Hermione and his right cheek dimpled in a loose grin. "Et tu, Miss Granger? Did you eat cucumber salad?"
"No, professor."
"Well then, why don't you go to the lavatory and wash your hands, Miss Parkinson? That will wash off whatever remains of the scent and you should be perfectly safe hereafter," he offered.
Having waited for this very suggestion, Rosy jumped to her feet. "Good idea, professor! I'll be right back." She hurried out of the classroom.
"Is she always like that?" Professor Chanté said out of the corner of his mouth, staring after the Slytheriness wonderingly.
"No, thankfully."
He lifted his brows at the poorly concealed temper brewing in Hermione's gaze, ever the observer. "Something wrong, ma chérie?" the professor inquired.
Hermione deliberated over her response. Should she tell him? He seemed genuinely concerned and they were the only ones in the back row, so no one would overhear - especially Tom, who sat all the way in the front. His dark, intense eyes were keen on the kappa, a quill hanging lazily between his fingers as he made a comment to Dolohov. For an instant, she didn't see the rest of the classroom at all – just Tom and his magic, beating like a war drum in time with her slowing heartbeat... Her pupils dilated as it called to her, whispering seductively-
"Hermione?"
"Hm?" She turned at the sound of Professor Chanté's voice and blinked, realizing she was halfway out of her chair. When did she get up? "Did you say something?" she said, slowly sitting down. He had spoken, she knew, but forgot what he said in her…distraction.
"I did." The professor watched her very closely, blue eyes like microscopes and alight with the type of speculation usually paired with an examination of the class's latest subject. She felt like an insect under his scrutiny.
Then, the look was gone.
"I inquired after your outside activities," he said smilingly, moving to his feet. "What are you doing after dinner?"
"After dinner?"
"Yes. Do you have any detentions-" Here, he winked. "-duties, and-or other preoccupations?"
"Possibly. Why?"
"No reason in particular. I thought you might just be able to assist me this evening. You see, I have many papers to grade and I know how very smart you are. Perhaps you could help me correct them...?"
Bemused, Hermione stared at him, eyes averting to his hand when it moved. She strangely thought of a black widow spider dancing toward its prey, about to seal fate with one deadly bite, and tensed slightly when he rested it on her shoulder. "Er, perhaps," she said haltingly. "I'll have to check my schedule though."
He sighed. "Come now, Hermione. Don't you know a pathetic excuse when you see one?" When she didn't answer he chuckled, idly playing with a lock of her hair. "I am curious about you. You see, the moment we first met I knew that you were different. You're not a silly little girl, like Miss Parkinson, are you? You've seen things. You can do things others can't."
Her eyes widened. He knew she was a time traveler!
But no, this was not the case, for the next thing Professor Chanté did was the oddest yet and steered her panicking thoughts in a completely...new direction.
He leaned in close, slowly crossing out an observation on her paper with the quill he always carried and replacing it with a word or two. The hand on her shoulder didn't move. "Beautiful," he said, impressed, "but your measurements of the kappa's girth were off by a centimeter or two. See?"
"Oh yes." She read over his calculations quickly. "I see."
"Also, Hermione, two of your buttons have come undone," he said so casually, he might have been commenting on the weather.
She colored. "Sorry, professor," she said, mortified, and hastily fixed her shirt. That's the last time I take fashion advice from Elphy. "Um, thanks."
"Anytime. Any other questions?"
"No, thank you."
He nodded. "Well, if you reconsider coming tonight I will be here at nine o' clock. I'll leave the door unlocked." With that, he sent her one last friendly smile before taking leave.
Hermione was still red when Rosy Parkinson flounced into her seat.
"Soooo how did it goooo?" she twittered, nearly beside herself with curiosity. "I saw you two cozying it up from the hall, but then some stupid, broad-shoulder Gryffindor got up and blocked the door window."
"If you ever do anything like that again I will hex you into oblivion."
Rosy's face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione. I-I-I thought you liked him, I mean everyone does!"
"Well, I don't!"
The witch seemed on the verge of tears, but Hermione didn't notice. She felt strangely overwhelmed. Upping Grindelwald, being so close to Tom Riddle, having to watch out for Dumbledore – who she should feel able to confide in if worse came to worst, but instead felt too guilty to face because of all the plunders she'd made – and then having Professor Chanté, with his good looks and boyish charm, inviting her to 'correct papers' after school - everything was finally starting to take its toll. The 1940s were getting to her.
"Just don't do it again, alright?" she said waspishly, storming out of the classroom when the bell rang.
The Slytheriness scurried after her.
"Of course, Hermione," Rosy said quickly, panting. "I-Isn't there anything I can do to make up for it?"
Stop talking, Hermione thought but didn't say. She shook her head, now inexplicably agitated as well. Her heart pounded and the scent of cedar and smoke rushed through her senses, dizzying and strong. The earth swiveled on its axis and she stumbled as Rosy's pleading words went in and out of focus for a second.
What the-?
"But I feel horrible about this," Rosy was babbling, "are you sure there isn't anything I can do, anything at all?"
But all her chatter was pointless, for both the Slytherin's voice and the world lost sound when Hermione saw him. An irrational, sweeping relief soared through her at the sight of Tom Marvolo Riddle in the Great Hall. Her magic soared, urging her to get closer to that powerful source of pulsing energy, and she was hardly aware of Rosy struggling to keep up as she all but ran to the Slytherin section.
"Tom!" she called out when her feet didn't carry her fast enough, waving. He slowly turned away from the pudding he'd been spooning and raised a brow at her disheveled state. She stumbled to a stop inches away from him, breathless. Haywire magic and sweat beaded under her clothes. Anxiety multiplied. "Tom."
"Are you alright?" he said, eyeing her.
Was she alright? No, no she didn't think so… Not now, not with him so far away… "Maybe not." She scratched her throat, trying to get rid of the itch covering every inch of her body. "I think I might be getting sick or something." Paranoid, she glanced at the staff table to see if Dumbledore noticed anything, but he wasn't here yet. The knowledge didn't make her feel any better. Didn't soothe the unreachable burn buried deep under her skin, screaming for a salve, a relief, for something.
"Sick how?" Tom pressed, suddenly looking more intent.
"Weak." So, so weak – and she needed something to take it away, to give her her strength back, to fill this gaping hollow…
"We can leave now," he said, bringing her out of her thoughts, "but you can't let on that anything is wrong." He smiled. "We wouldn't want to cause a stir, now would we?"
Hermione nodded, too busy scratching herself to really listen.
He stood, glad only a few seventh-year Slytherins had arrived to dinner thus far, saving him from having to explain their abrupt departure too thoroughly. "Miss Parkinson," he said sharply, catching the dark-haired girl's wide eyes, which enlarged further under his attentions. "I am taking Miss Granger to the hospital wing, I believe she is coming down with a fever. Tell the others we won't be returning."
"Oh! Of course, Tom," Rosy submitted, all too willingly. "I do hope Hermione feels better."
He nodded and walked out of the Great Hall, prompting Hermione to keep up with his long strides by laying a firm hand on her back. It was happening, he realized, forcing back the exulted smile aching to bleed through his self-control. Finally, after all these weeks - the process had at last begun. The doors to the eating hall swung shut behind them, but they weren't alone yet, for the halls were still filled with ambling students and teachers. Thankfully, he didn't see anyone either of them knew.
As they navigated the quieting castle Hermione realized past her discomfort that the route he was leading them down was not correct. What was he doing? "We're not going the right way," she muttered, frowning. "The hospital wing is on the other side."
"I am aware."
"...but we need to go there!"
He laughed, unable to contain the excitement now slicking through his veins like spilled oil any longer, clogging him, festering like an infected wound. "No, darling. Hogwarts' healing staff won't be able to help you." Not anymore.
"What are you talking a-about-?" Her words ended in a groan and her knees buckled, but Tom caught her around the waist before she could slump to the floor. She leaned against him, panting as her stomach rolled sickeningly.
"You are weak, aren't you?" he said thoughtfully. "I didn't think the effects would come on so strong, the first time around."
Effects? Did he poison her? Hermione had no idea, but felt too nauseous to try speaking again – she might throw up instead. With horror, she realized they were utterly alone in the darkened hall and that everyone else was at dinner. No matter where he intended to take her, she was going. No one was here to stop him. She was too weak to resist.
"But I suppose," he continued, adjusting her body so she lay limply in his arms as he resumed their stroll through the castle, "our fate could have been simply written in the stars. Perhaps we are star-crossed?" he taunted, laughing softly at his joke.
They arrived at their destination, which Hermione learned was the Room of Requirement, and went in after he propped her up against a stone pillar and strode up and down the corridor three times. She saw with relief he erected the Book Room, not a torture chamber, but saw no more when the tremors wracking through her body became too strong to be repressed. Magic was building up inside her like hot air, making her feel like a rubber band stretched too far, ready to snap at any moment-
"What's wrong?" Tom asked, sounding impatient and strangely eager. "Tell me exactly."
"Hungry." Hermione's heart hammered against her ribs hard. "Feverish and… it's all out of control, the-" the Founder's magic, she was about to say, but no – this was something different, wasn't it? This had nothing to do with the Founders of Hogwarts. She groaned. "It hurts." Hurts. Yes, it all hurt, and even as she said this a ripple of agony sliced through marrow and bone, through muscle and flesh. Crying out, she grabbed her chest where the burn seared hotter than molten lava, falling. Tom shut his eyes in relish at the sound.
"That's because our magic has begun to link," he said softly. She looked up to find him positively beaming, but the wild happiness didn't look right on his face, somehow not increasing his poetic beauty but deforming it; spinning the fine mask of carved lips and symmetry into something oh so hideous…
"But... but we didn't do anything! At least, I didn't-" Suddenly, disbelief ebbed through crippling pain, and Hermione stilled as the truth hit her. No, not again. The last time she'd been made a fool by Tom Riddle, the last time one of his schemes slipped right past her a Despicable Concoction was turned into Amortentia, Meredith Smith almost died, and she became a murderer.
How much worse this was.
"You didn't," she growled.
He ran his hand over her cheek, reptilian smile growing when her body automatically leaned into his. Her eyes widened and she scrambled back, shaking. No, he couldn't have- she would not allow this to happen-
"Only my touch can calm your magic now," he murmured. "The first night we met here I said I'd teach you how to better your magic and I did just that. Our magic is bound together now, Hermione. It's stronger – and this is only the beginning."
"This isn't the beginning, it's a nightmare! You can't just steal my magic-"
"I'm not stealing it," he scoffed. "I am empowering you; just as you shall empower me."
"How did you do it?" she demanded, although it wasn't the first question that came to my mind. A part of her wanted to say How could you do this to me? It also wanted to cry.
But he'd just laugh at her.
"It wasn't difficult," Tom said, absently twirling his wand. "We already had a connection, Hermione, it just needed…coaxing…and when you willingly touched your magic to mine you sealed us together. It was rather convenient, really, and you only sped up the process when we shared magic a few nights ago."
At last, she understood. So this was why the Founder's magic had seemed so compliant lately? Because it wasn't the Founder's magic at all; it was Tom Riddle's. In fact, she realized that her magic had been more powerful, easier to subjugate, increasingly difficult to restrain ever since the first time they met in the Room of Requirement. And if her and Tom's magic really was bound and stronger, then she must have been subconsciously using it. Dumbledore had said any powerful source of ancient magic could be used for the practices he would teach her and blood tracing back to Salazar Slytherin ran through Voldemort's veins. She didn't need the Founder's magic anymore. She could use his and he hers. Hermione's insides turned to ice at this revelation, because not just their magic was binding – they were too.
Only my touch can calm your magic now.
He was right. Because even though what he did made her hate him, the awful feeling of going into magical combustion overrode that. It wanted to drift away and be replaced by the lovely spark she felt every time his skin brushed hers. Oh, this explained everything! Why she had been so drawn to him lately and why her body now reacted so violently to his. Did this have anything to do with the death omens she was seeing, too? On second thought, however, Hermione doubted their connected magic was to blame for that...
This was why Dumbledore wanted her to stay away from Tom Riddle, wasn't it? He knew he would sense her power and take it from her – or in this case, bind it to himself. Why didn't Dumbledore warn her? And how could Tom do this, without even telling her, without a second thought?
She hadn't even known.
"Don't pretend you don't like this, darling," he said, watching her closely. "I know you have a weakness for Dark magic. Otherwise, the connection would have killed you, as would have that ritual."
"Killed me?" she gasped. "How dare you! And I am not your darling. If I were, you wouldn't have risked my death, because you'd care for me and it would matter to you whether or not I actually lived. Everything you say is a lie, every word, every stupid fake smile, touch... Bloody hell, you got me to give you a hand job!" Raving Ravenclaw, this was too embarrassing for words. How could she be such an idiot? And worse, the ritual would have killed her too? Oh and I bet Dumbledore knew all about this, but conveniently 'forgot' to tell me. He raised Harry knowing he would only evidently have to die if Voldemort were to be defeated; why not goad on another spring pig? Why not risk her life?
She'd never felt so betrayed.
"Stop that. You're overreacting, I had a feeling you would be fine."
"Oh gee, you had 'a feeling!' How reassuring it is to know you have a great sense of intuition."
"Don't push it." He kissed her softly, enjoying her temper. "What does it matter now anyway? You're alive, aren't you?"
"Don't you dare touch me!" she hissed.
He laughed darkly, catching her by the wrists when she tried to punch him, and Hermione winced in his vice-like grip. "I'll touch you as much as I like, darling. Whether or not you think I'm a liar, you belong to me now." And in that incredibly soft yet frightening voice he could flip on like a switch, he growled, "If anyone threatens your safety I will kill them personally…slowly…painfully. So you see? I do care."
His words were psychopathic, but combined with his painfully tight hold on her she couldn't help being drawn in more – magic, body, mind and all.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice gone gentle at her changing expression although his hands fastened on her all the more. She yelped and his eyes darkened with lust. "Do you like the pain?"
She shook her head, eyes watering.
"I do." He bent down and captured her lips, quivering like the wings of a dying butterfly. He pulled her arms behind her back - too far back - and she shrieked, thrashing. "The sound of agony is better than any symphony that filthy muggle Mozart wrote up, don't you think? And I haven't even gotten to try out pain and pleasure together yet. Those little noises coming out your mouth are making me hard already though."
"You're insane."
"Oh, but you haven't even given me a chance," he tsked, hot breath raising goosebumps on her flesh as it hissed over her neck. "Silly girl."
And Tom finally let her go, but only to grab her hair and pull her closer than before, snaking his tongue inside her mouth, making her body sing. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him pull her down onto the couch. A knee slipped between her legs and she moaned as their magic met, the nausea rolling around inside her vanishing with each touch. She grinded against him, trying to appease the hot friction between her thighs, and his hands travelled up her legs, long fingers curling around the top of her stockings and pulling them down ever so slowly. He leaned back, hooded midnight-black eyes taking in every inch of flesh swelling into sight as he peeled off her stockings.
He came back over her and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, lifting her waist and shoving his hardness against her hot center roughly. She cried out and he plunged his tongue between her lips, all but devouring her in one hard kiss. Hermione struggled to undo the buttons on his shirt as he ground into her, running her hands over his bare chest frantically. She needed to feel him, everywhere. She was going to explode if she didn't.
He pulled back, shrugging his shirt off in one graceful lilt of his shoulders, and was on top of her again in the next heartbeat. She scraped her nails down his back, ripping skin, and he hissed, biting her harshly in retaliation. The sting strangely turned her on all the more, even as pained tears and blood pooled. A whimper escaped her and he groaned.
She raised her hips off the couch when he pulled down her underwear and nervousness briefly took the place of steamy arousal when he spread her thighs. She wasn't sure how she felt about Tom seeing her down there. Ron hadn't really looked, he'd just poked around – but then again, they'd been drunk and that broom closet was quite dark… All thoughts of Ronald Weasley flew from her head with one taunting flit of Tom's fingers over her entrance. She gasped and bucked against him automatically, but he pinned her down and covered her mouth with his before she could issue a protest. One finger slowly slid into her entrance and she groaned, twisting his hair tightly when he curled it inside her, making her emit an animal-like pant.
"Kiss me," he ordered and she did, resulting in the gradual adding of two more digits, which stretched and twisted divinely inside her. He watched in fascination the wild responses she made. His thumb swept northward and Hermione cried out when he found her clit, rubbing it firmly. She threw her arm over her face, but he pulled it away and held it over her head so she couldn't hide anything from him. He wanted to see everything.
Tom knew she was close when she started to frantically gasp in a sharp, breathless staccato, arching her back. "Look at me," he said and Hermione's eyes fluttered open in her erotic haze. He kissed her forcefully, shoving his fingers deeper inside her at the same time, and swallowing the sudden, piercing scream she let loose.
"Say my name," he whispered, pushing his fingers in and out of her more steadily now, and gripping the back of her head firmly with his other hand. Her sweaty curls were like ribbons running through his fingers.
Say it.
Her eyes rolled back into her head as his voice resounded through her head and their magic crackled in the air, raising every hair on his body as her toes curled and she clenched oh so tightly around his fingers. His ego leapt.
"T-Tom," she moaned and cried out, but he caught the sound with his lips, rolling his tongue around hers as she climaxed. A minute later, he pulled his fingers out of her wet heat and raised them to his mouth, smirking when she watched like a drunken maenad as he licked them clean. How adorable his darling was.
He lay down, gesturing for her to come too, and she did without complaint. Hermione's weight didn't feel smothering, he was pleased to find, but good on top of his chest. She mumbled his name again as he lazily traced random patterns down her side. It was much better to be here in Tom's arms than grading papers with Professor Chanté in a stuffy classroom, Hermione thought drowsily, as dreams shut her eyes and sleep slowed her breath.
Come to think of it, it was much better to be here with Tom Riddle than anywhere else.
AN: If any of you have any questions about the magical bond or anything else, please feel free to ask in a review! I'd be happy to clear things up before the next chapter (sans spoilers and Abraxas, unless you prefer your men whorish and vagina-inclined).
Oh Abraxas, you horny boy. ;)