AN: The-Tomione-Ho lives, everyone (and has finally gotten to WiFi)! Yay!
Thanks for the reviews and favorites, etc. Y'all are icing on cupcakes. This chapter is quite a leap, so I thought a really fitting quote *scrolling down...* was in order. Happy reading!
"Mary, Mary
To be this young I'm oh so scared
I wanna live, I wanna love
But it's a long hard road, out of hell
I wanna live, I wanna love
But its a long hard road, out of hell.
You never said forever, could ever hurt like this.
You never said forever, could ever hurt like this.
I wanna live, I wanna love
But its a long hard road, out of hell."
- Long Hard Road Out of Hell by Marilyn Manson
The Head Boy room was in pristine condition. The curtains were emerald green, every dresser drawer shut, and there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere - much less a spare pair of socks lying around - and Tom had apparently made his bed when she showered in the Head's bathroom. Even the ink on the walls from last night had been scrubbed away.
She glanced at the door adjoined to the loo, but it remained shut and all she heard was the sound of running water from the other side. Hermione silently crossed the room to his dresser, where the schoolbag he seldom used was. She kept an ear poised for any other sound, willing Tom to take an extra long time as she reached inside his bag.
She didn't find anything too interesting there however, like the diary filled with murder schemes and long passages offering insight into his mind she had been half-expecting and half-hoping to find. It has to be here somewhere, she thought, replacing the used quills and extra parchment. She looked around the room, frowning. Were there any trap doors or secret compartments lying around?
She tested out the floorboards, pushing them with the toe of her shoe experimentally as she went along, but none gave. Contrary to what others would think, Hermione didn't assume Tom hid his valuables under enchantments or wards. He was a halfblood and although he despised it, he had Muggle in him. At the orphanage, he obviously couldn't use his wand and would have to use non-magical means to hide his belongings. Who would guess such a powerful, flourishing wizard as he would store his precious things the Muggle way?
No one except a clever Muggleborn who did the same thing with the Elder Wand, of course.
Hermione checked under the mattress, between cushions on the comfy chair by the window, in his desk, and only found what she was looking for when she reached the bottom of his dresser. She hadn't seen anything inside it and was shutting the last drawer when it suddenly jammed, bumping into something.
Gotcha.
She was careful not to make a sound as she slid the drawer off its tracks and laid it on the carpet. Peering inside, she found a messy pile of items crammed against the wall. Hermione grinned, reaching forward and pulling out a library book.
Her smile fell on seeing the cover. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Quickly, she flipped it open to the story of the three brothers and ice plunged through her as she took in Tom's elegant script scrambled in the margins, along with multiple question marks and arrows. She snapped it shut. How? How could she forget the most important of all books to destroy? And this silly fairytale wouldn't have needed a ritual or anything; she could have thrown it in with the rubbish!
Hermione, you dolt, she thought, mouthing a curse.
She put the fable back. She would just have to make sure the three magical objects never - under any circumstances – got into Tom Riddle's hands…
As she continued to rifle through the little collection of possessions she came across a Muggle newspaper clipping. The photograph was grainy and recently dated, showing a handsome middle-aged man that looked like an older version of… Tom. Tom Riddle Senior.
She frowned. Tom had not killed his father yet, but he had made it clear to her he hated him when she asked – so why did he keep a photo of him behind his dresser? Hermione put the worn paper back carefully, resigning this new information to more of the Dark Lord's mystery.
She took out a diary.
It was small and made of black leather, more of a checkbook than a journal really. She opened it, her magic springing through her veins eagerly at the chance to read some of Tom's thoughts, but right then the shower shut off and she had to cram it back into place. Quickly, she picked up the drawer filled with folded socks and ties and shoved it into the dresser, throwing herself across the room to plop down on the bed and Summon her schoolbag in the next second.
When Tom came out she was brushing her hair.
"You look lovely," he commented, carding his fingers through her curls.
"You've never complimented me before," Hermione said, looking at him sideways. "You must want something."
"I'm hurt. Don't you trust me, darling?"
She snorted and turned around – to find the only thing he had on was a towel around his waist. He grinned at her suggestively, looping his thumb under the hem, and laughed when she whipped around with a shocked gasp, hurling her hands over her eyes.
"I actually want to go to class today," she said firmly, although her resolve wavered when she felt his hands move her hair aside to one shoulder, followed by the pitter-patter of his lips as he kissed his way down the side of her neck. Goosebumps popped over her skin.
"We could tell Slughorn we were working on that extra-credit project," he suggested, pulling her onto his lap, and Hermione gasped when she acutely felt him down there through the thin towel.
"W-what extra-credit?" she said, struggling to keep her eyes open as his tongue slid over her skin. Her head fell back on his shoulder when he nudged it and his nose skimmed down her throat, breathing her in. She sighed.
"Just use that little trick of yours and 'magick' him into believing he assigned us one."
The lust that had been building in Hermione dissipated like smoke. She froze. "How do you know about that?"
"Hm?"
"The...the magick."
"Oh, that," he murmured. "I don't know, Hermione, it's a long story better off postponed. Don't you think?" To emphasize his meaning, one of his hands crept up her thigh.
She pushed it away and got up, spinning around to face him. "Tom, what do you know?" she demanded, her already cranked-up nerves racking even higher when he didn't so much as blink at her words. He simply smiled.
"I know many things," he said, seriously. "For instance, I know for a fact that you have my teeth marks right…" And he pointed at the fourth button down on her blouse. "There." His index finger lowered. "And there, too."
"I'm being serious!"
"So am I."
"Please, Tom, tell me how you-" found out "-know about this."
"You remember the night of Slughorn's soiree, correct?"
She nodded. Of course she remembered. How could she forget? That was the night they first kissed, the night Dumbledore left for Germany without Despicable Concoction running through his veins, the night she found-
"Well, later that night Meredith was brought to the hospital wing. Of course, I was concerned for the poor girl's well-being-" She scoffed. "-so I dropped by," he said smoothly. "It was possible she might be hurt – or know something she shouldn't. I had to go there and see for myself."
"You performed Leglimency," she finished, remembering how he had invaded her mind last night without any warning or hesitation. Part of her was still horrified.
"Yes, and I was surprised to find someone had already tampered with her mind. I thought you'd simply cast a Memory Charm, but when I had a closer look I saw you wake her up and talk to her. You told her she had slipped and fell on a desk. She believed you without question."
She was silent.
"How did you do that?" he asked, eyes glinting with intrigue. "It was almost like the Imperius Curse."
"It is nothing like that," she said, more harshly than she meant to. His brows rose. "I mean, I-I've always been able to do it," she hastened to say. "I don't know why, but it doesn't work on powerful wizards – like you and Dumbledore. I can't explain it."
He stared at her intently and Hermione fidgeted. Did he see through the fib? Through her? Was he trying to read her mind? She enforced her Occlumency walls, just in case, although they'd probably never hold up against another one of his attacks. The bond had made him extremely strong.
A moment later, however, only a smirk came through the stony mask, smug and boyish. "I knew you were different."
Did he know she was a liar, too? She looked away, not understanding why she felt guilty for not telling the truth. Why should she? He lied all the time. Because of it, she was bound to him and wearing Slytherin's Locket around her neck when Meredith Smith was probably suffering dearly for its disappearance.
"I couldn't do that to Slughorn anyway," she said, changing the subject. "Magick him to get out of class, I mean."
"Why not?"
"It's wrong." At his unchanging expression, she added, "Not all of us have the moral standards of Satan."
"You're comparing me to the devil?"
"Not Dante's interpretation. You're more like Milton's version from Paradise Lost," she admitted, nose crinkling in thought."The most beautiful of all angels…the rebel."
"Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven."
"You think so?"
Their gazes met and for an instant a vast sea seemed to stand between them, impossible to cross, to understand.
"I don't know much about you," she suddenly said softly. "I feel like I hardly know you at all."
"You know I'm a halfblood." He sounded bitter.
"Oh, your family history doesn't matter much." He blinked at her and she smiled sheepishly. "Well, to me it doesn't. I meant silly things, like your favorite ice cream flavor or pet peeves."
He stared at her calculatingly. "Does this mean we're skipping Potions?"
"Although it goes against my better judgment, we're skipping."
"I have tainted you." He was obviously satisfied by this fact, and as he leaned back against the comforters Hermione imagined a cigar smoking in his mouth, a monocle over one glinting eye and a top hat donned on his head. He'd make the cover of Witch Weekly's December issue for sure.
She plopped down next to him.
"By the way," he added. "The answer is chocolate and I hate it when people cry. It's exceedingly annoying."
Her face went red. "So last night I irritated you?"
"No." He frowned at her. "Of course not."
She paused, biting back the question forming on her tongue and moving onto the next inquiry quickly. "What about your favorite book?" she threw out.
"Here a question arises: whether it is better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, it is much safer to be feared than loved. …Fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails."
"Machiavelli," she said, surprised. "He's a Muggle writer."
"I am aware."
He didn't elaborate.
Watching him, Hermione got a sudden idea. Perhaps this Q&A was better than a snoop through his diary? Maybe she could even get a glimpse of the man behind so many masks.
"Favorite toy?"
"My favorite toy?"
"Sure, from when you were little," she said casually.
"Oh." He raked his hand through his hair again, upsetting the perfect waves for a moment. He hesitated. "I didn't have any toys," he finally said, watching her closely.
"...Is it because your orphanage was poor?" she asked.
"It still is," he grumbled, scowling at the bed set. "I liked to pull pranks though," he said without meaning to and tensed. How had that happened? He always thought things through before speaking, for that was how you never said anything wrong.
"Pranks like what?" Hermione thought of Fred and George zooming through the hallways, setting off fireworks as Umbridge ran after them shrieking in outrage. She smiled fondly at the memory.
"Not the usual kind. I'm not exactly 'friendly' to the other children."
Oh. "It must be hard to go back there every summer," she said tentatively, "when you can't use any magic for two whole months, or even talk about it."
"It is." He spoke again unintentionally, saying, "No one's ever noticed before."
No one ever cared.
Did she?
"Do you miss her? Your…mother?"
And just like that, Tom's expression closed, as shutters slam shut over a window on a windy day. Cool as ice, he said, "No. How could I possibly miss someone I never knew, Hermione?"
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to pry."
He sighed, studying her. Her button nose was small and dotted by summer freckles only just starting to fade. Her lips, too thin to be pouty, turned in a worried frown. The sharp brown eyes and frizzy hair were familiar to him by now - and the flaws made her all the better. Easier to prey on, to hook.
It was imperative she adored everything about him. He craved that admiration, that approval, and it was all the sweeter when it came from her, like a fix of cocaine to an addict. He could live off that fill. But if she were to truly revere him, then she would have to know everything he had kept secret for so long, wouldn't she? Only then would that insatiable gap eating at his brain go away. Only then would he be fulfilled.
Worship me. Love me. Adore me. Want me. Envy me. Only me, forever. He couldn't stop the thoughts, even as they made him feel worse, hungrier, lonelier, and emptier than ever. She was his, yet he could never truly have her.
And that angered him so very much.
"I'll be going to Arithmancy third period, but we still have about an hour until it starts," Hermione said, glancing at her watch.
"You want to leave?"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course not, Tom. What makes you think that?"
"You seem to be in a hurry to go is all." He smirked a little, but it looked more mechanic than genuine. "Why not stay here with me all day?"
"Because we go to school."
"It's not as if we even need to," he said moodily, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm at the top of our class. You've probably studied the course material over the summer - you're constantly correcting the professors and could write two years worth of lesson plans for them if you didn't spend so much time cooped up in the library."
"No one said it was a crime to read books!"
"Not in this century, lucky for you." He got up and walked over to the dresser, laying out his uniform. Hermione rested on her stomach, crossing her ankles behind her, and watched unabashedly as he dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of boxers. He scraped a hand back through his dark hair. "You're staring."
"As long as you're putting on a show I may as well watch," she replied cheekily. Not practiced enough to hold back, her magic immediately stretched out toward his. Of course, it wasn't visible, but she could feel it intertwining with his and whispering lust like a lover. She blushed when he turned toward her, shirt on but trousers unzipped. His brows were raised expectantly.
Blast.
"Did you need something?" he asked with a lazy smirk, just to torment her.
"Well, not necessarily," Hermione stumbled. "I mean, you didn't have to stop getting dressed or anything."
"Because you were 'enjoying the show,' correct?" He came toward her, like a jaguar stalking his prey, and she inched backward until her elbows hit the headboard. "I don't know, Hermione, you seem to be very…needy…right now and I'm inclined to help you out." He gazed at her from under those long eyelashes, archangel beauty in full effect. She glared back.
"Oh really. And why the sudden act of chivalry, huh?"
"I always take good care of what is mine," he said. "Won't you let me take care of you?"
At this, she stared at him, and he brought his lips to the juncture of her jaw. Sucked on the skin there. Scraped his teeth gently. She wasn't sure how she felt about his words though. On one hand, she was extremely aroused, but on the other…
"Where are you?" he said, frustrated when she didn't respond to his ministrations. He scowled. "Still thinking about Arithmancy?"
"No, I'm just…distracted."
"I'd rather be the distraction if you don't mind."
She snorted, pulling away. "Should I rearrange the entire universe so you're at the center of it?"
"Not the entire universe," he disagreed. "Just yours."
"Your arrogance is repulsive." She rolled them over, landing on top. He rested his hands on her hips, glad her attention was finally where it should've been all along. "Besides, if I do that my universe will explode, unable to contain your giant ego," she countered.
"I promise it'd be well worth it," he said suggestively and snickered when she thwacked him over the head with a pillow.
"Stop being so lewd."
"You're the one who sent horny waves of magic at me-"
"That's not fair. You know I can't control it!"
"Hormonal Hermione," he said, tasting the name. "It has a certain ring to it."
"So does Peeping Tom," she retorted.
He glared at her.
"Aw. Shall I kiss your wounded pride better?"
Pleasure spread across his face at the mention of kissing. "If you insist, do feel free to put your lips anywhere on me."
"Pig."
He scoffed. She checked her watch and frowned. They only had eleven minutes left. Her body rebelled against the thought of leaving him, even if they were just lazing around. Actually, she was surprised he was lazing at all. Wasn't he usually a workaholic, like her?
Suddenly, Tom's hand appeared on the clock face and she watched, shell-shocked, as the glass melted like shiny butter under his fingertips. She gaped at him. "Why did you do that?" And how did he learn how to do that? She'd never seen any magic like that before.
"For someone who says they're not eager to leave, you sure do check the time often," he replied. "So I got rid of your watch to save both of us the trouble."
"You can't just melt my wa-"
His mouth snagged hers, eating up the rest of her protest, and she beat his chest angrily. "You can't make shut up either," she exclaimed into his lips, although the falsity of that statement was increasing by the second.
He held the back of her head and tilted it to his liking, making her gasp when he pinched her hip. He plunged his tongue inside her open mouth aggressively, wiping away the rest of her thoughts with a cruel, harsh kiss. His bite was mean when he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and she cried out, which only drove him to kiss her more deeply than before. He could feel her heart pounding against him and growled, licking the wound he'd made until it stung.
He pulled back, panting, and Hermione fingered her mouth with a little frown. "That hurt."
"But it could have hurt more." And he was already sorely tempted to do worse to her. "Thus, I sort of did you a favor by going so easy on you," he said, smirking.
"Like I said, your arrogance repulses me."
"I read the book," he said and she blinked, surprised. "Did it say anything about the essences?" she demanded.
"It had everything on the subject." At her excited smile, he said, "I'll tell you more about it later, when we leave the castle tonight."
Hermione frowned."Where are we going?"
"The Forbidden Forest."
"Really? But I thought you-"
"I changed my mind." He plucked a kiss on her mouth. "Just trust me, darling. I'll tell you everything later."
She nodded, but deep inside a prickle of doubt touched her subconcious. Would he tell her everything? Or was this another lie, a trick? But why would he trick her? They were on the same side now, or so he thought.
Didn't he?
Hermoione was on the way to DADA, nervously wondering what state she would find Professor Chanté in when an envelope suddenly zoomed across the hall at the speed of a bullet - and headed straight for her.
"OUCH!" she cried, throwing her arms over her head in a futile attempt to ward off paper cuts. "Gah, cut it out-"
Beside her, Rosy plucked the hostile mail from the air. "Oh, I got one of these third period," she said, unimpressed, and tapped the cover with her wand. A letter immediately rolled out and unfolded mid-air, smoothing its creases before floating up to them. "It's Slughorn's invitation. There's going to be a Slug Club meeting tomorrow night."
She glanced over the contents of the letter. The meeting was an ice cream social at seven-thirty in the Potions room. For ladies, dresses were encouraged but not required.
"What are you going to wear?" Rosy said when they entered the classroom. The supplies closet door was open and Hermione supposed Professor Chanté was inside it. A shiver trembled down her spine as nerves got the best of her.
"I don't know," she said distractedly. "This, I suppose."
Rosy's mouth bobbed open and shut, reminding Hermione of a hungry guppy for a moment. "W-what? That's it?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Er, nothing, nothing. In fact, it'd be kind of cool to ignore the dress code, like a… a statement or something." Rosy smiled enthusiastically. "I'll tell Elphy and Fabia."
"If you want to. What about Meredith?" She looked across the room at the girl in question, who still hadn't come out of her funk and was staring at the blackboard blankly. A twinge of uncertainty pricked her. What if-?
"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Rosy whispered. "You remember what Elphy said, don't you? She may not inherit any of the Smith fortune and everyone knows she isn't a virgin." Her voice lowered to a surreptitious hiss. "If her family doesn't cut her loose they'll have a hard time marrying her off. No rich gent is going to want used goods, now is he?"
Hermione stared at Rosy, shocked by the girl's merciless rant, but before she could reply Professor Chanté suddenly strode in. Her breath halted halfway up her chest at the sight of him and she whipped around, jetting to a table in the very back. Rosy cast the professor a bewildered glance before following.
"Um, what was that about?" she said.
"It's nothing," Hermione said, too quickly. "I'm just looking forward to the lesson is all."
"Oh, you're such a bookworm," Rosy giggled. "It's no wonder you're his fa-"
"Excuse me, ladies."
The girls looked up to see Tom Riddle standing before them, a charming smile further enhancing his aristocratic visage. Rosy blinked. "I don't mean to interrupt," he said, "but Antonin has just told me he would very much like to sit with you this period, Miss Parkinson. He was too shy to tell you himself, however," he said in a lower tone, winking.
Rosy swooned a little, smiling loopily. "Really?" She glanced at Hermione. "Oh, I mean, I don't know. I couldn't leave Hermione-"
"Of course not, I wouldn't dream of leaving Miss Granger on her own this period." Tom met Hermione's questioning gaze with a smile and she squinted at him. What was he up to? "But I'd be more than happy to be her partner," he offered.
Catching the look exchanged between the two, Rosy nodded slowly. Oooh, she understood perfectly. Just wait until she told the others Tom Riddle fancied Hermione! She struggled to rein in a squeal.
"Excellent! You're always thinking, Tom," she said with more zeal, bouncing to her feet. "I'll sit with Antonin and you two can…ah, work."
Tom moved to take the seat she had vacated and when his back was turned Rosy flipped two thumbs-up at Hermione before spinning on her heel and flouncing to the other side of the room, where Antonin was glaring quite petulantly at his homework for Transfiguration.
Hermione grinned. "So Mr. Riddle, what brought on Antonin's sudden affections for Miss Parkinson, hm?"
"He couldn't stifle his burning passion for her anymore, I suppose." He lifted his shoulders in a graceful shrug. "Who am I to stand in the way of true love?"
"My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making. You do it very ill."
He smirked. "I never said I was Cupid."
She waved him off, but he caught her hand before she could pick up a quill, brushing his mouth across the knuckles and bringing a simmering edge to her magic. She swallowed. "But maybe that bit with Parkinson was just a ploy to get close enough to keep an eye on you," he murmured.
"Why, Mr. Riddle, I had no idea how very charming you could be," she said drily.
"This flattery gets you nowhere."
"Shame." She dropped her hand to his leg and idly danced it upward, giving him her best Elphy-Wictz-eyelash-flutter. "Will this?"
"Probably. However-" He caught her wrist, firmly pushing it away. "-it'll have to wait for later."
She rolled her eyes.
The bell rang and a minute later, Professor Chanté looked up from his desk. Hermione noted with surprise that there were bags under his blue eyes and he didn't start the lesson in his usual, flamboyant way, but simply told everyone to read the chapter on boggarts and practice the counter spell Riddikulus for homework. The students exchanged worried glances. He'd never told them to use their textbooks before. What was wrong with him?
Tom's magic shifted into a perilous, foreboding energy as the professor's exhausted gaze landed on Hermione. In turn, she ducked behind her book, and the pages flipped to the correct chapter at a crook of her finger. Her heart beat faster as rage rushed through the young man beside her like a freight train – on the outside though, the Head Boy didn't seem to so much as bat an eye.
"Don't do anything rash, Tom," she warned.
"I don't know what you mean, darling," he said quietly, dangerous as a summer storm swelling on the horizon. "Do you think I would kill him? That I would torture him for hours on end until he regretted the very second his dirty mother conceived him-?"
"Tom."
"-or resort to Muggle means and beat him to a senseless pulp? All I need is a knife really-"
"Stop it."
"Why?" He turned to her, eyes searching. "Don't you want that git to pay for what he's done?"
"Please don't talk like that," she whispered, the plea almost lost under the sound of turning pages and quiet chatter. "What if you got caught?"
"That would never happen. Dippet is much too stupid."
"Well, what about Dumbledore? He could catch you and you would be expelled, if not sent to Azkaban-"
"Quit worrying about me, Hermione," he snapped. "I can handle it."
"Right." She dropped her eyes to the textbook to hide the hurt in them. "Sorry."
"Mr. Riddle, is there an explanation as to why you're talking to Miss Granger instead of reading with the rest of the class?"
Hermione's head whipped up at the sound of Professor Chanté's voice. He was right in front of their desk, slanted blue eyes glaring at her and voice low enough that the rest of the class did not overhear. "Well?" he demanded.
"Um, we were-"
"Hermione and I have already finished the reading actually, professor," Tom interrupted, weaving his fingers through hers on top of the desk. Professor Chanté's eyes latched onto their intertwined hands. "We were just discussing it."
"I see," the professor replied. His mouth twisted like he'd bit something tart. "Must be some interesting…conversation…you two were having."
"What are you implying, professor?" Tom inquired, smiling cherubically when Professor Chanté shot him a suspicious glower.
"Rien. Nothing at all," he said. "Get back to work, you two, or it will be detention next time." He gave Hermione a somewhat stiff smile and returned to his desk at the front of the room, ignoring Minerva McGonagall's beady gaze. The Gryffindor frowned.
And Hermione realized Professor Chanté might be too dangerous to let slip by any longer.
She entered the girl's dormitory to find everyone asleep. Tip-toeing past the beds to her trunk, Hermione pulled on a heavy cloak. Tom had said they would be going to the Forbidden Forest tonight, although what exactly they were going to do there she didn't know. It was this ignorance which scared her. However, if going out there meant getting rid of the essences...
Then she was game.
She sat in the common room, watching orange sparks spew out of the fireplace while Gregovitch finished his patrol of the underground. Soft footsteps issued from behind her and her hand automatically inched toward the wand in her pocket, although she didn't turn around. It wasn't Tom – she would have sensed him – and students were not supposed to be out of bed at this hour.
"Hermione."
Spinning around, she pointed her wand dead between Professor Chanté's surprised eyes. Her own were unforgiving. "How did you get in here?"
"I need to talk to you," he said, eyeing the vinewood stick warily. "I was out of line yesterday, I understand that-"
"Out of line?" A terrible combination of fear and anger made her throat choke, squeeze and clamp down on the venomous words she spat next, "Th-that's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"
"Well, how can you be with that stupid schoolboy?" he retorted. "Really, Tom Riddle?"
"Tom is by no means stupid," she hissed. "You're the idiot who can't seem to take a hint. How dare you assault me like that-"
"I did no such thing, Hermione." The flickering firelight fell over his face as he stepped toward her, spinning the usually handsome features into wild splashes of shadow and bruises. Hermione gasped, taken off guard by the professor's horrific state. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, lip split and covered with dried blood. He seemed to be limping.
"What happened to you?" she breathed.
"Oh, you don't know?" The professor laughed bitterly. "You did."
Hermione stared at him, bewildered.
"When you threw me across the room I didn't wake up until twelve o'clock today. I cast some spells to hide the aftermath for class." He grimaced. "However, the pain remains."
"It'd better."
"Please, Hermione," he said, voice falsely gentle and apologetic when his sapphire eyes emanated malevolence. "Give me one more chance. Come with me tonight. I got you something, a bracelet-"
"You're disgusting." She inched back when he advanced another step toward her. "I'm warning you, don't come any closer-" Again, he didn't listen to her words and his foot had just begun to rise off the ground when she shouted, "Flipendo!"
Professor Chanté crashed into one of the leather couches and she raced out of the room, his enraged yell ratcheting off the common room walls like a banshee scream. "You bitch, get back here!"
She sprinted down the hall and had just rounded a corner when her magic abruptly went on overdrive and she slammed into a body, knocking them both to the floor with a loud bang!
"Ouch!" She looked up to see Tom glaring at her as he righted his robes. "What the bloody hell are you running around for-?"
"No time to explain, we've gotta go," she interrupted breathlessly. She cast an anxious glance down the hall she'd just come from, getting to her feet. "I saw Professor Chanté down there and he's headed this way-"
Tom's eyes instantly darkened. "He tried to get you alone again, didn't he?"
"No, I-I just got a glimpse of him," she lied, "but we need to get moving. If he sees us it will be days until we can get to the Forbidden Forest again."
She waited anxiously for his response, bouncing on her feet as he considered this. Then he finally sighed, annoyed. "Alright, let's go."
She speedily cast Disillusionment Charms over both of them and took his hand. They weaved through the halls soundlessly, although inside her heart was still pounding from the run-in with Professor Chanté. She by no means desired to know what it was he wanted to 'show her.' It couldn't be anything half as harmless as some bracelet, that was for sure.
All doors were locked at this time of night, for ever since the essences arrived heavier wards had been placed on Hogwarts exits; wards that could not be broken without alerting the entire school and possibly Aurors. They stopped outside of the door that led to a trail going directly into the Forbidden Forest, where the black cat had disappeared to a few days ago.
"What now?" she asked.
"You'll have to get us out there," Tom said, his voice floating out of the darkness right beside her and startling a nearby portrait. "Do what you did last time."
"But I didn't do anything. It was that death omen who brought me outside, I just followed it."
"You said the books you destroyed were on Dark spells, correct? So according to the book the essences you released have those qualities and would actually improve your spell-casting skills in the Dark Arts – or make you see death omens. That is, if you accepted them."
"Accepted what? The essences?"
"Precisely."
Her heart skipped a beat when she realized what exactly Tom had brought her out here for. "No. I-I-I won't. I can't go in there again, Tom," she said firmly and her sweaty hand trembled in his. "Please don't make me."
"You have to," he said harshly, dragging her closer to the door. "Do you want to see anyone else die? What if it's a student next time? If anyone else goes it is on you, Hermione, it's your fault. Do you want to live with that?"
No, she didn't. And she didn't want to hurt anyone else either. Hermione swallowed, knowing what Tom said was true and feeling all the more guilty for it. How many more people would have to get hurt before she owned up to her mistakes?
"How do you even know about any of this?" she whispered.
"The book from Dippet's office," he said. "Depending on what exactly the releaser of the essences let loose – in this case, you – becomes affected by them."
"Affected how?"
"They'll make you stronger." He lifted their Disillusionment Charms and she stared up at him, half-visible in the torchlight. His eyelashes threw long, spiky shadows down marble cheekbones, transforming him from a schoolboy into a phantom of the night or some sort of ghost prince. His beauty was not cookie-cutter, but haunting. He caressed her cheek. "Whatever those essences hold will be yours," he murmured. "They want to give all that power to you."
To me.
She bit her lip. The trouble was, she hadn't simply burned some books on Dark Arts spells at all, but serious tomes on Horcruxes and necromancy. Terror seized her at the thought of what those essences really contained and what that might mean. They'd already killed in their anxiety to get to her and she still remembered what happened the last time she entered the Forbidden Forest, how they tried to capture and devour her – or so she'd thought. He said this explained why she had been seeing death omens, but what if there was more? Did it tell why she now recognized every aspect of Dark magic down to the very rustic scent and why it did not revolt her, but attracted her?
Even his darkness drew her in, from the chilling allure to the cruelty programmed into his very being that she both abhorred and admired in its ruthlessness. Had the cat led her to the Forbidden Forest with the intent of uniting her with the essences? What would a Horcrux essence do? Tear her soul apart? Enable her to rip out others?
And what of necromancy? Regulus had told her his parents once met a necromancer in Africa, who suffered from severe hallucinations and saw visions of death every other minute. She did not want to be like that. Hermione Granger had too much to offer to become a washed-up, raving patient in St. Mungo's.
But there was still some shred of Gryffindor deep inside, and it would not let anyone else die for her.
"You'll come with me, right?"
"Of course I will." Tom hid his pleasure at her admission, taking one of Hermione's hands and smiling down at the witch softly. "I'll always be with you, darling."
She was surprised by how much better his words made her feel. If Tom Riddle thought she could do this there had to be a very little chance of her failing, didn't there? She steeled herself. So the last time I walked straight through a door what was I thinking of? Well, that was easy. She hadn't been thinking of anything at all, she was just following that bloody cat. And it hit her.
The cat.
"Cat?" she whispered, searching the dim hall for any signs of a swishing tail, but saw none. She took a deep breath. Maybe it would respond to a command? "Cat, come."
Just like that, a black cat materialized feet away from them. Runes circled his head and the tip of his tail sported a chunk of pink skin where fur should have been. "Do you see it?" she said excitedly, pointing. "The cat?"
Beside her, Tom squinted into the dark, and a dissatisfied frown curled his lip. "No. I see…nothing."
"Oh." Perhaps magical bonds had nothing to do with essences? she thought. But there was no time to dwell on it now; she'd have to reconsider this tidbit of information later.
"Cat," she said, refocusing on the expectant death omen. "Take us to the Forbidden Forest."
The black cat dipped its head in the feline-version of a nod and hopped up, waxy green eyes glinting like coins in the dark just before he spun in place and sprang through the large oak doors. Hermione tightened her hold on Tom and followed suit, praying he wouldn't get stuck on the other side.
They both surfaced.
"Are you alright?" she asked, checking him over. "You're not Splinched or anything?"
"I'm fine," he said. He was amused by her fussing. "No missing body parts, see?"
She smiled, but a scratching on her leg distracted her. She looked down to see the black cat swatting his paws at her, claws catching in the frays of her stockings. When he saw he had gained her attention he paced back and started down the trail, obviously intending for them to follow.
"Is it there on the path?" Tom asked.
"Yes." Nerves made her grip his hand harder. "He's headed to the forest."
"Then lead the way, Hermione."
He stayed a step behind her as they went after the cat, which increased speed and became more agitated the closer they got to the Forbidden Forest. When they were about twenty feet away, it froze in place, scuffed ears twitching anxiously and meowing at the smoky essences overhead.
Thunder rumbled in their entrenching depths. Hermione, Tom, and the cat hurried into the shadows when the silhouette of a professor passed through a window in the castle and paused. Judging by the curly outline of hair, it was Dumbledore.
"He can't make us out from here," she said, more to reassure Tom than herself, who was rigid beside her. "We're too far away."
"Of course." But he didn't look convinced.
With an abrupt yowl, the black cat suddenly went berserk, his scarce fur puffing out as he hissed at something neither of them could see. "What is it?" Hermione asked, but the cat paid her no mind, bulleting into the forest on surprisingly agile legs as if something very large ran after it.
"What happened?" Tom said.
"I don't know. The cat just left, it freaked out and ran into the forest." She paused. "You don't think someone...?"
Their gazes met. Hermione's eyes were full of worry; his, apprehension.
"We should hurry," he said in response and promptly started down the hill going into the forest. She followed suit, glancing around the grounds of Hogwarts nervously.
It was very dark out tonight.
When Tom and Hermione entered the forest they froze, for it was as if someone had suddenly pulled film over their eyes. Everything lay lost in grey fumes, the howling winds seemed more distant, and the very air smelled of char and blood. Such a heavy perfume would have made any other wizard's stomach churn.
"It's Dark magic," Tom said, knowing the scent as well as he knew his own wretched name. He inhaled deeply. "Do you remember where the ritual site is?"
"I think so." She took a deep breath, too, but that turned out to be a bad idea as the scent of Dark magic intensified and made her go dizzy, as if she'd taken a large whiff of incense. Her magic spiked, triggering Tom's in turn, and she was…suddenly...so...consumed…
Then his mouth was on her ear, whispering. "Take me there, darling."
There?
She knew exactly where there was.
She took his hand and diverted off the dirt path to the right, knowing the way to the ritual site although she had not been there in months. Although she hardly felt the ground under her. "What am I supposed to do once we get there?" she murmured throatily. Lust hung in these shadow clouds. Strangely, she wanted to take off all of his clothes and feel him inside her, thrusting and filling her slowly; she wanted him to take her everywhere, to hurt her bad-
"You won't have to do anything," he said, snapping her out of it. "The essences will automatically come to you. They need a host, a place to go to since they were not disposed of properly, and to them you are their owner. All you have to do is let them in."
Let them in. They stopped steps away from the clearing, which was barren of all life and flat as a paved road. "Will it hurt?" she asked.
"Yes, but it's worth it." He rubbed his thumb over her cheek when her gaze went wide with fear. Dark magic still hung over his eyes in a glossy veil, growling through his veins, clouding the senses. "Do this for me, darling. I know you're strong enough." He pushed her toward the lifeless clearing. "I'll wait here."
Hermione was petrified, but she couldn't turn back now, could she? Creatures would die, possibly students, and Tom said she could handle it. She straightened, calling on every ounce of bravery she had as she entered the circle, pitch-black with essences and so dark not even the moonlight could perturb it. She shut her eyes, although her terror got worse the deeper in she got. She could feel Tom's magic no longer, nor her own.
There were only the essences.
Sweeping around her in hissy winds, lifting locks of her hair as they slowly recognized her. A cloudy vortex formed and they circled her, just as a sleepy tiger paces her bedding ground. She concentrated on Tom's words when fear struck her heart: let them in.
But how?
Like the first drag of a cigarette, a burn hot and bitter scraped her lungs. Essences were slithering down her throat, giving her no chance to catch her breath, smashing down on her body, now instinctively shifting into panic-mode although she struggled to recollect herself through the blinding fear hashing in from all directions. The essences wrapped around her in a choking cocoon and Hermione forgot she wasn't breathing, forgot the name Tom Riddle, forgot her friends and family, forgot humanity, forgot where her eyes were and whether they were still lodged in her sockets. She forgot it all until there was nothing.
Nothing.
The essences swelling above the Forbidden Forest in a vast thunderhead ever so slowly drained, trickling in inch by excruciating inch. Blood oozed through Hermione's veins at a lazy rate and her heart beat a sluggish rhythm against her ribs – glug glug, glug glug – thousands of needles pricking her skin – glug, glug – pressure from everywhere, body engorged – glug.
Behind sewn eyelids visions of a strangled centaur, blank-eyed Grindelwald, and Meredith's spilled blood swishing around her shoes plagued her, although she felt no emotion other than pain now. The older Dumbledore, sitting on a bench in King's Cross, would not look at her.
A figure in a black hood reached out a skeletal hand to three brothers, passing one a wand, the second a stone, and the last a cloak. Then Death turned to her with a greedy grin that became a glower when his endless pits saw the runes of eternity inscribed on her wrists, evaporating into heavy plumes of smoke that blinded her.
Whispers of the will-o'-the-wisps fluttered through Hermione's ears, speaking a language she at once did and did not understand, like bones rattling in a jar, or knives scraping ice…
The Forbidden Forest was clear again. The air purer, the woods white and frosted in a delicate coat of ice. She felt Tom's hand enclose her frigid one and he lifted her into his lap, sweeping the hair out of her face. Her head flopped lifelessly over the edge of his arm.
"Hermione?"
He propped her head up, long fingers probing underneath her jaw. She could sense his magic again and felt it whirl frantically through the air as he hastily shoved open her robes next, pressing his ear against her breast. A quiet intake of breath.
"Darling," he said. "Darling, wake up, it's over now." When she didn't respond he shook her violently and her head snapped back with a loud crack, neck tickling under the glare of a gaze she did not feel.
"Wake up, damn you," he snarled and his magic abruptly rocketed through her, searching every single fiber of her body for its counterpart only to rattle hollowly against bones. And what of waking up? She hadn't been aware she was even sleeping. Wake up. But how could she? Hermione tried to make her limbs move, tried to prove she was not dead, but her body just wouldn't listen to her.
His lips on her cold ones.
And she saw it. Runes. Runes in the book, Necromancy, An Art Moste Tricky. Runes on the cat's head. Runes on her wrists. She had died, but she could bring herself back, for that was what necromancy was – the rising of the dead. Quickly, Hermione put what she had learned in Ancient Runes to use and decoded the symbols that the essences had imprinted on her, now running through her mind as if they'd been there all along, just waiting for her to notice them…
Relinquo mihi. Ex cineribus resurgam.
"Get away from her," a voice shouted.
The haywire magic frenzying around the clearing froze, as did Tom Riddle. He didn't look up as Lucas Chanté emerged from the chaotic tangle of dead vegetation, looking worse than ever with twigs caught in his wild hair and a black eye. His wand was leveled, entire body shaking so hard with fury it'd be a miracle if he could hex a mountain and not miss.
"You heard me, Mr. Riddle," the professor sneered. "I said get up!"
Slowly, Tom set Hermione's corpse-still body on the snowy ground, and goosebumps broke over her skin at the violent cold. She felt his long fingers hesitate on her cheek before he got to his feet, robes rustling in the breeze.
"You followed us, Lucas?"
"I did. I saw you and Miss Granger headed this way through the window. I wanted to make sure no one got hurt."
"You should have looked elsewhere if you didn't want violence," Tom replied, raising his wand so fluidly he might have been a conductor about to begin a stunning performance. His voice was soft. "I'm quite in the mood for some bloodshed."
Professor Chanté laughed. Loudly.
"Well then, why don't we put what you've learned in the classroom to the test, Mr. Riddle? I'm sure a few Reductos will put me in my place."
Tom's answering smile was angelic. "Of course."
Professor Chanté was a little disturbed by the boy's lack of emotion, but did not show it as they bowed to each other. Behind Tom Riddle's bent form, however, he caught sight of something strange. Something still. Something with frozen curly hair...
"Holy shit," he breathed. "You killed her."
"It's just like you to make assumptions, Lucas," Lord Voldemort chuckled and his lips peeled back so that he resembled a hungry wolf. Dark magic turned the air heavy, pressing down on the professor like an iron weight. "Going under the theory that I am the culprit, however, shall I kill you next?"
At this, rage bubbled to the surface and Professor Chanté cast the first spell, yelling, "Diffindo!"
Lord Voldemort slashed his wand through the air and a blue shield formed around him, easily deflecting the spell, but he didn't give the professor another second to think as he responded with a nonverbal curse that launched across the clearing in a green jet of light, knocking Professor Chanté flat on his back before he could deflect it. Another spell flashed through the night to join the former.
Hermione heard the professor cry out and struggled to get her body working again. Concentrating, she finally succeeded in getting a finger to twitch, which was slowly followed by the other nine digits. She flexed her hand experimentally – cold but functioning.
She eventually succeeded in turning her head in time to see Tom standing over Professor Chanté, who was clutching his face and kicking his legs in a vain attempt to fight off the bolts of electricity writhing around them. What did Tom do to him? As if to answer her, the professor looked up with a pained gasp, sending her stomach dribbling through her knees at the sight of his eyes - always blue like cornflowers and ocean waves; now glaring bright red from exploded blood vessels.
The professor got to his feet shakily. "K-kalye-"
The spell had barely passed his lips when he was on his back again, this time writhing under bloodcurdling agony and screaming. Tom's eyes were alight with a sadistic delight that would make Satan's insides coil with fear. He lifted the Cruciatus Curse.
"You don't even have a teaching degree, you fool. What makes you think you can defeat me?" he sang, laughing coldly when the professor gulped down air. "I can make you regret the very second your whore mother gave birth to you."
"Try me," Professor Chanté gasped.
"Oh, I will, Lucas." Tom circled him, a predator assessing his kill. "We're going to get to know each other very well tonight, aren't we…"
Out of sight, Professor Chanté's grip tightened on his wand and he angled the tip so it just barely pointed upward. Panicked, Hermione tried to say something, but all she could utter was a pathetic grunt.
Professor Chanté's bleeding eyes snapped to her wide ones.
"What are you looking at, idiot?" Tom snapped impatiently. When the professor didn't respond he threw a careless glance over his shoulder. Seeing her staring back at him, he went still.
Hermione?
"Petrificus Totalus!" Professor Chanté cast and Tom stiffened, legs locking as he swung back to land on the wintry brush. The professor scrambled up clumsily, grabbing Hermione and throwing her over his shoulder like a coffee bean sack. She was too exhausted to resist.
"Damn, you're heavier than you look," Professor Chanté grunted and Hermione slipped in his grip, legs raking uselessly over branches and bramble. A haywire tree root tore through her stocking, ripping open a stinging gash she hardly felt. The clearing, she realized with a sense of impending doom, was long gone now.
"S-stop," she finally rasped, although the word felt like knives in her throat.
He didn't seem to hear her. "You know, the first time I met you I said to myself 'there's something different about that girl,'" he said, almost cheerfully. "You proved me right when you tried to plant thoughts in my head after class the first day – oh yes, I knew exactly what you were up to, Hermione – but your magic was much weaker then. So I simply kept an eye on you."
Hermione was stunned. He…he knew? But how? Only powerful wizards could sense each other's magic, but she had never gotten such a vibe from Professor Chanté.
"I've seen many things in my travels, Hermione Granger," he continued. "I initially thought you were just a toned-down version of Grindelwald, whose power is rumored about even in the most desolate boondocks of Wallonia, but I still can't seem to figure you out. Can't sense magick either, if you're wondering. I ended up in this shithole in the first place because I was caught smuggling Albanian dragons into the country, but your Ministry let me off on bail, which I am to pay off by keeping watch on ol' Dumbledore, whom they've always been wary of." He chuckled. "Let's just say I have an eye for details… Anyway, I've found a better way to pay my debt now, haven't I?"
He glanced down at her, smug. "I wanted to make this easy on you, was going to be charming and gentlemanly and all that, but you just don't want to like me, do you? Still, regardless of whether or not you are willing to come the Ministry will take you. You're worth a pretty Galleon, I'm sure, and will have a pretty little cage in the Department of Mysteries where they can figure out what the fuck is up with you. What you did to me yesterday is not something a normal witch or wizard is capable of."
His smile turned hard. "And if you weren't so valuable I'd pay you back for it."
Pay her back for it? Because it was her fault he attacked her? It was her fault that he was a scummy smuggler stupid enough to try and sneak a full-grown dragon into foreign territory? Everything was her fault, wasn't it? The essences, the tabloids with not Albus Dumbledore but a mystery killer splashed across their headlines, being sorted into Slytherin, having to go along with such a flawed plan and being expected to actually complete it. It was all her fault, was it?
Magic thundered inside her.
"You're not taking me anywhere," she hissed.
She jerked her knee into Professor Chanté's stomach, grabbing his neck when they smacked the ground and holding on tight. "You crazy bitch," he gasped, reaching for her, but before he could a bright green ribbon of light ricocheted between them and they were blasted apart.
The wood swung around in a pendulum of frosted moss and trees for a second before two hands caught Hermione and steadied her. "Are you alright?" Tom said, touching her cheek.
She nodded quickly. "Yes, but I-"
"This does not concern you, Riddle," Professor Chanté called, and they turned to see him on his feet again, wand in hand, jaw clenched. "Let her go."
Tom lifted his wand. "Was that supposed to be a threat, professor?" he said and Professor Chanté jumped back, face suddenly pale with fright.
His eyes, however, weren't on them.
"Do you hear that?" he said, head whipping around, searching the dark forest. "It sounds like…like trotting."
Trotting? Hermione listened and she heard it too, the clopping of hundreds of hooves pounding against the ground. Horror struck her as she realized what – or better yet, who was coming.
"Ah yes, the centaurs," Tom murmured with a wide smile, still advancing on the tensed professor. "Fortunately for them, they will soon be at peace when they finally are able to put a face to the heartless killer of their brethren."
Professor Chanté frowned. "What are you talking-?"
"Incarcerous!"
A red beam of light soared toward Professor Chanté and ropes manifested in the air, throwing themselves around the professor and coiling tighter when he struggled. Tom gestured at a nearby weeping willow and Professor Chanté was thrown against its mossy thick trunk, where more ropes slunk around his body, up to his throat, and fastened him to the tree. His wand split inside the bonds.
Tom turned around, ignoring Professor Chanté's frantic grunts and lifting her into his arms. The sound of galloping hooves was louder than ever.
"You're not going to just leave me here," Professor Chanté said incredulously. "You can't. Please, I'll do anything, just l-let me go and you'll never see me again, I swear."
They walked away.
"No, you can't!" he shrieked, voice fading the farther they became. "They'll kill me. Please, let me go! Please."
Hermione's heart was pounding. She thought she heard rumbling thunder and clenched her eyes shut when Lucas Chanté's scream ripped through the night, like a sharpened knife slicked across butter.
A loud thud followed by ringing silence.
Then, an owl hooted and the forest came to life once more.
"Hush, darling," Tom said above her, lips cold as hallowed ground as they flitted over her forehead. "I've got you now."
On the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a figure clad in black appeared and met Hermione's eyes with hollow pits. Death's robes swayed as that mangy black cat stepped out of them and flounced around his feet in a few dizzying circles. Suddenly, the cat gave a spasmodic jerk and keeled over, convulsing. The runes on his patchy head glowed cerulean and he gagged, green eyes bulging. Something feathery, Hermione realized, was poking out of his yawning mouth…
The cat spat hard and, sopping wet on the ground, was a blue quill.
AN: Woo wee, that was one busy chapter. Hopefully it made up for the wait? *puppy dog pout* If there are any questions or confusion please ask me about it in a review. I'd be happy to clear things up.
Yes, the essences are totally gone from the Forbidden Forest…and all cooped up inside Hermione. Wondering how that will play out for our witch and the task – and Tom Riddle. The next chapter we'll be seeing more of Dumbledore (no, that wasn't really him at the window), who I've been wanting to get in here for a while anyway, and how the school reacts to their dead DADA professor.
So, thoughts please! Did you think Professor Chanté's end was too harsh? Or totally justified? Tomione pleasure level on a scale of 1 to 10? Questioning Tom Riddle's sanity? Wanta see his abs? (I do.)
You sexies know how I get with reviews, so please do hit my favorite button. *frisky eyebrow wriggle* XOXO.