AN: If anyone remembers this story (my first Tomione fanfiction! I cry motherly tears of joy) then I am already impressed.
My name is Hermione Granger. I was born in 1979, but the current year is 1943.
Most of my real friends are dead, and nearly all the friends I have made here in this time will be dead when I return to my own decade. I have travelled to the past to thwart Lord Voldemort's future plans to create Horcruxes and get the Elder Wand. For the most part, I have failed.
The Elder Wand is secured and hidden in Hogwarts, but instead of working against the enemy, I have consorted with him, trusted him, and let myself be manipulated by him.
Three days ago, Tom Riddle killed his uncle and created the first Horcrux with my unintentional help. Technically, I am a traitor. Or I will be if I don't do what I was meant to:
Defeat Voldemort.
The above would be endlessly easier if I wasn't magically bound to him.
Hermione opened her eyes at the sound of a meow.
Sitting up, she threw back the gaudy comforters of the master bed she laid in, and found an incorporeal cat at the foot of it. The cat facing her had glowing green-lantern eyes and a chipped ear, but he was not a normal cat – or much of a surprise, at this point – but a supernatural byproduct of a disaster. The disaster in question had been created by Hermione earlier in the school year, when she attempted to burn several books on Dark magic, and accidentally unleashed foul magical energy called essences on Hogwarts School instead. The essences had destroyed half of the Forbidden Forest and murdered a centaur in the process, as well as infuriating that centaur's clan, when left to their own devices.
Ever since, said cat had been haunting her like an inattentive ghost. Sometimes he would follow her around from place to place, but usually he tired of her quickly and vanished at random. At least, Hermione thought boredom was the answer to his sporadic disappearances.
She supposed it was also entirely possible that the cat had another master – a true master – who called on him from time to time, and that she was perhaps a mere distraction to him. Whatever mysterious purpose the cat had, however, had eluded her so far.
A second meow distracted her from her musings.
"What is it?" she asked Cat. With enormous eyes as green as crystal, Cat stared at her, as if trying to communicate an important message. Or maybe she was overanalyzing him. Like Cat, she was often bored these days – but unlike him, this was completely her fault. She had been feigning illness for the past few days to avoid spending time with her new "beau" slash sworn enemy, Tom Riddle - otherwise known as the future Lord Voldemort.
Too bad for her, Tom was smart. More than that, the wizard was a mastermind, and it would only be so long before he stopped believing in the ages-old menstrual cramps excuse. The last time she checked, a woman's cycle only lasted seven days, and there were still nearly two weeks left of Christmas vacation.
This left her with a dilemma, considering under no circumstances could she let him into her bed.
"It's today," Hermione said suddenly, to no one in particular. Cat twinged his scuffed ear in her direction, as though really listening. "I can tell… I can feel his impatience," she muttered, chipping at her hangnail. His desire. She closed her eyes, and for once, she felt genuinely sick. How had she begged for Tom's touch mere days ago, when now the thought of his hands on her skin sickened her? How could she want him desperately and not want him at the same time?
Mixed feelings was too small a phrase to cover how she felt about him.
For one, the bond forming in between them was based on blood magic. Blood magic – otherwise called bonding – rooted back to the veins of Merlin himself, and it had been outlawed by the Ministry ages ago because it was so dangerous and unpredictable. Dumbledore had made a point of reminding Hermione of this before she left Hogwarts for Christmas break. He would know what to do should she go to him, but could she go? Could she escape Tom? Would she convince herself to let him go?
For a second thing, his magic – he was a fucking drug.
And she was addicted to it.
Over the months, Tom had slowly made Hermione dependent on doses of his magic and intimate touch, to the point where she trembled at his caress, and they both got high from exchanges of power. Their connection wasn't safe, and their relationship – was it even that? – had been downright unhealthy from the very start. Hermione had learned too late that Tom Riddle was dangerously uncontrollable and uncontrollably dangerous.
She'd learned her lesson now though, hadn't she? she thought bitterly.
But she didn't learn for a long time. Not when Tom forced Leglimency on her brain in a moment of extreme weakness, or when he tricked her into sneaking him out of the castle with her to Little Hangleton where he intended to create a Horcrux behind her back, nor as he trained her body and magic to need him, without her knowledge. But she'd figured it out somewhere between being drugged by him, and nearly killed by a Dark psychic named Delia who he had brought her to for appraisal of her power - the very power he wanted to control and use her for.
But what else could one expect from a monster?
"Is he here?" Hermione asked. Cat did not need to ask who he was, or to answer at all. Hermione could sense her counterpart's presence downstairs somehow. Soon enough, Tom would realize she was awake too, when her magic inevitably began to crawl toward the heavy pulse of delicious power that surrounded him like an omnipotent aura all the time… She had to get out of there before that happened.
With a leap, Hermione jumped out of bed - causing Cat to painfully protrude his claws into her chest and also leap off of her - and she ran across the room to the closet, throwing open the doors. Grabbing her suitcase and wand, she said, "Accio clothes! Accio hairbrush! Accio homework!" She Summoned every item she could think of until the only proof she had ever come to Riddle Manor was the unmade bed.
Finally, she looked back at Cat to find him with his ear pressed against the floor, his fluffy tail swishing back and forth hypnotically. Swish swish. Swish swish...
The bond suddenly came to life with an excited flutter. Hermione tried to quench the feelings that instantly stirred to life inside of her, holding her breath long enough to hear the footsteps as Tom headed up the stairs.
"Cat, come!" she commanded. With one last flick of his fluffy tail, Cat darted over the floor and allowed her to scoop him up into her arms. A deep purr rumbled in his scrawny belly as he rested his head against the frantic thrum of her racing heart, and Hermione glanced around the room one last time to see if she had forgotten anything. No, she had it all.
So why was she frozen in place?
Footsteps approached down the hallway outside. Time was out. Quickly, she walked over to the adjoined bathroom, tossed her suitcase inside it, and clutched Cat to her while looking around for inspiration. Her heart beat so hard and fast she felt dizzy. The doorknob turned, Cat stiffened under her tightening grip, and promptly vanished to escape it. Her arms – empty - fell down to her sides.
She held her breath.
"Oh," said Tom mildly, "you're up early."
He seemed surprised. But was he?
With another click of the door behind him, Tom slowly crossed the floor and stopped a foot away from her. Hermione remembered too late to say something. "So are you," she replied. Not as witty a comeback as she'd hoped for, but her nerves were too frayed for cleverness.
Tom eyed her. "Are you feeling better yet?"
She shrugged and he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, although she had never had a temperature. Hermione stood still while he clucked his tongue behind his perfect teeth. Tom had doctor hands, she thought: cold and methodical. The man who owned those hands would, like a Muggle doctor, probably be very adept at picking and cutting people apart... "Hermione?" he asked, catching her eyes with concerned liquid dark ones.
Pretty eyes-
said one part of her mind.
they're full of lies!
hissed the other.
"Yes. Much better." Hermione smiled, even leaned into his icy palm. She had not shown him affection in days, what with being bed sick and ridden with cramps, and Tom – perfunctory, perfect, stone-cold Tom – looked at the place where her skin met his without comment.
"I'm glad," he said quietly. Voice barely there at all. His hand dropped down to her cheek while the other rose to her waist. Hermione's heart beat faster – not out of fear, to her shame. "I know you've been feeling tired and weak…" His eyes skimmed over her face – like he owns it – his body ghosted closer – like he can't help it – until their chests were gently breathing and brushing against each other – in sync.
"Your weakness is my weakness, but I can tell you feel strong now," he said with a slight smile. "Strong enough for-" He paused on a cliffhanger, his hand leaving her waist to lightly hold her fingers. She stared at this instead of him, although out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tom bite his lip. "-for us to complete the bond," he finished. He sounded terribly formal, not at all like a lover. When she didn't respond, he tentatively kissed her cheek, and the delicacy of the kiss - the nervousness hidden inside it - startled her so much she flinched.
Tom stopped and whispered, "Are you scared?"
Incredibly.
"I am too."
Surprised, Hermione looked up at him, but this turned out to be a mistake. The angelic face staring into hers was a mask for a devil, but it was a good mask, too. Not only did Tom's exceptional handsomeness make her think twice, but so did the intense gleam in his obsidian eyes, and the sliver of bashfulness in his slightly curved mouth. How much was a lie and how much was real? she thought frantically. "At least a little bit," he amended, laughing slightly. Bending closer. His close proximity made her head buzz-
"I can't!" she choked out, and he jerked back in surprise. "I mean, not yet," she said quickly. "I have to fix myself up first. Just- just give me ten minutes alone in the bathroom, ok?"
"Oh." He nodded. Relieved. Easily convinced. Why shouldn't he be? "Of course."
Hermione tried not to walk toward the door on the opposite side of the bedroom very quickly, and she only realized that she had been followed when Tom's hand flashed out and closed over hers on the doorknob. She stiffened – did he know what she intended to do? Was he going to stop her? Was this the moment when his true colors came to the surface, and he beat her black and blue for trying to deceive him?
"Wait," he ordered. She didn't move a muscle, although every part of her ached to grab the wand in her pocket and run for her life. "Why?" she asked shakily, exhaling too loud.
Tom paused. ...His lips then fell into the crook of her neck, making her jump, and his strong arms snaked out around her waist to pull her back into him. "W-wait," she stammered, but he couldn't seem to. Her hair was swept aside to offer better access to her throat, she got pressed flat against the door by hips. She felt how much he wanted her, pressing impatiently against her lower back, and she wanted him too. She panted heavily.
Her heart buckled when the invisible tendrils carrying out Tom's magic turned her head to the side - now she was being kissed hard on the mouth, tugged closer to the hungriest part of Tom's body, where he pressed them together at a sensuous and delicious rhythm. Hermione's eyes half-closed as he sucked intently on her neck, she was sighing and pulling him closer, and if she had not been released at that moment, she would have let Tom take her back to the bed then and there – or even against the door – and end it all.
But he did let go. With bloated, kissable lips and messy black hair.
"Hurry," he said roughly. He stepped back, pushed her over the threshold, and slammed the bathroom door shut.
What the hell just happened?
With unsteady hands, she moved back and twisted the bathtub faucets on. Walked over to the mirror to study her face as the jets of water filled the tub. She looked horny and pale and nervous and flushed and ready for the forbidden. She ran her trembling finger over her swollen mouth, catching a thin line of blood on the tip.
Not healthy, she told herself. Not right. Not good.
Her body disagreed.
She held up Slytherin's Locket to the mirror. It was a golden and garish vessel of a broken soul, and she stopped half a second before wrenching it off her neck. She had been going to leave the abdominal thing behind, but… she thought the Horcrux would be safer in her own hands. And more useful. Tom had told her it was a gift after all, hadn't he?
Footsteps behind her made her jump and shriek. Caught, she whirled around – to find Cat dancing around the water that had pooled over the tub, and growling at it fearsomely.
"What happened?" Tom shouted from outside. He sounded close. Hermione tried to regain what was left of her composure, enough to shout back, "Nothing! The razor just slipped. I'll fix it with a Healing Charm." She waited, but Tom said nothing, which she supposed meant he had bought the excuse. She let out a relieved breath.
"Cat!" she whispered angrily. Cat looked up in surprise, saw her, and flattened his ears with a hiss. "Oh shut up, you," she snapped. Her hand shook around the handle of her suitcase and bag as she picked them up – her whole body was shaking, she realized. "Let's get out of here." She stepped across the flooded floor to him and wrestled the reluctant feline into her beaded bag (thank Merlin for Extendable Charms). Over her shoulder, she cast one last look at the door. Why did she feel so guilty? Why couldn't she pull herself the hell away? Were any of the emotions storming through her now even real?
Cat yowled from inside the bag. Go already! he seemed to scream, and finally she did.
The skyline of Hogwarts was ridged with the bumpy outlines of turrets and snow-covered towers when Hermione arrived at the edge of Hogsmeade with a booming CRACK. She fell over her feet from a sloppy Disapparation landing, and right into a small hill of snow, resulting in a cat-like screech in her luggage immediately. "Sorry," she muttered, although Cat no doubt didn't hear her from his position.
Hermione looked up. Fields of flawless white snow surrounded her on all sides, shining coral pink in the first lights of sunrise. Gusts of it whipped around in huge airborne swirls, and some even slipped down her boots thanks to her graceless fall. She winced and cast a Warming Charm to fend off the brutally cold temperature. Other than the cloak she had quickly thrown on, she was still in her pajamas.
Cat meowed mournfully, and he seemed to articulate how she was feeling perfectly.
A forever seemed to have passed before Hermione was finally standing before the gates of Hogwarts, soaked and shivering despite her charm. A swinging lantern and the stooped old man above it soon appeared in the distance beyond the gate; luckily, her presence had not gone undetected.
"What are ye doing out here? Students aren't allowed outside of the castle without the direct supervision of a professor under Headmaster Dippet's orders – and it is well after hours!" bellowed a familiar voice. The lined face of Gregovitch the Hogwarts groundskeeper soon came into view when the old man hobbled closer, and it was contorted in a heavy scowl. "Who in Merlin's name is that?" he shouted. "Reveal yerself!"
Hurriedly, she took off her hood, meeting Gregovitch's eyes through the iron bars of the dense gate. "Hermione Granger, sir," she answered, yelling to be heard over the screeching wind. "May I come in please?"
"...You may." He looked reluctant. "But you're not going back out once you come in, mind you, Granger."
"Oh, that's perfectly alright." At this response, Gregovitch looked at her oddly, but said nothing while he scrounged up the gate keys and let her inside.
"Headmaster Dippet is away on holiday, so Professor Dumbledore will have to deal with you," Gregovitch told her grouchily as they walked into the castle. Buttery heat instantly enveloped them upon entering. Hermione lifted her Warming Charm and the temperature worked its magic on her frozen bones, she relaxed with a sigh. In the bag, she thought she heard Cat purr with pleasure.
"May I put my things in my room?" she asked, lifting her suitcase for emphasis, and secretly hoping she could weasel her way out of confrontation with Dumbledore – plus, she needed to release Cat before he started destroying her few personal things.
"Not yet," said Gregovitch. "Gotta see a professor first." His voice was a growl, he surveyed Hermione with the same surly expression he always wore for the students. He added, "Although you could do with a new set of robes and some Drying Charms, being such a filthy mess and all. Can't believe all the puddles I'll have to mop up after I drop you off - and to think I just waxed the entrance hall yesterday…" he trailed into annoyed muttering, and Hermione shrank into her cloak, which true to form, was soaking wet. She couldn't do much about her first problem, but she did cast a quick spell to appease the state of her sopping dress. Meanwhile, Gregovitch stopped them before an all too familiar door.
Gregovitch knocked, and a short moment later the door opened to reveal Dumbledore wearing a pair of bright purple silk robes over his nightgown and a nightcap. "Why hello..." He squinted. "Professor Merrythought?"
"Gregovitch, professor."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Gregovitch. I seem to have misplaced my glasses." Dumbledore frowned and patted his front pockets, found his wand, and summoned his spectacles "Accio glasses!" Instantly, his spectacles flew out of the room behind him and into his hands, he slipped them on, blue eyes widening to normal size at the witch and wizard before him. "Ah! Yes, hello Gregovitch – and Miss Granger, how pleasant to see you at this ungodly hour," he said politely. "Might I ask why you are here at six o'clock in the morning?"
Slightly red around the gills, Gregovitch cleared his throat and answered for Hermione. "Miss Granger appeared at the entrance of Hogwarts this morning, professor," he explained. "She was alone as far as I could tell, and she's come back for the rest of holiday."
Dumbledore's eyebrows arched as he looked past Gregovitch and down at Hermione, who in turn studied her feet intently. "I see," he murmured. His gaze fell back on the groundskeeper. "Thank you, Greg," he said warmly. "I'll see to Miss Granger now. Why don't you go back to bed for a little while?" Gregovitch agreed, but the slouch of his humped back seemed disappointed as he trod away and left them alone.
"Come inside, Miss Granger. Make yourself comfortable," said Dumbledore. Hermione looked up at his kind face with a quick thanks before she hurried past him. The click of the door closing behind her made her jump – in her mind's eye, she saw Tom shutting the door between them, and wondered with a strange mix of fear and guilt what he'd thought of her disappearance. She shook off the thought and sank into one of the plush chairs in front of a wide wooden desk that probably belonged to Dumbledore.
From his perch on a stone fountain, the colorful phoenix Fawkes roused out of his slumber at the sound of the door closing, and he blinked glossy black eyes in surprise at Hermione. Astonishingly, he seemed to see Cat, who had somehow gotten out of the bag and made himself at home on a pile of vivid, shed feathers under the phoenix's cage. Fawkes' beady eyes narrowed at him disapprovingly, and Hermione wondered how the phoenix could see the cat no one else ever could. She would have to research that later, she thought…
"I'm sorry for waking you up so early, professor," Hermione started to apologize, the moment Dumbledore had sat down and Transfigured a stack of books into two cups full of hot tea for them. He pointed his wand at his cup, shaking loose a generous stream of sugar from the tip. "Sugar?" he asked her. She shook her head. He waited until Hermione had blown on her tea and taken a sip before speaking.
"I could be wrong," he began, "but I don't think you cut your holiday short to come back to school and study for tests. Although I wouldn't put it past you to do so, Miss Granger." He said this last part kindly, whereas someone else would have used the opportunity to be condescending. Hermione swallowed a gulp of scalding hot tea and looked away from the professor guiltily.
"You're not wrong," she admitted finally. They were both quiet for a moment.
Eyes on the herbs swirling in her tea, Hermione remembered another time and place. Harry and Ron sat on each side of her... They were all in class, flipping through their Divinations textbooks as Professor Trelawney moaned and groaned about Saturn and Harry's imminent death, and Ron made poor-tasted jokes... Lavender and Parvati were 'oohing' and 'ahing' at Trelawney's melodramatic storytelling. What had Dumbledore been thinking hiring that fake at Hogwarts?
"Hermione."
Hermione's eyes snapped open. The smile on her face faded when she found a younger version of Dumbledore staring back at her. His beard was not long or silver like she remembered it, and his mouth was tucked into a frown. "Hermione," he repeated firmly. "Are you alright?"
Stupid, she thought, that this simple question should be the magic key to finally making her cry.
"There, there, dear." Dumbledore flicked his wand and a handkerchief floated in her direction, she wiped her face and blew her nose with it, trying to control the sobs bursting out of her chest to no avail. Cat left his nest of scrolls and circled her chair, scratching the floor with his claws in worry.
"When times seem dismal," said Dumbledore tentatively, "I find in my experience that I usually feel better after talking things out, and a good box of Bertie's Every Flavor Beans. Can I offer you a jellybean?"
"N-no thank you." Taking a deep breath, Hermione rested her hands – and the soggy handkerchief – in her lap. She regarded the Transfigurations professor through reddened eyes. She was certainly not in the mood for a gamble between a popcorn and booger flavored jellybean.
"Are you ready to tell me the real reason why you have returned to Hogwarts?" Dumbledore inquired. He watched her watch Fawkes watch Cat, who had at last settled into a nap near her foot, and waited. Finally, Hermione spoke.
"The last time we talked," she said, voice wavering slightly. "You told me about this…friend you had. You said he tried to convince you to form a magical bond with him, but that you stopped him." She raised her head and met Dumbledore's bright blue eyes, now on her, and curious. "How did you do that?"
He blinked in surprise, brow crinkling over his eye. Dumbledore seemed to weigh her question in his mind very thoughtfully, and for a long time, before speaking, although a glance at the clock said Hermione had only waited two minutes. But in the end, all he said was, "I resisted."
"Resisted what?" she asked, confused. He said nothing and simply continued to gaze at her. Hesitantly, she said, "The…the pull?"
"Yes." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I believe… I believe I sent myself very far away from him and that situation. Not literally, but mentally. I had to distance myself, you see, because I did not trust myself not to give into his wishes if I stayed. This friend of mine was very persuasive."
This did not surprise Hermione in the least. Grindelwald had been persuasive, just like Tom had been. She thought of the heated kiss they had shared earlier in his parent's bedroom with a blush, and she ducked her head to avoid Dumbledore's keen gaze.
"Try," said Dumbledore, firmly. "Try to break free, Miss Granger, and you will find a way to be free."
Hermione smiled back at him...but her face felt stiff. "I hope you're right, professor."
All the lights were out in Riddle Manor tonight.
In fact, the lights had been out for days. The Riddles were on vacation, a tour de France, a ski trip in the Alps, or something equally fancy and extravagant. They had finally returned a week and a half after Christmas to find their home as utterly dark as they had left it – except for a lone candle burning in the open window of the master bedroom.
Despite the frantic winter storm that enveloped Little Hangleton that night, the candle burned high and steady. Strangely enough, a pool of melted wax dripped down the window sill it sat on, as though the candle had been burning for a long time.
But how could it? No one had been home for days.
Tom Riddle Senior felt the old warning signs of danger creep down his back when he saw the burning candle and open window. He told his children to stay back, hushing his wife's protests when she tried to come with him to sneak in through the back door. If there was an intruder in their midst – and he was half-sure there was – Tom Sr. wanted to catch him red-handed.
The others stayed behind while he slipped around the back and disappeared upstairs.
Minutes passed, and he did not return.
The youngest of the Riddle children, Susan, began to cry. "It's cold," she complained to her mother, Mary, who shushed and nestled her against her breast. But she was cold as well. The air promised frostbite if they did not head in soon, Tom Jr.'s lips were blue, and her feeble parents were too old to stand temperatures like this for long.
"Come along everyone," she said in a whisper, although who she whispered for was unclear. The billowing winds with lungfuls of blistering snow? The long, ten-foot icicles trying to bring their lovely roof down to the ground? She shook the thought off. "I'm sure it's alright," she assured them. "Papa probably went to the loo and forgot we were standing out here waiting for him." She laughed through her freezing lips, which in turn elicited a delighted peal of laughter from two-year old Susan. "Silly Papa. Let's go inside."
"Are you quite sure?" Mary's mother asked her. She glanced at the dark house warily. "I haven't heard a sound in there since-"
At that exact moment, a green light suddenly flooded the open window, and they all stared up at it in shock. For just as quickly as the mystical light had appeared, it faded. They were left standing in the snow mystified.
"Papa!" Susan cried, reaching her tiny arms toward the window. Mary clutched her daughter closer with cold dread locked in her heart. She heard rather than saw Tom Jr. wriggle out of his grandmother's arms, running toward her full speed to fling his arms around her leg and cling on for dear life. She could feel him shaking like a leaf.
"What in God's name was that?" Mary's father demanded.
Mary shivered. "I've no idea-"
"Well, I'm going in to find out." The hard gleam of determination in his eyes was not unfamiliar – Mary's father was an extremely stubborn man – but still Mary and her mother tagged along after him to the back of the house, begging him in whispers not to go inside and brave whatever strangeness lurked behind the open window. He would hear none of it, of course.
Mary's father threw open the door with a loud bang! The shelves of delicate china on the walls shivered as he stomped inside. Mary and her mother glanced at each other, and without words, they went inside after him.
"Where Papa?" Susan screamed in her mother's ear, still howling as if she had been wounded, and Tom Jr. was crying too. Behind them, the door quietly and slowly shut. No one had touched it. Mary's father had since plundered ahead of them into another room with his wife hot on his trail, and the remaining Riddles stared at the motionless door in silence.
Mary's heart raced when the lock slowly but unmistakably slid shut with a click.
"Father Jesus, Virgin Mary, please protect us in this dark hour," she began to chant at once, but her voice was watery and cracked all over. Susan and Tom Jr. sensed her fear. They screamed and wailed. If their grandfather was still shouting indignities, no one would be able to hear it over their screeching.
Mary fell to her knees, grabbing Tom Jr. and Susan close. "It's alright, it's alright," she said softly. Her eyes darted around in the dark frantically, wide and desperate. "Mommy's here. Mommy's here-"
"So it's you."
Mary looked up, blinking owlishly in the sudden light that filled her kitchen. All of the gas lamps had come on for some reason, as if they had been lit by invisible hands. She clutched her children closer when she recognized the young man standing in the doorway leading to the other room. Half of him was doused in shadow, the other half in the light of the room – but he was not covered in blood or anything else horrific, which served her a small relief.
"Me…me what?" Mary asked uncertainly.
"You," the man repeated, as if she knew what on earth he meant by that. "The woman my father left my mother for. Or, perhaps he left her because she wheedled him off of that love potion of hers," he added, sounding thoughtful.
Mary stared at him. "You're a-"
"Lunatic. Balderdash. I know what you're thinking, darling." A haunting laugh came from the stranger's direction, and Mary shivered. "But I'm not crazy, you're just not very good at seeing things that are plainly there." Out of the shadows, his arm lifted and revealed that he was holding a…a stick? Confounded, she gazed at him. He really was off his rocker. "But I will make you see," he said quietly.
"Please... I don't know why you're here or what you want," Mary said frantically, as he walked closer. Susan and Tom Jr. automatically cowered in her arms – luckily, they had silenced ever since the arrival of the stranger. She went on, "But I'll give you money, loads of it, enough to support you for a lifetime and more-"
"I don't want your money," he spat. He raised his head, and any other pleas or bargains Mary had been planning to say instantly froze on her lips. "Don't you know who I am?"
She stared at him.
On the other hand, Susan's chubby face split into a stunning, tiny-toothed grin. "Papa!" she cheered. Before Mary could stop her, Susan had scrambled out of her arms and stumbled toward the man, and Mary fought back a scream when the stranger caught her child in his hold easily. He pet the soft red curls on Susan's head with a cold smile. He had the face of her husband: younger, yes; even handsomer, and…and oddly devoid of emotion.
Because although the stranger was smiling, he was also not smiling at all.
"Susan, come back here," she said, trying to sound stern instead of on the verge of screaming for help. Her hands shook as she reached out for her baby. "Come back to Mommy now, dear."
Susan did not seem hear her, however, apparently too busy cooing with delight over the string of golden sparks that were raining over the head, and...and coming out of the stranger's stick. What on earth was happening? Mary felt as though she was experiencing an increasingly bizarre and vivid dream. Had she drank a glass of sherry before bed last night? She could hardly remember. Where he stood fastened to her chest, Tom Jr. stayed still and silent, seeming to realize the man before him was not his loving father.
"Now now…Mommy," said her husband's doppelganger with a wicked grin. In the full light, she noticed the purplish bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep, and that his fine black hair, unlike her husband's, looked as if it had not been brushed in weeks. As if guessing at her thoughts, the stranger's eyes darkened; Susan simultaneously began to wail when the mysterious sparks that had delighted her a moment ago began to bite and sting her face.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "This won't hurt a bit."
AN: So The Task is officially off of hiatus. (Woohoo!) It's also going to be finished before summer is over. I have a few pre-written chapters already, and muchos plans for Hermione and Tom's tale... And I want to wrap up my last incomplete Tomione story on fanfiction before I head off to university. XD
Review if you're darling.
Kisses!
ImmortalObsession