A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you all so much for the lovely and overwhelming positive response to my last chapter! It was fun to write and has been (years) overdue, so I hope it lived up to the hype and expectations. Thank you to everyone who has viewed, followed, and reviewed my story thus far. It means the world to me and reminds me why I picked this fic back up.

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Here's Chapter 26. I hope you folks enjoy it!

A young man dressed in billowing, black robes walked down the halls of Hogwarts with purpose. The wind whispered, sharp with accusations, pulling on his clothing from the various drafts that often escaped into the castle. His skin felt too tight and a severe line creased his forehead, his expression fierce. His breathing came in quick bursts as he used his knowledge of the shortcuts he had discovered during his time residing in the school to make haste. When no shortcut could be taken, he took the stairs two at a time, striding with intent to his destination.

The unconscious girl he held stiffly in his arms did not wake—even when jostled through portraits and hidden corridors. Hesitantly, the young man adjusted his hand just enough so his slender fingers grazed the nape of her neck. She was growing colder and colder with each minute that passed. He kept moving, his fingertips not straying from the faint pulse point beneath her pale skin.

The silencing spell and disillusionment charm cast around them served its purpose as they passed by the Bloody Baron, whom had parted from the Astronomy Tower to walk the halls on Halloween night. Though the concealment magic was in full effect, the young man noticed that the ghost's gaze lingered upon their retreating forms until they rounded the corner. The halls remained blanketed with silence until a clock chimed faintly down the hall, signaling the waning night hours. He was running out of time.

The darkling approached the blank, brick wall and walked back and forth, constructing the location and demanding what he needed within his own mind. He repeated the thought over and over again until his desires became a mantra of hushed whispers. Then, before them, a door manifested itself upon the solid stones. When the door was fully formed, he grabbed the knob and turned until it clicked open resolutely. The Room of Requirement provided Tom Marvolo Riddle with what he had requested.

Hermione awoke in a dark room she had seen many times before. The room was cavernous and wide. The cobblestone platform had cracked in several places near where she stood. The water surrounding the platform was undisturbed and so still that it could have better served as a mirror than a potential safe harbor for living creatures. In the distance at the end of the platform was the face of Salazar Slytherin, his stone mouth opened wide—waiting.

She walked down the platform with less trepidation than she had recalled in the past. Something deep within her repeated that she was safe, safe, safe. The words fell in a steady rhythm with her heartbeat, reassuring her with each gentle thumping in her chest. She stood before Slytherin and waited, listening. A familiar scraping of scales against stone echoed off the dripping cavern's walls. The basilisk unfurled itself from the mouth of Slytherin and slithered toward Hermione.

The basilisk hissed and circled around her form, but never quite enough to touch her. As the serpent passed, she noticed that its body harbored various scars and healed wounds caused by several deep slashes—slashes from a battle she foggily remembered, as though it were in another life. The serpent wound around to face her with its striking yellow eyes.

"Traitor…" The King of Serpents hissed. Its eyes glowed bright with intent.

Hermione tried to speak, to make her case to the serpent, but no sound escaped her.

"You made a promise

not to harm or rule,

but in your failure,

become the fool."

The basilisk screeched into the vast cavern. Its wide mouth dripping with poisonous ichor.

Hermione's heart thumped assuredly: safe, safe, safe. She took a deep breath, trying again to respond. Her voice was still swallowed by the emptiness.

"Why would you betray us so, Miss Hermione? I thought we were friends?" The basilisk's hissing shifted into something familiar—into Nyoka's voice. A movement at her feet drew Hermione's attention downward. Before her, laying on the cold stone below, was a small, familiar serpent severed in half. The façade of safety shattered.

Hermione gasped and stumbled back from the lifeless body of Nyoka. Her heart skipped a beat as a fierce cry shattered the silence. The cry was reminiscent of a phoenix and blended with the frightening growl emanating from the basilisk who appeared to be on the offensive, rising tall and waiting.

Hermione looked upward as the underbelly of a silver-winged creature swiftly sailed overhead. It harbored a serpentine like head and body, two legs, and large plume-like wings. The unbeknownst creature's wailing song pierced Hermione's heart. Tears filled her eyes and rushed down her cheeks, falling to the ground below. When she looked down, Nyoka's body was mending itself back together—tendon by tendon. Hermione fell to her knees, crying and cradling the healing serpent close.

Tears rolled down her face as she looked up, searching for the creature. The basilisk was gone. Within the darkness of the cavern, it suddenly began to rain.

With a flash of lightning, Hermione awoke.

Her body felt heavy, like someone had laid cinderblocks upon her while she had slept. She blinked, trying to force her eyes open. She had no clue where she was. The last thing Hermione remembered was reaching for Myrtle, telling her to run—to get out of the lavatory and to safety—and the fearful Ravenclaw crouching in the stall, stock still.

Her eyes opened and her blurred vision soon cleared as a dimly lit room came into view. Hermione lied beneath several blankets in a large fourposter bed with a dark canopy hanging overhead. Her fingers twitched atop the silky, emerald green duvet. The sheer, black curtains that were attached to the fabric topping were drawn, tied neatly with twisted silver threads around each intricately carved, wooden post. Even in her groggy state, Hermione knew she was no longer in the lavatory, and she certainly was not in her dorm room high in the Ravenclaw towers.

She attempted to move, but her limbs refused to adhere to her body's command. She attempted to summon her wand, but her whispered summoning spell and attempt at wandless magic was ineffective: her wand was nowhere to be seen. She prepared herself to try again, mustering up all of the willpower within her to make an effort once more.

"I would not try that again if I were you," a male's voice called from the corner of the room. From his seat in a plush, black chair, Riddle twirled her wand deftly in his right hand. He no longer wore the robes he had worn to the Halloween Ball, but instead he had on his school-issued uniform. Unlike the typical polished look Riddle seemed to prefer and maintain in his day to day business, the sleeves of his white button up were rolled up past his elbows, exposing his forearms. The sweater vest he wore looked a little more wrinkled than usual and his Slytherin-colored tie was loosened at his neck—like it had been tugged on several times before in an attempt to pull more air into his lungs. His hair was still as wild as Hermione had recalled it being in the lavatory—like he had ran a hand through it one too many times. Compared to his regular state of dress, Riddle appeared disheveled.

A knot formed in Hermione's stomach. She swallowed heavily, not prepared to defend herself from her potential captor. She was just so tired. Maybe he would kill her swiftly and she could finally rest in peace. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was a thought, nonetheless.

Riddle pushed up from his place in the chair and casually walked around the fourposter to her bedside. He tucked her wand securely in his pants pocket that was angled away from the bed. Riddle now held his own wand firmly in his hand. Hermione wished she could shrink into the bed and disappear into a peaceful oblivion where she could accept her failures and spend a millennium trying to atone for them. Riddle's eyes trailed down the length of her covered form and back up. She met his dark stare. His facial expression looked passive, but his posture was stiff—like he was preparing for an assault at any moment, like he was ready to fight if necessary. Just as well, his eyes betrayed his alertness. She attempted to muster up the strength to throw herself at him—to fight for her wand and then her life, but, before she could begin to move, Riddle broke the silence.

"How do you feel?" The words flowed in a monotone intonation, like they hadn't just witnessed him summon a giant snake into the girl's lavatory. Hermione cleared her dry, scratchy throat. She debated on answering him, but after several moments of silence—and when it is was clear he wasn't just going to walk away—she relented.

"Tired…" She managed to whisper. It wasn't a lie, but she wanted to reveal little about how weakened she was—how depleted of magic she felt. Riddle pulled her wand from his pocket and set it down in the empty space on the bed beside of her. He readied his own wand, pointing it in her direction, prepared to act.

"Retrieve your wand," Riddle ordered, not moving from his current defensive stance.

This was her chance to escape, to stop Riddle—and he was gifting the fight to her on a silver platter, so to speak. Hermione's fingers twitched and she attempted to move her hand toward her wand. Despite all the effort she put behind her ministrations, her hand barely moved an inch in the direction of her wand. When he realized that Hermione was unable to move, let alone secure her wand, he silently summoned it back into his freehand and placed it in his pocket once more.

Tears of frustration formed in her eyes. Not only was she defenseless, but she was now embarrassedat her inability to perform a simple task in front of Tom Riddle. The last thing she needed to appear was weak, but the wellspring that was her magic had been emptied and barely a ripple on the surface had been its response to her efforts.

Riddle paid her no mind as he walked across the room to a large, wooden cupboard and withdrew a vial of murky liquid. He swirled it around carefully, allowing whatever ingredients that had settled to the bottom to disperse evenly back into the thick mixture. He approached her bedside with the glass vial.

"Open your mouth," he instructed, almost looking slightly uncomfortable as he swayed from one foot to the other. Hermione's brow furrowed. There was no way in hellshe planned to take any further orders from him.

"No. I am not drinking anything youoffer me, Tom Riddle," Hermione spat back at him.

"It's a Mandrake Restorative Draught. You will drink it, or you will die. Take your pick." Riddle held the draught in hand, awaiting her response—her choice. Hermione recalled consuming the potion only once before: when she had been petrified by the basilisk in her second year at Hogwarts. It was clear that the weight in her bones was beyond that of standard exhaustion, and instead was the press of petrification spreading through her. She was not an heir of Slytherin, at least not in the traditional sense—and this proved it to some degree. Had it not been for Alphard and his power working through her, Hermione had no doubt that meeting the basilisk's eyes would have more than likely resulted in her swift end. She stared at the vial in Riddle's outstretched hand. If death came for her, she would rather it be later than sooner.

"Fine." Hermione opened her mouth just enough. Riddle leaned over her and pressed the cool rim of the glass to her lips, pouring the draught slowly inside. Hermione winced as she swallowed the wretched potion that burned her throat. From this angle, she saw a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of the heir's nose—like he had stepped out in the sun for a bit too long as summer waned. They seemed out of place—almost ironic on the young man's stoic face. After pouring the last drop, Riddle re-corked the vial and walked back to the cabinet to store the empty container. When he didn't return immediately, Hermione wondered aloud what she had feared all along.

"Did you… did you read my mind while I was unconscious?" Hermione knew she was walking in dangerous territory by potentially giving him ideas.

"No," Riddle stated plainly as he closed the cabinet doors. Relief washed over Hermione. "However, I certainly tried." Ah, there it is. "Petrification was setting in fast and prevented your mind from being accessible to me at the time."

"Let me guess, you healed me so that you could do so when any remnants of petrification were lifted?" Hermione sneered at him.

"I desire answers, and I will get them in whatever way I can, Miss Sivad, I assure you." Riddle peered at her from the corner of his eyes. Despite the potion having yet worked its way through her limbs, a chill rippled down Hermione's spine. She knew he was telling the truth. Riddle secured the latch on the cabinet once more "It would appear that both of us harbor dangerous secrets."

"I never kept a murderous basilisk as a pet in Hogwarts's basement," Hermione murmured.

"And yet you hide your own murderous familiar high in Ravenclaw tower, anticipating you will not be exposed to your fellow classmates that you are a parselmouth." Riddle made his way around the room and pushed the chair closer to the bedside. He paused, waiting for her rebuttal with his elbows resting upon the luxurious furniture, the tops of his hands cradling his chin as he studied her.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. The less he knew about Nyoka and his potential future relationship with the snake the better.

"I ought to tell Professor Dumbledore of your intentions—of what you planned to do to your fellow students—as a prefect, even." Hermione freely wiggled her fingers of her left hand as she regained feeling in them. Riddle scoffed.

"Tell Dumbledore? Only for Headmaster Dippet and the professors to find you as the suspect in your own accusations? Afterall, the trouble did not begin until your arrival. I would highly recommend rethinking your strategy, Miss Sivad. You are the outsider here, not I."

As frustrated as she was, Hermione knew he was right. She arrived under mysterious circumstances, had caused much upheaval concerning the social expectations at Hogwarts during this time period, and even had knowledge of magical theory and spellwork that most students would not learn until their seventh year. Her very existence within the walls of Hogwarts was unusual. Dumbledore had known that her presence at Hogwarts was highly unusual. Now Riddle, who had also believed her to be speaking in half-truths, was affirmed in his suspicions.

Riddle moved from his place behind the chair and sat down. He summoned a book from a distant shelf in the room with a swift wave of his wand and began thumbing through its pages. She could not see the title from her spot on the bed, but the book Riddle held looked quite aged and thin compared to most textbooks she had seen him reading during class. He paused for a moment on what she assumed was the index before turning to his desired page in the book.

"Where am I?" From her time spent at Hogwarts, Hermione had a solid guess as to what room could supply them with such Slytherin-esque furniture and a cabinet filled with highly potent restorative draughts that are considered to be fairly lucrative in potion shops.

"Hogwarts has many secrets. One of which being a place that provides its users with anything they can imagine or might need. It is well hidden, but not well known." Riddle turned the next page of the book. "When we leave, this room will cease to exist as it does in the present."

Definitely the Room of Requirement.She was unsurprised that Riddle would know of this place. She wondered what other dark or mysterious things he had used the magical room for. She swallowed hard.

"So, do you plan to frame me for the murder of an innocent girl?" Hermione rotated her wrist as the feeling of blood rushing back down her arm became more tangible with each tingling jolt.

"There was no murder," Riddle replied simply, not once looking up from the book in his hands.

"What? But I thought…" Hermione nearly choked as she used her reinvigorated arm to push herself up higher in the bed. She groaned when discomfort suddenly spread through her back, like she was bending herself at an angle all wrong, before her body adjusted to the new position.

"That poor excuse for a witch was inside the stall, yes, and may very well still be there. But the basilisk did not kill her…" he paused, taking his dark eyes off the book to meet her own, "…and neither did I."

A heavy wave of relief washed over Hermione. She had not failed. She had, in fact, savedMyrtle Warren. She had stopped Tom Riddle from creating his first horcrux. She fell back in the pillows behind her and stared up at the sheer canopy, trying to make out what lie beyond the veil. It seemed almost impossible that she had been able to dosomething. With Alphard's help she succeeded, of course, but still… she was not at a total loss. She turned her head and looked at Riddle.

"Why?" Hermione wasn't sure what response she would receive—or if he would even anticipate what she was asking.

"You will have to be more specific if you desire a response." Riddle turned the page of the leather-bound book. Why? She knew very little herself. Why had he attacked Myrtle? Why had he let her live? Why had the basilisk listened to her orders over his own? Why did he not appear angrier that she had foiled his dark plans? Why had he brought her to the Room of Requirement to save her as opposed to letting her succumb to petrification or worse?

"Why did you summon the basilisk?" Hermione asked. It was as good of a starting place as any, she supposed.

"To see exactly what the beast could do under my command," Riddle responded simply. Vague. Though, he did not lie.

"And you would risk the lives of your fellow students?" Hermione pried.

"I assure you, no Slytherins were at risk." Riddle dog-eared the corner of a page. Hermione winced doubly at his response and the action taken.

"And Myrtle clearly isn't a Slytherin. Why did you allow her to live after what she witnessed?" Hermione pushed.

"The witch did not see me, so I am not the one at risk, need I remind you. Furthermore, my priorities in that moment shifted, so to speak."

"Because of me," Hermione stated plainly.

"Because of you," Riddle responded, a slight bite to his voice. He closed the book he held and lay it upon the armrest of the chair. His full attention was now on her. "From the beginning, I knew there was more to you, Hermione Sivad. No matter where I looked, you were there, involved in some sort of chaos—like the world gifted it to you. Orphaned, sent to live in a foreign land with nothing but an old trunk to your name, and your arrival has brought death upon Hogsmeade twice now." Riddle stood from his chair and stepped closer to the bedside. Twice?What does he mean twice?Her heart sunk into her stomach.

"If there are gods in heaven, they must despiseyou… and I can't help but wonder why? What could you, Hermione Sivad, have possibly done to earn the wrath of the gods?" He leaned in, his voice dropping low—near gravelly in nature. Hermione furrowed her brow together in offense as he crowded her space and accused her of inciting some sort of celestial anger. Her heart ached. She would be lying if she told him she did not feel cursed with the hand that had been dealt to her.

"I've angered them no worse than you have, Tom Riddle." Hermione frowned back at him. Deep within she must've hit a nerve as something harsh flashed in his eyes. Something unknown to Hermione.

"No. I would say not," He replied plainly and withdrew his wand from his pocket, toying with it in his hands.

"Tell me, Miss Sivad, how are you feeling?" His eyes continued examining his wand as his fingers traced the designs in the wood slowly. Hermione swallowed hard. She debated on telling the truth or lying. She was sure he would know the difference regardless.

"…Better," she replied.

"Good." Riddle then turned his wand on her. "Legilimens!"

Riddle would find his answers soon enough.

As he cast the spell, Riddle felt immense pressure upon his own mind as something pushed back. It was unlike the effects of petrification that had kept him locked out of her mind while she slept. His attempts to delve into her mind then had been like hitting a stone wall with the echoes of nothing beyond it but vast emptiness. Now, the effects felt like something, or someone, pushing back against him. In her weakened state, Riddle suspected that his spell should've been effortless.

He pushed back against the force, his mind reaching like an outstretched hand, grasping at darkness and coming up empty. Despite the discomfort, he persisted until a shadowy remnant of a memory brushed his conscious. He closed his imagined fist tight, capturing the sole memory and pulling it taught. The presence in her mind pulled back, as though in a game of tug of war. Riddle rushed toward the memory as it thinned, spanning out of reach. Snippets of recollections and thoughts rushed toward Riddle in a whirlwind.

A man and woman smile down at the laughing baby in the woman's arms. This is all new to them. They will try to be better for her…

A dark-haired boy with glasses, a redheaded boy with freckles, and a girl with frizzy hair and large front teeth laugh by a fire, a pile of assorted candies lay in front of them. The air smells sweet. It feels like home…

Running. Don't stop running. Her curly hair a blur in the dark room. Hundreds of orbs fall from high above, crashing down. Her mind racing. What have they done? Where is he…?

A packed trunk, tears streaming down her face. Loneliness is a burden she never wanted to carry again. A deep breath. The room spins. The world rushes to meet her. Am I alive…?

A kiss upon her lips as she fell. She felt on fire, then a cold darkness overcame her…

A pale, gruesome creature: gaunt with red eyes and a snakelike nose and—

Suddenly, a man with black, messy hair snarled and then a push.

Riddle physically stumbled back a few steps as the force within her mind threw him out violently. He took a deep breath. Hermione Sivad lie on the bed, once again a victim of her own subconscious. She appeared lifeless save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath her jumper, indicating steady breaths entering and exiting her body.

He questioned what he had just witnessed from the strands of memory he had managed to observe in her mind. Her childhood family and friends, perhaps? The trio sitting by the fire seemed so at ease, like they knew each other with a familiarity that only time and hardship could bring. Then, an accident or some sort of mischief that only led to destruction? He was unsure. Regardless, he believed he had caught a glimpse of her nearly failed apparation to Hogwarts.

Riddle's thoughts then lingered on her reaction to the kiss they had shared. Something warm and uncomfortable settled on the back of his neck at the thought. He doubted the feeling would have been the same had she known it was him. He was quite positive she would have been disgusted had she known that he was playing her for a fool at the behest of Abraxas Malfoy. The datebeing a small favor to keep her safe. Riddle pushed down the parts of him that tried to recall their engaging conversations. As it turned out, she had played him for the fool by the night's end.

And who was the ghastly, humanlike creature that ebbed with fear in her passing memories? The monster was foul and terrifying. Its deep, red eyes clued Riddle in to the being's potential title: dark wizard.Did the shattering orbs have something to do with the wizard? What had she done to draw his attention? Riddle could only surmise the she or her family were running from the dark wizard and that her sudden arrival to Hogwarts possibly had something to do with her seeking refuge. Hermione Sivad, on the exterior appeared to be a helpful, headstrong witch. However, after witnessing the force she wielded against the basilisk, Riddle could see why such power and cunning might draw the attention of a dark wizard.

He could see how she could be an asset. The gears in Riddle's mind turned as he placed his wand on the chair behind him and approached the bedside where the girl lie. Carefully, and before he thought better of it, he pulled the duvet closer around her. She did not stir. He resigned himself to the plush, black chair once more. He picked up the worn copy of Tales of the Beedle and the Bard. It was the first book he had read after he was identified as a wizard and sent to Hogwarts to study. The book was significant to him, but he always wondered if there was more to the tales and nursery rhymes within the leather-bound pages.

Riddle attempted to continue reading, but his mind kept drifting back to the image of the fierce man with the unruly, dark hair. A nagging thought whispered to him the man looked familiar, but he allowed the notion to wane with the night hours. He, too, was tired.

A parselmouth. Riddle couldn't shake the revelation from his bones.

I am not alone.

For the first time in a long time, Tom Marvolo Riddle did not know whether to feel relieved or afraid.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed it! This chapter was a doozy to write. I was apprehensive about how to have Riddle respond to this situation. After hours of editing and revising, I am, overall, satisfied with this chapter and the different routes it opens up for the story to progress.

Please follow, favorite, and review to let me know what you thought and to keep me motivated! With Thanksgiving break coming up, I would love to post another chapter or two by next week.

Thanks again and stay amazing!

Constant vigilance!

-VS