A/N: It has been a while, folks. Planned on having this done by summer, but that was impossible. I am an educator in the public sector and the virus heavily impacted my job and mental health. I had a difficult academic year, but am happy to say I have moved on to a new, hopefully better job that will be a more constructive environment as opposed to destructive. Additionally, when things began looking up, my step father's cancer diagnosis worsened and he passed away at the end of May. It has been a difficult year for everyone and I have needed time to heal and grieve. Thank you for your patience and for holding onto my story-no matter how long it takes. I hope I'll be able to more chapters out soon. Hope you all enjoy this chapter I have been holding onto to edit for a while. x
The first half of November passed by in a flurry of darkening days and falling leaves. As autumn continued its slow descent into winter, red and orange leaves turned a stark brown as they swirled around the castle grounds. The morning frosts had become more severe, coating the vegetation in a thin layer of ice and snuffing out the remaining flora that was not meant to thrive in the bite of winter. With the nip in the air, the students at Hogwarts donned their scarves and gloves as they walked to and from their classes. Like the stillness of a cold morning, a hush had fallen over the school as the students shifted their focus from the celebrations of Halloween to preparation and studying for course finals that were imminent.
Hermione, despite all the chaos that had surrounded her lately, was no exception. Final exams had arrived, and Hermione Granger once again emerged in all her studious glory. Between preparing for her impending finals and doing her best to brush off the rumors of Myrtle's tale from the night of the masquerade, she continued to work diligently on the potions project. Riddle had not shown up to assist her, however she had often found steps of the potion completed with detailed notes written in neat scrawl resting not too far away that logged the steps taken to tweak the portion. In fact, over the last few weeks, Hermione had rarely seen the Slytherin heir at all.
A few times at dinner in the Great Hall over the past week, she had caught sight of his dark head in stark contrast to Abraxas Malfoy's full head of platinum hair among the Slytherin crowd. A few times the crowd parted just enough for their eyes to meet briefly. Riddle didn't smile at her, nor did he smirk or scowl. His face was impassive, but his eyes baited her—like he was waiting for her to do something outlandish or extraordinary at any moment, like he wanted her to. It was a fair assumption, but it was not something she would deliver on anytime soon—especially with Riddle having delved too deep into her thoughts. However, the fifteenth of November would be arriving tomorrow, and she would have to face whatever ramifications came with her moment of weakness. Hermione's thoughts drifted back to the time turner. Part of her was ready to run and hope whatever havoc she wreaked was enough, but she knew the significance of her task and would not let down Dumbledore, her friends,nor the Wizarding World for that matter. She couldn't.
In the days that had followed the Halloween masquerade and nearly-fatal basilisk attack on Myrtle Warren, Hermione had visited Alphard Corvus late into the night after sneaking out of her dorms and away from the ever-watchful eyes of her friend Aviela. Alphard, though all smiles in his portrait hidden in the corridor, seemed drained of energy even still. Of course, he had projected his magical essence into Hermione—he admitted that much. Through their connection, he had been able to imbue her with the power she needed to face down the basilisk and send it back to slumber within the depths of the Chamber of Secrets beneath Hogwarts. Although it worked, the magical energy used by them both had exhausted them—and Hermione was nearly petrified by the basilisk's stare, which Alphard had attributed to the latent blood connection between them. Despite how much Alphard touted her as his own in lineage by blood, they both knew she was still combatting a lifetime of being muggleborn by blood and that was simply a part of her that would not be erased. Hermione was relieved to some degree. Who she was and the obstacles she had overcome to become the witch she was today defined her. She would not lose that part of herself so easily.
Alphard had been thankful for her bravery in facing down the Serpent of Slytherin, but did not fail to gravely mention at what cost: Riddle had seen into her mind and accessed some of her memories. Though the wizard sensed the intrusion through his and Hermione's mind-link, he was not reluctant to tell her that it is quite possible that Riddle had seen memories that would make him even more skeptical of who she was. One thing he was able to confirm: Tom Riddle had seen Voldemort—his future self in all his dark wizard glory. Alphard told Hermione he was able to push back, to usher the young man out of her mind with sheer magical force before maintaining her mind's barriers while she slept, but he had still been too late.
What Riddle took away from seeing his future self in her mind, Hermione did not know. He clearly was satisfied enough with what knowledge he acquired from her mind to leave her be for most of the month—even after her reveal of being a parselmouth. She couldn't help but fear that perhaps he was biding his time to devise a way to trap her and wrench the secrets from her.
And yet the looks in the Great Hall that he had given her did not portray that sinister air he had carried around with him thus far. For all that she had known of him and expected from him thus far, he now surprised her. It unsettled her.
"Hermione? Hello?" Aviela waved her hand in front of Hermione's face. She was immediately pulled from her lingering thoughts that had her stare shooting daggers at an unsuspecting Gryffindor first year who looked terrified. She shook her head and withdrew her mind from the reverie it had been in.
"Sorry, I lost my train of thought for a moment… what were you asking?" Hermione had the grace to offer the first year a soft smile and mouthed "sorry" in apology.
"I asked if you planned to meet with Tom Riddle tomorrow outside the Great Hall at dinnertime," Aviela explained as she stabbed a chunk of roast beef on her plate and savored each bite. Hagrid and Minerva had joined their house peers for dinner that day. Hagrid was slowly but surely making friends within Gryffindor house. She knew it was only a matter of time before he formed bonds with his own housemates; Hagrid was too kind of a soul to not befriend once you got to know him—even a little bit. Christopher had also skipped out on dinner in the Great Hall that day in favor of preparing for finals. Hermione couldn't blame his desire to be prepared: she had heard that despite his lax teaching style, Slughorn's exams could be brutal.
"I am still not quite sure. I have a lot of studying to do and I am worried about it interfering with my current study schedule," Hermione said. She wasn't lying about her study schedule; however, she was definitely being selective with her study timeframe.
"Sounds like an excuse to me," Aviela said, rolling her eyes slightly as Hermione prodded at the vegetables on her plate with her fork.
"And if it were?" Hermione took a bite of her porridge.
"I would help you find a nice hiding place in Ravenclaw tower," Aviela responded.
"Thank you." Hermione smiled in knowing that she could count on her friend regardless of her decision to meet or not to meet Tom Riddle.
Hermione said her goodbyes to Aviela at the entryway to the Great Hall and offered her hand up in a wave to Hagrid and Minerva before she made headway for the library for a quiet study session since Aviela studied best by memorizing potion ingredients aloud and mumbling incantations under her breath. Hermione always struggled with noise when trying to focus intently on studying.
After entering the library, Hermione found a quiet, empty section with a rounded table and four empty chairs after a few moments of searching. She sat down and made quick work of withdrawing her quill, parchment, and books. She sat her opened bag atop the table and began studying for her arithmancy course.
Shortly into her study session, Nyoka poked her scaled snout out from the bag and licked the air with a flick her forked pink tongue. Hermione smiled as the serpent began easing out a little further.
"If you are attempting to be sneaky, I can tell you it isn't working out as well as you'd like," Hermione said, dipping her quill into the pot of ink resting by her stack of parchment.
"Yes, Miss Hermione. Probably not. However…" Nyoka hissed.
"Yes, Nyoka, you may come out for a while. I haven't seen or heard anyone in this section of the library. And for good measure," Hermione waved her wand at the serpent, "a disillusionment charm to make onlookers think you are a scarf from a distance."
"Does that mean you will finally place me upon your shoulders, Miss Hermione?" Nyoka hissed hopefully.
"Not in this lifetime I'm afraid," Hermione said.
"Then in another, I suppose?" Nyoka asked. A cold shiver bit at Hermione at the thought of the other lifetime that, each day, feels more and more like a memory.
"Perhaps so," Hermione said, scratching her notes deep into the parchment on her desk.
Hermione worked diligently on her notes, adding rough sketches of number charts to refer back to when comparing events throughout the history of the wizarding world in preparation for her upcoming essay. Nyoka sidled up close to her forearm for warmth in the drafty library, watching Hermione as she dipped the quill in the black ink repetitively until the serpent yawned lazily and closed her eyes. As the night waned, the candles' flames in the library continued to burn hot—the wax and wick of each candle replenishing itself on the hour, as though anticipating its late-night guests. Between the soft lighting, the warmth from her companion, and the gentle scratch of her quill as the only sound piercing the quiet, Hermione found herself in the most peaceful state she had been in in a long while.
Upon her return from the encounter with Riddle and the basilisk, Nyoka had stuck close to her side, remaining wary of the "other speaker" as Nyoka had dubbed him so. Nyoka had hissed that she knew Hermione could stop the King of Serpents, but Hermione did not go into detail about the help she had received from Alphard Corvus. She was just thankful the serpent had yet remained by her side despite the temptation that could've challenged the creature otherwise. She was grateful for the companionship and the honesty she could have with serpent—even if her familiar didn't understand the nuances of human nature.
Suddenly, approaching footsteps had Hermione jostling Nyoka awake and gesturing for her bookbag. Nyoka quickly, and without question, slithered inside. Hermione continued to work on her notes, purposefully ignoring the heavy footfall heading directly toward her. Hermione did not look up until Abraxas Malfoy had taken a seat across from her at the round table and had cleared his throat rather loudly.
"Hey," Abraxas said. Hermione looked up from her notes. He wore his Slytherin quidditch practice robes—a simple green and silver striped jumper and black, fitted pants. A light sheen of sweat clung to his face. Hermione had known that a few of the acquaintances she had met played quidditch, though she had not found the time or purpose to enter the pitch to watch a game. Flying always made her nervous, and seeing others fly at towering heights on flimsy broomsticks was no exception.
"Hello," Hermione briefly looked back down at her notes as she finished up working on a number chart. Abraxas bounced his leg for a moment, like he had too much energy from just leaving practice.
"Look, I know things have been slightly awkward since the whole situation that happened in the forest at Hogsmeade and I wanted to say I am sorry for any problems I caused you," Abraxas said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if it would uncoil the tense cord of awkwardness in the air.
"It's fine, Abraxas, really. I forgive you," Hermione offered him a gentle smile. Although the conversation had been rude in nature, she could tell his apology was sincere. He was a foolish young man—not much unlike Harry or Ron. The thought sent a small pang of hurt to her chest from a part of her emotions she worked to keep buried.
"Thanks, Hermione," Abraxas replied. "I know you are busy studying, but I regret not taking you to the Halloween Ball. I wanted to ask… I meant to, but I messed up and thought better of it." Abraxas' eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at his hands resting flat on the tabletop.
"You're welcome. Not to seem inconsiderate, Abraxas, but why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked, setting her quill down and giving the Malfoy heir her full attention.
"Because, Hermione, I want nothing more than for you to be safe and for you to find your place at Hogwarts and… I am afraid that I can't guarantee that, and it makes me damn furious." Abraxas tightened a fist and looked away from her and at the burning candle resting in the center of the table.
"What do you mean?"
"What did he say… what did he do to you that night?" Abraxas asked lowly.
"Who, Abraxas?" Hermione asked, getting more and more unnerved by his urgency.
"Tom Riddle." Abraxas cast a glanced behind his shoulder, as though he were expecting the darkling to materialize from the shadows. He leaned in closer, his next question leveled in a whisper, "What did he say or do to get you to agree to join?"
"To get me to join?" Hermione leaned in as well.
"Yes, join." Abraxas nodded his head. "What did he offer you? He offers us all something—"
"Abraxas, stop," Hermione cut him off. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"But, Tom said that tomorrow—" Abraxas began.
"That tomorrow I would be meeting him outside the Great Hall for heavens knows what. I haven't spoken to him in weeks," Hermione said, shoving her books in her bag while trying to be mindful of Nyoka. It was clear her peaceful study session was over.
"He didn't tell you?"
"Abraxas, I am tired. Either be clear or bid me a goodnight," Hermione finished collecting her bottled ink, quill, and parchment. She would apologize to Nyoka later for the loose quill tip that would surely poke the serpent as she walked. Hermione stood and pushed in her chair. Abraxas stood, blocking her path.
"A meeting—our club's meeting. Tom invited you and he didn't tell you. I am just surprised. His invitations are usually a bit more… forward," Abraxas said quickly.
"The Slug Club?" Hermione slung her bag across her shoulders.
"No. It's a bit more exclusive than that," Abraxas said, wiping the grime from his face on the sleeve of his jumper in a quick swipe, as though he were trying to see her reaction better.
"So, you all have your own little club to challenge old Slughorn?" Hermione smirked.
"It's not like that, Hermione." The grave look on Abraxas' face did not let up. "If Tom hasn't offered you something yet, then he will tomorrow night. You'll find it difficult to say no."
"And what does Riddle tend to offer?" Hermione crossed her arms, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
"Anything you could possibly desire," Abraxas said lowly, his gaze weighing heavily upon her.
"In exchange for...?" Hermione
"Companionship? Loyalty? Silence? The price varies," Abraxas said, his fingers now tracing the deep lines the wooden table, avoiding Hermione's gaze. "He invited you, Hermione. He will offer you something and, in return, you will have to give him something as well." Abraxas stepped closer to Hermione until she had to nearly crane her neck to look at him.
"I can say 'no' as much as I please, thank you, Abraxas," Hermione responded, now tapping her foot hoping he would catch the hint and step out of her path.
"We all definitely try our best, Hermione," Abraxas seemed wistful before pulling himself out of his reverie. "Regardless, I wanted to tell you that despite what happened, I still look at you as a friend and hope you could see me in the same light again. And, before tomorrow arrives, I want you to know that Tom isn't a bad person, he's just… he's just seeking his purpose. Sometimes that takes him too far."
"I suppose that could be said for many of us," Hermione reasoned with the Malfoy heir. Despite his words being intended toward Riddle, they hit home for her as well.
"I guess so," Abraxas said, his hand, again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Whatever tomorrow brings, please don't tell Riddle I came here looking for you."
"Why would that matter, Abraxas?" Hermione asked.
"Because I have officially meddled in Tom Riddle's business and he is not the biggest fan of meddling."
"I can agree with that statement—Riddle certainly isn't a fan of meddling; however, my personal affairs are none of his business." Hermione tightly crossed her arms and jutted her chin out proudly.
"Personal affairs, huh?" Abraxas asked, waggling an eyebrow at her. Hermione uncrossed her arms and shoved him slightly.
"Oh, you know what I meant!" She said, fighting down the blush that attempted to grace her cheeks.
"Sure, Hermione." Abraxas eyes searched her for a moment, but for what she did not know. "I better head out before you do. It's getting late anyway. Tomorrow, then."
Hermione nodded.
Abraxas took a few steps backward, his eyes never leaving hers, until he turned down another row of books and disappeared into the night, his footsteps fading in the distance.
In a moment of desperation, Abraxas had sought her out in his confusion. Unfortunately, neither of them had the answer and the interaction had only served to pass on the burden of worry to Hermione. Fortunately, she had gotten used to carrying a heavier load than usual. She squared her shoulders and walked with purpose back to Ravenclaw tower. She kept her composure as she prepared for bed and slid beneath her cool sheets and quilt.
When she finally drifted off, her dreams conjured demons who offered her everything she had once desired in her life. Each demon had perfectly combed hair, long white fangs, and eyes dripping black ink-like blood upon their stark white buttoned shirts. She only awoke when one Riddle-demon latched itself onto her with long nails, begging for help.
A/N: Thanks again for reading. Feel free to leave a review. I am always happy to see those. Take care of yourselves. Wear a mask, wash your hands, and be kind today. See you soon. xx