A/N: Thank you all for your continued support, reviews, and favorites! This story is NOT abandoned, I've just been prioritizing my new job and mental health in a tough year. I am pledging to have this story completed by end of spring 2021. Please root for me! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Happy reading!
December always brought a certain familiar melancholy. It was a kind of sadness that disguised itself as a somber joy that wilted like autumn leaves upon the understanding that the month, and all of its, celebration would soon end. The doldrums of mid-December settled heavy into Hermione's bones like an ichor most foul.
She had certainly tried to share in the excitement Aviela and Minerva held. Earlier that afternoon, they had kissed her frost-bitten cheeks and hugged her tightly before loading their trunks into the carriages that would pull them across the frozen Great Lake and to the train station. They would go home to their families. Hermione would not.
She didn't resent her friends, but a deep seed of yearning and a pang of jealousy wove itself tight around her heart. They had promised to bring her back homemade sweeties from their families as gifts. She doubted that they would taste nearly as good as the desserts that had begun appearing at dinner in the Great Hall earlier that week, but she was thankful at the thought nonetheless.
After seeing Aviela off, she had returned to their shared dorm and stood in the small, empty room. Nyoka had happily snuggled herself within Hermione's bed covers which still held the remnants of last night's warming charms. The snake continued to grow and was now nearly as long as her armspan.
But that didn't stop Hermione from encouraging the snake to crawl inside her satchel and accompany her on a walk through the grounds of Hogwarts. It had taken plenty of coaxing to convince the serpent to join her, but the promise of an intentionally placed warming charm on the inside of her bag sealed the deal. She was thankful for the reluctant company as the room had quickly grown quiet and oppressive in Aviela's absence.
She didn't quite know where she was going, but anywhere else would be enough.
The beauty of Hogwarts at Christmas time never failed to steal her breath and leave her in awe. It was distraction enough. She made a point to walk from wing to wing of the castle to see the variety of decorations. Near each dorm entrance of the four houses were evergreens decked out in carefully assigned house colors. Over the years she had looked forward to visiting the trees of each house.
Ravenclaw's trees held oblong baubles of shiny bronze and blue with deco book and wing charms. Gryffindor had diamond-shaped red and gold globes with metal lion heads that seemed to glow in the candlelight. Hufflepuff had round black and yellow orbs that were translucent enough to capture bits of light on the tree and reflected off carefully placed golden teaspoons that were tied to the branches. Slytherin evergreens appeared deeper in hue and held spiraling ornaments of silver and green. When the light caught them, they appeared to move like live serpents.
On her journey, she occasionally reached into her satchel and stroked Nyoka's back and head. If it bothered the serpent, she said nothing of it. She spent much of the early evening touring Hogwarts and allowing Nyoka to anchor her to the present as she wondered what Harry and Ron were doing at this moment in her time. She wondered if it were even Christmas at all.
Hermione was still lost in thought when she rounded a corner and forcefully bumped into a large, rotund individual. She was nearly sent backward upon the floor, but a large hand steadied her.
"Whoa there, Hermione. Ya almost took a tumble!" Hagrid released her arm and stepped back.
"Hagrid! I didn't know you were staying for the holidays." As soon as the the words left her mouth, she nearly regretted them. Not every student chose to stay because they had nowhere else to go, but those who were unwanted, unwelcome, or unfortunate most certainly were among the lot.
"I'd rather be nowhere else." Hagrid took no offense to her miscalculation.
"I'm glad you are here. I know Aviela just left this afternoon, but I am feeling…"
"Fidgety?" Hagrid looked down at her from beneath his big nose. "You look like yer missin' something."
Hermione gripped the strap of her satchel a little tighter. "Yes. I guess I am."
"Need help lookin' 'round fer it?"
Hermione gave Hagrid a half smile. "It's not a something, but a someone."
"In that case, I'd wager that they're missin' ya just as well."
"I would like to think so."
"Will ya be goin' to Hogsmeade this weekend? I know a lot of folks are plannin' to." Hagrid stuffed his large hands in his frayed robe pockets.
"I do. It will be nice to get out of the halls for a bit and see the decorations in town." Hermione wished the days would come quicker than they were.
"I'll go with ya if yer wantin' the company." Hagrid looked at her, his eyes hopeful.
"That would be—" Hermione had nearly forgotten that she had promised to meet Riddle outside of the Great Hall. Hagrid cocked his head at her.
"Unless ya already have plans. I don't mind goin' alone." Hagrid looked downward, his boot lightly kicked at the cracked stone beneath him.
"No! I mean—yes, I am meeting someone out in front of the Great Hall before the walk over, but I would be happy if you joined us at the Three Broomsticks. Truly, Hagrid." Hermione scrambled to keep the half-giant from looking so dejected.
"Are ya sure I won't be intrudin'?"
She reached over and patted his robed arm. "Hagrid, you are a dear friend and I would be overjoyed to have your company."
The young boy looked elated at her honesty and invite. "Sounds great, Hermione. I am lookin' forward to it. I'll meet ya there."
Hermione waved as he ambled toward the Great Hall which readily had sweeties and hot chocolate available all throughout the day. Dippet had announced that the best way to keep the winter blues at bay was a warm hearth and a full belly. It was evident that he intended to make good on that; every hearth the had passed blazed brilliantly and she was never too far off from a place where she could find piping hot chocolate on tap.
Her mind drifted back to Riddle. She hoped he wouldn't mind that she had invited Hagrid along, but knew that he would very much prefer if she hadn't. She recalled how Harry had discovered that Riddle used the young half-giant's harboring or his pet acromantula, Aragog, as a scapegoat for the basilisk attack. She had put a stop to the attack, but that didn't mean that Riddle had not eyed the boy with ill-intent in the past.
Hermione scratched her head. She wondered where Hagrid was hiding Aragog. She debated telling him about how big the spider would eventually grow and how he should set it free, but she decided to contend with one concern at a time. And her biggest concern was breaking to Riddle that Hagrid would be joining them on their supposed date.
"What could possibly go wrong," Hermione mumbled under her breath.
She could've swore she heard a lilting, mocking hiss emanating from her satchel. She gave it a firm hip-bump. Nyoka shut up immediately.
Hermione and Riddle had somehow managed to effectively avoid one another up until the day of the Hogsmeade trip had arrived. She sat in front of the mirror in her dorm, frowning. She debated whether or not she should magically work the frizz from her hair. If she should swipe on the lipgloss she had brought from her time. If she should wear her school robes or her favorite sweater. Half of her said "yes"to all of the above, while the other half was worried she would give Riddle the wrong idea. Both brought up the concern of what exactly did she want Riddle to think of her?
Then the smallest part of her that she had worked to effectively ignore reminded her that him thinking of her at all was enough.
Yes to the sweater—it was her favorite after all. Yes to the lipgloss—she did not wish to be bothered with chapped lips. No to the hair—the winter wind would only ruin her hard work.
Hermione opened her trunk and moved aside her personal copy of Hogwarts: A History and pulled a few coins from the pouch beneath it in her trunk for spending. She carefully placed the book back atop her possessions. She had eagerly requested a copy from the school's student resource office not long after she had arrived. Despite not taking a History class this year, Hermione was provided with a copy by the school. Before she thought better of it, she had begun writing in the margins. She had an annotated copy home in her time, but the act of revisiting her thoughts was cathartic enough to distract her on her worst days.
She placed her wand and the meager coins into the pocket of her coat as she moved to the window. Snow fell steadily and softly. The ground had remained covered, but was fresh and once again free of any snow angels and footprints. Winter had a way of making time stand still as each night of snow bought the same morning—a fresh canvas for the world's inhabitants to make their mark before all evidence disappeared.
Minutes later, Hermione stood outside of the Great hall, her shoulders bunched up against her ears, attempting to hold in as much warmth as possible. She had arrived ten minutes earlier than Riddle suggested.
Students had begun milling about, chattering excitedly about the sweets and baubles they would soon acquire in Hogsmeade before they started their walk over. Hermione eyed Hagrid chuckling with a small group of Gryffindor students. He looked Hermione's way and waved with his large hand. Hermione held up a mitten-covered hand. Part of her wished the half-giant would halt his conversations and join her—or at least serve as a buffer between her and Riddle.
The closer the Hogsmeade trip had gotten the more nervous she felt. On more than one occasion she had considered hiding out, feigning ill, or simply just being a no-show on the day of the trip. As much as she had considered the possibility, she knew that she would be forgoing her whole reason for being here in this moment—to stop Riddle from becoming the dark lord she knew him as in her time.
As much as she had considered the possibility, part of her wondered what a date with Tom Riddle would be like.
She imagined it would involve something insulting, an unforgivable curse, and a crime scene without a witness. She hoped she was wrong.
The sound of bells chimed clear and bright as afternoon came upon them. The crowd of students began their trek down the wooded path to Hogsmeade, and Riddle was suddenly at her side looking for all the world disgruntled.
"You're here," Hermione said, lowering her shoulders from her ears and crossing her arms tight to her body.
"Disappointed?" Riddle asked, not even bothering to look her way.
"Only as much as you are for asking me to accompany you." They began walking forward, their shoes crunching in the heavy snowfall.
"I have my doubts."
She stole a glance at Riddle. He had since stepped slightly closer to her, but still far enough away that it hardly felt like an appropriate distance for two people going on a supposed date. He wore a Slytherin scarf that was tucked partially into his coat. His cheeks and the tip of his straight nose were already tinged pink. His hands were stuffed tight in his coat pockets, but Hermione noted the pale skin being exposed at his cuff. Did he have mittens?
Riddle suddenly turned his head to look at her. He had, once again, caught her observing him. Her cheeks were pink enough from the wind that she need not bother to hide the flush that crept in.
"I assume you do not want to go to The Three Broomsticks after what happened?"
Hermione hadn't thought about the potential error in returning to the place where Nyoka had attacked the innkeeper and killed him with the fatal venom that so often lie dormant within her. She felt guilty that the man's death had not lingered upon her mind enough for her to form alternate plans with Hagrid.
"N-no, it's fine. We can go. Besides, I already told a friend of mine to meet with us there. I assumed the more the merrier." She attempted to shrug off his question like it didn't now leave her haunted and anxious for their visit. She was definitely thankful she had invited Hagrid to join them there.
"Are you so frightened to be alone with me that you need a chaperone?" Riddle's mouth turned downward.
Hermione's mouth pursed as she thought carefully.
"No, I just like to ruin your plans. It really makes me feel alive," Hermione retorted.
"Bold of you to assume I had planned anything for this outing."
"You're Tom Riddle. You always have something planned," she huffed.
"You flatter me too much, Miss Sivad." He smirked down at her.
Something in her deflated when he used her formal title as opposed to her first name. It was another feeling she didn't want to put a name to.
They walked in relative silence for some time. She only bothered to mutter a "thanks" when Riddle moved a low hanging branch from their path as they trekked on.
Upon arriving to Hogsmeade the students scattered like snowflakes on the wind. Dozens rushed to The Three Broomsticks, but almost just as many made headway for the shops to do their Christmas shopping before surely tucking in with a hot mug of cocoa to end the excursion.
As they came upon The Three Broomsticks, Hermione saw Hagrid standing high above their peers, waving to them.
Riddle stopped abruptly, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead.
"You didn't tell me we would be dining with Gryffindors." Riddle almost sounded betrayed.
"We aren't dining with Gryffindors. We are having lunch with Hagrid," Hermione said, putting a mitten-covered fist on her cocked hip. "Don't be an arse. He's a good friend and it's just for a short while. I am sure you can somehow manage."
Riddle took a deep breath—the frown shifted into a look of aloof boredom. He played at indifference, but Hermione knew he was probably seething inside. A sickly sweet feeling of delight washed over her.
"Hermione glad ta see yer still wantin' to grab a bite ta eat," Hagrid greeted her. His eyes moved to Riddle. "So, Tom Riddle is yer Hogsmeade date?"
His question made her jolt slightly. In her mind, she had been referring to their outing as a date, but he had never explicitly stated that that was what this was. She looked to Riddle whose face gave away nothing, but his eyes were focused intently on her.
"Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that." She rubbed her mittened hands together. "Shall we?"
Hagrid opened the door for them both and gestured for them to go inside. He ducked in after them, accidentally bumping into her and Riddle as they entered the crowded foyer. Riddle looked murderous. Hermione stifled a giggle.
The hostess made quick work of seating the students before them. When it was their turn, the waitress took one look at Hagrid and led them to a booth as opposed to a table out in the middle of the room where many of the other students had been seated. Hagrid Slid ungracefully into the wooden booth, but seemed to settle in quickly enough. This left only the other side of the booth open for her and Riddle. She nearly asked the waitress for a chair to sit at the end of the table, but the waitress had whirled away to begin taking drink orders. Riddle gestured for her to enter the booth. She eased off her coat and slid in with Riddle following right behind her.
No sooner than they had settled in a waitress had come by and gotten their drink orders. Hagrid and her both ordered mugs of hot cocoa while Riddle selected a hot apple cider. Hagrid carried most of the conversation with Hermione. He had attempted to invite Riddle into the conversation with pointed questions, but Riddle had given short responses or just uninterested nods. She was going to strangle him, but for now she decided to pretend he was just part of the woodwork.
After placing their food order, Hermione and Hagrid were enveloped in animated conversation, using the inn's menu as they had begun to list off the most popular holiday desserts available and started to rank them on a scale from one to ten. One, meaning the dessert should never be considered a holiday favorite while a ten meant it was the perfect holiday sweet.
"Pumpkin bread is definitely a seven on the holiday best list," Hermione argued.
"I am goin' ta have ta disagree with ye, Hermione. Pumpkin bread is more of a autumnal dish. I am goin' ta give it a three." Hagrid shook his head in disagreement.
"A three? It's seasonal! You mean you never had pumpkin pie at your family dinners?" Hermione looked at him exasperated.
Hagrid looked uncomfortable. "No, I can't say I did." Immediately realizing her mistake Hermione eased back in her seat, a flush creeping up her neck along with the mortification at her faux pas.
The conversation lulled.
"Hagrid, I—"
"I do not understand why you both are so concerned over the ranking of pumpkin bread when the menu had the audacity to list blueberry doughnuts as a perfect winter treat," Riddle reasoned as he pointedly studied the menu laid out on the table before them.
Hermione watched as he slid his eyes over to her, his brows quirking up almost imperceptibly as if to say, "Go on."
Saving face, she slid close to Riddle and eyed the menu with him—their shoulders nearly touching. Her brow also furrowed in displeasure at the doughnut advertisement gracing the page.
"That's utter blasphemy," Hermione said.
"A disgrace ta all Christmas treats," Hagrid said.
"Pathetic," Riddle said, pushing the menu across the table and away from him.
They all looked to each other for a moment, before agreeing upon a ranking of one without discussion. Hagrid and Hermione chuckled openly. She watched as the faintest grin graced Riddle's face. She wanted to kiss the corner of his mouth that gave him away.
Hermione jolted at the idea and she immediately dismissed the intrusive thought by drinking down a too hot gulp of hot cocoa that left her placing her hand to her chest in an attempt to soothe the burn as it hit her stomach. She coughed the heat away.
The waitress came back by with their lunch of cinnamon spiced muffins, pumpin bread served with a dollop of cream cheese, and apple turnovers stuffed with chewy pecans—not a single blueberry doughnut in sight. Steam rolled off from various treats and filled the air before them. They all dug into the meal, sampling each sweet. They hardly spoke, but there was no need to. It was a comfortable enough silence, one that was spent on savoring the moment well enough to create a memory. It would not be the worst thing in the world to remember this moment objectively; as three students laughing over pastries during the yule holiday.
Soon the meal and the comfortable silence faded into nothing but crumbs and the clanking of dishes being removed from their table. The waitress sat the single check on the table.
"Oh, I am sorry, this needed to be split—" Hermione began.
"This should cover it," Riddle spoke over her, withdrawing a few galleons from his pocket. "Please keep the change."
The waitress thanked Riddle as he stood up from his place in the booth, buttoning his coat and readjusting his scarf. Hermione glared at him.
"I can pay for my own food, you know."
"Yes, I am aware." Riddle did not even spare her a glance.
Hagrid slid out from his spot in the booth.
"Well, I best be headin' off. Some of the other Gryffindors are plannin' ta hold a snowball fight in the woods and they need me ta help build the fortresses," Hagrid said proudly, "Feel free ta join us if ya wish—the both of ya."
Hermione waved goodbye to Hagrid and slid her coat and mittens back on. Riddle began walking out.
"Thank you," Hermione she said to his back. Riddle stopped and angled his body slightly toward her.
"For the food? Don't worry about it."
"No—I mean, yes, but no. Thank you for saving me back there with the whole blueberry doughnut travesty."
"I don't know what you're referring to." Riddle's face gave away nothing. Hermione just looked at him and rolled her eyes.
She followed him outside, the tinkling bell above the door barely masking his muffled "you're welcome."
—
Riddle and Hermione wove their way through the bustling weekend crowds in Hogsmeade. Last minute shoppers were ticking off items on their lists before Christmas arrived. Students nearer to the wood's edge threw large snowballs and made crooked snowmen while others darted in and out of the sweet shops and school supply stores. Each storefront was decorated impeccably with large, spiraling candy canes; nutcrackers of all sizes; and yule trees decorated with shimmering tinsel and enchanted snowfall. She recalled a trip she and her parents once made to New York City in her youth and how the upscale stores pulled no punches when it came to the holiday spirit.
They paused in front of a window to watch enchanted toys move animatedly in synchronization. The silence between them was not uncomfortable but it felt like a rope drawn taut—both waiting to see who pulled first.
"Do you need any school supplies?" Hermione rubbed her gloved hands together, shoulders bunching up to her reddened ears, encouraging her hair to trap in as much warmth as possible.
"No." Riddle watched a jack in the box in the window spring in time to opening of the shop door and its tinkling bells. "Do you?"
"Not really." They both pulled themselves away from the distracting, animated window and continued their walk.
Ahead the wooden sign for Tomes and Scrolls creaked on its metal hinges with each rogue gust of wind that filtered through the sharp alleys of the town. Hermione's face lit up. If anything could make a lonely Christmas bearable it would be a new book. She could barely contain herself as she reached to tug lightly on the bunched material at the elbow of Riddle's coat to get him to walk faster.
She pulled him with her all the way to the shop entrance before she thought better of it and let go, taking a step back. She prepared herself for him to chastise her, but when their eyes met she could see a lopsided grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Riddle walked past her and opened the door to the shop.
"After you." Riddle motioned her to the door. She entered and he followed in after her, the both of them taking care to wipe their snow-covered feet on the stained rug by the door.
The smell of fresh parchment, dusty leather-bound books, and ink swirled around her, melding with the scent of the sweet cinnamon candle that burned near the entrance of the shop. She sighed at the warmth. Tomes and Scrolls was a shop that she had visited often in her own time. So little had changed that it was like stepping through a portal to the present day. The shelves were arranged the same way—in neat rows that offered privacy and chairs hidden deep within their stacks. The built-in shelving behind the checkout counter still held orders, ledgers, and returns. Even some of the same artwork hung just as she had remembered it, such as the moving portrait of a young girl with a book nearer to the door. She was sure that if she went four shelves in and to the right she would find the painting of a vineyard with a phoenix circling high in the clouds above the fields.
She could feel Riddle watching her as she took in the moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw working as though he were going to say something to her. She didn't give him the chance. She took off into the stacks, immediately beelining for where she knew she could find the reference books.
She didn't quite know what she was looking for, but when it came to books she often believed that the books she loved most found her. She allowed herself to breathe and began scanning the shelves for something that called to her. Books on herbology and herbal remedies were among the first she scanned. The collection was extensive and soon she found herself going from shelf to shelf and row to row, searching for just the right book.
Had her parents been with her, she would have already shoved several books into her father's waiting arms as her mother picked up books and suggested them to her. She would have left with more books than one person could have carried alone. She reached into her pocket and felt her meager coins jangle around, her thumb rubbing the hammered edge of a sickle she had brought with her.
One book. I can get one book. She was going to have to make it count.
After several journeys in and out of the shelves and back again, a golden, cloth-bound book with a shiny red-winged egg carved into the spine caught her eye among a sea of brown and grey tomes. The book was smaller than the tomes beside it, but no less impressive. She stood on her tiptoes and hooked a finger atop the books spine, pulling downward and out until it freed itself into her grip.
She wiped away at the dust that had collected on the topmost pages and turned to the cover. The same shiny, red embossing of the winged egg carried itself into the title of the book. Cobras and Canaries: Tales of the Last Wyvern.
Hermione rubbed her fingers across the title. It was a gorgeous book and though she had read about dragons and basilisks more than she cared to admit, she had rarely heard of wyverns let alone identify books devoted solely to the topic. Some magical creature experts believed them to be extinct while other conspiracy theorists pointed to their evolutionary magic for their elusiveness. Her interest had been sparked. She clutched the book tight to her chest. She couldn't wait to sit by the fire in the Ravenclaw tower, nurse a cup of tea, and read as the snow fell outside.
Hermione blinked out of her daydream. She had nearly forgotten about Riddle. She scanned the rows of shelves, searching for him. Eventually she found him in the furthest corner of the shop, sitting in a black leather chair—one leg crossed over his knee with his head leaning carefully into an extended finger placed at his temple. His brow was furrowed as he read the book perched on his leg. His coat had fallen open and his scarf was undone. He looked like he belonged in a painting hanging upon the shop's walls. She was sure many young women would be encouraged to read if he were there to keep them silent, brooding company.
Riddle eyes suddenly looked up to her from beneath his strong brow. The lines on his face eased away. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other under his gaze.
"I found a book," she said, jostling the tome she cradled in her arms for emphasis.
"Just one?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Just one."
"I thought it was impossible for a Ravenclaw to show self-control within a book store." He smirked at her as he stood and set the dark-colored tome he held on the table beside him. "I am impressed." Hermione's eyes trailed to the cover of the book, but it only contained an image of an eye pressed into the leather of the front cover. She knew that most books on the practice of divination often featured similar symbols.
"We can show restraint any time we please." She lifted her chin up at him.
The pair walked down the aisle and approached the clerk's desk. Hermione handed the middle-aged man the book. The clerk slipped the card from inside the front cover that contained the book information, his signature, and the price—all enchanted to ensure no one tried to alter the information in their favor when purchasing.
"Ah a first edition! This one is a rarity. I hardly ever see this book come through my shop." The man took down a few notes in his receipt book. "All right. That'll be eleven sickles," he said as he bagged her purchase in a brown paper sack.
Hermione immediately blanched. That was nearly a galleon—a galleon she indeed did not have with her. Her hand shuffled around in her pocket and with drew a handful of knuts and a few sickles, but it wasn't nearly enough to cover the book.
"I don't—"
Before she could finish her sentence, Riddle slid a handful of shiny sickles across the wooden checkout counter. The man raked them into his palm, counted each of them, and when satisfied that there were indeed eleven, he pushed the brown bag across the counter toward them.
"Have a nice day," the clerk said as he dropped the silver coins into the register.
When Hermione didn't immediately motion to take the bag, Riddle snatched it off the counter and nodded to the man before exiting the building. She gathered herself and trailed after him.
Riddle had just stepped off the steps of the shop when Hermione stepped in front of him.
"What the hell was that?" She frowned up at him.
He attempted to step around her, but she shuffled in the snow until she was blocking his escape again. He sighed heavily.
"It's just a book, Hermione." The sound of her name on his tongue caused something in her chest to expand and coil inside her. She hated the feeling of simultaneous unease and comfort him saying her name brought on.
"A book that I could've either taken care of myself or put back for something less expensive."
"I offered to assist. It is a non-issue, though I can see you have a flair for the dramatics and wish to make it into one." He avoided her stare and instead tucked the brown bag under his arm. He side stepped her easily this time, their shoulders bumping as he continued walking down the street. As he walked he buttoned up his coat and readjusted his scarf against the wind.
Hermione rolled her eyes and jogged to catch up with him.
"It's money, Riddle, money that is not as expendable for people like us." People who are without family support. Though that went unsaid.
"I have no worry for funds at present." He kept walking, his long legs carrying him ahead of Hermione as she continued continued to jog lightly to keep up.
"What? Are you and your Knights running shakedowns on first-years for coin now?"
He stopped abruptly, nearly causing her to run into him.
"Petty thievery is not something we take part in. I don't steal money from other students," Riddle seethed, his jaw tight. He took a step toward her. "In fact, the only thing I have ever stolen that I took pleasure in is anything I've stolen from you."
Hermione's mind immediately shifted to the kiss he had taken from her lips the night of the Halloween Ball. Her face, tinged pink from the cold, reddened further. His eyes narrowed and darted across her features as he searched her face, his gaze landing on her lips for far too long. He pulled back and continued walking. She followed him.
"Then how do you have enough funds to pay for my meal and this book?" If anything, Hermione was persistent. She knew he hated it, too.
"How does one prevent themselves from getting into trouble with Hogwarts for doing magic outside of school grounds?" Riddle asked her.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Just answer the question. I know you're dying to anyway." The sarcastic tone Riddle threw at her had Hermione narrowing her eyes at his form.
"The wand registers the magic performed by the user. If a student were to perform wandless magic and it went unwitnessed, there would be no paper trail for school officials to follow." Hermione recalled Harry's former incidents with his own magic and how it was classified and handled.
"Would you say that I am quite proficient at wandless magic?"
"More so than most students our age," she reasoned without offering him too much to boost his ego.
"Then is it so hard to believe that perhaps I use summers away from Hogwarts to take on tasks for local muggles that I can complete in half the time a non-magic user could?" Riddle's eyes slid to her to gauge her reaction.
"You mean you learned wandless magic early on just to do odd jobs?"
"If I could make money while also getting away from that decrepit orphanage for a day, why would I not?" Riddle averted his eyes from her. "I have more than enough funds to do with whatever I wish. Once I graduate, I will have saved up enough to be free to roam wherever I please and live my life however I so choose."
A lump formed in Hermione's throat. At that moment, she wasn't looking at the future dark lord, but a young man who dreamed of being something more than what had been assigned to him at birth by the cruelty of the world. He wished to be free and she could not fault him for wanting to escape. She, too, wished she could escape her own reality on most days.
"And how would you choose to live your life after you graduate?"
"I would get my own place in London—close enough to walk to the Thames," he said without hesitation. "I may teach at Hogwarts or join the Ministry or study magical artifacts—or I may become something greater." She shivered.
"And you would do this alone?" She knew she should be walking a finer line with him, but she couldn't resist the temptation: what did a young Tom Riddle dream of?
"I do not fear loneliness, if that is what you are asking." Riddle shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.
"But would you prefer it—to be alone, I mean. If you had the choice." She chewed the inside of her check, awaiting his response.
"Depends on the company I am able to keep."
"…and a family? Do you desire one?" Her cheeks felt hot. Why am I so flustered? It was just a simple question. He stopped walking and did not respond for several beats, leaving Hermione to fidget in place.
He turned to her, eyes meeting her own. "To come home to something that was mine and mine alone would not be so terrible." His reddened nose and hair caught on the breeze made him look so much younger in the soft gray light of the day. The way he looked at her so openly almost made her want to confess her truths and beg him to follow his peaceful dream to its end.
He frowned. "But loving others is a weakness that can be easily exploited by those who seek to destroy you. At the very least it is a foolish mistake and at most it can be dangerous for all involved."
"I disagree," Hermione was quick in an attempt to stop his own ruination. "Loving others gives us strength to do the things we might otherwise be unable to do. It gives us the courage to stand up against our enemies. Love is the greatest of any alliance." She stood proud and firm in her conviction.
He studied her face carefully.
"And if that alliance is broken?" Riddle tilted his head, eyes boring into her.
"Everyone enjoys a good tale of revenge," Hermione smirked up at him.
Riddle laughed—a genuine laugh. It was a soft rumble that he attempted and failed to disguise as a cough. He schooled himself again, but the ghost of his laugh still played at the upturned corner of his mouth.
"And what of you, Hermione, do you wish to form an alliance?" He stepped closer again, their heat of their breaths commingled in the frosty air.
"Depends on the company I am able to keep," she said, turning his own words against him.
A rogue wind swept past, blowing Hermione's hair behind her shoulders and chilling her to the bone. She shivered violently and attempted to adjust the collar of her coat higher when she felt a length of fabric slide across her neck and wrap around her quickly.
Riddle had removed his scarf and placed it upon her. Although his generosity had begun to eat away at her, she gladly would accept this gesture without malice. It was incredibly cold out, after all.
She adjusted his scarf beneath her hair and bunched it up to her chin. The fabric smelled of parchment, cinnamon, and burning yule logs. She breathed his scent in deeply. She had smelled the aromatic blend before, but in the moment she couldn't quite recall where.
Hermione smiled sweetly up at him and took a step forward, placing her hand on the lapels of his coat. Standing on the tips of her toes, she moved her face closer to his. She saw Riddle's adam's apple bob as he swallowed heavily, but he did not move to step away. His eyes strayed down to her lips. She slid her face up next to his, their bodies a whisper away from touching. Riddle's lips parted slightly as he studied her, waiting for her next move.
She slowly gripped the brown sack tucked under his arm and yanked, pulling it free from his grasp as she simultaneously took several steps backward. She smiled deviously at him and walked past, throwing a "thanks!" over her shoulder at his reddening face.
Hermione should have known better than to push Tom Riddle—than to make a fool of him. She should have known better than to believe he would be satisfied with her childish antics. She should have run when she heard his heavy footfalls in the snow behind her. She should have broken free when he gripped the back of her coat in his large hand. She should have hexed him for all that he was.
But when Riddle spun her around and held her firmly in place at the waist she did none of those things.
Especially not when he lowered his face to hers, caressed his soft lips against her own, and breathed in her gasp. He took advantage of her shock, his tongue delving in to taste her.
Against her better judgment, she dropped the brown paper bag onto the snow and leaned into his embrace as a heat settled into the pit of her stomach at the press of his lips. Her tongue darted out tentatively to taste him back. She was losing herself in his arms as he pressed harder into her and kissed her in no manner of which she had ever been kissed by anyone else.
His hands slid down the waist of her coat to her hips, which he pulled to his own. When she bit his bottom lip none too gently, a quiet groan escaped his lips. His hands tightened on her hips until she was just on the edge of discomfort. In response, her breath hitched in her throat with a light gasp.
As though he suddenly came to his senses at her breathy admission, Riddle wrenched himself apart from her and put her at arms length. He was sucking in deep breaths like a man coming up for air in a tempest tossed ocean. He looked utterly disturbed as he studied her swollen lips and flushed face.
"I hate you." He said it more to himself than to her. It still sent a pang of something akin to hurt through Hermione and pulled her out of her kiss-induced stupor.
"And I hate thieves." She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him.
"It's not stealing if you are more than eager to share." Riddle wiped away her lipgloss with back of his hand, feigning disgust, but his dark eyes never left her bruised lips.
For the second time today, she truly wanted to throttle him.
Everyone loves a good tale of revenge. Her own words haunted her.
Before she could call him a sack of rubbish and ignore him the rest of the way back to Hogwarts, a chorus of screams shattered the air and an whistling explosion sounded off in the distance.
Hermione watched in horror as black smoke rose high into the cloudy sky.
There was no mistaking it. Hogsmeade was under attack.
A/N: Please review and favorite if you liked this chapter or my story in general! It's the best motivation I have to stick to my writing schedule.
Best wishes & constant vigilance!
- VS