Notes: Welcome!

I haven't done a themed story in so long... not since a Christmas Bellarke for The 100 in 2015. Anyway, I'm super excited to share this story that pairs Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger in a Gothic Horror/Dark Fairy Tale/Psychological Thriller sort of tale. As some of you may know, I really liked writing the pairing of Tom and Hermione in Where the Broken Ends Meet (Dramione endgame). This story gave me the opportunity to play more in that space with fresh takes on their characters. Even if Tom/Hermione is not your pairing of choice, I would encourage you to give this a try as it is, above all else, a thrilling tale of All Hallows Eve and the consequences of entering the woods under a full moon (which is on Halloween this year!) with a handsome stranger.

This is one continuous story, but I've broken it into seven movements. If you prefer to read it as a whole, wait until Halloween for all the parts to be posted. If you're okay doing it a la carte, new movements posted every other day until then.

~*~ One: Cinderella's Red Masque ~*~

"Aren't you going to dance?"

Hermione Granger grimaced, then instantly tried to mask her reaction. Ignoring the inquiry, she gazed up at the black candles dripping scalding wax from the enchanted ceiling of the Hogwarts Great Hall. The dark wax vaporized before it could rain a cavalcade of pain upon the masked dancers below, but the effect still set her nerves on edge.

Or maybe it was the atmosphere of the dance itself. She'd never attended the All Hallows Eve Ball before—life and death encounters of the very real variety had derailed any opportunity in the past. She was only here tonight because Harry had practically begged her on his knees, insisting he needed her as moral support in his effort to ignore Dean Thomas' tongue down Ginny Weasley's throat. And who was Hermione Granger to refuse a desperate Harry Potter?

So here she was, surrounded by the macabre, desperately trying to be reminded of anything but death or doom. But the ghosts were out in full force and the walls dripped enchanted waterfalls of blood. Despite—or perhaps because of—the shivers that wouldn't stop coursing down her spine, she had to admit the decorating committee had outdone themselves.

But something felt off beyond the ghoulish decorations. A sense of foreboding had settled firmly in her gut the moment she'd entered the hall with Harry—a feeling she only got when true danger lurked near. She'd felt this sinking sensation at the Ministry of Magic and look how that had ended. A stronger tremor wracked her frame and she gritted her teeth, refusing to remember.

Where the bloody hell had Harry gone? She scanned the crowd, but found no sign of him or his harlequin mask. A cleared throat beside her reminded Hermione that she was, unfortunately, not alone.

With a sigh, she turned to face Cormac McLaggen. His unmistakable blond curls overflowed the edges of a stylistic Devil's mask, which concealed most of his face.

"No, Cormac. I am not going to dance." Especially not with you. But she didn't voice that part. He'd been following her around for weeks now and what had been mildly flattering in the wake of Ron's disgusting hook up with Lavender Brown had become tiresome and unwelcome.

Lacking all common sense and manners, he settled further into the alcove beside her, paying no heed to the enchanted blood—Godric, she hoped it wasn't real—suddenly pouring over the collar of his red cape. When he didn't react to the continued stream of liquid, Hermione was mollified by the realization that the gory sight was an illusion.

She slanted her gaze toward him, barely concealing her groan of frustration. "Cormac, I really would prefer to be alone right now."

Cormac's mouth twisted into what he must have thought a devilish grin, but she found to be a toothy grimace. "You're too beautiful to be all alone at a dance, Hermione."

She didn't bother to conceal her grimace this time. "Go away, Cormac."

"But—"

"The lady asked you to leave," a new voice cut in, deeper and smooth like satin. A shudder ran through her that had nothing to do with the black candles and enchanted blood. "So leave."

Cormac looked on the verge of arguing, but when he turned to face the intruder his mouth snapped shut and he was across the room before Hermione could take another breath. Pulse fluttering at her throat, she twisted slowly toward her rescuer.

Her gaze immediately caught on the gleaming waves of ebony that framed his face, the haunting candlelight making the luscious strands seem alive. His mask of raven-black feathers covered only his eyes, exposing defined cheekbones that seemed razor-sharp in the shadows of their dim alcove. Hermione couldn't help the tendril of heat that shot through her as her focus caught on his lips, full and begging her to—she snapped her eyes shut. No. She would not act like— let alone think like—some hormonal teenager. She was not bloody Lavender Brown for Godric's sake.

She forced a steady inhale and then another until her pulse wasn't a jackhammer against her flushed skin. Only when she was sure she'd mastered her reaction, did she open her eyes to find liquid sapphire burning into her from the depths of the black feather mask. All her preparation was nearly undone in an instant, but Hermione refused to succumb to her baser instincts and gritted her teeth until the heat beneath her skin was a mere itch instead of a fathomless tsunami.

Then she forced her lips to move. Her vocal cords to vibrate with only the slightest hitch. "Thank you. But I didn't need your assistance."

The boy across from her shrugged, drawing her eyes to the strong line of his shoulders. He was taller than her by perhaps a head or more. She tilted her chin up to find his luminous stare again.

"I don't suppose you did, but I found him tiresome. It seemed kinder to both of us to dispatch of him quickly."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she listened to the velvet tones of his deep voice. She didn't recognize him and there was something about his speech pattern that seemed… off. As if he weren't accustomed to speaking or perhaps had come from another time entirely.

She shook her head and schooled her features into a neutral expression before he finished his explanation. There was no reason to be paranoid and ridiculous. This was Hogwarts and Dumbledore was in this very hall. She could be no safer.

"I guess that's true." She held out her hand. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Hermione."

He held her gaze with a magnetic energy that unsettled every facet of her as he raised her hand to his lips. The soft satin of them seared into Hermione as he brushed a kiss across her skin. He murmured, "enchanted," and kept her hand against his mouth a beat too long.

Hermione snatched her hand back, fighting valiantly against the flush that threatened to overtake every millimeter of her. "And you are?"

His flashed a grin that was more predatory grace than kindness. It seemed Hermione's pulse didn't mind.

"Of course. Forgive my abhorrent manners. I'm Tom."

Hermione ran through a mental list of every Hogwarts student she knew. No Tom meeting his description was anywhere in the depths of her memories. "You're not a current student."

"No," he readily admitted. His lips quirked into a dangerous smile that made her heart hammer and her hackles rise. "I suppose you could say I'm an alumnus."

"I wasn't aware alumni were invited to the ball."

"They weren't."

So he admitted to being an interloper. The warning in the pit of her stomach was growing every second she spent with him, but Hermione couldn't help the curiosity that roiled just as strongly. Who was this darkly enchanting young man? Why was he here? And why in Godric's name had he chosen to talk to her?

Tom took a half step closer and Hermione's heart stuttered. She tried to take a deep breath, but he was too close now and all she could smell was cloves and something darker—an aroma that bypassed her head and seared into her flesh, leaving her legs unsteady and her heart off kilter. She tamped down the sensations, the unwelcome desire he evoked. She needed to get away from him. Immediately.

"I should really—"

"Dance with me."

Hermione's mouth hung open a moment too long. "I hardly know you."

"All the more reason to dance with me." His sapphire eyes gleamed as he peered down at her. "It'll give you the chance to get to know me."

"You're not supposed to be here."

He didn't deny it. "Are you going to tell on me?" His tone was mocking, his eyes darkening to a deep cobalt as they dared her to act, to call him out.

But Hermione wasn't a know-it-all first year anymore and despite the misgivings tangled up in her gut, she knew she wouldn't alert the faculty to his presence. But that didn't mean she trusted Tom.

No, she would handle this on her own. It was a far cry better than trying not to think about Ron and Lavender or the fact that death could be just around the corner for any of them now that Voldemort had begun to marshal his forces.

She held out a hand. "Fine. I'll dance with you."

His answering smile stole the breath from her lungs. It was nothing like the predatory grins he'd bestowed upon her earlier in their conversation. This expression transformed his face from darkly enchanting to boyish and light, the harsh edges eaten away by his joy. Perhaps he truly was a harmless boy from a different year, here to experience the school he'd left behind.

Before she could think any further on it, his hand was at her waist, searing through the thin black satin of her dress and then skating across her bare back.

She'd enlisted Ginny's help transfiguring a gown of silvery cobwebs floating ethereally over effervescent black that clung to her every curve. It was scandalously low in the back, dipping to below her waist, but a conservative halter in front prevented the staff from sending her to change. The skirt hung freely, but highlighted her every movement, the cobwebs sliding across her thighs and hips like melted butter. It was designed to show her off; it was designed to make Ron Weasley notice.

Right now she couldn't remember what Ron looked like. Tom's fingers brushed across the exposed base of her spine and Hermione had to bite her tongue to hold in the gasp he elicited. She used her free hand to adjust her cobweb mask, buying an extra second to steel herself before allowing him to pull her fully into his arms. One hand settled on his broad shoulder while the other was enveloped in his strong grip as he began to move them through the motions of a waltz.

For a half second, Hermione had two left feet and no memory of the extensive training she'd undergone in preparation for the Yule Ball during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Then she remembered to how to breathe. Then how to waltz.

She was still all too aware of his hand on her bare back, but as they circulated the room she slowly began to relax in his hold. Tom was a skilled dancer, natural in his movements, gentle in his unspoken directions. Hermione found she didn't have to pay much attention to the placement of her feet or which step came next. His subtle lead changes were more than sufficient to alert her of an upcoming turn or promenade. It was a welcome change from the boys Hermione often found needed her to lead them. Not that she'd danced much since the Yule Ball.

Hermione swallowed hard and tried not to think of the chasm of loss that gaped between those enchanted memories and the harsh reality she now inhabited. Tom shifted and suddenly they were closer, his lips brushing her hair as he murmured, "are you alright?"

Hermione realized she had a death grip on his hand and instantly tore away. "I need…" She swallowed hard and tried again, "I need some air."

His eyes flickered between sapphire and cobalt for a long moment before he caught her hand again. "Follow me."

Every sane part of her screamed that going somewhere with this dark stranger was the last thing she should do, but the ache in her chest that had grown during their dance was too much for her to bear. She needed out of this room. Out of this school. Just out.

So she allowed him to lead her from the Great Hall and into the darkness of the deserted corridors and then out into the chilled night, the light of the full moon dripping down upon them in luminous silver streams as the stars glittered in the darkness beyond.