Thank you all again for the continued support. Chapters are more substantial from here on out. Please stay healthy and safe.

~*~ Six ~*~

The next month dragged by in fits of boredom, interrupted occasionally by Malfoy's caustic stares and Riddle's attempts to corner her in some remote location of the castle. Thankfully, at least when it came to Riddle, Malfoy was glued to her like second skin. They sat together in every class and outside class he wouldn't take a step away from her unless Aurelia was present. He seemed to have appointed the Slytherin girl her secondary babysitter. Hermione didn't need Aurelia or Malfoy, but she was thankful that Malfoy seemed to trust the other girl for reasons known only to him. Hermione would likely have murdered Malfoy within the first week if Aurelia hadn't been around to give her a respite from his incessant and impossible company.

Half the school thought they were dating, the other half thought they were related. Most of the Slytherins, clearly noticing Malfoy's dark brooding and overtly possessive behavior, had left her mercifully alone. In truth, Hermione and Malfoy didn't talk. They hardly even looked at each other and they sure as hell didn't trust each other. Nothing had changed since that first day when she'd figured out he didn't want to kill her, but had no interest in helping her either. So they ignored each other as they sat together in classes, as they walked the halls a step apart, as they worked on assignments in the common room, thighs touching as they perched on the couch, utterly inseparable and yet a world apart.

The tingle at the base of her spine every time she saw his dark fringe drop across stormy eyes hadn't abated, but she'd become adept at burying the feeling. Her breath might still catch and her skin burn at even the slightest touch of his alabaster skin, but he was still cold marble, an ice prince in every way that mattered.

It still took an inordinate amount of energy to fight the growing ache in the pit of her stomach, the urge to find connection with another, to share heat and flesh and breath. Clearly three years of war followed by a time jump halfway across a century had left her nerve endings overly sensitive and the imperfections of her psyche exposed. How else could she justify her continued reactions to Riddle, with whom she'd managed to avoid any contact beyond the occasional pleasantry? Malfoy she could excuse, she knew he didn't pose an immediate threat, but Riddle? He was absolutely a danger to her, to the whole damn world, and yet every time she locked eyes with him she was lost to those infinite cobalt depths, mission forgotten, every memory of blood and infinite pain negated in a mere moment. It was a feeling she could not abide; it put all she hoped to gain at risk and left her yearning for a peace that was utterly unattainable. Thus, she avoided him at all costs, allowing Malfoy to become her constant shadow despite him being oil to her water. Better to throw her lot in with the devil she knew than throw the world away for a taste of the impossible.

"You're staring at the bloody bastard again."

Hermione tore her eyes away from Riddle, cheeks suddenly hot. "I was not."

Malfoy's knife cut the flobber worm with more zeal than necessary. "I'm not having this argument with you again. I just have no idea how you expect to accomplish your goals while you're pining after your target like a sick kneazle."

"What do you care if I succeed?"

The knife flashed in the dim light of the Potions classroom. "I don't."

"Are you going to use that on me?"

A dark smirk settled on his full lips. "I am sorely tempted. But you are still my only way out of this mess, Gable, so no. You can sleep safe another night."

"Oh, joy." She unceremoniously dumped the diced flobber worm into their potion. The surface of the potion changed from roiling green to milky white. "Is it supposed to do that?"

Malfoy pursed his lips, a broad shoulder rising in half a shrug. "You were always the Exceeds Expectations student, not me."

Hermione's eyes shot to meet his wintery stare. "I seem to recall that you were close on my heels, at least until sixth year."

"A madman in the parlor has a way of messing up your study schedule," he deadpanned, eyes rimed with ice.

Hermione's lips parted to respond, but snapped shut again as Slughorn moved to stand before their table. A wide smile engulfed his lips as he stared down at the milky white potion. He turned to face the rest of the class as he hollered, "Gather round, gather round!"

Hermione caught Malfoy's uneasy look as the rest of the sixth year potions class, including Riddle, crowded around their potion. She stepped back, her shoulder brushing gently against his as they anxiously watched Slughorn gesticulate wildly.

"Now here we have a perfect Elixir of Winter. Ms. Gable and Mr. Mallet have worked in harmony to create the finest one of these I've seen in decades… you don't get a potion like this without a strong foundation of trust between the brewers…"

Slughorn continued on, but Hermione's brain had short-circuited. Trust? The potion was a sign that she and Malfoy shared trust? That was absurd. There was nothing between them except an understanding, a very precarious understanding that merely served to keep them both alive in this hostile environment, nothing more. She could feel Malfoy go absolutely rigid against her side, and she didn't dare look at him. Instead she watched as the students dissipated, Slughorn clearly done with his spiel, until only Riddle remained. Weighty cobalt eyes swung between Hermione and her partner for a long moment.

"Dacian, would you mind if I borrowed your… friend for a moment?" The question was innocent enough, but the hard edge beneath Riddle's words was undeniable.

Hermione's finally looked into the tempests of Malfoy's eyes, but he didn't look back, gaze locked on Riddle instead. The harsh edge of his jaw sharpened as he stared across at the younger boy. "Anything you have to say to Miss Gable, you can say in front of me."

Riddle took a step closer to Malfoy, edging around the side of the table until the two were nearly toe to toe. "It'll only be a second, Mallet. You can stand to be without your bloody girlfriend for at least a minute, can't you?"

"We're not—"

"Dating." Malfoy cut into her protest, spitting the word.

Riddle blinked, a dark and dangerous light igniting behind his eyes. "In that case, I can think of no reason why you're still standing here, Mallet."

Hermione was caught in a winter blizzard as Malfoy's gaze met hers. They had run out of excuses. She could see just how much he hated to walk away at this moment, but there was nothing left to say that Riddle would believe. They'd managed to avoid this conversation for a month, but their time had run out. Sighing, Hermione gave Malfoy the smallest of nods. He was gone a moment later.

"There's more to you than meets the eye, Miss Gable." Riddle commented, dark eyes trailing Malfoy's departure.

Hermione swallowed, doing her best to avoid eye contact and all the unwanted feelings Riddle evoked. "What makes you say that?"

"You and Dacian make a perfect potion despite not having had proper schooling for some time. That speaks to a significant amount of training, despite the war."

Hermione stared at the wall behind Riddle's shoulder, unsure of what he was implying. "I don't think I follow."

"I apologize. Perhaps I should be more forthright. Based on your skill, and Dacian's, I am forced to draw the conclusion that you fought in the war. Would I be correct?"

His tone was genial, but Hermione knew better. Riddle had already put the pieces together. Fighting in the war had never been part of their cover story; it seemed far too implausible for two students to be so battled hardened, but Hermione could understand how someone with keen observational skills, which Riddle clearly possessed, could discern the truth. She and Malfoy were both overly cautious, always scanning their surroundings, they were more skilled in defense spells than their peers, their potions were almost always perfect. It didn't take a genius to figure out they'd seen time on the front lines of battle.

So she couldn't lie to Riddle, couldn't brush aside his assertion like a piece of lint. "Yes. We fought."

"And you killed."

His words were punch to her gut and she couldn't help the swing of her eyes to meet his. There was a hunger within his dark stare that scared her, that spoke of more than mere desire. Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat. "War is messy, Mr. Riddle."

The hunger was abruptly snuffed and he looked honestly repentant when he said, "Forgive me, my curiosity seems to have gotten the better of me. I apologize. That was an indelicate thing to ask." His heavy stare swung to focus on Malfoy where he sulked against the doorframe, waiting for Hermione. "Dacian doesn't seem to like me much."

Hermione couldn't help the snort that escaped at his observation. "He doesn't like anyone. Don't take it personally."

Of course, Riddle should absolutely take it personally, but she wasn't going to tell him that. It was bad enough he'd discovered how active they'd been in the war. He absolutely did not need to pry any further details out of either Hermione or Malfoy.

Riddle was staring at her again; she could tell by the way her skin was prickling, as if lightning were crackling just beneath the surface. Steeling herself against the effect, she shifted her focus back to his face. A different type of darkness had crept into his eyes, a darkness that promised to ease the ache in her stomach and mend the fissures of her soul.

Riddle's voice was rough, utterly untamed, as he leaned down, full lips just brushing her ear as he murmured, "You may be broken, Miss Gable, but it's in the most beautiful way imaginable."

Then he was gone, brushing past Malfoy and out the door before Hermione could remember how to breathe again.