Notes: Thank you all for your support. So, I break a lot of magic rules in this chapter, or at least blur the lines pretty hard. It's a creative choice; I know I'm breaking rules. What is fanfiction though, if not sandbox to build one's own castles in?
~*~ Eight ~*~
Hermione had practiced every night for the past three weeks and finally she'd noticed the slight pressure at her temples every time Riddle managed to capture her full attention. It had seemed like nothing until Malfoy pointed out Legilimency felt like the onset of a headache sometimes, especially if you weren't well trained in Occlumency. Icy tendrils of dread had knotted her stomach upon the realization of Riddle's attempts to invade her mind. She'd nearly run out of the classroom, but a couple of deep breaths and a glance in Malfoy's direction had given her the strength to pretend nothing was wrong.
Riddle had tried a handful of other times since she'd recognized the signs, but her skills were improving on a daily basis and she was confident he'd seen nothing beyond petty worries concerning schoolwork. It was easy to project those anxieties at him when they were usually at the forefront of her mind anyway. It turned out three years of war had done nothing to quell her need to excel in the classroom. She'd thought perhaps she wouldn't care anymore. After all, she knew how little most of the content mattered now, but instead the insufferable know-it-all she'd once been scrambled to the surface as if she'd merely been hibernating while Hermione's world was torn apart. Sometimes she was so caught up in her classes that she'd turn to Malfoy expecting Harry or Ron. No matter how many times it happened, the pit of her stomach fell out every time, the sudden onslaught of grief nearly unbearable.
"Gable," Malfoy hissed, his heel connecting solidly with her shin.
"Fuck, that actually hurt, you git."
"Such a pleasant mouth you have, Gr- Gable." His mouth twisted sharply at his mistake. Hermione leveled a stare at him, brow raising. Malfoy sighed, hand pushing back his midnight bangs. "Professor Price is having you and Riddle do your demonstration first thing today."
"Lovely," she groused. The assignment had thankfully required very little collaboration between her and Riddle, mostly because they were both hopeless overachievers when it came to DADA. In Hermione's case the practical experience of actually fighting in a war had more than prepared her. In Riddle's… she wasn't entirely sure how he was quite so adept, but it had quickly become clear he'd spent most weekends in the Restricted Section digging into the darkest spells he could find. Not that he was going to use any of them during a class presentation. No, both of them would need to be on their best behavior, for which Hermione was thankful. She honestly wasn't sure if she could take Riddle in a knock-down, drag out fight.
"Remember to act like a seventh year student, Granger," Malfoy murmured in her ear, suddenly far too close. Hermione bit her lip and drew away from him, looking for Riddle.
Confident cobalt eyes met hers across the classroom, his full lips drawing up in the echo of a smirk. She grabbed her bag and closed the distance between them, mentally arming as she moved. Sinking into the vacant seat beside him, she valiantly ignored the thunder of her pulse.
"Ready for showtime, Miss Gable?" His voice was soft, but rough in all the right ways. Chills danced down her spine, vibrating her with unwelcome need. She ground her teeth and forced the litany of reasons she could not possibly feel this way into her thoughts.
"Might as well get it done." She was proud of how strong her voice sounded, a world apart from the chaos raging within. Malfoy shifted in his seat across from her and she found refuge in the storm of his eyes. "How about you, Riddle?"
"I told you to call me Tom," he chastised lightly. "I know you're capable of more than you've let on in class, Miss Gable. When we get out there don't hold back. I want to see you shine."
Hermione's focus ripped away from Malfoy to stare, full deer in the headlights, at Riddle. "What? This is a class…"
"Yes, I'm fully aware. A class that's bored out of its mind. So let's give them something to talk about. What better way to prove you're the best?" Hermione could tell he was merely trying to appeal to her vanity, the problem was it was working. A spark, a facet of the girl she'd once been, had been ignited. She did want to show the world what she could do. It had been years since she'd tried to impress instead of defend and survive. She couldn't truly go full out, but perhaps she could throw a few more sophisticated spells into the mix.
"Okay," she agreed, a smile tugging at her lips, the sensation foreign after so many years. Riddle smiled back, a smile that didn't have a trace of deception or malice behind it, a smile that turned her world upside yet again. Her breath caught, the moment making her heart ache, making her forget everything except the boy smiling back at her.
"Mr. Riddle and Miss Gable are up next," Professor Price's shrill voice cut into the moment, but the rush of warmth remained. "These two are the top of your class, so please make sure to take notes."
Hermione moved silently with Riddle to stand across from each other in the open space at the front of the room. They bowed to each other, then raised wands. She should feel perilous here, facing the future Dark Lord, but instead she felt free. Riddle hadn't tried to get into her head and for this moment at least, she knew she was safe from him, despite the wand pointing at her chest. They were in this together.
Riddle moved quickly, but not so quickly she couldn't react. "Reducto."
He'd put perhaps a tenth of his power behind it and it bounced harmlessly off her Protego. "Confundo!"
Riddle didn't bother to block the spell, merely ducked as he began his next volley. "Reducto, diffindo, petrificus totalus!"
In Hermione's original sixth year DADA class that sequence would have had her bleeding and likely petrified. But she'd faced the darkest of curses fired with the intention of death on a weekly basis for three years. She dropped into a roll, not wasting the time on a shield. The diffindo whispered past her ear, the petrificus exploding against the castle wall behind her. She continued the roll, staying in motion, as she fired off a nonverbal incendio.
Cobalt eyes morphed into molten sapphire as Riddle's robes caught fire. She leapt to her feet, avoiding his next two curses, nasty ones she was sure would send her to the infirmary if she was caught in the crossfire. But there was no danger of that. Hermione easily darted through his constant barrage, twisting and turning like a dancer as she edged closer to him. When she was within a few paces of him, she cast a wordless protego followed instantly by an accio with the full force of her magic behind it. The spell, designed less for disarming and more for long distance summoning, was unstoppable this close. Riddle's wand slammed into her open palm with a smack.
He let out a low growl of frustration and Hermione knew it wasn't over. His hand was up a moment later, a wandless diffindo arcing her direction. She dropped both the wands, blocking his spell with a wandless protego of her own. His eyes were wide, full of a hunger that called to her, that begged her to unleash the full potential of her arsenal. She was helpless to deny him.
The spells started flying between them at a dizzying rate, the room utterly silent except for the crash of magic against shields and walls. They'd given up the pretense of needing to wave a hand or wand to launch an attack, so now magic simply crackled between them, seemingly conjured from thin air. Sweat matted her hair to her brow, but Riddle fared no better. She could see the trails of perspiration tracing his strong jaw, soaking the vee of his sweater. They could probably go on for some time still, but Hermione had no interest in exhausting herself for no good reason. Satisfaction swimming in her veins, she ducked Riddle's latest attack before spinning, too fast for him to register her shift in direction, and unleashing one of her special war-time knockout curses on his chest at point blank range.
Riddle flew backward instantly, head smashing with an audible crack against the stone wall. Hermione was jolted back to reality by the dark smear of red left behind on the wall as he slid down, momentarily unconscious. Whatever high she'd been on evaporated in an instant, cold dread permeating her every pore.
"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Malfoy's arms were around her, dragging her from the room, his breath hot against her skin, his fingers trembling on her shoulders.
"I'm so sorry, so, so sorry," she mumbled against his neck, clinging to him as the reality of what she'd done fully coalesced.
Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against his warmth, against the only safety she had left. "You'll be okay. We'll figure this out too."
"I…" She didn't even know where to begin. She didn't know how to explain how Riddle had made her feel, how unfettered she'd been.
Malfoy shook his head, silken midnight strands kissing her skin. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."
A part of her said he was lying, reminded her of just how many lives he'd taken, of the silver mask he'd worn, of the minds he'd left shattered. But she didn't have the strength to doubt him, not in this moment, not with Riddle having pushed her beyond reason. "He's going to kill me."
"He's not."
That wasn't Malfoy's soft whisper. She whirled in Malfoy's arms, his hands coming to rest at her waist as Riddle stared down at her. She shuddered and Malfoy pulled her closer, his breath tickling the nape of her neck.
Her mouth didn't work the first two attempts, but finally she managed to choke out, "I'm sorry."
Riddle laughed, laughed like they'd just shared an inside joke, not a battle that had left him unconscious on the floor. "No hard feelings, Miss Gable. I told you I didn't want you to hold back. You more than delivered. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."
Malfoy shifted against her, his heartbeat slowing against her back. "She knocked you into a wall."
Riddle gave an easy shrug. "And I'll have a headache until I stop by to see Madam Pomfrey. It was a nice change of pace to have a worthy opponent, Mallet."
Hermione could hear Malfoy's teeth grind, but finally she could breathe again. It seemed the Dark Lord wasn't going to make an appearance today, only Riddle, who seemed oddly happy to have been knocked on his ass. She broke away from Malfoy's protective grasp, the adrenaline waning in her veins.
"Can we have a moment?" Riddle addressed the question to Hermione, but his gaze quickly focused on Malfoy behind her.
"You can," she answered, shooting a quelling glare over her shoulder to silence any protests Malfoy might have expressed. But he merely stared down at her, stormy eyes suddenly hard glass. He held her gaze a moment longer as he stepped away from her, the sudden absence of his heat leaving her shivering in the corridor. Then he was gone, midnight hair disappearing back into the DADA classroom down the hall.
"And you say there's nothing going on between the two of you." Riddle was watching Malfoy's retreat with a bemused smile tugging at his lips. Hermione's focus lingered a moment too long on his mouth as she shifted to face him.
Sighing, she leaned back against the cold stone, desperately ignoring the absence of Malfoy's warmth. "We have a… history."
"The war."
Not quite the war Riddle was thinking of, but the truth nevertheless. "Yes."
She could feel the full force of Riddle's attention come to rest on her face, her skin tingling under the intensity of his gaze. "Why in the world did you think I was going to kill you, Miss Gable?"
Telling him he was the future Dark Lord and evil incarnate likely wasn't the way to handle the situation. "I smashed you into the wall in front of an entire classroom of people. It would be natural and expected for you to want revenge."
"You're forgetting the very important part where I asked you to." Riddle shifted so he was leaning against the wall next to her. There was a humor in his cobalt eyes that surprised her, shifting the foundation upon which she stood. "I might not have known you were going to crack my head open, but I can't say I'm unhappy with the result."
Hermione tilted her head to stare up at him, suddenly aware of just how close they were. She could feel the soft caress of his breath on face, his mouth mere millimeters from her skin. A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold ran down her spine. She defiantly focused on the stone between them.
"So you wanted me to try and kill you?" She huffed, praying he didn't notice the thundering of her pulse against flushed skin.
"Well I hardly think you'd be able to kill me," he replied, a wicked grin on his lips. "But I was pretty sure you were far more talented than you'd let on. One doesn't fight in a war and not pick up a few tricks us schoolboys have no hope of ever learning."
Riddle wasn't wrong. It hadn't been until the war, with endless battles and infinite exhaustion, that she'd truly honed her dueling technique. It hadn't been by choice, but by necessity and it had been unpleasant every moment until she'd gained the control she desperately needed. "I wouldn't view such skills so lightly, Mr. Riddle. War isn't glamorous. The skills I have aren't something to show off, they're what kept me alive."
The teasing grin evaporated from Riddle's lips as she held his stare. For once she wasn't worried about him pillaging her mind. Let him look, let him see what horrors awaited behind the façade of glory. He wanted power, but power wasn't simple; it was messy and laden with tolls of the soul. Maybe seeing the truth so early would change his path, maybe it could save them both.
Riddle's fingers were on her skin, tracing a line of fire along her jaw. "How did you break so beautifully?"
Hermione trembled against his touch, her breath a shallow pant in the silence between them. She squeezed her eyes shut, using every ounce of will power to pull away from him. "We can't."
"You won't," he corrected, his fingers dropping from her face to capture her wrist. His hand was large, encircling her easily as he pulled her closer. She could smell him, a heady mix of wintergreen and cloves that had her inhaling deeply. "Is it Dacian? He never has to know, no one does."
The words were murmured in her ear, his lips just brushing her skin. The torment in Malfoy's eyes when he'd made her promise not to do this burned behind her eyelids, but she still sighed, still relaxed against Riddle, still let his lips travel a path of destruction across her flushed cheek. She was vibrating with need by the time his lips brushed softly against hers, the barest ghost of a kiss.
"Stop denying this, Hermione." She could feel every movement of his disastrous lips as he spoke. "Whatever you think is between us… it isn't. Whatever you think I am, I'm not."
The darkest of souls. That was who he was and even now she knew that hadn't changed. But this boy hadn't murdered anyone. Between the two of them, she was the killer. She was utterly broken, battered by war and grief until there was nothing but shreds of her soul. Perhaps this dark boy could help weave them back together. Perhaps she could save him and make all of it, every infinite moment of pain, worth it.
A better world. That's what she told herself as she finally let the walls of her control shatter with a ragged sigh as she crashed into him. Riddle caught her, strong hands gripping her hips as his tongue and lips rewrote history. She moaned, wanton and lost, into his mouth and he swallowed it. Her hands tangled in his ebony curls, softer than she'd ever imagined. His lips angled until he was plundering the depths of her mouth, leaving no nerve untouched. Her skin was on fire, her heart lost to a frantic tattoo.
She'd been kissed before, but never like this. It had been pleasant with Ron, but more innocent than satisfying. With Harry, it had been about quelling the ache, threads of grief and suffering intermingled with desire. Riddle was devouring her, mind, body and soul. It was more than mere lust; it was an awakening she hadn't known she was waiting for.
Riddle's breath was a ragged pant against her skin as he pulled back. Their lips were still brushing, sending tingles rocketing down her spine, but he was no longer consuming every facet of her.
"Fuck… if I knew it would be like that, I'd have kissed you weeks ago."
Hermione could feel the blush burning her face. Aurelia's comment about Riddle's complete lack of dating came to mind as she finally started to find an order to her thoughts. "Am I the first…?"
His laugh was sharp, but his eyes pooled to warm sapphire. "You think I could kiss like that the first time? No. I've avoided attachments at Hogwarts but I still go… home during the summers. There are plenty of willing participants beyond these castle walls."
She blinked, the paradigm shifting yet again. Riddle had spent his summers making out with Muggle girls? Perhaps even sleeping with them. Didn't he despise his Muggle blood and everything else that entailed? Shaking her head, she murmured, "You're just full of surprises."
"I imagine I'm not the only one." His nose bushed against her flushed cheek as his lips languidly captured hers. Their tongues tangled, slowly building back the fever pitch of desire. His hands were everywhere, teasing the skin of her back, cupping the nape of her neck, trailing the column of her throat, imprinting on her soul. She was lost and for the moment, she didn't care. She welcomed the oblivion, the opportunity to let the horror fade until it was only his lips and hands, only him against the dark destruction of her soul.
It might have been hours, but likely only minutes passed before he pulled back again. His pale skin was flushed, his ebony waves in utter disarray, his lips swollen and begging her to return to them. She moved to chase the lost pleasure and he laughed, softly now, in sympathy. "As much as I'd like to stand here all day discovering all your secrets, Hermione, class is dismissed in a few minutes. If we want to keep this to ourselves, I don't think kissing in the hall is the best way to start."
Right. Malfoy would bloody murder her if he found out what she was doing with Riddle. And not metaphorically. "This has to stay a secret, Riddle. A lot depends on that."
"I don't mind," he assured, lips twisting in a sly smile, "but please would you stop calling me that? My name is Tom."
"Tom." The word was foreign on her tongue. She'd never thought of him by that name, but nor had she ever believed she would know what it felt like to have her lips branded by his. Riddle was utterly forbidden, but perhaps Tom was not. Perhaps Tom was the answer to a prayer she'd never dared to utter. "Okay, Tom."
"I'll see you around, Hermione."
His smile was an infectious promise as he backed away from her, and her answering grin held all the hope she dared to hold.