FORTY-NINE

Saturday, 6 December 1944

Saturday morning Christmas had finally come to Hogwarts in terms of decor. Hermione had whined profusely about the House Elves being overworked in decorating most of the school seemingly overnight. Draco listened to her complaints at breakfast and tried his best to agree with her, but she saw the smirk on his lips whenever he thought she wasn't looking. By the time they parted ways after their meal, he had calmed her down with plenty of declarations in the forms of kisses and the words themselves.

As usual, he was going to meet her at Hogsmeade while she stayed behind and got ready with the girls. But Hermione wasn't in the mood for sitting in her dorm, or putting effort into her appearance; she just wanted to get to Draco as soon as possible. She had almost regretted caving when Kalista asked her to join them again.

"Do you want me to braid your hair?" Agnes asked, looking at Hermione as she sat on her dormmate's bed, watching them primp in front of the floating mirrors.

"No, I think I'm pretty much ready," she said, smiling at the other girl.

Agnes shrugged and turned back towards the mirror, adjusting her makeup. Hermione looked down at her plain black sweater dress. She had transfigured it out of the only dress she had purchased back in September, lengthening the sleeves and thickening the material to help fight against the cold. She spent the rest of her time while they chatted adding heating charms to the fabric so that she didn't have to put on a ton of layers just to keep warm.

What was the point of having magic if she didn't use it for things like this?

She had a pair of flats that she transfigured into boots that came up just past her ankle and charmed them to make it so she didn't get stuck in the snow when she walked. Since the skirt of the dress came to her knees, she opted for a simple pair of knee-high stockings that she also treated the same as she had the dress. The only other addition to her outfit was a sweater transfigured into a button down coat as well as a Slytherin scarf.

Hermione barely listened to their conversation; something they were used to so it didn't bother them. They had made it down the little hill and were approaching the curve that skirted the hut when she felt Riddle's presence in the back of her mind. She stopped short and the others made it a few more steps before they realized that she was no longer walking with them.

"Harmony?"

Tell them you forgot something.

She swallowed hard and forced a smile, lightly smacking the palm of her hand to her forehead. "I forgot something actually. A present for Draco."

"Do you want us to wait for you?" Agnes asked.

She shook her head and gestured for them to go on without her. "Are you sure?" Kalista asked, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

Hermione met her gaze and regretted it instantly, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah, I'll see you guys after I meet up with Draco," she said and turned back towards the castle. She took a few steps and then looked back at her dormmates. They had continued along without so much as a glance over their shoulders at her. She looked around and her eyes landed on the hut.

Come inside.

She looked around again, making sure that there was no one watching. She hesitated, considering all of her options, but when there weren't any that wouldn't result in making things worse, she moved toward the hut, erasing her footsteps with a wave of her wand as she went.

Riddle was sitting in the armchair, one leg crossed over the other, his left arm draped over the arm of the chair with his right bent at the elbow, fingers resting against his mouth. He wore the usual garb, black trousers and white button up underneath a black sweater; the arms rolled up. The only color came from the green tie perfectly hung around his neck. His gaze swept over her more than once before settling on her face.

"Were you not planning on meeting Draco?"

She bristled at his disappointed tone. "Again with the sexism," she snapped, shrugging out of her coat. He must have placed warming charms in the hut because she was stifling the moment the door closed behind her. She set it along with her scarf over the closest piece of furniture and then crossed her arms to stare back at him. "I don't have to look a certain way for anyone."

"Are you a representation for all women of your era?" he asked.

"A good majority. The movement really kicked off in the sixties. You'll see." She shifted her weight, gaze flickering around the hut nervously. "Not every witch as the time nor the desire to be dressed to the nines every day. Some of us have more important things to do."

"Like fight a war," he said with a smirk.

"Unless you plan on quitting your plan for world domination, yes."

"World domination? I find that hard to believe," he said, leaning forward so both his elbows rested on his knees.

"It might as well be. I'm sure if you were to win you wouldn't be content with just Great Britain. That's the problem with ambition, Riddle. You'll always be left wanting more. No matter how much you achieve, it will never be enough."

"And what do you know of what I plan with my success?"

"You won't succeed."

"Humor me," he demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously.

She wet her lips, watching as his gaze dropped to track the motion. "You plan to keep the wizarding world segregated from that of the Muggle world. Fine, I understand why. There has been plenty of evidence since the beginning of history as to why it's better for us to remain hidden. They outnumber us and they fear the unknown so much that their natural reaction is to get rid of what they don't understand. Which, if it were me, I would try to make that connection. Muggles have progressed and are more open to things that they used to fear.

"You despise Muggleborns and Halfbloods which is strange considering your parentage. But I guess that's because you feel robbed of your full birthright as the Heir of Slytherin. Should you win, which you won't, you plan on making sure that all the archaic modicums of society are fastened into place." She paused to take a breath and quirked her head to the side. "You're one of the most powerful wizards alive. Why you choose to believe a person's power stems from how pure their blood is is beyond me."

"You think you have me all figured out."

"It's not that hard. Men like you are all the same. Power hungry. Desperate to change the world; rid it of something they're jealous of."

"You think I am jealous of Mudbloods?"

Hermione forced herself not to flinch at the word, but her hands balled into fists at her side. "Not as jealous as you are of those with Pureblood. You're so angry at being robbed of that life that you would rid the world of everyone lesser. That way, when you sit at the top, you can feel like one of them." She couldn't help but let her lips curve into a smile of her own. "But you'll never be one of them."

His lips turned down and his eyes narrowed at her.

"And you'll never be able to exterminate everyone. No one knows what it is that allows a Muggleborn to receive magic. The theory of them stealing the magic from a witch or wizard is asinine in nature. Magic isn't transferable. Perhaps the theory that somewhere along the bloodlines was a Squib or a Halfblood, but where did the Purebloods get their magic from? The answer to that is even less speculated on than that of Muggleborn ancestry.

"And since Purebloods are so fond of arranging their marriages, there will always be wandering eyes. There will always be children fathered in secret and born in the shadows. Your plan for a master race of Purebloods will end the same as Hitler's. Just as Grindelwald will never achieve his goal. Just as everyone who has ever had the same ambition for a world shroud in darkness. It never works."

"And your notion of everyone holding hands and getting along as if darkness did not exist? You think that would actually be something the world is capable of?"

"I would rather hold out hope for a better world than ever serve you under yours."

His lips quirked as he got to his feet. Hermione's spine straightened, but she refused to take a step back. "How unfortunate you came back here in the heat of battle. I do hope that when you return I can show you the world I plan to build."

She shook her head. "You won't win."

"There is no way you could possibly know that. Not being stuck here. Tell me, Hermione, what will everyone think when they find out what you have done?"

She went completely still and cold dread washed over her. She truly hadn't thought that far ahead. She had only thought of keeping him from killing Draco. Desperate to keep him safe. Everyone would shun her; even Draco. Especially Draco. No one would understand. Tears prickled at her vision as his fingers came up to curl around her chin.

"Your darling Ronald Weasley," he said. "He will already be devastated to learn about Draco, but it would destroy him to learn that you would spread your legs for not only his childhood bully, but for the Dark Lord. Anyone but him it seems. And Harry Potter?" He smirked and Hermione found it wrong for him to say the names of her best friends like this. "He will never forgive you. I am his number one enemy from what I have seen of the future you left. Everyone would cast you out and call you a whore. Even Draco. You think he will still want you when he learns he is not the only snake to be inside of you?"

She tried to jerk her chin from his hold, but he only held on tighter and she whimpered at the pain.

"Your plan to save him will be what pushes him away. The only place you have left when this all comes out is at my side." He pushed forward until she was trapped between him and the door. His other hand flattened against the wood beside her head and he leaned down until he was eye level with her. "And if you keep pushing, even that option will be off the table."

"I would rather die than sit beside you."

His eyes darkened and Hermione trembled at the red that rimmed the edges. "That can be arranged," he said, his voice hard; the tone akin to the one he had used at the party in the common room. "Until then, you and I have unfinished business."

Hermione struggled against him as he lowered his lips to hers, but it was never enough. He was stronger in his magic as well as his physical being. One day, she promised herself. One day she would get the upper hand, but as he spun her to face the door, she knew that this was not that day.

It never ceased to amaze Draco how it took so bloody long for females to get ready. Especially knowing Hermione wasn't fussy about her looks. He wondered if it was because she preferred to do things the Muggle way, which made him smile to himself in the middle of Madam Puddifoot's. His mother would take an hour or two every morning to get that perfect appearance. When there was an event, she would take hours, and that was with magic, but she was never late for anything.

So after an hour of waiting at the table, Draco wondered what could have held her up for so long. He hoped everything was alright. He knew her roommates well enough to think they were probably caught up in the gossip or whatever it was that girls did in their dorms together. He gave the empty chair across from him an amused smirk and then shook his head.

He left the table after paying for the tea he had been sipping at since his arrival and then took to pacing in front of the tea shop. As he waited, he surveyed those around him. He caught a few glimpses of Avery and the others, but if Riddle was with them or in the town elsewhere, he hadn't seen him. The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but he brushed the feeling away.

After recasting the warming charms for a second time against the thickening snow fall, Draco pushed away from the building and made his way to the Three Broomsticks. Once inside, he saw Agnes and Kalista with a small group of girls from other houses. He approached and gave them all a half nod.

Agnes was all smiles as was her usual, but it was Kalista's look of worry as her eyes flickered to the door behind him that had his gut twisting in knots. "Have you seen Harmony?" he asked.

Agnes' eyes went wide as she looked at Kalista. "She never met you?" she asked, turning her head back to Draco.

"No," he replied, clearing his throat.

"She came down with us quite a bit ago, but halfway here she said she forgot something and went back to the castle. Even if she backtracked, she should have made it here by now." There was sympathy in Kalista's eyes as she spoke. "Maybe something came up?"

Draco rubbed at his chin and tried to resist the urge to turn and run in attempt to find her. "Thank you," he managed curtly, giving them another nod before taking his leave.

His gut told him she wasn't in Hogsmeade. It told him that she had never made it to the wizarding town. So he wasn't going to waste time in looking around the various shops to see if she was there. Had she made it, she would have gone straight to him. With a tight throat and his heart sinking into his stomach, he began to the trek back up towards the castle.

The snow was falling harder now than when he had first arrived at the tea shop. It fell in sheets and flakes clung to his clothes and his lashes. He moved his scarf up over his nose and mouth so the heating charms could work better. After awhile, the sound of the village disappeared and all he could hear was the sound of his feet crunching on the snow and the wind as it carried the flakes to the ground.

As he passed the hut at the edge of the property line, he paused. It was still strange seeing it, knowing it was empty. Knowing that Hagrid wasn't here showing monsters to students that had no business being part of the curriculum. Even now, looking at the pen up the way, his elbow twinged at the memory of that blasted Hippogriff kicking him. His lip curled with distaste and the turned away with the intention of continuing on towards the castle.

The sound of clattering from inside the hut stopped him in his tracks.

His heart dropped into his stomach. Every red flag raised the warning bells sounded in his brain. His gut told him to continue on the to the castle; to not go and investigate, but his feet carried him forward. Every step was sluggish and accelerated the rhythm of his heartbeat. Soon he could hear it beating in his ears above everything else. He stopped below the window closest to the door and transfigured a dying plant into a step stool so he could see inside.

The moment his eyes adjusted to the difference in lighting upon peering in, he felt as though the ground were being pulled beneath his feet. His heart stopped and anger licked up his spine as well as betrayal. He wanted to storm in there and tear Riddle to pieces, but the more he saw, the more he found he was rooted to the spot.

The sight of Riddle and Hermione would forever be ingrained on his mind. Every time he closed his eyes he would think of nothing but this moment.

They were facing the front door just off to the side of where he stood. He couldn't see their faces, but he could see their reflections in the full length mirror that was placed near the entry. There was something, he couldn't tell what, that she was kneeling on before it. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist and Riddle's trousers were low on his hips. He had his left hand between her thighs in front of her as his right arm hooked under her arm, his fingers reaching up to grasp at her chin, tilting her face to the side. Hermione's left palm was flat against the mirror, leaving streaks on the surface as her right arm was bent behind her and slung over Riddle. Riddle's head was buried in the crook of her neck and her head was tilted back, eyes closed.

He felt his stomach roll as he took in the look on her face. He knew that look well. It was the one he had memorized each night that they shared their bodies with one another. It was the look he had deemed his favorite; the one right before she came undone for him.

It was ruined now as he watched her make the same face for someone else. For him.

"Do you belong to Draco?" he heard Riddle grunt.

"N-no."

Draco clutched at the stone exterior as his knees threatened to buckle.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You. Only you."

Her moans increased and Draco finally turned away. He knew she had started to crest and he couldn't stomach watching any longer. He scrambled away from the hut and hurried to put as much distance between the linger sounds of her pleas and cries as possible. He barely registered the interior of the castle as he ascended the stairs in search of the Room of Requirement.

Once inside, he collapsed in front of the foot of his bed. He drew his knees up and propped his elbows on them. He shoved his fingers into his hair and held his head in his hands as his mind played the scene over and over again. He should have gone in and demanded an answer, but he had panicked and left like a coward.

Guilt overrode his anger as he thought that there was no way Hermione had allowed herself into that position willingly. This was Tom Riddle; he wouldn't let a simple no stop him from taking whatever he wanted. To him, everything was his and ripe for the taking. By leaving, he had just thrown Hermione to the wolves.

But before he could get to his feet, another thought crossed his mind. He focused on the memory of her face; the one that he would never be able to think of again without seeing Riddle attached to it. If he was forcing himself on her, she wouldn't be making that face. She had been more than enjoying herself.

Then there was the possibility that what he had seen wasn't real at all. Riddle had always been known for his affinity to cast hallucinations and make people see their worst nightmares. Make them believe they were real. Draco had no proof, but he was certain Riddle had planted that dream on him back when he and Hermione had had that huge fight.

Whatever it was, Draco felt his anger renew and he shot to his feet. Instead of going back out there to get to the bottom of it, he raised his wand and took his frustration out on the room, blasting everything he could to bits. Whether this made him a coward or not, he didn't care. For now, he just wanted to forget what he saw. When his core exhausted, he collapsed to a heap on the floor and as he had taught Hermione, he shelved this memory and buried it deep in his mental library.

Hermione cried out as Riddle emptied himself inside of her for the second time, surging them forward, pinning her between the mirror and him at her back. His breaths were ragged and shallow from behind her as she struggled to get her own air from the way she was trapped. When he pulled away from her, she turned, putting her back against the mirror, gulping in large breaths of air.

Her legs trembled and her knees gave out from the force of which he had been pounding into her. She slid down the mirror, her skirt landing beneath her to collect the remnants of their encounter as she pulled her knees to her chest. This time had been the worst. It made sense that her body reacted the way it did when he was violent; it was a way to cope. There were a few times between then and now when he had just taken what he needed. She preferred not to come anyway. But between the night before and now…

She wasn't sure if it was her body still trying to cope or if she was truly that sick and twisted that she was starting to like it.

The sound of her sobs filled the hut as she stared at the empty space before her. Her eyes didn't even register Riddle in her line of vision as he redressed himself and then stood there, watching her. Normally he would just leave; she had come to expect it the moment he had regained his composure, but this time, he just stood there and stared. When her sobs began to ebb, he moved and crouched in front of her like he had done the last time they were in the hut.

"Sobbing does not suit you, Hermione."

Her vision snapped into focus and she turned a scowl in his direction. "Then I guess it's a good thing you already got what you wanted. Wouldn't want to do anything to turn you off." She gestured to the door with one hand as she wiped her tears with the other. "Just go."

She flinched as his hand shot out to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her tear-stained skin. "You and I had a deal. Anything I wanted, remember?"

She held his gaze. "Isn't that-"

"What I want is a strong witch with a sharp mind. Not this sobbing mess you have let yourself become. If all you do is weep, I might as well kill Draco and give you something to weep over." Fear squeezed at her gut and her heart skipped a beat. "I will uphold my end of the bargain for as long as I live so long as you hold up yours. You would do well to remember that."

For as long as he lived.

Those words echoed over and over again in her mind. If they went back in time and he won, he would never let her go. For as long as he lived, he would continue to take what he wanted to her. He would use her up until there was nothing left and then continue until one of them died. For as long as he lived, she would never be with Draco the way she wanted.

Hermione took a deep breath to force her nerves to calm. Slowly, Riddle moved his hand from her face until he found hers and then pulled her to her feet. He pressed her between him and the mirror again, his forehead resting against hers. "You and I could do great things together, Hermione. We could show this world that you do not have to be pure of blood to harness true power. That even a Halfblood could outrank them on every level."

Hermione's mind began to race as he reached down, his hands sliding along her thighs. She barely registered when he lifted her up; when he wrapped her legs around his hips. She didn't even notice when he undid his trousers again or when he slipped into her. She was replaying his last few words to her.

He thought she was a Halfblood like him.

Of all the things he had come across in her mind, he hadn't discovered her true blood status. She panicked at the idea of him discovering it now and shoved it to the back of her mind. Instead, she reflected on the rest of what he had said to her and felt a dangerous sense of power wash over her. It was akin to what she had felt when he had apologized to her the second time in the infirmary.

If he wanted a strong witch, he would get one.

No one was worth her tears. Not even the Dark Lord.

He could only hurt her if she let herself be hurt.

Hermione let her head fall back against the mirror, staring at the ceiling as she used his shoulders to steady herself against the rhythm of his thrusts. After this, she would do what she did best and scour the depths of the library for a way out. If there was anyone who could figure out how to rid the world of Voldemort before either war he started came to light, it was her. And she would do whatever it took to take him down.

A/N: There is an alternative version of this chapter I have posted as a oneshot entitled Mine