Soon after the game, Hermione found herself sandwiched in a stampede of cheering Hufflepuffs. As she made her way slowly back to the castle in the throng of yellow and black, she felt a cool touch that stood out from the rest of the hot bodies occasionally grazing her. Hermione didn't turn around. She had a lot of time to think during the Quidditch game; as she wasn't a huge fan and she knew none of the players other than an irritating Malfoy, she spent most of the game confronting the questions that she kept pushing until later.
Tom was right last night about everything. She knew after her time in the hospital wing that she was attracted to him. She had found him good-looking all along, after all, but now there was something more; a warmth when he looked at her paired with the occasional tingle down her spine or a tightness in her chest. And she knew last night was more than a quick kiss in the hallway. It was one of those nights that was defined by the electricity—or rather, magic—that crackled between them. Hermione was many things, but stupid was not one of them. She could recognize the signs of falling for someone, even if she had been ignoring them for Merlin knows how long. These feelings weren't new to her, after all. But what was new was feeling them for a known killer.
Said known killer completely ignored her attempt to get away; she knew he would. Tom grabbed her and started practically dragging her out of the crowd; how he could move against the wall of people was a testament to most people's instinctual response to him. Where he wanted to walk, they parted. Soon, blue sky replaced the badgers. Several more steps and they were in the familiar castle, and still she continued to follow wordlessly behind Tom as he led her down corridor after corridor, the cries of the crowd receding behind them. Hermione couldn't see his expression as he led her through Hogwarts, but the continual sight of portraits abruptly stopping midsentence was enough to tell her that it wasn't pleasant. Despite his demeanor, his touch wasn't painful. It was light as a feather, deceiving as he was. They both knew that he wouldn't have taken no for an answer (if he had bothered to ask her to follow him), despite the gentle way his long fingers curled around her bony wrist.
Tom paused, back facing her. They were in the same corridor in the dungeons they had been in last night. He turned around slowly, his mask fully in place. Even his gray eyes, so often expressive around Hermione, were quiet. "Pray tell me, Hermione," his voice was extra velvety, its dulcet tones caressing her name in particular. "Why would our headmaster tell you, a mere war refugee, his suspicions about a student?"
Merlin. This is the day I die. Last night I had been so wrapped up in my own brain—in Tom—that I had completely forgotten that my relationship with Dumbledore in this time period is completely different. Tom was right; according to her story, she had only just met Dumbledore recently. How could she spin this? She was not good at thinking on the spot like this; she wasn't Harry.
"We both know he didn't," Hermione responded, looking straight into his flat stone eyes. "But I'm not planning on telling you how I know about your… activities. It is sufficient that I know."
"It is not sufficient," Tom hissed, momentarily losing control.
"What are you going to do about it?" Hermione challenged, refusing to back down while a corner of her mind screamed at her for goading the future Dark Lord.
"You don't think I have methods of acquiring information from unwilling participants?"
"They aren't really participants if they're unwilling. And I am not doubting your myriad abilities, merely your willpower to use them against me."
"My myriad abilities?" Tom asked, smirking and ever-so-slightly raising his left eyebrow. How did he go from threatening to teasing seamlessly? And why couldn't she force herself to care more?
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Hermione couldn't pass up the opportunity to point out that she was right.
"I'm not going to torture you… today," he was smiling wider now, but his teeth were still hidden. Despite his words, she found him breathtaking. His eyes were dancing, closer to silver fire than stone. Hermione couldn't help but feel a streak of pride, knowing that she might be the only person to see him like this.
"Am I free to go, then?" Hermione asked, her voice light.
"You don't want to be," Tom responded, and no part of her could deny the truth of his words any longer. Despite two thick layers of fabric, she felt Tom's hand as he placed it on her waist, grazing over her stomach slightly as he found exactly where her body curved under her loose yellow sweater. His other hand was more confident as he quickly found the left side of her waist. There was a moment where they just stood like that, still about a foot apart. Then he abruptly spun her and pinned her to the wall he was standing in front of moments before. His hands were still at her waist, but he began to lightly stroke the outside of her sweater, tracing the outline of her side. "Do you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you? Want to be free to go?" His voice was quiet, mostly confident but with a slight edge to it that told her that he really needed to hear affirmation. He had told her already, after all, that he cared about her. But knowing that she felt the same and forming the words were two entirely different things; so far she had plausible deniability that she was allowing this to happen, enough where she could argue with herself and pretend that she was still going to kill him. But how could she be responsible for bringing so much life to those haunting gray eyes and snuffing them out forever? She couldn't. And once she thought the words, they crashed over her like a tidal wave. If they were true, then there was no more mission, and she already knew that there was no going back to the future. Could she just stay here and watch everything unfold in front of her? How would things unfold?
"No," Hermione responded finally, with determination. "I want to be here. With you." In a strange twist of fate, it was the only thing she was sure of right now. She wrapped her arm possessively around him, tracing his spine through his smooth sweater with her index finger.
"We can agree on one thing, at least," Tom said quietly as he took her free hand in his before closing the space between them. Tom was so close to her that their noses grazed, and she could feel his breath tickle her slightly parted lips. Her heart was beating a million miles a minute, but it wasn't from fear, as she would have thought had someone told her she would be in this position, but anticipation. She was still idly running her finger up and down his back, while he toyed with the bright yellow sweater that was feeling increasingly hot over her button-up. "Aren't you afraid I'm going to kill you?" His upper lip brushed up against hers as he spoke.
"Are you going to kill me?"
"No." Hermione was done waiting; that was enough of a green light for her. She closed the short distance between them and kissed him. He took control almost immediately, sliding his tongue into her mouth. There was nothing careful about their kiss; the teasing was gone as she bit down hard on his lower lip, causing him to half-groan, half-snarl. Tom responded by breaking their kiss, causing her to let out a small whine that turned into a low moan as he grazed his teeth lightly along the length of her neck.
At the same time, footsteps started reverberating in the wide corridor, sounding like they were coming closer from an interlocking corridor. "They won't come down this way," Tom whispered into her ear before returning to kissing her. Hermione grabbed him by the sides of his face, feeling the slightest stubble.
"What do we have here?" A familiar snobbish voice asked from several feet away.
Tom unfortunately extricated himself from her, placing a hand next to her on the wall and turning to face the offending party. "Can I help you with something, Dorea?" His voice was a deadly whisper that Hermione would not want to be on the receiving end of. Apparently Dorea agreed as she went white as a sheet, clinging to Charlus beside her. Charlus looked merely amused, apparently misreading the figure in front of him.
"Sorry, Riddle, I didn't realize it was you," Dorea's tone didn't change, but her voice shook. "Let's go, Charlus," she said to her boyfriend, leading him away the same way they had come.
"Shall we continue after that rude interruption?" Tom asked, already kissing her neck again. The anger had evaporated from his expression, replaced by the unmistakable influence of lust.
"You're not upset that we were caught?"
Tom chuckled softly. "Charlus is a huge gossip. Everyone will know by tomorrow. And that suits me perfectly." Her response was swallowed by his fierce kiss. Thoughts could wait.
"When you said stay away from Hermione Prewett, I thought you meant that her and Riddle had a feud or something. I've been nothing but awful to her, you idiot!" Dorea was shouting as much as she ever did; her voice was slightly raised and her voice was much more high-pitched than normal.
"What are you on about, Dorea? Calm down," Abraxas responded, slightly taken aback. She had forced all of his roommates out so they could talk alone. Dorea knew nearly firsthand how dangerous Tom was, and she was extremely concerned that she had put a target on her back, if not from her treatment of Hermione, then for goading them when she saw them snogging in the hall earlier. His expression had been terrifying. Even without context, Dorea did not understand how Charlus did not register the amount of danger they were in.
"What I'm on about is Charlus and I decided to scare some people who were snogging in one of the dungeon corridors. Do you know who those people were?" Abraxas shook his head, clearly not understanding. Maybe he really didn't know about Hermione and Riddle. "Hermione and Riddle!"
Abraxas laughed. "You have to be mistaken, Dorea. I know for a fact that Riddle would never—unless he's using her."
Dorea rolled her eyes, grabbing Abraxas forcibly by the side of his head and turning him to face her. "He is not using her. He was…" Dorea didn't really know how to describe it. "It was the most human I have ever seen him look."
"He's a guy, Dorea. He was probably happy to be snogging her. She's a good kisser, at least."
"It was not the kiss. I know people." The color drained from Abraxas's face as she saw the wheels slowly turning in his head as he digested this information. He kept shaking his head, and then stopping.
"Dorea, I'm in real trouble if you're right about this. The things I've said… Salazar, the things I've done." He sat down and ran his hands through his hair so roughly it looked like he was trying to pull his platinum hair out of his head with his bare hands.
Dorea sat down next to him on the bed, patting him awkwardly on the leg. She wasn't the best at comforting people. "Anything I can do?"
He looked up at her with slightly crazed blue eyes. "Maybe. Do you have any family members that collect Hogwarts artifacts?"
Dorea couldn't help but laugh a bit at the strange question. "Sorry, what? I meant help with Riddle."
"He's looking for Hogwarts artifacts. If I were able to find any rare items, I think it could be enough to get back into his good graces. I think you're right, Dorea. I mean about Prewett. It explains why he's been so intent on torturing me lately." Abraxas looked down but Dorea could still see the fear radiating off of him.
"I do have one distant family member, actually. I don't know if she has anything rare, but she would be more likely to tell you than me. She has a weakness for attractive young men."
"You think I'm attractive, Dorea?" Abraxas half-chuckled.
"Only to old women, Abraxas," Dorea teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"Thanks. Really appreciate the vote of confidence. So could you put me in contact with her?"
"I'll write to her later on today. You'll probably want to pay a social call, and you'll need a good excuse."
"What about that I'm researching Hogwarts history? I am one of the few NEWT students in History of Magic. I can pretend to have a serious academic interest that I want to pursue after school."
Dorea smiled. "That might work. I mean this in the nicest way, but you really are much cleverer than you look." Abraxas reached over the side of his bed for his closest textbook, bringing it toward her in a wide arc and lightly hitting her with it. She responded by confiscating the book and placing it as far away from him as possible without moving from the spot she had staked out on the bed.
"So who is this creepy old lady, anyway?" Abraxas asked, laughing. Dorea was glad to see him so optimistic. Hopefully, she wouldn't be leading him down a dead end, but either way, he needed a distraction from worrying about Riddle. Part of her wondered if she shouldn't have told him, but it was probably best for him to act accordingly. Her boyfriend was such a gossip anyway that Abraxas would have found out one way or another. It was probably best coming from her.
"Her name is Hepzibah Smith. I'll write to her tomorrow."
Abraxas nodded, platinum hair bobbing slightly. "It's a plan."