Previously, in Orphea:

"I came for Harry," Hermione croaked desperately. "I asked for Harry, because I - we need him, he's the only one who can stop You-Know - can stop you -"

"Interesting," Tom interrupted her softly, holding up a hand that he turned slowly back and forth, examining it under the golden light before he looked back at her. "You went looking for a saviour, and instead you got me."

His mouth widened into a smile that was heartbreakingly lovely; achingly cruel. "How very inconvenient for you."

Chapter 7: Though heaven's disfavour prevail

31st July 2002

Hermione glanced back towards the cave, calculating the distance, the strength of her wandless magic. When she flicked her gaze back to Tom his eyes had narrowed, his mouth pinching at the corners.

She took a deep breath and bolted, scraping her hands on the rough, black rock as she hurled herself back towards the mouth of the cave, the spell tearing itself from her throat – "Accio -"

"Accio wand!"

Hermione spun in place, to see Tom twirling her wand between long, elegant fingers.

"Give me that," she demanded, taking a step towards him. Tom looked from her to the wand with an expression of feigned surprise.

"This?" he said mildly. "You won't be needing it." His eyes flicked over her in a brief appraisal, and he lifted one brow as he waved the wand lazily. "Why don't you put some clothes on?"

Hermione caught her clothes as they flew at her, pulling on t-shirt and trousers as she fought the goosebumps that rose across her skin at the sound of his voice. It was slightly roughened with disuse but still low and melodic: the voice that had echoed through her dreams, that she had believed belonged to her best friend, to someone she loved; someone for whom she had gone to the end of the earth, into death and beyond –

"Better?" Tom asked solicitously, once she stood fully dressed, hands on hips.

"Fuck you," she spat. "You're just some sort of – you're not even fucking real."

Tom's dark brows twitched together, his head tilting quizzically. "Why would you think that?"

"Because!" Hermione scrunched her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands against them hard enough that she started to see stars against the black. "This has to be in my head. I can't – you can't – I wouldn't have -"

"Wouldn't you?" he whispered, his voice like velvet, accompanied by the faintest brush of magic around her shoulders.

Hermione flinched back with a yelp, throwing a wandless "Impedimenta!" at him out of pure instinct. The spell was strong enough to send Tom flying backwards, his body hitting the rock with a worryingly solid thud, the rowan wand rolling back towards Hermione where he had dropped it.

For a moment everything was quiet enough for Hermione to hear the quickened beat of her pulse in her ears, before Tom started to laugh, sharp and breathless. "Oh my word, did you -"

"Don't move," Hermione said, grabbing her wand and training it on him as he started to push himself upright, wincing. Tom paused, slowly raising both hands in a gesture of surrender, and Hermione found herself trying to work out what was wrong with the picture in front of her. His raven-dark hair was mussed, curling damply against his forehead, his blue eyes dancing, the skin at their corners crinkling as he smiled – as he smiled –

"What the fuck are you?" Hermione whispered.

"What the fuck do you think I am?" he shot back with an insolent shrug. "You're the one who pulled me out of the Well. Who came all this way to bring me back from the –"

"I came for Harry," Hermione cut him off. "Not for - for you. I went in there for someone I -"

"Someone you loved?" Tom asked, his tone mocking, the light in his eyes going flat and cool. "Tell me then, if Harry Potter stood before you now, would you believe that he was real?"

Hermione took a breath, then stopped herself. Would she? There was a part of her that hadn't believed, even as she stepped into the blue-tinged water, that it could possibly work, but faced with this – this – apparition – she had to admit that –

"And in any case," Tom interrupted her train of thought, shooting a look at her from beneath his dark lashes. "Even if this is in your head, why should that mean it isn't real?"

Hermione blinked, feeling a bolt of annoyance at the words; at the simplicity of the premise, so typical of wizards' infuriating logic. "I –" she started, then stopped herself, staring at him. Tom held her gaze, seeming to goad her with his solid, insistent presence.

What was it that Harry had said when he'd destroyed the diary all those years ago?

Blurred around the edges, like looking through a misted window –

"You, what?" Tom said impatiently, tossing his hair out of his eyes to reveal his pale forehead, where a bright line of scarlet edged its way over his temple.

"You're bleeding," Hermione said, sounding idiotic even to herself, and Tom frowned. Unthinkingly, she had stepped towards him, had raised the hand not holding her wand, as though to touch him; as though to confirm what the wild beating of her heart had been telling her all along.

He's real he's real he's

Tom's skin was warm, the blood sticky on her fingers when she skimmed them across the graze, and Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry with something that tasted like fear but was quite distinct. Tom was still, his deep blue eyes not moving from hers.

"You're real," she breathed.

"Told you," Tom said smugly. "You called, I answered."

As though the words had broken some sort of spell Hermione recoiled, dropping her hand and stumbling backwards. "How are you here?" she asked, relieved when her voice didn't tremble. "You're – You-Know-Who is still alive."

"In a manner of speaking," Tom said, maddeningly insouciant. "But that's the tricky thing about splitting your soul -" his lips curving upwards "- you never know where it's going to end up."

"The horcruxes," Hermione realised. "When we destroyed the horcruxes, you died."

"Piece by piece." Tom gave her a searching look. "You understand the physics of gravity, I assume?"

Hermione nodded wordlessly, and he motioned slightly with one hand. "As each horcrux was destroyed, so that part passed into death." He gave a rueful smirk, "Seven parts, and almost whole."

Seven? asked a little voice in the back of Hermione's brain, but she chose to ignore it for now. "But I called to Harry," she said stubbornly.

Tom smirked. "Did you? Are you sure?"

It had been Harry's name, but the voice, the laugh, the shape of his smile, the feel of his lips –

"Fuck," she muttered. "How the fuck did you get into my head?"

Tom's eyes widened in exaggerated shock. "Language," he murmured, then paused, studying her. "You actually don't know, do you?" He smiled, shaking his head slowly, "I must admit I'm almost disappointed. Most unlike Hermione Granger not to have the answers."

She opened her mouth to retort and then stopped, staring at him. "You know me," she said, watching Tom's smile broaden, his eyes glittering dangerously. "How do you know me?" Hermione whispered, taking another step back and glancing from her bloodied fingers to Tom's face.

"Isn't that a question." His face was deadpan, his voice soft, almost a purr. "And don't you think it's funny that you know me?"

"I -" Hermione frowned in confusion. "You're Tom Riddle – you -"

"There are no pictures of me," he said. "And Harry never showed you the memories that Dumbledore gave to him."

"How do you know that?" Hermione raised her wand again, brandishing it in Tom's smiling face. "How could you possibly know that?"

He leaned forward, pushing the wand aside, and Hermione's breath stuttered as she realised how much taller than her he was, even as he bent his head to whisper in her ear.

"Christmas roses."

And she remembered: Harry's arm around her shoulders, the cemetery silent but for the wind.

She felt Tom's hand cup her jaw and remembered the flash of his gaze, the taste of his mouth; the feel of his hand in hers as she pulled him back towards life.

"Seven parts," Hermione breathed, staring into his eyes. "Ring, cup, diary, locket, diadem, snake and -" she broke off, searching his face in disbelief – its architecture strange and sharp but nevertheless familiar.

"And Harry Potter," Tom said quietly, his fingers ghosting down her neck. "Quite unintentional, I assure you, although it seems to have had its advantages."

"You fucker," she growled. "I came here for Harry, and you tricked me, you –"

"I called you to me because I am still tied to life," Tom said flatly, and his eyes on hers were a blue deep enough to drown in. "Harry Potter is dead, because heroes die."

"Fuck you," Hermione spat, blinking away angry tears. "You killed him, this is your fault –"

"No," Tom said, his fingers closing around her arm as she tried to shove him away. "I, did not kill Harry Potter. I am seven pieces of a soul, and the thing that killed him is but one."

Hermione blinked, shocked into silence, and Tom took a deep breath before continuing. "Do you know how you make a soul whole, when it has been severed?" he whispered, and Hermione shook her head. "You have to feel remorse," Tom said, quiet and desperate. "And I had sixteen years to do it – sixteen years living inside Harry Potter, understanding the difference between fear of death and the will to live."

He stopped, and in the sudden quiet Hermione could hear both their ragged breathing. "Even if that's true," she said carefully, "Even if you aren't what...what you become, you're still not Harry. You still can't destroy him."

Something flickered in Tom's face. "I'm not Harry," he agreed quietly, releasing his grip on her arm to step away, pushing his hands through his hair in a gesture that was so familiar Hermione could have sobbed, before he turned back and fixed her with his intense gaze. "But I'm the best you've got."

A/N: Thanks for reading, you're all wonderful!