He was late that evening.
She'd mentally prepared herself for this. She had a plan. She couldn't dissuade him from making the horcruxes. That would disrupt the timeline or at the very least lead to a paradox - a vicious state of limbo.
No. Hermione drummed her fingers on the biography of Herpo the Foul, which she'd analysed in detail. There was a great deal in there about how to make a horcrux - not precise instructions, of course, doubtless Riddle had kept those - but the gist of it was there. There was nothing on how to recognise a horcrux though. She needed to find out whether he'd made any horcruxes, or planning to do so, and most importantly what they looked like.
According to Herpo, making more than one horcrux would be madness. Yet Harry and Dumbledore had conclusive evidence that Riddle had made at least two, and that the missing memory Harry had yet to retrieve from Slughorn would tell them the remaining number, or at the very least give them more information on Tom and his horcruxes.
But then even if she did find out find out how many he had, or what they would look like, how would she tell them without them suspecting that she'd made a deal with the devil himself?
Focus Hermione. Information first, then draw up a plan of action.
Still… The idea of the boy she'd been talking to making a horcrux - an abomination of nature - was unfathomable. Surely not her Tom, they were too similar. Her Tom.
Since when is he 'my Tom'? she thought angrily, How is he any different from Lord Voldemort? Is he different?
The obvious answer - he hasn't killed anyone yet. At least not to my knowledge. That, and we swap books, she muttered to herself. Very smart Hermione, she told herself sarcastically, obviously the little book club we've got going on completely rules out him being a psychotic serial killer come megalomaniac.
Then, there was question of the older Tom still floated about in her mind - what was that about? And most importantly could-
"Ah. Yes. Apologies for being late."
Hermione looked up. Tom stood leaning against the doorway, trying to his best to appear as nonchalant as possible, yet he looked slightly dishevelled. His normally perfectly arranged dark hair was tousled, deep bags were forming under his eyes, his uniform badly needed to be ironed and the droop in his posture had been unmistakable dictated by sleep deprivation. He also looked as though he'd just been standing in the rain - though patches of his uniform were now dry, his hair was still a little wet - the spellwork was so sloppy, it must have been done in a hurry.
Her first instinct was to ask him how he was. She didn't. She didn't even meet his gaze.
He frowned, and hung up his robes. He then took out some notes which he slid her across the table. A list of cities and towns. Rome, Florence, Verona, Venice, Milan, Barcelona, Madrid, Marseilles, Europe's finest, all laid out like some kind of comical shopping list. Some places had been obviously added in later on, Neuschwanstein Castle had been rapidly scribbled in. Slowly she began to recognise some of the names as being those of places she'd told him she wanted to see or loved.
He rubbed the back of his neck, and looked rather sheepish. "I mean, obviously there's a bit of a war going on on my side - but I doubt Grindelwald will last. It shouldn't interfere too much with the plans." A bit of a war? Was he referring to the absolute carnage that would be the Second World War? What plans? Hermione couldn't help but look at him disbelievingly.
He lifted the sheet to reveal a map of Europe under it. It looked as though the continent had been split up. Someone had circled different areas with a quill and numbered them. This was worse than she thought. She hadn't realised he'd already thought of dominating Europe this early on.
He shook off the last bits of rain from his hair. "For Salazar's sake Hermione." he laughed a little nervously, "Say something. I mean obviously tackling Europe all in one go is unrealistic. I just thought dividing it up made sense."
She remained completely silent, her hands gripping her skirt so tightly in an attempt to control her temper that she could feel her knuckles going numb. Had he gone insane? Was he truly sharing those plans with her? And more importantly - how dare he? How dare he presume to butcher an entire-
"Is this about Italy?" he asked, looking at the country which he'd spilt into two separate areas. Now the confusion was really settling into his voice. He doesn't know how to manage me, she realised, there's a bit of panic when he speaks. A far less emotional side of her thought - we need to work on concealing it. Riddle frowned. "I mean, I just felt it would be best to divide it up culturally, which is why I thought we'd do the North first and then the South. I'm hoping to devote at the very least one month per area."
Once more, there was utter silence. She bit her lip - so hard it would seem, that the skin cracked. A sharp metallic taste now sat at the tip of her tongue. He seemed to notice her discomfort. It did not please him.
In one swift movement he grabbed the map, violently ripping it in half. "Fine." he spat, his eyes darkening, "Don't come visit Europe with me. I'll travel alone. For Merlin's sake, you could at least have told me to keep quiet before I made a fool of myself!"
"Visit?" was all she said, dumbfounded.
"Yes, visit! What did you think this was? A bloody geography lesson?!"
She couldn't help but make a snort of laughter, before summoning the torn parchment and mending it with her wand.
"What's so funny?" he snapped.
"I-I- Oh never mind. I thought you meant something else." she smiled. "It's a relief actually."
His ears seemed to prick up at that. "Does that mean you're coming?" he asked tentatively. "I do usually prefer travelling alone."
She raised an eyebrow and looked him straight in the eyes. "Then why are you inviting me?" she asked cooly, not breaking eye contact.
He laughed, and leant down so that his face was just inches away from hers, whispering in her ear, his cool lips grazing her cheek, "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
She gulped. Her stomach twisted itself in knots, she could feel her face growing hot. She looked away, and her gaze fell on the book on Herpo the Foul.
"Tell me about Horcruxes."
The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately. It was as though a glacial storm had swept through the air - chilling her to the bone. A small smirk played across Tom's lips. His grey eyes seemed to gain a steely tint to them.
"What makes you ask that, Miss Granger?" he murmured. There was something in the way he was looking at her that made her uncomfortable. A certain hunger behind his eyes, like some starving wolf readying itself for dinner.
She pushed the book across the table. "You leant me this. And you seem to labour under the delusion that death can be conquered."
"Not conquered, Hermione. Crushed, trampled." he began to pace around the room. "When I meet Death, it'll be only to grab him by the neck and strangle him."
"So you don't deny it? Have you already created a Horcrux?" Her voice shook at her words.
"No. Not yet. And I doubt I will any time soon."
And yet, the diary will be made into one a few months from now.
"But- why?" was all she could say.
"Why?"
"Why would you want to be immortal? Why the horcrux? How could you do that to another human being?" How could you do that to yourself?
He sank back down in his chair, massaging his temples. "Because I know what Death looks like." he murmured. "When I was seven, I- that is to say, they took us to a cave, me and two other kids. I thought we'd have fun. I could do magic, you see," his fingers began to twirl a quill which had been lying on the table, he avoided her gaze, "I hadn't realised - I was young. There was an old fisherman that lived nearby. He'd been sent to look for us. He wasn't a kind man, you see. Perhaps a bit too fond of choir boys for my taste. And I had such a wonderful singing voice as a kid," he laughed mirthlessly, "Anyway, he always hated me. I thought it would be fun to make him pay." He flicked his gaze back up to meet hers. "I tortured him." He put the quill down. "He screamed you know. And maybe I hurt him a little more than he deserved. Maybe I enjoyed it. But I still remember his limp body, hanging off a rocky crag in the distance, neck twisted, eyes empty, dried blood like crimson ribbon on the waves. His body was so strange," he chuckled, "he looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut off."
He licked his lips. "And I realised that death is a beautiful and cruel thing. For there is nothing after the last flicker of life has left your mind. Nothing but the void. Oblivion." His voice grew hollow. "There's no heaven. No hell. Just the dark. No awareness that you are, that you ever were, that you could ever be anything but the great emptiness beyond." He clenched his fists.
"I'm not a puppet Hermione. I refuse to drown in the darkness. I don't care how many bodies I have to claw my way past to get to the light. I don't care how much blood I spill. I am never going back to the dark, do you understand me?" He was shaking. He looked - exposed, vulnerable. Yes, he was frightening, but-
"So, why the horcrux, you ask?" he added, "You see, a horcrux makes you immortal in the purest sense. You cannot die - because all pieces of your soul cannot die at once. If you were to split your soul, hide it away - it could go anywhere. It's not confined by this hollow shell of dying flesh. I live on. It's not only that I can't be killed - I can't die. It's the only way."
"But immortality - Tom. That's… That would be torture." she sighed, "You'd be alone. Forever."
He looked up, his usual half smile tugging once more at his lips. "Worried for my wellbeing, Granger? Think I'm going to be lonely? You could join me, you know." He grabbed her hand. "The whole of time, the whole of the world - eternity at our feet - all the cities and sights of the earth at our doorstep. Think of all we could learn, think of all we could see and achieve! The art, the smells, the people, the books, the music and magic - magic everywhere." His eyes burned brighter than she'd ever seen them before. "You and I could be great, you know."
She shook her head. It was strange. She felt - was it sadness? A regret of some sort. As though someone were pulling at her heartstrings, knotting them in her chest. "I couldn't. Not for the whole of eternity. And you shouldn't either." She lifted a hand to cup his cheek. "It will destroy you. You'd be paying for it with your soul, Tom." Her hand wandered down to rest on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, a very faint flutter of drums against her palm. "Don't. Immortality isn't worth it." she murmured.
Immortality isn't worth you.
She checked her watch. "I should go. It's getting late." she said, gathering her bags. "I almost forgot - this is for you," she said, taking out Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's The Little Prince. "It should have just been published in your time, I think. Don't be deceived by its appearance. It's a wonderful little book… and you should read it."
He stared at her in silence, uncertain of what to say.
"I won't be able to come for a while." she added, pausing at the door. "I- That is to say - I'm so sorry, Tom."
She felt the cool touch of his hand on her wrist. "How long is a while?" she heard him murmur. She froze.
"Not quite as long as you think. I- I'll be back in a month's time," she smiled encouragingly. "Goodbye for now, Tom." And with neither motive nor reason, she tiptoed up to place a soft kiss on his lips.
Then she turned, and disappeared.
A/N - Hi! Thank you so much for reading! So this is slightly shorter than usual - oh well. Please review and let me know what you think, or if you have any criticism or comments! I absolutely adore reviews :) On that same note, thank you so much to mama123, Beth and Vaneesa85 for reviewing! I really appreciate it.
Have a lovely day!
Calliope