The rest of January and beginning of February flew by.
The ice that had covered the lake began to melt - gone were the days of ice-skating and snow fights - but a winter chill still governed the air.
The world was steadily sinking into chaos. Death Eater attacks left and right, dementors unleashed, the ministry seemed to have descended into a whirlpool of fear and panic. Suspicion was everywhere. Sometimes, she'd think back at Tom. What would he make of this? Then invariably her stomach would twist into a sickening knot.
She'd kissed him.
Why - she wasn't sure. She wasn't one to make the first move. Then again, she probably hadn't been in enough relationships for that. Krum had taken her by surprise - he was rough, experimental - it was a one-off. Then there was the kiss to seal the contract - not much of a kiss either. Just a necessary collision of lips - she'd also been taken off guard. There was no truly feeling behind either of those.
But her kiss. As much as she'd have wanted it to be, it wasn't a kiss of farewell. Nor was it experimental, or marking the start and end of a contact. It had been sweeter. A promise. A promise to return.
A month had passed. She'd read all the books he'd leant her, twice. She'd found another copy of Pictures from Italy, in the library, which she now knew almost by heart. She didn't go to the room in the restricted section that night. She didn't go to dinner. In fact, she didn't leave her dorm. She just sat on her bed, playing with the chain at her wrist, reading and re-reading Pictures from Italy, imagining Tom's reaction at each of the places mentioned in the book. She shook her head. She was wasting time. Not only that, but she was thinking about him. It was unwise. She had to ensure that she not only kept her idea of Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort as being two different people - lest she lose her sanity - but that she avoid seeing the former all together. The only way she would ever see anyone Tom Riddle-esque again in her life, would be on the battlefield. It would be his counterpart from the future, and it would be him plunging to his death.
A proper death.
"Stood up on Valentine's day. Tut tut Miss Granger, now you really are cruel." came a mocking voice. Tom stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, smirk on his face, eyeing her as though nothing had changed and they'd merely been seeing her for weeks. "You did say in a month's time, did you not?" He sat down on Lavender's bed. "This is a month."
She gaped. "Don't worry - the door is locked, the room is muffled, we can talk without being disturbed." he said, anticipating her question. "Well, aren't you going to wish me a proper happy Valentine's day? Or do they not do that in nineteen ninety seven?"
She blushed. "H-Happy Valentine's day." she stammered.
"Don't I get something? A little token of appreciation perhaps?" he asked coyly.
She got up from the bed, and busied herself with her books. "Only lovers do that." she said cooly.
He frowned, but didn't argue the point. Instead, he took out The Little Prince. "This is a children's book."
"It is indeed."
"It was sentimental."
"I should hope so."
"Tell me, Granger, are you being deliberately obtuse or am I insanely lucky today?" he spat.
She raised an eyebrow at his remark. "I thought you would learn some patience from it. And some kindness. And maybe a little about love, too." She sighed. "Did you enjoy it?"
His expression cleared, and lips parted to make a small 'oh'. "I did, actually. The ending irks me a little."
"How so?"
"I- does the little prince die?" he asked in a small voice.
"Well, I suppose he does in a manner of speaking." she said absentmindedly, turning her attention to Crookshanks who had just emerged from under one of the beds. Tom eyed the cat with a mix of revulsion and odd curiosity. "But then again, no. He goes on an adventure. It just so happens that his body is too heavy a baggage to take with him."
Crookshanks leapt up next to Tom, who patted the cat awkwardly. Hermione couldn't help but laugh a little. She'd never seen Tom not handle something with grace, but his sporadic petting of the cat - which involved mainly tapping bits of its head and back with his palm whilst wearing a rather confused expression upon his face - was rather entertaining.
They spoke for the next hour or so. They spoke of the little prince, of taming people, of kindness, of love even - though he shied away from the subject rather quickly, of Italy, Florence, Rome - the forum, roman witchcraft, potions and spells. They laughed, joked about the future. He would gaze at her, her hazel eyes, mane of a hair, listen to her laughter, ringing as clear as a bell in the night. And he would smile. She'd smile back. It was beautiful in a way, just to sit and enjoy each other's company.
"How are you?" she asked him at last.
"I'm busy." he said. "Very busy. I've started to apply our modified Protean Charm on people-" she winced at that. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it, "and I've… discovered something quite interesting about the castle. In fact, I'd discovered it when I saw you last - but now that I've investigated it further, I've decided to keep it a… running operation of sorts."
"Oh?" she asked, gritting her teeth.
He grinned. "I'll show you." He took her hand, and they disappeared.
She didn't need to ask where she was. She knew. She saw the cavernous hall of stone, the silvery depths of water pooling by her feet, the great statue of the old wrinkly man towering above her, the strange mix of pride and greed in Tom's eyes, where just a second ago, there had been something else, hope perhaps? She felt the damp cling to her skin, the cold settling into her veins. She heard the hiss of the snake. The great basilisk, which lurked somewhere near.
"She won't hurt you." Tom had murmured.
"My inheritance!" He'd laughed. His voice echoed on the granite walls, stalagmites and stalactites shaking, ripples through the water. He'd started to explain. "I'm a parselmouth. I always knew you see. That there was something different about me. Special. So I as soon as I got to the library I decided to…"
She stood there in silence. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. She didn't know why. She wasn't one for crying. But somehow, this wasn't right. His voice was just slightly to proud. The glimmer in his eyes shone slightly too much like that of a maniac. There was madness in his mind.
Beautiful madness. Dangerous madness. Run away, Hermione.
"I can't." she murmured. "This isn't right Tom. You have to stop. You.. you can't do this."
"What do you mean?"
"I-" she closed her eyes. She should leave. "I thought you-"
His mask wove itself back on. His expression quietened. His brow, strict as ever, his mouth twisted down. There was nothing behind his eyes anymore. An unreadable grey, a grey of solitude occupied them.
"I thought you understood." he said simply, without looking at her. "I thought you and I truly and completely understood each other." He began towards the statue. "How disappointing," he said finally. "You can see yourself out."
She could feel herself shaking more violently by the moment. "You- I could never-" She swallowed. "Indeed, how disappointing."
She turned on her heel, and disappeared.
Months passed.
Had she been too harsh on him? No. No, Hermione, no. At times, there were moments when she thought she missed him. Memories flickered through her mind. She'd sigh when she'd find a good book on this or that runic dialect. She'd kept on reading Pictures from Italy. She didn't know why. She'd never gotten The Little Prince back.
But perhaps it was best that way. Keep a fondness for him in a dream, separate him from the real world. All would be alright.
It was almost exactly four months to the day that she saw him again.
He was sitting on her bed, his expression hollow. There was something wrong. This wasn't the same, confident young man she'd seen back in February. This was someone else all together. He seemed broken. Like a puppet without strings.
She locked the door, muffled the sound. "Tom? What happened?" Should she send him away? No. No, she'd always been taught to see the best in people. She'd seen something in him once. And if she'd just imagined it, then it was best she confirm that now. "What's wrong?"
He looked up at her in absolute shock. "I- Hermione. I-" he gulped.
"I didn't mean for it to happen." he was shaking rather violently. His limbs a trembling mess, his voice broke as he spoke, he could barely stand. "I- she - stupid, stupid girl." He wasn't looking at her, he just seemed to be staring right ahead. His expression - one of complete and utter numbness. "I didn't- Oh God what have I done? She wasn't supposed to be there. She-" his voice cracked, he couldn't speak.
Hermione kneeled to face him. "Who wasn't supposed to be there? Tom? What happened?" she asked gently. Part of her knew. There was part of her, hidden in one of the smallest recesses of her brain, which knew. She ignored it. "What happened?"
"The girl. What was her name? Miriam? Millie? Mildred? Myrtle? Myrtle Warren. Ravenclaw. She was in the bathroom. It's the entrance. She saw- she saw me open the- I- the basilisk. The basilisk, she couldn't help it- it's-" he dropped his head between his hands. "They're going to close the school. I- I'll have to go back living like a Muggle. If they close the school, I'm going to have to go back, to the orphanage. They'll strip me of my wand. I-I'll lose everything." his eyes widened in horror at the realisation. "This is going to have to be a goodbye. A proper one. Not the half-hearted thing we had in February."
"What happened in February wasn't a goodbye?"
He shook his head and laughed rather mirthlessly. "No. No, it wasn't. I was always going to come back for you, Hermione. I'd.. sweep you off your feet to Italy. Something like that. Steal a silly sentimental book from you. Rip it to shreds. The usual." he smiled weakly. "But that foolish girl.
Myrtle. Every single bone in her body screamed at her to run, get away from him. No, kill him now. Wouldn't that be the logical thing to do? Instead, she cupped his face in her hands, wiped away some blood from his cheek - heaven knows how that got there - whose blood is it? - and said, with as much calm as she could muster, "You're an adult. They can't send you back to the orphanage."
"Not in the muggle world. I'm still a child in the muggle world." There was a pause, before he added. "I hate them. I hate them all."
"Who do you hate, Tom?" There was something in his eyes, something foreign. Pure, unadulterated hate.
"The orphanage. I- I live in an orphanage. I hate them. The Muggles. The Mudbloods. Dippet for being so spineless. Dumbledore." he clenched his fists. "He knows. I can tell. He'll do everything he can to strip me of my magic. It's not fair. Hermione, it's not fair."
A/N - Hi! Thank you so much for reading! Please do review :) I love reviews, they put a smile on my face. Any feedback is great, any review is fantastic, so please do drop a line! On that note, thank you so so much to mama123, nrm1, Garden Gnomie, and - you guys are amazing!
Rather short chapter here... I'm just keen to get to the story, so this is more of an in between chapter than anything else. Maybe it should be viewed more as a Chapter 6.5 than chapter 7. Oh well.
Have a wonderful day!
Calliope