Previously: Hermione and Colin make a magical pact so Riddle won't find out they're from the future. Hermione talks with the Grey Lady, and has a brief 'dance' with Riddle. Riddle and his informant meet at the Hog's Head. Hermione visits the staff library only to meet with Riddle once again, who accuses her of stealing from him.
Chapter 8: Dark Waters
Confusion and terror warred for supremacy as Hermione struggled to make sense of Riddle's words. Though she admitted to playing a highly dangerous game of deceit, she had stolen nothing. Yet, his adamant words spoke otherwise. Then like a boulder falling on top of her head, realization crashed in. The ring she wore belonged to him.
She stumbled over her words, as she attempted to formulate an explanation for her possession of the ring. "I haven't – I mean- I didn't know it was yours. I found it."
Immediately, his eyes narrowed but before she could register the danger, his fingers tightly gripped her wrist, twisting her arm. A sharp pain flowed through her upper limb, causing her to let out a yelp. Trying to pull away from him, his opposing force led her to tumble sideways. Swooping in his other hand prevented her from falling any further by clenching her shoulder and holding her up.
"My, my, my… You found it. Where? Was it in my home? Do tell. I am extremely fascinated. Though first- I feel we need a little privacy." His words were biting, the underlying fury seeping in every sentence. Removing his hand from her shoulder he waved it in a complicated gesture sending a gust of wind whipping around them like a tornado, extinguishing the fire that roared heartily moments before. His orders were clear. Escape was impermissible. And like a loyal subject to a king, the room bowed to his whim as all possible exits to the room ceased to exist, the loud snaps of the doors locking, echoing throughout the room.
It was as if she was trapped in a horror movie, just before the killing blow. She could hardly see a thing in the room clearly. She frantically looked for an exit, but to no avail. She turned back to him, trying to make out his expression. The flickering light streaming through the windows cast an evil glow about his face.
A demon promising doom.
His mouth was near her ear, his harsh voice invading her very being. "Now tell me." Hermione's heart raced as she searched for something to say. She was certain that silence would carry a greater penalty, but she knew that nothing she said would satisfy him. His demand was clear: he wanted punishment.
Her soft cheek pressed against his rougher one as she whispered back to him. "I have done nothing-" Before she could continue, Riddle pulled back abruptly from her, letting out a short clipped laugh. "Nothing? Nothing? My dear, you have done many things, but nothing is not one of them."
His hand moved from her wrist encasing her own hand. The pads of his fingers ran across the back of hers. His movements highlighted her possession of the ring. She trembled, but refused to do anything that would raise Riddle's ire further. She knew the ring's significance and currently gave a sigh of relief that no greater charms had been set upon the ring yet, lest she suffer in a slow and humiliating death.
She debated the merits and possibilities of getting Riddle to allow her to keep the piece, before mentally deriding herself at this outlandish idea. It would be a fruitless venture and serve only to infuriate Riddle more. In addition, no matter how much she wished to dismantle his growing empire of evil, she was begrudgingly aware to do so would affect the future even more and perhaps lead it to irreparable chaos. A chill ran down her spine, as she realized she might not live to see the future given her current position. She drew in a shaky breath.
"Do I distress you?"
She blinked. He distressed her greatly, yet she would never admit such a weakness out loud. Instead she repeated his question back to him, "Do I distress you?"
At his raised eyebrow, she quickly clarified, "I mean all this-" she loosely gestured with her free hand, "-for a little trinket?" She tried to sound disbelieving as if she was not aware of the value of the ring.
Riddle scoffed, before tightening his grip on her ring clad hand. "You will find I am quite a possessive man. I dislike items belonging to me to be trifled with in any way." Pausing he looked at her again. "Though I must applaud you for your efforts to sidestep my query, I'm beginning to find this wearisome. Legilimens."
His final words were spoken softly, no more then a whisper, that she was unprepared for the power behind the onslaught. He was searching through her memories at a brutal pace. The potion she took earlier kept the memories relating to the future and Dumbledore hidden. Yet still it did not stop him from viewing several treasured moments of childhood. A girl eating ice cream. A trip to the zoo. Gathering her energy she directed him away from her past and tried to push him from her mind. It was like a battle against a dragon, whose potent flames burned holes through the shields of defense.
Soon he arrived to the memory created moments before when she was presented with the ring. His mercilessness filled her with fatigue, but she refused to have Beeper implicated in this. A final reserve of magic coursed through her, blocking the nargle's appearance from Riddle's greedy eyes, before pushing him out completely and barricading him from entering her thoughts. Exhaustion slowly wrapped blindfolds over her eyes and the last thing she registered was the warmth of his chest as she slumped against him.
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Tom Riddle contemplated the slight figure cradled against him. She had simultaneously impressed and incensed him. He had been so close to unlocking a key memory, before she unceremoniously thrust him out.
Noting the slight glow of the barricade she had implemented around her mind, he knew he would be unable to attain further information anytime soon. He found her method quite curious. The barrier she had invoked was not typically seen in those occluding their mind. In fact the technique was only described in a single text that had been written by Meadus Moore in 1324, Muddling Minds. Only three copies were known to be left, one of which he owned.
He shifted her body as her curly locks invaded his senses. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he proceeded to lift her effortlessly from her slumped position. Once she was ensconced securely in his grasp, his eyes sought a surface to depose her. He raised his brow as she snuggled against him, her breath tickling his neck. Shrugging away the unintentional intimacy, he carried her to the couch and lay her on the cushions in mock tenderness.
From what he did see of her mind, it appeared as if she was telling the truth. How inconvenient. He had been hoping to make her squirm some more, perhaps implement a few pleasurable tortures.
Muttering an incendio, he reignited the fire. Hearing a moan, he turned to observe her intermittently stirring form. Deceitfulness wrapped in an innocent shell. The thought sparked a wry grin. She intrigued him and had the propensity of being useful. A plot began to take shape in his mind, stirring and sprouting. He currently held the advantage and planned to keep it.
But first - no person would hold his soul. He did not create this Horcrux to be brandied about so carelessly. Leaning over her, he wrapped his hand around hers, and slid the ring carefully off her person and placed it into a pocket in his robes.
Straightening his bent figure he strode toward a nearby table and grabbed a sheet of parchment that lay on top. He studied the parchment for a moment, before Transfiguring it into a ring identical to his. Holding the faux ring tightly in his hand, he muttered several other spells under his breath, including a tracking spell and sticking spell. Once finished, he sat besides her, taking her hand again, and slipped the ring almost caressingly back on her.
His decision was both casual and bold, but the risks were minimal and the rewards potentially great. There was a chance that something could go wrong anywhere along the line. Yet therein lay the cunning of his scheme. If any wrong were to befall, he would not be in its path. She made it obvious that war could not be avoided.
In his opinion, dueling was not done until all the enemies weaknesses were discovered, as their fall became that much faster. He resented the element of imprecision and guesswork. The unique ring he had placed on her should eliminate both, and allow him to keep his advantage no matter how small it be.
His dark eyes drank in the witch laying next to his seated form. He was well aware that most men judged more by the eye than by the hand. After all, everyone could see and few could feel. He held his facade because of this. Everyone saw who he appeared to be, but few really knew who he was. Just as he was certain few really knew the woman at his side. The way her eyes would pass through him in a peculiar way. An odd combination of fear and knowledge. He did not believe her a seer. He had seen several and knew better. Still she discomforted him in a way he could not put into words. Instead, he would feed her fear of him and eventually she would allow herself to fall to his whim, like everyone else.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" a tired voice broke through his train of thought. He looked back at her in silence for a few moments.
"Mmm, yes. I have decided I've behaved quite poorly toward you recently, and wish for you to keep the ring as a token of peace." He smiled mockingly down at her.
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Hermione pulled herself away from the smile, away from the burning insincerity that radiated behind it. Stumbling from her place on the couch she stood and faced his seated form, which was now sprawled causally on the couch she absconded a moment ago. Despite his lazy appearance she was apprehensive to turn her back to him.
Registering his words, she looked down at the Devil's Ring that still rested on her finger. She had to grit her teeth a moment before she could manage a smile. "How kind of you. Now tell me why?"
Cocking his head he regarded her carefully, "You do not believe me. Do you not believe it is from the kindness of my heart? A chance to make amends?"
Brown eye searched his expression. "You're not a kind man."
"How clever of you to realize that fact, but you're not entirely correct. I do practice kindness…. when its convenient."
Convenience. Hermione pondered his statement. Did he jinx the ring with something deadly? She eyed him wearily. He stood from his seat, approaching her. Silent. Tense. Compelling. Grabbing the ring she made to remove it. To her horror now matter how hard she pulled, the ring refused to budge. He stopped less then a meter away observing her unsuccessful attempts.
She brandished the ring in front of him. "How is this a peace offering?"
As if amused by a private joke, he replied, "You can now enjoy the ring in a permanent fashion. If you prefer I can remove it." Hermione held out her hand. "Though I doubt you would like to end up like Professor Kettleburn. Missing limbs are quite unattractive." Dropping her hand she gave him a murderous glance.
"Remove it." She demanded.
"Unless it by sword, I will not acquiesce. I really think you must tolerate my small demands when I'm showing such restraint and consideration in the larger ones." Riddle looked at her with something akin to pity. "You do realize you're going to lose."
Her jaw squared, "I have a chance and I have no intention of losing."
"Are you planning on changing the rules of the game? You'll find I adapt very easily. I always end up on top." He wagged his brow suggestively.
Though she ignored his bold words, Hermione knew she could not ignore him. Especially now when he so neatly challenged her. "And just what are the rules?"
He ignored the question. Silence reigned briefly before he abruptly spoke, "I believe we'll dispense our little game for now."
Annoyed at how casually he was dismissing her, sarcasm dripped from her voice, "Oh, and here I was just beginning to enjoy myself. An assault on my mind and an irremovable ring; both on the same day. Do you show such appreciation to all your coworkers?"
Again he ignored her, his words laconic. "I grow bored." He smiled cynically. "You will find I grow bored with exceptional ease."
She felt a queer pang she refused to admit was hurt. She couldn't read him nearly as well as he did her. She had to escape, she had to remove the ring. For all she knew, he was distracting her from preventing her own demise. She lifted her chin. "I have to go."
"By all means run away." He bowed courteously.
Halting her backward tracks she looked up on him. "There is nothing to run from. Yet, I promise you I will make your plans that much more difficult."
He took a step toward her so that his height would intimidate her, but she didn't budge an inch. "I don't like threats."
"Who's threatening? You told me how it's going to be, and I merely told you how I'll react."
She would have liked for that to be the end of it. It should have been the end of it. Removing herself from the room. She didn't get very far before Riddle's words struck her back like shards of glass, lacerating, drawing blood.
"So selfish. Although what can be expected from someone who causes their friend to suffer. I'm sure Ron would agree."
.oOo.
Sweat dripped from the pores of Colin's face. For the second time in the past two days, Colin found himself trapped in a small enclosure. The closet he hid in was stifling. Swathes of dusty robes encircled his head and odd knick-knacks littered the ground at his feet. Despite this, he felt the ordeal an improvement over Hastings interrogation.
He glanced at the box clutched tightly in his hands, the reason for his current predicament. The box was to hold some information pertaining to the discovery of the lock. He had been so close to removing the box and himself from the room, when a different entrance to Headmaster's office had opened. An entrance Colin did not even know existed. It was only luck that prevented him from being seen by Rugen and another man that seemed to resemble Hagrid.
Pressing his ear against the door Colin strained to hear what was being said between Deputy Headmaster Rugen and his visitor. After several futile attempts, Colin finally waved his wand toward the door , which, allowed the conversation to be heard more easily.
Rugen's austere tone filled the room, "That's quite an accusation to make. Do you have any proof?"
The other man's voice boomed out slightly nervously, "But its not- I'm –er, not accusing anyone of nothing. I jus' wanted to let ye know of some dangerous and strange going-ons in the Forbidden Forest."
Colin took a sharp intake of breath. The man was indeed Hagrid. Colin could not mistake that voice for anyone else's. He then frowned. If Hagrid thought there was something dangerous in the Forbidden Forest that was indeed a something he did not want to encounter. Keeping himself still, he waited to hear more.
The deputy headmaster sounded less then pleased, "Yes, but you implicated a professor from this institute."
Fumbling over his words, Hagrid attempted to clarify, "I was jus' saying, I've seen him go into the Forest, and then the hubbub-."
Colin's expression changed to one of puzzlement. What had happened? A multitude of thoughts ran across his mind. Though he was certain if anyone was responsible for anything evil going on in the forest, it had to be Riddle.
"Yet, is it not possible that you may have been mistaken." Rugen's words held a slight plea, as if he wanted to avoid any and all accusations that might mean additional work for him.
"But I've seen him-" Hagrid's voice wavered slightly, but he refused to back down.
"Just like you saw him causing chaos with the school brooms?" Colin's brows rose at that statement. Certainly they were not talking about him?
His breath hitched. He did not think anyone had observed him. He had not meant to destroy all those brooms. Besides he was able to repair most of them, those that had not disintegrated, that is, because of his cleaning/disinfecting spell.
"I did see him with the brooms." Hagrid replied in a defensive tone.
Exasperated Rugen continued, "And as I explained it was at my request. I thought there may have been tampering, after all Cicerone has had several hospital trips. So I had Tom analyze the brooms."
Colin looked dazed at this revelation, Riddle had access to the brooms? Why had he not been told of this? Suddenly his unusual accidents, took on a darker cast, and he silently cursed himself for his obliviousness to it all. Repositioning himself again, he focused back onto the conversation.
"No jinks were found on any of the brooms in question. And none of the other students have been having broom problems. So it comes down to a case of clumsiness." Colin glowered silently from his hiding place in the closet.
Hagrid was not as dismissive, "But 15 hospital wing trips in the pas' week? I'm certain I saw him cast something on the brooms." Colin silently cheered Hagrid on, before scrunching his face as he took in the comment of his numerous hospital trips. He scowled at the exaggeration; he only had to visit Madame Parfait eleven times last week.
"I was with him most of the time and the only things he cast were various reveal spells. But to get back to the problem at hand, as far as the commotion in the forest, could the Centaur's be exaggerating?" Rugen tapped his wand against his desk, in a contemplative fashion.
His statement was met with vehement opposition, "Exaggeratin'?—No! They were pretty clear 'bout the dark infestations, and it's suppos' to get wors'." Colin gulped at hearing this. His anxiety increased, as his imagination went rampant imagining various scenes of chaos, each more devastating then the last.
Rugen scoffed, "The stars again?"
"They've never been wrong." Hagrid replied in defense of the Centaurs.
Skepticism crept into the other man's voice, "Pish-posh. Have you seen these infestations?"
There was a pause, as Hagrid sat deep in thought, before speaking, "Well no, not yet….but the animals have all been uneasy, the spider's are movin' away from the castle and a unicorn…"
"The spider's?" At this point Colin could hear the screeching of a chair being move, and several heavy footfalls, before Rugen spoke again. "Hmm, I see. Well, thank you for this information, Rubeus. I'm sure you've been up quite late investigating this matter. Why don't you take the day off, tomorrow as well. Get yourself back in tip-top shape."
As Rugen prattled on, Colin heard protests from Hagrid, who insisted that he was perfectly well. The voices became dimmer as Rugen escorted Hagrid to the door.
Excited with his discovery, Colin threw caution to the wind, bursting out of the closet; the box safely ensconced in his arms, before falling to the ground, his legs asleep from the cramp closet. Attempting to shake off the numbness in his legs he struggled to stand, half crawling to avoid being caught by Rugen's return.
Grabbing hold of a nearby shelf, Colin hoisted himself to a standing position. He looked around the room for the closest route of escape. He suddenly frowned as his gaze stopped at an empty spot on a shelf. Blinking he was certain a pensive had sat in that place the week before. Peering around the room again, he looked to see if it had been moved; as its large size would surely give away its new resting place. Peering around the room, he could not find a trace of the object.
Hearing the stairs begin to creak from the weight of someone walking up them, Colin wasted no more time dwelling on the missing item. Box in hand Colin hurried toward the entrance Hagrid and Rugen had initially entered from, noting briefly the shape and size of the door seemed to have changed.
Ignoring the significance of the change, Colin clutched the door's handle. Looking over his shoulder, he could make out the tip of Rugen's tall pointy hat making its way up the stairs. Wrenching the door open, he plunged forward and stumbled, as one foot submerged itself ankle deep in water and the door behind him disappeared.
As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of his new location he realized the door had transported him to a washroom. Looking down he groaned on seeing his left foot caught in a toilet bowel. Tugging his foot out, he exited the stall, only to stop once more as the face of Moaning Myrtle appeared in front of him.
She sniffed as she floated toward him. "What are you doing here? Have you also come to make fun of me?"
"Huh? No!" Colin looked at the ghost, who began to wail.
"Uh there, there." Colin stated as he awkwardly attempted to pat her shoulder; failing miserably as his hand passed through her. Trying to think of something comforting to say, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" Seeing her eyes brighten, Colin had a sinking feeling his evening was about to get longer.
.oOo.
To him the crowd of people blended together. One virtually indistinguishable from the other. It was like the tumultuous ocean with a wide variety of emotions churning within the swirling dark robed waters. Moods ranged from anxiety to elation, but the overall pattern was one of calm. Yet he could not ignore the potential danger… the circling shark.
His large eyes gazed at the surrounding sea of black. Greens, golds, blues and reds dotted the waters adding unique splashes of color to the tide. Knowing he could no longer put off treading through the throngs, he heaved a small sigh, before plunging himself in the dark depths. Rising up once, then twice to avoid the potentially crushing waves, the diminutive figure was nearly swallowed in the currents.
Eyeing a floatation device an arms length away, Beeper jumped once more, before stowing away into a Slytherin seventh year's book bag. As he allowed his mode of transportation to carry him to his destination, Beeper browsed through the bag. Finding some pepper imps, he squeaked with joy, before consuming the bag. The flavor was pleasant and agreed with him, until he felt a raw heat rumble through him.
Smoke curled from his mouth. He opened his mouth in panick releasing many fiery flames and lighting the student's parchment on fire. Abandoning what was sure to be a sinking ship, he tumbled out of the bag into a cool chill of a classroom; and proceded to scuttle toward the front of the room, where he dipped his smoking fur into cup filled with water. Then removing himself to a more secure location, he heaved a sigh of relief and observed the events in the classroom.
Chaos was raining in abundance. The student discovered his burning bag and was dancing around with his wand trying to put it out. His efforts only resulted in the fire growing bigger and spreading to a nearby table. Enlisting the aid of his friend, the two of them managed to contain the fire, when a dark swirl of robes entered the classroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Seeing the calamity that had befallen the room, the man simply rolled his eyes before extinguishing the flame with a quick flick of his wand.
Turning to the students, he raised a brow. "Disappointing. Eleven NEWT level students, and not one can put out a simple fire." Shaking his head mockingly, he continued, "Do we need to go over the basics again?"
Embarrassed and ashen-faced at being caught in such a ridiculous position, the students immediately took to their seats. Silence loomed around the classroom. None dared face his eventual wrath. It had been rumored that a fourth year had spoken out of turn in his classroom the first day of class and had earned a detention. The student had not been seen since then.
Riddle surveyed his students, before striding to the front of the classroom. Coming to his desk, he leaned against it, before casually tapping a corner with his wand. Immediately a flutter of parchments floated to him. Counting the parchments, he looked up, "It seems as if I am missing an assignment. Mr. Winkle, any explanations?"
"Professor..Sir... I finished it, but my bag... it was in my bag... and it burned.. I.." Rip Winkle stuttered out before he was stopped.
"Well then I'm sure you'll be certain to cast a fireproofing spell next time." Riddle's tone was dismissive. "I'm sure you'll do better than a zero on the next assignment."
The student's eyes opened wide. "But -" At Riddle's withering look he finished, "-I'm sure I will."
Riddle's voice crisp he turned his attention back to the rest of the students. "Now today we will discuss reanimation and its benefits, followed by a more interactive approach."
There was a collective gasp among the students at his announcement. Whispers broke out. One of the students known as Benji Beatle spoke up, "But sir isn't that dark magic?"
Riddle glanced at him coldly, "Mr. Beatle, what an astute observation. Pray tell what led you to this conclusion? Perhaps the remembrance of what class you are attending?" Turning to the rest of the students Riddle continued, "You all would do well to remember that a Defense Against the Dart Arts class, involves examination of the Dark Arts as well. But Mr. Beatle is not entirely correct in his statement, components of reanimation are used in the healing arts as well. And that is what we shall set out to examine."
As Riddle continued his discussion, Beeper chanced a glance around the classroom. The students sat in rapt attention to Riddle's words. His commanding presence created a studious environment, no one slept, passed notes, or worked on other assignments. It was as if he imperioed the students into a perfect class.
Beeper frowned at the stillness of the students. The authoritarian tones of Riddle's voice resounded through the classroom. Riddle's power over the student's was tremendous. In the three days the nargle had been following him, he had observed more than one student leaving the classroom in tears when they failed to please him. He manipulated their minds so neatly and inspired both respect and terror. Not one student dared argue with him.
The nargle also noted that Riddle kept watch of his caretaker, the fuzzy haired hat maker. Just this morning, Riddle took out a map observing her movements as a tiny red dot coursed down the map's corridors. Perhaps he wanted her to make him a hat as well, or a blanket. It would explain why he kept wrapping Hermione around him.
Growing bored of the lecturing, Beeper gazed around looking to see if he could aid someone. The day before, when following Riddle on a trip to the owlery, the freezing night air led him on a quest to provide warm coverings for the birds. Luckily, his search did not take long as inspection of the intimidating man's wardrobe revealed soft silky owl blankets. Upon closer inspection there were even holes for the wings. Happy he had tumbled back to the owlery while Riddle slept. It seemed the man used the owl blankets as undergarments. In Beeper firm opinion all one needed were socks and a hat, which was why he was confused as to why Riddle threw a ruckus when waking that morning.
A student's voice filled the nargle's ears. "So why don't dark wizards create an army of the living dead?"
Riddle's head turned sharply toward the questioner, examining them silently. As if reaching a conclusion, his lips curled into a half smile, waving his wand the dead insects that had been lying on his desk arose, like a dark army their segmented legs clicked in time as they marched over the plains of the large desk.
"An army that cannot be killed, plowing through innocent lives, mindful of only one goal." Directing his wand again he directed them toward an apple that lay on his desk, given him by an admirer. Mechanically they approached it their bodies swarming over the fruit, devouring it, until nothing remained.
"Yes it does sound like an ideal army for a dark wizard does it not?" Seeing the students nod vacantly as they stared transfixed at the minute army, he continued, "But it must be kept in mind that an indestructible army is a terribly ineffective one as well. Their thoughts are basic and incapable of distinguishing one side from another." His words were punctuated when a beetle viciously ripped the head off an ant, and the rest of the army joined in its self-destruction. Still even among the rubble the body parts continued wriggling and moving forward. Waving his wand one final time the twitching ceased.
"Couldn't they be imperioed into performing the task correctly?" A boy from Ravenclaw asked.
"Planning on creating your own army?" Riddle questioned, his brow raised. Ignoring the boy's blush, Riddle continued, "Ah the inherent problem of forcing someone to listen to you. Eventually they do not. Resenting you. All in all quite counterproductive. An imperioed army would be the height of foolishness and a waste of magic."
As another student raised their hand to ask a question, Riddle waved his hand dismissingly, "Now given the ineffectiveness of this course of action, this is not to say, it may never be used. Indeed healers use this spell, in restarting a patient's heart if it's been stopping. In fact you may use it to aid a fellow student who has stopped breathing after a drowning experience. Yet, magic relies on intent and sometimes unconventional uses can develop into something else entirely."
His words were like a lasso wrapping around the impressionable minds, capturing their attention, their imaginations, hinting and whispering that 'something else' could be something greater.
"The vials before you contain various non-living insects, now utilizing the spell we have just gone over, vixi victum, the purpose should be clear." Tipping his head toward the class he indicated for them to begin.
Looking around the room, Beeper wrinkled his tiny nose as the pungent aroma of death from the creatures hit his nostrils. As the room filled with cries of vixi victum, he saw the several insects twitch before several started hopping or crawling. The process started again after murmurs of desino victus, stopped the creature's movements, and reverted them to their previously immovable state. His fur bristled at the callousness of the situation. A plot formulated in his mind.
Tumbling away from his hiding place, he sought a distraction, but before anything could be done, he was being lifted high into the air by a strong hand. His large eyes met Riddle's, who clutched the nape of his furry neck. A chilling gleam filled Riddle's eyes, "Now what have we here?"
oOo
