A/N: Chapter 28 has its thanks to hand out to those who reviewed for its predecessor: .o0Aurelie0o., LandUnderWave, Charming-Lynn, Gueneviere, marauder'sbabe, ellamalfoy8, fizznsoot, Skavnema, libaka, The Almighty Cheez It, the. dead. addict., pottersgirl91, o0Dreamer0o, Lolaleddir, simply2die4, arushi, bumblebee115, nehimasgift, and Vera-Sabe (It's nice to hear from the real Mima. Glad you've been following along, hun!).

Well, here it is, enjoy it while I write Chapter 29 and watch it snow to Christmas carols by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, lol.

Chapter 28 – The King's Conditions

"Why not?" Hermione repeated in an almost nervous manner. "Tom, you see, I sort of got into a teeny, tiny, little bit of... er... um... trouble."

"What kind of trouble, Granger?" he asked while sounding a great deal like Mrs. Weasley. Hermione gaped like a fish out of water. What was she supposed to say to him? Should she really tell him that she insulted a Healer, punched him, and then stole his healing products? She chewed her lip and twisted her fingers together as she pondered just what to say. "I'm still waiting," Tom's voice cracked.

She winced a little, feeling a great deal like a child who was caught stealing candy.

"I-I-"

"You what?" he barked, making her jump. He didn't like waiting, especially when she was withholding information.

"I punched the Healer because he refused to come back to the castle and help you and the King. Then I took his bag of healing stuff and left!" Hermione spat quickly, almost too fast for him to hear.

"You did what?" Riddle roared. "Granger! How... how could you?"

"Well, he wasn't going to come to the castle because the Duchess lives here, and he has this grudge against her over his dead brother," she babbled. The more she opened her mouth and explained, the more things became more dramatic, much like a bad soap opera. "So I got angry. What else should I have done?"

"Maybe try and persuade him before you knock his front teeth out!" he suggested angrily.

"I didn't knock his front teeth out," she muttered in defense. "I... broke his nose."

"Oh ho!" Tom exclaimed with a bitter bark of laugher. "Like it makes a difference. You punched him all the same." She said nothing to this as he threw his hands in the air and walked away towards her dresser. He stood there a moment with his elbows resting upon the piece of furniture and his head in his hands. Riddle appeared to be thinking as he massaged his temples and pulled at the hair above his ears. "All right," he breathed, turning to face her once more. "This is what we're going to do... now listen carefully." He approached her, staring down at her to assure that he had her attention. "You're going to take me to that fellow down in the town so I can get to Bluffshire just like you did. After that, you're going to wait there while I go to the Healer and get some potions for that dunderhead you're pretending is your father."

"He's not a dunder-"

"Quiet, Granger!" Tom commanded. "Just... listen. When I return, we're going to come up to the castle. You're going to fake fainting so that I can get those awful women they call nurses out of my hair. I'm going to administer the Muggle some of the potions I get and then we're going to sit back and relax while pretending that we know nothing of his speedy recovery. Understand?" She nodded a couple of times before watching him sigh and rub his face. "Come along... I need something to eat; that damn Invigoration Draught has made me dreadfully famished."

Hermione rose somberly from the bed and followed him from the room. They were headed down the corridor when she began tugging on his sleeve.

"What is it?" he hissed as she insisted that he stay quiet. She pointed to a door which she had visited the night before. The library. From inside came voices of rage. Both the voices were male, and both were equally venomous. Hermione and Riddle sneaked forward, still unable to hear anything clearly enough to make out words. Pushing the door open enough for the two of them to slip in, she entered the room and headed for one of the three stacks of books. They hid behind it, peering through the shelves to try and spot who the voices belonged to. Hermione's eyes were the first to see the culprits.

"It's Mardon and Porthos," she whispered in Tom's ear. He shivered a bit and gave her a look from the corner of his eye, but she was too busy watching the two furious men argue to notice. Shaking off the momentary distraction, Riddle busied himself with listening in on the General and his son.

"Is it true?" demanded Mardon.

"How should I know, Father?" Porthos snapped. "I don't keep watch over that ridiculous excuse for a soldier. In case you forget, it's my job to watch that brat they call a princess, not him."

"And that's exactly why you can't keep a close eye on her," the General growled. "Because you don't keep your enemies closer. You've let that blundering boy, Aramis, slip in next to that snot-nosed Princess, and you couldn't have made it much easier for him."

"Well, if it's so bloody easy, then why don't you do it yourself, you great dolt," the blond haired boy argued.

"Watch your tongue," Mardon warned as he wagged a finger in his son's face face. "I'm your father, and you'll do well to remember the kind of power I have over you." Porthos said nothing to this, instead he merely folded his arms over his chest and glared at the wall of books next to him. "Now," the General continued. "I don't know how that idiotic boy got better because it was certainly no miracle like those wench nurses said it was, but I want you to have him taken out."

"How exactly should I go about that?" Porthos snarled. "Have you truly lost your memory? The assassins fled northward, so I can't exactly employ their help, and I reject the very idea of ridding ourselves of him with my two hands."

"No gall whatsoever," Mardon grumbled more to himself than the sapphire eyed boy before him. "Fine, fine, you don't have to take him out yourself. I'll take care of him and remove him from our presence like he should have been in the first place. I blame you for the fact that he's still here." Porthos snorted angrily and pressed his arms tight against his chest. He seemed to be restraining himself from punching his father. "Why, if it hadn't been for Aramis, we would have had the King dead by now," the General went on. "There would have been enough poison in his system from those arrows to do him in." Tom felt a fire burst in his stomach. His hands balled into fists without his brain's consent, and Hermione had to push down forcefully upon his shoulder to get him to stay in place.

"Then why not slip the King some poison in his food?" remarked Porthos.

"That's exactly what I plan to do," the older man smirked. "And I think I'll even give our dear friend Aramis some as well." This time Hermione had a little more trouble keeping Riddle in his place. She grabbed his wrists and hung on for dear life as he fought to get loose. During their small struggle, his elbow knocked a book from the shelf behind them, and it fell to the floor with a loud, startling smack. Eyes growing wide, the pair glanced to Porthos and Mardon who were looking around in alarm for the source of the disturbance.

"Run!" Tom hissed. Hermione moved swiftly down the row of books, her feet barely taking time to touch the floor. Riddle was right behind her, but he wasn't quite quick enough.

"My, my... Aramis," the General called as he came around the corner of the bookshelf. "Doing a bit of reading?" he asked as he stooped and picked up the book that had been knocked down.

"As a matter of fact, I was," he replied silkily, turning around to face the General and his sour-faced son.

"Then read up on this," Mardon commented maliciously. "I'm not sure how much you heard of this conversation, but you'll do well to remove it from your mind... forget it completely. It's in the best interest of your life." He pushed a finger into Tom's chest, but Riddle stood tall and refused to sway no matter how hard the pompous airhead before him pushed. Displeased with the retaliation he was being shown, the General drilled his finger into Tom's newly healed shoulder, twisting it as he resumed his force. Riddle grit his teeth, trying to show no reaction, but he was betrayed as his upper lip twitched and his pupils dilated because of the pain. Even if his shoulder had been healed, the area was still bruised and somewhat tender. "By the way," Mardon added. "As your General, that's an order not a request, soldier, and should you disobey it, then I'll have you removed from the premises as well as the ranks. Have I made myself clea-"

"Aramis!" Hermione called from the other end of the aisle. "There you are." She approached the three men, a graceful smile on her lips. "I've found a book for my father... come along now. We must go visit him." Tom looked at her for a moment before glancing back vehemently at Porthos and his father. "Gentlemen," she spoke softly as she linked arms with Riddle and pulled him away. They continued down the row of books, arms locked and not looking back. Once they were out of the library, Hermione and Tom headed for the kitchens. On the way, they were silent; the only sound between the two was the fall of their footsteps resounding off the walls.

"We have to keep an eye on them, you know," she pointed out. "And the King."

"I can't believe those bastards poisoned the arrows," he grumbled. "I can't wait to hex their heads off their necks."

"Well, we'll have to save that for a later time," she sighed as they entered the kitchen. They seated themselves at the small table, and she laid the book down as Mary came over to them. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Mary," Hermione began. "Could we get some breakfast served here?"

"I'll have Janessa bring it to you as soon as it's done," the maid replied without hesitation. "I'm going to collect the laundry." She left them in silence once more, Hermione's eyes glued upon the chef in boredom. She watched as he cooked breakfast while Tom picked up the book and began flipping through the pages. His eyes growing wider and wider with each new turn.

"I don't know if you should take this to the King," he laughed. "Least not right now while he's in the condition he is."

"Hmm?" She had not really been paying attention, in fact, she almost forgot Riddle was sitting there with her. "Not that I intended to, but why not?"

"Take a look," he snickered while sliding the book to her. She picked it up and began reading down the page. Her eyes sort of popped with each new word that she saw. Hastily turning the page, her jaw dropped. Hermione slammed the book shut and shoved it back across the table at Tom; her mouth was now completely dry. Inside the book that she had randomly picked up as an excuse to save Riddle from Mardon were pictures of the human anatomy, all very detailed with extensive writings on each body part including its functions, description, and other such things. Immediately, her mind set to work making her feel ironically guilty and stupid. She could see the words she had read in her head, and each time a new word came into view, the vision of Tom naked popped into her head.

"What a cruel irony," she groaned, dropping her head down onto the table.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, flipping through the book once more with no shame whatsoever.

"Don't embarrass me further by acting like you don't know just to make me say it," she mumbled with her forehead still resting on the table, muffling her voice.

"Seriously, Granger, I don't know," he chuckled. "What's a cruel irony?"

"C'mon now," Hermione drawled, feeling a little fed up with his faked coy front.

"What?" he demanded, ire beginning to get the better of him from his continual nagging at her to answer him.

"You're a real cad, you know that?" she snapped.

"Well, it's not nice to harbor inside jokes in front of others," he retaliated. "If you aren't going to tell me what's bothering you, then don't say anything about it in front of me."

"Oh, Tom, honestly! You're just acting dumb so that I'll fess up and say that I saw you without any clothes on last ni-" She stopped. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes bugged out. His eyebrows shot to the middle of his forehead as his ears turned a strange coral pink.

"Y-yo-you what?" he stuttered. She closed her mouth instantly, feeling it go horribly dry. Her face was on fire, and her stomach was doing an odd dance with a group of butterflies.

"I really should be leaving now," she stated as she stood up and started towards the door.

"Oh, no, wait just a minute," he ordered as he, too, rose from his seat. She, however, was too slick on this occasion. Ducking past Janessa, who was bring their breakfast, and almost knocking the tray from the maid's hands, Hermione ran for the door. Riddle was sure to follow though, chasing after her until they were almost to the King's room. "If you don't stop," Tom called to her. "I'm going to jinx your feet right out from under you." Hermione froze in the middle of the corridor while knowing full well that he would make good on that threat. She didn't dare look back at him though; she didn't want to see his face, and she certainly didn't want to show her own to him. It was bad enough that she even had to listen to his voice after slipping up and telling him her embarrassing secret. "First of all, you don't tell someone you saw them in all their indecency and then go skiving off like an utter imbecile," he huffed, coming to stand in front of her. "And second, what the bloody hell were you doing looking at me like that anyways? I could have swore that you had your back turned to me when I started dressing. I knew I should have made you wait outside!"

"It's not like I meant to! I just looked back over my shoulder and there you were... I didn't know you were getting dressed at the time."

"What did you think I was doing when I was out of bed in nothing but a sheet looking at the floor?"

"Oh, I don't know! You're Tom Riddle, you could have been plotting someone's death for all I can imagine," Hermione argued while wishing she could just go back to her room and hide until all the embarrassment disappeared. "All I saw was the back of you... I mean, you weren't saying anything or making any noise, so I looked back to see if you were maybe back in bed or something."

"Making any noise?" he repeated incredulously. "What was I suppose to be doing? Singing soprano? I didn't know someone had to make noise while they were getting dressed."

"Well, it's not normal for someone to be deathly quiet while they're clothing themselves either," she snapped. Tom grunted and shook his head in annoyance.

"Well, the next time you're around, and I'm doing something remotely like getting dressed, then I'll make sure that I recite the ingredients to every Merlin forsaken potion I know while playing Exploding Snap."

"Perhaps you should do just that then!" She exhaled with frustration as she turned to leave, but the sound of a door opening and releasing voices from a room caught her attention. She turned around and saw the Duke and Duchess headed her way. Both were looking grave, but they still tried to put on happy faces as they approached the younger couple.

"Ah, Anastasia... there you are," Rodmilla beamed. "We were just about to go look for you."

"Yes. Your father is awake and wishes to see you," Rodden picked up. "He's right in there, child. Do try to keep him calm and high spirited though."

"Hush!" the Duchess scolded. "You'll scare her," she added in a whisper. Hermione said nothing, only nodded as she stepped past them and put her hand on the door handle. She twisted it slowly, feeling that she really didn't want to enter the room where her supposed-to-be father was laying in bed with an illness hanging about him. She swallowed the constricting lump in her throat and looked to Tom.

"I'll wait out here if you need me," he assured her as he walked over to her and sat down on the floor next to the door.

Hermione made no move for a few seconds after as the Duke and Duchess watched her, waiting on her to enter the room. She pushed at the handle, and the door swung inward slowly and mutely. The room inside was bright, and she instantly thought of some heavenly place which made her breathing falter. Riddle nudged her leg with his elbow, urging her to move. She jumped a bit at his touch and realized that she should go, so with a step forward, she walked into the room and shut the door behind her.

"Ana, love," the King spoke gently, sounding weak. "I didn't think they would find you so fast. I figured you'd be off with Aramis. I hear from the Duke and the nurses that he's recovered nicely."

"Yes, quite well, in fact," Hermione replied as she walked towards the bed.

"Come, come, sit down," he offered as he struggled to move over in bed. A sweat glistened on his face which was a magenta shade except for the area around his eyes that was tinted with an almost blackish purple. It was from a lack of sleep and probably the sickness; Hermione was sure. She frowned and sat down on the bed, placing her hand atop the King's. He wrapped his fingers lightly around hers and smiled faintly. "I need to speak with you, darling," he uttered. His breaths were becoming labored so she grabbed a pitcher of water and poured him a glass. She tipped it to his lips, and he drank, patting her knee to let her know when to stop. She sat the glass down and wiped his face with a damp cloth before he continued. "I'm not trying to scare you, but my fever's only gotten worse in the past night and sleep isn't coming easily. The nurses fear the worst for me, and I'm afraid that I won't make it back home. The Duke and Duchess have assured me that should anything happen to me before the plans I have laid out are put to motion, they will take you under their wing and care for you until you accept the throne as queen."

"Queen?" Hermione repeated fretfully. She had known what would happen should the King pass, but to hear him say it only made her fear the reality in it. "But I'm hardly old enough."

"Now Ana, you know that age isn't something that matters here; you're the heir to the throne. Why my grandmother was fourteen when she married and took the throne, and my mother was sixteen... and her grandmother only seventeen. My father was but fifteen when h-"

"All right... I understand," she interrupted, trying to keep him calm.

"So in the event that my death arrives, you are to be married no less than a month after," he continued.

"What?" she gasped.

"Oh, love, you know that's what has to be done... you've always known. A lady cannot take the throne as queen unless she has a king to rule beside her and help her bear the next heir to our country's crown. It's been that way for centuries because our ancestors didn't see it fit for a lady to dabble in affairs of war or such without a strong and willful man to help her, and unless you follow protocol, then I'm afraid there'll be quite a bit of trouble as we have no one to really take the throne after you." He paused; she got him another drink and wiped his face once more. The King only took a moment or two more to settle himself before he pressed on. "You have no cousins, no brothers or sisters, and no aunts or uncles that could succeed the throne before you. It is your born duty to take the throne and produce a healthy, rightful heir. That is why I wish you to marry."

"But what if I don't find someone?"

"Dear heart, you will," he breathed with a smile on his face that said he wanted to laugh, but couldn't. "You're as beautiful as your mother was, just like her, in fact. With your wonderful personality and outstanding brains, you'll find someone by the end of the day I bet."

Hermione smiled faintly, her eyes tearing up. Here was a man, laying before her, ready to die, and he thought that he was talking to his actual daughter. Her lip quivered, and a tear slipped from the pool in her eye. The King reached his arms up to her the best he could in a gesture that told her he expected a hug. She leaned down, oddly feeling it her duty to make this man happy before he passed away. She hugged him tightly and then stood from the bed, wiping away the tears that were beginning to slide down the curve of her cheeks. Hermione squeezed his hand and helped him take one last drink before she left the room, closing the door noiselessly behind her.

Tom jumped to his feet and faced her, waiting to hear what she had to say, but she said nothing. She threw her arms around him rather and buried her face in his neck. She felt awful for lying to the King about being his daughter; awful that he was deceived into thinking she was his flesh and blood. Now here he lay dying and depending on her to carry on his legacy. Hermione felt terrible, too, because somewhere his real daughter had no idea that her father was passing.

Riddle placed his hand on her back just between her shoulder blades and rubbed gently. He wasn't sure what happened, but he wouldn't push her to tell. At least not just yet. He knew she was troubled horribly about something though as he felt the hot tears pierce his shirt. He would be there for her when she was ready to talk, whenever that was, but the real dilemma was, would he want to be there to hear it?