A/N: Let's keep this short & sweet because you've waited long enough for this chapter. Thanks to: katrin4p, Gueneviere, o0Dreamer0o, xflint, GitaMerah, marauder'sbabe, The Almighty Cheez It, LandUnderWave, Demonic-Little-Angel, Featherstrike, the. dead. addict., nehimasgift, Charming-Lynn, .o0Aurelie0o., The daughter of Slytherin, libaka, jennie351, Cryptic Sarcasm, echo9821, Autumn's-Smile, Lolaleddir, arushi, Vera-Sabe, karine.snake, Seriously Sirius Marauder, Emerald-Eyed Phoenix, Rampart, ellamalfoy8, pottersgirl91, PhanPhic-adict, Hater-of-heartless-critics, and Alana84.

If there's any mistakes, forgive me; I'm like dead to everything right now. On with the chapter...

Chapter 34 - Return to London

Hermione couldn't open her eyes. Couldn't or wouldn't was a debate within her mind, but either way, she felt it was that she couldn't. She didn't want to know what had went on or who had been shot. She wasn't so sure as to why she didn't want to look. She was positive that she knew what had happened. She had, after all, assisted the situation, but she couldn't let Tom know that.

"Anastasia, are you all right?" came the concerned voice of the Duke as his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her gently to her feet.

She squinted in the direction of his tone and found herself feeling relaxed with the relief on his face. Her eyes moved slowly over to where Tom should have been standing, but he was no longer there. Where had he gone? Surely her last second spell hadn't made him disappear, and he wouldn't have Disapparated, would he? He wouldn't risk that exposure, she was certain, and Rodden wouldn't look that relieved if either of those events had happened anyways. She continued to look about the area, finally spotting Riddle who was handing the pistol he had used to the stable boy as Mardon crouched over Porthos and called for help. She sighed with respite; her spell had worked. But a sinking feeling hit her stomach anyways. Evil or not, she wasn't sure Porthos just deserved to lay there and die. He was young and manipulated by his father into trying to commit treason against the King.

"Someone needs to help him," she muttered to the Duke as she nodded in the direction of Mardon and his dying son.

"I'll send for the nurses," Rodden sighed as he let go of her and stepped away to give his assistance. As he passed Tom, he shook his hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder in congratulations. Riddle continued on his way over to Hermione, a triumphant smile on his face.

"I told you that I would be fine," he spoke arrogantly as he wore the world's cockiest smirk; one that had once graced his features during every waking moment.

She smiled uncertainly, and he seemed to study her for a moment.

"You're not happy, are you?" he inquired, feeling that he wouldn't like any answer she would give. He had expected her to come running out to him when it was apparent that he had won and jump into his arms in congratulations. This was a sad form of celebration on his victory in his eyes.

"It's just that I didn't like this idea in the first place. Porthos should be jailed for the rest of his life, not laying in some field after being shot only so he can bleed to death," she replied.

"But look at what he and the General did to the King. Do you think that he deserved to be laying in his bed, unsuspecting, and take a drink and die?" Hermione gave no spoken response, but instead, she shook her head and avoided eye contact with Tom. "Sometimes I really don't understand you, Granger," he grumbled as he crossed his arms and gave a displeased expression.

"Death is the wrong answer for someone so young, or even someone kind and unsuspecting. We're not meant to play God and decide who should die and who shouldn't for their crimes. If Porthos was to have been punished for his acts against the King, then he should have had to rot for the rest of his life in a dirty, dingy cell where he could be remorseful and regretful for all that he had done!" Her chest was heaving, and she felt despaired. Was Tom honestly losing sight of the good that she had worked so hard to bring out of him? Was he going back to being the ruthless, heartless being who thought death a minor and trivial thing? "I'm begging you to understand," she proceeded. "I think that a lifetime of rueful solitude and desolation spent in a dismal, lonely place is far more deserving than a painful, sorrowful, and humiliating death. It almost seems as though he's getting off somewhat easy to die within minutes instead of spending everyday wishing he had never followed his father's orders."

In all truthfulness, she didn't think that losing one's life was getting off easier, but it didn't seem like as formidable a punishment as having to live in a horrid prison until their natural dying day. And of course, to lose a son would be a grave punishment for Mardon, but why should Porthos suffer to be his father's repent? If anyone should lay dying, it was the General, and not his boy.

"Fine, deal with this how you like," Tom huffed. "I just thought that you might be a little more ecstatic towards the fact that it isn't I who lays there dying at this moment," he finished as he thrust is finger in the direction of Porthos, who was now being given makeshift bandages so he could be taken up to the castle.

Hermione frowned and stared at the ground, unwilling to look at Riddle as he stalked off while the cries of a pained Porthos rang in her ears.

Hermione sat in the back garden. She and Tom hadn't spoken for two days now. He wouldn't sit near her at meals; the closest that he would get was to sit across the table from her. He didn't go with her to visit the King who was now allowed up out of the bed to wander the castle with the accompaniment of two guards and a nurse at the very least. Riddle didn't visit her at night to talk about their engagement or even getting back to the future. It would seem that they were at a sticky point in their odd relationship. She shifted on the uncomfortable stone bench. She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there, but the sun had moved considerably from its high point towards the west. Her legs were slightly numb from sitting for so long, and birds had even settled around her to eat seed and bread crumbs off the path. A crunch of gravel behind her told her that she would soon see some company. Letting her curiosity get the better of her, she peered over her shoulder to see Duke Rodden heading in her direction. He offered a smile and sat down next to her.

"Have you packed yet?" he inquired as he picked some bird seed out of a nearby feeder basin and tossed it on the ground as the birds settled back down from the scare his arrival brought. She didn't verbalize her answer, but instead nodded as the wind picked up a bit and tossed her hair about her face. The birds took to the skies, and her chocolate eyes followed them until they were tiny specs on the western horizon.

"Will you be accompanying us home tomorrow?" she asked of him, finally speaking after a few moments more of silence.

"Yes, for your father's sake."

"And the Duchess?" Hermione mentioned.

"She'll be staying behind as I'll only be with you in London for a week or less, but I promise you that we will return for your wedding. I don't think Rodmilla would miss it for the world; you've become as much like a daughter to her as any child of our own could have been." Thunder rumbled in the distance as he finished with a loud sigh. "We had best be getting inside. It doesn't look like the sky is going to hold out much longer on this rain," Rodden pointed out as he rose and nodded towards the east while dusting himself off.

Hermione said nothing as she reluctantly rose from her seat. She didn't want to go back into the castle for some reason. She knew there was all the room in the world inside those stone walls, but she just felt relieved outside. It was as though the fresh air, which now carried the smell of rain upon its breezy wings, cleansed her of her troubles and gave her a sense of relaxed self content.

Following slowly behind the Duke, she became entranced by the rhythmic movement of her own feet. Right, left. Right, left. She wasn't even thinking now, and suddenly, the turn in the path awoke her from her reverie. She didn't even really remember walking all the way up the path from the garden, but as she looked about, she noticed that the grass was moving in ripples. Dark green waves that looked so lush and refreshing to her. Her eyes scanned the grounds. Deserted. No one was about, not even the Duke. He had obviously went into the castle because the door was creeping slowly shut. A loud noise to her right made her eyes dart towards the stables. There a horse of a dark maple color stood stamping its feet and tossing its head. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the horse reared slightly, but it barely got its feet off the ground from the way it was tethered. Feeling sorry for the poor, scared animal, Hermione approached and uncertainly grabbed the reins with which it was tied. Spotting her, the creature stood stock still; the only movement it made was that of its left foreleg stamping lightly at the ground in a counting fashion.

Hermione smiled faintly as she untied the horse and looked around the stable. There was, just as before, no one in sight. A brush lay forgotten on the ground and next to it a toppled stool. Hay littered the walkway between the stalls where other horses stood munching lazily on feed bags or laid leisurely upon their sides while snoozing. Looking back to the animal beside her, Hermione felt compelled to remain its companion for the remainder of the storm. Opting not to put the horse into a stall, she stood running her hand down the bridge of its nose as she stared into the steed's onyx orbs. There was something so calming about the way that one large, shining eye stared at her. She felt lost in the gaze and barely noticed that a smile was gracing her lips. She walked around the steed and turned the stool upright. Stepping up onto the wooden seat, she wobbled a bit as she pulled the maple-colored mare towards her. Tossing her leg over the saddle, she braced her feet into the stirrups and leaned forward.

"Feel like going for a run?" she whispered as she pulled lightly on the left side of the reins. On cue, the horse turned on the spot to the left. Looking up to the castle windows, Hermione smiled to see that no one was looking. Snapping the reins, she felt the horse move beneath her. The familiar shift of the saddle came to her, and once she was back to the path that led to the garden, she urged the mare to go faster. Now into a trot, she failed to notice someone watching her from the window of her quarters as rain started to drizzle down.

Hair drenched and separated into slick, wet strand groupings, she dismounted the mare and walked out into the middle of the meadow she had rode into. Her dress was soaked, and the fabric stuck to her in awkward ways, but she didn't care. Putting her head back, she closed her eyes and held out her arms, spinning slowly in a circle. She smiled and imagined opening her eyes to see herself on the grounds of Hogwarts with Harry and Ron running up from the greenhouses after Herbology. She stopped spinning, but she didn't open her eyes, instead she imagined herself at the Burrow with the whole Weasley family. She pictured herself blindfolded, calling out 'Marco' and trying to catch the others as they played the Muggle game Mr. Weasley had had her show them.

To her surprise, her ears did hear a sound.

"Granger!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she watched as Tom came riding through the forest and out onto the meadow.

"Are you daft?" he bellowed as he dismounted in a hurry. "You'll catch your death like this. Haven't you ever heard of pneumonia?" He stopped before her, staring down in annoyance at the blissful smirk on her face. "We can't have you getting sick. Even if the King is getting better, it won't do to have you fall ill. They don't have the medicinal advances it takes to deal with such a sickness."

"There's magic," she spouted without so much as a thought on it. She had never taken advantage of the fact that magic was there for her before, so why did she just do it now?

He didn't say anything to her as she stood there before him, just as silent as he. Without so much as a wink or warning, she stepped back and spun around as a humph of content emanated from her throat when she laid her head back once more.

"What are you doing?" Tom snapped.

"Dancing in the rain," she replied as though it were completely obvious, which it truly was.

"You're completely delusional," he said as though he were one-hundred percent convinced she belonged in a mad house.

"Maybe so," she shrugged as she stopped spinning and breathed deep, the air around her saturated with a wet copper smell that was the scent of rain. "You know," she sighed as she walked over to her horse and began petting the bridge of its nose, "you said the other day, after your duel with Porthos, that I didn't care that you made it out of the duel. You were wrong."

"Oh?" he voiced, walking over to stand beside her steed.

"Yes. In fact, the truth is you wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for my worrying about you," she stated modestly.

"Is that so?" he chuckled, amused by the fact that she thought she had been his salvation in that duel. To him the truth was that he had a natural skill with weapons and in fights.

"Yes, that is so. You think it was nothing more than your good luck, well, I've got news for you… Porthos' gun didn't fire. That's why you're still alive. I knew that Porthos had been around guns all his life and that you wouldn't stand a chance, so I used magic to put a stop on him firing."

Tom just stared at her. At first, he seemed amused by the idea, but the longer she stood there staring at him with her pointed expression, the more confused looking he got. Until suddenly, his facial appearance was that of anger.

"You cheated then!" he snarled. "I didn't need your help. Who do you think you are to assume that I needed your assistance in any way?"

"It wasn't as though I really thought about it before actually letting myself help you. It was a natural reaction through magic. I was so worried that I suppose my subconscious just led me to do what I did," she explained a little tartly because she was somewhat fed up with his attitude towards her.

"Well, I didn't need your help," Riddle hissed.

"Oh no?" Hermione growled. "Then I suppose you would have preferred to be laying on the ground, moaning and shouting like Porthos was, hmm?"

"I wouldn't have been!" Tom shouted.

"Oh, Riddle, you're so full of yourself! If I hadn't stopped that bullet, you would have been shot, and just like Porthos, you would have been laying half dead in a bed up in the Duke's castle!" He glared at her for a moment with his eyes burning a hole in her head, or at least trying to. She stood her ground, however, and clenched her jaw as her lips pursed. Shaking his head, he turned away and headed in the direction of his own horse. "I cared for you and most certainly saved your life, and this is the thanks I get? You stalking away mad because I helped?" she called incredulously.

"Okay, Granger," he huffed as he turned to face her, walking his horse over so that he was standing beside her. "Let me put it to you in terms that you'll understand…. You're reading a really good book, but your so tired that you can't finish the last ten pages. How would you like it if I told you what happened at the end so that you could just quit and go to sleep?"

"That has absolutely nothing to do with me saving your life."

"Just answer me. Would you like if I did that?" Tom demanded.

"No!" she barked.

"Then understand this… I didn't want you to tell me what happened at the end of the book," Riddle grumbled before putting his foot into one of the stirrups so he could hoist himself up into the saddle.

Feeling frustrated and highly irate, Hermione stepped forward and kicked Tom's other foot out from under him. He fell instantly, the saddle sliding some as he tried to hold himself up. He winced and looked up, squinting against the rainfall as Hermione stood next to him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"You could have at least said thank you," she scolded. "This has nothing to do with books. You can't even compare those two things! Lives and stories are totally different through meaning…. I mean, if someone was to ruin a story or destroy a book, you can always get another or read it over. You can't, however, relive a life once it's taken and there's no getting another."

"What would you care about my life being taken anyways?" he murmured in irritation as he stood up, disgusted to see the back of his uniform covered in grass, mud, and rain water.

"Tom, you're a fool!" she roared in his face, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I worried myself sick over you and your life ever since you and Porthos agree to that challenge. I pleaded with you not to fight! Or did you even listen to me when I did? I cared enough to use magic in front of four Muggles to save your sorry behind!"

"If you cared at all, you would have left me to my pride and let me handle things on my own!"

"I told you that I had no real control over it. It was a natural reaction through magic because of my concern for you," she retaliated, her voice almost desperate for him to understand where she was coming from on this issue.

"Your concern for me?" he repeated in a slightly unbelieving tone, although he was no longer yelling.

"Yes," she breathed with exhaustion. There was a moment's pause as she searched for the answer; the way to express her thoughts and feelings to him. "Believe it or not, I do care for you. I thought you knew that…. I mean, why else would I have chosen you to marry?"

"This marriage isn't real, Hermione," he said simply, his tone even and uncaring. "It's just to save you the trouble of getting betrothed to some suitor or something."

"Is that what you think? Because I thought we discussed this and that we both had feelings for one another," she questioned dubiously.

"How am I supposed to not doubt those feelings that you say you have when you go around acting the way you do?" Riddle posed.

She frowned deeply and bowed her head to hide her disappointment from him. The sound of the rain hitting the saddles, and the steeds chewing at their bits was all she could hear besides the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Hermione raised her eyes to glance at him and saw that he was staring off into the distance behind her. In a moment's spur, she placed a gentle peck upon his cheek and mounted her horse, waiting for him to do the same. Her swift kiss had awoken him from his thoughts, and he straightened his saddle before climbing up onto the horse. Neither looked in the other's direction as they headed back towards the castle; there was nothing to say and staring would get them nowhere. It was best to just act as though the other were nonexistent for the moment and not acknowledge their presence until tomorrow at breakfast.

"This way, Ana," the Duke said as he pulled Hermione gently out of the way. Two servants passed with a large trunk and strapped it to the luggage rack on the back of the King's carriage. Hermione looked around, her eyes scanning for Tom in the bustle of stable boys, horses, servants, carriages, and other people.

"Ana, I hope you enjoyed your stay here," the Duchess bid as she approached Hermione, two dogs resting in her arms.

"Yes, and I thank you and the Duke both for your… hospitality," she muttered as she continued to look for Riddle. Where was he?

"Something troubling you?" Rodmilla inquired.

"Have you seen Aramis this morning?" Hermione asked of the older woman.

"He was up rather early this morning at breakfast, but that wa- well, here he is," she beamed as Tom arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," he excused, "I had some last minute packing to do."

"If that's all then, I think we can safely get into the coach," the Duke administered, gesturing for Tom and Hermione to lead the way.

Riddle grabbed Hermione lightly by the elbow and urged her to walk beside him to the carriage. She looked over and up at him to see a placid, resigned expression on his face that told her he would just rather forget about their recent spats. Offering a friendly, fond smile, she looked back over her shoulder to see the Duke biding his wife goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. The vision warmed Hermione's heart, and she felt more relaxed than she ever had since she and Tom had landed in the past. There was a relief to think that they would be heading back to London. That relief was briefly interrupted though as she spotted Porthos being carried out of Rodmilla and Rodden's castle, the General right behind him.

"What's going to happen to him?" Hermione whispered to the Duke who had just joined her and Riddle a the foot of the carriage.

"He's going back to London to be placed up in a hospital under constant nurse's watch. That bullet nearly missed both his heart and his lung, so he's in bad shape right now."

"And the General? Is he coming back to the castle?" she questioned.

"Yes. Your father sees no real reason he shouldn't…. Is something still bothering you about them?" the Duke responded.

"I just think he should be with his son right now," Hermione mumbled before boarding the coach, Tom behind her.

The King and Duke Rodden joined them a moment later with the Duchess left behind waving fervently as the King called goodbyes out the carriage window. The lurching of the compartment and the crunch of gravel below the large, spoked wheels told Hermione that there was a long ride ahead of them, but that she would be going back to London and fewer troubles. Or so she thought.