CHAPTER NINE

It wasn't till the pool of students outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was impenetrable that Hermione let the dread she was feeling swell. It had been one day too long since she had last seen Tom. She feared that what she had done had completely backfired. Hermione had been desperate enough to question Rosier. She was too concerned about Tom's whereabouts that she didn't feel satisfaction when the future-Deatheater shrank away from her.

Hermione yelped when a deep voice croaked from behind, "Looking for someone?"

Hermione turned around and sighed with relief, "Don't do that!"

Tom Riddle looked ill. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. There was a distant feeling when he looked down at her that had nothing to do with their height difference. Hermione was about to give him a kiss but he strategically turned away, pretending to adjust the strap of his book bag as the heavy door to their next class opened inward. Hermione sat at the back of the class where they normally did and gaped when he strode right past her. Logan, her roommate, frowned between them before taking Tom's usual seat.

"What's going on?" she asked Hermione quietly.

Hermione blinked to stem her welling eyes, "Nothing."

While distracting herself with fishing out her supplies, Logan said under her breath, "Sure."

Hermione's impenetrable concentration could not be deterred from the back of Tom's head. She tried to label what she was feeling about him not sitting next to her. Yes, she was worried that he had lost interest in her before she could change the future ... but, it wasn't just that. Hermione sniffled as she pretended to jot down notes from Professor Merrythought's lecture.

Hermione knew that no one could Disapparate within the castle. But, Tom may as well have what with the way he vanished in the sea of students after their class was done. She paced outside the Slytherin Common Room, half-hoping that he would save her the trouble and happen to exit it while she was there. After a few minutes, Hermione accepted that he wasn't going to appear and returned to her common room.

Six days of his absence later, Hermione decided that she had no choice but to break into the Slytherin Common Room one more time. She was growing sick of worrying about whether she had failed or not, even though the signals he had been giving her aligned more with the first. Hermione ignored the Slytherins cackling with gossip as she strode through their packed Common Room. She sprinted past the ignited torches and stumbled down a few steps of the spiral staircase.

"Room six-six-six," Hermione hissed under her breath before recalling that it was down the corridor furthest to her left. She didn't hesitate before knocking her knuckles against the old door, "Tom? Tom! Open up! Are you in there? I need to talk to you!"

The door cracked opened after she heard a weak voice whisper, "Alohamora."

Hermione tentatively pushed the door inward and felt her heart jump into her throat, "Tom!"

He was slumped against the wall, wearing nothing but his ragged black pants. His dark hair was greased to his clammy skin. His lips were trembling and his breathing was shallow. Hermione dropped to her knees at his side, cradling his arm in her hands ... with was mangled in slices. She was whimpering incoherently as she extricated her wand from inside her robe.

Tom shook his head, "Stop. Maybe ... it'll work this time."

While Hermione stared up at his dark eyes webbed with swollen veins, his other fist unclenched. In that palm was the ring and she only noticed then that the diary was near him on the floor, too.

"W-What did you do?" Hermione sobbed as he dropped the ring and weakly tried to take her wand away from her. "Stop! Let me help you!"

"Y-You can't," said Tom, worrying Hermione further with how soft his deep voice was. "No one can. It's hopeless."

Hermione looked at him sternly, "I vowed I wouldn't leave you. Don't you leave me!"

Tom gulped as the gashes in his arm started to sow together without the use of a spell, "Hermione ... I can't ..."

"Can't what?" Hermione asked him quietly, stroking his forearm.

Tom sighed and his hand dropped from her wand to scoop up his horcruxes, "I can't die."

"Is that what you were doing ... that's why you were avoiding me?" Hermione breathed, tucking a curtain of his damp hair behind his ear. "Why?"

Tom tried to sit up straighter but he groaned and slid back down. Hermione scooted closer to him and pulled him to her chest, tucking his head beneath her chin, his protests powerless against her.

"I let you in too far," Tom said shakily. "No one knows me like you do. It ... that wasn't supposed to happen. It's my fault. You've weakened me -"

Hermione kissed his hair, "Trust does not make you 'weak', Tom. What do you have to fear from me?"

"You don't understand," stammered Tom, trembling involuntarily in her arms while his blood supply replenished once again. "All my life, I've shut people out. It made it simple to do what I believed was my destiny. Hermione, before you, I wanted to bring about a muggle-born genocide."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her cheeks as she thought of all those she had lost to Lord Voldemort.

"You make this impossible," Tom pulled away from her and ran his fingers through her hair once. His strength was returning rapidly. Hermione could see that the clammy sweat was evaporating and what little color he had was returning to his skin. He coughed before confessing, "Killing you crossed my mind. But, that disappeared beyond the horizon of futility. I can't do it, Hermione. So ... there was only one other option. I tried for days but ... it's my fault I can't."

Hermione whimpered as she nodded, "I would've been date-less to the Graduation Ball if you had succeeded."

Tom chuckled, "A few weeks ago, you probably would've cheered over my death."

Hermione's lips parted, "Maybe. Don't give me a chance to in the future."

The temperature outside was pushing sixty degrees Fahrenheit as Hermione looked down the barrel of February ending. She was fiddling with the black and maroon hood of her Gryffindor robe, wondering what Harry and Ron would think of her after all she has done. Would they be impressed or disgusted ... maybe a mixture of both? Hermione could not shake the feeling that they would hate her for it ... and she would not be able to make them understand.

Seventeen-year-old Tom Riddle was already responsible for the deaths of his father and Myrtle. It made it easier to be in his presence if she convinced herself that Myrtle's death had been a terrible accident. After all, she was the only student who had been killed by the Basilisk. If Myrtle had not chosen to hide from her bullies there, maybe she would not be haunting the girls' lavatory on the first floor of the castle now. Hermione sighed and looked out the window set beside her small canopy bed.

It was a dreary day for the last visit to Hogsmeade before graduation. But, she had insisted on Tom accompanying her no matter how the darkening clouds threatened to rain. After hinting that it would not be a popular venue because of the ghastly weather, Tom had finally relented. Though the cuts on both of his forearms had closed overnight, the scars were tauntingly refusing to melt away.

Hermione noticed how stranded his followers seemed to feel since he had metaphorically grown attached to her hip since that night by the Forbidden Forest. Rosier, Yaxley, and Nott had still not recovered from the limp in their walk. She had been meaning to ask Tom about it but had never found an appropriate moment in their long conversations to bring up his status with his 'friends'. They did still seem to revere him, especially the three who had attacked Hermione. She squeezed her eyes shut and got to her feet, flipping her robe onto her shoulders.

Beneath it she was wearing her pleated skirt with dense stockings to protect her legs from the bitter cold. She had set the pants that she had been wearing when the boys tried to rape her on fire ... an impulsive decision she now regretted. She was wearing two layers of sweaters and her black rain boots. Her thick hair hung free and natural. The only adornment on her face was her tinted lip gloss.

Hermione dragged her feet over to exit her dormitory as the clock struck ten. She had fifteen minutes to meet Tom in the Great Hall.

Tom Riddle was seated at the Slytherin dining table, his plate of scrambled eggs and a few slices of an orange set untouched before him. He hadn't expected to feel this out of place sitting at his ancestor's House table. He had lost count of how many times he had opted to join Hermione Granger at the Gryffindor table. Tom guessed that he probably stopped noticing after the students at her table stopped staring at him whenever he sat down with Hermione and began to accept his presence. They weren't out-right friendly to him.

They were just peacefully coexisting. Besides, none of them were brave enough to question him anyway. He sneered down at Nott, who was fidgeting on the other side of Yaxley.

He parted his lips and was pleased at how authoritative his deep voice was still capable of after being softened by Hermione Granger, "Don't worry, I'm sure the Permanent Sticking Charm will degrade before you're rotting six feet underground. I always wanted to know if it worked on skin."

Nott gulped, his eyes darting everywhere but up at his leader, "It does, my lord. Unfortunately."

Tom clenched his teeth together when cat-calls started echoing from down the table. He turned slowly in their direction and his jaw unclenched at the sight of Hermione closing the distance between them. He was impressed by how she looked directly into a few of the aroused Slytherin boys' eyes, silencing them with that icy glare. Yaxley immediately pushed Nott down the bench so that he could make a spot available for Hermione to sit beside Tom.

Tom chuckled when Hermione hissed under her breath, "They're such filth!"

"I'm sure they bathe regularly," he joked before sinking down to his lips against hers, which smelled a bit like apples.

Hermione shivered after their deep kiss and sunk her teeth into one of his slices of an orange, "We're still going to Hogsmeade, right?"

Tom's face was expressionless, "The anticipation is killing me."

Hermione squinted up at him, "It will be fun, Tom." When Tom scoffed skeptically, Hermione added in a husky whisper, "I'd eat my breakfast if I were you. We won't just be poking in shops this afternoon."

Tom chuckled, barely resisting flushing when he realized that he had forgotten that they weren't alone at the Slytherin table. Hermione had that effect on him.

Hermione felt the back of her hood yanked back and a pair of lips swoop down upon hers. She giggled in surprise, "What was that for?"

"Don't question it," Tom chuckled as they walked away from the thestral-drawn carriage.

No matter what the drama she was in, Hogsmeade always looked charmingly beautiful. Tom seemed to feel the same way. Hermione could have sworn that she saw a glimmer of a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. They splashed through muddy puddles and Hermione pulled her hood back up over her head when she felt ice cold rain drops splat against her hair. Tom laughed quietly when she whimpered at the shock from the cold water.

"Haven't you always lived in England?" Tom asked, smiling down at her.

Hermione licked her lips nervously, "Um, yeah. Why?"

"It always rains," Tom chuckled.

They were completely alone. The cobblestone streets were eerily vacant. But, Hermione saw with a relieved sigh that the Three Broomsticks was lit from the inside. She smiled when she saw that professor Dumbledore was already inside.

"Let's go in there, I'm cold." Hermione said with a trembling voice.

She took one splat of a step towards the restaurant when she felt Tom squeeze her upper arm quite painfully, "Let's do something else to get warm."

Hermione looked up at him slowly, "Tom, you're hurting me. Let go."

Tom hesitated a moment longer before unclamping his long, thin hand from around her soft bicep. He gave her a small, emotionless smile before taking her hand in his. Hermione staggered a little as he led the way down the slippery road.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as even as possible.

Tom slowed down so that she could walk comfortably, "Sorry about my behavior. It's just ... I'm on the old man's 'Naughty List'."

Hermione shivered where she stood, wondering if he cared at all about that, "Nott said you all were never connected to any of the crimes."

Tom bit his lip, "Well, tell that to the reknowned Transfiguration teacher. He never trusted me. Maybe he should have just left me to decompose in that Merlin-forsaken orphanage."

Hermione backed away a little so that she could be sheltered by an overhanging roof, "He was the one who told you about Hogwarts?"

Tom nodded. They were now separated by a sheer curtain of rain. Tom's outline was slightly blurred. Hermione added quickly, "Well, I'm glad he told you. Without him ... we wouldn't be together."

Tom jeered, but, the sneer that accompanied it looked like a smile from Hermione's inhibited perspective, "How could I ever thank him?"

Before Hermione could fully realized what was happening, Tom splashed through the watery drapery separating them and was hungrily kissing her lips. Next moment, Hermione was flipped so that she was pressed against the dark window of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop ... where happy couples haunt. With her breath hitching, Tom wiped aside her robe and Hermione felt him pull her skirt up.

"Stop, Tom! Stop!" Hermione begged tearfully. "It's okay! We can do that! Just not here!"

Tom glared into her eyes reflected in the spotless window ... then they melted into a look of horror. He backed away at the precise moment that the sun broke through the threatening clouds. Hermione wiped away her leaking nose before fixing her skirt and turning to face him.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, her voice now strong with indignation.

Tom's eyes were still staring at the spot where her eyes had been reflected. He shook his head and his bottom lip shook, "Dumbledore was right ... I am a monster."

Hermione swallowed her instinctive urge to flee, "Maybe you are now ... but, there's still hope. Tom, look at me."

Tom looked into her eyes, unnervingly quickly, "I forced myself on you. Just like Rosier and -"

"No, Tom, you stopped. That's the difference between you and them." Hermione lied. "Tom, you're not like those morons. You're smart, you think before you act -"

"That's not making me feel better," said Tom darkly.

Hermione sighed, "Tom, you feel. Don't you feel remorse for what you've done?"

Tom flinched at the word 'remorse' and said quietly, "Hold me."

Hermione pulled him back into the shadow of the roof, now noticing that the sun was warming the little village and that more students were pouring in to take advantage of the warmth. She pulled his hood up over his head so that maybe no one would recognize him in this sensitive moment. Of course he doesn't like 'remorse', she thought silently, it's what he'd have to feel in order to undo his horcruxes.

She stroked his flat stomach, "I forgive you for what you almost did, if that makes you feel better."

Tom shook his head, "Actions speak louder than words. Isn't that what you told me once before?"

Hermione smiled, "That's right. Come with me, we'll go someplace more private."

Hermione crossed her legs on the large boulder Tom had cleared the snow off with a brisk slice of his wand. Her hair was curling more than normally because of getting wet in the rain. But, Tom liked it that way. Hermione shivered and gazed down at him, which was probably the only time she didn't have to look up at him. She touched her shoulder with her chin and gave him a small smile.

Tom leapt onto the boulder with such agility he may as well have flown to where his shoes clacked against the stone next to her. He sank down beside her, his long legs dangling over the edge of the boulder. Hermione glanced up at his thin face, trying to find even a hint of emotion in those brown almond-shaped eyes of his. His eyebrows were soft in comparison with his dark hair and his skin seemed to be even fairer than snow.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked him quietly.

Tom squinted his eyes away from the sun, "It's just ... odd how quickly you forgave me."

Hermione licked her lips nervously, "There was hardly anything to forgive ... wait, were you trying to make me ditch you?"

"I don't know," Tom murmured, glancing down at her. "I don't even remember pinning you against the window."

Hermione sighed, "That's ... disconcerting."

"To say the least," Tom agreed quietly, turning away. "Why do you risk it? Why are you with me? You know what I've done."

Hermione gulped as he looked into her eyes again, "Because ... I'm afraid of what you will do, Tom. I've with you ... to save you."

Tom scoffed, "You're a muggle-born -"

"As is half of your blood," Hermione reminded him flatly. "Don't forget."

Tom leaned in closer to her, "I am the heir of Slytherin, the legendary founder of my House. Whatever filth my father stained my blood with does not compare with the potency of Salazar Slytherin."

Hermione sneered up at him, his face just inches from hers, "Is that what you tell yourself to justify your prejudice? Does that make what you believe right?"

Tom chuckled quietly, sounding like a growl to her, "Perhaps you were mistaken, Granger. It's impossible for you to be this brilliant and have an inferior lineage."

"Just because I don't fall into your mudblood-stereotype," Hermione pursed her lips and slipped off the rock, "Tom ... has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm living proof that you're wrong?"

Tom's lips parted as she turned her back on him and strode away from him. He winced when he heard her whimper, clenching his teeth and lifting his lips up to bare them. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in his long thin hands.

He stammered to himself, cursing in Parseltongue, "Hesh kasrasah seh!"

Hermione glanced at him one more time before returning to the Hogs Head. She saw him rocking forward and back on the boulder and found it very difficult to resist running back to him. Tom screamed into his palms then pulled on his dark hair. He blindly stomped his feet hard on the boulder and sent himself tumbling to the ground. Tom glanced around him, searching for any witnesses to that display of weakness.

"Hermione," he murmured numbly, staring at the Hogs Head. "Come back ... come back to me."

The clouds overhead darkened alarmingly quickly but Tom did not notice till a drop of rain splat on the tip of his nose and dripped down to his lips. He squinted up at the threatening storm and gingerly got to his feet. From within his robe, Tom fished out his diary and pulled his ring off of his left hand. The rain was now pouring so violently that he was completely hidden to anyone who may be still in the streets.

To the first bolt of lightning, Tom dropped his journal and his ring into the muddy puddle forming at his feet and glared bravely at the second lightning strike, "I am sorry, okay? I take it all back!"

Tom waited for the unendurable pain he had read in the Restricted Section about how to undo Horcruxes. He had always wondered why he had bothered to read that section. Now, thanks to Hermione, he realized that it was because he was having second thoughts about what required to achieve immortality.

Tom spread his arms out and looked skyward again, "I am responsible for the death of Myrtle, my cowardly father and his family, and the murder of Gaunt."

Again, nothing happened. He stomped in frustration on the journal, in which he had preserved his sixteen-year-old self the previous year. Tom staggered back when he thought he saw the outline of his mother, cross-eyed and haggard ... just mere inches from him. He resisted screaming but his haste to back away landed him sitting in the mud. He wiped his eyes and saw that his mother had vanished.

"This is your fault," as thunder defeaned him, Tom roared at the spot where he had seen Merope Gaunt, "YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

Hermione pressed her shivering hands around her mug of warm tea, sitting on the deep windowsill in the Hogs Head. She had lost sight of Tom and hoped he had gone into shelter. He was certainly not in this bar with her. A tear dripped down into her drink ... she had truly and completely failed to save him. Telling him the truth had been a stupid, idiotic decision.

"I'm so sorry, Tom." she whimpered quietly as she tried to take a sip.

Tom crawled to the puddle and pulled his journal and ring out, "What do I have to do to make this right? Why do I have to keep proving myself?"

A gush of wind blew past him, flipping the journal open to the middle. Tom's lips parted as the crimson words, written in what must be blood, read: Actions speak louder than words. The moment he was done reading it, Tom felt his heart give a tremendous thud in his chest. He knew that he must put on a great display of remorse ... or his heart will stop. There was no turning back now as the curse infiltrated his heart.