A/N: Hey guys! Another quick update, so I hope it isn't too shabby, but I'm rushing like crazy to get it all done before the end of my winter break.
WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF FLUFF! Call it...an excerpt, if you will...or a late Christmas present...don't hate me 0.0
Disclaimer: Joanne owns
Enjoy!;)
Chapter Nine—The Anti-Cliche
Tom had apparated them—with extreme focus and, Hermione had to admit—tremendous talent—to the Place de la Concorde, which, he told them, Slughorn had brought him to the summer after his third year to show him the site of the infamous guillotine.
"I don't understand how you did it," Hermione was still mumbling, ten minutes later, her voice thick with envy as Tom led them down the crowded streets, obviously looking for something. "You haven't been here in four years—that sort of apparition is difficult even on grown wizards, let alone a—"
"Yes, yes, Macmillan, we all know you think I'm bloody brilliant, now would you hush up a moment?" Hermione smiled, partly at the pure self-obsession in his tone, and partly at the good-natured tone of voice he had used, even in chastising her.
"What are we looking for again, Riddle?" Ron asked, struggling to keep up. Whoever—or whatever—Tom was looking for must have excited him, because his long legs were moving at a pace that the shorter three were having a hard time keeping.
"Madam Cassandra's," he told him absently, his eyes flitting over each of the shops. "And it should be—ah hah!"
Without another word, he disappeared into a small shop squeezed in between a shop for wizarding robes and a shop for witches' lingerie. Hermione blushed and followed him inside quickly after, avoiding looking much at the latter shop.
The inside of Madam Cassandra's was dimly lit, and beads hung in ever doorway, obscuring Hermione's vision. Exotic rugs hug on the walls, and dream catchers were strung about the ceiling like ornaments. Tom had disappeared, but she could hear his voice, in the back, talking animatedly with someone that Hermione could not see.
Tom stuck his head through one of the beaded doorways, waving her back. She had never seen his eyes look so bright before. "Oi! Hermione, come back here a moment! There's a woman I want you to meet."
In the deep recesses of her mind, Hermione felt her stomach twinge. Tom seemed cheery—which, on its own, was a strange occurrence. What if this woman was a love interest of his or some gorgeous Belgian model with flowing hair and an hourglass figure—?
Hermione shook her head, mentally slapping herself. Why did she care?
She pushed back the beads, and saw Tom seated in front of a circular table. On top of the table sat a huge glass ball, smoke drifting eerily across its transparent surface. On the other side of the table sat an older woman. Her hair was a deep black, and reached her lower back, but Hermione could see strands of grey throughout. She seemed to have aged relatively well, as her skin was not heavily wrinkled, save for the heavy lines around her mouth, insinuating that she smiled often. Her eyes, though, were what stunned Hermione. Her eyes were a deep, dark familiar shade of green.
"Cassandra Trelawney." Hermione said, without her brain really having decided to speak. The woman studied her unabashedly, her eyes wandering over her form in an analytical sort of way, and Hermione felt her face heat up. Finally, she spoke.
"She's almost as intelligent as you, Tom, I can tell," she said, tilting her head towards the boy and smiling kindly at Hermione, who couldn't help but smile back.
Tom's gaze shifted to Hermione, and a small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "Almost," he said quietly, and she arched an eyebrow back at him. "But not quite."
Cassandra's eyes skirted over Hermione and zeroed in on Harry, who stood behind her chair. "Ah, this is refreshing."
Harry frowned, still looking uncertain of the woman. "What's refreshing, exactly?"
She stood, moving around the table and placing a hand on Harry's chest. "Your heart—it's so pure. Unlike many that I come into contact with, you truly only wish to make others around you happy. There is no selfishness within your soul." Her eyes lifted to where the scar on his forehead, which McGonagall had long since covered with magic, sat. "You were born to do great things, Harry—and you have….and you will."
She said no more to him, moving back to her seat and leaving Harry looked mystified and slightly mesmerized. "Now Tom, darling," she reached across the table and placed her hand over his, and Hermione was surprised that he allowed this. Tom had never been an affectionate person, but then, Hermione had never seen him act the way he did around Trelawney with anyone else. "What have you come to me for?"
"Do you recall my friends Abraxas, Edward, and Niles, whom I had you look upon in your crystal ball?"
Cassandra smiled fondly. "Of course; they are in grave danger."
"They are," Tom confirmed solemnly. "And our only chance of helping them is if we find the person who broke into Hogwarts, the person who was wearing this medallion." With that, he withdrew the medallion from within his robes and delicately handed it to her.
"The medallion of Salazar Slytherin himself," she muttered, not looking at all surprised. "Dangerous, but powerful." She handed it back to him with care. "It calls for you. Even as I hold it in my hand, I sense that its allegiance is to that of Slytherin's blood." She stared at him for a second more. "What is it you wish me to do, my young Tom?"
He stared at her intently. "I need you to tell me who inside the castle broke the wards."
She stared back at him, weighing two options heavily in her mind. Finally, she laid a bejeweled hand on the crystal ball. "Tom, I cannot tell you who broke the wards of your castle."
He sighed, seeming to have expected this answer, and frowned at the floorboards, but Cassandra put two fingers under his chin, tilting his face towards her once more. "But I can lead you to your answers." He nodded slowly, uncertainly, and she rose. Hermione barely restrained rolling her eyes, wondering what antics she would use: the crystal ball, palm reading, tea leaves—
"Go to Nurmengard; you shall find your answers there, not with one of the prisoners, but with one of the guards themselves. From there, you shall set out on the last leg of your journey, back to Hogwarts, to confront the real traitor." She paused, looking at the four of them very seriously all of a sudden. "At Nurmengard, you'll find no dementors, nor dark creatures of your deepest nightmares, but you will discover the true meaning of fear, and betrayal, and the time will come, for each of you, to decide between doing what is right, and what is easy."
She reached out a hand, pointing two ringed fingers towards Hermione. "The truth is going to hurt you, Ms. Macmillan." Hermione's lips parted, and her brows furrowed in confusion. "But you must remember, above all, to think with your head, rather than your heart." She turned her focus on Tom. "Learn from the mistakes of those before you, Tom, but, most of all, observe and fulfill, before you lose your opportunity." Hermione glanced at Tom, but he seemed to understand what she was saying, judging by the deep frown lines that marred his handsome face. "You'd all best be going."
Tom and Hermione stood, both looking rather put out by Trelawney's predictions, and Harry and Ron stared at them skeptically. Before they could leave, however, Trelawney turned at the last minute and said, "Oh!—and if you all should like you're welcome to the brooms sitting just outside the door—I happened to have four of them handy." She winked, and Hermione couldn't help but grin, feeling her sour mood vanish.
She lifted the broom that sat in the waiting room, suddenly feeling very frightened about flying on her own.
"Oh, and Tom!" Trelawney called him into the back room once more, and Hermione perked her ears, trying desperately to hear what she was telling him, but their words were muffled. She hastily looked away when he re-emerged, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, but did not miss the faint tinge of pink that adorned Tom's cheeks.
"What did she say?" Hermione asked curiously.
He wouldn't even look at her. "Absolutely none of your business, Macmillan."
She huffed, following the boys out of the shop, before asking quite suddenly, "What's the date?"
Harry frowned, counting the days on his hands. "Erm….December 18th—no, December 19th."
Hermione mentally shuffled the days about in her head. "It's the tenth day, then, yeah? We have a week and a day left. Eight days to get all the way to Southeastern Germany, break into a high-security prison and find a man that we have absolutely no information on. How are we supposed to—"
"Calm down, Mione," Harry said soothingly, hearing the hysteria in her tone. "That's plenty of time! Remember, we flew from Alexandria to Greece in a matter of hours, and this is much closer, and we're flying over land. We'll be in Germany by tomorrow, Nurmengard the next day and home with five days to spare!"
Riddle rolled his eyes. "Sure, because it's always that easy, Macmillan…" Harry gave him a dirty glare over Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione glanced around them, seeming to be in a better mood already. "So, we really aren't in a hurry at all, are we?" The three of them stared dubiously at her. "Well, it's just….I haven't been in France since my parents—since the war started, and I wanted to maybe take a look around—"
"Hermione—" Harry warned, looking uncertain.
"Oh, Harry, c'mon, just for a little bit! The Eiffel Tower is really close to here! Beside, it's almost dark out, and it probably isn't that safe flying all the way to Germany during the nighttime, especially with a war going on, so perhaps we should just stay here for the night, and leave bright and early tomorrow morning." Harry said nothing, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"She makes a good point," Tom said slowly. "We'll be flying over war zones at two in the morning if we leave tonight. They could see us in the air and potentially shoot us down for fear of attack. It'd be much safer to travel by day, that way we can actually see what's going on—"
"Yeah, yeah, fine, you've made you point," Ron grumbled, waving him off. "We'll get an inn for the night, and leave early tomorrow morning. But I don't want to hear any complaints about getting up tomorrow at the crack of dawn."
"Yes, Ron, because we're the ones that always complain about getting up early," Hermione snickered, rolling her eyes.
Harry, being the darling brother he was, got the lot of them an room at an inn on Allee Adrienne Lecouvreur, so close to the tower than Hermione was nearly wetting herself. She hadn't been to Paris since three summers before she had sent her parents off to Australia, so it was practically like a first time for her. She had forgotten how classy all of the little restaurants were; the smell of the food and the elegance of the hotels.
"It's too bloody crowded," Ron muttered grumpily as he bumped into another person passing him on the street.
"I feel like we're being irresponsible," Harry whined, paranoid as he looked around at the hundreds upon hundreds of faces surrounding them.
"I'm trying my best to ignore them," Hermione informed Tom, rubbing her temples agitatedly.
"Ms. Macmillan not so eager to get back to work?" Tom teased, and Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. She had never seen him so cheerful since they had met; ever since they had arrived in this country, there seemed to be a glow about him—his eyes seemed brighter, his temper wasn't a quick, and every time he looked her, Hermione felt a bubble building in her stomach just waiting to—
Okay, so maybe the city was getting to her.
"I just feel like we're so….close, and….and I don't want to jinx it by saying that, but I think everyone needs a break once in a while. We've been pouring our hearts and souls into this mission, and when we get back, whether we succeed or not, it's going to feel like there's nothing left of it."
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes hiding whatever he was thinking. "I'm not going to feel like there's nothing left of it," he said slowly, as if he were choosing his words with care." She stared back at him, trying to figure out what he meant by that; those simple words, they implied so little, but so much.
"It's getting late, you two," Harry called from behind them. "Shall we grab a bite to eat, and then head back to the inn?"
Hermione agreed quickly, her mind still pondering what Riddle had said. Her thoughts were wandering all throughout supper, and even as they returned back to the inn, she still couldn't focus on anything that was going on around her. As she lay in bed, tossing and turning, she couldn't help but look back on these past few months. It seemed like she had learned so little about Tom Riddle, and yet, she knew him like the back of her hand. She couldn't figure him out at times, and, at others, she could read him like an open book.
"Psst! Hermione!" Hermione jerked away, realizing that she had been drifting in and out of sleep. She blinked her eyes tiredly, stretching her arms over her head, and stifled a gasp when she realized Tom was hovering a few inches over her, his eyes watching her unblinkingly. "You want to go on a date?"
She blinked again, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Surely, she must have misheard him. "Er….huh?"
He laughed quietly, grabbing her hand and nearly pulling her out of bed. "Just come on!" She snatched her wand up from beneath her pillow and slipped on her sweatshirt, following in Tom's suit and grabbing her broom.
Once they were outside the inn, the cold winter air bit and Hermione's skin and she shivered, watching her breath hang in mid-air in front of her. "W-w-where are we g-g-going?" she shivered, and he flicked his wand over her, casting a warming charm.
"It's a surprise," he muttered, not looking at her. She frowned, halting her steps and crossing her arms over her chest. He stopped too, turning back to look at her with an exasperated expression.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, I will not take another step forward until you tell me where we're going!"
He rolled his eyes, stepping under the light of the street lamp with her. "C'mon, Hermione, are you honestly going to ruin the surprise? Just have fun with it." She bit her lip, studying his face callously, but before she could agree or disagree, he slipped his hand into hers and pulled her along.
They stopped nearly fifteen minutes later, and Hermione was breathless with realization. She peered at him from behind a few loose curls, her lips curling slightly, though she tried to hide it.
"But Tom, it's closed."
"The lifts are closed," he informed her, smirking, but Hermione could detect the faintest blush in his normally-pale cheeks. "But if someone were to, say, fly up there…"
"Oh, but, Tom, I'm a terrible flier—" Hermione protested weakly, suddenly very frightened.
"Relax, it's only…..three hundred and twenty feet." The devilish smirk he gave her certainly was not meant to be reassuring, but, without another word, he threw his legs over his broom and shot upwards, until all Hermione could see was his outline against the sky. Swallowing thickly, she stepped over the broomstick, holding on as tightly as she could as it lifted off the ground. She directed it slowly upwards, terrified of sliding off the back, and let out a small whimper as the broom climbed higher and higher and higher—
Tom was waiting and the top, and as her broom came to hover over the platform, he lifted her easily off of it, chuckling at the mewling noise she seemed to be emitting. "Oh relax, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
She shook her head, and then, remembering that she had to fly back down, groaned.
She leaned her broom against the wall and followed Tom to the railing. He leaned against the rails, his arms crossed in front of him, eyes contentedly sweeping over the lit-up city. "The structure itself is actually quite ugly, up close," he told her nonchalantly. "—All grey and stannic; but the view is worth it."
Hermione had to agree. She leaned against the railing too, their arms brushing as she took in the enormity of their surroundings, how organized and chaotic it looked all at once. She felt a sudden sense of appreciation wash over her. Here she and Tom were, getting to enjoy this at a time which no one else could.
They stood for a while in a comfortable silence, neither of them speaking, just seeming content with the reticence.
Hermione glanced at Tom, his dark hair falling across his forehead, and he had never looked so handsome. She remembered thinking this a time before, but, certainly, this time overshadowed all others. "Thank you for this, Tom," she said softly. "You don't know what it means to me."
He looked at her for a moment, before smirking and saying, "Actually, I think I do. That's why I did it you see. I'm a natural charmer—I know how to get in everyone's good graces."
She rolled her eyes, looking away from him, surprised, to find that she was irritated with his lack of serious. Why were boys always serious when you want to fool around and fooling around when you wanted to be serious?
"But," he added after a moment, and Hermione realized he must have seen the look on her face. "If it's all the same to you—you're welcome. It was my pleasure, actually."
Hermione's eyes followed him as he reached above his head and released a loud yawn. "You know Hermione," he said, doing his best to sound casual. "Often, women get these romantic notions that they could share a kiss with the man they fancy on top of the Eiffel Tower. They consider it 'romantic', apparently." Tom's eyes were twinkling as he looked at her, and Hermione knew she shouldn't—she really shouldn't—but it was just too tempting. She should keep her mouth shut, look away, say something else—
Nope, the temptation was too strong. She smiled brightly and nodded in gratitude.
"Well thanks, Riddle! I'll keep that in mind if I ever come up here with a bloke I fancy!"
His jaw dropped, and Hermione felt a childish sort of triumph wash through her. The look of utter disbelief—mixed with just a tinge of admiration, she could tell—was too brilliant to regret saying what she had. Riddle's mouth opened and closed several times before he finally managed to gather his pride and simply look away, his gaze zeroing in on one of the buildings directly across the way.
Still giggling, she said, "I'm sorry, Tom. You know I had to—it was simply too tempting to resist."
He smiled at her, and the smile slid off Hermione's face. His eyes were glinting in a predatorial sort of way, and he backed her against the rail, his arms encasing her on either side. "That's alright," he murmured, brushing her hair back, his fingertips making her neck tingle. "I know all about temptation." Involuntarily, her eyes flickered down to his lips, and then back up to meet his gaze. He wasn't going to—no, he wouldn't possibly—
"And, Hermione," he whispered, and she let out an embarrassingly loud sigh and his lips began to leave a trail of fire down her neck, making her clutch at his hair. "I just wanted to let you know….." He ran a hand down her waist, gripping her hip and drawing her closer to him. Hermione could hear her heart pounding so loud that she was afraid it would burst from within her chest. "That I….." He tilted his head, his lips so close to hers that she could feel his breath against her mouth, and if she leaned forward, just so—" Am not going to kiss you on top of the Eiffel Tower." He released her hips and backed away from her all too suddenly, and Hermione would swear on her life that she almost topples over the top floor right then and there. She blinked dizzily, feeling a sudden loss of warmth, and tried to grapple desperately for what happened. Sharply, Tom's last words registered in her mind.
She whirled on his, glaring so fiercely that she was sure that he was quite glad that looks could not literally kill. "You—you—"
His smirk was so large that she was certain that the Titanic could both sail and sink on it. "Yes, it is me."
"You tease!" She shrieked, infuriated, and Tom let out a bark of laughter. "How dare you—you—do that to me and then just leave me—standing there like a fool—"
Her ranting followed them all the way back down the tower. She was so angry that she did not even have time to be afraid of the ride down. As they landed on the ground beneath the tower, Hermione threw her broom down angrily; making to stomp off in a dramatic way, but Tom grabbed her wrist, spun her towards him, and pressed his mouth firmly against her own.
It took Hermione a full fifteen seconds to realize what was happening, before she tentatively brought her arms around his neck. She felt Tom smile against her mouth at her uncertainty, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up and setting her on the short stone wall behind her and situating himself between her legs. Hermione felt herself reddening, feeling like an inexperienced little schoolgirl next to Tom, who obviously knew what he was doing, but as she felt his tongue trace along the seam of her lips, she stopped thinking and let natural instinct take over.
When they finally broke apart, Tom's hair resembled Harry's more than his own, and Hermione's cheeks and lips were both a deep red. He leaned his forehead against hers as they both focused on catching their breath.
"We should go back," Tom said finally. Wordlessly, she rose, slipped her hand into his, retrieved her fallen broom, and together, the two of them made their way back to the inn. The walk back was a quiet one, but the silence was not disagreeable. Every few minutes, Tom would lean down and press a kiss to her lips. Hermione felt like she didn't know what was happening. Normally, she hated not being in control, but for once, she accepted it, and, breathing deeply as she leaned into Tom's shoulder, she felt like she could think clearly for the first time in a while
A/N: There we are! I would shoot for another update tonight, but its midnight where I am, and I have practice tomorrow morning at 8:30am, and I don't really wanna die at practice, so I'm gonna call it quits, alright? No flames, por favor:)
Thanks so much my darlings!
Lots of love!