Hermione sat bolt upright. The book was about two inches from her nose, and her eyes were glued to the page. Oh my God.
There it was. There it was! Hermione swallowed, her mouth so dry that her tongue felt like a stick of sandpaper.
She frantically read back to the subtitle – Links of the Magical World – and down through the first paragraph. This was it. This man, this wonderful, perfect author, what was his name – Drew Caeziten – what type of a name was that? – but it didn't – didn't matter – it was in here.
Hermione's hands actually shook a bit as she gripped the book painfully tight, like it would spring from her grip and go flush itself down Myrtle's toilet.
After two months of reading – longer than she had ever spent on one specific subject – she had finally found something on thread theory, buried deep in the recesses of the Restricted Section between an essay on Basilisk body parts and a huge maroon tome about pagan religions in the world of old magic.
Hermione turned the page. It was nearly unreal. And, sure, some parts of it were a little rough around the edges, but he basically had it right – "a medium universe, caught between the gates of life and the pit of death" – "where those who have made irreversible ties to their own location on Earth are caught" – "a net of interwoven magics made to catch the soul at a temporary harbor" – it was here.
It even mentioned horcruxes, however loosely and vaguely. "Those most evil of magics," said Caeziten, "are the most effective, as to sin is so purely mortal that the bonds of darkest sin are the strongest ties to Earth."
Hermione laid her head back on the pillow and thrashed in pure delight. YES! She flopped forward on her stomach, hoping that wherever this author was, he was enjoying the most kingly of existences.
It wasn't just the one paragraph, either. He went on for four or five pages about this before returning to his previous study of dead wizards, which was a bit weird and very illegal, but Hermione didn't care about that.
She read and reread the pages about ten times, taking detailed notes with fervor. The people coming into and out of the dormitory didn't disturb her at all. Nothing could break her concentration – not when Hermione Granger had finally found what she needed.
The essential theory of the author was that the ties of any given witch and wizard stretched the entire way from Life to Death once they died, and that if fortified enough, the person could actually travel along the cords, as if they were a zip-line – it would be very difficult to climb back up to Life, but easier to slide down to Death. Also, if one attempted to climb out of this world, there was a risk that the threads would snap altogether, leaving them there forever. The author had a few vague postulates as to what the threads were made of, but the most likely-sounding to Hermione was the actual life-force of the witch or wizard. This so-called 'life-force' would encompass the soul and all magical ability, like a huge knot within the person that could be unraveled.
That made sense to Hermione – and every time someone made a horcrux, it was as if someone sawed through part of the knot and tied the loose ends to that object, so when someone killed the witch or wizard, they had a clear hold to Life. In saying this, he mentioned the fact that the part of the person that found its way to the inter-world would be the timeless part, the ageless part, the young part.
He was so correct! Hermione grinned ear-to-ear as she scanned her notes. The author went on to suggest that the way to move one way or another was to weaken or strengthen the bonds in one direction or the other. Time would weather down the bonds up to Life naturally, but nothing would fortify Life's bonds naturally – that needed to be done by the will of the witch or wizard in question.
The question was how. The author listed a few guesses: absolute goodness; absolute evil; and actions specific to the ties of the witch or wizard.
Hermione didn't know what to think about that part. They all seemed plausible, yet completely implausible. How was it fair that someone who committed an act of absolute evil could be granted passage back to Earth? Yet how could it make sense that an act of absolute goodness could grant passage, if ultimate good inherently went unrewarded? Actions specific to each tie – so, for Hermione, that would be the keeping of secrets, or the character objects, or the ward.
For the first time, Hermione felt a small bubble of hope swelling inside her. What if this was it? What if this was the way? What if there were a legitimate chance that she could get back to Earth – finish living out her life – see her friends again?
Emotion overwhelmed her, and tears welled up in her eyes. She pounced on her pillow and buried her face into it, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from sobbing hopelessly. But the tears on her face were not ones of sadness – they were hesitantly optimistic. Could she dare to hope this might work?
The very end of the passage suggested that if or when a person got back to life from this world, they would be the age they had been when they had arrived there. So when Hermione returned, if it took ten years, she would still be eighteen when she returned. In theory, anyway.
"Oi, Hermione – hey, are you alright?"
Mina had walked in, tying up her wild black hair with a band from around her skinny wrist. She froze mid-action as she saw Hermione lying motionless on the bed.
"Yeah, I'm fine," said Hermione brightly, sitting back up to face Mina, who relaxed. "What's going on?"
Mina shrugged. "I just – the notice got posted this morning. The event coordinators are hosting a Christmas ball. It happens every year."
Hermione broke into an absurdly large smile. "Really?"
"Yeah," laughed Mina. "Here, come look at the sign. It's even fancier than usual."
And fancy it was. The three-foot-wide poster was a powder blue, embellished with silver letters and snowflake designs. It read:
You are hereby cordially invited to the Twenty-Eighth annual Christmas Ball,
Held in the Great Hall this Christmas Eve at Seven in the Evening.
Costumes are encouraged.
Hermione looked at Mina, who was smiling wide. "Oh, man," Mina said, "I think this year's going to be good. They never let out the theme more than a day ahead of time, but it's always gorgeous." Mina then looked a little embarrassed. "I mean, it's a bit childish, considering – but, I mean, Hogwarts never had any balls or parties or anything when I was there, so it's nice to have them here, at least." She blushed a little. Hermione smiled.
"No, it'll be fun!" she said. "You, Miranda and I can pretend we're normal girls and get ready together." Mina grinned.
"There aren't any dressmakers down at Hogsmeade, anymore, obviously, so we all sort of have to make our own, or ask some of the girlier girls to make them for us," said Mina as they walked down to the Great Hall for lunch.
Hermione grimaced. She had never really been into domestic things like sewing, so that was a bit inconvenient. "Do you know anyone who sews?" she asked Mina tentatively. "I sure as hell don't sew."
"Yeah. Melia sews, I know that," said Mina through a mouthful of egg. "Catalina also sews. She's the Gryffindor Seeker."
Hermione looked down the table at the smiling Catalina. The tiny black girl had a huge number of dreadlocks that were tied back into a big braid, and she seemed to have a perpetual twinkle in her eye. "She looks nice," said Hermione.
"Oh, she is nice," agreed Mina. "I don't know what she might have done to get stuck here, though, since she's a Domestic Witch."
Hermione frowned. "What's that?"
Mina shrugged. "Exactly what it sounds like. A witch who specializes in cooking, cleaning, clothes, all that boring stuff. She used to be a world-renowned Seeker, but then after she retired she became a famous Domestic Witch instead. I used to read about her in magazines when I was ten, which is weird."
A Domestic Witch? Hermione frowned. She was glad she'd grown up in the eighties – she didn't think she would have been able to deal with the repression of the early 20th Century. She would have had to make a sort of S.P.E.W. for women, Hermione surmised with a dry smile on her face. "Spew", Ron had called it… and she had insisted that he and Harry take a part in it, if only because they constantly mocked her for it...
"Hm," said Hermione, and went back to eating. "We don't have to have dates or anything, do we?"
"A few people take dates," Mina said, "but it's really not an issue. The whole thing, it's just something to help people forget all the things we remember around this time of year, you know?"
"Yeah," said Hermione, a weight dragging at her heart. Those sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had used to make. The effort she'd put into finding her two best friends practical gifts. The way she would wake up and presents would be at the foot of her bed. The memories didn't stop flooding in until she forcefully repressed them. No wonder it was hard around this time of year.
xXxXxXxXx
It was December first, and a few people were levitating ornaments onto huge Christmas trees around the Great Hall. Melia hadn't laid off the cold, so Hermione had discarded the usual black robes and rooted around in the seemingly-endless trunk of clothes in her room to find winter clothing. It appeared that the rest of the castle had done the same – everywhere Hermione went, she saw hats, scarves, gloves, sweaters, boots, instead of robes.
"So, I guess you two have seen the poster, then?" said Godric as he and R.J. sat down at the table. "I suppose you're going with Riddle, then, Hermione -"
"Har, har, shut up," said Hermione, a smile threatening to pull at her mouth. The subject of Riddle, strangely, had turned into a sort of joke between the four of them, once Hermione had quashed the rumors about any romantic involvement whatsoever.
R.J. laughed. "We're just messing," he said.
"I know," replied Hermione with an evil grin, and flicked her wand. R.J. and Godric's goblets of pumpkin juice flung themselves into the boys' faces.
Mina cracked up in laughter. "You two have got to learn not to joke around with this one here," she said, nudging Hermione with a bony shoulder. "She's a serious one."
R.J. scowled and waved his wand over himself and Godric. The juice vanished. Godric said, "Miranda, Albus and I were thinking we'd have a snowball fight. Are you three in?"
Hermione considered it. Wizard snowball fights were often painful, because people usually charmed the snowballs to throw themselves – and very quickly. "Sure," said Mina. R.J. nodded. Hermione sighed and relented, too.
"Just us six?" she said.
"Just us six," reassured Godric.
They trudged outside to the field, where thick, wet snow lay just waiting to splatter into people's faces. Miranda and Albus already stood outside, their hands in their pockets, their cheeks rosy from the cold.
"I've been wondering this for a while," muttered Mina as they approached the pair. "Do you think there's something... well, going on between those two?"
Hermione stared at Albus and Miranda. Dumbledore hadn't ever been married to anyone, or even dated anyone, as far as she knew, and she knew quite a bit about Dumbledore thanks to Rita Skeeter and various other sources.
R.J. blinked bemusedly. "I don't know," he said, "I've never really thought about Albus in... that context."
Godric shrugged. "I figure what with the amount of time they spend with each other, if they wanted to go out, they already would, you know?"
"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "I think they're just very good friends."
Miranda waved them over. "Hurry up!" she called, her light brown hair flopping around in the brisk breeze.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a perfect sphere of snow rose from the ground, spinning in front of his face. "I hope you are all ready for a swift demise," he said, with an uncharacteristic smirk to his voice.
"Oh, please," laughed Mina, taking out her wand and settling down into a fighting sort of stance. "Do your worst, Dumbly."
"Are there teams?" R.J. said.
"Boys against girls!" said Miranda, and flicked her own wand. Giant piles of snow rose up in front of each of the boys and toppled over onto them. The girls formed a group, wands at the ready.
"No fair!" came Godric's muffled voice from beneath the snow drift. Suddenly, R.J. burst out of the snow, his black hair soaked and his blue eyes laughing.
"Oh, is that how it is?" he said, and waved his wand. Snowballs started to fly indiscriminately towards the three girls. Hermione flicked her wand, and a shield of thick ice slid upwards from the ground. R.J.'s snowballs plastered themselves harmlessly onto the other side.
Godric and Albus stood, wands at the ready. But before they could do anything else, Hermione staggered forward, a big, wet snowball splattering onto the back of her head. She rounded on the thrower.
Abraxas Malfoy stood there, tossing a snowball up and down in his gloved hand, an easy smile on his pale face. "Malfoy!" Hermione gasped, touching the back of her head. "That hurt!"
"Sorry I have a strong arm," Malfoy said. "Don't tell me you Gryffindors use wands in your snowball fights. So cheap."
R.J. and Godric traded glances, and they simultaneously flicked their wands. Two huge snowballs collided with Malfoy's chest, and he sat down, hard, in the snow. Hermione laughed. "It's more practical."
Then a huge lump of snow fell on top of Hermione's head, and she wheeled around in frustration. "Who – Riddle!" she said. He stood just a few feet away with one hand in his pocket, the other holding his wand, a big black jacket on his lean body. Hermione's face suddenly felt hot. He looked stunning in the wintry landscape, his dark features standing out dramatically, his nearly-black hair ruffled by the wind.
"Mind if we join?" Riddle asked smoothly.
Hermione looked around at her friends. Miranda and Albus looked indifferent, R.J. and Godric exchanged a glance and shrugged, and Mina let out an indifferent mumbling noise. "Go ahead," Hermione said.
"Now the teams are uneven," Godric complained loudly.
"Well, you know what the solution to that is," said Malfoy, his low voice mischievous.
There was an expectant silence.
"Every man for himself!" he bellowed, and dove down behind a snowdrift.
Hermione fell flat as a stream of snow rushed over her, navigated by Mina's wand. She suddenly found herself laughing helplessly. This was so... fun. It was fun like she hadn't had in a very, very long time, and it was so harmless, so innocent, the complete opposite of the last year of her life—
She flicked her wand, sending snow at everyone in sight, and pulled herself to her knees. R.J. fell backwards under onslaught from Malfoy, so she helped him out with a well-placed missile.
The air was thick with snow and laughter. After a while, the muscles of her face hurt from grinning so much, and she wriggled over to a snowdrift for shelter, only to find that Mina and Godric were behind it, ducking down and charming people's snowballs to fly back at their senders. Hermione realized that other people, random people, had joined in the snow fight: the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team, who looked like they had been on their way to practice; a couple of Hufflepuffs who were holding empty Butterbeer bottles—or was that Firewhiskey? Also, Briene Flint, Revelend Godelot, Herpo… and Araminta, who looked completely different as she laughed and played in the snow like everyone else. So much for 'just us six', huh? A happy bubble swelled up in Hermione, and she looked back at Godric and Mina, and her eyes widened in shock.
They were kissing, Godric's hand resting lightly on Mina's shoulder, her hand in his red hair.
Hermione scrambled back around to the other side of the snowdrift, where she was immediately barraged by a wall of snow. She waved her wand and got back to her feet, in a bit of a daze. She supposed she should have seen that coming – Mina and Godric – but it was just... surprising, that was all. One didn't think of the Founder of Gryffindor House in that way.
She looked back at the snowball fight, ducking a blob of white, and forged her way over to R.J.
"Hey! R.J.," she called over the yells of the battle.
"Yeah?" He grinned fiercely as he deflected a snowy arm.
Hermione pointed back at the snowdrift. "Mina... and Godric!" she panted. He raised his eyebrows. "They're... well, they're..." She fumbled for words. "Kissing!"
"Took him long enough!" said R.J., smiling even wider than before. Hermione opened her mouth.
"You knew about this and you didn't tell me?" she accused, and aimed a snowball into his stomach. He doubled over and threw a snowball at her shoulder, spinning her around.
"Yes, you idiot," he laughed, "because he didn't want anyone to know!"
Hermione scowled. "Okay, fine," she said. "Come on, let's get rid of these Slytherins—"
She raised her wand and concentrated. Just like Godric taught me. A tendril of snow rose out of the field and grabbed Malfoy by the ankle, shaking him fiercely back and forth.
"Submit, fiend!" Hermione yelled to the dangling Abraxas. He laughed.
"No, foul troll!" he yelled back, flailing desperately, and Hermione giggled. She glanced back at R.J., who was engaging in a fast-paced snowball exchange with Riddle.
Hermione flicked her wand, tossing Abraxas through the air. He landed squarely on top of Riddle, whose eyes widened briefly before he was plowed into the ground by the airborne Malfoy.
"That's not funny!" Riddle managed to grunt, as he hoisted the bigger boy off of him and stood back up. "Abraxas weighs as much as a hippogriff." Riddle glanced back down at Malfoy, who grinned hopelessly.
Hermione's laughs echoed like bells in the clear air, and she doubled over uncontrollably. R.J. leaned on her shoulder, letting out a tired 'phew!' as he narrowly dodged a thin stream of snow.
"Oh God, shelter, shelter," R.J. panted, and Hermione raised a large ice wall. Her eyes met R.J.'s, and she was struck by that same feeling that she had had once before – an unsteady, unsure, swooping, happy feeling. There was a short pause.
"Hey, Hermione – how about going to that ball thing with me?" he said slowly, a small smile on his lips. He straightened back up. As she stared at him disbelievingly, the smile slowly died from his expression. "I mean, since Godric and Mina are probably – but, um, if -"
"Yeah, sure!" blurted Hermione. "Of course! Sure."
Immense relief flooded R.J.'s face, and his eyes twinkled, their light blue that of the sky. "Great," he said. "That's – that's great."
He blushed a little, and they were saved any awkward silence by a particularly well-placed snowball striking a crack in the ice and blowing their cover. Hermione turned back to the fight.
It was nearly dark when it finally ended. Hermione and Mina walked inside, thoroughly soaked. "I'm so happy," said Mina fiercely, looking at Hermione with a nearly manic shine in her grey eyes.
"Oh, really?"
"Godric and I are finally getting somewhere!" she said breathlessly, and suddenly enfolded Hermione in a tight hug. "I can't believe it!"
"I can," Hermione said calmly, a smile on her lips. "That's really wonderful, Mina."
"I know!" squealed Mina. "God. I – you know. I'm not usually like this. Especially over some boy. But he's like this too – and he said he'd never felt this way before."
Hermione laughed. "He's hardly just 'some boy'. He's Godric Gryffindor. And you two are perfect."
"Really?" Mina asked, unable to keep the smile from her face. "Thanks, Hermione, I just – argh, I – okay." She took a deep breath, calming herself, and they walked up one of the moving staircases.
"R.J. asked me to that dance thing," Hermione commented quietly after a few minutes. "I don't really know what to... do."
Mina whirled around to face Hermione, her eyes wide. "He did?" she said. "Wow, I didn't guess at that one."
"Neither did I," said Hermione honestly. "I said yes, of course, but I'm not sure if I... should have."
Mina shrugged, looking a bit bewildered. "Well, only time will tell," she said, then grinned again. "Okay, I'm going to go take a bath."
Hermione nodded and waved as Mina headed towards the Prefects' bathroom. She was glad that her and Mina's friendship had repaired, but she felt like there was something missing, now. Something that could not be replaced. Godric and R.J. had both just sat there in relative sullen silence during the argument, but Mina had been the one to yell, to accuse, to hate, to inundate Hermione's mind with terrible things, and that made Hermione want to hold her at arm's distance, not to let her get too close. If she let people get close, after all, they would just end up hurting her, and the fact that Mina had already done so had left a defined scar on their relationship. She hated that it felt superficial.
Hermione walked back down to the Great Hall, her legs tired from all the running around. Waving her wand, she combed the stray ice and snow from her bushy hair, the tangles stroking themselves out in a pink haze, and she dried herself off.
Things were looking up. Maybe while her good luck lasted, she should go to the common room and test out a few of those theories in the book, or at least skim through the rest of the book to make sure there wasn't anything else she had missed in passing –
"Granger," said a voice from behind her.
Hermione turned around. The speaker was a breathless Tom Riddle. "Oh, hello, Riddle," she said. They were in the Entrance Hall, and there were lots of students milling around. That was a change from the usual location of their conversations.
"I – um," he said, scratching his head with a pale hand. He did not continue.
She looked around. "Are you okay?" she said. He seemed a bit restless, which was strange given his usual composure.
He nodded.
"It was good to see you doing something fun for a change, Riddle," Hermione said with a raised eyebrow. "Exceeded my expectations."
"I tend to exceed expectations," Riddle replied with a smirk. There; that was more like the usual Riddle. He took out his wand, but Hermione didn't even flinch, just gripped hers a little tighter in her pocket. Then he started absentmindedly drying his sodden hair, his eyes never straying from hers. She felt uncomfortably pinned again, just standing there as students passed by. "You seem to have made up with your friends," he commented. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Why so interested?" Hermione asked, frowning.
Riddle shrugged. He couldn't let her get too close to her friends again, but she couldn't know that. What he had to do now was make sure he was always on her mind, always a presence, impossible to shake. This was proving irritatingly difficult – over the last few days, she had seemed to have completely reunited with the other Gryffindors, and they had only talked a bit, in passing, and it wasn't anything memorable... He had to do something drastic, but he didn't know what.
His eyes strayed to the obnoxious powder-blue poster that was just a few feet away. Of course. He breathed out in relief – what a perfect opportunity. Of course she wouldn't have been asked yet – those things were only put up this morning, after all.
"Look, Granger – would you come here for a second?"
"...okay," she said warily. He really did look sort of unsettled. Going somewhere with a volatile Tom Riddle wasn't a great option, but she had her wand and their seeming truce.
They walked into a deserted classroom. He didn't shut the door behind him, which put Hermione a little at ease. That meant he surely wouldn't try anything.
She sat on top of a desk. "So, Riddle, what's -"
"I wanted to ask you to the dance," he said, his quiet voice tripping over the words. "I mean, would you... go... with me?"
Hermione was rooted to the spot in surprise, and she suddenly felt incredibly glad that R.J. had already asked her. What was Riddle playing at, anyway, asking her to the ball? If it wasn't even usually a couples thing, why would he want to go with someone, and her, of all people? What could he get out of asking her? What possible ulterior motive could doing this have?
She had forgotten how much effort being around him required. She had just been staring at him, dumbfounded, and she shook herself back to her senses. "I... I'm sorry, Riddle, I've been asked."
He certainly looked surprised, if nothing else. The incredibly awkward silence in the room was enhanced by the shock on his face. "...oh," he said, and she could practically believe he was actually disappointed, as if Tom Riddle would deign to care about a social event. "Who?"
"R.J. King," she answered. "We're going because Mina and Godric are together now, so..." She didn't really know why she had said that last bit, as if it would make that nearly-angry look in his eyes subside, shift the blame from her – but that was stupid. She shouldn't feel guilty for having been asked already.
"Oh," Riddle said again, raising his eyebrows. He blinked and looked away. "Alright, then."
"Sorry," Hermione repeated, although she wasn't really sorry, per se, just absolutely baffled. "I'm... erm, I'm going to go... eat."
"Right," he said.
She just stood there for a second, and then shook her head a little and left.
Hermione was shocked, as she came out of the door, to knock into both of the Marque girls, who were just standing there... as if they had been listening... Oh, Merlin, that is exactly what I don't need.
Riddle sat down at a desk, fiddling with the ring on his finger. Well, that had been shot fairly quickly. At least he hadn't wasted time planning it. He couldn't get over-impulsive, though – she might begin to suspect the truth, or what he kept telling himself was the truth: he was still only interested in her for what she knew, as much as he had felt... relaxed, at ease, while speaking with her the other night... Hopefully, though, someone had seen them go into the room and had overheard. That would generate a few more of those helpful rumors that Granger seemed to find so vile.
It really was most insulting, the way she almost seemed to be bashful about being seen in public with him. It was he, after all, who should have been embarrassed to be seen with a Mudblood Gryffindor, one who didn't have the cleanest slate. After all, what could she lose by being in his presence? He was perfect. Everyone liked him, didn't know him well enough to dislike him, or feared him immensely. She had nothing to lose.
Well, besides her head, if Araminta saw her speaking with him. Riddle shook his head – that girl was becoming quite the hindrance.
Damn Salazar, passing like that at the single worst time he could have – and now she was embedded back in that infuriating little group of Gryffindors. Her friendships with them were like cockroaches – just wouldn't die, even with endless stamping.
But what was it that she had said – two of her friends were together now? Gryffindor, and that girl... That was good. It would drive Granger away from those two, even if it meant that she would get closer to that boy who had asked her to the dance. An unfortunate side effect, but still – anything was better than nothing, at this point.
He had to make more plans. He had to appear... genuine...
Riddle stood up, adjusting his clothes. It was strange, not wearing robes, but these clothes were a lot more practical for the weather. He composed himself, straightened his tie under his jacket, and left the classroom.
xXxXxXxXx
Hermione was quiet at dinner for reasons she didn't really understand. The whole day had been great – fantastic, even – so why did she suddenly feel so drained? Leave it to Tom Riddle to counteract an amazing day with something she didn't even begin to comprehend.
She scowled involuntarily and blew her hair out of her eyes.
"You alright?" asked R.J. quietly.
"What? Yeah, yes. Fine," she said.
A whisper of a dark voice ran through her mind: It's amusing to fluster you... and it's so easy.
Could that be all it was? It was safe to assume at all times that Tom Riddle knew everything about everything. Could he have already known that R.J. had asked her, and he just asked her to mess with her mind? It seemed like the most logical proceeding thought.
But no – he hadn't looked amused as she floundered for an adequate response. There hadn't been a smirk or even a hint at one.
Dammit, Voldemort! It was ludicrous that the master of all evil, the man who had singlehandedly turned the Wizarding World on its head, had asked her to a dance. It was very nearly funny, actually, now that Hermione thought about it, and her mouth curled into a private smile as she continued eating her dinner. This was crazy.
"Oh, hey, R.J.," she said, suddenly remembering that she had wanted to ask someone, "I've got a question."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So, suppose someone had, say, more than one horcrux..."
"More than one?" said R.J. in a hushed voice, his blue eyes wide in alarm. "Why the hell would you have more than one?"
Right. Hermione had forgotten that the idea was so repulsive in nature, given that she had spent the last year or so of her life desperately trying to find all of Voldemort's numerous horcruxes... "Well, yeah, just in theory."
"...okay," said R.J. cautiously, looking at Hermione as if she had sprouted an extra nose.
Hermione sighed. "Well, I was wondering how the whole remorse thing would work. Like, could the individual pieces put themselves back together if they felt remorseful about it?"
R.J.'s mouth quirked, and he thought for a while. "Merlin, that's actually an interesting question," he mused aloud. "I'd say to consult the library, but I doubt they even have anything on horcruxes in the first place."
They don't.
"If I were to give my own humble opinion," R.J. said, "I'd hazard a guess that it'd be hard for the person to feel anything at all, if they ripped up their soul twice. Or, er, more. So, feeling remorse would be sort of a stretch, but I'm guessing since it would be harder to do it in the first place, it would heal everything back together once the person managed it. In hypothesis."
He picked up a piece of potato and eyed it. "I mean, that isn't relevant to you, though, is it?" he said, shooting a grin at Hermione, who laughed.
"Oh, yeah, look at me," she said. "Can't you see I'm the type to kill bunches of innocent people?"
R.J. chuckled, a bit humorlessly, and Hermione was reminded of the fact that he had had to kill an innocent person for his job as an Unspeakable. That must have been unbelievably awful. "Look, R.J.," she said quietly, "I'm sorry to bring up horcruxes around you. It must be hard."
"Yeah, it's rough," he agreed softly. "But the guy I killed was a volunteer. Terminally ill, at St. Mungo's, already had three suicide attempts... It's just... the look on his face, right before... And Lestrange acted like it was nothing, didn't even bat an eyelid, and the guy just was... lying there... on the ground, and Lestrange said, 'Okay, that's that, let's see how you do this next step' and all I could think about was what I had just... destroyed. Just like that. Merlin."
R.J. swallowed and looked up at the ceiling, where dark grey clouds moved across a night sky. Hermione stared down at her food, suddenly having lost her appetite. R.J. felt so terrible about it. How could someone not feel remorse after something like that? How? And especially when it wasn't voluntary, when it was a person who just had their life ripped out from under them with no regard for the people they knew, and afterwards they were just a blank patch on the face of the earth –
Hermione found herself staring at Riddle. He had done this... so many times. Harry's parents, gone – with all the people who had loved and cherished them left behind on Earth, Lupin, Sirius, Hagrid, Dumbledore, the entire Order, Harry... and even people like Slughorn, who couldn't ever really understand what it was like to see a person as a person and not an object for collection, but he was still connected to them. And that was just those two – so many tears shed over those two lives, and this lean, attractive, intelligent boy had done it countless times.
She felt a little sick, then, and she dropped her fork back on her plate, where it landed with a desolate clatter. R.J. looked up at her. "Hey, don't worry," he said gently, a warm look on his kind face. "It'll be fine."
Hermione nodded and smiled weakly, almost wishing she could tell him everything – but no. It would endanger them both. "Thanks, R.J.," she told him. "I think I'm going to go up to bed."
"Yeah," he said. "Sleep well."
She trailed absentmindedly up the stairs, running her fingers through her hair in puzzlement. She suddenly didn't feel like returning to her discovery of that morning. It seemed risky... almost dangerous. Messing with the threads of the soul was Dark stuff, surely, even if it was to get back to Earth. What would she be sacrificing to get herself home?
Hermione rubbed at her eyes in frustration. This miserable feeling inside her chest wouldn't go away. It was nearly like dread – dread for what had already happened, and dread about what was yet to come.
xXxXxXxXx
Riddle lay awake in his bed, staring at the dark ceiling. The day had been... almost... enjoyable?
He hadn't enjoyed anything that didn't involve hurting people in a long while – besides perhaps associating with Granger, which was always a bit of a stimulating intellectual challenge – but the snow war had been so close to an actual war that he supposed it wasn't too strange to have enjoyed it. The oddest thing about the day, though, was that when he thought back to the snowball fight, the first image that came into his mind was a perfectly clear picture of Granger laughing, her clear brown eyes glimmering and crinkled at the sides, her pink lips spread so far in an open-mouthed smile that Riddle was surprised it hadn't hurt.
He made it a point not to remember faces. Not remembering faces was a handy mental tactic he employed to separate himself from the rest of the world – if he was going to treat them like mindless sheep, then why should he give them names, remember who they were? They were disposable.
So why couldn't he get her face out of his head? Riddle closed his eyes and tried to sleep, his face pressed lightly against the lush pillows of the Head Boy quarters, but it didn't really work, because all he could think about was what she knew and how, so far, all of his methods had completely failed on her.
He still didn't even know how she knew the name. He had burrowed through the minds of Revelend and Abraxas, but neither of them had said a word to her about the name; in fact, Revelend had never said a word to her. He supposed that, yes, in the real world he must have done something of weight, something to make Lord Voldemort famous, something that would make an eighteen-year-old girl know who he was.
She wasn't just any regular eighteen-year-old girl, though, of course. She knew more about offensive magic than any girl he had ever even met. It was a pity that she was a Mudblood, and a Gryffindor, because he would have liked that she join his ranks. Someone who could withstand the fury of the Cruciatus Curse would be useful indeed. Actually, even if she was a Mudblood, she could still be useful if she joined him. Very useful. It was something to consider, at least...
His mind settled a little, and Riddle managed to get to sleep, though he didn't dream of anything. He never really dreamed about anything, and he never really knew why, either.
Yup, so that's that. Eh, don't take too much out of that last bit about Riddle not really dreaming. It's not a significant plot twist or anything.