Millions of thanks to:
Smithback, MissImpossible, madluv, Duchess of Discourse, Sneaky Nixie, Isabelene, Joy, NougatEvolution, bingbing196, Scarlett, DBM33, ChildoftheLight, xXBlueDazeXx, f4vivian, ilikebluepineapples, xXsmanthaXx, BooklvrAnnie, ClaireReno, sexy-jess, sweet-tang-honney, Kitsune, Vinwin, thesomnambulist, XellamyBB, Brilliant, Nerys, Taylah, Magentasouth, Iklepsis, jessika black, beck, N3k0 T3nsh1, tanzainy, licious461, Anna on the Horizon, Risottonocheese, iamweasleyfred, Remusat, Selene98, kromoon23, KeitarosKeroNeko, and MissMusa.
She should not have started off that day by smiling.
It was the third of December, and she should have woken up with a wail of despair, or with a tear trailing down her cheek. She should have known, somehow.
But she woke up with a small smile on her lips. She had had a good dream. And she got dressed in her winter clothes. That day, she wore a black sweater, a bulky green coat, Muggle jeans, and knee-high rubber snow boots. And she walked down the stairs. That day, she nearly tripped on the third step down, but she caught herself on the railing. And she hummed a tune that sounded vaguely like the chorus to Weasley is our King. That day, it took her all that time to realize that this world would never be the same.
She reached the bottom of the steps, looked up, and instantly knew something was wrong. As was her usual custom, she immediately assumed the worst. But this time, unlike the usual, she was right.
Godric had Mina enfolded in a hug, her head tucked under his chin, and he was biting his lip, tears leaking slowly down from his closed eyes. Mina was shaking, letting out muffled whimpers, and Godric was shushing her gently, his tall body swaying a little.
Hermione stopped, her eyes wide. Godric opened his green eyes slowly, and they found Hermione, and he didn't say anything, just closed his eyes again and sort of shook his head.
It took them a while to muster up the courage to go down to the Great Hall. Most of the Gryffindors looked duly downcast, but they had left the so-called 'honors' up to Godric, Mina and Hermione.
Godric halfheartedly stood, banging a spoon on a dish tiredly. The noise in the Great Hall ceased, as if the whole room was holding its breath to hear, and when Godric said it, it was as if there was a great whispering sigh, sending Godric floating back down to sit on the bench. And Hermione, though she was sitting, felt as if she could easily just drift over and fall. She looked at the spot next to her, not feeling like her eyes were actually seeing the space that was there, not feeling like it was her mouth that was chewing the food, not feeling like it could be her sitting there and absorbing the shock of the day.
Surely, if it were actually her sitting there, she would be used to losing everyone she knew. This was just one more person, one more Boggart she could stumble in on and scream at, one more soul she could never again see. One more person who would never comfort her in the early morning. One more person she would never again speak with, one more person who would never again make jokes about Tom Riddle, one more person who would never again brush back his black hair with a sort of gentle confidence, one more person who would never again be offended by cracks about his masculinity, one more person who would never again take every shot Mina threw at him and just smile. One more person to whom life had been cruel.
Hermione, Godric, Mina, Albus and Miranda had to leave breakfast early. Hermione knew she couldn't deal with it, and for the rest, who had known R.J. the entire ten years he had been there – it was like losing someone they had known all their lives.
Hermione buried her face in her hands and closed her eyes. Had it just been earlier this week –even yesterday – that she had felt that she might have romantic feelings for R.J.? Of course, he would be taken immediately afterwards. Of course, the world would shower this misfortune on the people who had already had sufficient misfortune to last them for quite a while.
"Why was it him?" Mina suddenly ground out, her voice thick and nasal, her small nose red. "I've been here for so much longer – we all have – why was it him and not me? Us?"
"Don't say that," whispered Godric, his face as grave and hollow as Hermione had ever seen it.
"This was what he wanted," Hermione said gently. She never was that good at reassuring people, especially herself... but it was true. He had wanted to move on, feel his soul join back together, even if that meant death – and Renee Sanderson, wherever she was – Hermione hoped she could find him when he was all healed up. "For his soul to mend. And it has."
Godric looked up at the ceiling, sniffing helplessly. "I know," he said, "but I – I mean, how am I supposed to feel happy about this? He was my best friend, for Christ's sake. Especially since Eric moved—"
He broke off, swallowing, and Mina put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Hermione didn't know who Eric was, but apparently this wasn't the first time this had happened to Godric.
"I'm sick of this," he murmured. "I just want to get out of here. You guys can't understand – I've been here for over two hundred years. Two hundred. And I keep seeing people move on through, but it's never me. I'm tired of getting attached and just getting hurt again."
Mina gently slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed it, giving her a grateful look. Hermione could only stare dismally at the ground.
"You know," Godric said, "sometimes I can almost wish I never did any of this—" he waved a hand vaguely at the Gryffindor common room – "so that I could just die, like any other person. I was old. I was ready."
"Don't say that," said Hermione in a small, fierce voice. "You've changed so many people's lives. You, and Rowena, and Helga, and Salazar – you can't think that you would trade this for anything."
Gryffindor had a small smile on his thin lips. "I – thanks, Hermione... but I'm so sick of being selfless, being glad I helped found Hogwarts when it means I'm having to suffer through what feels like an eternity of this place."
"Everything happens for a reason," sighed Albus with a tired look in his blue eyes. He ran a hand through his wiry auburn hair. "Even if that reason isn't ever made apparent."
Miranda had a tiny smile on her lips. "I'm glad I'm here," she said. Hermione looked at her in surprise. Miranda continued, "You are the only friends I've ever had."
Hermione let out a breath in surprise. "What?"
"Everyone thought I was strange in school, so I didn't really have any friends, and then after I got out of Hogwarts, I locked myself up in my flat for thirty years. The most contact I ever had with someone was sending owls to publishers."
Wow. That was a strange thing to know about Miranda Goshawk – all Hermione had ever read about her was that blurb on the inside of the book flap, that she had lived in an apartment in London, and then a list of publishing credits. Hermione could tell from the look on Dumbledore's face that he had already known, but Godric and Mina looked as surprised as she felt.
Hermione swallowed and looked at Mina, who looked like she was getting ready to say something. Damn – they were all talking about their lives. Would that mean she would have to do the same?
"I think one of the worst things about not dying before I came here," Mina said, "is that I will never know what I did with my life. At least death sort of provides some closure. I was only twenty-three... for all I know, I got married. Did something with my life."
"What exactly did you two do," Godric said, "that would have been the First Task, that made you come here?"
Albus cleared his throat and exchanged a glance with Mina. "We created a new species, actually. It took a while, and a lot of magic – we managed to merge this one type of Acromantula and an electric eel, using a quite intricate series of charms and transfigurations. The result was horrific, so an international panel of wizards opted to destroy it, and the next thing Mina and I knew... we were here."
Hermione shook her head. The more she learned about the different ways people could get there, the less she understood. She supposed that an animal was nearly like a character object in that it learned to function by itself, but it was a bit harder to wrap her mind around.
Silence fell. Hermione didn't say anything, even though there was a gentle nudge in the atmosphere for her to talk about her past life. What was there to say? I was heartlessly murdered by the most evil Dark Wizard of all time? I was an innocent teenager until my opportunity to be a child was struck down by people getting killed all around me? The most amazing, inspiring people I've ever known were all murdered?
Faces of the fallen flashed through Hermione's mind. That last month... that month she had run, and run, and run, before ending up in the Room of Requirement – remembrance brought pain. And the things she had seen. Things she could not un-see. Bellatrix Lestrange in a blue-lit room alone with Seamus Finnegan and Hannah Abbott, her eyes lit with a nearly demonic glow. Fenrir Greyback sprinting down the hallway, slavering after Ernie MacMillan. Those three, all eighteen and nineteen. She couldn't tell if they had been Boggarts, or if they had been real – Mrs. Weasley on her knees, screaming in pain – Avery dragging Ginny around by her long, red hair – Luna suspended by her ankles, a dead look on her pale face, swinging back and forth, so slowly – Neville back-to-back with a boy in Ravenclaw robes, iron rods impaling both their bodies – Kingsley Shacklebolt's disembodied head, sitting there on the flagstones, eyes closed –
Hermione swallowed and suppressed the thoughts. She had worked too hard to get rid of those memories, worked too long to convince herself that those were Boggarts, all of them, which most of them very well might have been. At least Harry and Ron were safe, she thought; yes. They were safe. Her death had pretty much ensured it. And thank God for that.
xXxXxXxXx
Riddle watched as Granger and her friends fled the Great Hall with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was perfect for his plan, but he didn't have the usual sensation of victory he got when something clicked perfectly into place. He didn't know how to describe this, exactly – it was like a weight was sitting in his chest. Whenever people around him moved on, Riddle didn't really care. If it was a follower, it was inconvenient, but there could always be replacements. He didn't quite understand what that sensation he got as he watched Granger's face was– she was clearly about to cry – but he shunted it away. It was unnecessary to spend time wallowing in emotion. Emotions never helped anyone.
Regardless, the King boy moving on was most definitely a boon for Riddle's plan. If the other two Gryffindors were together, and Dumbledore and Goshawk were as attached at the hip as always, then Granger would be stranded in her misery. That was an optimal situation.
So why didn't he feel triumphant?
In fact, the utter lack of triumph was swelling into an utterly foul mood. Riddle's face was as dark as thunder as he stood up and stalked away from the table. Malfoy and Godelot exchanged a worried look as he left.
"Shouldn't that have been a good thing?" muttered Abraxas to Revelend, watching Riddle's tall form stride off through the doors. Riddle's face was curled in a furious snarl as he turned the corner swiftly.
"I would have thought so," said Revelend quietly, shrugging. "Well, none of us did anything this time, so he can hardly get mad."
Abraxas laughed humorlessly. "Oh, yes, he can. He can always get mad."
Araminta was staring after Riddle dejectedly. She turned back to the other two and whined, "Why—"
"Don't ask me," Abraxas interrupted hurriedly, and stood. He didn't want to be subjected to speaking about Riddle with Araminta – the complete obliviousness she had towards his true nature was always unsettling to encounter. Revelend followed him quickly, and they walked out of the Great Hall.
xXxXxXxXx
Hermione made her way through the portrait hole quietly, only to find herself climbing back out so as to avoid interrupting Mina and Godric, who were kissing passionately in that red chair in the corner. She had hated that chair when Ron and Lavender had been the ones in it, and she was growing to hate it again due to the increasing time Mina and Godric were spending in its plushy grip.
She chided herself for caring – in the wake of losing their friend, Mina and Godric had the right to want to feel comforted, especially by each other, since they were each other's best friends and all – but Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit downhearted when she didn't see the other two the entire day after R.J. had vanished. That had been a tough day; Hermione buried herself in some good fiction writing, which she had never quite liked as much as non-fiction, but it helped get her mind away from R.J..
She missed him more with every passing hour, it seemed. She hadn't realized how much she had become accustomed to all her friends, and R.J. had always had such an underwhelming presence until he spoke – Hermione kept feeling like she had missed someone incredible, like he had slipped by and she had managed to grab his hand for a couple seconds but then let go just as quickly... It was terrible remembering his face, his smiles, because every time she did, the faces of everyone else threatened to come back, too. R.J. was in that category now. The lost. The fallen. The before.
Hermione needed some fresh air. She had spent the better part of two days sitting around, unable to concentrate on anything, unable to do anything. She turned and made her way up to the Owlery.
She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised when it was completely devoid of birds - birds and the usual foul stench of the Owlery. Hermione sighed and trailed her finger along the perches. This was the one of the highest points of the Hogwarts building, and from here she could see out into the distance, out through as far as the snow extended, until it abruptly stopped at the end of Melia's storm radius.
Hermione stuck her head out of the window, breezes buffeting at her face. It smelled clean and crisp up here.
The room was unpleasantly drafty, though. Maybe she would go down to the dungeons and brew a potion, or something – get her mind off things –
But when she turned around, she wasn't alone. Tom Riddle leaned in the doorway, looking bored.
"Oh," she said.
"I saw you coming up here," he said, "so I followed."
She nodded. "Evidently."
He uncrossed his arms. "I haven't seen you in a few days."
"No."
Riddle thought fast. What was it that people always told people in distress...? "I... well, if you need to talk to someone, I'm here," he said slowly. Was that right? That sounded right.
Hermione sighed. His offer had a complete lack of surety, which made her certain that it was insincere. "Tom," she said, getting ready to chide him, and then broke off. She didn't have the energy. "How's your potion coming along?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Not bad. It needs a few adjustments, still."
"Still not going to tell me what it's for?" Hermione said with a wan smile. Riddle was struck by how exhausted she appeared. What had she been doing, hunting trolls?
"No," he said. "No matter how tired you look."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I look tired?"
"Quite," replied Riddle. "Actually, you look practically dead."
"Dead, eh? Funny how that works out," laughed Hermione mirthlessly. One side of his mouth rose in a sort-of smile. "I just haven't been... sleeping much, lately," she continued.
"Oh?"
"Actually, I haven't been doing much at all. Not since R.J. moved. Everyone's too depressed to really do anything."
Riddle raised his eyebrows. Why did it matter so much to these Gryffindors when someone moved on? It wasn't like it was some huge tragedy, so why were they acting like their pet cat had been Splinched or something? Those who moved were the lucky ones, really...
"Well, Abraxas suggested we go raid Honeydukes before Dueling Club," he said. "If that would help you get out of your misery, perhaps you'd like to come along?" Abraxas hadn't suggested that at all, but it seemed more likely that the blustery, jovial Abraxas would want to go to a candy store than Riddle.
Granger looked a little surprised, as if shocked that Riddle did something other than sit in the Slytherin common room and curse people. He smirked a little at the thought. "Yeah," she finally said, her slightly reddened eyes meeting his. "That sounds... nice." Hermione scrutinized his face, with a bit of suspicion in her gaze. "As long as Melly isn't there."
Riddle smirked. "No, Araminta won't be in attendance."
"Good."
"Well, then – where shall we meet you?" Riddle asked politely. "The Great Hall? Sundown?"
"Sure," she said, and looked like she was sort of trying to smile.
Riddle sighed. "Listen," he said, trying to soften the usual ordering tone of voice he had when he told people to listen to him. "Wherever your... friend is, he's probably a lot better off than being here."
Hermione smiled then, and looked back out the window. The sun cast harsh light onto her features as her smile faded, making her look mature and pensive. Riddle leaned against the wall, surveying her calmly. "I know," she whispered, and he barely caught the words. "It's just hard to know that I'll probably never see him again. Ever."
And, just like that, she shut her eyes and a tear slipped off her long eyelashes. Panic swelled within Riddle. Oh, no, tell me this isn't happening. He folded his hands behind his back. "You may," he said hesitantly.
Hermione glanced back at him and wiped her eyes with an amused sniffle. She could see the terror building behind his eyes. Of course, he wouldn't know what to do when confronted with a girl in distress. Not one he was trying to be nice to, anyway. Was that him reassuring me? Yet, strangely, Hermione did almost feel reassured by the two simple words. You may. How did that work, when nothing any of her friends said had had any sort of effect? She let out an almost-laugh and turned back to the window. Far below, someone dressed in a red sweater slid on their stomach across the lake. The Ravenclaw Quidditch team flew around the pitch.
And a strange buoyancy built in Hermione's chest. R.J. was no longer trapped here, and someday she would join him in death – and she didn't know whether she would see him again, but – you may – there was just as much chance that she would as that she wouldn't.
Now the unease was apparent on Riddle's face, like human emotion was completely foreign to him. Hermione sighed, and she suddenly felt a strange sort of pity for him. He had really never felt the pain of a loss.
He was fiddling with a ring on his finger. Her eyes flew to it. Horcrux, horcrux, horcrux...
Of course he had never really felt a loss. The biggest loss he had ever had, that of his father, had been self-inflicted. And, Hermione thought with a twinge of fear, it had already happened. This boy, standing before her, was fully aware that he had murdered his own father.
"I, um – tha—"
But, again, she couldn't say thank you. She broke off awkwardly, just looking at Riddle.
"I'm done crying, so you can calm down," she said instead, and a faintly amused look, colored with relief, made its way onto his face. She turned back to the window.
"All right," he said. Had it really been so obvious that he was having a small panic attack? Or was it just the fact that she constantly seemed to know what he was thinking? Now, though, the familiar triumphant feeling was building inside him. He, Abraxas, and Granger were going to go and do something normal. And he had orchestrated it, very smoothly, and had even, strangely, managed to make her stop crying...
Yes; he was very proud of the work he had done. It was time to leave. "I'll see you at -"
"Don't go," she said, still not facing him, and he was stunned by the quiet sound of need in her voice. Something inside his chest felt like it was burnt by the words, like a tiny vibration that made him hear so much more than he had been hearing –
But he was Tom Riddle. He couldn't let her forget that, and she couldn't keep getting away with telling him to do things...
"What?" he said. "Care to say that again?"
She turned back to him, and now a half-smile was on her face, and he didn't know why. "I said to stay, Riddle, and there's no need to get smug about it."
He slowly walked over to join her by the window, choosing not to address her last comment. "What are you looking at that's so utterly fascinating?"
She shrugged. "Just... when I look at this Hogwarts like this, I feel like I can almost pretend I'm back home." A hint of a smile appeared on her face.
Riddle didn't understand. "What exactly do you miss so much about being back on Earth?"
"The people," she answered without even thinking. "The fact that there were so many people. Made everything so much... better."
Riddle stared out at the nearly-empty landscape, with just the few flecks of human color spattering the blank white snow. He hadn't really ever missed... the number of people. There would always be two types of people: those who mattered, and those who didn't, and as far as Riddle was concerned, that would never change. "How?"
"Well, there were just that many more people to get to know, to understand, to help," she told him. There was that word again – help. Why should she want to help people that wouldn't even necessarily want to be helped, or who wouldn't help her in return? It wasn't prudent, to care so much. Everyone knew the less you cared about others, the more power you held.
"People aren't worth helping," he said before he could stop himself. Hermione turned to face him. He expected bafflement, or disgust – but all he saw was a sort of sad resignation.
"That's where you're completely wrong," her light voice said quietly as her eyes scanned his. "Everyone is worth helping."
He leaned on an elbow idly. "Even the vilest of criminals?"
Something flickered in her gaze. "Yes," she whispered. "Even... even them."
He raised his eyebrows and glanced back outside. "Why?"
She let out a breath in mild frustration, as if she were attempting to explain the meaning of a very long word to a very young child. Riddle felt a bit foolish, for reasons he didn't quite understand. "Because," she said patiently, "everyone was made with a heart, and a soul, and everyone was made to be loved by someone and love someone in return."
Everyone in Gryffindor was extraordinarily sentimental, apparently. But the things she said weren't just sappy words – there was in them the same pure conviction that was behind everything she always said. She honestly believed she was right, and that made Riddle think about the words instead of just laughing derisively. An unusually self-pitying thought sprang unbidden into his mind.
If everyone was made to be loved, then where did God go wrong when he put me on the Earth?
Riddle let out a light scoff. Hermione shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. Of course he wouldn't understand compassion, understand unconditional and universal love. She should have known better even than to try. This was where he would change the subject, probably, back to something he could comprehend, talk about with ease.
"That sounds like Healer philosophy," mumbled Riddle instead, and Hermione was surprised. "Were you thinking of being a Healer?"
Hermione shrugged. "I like the idea, but I don't know if I could do it."
"Why?"
She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, over and over, and Riddle found himself watching. "Well, to be a Healer – you have to heal everyone who needs help, regardless of who they are. And as much as I believe in the concept of second chances, I don't think I could get past personal prejudice in... some cases." Her mind flew to Bellatrix Lestrange. She'd murdered Sirius. Neville's parents. Bellatrix was simply psychotic – what good would healing her ever do for anyone?
Riddle swallowed. Though he had not intended it, this conversation was actually veering towards something that might reveal useful information.
He treaded carefully with his words. "So even if someone was lying there dying that needed your help, if you hated them enough, you couldn't bring yourself to heal them?"
As he said the words, an image burst into his mind. His vision was swimming as he lay on the floor in the hallway, hot blood bathing his torso, trickling out and soaking his robes, and Granger was standing over him, a strange look on her face, one that he could not understand – standing there far too long for it to just be surprise –
The young woman next to him looked at him frankly, and said, "No. I couldn't." She didn't bat an eyelid. Her hazel eyes revealed nothing at all.
He had a physical reaction to the word. It was as if... well, it wasn't pleasant. It was like someone had thumped him, hard, in the chest. His eyes fell to her lips, the lips that had dropped that word as if it was nothing – surely she knew what he was thinking about; surely she knew that he had been talking about himself.
Riddle found that his mouth was dry. He licked his lips slowly and then looked away again, leaning on the windowsill. A question made its way to the forefront of his mind: Why do you hate me? She said that even the worst of criminals deserved help, but she would just stand there and let him bleed dry because of so-called 'previous prejudice'? What had he done, that she could detest him so much? Moreover, why the hell should he care? Why did he find that he was actually perturbed by her hatred? Wasn't hate good? Hate bred fear, and fear bred control.
Did she mean for him to know that she hated him too much to save his life? Was it some sort of tactical strike, saying that? Riddle twisted the ring on his finger until the skin around it turned red.
"Look," she said, and he straightened back up.
"I should be going," he interrupted quietly. Hermione took her forearms off the windowsill and brushed her jacket free of dust, a little puzzled. She was facing him now, her head tilted a little upwards to meet his eyes, but she couldn't see any sort of giveaway emotion to show why he suddenly had to leave.
"Why?"
"I should go," he said, and his voice was softer than ever. He blinked, and his eyes softened, too, suddenly.
Then he leaned down and gently brushed his warm lips against her cheek, sending a rush of his smell into her, an unforgettable smell, sweeter than any cologne and more dangerous than any poison. Blood rocketed to her face in a heated red blush. Her mouth opened slightly in absolute shock. He lingered above her skin for a split breathless second before withdrawing with a cold rush. Where his lips had touched her, she felt like she had been branded, and her hand was suddenly there, tracing the spot.
Riddle was already walking out the door, straightening his dark jacket. Her wide eyes were glued to him as he vanished from sight. She swayed slightly, her hand reaching out and grabbing the windowsill to steady herself. She tried to think, but every thought was wiped clean from her mind, and the first word that hesitantly managed to come back to her was: What?
xXxXxXxXx
Tom Riddle sat on the sofa in the empty common room, his hands on either side of him, pressed into the black leather as if to steady himself. He didn't know why he had added that kiss on the cheek. It had been oddly involuntary – he had just felt like it was a good time to take that action. He cursed not having looked back at her to see her reaction – that would have been helpful to gauge the next appropriate step.
She had smelt nice, he mused. Something raw and fresh, not dainty and delicate like most girls. His mind had been strangely free, strangely blank as his lips had touched her soft skin, like he had allowed himself a single second of respite before snapping back to the usual calculations. A single second to feel the girl in front of him. A single second allotted to just her. Granger's hair had lightly brushed his nose – he could still feel the touch of it.
It was strange. He had done other, far more intimate things with girls before, and he couldn't even remember anything about those nights, couldn't remember ever stopping his thought process to allow them a second of his time. After all, every second was valuable. He wondered what he had been planning while those girls had been in the heat of pleasure, wondered if any of them ever had the brains to see that he really wasn't there with them at all –
Malfoy entered the common room. Riddle raised a hand lazily, and Abraxas instantly veered towards him as if he were magnetized. Riddle blinked and smirked, removing his thoughts from physical things.
"Good afternoon," Riddle said. Malfoy lowered his head a little in response. "Listen, Abraxas," Riddle said sharply, "I hope you have no previous engagement for this evening."
Malfoy's heart sank. That usually meant a meeting, which usually meant curses and plotting, and he had wanted at least one night off from demonstrative pain this week. "Of course not," he answered, the words bitter in his mouth.
"Lovely," said Riddle. "I've told the Granger girl that we would meet her outside the Great Hall at sundown."
Malfoy frowned and lifted his head hesitantly. Riddle was looking at the ring on his finger, not clarifying. Then he met his eyes, and Malfoy instantly dropped his gaze to the floor again, his heart suddenly beating fast. "You are, no doubt, wondering why," mused Riddle.
"Yes, Master," whispered Abraxas in relief, but he felt scared about the reason. He didn't know if he could bring himself to help Riddle torture an innocent girl, one who had helped him when he was hurt—
"I've told her that we were going to go and raid the sweets shop down in Hogsmeade," Riddle mumbled, and was that a tinge of embarrassment on the edge of his voice? Abraxas felt the urge to laugh rising in his chest. "I told her it was your idea, of course," said Riddle hurriedly, his glare darkening as a look of merriment entered Malfoy's oh-so-transparent grey eyes.
"Yes, of course," Malfoy said, willing down the laugh. Merriment in front of this boy when they were alone was never a good idea. "Just us three?"
Riddle shrugged. "I don't know. It was your idea, Abraxas," he said.
Malfoy nodded slowly. "In that case, I think Revelend and Herpo might like to come along, so the Granger girl doesn't feel so on-the-spot."
"What a pleasant idea," said Riddle with a hint of irony at the edge of his voice. He smirked and stood, brushing imaginary dust from the front of his crisp black pants. He hoisted his dark grey jacket back up on his slim shoulders. "Do ask them, won't you?"
And he left.
Malfoy let out a relieved sigh. No punishment – and, better, chocolate. That was always an appealing option. A comfortable smile settled back onto his face. He checked in the mirror, patted his short hair gently back into place, and went to find the others.
xXxXxXxXx
Hermione hadn't found Mina or Godric to tell them where she was going, but she supposed she would see them at Dueling Club. Godric was in charge, after all; he sort of had to be there.
She still couldn't get the smoldering feeling of Riddle's kiss off of her cheek – every time she thought back to it, there was a strange tingle there, a remembered whisper of the touch of him. She was still bewildered.
Hermione thought back to what they had been talking about, what he might have thought was his cue to leave.
What was it he had said?
"So even if someone was lying there dying that needed your help, if you hated them enough, you couldn't bring yourself to heal them?"
She had said, "No," without even really thinking about what might be running through his mind – after all, her thoughts had been occupied with Bellatrix Lestrange, with images of Neville's poor parents – but it was never safe to take Riddle at face value, and as she reexamined the quote, it became clear. Obvious, even. Of course – he had been talking about himself. How the hell had she missed that? She could blame the feeling of looking into his dark eyes, of course, that swimming, floating feeling, and she could blame her thoughts at the time, and she could blame any number of things, but the fact remained that she still should have seen what he really meant.
Merlin – now he probably knew, knew exactly how much she distrusted him. A completely involuntary revelation.
Strangely, though, Hermione found that she actually couldn't say she hated this Riddle, not even considering what he had already done at the age of eighteen. Why was that?
Maybe it was because of that rush of pity she got not-so-infrequently, now, whenever he displayed how plainly averse he was to any sort of social normalcy. In fact, Hermione discovered with horror, her inherent dislike had faded and turned into curiosity. She was now more interested in him than afraid of him, and that was not good. No. To keep the upper hand, she had to remain pleasantly detached – but then why was there this itching burn to know everything about how his mind worked, to know why he did what he'd done? Why did it matter why he'd done it? Wasn't the important thing that he had done it, and shouldn't that have been enough reason for her to just stay away from him?
Evidently not, Hermione thought wryly as she rounded the corner. A familiar figure stood by the entrance to the Great Hall.
"Hello, there," Hermione said awkwardly, not wanting to meet Riddle's eyes, so instead she looked at Abraxas. To her discomfort, there were two other Slytherin boys there – Herpo and Revelend. Revelend Godelot was about Riddle's height, and he had short, light brown hair, and a distant look in his green eyes. Herpo the Foul was several inches shorter than Riddle, and smaller, too, with a shock of long black hair that was highly Snape-reminiscent. I can't believe I'm hanging around with a guy whose last name is 'the Foul'...
Herpo looked around awkwardly. "Granger," greeted Riddle softly. He, too, seemed unwilling to make eye contact. "This is Revelend, and this is Herpo. You two, this is Hermione Granger."
"Great," said Abraxas, rubbing his hands together. "Now that we're all acquainted, can we go? I haven't had any caramels in far too long, and I'm sure you miss those acid pops, don't you, Herpo?"
Herpo laughed and knocked Abraxas with his shoulder. Hermione, with a twinge of pain, was strangely reminded of Godric and R.J., and she blinked and followed the Slytherins out of the door.
"I thought you said it was just going to be us and Abraxas?" she asked Riddle quietly as the other three horsed around up ahead.
"You don't mind, do you?" he asked, an amused curl in his lip. "Feel intimidated?"
"Shut up," she mumbled, rolling her eyes. "No; after someone meets you, it's a bit tough to feel intimidated by anyone else."
Riddle straightened as she said it, as if satisfied by her response. "I don't suppose you made many trips to Hogsmeade in your day?" he asked. She was a bit surprised by the question.
"Well, yes, I did," said Hermione. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh... but – the only people who ever go to Hogsmeade are people who are..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, going on dates," Riddle said slowly, looking down at her. 'Dates' – what a strange word to hear from his mouth.
She laughed. "No, that's changed," she told him. "Everyone goes these days. Friends, alone, in groups, whatever." There was a slight pause. "What are you implying, that you don't think I could get a date?" she said suddenly, a scowl on her face, and kicked some snow at his leg.
"I said no such thing," he replied primly, taking out his wand and flicking it. Snow showered down onto Hermione. She drew her wand, then, and waved it, but Riddle poked his wand at her flying snowball, and it veered off-course and ended up smacking into the back of Abraxas' blond head, ruining his impeccable hair. They all stopped walking.
Malfoy turned around ominously, his huge scowl comical in the half-light. "All right, who was that?" he demanded.
Hermione and Riddle exchanged a quick glance, and each instantly pointed at the other.
Abraxas shrugged, drew his wand, and dumped piles of snow onto both of them. Revelend and Herpo let out splutters of laughter.
"Oh, you'll pay for that, Malfoy," said Hermione, and she raised her wand, but before she could do anything, Abraxas had broken into a sprint. "GET BACK HERE!" she yelled, and gave chase, but he was already far ahead.
Revelend and Herpo managed to argue about a use of basilisk venom all the way to Hogsmeade while they ran alongside Hermione. Finally, Hermione had to dive in and correct them both exasperatedly. Just like Harry and Ron – how they were completely incorrect about various things, especially Astronomy... that class had taken a lot of coaching, Hermione remembered with a bit of a smile. Of course, Revelend Godelot and Herpo the Foul, two of the most knowledgeable people about the Dark Arts – they were hardly Harry and Ron.
Finally, they stumbled to a halt outside Honeydukes. Abraxas was already inside, and Revelend and Herpo shouldered their way into the bright store with their eyes lit up. Hermione cast a glance around for Riddle, and found that they had managed to lose him.
It had started snowing again – thanks, Melia – and thickly, too. Hermione couldn't even see his silhouette approaching.
"Riddle?" she called tentatively, and then, again, louder. "Riddle?"
She looked at the ground and saw that their footprints were filling in with snow. It wasn't easy to get lost on the way to Hogsmeade, but it was definitely possible – Neville had managed it many a time, and during a good storm, Hermione herself had even managed to wander around aimlessly for a while.
Sighing, she walked quickly back in the direction of the footprints, casting an Impervius on her clothes and a quick Calenta on her hands for some extra warmth. Squinting around in the thick swirls of snow, Hermione thought, Lumos! Her wand cast a warm globe of white light outwards, illuminating beautiful white flakes. As she peered over the small bridge over which they had come a few minutes ago, a tall figure made its way into sight, also holding up an illuminated wand.
"Riddle?" she said loudly over the blustery wind.
"Granger?" his voice replied, and Hermione sighed in relief, and then stopped. Relief? At the wellbeing of Tom Riddle? Dammit, Hermione! Angry with herself, she turned to walk back to the door of Honeydukes, but he had caught up already. "Melia Trueblood," he sighed, "needs to work on her timing."
Hermione couldn't help but nod in agreement and shiver a bit.
As they walked into Honeydukes, a rush of hot air warmed Hermione. She sighed in relief and took off her white jacket, slinging it over her shoulder. The other three boys were laughing over a bin of Cockroach Clusters.
"Hey, you two, come and look at this one," called Herpo, pointing into the bin.
Malfoy met Riddle's eyes, wondering what exactly Riddle had been doing with the girl outside. She didn't seem to be hurt, or even flustered at all, which was more than Malfoy could say for himself after he spent time with Riddle alone. She was a brave one, all right – Malfoy had been observing her for most of the evening, and had been shocked to see that sometimes she actually told Riddle to do things, as if he were just any other boy. Then again, perhaps Riddle had not broken his pleasant façade just yet. He did seem to be acting polite and even – dare it be said? – normal, so that was probably the case.
"Oh, I dare you to eat one," snickered Revelend, poking a Cluster with his wand.
Herpo shook his head, wrinkling his nose. "That's revolting, Godelot."
"I knew someone who ate one of these," Hermione said proudly, and the Slytherins stared at her in revulsion.
"Who?" asked Revelend in fascination.
Ron, of course, though it had looked like a Pumpkin Pasty when he had eaten it, thanks to Fred and George. "A… er, a friend of mine," she chuckled. The look on Ron's face... "How about you, Tom?" she said, levitating a Cluster up to Riddle's face. He leaned backward, an expression of utmost alarm on his dark features. "Fancy a cockroach or two?"
Riddle whipped out his wand and tapped the Cluster with it, and the golden candy turned into a soap bubble and popped gently. "Not today, but thanks for the offer," he said sarcastically.
Abraxas nearly shook his head in disbelief. He had never seen Riddle entertain anyone's jokes, or take them so lightly. In fact, that sarcastic retort had almost been good-humored. Whatever Imperius Curse the Granger girl had cast on Riddle, it was doing good work, Abraxas thought wryly.
"Oh, look at this," Revelend exclaimed. "Never-ending licorice." He tugged at the stick of licorice in the stand, and it came out – and out – and out – until he had about twenty feet of it in a pool around his feet.
Herpo wrinkled his nose again. "Licorice tastes like wax," he mumbled.
"Don't you like any candy?" Malfoy asked disbelievingly.
"Hey, remember, he likes acid pops," snickered Revelend, waving one of the notorious lollipops in front of Herpo's face.
"Not funny," said the smaller boy, and he flicked the acid pop away with a pale finger.
Hermione picked up an innocent-looking chocolate bar and broke off a chunk of it. "Is this safe to eat?" Hermione asked Riddle, peering down at the wrapper, which was written in some squiggly language that looked vaguely like a mixture of Arabic and Hindi.
"Of course," Riddle replied innocently, and Hermione popped the chocolate into her mouth.
She bit down, let out a muffled yell, and drew her wand in a flash, vanishing the chocolate. She shot a venomous glare at Riddle as the other three boys slowly looked at her. "You liar! This is a Chilean Chili Bar!" Fred had put some of a Chilean Chili Bar into her morning cereal one day. She recognized the familiar agonizing burn. "Merlin, got to get this taste out of my mouth," she groaned, hurrying over to another row of candy.
She looked up from gorging herself on a tray of gummies to see a Cockroach Cluster floating in front of her eyes. "To clear the taste?" offered Riddle smoothly, and she glared back at him as the other boys guffawed.
"Oh, you're hysterical," she said coldly, a stubborn look in her eyes.
"Come on, Granger, lighten up," laughed Abraxas.
Those words. Lighten up, Hermione. The millionth time she had heard them – though this had to be the first time a Slytherin had said them, especially a Malfoy...
She managed to find some actual chocolate, which wiped her mouth clean of the Chili Bar, and then she sighed and surveyed the Slytherins. They were so similar to her own friends; it was bizarre – ever-familiar with each other, just a little cold to outsiders, it seemed. And cold to Riddle. Yes, Riddle was just standing there, not included, unsmiling as usual, as if he had been assigned to supervise a bunch of children.
That stab of pity. Again. It really was annoying.
Hermione slid onto a barstool, pouring herself some hot chocolate. Shortly, the others joined her, and they all settled into a contented silence. "Is it time for Dueling, yet?" asked Revelend, and Hermione realized with surprise that she had already spent over an hour with the Slytherins – a pleasant hour. Perhaps her own prejudice had colored all her time at Hogwarts without her even realizing it.
"Yes, we'd better get back," said Abraxas. He, Revelend, and Herpo trailed out of Honeydukes, leaving Hermione and Riddle in silence. Abraxas cast a last glance back before leaving.
There was a silence. They stood and walked slowly to the door. Riddle opened it for Hermione, and she walked through, and they hovered in the small pool of light in front of the door in the swirling snow, and then they both turned to each other and started talking.
"Granger, about this afternoon..."
"Riddle—"
They lapsed back into silence. "You first," Riddle muttered.
"I wanted to say that I appreciate your coming to find me," Hermione said. "And you?"
"I wanted to thank you," Riddle mumbled, "for your patience."
Hermione frowned and turned to him. "Patience?" she asked.
"Well... yes. In a way. You keep having to explain all these notions to me that seem perfectly obvious to you, and it probably feels like quite a waste of your time," he said, a bit defensively, really just wondering if she would explain why she took the time to outline such notions to him.
Hermione sighed. "Do you understand when I tell you things about love, and hope, and all that?"
"No."
"Do you try?"
"Yes," he said honestly, snow falling and catching in his dark hair. He put his hands in his pockets.
"Then," Hermione said quietly, "it has never been a waste of my time. I have faith in you."
She wondered if she actually was having any sort of impact on him, whether her words really were making any dent in his own rock-solid and more-than-a-little distorted personal beliefs. He looked a little puzzled, now, and she just smiled. "Come on, we're going to be late." She set off into the snow.
Riddle watched her for an absentminded second before following. I have faith in you? She had faith in him? What the hell was that supposed to mean? How? "What sort of faith?" he panted, hurrying after her.
"Faith that you can change," she said with a grin back at him. "From your Crucio-ing ways, you know, into a decent sort of person."
A decent sort of person. Riddle felt like he'd never really had the chance to be just a decent sort of person, that he had always been destined to be so much more, so different. He also felt that no one who had ever really known him believed he could be just a decent sort of person. Again, she had mystified him. Riddle's dark eyes looked up into the darkening, snowing sky, and wondered about her, and wondered about himself.