When Hermione awoke, she felt like it was definitely the next day. The sizeable lump on the back of her head indicated that she would have been out for a while.
She was in the potions classroom, for some weird reason, and stranger was the fact that her hands were chained behind her back and to the wall.
Hermione bit back the memories that threatened to surface at the familiar feeling of metal around her wrists. Why the hell was she here? Who had knocked her out after she'd left the Great Hall? There were two large cauldrons sitting on a table several feet away. One potion was a suspicious maroon color, and the other was bright gold, and Hermione couldn't recognize them just by looking. She could see that there was a long, thin, metal box next to the cauldron on the left, and Hermione could guess that her wand was in there, seeing as it definitely wasn't in her pocket.
"Accio," Hermione murmured, giving a bit of a jerk of her head. It had worked that one time when it was relatively near – though, of course, it was in a metal box this time–
Yes. She heard a small rattling noise coming from the box, but the box was too heavy to be moved by her feeble wandless spell.
Hermione blew at her hair, her brow furrowing. She attempted to suppress her apprehension. Who would go to the trouble of doing this, and then not even be there when she woke up? What time was it? What day was it?
Panic started to boil inside her.
xXxXxXxXx
Riddle yawned. No one was in his room, for a change. This was the first time he'd woken and been completely alone. Abraxas was probably at Quidditch or something, and Hermione was likely visiting her friend, though she'd said something to the effect of her friend being able to leave the Infirmary after yesterday, according to the Healers...
Oh, well. She'd said today he would be taking half of the remaining potion. He might as well get it over with.
With a twinge of discomfort, Riddle reached over for the glass. He held his breath, watched the potion, and drank until it looked about half-gone. When he breathed in, that revolting taste flooded back into his mouth, and he gagged a bit.
Putting the bottle back on the bedside table with a glare at its contents, Riddle moved his arm back to his side. The clock on his wall read that it was eleven in the morning, and that was bizarre indeed. Hermione had never arrived after nine o'clock.
He blew his hair out of his eyes, suddenly hoping that he hadn't scared her off by not responding to what she'd told him. Surely, though, she hadn't expected any sort of brilliant response, not when she'd just sprung it on him like that.
Suddenly, he heard the doorknob rattle. "Took you long enough," he drawled. "So much for your so-called perfect punctuality—"
He broke off with a frown. The door wasn't opening. But Hermione knew that the password was his birthday; what was she waiting for? "Hermione?" he said tentatively, his low voice with just a tinge of a morning scratch at its edges.
The response was an unpleasant surprise. "No, Tom, it's me," Araminta's voice replied.
"...Oh," said Riddle after a second. How had she even gotten past the first door? Well, he wouldn't be telling her the password to the second. He flicked his wand, and his door opened quietly, revealing Araminta. It had been so long since he'd seen any girl besides Hermione that Araminta looked a bit startling, her narrow features sort of bizarre to look at. "Hello. Is there... do you need something?"
Araminta sighed. Tom was always so selfless. He would be happy when she told him she was finally going to get that clinging girl out of his hair. "No, Tom, actually, I came to tell you some good news," she sighed, sitting in Hermione's armchair.
Riddle felt a sudden urge to tell Araminta to get out of that chair, that that was not her seat, but he restrained it and waited politely for her to elaborate.
"I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to worry about that girl coming and cornering you while you're ill anymore." She gave her sweetest smile.
Riddle felt cold dread seeping into his body, an unfamiliar sensation. "What do you mean?" he asked, not letting any expression show on his face, but – Merlin help her if she'd done anything to Hermione –
Araminta stood up. "Don't worry about it," she said, smiling again. "I have everything under control, and now you can recover in peace without having to worry about unwanted visitors."
Riddle was too unsettled even to enjoy the irony of the phrase 'unwanted visitors'. What the hell was she talking about? "What did you do?" he asked, restraining his alarm with difficulty.
"Nothing." Araminta walked to the door. "Yet." She shut it behind her.
He sat there for what felt like a full fifteen minutes, ice seeping through his veins. What could he do? What was Araminta going to try to do? Plan – what was his plan? He had no contact with anyone unless they actively sought him out. Abraxas sometimes didn't come until late afternoon, and by then, Araminta could have hurt Hermione.
The thought filled Riddle with nausea. He couldn't let that happen – he owed her enough not to let that happen. Damned if some vengeful witch was going to attack the girl who had singlehandedly patched Tom Riddle back together. Damned if he was going to replay that day back when he knew nothing about her, that day when he stood by and let Araminta's friend practically drown Hermione, not caring as he saw her lying there half-dead, not caring as she let out gasps for air, only being interested in the fact that she could fix her own broken nose and walk back to the castle as if nothing had happened.
He reached to the corner of his covers and pulled them off himself. The sudden motion sent pain running through his arm, but he gritted his teeth. That would just be the start of it... could he really do this? Could he risk his own body, his own safety, to save some girl?
Well, she had done it for him, so perhaps if he did this his debt would be repaid.
He rotated himself so his legs were over the side of the bed. Then he bent his knees, with a tremendous crack. He elevated himself up onto his arms with a strangled noise of pain. His entire chest felt like it was being violently pricked with needles.
His bare feet hit the stone, and he rose, standing tall at six feet for the first time since he'd been cursed. His arm gripped the bedpost, and he took a step.
Riddle cursed repeatedly. The slight shock that the step sent up through his body somehow swelled into a crescendo of agony as it traveled through his chest. He could feel, very precisely, where the hole had been. He could have drawn it on his bare chest if someone had handed him a quill, and every piece of skin within that region felt on fire with cacophonic discomfort.
He flicked his wand, summoning his shirt, and put it on slowly, not making any sudden movements, tentative in every slow motion. He stepped into his shoes, but he couldn't bend over to fix them, so he just waved his wand and gritted his teeth as the shoes rammed themselves onto his feet. Oh, Merlin –
He took a couple tiny, agonizing steps towards the door, and on second thoughts, sat in Hermione's armchair and levitated it out the door into the hallway.
Even just sitting upright was incredibly painful. Riddle's left hand clutched at his stomach as if his innards would fall out, which they felt like they would at any second. He breathed shallowly – any other way hurt terribly – and his heart seemed to be beating at twice its regular speed, erratic, nauseated—
His right hand trembled to keep the chair levitated, which was humiliating—this was the most elementary of elementary magics, but he couldn't seem to keep his hand upright; his biceps strained and his deltoids worked hard just to keep his forearm off the armrest.
Riddle gritted his teeth as the chair sped down the Grand Staircase. Only one person had seen him, a Ravenclaw girl, and she'd given him a very strange glance. It had to be almost comical, watching Tom Riddle flying down the hallway in an orange armchair, looking like he was about to die...
He navigated the chair down to the dungeons, his hand shaking in earnest now. His face was contorted in pain, and about twenty feet from the Slytherin common room, he had to drop his hand, and the chair dipped and finally dropped out of the air with a terrible skid on the stone, sending Riddle toppling to the floor.
He let out a strangled yell, feeling like everything inside him was getting jumbled up together, feeling like his skin would pop open and blood would run out in a great stream – but no, his left hand was firmly on his abdomen, and it was intact still...
Gritting his teeth, Riddle staggered to his feet, his eyes clenched shut. He squinted through a sort of clear red pain and said the password to the common room. He almost thought it would have changed, but no – he was able to enter with no problem.
Revelend and Herpo were lounging on the sofa, and Revelend looked over to see who had come in and did a double take.
"Merlin—are you alright?"
They both got to their feet instantly, but Riddle grappled at the mantelpiece for support and just growled, "Araminta. Araminta, where is she—"
Herpo said instantly, "She said something about a potion, but she didn't say where she was going -"
But at the word 'potion,' Riddle was already leaving, bent over most alarmingly, his legs not seeming to support him. Herpo and Revelend exchanged disturbed glances.
xXxXxXxXx
Hermione kicked at the wall one more time, and then just sat on the ground helplessly. Whoever her captor was, they still hadn't made themselves known, though Hermione had a bit of a theory at this point. After all, hadn't Godric said that Araminta's forte was potions? Hermione eyed the cauldrons warily, and then, at last, the door opened.
Her fears were confirmed as Araminta walked into the classroom, smirking. "You're awake," she said. "Shame."
"You're alive," Hermione replied. "Shame."
Araminta laughed, completely surprising Hermione. "Your audacity shall not be missed." She grabbed two beakers from the table and filled them, one beaker for each potion, and then placed them with a clink onto the table nearest Hermione.
Araminta drew her wand. Hermione swallowed.
"Before you do whatever you're going to do, might I just ask you why?" Hermione asked.
Araminta sighed. "I've told you so many times to stay away from Tom Riddle. I know he's probably too nice to reject you outright – like yesterday. But you really should have let the silence tell you everything." She flicked her wand and said, "Vinculum Minima," just as Hermione's jaw dropped. This turned out to be quite unfortunate, because Hermione froze in place just like that, with her mouth slightly open, and Araminta picked up the maroon potion, eyeing it.
"I'm not going to waste time telling you what these do," Araminta said. "You'll find out soon enough, anyway."
And, so saying, she advanced on Hermione, leaned her frozen body back a bit, and tipped the potion down her throat. Hermione felt her gag reflex attempting to get rid of it, but she couldn't move to help spit it out, so it trailed down into her stomach, hot and bubbling. Fear filled Hermione's mind. What was this? It didn't hurt; not yet, anyway – and the other potion followed after, bright gold. The former tasted like lead, the second like nothing at all.
Araminta sighed and waved her wand, muttering a counterspell, and Hermione found she could move again. "What did you do?" she whispered, a strange sensation hissing up and down her limbs.
"You'll see," said Araminta, flipping an hourglass upside down. "You've probably got about three minutes before it's done."
Hermione went insane, yanking at her chains until they drew blood from her wrists, her face screwed up in utter rage. "I've never done a thing to you!" she screamed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Araminta sighed. "Exactly the type of histrionics I seek to eliminate." She raised her wand again. "Well, might as well mix them up nice and well. Rendira."
Hermione's eyes widened, and pain suddenly struck her gut like a tidal wave, like her stomach was contorting. She dropped to her knees and fell to the side, her eyes tight shut – but it was over so much faster than she'd thought. In fact, she heard the door burst open, and then it stopped with great instantaneity.
"Tom?" she heard Araminta's voice say incredulously, and Hermione's eyes shot open, searching. Her eyes fell on the hourglass. There were a good two minutes left—
"Tom?" Hermione whispered.
He was in the doorway, sweaty and pained-looking, and as he walked over, he looked like every step was the hardest step of his life. His wand was in his shaking hand. "Get out," he said to Araminta. "Get out."
There was cold ice in his voice, coldness that Araminta hadn't ever heard, and she scampered with a terrified glance back at him, utterly mystified.
Riddle swayed and leaned against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position, and he tapped Hermione's chains with his wand. They vanished. "What did she do?" he murmured, his pained expression digging at Hermione.
"I don't know. She poured both of those potions down my throat, and then said I had that much time before—" She pointed at the hourglass. "I'm sorry about yesterday," she said frantically, as she pulled herself to her knees, facing him. Her body felt watery. Maybe they were poisons, and she would fall into a coma, or something. "I never meant to – I don't know what I was – you shouldn't even be out of bed! I -"
He put a finger to her lips, a trembling finger. "I don't know what those potions are," he said, his voice throaty and pained, "but just in case -"
His finger dropped away, his eyes suddenly filled with that which Hermione had only ever seen once before, and then he was kissing her.
Something alit inside her, and she was afraid that it was something to do with the potion, but no – it was just an incredibly strong pang inside her, to be as close to him as possible, to be as close to him for as long as she could –
She kissed him back, leaning into him, unable to breathe, dizzied, frantic –
Then Hermione's gaze fell on the hourglass. There couldn't have been more than a few seconds left.
She looked back at Tom. Their eyes met, and Hermione closed her eyes, leaned forward, and pressed her lips back to his. A knot formed in Hermione's chest, one of her hands reaching up to trace the line of his face, but he broke the kiss, and she opened her eyes... and even as her hand was inches from his face, she definitely didn't see anything there.
His dark eyes opened, and he swayed, clutching at his chest, and he whispered, "Hermione?"
His eyes searched, but they did not focus on her. Hermione tried to say something, but she could not. Then she knew what the potions were, entirely too late – that maroon potion was a Dissolution Solution, causing permanent invisibility, and the gold was a Silencer, meant to do exactly what the name suggested. No potion was without antidote, of course, but it was a marvel that Araminta knew these, and Hermione couldn't think of where one would find an antidote... perhaps in the Restricted Section –
Riddle looked utterly lost, and in unbelievable pain. "Hermione?" he repeated.
She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, frantically mouthing, trying to speak, but her voice was just gone...
His hand reached up and grabbed hers, his eyes scouring the space right in front of him. "Are you – you're there?"
She needed a wand. Hermione reached out and took his from the ground. It turned invisible as she lifted it, and Hermione closed her eyes in irritation. Casting Flagrate, she wrote in the air. Immense relief flooded his face as he read the words.
I'm not hurt. The maroon is a Dissolution Solution. The gold is a Silencer. I'm right here.
Still, though – the way his eyes could not focus on her, the way his hand held hers, as if she were already gone – it was incredibly frustrating. "You can hear me?" he said.
She rolled her eyes and lifted the wand again. Yes, you idiot, it wasn't a Deafening Draught.
A smirk curled his lip, and he moved a little, and then he let out a loud "Ah" of pain, his hand moving down to press against his stomach.
Tom's wand was unfamiliar in her hand. Hermione flicked it experimentally, and that metal box on the table soared over to her. Hermione tapped it, Vanishing it, and grabbed her own wand with immense relief.
She placed Riddle's wand back into his pale hand and removed her other hand from his gently. "Hermione," he said sharply, "don't leave."
She wrote quickly in the air, I'm not leaving, but you need to get back to bed. Now.
A half-smile worked its way onto his pained features. Riddle shook his head. She would be thinking about his safety even as she was invisible and mute. He placed one hand to the wall and unsteadily got back to his feet, and blinked as a stretcher appeared in front of him, hovering a couple feet off the ground. Unsteadily, he laid down, and the stabbing pains dulled into a steady ache. Then he started to speed to the door, guided by Hermione, though he couldn't see her.
The castle passed in a blur of cool breeze and clicking door, and before he knew it he was back in his bed, the pain nearly all gone. The stretcher vanished, and the familiar orange armchair appeared out of nowhere, the seat cushion depressing slightly with Hermione's invisible weight. "Don't sit there," Riddle said quietly. "It doesn't feel like you're here." He saw the cushion rise again.
Then, words were writing themselves into the air. Well, then, where shall I sit? Would you like to draw me a diagram? He could practically hear her voice saying it.
"How about here?" he suggested, indicating the space next to him on the bed.
There was a bit of a pause, and then he felt a weight lowering itself onto the bed, and he felt a jacket-clad arm touching his. He raised his hand tentatively and placed it on the arm, sliding his fingers down until he could feel hers in them. "Better," he said quietly.
More words. She wrote quickly and messily. I can't believe you got out of your bed. What a terrible idea.
He let out a wry chuckle. "Yet I don't think that's my main problem right now," he said, and turned his head to the blank space next to him. "Do you know of an antidote to this idiocy?"
No.
He sighed, gripping her hand in near-disbelief. He couldn't fathom how much he missed seeing her right then, missed the light freckles on her face, missed her snub nose and those pink, smiling lips, her honest brown eyes, her incredibly large hair. Even if he had just been able to hear her voice, it might have been bearable, but no – Araminta had left no leeway at all. She had probably been planning on just leaving Hermione there, too, in that classroom, chained to the wall and unable to use a wand. It was an evil plan indeed, and very vindictive for Araminta – serious stuff, not the small jealous things of before...
Hermione wrote, Araminta heard what I told you yesterday.
"Oh," he said. That explained the disparity.
Then more writing. You kissed me. A pause. Again.
Riddle looked up at his canopy, sighing. "Would you have preferred that I didn't?"
No.
"So your point is...?"
It was just surprising, she wrote. You looked uneasy when I told you yesterday.
"Well, it was just surprising," he replied with a smirk, and he swore she was scowling, though of course he couldn't tell.
Then, I really don't want to leave, she wrote.
Riddle sighed. "It's your choice. I mean, it's your life. Everything is your choice, I suppose, although I really don't think that I'm an appropriate or adequate subs–"
And then the mattress moved a little, and he felt warm lips cover his own, and his eyes widened in surprise before he closed them. His hands rose tentatively and he could feel her face, smooth, soft, and he breathed in slowly through his nose, inhaling that smell of her, before sliding one hand slowly back into her coarse hair, pressing his lips deeper against hers in sinful delight. Blood seemed to be throbbing its way into strange places in his body, places that were unused to being recognized, like the very outermost skin of his lips, which felt so sensitive as her mouth moved slightly over his, slipping and melting and burning. He heard her breath, though there was no voice behind it, and he heard the shift of her hand on the pillow, and suddenly there were small, cool fingers on his cheek, and it was as if someone had turned up his body heat uncomfortably high, and he kissed her with fevered, aching lips, unable to form a single coherent thought –
She pulled away, and he let out an angry groan. "Hermione," he whispered, "what are you doing?"
I need to check something.
"Check something?" he said exasperatedly, and then suddenly the front of his shirt was opening, and a smirk spread onto his lips. "You're a lot braver when you're invisible," he commented, and an invisible fist knocked him on the shoulder. He rubbed it ruefully.
He felt a hand on his bare chest, and like that hand was a burning brand, it seemed to be all he could feel for a second. Then he felt the familiar tap of a wand on his skin, and he rolled his eyes. "Are you actually checking my—"
Her other hand covered his mouth, and his dark eyes narrowed. "You are being incredibly irksome," he mumbled, his muffled voice completely lacking the menace it should have possessed. He lay his head back on his pillow, frustrated.
The wandtip moved around a bit, and then withdrew. More words appeared. Luckily, you don't seem to have ruined everything by your attempt at being selfless, she wrote. In fact, as long as you don't move today and still take your potion tomorrow, the result should still be your being able to get out of bed after you wake up Thursday.
He nodded. "Lovely, I'm sure," he said, his voice filled with his laziest boredom. "Now would you just -"
Riddle's eyes fell on her wand, which suddenly appeared on the bedside table as she put it down. Then, a sudden rush of air into his face. He closed his eyes and breathed in that excellent smell, that smell that was so alive.
He stared upwards tentatively, and then slowly lifted his head, closing his eyes. Yes. She was there, and the kiss was sweeter than short-term memory could possibly impress upon him. Slowly, his eyes closed, he laid his head back on the pillow, dragging her down with him. He felt her leg pressed against his side, felt her wrists brushing his shoulders, and he moved to the right, kissing up her smooth face until he reached her ear.
"Touch me," he murmured, his nose buried in her hair. He felt her freeze. "You're blushing," he guessed, a dark smile in his voice, and then he put a hand lightly to her face and found her lips again, and kissed them. "It's okay," he said. Her hand pressed against his chest and trailed lightly to his shoulder, and the touch left blisters in its wake, decimated every nerve ending in its path with its cool, gentle caress. He made an accidental noise against her lips, making her pause, before he tilted his head and kissed her harder.
Thoughts slowly made their way back into his mind, but they were not thoughts that he would usually think while kissing a girl. This could be the best thing I have ever done. This could only be improved if I were able to see her face. This is more than I ever thought it could be. And he didn't push away the ideas, but let them engulf him, sweep him entirely from his usual plane of thought into a place where he felt that only her smell, only her touch, where only the feeling of her against him mattered.
She dug a hand into his hair and moved it back, sending shivers itching their way down his spine, making his back arch towards her, and he frowned a bit in pain. He reached up his hands and slid them down her sides, and then he held her tight against him, pressing down on her back until he could feel her against his bare chest, ignoring the pain of the weight on him. And there was nothing for him but her.
xXxXxXxXx
Two days passed, and the first thing Riddle did when he could stand was make his way up to the Infirmary, Hermione close behind him.
"Riddle," Jared greeted uneasily, staring in open shock at his being awake.
"I need an antidote," Riddle said calmly, surveying the other boy with a cool gaze. He had forgotten how easy it was to tell what people were thinking, how easy it was to order them around. "It's for Hermione," he continued. "As you can see, she's invisible."
Jared looked at him like he was crazy. Riddle sighed. "Hermione, could you -"
Words wrote themselves into the air even as Jared was thinking that Tom Riddle was a bit touched in the head. Hello, Jared. Araminta Meliflua gave me a Dissolution Solution, I regret to say, and I'd greatly appreciate it if you could help me out.
"I – uh – s-sure," stammered Jared, "but I don't think I have an antidote for that." He was a bit scared – well, more than a bit, actually – to see a dark look come across Riddle's face.
"Well, can you brew one?" Riddle asked. "Or do you have the instructions, so I may brew it myself?"
Pippin nodded. "I think you should be able to find it in the Restricted Section," he said. "There's this one book called Moste Lamentable Maladies of the Afflicted that should have something to that effect."
Riddle gave him a curt nod and turned on his heel. Hermione rolled her eyes and followed. It wouldn't hurt Riddle to be a bit more civil, even if Pippin did know about the Cruciatus Curse.
Hermione wondered about that Cruciatus. Why would Pippin be anywhere near anywhere Tom might have used that on someone? Who had it been used on? When?
They found the book fairly quickly between them. It was old and maroon, looked like it was falling apart, and the antidote for the Dissolution Solution was near the back. Hermione sighed in relief when she saw the brewing time – three hours. She had been afraid it would be days, or worse, weeks. One never knew with antidotes; there wasn't any sort of specific trend.
Unfortunately, the whole castle knew about the Dissolution Solution – Catalina Lightfoot had come to Hermione's bed the first night after the potion, and had had a discussion with one of her friends about how she thought Hermione might have moved on. Hermione had had to put them straight, and as a result, it was now common knowledge that Araminta Meliflua had managed to turn Hermione Granger invisible and mute. Of course, Araminta's original plan had probably been to turn her invisible and mute and then lock her up in one of the dungeons, but that hadn't worked out so well.
Yet, Hermione was somehow deliriously happy. It oughtn't to have been a good trade-off – she'd lost her voice, lost her entire body, lost her best friends for the time being, and all she had left was Tom Riddle. And yet... yet it was satisfactory. Actually, it was more than satisfactory, Hermione mused. The way he kissed her – she swore she could eat and drink nothing and still survive as long as he was kissing her. In fact, she felt like this was almost unhealthy. The sudden desire to be with him for as long as was possible, every waking second – Hermione felt like if she wrote it down and came back to it later she would feel like she was being possessed by some love potion. Yet she was as lucid as she had ever been, as aware of his faults and as aware of their history, if not more so, as she had ever been.
"Maybe the antidote for the Silencer is in here as well," mumbled Riddle, flicking through the book. "As appealing as the idea of you not arguing with me may be -"
She elbowed him. He actually chuckled and fell silent.
He had become so accustomed to her. It was weirdly flattering, actually, that he had grown so comfortable. "Yes, that one's here, too," he said. "Shame."
He looked around. "And it's no use glaring at me, wherever you are," said Riddle, his smirk dark in the half-light. "I can't see you."
Hermione stopped scowling and let out a silent chortle. She lifted her wand. How long does that one take?
"A few hours, as well," he sighed. "You should be fine by dinner."
And how are you feeling, back on your feet?
He shrugged. "It is not in my character to feel weakness."
You're feeling weak? That's bad.
"Did you hear a word I just said?"
It is not in my character to actually listen to you.
"Be quiet."
About that...
He sighed. "Come on, let's just go and get these potions made."
The potions had some strange ingredients, but the preparation wasn't difficult, and Riddle looked as if he'd done it a million times as he brewed them.
Must you make everything look so effortless? Hermione wrote.
He raised an eyebrow. "The instructions are right on the page; I don't see how it's possible to get them wrong."
Hermione had a soundless laugh at that one. That was how she had always felt, without fail, during Potions classes. In fact, she had always thought Potions was the easiest class, by far, but the hardest to study for, since there was the most to memorize. You'd be surprised, she wrote. Surprised as she had always been when Ron or Harry somehow managed to stir something into a potion that wasn't even on the ingredients list...
He scooped up some of the first antidote in a small flask. "Done."
Hermione slowly placed the flask to her lips and swallowed the potion. It was warm, but as it pooled in her stomach, it felt like ice, and as the icy feeling melted, she felt something click in her throat, like it was unlocking. "Hello?" she said, her voice tired from disuse. "Oh, thank God, I was getting so tired of writing everything."
"And I was getting more than tired of having to attempt to read your handwriting," sighed Tom, raising an eyebrow in her general direction.
"Well, sorry; not all of us can be calligraphy artists," muttered Hermione. He looked faintly amused and turned back to the other potion, stirring it gently.
Fifteen minutes later, Hermione Granger was back, combing her hair out with a flick of her wand – "I didn't even know it could get that messy..." – putting on her sweater the right way around – "Give me a break; when I picked things up they turned invisible..." – and finally being able to satisfy Riddle with her smile again.
"It feels as if it has been entirely too long," he said.
"It has. You know what I'm going to do?"
"No. I don't believe anybody ever knows what you're planning," sighed Riddle idly, Vanishing the remainder of the potions and stacking the cauldrons.
"I'm going to challenge Araminta at Dueling Club," decided Hermione firmly. "It's been a long time in the making."
Riddle shrugged, leaning against the table and surveying her with a satisfied eye. "You know, if I were you right now, I'd probably say something irrational about how you should forgive her instead of challenging someone whom you know you could beat with one hand behind your back." He shrugged. "But I'm not you, so I'll just say that I fully approve, and that I hope you curse her so hard that she is completely unrecognizable."
He was right, Hermione thought with a sigh. The only reason Araminta had ever been able to do anything to Hermione was because she caught her by surprise. Araminta was a decent spellcaster, but nothing phenomenal; it would be very unfair to challenge her. "Well, Mr. Riddle, I do believe you've just convinced me to do the right thing." She gave him her best winning smile.
"Is that so terribly hard to believe?" he said.
"Uh, yes."
"I'd say I've been making some excellent choices in the last few days," Riddle said, a lazy smile making its way onto his mouth. He approached her.
Hermione looked up at him with familiar defiance. "Give me one example."
Riddle stopped hardly a foot from her, lifted a hand to her face, and leaned down slowly, never breaking eye contact.
Hermione shut her eyes as his lips met hers gently, that abrupt plummeting of her stomach never ceasing to amaze her with the sensations it created. As he pulled away, she tipped towards him slightly, leaning forward on the balls of her feet. "There's one," he said. "Let's go get dinner. I'm hungry."
Hermione smiled to herself and followed him out of the door to the Kitchens.
xXxXxXxXx
When she and Riddle walked into Dueling Club, there was a bit of a reaction, for several reasons, only three of which Hermione knew.
First of all, Hermione was visible again. Second of all, she walked in next to Tom Riddle. Third of all, Tom Riddle was making his first appearance at Dueling since the battle.
Fourth of all, two days ago, Miranda had completely forgotten to take a certain potion, and as a result, she had gone a bit strange in the head that afternoon, accidentally divulging to both Godric and Albus that she was puzzled that Hermione was invisible and silenced rather than still secretly healing Tom Riddle up in his bedroom.
Fifth of all, Jared Pippin had made the mistake of telling the loose-tongued Marque twins, in confidence, about Riddle casting the Cruciatus Curse on Mina, and they had told quite a few people, in confidence, who had each told several more... in confidence, of course.
As a result of these five circumstances, there was definitely quite a stir upon Hermione and Tom's arrival, not the least of which was Godric lifting his wand, making the doors to the Great Hall slam rather harder than usual with a veritably thunderous noise.
Then Godric was on the Dueling dais, and he was pointing at Hermione, his eyes narrowed quite disturbingly, and he was saying, "Hermione."
Hermione pointed at herself questioningly, alarmed by all the murmuring and rustling around her. It wasn't unheard of for people of different houses to walk into Dueling Club together, and that shouldn't have been any sort of decent reason for Godric to challenge her to a duel. "But why—" Riddle stepped forward to cut in, but Hermione's arm shot out. "You are recovering," she hissed.
So she made her way to the front of the crowd, looking around a bit anxiously. Why was everyone there sending awful glances at Tom? Why were some of them even giving her uneasy looks?
She climbed up on the dais, drawing her wand hesitantly. "Godric, why -"
"Don't you say a word to me," he growled, and Hermione was completely struck by the venom in his green eyes. "Not when you're with him, after what he's done."
"What are you – Protego!" Hermione yelled in alarm, and Godric's Stunner bounced off her shield harmlessly. It was very out of character for Godric to attack without an opponent being ready – or, really, even to attack first. He enjoyed taking the second move, so why was he attacking her, and why was he looking like Hermione had stabbed him in the back? What did he mean, what Tom had done?
Hermione waited for him to attack again, and he did not disappoint. A cloud of gray gas crept up towards her, and Hermione whipped her wand to the side. A bolt of electricity shot into the gas, dispersing it, and Godric's next attack, a huge roll of dark blue energy, barreled across the stone, leaving it cracked and damaged. Hermione sliced her wand downwards, gritting her teeth as a green jet of light from her wand crashed into the blue roll, exploding violently. Godric was going no-holds-barred.
She conjured a small flock of golden birds and sent them to peck at Godric's face with Oppugno – a recycled attack from back at Hogwarts, but no one here would know that – and defended as a nasty red stream of light sliced the air in front of her.
Depulso! A fairly standard hex, but she didn't really want to hurt Godric – she just wanted him not to hurt her, and what with the curses and things he was throwing at her, she was marveling at her own ability to duel at all. Her shielding knowledge was being pushed to the limit – from a shield of solid rock, yanked up from the dais beneath her, to a globe of purple energy that only barely managed to absorb a vicious swirl of bright yellow.
He whipped his wand downwards and up again, and a figure swelled out of the stone, a huge stone knight with a sharp sword. Hermione's eyes widened in alarm as it charged at her, and she attempted to blast it, but its stone shield deflected the jinx. So she lifted her wand, cast Vivifica at the stone beneath the knight, and it turned into an eddy of stone quicksand. As the knight sank into the ground, unsuccessfully attempting to get free, Hermione dove to the side to avoid a viciously speeding conjured hawk. She flicked her wand at it, and it transformed into a spoon – why did I choose a spoon? – and clattered to the ground. The tip of the stone knight's helm disappeared into the rock, and Hermione flicked her wand, extending the quicksand effect over to Godric's end of the dais. He jumped up, waved his wand, and suddenly he was standing on a thin, floating blue sheet, looking down at her coldly.
He lifted his wand, and then he started firing spells so quickly that Hermione marveled at his ability to think the words at that pace. She whipped her wand – Penumbrum! – to create a speck of light, which appeared halfway between her and Godric, spreading out a globe of translucent grayness, absorbing every spell he cast and spitting it out elsewhere. He glared at the globe, then jabbed his wand at it, and with a shrieking noise it swelled into what looked like a huge black disk. He jerked his wand, and Hermione felt herself flying towards the disk, like it was a giant magnet just for her. She flourished her wand frantically, conjuring chains that were connected to the ground, winding them around her wrists, but the pull of the magnet thing was so strong that they were torn from the dais.
Hermione smacked into the disk with a yelp of pain. Her wand was still clenched firmly in her hand, and Hermione thought sarcastically, Finite Incantatem, and flicked her wand without enthusiasm, assuming the duel was over.
She was caught by surprise. The black disk vanished, and she fell several feet to the dais, looking up at Godric, who was still on his blue screen. He Vanished it and drifted down slowly – how did he do that? – and then he shot a spell at her, a red spell she didn't recognize. She raised a thick grey shield, but the red light smashed through it and hit her in the shoulder, spinning her wildly onto the ground. She lay there, wondering what the spell had done, but she realized that there was blood pouring from her face. A Nosebleed jinx? That shouldn't have been able to get through her shield – but Hermione put her hand up to her face. Her nose was dry. The blood was streaming from her eyes.
That didn't seem like regular magic. That seemed almost Dark – but Godric wouldn't use Dark magic, surely... and not on her, not at Dueling Club, for Merlin's sake – but she got to her feet, wondering which spell could counteract it, redness bubbling at the lower half of her vision.
Hermione blinked, and the blood burned at her eyes thickly. She winced. Tergeo!
The blood vanished, but new streams started to run over, and Godric had started a new onslaught. Hermione frantically raised another shield, a jellylike white bubble several inches thick, and tried a few basic healing spells. The last one worked, and the blood stopped flowing, but it left Hermione a bit lightheaded, and then she looked around and realized that something was creeping around the outside of her bubble, like veins, webbing around her protection. She flicked her wand, reinforcing the bubble, and it glowed whiter and whiter until – Hermione gritted her teeth and clapped her hands over her ears – there was a massive bang and the veins flew outwards in every direction.
The next curse was a cutter, and it sliced through the shield like a knife through butter. Hermione caught the curse mid-slice and slung it back at Godric, changing it into a tying jinx. His arm moved outwards like he were ripping something from his chest, and a blue stream of fire erupted from his wandtip. Hermione assumed it was bluebell flame, and started to prepare accordingly, but as it was ten feet from her, it abruptly stopped, dropped onto the stone dais, and then streamed upwards steadily, twenty feet high. There was a silhouette behind it. And out of the wall of flame walked Lord Voldemort.
There were terrified screams from the crowd. But why would they be afraid of someone they didn't know?
"Bow to me, Mudblood," said Voldemort's voice, icy, terrifying, in utter control.
Hermione stared at him, not comprehending, not understanding. She cast a glance back at Tom, who was standing, frozen, in the audience. "Look at me," hissed Voldemort, and he raised his wand. "Bow. Or would you rather I cast our favorite little curse?"
"No," sobbed Hermione, her heart thudding faster than it had in so long, fear burning like bleach through every part of her. "No, not that – I swear I'll -" And she toppled to her knees, trembling fiercely. "No..."
She looked up, and through the blur of her tears, she saw Voldemort crouching down next to her. He moved his pale white face until it was next to her ear. "They're all dead," he whispered.
Hermione screamed and pitched forward, curling up into a ball. "No," she panted, gasping, sobbing. But when she looked up again, he was gone. The flames were gone. Godric was standing several feet from her. He jerked his wand. Hers flew from her grip.
"You can leave," Godric said coldly. "Now."
Hermione placed a hand to her face, attempting to hide her tears from the people she realized were watching, her eyes frantically attempting to find a face that didn't look utterly horrified or enraged – and there was Tom, in the back of the crowd, his eyes wide in shock.
She stumbled from the dais. Godric threw her wand to the ground with a clatter, and she snatched it up and forced blindly through the crowd, her fingers spread wide in a desperate try to conceal her face from all the stares, all those preying stares.
Then there was a strong hand on her back. The doors flew open with a bang. Tom steered her from the Great Hall, her face still buried in her hands. She still shook in terror, in disbelief.
Then they were outside, in the cold air, just beyond the great doors to the Entrance Hall, and Tom turned and faced her. "Look at me," he ordered, cold bite in his voice, but that was just the wrong voice to use just then, for it sounded exactly like him.
Hermione let out a small scream, turned, attempted to stumble back into Hogwarts, but then his hand was on her forearm, and he spun her around to look at him, grabbing her other arm, his eyes desperate. "Hermione," he said softly. There – that was it. That was the voice she needed. That was Tom, not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—
Hermione drew in a shuddering breath. His dark stare held her crazed gaze with strength. "Hermione," he repeated.
She took two exhausted steps forward and pressed her face to his chest, tears spilling over once again. His arms hesitantly wound around her, and his chin rested on top of her head. The embrace tightened, and Hermione reached around his back and hugged herself close to him, willing all the breath to get crushed from her body, her worthless body, the body that should have been attempting to get back to earth with every drop of merit it had, but the body that so selfishly was there, with Tom, without honor, without apology.
"In the fire... I saw him," she said.
"Who?" his low voice murmured above her.
"You," she said, and he took a shocked step back, breaking his hold. But she was done running. She stood and faced him. "Voldemort."
He sucked in a breath. "You – you did?" he murmured.
"So you saw something different?" Hermione whispered. "It was – it wasn't really him..."
"No, of course it wasn't him," said Tom. "You're safe."
She let out a deep breath and looked up at the stone overhang. "I'm safe," she murmured. Safe, exactly like she shouldn't have been... coward, coward, coward... and the warm touch of his pale hand on her face soothed her, calmed her. A quiet kiss, a kiss of soft consolation, and he drew back.
"What did Godric mean, what you've done?" she asked him softly. "He said... what he's done; he meaning you."
Riddle realized that Hermione had never found out about him cursing Mina, and he closed his eyes in disbelief. Of course the Gryffindor boy would react in such a manner to Hermione's being discovered with Riddle, being discovered healing Riddle – it wasn't because of his being a Slytherin, it was because of what he'd done to the boy's girlfriend, and then she'd moved on...
"It was the day after I tricked you," he said quietly. Hermione looked up at him in confusion. "I was angry. I was so angry, irrationally, at your friends, because they had you, and I did not." He took a deep breath. How could he put this? "They were walking upstairs. It was quite near the Infirmary, I think."
Hermione's face drew in shock. "That's how the Healers knew," she whispered. Pippin and Mungo had said... "Who was it? Who did you curse?"
"The Mina girl," Riddle said, his expression torn. "Hermione, I – I wasn't in my right mind; I didn't -"
Hermione shushed him. She swallowed. Her mind was racing. She felt as if she should be viciously, destructively angry at him, but she wasn't. Everything was just falling into place. Godric and Mina had avoided her because they'd thought she was the reason Riddle had cursed Mina. She wasn't the reason. It had never been her. That was when Mungo and Jared had seen Riddle use the curse, which she had never really wondered about, but of course it would seem completely and utterly unprovoked, no context at all... and Mina had seemed fine that next day, had seemed like nothing had happened. Why had they kept that from her? Why?
Merlin. Hermione couldn't believe she remembered it.
The night of the love potion. A flash of black, instantaneous, making her gaze stray for a single second from Riddle after he had kissed her... a flash of black robe, she realized. Not a trick of the light. A person vanishing up the stairs. It didn't matter who it had been; news of Riddle kissing her had gotten around to Mina and Godric, and they had thought she was involved with him, so they hadn't told her about the Cruciatus, because of course they would have thought she wouldn't want to know, because she never seemed to take their advice about him for reasons they could never understand...
Hermione realized she was just staring at him. "I'm not angry. God knows I haven't the energy to be angry about the past."
He blinked, and understanding showed in his dark eyes. "That's good."
His arms were around her again, and she relaxed in his strong embrace, letting her heart flare out in anger all it wished, letting her soul cry out for redemption all it wished, because right then all she had was him, and right then, however strangely, that seemed to be enough.