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I hereby invite you to go to the HARRY POTTER THEME PARK WITH ME.
All my love,
Speechwriter.
Hermione had felt like it was different.
That kiss – that feverish, hungry kiss – had been different from any other. And the desire she'd felt growing in her had been different from any other desire she'd ever felt.
It was for that reason that Hermione Granger woke up tired on a Tuesday morning, in a bed that was not her own, her naked body entwined with his.
She couldn't believe it had happened. She couldn't believe that she'd given everything of herself to him, given it so willingly and completely. But then, in a way, it was hard to believe she had waited so long. When she thought about his seeming desperation of the last couple days, she found it strange that he had waited until she was ready for it to happen, without pushing her into it, without even any verbal hint that he might want something more than what she was giving him.
But with those words – "I'm ready" – he'd known exactly what she was talking about, without conversation, and he'd quietly asked her if she was sure, and she'd nodded, and just like that – just like that, he was hers, and she his, in a completely new way.
Hermione swallowed. She hadn't anticipated that it would hurt afterwards. Especially not when... well, not when it had felt so amazing during. It hadn't been gentle, and it hadn't been easy, but Merlin, it had been … something else. Her face blushed bright red at the very thought, and she moved her head so that it was tucked under his chin, and let her arm dangle over his waist lazily.
She knew from his memory that this hadn't been his first time. Hardly. Probably not the best time, either. But she hoped that it had been the first time he had genuinely cared. The first time he hadn't been distracted. The first time it really registered what he was doing, with whom, and why. There was a reason it was called making love, after all, and she hoped it was the first time he had ever made love, not just had sex.
Hermione tried to direct her thoughts elsewhere, with little success.
He stirred gently beneath her, his long body stretching out a bit in a gentle awakening.
"Morning," she said, in a not-so-surprisingly raw voice.
His dark eyes opened, and they were as free of anger as she had ever seen them, as free of preoccupation, as free of anything at all. "Good morning, Ms. Granger," he murmured, and he smiled.
And the smile did not fade. Not even as she kissed him. Not even as time passed. And when she said, "This has got to be the first time your teeth have ever seen the light of day," his smile just brightened.
"Well, Tom, if I'd known the secret to making you smile was this, I would have done it a while ago."
"You waited until you were ready, and I would not have influenced you to do anything else."
She raised her eyebrows. "Tom Riddle afraid to take what he wants?"
His smile turned into a feline smirk, then, and he flipped her over so she lay on her back, and he knelt over her. "I'm never afraid. Especially not around you." He kissed her lazily, gently, that kiss that Hermione hadn't felt in a while – the one that said, we have all the time in the world – and Hermione felt like she would melt from satisfaction. She reached up a hand to his hair, which was so tangled, so laughably messy.
"Good," she whispered, "because the only thing I'm not afraid right now of is you."
Riddle didn't let the tiniest thing show on his face, but the words struck him, hard. His plan – the plan – was for the day after tomorrow. The only thing I'm not afraid of right now is you.
The thing that had always set her apart was that she was afraid of him. It was what had made her stick out so vividly in his mind at the very beginning, what had made her different, made him pursue what was in that mind of hers. And now... she wasn't afraid of him?
Because she trusted him.
A wave of preemptive guilt seemed to rush through Riddle, and just for a second he thought back to how he'd felt before the love potion. It was this same feeling, once more. Surely he wasn't doing something he'd regret later? Because Merlin knew he regretted the love potion now.
Sort of.
No, not fully. He still felt satisfied with the information he'd gotten, still recognized the worth that that move had had as a tactical strike. He hadn't meant to hurt her – after all, he'd meant to add that memory-removing component – but he had, after all that.
She'd understand, though, this time. She was in love with him – she had to understand him. And he had seen his own curiosity in her eyes once before. He'd seen it right before he'd let her into his mind, as he suggested that he reveal his past to her – that greedycuriosity with which he was so familiar had been right there, plain on her face. There was no reason she shouldn't understand his motive for doing what he was going to do.
Two days.
He'd slept with her. Finally. It had been such a wave of emotions, of feelings, of pleasure – yes, it had been perfect. And he hadn't even had to ask. As planned...
Tom hadn't known what a difference emotional investment could make in something like sex. It had felt like a different activity entirely, actually, from what he was accustomed to.
He kissed the top of her head, her frizzy hair engulfing his lips briefly. Everything was in place. Everything was perfect, like it needed to be. Things were always more shocking when there wasn't a lead-up, when there was absolutely no hint that anything might possibly be out of place, and nothing was out of place right now, with her in his arms and he in hers.
xXxXxXxXx
Hermione frowned. The notice from the event committee was up, and it wasn't good. It was for a game involving a bunch of rings and hidden spaces and things. On broomsticks.
She sighed. After all her practice, she felt like a reasonably good flier, but it wasn't something she was about to do for fun. She'd hoped she might have something to look forward to on Thursday, but no.
"What is it?" Riddle asked as she sat down for dinner. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I don't know, something about flying through rings or something. Nothing in which I'd care to participate."
"Oh, well," said Tom. "I can think of a... suitable alternate event, if you're not still worn out Thursday."
Hermione blushed bright red. "Tom!" For Merlin's sake, Abraxas and Herpo were sitting right there. Herpo had the grace to look away awkwardly, but Abraxas raised one eyebrow and a smirk appeared on his face.
"Care to repeat that?" he asked.
Hermione's face prickle uncomfortably. "Care to go hug the Whomping Willow?" she sniffed.
Abraxas chuckled. "Hey, calm down, calm down," he said. "Not like I was asking for an invitation to watch or anything."
Hermione's mouth opened in shock. "You are disgusting."
Riddle smirked. "It only becomes more evident as time goes on," he said, and stood up with a yawn. "Well, I'm off to attempt to finish that book you gave me."
"Really?" Hermione asked, her blush fading as she smiled.
"I figured I'd give it another shot."
"What book?" said Abraxas.
"It's by this Muggle called Dante," Riddle answered, thick irony coating his voice.
Abraxas let out a short laugh. "Sounds promising already."
Hermione frowned. "You two are absolutely incorrigible," she said. "It's called The Divine Comedy, and it's about a mortal's journey through the layers of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven."
Abraxas sighed. "Well, that sounds cheerful. Have fun."
Riddle looked as if the word were an insult. "I shall attempt to, I suppose," he drawled, and left the Great Hall.
Hermione continued with her breakfast. "I don't suppose you have Quidditch today, Abraxas?"
He shook his head, saying, "Ravenclaw has the pitch booked, as usual. I'm wondering whether I should approach the Gryffindor team and see if we can band together to kick Ravenclaw off. They really are obnoxious."
"Gryffindor and Slytherin working together? What an idea," Hermione said.
Abraxas smirked. "Actually, though, Gryffindor's been having a bit of trouble getting themselves together since your friend – you know, she was the captain and the Keeper and all – since she moved on. I've felt quite bad for them."
Hermione swallowed. She'd forgotten that Mina had been the Quidditch Captain. Looking over at the Gryffindor table, Hermione found herself missing Godric, Miranda and Albus even more than usual, not even to mention Mina and R.J.
"You know, Abraxas," she said quietly, "I never asked you – what made you decide that you were all right with me and Riddle being together? It was a bit... sudden."
Abraxas put down his fork and crossed his arms on the table, seemingly thinking hard. "I... that's..."
"I mean, if you don't want to tell me -"
"No, no, I'm fine telling you. It's because... well, because I trust you, Hermione, and Riddle does seem to be different. He doesn't seem as... cold anymore, he hasn't called a meeting in a month – it's... well, to be honest, if it weren't you, I'd be suspicious, or downright scared."
Hermione was about to ask 'what meeting,' but something else clicked into place – she'd seen a congregation of boys down in the dungeons in Riddle's memory, Herpo, Abraxas, Revelend, Vaisey, Taylor, Takahashi. She hadn't really noticed it at the time, in light of other events... but of course... he had his own little group of followers here, like anywhere else. "I've got to ask," she said, "what did he say at those meetings?"
Abraxas blinked, and his eyes were suddenly a bit hollow. "I don't know if I should tell you anything specific, Hermione," he said uneasily. "Lots of Dark Magic involved, and he usually just warned us to stay out of the way of whatever plan he was planning. Vaguely."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So... did that include me?"
Abraxas cast a look from side to side. "Frequently," he mumbled.
She swallowed, and there was another burst of realization. That one day that Eliot Vaisey had unfrozen her from Araminta's curse – that hadn't just been a random act of providence, it had been because of some sort of information from Riddle, in an attempt to keep her safe. "Oh," she said. She wasn't sure how to feel about it. So he had been... discussing her with these six guys ever since she'd first made herself suspicious? "But... you said there hasn't been one in..."
"A month, no," Abraxas said, surveying her expression with a frown. "Look, Hermione, it shouldn't be a source of worry."
"No, I'm not worried," she reassured quickly. "I just... it's odd to think about. No one else would... would do that type of thing, you know?" No, no one else would ever go around moonlighting as some sort of Lord of the Students. She didn't like the idea, not at all.
Another wave of pure nostalgia swept through Hermione, missing people who had no difficulty being open. But that wasn't fair to Tom – he really was trying to take everything she threw at him in stride. Stopping needless torture was more than a step in the right direction. Having stopped making secret plans was even better. And Hermione suppressed the memory of his past – after that, anything at all normal was practically admirable.
He finally seemed to understand, anyway, to a basic level. He seemed to sort of grasp what was right and what was wrong. Not everything was just a means to an end anymore. Maybe it was just a matter of someone finally trusting him, someone being close to him, being fully willing to help him and asking nothing in return.
Abraxas looked at her intently. "You sure you're all right, Hermione?"
"Yeah. I just – I miss my friends," she said in a small voice. That was the part she could say aloud.
Abraxas cast a glance over his shoulder at the Gryffindors. "Will they still not even talk to you?"
"Can't even look at me without giving me that look. And there's nothing I can do, either. That one action of Tom's has them convinced he's completely rotten, which isn't quite fair."
"No, especially not when there's so much else to indicate he's completely rotten."
Hermione gave him a murderous glare, and he sighed. "Just kidding. Honestly, Hermione – I hate to say it, but if they're really the type of person who would make it an us-or-them type of situation, they're probably not worth your time."
"But they are worth my time," Hermione said fiercely. "They're so nice, and so good, and – and innocent, and warm, and..."
Abraxas's eyes filled with understanding. "You mean, exactly like Riddle isn't?"
Hermione opened her mouth to object, but she thought about what she'd said. It had been entirely subconscious, but that was completely accurate. "Yes. I ... you're right. Really, come on – even just sitting here, with you, when he's not here, is like... well, it's like a breath of fresh air. And even saying that is unfair to him. I love him. Why do I feel like this?"
There was a long silence. Hermione realized that her hand had wound itself into her hair. She removed it with a bit of difficulty.
"Love doesn't necessarily mean he's perfect," Abraxas said quietly. "He's obviously different. And I don't know why that is, but maybe you do – and just because you love someone, doesn't mean you can't get overexposed."
Hermione was silent. Abraxas continued, "If someone were in love with me, I wouldn't want them to be around me all the damn time, you know? They'd get absolutely fed up with me. People need space. It's a fact of life."
She let out a long sigh, still looking a bit despondent. Abraxas reached across the table and clapped her on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's take a walk."
Hermione stood, and they both walked out of the Entrance Hall, Hermione glancing back at the Gryffindor table, more emotions flooding back through her veins. Missing R.J. so much – missing Ron and Harry intolerably much, Merlin – and Neville, Ginny, Luna, all the people she'd grown up with...
She and Abraxas strolled down by the still-frozen-solid lake. Hermione stepped onto it, and it creaked ominously, so she sat down in the snow, letting a puff of a sigh fly from her mouth. "I feel like I don't have anyone but him," she said, voicing a thought she'd hardly let herself think.
"I'm here," Abraxas told her instantly. "I don't care what happens. I'm your friend."
Hermione sighed. "Thanks, Abraxas. I do appreciate it, I really do. I just – he has so much of me. I feel like it's almost dangerous, how much I feel for him, you know?"
Abraxas nodded. Oh, yes, he'd felt that before. "I know. Like if he were to leave you, you'd just fall down and never get back up."
Hermione swallowed. "If I didn't know he loved me, I'd be scared for myself."
Abraxas averted his eyes. If I were you, I'd still be scared. It keeps you on your guard... "Honestly, it's safer to be just a little scared, because then if something were to happen, you wouldn't go completely... completely insane." Like I did, over her.
"But I can't stop myself," Hermione said, staring at her feet. "I just... he's like an addiction." She felt stupid saying it, but it was so true, such a perfect description. She nearly expected Abraxas to laugh, but he didn't.
"I'd be careful," Abraxas told her, his voice sensitive and careful. "Letting any one person be everything to you is really..."
"Dangerous," Hermione finished softly. "Especially when it's him. I know. I've just never felt this before. Never felt this... much. I feel like it's all for him, like everything about me happened just for him."
"Yeah?" said Abraxas. He didn't say any more.
That's when you know you're in too deep to recover.
You're done.
xXxXxXxXx
Riddle woke up early on Thursday. Today was the day. Hermione lay next to him, and he felt something almost like dread pooling in his stomach as he looked at her. But then the want to know clawed its way back to the top, and he almost felt satisfied already. By the time the day was done, he was sure he would know. Absolutely sure. And then he could get on with his life. So to speak.
He kissed Hermione lightly on the cheek before rolling out of bed.
Riddle crossed into Hermione's room, looked around, and flicked his wand. The bed made itself, and Hermione's clothes lined themselves up neatly in the dresser drawers, which slid shut quietly. Everything had to be just right – nothing out of place.
He walked back into his own room. Hermione was still lying in bed, asleep, but she woke up as he opened the bedcurtains.
"It's late," he said.
She smiled sleepily and yawned. Riddle's eyes softened, and he stood back as she slid out of bed. "What's the time?" she asked.
"Eleven o'clock."
"And what time's the game start?" She started pulling on her shoes.
"One," he replied. "Are you actually going to do it?" That wouldn't do, not at all. It had been so terribly convenient that it had been flying, something she wouldn't feel like doing...
She shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "Depends. Would you care to convince me otherwise?"
Riddle smirked and circled around behind her, sliding his hands down her sides to rest on her hips. "How much convincing do you need?" he murmured. He leaned down and placed his lips to the crook of her neck.
She leaned backwards into him, shivers pricking at her skin. "Not much." He straightened up a little, and she turned to kiss him. "Lunch?"
"Yes. I'll meet you in a minute."
He sighed, the list of events working themselves out in his head. Now he just needed to get the third party. Hermione always took a bath in the Prefects' Bathroom after lunch, so he had planned accordingly – Merlin forbid she suddenly change her usual schedule.
Riddle flicked his wand, making the bed, and walked down to the Great Hall.
Lunch passed quietly. Riddle assumed that the reason his stomach seemed a little unsettled was because of excitement for finally being able to know, and he kept everything off his expression as he finished lunch.
He glanced down at the end of the table, where the third party was sitting, and then back at Hermione. "So, what are you doing now?"
"I'm going to freshen up a bit. Shall I meet you in your room in twenty minutes?"
"That sounds perfect."
She kissed him on the cheek quickly and left.
Riddle stayed and picked at some bread until he saw Araminta standing and leaving – and then he, too, stood, following her from the Great Hall.
Thank God the girl wasn't with her two friends. That would have been inconvenient. She started to walk up the Grand Staircase, and Riddle hurried after her.
Araminta turned down the second floor corridor. She was going to the bathroom, since some idiot had hexed the pipes on the first floor one – and she was most surprised when a hand suddenly caught hers and turned her around.
Her green eyes widened. "T-Tom?"
Since she'd found out that he and the Granger girl were legitimately together, that he legitimately loved the Gryffindor girl, Araminta hadn't even tried giving him a second glance. After all, it was very impolite to chase after another woman's man, very impolite indeed – no matter how many tears she had cried over it, no matter how much she'd told herself that it wasn't fair that he liked Granger – she would never try to steal someone else's boyfriend, and she stuck to that, telling herself, Araminta, you are better than doing that.
But still – seeing him standing there, tall, dark, striking... it brought back memories for Araminta, memories of that one sweet kiss he'd given her, memories of falling head-over-heels for him like she had never fallen before. It was difficult to look at him. Araminta averted her eyes.
"Hello, Araminta," he said, in that polite, quiet voice she'd missed hearing so much. It pulled at her.
"Hi," she replied quietly. "Listen, I'm – I'm sorry for doing all those things to your…your girlfriend – I honestly thought that she was only getting on your nerves, and -"
"I'm not here for that."
Araminta frowned. "Well... what is it?"
He looked like he was trying not to say something.
"Tom, what is it?" she repeated softly.
"I miss you," he blurted, and then put a fist to his lips and closed his eyes, as if he hadn't meant to say the words.
Araminta was rooted to the spot. How many times had she imagined him saying exactly that? She opened her mouth a little, but could do nothing more but examine his face, wondering if this was really happening... "You... miss me?" she said, her voice openly mistrustful. "Tom, you haven't even looked at me since I started sitting with my friends at meals."
"Do you frequently see me doing things in public I want to do?" he said quietly, his eyes almost too intense to look at, creased with what might have been pain. That was a good point, Araminta thought. He was always so reserved – he never did anything for himself, really, at all. She'd only ever seen him get mad once, at her – and it had been one of the scarier moments of her life...
Still, though – "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because you're away from your friends for once," he replied, as if it were just a bit obvious. Araminta bit her lip. Of course – she was spending a lot of time with Barda and Angela these days, if only to ward off the empty feeling she got whenever her gaze happened to stray over to Tom.
"But... but you have... Hermione," Araminta said. It was the first time she'd ever said the girl's name, and it felt like bitter poison on her lips, because it was true. He had her, and she had him as Araminta had never had him.
"I don't care," Riddle's voice said, and behind it was a note of fierceness that Araminta didn't think she'd heard before. "I want you."
There was something wrong about this. Something very wrong. But when his lips met hers, Araminta felt like she had never been able to think anything at all. Every thought fled her mind, every doubt, everything... everything. His kiss was exactly as she remembered it, careful, yet controlled, and the feel of his strong mouth was exquisite.
He broke the kiss, and she drew in a slow breath, staring up into his face with a look that was so adoring that she felt if she could see herself she would be sick.
As he took her hand and led her back to the staircase, she felt a tiny, secret part of her yelling something she couldn't quite understand, something that was telling her not to do this, but the reason was a blur. After all, when it came to Tom Riddle, could she really resist? He was her greatest weakness, her fatal flaw, her Achilles' heel, and she could not hear a word against him, not even when she herself was saying it.
xXxXxXxXx
Hermione pulled herself out of the bath and lay on the tile, staring up at the ceiling. She felt a bit nervous at the prospect of sleeping with Tom, because she wondered secretly if she was terrible and he just wasn't telling her. Although his complete lack of social grace would probably indicate that if she were terrible, he would just come out and tell her, what with this new 'blunt honesty' thing he seemed to be trying.
Hermione sighed and dried herself off, checking herself in the mirror before walking up to the Head Boy and Girl rooms.
She opened his door and looked over to the bed.
That was weird – it was empty. Empty, and perfectly made. It had been twenty minutes; usually he was punctual to a fault.
Hermione sighed and flopped over on the bed, smelling his smell in the sheets. She ran a hand through her damp hair and looked over at the door. No Tom Riddle made his way through.
She rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to just sit here and wait around. In fact, she was just starting to read this very interesting section in Albus' Runic Spells book about limb manipulation, so she would just go back into her room and he could wait for her once he decided to show up.
Hermione closed his door behind her, opened hers, and then it was as if someone had opened a trapdoor beneath her, sending her plummeting into a personal hell.
She stared at the bed. The door swung shut behind her with a cold bang, and the two figures who were kissing furiously on the bed – her bed – disengaged. Her mind was suddenly jumbled, completely confused, swimming with unsatisfied thoughts and absolute horror and questions she didn't think could be answered by anything –
Tom's hair was messy as he stared at her. Araminta's was, too, and she looked almost dazed, like she didn't know what was going on. "Tom?" Hermione's voice said involuntarily, and a vicious look appeared on his face. Hermione took a step back. Was this real?
"Don't call me that, you filthy Mudblood," he spat, his eyes midnight dark.
Hermione's mouth opened. It was like a huge metal fist had collided with her chest. She stumbled backwards, her eyes wide, and her mind swirled even further, completely discombobulated – everything was out of order – nothing was as it should have been – and then before she could do anything at all –
"Legilimens," he said quietly, and she hadn't even seen him take out his wand but there it was in his hand – and then she was on her knees, screaming as the memory tore its way to the forefront of her mind, out from where she'd hidden it, like something was ripping its way out of her skull –
Her eyes shut, and everything was dark, and then in her mind's eye she was opening the door to the Room of Requirement. Everything seemed skewed, the dimensions too tall and too long, the brights too bright and too green and the darks too sullen, for the first four days, which flicked by in a series of hysterical fits of terror and reinforcing the door with all she had –
Hermione was sleeping in that bed and then bang bang bang and she looked up and the door literally flew from its hinges, and in its place formed a wall, brick by brick, and there was no way out, and she found herself staring into the cloud-white face of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and on his papery lips there was a vicious smirk, and he snapped his fingers and everything about the room vanished, and in its place was just left a small, stone chamber, fifteen feet by fifteen feet squared of rocky floor, rocky floor that Hermione would come to know so well, with tall stone walls all four identical rising on all sides and small windows letting in the moonlight right next to the stone ceiling, but yet it was so very dark –
And he knelt by her fallen body, his long thin fingers reaching for her face, and she trembled and shut her eyes as his breath hit her – although it did not smell like blood as she felt it should have – and his fingers found her neck and tilted her face up to look at him and every tiny last bit of her body was shaking, shaking as if she were vibrating with some demonic spell, and small whimpers were coming out of her throat and he said –
"You're the Mudblood. Potter's friend,"
And she opened her mouth but out came no words just tiny sobs and he said, "I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you do not answer them immediately, then I shall cast Crucio on you until you are ruined, and then I shall kill you," and he raised his wand, and she brought hers out with a desperately shaking hand, and fired a spell at him but he only smiled a little and flicked his wand, and her spell just vanished and her wand was in his hand –
And he stood up and tucked away her wand, tucked away her last hope, and Hermione looked up at him with hopeless eyes as he said, "Where is Harry Potter?"
But she closed her eyes and as she said "I don't know" his foot connected with her jaw as if he had fully expected it, and her body spun across the floor and he said, "Crucio," and then the screaming started, and from there it did not stop –
No no no no no, no it did not stop as she screamed over and over and I don't know I don't know "I don't know" I DON'T KNOW and that single word, that word he so delighted in saying, and though he barraged her mind with Legilimency.- Hermione found that it was not so hard to evade that:; for she honestly could not find it within herself to let a thought drift across her mind...; what was it Snape had always said, "Clear your mind, Harry," clear your mind Hermione now that's not so hard is it? No no it is not and –
Screaming, moonlight, red eyes and though the moon changed into sun and back again Hermione found that she had somehow managed to lock part of herself away – halfway through the second day, we areso we are herewe are, we're making it we're doing it just kill me now just kill me now JUST KILL ME NOW – and the Dark Lord said – "If you really know nothing about his whereabouts you'll let me into your mind, Mudblood",– mudbloodmudblood mudblood and she bit her lip so hard she bit right through it, but that ,pain was nothing.,nothing compared to the pain that was -shooting up and down her every limb everything and – everything and over and. over again;…she was wriggling like a dying cricket under his wand ,.eyes WIDE and then closed and then,.then, wide again and then a blood vessel burst in them with a pop of red like a firework and still she wouldnotsayathing other. Other... other than other than
"I DON'T KNOW"
And the moon had gone away three times and now it was back... and though she'd locked away her humanity as if it were nothing, she slowly felt it stream back as he stopped... stopped the pain... stopped it all everything nothing all
She could not move, for it was the pain was her it was and fighting thrashing through her blood and if she moved well? if she moved well she would just die surely, and why was it not continuing she didn't know:, hermione granger stared up at him,youand and the and burst blood vessel in her eye slowly repaired yourself under his wand and she wondered why he is were you're slowly pressing her own? wand back into her?my the hand and then his cold fingers traced along her neck and he picked a spot. and his wand was pressed there pressed there still there today – pressed cold gentle icy just like his eyes which surveyed her with almost appreciation and he said?was it what he said or what he what she – heard or what she thought?but .but-his eyes
"you are worthless"
and then... and then the wandtip rested lightly on her and the last two words her body would ever hear – and as she heard him start to say them her lips moved up at the corners in a last smile in a last defiant gesture of you cruel I don't know what you are but I've won I've won I've won youwillnevereverbringmedown and then
Avada Kedavra
it was over.
xXxXxXxXx
Araminta jumped in shock as he cast the spell, and suddenly his eyes were glassy, and his face was drawn, and Hermione Granger was on her knees and she was screaming.
Araminta's eyes were wider than they had ever been. She'd never heard a scream like that. Never. Not even when Tom had been cursed down in the dungeons. It hurt to listen to, and not just because of the volume, and not just because it hurt to look at Granger's face, which was contorted into an expression of complete agony, tears pouring down her face...
Araminta looked back at Tom, and she realized she didn't understand anything at all. She didn't understand why he had kissed her. She didn't understand why he'd called his own girlfriend a Mudblood. She didn't understand why he'd had his wand in his hand like he'd planned it all...
She slid from the bed. It wasn't ending. It was going on, and on, and on.
Araminta placed a hand to Hermione's face, placed the sleeve of her robe to the girl's face, wiping away her tears, saying, "Granger, Granger – wake up -" for Araminta didn't know what Legilimency even was. She'd never been stellar at wandwork; Potions had always been her single forte, her passion. Granger's mouth was still open, and that scream was still tearing from it.
Araminta's hands took Hermione's face in them, and Araminta fell to her knees, and said, "Wake up! Wake up –" but of course nothing happened.
This was too unnerving. This was disturbing; this was practically nightmarish. Tom's eyes still looked weird, flat, unfocused, dead, but Araminta didn't dare approach him – what if Granger suddenly lurched back to life and attacked her?
Araminta fled. She didn't know what she'd gotten herself into – what he'd gotten her into – but she fled, and she didn't look back at the boy sitting on the bed.
xXxXxXxXx
It was him.
There was one thought in Riddle's mind. One thought exactly, no more and no less. He had tortured Hermione Granger for three days straight, and then he had murdered her.
I tortured Hermione Granger for three days straight, and then I murdered her.
It was him. It had always been him. He himself had killed her. He had ripped her life from limb. He had ruined her human body with the Cruciatus Curse. And when she was curled at his feet, and it was clear she would not break, clear she was useless to him, he'd killed her.
She was here purely because of him.
I killed the one person I have ever loved.
Riddle was on the floor. He didn't know how long he'd spent in her memories. It was still bright outside. He was standing up, now – he was standing and she was standing too, and he had never seen her look like this, not once. She looked at him as if he were someone else entirely. A stranger. Someone she didn't know, not at all, had never known.
He walked to her and he was lifting a hand to place it on her shoulder but then her wand was in her hand and he was on his knees, unable to do a thing, unable to say a thing.
Coldness invaded her eyes. All that warmth, all that familiar warmth – it was snuffed out. Hermione leaned, shaking, against the bedpost, and she looked at him with the eyes of a murderer.
Tears dripped from her cheeks. She ignored them as they came pouring from her eyes; she didn't give them any sort of heed.
"I'm going to speak now," she said, and her voice was flat and blank, emotionless like he had never heard before, and he found he was terrified. "And you're going to listen."
"Even though you didn't know it, I told myself... that you weren't the one who killed me. I told myself that you were not quite that Voldemort of the future. I told myself that you were Tom Riddle. And that person – Tom Riddle – he was someone else. He was someone to me. And after I saw your past, I thought, Tom Riddle is different. And then I let you be someone to me. For me."
She took a breath, and that terrible, lifeless tone continued. "I was wrong. I lied to myself. I lied to you and I lied to myself about you. You're not Lord Voldemort. You're not Tom Riddle. You're not different, and you're not special. You're just a sad, stupid little boy who can't stand not getting his way. You're just someone who never learned to grow up."
She leaned forward from the bedpost and stood on her own two feet. "I never should have spent what little life I've got left healing you. I never should have wanted you; I never should have kissed you; I never should have touched you. I never should have wasted that room in my heart on you. You're not worth the air you're breathing. You're not worth the space in hell you'll occupy."
And now – now – anger started to work its way back into her tone.
"I can't believe myself, thinking this wouldn't happen again. I can't believe I thought you'd changed. I even – Merlin, I even said it before – you will never change. If you needed me dead, right now, you'd kill me, and you'd probably enjoy it. If you needed me hurt, you'd hurt me. If you needed anyone hurt, you'd hurt them. You already have. What you've done to Araminta is sick."
She drew in a deep breath. "I've wondered for most of my life about one particular psychological concept. Nature versus nurture, it's called, though you wouldn't care. But I'm not wondering anymore. No matter what might have – what you might – what happened – you were born evil. You were born sick. You were born wrong. And you'll die evil, and sick, and wrong, and you'll stay here forever, and – and forever, and I – I'm – I..."
And then she broke. Her resolve completely shattered. She stumbled backwards, clutching to the bedpost as if for dear life. "Fool me once," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice so strained it was dark and low, "shame on you... but – but – shame on me, because I should have known this would happen, I should have known I'd just keep trailing back to this goddamn shame over and over, like a stupid fool, like your stupid fool!"
Her mouth opened in a silent sob. "I love you. And what does that even mean to you? Do you even know what that means to me? I thought you were smart, and I know you think you're smart, but you're not! You're an idiot. You're a – a murderous, blind, unfeeling monster, and you killed your father and your grandparents and you killed me, and... and dear God, I should have known, I did know, I knew; what happened to me?"
She trailed off and stood there, her chest heaving in and out as she sucked in breath after hopeless breath. "I wish you'd never been born," she whispered, staring at him again with utter disbelief. "I wish you'd only ever been some poor person's bad dream. It probably doesn't matter to you what I feel right now, what I've ever felt, what I will ever feel, but right now I feel like I would rather have never discovered the magical world so that you could never have done this to me!" Her voice swelled into a raw scream. "YOU ARE THE FOULEST THING THAT HAS EVER LIVED!"
And she seemed to buckle inwards a bit, "I HATE YOU," and her wand hand faltered, "I HATE YOU!" and the spell was broken but he didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe as she seemed to scream even while she was breathing, and then she whispered, "dear God please help me," and her eyes turned upwards as if she were really hoping God would just make himself known, her eyes that were practically swollen shut they were so red, and then – and then – then she stumbled for the door – that wooden door, scrabbling for it, slamming it shut – and she was gone.
He didn't even watch her go. He just stared at the space where she'd stood, where she'd said those last words to him, the last words he thought he might ever hear that would ever matter to him.
Tom Riddle couldn't seem to feel anything. His eyes were wide and staring. The air didn't seem to have a smell; his slightly-open, shallowly-breathing mouth didn't seem to taste; there was no temperature in the room; there was no blood in his veins.
He didn't know where it had gone wrong, but then, yes, he did – it had gone wrong when he'd been put on the earth, and it would be wrong until he left it.