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That's my list of people I need to send chocolate. Thanks ever so for your kind words, your comments, and your questions.

Getting back into the swing of almost-death,

Speechwriter.

Hermione was thrown back by the blast of the spell, even as she flung herself out of its way. "I know you're there," said the sing-song voice of Lucius Malfoy. "Crucio."

Hermione threw herself flat on the ground, and the curse whistled over her. Something caught in her throat as she heard the spell strike something – someone.

Riddle yelled.

"So you're a boy, are you?" said Malfoy, even as his Cruciatus Curse was connected to Tom, who was screaming so loudly that it made a whimper come from Hermione's throat. "I wonder who it could -"

Then Hermione jerked back to life, yanked her wand from her pocket, and slashed it through the air. The curse exploded. Lucius Malfoy flew three feet into the air and hit the ground with a thud. When he got back to his feet, blood was dripping from under his mask. "So there are two of you," he growled, "and you are both in great trouble right now."

He lifted his wand. A jet of green light flew through the air, and Hermione dove to the side, her eyes desperately searching for Tom – where is he –

And then Malfoy toppled, screaming. Hermione saw a dim outline of the Disillusioned Riddle get to his feet, holding out a wand. Tom held the curse for what seemed like a year, and then, when it was done, Hermione sent Petrificus Totalus at Malfoy, and his arms and legs snapped together. His mask was still firmly in place, but Riddle leaned down and waved his wand over it, and it dissipated.

"I shall remember you," said Tom, and his voice was painful to listen to, icy and terrifying. Lucius' eyes got absolutely horrified. Of course – Tom sounded like him, like Lord Voldemort –

Hermione took Riddle's arm, and they fled down the hallway. "Lucius Malfoy. Abraxas' son."

Riddle nodded. "I saw the resemblance."

The Finite Incantatem hit them before they had a chance to react. Hermione threw herself flat on the ground out of instinct, and she looked up. Noise echoed from the hallway in front of them, but it looked like someone had used Peruvian Darkness Powder up ahead, and Hermione couldn't see a thing past ten feet away. Her breath caught in her throat. What if it were Ron or Harry in there?

A nasty-looking spell whizzed its way out of the fray, and Hermione rolled to the side. It hissed by her.

Tom didn't know what to do. He'd never been in an actual battle before, save that one time at Dueling Club, and God knew there had been no Avada Kedavras whizzing through the air then –

Riddle stepped to the side, his eyes wide as a green jet of light shot by him. He knelt down, hurriedly helping Hermione back to her feet. "What shall we do?" Surely she'd know, having lived months in this hellhole.

Hermione remembered, then, what it was like. What it was like to run, and save her own skin, with fear so hot through her veins it was painful. "Run," she whispered, and they fled down the other side of the hallway.

They Disillusioned themselves again in a small hidden corridor, and then Hermione sighed – it was only one more hallway to the Gryffindor common room.

She heard a yell from a nearby classroom. The pair crept out of the hidden corridor.

It was a boy's voice. Hermione's heart beat hard against her chest as she heard the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange say, "Are you sure?" And then – then more screaming. She couldn't tell if it was male or female. It was more animal than anything else.

Rage boiled in Hermione. Maybe if it was only Bellatrix – and Tom Riddle was with her, surely they could –

"Tom," she whispered, "I'm going to open the door. Curse the woman."

He nodded, and Hermione flung the door open. Tom strode inside and flicked his wand. Hermione stumbled inside just in time to see Bellatrix's body fly the length of the room and land, hard, on the ground.

Bound on the floor was Neville Longbottom.

"Neville," sobbed Hermione. Riddle locked the door as Hermione fell to her knees by Neville, vanishing his bonds. She removed the Disillusionment, and Neville stared up at her with horror on his round face.

"Hermione? No – I – it can't be you..."

"It's me," she said, and aimed her wand at him. Ennervate.

He rose, looking at her warily. "You're dead," he said.

Hermione swallowed. "How -"

"I went up to the Room of Requirement to hide in there, but there was a door already there, and you were in it and you were dead." Neville's face changed from bewilderment to anger. "You're a Death Eater!"

He raised his wand, but Hermione flicked hers and disarmed him. She didn't need to be attacked by Neville, not now –

"I swear to God it's me. Ask me anything you'd like."

"Well, then... then what's the one thing I'm any good at?" he asked, his pudgy hand wiping sweat from his brow.

"Herbology," Hermione replied, "even though I think you're good at lots of other things, too."

A weak smile cautiously made its way onto Neville's face. "I... it is you. I was so scared... when I saw it, I..."

Hermione enfolded him in a fierce hug and placed his wand back in his hand. He was damp with sweat. Hermione was shocked that he was still sane, or coherent, after Bellatrix Lestrange's torturing...

"How long did she have you in here?" she whispered.

"A few minutes, maybe," said Neville. "Me, George, and Professor McGonagall got split up by this fight down the other hallway -"

He broke off, his eyes focusing on something past Hermione's shoulder. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing to Riddle's dim outline.

Hermione flicked her wand, and Tom faded back into view. "This is Tom Riddle," she said carefully. "He's a friend."

Neville frowned. He didn't know Voldemort's real name, Hermione realized, and he'd certainly never seen Tom before. "Okay," he said suspiciously.

Hermione turned. "Come on, we have to get to the Gryffindor common room," she whispered, casting a last glance at Bellatrix Lestrange, who stirred.

They fled, and found themselves outside the portrait hole. The Fat Lady had vanished, so there was no password. Hermione opened the portrait uneasily, ducking down in case of an attack, but there was no noise from inside, and no spells whizzed from the portrait hole.

They clambered inside, and Hermione cast Colloportus on the portrait, wondering if that would even work on something that had no lock.

"Close your eyes," she told Neville and Tom. They both obliged without question, and Hermione walked up to the fireplace, which was not lit, but ashen and rusting from disuse.

"Harry?" she whispered up into the fireplace. "Harry, it's me. It's Hermione."

For a horrifying second, there was no reply.

And then two feet hit the hearth, and a tall, wiry Harry Potter ducked his way out of the fire, enclosing Hermione in one of the tightest hugs she'd ever experienced. Her heart pounded with gladness. "Jesus Christ, Hermione," Harry said through gritted teeth, "I heard you were dead – why didn't you come sooner? Why?"

She swallowed. "I was... well, I was dead," she said.

He stepped back. He was skinny as ever, looked unhealthily pale, and his messed-up hair had grown long. His green eyes looked bewildered, but then they flickered to the other people in the room – well, one in particular – and they widened in horror. "Harry," Hermione said quickly, "Harry, look at me."

It took a second before he did. "What is this? What happened? Who is he?"

Hermione swallowed. "Harry, you've got to listen to me," she said quickly. "I read in a book once that – well, I – this is Tom Riddle, but he's not Voldemort, Harry, he's not."

"What are you talking about?" Harry snapped. "Are you trying to tell me that there are two Tom Riddles? I don't even – how – "

Hermione's heart beat fast as Harry's features attempted to control themselves. His face was so familiar, after so long – exactly how she remembered it – and the first thing upon her return from death, he was going to be angry at her? Hermione swallowed. "Yes, and seven parts of his soul have completely healed – so he's not... not a murderer." Perhaps that was pushing it a bit – she didn't know the exact extent of his soul's condition, of course...

Harry closed his eyes, like he was wishing he would wake up. As he wasn't saying anything else, Hermione signaled for Tom and Neville to close their eyes again, and she hurried over to the flagstone, that one particular flagstone. She tapped it. It rose about a foot in the air, shifted itself over, and Hermione peered into the space below it.

Ron's face tilted itself upwards. Hermione suddenly felt weak.

Ron. Ron Weasley. "Hermione," he said fiercely, and pulled himself out of the hole. Hermione flicked her wand, sending the flagstone back into place.

"You two can open your eyes, now," she said quietly to Neville and Tom, but she couldn't look away from Ron. His freckles, his long nose, his gangly body, his flaming red hair – everything felt like it was new, to her, new and so old, like rediscovering an old friend from her childhood. He hugged her, and he smelled like Ron Weasley.

It was nearly like a bad dream for Tom Riddle as he opened his eyes to see Hermione embracing Ron. Riddle's dark eyes met Ron's blue ones, and he tried desperately to keep from looking menacing, but he felt territorial – and very out of his depth, strangely enough. He'd never had a life experience like these boys had had. He'd never had to fight for every breath of his life.

Harry Potter's piercing green eyes were on him. As Tom looked at the boy, he remembered everything that Lord Voldemort had done to him.

"So, er, who's this bloke?" said Ron as he let go of Hermione, but his face paled dramatically as he turned to face Riddle fully. "Wait, hold on – that – is that..."

He looked back at Hermione, and then to Harry. Harry nodded slowly.

Ron looked back at Riddle with absolute dread in his face. "Get behind me, Hermione," he said, completely serious, and he was shocked when Hermione laughed.

The sound was bizarre in this atmosphere, in this common room where the stones of the wall were scarred as if they'd been scratched with great claws and the tables were lying splintered on the floor. Laughter didn't seem to have any place here, not even a quiet laugh.

Tom bit his lip. "Hello. I'm Tom Riddle. It's... er, it's nice to meet you."

More awkward words had never been spoken. He glanced desperately to Hermione for help. "What the bloody hell is this?" Ron said, white-faced, looking as if someone had planted frog spawn in his soup. "Hermione?"

Hermione closed her eyes. She supposed she should have predicted all this, and worse. She was actually surprised that Harry wasn't drawing his wand and attempting to curse Riddle.

She cast a glance at the portrait hole, and then flicked her wand. The sofas repaired themselves, the tables sealed up, and the rugs wove themselves back together. "Let's have a talk," she said quietly.

The talk took place with hushed voices and many glances back at the portrait hole. Hermione hoped she wasn't coming off as a lunatic, saying that she'd met Godric Gryffindor, Miranda Goshawk, Abraxas Malfoy and Herpo the Foul, and seen Dumbledore again – but they had to believe her. After all, there was no logical explanation for why an eighteen-year-old Tom Riddle would be sitting quietly next to Hermione if it wasn't what she was telling them.

She skipped over... well, she skipped over a lot. Hermione found that she was utterly terrified of the idea of telling Harry Potter that she was desperately in love with Tom Riddle Jr., and for excellent reason, given the looks that Harry was giving him.

"So you're telling me," Ron said slowly, "that he hasn't tried to kill anyone yet?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron. "No, Ron. We got back and we came here as fast as we could. And he is sitting right there."

"I'm not here to kill anyone," said Riddle, irked by the way that the three other boys were looking at him. Potter and Weasley were both staring with blatant mistrust, mixed with a sort of disbelief as to his existence. The other boy – Longbottom, was it? He just looked terrified, once he learned who exactly Tom Riddle was.

"Like I'm about to believe that," Potter scoffed. "The last thing we need in this castle is another Lord Voldemort."

Hermione looked around and shushed him. "Harry, keep your voice down. Bellatrix Lestrange is practically on our doorstep -"

"And Tom Riddle is sitting right there in front of us!" Harry exploded, his eyebrows practically meeting in the middle, his green eyes raging. "I can't believe this. I can't believe this is happening!"

Hermione winced again. Did Harry not understand the concept of be quiet?

Then Riddle spoke, his eyes flashing dangerously, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look, I apologize greatly for being here, Potter. But it's not as if I can help it. Do you think I asked to get tossed into a world where there are a bunch of murderous idiots running around Hogwarts?"

Harry laughed disbelievingly. "That's rich, seeing as they're your murderous idiots."

Riddle's eyes darkened. "He and I are not the same person. I did not kill your parents, and don't look at me as if I did."

Harry drew in a sharp breath, and then his gaze flicked to Hermione. "You told him about that? What else did you tell him, where I was hiding?"

"It wasn't Hermione's fault," interrupted Riddle, casting a glance to Hermione, who looked utterly stricken at Harry's last sentence – especially since she had died in the defense of Harry's hiding place. "I used Legilimency on her."

"Oh, great, wonderful," scoffed Ron. "That makes it a whole hell of a lot easier to trust you."

"Well, seeing as you had let on no prior indication that you were thinking of trusting me in the first place, perhaps it isn't a great loss," replied Riddle coolly.

"Not trusting Lord Voldemort?" Harry said. "That's such a huge surprise."

Hermione started to look a little angry. "You're not being fair, Harry."

Harry's face contorted in rage, but then Neville interrupted.

"Merlin, shut up, the lot of you!" he burst out. "We – we've got enough problems to worry about without wondering about someone who might be able to help us. D-did you even think about what seeing him might do to Lord Voldemort? Harry, wouldn't you like every advantage you can get when you have to face him?" He swallowed and looked around, fidgeting. "Because I know I would! You – you're going to have to fight him eventually, you know, whether it's voluntary or not!"

There was a long, long silence.

Neville looked a bit bashful, and then glanced down at his hands. "Sorry."

"No, you're right," said Ron quietly, and then he glanced back to Tom, his eyes cautious. "I, uh... well, if you really aren't... I... I'm Ron Weasley." He stuck out a hand, swallowing.

Riddle took Weasley's hand hesitantly. It was sweaty and cold, and his grip was firm. Riddle felt an involuntary twinge of dislike, thinking about how Hermione had been with this boy. He was even less remarkable in person, Riddle thought – but there was something amiable about him. A bit like Abraxas – a natural and easy likability.

"I'm not doing this, Hermione," said Potter, and Riddle blinked and looked at him. "I can't do this. I can't be worrying about this at the same time as wondering if Ginny's alive or not." Something seemed to catch in Potter's throat. Riddle looked at his eyes – they were alive with a feverish burn, a familiar, possessive, protective burn.

"I'm sorry," whispered Hermione, "he's here to stay."

Riddle felt vindicated by the words. No matter what Potter might have liked, he was there, and it was to stay. He was hardly just going to commit suicide to satisfy Potter's wish.

He reached for Hermione's hand, almost subconsciously, but it moved itself to her lap.

Riddle's jaw tightened, and he looked down at his knees. She wasn't comfortable with the others knowing about them, which was only logical, he supposed, but still more than a bit of an insult. That anyone might be embarrassed to let it be known that they were his? Yes. Insulting.

He almost wished he could just tell these people, but Hermione had known them all her life. He didn't want to disrespect that. In fact, he felt like that was what had to epitomize him right now – respect. He had to respect everything about Hermione, to fix how he had disrespected her, because she was not someone to take for granted, no matter if she'd come back to him. She'd done so out of her own good grace, after all.

Well, that, and she loved him.

The thought made Riddle's throat tighten. He still had her, even if he couldn't hold her hand in front of her Gryffindor friends or kiss her whenever he wanted – he had her, and he would make sure she was safe, no matter what. That incredible sweep of feeling rushed through him, that feeling he'd never felt in his entire life. Cool, clean, remarkably potent love.

He remembered how Weasley had been so indignant about her performing the Fidelius Charm, but of course he hadn't been able to stop her from doing it. Weasley seemed like a... nice sort of type, but from what was in Hermione's memories, he couldn't hold a candle to her in much of anything. Tom felt like she might have grown tired, eventually, of always being the dominant one in the relationship.

He looked over at her, and she glanced up at him for a second before looking back at Harry, who was talking about the people he'd seen, the people he'd managed to see when he'd mustered up the courage to leave the common room.

Riddle wondered what it must be like to feel scared of someone else's magical ability. No one had ever bested him, besides that duel when Hermione had beat him senseless because he'd refused to lift a finger against her... and that didn't count. In fact, the idea of him being scared to duel someone was practically ludicrous.

Hermione shouldn't have been scared, either. She was probably as good as most of her opposition – but then again, it was the same thing with her unnecessary studying. She just didn't have enough belief in her own abilities, really. That didn't matter, though – not while Riddle was there. She wouldn't get hurt on his watch.

"I ran into Professor Flitwick," said Ron. "About a week back."

"I feel like every time we start getting into little groups, start actually having a chance, something happens and we all get split up again," Neville said. "This is the most people I've seen at one time since... well, probably a few months."

"But as of earlier today, George and Professor McGonagall are fine," Hermione said, "right?"

"Yes," Neville said. "But I haven't been trying to find anyone." The words were practically a whisper, and Neville looked ashamed of himself, like it wasn't logical to think to protect himself. Gryffindors, Tom thought, restraining an eye-roll with great difficulty.

Hermione frowned. "Neville, you can't blame yourself for that. If you went around trying to save everyone, then you might not be here right now."

A dark look came over Harry's face. "Well, I wouldn't care if I were here or not as long as I knew Ginny was safe. I can't look anywhere without running into those damn Death Eaters, and then I have to run -"

"Running is nothing to be ashamed of," Hermione said. "Look – if You-Kn – Voldemort found you, if any of the Death Eaters managed to knock you out and bring you to him? You'd be dead. And then you'd be no use to Ginny at all, Harry, so there's no use being impractical."

There was a noise at the portrait hole. Eyes widened. "Neville, Tom – shut your eyes, hurry," hissed Hermione, and as they did, Harry scrambled back up into the chimney, and Hermione flicked her wand to open the flagstone. Ron lowered himself back into the hole, and the rock moved back into place with a clunk.

The noise at the portrait hole was more insistent this time, and then there was a loud voice outside, a low male voice. "Ay," it said, "I think we got somethin' here. It's charmed shut."

Hermione swallowed, her heart thudding. Tom rose to his feet, eyeing the portrait hole, and Neville quavered, letting out a low noise of fear.

"It's all right," Hermione whispered back. "Here –" She reached over and rapped him on the head with her wand. He slowly Disillusioned. "Go up to the dormitory," she said.

"No – I'm not going –"

"Go," she said fiercely, but he ignored her, standing his ground.

Hermione reached for Tom's hand. He took hers gently, leading her to the portrait hole, and they pressed themselves against the wall beside the gap in the stone, waiting for something to happen, waiting for anything to happen.

"Damned thing's glued tight shut," said a faint voice from outside. "Alohamora – no, it won't –"

"Well, I suppose we have no choice," snickered another voice, a female voice, and then there was a loud bang. Hermione lifted a fist to her mouth to stifle any noise, biting down on her knuckle, her other hand holding Riddle's so tight it hurt.

The voices became clearer, and Hermione knew that the Fat Lady's portrait had been blasted away. That seemed... wrong. It seemed like a violation of something sacred. That portrait was supposed to be there. That was just how it was supposed be, always, but now there were scrapes as someone lifted themselves into the portrait hole with a sigh.

"Oi, Alecto, wait up," said the first voice.

Alecto Carrow. Hermione swallowed. She didn't know terribly much about this Death Eater – but that other voice was sounding awfully, terribly familiar. Alecto said, "I swear on my Dark Mark, Fenrir, if you don't get your tail through here -"

"Oh, you're a funny one," growled Fenrir Greyback. "My tail. That's really ingenious, you know -"

"Hello?" called Alecto's voice sweetly. "Is anyone in there?"

Hermione felt the skin of her knuckle split, she was biting so hard. She groped in her pocket and brought out her wand, her hand shaking, her back pressed against the smooth stone of the wall. They wouldn't just fire a killing curse at the first person they saw, would they? That would be sort of stupid, when they could torture information out of them, right? Hermione felt that as long as she could stay alive, she could keep things under control – she could stand pain. She had withstood the Dark Lord himself, his very own Cruciatus...

She swallowed, and Alecto stepped through the portrait hole. Hermione flicked her wand. Concida!

A globe of white air spun towards Alecto. As it hissed towards the Death Eater, though, she turned and lifted her own wand. The spell hit the wall, and Alecto's returning spell was bright red.

Tom flicked his wand lazily, and Hermione suddenly felt embarrassingly glad that he was standing there. Alecto's spell did a lap around the common room and then fizzed into nothingness a foot from her – and Fenrir Greyback hoisted himself through the portrait hole.

"Hello, my dearies," he growled, a disgusting smile on his face, and as Alecto started firing spells in earnest, Fenrir threw himself towards them.

Hermione gritted her teeth and fired a bright yellow spell at Fenrir, but it slid off his very skin. He seemed half-transformed, though that might have just been his grizzled features – maybe that lent him protection – but she shot the next spell right into his face, and it collided with a crunch. He staggered backwards, groping for the nearest chair. His eyebrows wiggled downwards over his eyes, restricting his vision, and he let out an animal roar and pulled out his wand.

He started waving it haphazardly, firing spells around the room – spells that cut, spells that lit things on fire, and Hermione found herself quivering in terror again, although she shielded everything out of reflex, ushering Neville behind the protection as he shot stunners.

A hex collided with her shield, ringing like a bell. The barrier snapped. A jet of ret light collided with Neville's chest. Hermione cried out and slashed her wand at Fenrir.

Tom was still battling Alecto, although he didn't even look mildly interested. Then a dark stream whizzed its way towards him and he sidestepped neatly. "Well, that was a touch more entertaining," he muttered. Hermione's eyes widened. Wasn't he even the remotest bit fearful for his safety?

Of course he wouldn't be.

She flicked her wand, and a thick grey shield rose in front of them. She waved her wand, forming a runic spell, the same one that she'd used on Tom, one that would give her complete control – but this time for two targets. Ehwaz. Irwaz. Zhabra. Duam. Nevim. Qirej.

The shield exploded under Fenrir's attack just as Hermione flicked her wand, and the runic spell scissored into two hexagonal streams of yellow light, which hit their marks dead center. Alecto flipped once before she hit the floor; Fenrir just fell backwards with a deafening thud. Both froze as completely as if they'd been Petrified.

"One moment," Tom said quietly, and he flicked his wand. From the immobile bodies of the Death Eaters soared their wands. Hermione nodded in thanks.

Then she guided their motionless bodies back through the portrait hole and bricked up the hole with a flick of her wand, letting out a long, shaking breath of relief.

Tom surveyed the two wands in his hand with distaste, and then his long fingers slowly snapped them. There seemed to be a bit of a rush in the air as they broke, like the magic in them was draining away.

There was a long pause before Hermione turned back to Tom from the portrait hole, and then he leaned down and kissed her gently, and she froze. No. They couldn't do this – not now; not here.

She pulled away silently, casting a glance around nervously. Had Ron seen? Had Harry seen?

Hermione glanced back at Riddle, then, with a bit of an apology in her eyes. He looked resentful. "Is that polite?" he said smoothly.

She shook her head. "No room for politeness here. Close your eyes."

She lifted Ron's flagstone, and told Harry it was safe to emerge again. After reviving Neville, they eyed the wall where the portrait hole had been a bit warily. "Can't they just blast through that?" Harry said.

"It would be difficult to do without wands," Riddle said idly, letting the four halves of the wands clack around in his hand a little. Harry's eyes narrowed as he looked at the broken wands.

"How have you been getting food?" Hermione asked quietly.

Ron shrugged. "We've been Summoning it from the Kitchens, mostly, but sometimes it arrives with a Death Eater attached, 'cause they just follow the flying food, see..."

Hermione frowned. There had to be a way to get food without attracting the attention of Death Eaters. They couldn't just conjure it, because of food being one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. "Are there Death Eaters standing guard there? By the Kitchens?"

"I'd guess," said Neville. "Since we don't have any other way of getting anything to eat..."

"How is there even still food down there, without the House-Elves?" Harry wondered aloud. "I mean, what, does it Apparate in or something?"

"It arrives every day," Hermione replied. "The storerooms restock themselves."

"That'd be a nice place to hide," sighed Ron wistfully.

It hit Hermione. That was it. "Well, then, let's go."

Harry, Neville and Ron stared at her like she'd turned orange.

"Look," she said, "the Kitchens are a perfect place to pull back and regroup. Everyone knows where they are, there's food there – we can start piecing our force back together again."

The idea built in her mind as she pictured it. If they were to create wards around the Kitchens, make it a magically impenetrable fortress, one that Death Eaters couldn't get into – and then if other people managed to find their way back to the Kitchens...

Chaos was the main thing the Death Eaters had on their side, after all. If the Order could all find each other once more, they would be a force to be reckoned with. If everyone could stop being afraid – that was half the battle, after all, perhaps more than half – maybe, maybe, they stood a chance.

"But you just said there are Death Eaters down there," Neville said. "Why would we go to them?"

"They wouldn't be expecting five of us at once," replied Riddle, "and the Kitchens would be a valuable tactical strike."

"But if there are five of us, we'll be noticeable," Harry argued. "It'll be more dangerous if we're in one big herd; it'll be harder to get around without them seeing us -"

"It's safer if we're together," Hermione said. "Numbers are always an advantage, and you can forget it if you think I'm just going to leave you two again. Don't forget that we're just as dangerous to Death Eaters as they are to us."

"Not really," said Neville uneasily.

There was silence. No one wanted to suggest they do anything; no one wanted to suggest leaving this sort-of haven. Even Harry seemed reluctant, which was bizarre – Hermione would have thought he'd be the first to jump on the bandwagon.

"Well, then, I'll go myself," Hermione said determinedly.

"You can't go alone," said Riddle quietly.

She understood the unspoken words. You're not going without me.

Hermione flicked her wand, and the portrait hole melted back into existence. "I... well... then what are we doing?"

"I'm with you, Hermione," Ron said resolutely, his eyes fixing on her. She swallowed as she met those blue eyes she knew so well, and she couldn't help but wonder if he still loved her. Part of her wondered if she still loved him, but no – more of her knew that that had been left behind, somehow, and it was hard to realize as she looked at Ron. It was painful to come to terms with.

"Okay, let's go," muttered Harry. "I don't want you all getting hurt."

They trailed through the hole, Disillusioning as they went.

The Fat Lady's empty portrait lay to the side, a massive hole in its center where it had been blasted through. Hermione swallowed as she looked at the familiar gold frame. Discarded. Abandoned.

They crept down the hallways in absolute silence, hardly daring to breathe. Dawn was just arriving, although it was dark during the days, too, if slightly less so. At one point, a classroom knob rattled, and they all instinctively froze, but nothing came out, so they kept going.

Riddle found all this sneaking about very inconvenient. Wouldn't it have been easier to walk around head held high, wand in hand? Better for defending oneself, in any case, and –

Then he looked through a window into a classroom, and all his thoughts froze in his mind. There, silhouetted in the window, was a swaying body, suspended by ropes. His mouth suddenly got very dry, and he found himself lower to the ground than before. Hermione's memories flicked by in his mind – that bald head, sitting there on the ground, that blond girl chained upside-down, Hagrid in front of the fireplace...

He had been stupid to forget, stupid to forget what had happened to so many, stupid to forget that this was the place where fears were realized.

It seemed like years before they reached the portrait of the fruit that led into the Kitchens, and a single, very tall, thin Death Eater stood outside.

Even as they crept up on him, the Death Eater – he had on his mask, so they couldn't tell who it was – broke out into a sprint and down the hall, following something that burst from the portrait and flew down the hall. "Food," whispered Ron, and Hermione could scarcely believe their luck, that the guard would leave just as they arrived.

They couldn't seem to get into the Kitchens fast enough, although the portrait was slightly ajar. Hermione cast Colloportus on the portrait, since that had seemed to work for a while last time, and looked around. The four great tables in front of them were empty, but there was a door at the back of the room. Hermione supposed that was the entrance to the storerooms, and as they hurried over and opened the door, they were not disappointed by its contents: shelves upon shelves of food.

Hermione swallowed at the very sight, and all five started to help themselves, sneaking glances back at the portrait hole. Huge barrels lined the top shelf, with tubes in them that led down to jugs on the ground. Pumpkin juice. Ingredients like flour, too, presumably for pies and whatnot, sat in huge sacks on the big lower shelves. The room was cool and dry and felt secure.

Once satiated, they made their way back out into the main room of the Kitchens once more.

Hermione perched herself at one of the tables. "I've missed you three so much," she said quietly. She hadn't said it yet, but it had been waiting to be said.

"We were so scared for you," Harry said, his voice filled with frustrated relief. "Every day. We even went to try and find you for a while, but after we ran into Neville and he said -" He broke off and glanced at Riddle, unable to keep the dislike from his green eyes. "Well, I guess Neville was right, but you know," muttered Harry.

Dismay filled Hermione's face. "You didn't go looking for me...?" she whispered, horrified. "You can't do that! Especially not without any sort of indication that I might have been hurt, let alone d-"

"Well, I had a dream," he replied fiercely, but that just made Hermione's jaw drop.

"Are you serious? Don't tell me you haven't been keeping up with your Occlumency, Harry, because that's the single most important thing – I've told you over and over -"

"Yes, I have!" he defended furiously. "I've been trying, alright? Just with my damn scar hurting every time I breathe in, it's not exactly easy!"

Hermione bit her lip. Why was his scar hurting, if the horcrux fragment in him from Voldemort had been killed? It must have been because of his blood in Voldemort, the blood that had revived Voldemort, still tied them together...

She sighed. "Okay. Sorry. I just... Professor Snape would have wanted you safe." Her voice was quiet and careful. She'd forgotten how easy it was to set Harry on edge.

At the mention of Snape, Harry he turned his green eyes downwards. "Yeah."

Riddle remembered Snape from Hermione's memories quite well. He'd looked a bit like Herpo – same hair, anyway, and a similar nose. A Potions professor. But Riddle couldn't remember what had happened to him.

It didn't seem right to ask, though, with Potter looking so dismal all of a sudden, so Tom just looked around at the Kitchens a little more. He'd only been inside a couple of times. It was strange without House-Elves, to be certain, and stranger still when it was dark and quiet like this, no torches lit, the only light that which was halfheartedly making its way through a row of thin-looking windows set high up on the wall. "Why can't we get out of here, again?" Riddle asked quietly.

"All the windows are locked shut," Hermione said. "Not just simple stuff, either. It's some sort of ward; we can't break it. It needs the original caster to break it. And then outside, that screen-wall thing? More wards. More stuff that he needs to -"

"Wait a second – couldn't you do it, then?" asked Ron indignantly, looking at Riddle with a sort of light dawning in his eyes.

"No; that's not how it works," Hermione said patiently. "It needs to be the same actual person who cast the original spell."

"Well, he is the same actual person," Harry told her, looking at Riddle now as if he were a potentially good-tasting Bertie Bott's Bean.

Hermione gave up trying to resist. "Fine," she sighed. "Would you like to try to break the wards, Tom?" Her tone was clearly disbelieving, and as she met Riddle's eyes, she felt like they might be sharing a restrained eye-roll.

"I'd love to," he said dryly, and raised his wand. Finite Incantatem. Nothing. Apagus Demetria. Nothing. Several other spell-breakers had absolutely no effect on the windows, which seemed sealed shut as tightly as if they'd been made not to open in the first place.

"Well, it was worth a shot," sighed Ron. No, it wasn't, thought Riddle, but he kept it to himself. Thoughts like that wouldn't endear him to these boys, although it was annoying that he was being forced to act the sweet-endearing-Head-Boy type again, restraining every mildly catty thought that came to his mind. It was especially frustrating now that there were all these feelings itching at his insides, and also because these people knew about his past, knew about him. Shouldn't he have just been able to let them see what he was really like? Wouldn't that have been more so-called trustworthy?

He was... difficult to associate with, though, of course. Likely because of his superior intellect. And superior magical capabilities. And, well, most things, although he managed to forget them around Hermione a lot of the time.

He looked at Hermione and, again, felt like kissing her, but he let out a long breath instead and glanced over at the smooth canvas back of the portrait. "Shall I set up some protection on the back of that thing, then?" he said boredly.

"I'll help," volunteered Neville eagerly, standing. Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance, and Hermione said,

"N-no, Neville, it's... it's fine. I'm sure Riddle can handle it."

Hermione met Riddle's gaze again. His eyes were laughing. Hermione gave him her best just-get-it-over-with glare and sat back down with Ron, Harry, and Neville.

In the big room, their voices carried more than was comforting. They talked the entire day without interruption, Harry and Ron recounting what had happened to them in the seven months after Hermione had vanished, the people they'd caught glimpses of, the Death Eaters they had seen that were disabled or hurt.

Hermione couldn't believe she was sitting there, in the Kitchens at Hogwarts, with three of her best friends. It kept rushing into her over and over – this surprise, this bizarre happiness. Everything she remembered missing about them – Ron's lovable cheer, Harry's fierce protectiveness, Neville's honest determination – was here in this very room. And there was a chance – a chance – that they could stick this out, that they could survive. She no longer felt like she was that girl who was standing with five shaking D.A. members in the Department of Mysteries. She felt like a member of the Order of the Phoenix, felt like they had a shot at being able to defend themselves if Death Eaters started attacking.

Especially if Tom Riddle was on their side.

When the sun set, they had a large dinner, and then Ron yawned. "There aren't beds down here, are there?" he said sleepily. "Not that I'm not used to sleeping on the floor by now, but if there's a chance..."

Hermione waved her wand, and a few small beds popped into existence on the opposite side of the tables, near the storeroom, away from the portrait hole. "We can't all go to sleep at once; it's not safe," Neville said.

"I'm not tired," Riddle said.

"He's not standing guard," Harry said instantly, and anger flooded through Riddle.

"It's fine," Hermione replied calmly, standing up – apparently she was used to this sort of thing. "I'm not really tired either. You three sleep. Really. You deserve it."

Harry, Ron, and Neville stood, looking like they agreed. Harry hugged Hermione tightly and said, "You're still the best, Hermione."

Ron ran a hand through his red shock of hair and looked at her again. "Listen, Hermione, can I talk to you in the storeroom for a second?"

She nodded, casting Tom a quick glance before following Ron into the back room. Riddle didn't look happy. What did Ron want to talk about? If it was about what she thought it was... Dread filled her all of a sudden, and she felt reluctant to walk through the door. But she couldn't deny him. Not one of her best friends. Not without a seeming reason. Hermione swallowed and shut the door behind them, and then she froze as she turned to Ron and he kissed her.

Ron had never really been a phenomenal kisser, but she'd assumed he'd get better over time, and it hadn't been anything to waste time worrying about. Now that she had something to compare it to, though – well, besides Viktor, and that had only been once, and she could hardly remember it – Hermione just felt... awkward. It was a fierce kiss, full of longing, and she didn't know what to do. She had no idea how to react.

The main thing about being with Ron had been that it had always felt right. It had always felt like she was supposed to be with him. Right then, though, as her back was up against the wooden door and Ron's hand held her shoulder gently – it felt wrong. That was an entirely unfamiliar feeling to associate with Ron, and it made her uncomfortable.

He pulled away, and his eyes searched hers, as if waiting for her to kiss him back, though she couldn't. Hermione swallowed and mustered up her courage.

"Ron," she said softly, "I... can't do this."

Ron's face contorted, as if someone had kicked him in the side. "What?"

Hermione bit her lip. There was no way to express how little she wanted to hurt Ron, the first boy she'd ever loved, the one she'd cried over for so long after she'd died... but she just couldn't. How could she expect herself to push Tom aside? After all, if she hadn't fallen out of love with Tom even after what he'd done, how could just one kiss from Ron change... things? They had already been altered beyond all belief, and that was what Hermione needed to explain to Ron, though, God help her, it felt like it would be impossible. "Things have changed," Hermione whispered, studying his face with dread seeping through her.

Ron swallowed, licked his lips, and looked away, disbelief coming across his features. "Are you serious?" he said, his voice hollow. "This is the first time I've seen you in seven months, and I can't even kiss you because 'things have changed'?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but she had no answer.

"You have no idea how glad I am you're alive," he said fiercely. "When Neville told us you were dead, I had a complete breakdown. I thought about you every day. Didn't you -" A vague expression of pain flickered across his features. "Didn't you think about me?"

"Yes, Ron, of course I did," Hermione said earnestly, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he moved away from the touch.

"I still love you," Ron burst out, and as he turned back to her, Hermione wished so hard that she could tell him she loved him. It tore at her heart when she couldn't say a thing in return, tore at her to see his face whiten as he realized what her silence meant. "I thought we were going to be together," his voice said hoarsely, and he stared at her as if she were someone else entirely. "I thought that was the one thing I could be sure about – that I loved you and you loved me."

She opened her mouth to reply, but one of his hands flickered up in a hesitant gesture, and she fell silent. "I... I need time for this, Hermione," Ron said quietly, and he left her alone, then, left her with a dry mouth and a heavy heart. The sound of his voice saying her name filled her eyes with tears that wouldn't fall. Back then, she hadn't thought anything could shake her love for Ron. She could hardly believe it had happened even now.

Yet there she stood, leaning against a crate of dark purple plums, staring across at iron girders, very alone.

It was a few minutes before she managed to open the door, and she cast a glance over to the beds. Ron was already frowning slightly in sleep, Harry was clutching onto his pillow as if trying to throttle it, and Neville had his covers pulled up to his chin, grasping them tight. Suddenly, Hermione did feel tired. She looked back at Tom, who faced the portrait hole, leaning against the table, his long body relaxed.

Casting a last glance at her sleeping friends, Hermione walked over to Tom, reaching a hand up to his back and kissing him softly on the side of his neck. He lifted his arm and placed it around her shoulders, pulling her in tight against his side. "What did he want?" Riddle asked, his voice low and unreadable.

"What do you think?" Hermione murmured, resting her head on his shoulder, relaxation seeping through her as he held her close. "I was praying he wouldn't still..." She trailed off and swallowed misery.

"He still loves you," said Riddle. "And you..."

Hermione tilted her face up to him. She looked drained. "You have nothing to worry about, Tom," she said, but the words weren't happy. Casting aside the love of someone she loved so much was nothing to cheer, no matter if Tom looked reassured by the words. She didn't love Ron, and that wasn't a point of celebration, and worse was the prospect of having to tell her friends about who she loved in his stead.

Riddle looked down at her, his almost-anxiety receding somewhat. She looked pensive, on edge.

So he kissed her, and as his warm lips comforted her, Hermione felt her tension streaming away. They both turned a bit to face each other fully. Hermione lifted her hand and trailed her touch up the back of his neck to bury her fingers in his soft hair, and his arms encircled her securely. As he withdrew a bit, she could feel his breath soft on her mouth, his calm eyes surveying her face.

Then he straightened up and she pressed her head to his chest, closing her eyes as he hugged her gently. Riddle found that he knew what to say to comfort her, didn't feel uneasy at all faced with her worry. Feeling coursed through him, and it felt comfortable now – soothing, revitalizing, wonderful. His voice was a soft whisper above her. "I have no doubt, Hermione, that you shall move on."

Letting out a shaky breath, Hermione nodded once. "Yes. Making the rather dangerous assumption, of course, that we all get out of this alive."

"I don't find that amusing," he replied quietly. She let out a half-chuckle as his embrace tightened.

"When are you ever amused?" Hermione said, and looked back up at him.

"Very rarely."

"Exactly. I would have thought a bit of death would cheer you right up, actually," she mused with mock cheer.

His expression darkened. "Not funny," he said, and kissed her. Again. Again.

They sat down on the nearest bench, facing outwards, and Hermione said, "I'd like to talk about what happened."

Riddle's jaw tightened. "Must we?" he said. Right now he dangled above that vast sea of remorse, the waves lapping eagerly at his feet. It was unforgettable. Ever-present.

"Yes," Hermione said. An echo of pain in her face caught Riddle's eye, and he said,

"All right."

"Could you please... explain your reasoning?" she asked carefully, messing with her hair distractedly. "I just – I just... would like to understand. Or try to."

Riddle looked down at his hands, but when he looked back at her, his gaze was steady. "I had it in my mind that since you had promised to tell me, that gave me license to attempt to coax it out of you. And since you're such an proficient Occlumens, I figured it would need to be quite a shock to get your mind to open up. I sorted through several options in my mind, and that seemed the most jarring. I assumed that once I cast Legilimens on you, you would understand that I had just been attempting to get the information I wanted, and had never intended to hurt you."

Hermione stared at the table. He continued, "Of course, nothing turned out the way... the way it was going to, in my mind. A disappointing failure of a plan, although my plans never do seem to pan out in a regular fashion around you..."

He let out a sigh and looked away from her, his brown eyes weary.

"Heightened, of course, by the small detail that it was me who killed you," he finished quietly. "That managed to disrupt things."

"It wasn't you. It was Lord Voldemort."

"That wasn't what you said before," Riddle said. He stared straight ahead, remembering her angry words.

"If I recall correctly, I also said that you were, and I quote, the foulest thing that has ever lived. Unquote. But that's not true."

Tom sighed. "I do rather hope not."

She smiled at that, but then the smile faded away. "That really was terrible, to do that to Araminta. She only ever wanted your affections."

"Those are yours."

"Yes, but -" Hermione fixed him with her schoolteacher stare – "I hope you understand that you can't do that. Especially not when you're attempting to extort information out of me."

He blew his hair out of his eyes. "Yes, Professor Granger," he replied, and she knocked him with her shoulder.

"Do not ever take my loving you for granted again, or I will... I will do something drastic."

"Will it be drastic by my standards?"

"Well, no, probably not," Hermione admitted. "But that's not really saying much, is it?"

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face. "It's amusing when you attempt to intimidate me, Hermione," he murmured, and pressed his lips to her cheek, right next to her mouth. "By all means, continue trying."

Hermione's cheeks turned a bit red, then, and she said, "I'm serious."

"Yes, I understand," Riddle said. "Betrayal in the attempt to fix a broken promise is unacceptable."

"Shall I write it down for you?" she teased.

"No. That would be most embarrassing."

She shrugged. "You could use some embarrassment."

He reached up a hand and lightly ran his fingers through her bushy hair. His eyes had a touch of fondness tinting the usual possessiveness, and his mouth was relaxed, serious. "I would humiliate myself for you," he said quietly.

"No, you wouldn't," Hermione sighed, leaning towards his touch, "and you don't need to tell me you would."

"But I would," he murmured, and tucked her hair behind her ear, kissing her softly. "I would."

A small smirk lifted the side of her mouth. "Well, then, under the rather unlikely assumption that you're telling the truth, I'll have to think of an appropriate embarrassment for you."

"What do you have in mind?" his dark voice said, a hint of a smile at its edge. He leaned down and kissed her neck.

"We'll see."

They jerked apart as a sudden creak came from one of the beds. Neville was sitting bolt upright, the sheets looking like they might tear in his grip. "Nightmare?" Hermione said.

He nodded. "I can't go back to sleep," Neville said frantically, looking from Hermione to Riddle and back again. "It was terrible, Hermione, I swear -"

"That's okay," Hermione said. "You can sleep later. It hasn't been long; you can wait a couple hours."

Neville sighed and swung his feet over the side of the bed, standing up slowly. He seemed to have aged a lot in the last months; there was a tired, drawn look to him that Hermione didn't like. She thought back to all the things he said he'd seen – there had probably been more where that had come from, too.

"You should sleep," Riddle said softly, surveying her face.

"I'm fine."

He shook his head. "You need your rest."

She frowned. "So do you."

"I will sleep once you have, and I will not hear a word to the contrary."

"But -"

"Hermione," he said quietly, and she met his eyes.

Hermione sighed. She was no tragic heroine, fainting onto a feather pillow, and she found the very thought disgusting. But she was tired, and she supposed it was stupid to reject a safe night's sleep. "Fine," she replied, and looked back at Neville, who was eyeing their conversation with something almost like suspicion. "Do try to be nice to Neville," she said under her breath as she stood up.

Riddle smirked. "Noted. Sleep well."

She smiled and patted Neville on the back as he walked by, and then she got into the unmade bed, rolled over onto her side, and drifted off to sleep.