Thanks:
Risottonocheese, Adrenaline Junkie In Da House, Jen, sweet-tang-honney, november21, jkrowlingrox, lekass, Anna on the Horizon, Scarlett, looksponge, loupyloupowell, XxXxLOVExXxX, bwahahaha XD, OfCakeAndIceCream, alianne, Shelby, chrissytingting, The-Konoha-Shadow, A. Ymous, deator11, MissImpossible, bingbing196, Bellas Decathexis, Galavantian (definitely see your point. :D), emobabygirl101, Azneejit, and MrsMargeryLovett.
In other news, I just recently discovered the fanfiction that is My Immortal. Please, please read some of it – you'll laugh so hard you'll implode.
With love, as always,
Speechwriter.
When Hermione awoke, the night was over. Her eyes widened as she saw Tom sitting quietly at one of the tables, his legs stretched out, twirling his wand slowly in one hand.
She slipped out of the bed, blinking the sleep from her eyes desperately. "Have you really not slept this whole night?" she asked him.
"Good morning," he replied. "And no. Tom Riddle does not renege on his words."
"Except when you need to," Hermione muttered, suddenly angry with herself.
"I resent that," he said, standing up and walking to join her by her bedside. "But now that you're awake, I feel confident in the security of this room, so I may get some sleep."
He blatantly restrained a yawn and kissed Hermione on the forehead before dropping off to sleep in her vacated bed. Hermione gently smoothed back the hair from his forehead, her eyes softening. She supposed she ought to be thankful for Tom, but the idea of him just sitting there, alone for hours...
Hermione stepped into the storerooms and helped herself. The fear inside her seemed to have settled into a dull, nervous throb. How could they get word out for the Order to assemble in the Kitchens? They could hardly yell it out into the hallways and hope the Death Eaters went temporarily deaf.
She swallowed, her heart beating a little faster, at the idea of going out into those dark halls. That was, really, the only way...
Hermione jumped as a handful of grapes plucked themselves from the stem and flew out the storeroom door. She stared at them as they attempted to burst through the portrait, remembering Ron's words. They just follow the flying food, see.
She hurried over to the portrait and examined the wards Tom had put in place. They were excellent, of course – all Anti-Pugilistics, easily adjustable from inside, but difficult to break from outside. Hermione tapped one of the stones in the wall. It slid in on itself slightly, creating an exit to the hall outside, and Hermione guided the grapes away from the portrait to the new hole. The grapes flew out one by one, trailing down the hall in a single-file line like some bizarre, miniature, fruity army.
Hermione shook her head after briefly considering keeping the food from going anywhere. It could just as easily be a Death Eater summoning it as someone she knew, but she couldn't risk depriving her friends of something to eat. She tapped the stone again, and it slid back into place.
Hermione glanced back at the storeroom and ducked as a loaf of bread whizzed its way towards her. Shaking her head, she tapped the same stone to make the hole reappear, and the bread escaped.
She restrained a snort of laughter. The humor of the image of Fenrir Greyback sprinting after that line of grapes was not lost on her.
"Morning," she said, as Harry rolled out of bed groggily. He nodded.
"What's the time?" he asked.
"No idea," Hermione replied. "It looks as if the sun's just rising, but with the clouds, I can't be sure."
Harry looked up at the windows and then winced, his fingers flying to his forehead. Hermione bit her lip, knowing how much he hated it when anyone dared to look worried about him, and he shook it off after a second and went over to the storeroom.
Over the next half hour or so, Neville and Ron both slowly came back to life. As they all sat down together, Harry cast a glance over at Tom, who was sleeping peacefully, and said, "What's with him?"
Hermione bit back a sharp retort. "He stayed up all night."
"What'd he do that for?" snorted Ron, and Hermione very carefully restrained herself from snapping.
"Because I was tired, and he didn't want us to go unguarded," she said.
Neville raised his eyebrows. "That was nice of him," he said quietly, but Hermione was frustrated to see that Harry just looked suspicious, and Ron disbelieving. She tried putting herself in their shoes. If Ron had vanished for seven months, leaving her scared stiff, and she'd heard that he died, and he suddenly returned with a young Lord Voldemort?
She sighed and glanced over at the portrait hole. "I think we should go out in small groups and bring back whoever we can find."
Ron said, "There are only five of us, Hermione; how much smaller can we get?" He spoke carefully, as if attempting to restrain himself from saying what was really on his mind.
"I just think we should leave a couple people here, just in case someone happens to run by or something."
"But what if Death Eaters attack us?" asked Harry. "What if that one from yesterday comes back and sees the portrait's locked shut?"
Hermione bit her lip. Actually, the fact that the Death Eater hadn't returned probably meant that he had found someone. Her stomach lurched at the thought. "Once there are more of us, I feel as if that won't -"
"But there aren't more of us now," Harry interrupted.
"Well, then, let's start, before a Death Eater shows up," said Neville, looking around at them as if for validation.
Hermione silently agreed, but waited for Harry and Ron to say something.
"Who'll stay behind, then?" Ron asked.
"It's dangerous for Harry to stay in one place for too long," Hermione said immediately.
"I won't be much use if I stay here," admitted Neville. "But I probably also won't be much help in a fight."
"Well, I'll go, then," said Hermione. "You, me, and Harry."
"I'm not leaving Ron with him," Harry said fiercely.
Hermione gritted her teeth. "Harry, if you won't trust Riddle, will you please trust me?"
Harry looked at her for a long second, and then Ron said, "Harry, it's fine. I'll be fine."
Hermione hated the worry on Harry's features, hated that he thought Tom might torture and kill Ron.
"You better get a move on," said Ron.
Hermione nodded and Disillusioned herself, Harry, and Neville. They opened the portrait slightly and snuck out, and it was not until Hermione was already standing outside that she realized exactly how angry Riddle would be that she had walked out into the depths of Hogwarts without him by her side.
She shook the thought away and whispered, "Where should we check first?"
"The library?" said Neville.
"Sounds good to me," came Harry's voice. They crouched and hurried towards the steps, their footfalls seeming to ring twice as loudly as they should have.
It wasn't terribly far to the library. It was perhaps the first time the sight of the large doors did not comfort Hermione. They were just open enough for them to squeeze through. Harry went first, peering around suspiciously.
The library wasn't the brightest of rooms in the first place, and without the torches lit it was practically as dark as night. Hermione glanced around – there didn't seem to be any signs of life, to her almost-relief, and then she remembered that they were supposed to be trying to find signs of life...
She poked through the familiar shelves, smelling dust, Harry's breathing audible ahead of her. She whispered, "Well, there don't seem to be any Death Eaters..."
Then Harry's voice echoed around the library, shockingly loud. "Hello? Anyone?"
Hermione jumped and threw a hand out at Harry's dark outline. She caught his shoulder. "What are you doing?" she hissed.
"Well, how else are they going to know it's us and not a couple of Death Eaters?" Harry whispered back.
"You'd better let me do it. The Death Eaters cannot know where you are."
A muscle tightened in Harry's jaw, but he nodded. Hermione took a breath, looked around, and said in a normal speaking voice, which seemed to echo horribly, "Anyone? It's Hermione."
There was no answer. Hermione looked back at Neville, but he shrugged. "I can't see anyone. Maybe we should just leave."
Hermione nodded in agreement. They crept from the library again, and Hermione was met with a jolt of remembrance as she looked down the corridor. This was where she'd sprinted after Avery as he dragged Ginny away...
She set off in that direction without even thinking about it. "Where are we going?" breathed Harry as he walked next to Hermione.
"This is where I last saw Ginny," whispered Hermione.
Harry froze, and then hurried ahead. "Where was it? Where, Hermione?"
She put a finger to her lips. "Avery took her in here."
Hermione looked in through the classroom window. Harry peered in too, but the classroom was dark and empty. He let out a frustrated breath.
"I wouldn't expect her to be in the same place," Hermione whispered. "It's been months –"
"I know," he snapped, and Hermione recoiled.
Then, suddenly, screaming erupted from somewhere up ahead. They couldn't pinpoint the direction of the noise, exactly, because the echoing made it seem like it was coming from all sides.
Harry said, "It's coming from that way, I think," and sprinted down the hallway. Hermione and Neville followed, and Hermione found herself feeling sick to her stomach. They were sprinting towards torture, perhaps, or towards a battle where someone could be killed... just like that, just as easily as being stunned or jinxed...
In the stairwell, it was practically impossible to figure out which way to go, so Harry made a split-second decision and ran up the steps. Hermione bit back her fear, reaching her hand into her pocket and gripping her wand. This was nothing more than another duel, nothing more than another Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson –
Then the screaming solidified, as they barreled out into the fourth floor. It was coming from one of these classrooms, but they were all dark, every single one. They stopped running and slowed down to a creep again, checking all the windows – and then Harry fiercely beckoned to them, stopping beside one of the doors.
Hermione pressed her cheek to the glass, careful not to make the door move. There was only one Death Eater inside, standing over a huddled figure. Hermione couldn't tell who it was.
"Okay. Neville, you open the door, Hermione, you get whoever that is out safely, and I'll hex the Death Eater," Harry whispered fiercely, checking up and down the hallway quickly. "On three. One – two – three."
Neville wrenched the door open, and Harry rolled into the classroom, even as the Death Eater instinctively whirled and sent a fizzing curse towards the door. "Stupefy!" Harry yelled, flicking his wand. The spell hit the Death Eater square in the chest, and they flew backwards, slamming into the wall. Hermione flicked her wand, lifting the huddled figure on the ground into the air and out the door. Harry scrambled back out of the classroom, saying quickly, "Colloportus."
They fled back down the hallway to the stairwell, not daring to stop and see who it might be that they had saved – their robes were twisted up and thrown over their head, and there was no time to bother with that. Hermione's heart pounded. "Let's get back to the Kitchens," she whispered. Neville looked back into the stairwell and let out a squeak – footsteps, loud, heavy footsteps, pounded behind them. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat.
"Library," hissed Harry, and they fled headlong towards the Library, squeezing through the doors and sprinting back into the Restricted Section.
They all tried desperately to calm their breathing, but Hermione didn't seem to be able to. She dropped her wand, lowering the person to the floor, and she collapsed, hugging her knees to her chest, fear constricting her lungs. She shut her eyes tight, searching for a comforting image, any image. Tom's face swam through her mind.
Hermione swallowed and took in deep breaths through her nose.
"They didn't follow us?" whispered Neville. Harry shook his head and rolled the person they'd rescued over, removing robes from his face.
Hermione let out a long breath. George Weasley. He'd escaped the battle fine – but he'd been split from Professor McGonagall. He breathed shallowly, his freckles stark on his pale face, and there seemed to have been a clump of hair torn out of his scalp, which drizzled blood down the side of his face with the missing ear.
Flicking her wand to siphon away the blood, Hermione surveyed the rest of George's body. He didn't seem terribly hurt, which was a boon. The twins always had been proficient, Hermione remembered, with a twinge of pain in her chest as she remembered Fred's death. Remembered that bloody first part of the battle where Lupin and Tonks had been slaughtered as if they had been nothing –
Harry pulled out his wand and whispered, "Ennervate." George shivered a little, and then frowned. He curled up instinctively. When his eyes opened, he looked more baffled than anything.
Of course, the Disillusionments were still on. Hermione flicked her wand, removing them.
George's face cleared, and he let out a shuddering breath of relief. "Thank God." His voice was raw, hoarse, and painful; Hermione knew how it felt to speak through that.
"Who was it?" whispered Harry. "Who was hurting you?"
"Macnair," breathed George. "He kept asking me where my brother was, and I kept telling him I had more than one, the stupid git -"
Hermione swallowed. They'd be looking for Ron, of course, now that Hermione had proved worthless. But Ron had told her they'd only been able to lay a hand on him once, and that was during a brief scuffle outside Fluffy's hallway. Hermione silently thanked their lucky stars that she'd used the Fidelius Charm for him, too, and then she realized – the Kitchens were not nearly as safe a place for Harry and Ron as the Gryffindor common room. Perhaps there was a shortcut up to the common room, a way they could easily flee – or maybe they could create one...
Who was a better person to ask about secret passageways than a Weasley twin?
"George, is there a way to get to the Gryffindor common room quickly from the Kitchens?" she asked.
He half sat up, but collapsed again, grimacing. "My body won't work right," he moaned quietly. "But 'course there is, Hermione – how do you think we got all the food we needed up there all the time?"
Hermione nodded. "Where is it?"
"The back of the storeroom. One of the flagstones, I'd have to show you – and it spills right out about two hallways away from the common room."
She breathed out in relief. "Perfect," she whispered. "Now, come on – we need to get you back to the Kitchens."
"Why, what's in the Kitchens?" asked George as the other three helped him to his feet. He clutched at the bloody patch on his scalp. "Merlin's beard, that hurts -"
"We're trying to regroup," Harry answered.
Hermione said, "But if there are Death Eaters between here and the Kitchens..."
"Whatever happens," said Neville determinedly, "we've got to get George back."
George grinned weakly. "Thanks, mate. I appreciate it, since I can't stand on my own damn feet..."
Hermione Disillusioned them all again, and they snuck into the hallway, checking to the left and right. As they turned the first corner, a figure suddenly loomed in Hermione's peripherals, and she whirled around to face it.
"Disillusioned, are we?" snarled a deep male voice. "Finite Incantatem."
All four of them faded back into view. "RUN!" screamed Hermione, and waved her wand violently to deflect a jet of yellow light that flew towards them. It hit the wall and exploded with a tremendous bang, sending fragments of a portrait frame spinning through the air. "RUN!" she yelled again. "GO!"
It seemed as if the Death Eater had been too distracted with the flailing Hermione to get a clear look at Harry, because he didn't give chase after the three boys, who were fleeing down the hallway as fast as possible, George's arms slung over Harry and Neville's shoulders. The Death Eater fired a spell at their retreating backs, but Hermione staggered sideways and flicked her wand, and a white mist rose in front of the spell, sending it hissing into the ceiling.
Her heart pounded. Who was it? Who was she fighting?
She waved her wand, and the fragments of portrait all around the Death Eater flared upwards in a sudden inferno. He flicked his wand and the flames extinguished themselves, twirling into a point of light that sped towards Hermione. She sidestepped, desperately casting simple spells at him. All her advanced magic seemed to have drained from her mind; she couldn't think straight –
"I thought I'd seen the last of you when Fenrir dragged you off," said a cold voice from behind the Death Eater's mask, and Hermione froze for a second, just before diving out of the way of a red jet of light and firing a Jelly-Legs Jinx at him. Avery. It was Avery. Ginny.
And, suddenly, Hermione was on the offensive. She scrambled to her feet, drawing in a deep breath through her nose, and – Dora Auctus! – the rock in front of Avery reached up like a giant claw. He staggered backwards, defending with a cutting spell – and the cut sliced through the stone and continued towards Hermione. She drew in a sharp breath and staggered away, but the curse caught the side of her leg, and she yelled.
"Not so nice, is -" started Avery's sneering voice, but she flicked her wand, and then he froze in place as Hermione cast Arigulum Minima. Thank you, Araminta Meliflua.
She limped up to him slowly, clutching at her throbbing calf, letting out thin hisses of breath to try and control the pain. "You're going to tell me where Ginny Weasley is," she growled, and snatched his wand.
She flicked her own wand, and ropes wrapped themselves around Avery. He fell to the ground, arms stuck by his sides. "Start talking," she said, voice cold with fury, "and I swear to God if you yell for help I will stamp on your face." She meant it, too, which was scary for her to realize. She knelt down by him and tore off his mask. Hot anger choked her at the sight of him.
Avery opened his mouth, but he just spat at her, wriggling. Rage boiling in Hermione's stomach. "I'm giving you one last chance before I do something I'm going to regret."
"Like you've got the guts for it," said Avery, his voice sounding a lot less frightened than he was looking.
"Oh, I've got the guts. Don't you worry." Hermione's voice was quiet and menacing. "Start talking."
She pressed her wand to his throat, and he swallowed. "No," he said. "I can't."
Hermione bit her tongue. Of course – if the Dark Lord found out about this, he'd be tortured beyond all imagining. She shook away the thought – no sympathy, Hermione – and instead refocused on the fact, the simple fact, that he knew where Ginny was.
The answer came to her all of a sudden. "Legilimens," she said, and then she was inside his mind, a strange, spectral mind. She flew past everything until the Death Eaters took Hogwarts.
She stopped, and her grip tightened on the wand. This memory – this was it. It was familiar, for it was in her head, too, only now it continued after Fenrir dragged her down the hall – continued after Hermione saw Ginny's terrified face disappearing behind the door.
"Come on," hissed Avery to Ginny, pulling her up to her feet by her hair, and she screamed. "Let's take a walk." He stuck his hand into a glass with Floo Powder, threw it into the fire and it flared green, and he stepped in and said, "Potions Classroom" –
"Got her," said Avery, "even though she put up a bit of a fight," and Antonin Dolohov turned away from Molly Weasley, who was suspended upside-down in the air, revolving slowly, and Dolohov said, "Well done, then – bring her here, we're supposed to find out where her brother is, since this one here, that's his mother, see, hasn't moved in hours," and Avery shoved Ginny in front of him and she stumbled and hit her head on a large cauldron as she fell, and as she looked up at him there was hate in her eyes and an ugly gash on her forehead –
Then, from there, there was screaming, and Ginny suffered for minutes while Dolohov attempted to get into the mind of Molly Weasley, his wand held up high, but then for a split second he turned away to look at the shrieking Ginny, his wand still raised, and the arm of Molly Weasley flailed out and snatched at his wand, and Avery roared, "Watch it," but it was too late – the spell was broken, and Mrs. Weasley hit the ground, rolling to her feet, breathless and wild-eyed –
And then Avery and Mrs. Weasley had at it, and Dolohov tried to get at her with his bare hands but she kicked him in a place that must have been quite painful, her eyes filled with rage like Hermione had never seen, and she baredher teeth, ran forward, grabbed Ginny's hand, and cast a spell that exploded into Avery, flinging him back, and then the memory ended –
And when he awoke, the Dark Lord was standing above him, twirling his wand idly in his fingers, and Hermione swallowed, for Tom had been doing that just last night –
Before she could withdraw from Avery's memories, though, she was yanked out involuntarily. A hand gripped her collar. A hand with long nails that scratched, and a wand pressed the back of her neck. "I don't understand," hissed Bellatrix Lestrange. "this one's supposed to be dead."
Hermione shook with anger, staring up at Bellatrix, the one who had tortured Luna, the one who had ordered Hagrid to be whipped, like an animal –
And she just couldn't restrain herself. "Sorry to disappoint," she growled. She clenched her left fist tight, shot up, and smashed her fist into Bellatrix Lestrange's face.
Bella hadn't expected a thing – her fatal flaw always had been overconfidence. She let out a howl of agony, but Hermione was already lurching to settle back onto both her feet, her bloody leg screaming in pain. As Bellatrix clutched her broken nose, Hermione flicked her wand, and – Petrificus Totalus! – Bellatrix was on the ground, unable to move a muscle.
"Bellatrix!" yelled Avery, and his eyes focused on Hermione. "I'll remember you; you won't get away -"
Hermione Silenced him. "Silence befits you," she said coolly, and then, hardly believing that she had just said that, she sprinted away as quickly as she possibly could, her left leg feeling like it was spilling its weight in blood every time she put it down.
Shit – Hermione looked back at the huge, splashing, messy trail she was leaving. Evanesco!
She had to turn back and Vanish the blood every few steps, but there were no more Death Eaters between there and the hallway to the Kitchens.
Hermione froze – someone stood outside the portrait to the Kitchens – but she relaxed as she realized it was Tom.
He caught sight of her, and Hermione was shocked still by his expression. Riddle looked livid. He was even flushed an angry red, which was entirely new –
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled down the hall at her. Hermione's face drew in shock, and then in fear – what if someone heard him? – but he didn't seem to care. He ran to her, gripping her shoulders fiercely, taking in sharp breaths as if he had just sprinted miles and miles. She felt fear fill her again. What was wrong with him? What had happened?
Then she was getting dragged along behind him back through the portrait, and she only just managed to flail out an arm and Vanish the blood she'd left outside.
The other boys in the room looked just as scared as she felt. Every single one of them stared at Riddle, who, now, at least, seemed like he was trying to get himself under control.
"Merlin, Hermione, you're bleeding," Ron said, his voice filled with worry, and he got to his feet.
"It's just my leg. I'll fix it; hold on."
She limped to the table and pulled up her sodden pant leg, Vanishing the blood. It was a large, deep, clean cut. Hermione winced as she set her let up on the table and set up a small runic spell.
It sank into her leg, and slowly the skin knitted itself back together. The tissues beneath did the same, and Hermione sighed as the throbbing vanished.
Then she swayed and sat down ungracefully on the table with a small thud. Using a runic spell after losing enough blood to fill the lake was probably not the best idea. Hermione swallowed, and a hand gripped her shoulder, steadying her. "Thanks," she muttered vaguely, putting a hand up to her forehead and nearly poking herself in the eye in the process.
"Blimey, what happened?" Ron asked. "Which Death Eater was that? How did you get away? When Harry and Neville and George came back alone, me and Riddle were right about ready to come after you –"
"It was Avery. I tied him up, Silenced him, and read his memory."
There was a vicious satisfaction to her words, and an awed silence filled the room. Harry let out a short, almost-disbelieving laugh. "Why would you read his memory?" he asked, but then his face froze in realization. "Avery..." he breathed. "Is Ginny all right? Is she okay? What happened?"
Hermione felt bizarrely filled with the urge to laugh. "Avery took her to the Potions classroom. Dolohov was there, and so was your mum, Ron – and she just grabbed Dolohov's wand and -" She broke off, letting out a snort of laughter. "And kicked him... in... well, kicked him in a quite painful spot, and then she and Ginny ran. So as far as I know... they're safe." She let out a long, relieved sigh.
"Oh, and I broke Bellatrix Lestrange's nose," Hermione continued, and the awed silence turned into absolute delight.
"What curse did you use?" asked Neville excitedly. "Oh, I wish I'd stayed!"
"I didn't use a curse," said Hermione, shaking out her left hand, feeling very, very woozy now, as if she were just making things up, but it had happened... "I punched her, and then I used Petrificus Totalus, and then I ran – well, limped – away, as fast as I could..." She dissolved into giggles. "The look on her face! Besides all the blood, that is." She swayed dangerously.
"You need rest," said Riddle, tightening his hold on her shoulder, his lips thin. "And a Blood Replenishment draught wouldn't hurt, either, but I'd suppose that's not an option, with our current resources."
Ron's face lit up. "Hold on!" he said, and ran to George, who was passed out in one of the beds. Ron rummaged around in George's pockets, bringing out some useful Weasley wares – Peruvian Darkness Powder, and then a box, which Ron opened expectantly. "Yes," he said. "Here, Hermione – have half of this Nosebleed Nougat, it'll help a bit with the blood thing."
Hermione groped out for the Snackbox and bit off one end of it. She hoped she hadn't bitten off the wrong end, for a second, but then, weirdly, she felt blood surging through her anew, as if her heart had been ordered to twice its usual pace. "Thanks, Ron," she said, and the giddiness faded into exhaustion. She got tiredly to her feet, walked over to a bed, and as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Riddle sat at the table, his fingers tapping his knees. He ached to walk to that bed, to yell at Hermione's sleeping body for being so reckless, to kiss her fiercely, to tell her that he would not permit her to just give away the life that was so hard-regained.
The other boys, though, still eyed him with unease. Riddle glanced up at the ceiling, wishing patience would stop being a foreign concept to him, wishing that the trait would bestow itself upon him so that he didn't feel like cursing the Potter boy for his venomous stares...
He looked over at the other Weasley, who was lying in bed, passed out after having been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. He looked a few years older than Ron.
Then Riddle's gaze fell on Hermione again, and anger swelled inside him. Didn't she understand? She was the only thing he knew in this entire place. She was the only person he could give a damn about, and she had just run off like that into those hallways without him. When he had woken up, he had nearly throttled Weasley when he'd learned that Hermione had just left. The only thing that had stopped him from losing it was the remembrance that Hermione didn't want her friends to know that they were involved, and if all his anger had surfaced, it would have been suspicious indeed.
But then, why should he bother to restrain himself for her if she would just abandon him, run off and risk her own safety? He'd told her she wouldn't be going anywhere without him, and then at the first opportunity she'd gone, sending him spinning into worry. Riddle detested worry – it meant something was out of his control.
She always was rather out of control, though, wasn't she?
He had to make sure she was safe – there couldn't be a chance that she could be accosted and dragged off to some room to be tortured and – and murdered, like he'd already done.
Riddle let out a long breath through his teeth. When Potter and Longbottom had returned with the other Weasley slung between them, and Hermione hadn't followed them inside... Well, Potter had only barely been able to restrain Ron from leaving, and no one could possibly have restrained Riddle for any longer than he'd managed to restrain himself.
And then she'd come back hurt. Of all things, she hadn't even managed to preserve herself.
Riddle realized dimly that the other three boys were talking.
"Where'd you see Flitwick, mate?" asked Potter quietly, and Ron bit his lip.
"It wasn't far from the tower up to the Owlery," he said. "I don't know – that's a bit far to wander out – if we can't manage to find him, I'd rather us not be stuck out so far from the Kitchens..."
Neville said, "Me and Professor McGonagall and George were hiding in the walls, for a while – but I'm starting to think that might have been a bad idea, because we kept hearing these weird noises from inside the pipes."
Harry and Ron exchanged a significant glance. "People need to get out of the walls, then," Harry said quietly. "Back when the Chamber opened, that was how the Basilisk used to get around – there's plenty of room in those pipes for Death Eaters to put something nasty in there."
"The Acromantulas are dead, though, right?" said Ron, suddenly looking absolutely ill. "They're not still creeping around, are they?"
"No, those are gone," Neville reassured.
"How do you know that's not your friends, hiding in the pipes?" said Riddle's voice quietly, and the other three instantly turned to him, looking as surprised as if they'd thought he was mute.
Ron blinked a few times before he seemed to get what Riddle had said. "I guess that's not impossible."
Harry's nose twitched involuntarily as he looked at Riddle, and Riddle turned his eyes to meet Harry's. That green gaze was so very furious, so very out of control. "Just a theory," Riddle said calmly.
The edges of Potter's mouth spasmed slightly, as if he were desperately trying to restrain himself from baring his teeth like an animal. "Look, Riddle," Potter ground out, "I – I can't... handle this. You. I'm sorry."
Riddle looked down at the table, wondering where to begin. The other two boys stayed quiet, waiting for his response. "Potter," he said quietly, "I am trying so very hard not to antagonize you. It really is wearisome, your poorly-concealed mistrust."
He let out a slow breath through his nose and looked back at Potter, who bristled, a muscle tightening in his jaw. Riddle continued, "I understand that the concept of my being here may be more than a little troubling to, as you say, 'handle' – but given this situation, I might suggest that you look beyond yourself, if that is possible for you, and realize that this is not a matter of who you can or cannot handle." He worked hard to keep the coldness from his tone. "If you would rather I just tell all my thoughts to Hermione, and she can regurgitate them from her mouth, which, at least, you seem to trust – I might ask why it wouldn't be simpler just for us to be civil to each other."
Potter opened his mouth, but Riddle's right hand flickered up, inducing silence. "Before you speak about how it's difficult to be civil to me when I've destroyed your life, I'd ask you to refrain," said Riddle, voice impossibly soft, eyes still locked with Potter's. "If someone told you right now that you would grow up to be a murderer, I presume you would have difficulty taking the news."
Riddle stood slowly, flexing his fingers. "In any case, I'd like to put juvenile predispositions aside, as we're confronted with the immediate and sizeable problem of the people who would love no more than to see your dead bodies lying on the ground." Riddle sighed, brushing his dark hair back. Longbottom seemed in a sort of trance. Ron's eyes looked hollow at Riddle's words. Potter still, infuriatingly, looked repulsed by Riddle's presence, his green eyes flashing.
"Let's go," Potter muttered to Ron, his tone sharp, and he turned towards the portrait hole.
"Oi, mate, where are we going?" Ron asked indignantly. "You've only just gotten back."
"I can't... be in here right now, and as we're speaking someone might be getting killed," Potter said fiercely. "Come on."
His eyes found Riddle's for a heartbeat, and they clearly read that Riddle was not invited on the next search party. Riddle almost scoffed – as if he had any inclination to go with them, anyway, with Potter being so uncivil and Hermione lying in bed on the opposite side of the room. He made a vague attempt to keep the light amusement out of his eyes as Potter's lip finally curled in that defiant sneer it had been threatening for a while.
"Stay safe," Riddle said quietly. For Hermione. Neville cast a nervous glance back at him as the three clambered through the fruit portrait. Then Riddle finally let out that exasperated sigh he'd been restraining and walked over to Hermione's bedside.
He sat on the edge of the bed, observing her sleeping face. Her mouth was slightly open. She looked more unconscious than asleep – although it probably wouldn't take long until she would wake up. A bit of blood loss couldn't merit more than a small nap.
Riddle turned his gaze up to the windows. The wards on them were incredibly strong – possibly stronger than anything he could have created. Riddle suddenly wondered what it would be like to meet his other self. The now-Lord Voldemort would doubtless attempt to manipulate Riddle into joining him – after all, what would be better than two Tom Riddles in collaboration?
Riddle felt, though, that the world could not sustain two Tom Riddles. When the inevitable power struggle occurred, the battle would shake every rock and tree, would cause Muggles to whimper and hide in their hovels. The other Riddle had been alive for seventy years, had had seventy years of festering hate swelling in him, while Tom had been alive for around forty. That meant that Voldemort had had more time to practice, more time to cultivate his Dark Magic, which was surely fearsome. Riddle found himself wondering what beautiful things Voldemort knew... what fine Dark Arts were within the potency of that persona...
He swallowed and looked back at Hermione. The power that Voldemort had allured him; tempted him. If Hermione had heard his thoughts, she would have frowned and tutted and told him that those furthest reaches of Dark Magic were nothing to aim for... although they were so fascinating. Not solely offensive Dark Magic – pain did tend to lend itself to being generic after a while – but the Dark Arts. Studies of death. Studies of darkness, of wounds, of things that could be immensely useful if only they weren't labeled with mistrust because of their inherently eerie nature.
Riddle sighed and shifted a little, and was alarmed when Hermione jerked back awake.
"Go back to sleep," he said quietly.
Her voice was tired as she asked, "Where are the others?"
"Off being dismally heroic."
Hermione's eyes shone with sudden worry. "Just Harry, Ron, and Neville?"
He nodded. "Don't you trust them to keep themselves safe?"
"Around Death Eaters, I don't trust anyone to keep themselves safe." Hermione blinked the blear from her eyes, sitting up.
"Not even me?" Riddle asked, moving back to sit by her.
She rested her head on his shoulder. "You are the exception, though that doesn't mean I wouldn't be worried if you went out there and did something stupid."
Riddle's voice, above her, was almost-amused, but had a faint hint at irritation in it. "So, essentially, what you've just done?"
"I had Harry and Neville!" she protested, lifting her head from his shoulder.
"Would you call either of them proficient in their abilities to protect you?"
He was surprised when she said firmly, "I would trust Harry with my life." Every word bore conviction.
"I would not trust Harry with your life," Riddle said.
"You don't even trust me with my life." Hermione yawned. "How long was I asleep?"
"Hardly even twenty minutes. You really should go back to sleep."
She waved a hand vaguely and stood up. "It was just a bit of a cut, and it's healed." When had he started treating her like a child? Hermione didn't like the feeling. First the sleep issue of the night before; now this? Was he going to start pre-chewing her food next, or something?
The idea made her lips twitch a bit in laughter.
An amused look wandered across his face as he surveyed her. "What's funny?"
"Oh, nothing, Tom," she said. "I just wish you would stop making me feel like I'm eight years old." She pulled out her wand and tamed her hair, and then looked down at George with a smile.
When she looked back up, Tom stood right in front of her, inches away.
The magnetism between their bodies was as unsettling as always to Hermione. It was actually a physical strain not to move in and kiss him, not to feel his lean body pressed up against hers. Her eyes stared at his chest, and then she tilted her head a bit and let her gaze slowly travel to his lips.
"I'm not patronizing you," he said, and Hermione observed how those lips crafted the words, with no strain, smoothly, easily, with just a hint at a smirk buried at the side of his mouth. "I'm well aware how old you are."
But he didn't kiss her. He just trailed one hand down from her collarbones, between her breasts, resting right below her navel for a second before his fingers dropped away from her body, feeling like they would jerk her towards him with that same movement. Hermione found herself blushing hotly. "Then stop treating me like I can't fend for myself," she said, making his eyes flicker back up to hers.
A smile made its way onto his mouth, and he said, "Come on, Hermione – aren't you tired of having to do everything on your own?"
That was an interesting question. Hermione felt like she'd always been a bit domineering, but that was partially because she felt no one else could do a better job of things than she – or, sometimes, even a decent job at all. Well, the idea of Tom Riddle botching something up was particularly stupid. Unless, of course, that botched something happened to involve some sort of social aptitude. Regardless – Hermione wasn't ever one to let things move without her having some say in the matter.
"No need to answer that," Riddle murmured, and then his arms were sliding around her waist and tugging her to him sharply. Her arms came up, and her hands rested on his chest. "I know you must get tired of it," he murmured, dark eyes like chocolate, a small crease in-between his straight, serious brows. "Everyone gets tired of having to be in control."
What an unusually telling statement to come from his mouth, his mouth that was now pressing down onto hers roughly.
Then he took control. One of his hands twisted into her bushy hair, and the other slid down her back, dropping down significantly below her waist. Hermione flushed red even as he kissed her, and she slowly reached her hands around his neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss him more fully. His kiss was demanding, insistent, impossible to control, and Hermione relaxed, letting him kiss her as he wanted, letting him take full command of the situation. His hands wandered freely over her body, lighting fevered desire in her.
She nearly protested, nearly reminded him that George Weasley lay feet away from them, nearly told him that this wasn't the time – but why couldn't this be the time? She wanted him. No one was watching. There was no telling if she would be there tomorrow, or when the next opportunity would be. And he didn't seem open for suggestions right then, not with the way they were crushed tight together, not with the way his teeth were lightly working that sensitive spot on her neck, not with the way he was sliding off her outer robes and pushing her onto the bed.
Hermione groped around for her wand, found it, and cast Muffliato – it would be really bad if this were what George woke up to – and then her wand fell from her hand as Riddle climbed on top of the bed, his knees pressing on either side of her thighs, his hands pinning her wrists to the bed. His every muscle was tense, poised, beautiful as he crouched above her, and Hermione swallowed as a small, real smile appeared on his lips. He surveyed her with those dark, satisfied eyes.
"Relax, Hermione," he murmured, and then he was kissing her again, and Hermione felt as if she was sinking into the bed, sinking into a different world entirely, one where this could happen all the time without reason and without worry. Her heart beat hard, and Tom slowly took off his own robes.
Her fear of Harry and Ron walking in receded. Her fear of being killed receded. Everything she was afraid of was blocked from her mind by the triumphant feeling of him with her, there for her.
He had no problem, at that moment, making it apparent that he wanted to have her. Hermione felt herself heeding his words – Relax, Hermione – and let him do what he wanted, caught up in the desperate throes of pleasure.
After it was over, after the sheets looked like they'd been caught in a tornado, Hermione slowly regained control of herself. Only then did the worries start to trickle back in, and she dressed herself and stood.
Tom raised an eyebrow at her, the smirk never leaving his face, his hair chaotic, his naked body unapologetic. Hermione had a delightful afterglow about her, her face flushed, her eyes bright, and Riddle found himself with the hope that she had been able to garner at least a momentary respite from her unnecessary worries.
Perhaps not quite unnecessary.
Tom sighed and got dressed, but left his hair the way it was, as messy as that Potter boy's. He yawned as Hermione vanished the old bed and conjured a new one. The blush was fading from her face.
"I hope they're all right," she said quietly, and suddenly it was as if they hadn't just made love. Her words struck the shimmer from the air, sent everything thudding back to reality.
"Your Potter friend always manages to emerge from things all right," Riddle replied, trying to keep the distaste from his voice.
"He's taking this whole thing terribly. Absolutely awfully. I suppose I shouldn't have really expected anything else."
Riddle's face darkened. "If he continues the way he's going, I'm going to snap," he said quietly, his voice dangerous.
Hermione's eyes flashed. "No. You can't let that happen, Tom. Then he'll have his reason to distrust you. That's all he's looking for, is one reason." She let out a frustrated breath. "I daresay you're already going to be met with enough hate from everyone we manage to find – you really don't need to be worrying about having angered Harry."
Tom scoffed. "I don't care about being ostracized, as long as it doesn't mean they attempt to keep me away from you."
Her eyes softened. She kissed him lightly. "That's not an option."
"You are everything I have here." His eyes burned into hers with fervor. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on. "You are everything I have here. Don't forget that again."
"When have I forgotten that?"
He stepped back, and his voice hardened a bit. "When you walked out of here without me."
Hermione sat down hard on the bed. "Tom, you're being ridiculous. You can't be around me all the time."
"Why not?"
"Because that's not logical! People will get suspicious -"
His eyes darkened. "I don't care. Even if you're ashamed about being with me, I'm not -"
"I didn't ever say that! Don't be so -"
His voice cut her off sharply. "Don't be so what, Hermione? So resentful about the fact that I've instantly been tagged as someone who's murdered all these people's friends and family? So angry about your seeming embarrassment over my being here? Shall I just kill myself, then, and get out of you and your friends' hair?"
Hermione's mouth opened in shock, and her eyes flashed angrily. She drew herself up, tossing her bushy hair back. "Do not even dare joke about that, and don't you imply that I'm embarrassed to be with you."
"Then what is it?" he asked, throwing his arms wide and taking a couple steps back. "What is it that's keeping you from telling them?"
"You've seen how they're taking you being here in the first place; why would I push that even further?" snapped Hermione.
Tom looked up at the ceiling, and when he looked back at her, his eyes were furious. "Maybe because I'm in love with you?" he said through gritted teeth. "Or did you forget that, somehow? Did you think I just wouldn't mind being shoved to the side at the first possible opportunity?"
"You are perfectly well aware that there are reasons for what I'm doing!" Hermione said, forcibly restraining herself from yelling. Why the hell was he being so illogical? Didn't he understand Harry's thought process? Of course the boy was going to be afraid of Lord Voldemort!
"Reasons? By all means, doshare," said Tom coldly. "Is it because of my name? Now that we're back, do you not trust me anymore?"
Hermione's lips quivered in outrage, and then she burst out, "Like I wouldn't have a reason not to trust you!"
All expression vanished from Tom's face. He stared at her. The room suddenly seemed very, very quiet, and Hermione's fists slowly unclenched as she realized what she'd said. "I'm sorry," she said, low and quick, swallowing her fading bitterness. "I didn't mean that. I didn't mean to say that." She took a step towards him, reaching out for his shoulder, but his hand flicked up, caught her wrist in a tight grip, and didn't let go.
"Evidently, you did," he replied, and his voice was like dark ice. He released her wrist.
Hermione's heart beat fast. No. He couldn't close himself off from her here, not now, not while they were in this place. "No, I didn't. I didn't mean it, Tom. Look at me." For he wasn't looking at her, but down at the flagstone between them. "Tom, look at me."
He lifted his eyes to hers. His expression was no longer blank, but slightly distant.
"Don't listen to me when I get mad," Hermione whispered. "You know I say stupid things when I get mad."
He just stood there for a while, seeming to be contemplating some sort of response. He said nothing, so Hermione continued, "All I want is for them to give you a chance, and that's impossible if I estrange the boy who still loves me, who also happens to be one of my best friends."
Hermione reached out slowly and took his hand, folding her fingers with his.
"Hermione, is it always going to be like this?" His eyes were troubled, and Hermione didn't like the sound of the words.
"Is it always going to be like what?"
"Is... what I did – is it always just going to be sitting at the back of your mind? Just waiting to be brought up?"
Hermione reached up her other hand and gently traced the curve of his face, trying to reassure him with the touch. To be honest with herself, she didn't know. She didn't know at all. That image, those words – they were forever burned into her mind, and Hermione wondered if she would ever be able to stop being scared of it happening again...
"I wasn't lying when I said I forgave you," Hermione replied softly, his eyes still tumultuous.
"That's not an answer." Riddle closed his eyes, a deep crease appearing between his brows. "Dammit, Hermione – why can't you just give me one straight answer, for once in your life?"
Hermione swallowed and looked down at the ground, her hand dropping miserably from his face. "I don't know, Tom. I don't have all the answers, and I don't know everything, and I don't know the future. I love you. I don't care about... about... what's..."
She trailed off and swallowed. It was hard to think of something she did not care about. She cared about their future together. She cared about what was hiding in the recesses of her mind, giving her cynical words of caution. Most of all, though, she cared about him, and he didn't seem to understand that.
"I can't erase what I've done to you," Riddle murmured, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. "I think about it constantly, and I'm always praying that it'll just seep away, but it doesn't. It won't."
"It's not that easy," she whispered. He kissed her gently, and Hermione felt relief wash over her like a cool breeze. A kiss meant he might be all right.
"Nothing is ever easy enough," he said onto her lips, the words brushing over her skin like a ghost's touch.
Hermione hugged him gently, tilting her head to his chest. His chin rested lightly on the top of her hair. "We'll work it out," Hermione said. "You'll see." His hand placed itself on her head, and she felt secure, reassured. She tightened her grip on him, never wanting him to let go of her, not wanting that fear to slip back in from all around them, like darkness attempting to impinge on a light.
She felt him swallow and sway her a bit. "I don't like being angry," he said, his voice soft above her. "Especially not at you."
"I'm... I'm sorry if it's seemed like I'm attempting to avoid you. It's not intentional. You have to know it's not that I'm trying to stay away from you, I just -"
She broke off and snuggled her head closer against him, and she murmured, "I'm scared."
"Why should you be scared of this place?" came his voice, and she could hear his voice hum inside him, her ear pressed to his chest. "I'm Tom Riddle."
Hermione chuckled. "I know who you are."
He sat down on the bed in front of her, breaking the embrace. His handsome face, tilted up at her, had ceased to look angry. He nearly looked wistful as he looked at her, though he was still shielding his expressions. "How long do I have to wait?" he asked glumly. "For them to know?"
Hermione shook her head. "I have no plan for this. They'll find out when they do, and I couldn't tell you when that would be."
"I suppose, in the meantime, I'll have to distract myself with desperate attempts not to Transfigure Potter into something dreadful..."
"I'm sure he's doing the exact same for you."
Riddle raised a dark eyebrow and leaned back on the bed, his long body stretched out, his legs spread wide in that posture of ease and relaxation. "Though likely not with as much wit as I tend to employ," he drawled.
Hermione laughed. "You are utterly... Slytherin."
"Well, if you hadn't figured that out from the phrase 'Heir of Slytherin', then your dullardry is actually quite impressive," replied Riddle, a smirk appearing on his face. There was a slight pause, and then Riddle said, "Kiss me." Hermione scowled, and opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, "Don't argue. Just kiss me."
Hermione's scowl darkened, but she moved forward, her knees pressing against the bedside, his legs sprawled out on either side of hers. She placed both her hands on his chest, pressing him down onto the bed. His smirk transformed into a smile just as she kissed him, her heart beating as hard as if she had never done this before.
Slowly, he sat up. Hermione cupped his face in her hands, trailing a finger down the strong line of his jaw, down his smooth, pale neck. Her finger hooked itself into the neck of his sweater, and she let it hang there gently. Her feet felt a little unsteady on the ground, and she pulled away for air.
It was then that there was a noise at the portrait, and Hermione restrained herself from jumping away from Riddle, remembering that, first, no one could get through those wards unless they let them in, and, second, Tom took offense every time she seemed averse to his affections.
She withdrew slowly, instead, and he rose to his full height again as Hermione hurried to the portrait. "Anyone? It's us," hissed a low voice from outside. "Ron, Neville, and Harry."
"Neville, what was the plant you had on the train?" Hermione replied quietly – just to make sure.
"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," came a different voice, and Hermione tugged on the portrait. Harry, Ron, and Neville hurried inside – and following them were Fleur Delacour and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione's heart soared and flew into a sprint, while watery, wobbling relief filled her legs. Mrs. Weasley was safe. Fleur was safe.
Hermione hadn't realized how much she'd missed female company. Once the portrait was safely shut again, Hermione threw herself on Mrs. Weasley, who had lost a lot of weight. Fleur had gone from slender to nearly skeletal – her cheeks were hollowed out, as if someone had taken a spoon to them, and there were dark shadows beneath her mesmerizing eyes.
Hermione enfolded Fleur in a hug, too, after she reluctantly let Mrs. Weasley out of her grip.
"How are you? Are you all right?"
She was horrified to see Mrs. Weasley limping. "They got our wands," Mrs. Weasley said tiredly, "and one of my legs was... well, that's nothing for you to worry about, dear – the main thing is that I'm alive. And you're alive."
She took Hermione's face in her hands and kissed her on both cheeks, and then gazed fondly into Hermione's eyes.
"Where were you? How did they find you? Were you and Fleur together long?" Hermione asked frantically. She couldn't seem to get her heart to stop thumping as if Mrs. Weasley was still in danger.
"Calm down, Hermione," said Ron, cutting in. "Mum just needs... you just need some rest, don't you, mum?"
The pale, exhausted-looking Mrs. Weasley nodded, and both she and Fleur practically fell into bed. Hermione swallowed and stared at them both. The boys hadn't changed much, physically – but for the usually-plump Mrs. Weasley to be so small was quite alarming, and Fleur looked like she was about to die of starvation.
Hermione rounded on the three boys. "Where were they?" she asked.
"Charms room," Harry replied, sitting down with a satisfied sigh. "Said they'd tried to summon some food so many times, but they always had to end up running from it instead because Death Eaters kept finding them..."
"Fleur's been tortured six different times," said Ron hollowly. Hermione glanced at him. Ron always had had a bit of a thing for Fleur, which Hermione had always resented, but now she couldn't find herself caring about anything except the fact that Death Eaters had managed to capture Fleur on six different counts. She was a capable witch – how could she have let that happen?
"How?" Hermione whispered, horrified.
Harry shook his head. "Most of it was because of those damn Boggarts. She kept seeing Bill, of course – she lost track of him about three or four months ago; she can't remember exactly."
"Is she... is she all right? You know... in her mind?" Hermione desperately restrained herself from looking at Neville, who stiffened at her words. Harry nodded, and Hermione relaxed a little.
Harry said, "She hasn't been able to sleep, because whenever she sleeps, after a little while, she starts screaming..."
"And, see, neither of them have had wands in three days, so Mum couldn't Silence her, or anything. But Neville already did that, so we should be okay."
Hermione nodded, looked over at Fleur, and started. Fleur's mouth was stretched wide in a soundless scream, her eyes clenched tight shut, as if she were being tortured right then.
Six times. "Who hurt her?" demanded Hermione.
"The only time she can remember, it was that bloke Amycus and his sister," said Ron moodily, scratching at his chin. "You know, the ones that You-Know-Who stuck in here to teach."
"What were they trying to get out of her?"
"Where I was, of course," said Harry. "I hate this – I hate seeing all these people getting hurt because of me!"
Hermione swallowed. These were careful grounds to tread. Whenever Harry got temperamental about his saving-people-thing, there was always a large risk of him blowing up and yelling at everyone in sight. Ron just clapped Harry on the shoulder, saying, "Look – we've got this many people back already – I'm sure we can find everyone somehow."
Hermione sighed inwardly. This many? There had been hundreds fighting the battle, and though most of the students had fled in terror before Voldemort had put up the wards, there were still probably fifty or sixty people in the castle who had either stayed to fight or just hadn't been able to make it out... There were eight people in the room. Two had returned from the dead. Two were protected by the Fidelius Charm. Three were sleeping off torture, starvation, and two of those three were unarmed. Only Neville was safe and sound of his own volition. Those were terrible odds.
There was another noise at the portrait hole, and five wands were instantly drawn.
Hermione crept silently to the hole, pressing herself against the wall beside it, listening for a voice, for anything.
There was a noise of a spell – probably Alohomora – being cast on the portrait, and then a yelp of pain. Hermione looked questioningly at Tom. "The ward changes offensive spells into other hexes and rebounds them," he said under his breath. Hermione raised her eyebrows. That was an interesting bit of magic –
It sounded like whoever was outside was muttering to themselves. Angrily.
Hermione suddenly wished there were Extendable Ears lying around the castle – instead, she just cast Sonorus on the portrait crack, and the voice amplified itself.
"...can't believe this, the one time there's not a goddamn guard –"
"Hello?" Hermione whispered into the crack, and the voice stopped. Hermione cursed inwardly at having said anything – if it was one of their friends, they were probably getting ready to run – hearing a voice was never assumed to be good in this Hogwarts. But if it were a Death Eater, did Hermione want to risk saying she was inside?
She made a split-second decision. "It's Hermione," she said quickly.
A strangled noise echoed in from the other side. "Hermione?" came the voice, clear for the first time.
It was a girl's voice, and at that word, Harry had something like a panic attack. He shoved Neville out of the way and wrenched the portrait hole open, flinging himself outside and wrapping his arms around Ginny Weasley.
"Ginny?" squeaked Hermione, unable to restrain herself. Something seemed to uncurl inside her, some knot of tension.
Harry and Ginny darted inside, and Neville shut the portrait hole. Before Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Tom could have the chance to look away, Harry and Ginny were kissing furiously, not seeming to care who was there. Then, after what seemed like an interminable amount of time, the couple broke for air and wrapped each other in a fierce embrace.
Ron threw his arms around them, too, and Hermione joined in. "Ginny," she whispered, and suddenly tears were welling up in her eyes. Ginny Weasley had escaped from Avery, and had stayed safe this entire time.
The group hug was painfully tight, but they eventually released each other. No eye was dry. Harry and Ginny kissed again, more gently. "You're safe," he murmured. "You're all right. You're not hurt?"
"No, but I'm damned hungry," Ginny replied, a smile somehow finding its way onto her face, which appeared like it hadn't smiled in years. Her face was streaked with what looked like ash, and her red hair was stringy and messed-up, but she didn't seem to be hurt.
"Good thing we're in the Kitchens," said Ron. "How have you been? Have you seen anyone? Anything?"
"Besides a lot of rotten Death Eaters, not much at all," Ginny mumbled. "I thought I caught a glance of someone up on the sixth floor, but we honestly are quite good at hiding – so I haven't seen much else... I haven't spoken to anyone since Lee Jordan, and we got split up a couple months back."
"Where have you been hiding?" asked Neville.
"Prefect's bath, under the tiles. There are some really excellent charms on that bath. Temperature protection, of course – for the water – so it's never cold in there, or too hot, or uncomfortable. Wished the whole time I could just take a damn wash, though..."
Hermione laughed, and Harry let out a tremendous snort. Hermione was shocked that Ginny's sense of humor had somehow managed to survive this long. It was something Hermione had lost a week in. Ginny must have been pretty secure in her safety, to be as much herself as she seemed to be.
"So how long were you hiding there?"
Ginny shrugged. "I think about a month and a half. The food was a right pain in the arse to get a hold of, of course – I must've stolen half the storeroom one time, and that lasted for a while, but I had to keep sneaking down to see when I could get more, and there was always a guard standing there, so I ran out yesterday sometime. I really am all right – you four don't need to look at me as if I'm... as if... as if I'm..."
Her face paled, and she looked as white as a sheet all of a sudden. Her eyes fixed on something by the portrait hole.
Hermione glanced hurriedly over in that direction, and her heart sank. Tom leaned against the wall, staring idly into space. Of course. Of course Ginny would be horrified by Tom's appearance...
"Can you all see him? It's not just me, right?" Ginny whispered.
"Don't remind me," Harry ground out, and Hermione shot him a reproachful glare.
Ginny said, "But... but that's... but..." Tom looked over and met Ginny's eyes, and she stumbled backwards, looking like she was about to throw up all of a sudden. "No. No."
Hermione saw something in Tom's expression clear as he realized who he was looking at. A muscle twitched in his jaw as his gaze flickered to the ground. Then Hermione intervened swiftly. "Ginny, I've... well, over the last seven months, I've been dead."
Ginny's head snapped back to Hermione. "But you're not a ghost," she said.
"Astute observation indeed. It's a very long and complex story, but essentially, Lord Voldemort cast Avada Kedavra on me and I've... managed to come back, and... and so has Tom."
The redhead looked like someone had dropped a hammer on her head. "But... how is he here?"
"He's the seven destroyed parts of Voldemort's soul," explained Hermione, "only they've been healed. Through remorse." Harry let out a disbelieving snort, and anger rose in Hermione, suddenly uncontrollable. "That is enough!" she snapped, rounding on him. "Stop being so... so petulant, Harry!"
Harry's gaze was stubborn, but Hermione did not look away. She gritted her teeth and stared right back at him until his eyes flickered to the ground, and then Hermione turned back to Ginny. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "for the shock. I know it must be... bad."
That was a vast understatement. Ginny looked as if she'd just been accosted by an Acromantula.
She clutched her stomach, and groaned, "Food. I need food."
Hermione drew her wand and summoned a meal for Ginny, and then she stood, brushing back her bushy hair, casting a glance over to Tom. He raised an eyebrow at her. She closed her eyes and shook her head a little in exasperation, as Neville, Ron and Harry were all engrossed once more in conversation with Ginny.
If she'd known how impossible this was going to be, she wondered, would she ever have let her friends meet him? Would she have hidden him away?
Tom let out a moody sigh, twirling his wand lightly in his fingers. As he stepped away from the wall, Ginny froze mid-sentence, her eyes glued to him. Hermione said hurriedly, "Tom, could you come with me and see what's wrong with Mrs. Weasley's leg? She said something happened to it."
Riddle looked relieved at the request, and they made their way over to Mrs. Weasley's side. "If I remember correctly, the alarmed one would be the girl with the diary?"
Hermione nodded. "I'd just stay away from Ginny. She's only going to be unnerved if you try to be nice to her. Because, of course, when you were possessing her you were oh-so-pleasant as well..." Hermione gently unfolded the bottom of Mrs. Weasley's robes and pushed up her pant legs to the knee.
She frowned. There was a large scar right in the middle, and the leg there seemed almost dented, and then there was a bump below it. "Looks like it was broken," Hermione murmured. "Of course, she wouldn't have been able to fix it properly without a wand..."
"Is that even fixable, now that it's healed?" Riddle mused, reaching out a pale finger and placing it in that bizarre dent.
"The leg would probably have to get re-broken," Hermione muttered, thinking to herself. "But it would have to be the exact same break... and the scar tissue on the bone might – I don't know. And I can't even think of a spell that would do anything on something that's not technically a wound."
Tom shrugged, pushing his dark hair from his eyes. "Well, if she's all right, then she's all right. No reason to worry, right?"
"She's limping. That's dangerous around here."
"Not if she stays here. Not as if it's safer to be running around Hogwarts than staying in a place with food and protection."
Hermione bit her lip. "Well, that's true, I suppose... but she wouldn't be able to run if this place were attacked."
Riddle looked unimpressed. "What, can't she work a wand?"
"She doesn't have a wand," Hermione pointed out. "And neither does Fleur."
Fleur had curled up on her side, and now a silvery stream of tears leaked out from under her eyes, her mouth slightly open.
"Does she need to be woken up?" Riddle asked with slight unease. "And how can they possibly do a thing without wands?"
Hermione groaned. "Oh, damn, if we hadn't snapped the wands of those Death Eaters yesterday..."
Riddle's expression cleared. "Well, then, it's obvious. We'll steal wands from the Death Eaters. Advantageous – removing their power and giving it back to... these... people."
He looked a little distasteful as he surveyed Mrs. Weasley and Fleur, and Hermione wondered why. The Weasleys were pure-blooded, after all – had been for generations – and Riddle wouldn't know Fleur. "Something wrong?" she asked.
He glanced back up at her, pausing. "I just find myself questioning their magical abilities, if they've managed to get their wands both confiscated and likely destroyed. In my time, girls never did duel – it was considered improper."
Hermione snorted with laughter. "I'll have you know that Fleur was a Triwizard Champion," she sniffed, "and Mrs. Weasley is a very talented witch."
Riddle let out a nondescript noise and turned to George instead, who was stirring gently. "I think this one's awake," Riddle said.
Hermione hurried to George's side as he rolled over fully, his eyes sliding open. "George?" Hermione said. "You're still safe, in the Kitchens."
"Oh, blimey, good, you weren't hurt by the Death Wots-his-face," sighed George as he registered who was leaning over him. Then his eyes fell on the bed next to him. "Is that Mum?" he asked loudly, and sat bolt upright. "You've found Mum?"
"And Ginny," Hermione said with a smile. George's eyes widened, and he cast around desperately for Ginny's face. A triumphant grin broke out on his face. He ripped the covers from himself and scrambled to his feet. "And Fleur," added Hermione hastily, "but don't wake her or your mum yet – they've had a bit of a rough time."
George's smile subsided a bit, and he nodded. Then he bounded over to Ginny at the table, enclosing her in a tight Weasley hug.
Hermione pondered that perhaps, just maybe, things might have been looking up here, for the first time in a very, very long time.