Chapter 25: Don't Think
Tuesday, December 21, 1944
8:00 P.M.
The waltz ended, and the enchanted Nearly Headless Nick began to twirl across the stage, still scowling but sounding suspiciously like Perry Como, the amplified words of 'Home For the Holidays' ringing through the Great Hall as a flash of cameras concurrently took photos of the reluctantly dancing ghost.
Smiling at the success of her randomly inspired idea, Hermione twisted around so her exposed back was facing a mirror, distractedly noticing as the soft, pastel material flowed delicately around her legs with the slightest of body movements and swished quietly to a stop amongst the mist. —
"Stop gawking at yourself, Nef, every man in this place is already doing enough of that for you", a familiar, confident drawl purred in her ear, and Hermione was hardly surprised, though she was hardly pleased, when Draco spun her around from behind, catching her hand, and pulled her out onto the dance floor as a pulse of searing heat simultaneously erupted from the Amulet of Eras. "Let's dance, shall we?"
Hermione clutched her neck with one hand and tried to resist his pull with the other. Moving gracefully while he began to suavely foxtrot his way through the crowd of dancers to the upbeat tempo was among the least of her concerns, and she spluttered, "Draco, you... you are..."
"I think the word you're searching for is devilishly good looking", Draco helpfully supplied, a knowing smile spreading across his aristocratic face. And there really was no doubt that Draco did look delicious; his expensive black dress robes and well-fitted suit that sharply contrasted with his loose platinum shock of hair, as well as many girls' killer glares of which Hermione was at the receiving end were testimony to it.
It may have just been Hermione's new grudge, though, but it seemed that Draco also looked a bit more high-on-himself than usual tonight.
"I can't say the word I'm searching for because there are fourth years present!" Hermione hissed irritatedly, surreptitiously glancing around the huge but crowded dance floor. Her clandestine search was cut short when he expertly steered her in into a difficult cross body maneuvre and backward spin without much warning, and it was only her years of experience that kept her from falling flat on her face.
As soon as she was dancing in a relatively straight path again, Hermione nailed Draco with an expressively clear 'don't you ever do that again!' glare and growled, "Anyway, I'm not here with you!"
"And I'm not here with you, Nef. That doesn't mean laying a finger on you is a bloody crime. Colombia said she didn't mind my running off, as long as I promised to come back... eventually..." The tall blond smirked again. "Anyway, I don't see the Dark Lord hanging off your side, ready to shoot an Unforgivable at anyone who dares set foot within two yards of you, so I should think I'm relatively safe, for now."
But... you don't understand! Hermione thought wearily, her mind still trying to break away from Draco, though her body had given up the attempt and had resigned itself to following him across the dance floor for the time being. None of them did! She hardly understood herself, even — not really, anyway.
All she did know was that, when she had left Tom Riddle in the Hospital Wing the night before... she had suddenly, inexplicably wanted him to live. Since then, her rational side that convinced her that she was just being selfish.
Tired, irritated, and just not in the mood for Draco's flirty cattiness, Hermione waited until after he and she weaved between a group of dancing couples, and she reached up, giving his shoulder a good shove without much regret. "Don't you dare try to lighten the subject by being cute!" Draco actually smiled without smirking, gazing down on her with wide, clear azure eyes as both his and her feet stopped moving, checking with the song's musical pause for a single beat. "It's hard for me to not be cute".
"Vanity, thy name is man", Hermione muttered to herself as the thump of the drums began again, as did their steps. Without a second thought, she deliberately moved into a cruzara cross-over step, purposely grinding her heel into his foot in the tight footwork.
"And yes, for your information, Tom's actually doing something productive", she added sourly, ignoring his muffled, injured yelp and immediately limping, jerky stride as she continued into a small turn. "Since I set up most of the decorations, he's giving Dippet and the professors the tour portion of the deal — of what enchantments I used and such. We've both been so busy, I haven't even seen him yet."
"On a first name basis, now, are you?" Draco inquired innocently, quickly pulling her in a swift turn toward the centre of the dance floor as he continued, "No need for you to go off and defend the would-be parent murderer".
In the midst of another annoyed frown, Hermione let out a muffled, surprised shriek, her heart plunging to the floor along with the rest of her body as he unexpectedly dipped her all the way backwards, her spine arching in a perfect parabola, her left foot instinctively brushing the outside of his leg as it shot halfway into the air for balance, his warm hand precariously supporting her back, until the very top of her up-do disappeared into the mist, probably in payment for her stepping on his foot, the prat.
Bloody... hell... Hermione's worn out mind choked dizzily, adrenaline shooting through her veins, her heart still hammering from the completely unexpected, abrupt almost-head-dive into the ground, and after a moment of intense concentration and through a haze of cobwebs, she managed to string together his last sentence. Defending him, was that really what she was doing?
Hermione bristled and bit her tongue, feeling the blood began to rush to her head, having been accused of the same thing twice in that many days. Both times by a Malfoy, no less. Her temples beginning to pound, her leg swaying dangerously, she settled on tartly retorting, "I don't even see why I'm talking to you at all, after what you did to me this afternoon".
Still balancing her backward on his right hand and partly on his knee, Draco tossed some long, loose strands of blond hair out of his face and ran his eyes all the way down the length of her body and back up again. "Oh, trust me, Nef, you'll be thanking me in the long run."
Right as her forehead felt about ready to explode, he pulled her vertical, and, before she could even catch her breath, he expertly winded her into him with a small tug of his hand like she was a coiled spring, wrapping one arm around her when her back was against his and then catching both of her hands in his Quiddich grip. In an exceedingly smug tone, he drawled, "Did I mention that you look absolutely, breathtakingly spectacular tonight?"
Oh, he did not just go there, the rational half and virtuous half of her mind snarled simultaneously. Heatedly, Hermione twisted her neck around to give him her dirtiest glower yet, and sarcasm dripped from her voice as she retorted snappishly, "Gee, Draco, thanks".
After the fashion torture he had directly aided in subjecting her to earlier, as well as his apparent intention to bring up Tom Riddle's possible fate at every turn of the music, Hermione no longer felt the need nor the desire to dance with Draco du Lac. With a jerk of her shoulders, she tried get out of the curl, but Draco's weekly Beater tutorials with Abraxas Malfoy had paid off, and his seasoned arms held her locked in place.
The moon slipped behind a cloud, casting a shadow over Draco's fair, flawless face and in a huff Hermione resignedly swung her head to face forward again. She could feel the Slytherin breathing down her neck in hot, burning puffs of air as he drew his platinum head close to her ear and whispered silkily, "One look at you, Nef, one tiny little glimpse, and into Irreversible he goes..."
The familiar, light hearted strains of Nat King Cole's 'Caroling, Caroling' did absolutely nothing to placate neither Hermione's conscious nor her nerves. Instead, a light, nervous sweat broke out around her forehead, and she felt feverish, she knew she did, felt like throwing up right on Draco, the perfect end to a perfect day... And she was also struck by the sudden urge to rip herself away, blast a clear path though the centre of the dance floor, and flee the Great Hall Ballroom.
Tonight, the last thing Hermione wanted to look was spectacular. She definitely didn't feel spectacular. More like spectacularly exhausted. Why is he doing this? Hermione mentally screamed, bewildered, wriggling furiously in Draco's arms, but to no avail. Simultaneously, she noticed... the Amulet of Eras. Glowing again. Suddenly frustrated that she had no idea why, why it picked such selective times to do what it did, to burn, or to glow, she fought back tears of confusion, resentment, and anger at her uncomfortable lack of comprehension and her more-than-uncomfortable situation.
More than anything else, Hermione liked to be in control, as most people do. Not control over others, but... at least in control of something. If everything was all but lost, even when she had been stuck in battles with Death Eaters back in her time with little hope of survival, she had always comforted herself in that she still had her mind, she would always have her mind and her knowledge. And, clinging to that fact, she had always survived.
But now, what was happening to her now? What could she do when the one thing she had always had and had always trusted with the very depths of her soul seemed to be telling her two very different things, tearing her in two separate directions — each one very unacceptable in itself — or, even worse, couldn't tell her anything at all? Why was she loosing it like this?
The thought struck Hermione quite suddenly, and her blood chilled, her hands turning icy cold in less than two seconds. The gods are punishing me for what I'm doing. That must be it. I am going to go to magical hell.
Her rational mind immediately scoffed at the idea and threw it into the rubbish bin. Hermione! Hermione, what are you thinking? Grow up, he's hated Lord Voldemort longer than you have, and he just wants to see the problem dealt with as quickly as possible. You're the one who's being stupid, feeling guilty about what you're doing...
Even so, Hermione was still undeniably surprised and even slightly alarmed by Draco's atypically malevolent attitude, and she finally whispered apprehensively, in as quiet a voice she could manage, "Draco, what has gotten into you?" Again endeavouring to yank herself loose, she added in an angry hiss, "Let go of me!"
Deftly, quickly spinning her around to face him, his grip around her still strong so she couldn't wrench herself away, the Slytherin merely smiled in reply, and he appeared to be more occupied with studying something over her shoulder. Finally, blessedly, he chuckled enigmatically, "As you wish, Nef", and, on the 'GING' of Nearly Headless Nick's crooned out, "Christmas bells are RING-GING!" Draco twirled her out into the throng of dancers.
"No! DRACO—oof!" Hermione's mind was too lost in thought to supply her with any respectable reflexes, and all the air in her lungs rushed out of her chest as she unsteadily collided, none too gently, with something solid, cool, and unexpectedly springy. Her balance all but completely spent, Hermione bounced backward off the object like a ball, and no doubt would have successfully plunged headfirst into the mist-covered floor ...had the solid, cool, and unexpectedly springy someone not swiftly reached out and grabbed her, two strong hands supporting her over-extended back before she could fall.
Hermione gasped in the lost air in several rapid gulps, her neck sorely stiff, and she woozily steadied herself, her heart not having stopped its frantic gauntlet since she had begun to dance with Draco. Cautiously straightening up, Hermione squinted in the darkness, trying to make out the face of the buffer between her head and the dance floor. Simultaneously, the moon burst forth from behind the clouds...
And Hermione had never in her life expected that she could be so relieved to see the grey eyes of Tom Marvolo Riddle.
But... It couldn't be Tom Riddle, Hermione thought dumbly as she stood back and openly gaped, agog, her eyes drinking in the unexpected sight before her. Tom Riddle always wore a uniform.
The dark-haired young man before her, still casually steadying her side with one hand, was dressed in a handsome, sophisticated dress robe, dark, but not so dark that she couldn't tell whether it was a deep forest green or a black; the debonair cut of it, the classy three-piece he wore under it, and the poised way he carried himself giving him all the air of a wizarding James Bond.
Above all, Hermione considered herself a scholar, but she was also a woman. She could see as well as anyone else that if Draco had won first place in the Most Attractive Blonds category tonight, this guy had most definitely taken the same prize in the darker class of hair colour, or at least tied with Harry for it. And she wasn't even being biased.
"Nefertari, you of all people should know that running into people like that... on a dark dance floor... can be dangerous". Yes, medium melodic, cynical with a bit of an Irish lilt, that was definitely Tom Riddle's voice, must be him, she registered mutely as he nonchalantly held out his hand and asked, his tone forced, intentionally apathetic, "Care to?"
"Sure", she said feebly, although, after her whirlwind of a sweep with Draco, neither her equilibrium nor her suddenly weak knees especially felt up to a choppy dance by someone who probably had little to no experience in the art of–
Sweet Merlin. Her concern froze numbly in her mind as Tom firmly took her right hand in his left, quickly checked over his shoulder, and began to smoothly, gracefully lead her into a leisurely, soothing four-step to Frank Sinatra's equally leisurely and soothing 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas', blending his movements quite proficiently so that Hermione felt as if she actually was serenely floating across the floor... As if he knew that she couldn't handle much more movement than that at the moment.
Tom Riddle can dance? It was both a question and a statement.
"I gather that you and du Lac were getting a bit rough out there, Nefertari", Tom commented emotionlessly, either not noticing or not reacting to Hermione's unabashed incredulity. His eyes though, spoke leagues for him... were they concerned, or was that jealousy she saw?
"You could say that", Hermione muttered, feeling her racing heart start to slow, the tension in her neck, her back inadvertently beginning to ease, but she was too inundated with pure shock that the young Heir of Slytherin had, out of the blue, turned into an attractive mix of 007 and Fred Astaire to say much of anything else.
Wanting to kick herself, she licked her lips, and the vivid flavour of cherry entered her mouth. Come on, Hermione, small talk is your specialty! Say something! "Erm... how did the tour go over?" Tom gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders, his grey eyes never leaving her warm brown ones. "Of course they all adored it, Nefertari. Your shameless use of every advanced decoration charm since the creation of the wand left every one of them in awe."
Phyllis Hardiman and Jacobson Andrews whirled by, intentionally slowing their pace behind Tom. Catching Hermione's gaze, Phyllis nodded at Tom Riddle and gave Hermione a sly wink and a discreet thumbs-up before the two good-natured Gryffindors twirled off again. No! Don't think that! Hermione's mouth dropped open an half-inch and her eyes widened in disbelief at the insinuation Phyllis had made, and she wrinkled her nose, irritatedly feeling a blush creep up the side of her neck. We're not like that!
Hastily, she returned her gaze to Tom and modestly mirrored his shrug. "It wasn't that much".
"Oh, but it was". His eyes suddenly moved downward, and he seemed to be momentarily gauging the stability in her steps before he opened up his hold, maneuvering her in a careful circle. "I've only been able to complete the time-release mist enchantment twice, and you got it on your first try. That means you're good."
A slight smile made its way onto Hermione's face at his method of determining ability, but she shrugged again, her now-relaxed mind beginning to tense up again. She had long since realised how remarkably easily spells that should have been extremely difficult were becoming for her. Almost in a reflex, she glanced down at the half-hidden Amulet of Eras, frowning thoughtfully, albeit with relief, when she noticed that it was no longer glowing. She was going to have to read up on that, and soon.
Without wasting a moment, Hermione decided to steer the conversation toward something much more superficial, and, therefore, much more safe. Smile still on her face, she lightly placed a hand on his chest to slow him as they reached a relatively cleared end of the floor. Releasing his hand, she reached up and pretended to straighten his dark dress robes, brushing off imaginary dust on his shoulders. "For feeling awful yesterday, you certainly cleaned up rather well."
Hermione mentally cringed at the gross understatement. Tom Riddle had not cleaned up rather well; he had cleaned up incredibly well. The faint, dark stubble that had been budding around his jaw the night before was completely gone. Fake snowflakes had begun to dot throughout his thick, soft, almost meticulously groomed hair, but this time, rather than simply parting it the left, he had let a few of the ends begin to curl loosely into and off of his face, almost as if he had stood in a wind tunnel before he had arrived at the Soiree. His skin, or, at least his face, although still noticeably thin, had lost its sickly, ashen pallor, and his calculating, intelligent eyes, no longer appeared exhausted, somehow, but completely... alive.
The Slytherin, however, hardly blinked in response. As Nearly Headless Nick's lyrics faded with "And have yourselves a merry little Christmas... noooow", and the dancing paused as the music changed, Tom's piercing gaze abruptly shifted downward, off her face, and he tonelessly threw out, "I'm sure that any compliment of mine would hardly compare to the rest of the compilation you've undoubtedly received tonight".
Hermione let out a dignified little snort and turned her head away, absently scrutinising the banquet table immediately to her right. Her stomach, which hadn't held food for a little over twelve hours, let out a greedy little rumble, and she wondered if there was any way she could swipe a few cranberry custard crumpets and levitate them into her mouth without anyone, Tom Riddle most of all, noticing.
Of course, she couldn't exactly expect him to go throwing out compliments like they were confetti. Oddly, though, she was surprised to find that there, floating in the corner of her mind, was a tinge of... disappointment.
Unsettlingly, Hermione slipped her hand back into Tom's as the violin, flute and trumpet orchestral section began a brief, peaceful Christmas waltz interlude, allowing him to expertly sweep her away from the food table and in an smooth arc around the edge of the dance floor. Their movements were so graceful that several of the younger students actually moved out of their way, just watching, as both Tom and Hermione appeared to be moving in one smooth, unbroken horizontal line with an occasional up curve or down dip, rather than with any sign of jagged vertical bouncing.
Unexpectedly, it was Tom who spoke again, his voice haltingly vacillating, as if he wasn't sure he should be saying what he was saying as he said it. "But... for what... it's worth..."
Hermione's expectant eyes shot back up to lock on his completely unreadable ones. "Yes?"
Never once did his steady gaze even travel to Hermione's stunning attire, nor did it ever leave her face, for that matter. Tom Riddle shook his head slightly, the top of his dark hair shining mutely in the moonlight, and he muttered in the same low, emotionally loaded voice that Hermione had heard exit his mouth only a handful of times, "Nefertari, you don't need me to tell you that you're beautiful."
A wrench violently twisted in Hermione's heart as it sped up of its own accord, squeezed it so hard she could hardly breathe. Holding back a gasp, rapidly collecting her swirling emotions, Hermione gently smiled up at him, as if to thank him for the compliment without coming right out and saying it, and then keenly asked the question that had been on her mind for ten minutes. "Where'd you learn to dance so well?"
A hint of a smirk tugged at the right side of Tom's mouth, his assuredness returning. "I'm a fast learner."
There is no humanly possible way that anyone is that fast when it comes to dancing. Hermione couldn't help but laugh, lightly and airily. Miraculously, it was a huge stress reliever, and she felt well enough to teasingly counter, "Like hell you are", waiting for him to continue. When it was obvious that he wasn't, she arched a thin eyebrow at him. "Well? That's not all I'm going to get out of you, is it?"
Tom paused indecisively, although his feet continued to move skilfully. He spun her in a circle again, more tightly this time as the pounding in Hermione's head had lessened and she was slowly sliding into a better mood, sending a patch of mist twirling up around her dress robes, and pulled her back into his grasp. Finally, he said quietly, "D'you want to know the truth?" An amused grin pulled at Hermione's lips. "That would probably be just a bit helpful."
Surreptitiously glancing around, as if to make sure no one else was paying attention, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes not meeting hers, and muttered, his words progressively gaining speed until they nearly jumbled together incoherently, "I couldn't dance to save my life. Not that I even cared about it, really... until I saw you and du Lac... at the Friday Night Dance or whatever it's called that you throw every week... and..."
'And I thought it might be a good thing that I learn...' she translated mentally, then systematically moved the line to the analysing section of her brain. But why would he want to...
Hermione's tongue immediately tied, and, although Tom's step gave no indication that he was anything but confident, he seemed to be regarding her with a certain nervousness in his eyes, his uneasiness only appearing to amplify the longer she stood there silently, not knowing, not wanting to know exactly what to make of his confession.
"Well, learn you definitely did", Hermione finally mused to herself, stating the blatantly obvious as Nearly Headless Nick launched into the to the suave, jumpy beat of Nat King Cole's 'L-O-V-E,' the Tenorus charm actually giving his voice all the charisma of Nat King Cole... although his irritated scowl definitely subtracted from it, and he was beginning to creepily remind Hermione of Severus Snape.
Oh, blast it all. Already juggling more than she could take, Hermione determinedly decided not to think for the remainder of the night, and she cocked her head to the right, mischievously gazing up at Tom, a daring grin slowly spreading across her face. "Let's see just how well you learned, shall we?"
Tom's shoulders actually seemed to sag in relief, his gaze immediately sharpening as he picked up on the challenge, and they both simultaneously picked up the pace of the upbeat tempo. Four lines into the song, though, Hermione took her hand off his shoulder and held it up, stopping him. "Listen, Tom", she said, her breath coming in tiny puffs, "You know all the steps perfectly. Perfectly". And he did. "But you have to relax".
Without pausing to think about her actions, Hermione reached under his arm around to his stiff back and gently pressed right below the middle of his two shoulder blades, loosening his spine. He stood limply, letting her mould him, and she soothingly progressed down his entire back, could actually feel his muscles concaving slightly, relaxing under her touch. "Trust me when I say that dancing is about having fun, not imitating a board."
As laughing, joking, and oftentimes kissing dancing students whirled by in swirls of mist, Hermione paused, torn, wondered if she should. No! Rational Angel barked. Don't you dare, Hermione Granger Dumbledore Nefertari!
Yes, yes! The contrary yogic voice in her ear actually sounded a bit breathless and energised versus its normally serene self. Do it!
Don't think, don't think, don't think...
Before the song could progress much further than the first verse, Hermione added quickly, "And, you need to have enough of a hold so you can lead, but not control". And she voluntarily brought herself closer to him than she had ever been, distantly repeating, "Never control."
Closing her eyes, releasing a deep breath of pent-up anxiety that she had been carrying around for half the night, Hermione ran the same hand that had been on Tom's back down his motionless right arm, found his cool hand, and unhesitatingly wrapped his arm more tightly around her, resting his hand on the smooth, bare skin of the small of her back. "Dancing isn't about controlling; it's about the give and take of both sides."
In the process, she was obviously thrust so that she was hardly a heartbeat away from his handsome dress robes, so close that she became more and more aware of his breath near her forehead, warm, almost comforting, not sizzling and sticky like Draco's had been. Doing her best to ignore her increasingly hammering heart, she added thoughtfully, "A bit like life, isn't it?"
To say that Tom Riddle was taken aback would be like saying that Albus Dumbledore was a pretty good wizard, Hermione decided as her gaze moved up, meeting Tom's wide, dazed, stormy eyes. She smiled reassuringly when she saw the question in them, taking comfort in the idea that she wasn't the only uneasy one at the Christmas Soiree that night.
Past the point of even considering whom the person she was now pressed against with might become, Hermione carefully, lightly replaced her left hand on his shoulder and slid her right hand back into his, straightening her shoulders, her stomach jumping, twisting, flying in little circles as she felt his fingers tighten around hers, and felt the right side of her lips tug upward into a small smile. "And then, you let your emotions do the work for you."
Almost immediately, Tom shed his look of uncertainty and threw back on his composed self-assurance, and in a knowing, nearly back-to-normal way, he said, "And trust me when I say, don't forget to hang on."
As the trumpet solo of the song ending and Nearly Headless Nick launched into the last chorus with an enthusiastic "L! Is for the way you look at me!" he slipped his arm even farther around her waist and led her into a full spin, his floor craft nothing short of sensational for a beginner as both he and she maneuvred rapidly, adeptly, and controllably past several couples.
After signalling with his hand, Tom dipped her into a drop so that she arched back and swept her hand against the floor, but he just as quickly pulled her back up. As soon as he did, Hermione caught his grey eyes and tilted her head toward the swarming centre of the dance floor.
As if reading her mind, Tom smiled slightly and pivoted speedily, and they weaved themselves through the horde, Tom pausing every few seconds as he shrewdly assessed the openings in the floor and seized their chances to slide though, Hermione grinning impishly as she gleefully swiped at the back of Ron's unmistakable, towering red head, laughing as she and Tom swept by him so quickly that by the time Ron whirled around suspiciously, the two Heads of the student body were long gone.
As they successfully popped out of the crowd on the other side of the dance floor and with the end of the song upon them, Hermione decided to throw in a slide. As she stepped around to his left to initiate the move, he followed her deftly, apparently anticipating her exact move, and pulled her back into him as she finished, spinning her into the same twist that Draco had caught her in earlier. This time, thought, Tom held her loosely enough that she could add one more half-turn to the sequence, so she finished the wind-in facing him.
"Whew!"
On this last beat, Hermione actually threw her arms around Tom's neck, running into him as she lagged to a stop as she oftentimes did with Draco after they had finished an intense dance sequence, her right cheek leaning against his shoulder, completely winded, not even bothering to move again as Nick immediately broke into 'White Christmas', the ghost looking more and more sour as the night went on.
"Must... breathe..."
As she did so, Tom stiffened and actually staggered a step backward, even though he was perfectly capable of holding her petite weight. Not noticing his discomfort, Hermione balanced against him and his soft, forest green and black dress robes, not caring how he had gotten them or where he gotten them from, only knowing that she was tired, and they felt good, feeling his rapid heartbeat and heaving chest just as vividly as she did hers.
Leaning on him for support as she waited for her breaths to even out and her racing heart to calm, Hermione was having a bit of difficulty with the latter as, ever-so-slowly, Tom carefully wrapped both of his arms snugly around her small waist. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him start to lower his head so it could rest against the side of hers... and stop himself at the last minute.
In extreme astonishment and grudgingly growing respect, Hermione lightly pulled herself off him a bit so she could look him in the face, and she wheezed breathlessly, smiling incredulously, "You taught yourself to dance this well in only a month and a half?" She resisted adding, "Just because you saw Draco and me dancing?"
Tom shrugged and dipped his head in an almost indecipherable nod, panting a bit, a weak little smirk on his face that had broken out the minute Hermione had started to smile. "Probably not one of my most brilliant ways to pass the time making up the spells, I'll admit, but I..."
Unexpectedly, he trailed off, the half-smile gradually fading. After shooting her a curiously hesitant glance — Hesitant? Comeon, Hermione, Tom Riddle is not hesitant! — he loosened his left hand's firm grasp and slowly, guardedly lifted it toward her face. The only indications of the turmoil within Hermione were her eyes, which wasted no time in widening ever-so-slightly, and her mind screamed at her to MOVE! MOVE BACK! But something else kept her neck muscles—her entire body—relaxed and in place.
Don't think, don't think...
An inch or so before he made contact, Tom indecisively drew his hand away. A moment later, though, he reached back out and smoothly tucked behind her ear a small curl of soft, dark hair that had fallen during her heated dance with Draco. His long fingers lingered near her ear and eventually traced their way down the smooth jaw line of her slender heart-shaped face.
With a nearly undetectable sigh, he dropped his hand to his side and tipped his head down toward the mist-covered floor. The uncharacteristically tentative expression returned to his face; tentative, but that alone caused it to be deliciously assertive in so many ways, and he gently took her right hand back in his, tilting downward a bit further so he could lean his forehead against hers.
Good Merlin, he's going to kiss me.
The realisation slammed into Hermione like a sledgehammer, and her heart started to pound heavily, so hard she nearly passed out from the rush of blood to her brain. She felt like someone had spun the temperature dial in the Great Hall from 'comfortably cool' to 'swelteringly roasting,' and she fervently prayed to the magic gods that she was convinced had already condemned her, prayed that her hands wouldn't start to sweat, that she wouldn't give any indication that she was actually getting worked up about this.
Oh no... I can't do this... I just can't... Don't think, don't think...
But, rather than closing the very very small gap between his lips and hers, Tom cautiously lifted her hand up to his mouth and briefly, lightly, brushed his lips against the tops of her fingers, so lightly that his touch felt, to Hermione's hand —which she fought to keep from shaking— like nothing more than a gentle, warm tickle, a passing summer breeze.
A moment later, the retreated an inch or so, but his eyes were still locked on hers, so close that she could see those stubborn specks of blue dotted throughout the grey. "But I like to think it was time well spent", he softly finished.
A burning tingle began at the tip of Hermione's kissed fingers and ran straight through every nerve in her body. She dared not move, dared not breathe, even as the superb man-less orchestra launched into one of her favourite dances, an east coast swing, and students who clearly could not even hope to compete with the likes of her and Tom and Draco sportingly picked up the attempt anyway.
No, the entire ballroom seemed to have completely swirled away into the mist, totally vanished away so that she and Tom were the only two people in existence on the entire planet. She was still acutely aware of her hand in Tom's, which he now lightly held against his chest, and his other hand, warmed slightly from its prolonged dancing hold, lightly caressing the skin near the small of her back...
Well, all her senses seemed to be heightened, really, from the sweet taste of the cherry lip gloss Lavender had bountifully painted onto her lips, to the divine scent of a musky, warm cologne radiating off Tom that reminded her both of the outdoorsy smell of the wood surrounding the French chateau as well as the fresh, sharp new scent of clean air after a thunderstorm or a brief summer's rain, to the vigorous beat of drums and the piano ringing in her ears, to the gentle brush of her wispy curls against her the side of her face, gently blowing backward with every warm, increasingly shallow breath that Tom released.
To her horror, Hermione felt her ravenous lips magnetically drawn closer, closer to Tom's handsome, etched face, like someone had attached a string to her neck and was pulling unrelentingly. Immediately, the heart-attack symptoms returned with a cruel vengeance, and her breathing became as ragged as Tom's now was.
Oh no, not this. Not again. She wasn't ready!
Frantically, with her mind screaming at her to do ten thousand things, none of which included moving any closer to Tom's mouth, Hermione jerked her head and tried to pull away, but, as if she was under the Imperious Curse, none of her muscles seemed to obey her mind...
And the world began spinning with a sickening jolt as, a heartbeat away from his lips, utter agony flashed across Tom's eyes, and he silently crumpled to the ground with such grace one would think he had been planning it that way, the mist swirling over to cover him so that it appeared as if he had totally and completely vanished from the ballroom itself.
Any remaining rational thought flew from Hermione's head, and she stared blankly at the spot where Tom had disappeared, vaguely wondering if he had Disapparated. He had seemed fine a moment before, just... just fine...
No, you idiot, wake up! Think! Think! her mind shrilled upon deaf ears. Nobody can Disapparate in Hogwarts!
The blasting, high-speed music now grated harshly in Hermione's ears in sync with her hammering heart, a multitude of coloured dress robes dizzyingly twirled by, the colours running together, blending into one big mess of swirl, the smell of food was so nauseously overpowering that Hermione was certain that she was going to be sick even though she hadn't eaten for more than half a day...
And Tom Riddle was gone.
Some instinct spurred Hermione into physical action, and she immediately fell to her knees, cursing herself for leaving her wand with Dumbledore for the night, which was, in itself, still young; who even knew where Dumbledore was right now? Taking dancing lessons from Headmaster Dippet and Madam Lamberdeau? Sitting in his transfigurations classroom on the third floor grading papers? Popping lemon drops and drinking so many bottles of butterbeer with the seventh years that even he would be of no help to her?
Plunging her hands down into the mist, Hermione frantically felt around the ground until she found an arm. Gritting her teeth, summoning every ounce of strength in her, she heaved it and the body attached to it toward her, running her hands up soft dress robe sleeves until she found a neck, and then a head. Reaching beneath what she assumed were his two shoulders, she hauled him up, and Tom's ashen, unconscious face rose above the fog.
Hermione gasped in relief, but just as quickly went into panic mode once more at how cold his skin felt. "H-hey!" she finally whispered, finding her tongue. It felt like sandpaper, a deadweight in her mouth. Louder, she repeated over the blaring music, "Hey! Somebody, anybody! I... I need help over here!" It was a pitiful attempt, she knew.
Of course, Tom had to pass out in the farthest corner of the dance floor, farthest from the band, farthest from the food table, and therefore, farthest from the majority of Christmas Soiree attendees, professors included.
Still gaping in a kind of disbelieving horror at Tom's inert body, or what she could see of it, Hermione shifted him, pulling him up against her chest and wrapping her arm tightly around him so he was partially upright, his head limply hanging against her shoulder, the dark hair spilling into his face making his already pale skin look absolutely colourless, his weak breaths puffing jaggedly against her bare skin.
Thank Merlin, at least he hadn't died. She still had time. Twisting her neck around so she could properly see the passing people, Hermione yelled again, more forcefully, "SOMEBODY, HELP—Draco, thank goodness", she breathed, nearly breaking down into tears in a combination of relief, worry, and fatigue as the first couple that glided by happened to be Draco and Colombia Salvi.
As soon as the show-stopping duo came into range, Hermione's voice raised a notch in desperation. "Draco, Madam L, I need Madam L right now — Draco, stop smirking!" she hissed frenetically as, rather than running for the professors as Hermione would have immediately done, Draco stepped back and calculatingly surveyed the scene before him, from the comatose young Dark Lord to the exhausted, frantic Head Girl, his poise and the smug expression on his face causing him looking remarkably like his grandfather — something that didn't occur as often as one would have expected, but when it did, the resemblance was eerie.
What is wrong with you? Hermione thought hysterically as, like the Cheshire cat himself, a wide smile slowly spread across his face. Go get help!
Draco, though, merely raised his eyebrows knowingly at Hermione, glancing sideways at the impatiently waiting —and obviously unconcerned— Colombia Salvi before turning back to Hermione and tipping his head toward her, "You know what this means, don't you, Nef?" he asked in a low, pleased-with-himself voice. "Didn't I tell you that you'd thank me eventually—"
"GO GET MADAM LAMBERDEAU!" Hermione screamed, and probably would have waved her fist ferociously had she not been cradling Tom Riddle in her arms. Her angry screech had finally warranted the much-wanted attention of nearly twenty couples in the nearby vicinity, one of them being Harry and Ginny.
While Harry took one glance at the frantic Hermione and cut across the dance floor toward the professor table, Draco's eyebrows shot up again, and the Slytherin held up his hands, backing a few steps away from her. "All right, all right, Nef, calm down", he drawled, tilting his head in Ginny's now partner-less direction. "I think you and your little war call back there may just have been enough to get some heroes into action without any additional effort on my part."
"Well, heaven forbid you break a sweat", Hermione retorted scathingly, pure acid in her voice that she didn't even bother to mask. Tonight, Draco du Lac had risen at least one level above that of occasionally annoying, spoiled rich-kid prat, and she was going to let him know it.
At that point, Hermione's mind decided it would be much easier to simply ignore him, trusting, from his comment, that one of the other students was off to find Madam L, and she tilted her head back down to Tom, that damn mist still swirling around about a foot off the ground, so that she could only see herself from her waist up, both her legs and his obscured by the fog. The top of his lifeless head and flyaway hair partially brushed against the left side of her chin as she took his limp wrist in her trembling fingers and felt for a pulse.
The faint, hardly detectable beat she got back was not a reassuring one.
"Congratulations, Nef", an all-to-familiar voice purred into her ear so there was no possible way that her panicking, overwhelmed, vexed, worn out, and thoroughly disgusted mind could block him out. "You just personally stamped the death sentence on Lord Voldemort's exit papers".
And, her back stiffening rigidly, giving herself a reassuringly authoritative height even though she was sitting flat on the hard, smooth wood of the dance floor, Hermione totally, completely lost it. "Draco du Lac, get the bloody hell out of here now!" she bellowed shrilly, releasing her hold on Tom's wrist and irately jabbing a finger toward the throng of students, several of whom were already beginning to crowd around their fallen Head Boy and hysterical Head Girl. "Or I will personally deduct a hundred points from Slytherin for the refusal of aid during a crisis!"
Exhausted, Hermione slumped back down, just in time to see Harry, bless him, dragging Madam L though the haze of dancers. The onlookers' voices had begun to swim in her ears like some distant buzzing through a seashell, and her fuming, frenetic vision began to cloud, not with red, but with a dull yellow tinge that was swiftly followed by a fuzzy black.
And then the fingers of mist completely encircled her exhausted line of sight, and Hermione collapsed in a heap beside the already-unconscious Tom Riddle.