Have You Ever by Lady Moonglow REVISED EDITION

by Kanttarelli

This is a rewrite of the epic story. It takes place in AU but it is true-ish to canon. I liked the basic idea and how the story gradually grows. I wanted to make it even better and so I beta-read / edited it, rewrote some bits and added an epilogue. Enjoy!

29. Serpents, Secrets and Snogs, Part 2

Chapter 29: Serpents, Secrets, and Snogs, Part 2

Saturday, December 25, 1944

9:47 P.M.

And the only real, coherent thought still intact in her mind was, Didn't Harry say the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in a bathroom?

Really, all he had done was confirm her fears, but actually hearing him come right out and say it only made her head spin and her thoughts race more frantically, like a bunch of those pathetic little mice trapped in a scientific experimental maze with no evident exit, and her mind began to systematically compose a list of how thoroughly screwed she currently was.

I am... 1. Going to the Chamber of Secrets... 2. That is home to a lean, mean, slithery killing machine ... 3. With the Heir of Slytherin himself... 4.' Trust me,' he says... Hermione Granger, have you gone completely mad?

Tom stepped down onto the stone floor, and all Hermione could really do was follow him and hope for the best. "I assume you're familiar with it", he added apathetically, the ease of his steps in the darkness suggesting his obvious familiarity with the tunnel, "Since you so accurately described its back entrance a few months ago."

Oh yes, I did, didn't I? Hermione thought faintly as Tom made a sharp left hand turn. Imagine that... She was vaguely aware that, despite the added jumper, she was becoming freezing cold again, and she clenched her free hand in a fist to keep it from shaking— whether from cold or dread, she honestly couldn't tell. Tom stopped and glanced at her, but Hermione only partly noticed; she was too busy staring up at a solid wall on which the expertly carved image of two entwined serpents, both bearing an eerie likeness to the snake on Tom's Slytherin amulet, rose up like great twin waterspouts toward the tunnel ceiling, their emerald eyes glittering.

She didn't even move when the two serpents parted as the wall slid open, revealing a cavernous, extremely long, gaping chamber, lined from one end to the other with intricately carved, huge towering stone pillars, each one stretching up and up until it vanished into darkness. Oh no, what am I doing here...

"Nefertari". Distantly, she heard Tom's voice, but it sounded muffled, like it was coming through a haze, a thick fog on the moors in which they could have been miles and miles apart and neither of them would have been able to tell exactly where the other was; all she could really hear was the heavy, fearful pounding of her own heart; the deep, rhythmic boom that had knocked out all the logic in her brain and was taking full control of her senses...

Suddenly, she felt a cold hand gently lift her chin, and, like a curtain was cleared from before her vision, she found Tom's eyes staring straight into hers, his face only inches away. "Don't be afraid of it", he said softly, but there was uncertainty floating in his expression... as if he still wasn't quite sure what to expect from her, how she would take it, and he wasn't at all ready to let his guard down until he was sure.

"Something... something lives down here", Hermione found herself saying, a note of panic interjected in her tone, voicing the primary issue that was blinking like a red flag in her subconscious. Don't say Basilisk, don't say Basilisk... "I saw it. A... a giant snake." As soon as the words left her mouth, she could have cringed at how stupid and scared and childish she was acting. Merlin, you have fought in a war! Pull yourself together!

Tom's gaze, though, softened considerably. "It's all right", he said, his quiet, melodious voice wonderfully comforting, somehow. When Hermione gaped at him sceptically, he added resignedly, "It only comes if it's called, and it won't be."

Breathing slowly, carefully, deeply, she mentally talked herself into calming down. He said he wouldn't hurt you. He hasn't yet. He loves you. Now all you can do is take his word on it. Breathe. "Didn't it kill a girl?" she whispered, then almost kicked herself. Good job, remind him of that right now, of all things.

Tom sighed and dropped his hand from her face. Instead, he took her hand in his, his grasp surprisingly light and careful, and, walking backward, he led her into the greenish atmosphere of the Chamber of Secrets. "I didn't know anyone was in there", he eventually murmured hollowly. "And by the time I figured it out... it was too late."

He actually sounded remorseful, Hermione thought in disbelief, and she narrowed her eyes, carefully searching his clouded gaze. Yes. A glint of shame actually flickered dully, far back in the deepest corner of his deep grey eyes. Tom glanced back at her questioningly, but just as quickly averted his gaze and pulled himself away, stepping over to the nearest pillar and leaning his shoulder against it.

Hermione shoved her hands up the sleeves of her double jumpers to ward off the chill as he continued flatly, "Of course, I felt bad about it afterward, but I didn't feel awful". His voice was so toneless it sounded dead. "It happened the year after my father died. The girl just died so quickly, both of them did. It... scared me, how fast it happened, and I just assumed I had it in me, to kill naturally like that".

It was clear to Hermione, how the combined acts of speaking Parseltongue, opening the Chamber of Secrets, and explaining everything to her as he did it seemed to be taking their toll on Tom, and it appeared he was loosing energy by the minute. Closing his eyes, he ducked his head and tiredly rested his forehead in his hand. "I was young, then, and I was angry. I shouldn't have even been messing with it, the snake", he whispered dully, more to himself than to her.

"But you didn't kill either of them directly. They were both accidents", Hermione said softly. "Tom, we all mess up. Maybe I haven't gone off and killed someone, but I've done things I'm not proud of. And I can't take them back— none of them. I have to live with them. But you can't let your mistakes rule the rest of your life!" Merlin, just listen to me, here I am trying to reason out a loophole to excuse Tom Riddle for being the only one involved in the deaths of two people.

Hermione saw the puff of vaporised steam rise in the cold air as Tom let out a heavy breath, but the noise was lost, absorbed in the vast chamber. Tom glanced up at her, his eyes no longer a blank book, but suddenly churning and filled with volumes and volumes of real emotion. Almost immediately, though, he looked away and muttered, "Either way, I'll always be a murderer".

Oh, Tom, why are you making this so difficult? Hermione thought, briefly closing her eyes. She longed to tell him no, he wasn't a murderer... but she couldn't. Because he had killed Myrtle and his father, whether he had meant to or not. That didn't necessarily make him a murderer, but it had put him in another category, one that involved killing a human being. She knew that as well as he did, and denying it wouldn't do either of them any good.

Finally, she sighed, stepped toward him, wiggled one hand out of her sleeve, and took his limp hand in hers. "Just because you did that then doesn't mean you have to be one now". Tom laughed mirthlessly, a sound completely devoid of the life of which it should have been full. "Nefertari, sometimes I wish I could live in your world", he said impassively. Abruptly shaking his head in apparent disgust, he again laughed listlessly and hastily turned his dark head away from hers, muttering, "Merlin, here I've gone off like an idiot, and all I meant to do was give you a bloody Christmas present..."

Now it was Hermione's turn to be shocked. "A Christmas present?", she echoed incredulously. Of course, she had given him something this morning, but she hadn't asked him to get her anything in return, nor had she even expected it, for that matter. He hadn't exactly had much time to get her something, either, even if he wanted to... Ah. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Was this what he had been doing all day that had drained him to the brink of unconsciousness when she had first found him in the hallway? But what kind of gift would take an entire day to prepare?

"Yes... Come on", he murmured, lightly pulling her close to him and striding out to the middle of the main aisle down the Chamber of Secrets. He stopped and pulled his wand out with his other hand. "Okay, just..." He deftly transferred the wand to his right hand, held it up slightly, and glanced back at her. "Just put your hand over my wand hand."

"Why?" Hermione asked, suddenly wary, unable to keep a small trace of suspicion from her tone. She came up beside him, standing behind his right shoulder, and stared critically down the length of his wand arm, trying to figure out what he was aiming for. "Can't you do it yourself?" After all, you are the Heir of Slytherin, and you are in Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets...

Tom nodded faintly, the exhaustion in his movements growing. "I could, but it would turn out a lot better if you made physical contact with the spell medium, too". Hermione saw his gaze move from her face to the jumper Draco had given her —it was hard to miss, with her wearing it so blatantly— and he muttered, "I suppose you can't very well call it a proper present anyway, because I need you in order to finish it, and it won't last very long, but..."

It occurred to her that he had really been beating himself up ever since Draco had kissed her. Today was definitely the lowest she had ever seen Tom— he had been all right at dinner, but before, and now, afterward... The thing was, around everyone else, he came off as perfectly calm, cool, collected, unconcerned - everything that Dumbledore and Harry had always said he was. Around her, however, he was almost a completely different person. He was actually much quieter, much more brooding and silent than she had originally imagined him, but he could also speak quite at length when he had something to say, he wasn't detestable like he had seemed to be in their first few meetings, and, unlike most of the Slytherin brood that she knew, Tom didn't act like a master of everything with her. He was real, concrete.

Sometimes, it wasn't the best thing— for example, when he was upset, at someone, or something. Even on his worst days, though, she had never imagined that Tom Riddle would doubt himself as much as she was beginning to realise he did. More than anything, that tendency of his had shocked her. But he's human, she reminded herself. Even he has his fears, just like the rest of us. Somehow... it made Hermione feel better about whatever they had between them, knowing he trusted her so much that he allowed her to see him at his absolute worst.

Slowly, she placed her right hand over his cold, much larger one. "Now what?"

Tom was still staring at her over his shoulder, but he quickly turned his gaze straight ahead toward a wand that strangely resembled Harry's and squinted, tilting his head a bit in appraisal. "Now move it down just a bit further... you need to be touching the wand. Right. Just like that."

Hermione sighed and took a step closer to him, finding that it was much easier —not to mention warmer— to stand and not bend her arm backward if she partially leaned against him. As she brushed up against his back, she accidentally bumped him with more force than she had intended, and she could actually feel each of his muscles go rigid. "Sorry", she whispered apologetically.

Tom's jaw clenched, but he nodded weakly in acknowledgment. Hermione had absolutely no idea how long whatever he was doing was going to take, so she gently rested the side of her face on the rough, worn fabric of his robe anyway, making herself comfortable. Slowly, almost painfully, he relaxed again, eventually closing his eyes and breathing deeply like he normally did before performing some impressive feat of magic. "All right, now don't... don't go anywhere on me".

Hermione smiled slightly at the thought. Right, because I'd much rather go chat it up with your pet Basilisk. She had already met the monster once, she didn't particularly feel like being petrified again— or killed, even, thank you very much.

Unexpectedly, a gentle breeze flitted through the enclosed Chamber, delicately brushing at Hermione's hair, and Tom began to murmur.

Very softly, but Hermione could tell it was a chant of some sort, and she watched, her awed eyes growing larger by the second, as the raw power began to build in the air, more and more, greater and greater, until a loaded, electrical charge began to spread out around them. Whatever he was doing, she didn't know, but it was complex, enormous magic, bigger than anything she had ever seen anyone else perform in her entire life... but it wasn't happening, it was just building and building like some kind of suspense film.

Now Hermione could actually feel the layers upon layers of magic building up around her as Tom continued whispering words that, even in the silence of the Chamber, Hermione couldn't quite hear; a loaded explosiveness rose up in front of her, near the tip of Tom's outstretched wand, hazing the view in front of them like the heat hazed long distance views on sizzling summer days—

All of a sudden, Hermione felt rather than saw a massive tremor jolt through Tom's entire body, and a gust of wind violently whipped her long hair around her face as an explosion of brilliant, blinding light, light of all hues and textures burst from his wand and shot up into the air like a great billowing cloud.

At the blinding brightness, her eyes instinctively squeezed shut... until a strange, distantly well-known feeling of quiet peace so unlike the blast from seconds before swept over. Warily, she opened her eyes and was instantly struck stock-still, unable to trust her own sight. Tears quickly sprung to her eyes; her mouth fell open, and then closed helplessly, as she began to feel slightly faint. Oh my dear.

"Tom..." Hermione whispered faintly, afraid to breathe, to hope, to even believe that anything like this could even be possible... "What have you done?"

Tom was breathing hard, as if he had just sprinted a mile in under five minutes even though he hadn't moved an inch from the spot he was standing. "It's... several restorative enchantments", he managed to wheeze, bending over and stumbling, finally sinking to his knees in exhaustion. "It's a memory, a living memory; they're a memory..."

Almost like the Diary... Hermione thought, dazed. Her awestruck eyes travelled between him and the phenomenal scene before her, and she stood motionlessly, clueless as to what to do next. What Tom had done was nothing short of miraculous in her eyes, but it had drained him incredibly, and the Anima curse had probably doubled the effect on him. Torn, her head bobbed back and forth between Tom and the glowing paradise before her. He needed her help, but they... they were her—

"Go", he breathed urgently, weakly pushing her forward with one hand. "It's... only temporary... won't last more that five minutes..."

Her eyes had already begun to burn horribly from unshed tears, but Hermione blinked rapidly and finally snapped into action. She took one small step on the damp stone floor, and then another, and another, except now her shoes were landing on a familiar, soft, beautifully woven Oriental rug, and then she was running across the carpet, the cold air of the Chamber of Secrets quickly becoming warm and toasty.

Still not even coming close to understanding how, Hermione flew into her parents' open arms.

"Mum... Dad..." she mumbled thickly, suddenly engulfed in their unmistakable, combined scents of summer flowers and musky cologne, burying her head in one of their shoulders, but everything had happened so fast that whether it was her mother's or father's she wasn't sure. She stifled back a strangled sob, but then, as she felt the real, very solid arms of her parents wrapping around her and holding her like they would never let her go, Hermione completely lost it, breaking down into a torrent of tears, never wanting them to let her go.

"Sweetheart", her father said tenderly, his voice full of so much love, so much of the familiarity that Hermione had convinced herself countless times over that she would never hear again, and she choked out, "Oh, no—"

"Sssshh, sssshh", soothed her mother, her gentle hands stroking Hermione's hair like she had done when Hermione was a child. "It's all right, darling, it's all right".

Hermione gasped in another shuddery breath and steadied herself, pulling back and looking at her beloved parents —in the person, so to speak— for the first time in three long years. They were standing next to the cavernous, blazing, crackling fireplace in the den of the French chateau, the beautifully decorated room exactly as she remembered it: the warm cherry walls, the simple yet classic, mahogany rubbed furniture... and Mum and Dad.

"Is this real?" she murmured weakly, feeling hot, wet drops continue to stream silently from her eyes and down her cheeks.

"Yes", her mother smiled, the resemblance between mother and daughter poignantly present in their thick, beautiful curls, their lovely heart-shaped faces, their bright smiles, and, now, their identical heights. "For the moment, it is".

Hermione had longed with her entire soul to see them again, to hear their voices and feel their touch, but now that they were here... she had absolutely no idea what to say. Where to even begin. "I've missed you so much", she finally whispered. Abruptly, her chin began to tremble unsteadily, and she doggedly bit back the urge start sobbing again.

"We know, darling", her mother said softly. She smiled again, pride shining in her eyes. "You've grown up so much". She tenderly brushed Hermione's cheek, and Hermione closed her eyes at the contact, waiting for someone to pinch her, to wake her up and tell her it had just been an unbelievable dream.

Tom... Tom Marvolo Riddle... Lord Voldemort... how had he... how had he ever been able to recreate a scene out of her memory so perfectly, yet allow that same scene to have a completely new life of its own?

"I don't suppose I can call you my little girl anymore..." her mother continued, her smile becoming both regretful and proud at the same time. "You're a beautiful, mature young woman with your entire life ahead of you, Hermione. You can't dwell in the past forever".

"That's him, isn't it?" her father suddenly said matter-of-factly. "The one who did all this."

Hermione looked at him, her warm brown eyes reflecting in his equally brown ones as she saw they were distant, studying something —or someone— far across the room. She turned around, her gaze travelling beyond the glow of the interior and two visible walls of the warm chateau den, into the frigid, shadowy gloom of the Chamber of Secrets, finally landing on Tom. He had dragged himself so that he could simultaneously sit and lean against a pillar, even his tall form dwarfed by the towering column of carved rock, and his body was slumped down, as if he either wasn't fully conscience or was trying to recover as much energy as he could.

When you say 'the one who did all this', do you mean 'the one who brought us here to be with you', or 'the one who murdered us before we had a chance to see you grow up?'

"Do you love him, sweetheart?"

Dad! Point-blank, there it was. And this wasn't her friends asking, this wasn't Dumbledore asking, this wasn't even her asking herself. This was her father, and he had asked her if she loved Tom Riddle. Tonight at dinner, she had admitted that she fancied him. Fancy, yes. Fancying was easy. One could fancy twenty thousand movie stars.

But love?

"Yes", Hermione said softly, a feeling of both relief and shame rushing through her as she turned back to her parents and stared at the purple and gold threaded rug. "I'm... I think I'm in love with who he is, right now. But he's done so many horrible things, he... he grew up to kill you", she whispered and shook her head, blinking back a fresh wave of tears. "I don't know... I don't know if I can live with knowing that I loved the man who took the both of you away from me".

Her father studied her thoughtfully. "You're far wiser than you think, Hermione", he said ambiguously. "Make a decision, and then trust it to be the right one... Whatever it is, we'll stand behind you. We always have".

Tears shining in her eyes, Hermione hovered over the decision, and then linked arms with her father and took her mother's hand. "Come here", she said, feeling a small smile spread across her face as she tugged them across the floor of the den that was really the Chamber of Secrets, walking contentedly between them. "I want you to at least meet him."

His wand was lying, discarded, on the floor beside him. Hermione couldn't help but stare at it as they approached, unable to believe how a simple piece of wood which had the potential to commit so many terrible, terrible acts could also produce something so breathtakingly beautiful.

His head was hanging toward the ground, resting on his knees, and he didn't seem to notice their presence, so Hermione said softly, "Tom".

For being as fatigued as he was, Tom's head jerked up rather quickly, surprise flashing in his eyes as he immediately stared from Hermione to her mother, and then to her father. He made a jerking motion, as if to stand quickly, and Hermione swiftly held out a hand to press him back down. "Tom, no, you don't have to—"

Before she could finish, Tom gently caught her hand in his and looked deep into her eyes. "Yes, I do", he said quietly, and, using her hand and the pillar behind her as supports, he weakly hauled himself to his feet, his willowy frame even making him taller than Hermione's father. He didn't seem to know how to introduce himself, though, and finally settled on simply saying, "I'm Tom Riddle, the Head Boy with your daughter".

"We know", her mother said kindly. Tom quickly glanced at Hermione, his eyes surprised, but the best she could muster up was a weak smile of encouragement. He stood straight but stiffly, looking uneasy as the woman whom Hermione loved so dearly studied him closely. Hermione was shocked when tears suddenly sprang to her mother's clear blue eyes.

Unexpectedly, she reached out and hugged Tom tightly. He stiffened up at once, but it looked to Hermione like her mother was nearly squeezing him to death anyway. Completely and utterly bewildered, all thoughts flew from her head as, like a much-loved friend, her mother hugged the man who had unknowingly grown up to kill her and her husband yet currently loved her daughter more than magic itself could bear.

She thought her mother whispered something in his ear right before she pulled away, but Hermione didn't hear anything so she dismissed it. All she was sure of was that, swiftly, right as she was pulling away, Tom snapped out of his board-like stance and returned the embrace with an almost desperate urgency... and her mother smiled as she released him.

"We haven't much time left", her father noted quietly, and with those words it was as if someone had brutally ripped her heart from her chest. As if they were one person, her parents pulled Hermione to them, squeezing until she felt like there couldn't possibly be any air left in her lungs, but, nevertheless... she never, ever wanted to let go. Sweet Merlin, she wanted to freeze this moment in time forever.

"Mum, Dad... I love you so much", she whispered thickly, an incredible sense of lost, but, at the same time, a strange sense of peace settling over her as her parents finally released her. Her father was right, though... she began to notice little hazy spots in the scene before her: an unclear shimmer in the far wall of the Chateau den, a spattering of dulled colour here and there.

Please... She suddenly prayed fervently, frantically, to everything good and holy in the world, Please don't go... Again...

"We love you too, darling. Just be thankful for the time we had together", her mother murmured soothingly, as if reading Hermione's thoughts, "and then let us go". "You can do it, love, I know you can do anything". She sounded as if she was on the verge of crying, and Hermione felt tears spring to own eyes, again threatening to burst forth. Her father, though, was absently playing with his moustache and carefully staring directly at Tom. Abruptly, Tom seemed to notice that he was the recipient of her father's intense gaze, and he straightened himself up even more, his grey eyes steadily returning what Hermione considered to be her father's most intimidating expression.

Growing more than a bit nervous, Hermione looked between them unsettlingly, not exactly sure what her father was doing, not feeling quite reassured about it either, because her father had always been a straight-out-and-hit-you kind of man. Finally, he asked simply, "Will you keep her safe until the day you die?"

The all-too-familiar parental humiliation factor that every teenager must deal with at some point in their dating lives rushed into Hermione at full speed, as if her parents had always been lurking somewhere in the background just waiting to embarrass her. Her face reddening, Hermione felt herself do a mortified double-take in pure, horrified shock at the blatancy of her father's question.

What, are we suddenly getting married? she thought. She couldn't help but wonder incredulously at the relevance of his words as she glanced over at Tom and saw that he had paled even more, if that was possible... but her eyes widened, all embarrassment vanishing as, very sharply, very seriously, he nodded, his jaw set tightly. The colourful, realistic images of her parents and the interior of the chateau were beginning to fade quickly now, but Hermione's father smiled easily and held out his hand. "Son, I wish you the very best".

It was a nickname Hermione had often heard her father use on anyone younger than himself, but Tom wordlessly stared from her father's face to his hand as if her father had called him God, layers of incredulity in his eyes. Finally, he reached out to shake it... and the bright, merry, twinkling scene vanished in the blink of an eye, plunging the Chamber of Secrets back into frigid darkness and leaving nothing but Tom's still-outstretched hand in its wake.

The abrupt, frosty silence was almost deafening; and Hermione wasn't exactly sure what to say to him. Everything, it seemed, had already been said.

Distastefully, Hermione eyed the dusty ground. Brushing her hands off on her skirt, she sat down next to him nonetheless and mirrored his position, pulling her knees to her chest and leaning her back against the pillar. "Tom... why did we have come here, to the Chamber of Secrets, for you to do those spells?" she finally murmured, staring straight ahead into the now-dark Chamber where the chateau den had twinkled and sparkled and pulsed warmth only minutes before.

She hoped that the immense guilt which was currently hanging like a dark cloud over her mind didn't show on her expression— particularly during the first ten minutes after Tom had taken her into the Chamber, she had been dreadfully distrustful of him, had honestly feared for her life, even... and now, especially after talking to her parents, she felt absolutely, horribly wretched for ever suspecting him of foul play.

Tom sighed and weakly sat up, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the cold stone of the pillar. "Because Salazar Slytherin specifically designed the Chamber to facilitate extremely difficult spells". He swallowed hard and took a deep breath of air before he continued. "Basically, magic is amplified here... don't ask me how he did it, because I'm still not exactly sure. And... it's the only place I can cast the enchantments I used to their full extent. I don't think they would have worked anyplace else."

"So you're him, then", she eventually said quietly, hugging her arms around herself to block out the cold as Tom slowly lowered his arm back to his side. "You're the Heir of Slytherin".

She didn't know what she had expected him to say, or do... well, all right, maybe she had taken a few fair guesses. Yes, she had pictured him smirking smugly as he owned up to it, or brandishing his power in some outlandish way, or rattling off his family line or launching off into a lecture on how great the Dark Arts really were and how she should join him at his side...

But Tom just nodded exhaustedly, bowed his head, and carefully slid back down to the floor against the pillar, resting his forehead on his knees. Probably this wasn't the way he had planned to tell her, either. "Ah". Hermione fell silent and glanced over at him. He looked so tired, she thought, reaching up without thought to smooth some stray locks of dark hair away from his face.

Almost as though she'd struck him, Tom tensed, but for some reason, this gave Hermione even more resilience to continue stroking his hair gently. It was almost humorous, how it seemed to be the sole bane of his existence, how it always ended up flying away, taunting him, much like Harry's did. The two of them really were so similar. What had happened between them in the future— it was so sad.

She sighed heavily, still gently massaging his head, and her mind wandered back to contemplate his last statement. By taking her to the Chamber of Secrets, he had to have known that she wouldn't come down here without asking a lot of questions, and he must have realised that he would have to explain everything to her, from his ability to speak Parseltongue to his true Slytherin heritage.

And he must have wondered if she would think him pure evil, if she would ever speak to him again when she found out that he had been responsible for the death of Moaning Myrtle, or if she would run off and report him to Dippet or Dumbledore or the Ministry.

In other words, Tom Riddle had risked everything he had worked so hard to keep hidden away since birth, simply so he could give her a Christmas gift that he thought would be somewhat meaningful to her. He, who had no parents, had temporarily given her back hers.

"Tom..." Hermione whispered, and he looked over at her questioningly. His eyes were weary and beginning to show the faintest signs of Anima fatigue, but Hermione couldn't stop the brightest, kindest smile she had ever given anyone from lighting up her face. "That was the most beautiful Christmas present I have ever received". Leaning over, she tilted her head to the right, lightly rested her finger under his chin, and gently kissed his cold cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose brushing up the side of his face as she gratefully breathed, "Thank you so much".

Slowly, Hermione pulled away and saw that Tom had squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Yours was just as good, you know", he murmured faintly.

Hermione laughed, so emotionally drained from the evening that the sound was probably filled with a bit more amusement than the situation properly called for. "Let's not argue about it. We'll just say that they were both really above average". Her mind wandered back to their conversation that morning, and she curiously asked, "Did you see anyone, then? When you looked into the Orb".

His gaze briefly landed on her, but he hastily looked back out into the Chamber of Secrets and answered simply, "Yes". A small, tired smile spread across his face, and, the exhaustion in his eyes beginning to extend to his voice, he quietly asked, "Are you ready to go?" Hermione nodded, and her concerned brown eyes searched his worn-out gaze. "Are you?" He nodded wearily, and she jumped to her feet, brushing off the dusty back of her trousers with one hand and offering him her other hand. He stared at it for a moment, much like he had stared at her father's, and then took it, supporting himself on the pillar as he stood, finding his balance.

A moment later, he said in a low voice, "Nefertari, I'm... I'm all right now."

Hermione let go of him so he could walk out beside her unaided, her thoughts a bit distant. She was used to seeing him ill, and tired, but watching him perform those massive spells had made her remember how truly different he would be, had the Curse not impeded him.

Or, well, maybe not completely different, but... if he had that much power in him - and were he not dying - Hermione doubted that very few people would be able to stand in his way, even at this early age. And he had to know that. Had the Curse not afflicted him, he might not have even been having these little insecurities, these attacks of conscience that seemed to plague him now, either.

Don't think about what can't happen, she reminded herself, He's got the Curse now and he always will. There's no way to lift it.

As she neared the foot of the Chamber where they had entered, Hermione found her feet slowing down of their own accord, and she reached out and grabbed Tom's sleeve, tugging him back. He glanced at her inquisitively, but she smiled at him momentarily and spun around, her curls flying out behind her as she did so, looking on the Chamber of Secrets for the last time.

All prejudices aside, she could feel the magic hanging in this place. It actually did have the air of a shrine, somehow, although whether it was sacred to heaven or to hell could probably be a matter of debate. "You know..." she began softly, her brow furrowed appraisingly. "If you look at it just right, it really does have a beauty all of its own". Tom stepped up beside her and briefly surveyed the Chamber, too. "If you look at it just right", he finally murmured, squeezing her hand lightly and leading her out.

To Hermione's overwhelmed mind, the journey out of the Chamber of Secrets and back to the Head Common whirled by in a blur. She faintly remembered the stone snake wall closing behind them as they walked back into the dark tunnel, she thought she recalled hearing the twisting, escalator-like staircase lift them back up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor, and she didn't remember climbing five more flights of stairs back to the portrait of Sir Cadogan.

She was only certain of one thing: of running through the scene with her parents so many times, she was certain she wouldn't forget those five or so minutes until the day came that she would finally see them again. Now, in the bright light, it all seemed like some fantastic dream; had it even really happened?

"Raddiocho snapplequorks", Tom said wearily.

Sir Cadogan launched into some tedious greeting, and Hermione's mind finally began to fully function again, but— Oh, no. Her feet froze a foot away from the portrait hole, and Tom walked in ahead of her as she hurriedly pulled her wand from her pocket and muttered "Horus", under her breath. Immediately, a smoky, reddish haze radiated from the time of her wand and quickly formed a clock which showed that it was twenty-seven minutes past ten.

If Hermione sprinted like the devil himself was chasing her, she would probably be able to make it up to the Room of Requirement before at least one of her well-intentioned friends freaked out at her tardiness, assumed that Tom had murdered her and buried her body in the basement, and attacked the Head common room like an angered, oversized ogre.

When Tom noticed that she hadn't followed him, he turned back to her questioningly, but Hermione jabbed her thumb down the hall, taking a step backward, her mind already laying out the fastest route to the Room. "I'm not quite done with the after-hours dash yet", she explained apologetically, and wrinkled her nose as if to say, 'I don't especially feel like going, either'. Which she really didn't.

An look of dawning realisation briefly crossed Tom's face, and he studied her for a moment, then nodded once his understanding. "I'll see you in the morning, then?" he asked quietly, unceremoniously shrugging off his dark robes, deftly draping them neatly over his arm, and casually staring up at the ceiling as he loosened his tie.

"Sure", Hermione agreed readily. Absently sticking her wand back into her pocket, she added warmly, "Happy Christmas, Tom". He stopped messing with his tie and stared at her, a small, hesitant smile tugging at his right lip and flickering onto his face. "Happy Christmas, Nefertari".

Hermione almost left without doing it. A second before it would have been too late, though, she was unutterably, extraordinarily inspired. "Wait!" she exclaimed quickly, before the portrait hole could close completely.

At her near-yell, both Tom and Sir Cadogan started and froze. Sir Cadogan's mouth was partially open from babbling to himself, but Hermione could care less about him; exhausted Tom had just begun to turn to face the empty common room, but he looked back at her questioningly, still standing right inside the hole.

Hermione didn't hesitate, nor did she even think: she simply walked the few steps over to the entrance of the Head common. Without even stepping inside, she leaned over and took the ends of his Slytherin green tie, gently pulling them and his head down toward her own, her eyes closing... and before what she was doing even registered in her mind, Tom's lips were pressing desperately against her own.

Had they suddenly appeared, not even the combined force of all five of her friends could stop Hermione from kissing back just as desperately, breathing him, faintly tasting the sweet remains of cranberry cream tarts and honeyed cordial and shared memories. As if they knew their rightful place, her arms wrapped around his neck; she parted her lips and his tongue promptly slipped inside; she moaned and practically fell over the step into the portrait hole as she completely melted into his arms, heatedly raking her fingers through the thick softness of his hair in an effort to memorise the feel of him, memorise how the heat of that moment was like none other that she had ever experienced...

Suddenly, Tom pulled from her mouth and began to kiss her softly, repeatedly. Hermione gasped, her back, her neck arching in utter ecstasy as, like a gently blowing breeze, his torturous light kisses sent shivers down her spine as he travelled along the side of her face, under her jaw, and down her neck, and it was all over far too quickly; how was it possible that something that seemed like it could go on and on forever eventually end?

Panting, breathing heavily, her right hand still partially entangled in his hair, Hermione opened her eyes, found herself staring into grey pools that currently resembled a hurricane. Tom was gasping for breath and looking down at her as if he had never completely seen her until now. Hermione had never felt so safe in her life; twice, in one night: the first time in her parents arms, and now here, with Tom, his arms wrapped snugly around her back.

Nothing like this had ever felt so incredibly right. Mum, Dad... I think I've just made my decision.

"Nefertari, I..." Tom's voice caught before he could finish the sentence, and he coughed, clearing his throat. He bit his lip and seemed to reverse directions before he croaked huskily, "I've waited for that my entire life".

The torrent of emotions on his face sent a wave of similar ones through Hermione. She had never seen this much feeling come out of Tom Riddle, and she hoped, she knew then without much doubt that he was no longer holding back much of anything from her.

A burst of unparalleled love swam across Hermione's vision, and she couldn't stop another contented smile from tugging at her lips as she looked up at Tom, affectionately rubbing her fingers in circles through his hair, tousling it beyond belief, but he didn't especially seem to mind. His words also triggered the very first coherent post-kiss thought that burst into Hermione's head like a brilliant sunburst.

Why on earth had it never occurred to her before? she wondered vaguely. She planted a light kiss on his lips and gently pulled away, knowing that her friends were waiting for her; knowing that, somehow, her life would never be the same again.

Tom abruptly caught her hands in his as she stepped backward, holding on until the last possible second. Hermione had never imagined that his eyes could actually light up, but, as she said with another warm smile, "Tom — my name's Hermione", Tom's eyes lit up like she herself had casted a lumos spell.

Saturday, December 25, 1944

10:47 P.M.

For a moment, Hermione held a staring contest with the knob of the gloomy brown Room of Requirement door, temporarily set in the wall in front of her. On the other side of a three-inch thick slab of wood were her waiting friends, and she was sure they weren't going to greet her with a "Oh, hello, Hermione, and how was Tom? We're so glad you finally decided to spend some quality time with such a wonderful boy on Christmas instead of us! No, really, we're so happy the two of you clicked".

Yes, her parents' apparent approval of the whole thing had reassured Hermione that her heart was her own and she was going to follow it and it alone, and it had seemed so easy to think that when she had seen her parents and when she had been with Tom.

But now, it had occurred to her that her parents and their support were gone again, Tom Riddle was going downhill awfully fast, and the five people with whom she would probably be thrown together for the rest of her life as she knew it held an indestructible grudge against him— a grudge, she suspected, which ran far deeper than any of her abilities to convince them that he wasn't who they thought he was.

Reality sucks when it decides to creep up on you after one of the best moments of your life. It really does. At one point, she honestly considered turning around and sprinting back to the safety of the Head common room. She smiled hollowly as soon as the thought crossed her mind. At the start of this school year, she would have never believed that, a mere four months later, she would categorise the Head common room that she shared with Tom Riddle as "safe", versus the Room of Requirement —which had always been a bit of a haven for her and her friends— as "dangerous territory".

Hermione, you can't hide forever! some rational part of her admonished. But what would she say? Would she tell them that Tom had taken her to the Chamber? How would she ever explain to them that she loved him, really loved him, despite everything Lord Voldemort had taken from her, from all of them?

Of course, she would probably have to worry about those deep questions after they mentioned that little episode with the mistl— Sweet Merlin. She did not feel like facing, let alone speaking to Draco. Damn. She wouldn't mention it, she'd let them bring it up; that was it. And if the slimy prat even decided to speak to her, she would glare. All right, she could do this. She had a plan. She wouldn't look at anyone, would avoid any subject related to Tom Riddle or mistletoe like the plague, and would just glare. It was a fairly sound plan, in her opinion.

Taking a deep breath, praying that the nervous, frantic hammering of her heart was not an ominous sign, the feeling of dread in her stomach augmenting exponentially, Hermione pushed open the heavy brown door to a burst of conversation, which silenced as soon as Hermione quelled the urge to throw up and stepped inside the Room of Requirement.

The Room had again turned itself into a mock ski chalet, with a fire blazing merrily in the hearth, oak and cherry finishes on elaborate wooden furniture, and that same gigantic hanging pair of buck antlers completing its adornment. Lavender was sprawled across the length of a rustic sofa with her head resting on pillow that had been propped against the legs of an irritated-looking Ron, and Harry had claimed the wooden rocker, the Quiddich strategies manual Ginny had picked up for him for Christmas lying open across his lap.

"Hey, Hermione", Harry finally greeted, his voiced sounding strained. Oh no, not a good sign, Hermione thought, and couldn't help but glance around suspiciously at the conspicuous absence of a certain Slytherin as she fully entered the Room and pulled the door closed behind her. "Where is he?"

"Hello to you, too", she heard Ron mutter as she walked over to a padded armchair next to Harry's and sank down into it. Harry sighed, shut the Quiddich book with a soft thump, and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Where's who?"

The Room was toasty warm, and Hermione suddenly remembered that she was wearing a double layer. With a look of distaste at Draco's Christmas present, she pulled the periwinkle blue jumper up over her head and threw it down next to a pile of sweets on a platter on the rich mahogany coffee table in front of her. "The twit who decided to manually clean out my throat in front of the entire staff".

"Oh— he and Ginny took a run over to Hogsmeade", Harry said, apparently having no problem figuring out exactly who her colourful description had illustrated. "Draco knew a few stores that are open on Christmas so he could get that present for Salvi, and Gin needed some crushed hydralia rose petals for a potions project, so they went through the tunnel about an hour ago."

Another uncomfortable silence filled the room. Hermione bit her lip and drummed her fingers on her knee, the entire awkwardness of it all considerably dulling the magical moments from earlier that night. Once she had seen that Draco wasn't in the vicinity, she had thought that she would be able to survive the rest of the night after all... but no, she should have known that this situation would be bad whether Draco was there or not.

Finally, with a little ladylike grunt, Lavender broke the quiet and heaved herself up, prowling over to the mound of chocolates, sweet breads, and desserts on the coffee table. She had just begun to paw through them with interest when Ron asked bluntly, "Why are you still going on with him, Hermione?"

Damn, there it was. Somehow, Hermione doubted that Ron was talking about Draco. "Ron, what are you talking about?" she asked in a tired voice, shaking her head slightly, closing her eyes and resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. "What am I talking about?" Ron echoed in disbelief, and he seemed astonished that Hermione didn't have the ability to read his mind. When she said nothing further, he exploded, "The bloody Dark Lord, Hermione! The same one you have just spent all of Christmas night with, alone, doing Merlin knows what!"

Just tell him that you love Tom already! Hermione's eyes flashed open and she fought to keep from bursting out and saying what her insides were screaming. No, he'll never understand! None of them will!

"Don't be a prat, Ronald", she finally snapped waspishly, her voice tense. Glare! her mind dutifully reminded her.

"Don't be a prat?" Ron repeated again, leaving Hermione to wonder if there was an echo in the room, and he looked personally insulted. Hermione suddenly found it ironic that he seemed to be lecturing her instead of vice-versa. "You're calling me a prat? What part of 'He is the Dark Lord' do you not understand? You've gotten him where we needed him to be. You should be done with him before he's done with you—"

"No". At the abrupt and completely unexpected interjection, Hermione felt her mouth drop open, and her eyes suddenly brightened, hoping against some mad hope...

She swung her head toward her best friend, staring at him as if he had just sprouted antennas, and Harry's piercing gaze shrewdly bore back into hers. Hermione desperately tried to read his expression, but for as well as she knew him, Harry's face was completely unreadable to her now... she could only hope that he didn't misinterpret the pleading that had to be obvious in her eyes.

Finally, Harry replaced his glasses. With one last glance at Hermione, Harry nodded slightly as if agreeing with himself, and he said slowly, as though he were thinking out every word, "I've been thinking about this. Even though Riddle's dying, he could still cause a lot of damage if you, erm, dump him, so to speak".

Oh, Harry, if you say what I think you're going to say, I will never hound you about your disorganised-ness again, I swear.

Ron's mouth, which had been poised and ready to fire out a comment, suddenly snapped shut, and his wide eyes fixed on The Boy Who Lived. "Are you serious, mate?"

I will even buy you a new broomstick each year for the rest of your functional life.

"Think about it, Ron. If you were him, wouldn't you want to kill someone if the girl you were dying to love suddenly left you?" Harry explained slowly, while Hermione simply stared at him, hardly daring to breathe, anticipation shining in her eyes as he turned back to her. "Hermione, I think you should keep up the act".

Hermione didn't know if Harry had just given her his permission to carry on with Tom Riddle because of the perfectly logical explanation he had just given or because he knew that something was going on between them, and frankly, she didn't care. A small smile broke out on her face, and her eyes screamed ten thousand grateful thank-yous. Although Harry didn't look especially happy, he smiled back and at least seemed willing to deal with the ramifications of his statement. Harry, I love you.

Lavender plopped back down next to a rumpled Ron, popped a chocolate into her mouth and held up a little round tart. "Raspberry cream, Hermy?"

I swear the only reason she calls me that is because she knows I can't stand it. Hermione smiled in a silly sort of desperate relief and held up her hand, suddenly hungry enough to eat an entire army of raspberry cream tarts. Lavender grinned mischievously and, with perfect aim, lobbed the tart across the coffee table. Harry flipped open his Quiddich manual and picked up reading where he had left off. Ron shook his head and summoned the entire plate of desserts over to him, shoving an entire slice of caramel apple cake into his mouth. The world was again as it should be.

And so Hermione's entire dilemma was solved without her having to explain a single thing.