Chapter 30: A Cure
Friday, January 7, 1945
9:41 P.M.
An old, musty scent of ancient leather and forest wood filled the air. By now, most of the hushed, distant voices of students had disappeared, and the silence in the library only grew stronger as the clock steadily inched its way closer to curfew.
After discreetly peeking around her dismal surroundings to reassure herself of her seclusion far back in the rear of the library, Hermione poked her wand out of the folds of Harry's invisibility cloak. The end of it lit without her murmuring so much as a simple "Lumos", and she casually held it up as she walked along the aisle of books, squinting as she read each faded, scripted book title on the shelves.
Of course, being Head Girl, she did have free reign of the Restricted Section, but she didn't especially feel like being seen in the cult subdivision of the shadowy library quarter. Shrouded in the blackness of the area save her lighted wand, her eyes warily moved along the shelves. Pausing, she yawned, but the motion died on her lips as her eyes caught sight of a faded title stamped along the spine of what looked to be an ancient book: Gemma Persuasio. Cult of Gemmology.
Yes. Smiling grimly, Hermione cautiously reached up and tugged the book from its place perched imperiously on the shelf above her. A plume of dust billowed up as it landed in her arms. Quickly, she scrunched her nose and sucked in a breath, holding it until the urge to sneeze passed. As soon as it did, Hermione flipped open to the Table of Contents and ran her hand down the ancient script until one slim finger landed upon the section on rubies. Page 687.
Cradling Gemma Persuasio in one hand and her wand-light in another, Hermione flipped open to page 687 and began to read, her mind nimbly translating the Latin into English as she did.
'It is rare to find a flawless ruby. Many qualities of a ruby exist that will give it a good astrological effect: it should sparkle, have a fine shape and internal brilliance, be smooth...' Blah blah blah. Hermione quickly scanned the ancient text further. 'Each ruby has its own personality and power...' 'If one wears an unflawed ruby...' 'will become wealthy and have honour, prestige, and property...' 'status in life will improve...' 'wearer will develop a royal life...'
Well, at least that's true, Hermione thought with a wry grin, thinking about the power and prestige of the real Nefertari family. She glanced back down at the book, her eyes nearing the bottom of the page. Abruptly, she stopped.
'In the case of the most potent rubies, the wearer will began to take on the power of the ruby itself. Perhaps one of the most famous examples of this phenomenon is the Amulet of Eras, the royal jewel of the Egyptian magical line. Egyptians argue that the ruby serves to augment their ruler's already considerable magical prowess, but many gemmologists argue that it is not the line, but the Amulet of Eras itself, that holds the magical energy, and has simply bestowed this energy upon its present owner, who coincidentally happens to be the Egyptian throne...'
Hermione stared at the paragraph in a mixture of shock and dawning realisation. It was true, many wizards and witches strongly followed the dark magic gemmological beliefs, but Hermione had always held what she had heard of it to be a load of rubbish... until now, perhaps. Absently, she reached back under the invisibility cloak with her wand hand and felt for the lump to which she had become accustomed, just to make sure it was still there. So... now that she was, for all means and purposes, the ruby's present owner... did that mean the Amulet of Eras was bestowing its energy upon her?
Was that how she was suddenly completing all sorts of magical feats with ease, from charming every single complex decoration at the Christmas Soiree to suddenly having a greater aptitude for nonverbal magic... not because she had taken on the Nefertari name — which she had actually begun to fear as the source — but because she was simply wearing the Amulet of Eras?
The thought of a rock having that kind of immense power, especially over her, wasn't exactly the most comforting thought, but Hermione didn't have much time before the library closed, so she plunged back into the remaining text on rubies. 'Wearing rubies is beneficial for persons in authority or trying to get into a high position...' '...helps develop will-power and determination...' Errm, don't need to know that...
One line from the bottom of the page, Hermione came upon what she had originally been searching for. 'Rubies are also highly sensitive to their environment, and they have a tendency to take on heat in the presence of strong emotions'.
She paused and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, systematically attempting to sift through the times she could recall noticing the Amulet of Eras grow hot. Once dancing with Draco — heat of the dance... Once during her huge argument with Tom after the prefect meeting — heat of anger... Once, erm... once during—
Suddenly, in the midst of the few remaining student voices coming from the main alcove of the library, a muffled bang echoed nearby. Hermione leapt half a foot in the air and instantly extinguished her wand.
The entire Restricted Section again plunged into darkness as she quickly snapped the book shut and fumbled around and found its place on the shelf, sliding it back and before she had a chance to turn the page and read the final line in the section on rubies: 'It is said that, in the rare event a ruby begins to glow, the wearer is in grave danger'.
Her heart beating furiously, Hermione steadied herself and tried to breathe as silently as possible. The hushed but heated conversation of two decidedly male voices became distinguishable, and she let out a slow breath of air, allowing herself to slowly relax. Now simply curious, she drew herself up and left the Restricted Section, following the sound of voices that sounded like they were coming from an alcove in the same rather abandoned section of the library.
Deftly shedding her invisibility cloak and balling it up into an inconspicuous mass in her hand as the voices grew louder, Hermione yawned again, and her rational side took advantage of the time to make fun of herself. Right, Hermione, who'd you think it was going to be? Some Death Eater stalking you, just waiting to catch you off guard before he—
The thought froze on Hermione's mind as she turned into another wing of workstations and bookshelves, and abruptly, she found herself staring at the oddest, most unexpected sight she could remember coming upon: Abraxas Malfoy standing in the aisle with his wand outstretched belligerently, and Tom Riddle clinging to a bookshelf with one hand while his other brandished his own wand directly at Malfoy, balancing completely on his left knee, random books littering the floor around him as if they had fallen from the shelf.
Hermione vaguely wondered if the sound of them falling from the shelves had been the culprit of the banging noise she had heard earlier. She was almost as shocked to see Tom in the library as she was to see him and Abraxas Malfoy standing at a magical stalemate. Tom's condition had rapidly and steadily deteriorated since Christmas, despite their increased physical contact and her feelings for him. When her parents had died instantly, sure, that had been absolutely terrible to deal with, but this waiting for him to die, to go at any moment of any day, was agonising.
An ache that had been hurting Hermione quite often now again took root in the pit of her stomach as soon as Tom's pained eyes swiftly darted from Malfoy, to her, and back to Malfoy again. Tom had missed an inhuman amount of school since classes had restarted, due to spending long hours hovering in and out of consciousness in the Hospital Wing, so whatever had happened between them on Christmas night...
Well, neither of them had mentioned it since, and she hadn't really had much time to talk to him anyway, what with him usually being asleep when she came, or the mounds of homework the professors had suddenly, almost sadistically, she felt, heaped upon her. Of course, that didn't mean Hermione hadn't thought about it every other minute for the past two weeks, remember exactly how he had tasted, how he had felt... but, she had reasoned with herself, it wouldn't have had much time to manifest into anything greater, anyway.
Hermione blinked rapidly and shook her head. As soon as she had appeared, their fiery conversation had faded into silence... but, almost immediately, she noticed a faint light shimmering around her neck, and she absently glanced down to see, down through the little slit at the top of her shirt, the Amulet of Eras glowing. Great.
Quickly, she assessed the situation, and an nauseous sensation almost overwhelmed her as she briefly glanced at Tom's right leg, a broken bone below his knee obvious to her, even through his robes. She forced her gaze away and instead lowered it, cold and angry, on Abraxas Malfoy, smoothly pulling her own wand. "Better get out of here before the Head Boy doubles the detention I'm giving you now".
Malfoy turned his head and lowered his cool azure gaze on her. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you". She raised an eyebrow coolly. Yes, Abraxas Malfoy was dangerous, but that night in the potions room a few weeks ago had proved that she could handle him... and with Tom as a backup... "Are you threatening my authority, Malfoy?" she asked frigidly. "Heavens, no", Malfoy said, sounding insulted, and placed a hand over his heart.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was more than a little surprised when Malfoy willingly lowered his wand and immediately turned his back on Tom. Instead, time seemed to stop for a moment as he stepped right up to Hermione, towering over her as he said in a hushed voice she was fairly certain Tom couldn't hear, "I'll admit it, Nefertari, I was wrong. You and the half-breed really are made for each other."
She narrowed her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped impatiently, still steadily aiming her wand in his direction. One step closer and I will not hesitate to mangle you.
"I think you know..." He leaned close to her, so close that his stomach bumped against the end of her wand, but he didn't seemed to care. Hermione uncomfortably shuffled, inching away from him as he brought his lips right up her ear so she was able to feel his nauseating hot breath on her skin, and he whispered in a sort of victorious finale, "mudblood lover".
"Excuse me?" she asked rudely, briefly gaping at him with something much more than loathing in her eyes before she snapped her mouth shut and glared indifferently at him. You can't look affected!
Malfoy, however, simply smirked. "Oh, I think you heard me". He stepped away from her, their exchange brief, his damage done, and time started up again. "I'll be seeing you later, Nefertari", he said in a louder, smugly conversational voice, and turned to Tom, still partly sprawled out on the floor and breathing hard. Malfoy's smirk widened as he curtly nodded down at his fellow Slytherin and then shook his head. "Somehow, I don't get the feeling I'll be seeing you later".
Tom paled a bit, but his darkening eyes made up for it, and they held a burning anger Hermione had only seen a few times before; now the Amulet of Eras was burning, burning and glowing. "You have two minutes to get out of this library and go to hell", he ground out, his voice low, dangerous, and were he well, Hermione didn't doubt it would be Malfoy who was heading off to the Hospital Wing.
The affront didn't faze Malfoy in the least, however. Rather, he seemed to be malevolently delighted, as if he had been expecting those exact words from Tom all along and had planned out his retort weeks in advance. "Oh, but my dear Riddle", he drawled innocently, contorting his face into one of mock concern, "I do believe you'll be arriving there far sooner than I will".
A wicked smile broke out across Malfoy's face as, almost immediately, what little colour was left in Tom's ashen complexion drained to a ghostly white. Hermione's ears vaguely caught the comment, but she didn't exactly stop to consider the obvious implications behind it, though; she was too busy worrying about his comment to her. It was just an insult. I said he had improper breeding the last time; he got me back, she thought as Malfoy mockingly tipping his blond head at her and headed off toward the main foyer of the library without a second glance back at them. And he hurt Tom instead of me to retaliate me hitting him in the Potions classroom.
As soon as the sound of Malfoy's footsteps faded, Tom's good leg wobbled and he collapsed heavily to the ground. A little hiss of pain escaped his lips as he landed on the break below his knee, and, suddenly, the only thing Hermione could hear were his ragged breaths echoing in the hanging silence of the abandoned library wing.
Immediately, she forced the image of Abraxas Malfoy's scowling face from her mind. She crossed the aisle to the small alcove he was in in less than two steps. Tom was gripping his leg, though, all colour gone from his drawn face, and didn't even seem to notice her presence.
Then Tom's voice suddenly broke the silence, although it sounded to Hermione like gritting out each syllable was torturous for him. "Come make yourself useful, please". Swiftly, she glanced down at him and saw that he was no longer holding his twisted, broken leg, but squinting up at her in the dim light. "What do you need me to do?" she asked softly, immediately dropping down and crouching beside him.
Tom stared at her briefly, as if appraising her, and then nodded to himself, obviously in great pain, clenching his jaw so tight that Hermione could actually see a blood vessel throbbing in his temple. "Cogito curatio. Nonverbal", he said quietly, his voice weakening with each word, and he lethargically pulled one edge of his robe away, revealing a ripped, bloody trouser leg.
Hermione choked back another urge to be sick and placed a hand over her mouth, her heart began to thud apprehensively. Good Merlin... but it was so advanced... what if she couldn't do it?
She felt his gaze burn into the side of her face. "Concentrate on the spell and nothing else", he murmured softly, patiently, even though taking the time to teach her how to do the healing spell he had created and probably knew like the back of his hand must have been excruciating. "Don't focus on what you think you can or can't do".
He was incredible. She had no idea how he did it; it was as if he could look at her and read her fears. Anxiously, Hermione bit her lip, bringing her wand toward the small but clearly abnormal bulge just below his right knee where she could only assume a bone was jutting out, stopping the tip inches above the break. "Now what?" she whispered. "Now close your eyes... take a breath... feel the magic in you. Cogito curatio". Tom paused to inhale painfully, his rapid-fire breaths increasing in speed, and briefly closed his own eyes before biting out with a bit of difficulty, "Picture exactly what it's going to do".
Hermione did, closed her eyes and tried to picture his healed leg because it was a bit difficult to do with her eyes open and staring at a mess of blood. She took in a shuddery breath and steadied her nerves, adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She was a skilled witch. She was at the top of her class. Hell, she was wearing the bloody Amulet of Eras. If you can't complete a spell that the Heir of Slytherin made up, who can? she told herself with determination as he added tiredly, "And then release it".
Hermione hovered for a moment, a buzzing silence growing her in mind, and then let out the breath while concentrating completely on the spell: Cogito curatio. Instantly, she felt a warm tingle edge down the fingertips of her wand hand, and, opening her eyes, she watched in awe as a fine green glow radiated from her wand and surrounded his wounded leg.
A moment later, the glow faded, and although Tom's leg was still darkened with blood, the bulge in the trouser fabric had caved into nothing. So... had it worked?
"Hermione..." Distantly, she felt a hand grasp her shoulder and shake it lightly, and, no longer sounding strained and in pain, his voice said quietly, "You did it". Hermione blinked her focus back to reality, and a small smile broke out across her face. "Yes. Yes, I did!" Her smile widened in excitement as she glanced over at him, but she sobered up just as quickly at the still-serious expression on his face. "Erm, I mean... Does it feel all right? Does it feel like the spell worked correctly?"
"Yes", he muttered, but he suddenly sounded quite distracted, and he crossed his arms, pulling his knees up to his chest and looking off into the shadows of that rear area of the library.
Hermione sighed heavily and stuck her wand back in her pocket, the exhilaration of the moment ruined. His little swings were always a mystery to her, why his mood always changed when it did, how it did... until after the episode passed, and then she normally could look back and understand his actions quite clearly.
"Why aren't you in the Hospital Wing?" she finally asked gently, trying to sound as non-accusatory as possible. Because I'm pretty sure Madam L is going to hunt you down when she finds out you're not in bed anymore.
Tom looked over at her, a terrifying amount of defeat in his grey eyes. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in there", he said dully, sucking in ragged breath, still breathing hard. Listlessly, he turned his head away, and asked in a slightly strangled voice, "What do you think it's like, dying?" Suddenly, the reasons behind his sudden aloofness became much clearer to Hermione, although the question still caught her completely off guard.
She glanced at Tom quickly, concerned, but he was staring blankly at the spine of a random book in the shelf across the aisle, his face a mask of nothingness, his voice sharing much of the same flatness. "Do you think life's just like a tunnel... that when we reach the end, there's only blackness? Do we forget this life... who we were, what we did, who we knew?"
Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. She didn't want to say the wrong thing... although, really, was there even a wrong thing to say? "I... I don't know", she admitted softly. And she really didn't. "I haven't really had the time to dwell on it, to be honest". Too busy fighting to live. She studied him carefully, then gently, compassionately touched his shoulder. "Tom, what's wrong?"
Tom feebly yanked his arm away from her, and Hermione pulled her hand back as if it had been wounded. "Nothing", he snapped brusquely, still facing the opposite bookshelf, his breathing too even, too steady, as if he was trying to control and hold back some rush of emotion, and he laughed hollowly. "No one'll care if I live or die, anyway". Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, holding them back with determination. "I'll care", she whispered.
Listlessly, Tom snapped his head toward her, his grey eyes wide in disbelief, but just as quickly bit his lip and sharply turned away again. For a second, he hovered indecisively, and then, with an abrupt, jagged motion, he dug his fingers into a bookcase shelf behind him and looked like he was jerkily trying to stand, but he was so weak he could only pull himself a few inches off the ground. In the end, he only succeeded in slamming against the bookcase to such an extent that several books jarred loose and rained down around him before he fell to his knees, one heavy volume soundly bouncing off his shoulder on its way to the ground, but he didn't even seem to feel it.
He simply brought his hands up to cover his face and gulped in several rapid, deep, choking breaths.
Hermione realised she couldn't stop him from trying to run from his emotion before he completely lost it, probably for the first time in his life, but her heart broke for him nonetheless, and she immediately scooted next to him, not hesitating a moment before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
At her touch, Tom stiffened like a board and struggled against her grasp. "Dammit, g'way", he ground out harshly, his words muffled and garbled as they came through his hands, but Hermione stubbornly held on.
"Stop it, you'll only make yourself die sooner!" she hissed fiercely. It was below the belt, but she smiled grimly as, with those words, all the fight seemed to drain from Tom's body, and he sagged wearily, not making a sound, not even moving. Very cautiously, she reached around to his freezing cold, trembling hands and gently took them in her own.
After a half hearted resistance, Tom allowed her to pull his long fingers away from his face, and she saw, for the first time in her life, real tears threatening to spill from Tom's forlorn eyes. With the troubled expression of someone who had just been backed into a corner, the look he gave her then, a mix of such utter terror, humiliated shame, and desperate loneliness in the gaze of one of the most powerful young wizards in the world... She was sure it would haunt her until the day she died.
Tom's hopeless eyes quickly searched hers as if looking for something, anything that he could hold on to, and he roughly murmured, "Hermione... I'm so scared,and -" he broke off and gave a short, bitter laugh, "and damn it, I shouldn't be, I'm the bloody Heir of Slytherin, I—" His voice cracked harshly, as if finishing the sentence would only cause him more suffering than he could physically, emotionally handle at that point, and Hermione instantly tightened her embrace, her stomach twisting into a burning little ball of pity. "Even the Heir of Slytherin's allowed to be scared, love... and", she added softly, "he's allowed to cry".
He faltered, choking in a small gulp of air, groping for words. "No, that's not... Hermione — I..." Suddenly, a rush of tears pooled over and silently leaked down his thin, pale cheeks. He didn't seem to notice; instead he stared unblinkingly, hopelessly into Hermione's eyes and whispered faintly, "I don't want to forget you..."
As he lowered his gaze and roughly swiped at his eyes, Hermione helplessly felt tears begin to spill from her own eyes, crying that he, not the Dark Lord, not the Heir of Slytherin, but her friend, was dying more quickly than she could have ever imagined, and there was absolutely nothing that she could do about it. "You will always have me, even on that day when you're no longer here", she fiercely whispered into his soft hair, desperately placing gentle kisses along the side of his head. "Always".
With a pitiful, miserable little strangled noise, one huge tremor jolted through Tom's entire body, and his shoulders began to wrack with otherwise silent sobs, heaving violently with each one. Without thought, Hermione began to rhythmically run her hand through his dark hair, and she tenderly pressed her lips against his surprisingly warm, sweaty forehead.
"Don't leave me", he suddenly croaked in tortured, pleading voice that was so unlike him, and she felt all the breath knocked from her lungs as he desperately wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the crook between her shoulder and her neck. "Please... don't leave me", he repeated weakly, his voice beginning to slur.
Squeezing her aching eyes shut in pain, Hermione held Tom back just as securely. "I won't", she eventually managed to choke out, reminding herself to breathe as she instinctively moved her hand downward, cupping the back of his neck with her hand, holding him to her in a death grip. "I'm here, I'm right here". He gasped in another shuddery breath and continued to cling to her like a child, like she was the only thing between him and death itself. "Sssssssh, I'm not going anywhere, I'm not", she soothed softly, smoothly rubbing her other hand in comforting circles over his back and sniffing unsteadily, trying to regain at least a bit of her composure. "I promise you I'll always be here".
Her hand moved up to massage his neck— Suddenly, quite literally out of nowhere, she felt his grip on her loosen, and an almost unbearably heavy mass compressed against her shoulder, as if he had slumped all of his weight against her. Hermione would later swear that her heart stopped beating.
"Tom", she whispered tremulously, not allowing her thoughts to jump to any conclusion of what had just occurred. Silence. "Tom?" she repeated, more urgently now, awkwardly turning her head so she could look down and sideways at the same time, dreading what she might find... But, no, thank Merlin, he was alive.
Inexpressible relief flooding through her body, and she breathed deeply, carefully checking over his condition. He was still breathing, but now, from this angle, she could see that his eyes were closed as his head leaned limply against her shoulder, the blotchy skin around his eyes and a single tear still clinging to his pale cheek testaments that the Heir of Slytherin had indeed been crying.
He must have passed out. She couldn't exactly blame him, really: after than kind of intense emotional roller coaster, he had probably exhausted, especially if he wasn't used to doing it, and with the Curse on top of it... Hermione gritted her teeth, closing her eyes and offering a silent prayer of thanks up to the mahogany ceiling of the darkened library. She hated this Curse, she hated it; it was so awful, so debilitating, she thought mutely, staring back down, horrified, at Tom's inert body, her numb mind only able to command her arms to carefully prop him up.
He's not dead yet, and that's all that matters, she thought roughly, a bit disturbed that such a morbid thought reassured her as much as it did. Don't just sit here like an idiot; get moving! She thought for a second, and then she did the same thing she had done when he had passed out in Hogsmeade: she levitated him up and out of the library to the Head dorms. This time, though, she had an invisibility cloak, which she wasted no time in putting to use by throwing it over him to avoid the understandable suspicion she would receive if anyone happened to see her strolling through the halls, an unconscious Head Boy floating beside her.
His bedroom was a pit of pitch-blackness, but, although she was still levitating Tom with her wand, Hermione impatiently, sharply muttered another lighting spell, and the lamp on his desk flickered once and came to life, casting a faint glow on one side of the room. Maneuvring him across the room and gently lowering him onto his bed, it didn't even occur to her to pause and celebrate her first deliberate wandless magic achievement.
It took her a good five minutes to carefully transfer Tom's lifeless body out of his worn school robes, his shoes, and into the bed itself. Hermione had just sank down into the plump green armchair next to the side of his bed, the same one that she had sat in after she had brought him back from Hogsmeade, and closed her eyes, rubbing her throbbing temples, when a voice whispered, "Hermione?"
She jerked back to earth at the hardly audible sound, her gaze meeting two fatigued, grey eyes. "Tom, thank goodness", she breathed in relief, standing slightly and scraping the chair closer to his bedside, and she couldn't stop a bright little smile from lighting up her face.
Tom squinted at her like he was suddenly in desperate need of a pair of Harry's glasses, blinking lethargically. "Where... Where am I?" he eventually asked quietly, his voice hoarse and slightly slurred. "In your own room", Hermione said gently, trying to stay upbeat and positive for his sake. "I didn't think you'd want to go back to the Hospital Wing", she added, and a dizzying wave of déjà vu from that Hogsmeade weekend - it seemed so long ago! - washed over her.
"In... in my own... ?" the Slytherin echoed faintly, looking a bit dazed and disorientated as he broke off, coughing roughly, shutting his eyes tightly again as his hands slowly, weakly moved to clutch the green sheets in his thin fingers.
The feeling that assaulted Hermione next was one she knew well but one she hated with a passion. She had felt this way several times in her life, when she had been off fighting in the war or when others she had loved - specifically, Harry and Ron - had gone off and done something reckless and dangerous: fear.
She was scared, really scared, but not for herself. It was never herself she was scared for. This time, it was Tom. His condition had never been this bad, and the logical part of her mind knew that the end wouldn't be long in coming, though her emotions instantly shoved the unacceptable thought from her mind before it could stay long enough for her to sink into a depression thinking about it...
"Yes", she murmured, and she attempted an encouraging smile as he caught his breath and met her gaze again, desperately trying to hang onto the connection. A few beats of dead silence passed save Tom's ragged intakes of air and her steady ones. "You passed out in the library", she finally explained, simply because she didn't know what else to say. "Oh", he said faintly, his eyes looking a bit more clear now as he blinked again and refocused his gaze on her. "I... remember... a bit".
Hermione nodded, but before she could respond, she yawned again, her face muscles screaming in protest as her mouth involuntarily stretched to its limits, and she covered her gaping mouth with a hand. "Sorry. It's not you, really". "Merlin, if you keep doing that, I'll fall asleep for the both of us", Tom whispered suddenly, a trace of amused humour in his voice. Weakly, he shifted himself to the left, leaving a space next to him on the Slytherin green and silver trimmed bed. "Get up here".
Hermione felt her eyes widen, and she stared between the unbelievably comfortable-looking bed and Tom, locks of dark hair spilling into his eyes in an incredibly sexy manner that she was fairly certain was unintentional. "Well..." I really shouldn't... But I really want to...
She suddenly yawned again. A tiny, knowing smirk sprang to Tom's face, and she wrinkled her nose at him. "All right, Mr. Know-it-All". She kicked off her shoes, left her robe on his chair, and executed a little half-jump from the chair onto the soft springiness that was his bed, still in the uniform skirt and blouse.
As she settled herself onto the bed, Tom rolled over on one side so he could face her, his left cheek buried in the pillow. Shoving her long, soft tresses back over her shoulders, Hermione grabbed the edge of a blanket that had been placed on the arm rest of the chair, threw it over her so that it covered both of them, and good-naturedly waved her finger at his nose. "But only for a minute". Tom smiled weakly, his voice fading even more the longer he continued to speak. "Give it time". Her blood instantly turned cold, and with the one simple phrase everything she had been trying to deny for the past month came rushing back to her at horrifying speed. But that's exactly what you don't have! Time!
Suddenly, the single light in the room seemed far too bright, blinding, even, and she waved her wand at the lamp on his desk to dim it even further before sliding her wand under the pillow nearest her head as she had often seen Tom and Harry do. "Time for what?" she finally asked, unhesitatingly snuggling so close to him that her head and his shared the same pillow, that she could actually feel his warm breaths blowing against her face.
"'Time to see the world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower,'" Tom whispered faintly, too weak to even lift his hand to move several stands of dark hair from his pale face. "'To hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour'. William Blake."
Tom Riddle did not just quote a Muggle Romantic poet. "You read nonmagic poetry?" Hermione asked curiously watching her own hand slowly reach over and begin to gently trace his smooth, clearly defined cheekbone as if it had a life of its own, and she smiled as she saw some of the tension ease out of his body.
"I read everything", he tiredly replied, and grey eyes exhaustedly flickered shut as she continued to lightly run her fingers over his hollow cheek, then moved up to brush the sweaty locks out of his eyes and smooth them back along the side of his head to lay with the rest of his thick hair. "I'm impressed", she eventually murmured with a smile, finally partly giving in to the siren-like call of sleep and reluctantly allowing her eyes to fall shut. "Thanks", he whispered, though whether for her compliment or her touch, Hermione didn't know. She did know, however, that although his chest was rising and falling much more rapidly than it had been a few moments before, he made no attempt to remove her hand.
"How do you feel?" she asked softly. The answer obviously wasn't going to be 'just peachy', but in all honesty, Hermione just wanted to keep him talking for as long as possible. She wasn't sure why, but a cloud of utter foreboding was hanging over her head. It was maybe unfounded, she knew, but somehow... she felt like she might never get another chance. "Tired", Tom answered in an honest murmur, and in a movement so subtle she hardly noticed that he had even moved, he wrapped his arm around her back like it was the most natural thing in the world and weakly, gently pulled her closer to him.
It was the strangest sensation, as if she was actually being perfectly moulded against his body, and her heart jumped in surprise as she felt a soft kiss being pressed between her uniform top and against her collarbone. Just as quickly, the comforting presence retreated slightly, and Hermione opened her eyes to find her warm forehead flush against Tom's eerily cold one, her eyes mere inches from his now-closed ones... her mouth mere inches from his.
Desperately biting down her lip before her raging emotions took full control of her actions, she smiled affectionately and rested her hand lightly on the side of his head that was not against his pillow, needily tangling her fingers in his hair. "Me too", she finally managed to choke out, unable to tear her gaze from his half-conscious face.
"I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't transferred here this year", he suddenly breathed drowsily, sounding like an exhausted five-year-old who desperately wanted to stay up for the rest of the party but had to be carried, half-asleep and protesting halfheartedly, to bed by his parents.
Hermione felt his thumb began to gently, rhythmically stroke the small of her back, and she instantly shivered at the amazing feeling that was his touch, yet she felt the blood drain from her face. You wouldn't die, for starters. And then I know exactly what you'd have gone on to do. Kill everyone.
She couldn't do this, she couldn't be in the same bed with him, so couldn't be so close to him with her entire body feeling as if it were electrified every time his fingers brushed against her skin... Luckily, her fatigue numbed the sensations slightly, and she really didn't want to leave him, not when he was this sick. Anyway, it wasn't as if anything was going to happen.
Quickly, trying to sound as light hearted as she possibly could, she whispered brightly, "So, are you going to go back to my dear Uncle Al, who was responsible for my coming here in the first place, and tell him, 'Oh, I'm so sorry for ever being offensive or not paying attention in class, thank you so much—' "
"Stop", Tom slurred tiredly, his eyes opening a crack as he listlessly lifted his free hand a placed a finger over her lips. "The image is disturbing enough without the dialog..." As his hand limply fell back to the bed, though, he added in a voice so quiet she barely caught his words, "But... I might think it". He closed his eyes again, struggling to swallow. "I might think it", he repeated faintly.
Whether she was meant to hear it or not, Hermione's heart swelled, and the toasty warmness she felt there spread throughout her entire body. Oh sweet goodness... how had she gotten on without him for all these years? "Oh, you're so sweet... I think we're having a tender moment", she muttered sleepily, moving her left hand down from his face and carefully draping her arm over his gently rising and falling side.
"Merlin help us, you'd better leave", he mumbled into the pillow, his breaths already beginning to steady and even out, and it sounded like he was on the threshold between unconsciousness, amusement... and something more.
"Yes". Hermione smiled tiredly, happy that they had found something to smile about in the closing darkness. She somehow mustered up the strength to reopen her eyes, and she didn't even have to reach to affectionately kiss the tip of his cold nose. "I'll run".
Even on the verge of sleep, pale moonlight flickering in through the floor-to-ceiling west windows, Hermione saw the smallest of smiles brighten Tom's ashen face as he wearily murmured, "Shut the door on your way out".
Know-it-all prat, she thought fondly, snuggling even more into his warm embrace. She could not recall a time when she had ever been so close to a guy. She couldn't imagine her very platonic 'first time' with him being anything more incredible than that very moment. Tom wasn't pressuring her for more, he wasn't forcing her to do things she wasn't comfortable with, he was just... being in time with her, for however long time had left to give him.
I love him, was the last thought that floated through Hermione's mind before she willingly succumbed the blissful darkness that was calling her name.