A quick reminder that I own none of the original source material, and thank you to JKR for the fabulous works.
This chapter is all for you, Atlantean Diva. Thank you for the brilliant and thoughtful reviews for chapters 4 & 5! Mum's the word on your guesses. I plan to let the story uncover itself at a natural rate. Glad you liked that 'zing' between Tom & Hermione in the last chapter.
Enjoy.
"Ah, Madame Duvalle. Just the witch I was looking for." Professor Dumbledore drew to a halt next to the infirmary matron, fully aware that Tom Riddle was just around the corner. "I was wondering if you could provide Miss Girard with some calming draughts. She is still distressed by nightmares from her experiences before coming here."
The matron clucked her tongue and turned an expectant eye on the transfiguration professor. "And why hasn't she come to me? I told her she was to tell me if she was suffering anything like that."
Tom Riddle was, of course, eavesdropping. He found it unusual that Dumbledore would make such a request, as Rosier had not reported that Hermione had met with the man recently.
"I'm afraid she is still not quite comfortable here. She is making friends, true, but slowly, and I believe she finds me a bit more approachable, since I knew her parents. I haven't told her that I would ask, you see, but I really feel that she needs rest to recover from all that has befallen her. In fact, I've removed her memory of her arrival here temporarily. Apparently her wounds feature prominently in her nightmares."
Madame Duvalle nodded. "It's true that it takes time to deal with the grief of such sudden loss and trauma. Well, tell her to come and see me, Albus. When I'm sure that nothing else is going on, I will give her the draughts."
Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Eloise. I appreciate your assistance."
Tom heard the footsteps of both moving off in different directions, and turned on his heel. He wanted to speak to Evan Rosier.
It was simple enough to track Evan down. He was in the library, because that is where Hermione was. Tom slipped into the chair next to him, cognizant of the fact that Hermione was working on homework a few tables away, Longbottom and one of her roommates, Olivia Tynwyn.
"How much longer will she be here?" Tom asked, darting a casual glance at the witch in question.
"She usually leaves about half an hour before the dinner hour," Evan replied, halfheartedly turning his attention to his own schoolwork. He had never been so on top of assignments since he had been given this task.
"When is the last time she spoke to Dumbledore?"
Tom Riddle's voice was nonchalant, but Evan Rosier was no fool.
"She hasn't spoken to him since the beginning of the month outside of class, unless she's been sneaking out of Ravenclaw tower in the dead of night to do so. I swear it."
Evan's brown eyes were serious, holding Tom's cool gaze without any hint of guilt. His body language was equally intent, and Tom allowed that this was sufficient, for now, to believe him.
"That is all I needed to know. Oh, and you've made a mistake in your essay. It is minced kite snail livers, not ganglia, for the Caput potion."
Before Evan could reply, the Head Boy was already on his way back out of the library. He scratched his head, not sure how Tom could have spotted that in the half second he had taken to glance at his essay.
"Bloody brilliant," he muttered to himself, wondering with a slight twinge how it was that one wizard could have such a surfeit of intelligence and a deficit of heart.
It was now almost Halloween, and although Tom had ignored her last trip to Hogsmeade and remained at the castle, Hermione knew that everyone still assumed he was pursuing her from the way he acted around her in public. She tried not to let it bother her, the assumptions everyone was making about her. Even Phineas was skeptical when she denied being interested in the Head Boy. She had been careful to avoid places where he could corner her, although she suspected he was just playing with her. She doubted Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, would be dissuaded from any pursuit unless he chose to drop it for the time being. She was under no illusions that he wasn't developing some utterly atrocious plan, but she had resolved not to involve Dumbledore again unless it became absolutely necessary after a tense visit one afternoon last week.
"Gollem, this is getting very ugly," Phineas said after taking a large bite of toast, his eyes wide. In his hand he had the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, and Hermione could see writhing flames on the front cover photograph. Her roommate Olivia was attempting to read it, craning her head at an angle as she devoured the words on the page.
"Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly when he caught Hermione's eye, attempting to turn the paper so she couldn't see it. While Hermione thought it was very touching the way her classmates assumed the coverage of Grindelwald's activities would upset her, she was through having them tiptoe around it.
"Give me that," she demanded, holding her hand out expectantly.
"Um, Hermione…" Phineas began, but Hermione crinkled her brow.
"NOW."
A hush fell over the Ravenclaw table, which attracted attention from the Gryffindors and Slytherins on either side. Hermione ignored them all, poring over the article which went into vivid detail about Grindelwald's attack on Vlad Krum and his family. Viktor Krum's face swam into view in her mind, and she paled at this senseless slaughter, writ large with gruesome letters on the front page of the Prophet.
"Thank you," she said tightly, handing the paper back to Phineas without another word before she stormed off from the Great Hall. It was a natural conclusion amongst all present, Tom Riddle included, that Hermione was reliving terrible memories of her own parents' deaths, but it was not precisely that which troubled the witch at this particular moment. No, Hermione was livid that something so preventable should have happened again during her time, and angry about the blasé reactions of the very people around her, all of whom were responsible for the periodic flourishing of evil acts and sentiments via the heedless fertilizer of apathy in the future.
If she had been aware of it, she would have seen how Professor Dumbledore, too, blanched at the latest description of his former friend's activities as writ large in the Daily Prophet. But Hermione was too caught in her own recriminations to see her future headmaster struggle with the self-same regrets.
Two weeks later found Hermione in no better spirits. Halloween had come and gone, and with it their transfiguration professor had taken himself off to parts unknown. He had met with her briefly before departing to give her additional pocket money and to let her know that she needn't feel obliged to use the calming draughts which Madame Duvalle had pressed upon her.
During that meeting, Professor Dumbledore had obliquely hinted that he expected her to solve her own problems unless it involved someone discovering her origins. She knew that he must be dealing with the considerable conflict of his personal relationship with Gellert Grindelwald and that wizard's increasingly sociopathic activities. In short, he was stressed and in his kind but blunt manner had told her to keep herself out of egregious trouble while he was away. As if that were an easy task with Tom Riddle still toying with her!
"Stop annoying me!" she hissed at Tom one afternoon in the library as he sat down in the chair opposite her, a small charm pulling her book away and to the other end of the table. Her housemates melted away whenever Tom was around, although she couldn't blame them. A Gryffindor had ended up in the infirmary last week, covered head to toe in weeping boils, and the current rumor was that Abraxas Malfoy was responsible. Of course, the Head Boy had 'investigated' and he had assured Headmaster Dippet that it was all Herecles' fault. The fact that the Gryffindor in question was Gryffindor's Seeker, and it was just before the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match, was entirely coincidental.
"Why, if I didn't know better I'd think you weren't pleased to see me, Hermione," Tom said, leaning forward on his forearms. "Is that your Arithmancy homework? Would you like me to check it for you?"
"No thank you," Hermione replied tightly, her fingers tightening around her quill and wishing it was her wand, and that she dared to try to hex him. Of course she never would, but it was a pleasant thought at times when she found it difficult to ignore the things that she did find appealing about him. Thankfully she knew what he was really like, otherwise she would be like all the other girls who adored Tom Riddle and threw dark looks at her when they thought Tom wasn't paying attention. They probably would have attempted to hex her if they thought they could get away with it.
Tom moved around the table and looked over her shoulder at her work. "Hmmm, I'm not sure about that one…" he leaned forward to study it more closely. "You have used an entirely unique method of parsing that. Where did you pick that up?"
Hermione saw his brow had furrowed, and she felt a vindictive lick of satisfaction that she knew how to do something that Tom Riddle did not. "That's beside the point. It is a shorter method and it is more logical."
"Teach me," he demanded imperiously, settling into the chair next to her and dragging it far closer than she liked.
"As if I would teach you anything!" she hissed, and Tom ignored her utterly.
"Never mind, I will teach myself," he said, Summoning her paper to himself and wordlessly Scourgifying the ink that had spilled on the parchment when the force of his charm caused her inkwell to spill.
"Give me back my paper this instant!" Hermione hissed again, not wanting to draw the attention of the librarian.
"No. Now shut up or I'll Silence you," Tom replied, her muttered outrage causing his lips to turn up at the corners of his mouth. Hermione was seething. She could practically see the wheels turning in his mind as he dissected the problem. She was quiet for thirty seconds and Tom focused most of his attention on the technique, satisfied that she was going to sit and fume.
He was wrong. Hermione had taken to wearing her wand in her hidden holster since Tom's little stunt during the Hogsmeade weekend, and she had flicked it into her hand underneath the library table. The only warning he had was the backlash from his magic as she hit him with a strong stinging hex, followed by a freezing spell. Hermione belatedly realized whom she had just hexed just as he broke free, his hands and face covered with welts, a murderous expression on his face.
"Adure!"
Hermione deflected the wandless jinx automatically, standing and causing her chair to topple over. He was quicker, however, and immediately followed it with "Furnunculus acidum!", his infamous yew wand in his hand so quickly she hadn't even seen it. Hermione felt boils erupting from her skin in a very painful fashion, causing her to almost drop her wand.
"Expelliarmus," Tom hissed, and her wand flew from her hand into his, and he cast a disillusionment charm over them both. "Now, we are going to take a walk to the infirmary, and you are going to remain quiet. After we have retrieved the necessary potions, you and I are going for a little walk, Hermione Girard, and I'm going to revisit the issue of your defiant behavior."
Hermione fought the instinctive urge to bolt. He had her wand, and she wasn't fast enough to get away from him. Besides, no one could see her now, so unless she could evade him and get the attention of a professor, she was screwed. Her best bet was to try to retrieve her wand while they were in the infirmary, and try to get away from him there. He grabbed her arm and began to forcefully drag her from the library, her papers strewn about the table and completely forgotten.
Hermione bit back the gasp of pain when he grabbed her, knowing it would only give him perverse satisfaction. "You've modified the spell," she whispered, and his face contorted in a grimace, the stings she had given him her own modified version of a standard stinging jinx.
"It will get worse the longer it lasts," Tom said grimly. "But I'm not the only one who has been modifying spells, am I Hermione? Because even though you are nowhere near me in magical strength, unless I miss my guess you have enhanced the sting of your hex. You were clever enough to use something requiring a potion to cure, I will give you that," he said through gritted teeth, ignoring the hiss of pain from her as he moved along the edge of a particularly narrow corridor that was crowded with statuary, not caring how many his companion was being forced to bump into along the way.
"Please, slow down!" Hermione forced herself to say. The crust had been broken over many of her boils, and the weeping fluid from them was burning the remaining healthy skin painfully.
"I think not," Tom said in a clipped tone. He couldn't believe the little bint had hexed him! She clearly did not realize exactly whom she had pissed off, but he was going to show her. Tonight. He waved his wand in irritation when they arrived at the infirmary, pushing open the doors just as he hit Hermione with a wordless Silencio and removed the disillusionment spell. It wouldn't do to have the witch speaking up and ruining the story he'd concocted on the way there.
"Mercy, what has happened, Mr. Riddle?" Madame Duvalle cried, hurrying over to them.
Tom adopted his most penitent expression. "We were practicing hexes, Madame, in anticipation of Professor Merrythought's first trial. I'm afraid we managed to hit each other at the same time."
The matron waved her wand over them both, then whisked them into side by side beds. "Oh yes, just sit here dears, I will be right back with the potions!"
Tom flicked his wand at Hermione again, removing the silencing spell.
"That was completely unnecessary," she whispered angrily before Madame Duvalle exited the apothecary. "I have no desire to report you, as I'm sure it won't do any good!"
"You're learning, but not quickly enough," Tom replied, the itching of his welts growing. Later he would reflect on the clever insidiousness of that itching component to her spell, but at the present he was murderously angry and desired nothing more than to teach her a lesson she'd never forget. He was running through what he would do to her when he got her alone when she lunged forward, attempting to get into his pocket where her wand was safely stowed. No magic was necessary, he just gripped her by the upper arms with a punishing grip and shoved, sending her reeling back onto her bottom on the floor, her head cracking onto the metal bedframe. He bent down to look her square in the eyes. "Don't try anything like that with me again, or you won't live to see the sunrise. You'll get your wand back when I'm good and ready to give it to you."
They both heard the matron coming back, and Tom instantly switched into his conciliatory, polite Head Boy persona, helping Hermione up and gently running his hand along the back of her skull. "I say, Madame Duvalle, Hermione was a bit dizzy. I'm afraid she's given herself a good gash on the back of her head," he said, pulling his hand away with her blood dripping from it.
"Don't try to get up when you've been hexed, you silly girl!" the matron cried, and Tom nimbly relieved the matron of his potion and let her cluck over Hermione. He swallowed his potion in one go, then Scourgified the vial and captured some of Hermione's blood from his hand before secreting the vial in his robes. He watched with satisfaction as the welts began to disappear. The itching persisted, annoyingly, but he would find a spell to reverse that in short order in his rooms. Now he had to finish his plans for this evening, but to do so would require that Hermione remain here and easily accessible for later.
"Will Miss Girard have to stay overnight, or will she be released in time for dinner?"
Madame Duvalle was behind Hermione, waving her wand over the laceration, so she missed Hermione's alarmed expression. "Hmmm, well, this is quite ugly…I think I'd best keep you overnight for observation, dear."
"I'd prefer to have my own night things. Could I have my wand back please Tom?" Hermione said quickly, ignoring the flash of anger that was there and quickly gone on his face.
Madame Duvalle, who missed the entire wordless exchange, clucked, "We can have a house elf fetch those for you, Miss Girard. I don't want you doing any spellwork with that head wound."
"But I could at least practice my wand movements—and I don't like to be without my wand…after, you know…"
Hermione trailed off and felt immensely relieved when the matron sighed and said, "Yes, of course dear," then turned toward Tom with an expectant look.
Part of Hermione savored the brief narrowing of Tom Riddle's eyes as he handed over her wand, and part of her realized that things were escalating in a very unpleasant manner between herself and the future Dark Lord. Tom did not like being outmaneuvered, but Hermione knew that being in the infirmary without her wand was far, far more dangerous than letting him get away with keeping it.
"May I come and visit Miss Girard after dinner, Madame Duvalle? I just want to be sure she is feeling better," Tom said smoothly, an appealing, slight blush spreading over his cheeks. Hermione goggled at him—he could actually blush on command!
"Of course, Tom," Madame Duvalle said, smiling between the pair of them. "I think that would be fine."
"Until then, Hermione," Tom said, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss onto her knuckles. Hermione shivered as his dark eyes flicked up to meet her own. She didn't return the sentiment, and he walked out, his robes swishing behind him.
"Such a smooth one, that Mr. Riddle!" Madame Duvalle said, then turned her practiced eye back to Hermione. "Now, let's do something about those burns now that the boils are gone—clothes off dear," she said, summoning a privacy screen with a flick of her wand. Hermione was shivering, and it had nothing to do with the chill of the infirmary.
Tom was focused on the vial of blood in his pocket and the piece of parchment waiting in his room. Thus, it was with extreme annoyance that he was stopped by Abraxas Malfoy in the halls.
"What is it?" he bit out, aware that the itch from Hermione's jinx was growing more insidious. His thoughts were black with what he wanted to do to her, but Abraxas' next statement captured his full attention.
"It's that damn Gryffindor Seeker again. He says that as soon as Dumbledore's back, he is going to go to him about me hexing him. He's pissed about his month long detention because they benched him from Quidditch and he's missing practices because of it."
"And this is my concern how?" Tom said coldly.
Abraxas kept his face impassive, but internally he knew what was coming. "He says you were biased and Dumbledore is likely to give him a fair hearing."
Tom stopped walking and turned his head to look at Abraxas. "He actually said that I was biased?" His voice was hard but quiet, some of the irritation he felt toward Hermione bleeding through.
"Yes."
Tom ignored the look of satisfaction on Abraxas' face as his own expression smoothed out, all traces of emotion wiped clean.
"There is no Quidditch practice today, is there?"
"No, my lord," Abraxas replied, waiting for orders.
"Bring him to the Quidditch pitch. Now. You may gain assistance from a few of the others if you require it. Ten minutes."
Abraxas bowed his head and hurried off, anticipation curling through his bloodstream. Tom Riddle was unbearably harsh on them, but he did not tolerate disrespect. Ever.
Tom turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction. It appeared he had found a new subject on whom to vent his ire…for now. Sliding his wand from his sleeve and ignoring the frightened looks of a few second years whom he passed in the corridor, Tom mentally flipped through spells, a slight smile crossing his lips as he decided what to do. Yes, that would work nicely.
It was an hour later when Tom finally had a chance to experiment with the drops of Hermione's blood that he'd taken from her in the infirmary. He only had half an hour before he would be expected for dinner, but that was enough time to conduct a few experiments that should give him some direction to go in with the parchment. Placing it carefully on his desk, he extracted the vial from his pocket and tipped a few drops onto it, watching it seep in and vanish. As he'd hoped, a faint bloom of ink appeared, just two blotches. Studying it carefully, one appeared to be the stem of a capital letter. Another blot a short distance away seemed to form part of an "o", but not enough was revealed to be certain.
Tom set down the vial, which contained a few more precious drops of Hermione Girard's blood, and considered whether he wanted to use it on the parchment, or on the knife. Deciding swiftly, he removed the knife from the charmed false bottom of his desk drawer and set it down on the desk, then carefully tipped the remaining droplets of blood onto it. As the blood contacted the blade, the metal glowed blue. He sat back and exhaled. Now that was interesting…
Hermione was halfway through her supper tray when the infirmary doors burst open and a much younger Madame Hooch came in, levitating the body of an unconscious boy before her.
"Madame Duvalle!" the flying instructor cried, and the matron hurried over, her wand moving with practice over him. He was tall, and as he passed Hermione's bed she recognized him as the Gryffindor Seeker.
"What happened?" Madame Duvalle asked, ignoring Hermione although Madame Hooch had the sense to flick her wand and seal a curtain around the area where Madame Duvalle was working on the boy. Hermione could still hear them, though, and leaned forward as much as she dared. "Broken femur…broken tibia and fibula…broken radius and ulna, eight cracked ribs, punctured lung…"
"I went out to check the pitch and found him next to his broken broom. I suspect the fool boy was practicing without permission…I saw one Bludger coming in, it was probably that which caused this, I have no idea how the boy got into the locked supplies!"
"He wouldn't be the first hothead with detention to try to work around it for Quidditch," Madame Duvalle said with disapproval.
"What a first year," Madame Hooch said with a low groan. "How long until you can bring him 'round? I want to know exactly what happened."
"It will be at least another few hours, Rolanda. It's going to take some time to knit these ribs back together, and I expect he's going to be in too much pain to talk. I can't give him pain potion for it, either, so he's going to be quite unhappy when he regains consciousness."
Hermione suddenly wasn't hungry any more. What was the boy's name? Herecles something. Wasn't he involved in a skirmish with Abraxas Malfoy last week? She set the tray on the bedside table and Summoned her clothes, intent on sneaking out while Madame Duvalle was occupied. Unfortunately for her, the matron exited from behind the closed curtain to retrieve potions, and caught Hermione sneaking into her blouse.
"Where do you think you're going young lady? Don't think I'm above using a sticking charm, because I'm not. You are staying right here until I get another potion in you for that head, just in case you have a concussion!"
"Yes ma'am," Hermione said, finishing the last button of her blouse and sitting back against the metal headboard. Satisfied that Hermione wasn't going anywhere, Madame Duvalle retrieved the potions and returned to the injured Gryffindor. Madame Hooch excused herself, and as she was striding by, Hermione asked her, "Will he be all right?"
"Sweet on him, are you?" Madame Hooch asked, giving her the noncommittal look she reserved for older students that were no longer taking Flying. "Yes, I believe so. He's lucky that Rosier saw him heading out to the pitch, or who knows how long it would have been before he'd been found."
Rosier. A tendril of ice ran down Hermione's spine. There was no way that Evan Rosier 'just happened' to see Herecles going anywhere. The question was whether it was a continuing skirmish between Malfoy and Herecles, or if Tom had been involved. Before she had a chance to pursue the thought further, the doors opened again and as Madame Hooch exited in came Tom Riddle, as if her thoughts had summoned him. Madame Duvalle popped her head out from behind the curtain, then called out, "Oh, it's you Tom. I'll be out shortly, just attending to Mr. Potter."
"Has he gotten himself hurt again?" Tom drawled, never taking his eyes off of Hermione.
Hermione's heart clenched as the ice in her spine snaked forward to seize it. Potter! Harry had never talked about his dead grandparents—could that boy be his grandfather? Her heart started again with a rapid staccato that matched Tom Riddle's footsteps as he came over to her bed.
"I trust you're feeling better?" Tom asked solicitously, the expression in his eyes hotly malevolent in contrast to his innocent face.
"Actually I feel worse," Hermione whispered, looking away from him. What had he done? There was little doubt he was involved in whatever happened to Herecles Potter. He had not been surprised to hear the name, had not even reacted at all.
"Now, Miss Girard, time for that potion," Madame Duvalle said, coming over with a vial of Helmslips Headache Tonic. "This should take care of any residual problems."
Hermione swallowed the potion, which had a pleasant taste of wintergreen, but did absolutely nothing for the aches she was feeling now as Tom stared at her. Madame Duvalle flicked her gaze back to the screen hiding Herecles Potter.
"I say, Madame Duvalle, do you suppose it would be alright for Hermione to sleep in her own bed tonight? It seems that she is feeling better, since she is dressed; and, well, you are going to have your hands full with the clumsy Mr. Potter." The innocently helpful way in which Tom suggested it told Hermione that she definitely did NOT want to leave the infirmary tonight, and she shook her head no to the matron.
"No, I feel terrible. I would rather be cautious, and stay where you can observe me," Hermione said, just a hint of desperation in her voice. Tom, who was standing just behind Madame Duvalle, gave her a look similar to that of a cat toying with a mouse.
"Well, I don't suppose it would be a bad idea to have me check your skin again in the morning. Mr. Riddle, I believe it is your night to patrol?" Madame Duvalle's tone was no-nonsense, and Tom had no choice but to acquiesce.
"As you say, Madame. I am pleased to see that Hermione has recovered so well." With an arrogant nod at her, Tom left the infirmary, and Hermione was left with a decided feeling of unease. Clearly he was not going to forget his promise that they would have a little 'chat'.