Thank you all for the reviews and wonderful comments. I will try to get back to a few of you by PM shortly. I really want to get to certain parts of the tale that have been written for the longest time, but I'm not willing to rush other parts of the plot that will matter later to do so. So, bear with me as we creep closer to some fairly major events. Your patience will be rewarded within two chapters.
"Now, students, your attention please!"
Hermione stopped talking to Olivia and forced her attention onto Professor Merrythought, who was holding class for the first time in a part of the castle Hermione had not seen before. Professor Merrythought was ahead of her, though, and began explaining the purpose of the large room.
"This is the Dueling Chamber. It is designed to allow students to practice dueling under circumstances that might be unusual, such as against multiple opponents, or which involve a combination of wizard and magical creature. We will routinely hold practicals in this space, and this will be the location for your next trial, which will take place in March."
A loud groan was heard. Hermione heard Granthus Gibbon complain in a whisper, "Doesn't she know it's prime Quidditch season? I don't want to think about the next DADA trial!"
Fortunately for him, this was not overheard by the professor, who was explaining how the number of doors in the chamber could be changed to accommodate different dueling scenarios.
"Your trials will be individual—" the professor said, turning in a half circle to meet the eyes of each of her students, ending with Tom Riddle, "—for the most part, but it is advisable to practice with your partners to prepare. In addition to the practices in class, I will expect each of you to schedule practice times outside of class. We are learning difficult defensive and offensive spells now, and you will not be able to master them without additional practice outside of class time. Now, today we are learning how to defend against slicing hexes…"
Hermione only half-listened to Professor Merrythought's instructions about the best way to block slicing hexes. She had been the recipient of enough of them to know exactly what a well-aimed slicing hex could do. There was a sudden hustle and bustle, and Hermione steeled herself mentally for the half hour ahead, trading hexes with Tom. Professor Merrythought was having them use golems as the targets, and the defender had to try to keep it as intact as possible with their shielding. It wasn't quite the same as being the target of such hexes yourself, but the professor could hardly allow that without having Madame Duvalle at the ready.
"Ladies first," Tom said to Hermione politely as Olivia gave him a smile and stole a glance before she went over to her own partner.
"I think I'd prefer to defend first, thanks all the same," Hermione replied, and Tom nodded easily with an arch of his brow.
"Very well, Hermione," Tom said. "I'll be sure to keep myself back a bit, just in case."
"Don't bother on my account," Hermione replied coolly as she strode over to take her place behind the golem, and Tom's lips quirked up briefly.
"Oh, but I like bothering you, Hermione," he called out gently behind her, and Hermione rolled her neck to one side. She refused to let him get under her skin before their duel even began.
"Ready then?" she said briskly, her wand at the ready.
A gleam entered his eye and he cast quickly, as quickly as she expected. He used nonverbal magic, of course, so Hermione wasn't quite sure which slicing hex he used, but her reflexes were quick enough and she deflected it from the golem into the earth floor of the chamber. There wasn't any sort of acknowledgement on Tom's part, simply another hex. Hermione batted that one down, too. She didn't bother to see how the rest of the class was getting on or whether anyone was watching them. Tom was quick, and she was determined not to lose. At the end of his fifteen minutes of attack time, the golem had two slices, but Hermione had managed to deflect the rest, the ground around the golem reflecting it with gouges in the earth.
"Time! Switch places please!"
Tom inclined his head briefly in passing, and Hermione returned the cool gesture. She felt more comfortable with him like this, the cool and detached Head Boy persona on display instead of the ruthless dictator.
"Ready, go! Another fifteen minutes please," Professor Merrythought called out.
Hermione refused to use the one vicious slicing hex which she knew, which was of course Snape's and had not been invented yet. Nonetheless, she had been forced to move past Diffindo, and so she chose to use nonverbal Seco and Exsculpo hexes instead. Professor Merrythought was not even paying the pair of them any attention, her efforts focused on those classmates who seemed most in danger of cutting themselves or being cut despite the golems. She cast twice in quick succession, but Tom parried them easily.
Right, Hermione thought to herself, then began casting in earnest. Tom Riddle was maddeningly good at dueling, and he batted away the hexes from the golem with little apparent effort on his part.
"Are you going to make a real attempt Hermione?" he prodded, and Hermione felt a flush of anger which she tamped down. She would not be drawn into going full throttle.
"If you see something wrong with what I am doing, by all means, please speak up," Hermione replied through gritted teeth as she cast three times, throwing the last hex underhanded as he parried the second.
"Well, now that you mention it, your wand is dipping a bit when you're casting, and it's lessening the power of the hex," Tom commented archly, throwing her next efforts off over his shoulder and again into the floor. "I could show you?"
Hermione blew a stray strand of hair out of her flushed face and nodded once. Smug bastard.
Tom strode over and gestured toward her wand hand. "May I?"
Hermione nodded uneasily. He was quite close to her, and her heart had treacherously sped up, her mind unwittingly supplying images from the last time he had been so close to her. He stood behind her and put his hand over hers, clasping it firmly.
"When you are casting Seco, there's a tiny upward lift at the end which gives it direction, like so—"
He was speaking directly into her ear quietly, his mellifluous voice eliciting a strong response from her gut and an electric jolt at the base of her spine. She tried to keep her breathing even as he moved her hand in the requisite fashion for the hex, and felt almost mournful when he stepped away as he said, "—now you try it."
"How did you know that was the spell I was using?" she asked quietly, darting a glance at him.
"I told you—magic speaks to itself," he replied. Hermione could tell from his expression that he was amused. Irritated now, she focused on the task at hand, and performed the spell with a precision that left a deep gash in the golem.
"That's better," Tom said, stepping forward again and clasping her hand again as if to instruct her. "Exsculpo is a bit trickier—the flourish at the end does quite a bit for the spell, but few get it right. I don't think we'll have time for all of it today, but…"
Just as he said it, Professor Merrythought called an end to the class. The other students hustled and bustled out of the dueling chamber, but Tom and Hermione remained behind, almost frozen as Tom finished his quiet instruction on how to cast the spell.
"Move your wrist like so—"
Hermione heard the words, but her concentration was entirely broken by his closeness and the realization that even Professor Merrythought had left the room. Tom Riddle had her wand hand in his own, and he was teaching her how to improve her slicing hexes. It was a surreal moment, and Hermione just breathed for one heartbeat, then two, her hand dropping as Tom let it go.
"I think I get your point now," Hermione said, not daring to look at him as she tucked her wand up her sleeve and took a necessary step away from him.
"Do you?" Tom asked.
Hermione knew he wasn't talking about the spell. She looked up at his eyes which were still cool, but more alive with flickers of motion in their dark depths than they were under most circumstances. She took another breath, then began, "Professor Dumbledore wanted me to tell you that I will be going home soon."
"Will you?" Tom said, stepping closer again, tucking his own wand into his pocket. "Are you sure he is able to send you home?"
There was an amused flicker in his eyes that told Hermione he knew exactly how to send her back. Her eyes narrowed briefly, and she retorted, "Bad things happen to those who mess with time, Tom."
"Is that a warning or a prediction, I wonder?" he mused, his eyebrow lifting quizzically.
"I have no desire to die because you have an obsession with control," she said.
Damn Dumbledore, anyway. He had to be able to counter whatever fears Dumbledore was sowing in her. He resolved to step up his own research on time travel, a tricky subject at the best of times. His followers were already scouring their libraries for certain obscure treatises that he was certain were foundational to the magical theory of it. And, Salazar's own library helped, of course, even if he couldn't get to it as often as he'd like. He was certain he would not have sent her back with those instructions if he were truly concerned about potentially negative consequences in any case.
"Well, we can't have that," he said casually, stroking her hand and looking at her intently. "I assure you, I will do nothing to endanger your life, nor my own…within reason."
"This isn't a game, Tom."
She was annoyed now, and while he preferred it to her fear, oddly enough, it was still not helpful to his cause.
"Of that I am well aware," Tom replied. "Now, hold up your hand."
"How can you ask me to…to embrace this?" There it was, the hint of despair that Tom suspected hid beneath her initial responses, and which Hermione felt put her in the weaker position.
He held his left hand up and gestured toward her right. Hermione did not know what he meant to do, and was wary about putting her hand next to his.
Tom sought to reassure her. "Just see it, and then ask me that question again."
Hermione sighed and lifted her hand, allowing Tom to position it so that it mirrored his own, a centimeter gap between their palms and fingers. "Well?"
Tom focused effortlessly, letting his magic dance around his fingertips, such that Hermione felt the warmth of it. "Do you feel that? Go ahead, let your own answer…it won't hurt you."
Curious now, Hermione let her magic pool a bit in her fingertips, and she forced herself to breathe slowly as she felt the spiraling heat at her fingers. She looked at him and found he was studying her reaction with the adroit, smug curiosity of a mentor watching a protégé.
"That is what the ancient Egyptians called Heka. It is rare to find wizards or witches who instinctively grasp it, as you do, and I do. You'd have read about it by now if you'd stop being stubborn and read the Maleficium."
Hermione shook her head in irritation and Tom clasped her hand then, forcefully. She couldn't help the shocked gasp that escaped her lips at the temporary clash and then melding of the magics they had summoned to their hands. Tom took the opportunity to pull her closer, the shock rendering Hermione pliant and temporarily yielding, a welcome burden against his chest.
"That is one reason why you want to spend time with me, and I with you. Do you understand?"
Tom turned his head to the side, that arrogant expression back in place.
"What I want and what I need are two different things," Hermione replied sternly, her eyes never leaving his.
"Allow me to make them one and the same," Tom replied confidently. She needed a push, and he would keep giving them to her until she yielded.
"I don't want to learn more about magic from Lord Voldemort," Hermione said, her words expelled in an odd rush as the snippets of conversations with Professor Beery and Professor Dumbledore flitted through her brain.
"What about from Tom Riddle?" he asked softly. "Don't you like him, just a little?"
Hermione was wrenched by this. Her heart supplied a stream of images—his jealousy toward Herecles, his protectiveness, the raw anger of his feelings at the ruined orphanage, the wholehearted gusto with which he debated with her and her only. She could only think it was a mistake, to have any compassionate feelings or other sort of friendly feelings toward him now, but Professor Beery's patient words had wormed their way in and she could not diminish their power.
"Yes, I do," she admitted, knowing what kind of response that would provoke. He lowered his head at once, his lips touching hers in a featherlight caress that promised there was so much more to come. This time it was softer, and Hermione kissed him back with a bit of the heat that had influenced their spat. She didn't care that they would both be late for their next classes, nor that later she would again contemplate how she could feel something other than loathing for him. For this split second in time she would revel in the slow, warm kiss he bestowed, his lips smooth with a sweet flavor that was balanced by the way his fingers caressed hers, his other hand gently cradling her waist as he licked her lips lightly, encouraging her to open her mouth to him, to let him possess her mouth as thoroughly as he already possessed her blood.
Tom was as gentle as he could manage, as he did not want her to run away again after this. He wanted her to come back for more, more time together, more time for him to work on her. The bond was a failsafe, but this was the main way to achieve her compliance, her obedience. From the way her sweet mouth moved against his own, then opened to his, he judged that she was well on her way to falling for him, despite knowing him as she did already. He found it necessary to deny to himself how captivating he found her, how he felt sorry that she broke off the kiss with a wet sounding smack as she drew away from him.
"Professor Dumbledore isn't going to be pleased about this," Hermione mumbled to herself as she watched Tom pick up her bookbag by unspoken accord.
"I don't give a damn," Tom said sincerely.
The following weeks passed swiftly with an increasing degree of attention from Tom. Hermione wondered if she were insane, dancing on a tightrope as she was. He was everything accommodating and charming since she had stopped fighting the progression of their relationship. It helped that she had stopped lying to herself about how divided she was in her feelings. She did like the fact that he was in no way inclined toward public displays of affection unless provoked. This limited the time he had to ply her with kisses and caresses that were slowly but steadily growing more intimate, usually in the privacy afforded in Tom's own quarters, and those opportunities were few and far between.
In public, Tom Riddle was everything a girl could ask for in a boyfriend. He was solicitous but not overtly clingy, at least not in a way that was obvious to many. He treated her much the same as he had since first showing interest in her at the beginning of the school year, a clever way of placating Dumbledore. He even backed off from intimidating her friends, allowing Olivia and Phineas to join their study sessions in the more public part of the library and going so far as to even help Phineas with his Potions project.
In private, he steadily demanded more of her. Their arguments about spell creation and magical theory were incendiary, and necessitated the constant use of silencing charms and privacy spells in a rarely used corner of the library. Without the presence of Professor Cavallo, neither one pulled back. It was the closest Tom came to losing control, apart from when she responded to him physically. Hermione seemed to realize this, and pushed his buttons at every opportunity, in every argument.
The one thing that seemed off-limits was her past and his. Tom didn't ask and she didn't offer. This made Hermione deeply uneasy, and she worked harder than before on her research into breaking the blood bond. Tom knew what she was doing and made no move to stop her, even taunting her once.
"Best of luck with that, dear."
"If it bothers you so little, why don't you let me have a look at that charming book which had such a crush on me?" Hermione retorted.
"I think not."
Apart from their sparring, Tom convinced Hermione to let him teach her more about nonverbal magic. Hermione recognized the opportunity to learn from a master—albeit a twisted, psychopathic master, she reminded herself. She knew he was making it as hard as possible for her to think of that side of him. Likewise she had little doubt that he wouldn't teach her things that could prove damaging to his own interests; but it was a more productive pastime than letting him inch her steadily closer to comfort over his physical intentions and spring deadline. Whenever she felt a bit panicked by those thoughts or the way she responded to him, Hermione reminded herself that she had to trust her instincts, as Professor Dumbledore had advised. She was getting closer to the key of breaking the blood bond, and he knew nothing of the time travel research. 'Get through today' had become her motto.
"You need to let it build, then control it before you channel it through your wand. If you let your wand be the conduit of control, you reduce the power of your magic and you slow it down considerably," Tom said patiently, whipping his wand with the predatory grace that highlighted his dueling style.
"I understand, but keeping it tightly bundled before using my wand is impossible," Hermione snapped, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She was sweaty and hot from her efforts, while Tom looked cool as usual.
"Bundling it is not control, Hermione," Tom said. "You need to think beyond the physical expression of your magic."
Hermione's frustration hit its cap at this. "This isn't exactly easy, you know!"
The little quirk upward at the corner of his mouth was infuriating. "Of course it isn't. If it were, everyone would do it, wouldn't they?"
"You smug pillock!" Hermione muttered, turning around in a huff to see a fascinated Hufflepuff witch she didn't recognize standing with Herecles Potter at the door of the Dueling Chamber.
"Trouble in paradise?" Herecles quipped, but Tom was by her side instantly, his wand still in hand. Herecles noted it, but he didn't flinch. He said pleasantly, "We scheduled the room for a bit of practice. I believe your time is up."
It was obvious that Herecles was directing that last at Tom, but Hermione was in no mood to placate two boys who wanted to argue.
"Excuse me," she said tightly, slipping past the Hufflepuff girl without a backward glance. She could hear Tom saying something to Herecles, but she had no idea what it was, because she turned the corner of the corridor. She didn't get very far, however, before Tom caught up to her.
"You're very pretty when you're angry," Tom said, his long, loping strides easily able to keep up with her.
"Piss off," was Hermione's reply, but Tom wasn't deterred. He cast a cooling charm on her, as much as it pained him to do so. She was particularly delightful to look at when she was flushed like that. It had the intended effect, however, as she slowed down and said, "Thanks."
"You're so welcome," Tom said, catching her hand and twirling her into a conveniently handy alcove. The corridor was rarely used, and Tom was quite intent on having a little nibble on those delectable lips before he was willing to part ways with her for the rest of the afternoon. Hermione kissed him first, a nip from her teeth at his lower lip that was a bit sharp due to her lingering irritation over not being able to master the technique. He accepted it easily and gave her a few nips of his own before her mouth opened to him.
"Delightful," he said when she drew away. She met his dark eyes and couldn't resist a jab at his smug balloon of an ego.
"It would be more delightful if you didn't feel obliged to maul me after merely being in the same room as Herecles Potter."
His eyes darkened as she had perhaps known they would, and for the first time she consciously realized that his jealous behavior was perhaps more than just that of a child over a favorite toy.
"You're not to speak with him," he warned, his hands pressed tightly against the wall on either side of her head. "That's not a request."
Hermione's eyes widened in mock surprise. "What, issuing orders again? I thought we were past that little display of ego. Or are you not confident in your ability to keep me, despite your underhanded techniques?"
"Do not provoke me, Hermione." His voice was low but menacing, and to his surprise she laughed.
"Or you'll do what, Tom? Hurt me? Hurt my friends?" She paused, enjoying his shock at her reaction but keeping her enjoyment to herself, a vicious sort of thrill at speaking the truth yet again to Lord Voldemort. "What will you do, I wonder, when there comes a day when those you seek to intimidate aren't afraid to die before you? What good will fear be then, I ask you?"
He came closer, a feat she hadn't thought possible. She felt a different sort of thrill as he brought his magic into play, the frisson of nerves over her skin a response that never failed to make her quiver. Damn him, but he was almost addictive when he did this, and her magic responded, skitters and flourishes designed to entice his, an instinctive response she couldn't suppress with any amount of effort.
"Now, dearest, let's not bicker over the future." Tom lowered his head to her throat, nipping with more a little sharpness to his bite. He sucked on the spot, leaving a nice bruise that would be clearly visible, charming it so she couldn't hide it. "Let's see how you explain that tomorrow."
"I don't suppose you know how much longer you'll be?" Abraxas drawled, putting one dragonhide boot on the library table as he leaned back in his chair.
"Feel free to leave at any time if you're bored," Hermione said without even looking up at him. Abraxas was an arrogant sod but she knew perfectly well that he would stay exactly where he was until she was finished or someone else came along to relieve him.
"I'm sure I could be entertained, Miss Girard, if you'd explain to me why you find a book on Dark blood curses so fascinating," Abraxas said, removing his foot from the table and instead folding his arms on the desk so he could lean forward. "I knew you were a swot, but that seems a bit much for even the most studious Ravenclaw."
"Tsk tsk, such an unpleasantly pejorative word, 'swot'. Whatever would Tom say if I happened to mention it to him?" she said a touch too sweetly, giving him a pointed look.
Abraxas' eyes narrowed minutely, and he leaned across the table. "You're very lucky, you know, that he's taken an uncommon interest in you. Rest assured, if he ever tires of you, I'll be sure to teach you a lesson in manners when it comes to how you should speak to a member of one of society's highest families."
"I was under the impression that he doesn't take an interest in women, period," Hermione began calmly, her quill ceasing again as she contemplated the boy before her. "Therefore I would assume that however lowly you may perceive my position in 'society' to be, it is surely overridden by other considerations. Perhaps it is you who require a lesson in manners?" The unspoken threat was there, and Hermione turned back to her writing, ignoring the flush of anger on the pale boy's face.
"Don't you have Quidditch practice?"
The low rumble of Evan Rosier's voice prevented Abraxas from retorting in anger, which would probably have been a mistake. She was goading him, yes, but he had started it. Evan watched Abraxas leave, the set of his shoulders leaving little doubt as to how he had been getting on with Hermione.
"I see Abraxas was being his usual charming self," Evan offered as he plonked down in the chair across from Hermione. She glanced up at him briefly and then replied, "I'm used to it."
"What are you working on?" Evan asked. He was the more inquisitive of the two, and Hermione usually didn't mind. Today, however, Abraxas' taunt had put her in a snappy mood.
"It doesn't matter, unless you happen to be well versed on the subject of blood bonds," she said.
"Well, actually, we have quite a bit on that subject in our library," Evan replied. "A historical hangover from when my family did a lot of trading with the Visigoths. Blood bonds tended to be the only thing they respected, or so my father tells me."
Hermione's head popped up at that. "Really?"
Evan grinned. "Yeah, really. What are you trying to do?"
Hermione knew that he could tell Tom exactly what she asked, so she had to couch her question carefully. It wasn't as if Tom didn't know what she was doing, he was just arrogant enough to think she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Well, she would prove him wrong.
"I want to find out how an accidental blood bond could be broken."
Evan didn't see the harm in telling her what little he knew. Unlike Abraxas, he found her more amusing than not. "Well, you would need the blood of both participants in the bond, obviously. And the wording used to dissolve a blood bond is similar to what you used to make it in the first place…"
Hermione listened as he talked about the various types of blood bonds he had read about and took notes, asking one more question. "Does it have to be dissolved in the same language in which it was formed?"
Evan quirked an eyebrow at that. "I doubt it would. After all, there have been cases of enchanted objects inducing such bonds, and those were broken in different languages. Just look at the case of Aurora Granschen and her prince consort."
Hermione smiled at this reference to the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale. She wondered exactly how much of what Evan shared was going to be filtered through Tom. "Stupid question…all of it," she muttered to herself, then stood. "Thanks."
Evan inclined his head. "No problem."
Back in her room, Hermione spread out all her notes and went through them again. She sat back in her chair with a frown, then eyed the drawer containing the Maleficium again. There was something she was missing.
"I sincerely hope I won't regret this," she muttered to herself as she unwarded the drawer and removed the book, then tentatively pressed her hand to the first page. "Let's see what you have to say about blood bonds."
Two days later, Evan Rosier made his way through the courtyard. The chill in the air was still biting, but spring was definitely on the way. His mind was still turning over the lesson he had received the previous evening in Obliviation. There had been the promise of an opportunity to practice the skill in real life soon, and Evan felt cheered by the prospect. He crossed to the dungeon stairs, taking them two at a time through the ease of long practice. Finally he reached the Head's quarters and knocked briskly on the door, which swung open silently.
"Ah, Evan. Please, be seated." Tom had looked up briefly, then resumed his activity at the desk.
Evan Rosier sat down and waited for Tom to finish writing his note, then watched him cast a charm to permanently change the handwriting.
"Send this off immediately. Use my bird. I want it to arrive in France no later than tomorrow."
"Of course," Evan said. "My cousin said the previous missive was well received, my lord."
The gleam in his eyes was that of Lord Voldemort, not the schoolboy Tom Riddle. "Oh, I knew it would be."