Notes: Thanks so much for the interest! I can't answer any of the questions directly, but they will get answered as the story progresses. This chapter, in fact, kicks one plotline into high gear. Also, I have to put up a content warning for detailed torture.
Chapter Eleven: Grimmauld Place
The next day was the last full day before Hogwarts dismissed for Christmas break. Tom and Hermione were both staying at the castle. Whatever had been troubling Tom after the holiday party had passed by morning. He was waiting in the Great Hall for Hermione, and he had left a single red rose by her place setting at the table.
She raised an eyebrow as she sat down, turning the rose's stem in her hands. It still had thorns. Of course it did.
"Thanks, but what's this about?" she asked him, setting the rose back down.
He merely shrugged and smiled mildly. "I just felt like it." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
No you didn't, she thought. Tom Riddle never did anything without a reason. But it would not be productive to interrogate him so ungraciously over what was, purportedly at least, a romantic gift for no specific occasion.
They began to eat. At some point the girls from Hermione's dorm joined, Walburga and Druella giving her looks of dislike as usual. She was surprised when none of the Knights of Walpurgis showed up for breakfast. She had not seen them in the common room either.
"Did they overindulge last night?" she asked him.
"Probably," he sneered disdainfully. "Sluggy himself hasn't put in an appearance either, you notice."
They finished breakfast and ambled back to the common room together, Hermione holding the rose. As soon as she said the password and opened the door, her jaw dropped.
Lestrange, Rosier, and Avery were huddled near the hearth, clutching glasses of some sort of potion, oblivious to everything else around them. Their arm movements were jerky and pained, and there were bruises present.
Hermione whirled on Tom, outraged. "You—"
"Not a word," he said softly.
Her finger touched a thorn, and she felt it stab into her skin.
Vincent Rosier turned around. As soon as he saw Tom and Hermione, he ducked back, but not before Hermione saw the evident fear in his eyes.
"We need to talk," she said almost inaudibly, her eyebrows narrowing. She transferred the rose to her other hand and sucked on the finger that had been pricked, tasting blood.
"Then we'll talk in my dormitory."
He strode over to the entrance to the boys' dorms and let her in. Haughtily she stepped across the threshold and followed him into the seventh year dorm. It was empty.
She shut the door, tossed the rose on his bed, and drew her wand.
"Don't do it," he said in a warning tone.
"Then explain."
He glared. "I think you should explain why you even care about them, but very well. I interrogated them."
"What did you do to them?" she asked fiercely.
He peered at her. "Do you really want to know?"
"I assume the Cruciatus."
He did not answer, but continued to stare at her evenly. "I gave them potion for the aftereffects, as you noticed."
"How very considerate of you."
Tom's face changed. The smirk that had been on it vanished, to be replaced by a look of real worry. "You know, Hermione, the real problem is that the interrogation did not turn up anything. They really know nothing. That was why I gave them the potion."
"What?" Hermione was taken aback. "So you tortured them for no reason?"
"That isn't what's important," he said impatiently. "I wanted information, but they don't have any. They were only in the process of making a deal with Black. I hope I have put a stop to it now."
"So is that what you think Black was doing last night?"
"I don't know what Black was doing, and that troubles me. I'm going to have to ask you to ward your bed at night. I don't particularly trust your roommates either."
"Tom, are you sure you aren't just being overly paranoid?"
"There is no such thing as 'overly paranoid' when it comes to your safety," he hissed. "I started to tell you this last night. You are special, Hermione. I've… never met anyone like you before. And I won't risk anything bad happening to you."
Not "can't," Hermione thought, but "won't." How utterly… Tom. Verbally she said, "Tom, I appreciate what you're saying. I truly do. Considering where I came from, and what you were in that world, I really cannot overstate what it means to me that you would say that. But that isn't something you can control."
"I can try!" he exclaimed. "I'm a wizard, and I can do all sorts of things—find out what I need to know to prevent it—I just haven't looked in the right place yet."
She sighed. Of course he would think all his problems—or what he perceived to be his problems—would have a magic solution, and it did not matter so much what that solution was. The ends justified the means. She sat down on the bed and closed her eyes. In a moment she felt the mattress shift and his arm snake around her waist.
"If anyone did manage to hurt you, you know what I would do to them," he said.
She opened her eyes. "Yes, Tom, I do," she said wearily.
"Good. As long as we both understand that." He leaned over and reached for her side with his other arm.
Hermione allowed him to pull her close. She touched her nose briefly against his before letting him part her lips with his tongue. He was trying, she told herself as they kissed. At least he did care about someone other than himself. It was not inherently horrible for a man to want to avenge any harm that a woman in his life might suffer at the hands of other people. It was… a form of caring, and she supposed she should encourage it rather than make him believe she did not appreciate him at all. There had already been too much of that in his life.
Gently they fell backward onto his bed. He scrambled for his wand and bespelled the drapes shut. Hermione did not think immediately about what that implied, but as he began to trail kisses down her neck and collarbone, it suddenly hit her.
"Tom, no," she gasped.
He slipped a hand under her skirt and pushed it up her thigh, making her shiver in pleasure—and indecision about what she had just said. That did feel really good.
His eyes gleamed at the reaction he had produced. "Why not? You saw them in the common room. They won't be coming back here anytime soon."
Remembering the tortured roommates completely killed the lustful feelings that Hermione was beginning to experience. He thought it was justified, and as soon as they had discussed it, he had tried to take her to bed. Literally right after implying that he would maim or murder anyone who harmed her. Considered that way, it was outright disturbing.
She placed her palms on Tom's shoulders and pushed him away. "I don't want to, that's why not."
He sat up and stared at her, his gaze hardening. "You don't want me?"
"Right now… it isn't you; it's just too soon," she fibbed, "and I… I haven't ever…." She trailed off uncertainly.
He gazed at her. "If you're about to tell me you're a virgin, I figured that from what you told me the day you gave me your memories." He paused. "Do you think I'm not?"
Hermione sat upright. This situation was almost surreal. She could hardly believe she was discussing prior sexual experience with a seventh year Volde—no, she corrected herself. No. Tom.
"I really couldn't have guessed either way," she replied. "Your kisses are wonderful. I presume you learned that from experience. But you said yourself that you've never met anyone like me, so they wouldn't have meant anything before. Therefore, well…."
He looked offended at this cold assessment. "Therefore, I could just as easily have bedded anyone who would have me in order to satisfy carnal needs. Is that it?"
Oh, no. This is bad. "I didn't mean that," she said hurriedly.
"Don't lie to me. I know when you're doing it. And for your information," he snarled, flinging the drapes open and setting his feet on the floor, "the previous kissing experience is why I decided it was demeaning and degrading to me to share physicality with anyone." He threw her a hostile glare. "Don't you have a massive tome of extracurricular information to read in the library, or something like that?"
Hermione stared back in astonishment. "Tom, I really meant no offense."
"Then congratulations, darling, you exceeded expectations. Outstandingly."
Hermione recognized that as a dismissal. She gaped for another moment, then picked up the rose. As she did, his eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but his face snapped back in place as she left.
He did not speak to her for the rest of the day, not even at dinner, the final dinner of the calendar year at Hogwarts for most of the students. It would not be so for them, and she doubted that he was sentimental about such things anyway.
Hermione knew she should probably apologize for being so coldly, insultingly rational on a topic that, apparently even for him, was inherently emotional. She was just repulsed by the blasé attitude he'd had about torturing his own roommates and the fact that he would try to seduce her immediately after talking about it—and make an allusion to it in the heat of the moment. That was not normal. He should apologize too, she thought mutinously in her own bed that night. However, she knew he wasn't likely to.
The next morning, Hermione got up with her roommates, even though she was not going anywhere. Druella Rosier and Walburga Black held their tongues, though Druella could not help but slip her a smug look about remaining at Hogwarts. It doesn't matter, Hermione thought as she headed down to the Great Hall with them. At least I'll have the room to myself until the new term. She did not bother to bid those two harpies farewell as they headed to the train, but she did give Lucretia a genuine smile, which was returned.
The school felt empty afterward, which she supposed it nearly was. Tom gave her an icy glare as they returned to the building, the only seventh years remaining, and walked back to the Slytherin common room ahead of her without waiting.
No more sticking to my side, apparently, she thought bitterly, since everyone he thinks is a threat to me has gone. She headed back to her own room, closed the door, and went to her desk. Yesterday he had mocked her studiousness, but today she actually did want to read something to take her mind off their dispute.
Hermione frowned as she noticed that one of her roommates' seventh year books had been left on her desk. It was probably a passive-aggressive act by one of them, a way to show their supposed superiority to her by intruding upon her space. Annoyed, she picked up the book to move it.
There was an unpleasant tug behind her navel. The room quickly began to dissolve and fade. Hermione realized what was happening a half-second too late, as the Portkey hurtled her into darkness.
Hermione landed in a room inside someone's house. Green velvet drapes, furniture in green upholstery, and green wallpaper greeted her eyes. A cabinet full of sinister-looking objects loomed in front of her, and more such objects adorned the side tables and mantelpiece.
This room was familiar. Too familiar. Hermione felt a pang at the memories, followed by a flash of fear at the realization that this was not a safe haven, a base of operations for her friends, in 1944. This was—
"Welcome," oozed a familiar voice. Hermione whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Pollux Black. His wand was out.
Hermione scrambled to her feet. "Why am I here?" she demanded, her voice shaky.
"Expelliarmus," Black cast, ignoring her question.
Hermione reached for her wand, but it was too late. It sailed from her pocket into Black's hand. He smirked and set it down on the nearest table, then approached her.
"I think you know very well why you are here," he said.
She edged sideways, trying to position herself to make a run for the table that her wand rested on. "No, I really don't," she lied, stalling for time. "For that matter, why are you here? Shouldn't you be at the Ministry?"
Black grinned. "One of the privileges of being a high-ranking Ministry official is that I do not have to live in my office." He flicked his wand at her. "And you do know why you are here, Miss Green."
Hermione's heart pounded. "I know that there is a stupid rumor circulating that I am a spy for Grindelwald. It's not true. But if you wanted to question me, the proper procedure would be to take me to the Ministry, so no, I do not know why I am here." She edged closer to the table.
Black looked darkly satisfied. "The problem, Miss Green, is that there are plenty of blood-traitors in the Ministry who might… go easy on you. And we have another difficulty."
"I'll take Veritaserum," she offered, heart palpitating. "I'll take it, and you will see—"
Black smiled. "Ah, but I have never been much good at Potions."
"Then get some," she exclaimed. "It shouldn't be hard."
He shook his head. "The Ministry closely monitors its own stock, and it's surprisingly difficult for a Ministry Department Head to acquire certain substances, or items, for personal use. Too many questions would be raised, you see. Too much of a trail." He bared his teeth. "However, there is another reason, which is precisely the difficulty I started to speak of. Have you ever seen someone talk under Veritaserum?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, but I've been told what it looks like."
"Then you should know that it is a profoundly dull thing to witness. Very simply, Miss Green, there is no fun at all in watching a person reveal information drably and without any sense of desperation. No satisfaction in that."
Hermione jerked away to try to run for the table.
"Crucio!"
The Unforgivable Curse caught her. This was very different from the weak curse that Lestrange had used on her in the hallway that one time. Pollux Black knew exactly what he was doing. It was every bit as bad as his granddaughter's curse would be fifty-three years later.
Waves of horrific pain shot over her body, like being stabbed repeatedly with red-hot needles. The pain bore into her skin, making her blood feel first hot and then horribly cold. Her muscles spasmed as the curse reached that layer of tissue, feeling like a thousand sprains at once.
Hermione was screaming in pain, closing her eyes involuntarily, but as soon as she did, they felt sealed shut with some sort of burning acidic glue, so she opened them painfully and gritted her teeth, trying to think of something, anything, other than the pain.
It was so, so wrong that this was happening in Sirius's house. Harry's house. A house that, in her memories, was a home base.
The Cruciatus Curse reached bone, and she screamed anew as the sensation of hundreds of fractures flooded her nerves. "Stop!" she shouted.
Black lifted the curse, leaving her lying on the floor, aching from the aftermath. "Care to talk, then?" He pointed the wand at her. "If you were put up to it by 'Cousin Albus,' then I won't do any more."
For a moment it was tempting to just lie and tell Black what he wanted to hear and clearly already believed. Just tell him that yes, she had been passing information to Grindelwald because Dumbledore had wanted her to, and let the politicians sort it out later.
But she knew all too well that something much bigger than her personal well-being was at stake. She also knew that Black could not be counted on to keep a promise.
"I swear, I haven't been spying," she pleaded. "Please, just let me go."
Black scowled. "It seems that you require more persuasion." He raised his wand.
The curse started anew, and worse than before, since it was pain on top of previous pain. Hermione stopped resisting and finally just allowed her body to spasm and flop about from the nervous responses to the intense pain.
Tom will come here and rescue me, she thought, but instantly banished the idea. He might eventually figure out where she was, but it would be far too late. She had brought the Portkey here, so he could not use that. No one was going to rescue her. She had to save herself.
Black lifted the Cruciatus Curse again. "Had enough yet?"
Again Hermione was tempted to lie for a moment, but at this point, it was about personal pride and dignity as much as anything else. "I'm not a spy!" she exclaimed, tears pouring from her eyes.
Black frowned. "You are a strong one. Stronger than I would be, I admit that freely. It's admirable, in a way… but very inconvenient for you. You see, we cannot have traitors in this country." He flicked his wand and nonverbally summoned something small and silver from across the room.
Her heart thudded. This could not be happening. "No… please don't…."
Black grabbed her arm and forced the sleeve up. Hermione's heart skipped a beat in dread. It was the other arm, not the one that Bellatrix Lestrange had carved the word Mudblood into. That scar had finally mostly gone away with potions. But this was just too cruel to be real, that this would happen to her again in a different time and a different world. Was this some depraved "tradition" of this branch of the Black family?
She shrieked as Black cut the letter T into her skin. "Stop!" she cried.
"Talk."
"I have nothing to tell you! I am not a spy!"
Without blinking, Black carved the letter R. Blood was running out of the cuts, staining her clothing as it dripped from her arm. His grip on her arm would leave a bruise as well, and her circulation was getting cut off. She could barely feel her fingers anymore.
"Please, believe me!"
Black cut the letter A into her arm. Her arm was throbbing, burning with pain. That was not a normal knife. It was cursed. A normal cut, even a bad one, should not hurt this much.
Hermione felt a strange, lightheaded sensation. Was she blacking out? No, it did not feel like the onset of unconsciousness. Instead it felt like… like she felt before she cast a powerful spell, such as the Patronus Charm.
Black sliced a straight cut, leaving a slightly tilting letter I flowing red on her arm. The power continued to build—
Black had just moved his knife down her arm to continue his sadistic handiwork when the magic that had been building burst from Hermione's right hand. A shockwave of raw, unrefined magical force blasted him, hurtling him across the room. He slammed into the wall and slid to the floor, unconscious. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Hermione was wobbly on her feet, winded from the power of the wandless curse and exhausted from the intense pain of the torture, but she knew what she had to do. She darted over to the table and retrieved her wand.
Hermione's heart thudded in her chest as she dashed from the room and down the hallway. I have to get out of here. I know the way out. I know this house so very well. And if I run into anyone, I will kill them. I've done so before. The grim resolution sustained her as she ran carefully down the stairs, dreading the sound of footfalls behind her if Black woke up.
She did not encounter anyone, and when she grabbed the doorknob, she was almost overcome. She briefly sagged, her knees buckling, as she clung to the knob. This was like a nightmare of being chased, except it was real, too real.
I don't hear him. He is not behind me—yet. I have to get out now while I can. She opened the door, stepped into the cold air, and hobbled on the front steps for a moment. Then she mustered her remaining strength. Hogsmeade Village, she thought determinedly.
With a pop, she Apparated away.
Hermione appeared in a shaded clearing behind Honeydukes. Her maimed arm was bleeding all over, dripping on her clothes and staining the snow red. She took a deep breath and cast a healing spell at the wounds.
Nothing happened. Rivulets of blood continued to flow out.
She gritted her teeth. This was definitely cursed. She would just have to get back into the castle and have it seen about. She covered it up and slipped into the candy shop, heading for the cellar when no one was looking, to get into the secret passage to Hogwarts.
Eventually Hermione emerged from behind the statue. Her sleeve was completely soaked through with blood, and she was feeling faint again. Wobbling slightly on her feet, she headed down the corridor in the general direction of the Hospital Wing.
Halfway there, she ran into Tom. He stopped cold, and his lips parted in shock, horror—and fury.
He advanced on her. "Who the hell did this to you?"
"Black. Portkey." It was all she could manage.
It apparently told him enough, or perhaps he realized that she was in need of immediate help. Either way, he did not ask any further questions. He moved closer, placed an arm around her waist for support, and eased her into the nearest classroom.
"Let me see your arm," he said.
Gingerly Hermione pushed up her sleeve, revealing an arm smeared from elbow to wrist with blood, and more continuing to flow out of the half-carved word. Tom sucked in his breath. His face grew white with anger. For a full half minute he could not even speak.
"Hermione," he finally said, "this is a cursed wound."
"I know. I tried to heal it."
He breathed in and out, trying to focus and calm himself. "I am going to do something, and Hermione, listen, this is very important. It's going to hurt, what I do. You must accept the pain."
She gazed up at him. "I don't understand."
"You have to… welcome it. Not fight it, and not merely endure it and hope it goes away soon. It won't work otherwise, and it will be very bad. Can you do that?"
"Healing?" she murmured. "Yes. It hurts sometimes. I see now."
"This is a different kind of healing. Hermione, you have to welcome the pain."
"I understand," she repeated, her voice stronger.
That seemed to mollify him. He took a deep breath again and withdrew his wand. He pointed it as the ghastly wound and began to mutter under his breath.
Waves of burning, fiery pain covered Hermione's arm. It was different from the Cruciatus Curse; this felt like her arm was actually on fire.
Welcome it. It is healing. She gritted her teeth. Heal. Fire cleanses, she thought.
The burning pain continued, and smoke actually began to rise from her arm. She caught a whiff of it and almost retched; it smelled acrid, chemical, and toxic.
The sensation suddenly lifted. Tom smiled, truly pleased, and cast another spell to remove the blood.
Hermione gasped. Her arm bore no signs of ever having been cut. No scar, no red lines of an incomplete healing. It was pristine.
She gazed up at him, eyes wide, mouth open. "What was that?"
He smirked. "That, Hermione, was a Dark healing spell."
"Dark healing spell?"
"Yes. I cursed off the damage. My magic fought and defeated the magic embedded in that wound. That was what was burning, Black's foul, toxic magic." He paused. "If you had fought it, it would have made the wound much, much worse. You might have lost that part of your arm."
Hermione stared at him. "Why didn't you tell me that?"
"Because I wasn't sure if you would let me do it if I told you ahead of time what it was," he said bluntly. "And traditional healing cannot do this. That is why Dark magic leaves scars behind. It's almost always cast by a hostile person, so you can't accept it. Intent matters in Dark magic, and the caster's intent was to harm, so you are harmed, even if it only ends up being a scar. It is why the Killing Curse is unblockable, too. That curse is only about causing death, nothing else. No pain. The caster doesn't want the target to have a chance, and since Dark magic can be made much more powerful than the other kind, that overpowers the will to survive… unless, of course—but I digress." He smirked. "Anyway, in this case, I cast the Dark healing spell, and my intent was to heal… but yours also was important, which is why you had to welcome the pain."
Hermione's head was spinning. Much that she had taken for granted was being overturned. She suddenly had a flashback to her sixth year Defense class, taught by Severus Snape. He had spoken of the Dark Arts in a similar way.
She stood up. Her legs were still wobbly, but she was surer on her feet than she had been before.
"Thank you, Tom."
He put his arm around her waist once more. "You should get something to eat. And have some chocolate, I believe."
They left the classroom and began to walk slowly down the hallway. He kept his arm around her waist.
"You said it was a Portkey that took you to Black. Pollux, I presume."
She nodded. "Somebody's book. Not mine; it was on my desk and I just wanted to move it."
Tom growled. "That was clever," he said grudgingly.
"It brought me to his house. Well, possibly Arcturus Black's house." She squeezed her eyes shut and stopped walking. "Tom, in my time, I know that house. That house meant safety to me. It was awful to be there under these circumstances."
He hugged her. "Obviously, he cast the Portus charm on the book that night. That's what he was doing. Very clever." His wand twitched in his hand. "He will pay," he added darkly. "He'll wish the thought never crossed his mind. And anyone who knew about it will also pay. When break is over, I'll have to make inquiries of your roommates, you realize."
"Don't torture them, Tom. Please. Legilimens them or give them Veritaserum. They may not have known he did it."
He frowned for a second, but apparently considered that Hermione might have a good reason to make that request, because in the next moment, he gave a curt nod.