PART 4: VOLDEMORT RISING
Before entering Hogwarts that first time, Hermione had felt a rumbling dread building inside. She was both thrilled to finally attend the magical institution and nervous enough her hands shook as she changed into her school uniform.
Her hands were shaking now as she smoothed them over her robes and affixed her prefect pin. When she came back to their usual carriage, she gave Draco a wan smile. He pulled her beside himself and squeezed her hand in his. Across from her, Ron reached out to take her other hand. Harry knocked his foot against hers.
She took a deep breath and relaxed into their comforting touches. This was familiar; this was safe. She could enter the castle with them surrounding her. Hermione steadied herself and placed on her prefect mask, ready to take on her duties.
Hermione knew immediately that Tom was unhappy. His eyes darted to her the moment she entered the Great Hall, and though his expression did not change, she saw the flare of his nostrils as he observed her herding the first years.
Sorting seemed especially long this year, when his gaze weighed so heavily on her psyche. She couldn't stare at him without looking suspicious; one of the boys would immediately notice. However, he had no such limitation. He was looking into the sea of faces. It was patently unfair. She could not gauge anything of his thoughts, nor communicate effectively herself. She felt woefully unprepared at the end of the feast. Hermione rose to assist in shepherding the first years again, but Professor Riddle had already appeared, murmuring in the Head Boy's ear. Marcus Belby nodded, turned toward her, and gestured her over with a smile on his face.
"We can handle the firsties without you, Granger. Go ahead with Professor Riddle. I'm looking forward to the club!"
She thanked the polite young man before directing herself to Tom. "Good evening, Professor."
His cool gaze met hers. "Good evening. Come, let's speak in my office."
Each step through the halls echoed through her bones; she wondered if her teeth were chattering. They passed a few others, both of them exchanging greetings as they did.
As they neared the DADA office, the shaking returned to her hands.
He opened the door, hand on her lower back guiding her through. As it clicked shut, his wand was against her chest. A flick and colors spiraled around her until they settled across her flesh in a cool, pale blue. He sighed and tucked his wand away, pulling her to his chest.
"My dear, sweet girl, I was so worried for you."
Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest. "You're not mad?" she murmured as they parted just enough to see one another's faces; his hands were still around her.
"Why would I be mad at you , sweetheart? If anything, you should be upset with me."
"What?" She frowned up at him. "Why?"
Tom led her to the settee and sat beside her. "I failed to get you away from the disgusting man. I tried, sweetheart, but his wards are strong, and my political connections are less public than his own."
"It's not your fault," she murmured.
He shook his head. "I should have anticipated the law; my contacts should have told me." The red spiraled through his eyes before they settled again. "I will not fail you again, my dear. I will not allow you to return to that man again."
"I was worried you'd be upset I didn't write."
"My dear." He cupped her cheek with one long, pale hand. "I could never stay mad at you long. You're far too important to me."
She felt lighter than she had in ages, tears flooding her eyes as she nuzzled into his palm.
"I am surprised to find you unmarked. I'm surprised he allowed you to come back at all, given he was against the notion when we spoke." His thumb stroked gently, soothing her. "I stood outside his wards for two full days before finally accepting that the political route might be easier."
"I felt some of your spells," Hermione murmured.
The corner of his mouth ticked up. "Did you, now? Did you know it was me?" She nodded. "I'm glad you knew I was fighting for you, pet. Now, tell me the ways he hurt you."
Her eyes widened and blood drained from her cheeks.
"I know he hurt you, sweetheart. However you've been healed, that man would not have left you unmarked for the duration." His eyes shone with avarice. "He would not be able to resist the temptation."
"I—" She swallowed through the stone of her breath. "I don't think…"
"You can trust me, love. You can tell me." Tom's voice dropped low, close and sweet. His breath was minty and warm. "You need to tell me, Hermione. How will I know how to help you otherwise?"
She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head. She couldn't possibly say those words— not yet, and not to Tom . What if Bellatrix was right?
"He's going to be angry if you've touched her yet. I hope you have. Perhaps he'll see she's dirty then."
"Hermione." Her breath hitched. "Hermione, sweetheart, open your eyes."
If she opened her eyes, he could use legilimency to see what was written there. She couldn't let him see that; she couldn't relive it with him.
Tom tutted. "Alright, I will ask you questions and you will answer with yes or no. Are you amenable?"
He was annoyed now; she could tell by how flat his voice had become when he spoke. Hesitantly, she nodded.
"Good girl." His hand slipped her nape, fingers rubbing lightly at the base of her skull. "Now, did Lucius Malfoy hit you while you were with him?"
She nodded again, finally parting her lashes to stare down at her lap. From her periphery, she could see his full attention on her.
"Did he use anything on you? A cane or such?"
"Yes." Her voice was likened to the creak of a house settling in the night.
His fingers momentarily tightened their grip before resuming their hypnotic motions. "Was it his cane?" She shook her head. He hummed thoughtfully. "A whip."
"Yes."
Tom stroked to the front of her throat, placed two fingers under chin, and had her face him. "Did he touch you inappropriately? Did he kiss you? Did he take you to his bed?" He didn't need her to answer those questions when her eyes screamed at him from behind a veil of tears. "My darling. My poor, sweet, beautiful Hermione. I will make him die a thousand deaths before he begs for his true end, I swear it."
Confliction ran rampant. She shouldn't feel any relief at the idea that he would torture Lucius Malfoy— but he wasn't angry with her at all. Instead, she was pressed in his arms, safe and whole.
He stroked her curls with loving fingers until her racing heart began to slow. "I will wash away his every touch, sweetheart. In time, you will only ever remember being mine."
She sniffled and pulled away to gaze into his eyes. "Tom. Bellatrix— she said…" Hermione cleared her throat. "She said you were the Heir of Slytherin."
"Did she?" He sighed and used a newly freed hand to comb through neat, dark hair. "Of course, she did. She failed me so much that day."
Remembering the woman's frantic pleas, her madly devoted desperation, Hermione was compelled to ask, "Is she— did you—"
"Did I kill Bellatrix?" He chuckled. "No, sweetheart. I did not. She is too useful to throw away, though I was tempted."
"You've killed before."
It was not a question, but Tom answered it all the same. "I have. Some of them were accidents, many were mistakes, but others were necessary for my cause." He ran a hand down her back. "Our cause."
"But aren't you supposed to hate muggleborns?"
"Hermione, I have believed many foolish things in my youth, but I do not, have never believed you are inferior." He was wistful for a moment. "I once thought muggleborns were lesser, yes, but I've grown to appreciate how much they bring to the wizarding world. Look at how we've deteriorated since enacting the ward system. That alone is proof enough."
"Alright." That put her reservations somewhat at ease. The weeks since Bellatrix came to the manor had given her time to accept his violence, the possibility that he was a murderer, but it was something different to confront him with these learned facts.
He smiled down fondly at her. "I take it you left your journal at the manor?" She nodded. "That's alright. You're here with me now, and I can always connect another to my own should we have the need." Tom smoothed back her curls. "I would like to see you on the weekends. I know you cannot always get away, but with your final year approaching, we have much to do. And I missed you when you were gone."
Hermione's cheeks flared hot, her head spinning from the whitewater rapids of her emotional turmoil. "I'll do my best."
"That's all I ask." He leaned toward her, tipping her head up to lay a soft kiss against her lips.
It was hardly more than a touch, and he pulled away.
"Now, you should get to bed. In the morning, I expect to receive a copy of your schedule. Not just your classes, but your study time and so on," he instructed.
"What about the club?"
He chuckled. "We did quite well last year. We won't hold it officially quite yet. We can take those evenings to prepare. We'll begin in October. How's that sound?"
"Perfect."
"Now, get to your dormitory, sweetheart."
She hugged him again, impulsive and desperate for warmth. He didn't seem to mind.
Notes:
And so, Tom re-enters.
This last month was extremely difficult for me for multiple reasons. I explain more in my monthly tumblr announcement here. You may have noticed my updates have all slowed. Yeah, I wrote a bare fraction of my usual last month. I'm trying to get back to it this month, especially since I have a really amazing new keyboard (thank you to the incredible ShadowSurfing and other patrons who helped. This keyboard has a learning curve, but I'm already picking up speed). If you're curious, it's the Kinesis Advantage 2.
Anyway, I'm hoping to fly through the remainder of the year. I'm giving myself things to look forward to and I now have a weekly nurse visit. That will either help tremendously or send my mental health flailing. We shall see.
I'll be back soon with more updates. TTFN.