authorsnote: whaaaat? three updates in two days? and two in one evening? I am on a ROLLLLLL

hem hem

as always I do hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts! no one has guessed the twist yet, can you?

songrecs: no tears left to cry - ariana grande


As she slashed her wand forward she is reminded oddly of Professor Snape, of his lesson on non-verbal spell casting

'Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage'

She's reminded that non-verbal casting is key, it gives you an edge, an advantage, and she's reminded of her own explanation, of how she hurried out the memorised fact that she remembers now.

'Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting'

A split second advantage. That's what she hopes for achieve as she casts the stunner in silence and slashes it across the room, the red light bursting from her wand and racing towards Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle, not quite Lord Voldemort, her duelling opponent now - not something she'd ever thought she'd be doing. Voldemort had always been Harry's to fight, but this isn't Voldemort, not yet, this is Riddle, and hers to duel.

The red light chases towards him, but he deflects it with a flick of his wand before firing back something gold that she just manages to dodge. It's not something she recognises, and so she sends two stunners back for good measure, a little unnerved by unknown magic.

He blocks both again, sends across something blue coloured, which a hasty shield charm just manages to repel. She throws an impedimenta which he side steps, and a expelliarmus that he parry's with a flick of his wand and roll of his eyes.

"Is this really the best you can do?" He drawls, "I have to say I was hoping for better"

She glares at him then, at his mocking words, and throws something he might not know at
him, "Sectumsepmra" She yells, not having ever cast it verbally never mind non-verbally, and so she shouts it, and slashes her wand. She needs something up her sleeve, she is putting everything behind her spells, even feels a little tired, and he is flicking them away as if it were nothing.

She doesn't expect it to hit, not with how quick he is, but he's caught off guard, perhaps because she verbalised her spell or because he doesn't recognise it. She doesn't know, but he is caught off guard, and that's the key thing, as a dribble of blood suddenly chases down his pale cheek, a tiny slash having gotten through his shield, to nick at his cheekbone.

She should cast a follow up, get him with a stunner now to get the upper hand, but she's so shocked something got through she pauses, pauses for just a second, a moments hesitancy.

And that's her mistake.

She stares at him, at the dribble of blood that drips down his pale cheek, at his shocked expression, those dark eyes widening, and then his lips twist in a grimace, and she doesn't even have the time to raise her wand before he attacks.

He throws something at her, something black mixed with grey and it sends her sailing back against the kitchen countertops, her body smacking into it hard, and she crumples to the floor with a groan. She barely has a second to gasp though, as her body hits the floor hard, before he lifts her up with his wand, to pin her against the fridge door, his wand held aloft, holding her up with almost no effort.

He glares at her and she feels an odd kind of satisfaction that she's rattled him. He doesn't wipe away the blood on his cheek or heal it, but she can tell she got to him. She's not sure why she likes that, but she does.

She got one up on Lord Voldemort, she can't help but feel satisfied.

Still, her satisfaction soon melts away as she realises, he has her pinned, and before she can so much as flick her wand upward he has it out of her hand and in his pocket. He casts nothing more though, steps closer until he's inches away, she is hovering above him, and he digs his wand then, into her neck, and holds her up, but casts nothing more.

Her satisfaction is long gone as she looks down at him, darkest wizard of all time. She feels a spike of fear but not as much as she'd expect. Perhaps she's too battle worn, too tired, perhaps she doesn't care as much anymore. She feels scared certainly but she isn't trembling with fear, though her eyes widen as he flicks his wand and she falls to the floor, just managing to find her feet before he's looking down at her now, and his wand digs into her jugular again, hard.

"Rattled?" She coughs out, as his wand is digging into her neck, still she can't help herself.

"Hardly" He scoffs back, but she can see he is still surprised she got anything past him. "But do tell me, what spell was that?"

"An original" She sneers, and he rolls his eyes then, and digs his wand in harder. She resists the urge to wince and forces down any groan of pain.

"Not yours" He mocks, but she feels the warmth in her cheeks, knows they darken, and he seems somewhat satisfied then, that she didn't beat him with something she made.

"No" She admits, she's never been a liar, "Still got you though"

"That you did" She can tell those words are like vinegar in his mouth, and she smirks then, she can't help it. Not just because she needs to beat him, to stop him inevitably taking over humanity, but also because from an intellectual perspective getting a spell past one of the most powerful wizards of all time is damn satisfying.

"I could have killed you" He says with a shrug, and she sobers a touch then, the way he says it almost as a fact.

"I know" She does, she isn't arrogant with this, she knows he could have wiped the floor with her further, perhaps he held back a bit, and she knows she wouldn't have lasted much longer, "But you didn't"

"No" He admits, and then his wand eases a little, she doesn't know why, and as he pulls it away from her, she's pretty sure he doesn't either, "I didn't"

"Why not?" She asks, she shouldn't, why does she always have to ask? Why can't she ever leave things alone?

She's Hermione Granger that's why, 'curiosity killed the cat' meant nothing to her as a child.

"You're interesting" Is all he offers, but her eyes widen, and then he turns away from her, seemingly done with this confusing conversation.

All she knows is that seconds earlier sparks of magic were flying at one another, and now he turns from her, leaving her unscathed, even with the trickle of blood making its way down his cheek.

It looks like scarlet paint on a bone white canvas. It's almost mesmerising.

She wonders if she has a concussion to be thinking that.

"We should sleep" He says, and she glances outside, at the snow, now blowing hard, starting to gather at the door. She knows the heating won't last long here, it'll be cold, she's just thankful there's a fire in the bedroom.

"Yes" She suddenly feels bone tired, considering she's coming off the edge of a battle she's not surprised it hits her suddenly and she feels ready to sleep for about a week. "We really should"

But sleep where?

"Where are the beds?" He asks, turning to examine the sofa then. It's small, and not entirely comfortable enough to sleep on, but it's where she plans for him to end up, there's no way she's sleeping on the sofa in her own house and to hell is she sharing.

"There's one bed" She enunciates, flicking her wand to fuel the fire in the place, to ensure it roars to keep the living room above freezing, "You can have the sofa"

"Excuse me?" He asks, raising an eyebrow as though he can't quite believe what she's saying. She almost laughs, would have if she wasn't still rattled from the fight. Legendary wizard Tom Riddle is fussy, she can't help but find it funny.

"You heard me" She says, reaching for her beaded bag on the counter and making her way to the stairs, "There's one bed, mine, and that's it"

"Why do you get the bed?" He shoots back, following her to the stairs. At that she whirls around to face him, and glare, to hell is she taking the sofa.

"My house" She says, glaring at him.

"I'm the guest" He says, glaring right back.

She finds oddly she prefers that. She hates people who argue with her and do so weakly. If you're going to argue commit, that's her way.

"An unwelcome one" She sneers.

"You dragged me here" He says back with venom. She feels a little annoyed he's better at injected it into his voice. Surely, she shouldn't be annoyed that she doesn't sound as horrible as the budding Dark Lord.

She feels exhausted, that must be it, otherwise she wouldn't be arguing over a bed and finding herself irritated that she isn't winning the argument outright but preferring that to a weak opponent.

Yes, tiredness, that must be it.

"It's my bed" She repeats, "Mine"

"No" He says, though she can hear no fury in her voice, just annoyance and outrage, "Either I have it since you forced me here, or we share"

"Please" She says with a scoff, "Look at our fight, I can't force you to do anything, you're here because you're as curious as I am about how you're back and making my life miserable" She glares.

She does feel better as she repeats her own words back to herself in her head, in fact she feels relieved that she's right as Riddle just sneers at her. He is here because he wants to be, because he's curious and perhaps has nowhere else to go. She doesn't need to worry too much about him becoming a flight risk, providing she is researching his return, which she intended to do anyway.

She'd breath a great sigh of relief if it wouldn't give her away, instead she just manages a sag of her shoulders, that she can cross one thing off her list of worries.

She needs him here, she needs to figure out how he's here, so she can decide what to do next. Kill him, send him back, lock him up, she doesn't know, but first she needs to know how he got here, and knowing he wants to know and is cooperative will make it much, much easier.

It's a revelation that makes her tiredness rush to her even faster, not feeling so tense and worried (there's still plenty to go around of course but some of it leaves her), makes her almost sway with exhaustion, and then she takes the first step up the stairs and then another, not even replying as Riddle begins to follow her.

She even muffles a snort at the idea of Lord Voldemort following her up the stairs and she doesn't stop him.

Yeap, she's exhausted.

Usually she'd rather sleep on the floor, or maybe a bed of nails than share with someone so evil, but as she reaches her Grandmothers old room, flicks her wand at the fireplace and see's the comfortable sheets she can't bear the thought of turning them down.

For months she's slept on lumpy beds, cold floors and sofas, she's not had one good nights sleep in over a year. And now, with the battle over, with all the loss, and with this twist of Lord Voldemort turning back the covers and glaring at her … she feels more tired than she ever has in her life. She's sure when she sleeps, she will for a long time, and she needs to, she needs to.

It's the only thing that stops her sleeping on the floor. Any other time she would, but not now, she can't, she won't.

"You put a toe over the middle" She threatens, managing to inject some anger into it. She hates this, if it were anyone else, she'd throw him out and spell the door, but she knows that won't work and she's too tired to try.

"As if" He sneers, shrugging off his school robe, his jacket, jumper and then shirt. He's left in school trousers and a white under t-shirt. He then shrugs off his trousers to leave him in boxers (though they're from the 40's so long enough to be shorts), without a hint of feeling embarrassed. She begrudgingly admits he doesn't need to, and he knows it, he's as handsome as he is evil.

She however steps into the bathroom to change into one of her pyjama sets, a comfortable Gryffindor t-shirt that had been Harry's and a pair of gold and red bottoms. She feels tears come to her eyes as she slips on the top, and can sense a hint of Harry's smell, she only manages to hold them back by feeling like if she starts, she won't stop, and if she starts she might collapse.

She does take a minute in the bathroom to promise herself.

Tomorrow she'll mourn.

Tomorrow she'll figure out a plan.

Tomorrow she'll deal with Riddle.

For now she needs rest, and if that means sharing a bed with the devil and holding back the tidal wave of grief that threatens her … then that's how it is.

And so, she steps back into the room, and immediately turns the lights off. The snow rages outside, and she slips under the covers. Riddle is already under them, his back to her, and she would laugh at it all. Ten minutes ago they were trying to kill one another, and now they'll sleep next to each other. How strange.

With a small sigh she manages to hold back a snort at the idea of what she's doing, at how awful it is, at how much she wishes she were anywhere else. She doesn't have long to overthink anything, to flash her mind back to the battle, to Harry … she is only awake for seconds as her head hits the pillow and then she's falling into darkness.


soo thoughts?

I know the fight was short, but trust me they'll be more coming? also hermione isn't good enough to last with riddle ... yet

but trust me, sparks will fly in the next chapter! and every chapter after...

as always do let me know your thoughts and fav/follow for updates

speak soon