"It's the innate selfishness," Tom said to Hermione, looking out blankly over the moor. "He didn't care about anyone else but himself, to hell with the rest of the world."
Hermione bit her lip. "Does that surprise you?"
"No," Tom admitted. "But it's hard to reconcile."
Tom Riddle had not been recovering from integrating the ring soul shard particularly well. With it had come a lot of trauma and memories, and Tom was having some difficulty reconciling this sort-of part of him with who he was now. Hermione wondered if this was actually part of magically stitching the soul back together, but she was wary enough of Voldemort's soul bits now that she didn't want to ask or look.
Hermione was concerned enough that she'd finally skipped out after classes one day and taken Tom to Exmoor to watch the sunset, sit in the grass, and try finding peace somewhere that wasn't the inside of a diary. The wind and outdoor environment seemed to be relaxing to him, helping ground him, but Hermione being there to listen to Tom process things seemed to be helping more.
"I didn't care about anyone else, really," Tom said abruptly. He wasn't looking at Hermione. "I had a wretched childhood, and Dumbledore was an ass when he came to get me for Hogwarts. He always viewed me with suspicion, and after being put in Slytherin, it took everything I had to prove myself to the snobby purebloods there. I hated them all. Once some of them started to respect me, it was easier to put up with them, but I don't know if I genuinely cared about a single person in my life."
Hermione watched him quietly, head tilted. The wind was playing havoc with her hair, but it felt kind of nice. Meditative. Calming.
"You're speaking in the past tense," she observed. "Not present."
Tom heaved a sigh. Another breeze blew by, catching his hair, and infuriatingly, Tom's curls fell perfectly back into place when the gust dissipated.
"That's the thing, isn't it?" he said. "I do care, now. I care about you. I care about your mission, and I even care about your coven and your little friends somewhat, too." He looked over at her. "You're legitimately the first friend I've ever had. The first person I've treated as an equal."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure."
"No, really. Hermione. Listen." Tom took her hands, turning to face her, his dark eyes locking with hers. "Please."
Hermione's heart stuck in her throat. "…I'm listening."
There was a pause as Tom seemed to gear himself up for whatever was coming, taking a deep breath.
"I had nothing," Tom said emphatically. "I was an orphan, and bullied at school, then mocked, then feared. I never had a genuine positive emotional connection in my life." He paused. "I think that's why it was so easy for me to go down that road – if you don't care about anyone, if you've never felt empathy, why would you care about sacrificing someone else's soul?"
He paused, dwelling on that for a long moment, before taking a deep breath.
"When you first came by my diary, you were just another puppet to me. I just had to find what strings to manipulate," he said. "But… you were smart. You were sharp. You weren't like Ginny. And you talked to me."
"So did Ginny."
"Ginny talked at me, like I was a real diary," Tom countered. "You sought my opinions and thoughts on things. You wanted actual feedback. You asked for my input, not demanded my sympathy. There's a difference."
Hermione bit her lip. "…I see."
"And then… when we came face to face," Tom said, his eyes holding hers, "you were a vision. A sorceress possessed by power, screaming to winds of fire the truth of my plan. I was stunned, caught totally off-guard. And then, when you came back, you matter-of-factly outlined everything. Everything. You had every detail of the Chamber of Secrets down, as well as the secret of my existence. And then…" He paused. "You did nothing."
Hermione jerked back instinctively, but Tom held her hands firm. "I did what?"
"Let me rephrase; you did nothing to harm me," Tom said. "You kept me. You didn't destroy me, despite knowing I was an artifact created from the vilest act imaginable. You looked at me, saw I was a piece of a soul, and decided I had worth, that I was a person. That I had value."
His eyes softened as he looked at her, and Hermione felt her heart start to pound. Tom was dangerously attractive, and he knew it, and though he didn't seem to be aware of it right now or purposefully using that fact, Hermione was aware of it – to an uncomfortable degree.
"That was the first time anyone ever cared about me," he said. "Genuinely cared about me, as a person. Despite me being an artifact of evil." His lips twitched. "And then you started discussing soul magic with me, treating me like a peer." His grin spread. "You even plotted with me, asking me for my help in framing your enemy as the Heir of Slytherin. That was fun."
Hermione wasn't quite sure how she felt about Tom using plotting someone's downfall as a happy moment to heal his soul, but she'd take what progress she could get.
"Somewhere along the way, I became attached to you," Tom said. "Not magically, I mean – emotionally. I cared what you did. I cared about how you were. I missed you, when you were busy and didn't write. Do you know how odd that felt? Realizing I was attached to another person? Coming to the realization that there was someone else whose life I valued?"
Hermione winced.
"Tom, while I understand that this is a really meaningful moment for you," she said, "please realize just how much that statement makes you sound like a deranged sociopath." She paused. "Psychopath? I don't know the difference."
"Maybe I was a sociopath," Tom countered. "Maybe I hadn't experienced the full run of human emotions until I met you. Annoyance, disgust, contempt, hatred, ambition… those are old friends. But amusement? Happiness? Relief? Joy?" He sighed, squeezing her hands before letting them go. He turned to face back out over the moor.
"Can a person stop being a sociopath?" Hermione asked, her curiosity unable to be suppressed. "Is that possible?"
"No idea," Tom said. "But I find it ironic that I only found my humanity once I was only a shard of a soul."
They sat there quietly, watching a hare hop along in the tall grass. Tom took a deep breath.
"I understand why ring-me made the choices he did," he said steadily. "I do not agree with them, but I understand them. But being who I am today, I would not have made the same choices, so the knowledge that a part of me did make those choices hurts me."
This time, it was Hermione who reached out to squeeze his hand.
"Then help make up for it," she offered. "Help us stop Voldemort once and for all."
Tom's eyes were dark as he looked at her.
"Of course," he murmured. "I'll be right at your side for that fight."
Hermione felt her breath catch, though she wasn't sure it was from his promise or his gaze.
"Just like the battle of Azkaban," Hermione said, trying to play it off with a smile. "The A-team for fighting beings of ultimate evil."
Tom snorted in amusement, breaking the moment, and Hermione felt the tension in her chest ease.
"I suspect, when it happens," Tom said, his lips wry with amusement, "that the final battle with Voldemort won't be anything like the battle of Azkaban at all."
"It better not," Voldemort snapped, speaking up for the first time from behind a bush they'd hidden him, where he had entertained himself by trying to kill field mice with evil glares. "I'd better be able to put up more of a fight than that."
Hermione rolled her eyes and shared an exasperated moment of understanding with Tom, before they set about gathering up their things (and unwanted soul shards) to leave.
