Reading the book made her sick to her stomach. One would think a book so evil would be bound in human flesh, that was the extent of its vileness; however, as far as she could tell, it was ordinary black leather. There was nothing particularly off-putting about its appearance, nor of the first few pages— the title page, the table of contents, and whatnot. Only the spells and rituals therein gave it away.
Hermione read it cover-to-cover because she knew that was what Tom would have done. Her heart ached to read about potions that stole the souls of men and woman and made them into veritable slaves. Spells like Imputrescere caused rotting from the inside out, a rot that was contagious and had to be purged with fire. It turned her stomach to read the case of a pregnant woman so cursed, but she did.
Nothing, however, could have prepared her for Horcruxes.
It involved a potion and ritual human sacrifice, but the details made her gag up stomach acid. It was wretched, sick, and Tom had performed it twice or more.
There could be no redemption for someone like that.
"So how do we destroy them?" Hermione looked up from her umpteenth perusal of the book to meet Ron's inquiring gaze.
"Well, this says the vessel of the Horcrux must be destroyed beyond repair." She considered for a moment, then went on, "Fiendfyre, for instance, could probably destroy anything. I suppose it would depend on what the object is to how we could destroy it, but they're magical, so we should assume it won't be easy."
Harry cut in before any of them could speak up on the topic. "We should worry about finding them first, shouldn't we?"
"I suppose," she said. He was right, as usual. To talk about destroying the Horcruxes was putting the carriage before the thestral. As it was, she had no idea what Tom might have made into a Horcrux.
If it were her, she'd probably make her favorite book into one. It would be something already treasured, so she was sure to keep it safe.
What did Tom treasure?
Hermione.
That was a silly thought. Hermione would have noticed if he'd turned her into a Horcrux, since the ritual was not exactly sly. Besides which, she didn't have a magical connection to Tom.
That wasn't entirely true.
There was the journal he'd given her, but it was simply enchanted to connect to his own. There was also the ring.
The ring he'd given her on her birthday, the ring that gave her dreams of a younger Tom Riddle.
Hermione bit her lip as she considered what the book had said about Horcruxes and compared that to the ring with its heavy black stone. It was an ugly ring, but what had Tom said when he gave it to her?
"You are the only person other than myself I would trust to keep this. … I advise not using magic on it. It will be resistant to much.
Hermione pulled her bag into her lap and began rummaging through until she found her way to the ring. It was just as heavy and unappealing as she remembered.
"Tom gave this to me on my birthday. He said it was a family heirloom." She turned the ring over in her hands. "When I wore it to bed it gave me dreams of him, but him when he was closer to our age." He cheeks heated in memory of the content of those dreams.
"You think that's one?" Harry knelt to explore it. "It's— ah! I don't think it wants me touching it."
Ron reached for it next. "Are Horcruxes able to want things? Oh! It really doesn't like me. It doesn't shock you when you touch it, Hermione?"
She shook her head. "It's warm, but it's almost… welcoming."
"And you said you dreamt of Riddle when you wore it. Did he seem to know?" Draco asked.
Hermione considered. "No. I don't think so. Though the memory or soulshard or whatever remembered me from one time to the next."
"Could you ask it questions then?" Harry seemed to have an idea, his emerald eyes bright.
"I suppose."
"Then would you sleep with it tonight and ask it about itself? Maybe Riddle— young Riddle, that is— will answer your questions if he thinks you're on his side, or coming around."
She nodded at Harry's proposal even as her heart beat faster. "I think I could do that."
"Then it's settled; the three of us will handle watch tonight. You focus on sleep."
"Harry, I really don't–"
"Harry's right," said Draco. "This is important, and we don't know the impact using a Horcrux like this will have. It could impact your quality of sleep. And we need you at your best." He took her empty hand in his. "Then tomorrow we can begin searching for something to destroy it."
She was still nervous when the sun set that evening, when the night thickened. She was nervous throughout the frank and bean dinner that was heated with a basic warming charm.
Her heart pounded when she settled down in the bed she shared with Draco. Hermione situated the ring on her chest, touching her skin where the nightgown buttons were undone. The metal and stone were warm and seemed to pulse against her skin, resonating with her own heart.
She took a deep breath and slowly released it. Then again. She needed to relax, so Hermione focused on easing the tension in her body. Eventually, she fell asleep.
"It's been so long, I worried I had frightened you away." He was even more achingly beautiful than Hermione remembered. His eyes gleamed in the low light and his pale skin's highlights were like moonlight.
Hermione smoothed her hands over her nightgown and peered around surreptitiously. They were in the library. Tom had been seated at a table, stacks of books and open tomes all around, but he stood upon her appearance.
"I've had a lot on my mind."
Young Tom Riddle approached her and laid a hand on her cheek. Hermione flinched away; a frown formed between his brows. "What's wrong? Is it— the other me?"
She chewed her lower lip and thought through the questions she'd formed. "He's not aware of what happens between us, is he?"
Tom shook his head. "No. He would have to keep me in his possession for sure a thing, and we would need to interface. What happens between us," he said, smiling shyly at her, "is only between us."
"Right. Then I have some questions."
The room transformed into the Slytherin Common Room and he gestured for her to take a seat, which she did. He sat on the chair catty-corner to her. "Go on, sweetheart."
She wished he wouldn't call her such things. "Are you… is the ring a Horcrux?"
Tom's expression fell blank. He tipped his head and she felt a slight prodding, but resisted giving in to the direction it wanted her thoughts to go. "He told you, then?"
"I found it in a book. The Secrets of the Darkest Art. You know it?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yes, Hermione, I know it quite well." He smiled, boyish and disarming if she didn't know who he was. "What led you to believe I am a Horcrux?"
She wiped her hands on her nightgown again. "Well, everything fits. Tom— my professor— he's spoken at great length about exploring boundaries, even in the Dark Arts, and about eternity and such… and when I read about them, I couldn't get the idea out of my mind."
"He's been introducing you to dark magic?" She nodded. "He's been preparing you for the future." He took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Yes, Hermione, I am a Horcrux."
Her heart dropped into her stomach. Hermione had known it was coming, but it was still tragic to know the man she'd admired had gone through that horrifying ritual at least once, perhaps more. "Are you the only one?"
"The only Horcrux?" he clarified, and the word was so light, so ordinary on his tongue. She nodded. "I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"If there are more, they were made after I was. You see, I'm eternally sixteen." He gazed at her from beneath his lashes. "Does that bother you?"
"I—" She was reeling over the idea of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle committing murder. "I don't know." Hermione shook her head. "Were you planning to make more?"
Tom became thoughtful. "Why do you ask?"
"Just some of the things he's said," she hedged. "It makes me think there may be more… insurance against death."
"Hermione, the ritual was quite taxing. And the materials, the requirements…" He looked sad for a moment. "I don't know if I could bring myself to do such a thing a second time."
Her heart panged. He looked so young and innocent compared to the Tom she had seen on the Astronomy Tower at the end of the year.
"I suggest you ask him your questions," he said after a moment. "I don't know how much I can help."
"But I'm sure you know something," Hermione pressed.
Tom shook his head. "I am ashamed to say I am not well-versed enough in this topic. I don't even remember it all— he must have the full memories. Perhaps his is the part of the soul capable of— but it's silly to judge a piece of myself."
"I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought that if anyone knew, it would be you." She rubbed her forehead. "I'm getting a bit of a headache."
"I think it's time for you to go now."
"No!" She bolted up from her seat. "Wait."