Chapter Text
The beautiful cover art by: Dara
Death Eaters had them surrounded.
It was a trap. Of course, it was a trap. How had Hermione not realized this? Hadn’t Harry’s ‘visions’ been unreliable? It was to be expected that You-Know-Who would use it against him. Showing him a vision of Sirius being attacked in the Department of Mysteries was the perfect way to draw him out. They had all fallen for it. There were a dozen figures pointing wands at them—wearing Death Eater robes and blocking their exits.
“Give it to me, Potter,” Lucius Malfoy said, using the same characteristic drawl as Draco. He held his hand out like Harry might plop the prophecy in his cold, pale palm.
Hermione’s mind reeled. They needed a plan. She never worked well under this kind of pressure. It wasn’t her strong suit. She tried her best to gather her thoughts and focus. The derisive laughs of the Death Eaters echoed around them. The words all sounded muffled to her ears; she couldn’t make them out. Her heart thumped in her throat like she may choke on it.
“I want to know where Sirius is!” said a high-pitched mocking voice of a female Death Eater. The woman cackled with glee as she watched their dire situation, seeming to gain joy from it. It was disgusting The Death Eaters closed in around them. Was there any chance they could survive this?
Hermione’s fingers stroked at her wand. It at least gave her some comfort to touch the vine wood. This wand would protect her. It always had,
“Don’t do anything,” Harry muttered. Her eyes flicked over at him, “Not yet…” She stood behind him. How could he have known? Then she noticed his gaze darting to Ron. Harry wasn’t speaking to her.
The woman released a chilling scream of laughter that sent shivers down Hermione’s spine. “You hear him? You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!”
How could Harry maintain a level head during these moments? Hermione couldn’t. Her body froze. Mind stilled. For all her intelligence, nothing could’ve prepared her for this.
Malfoy spoke to the woman again—named her Bellatrix. He whispered, threatening. Harry continued to ask where Sirius was. The Death Eaters found this funny with Bellatrix laughing loudest of them all. The woman was insane.
Hadn’t Harry figured it out? Sirius wasn’t here. This was part of You-Know-Who’s elaborate plan. They played right into the palm of his hand.
“It’s time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter,” said Lucius Malfoy with so much haughty arrogance that Hermione’s fist tightened around her wand. “Now give me the prophecy or we start using wands.”
“Go on, then.” Harry aimed his wand. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, and Ginny followed suit. They stood united against a dozen fully grown wizards. Dark wizards who would aim to kill.
“Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt,” Malfoy said. There was no way that was true. Utter load of rubbish.
Harry echoed her thoughts aloud. “Yeah, right! I give you this—prophecy, is it? And you’ll just let us skip off home, will you?”
“Accio proph—”
“Protego!” Harry said, ready for Bellatrix’s spell. Hermione admired his quick action. She tried to keep her wand arm from trembling.
The woman stepped forward and lowered her hood. Bellatrix Lestrange’s features were visible now. Her face appeared shallow and skeletal from lost years in Azkaban, but she glowed with excitement. “You need more persuasion? Very well — take the smallest one, let him watch while we torture the little girl,” she ordered the other Death Eaters. “I’ll do it.”
Everyone stepped back to close around Ginny. “You’ll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us”. Hermione listened to Ginny’s rhythmic panting. Harry asked the insane woman more questions about the prophecy. What it was. He spoke You-Know-Who’s name, causing outrage in the group of Death Eaters.
Then he goaded the crowd. “Did you know he’s a half-blood too?” Harry pressed. A moan of terror escaped Hermione as the woman’s eyes darkened with murderous fury. “Voldemort?” Hermione heard Ron’s startled inhale, but Harry didn’t notice, “Yeah, his mother was a witch, but his dad was a Muggle. Or has he been telling you lot he’s pure-blood?”
It was too much for Bellatrix Lestrange, “Stupef—”
“No!”
Malfoy punted away the red light shot from the witch’s wand, sending the spell flying into a shelf of glowing orbs. Several prophecies smashed to the ground behind Hermione. She jumped, but kept her hand steady on her wand. A jumble of ghostly wails reverberated through the room. Silver light reflected off the hoods of the Death Eaters in front of her.
Malfoy told the other Death Eaters to stand down. Bellatrix shouted in outrage while the droning voice of broken prophecies continued to hum. They faded into a distant silence.
“You haven’t told me what’s so special about this prophecy I’m supposed to be handing over,” Harry continued. Hermione wondered why it mattered. She had half a mind to smash the damn thing and be done with it.
“Do not play games with us, Potter,” Lucius hissed, clearly at the end of his patience.
Hermione felt Harry’s foot nudging hers before smashing down on her toes. She gasped, startled. “What?” She whispered.
“Dumbledore never told you the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?”
“I… what? What about my scar?”
“What?” Hermione asked, feeling frantic. Did he have a plan? She couldn’t tell. Was she supposed to do something?
“Can this be?” Malfoy said. The Death Eaters cackled under their cloaks. Bellatrix looked put out. Hermione studied Harry, searching for a sign of a plan. With the Death Eaters distracted, he mouthed to her ‘smash shelves—’
Smash shelves. Release the prophecies. Escape amongst the chaos it would cause. Hermione took the lead in spreading the message while Harry goaded their enemies further. Neville maintained a calm expression on his face. Luna had a faint smile playing on her lips.
Harry continued to buy them more time. He discovered the prophecy related to both him and You-Know-Who. Hermione wasn’t focusing too hard on what they were saying. She considered where she would aim her spell. Perhaps over the head of the Death Eater in front of her. The orbs would crash on their skulls and possibly knock them out… if she were lucky. Then she could run past them, down the row. Escape.
Having a plan calmed her. Made the ache in her stomach ease and the slight tremor in her wand hand let—
“NOW!” shouted Harry.
“REDUCTO!” all five of their voices sounded out in unison, releasing curses in five different directions, and exploding against five different shelves. The towers swayed precariously, and hundreds of spheres rained down and shattered on the floor. There was a tumultuous echoing of voices. Nobody could have discerned the words of any prophecy from another. Ghostly, vaporous figures rose in every direction—
“RUN!”
Hermione sprinted forward, covering her head with her arms as more glowing orbs rained off the shelves and crashed around them. She saw Ron and Ginny in front of her and followed them, hoping they knew the way. Someone grabbed her robes—
“Stupefy!” The hand released her.
“This way!” Hermione had no clue who spoke. She cast another Reducto curse over her shoulder at a barrage of Death Eaters coming towards them.
Curses of all colors flew past. One barely missed Hermione before crashing into the wall of prophecies.
“Stupefy!” Ginny and Ron said in unison, throwing a Death Eater backward and into a tower of glowing orbs causing the entire structure to collapse.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Hermione said, pointing her wand over her shoulder. She turned and ran, grabbing Ginny’s arm. She didn’t wait around to see if her spell hit its mark.
A green flash flew past them, missing Ron.
“They’re trying to kill us!” Ginny said, as Ron threw a spell behind him in retaliation.
“Reducto!” Hermione’s chest heaved. Her lungs burned as she tried to suck in air. Where were Harry, Luna, and Neville? Had they lost them?
They came upon the end of a row, an ominous black wood door in their sight. They had two choices: go through the door or fight their way through the Death Eaters.
Ron flipped around and started throwing spells, jinxes, and curses both at the Death Eaters and at the prophecy towers. One glance at Ginny was all it took for Hermione to decide.
Ginny tried giving the door a hard tug, finding it locked. “Alohomora!” There was a sure click. “Through here!” Hermione and Ron scrambled after Ginny, who slammed the door shut. A curse slipped past and hit Ron between the shoulder blades, causing him to lose his footing and fly forward.
“No!” He stumbled as both Hermione and Ginny tried to steady him, but he knocked them both off their feet and they all rose into the air. The room had no gravity; they floated away as soon as their feet left the ground. She grasped for Ron, trying to gain hold of his robes to see his face. Make sure he was even alive. He had an ear-splitting grin covering his face, his eyes were bright.
“Ha ha ha ha! I’m flying, Hermione! Look at me!” He started, laughing hysterically.
“Laughing curse!” Ginny said as she grabbed Ron’s robes to anchor them together.
Hermione ignored him and searched for the entrance in the darkness to lock it with a spell. She couldn’t find it. It was too late.
“Look at the little marbles!” He chuckled.
“He’s gone nutty!” Ginny looked worried as she gripped Ron’s robes tighter. Her red hair stood up in all directions.
Hermione’s eyes widened in shock, “We are… they are planets!”
“Hermione! I can see Uranus!” He found this particularly funny.
“We have to keep moving.” Hermione tried to kick her legs to control their direction of movement, but without floor or gravity, it was useless.
“I can do—ha ha ha—I can flip! Watch me flip!”
“Ron, shut up!” Ginny scowled.
A light appeared, and suddenly the door was visible. It burst open as four Death Eaters rushed in and jumped after them. They flew quickly towards the group, gaining on them as they floated helplessly in the dark. A curse flew by that missed Hermione by pure luck. They came within a few feet of a large blue planet about two feet in diameter. Ginny attempted to anchor her feet against the planet’s surface, but they had drifted too far.
One of the Death Eaters grabbed Ginny’s foot and squeezed. She squealed and tried to kick him off. “Ginny! Grab onto me and hold Ron!” Hermione said.
Hermione pointed her wand at the planet in front of her. “Reducto!” The planet exploded in the face of the Death Eater, causing him to lose his grip. They flew backwards with rocket force, riding the momentum of the explosion.
“Kill them! Potter isn’t here!”
Ron laughed maniacally as they sailed backward into space. “You blew up Pluto, Hermione!” he howled.
“Reducto!” Hermione said, ignoring Ron and trying her best to keep a grip on his robes with her other hand. If she lost her hold now, he would drift off and they would surely lose him.
She exploded random objects as they flew past them to maintain their speed. Space had to end eventually, right? There was only a limited amount of space that was mapped out. How long would they float like this?
These thoughts continued to run through Hermione’s mind when, without warning, they slammed into a wall. Ginny hissed in pain. Ron made a dramatic ‘oof’ noise. Hermione’s head knocked into Ron’s shoulder as they crashed to solid ground.
“Let’s go again!”
“No, Ron!” Hermione snatched him before he could launch himself back into space. Ginny hopped to her feet with a grimace of pain. “Are you okay?”
“My ankle…” she seethed, propping herself against the wall. She didn’t put any weight on her right foot.
“Ron, stop that! We need to get out of here!” Hermione said. Ginny tried walking but slid down the wall and clutched her ankle, gasping in pain.
“I’ll… I’ll bandage it... I’ll—” Hermione pointed her wand at Ginny’s injured ankle, “Ferula!” Bandages appeared and wrapped themselves around Ginny’s foot. Hermione let out a breath of relief when Ginny stood, appearing steadier.
“It hurts a little less,” Ginny said after a moment. She followed at a slowed pace.
“Ferula! What a funny spell! Fer—fer—ferula! It’s like fur!” Ron was clearly oblivious to what was happening.
“Come on!” Hermione said, tugging him along the wall until they came to a door. She hoped it would lead them back to the entrance. All three of them fell out and Hermione slammed it shut.
“Ron!” Harry called, running towards them. “Ginny! Are you all—?”
“Harry!” said Ron as he lurched forward and grabbed the front of Harry’s robes with a weak giggle, “There you are... ha ha ha—you look funny, Harry... you’re all messed up...” Hermione was relieved to see them. Neville walked behind him, dragging Luna’s unconscious body.
“What happened?” Harry asked as Ginny followed Ron at a limp and pulled him off Harry. Hermione, in a breathy voice, filled Harry in on the planet room, Ginny’s ankle, and Ron’s curse. She eyed Luna with concern.
“She’s alive.” Harry nodded to Luna. Neville adjusted his grip on her. Blood dripped from his nose, clearly broken.
“We have to get out of here,” Harry said, grasping Ron’s arm and pulling it over his shoulder to support him with the prophecy still gripped tightly in his other hand. Ron’s legs seemed to lose the ability to function. Harry started towards one of the twelve doors around them, with Neville and Hermione holding Luna and Ginny on an unsteady ankle. Hermione hoped Harry knew what he was doing. All the doors looked the same.
A door to their left burst open and Bellatrix Lestrange appeared, followed by two other hooded Death Eaters. “There they are!” Hermione acted on instinct. She threw a stunning spell toward the three Death Eaters as they picked up their pace towards the targeted door. Harry flung it open and pushed Ron ahead of him, with Neville and Hermione clutching the unconscious form of Luna behind him. Ginny hobbled in last, red-faced, and strained.
“Colloportus!” Hermione said as soon as she could slam the door shut. It was just in time. The wood shook as three bodies slam into the door on the other side.
“It doesn’t matter!” one of the Death Eaters said, “There are other ways in. We’ve got them! They’re here!” Hermione glanced around the new room. It almost looked like a mad scientist’s lab. There were brains with weird tentacles suspended in a tank of green slime. The tank had an iridescent glow that gave the room an ominous feeling.
Sure enough, there were doors around the edges. As if commanded, everyone split and to charm the doors locked. Eerie footsteps outside the room made Hermione’s heart skip a beat, and sometimes someone would ram into the door, causing the wood to creak and shudder. Hermione tripped over a table in her rush but pushed forward.
“Collo—aaaaargh!” Ginny cried. She wasn’t able to reach her target in time. She flew back and landed in a heap beside Luna’s unconscious body.
The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange resounded through the room as Hermione sprinted to Harry, dodging spells flying past her. Hermione aimed a spell towards Bellatrix Lestrange, then the Death Eater behind her, missing.
“Hey!” said Ron, who chased after Harry, giggling “Hey, Harry, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn’t that weird, Harry?”
“Ron stop!” Hermione said, following Harry. She hoped Luna and Ginny would be okay where they left them. It wasn’t them they were after; they were after Harry. They wanted the prophecy still clutched in his hand.
“Honestly, Hermione, they’re brains—look—Accio brain!”
All action in the room stopped. Everyone froze in place and stared in the direction Ron’s wand pointed. Even the Death Eaters paused in their pursuit. Neville’s eyes widened in horror. A brain burst from the tank and remained suspended for a moment while green slime dripped down its cortex. Then, it jolted towards Ron with little tentacles waving around.
“Look at it—ha ha ha” he pointed, disoriented, as he chuckled at the flailing brain.
Hermione was the first to react, squealing in terror, “Ron, don’t!”
“Harry, come and touch it! Bet it’s weird—”
“Ron!”
It was too late, Ron had already caught the brain in his outstretched hand and the tentacles latched themselves to him, wrapping around him like bindings of a rope, constricting his chest, arms, and legs.
“Diffindo!” yelled Harry. It was hopeless. Ron collapsed to the ground. Hermione dropped to catch him, just barely missing a flash of red light that plummeted straight towards her.
“Stupefy!” Neville said, his broken nose hindering his speech. He tried again and again, but each of his spells missed. One of the Death Eaters shot a spell at him and narrowly avoided it by inches. Five Death Eaters closed around Harry, Hermione, and Neville.
Suddenly, Harry took off running to the only open door. The door the Death Eaters had entered through, displaying the prophecy they longed for high above his head. He was drawing them away. It worked too. All the Death Eaters sprinted after him.
“Harry, no! Neville, stay with Ron!” Hermione turned to follow closely behind Harry. The Death Eaters were on their heels. Harry and Hermione rushed into the new area. As they entered, Harry tripped and tumbled down a stone stairway. Hermione clambered after him, helping him to his feet, his legs trembling. Somehow, the prophecy remained intact in his hand.
The new room had a large stone archway that stood atop a dais in the center. The arch had a tattered black curtain billowing in an invisible breeze. An ominous aura leaked from the inky-black depths. Almost foreboding. Death Eaters burst through the other doors, running towards them. Hermione and Harry backed up until the backs of their legs hit the dais. They both climbed on it in their retreat.
“Potter, your race is run,” It was Lucius Malfoy, pulling off his mask, “now hand me the prophecy like a good boy.” Hermione panted, unable to form words. There was a tangy taste of blood on her lips.
“Let the others go and I’ll give it to you,” Harry said. Some Death Eaters found this funny.
Hermione’s heart raced in her chest, her mouth felt dry. She tried to wet her lips, but her tongue was too parched to provide relief.
“You are not in a position to bargain, Potter. We have both of you cornered and outnumbered—”
“They’ve still god be!” a voice said from the stone landing.
“Neville no!” Hermione and Harry yelled together. Neville scrambled down the stairs towards them, his wand held in his trembling hand.
“Neville, go back to Ron and—”
“Stupefy!” a flash of red light flew from the tip. “Stupefy, Stupefy!” he continued, pointing at each Death Eater.
The Death Eaters took a moment to realize they were under attack. Chaos ensued. One of the other unmasked Death Eaters, Dolohov, raised his wand to Neville “Avad—”
“Silencio!” Hermione cried, using the first spell that came to mind. His voice went out, killing the curse that was forming on his lips. A large Death Eater snuck behind Neville and wrapped their arms around him, pinning him in place. Hermione barely had time to register this when Dolohov, furious, turned towards her and slashed his wand through the air. A purple spell flew at her. She tried to dodge, but the spell hit her side and she lost her footing. She stumbled backward.
“Oh...” She couldn’t manage any other words.
“Hermione!” There was a suffocating sensation. Her legs gave out. There was pain. She could feel the tattered curtains brush across her skin before her world went dark.
A chapter by chapter playlist. One song per chapter. Ongoing and updated with every post
Notes:
Chapter 1 Song: This Is War: Thirty Seconds To Mars. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Thanks for boarding this crazy rollercoaster with me! But believe me when I say, our train hasn’t started moving yet! We have a long ride ahead ❤️🖤❤️🖤
XOXO - Tipp
Update: Chapter edited March 15, 2025
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Chapter 2: 2: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Was she alive? What happened? The pain… So much agony. Was there suffering in death? Darkness surrounded her. She saw nothing.
Hermione stared up at a plain white ceiling. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by distant footsteps echoing down what must be a corridor. Something shuffled near her. A muffled voice spoke words she couldn’t comprehend. Her body refused to respond to her desperate command to turn her head.
Somebody screamed. A shrill, high-pitched shriek that vibrated the walls. It reverberated in her head. As the stifled sensation over her ears lifted, the wail grew louder and more piercing.
She was screaming.
White-hot agony consumed her entire being, causing her to let out another blood-curdling howl. The sound echoed off the walls, bouncing back to her eardrums, as if mocking her pain. Her body shook. Every nerve ending burned as a fire ignited within her soul. Her world narrowed until only the consuming pain remained.
Make it stop. Please. She couldn’t go on. She couldn’t do this.
A face appeared in front of her. She didn’t recognize them. They held a wand up. Hermione sobbed.
Somebody stop the fire!
She struggled to form words. Why couldn’t they see the flames devouring her from within? Why weren’t they extinguishing it?
A light blinded her vision, and everything went black.
***
Hermione bolted upright so suddenly the woman in the chair beside her nearly toppled from her seat. Her lungs burned as if she’d been running for hours. She winced at a throbbing pain in her left hip. Her muscles ached with a peculiar heaviness.
Also confused… Where was she? She and Harry were on the dais when the curse hit her. Did she fall through the veil? It doesn’t seem possible. She would be dead if she had.
“You woke up! Mum, she’s awake!”
Hermione took in her surroundings. She lay in a bed with pristine white sheets. The end table beside her had a row of potion bottles of various shapes and sizes. A girl, perhaps nine or ten, bounced up and down beside the bed, while the middle-aged witch folded up a newspaper and set it in her lap before shooting the child a disapproving glare.
“Bridget! Calm down, you are scaring her! And you’re disturbing the other patients!” The woman lectured the child with a haughty tone that reminded Hermione distinctly of Mrs. Weasley. Hermione didn’t recognize either of them. The girl had wavy blond hair and bright green eyes with a smudge of dirt on her left cheek. She wore a wrinkled knee-length blue dress with white tights and loafers. The clothing looked old-fashioned.
A man occupied another bed in the room. He stared expressionlessly at the ceiling, unmoving. Hermione watched, waiting for signs of life. He didn’t even blink. He almost looked… Petrified.
“Mum, we should call for the Healer! Right?” Bridget asked, vibrating with excitement.
“Yes, you do that. Go on, go.” Following orders, the girl took off at a near run. “Shut the door behind you!”
Hermione’s brain attempted to organize recent events. She tried to piece together how she got here. “Wh—” her voice croaked. She choked and coughed, her tongue feeling like parchment against her dry lips.
“Here dear, drink something. It will help,” the woman said. She withdrew her wand, and with a couple spells, handed Hermione a glass of water. She shared Bridget’s blonde hair, but she styled it in an elegant twist. A smattering of freckles played across her cheeks and nose.
Hermione took the cup gratefully. “Where am I?” she managed. Her voice sounded rusty, unused. As though she hadn’t spoken in weeks rather than hours. How long had she been here?
“St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. What’s your name, dear? I didn’t have time—”
“I can’t stay here! I have to go back!” Hermione swung her legs off the bed. She needed to return to the Ministry of Magic! Perhaps Hogwarts, but not here! She had to find Harry, Ron, or Neville! Was Luna alive? Did Ginny make it out with her injured ankle?
“You can’t go!” the woman gasped. Hermione moved too quickly. She almost tumbled off the bed to the floor. A searing pain shot through her side, transforming from a dull throb to a band of fire that encircled her torso. The woman guided her onto the mattress. “You’re hurt! Still injured. You can’t leave yet!”
“My friends, are they okay?” Hermione struggled against the woman’s restraining arms, but her limbs were too weak to break through. “What happened at the Ministry?”
“The Ministry, dear?”
“Harry Potter, you know Harry Potter?!”
“Can’t say I know that name. Please stop squirming, you’re causing a scene!” Apart from the Petrified patient, there wasn’t a soul around to witness this encounter. Regardless, Hermione conceded and slumped back into her pillows.
Didn’t know Harry Potter? Who in the wizarding world didn’t know the name Harry Potter? She was about to question the woman when Bridget entered looking pleased with herself. “The Healer said he would be right in,” she practically sang. She must be Bridget’s mother. They had the same blond hair, straight noses, and green eyes. They even had the same full lips.
“Thank you, Bridget.”
“W—what happened?” Hermione asked. She cleared her throat a few times to ease the discomfort. The burning in her side subsided leaving her with the less awful, but still dreadful, stabbing sensation.
“You collapsed,” Bridget said with inappropriate enthusiasm. “Patrick thought you were dead. He said you died in the Leaky Cauldron and said you would come back and haunt my bedroom after we buried you, but I told him—”
“Bridget, please sit down,” the girl’s mother once again produced her wand and conjured a chair next to hers that the girl sat in with an irritable huff. “I’m Gabriella. What is your name, dear?” The woman asked. Hermione attempted to smile, but her face felt stiff. It probably appeared more like a pained grimace than the grateful expression she intended.
“Hermione.”
“Yes, Hermione, you came into the Leaky Cauldron about two days ago very disoriented and clearly injured before collapsing. The Healers believe you were struck by particularly dark magic.”
The Leaky Cauldron? How had she ended up there? She was in the Department of Mysteries.
“Was I alone?”
“Yes, you didn’t give us much information before you fell unconscious. We immediately brought you here. Bridget and I have been spending the days with you. My son will probably be by later today.” The woman smiled at her.
Where were Harry and Ron? Where were Neville, Ginny, and Luna? Did they escape the Ministry alive? Were they hurt? Did they end up here too?
“You’re awake!” A booming voice interrupted her thoughts. A hefty man with a gray beard and balding head barged into the room. “I’m Healer Albert Spleen!” He spoke so loud Hermione wondered if even the Petrified man could hear him. “Now that you’re up, you should start on those potions. Go in order, there are seven of them, drink them all now.”
He hurried around the bed toward the potions, his substantial posterior unceremoniously bumping Gabriella and Bridget aside. Despite his rotund belly, the man was surprisingly agile. He uncorked the first bottle and thrusted it into Hermione’s hands.
Hermione sighed as she stared at the small bottle with a thin stem and round base. In her experience, it was best to consume them quickly to avoid tasting them. It didn’t stop the unpleasant acidic sensation of the goo sliding down her throat. She heaved as she lowered the half empty bottle, but Healer Spleen appeared uninclined to allow her any breaks. He seized the vial from her hand and forced it to her lips, tilting it so the liquid had nowhere else to go but down the pipe to her stomach.
She coughed and spluttered, eyes watering. Gabriella said something to the Healer that Hermione couldn’t discern over her own choking. He responded before rounding on Hermione.
“There you go. This next.” Before she could prepare herself, he was already pouring another potion into her mouth. This one tasted of ginger mixed with soil. “This will alleviate pain from dark magic exposure. And now this.” Without allowing her a moment to recover, he thrust a purple bottle toward her face, his booming voice reverberating painfully in her skull. Her body pulsed with renewed discomfort. An odd tingling sensation spread across her side, not painful, but unpleasant.
“This brew is good for the cleansing of dark magic, a specialty of mine. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to identify the curse that hit you, but we have an idea. Now, now, don’t stop drinking, take it all. I realize it doesn’t taste good. Haven’t figured out a way to improve the flavor. Splendid! This next, let’s get this done!”
When he attempted to tip the contents of a square flask down her throat, Hermione snatched it from his hands with a scowl. “I appreciate the help, but I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.” Rude man. She decided she didn’t care for Healer Spleen, despite his good intentions. His bedside manner left much to be desired.
“Right,” he looked quite put out by her sudden temper but recovered quickly, “this one should assist with that numb, burning feeling you get from the dark magic, another special formulation. Exceptionally effective.”
They continued on with a little more cordiality while Gabriella and Bridget observed. Bridget offered a running commentary about the various concoctions and the pretty shapes of the bottles, while Gabriella remained silent. Hermione drank a potion that she later identified as a Strengthening Solution, then he handed her a potion for detoxification, though the Healer Spleen didn’t clarify what he meant by that when she had asked. They concluded with the ever-classic Pepperup Potion. Unfortunately, the side effect of this was steam billowing from the ears which Hermione had to endure throughout the rest of Albert Spleen’s exam, much to Bridget’s amusement.
Healer Spleen lifted the edge of her hospital gown, uncovering an ugly, spider-web-like purple scar that spread outward from the central spot on her hip. Some areas had a decayed, almost black appearance. The raised rays of the scar streaked towards her belly button and ribs with more going around to her back.
Bridget gawked. Gabriella hissed at her to compose herself, but the girl either didn’t hear her or she ignored her mother.
“With the prescribed potions, the spreading should cease,” the Healer said, his voice lowered.
“Cease spreading?” Hermione echoed in alarm. “Will it not heal completely?”
“Afraid not. Curse scars are tricky things,” Healer Spleen said. Hermione frowned, thinking about Harry’s scar prominently displayed on his forehead. At least her injury would be easily concealed beneath clothing. What had she expected? War was on the horizon. She would be fortunate to emerge with merely this single scar. Yet the war hadn’t officially begun, and already she bore its permanent mark.
“What about the pain?” she asked. He conjured up a jar and unscrewed a lid to reveal a balm. It smelled like Murtlap Essence, which Hermione frequently used on Harry’s cuts he got from detention with Umbridge. He dabbed the mixture over the edges of the scar. Hermione hissed at the initial sting before an odd itch settled in.
“Does it hurt really bad?” Bridget asked, leaning over the bedside to observe.
“Sometimes,” Hermione said, hoping to wipe the worried expression from Bridget’s brow.
“I cannot predict the long-term prognosis with certainty,” Healer Spleen admitted, replacing the lid on the ointment jar and setting it on her bedside table. A pleasant numbness spread across the affected area. When she glanced down, the scar appeared less inflamed, and the blackened areas had developed a protective purple film.
Gabriella spoke first. “What do you mean, ‘you don’t know?’”
“Without identifying the specific curse that caused this injury, our treatment options remain limited. Do you recall the incantation used?” The Healer turned to Hermione. She recalled the purple light emanating from Dolohov‘s wand, but there were no words. She silenced him moments before his attack.
Hermione shook her head, causing the man’s frown to deepen.
“Without knowing, we unfortunately can only treat at a basic level; the pain may return. We will keep you supplied with this potion to numb the effects of the dark magic, and you can apply the salve as often as you need.” He held up the second bottle and passed it to her. The one that tasted like ginger and dirt. She grimaced. “You should stay another night, but we’ll make sure you have a good amount before you go.” With that, he turned to leave.
“Wait!” Hermione shouted after him. “What about my friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter?” she asked. “They may have been admitted as well...” the man began shaking his head before she finished her question.
“We cannot disclose who may or may not be in the hospital but between you and me, I know of no one by those names,” he watched her expression critically as she looked at him in shock, “The only Potters I’m familiar with are Fleamont and Euphema Potter,” he added. “Though I don’t believe they have any children. Charming chap. Invented the Sleekeazy Hair Potion a few years ago. Remarkable stuff.”
“You don’t have any hair,” Bridget chuckled.
“Yes, well, all the same.” He departed, the door clicking shut behind him.
Hermione sank into her pillows. Fleamont and Euphema? The names sounded familiar.... and Sleekeazy Hair Potion, Hermione used it last year for the Yule Ball. The stuff had been around for ages. Plus, nobody seemed to know who Harry Potter was.
“Do you have any family that we should contact, Hermione?” Gabriella asked. She opened the paper again. Hermione’s eyes glazed over as she gathered her thoughts.
Fleamont and Euphema Potter.... Those names. Where had she heard those names?
“I…” her words trailed off. Her parents... why had nobody told them she was here? Why was it this stranger sitting at her bedside?
“Gabriella, can I see the paper?” Gabriella looked surprised by the sudden change in conversation, but folded up the Daily Prophet and passed it over without comment. Bridget busied herself examining the now empty potion bottles and sniffed the contents, making various faces of disgust.
Hermione expected to find coverage of the Ministry battle on the front page. She would settle for a disparaging article about her romantic escapades at Hogwarts. Perhaps a scandalous statement against Harry. The prophet never tired of those.
Instead, bold letters proclaimed, ‘ MINISTRY WILL NOT INVOLVE ITSELF IN MUGGLE WAR!’
A picture of a destroyed building accompanied it captioned, ‘ Remnants of the destruction of Muggle London.’
Hermione read on.
‘For almost three years now, the Muggles have been at war with each other, with their conflicts spreading across continents and involving nearly the entire world. The war is so widespread that it has caused death and destruction throughout the Muggle world. Even wizards have not escaped the crossfires of the war.
‘There has been an ongoing discussion on whether the magical community should be involved in their strife.
‘“Absolutely not,” said Septimus Malfoy, a prominent member of the Wizengamot, “If the Muggles want to destroy their own cities and kill each other, then we should let them; it has nothing to do with us.”
‘Many people believe that involvement in the war would violate the Statute of Secrecy, signed in 1689. Others are decidedly against this view, “While we are not directly involved in the war, the cities we live in are being destroyed,” says Donaghan Elwin, member of the department of magical law enforcement, “some of us are Muggle-born and have family affected by the war; the magical world can’t turn a blind eye to this.”
‘The Wizengamot met this past evening to discuss the ongoing war and the ramifications it could have. While this reporter was not present in the meeting, it would appear the debate was heated, as a few members appeared to have been hexed during the meeting. Darlonius Hedgens could not stop tap dancing long enough to get to the flu network to return home. Marble McNally strolled through Diagon Alley later that evening with bats flying out of her nostrils (see picture on page 6).
‘The ultimate decision was that the wizarding world would not involve itself in the affairs of the Muggle war. “Involving ourselves in the Muggle war is strictly against the Statute of Secrecy,” said Minister of Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon, who allowed the Daily Prophet to get an exclusive interview (see page 10), “If we want to keep our independence and anonymity, we must remain separate from the international war of the Muggles.”
‘He concluded this statement with an announcement that should any wizard take part in the war; they must do so without the use of magic or risk up to twenty years in Azkaban (continued on page 6).’
When Hermione finished reading the article, her face was heated. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. Her eyes darted to the top of the newspaper.
The year… June 17, 194
A wave of nausea crashed over Hermione. Her world spun.
She was actually going to be sick.
The contents of her empty stomach splashed into a bucket that Gabriella conjured with impressive reflexes, but the physical purging did nothing to ease Hermione’s horror.
She had gone back in time!
She had fallen through the veil. It wasn’t a dream. Instead of crossing into the afterlife, she’d catapulted into the past.
“Are you okay, Hermione?” Bridget asked as Gabriella held the bucket for Hermione to finish her heaving.
“I’m…” she hesitated, incapable of articulating the vast chasm that had just opened beneath her. She was not okay. Nothing was okay. She felt like her world was collapsing. “I’m fine.”
“Not very convincing, dear, but a nice effort all the same.” Hermione attempted a smile but succeeded only in triggering another bout of retching.
“Do you have any family around that may be worried about you? You should probably write to them.”
“Uh…” Her mind raced through possibilities, settling on the simplest explanation. “My parents are dead.”
“I see...” Hermione stared down at her fumbling fingers. For once, Bridget had no comment. She hopped back in her chair and sat quietly. “Well... do you have any other relatives we might contact?” Gabriella tried.
“No,” Hermione whispered. “It’s just me,”
The full weight of those words crashed down upon her. She felt it in the gut of her empty stomach. A sob escaped her throat, followed by another. Gabriella moved to sit on the edge of Hermione’s bed and let her cry into her shoulder. Her parents weren’t here. Harry and Ron weren’t alive. Everyone. There was nobody she could turn to. Loneliness overwhelmed her. She lost everything.
Fifty-four years in the past. What was she supposed to do now? She sobbed, choking on her tears, and not bothering to wipe them away.
“It will be okay, dear...” Gabriella murmured. She comforted Hermione with a hand only a mother could wield, rubbing her back and saying soothing words. Bridget procured a box of tissues, which Hermione accepted.
“You can stay with us, Hermione!” Bridget said with a squeal. She jumped and clapped her hands with renewed excitement.
“Bridget, contain yourself!”
“I—I...” Hermione sniffed. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Nonsense, we have plenty of room in the Leaky Cauldron!” Gabriella said, keeping one eye on her daughter.
Fresh tears spilled down Hermione’s cheeks. She couldn’t speak, but once the initial shock subsided, she was determined to accept their gracious offer.
***
Hermione woke with a violent start. The familiar ache in her side had dulled to a manageable throb, but it wasn’t pain that had jolted her from sleep. Someone screamed. It was the sound of raw, human suffering.
The Petrified man was no longer Petrified. His back arched, face contorted in a horrifying mix of fear and agony. A shadow rushed past her bed and leaned over the writhing patient.
Hermione pushed herself upright. The Healer’s wand illuminated a witch with pulled-back hair leaning over the man. He couldn’t interact with her as she spoke to him. His cries continued into the abyss, making shivers run down Hermione’s spine. It was bloodcurdling. It filled her with unease.
Another Healer entered. “Adelaide, get his potion, quick!” The addressed witch departed. The remaining Healer illuminated the room with a wave of her wand.
In the harsh light, Hermione could see the middle-aged wizard. His face was crimson with anguish with sweat dripping off his brow. His spine twisted while his limbs contorted. His ice-blue eyes were wide open. It was a horrifying sight. A male Healer entered with the woman named Adelaide to assist them.
Hermione watched for two hours as three Healers tended to the man. She wished they would place her in another room, someplace less... disturbing.
The man was dying…. killing him from the inside. His screams grew hoarse. The Healers struggled to administer potions to him, particularly when violent retching overtook him. They switched to casting healing spells to ease his suffering enough that he might swallow potions again, but it didn’t help.
This would be one of those times Muggle medicine may have come in handy. Though her knowledge of medicine was limited, she wondered about the efficacy of intravenous potion administration. Especially since this man couldn’t take anything by mouth.
The screaming died down as the patient’s life ebbed away. The tension in his body increased. A strangled, choking sound filled the room as his eyes bulged and his complexion transformed to an inhuman shade. Hermione knew she should avert her gaze. She shouldn’t bear witness to this man’s final moments, yet she couldn’t avert her gaze.
Over the next two minutes, the horrible noise stopped. The unnatural stiffness drained from his body, leaving behind an empty vessel.
Sleep eluded Hermione that night. Near four in the morning, she requested a Dreamless Sleep Potion to combat the tension in her own muscles. It was a potion seldomly prescribed because of its addictive nature, but Adelaide retrieved a small dose for her without objection. Her expression was full of sympathy when she handed over the bottle.
They discharged her the next day, and she couldn’t have been more relieved to leave. The atmosphere remained tainted after witnessing such a tragedy. As promised, Healer Spleen provided her with ample potion and instructed her to write him directly should she ever run low on her supply. Gabriella listened attentively to the Healer’s instructions like a doting mother. She smiled at Hermione as she helped her carry what meager belongings she had.
“We’ll figure this out, Hermione,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet determination that penetrated Hermione’s fog of uncertainty. “One day at a time.”
As they stepped from St. Mungo’s into the London street beyond, Hermione felt the first stirrings of something unexpected. Not hope. Not yet. But perhaps its distant predecessor: Resilience.
Notes:
Chapter 2 Song: Far From Home (The Raven): Sam Tinnesz. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Hey guys! This is future me (I just posted chapter 43 today) coming back and writing this! I did a lot of research writing this fic and decided to share some of it! Throughout the book I'll be posting these "history through photography" snips! Hope you enjoy, obviously you can also skip them! They are going to be concentrated in areas that take place in "Muggle" settings.
Update: Chapter edited March 16, 2025
History Through Photography:
The London Blitz
Of course I read about the London blitz (or "the blitz" as the bombings did not exclusively take place in London but also in other major cities across Britain) (left) bomb damage scene in East Ham, East London. (right) Boy collecting wood from a bombed home to sell as firewood. The blitz is actually considered to be from September 1940 - May 1941 (so Hermione wouldn't have been present during the actual blitz). It is estimated that 20,000 bombs were dropped on London, roughly 160/night (I was shocked when I read that number!)
Carried out by the German Luftwaffe, they aimed to destroy Britain's infrastructure, industrial centers, and morale. In the end, despite the destruction and loss of life, the British people demonstrated remarkable resilience and solidarity. The Royal Air Force also played a critical role engaging in fierce aerial battles during what became known as the Battle of Britain. From what I found, the Luftwaffe's failure to gain air superiority over Britain is considered a marked turning point in the war, as it prevented a German invasion and ultimately contributed to the Allies' victory.
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter Text
Hermione’s job at the Leaky Cauldron gave her a semblance of normality. She developed a routine that anchored her in this unfamiliar time. Her bedroom, more an oversized closet than proper living quarters, contained a small bed that creaked with every movement and a weathered dresser with a cracked mirror. The attached bathroom held a simple toilet and washtub. The room felt strangely damp, with a faint, lingering smell of cheese. When Gabriella had shown her the room, apologizing for the less-than-optimal living arrangements and the four flights of spiraling, uneven stairs to get there, Hermione thanked her. She offered Hermione access to the attic to store any additional items. As Hermione owned nothing, she declined.
They came to an agreement for her wages, five Sickles an hour plus room and board. While it wasn’t a lot, it also meant she wouldn’t have living expenses, allowing her to save money.
The absence of her wand was a constant, gnawing ache. Gabriella said she didn’t have one on her when she collapsed in the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had to assume she lost it while falling through the Veil. Without it, she felt naked, vulnerable, as if a vital limb had been severed. A piece of her very soul… missing. She prioritized replacing her wand so she could figure out how she would get back to her own time. If that was even possible.
Hermione refused to wallow in self-pity, she insisted on starting work right away. Gabriella introduced her to Edgar, an old man who worked behind the bar. His clothes hung off his thin frame and he had a massive gray beard that rivaled Hagrid. His eyes, wise with age, watched her beneath bushy brows. He started when Gabriella’s father ran the place.
She met Patrick, Gabriella’s son, who was starting his first year at Hogwarts. He was a nice enough boy, though shy. His short hair appeared a shade between blonde and brown, contrary to his sibling’s gleaming gold locks that caught like a polished Galleon. His eyes were the same striking green as his mother’s. Emerald that flashed with intelligence and reminded Hermione of Harry. He had a similar slim build to her lost friend, almost scrawny, all elbows and knees.
Bridget developed a habit of following Hermione around the pub, talking her ear off in a stream of breathless enthusiasm about how she couldn’t wait to go to Hogwarts. She asked Hermione to braid her hair every morning and insisted on her opinion on her outfit. The child may be overbearing, but Hermione grew fond of her. She thought about looking her up when… if she returned to her own time.
“Hermione, look, I got my letter!” Bridget rushed towards Hermione as she made her way down the stairs one morning in early July.
“That’s my letter!” Patrick cried, chasing after Bridget. Bridget made a yipping sound as she tripped over a chair. It didn’t slow down her pace.
“No, it isn’t!”
“Yes, it is! It has my name on it! See! It says Patrick!”
“It’s my letter!”
“No!”
“The owl gave it to me!” Bridget stopped next to Hermione, her eyes filling with frustrated tears.
“Bridget! Give Patrick his letter back!” Gabriella said, entering the room, her face pinched into a scowl.
“No, Mum! It’s mine!” Bridget ducked behind Hermione’s skirts and clutched the letter to her chest.
“Bridget, you are too young to go to Hogwarts! We discussed this already!”
“It isn’t fair!” Bridget shouted, stamping her foot. “Why can’t I go!”
“Because you didn’t get a letter!” Patrick taunted.
“Why didn’t I get a letter?”
“Would you both stop it?! Bridget, you are too young. You will go next year!” Gabriella said.
“But I want to go to Hogwarts! Can’t I go?”
“No,” Gabriella grabbed her daughter and ripped the letter out of her hands, tossing it to Patrick, who scrambled to catch it. “And don’t think I didn’t see the mess you made in the kitchens this morning! What were you thinking!”
“It wasn’t me, Mum! Honest!”
“And lying about it!” Gabriella dragged Bridget off towards the kitchen, continuing her lecture. Patrick beamed at his letter as he opened the flap, revealing the parchment within. Hermione recognized the missive detailing his acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He turned to show her.
“Did you go to Hogwarts, Hermione?” Patrick asked.
Yes…
“No. My parents taught me from home.”
“Why?” He sat with Hermione at a table in the corner. They had twenty minutes before the pub opened. Patrick ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair as he flustered over the letter and the accompanying list of supplies.
“We moved around a lot,” she said. She anticipated people wondering about her origins—where she came from and how she learned magic. She kept the story vague, so it didn’t invite questions.
“Mum says her and dad were in Hufflepuff. Do you think I’ll be in Hufflepuff?” It was the first time Hermione heard Patrick mention his father. Edgar said he died a few years ago. Bridget refused to talk about him at all.
“Maybe...” Hermione scanned the book list, only recognizing about half the titles. Perhaps many of the books from her own school days weren’t published yet.
After the school letters had gone out, the Leaky Cauldron saw a dramatic spike in daily customers. Hermione worked more than before. It distracted her from her envy of Patrick, who was buying his school supplies. It kept her mind off how much she missed her friends. How much she wanted her parents. No matter how kind Gabriella was to her, there were some voids inside her nobody could fill. She needed to keep hold of herself enough to make sure the gaping hole didn’t expand and swallow her.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom sauntered down the streets of Muggle London, grimacing at the cobblestone in disdain. He hated summers, but they were more bearable now that he stayed in the abandoned orphanage.
His first summer back from Hogwarts had been a special kind of hell. He returned to a house bursting at the seams with more screaming children than Mrs. Cole could manage, their incessant wailing driving pinpricks of rage into his temples. He had to share a room with Morty, an eight-year-old pain-in-the-ass with runny nose and grabby hands that, prior to Hogwarts, Tom wouldn’t have hesitated to set in his place with an “accident.” Tom had kept count of the days until he would return to school.
The following year had been worse. When Tom had departed the train, he found Ms. Cole waiting for him. She had dragged him on another train that took them to the middle of nowhere. She had handed him a gas mask and informed him that they had closed the orphanage in London because some bloke in Germany wanted to bomb them.
Tom threw the mask away.
The first home had seven other brats, all sharing a small dingy room that stank of unwashed bodies. They expected him to pick berries in the wild and live off meager scraps of food. That didn’t last two weeks before the family demanded Tom go elsewhere, strange incidents and terrified children proving too much to bear.
The next house was a similar ratty hell, only with fresh faces and new torments to endure.
The old woman who lived in the third house tried to beat Tom with a belt when he refused to shovel pig shite. She never bothered him after that night. In fact, she never looked at him again, her eyes sliding past him as if he were invisible. For the rest of the summer, she walked on eggshells around Tom, insisting to anyone who would listen that he had something to do with the fire that disfigured half of her face.
As Tom said, sometimes accidents happen. Which is true, strictly speaking. What he failed to include was sometimes accidents weren’t always accidents.
When he left for Hogwarts on September 1st, he told Ms. Cole that he would make other arrangements for his summer. She looked relieved to be rid of him.
He had not seen the woman since.
Tom now lived in the abandoned orphanage he grew up in. He learned how to get around the statute of limitations for underage magic, his intellect, once again, proving superior to the Ministry’s pathetic safeguards. All he had to do was cast a Magic Detection Ward around the orphanage. The spell was complex but well within his capabilities. The only risk was the Ministry might’ve detected the initial spell. They didn’t. Their incompetence never ceased to amaze him.
He cast additional wards around the orphanage to keep out intruders and other homeless bums. Then passed his time practicing magic, learning curses, or doing whatever else he pleased, savoring the freedom of answering to no one. Food was never an issue since Tom had convinced some house-elves from Hogwarts to pop by with meals for him a few times a week. It wasn’t as good as being at school, where he was respected, feared, and admired, but it wasn’t bad either.
Last year, Tom heard significantly more sirens blaring in London. They were supposed to signal a bombing attack from that German wanker. Tom added a few extra barriers, shields, and wards to ensure one of those Muggle bombs wouldn’t blow him up in his sleep. Then he placed a Silencing Charm on the entire building to keep the sirens, explosions, and screaming out.
They were bothersome.
In the end, he spent most of his time wandering the streets of Diagon Alley, where magic thrummed in the very cobblestones. The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t close to the orphanage, but it beat spending the summer days in Muggle London with its bomb craters and haunted-eyed children clutching gas masks like teddy bears.
He didn’t belong here… this filthy, war-torn, disgusting London with its stench of fear and desperation. He was better than this. More than this. Destined for greatness that these scurrying insects couldn’t comprehend. Each day passed in the same dull-dreary way until he boarded the train again, each tick of the clock bringing him closer to the future that awaited him. A future where his name would inspire awe and terror.
He pulled out his school letter as he approached the pub and glanced through his new book list. He had coins weighing down his pocket from an allowance provided by Hogwarts and extra from a few first-year brats he stole from and Obliviated after.
A bell rang as Tom entered and took a seat at a secluded table near the edge of the room, where he could wait for Abraxas Malfoy and Norris Avery. He folded his arms and read the list of supplies again. He had enough Galleons for everything. If he pinched a bit, he could buy some new dress robes, something befitting his status as Hogwarts’ most brilliant student.
He glanced up in time to see the waitress approach his table. “Can I get you anything?” The girl was pretty, about his age, with fair skin and a delicate, heart-shaped face. She had a straight smile that didn’t quite reach her wary eyes and curly brown hair that she clipped back, though rebellious tendrils escaped to frame her face. A black apron was wrapped around her slim waist, with a dusty blue knee-length dress and black tights that hugged shapely legs.
“Butterbeer,” he said, his voice a silken purr. He gave her a charming lopsided grin that made the females at Hogwarts flock to him like cats in heat, their desperation both amusing and disgusting. Tom could seduce any female. He only needed to figure out which buttons she liked pressed, which weaknesses to exploit. He enjoyed making them blush, watching the color flood their cheeks as they imagined themselves special. Especially when he didn’t follow through with his suggestive, flirtatious comments and ditched them in the end, leaving them confused and heartbroken. Their pain was exquisite.
She nodded, but to his disappointment, didn’t blush. Her expression remained professional, guarded. Perhaps a different angle for this one then? Just as well. He enjoyed a challenge.
Her eyes flicked down at the letter in his hands and to the envelope. The smile plastered on her face drooped like a leaf wilting in the sun, color draining from her cheeks as if she’d seen a ghost. She scanned the envelope with an intensity that piqued Tom’s interest. What was the girl doing?
“Tom Riddle?” she whispered his name so softly he wouldn’t have known what she said if he hadn’t been watching her lips form the syllables.
He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. “Do I know you?” The question carried an edge beneath its casual veneer.
“No, sorry, I’ll grab you a Butterbeer!” Tom thought the words sounded a bit too merry, like she forced them through unwilling lips. She hurried away, her movements stiff.
He didn’t know her, right? He shrugged it off and returned to reading the book list while waiting for Abraxas and Norris. Sometimes, he peeked up and noticed her studying at him, but it wasn’t unusual for females to stare. He knew what they thought when they saw him. He had sweeping locks of dark, almost black, hair that fell across his forehead in an artful tumble, and deep brown eyes that glittered with intelligence and hidden depths, contrasting against pale skin like marble. Full lips met in a perfect cupid’s bow that he could curve into a smile that made hearts race, and his straight nose had a slight up tilt that he once heard called ‘cute’ by giggling female classmates. His attractiveness increased with age as his jaw became more angled, aristocratic, and his eyes had a deeper gleam of mystery to them. It helped that he was tall for his age, making him stand out in a crowd of his peers.
These were assets he wielded like weapons in his arsenal of manipulation. But the waitress wasn’t giving him lust-filled, leering glances the way other girls did. She wasn’t blushing and stammering for his attention. She looked more startled. Like she already feared him without knowing him. Like a prey sensing a predator in its midst. This would make sense if she were a Slytherin, someone who had witnessed his power firsthand, but she was a stranger. He would hate to find out that Slytherin’s had spread stories about him beyond Hogwarts’ walls. That would need to be quashed.
He refolded the letter and checked the time on a clock on the wall.
They had two minutes. They knew better than to be late. The penalty for such disrespect. His jaw tightened.
The female returned with his foaming tankard of butterbeer and smiled at him like he was any other customer in the pub. Whatever made her uneasy earlier passed, buried beneath a veneer of professionalism that was as transparent as glass to Tom’s perceptive gaze. He frowned as he watched her say her pleasantries and ask if he needed anything else, like she was reading off a script.
He shook his head.
“Tom, who is this lovely creature?” Abraxas Malfoy approached with seconds to spare. He ran his hand through his white-blonde hair, giving it a disheveled look that he insisted women found sexy. He raked his eyes over the waitress, stripping her with his gaze in a way that made her stiffen imperceptibly. “M’lady, I am Abraxas Malfoy,” he said with his characteristic drawl, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips in some sort of gentlemanly gesture. He looked up at her with his silver-gray eyes that Tom had seen make girls swoon.
She hesitated before answering him. “Hermione,” she sounded flustered. Really? Abraxas got her flustered? The guy was as dumb as a flobberworm. Not a lick of intelligence in that blond head, nothing but family gold and arrogance to recommend him.
“Any last name to go with that?” A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. Abraxas was too dense to notice, too busy preening and posturing.
“Granger.” The name fell from her lips like a challenge, chin lifting.
“Miss Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he gave her his most charming smile. She must have noticed his expensive dragon hide boots and the solid gold pocket watch. Abraxas Malfoy was dripping with money. He used it like a weapon.
Abraxas held her hand for a moment longer than acceptable before she pulled away. “What can I get for you, Mr. Malfoy?” she asked with an air of casual indifference.
“Please! Call me Abraxas. I would hate for us to remain formal.”
“Of course. What can I get for you?” She asked, not taking the bait.
Abraxas raised a blonde eyebrow at her and answered her question. When he sat, he angled his chair and watched her walk away with keen interest.
“She must not be from around here,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the Granger girl as she wove between tables.
“Why do you say that?” Tom asked, more interested than he cared to admit.
“Didn’t react to the Malfoy name.” His eyes narrowed on her. Tom knew that look; Abraxas was issuing a challenge. She wasn’t interested, and he would change that.
Tom was determined to stay out of this. To ignore her and leave them to whatever disgusting display of flirting Malfoy planned. He should not be thinking about why Hermione Granger had such an intense reaction to his name and how she avoided his gaze.
Granger returned with Abraxas’s mug and her business smile back on her face. Before she could set the glass down on the table, Abraxas reached out and took the glass from her hands, letting his fingers linger over hers.
“Could I entice you to join us?” Abraxas asked, his voice dripping with seduction. Norris better show up soon. Then they could leave, and Tom wouldn’t have to witness this disgusting mating dance that made his skin crawl.
“I’m working now,” she shrugged apologetically, not looking remotely sorry.
“No time in your busy schedule to take a few minutes to sit?” He reached out and stroked the pads of his fingers over her knuckles.
“Not now, I’m afraid,” she shifted out of his reach.
“How about tomorrow evening?” She looked surprised, her composure cracking to reveal genuine shock. Abraxas pouted up at her, begging for a scrap of attention from her.
When she pulled it together enough to wipe the surprise from her face, she made her expression one of careful neutrality. “Are you asking me on a date?” she asked.
“Was that unclear? Yes, I was asking you to go to dinner with me.”
“I’m working tomorrow evening,” she gave a pained, forced smile. He remained cordial with Granger until she walked away before looking offended.
“This one is playing hard to get,” he said. He took a long swig from his mug and slammed it down.
“Yes.”
Where was Norris?
“Perhaps a different angle?” he muttered before a smirk spread over his face. “If all she wants to do is work..." He wasn’t speaking to Tom anymore, lost in his own twisted fantasies. Tom frowned at Abraxas, who wasn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention. His eyes followed Granger as she moved from table to table.
“Malfoy.” It was all he needed to say. Abraxas faced him, putting his back to the pub.
“Right, where’s Norris?” Abraxas asked, his words sounding flustered as he tried to distract Tom from his growing irritation.
“Late.”
“Oh…” Abraxas looked nervous.
They talked as they finished their drinks, discussing summer assignments and the upcoming term, though neither of them engaged fully in the conversation. When the girl returned to clear their empty mugs, Abraxas stood and leaned in close to her, invading her space with deliberate intent.
“Why do you work here, Miss Granger?” He asked her in a smooth tone that made her blush. She tried to step back, but he had her hand caught against the table, the gesture appearing casual but effectively trapping her.
“It’s a job, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, sounding irritable.
“I think I asked you to call me Abraxas.”
“I would rather not if it’s all the same to you.”
“You could go out with me. You wouldn’t need this job, or any other job,” he said with a condescending sneer that revealed the ugliness beneath his polished exterior.
“I happen to like this job.” For the third time, she drew her hand away from Abraxas. Her expression had lost all trace of its friendly business flair. Her eyes spat daggers at Abraxas, bright with a fire that Tom found fascinating.
Norris arrived at that moment, walking in without a care in the world, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. He plopped next to Abraxas in a huff.
“Dad is in a shite mood,” he scowled, then noticed Granger standing there with an expression of frustration and seething anger. She tried to plaster on her friendly smile again, but it looked more like she had a horrible stomach ache. Abraxas frowned at the interruption. Norris was clueless, as always. “Hey, you work here? Get me a Butterbeer, would ya?” Hermione Granger huffed and gave the table a wide berth as she scurried away. She returned a minute later with another tankard of Butterbeer, which she set on the table without a word.
“You’re late,” was all Tom said, looking at his pocket watch showing twenty minutes after the hour. A deafening silence washed over the table.
“Yeah, dad held me up—”
“Is that why you’re twenty minutes late, Avery? Because daddy’s mad?” Tom was in no mood. He woke up this morning to a damn siren. He hadn’t been silencing the orphanage every night, growing complacent in the lull of attacks. The sirens hadn’t gone off all summer!
Then he walked an hour to sit here and watch Abraxas’s grotesque flirting with the strange girl. Norris being twenty minutes late was the end of Tom’s patience.
“I…” Norris looked terrified, which made Tom feel a little better. “I’m sorry.”
“You should know it’s not that easy to get my forgiveness; finish the drink and let’s go.” Norris scrambled to chug down his Butterbeer, sputtering at the end. Abraxas already had his large money bag out and was eye fucking the pretty brunette waitress as she approached. They all stood, and Abraxas gave her a smile that looked more sinister than flirtatious as he handed her the coins for their drinks. As she wrapped her palm around the money, Abraxas grabbed her wrist and dragged her closer.
“There is a lot more where that came from if you ever wanted to get a room upstairs,” he said in a would-be seductive drawl.
Before Tom had time to even blink, she pulled her fist back and slammed it right between his eyes. The blonde git howled. He heard the telltale crunch of a nose breaking, and gasps from surrounding spectators. Hermione Granger, the waitress at the Leaky Cauldron, had punched Abraxas Malfoy and broken his nose.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
For the second time in Hermione’s life, she hit a Malfoy. Sure, maybe they happened fifty years apart, but she figured being an irritating, inconsiderate, self-righteous maggot was in the genetic code of the Malfoys. It was for Draco and Lucius. Now that she was meeting Draco’s grandfather, Abraxas, she had to admit, she wasn’t any fonder of him than she was of his future offspring.
It took her a moment to realize what she had done. She punched Abraxas Malfoy while at work! No matter how well-deserved, she assaulted a customer and, by the looks of it, she broke his nose. Blood leaked between Malfoy’s fingers as he grabbed at his face.
“You bitch!” he hissed.
“I…” She was at a loss for words. She took a step back, her eyes locking with Tom Riddle, who appeared amused by the situation. Surprising, since he had looked so irritated before. He was getting enjoyment out of his friend’s nose being broken. Sadistic prick.
“You think you can punch a Malfoy and get away with it?” he stepped closer. She could see Edgar, the bartender, watching with keen interest. He wiped the tankard repeatedly as he debated if he should intervene. Some customers gawked at them, while others avoided looking their way.
Would Gabriella fire Hermione for this? She needed this job. It was all she had. She lived here. She was creating a life for herself, and all that started with her job and housing in the Leaky Cauldron.
“You will pay for this.” It was a promise. “I’ll see that you fucking pay.” Malfoy moved closer. Riddle watched her with a mildly impressed expression. His full lips curved into a grin.
Hermione thought about apologizing. It would have been a lie. She wasn’t sorry about punching Abraxas. She would have pulled out her wand and healed his broken nose. The spell was easy enough. Only problem was she hadn’t purchased a wand and wasn’t sure what the rules were, considering she never finished school.
“They will fire you from this pathetic job, you worthless slut!”
She did what the old Hermione would have done when she had Harry and Ron at her side. She straightened her spine, steeled her expression, “Back off, Malfoy, you started this, and I merely ended it. Leave.”
“You bloody cunt!”
“I will not tolerate being treated like a common whore. Respect me or leave this establishment.”
He found this funny. He pinned her against a pillar and leaned in close, whispering in her ear so nobody else could hear, “You should learn your place, Miss Granger. I am a Malfoy, and I will get what I want.” His fingers grazed her hip.
She grabbed his shoulder with her free hand and pushed him away. He stumbled over his gaudy dragon hide boots and scowled. She should know better. Arguing with a Malfoy was a fruitless endeavor. She turned her back on him without another word, putting on a brave front. Only the tight grip she kept on the coins betrayed her tension.
She walked towards the parlor, which was kept empty except for special events and guests, or if Gabriella felt they needed to expand the general seating area.
“Don’t you fucking walk away from me, bitch! I’ll have my father—”
“Abraxas, drop it.” Riddle said. His smooth voice sliced through the tension.
“Stay out of this!”
“I said drop it, Malfoy! Now!” There was an obvious threat in Riddle’s tone. One that ignited a chill to run down Hermione’s spine even though it wasn’t directed at her. Malfoy must have heard it because he didn’t say another word to Hermione. She used the opportunity to make a hasty retreat.
Did that just happen? She pushed open the parlor doors and slipped through, pulling off her apron and taking a deep breath as if it had constricted her breathing.
After three minutes of pacing and taking deep, calming breaths to soothe her stray nerves, the door opened again as Edgar entered. The man said nothing as he watched Hermione.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She broke the silence. “Do I have to leave?” she asked, sounding out of breath.
“What?”
“Do you think I still have a job?” Hermione stopped her pacing and looked right at Edgar.
“Of course you still have a job! Gabriella won’t fire you!” Hermione’s eyes widened. “When Mrs. Longbottom told me what he said to you, I was tempted to punch the little wanker myself. He’s almost as bad as his father.”
Longbottom? Hermione wondered if it was a relative of Neville’s. She shook the distracting thought from her head. “His father?”
“Oh yes, Septimus Malfoy is a bloody bastard and a force to be reckoned with. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I may dislike the guy, but his vault is overflowing in Galleons, and he has friends in high places.”
Hermione sighed. She had been here almost a month and had already made prominent enemies. She flopped into a cushioned armchair with a frown. The chair looked comfortable, but in reality, it was lumpy and had a faint moldy odor.
The parlor doors swung open for a second time and Gabriella stepped inside with a sympathetic smile. “He’s gone now,” she said. “Seems like his friend diffused the situation and he left.”
Tom Riddle helped her? What a weird world this was.
Edgar nodded to Gabriella and exited into the pub, returning to the bar. Gabriella took over sitting with Hermione, providing her with continued reassurance that she still had her job and a place to live.
The door opened again, and Bridget ran in. “Hermione! I heard you punched Abraxas Malfoy! I wish I had seen it!”
“Bridget!” Gabriella said, with an expression of stern disappointment that would have rivaled Molly Weasley.
“Did you really break his nose? I heard his nose broke!” News spread fast in the Leaky Cauldron.
“I uh—” Hermione started. The fight had left her system.
“Bridget, leave her alone!”
“Mum!”
“Stop whining, Bridget! You are much too old for that. Leave.”
“I want to—”
“Later, Bridget, go help Edgar.”
Hermione watched as the younger girl gave such a dramatic pout Hermione worried her lower lip might fall off. She stomped from the room with an irritable huff. Gabriella grinned at Hermione, but that grin didn’t meet her eyes. It was full of compassion, but Hermione could sense the exhaustion underneath it.
“I should get back out there. Take as long as you need, dear,” Gabriella said. The door clicked shut behind her. She was too tired to care much. Hermione felt overwhelmed by today’s events. Even if she kept her job per Gabriella, there was no guarantee Malfoy wouldn’t pursue some sort of revenge. Would he go over the business itself? Punish the Leaky Cauldron for Hermione’s wrongdoing? If it were Draco Malfoy, it was doubtful. He wouldn’t want to go public with this, but Hermione didn’t know Abraxas. She just had to hope that Riddle’s word was law and him telling Abraxas to drop it would be enough.
Strange how she was counting on Voldemort for this. She tried not to belabor the thought. She could go crazy with that one.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
A middle-aged wizard sat in a shadowed corner of the Leaky Cauldron tending a small glass of fire whisky. The bartender recognized this wizard on sight and tended to him personally. It wasn’t a social call, however; the wizard came on official business. He had a letter to deliver and questions he wanted answered.
The girl was serving tables. He watched as she brought drinks to Abraxas Malfoy and Tom Riddle. Norris Avery joined the group later. He watched as she became more agitated with each stop at their table. Then Abraxas tugged her by the wrist and the girl responded with a punch to his nose.
The man saw it all and didn’t seem surprised by the interaction at first glance. It wasn’t until the girl walked away and Tom was escorting Abraxas out of the Leaky Cauldron that he stepped out of the shadows. Tom noticed him first.
“Professor Dumbledore,” Tom greeted, sounding less than enthused to see him. Norris nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze darting towards Tom. Abraxas said nothing but gave a hum in greeting.
“Afternoon boys. Trust you aren’t getting into trouble?” Neither one answered. Tom scowled while Abraxas cupped his bleeding nose. “Allow me, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said, pulling out his wand.
“Episkey… Tergeo,” he muttered, the two charms resulting in the blood being wiped away and the nose healed. Sometimes noses healed with magic never looked quite right, but Dumbledore had to admit, he had done a superb job this time. Perhaps some of his best work.
“Thanks,” Abraxas said, though he didn’t sound the least bit grateful. His tone still sounded nasal, like he had a terrible head cold.
“Not a problem. You boys should probably leave.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Riddle’s face hardened, but he nodded and grabbed Malfoy’s arm, dragging him out the back towards Diagon Alley. Norris followed behind them. Dumbledore watched to ensure the boys were gone before he swept towards the parlor. He had a letter to deliver.
Notes:
Chapter 3 Song: Everybody Wants To Rule The World: Lorde. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Finally the man of the hour comes to greet us! He is such a fun perspective to write in!
All 40 chapters of this book are written, edited, read, and then reread. Theoretically I could post them all but I want to give all of them a once over before posting. I also want to make sure book 2 is almost complete by the time I'm wrapping up posting here to prevent substantial delays. Unfortunately, I can't necessarily work as fast as some writers. I'll be transparent and just say that I'm a medical resident so I work many...many...many hours a week. I still can't believe I wrote this book in under a year as it is!
Thanks for the love!
Update: Chapter edited March 19, 2025History Through Photography:
Evacuation of Children
In response to the dangers of war, the British government launched a scheme to evacuate children from major urban centers to private housing in more rural areas. Some children could live with family members in the countryside, but others didn’t have family to go to and were taken in by strangers. One photo here shows the children leaving their families and being evacuated. The other, they are in Wye, Kent, walking down a country road in 1939/1940. From my research into this, experiences varied, but as you can imagine, this greatly impacted families. The evacuation lasted from September 1, 1939 ( the day Germany invaded Poland and two days before the British declaration of war) until the war ended in 1945. At one point, I read that, when returning “home”, the children would report their parents felt like strangers to them.
One interesting bit that I read was at the end of 1939, when the bombings expected did not take place, many parents whose children had been evacuated decided to bring them home again. By January about half the evacuees returned home. I found posters (like the ones above) that urged parents to leave children in the countryside as the threat was not over. And they were right, massive bombings did take place with the largest impact being from September 1940 - May 1941 (The Blitz).
Reading about all of this lead to a bit of a brick wall in story development because I quickly realized that, Tom Riddle, living in a Muggle orphanage, would have most certainly been evacuated. Unfortunately for plot reasons, I couldn't have him in the countryside if I also wanted him and Hermione to encounter eachother. I had to come up with a way around this little problem. So I anchored on Tom Riddle being... let's say "unenthused" to do farm chores. It created for an intriguing angle to his character.
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Chapter Text
The door opened with a creak. Hermione stifled a groan. What was the point of relaxing if interruptions were constant? She rotated in the large, cushioned chair, expecting to see Bridget wanting a full account of what had happened. Instead, a middle-aged wizard stood in front of her.
He stood tall and dignified in robes of midnight blue that shimmered in the dim light. Round spectacles perched upon his straight nose, glinting as he tilted his head. His auburn hair cascaded to his shoulders in gentle waves, and his beard, not yet the silver cascade she knew, fell just past his collarbone, neatly trimmed and vibrant with color.
The breath caught in Hermione’s throat. Albus Dumbledore. His eyes, though the same piercing blue, lacked the omniscient twinkle she associated with the Headmaster she knew. Coming face-to-face with Dumbledore made Hermione’s chest ache. It reminded her of how far she had come. He wasn’t the same man she remembered. He was only a fraction of what he would eventually become.
“Miss Granger, is this a bad time?” Dumbledore asked as he shut the door behind him and gave her a polite smile. Based on the critical way he was assessing her; he’d seen the whole incident. She had punched Abraxas Malfoy and broke his nose in front of Albus Dumbledore. She longed for Harry’s invisibility cloak right about now.
“No, it’s okay,” she lied, the words hollow even to her own ears. They both recognized the falsehood for what it was.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He settled into the chair opposite hers. From within his robes, he withdrew an envelope and extended it toward her. The parchment was thick and creamy, identical to the one she’d received as an eleven-year-old girl in another lifetime.
To Miss Hermione Granger
The Leaky Cauldron, Room 19
1 Diagon Alley, Charing Cross Road
London, England
Her fingertips grazed the elegant script, emerald ink gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight that filtered through windows. She already knew the contents of the letter. When she first received her acceptance to Hogwarts, she read her letter over one hundred times; memorizing each word.
“I am here to tell you that you have been accepted to our school,” he said.
She didn’t reply, the envelope heavy in her hands. She couldn’t bring herself to break the seal. Numbness crept through her veins.
“How old are you, Miss Granger?” he asked, folding his hands together in his lap.
“Sixteen.” He raised a brow and studied her for a long moment.
“It’s unusual for the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance to only now provide you with acceptance to our school.” His tone suggested more than mere curiosity. “Did your magic present late? I’ve heard the book of admittance can be quite obstinate if a potential student’s magic hasn’t fully manifested when the quill attempts to inscribe their name.”
Hermione read about the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance in Hogwarts a History . Ancient magical artifacts kept in a locked tower at Hogwarts. Whenever a child was born with magic, the quill wrote the name in the book for future admission to Hogwarts. If the book didn’t agree, it slammed shut and refused to allow the quill to write the name.
“No, I moved around a lot… that is, my parents and I moved around a lot. We didn’t maintain any permanent residence.”
“And your parents?”
“They… they’re dead now.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Part of her hadn’t accepted the reality of her situation… refused to acknowledge it. Not yet. “They home-schooled me,” she added, eager to steer the conversation away from the raw wound of her family.
“So, you received some magical education then?”
“Yes.”
“I see...” His voice trailed off. A silence stretched between them. Dumbledore assessed her, trying to read more into her expression than she was willing to give. She blinked and darted her gaze to the cold fireplace.
“Witches and wizards rarely require a personal visit from me when receiving their acceptance to Hogwarts,” he said, leaning back in the overly cushioned armchair, “but your case is unique. We need to establish your prior magical education and capabilities before we can place you in classes.” Hermione nodded her understanding as Dumbledore continued, “We would like you to take an aptitude test.”
“Now!” Panic flared bright and hot in her chest. Her wand! She hadn’t even purchased a wand yet!
“Goodness, no, I haven’t even prepared the questions. I wanted to speak with you first.” Relief flooded through her, shoulders sagging as the tension drained away. Dumbledore promised to arrange her testing by the following Tuesday, giving her precious days to prepare.
With that, he swept out of the parlor, leaving Hermione alone to gather her thoughts. She reviewed the letter, feeling the weight in her hands, watching how the ink reflected the light. She broke the wax Hogwarts seal and slipped out the thick yellow parchment, unfolding it.
‘Dear Miss Granger, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...’
*
Bridget’s disappointment at Patrick’s acceptance letter paled in comparison to her reaction when she discovered Hermione’s.
“It isn’t fair!” Bridget said amidst a full-blown tantrum. Tears streamed down her blotchy face, each droplet swelling to an unnatural size as it fell. The marble-sized tears grew to golf balls, then tennis balls as they rolled down her cheeks. A puddle formed at her feet, spreading across the worn wooden floorboards of the kitchen.
Gabriella’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching at her temple. “You’re not old enough Bridget! Stop this now!”
“But I want to go to Hogwarts!” she wailed. Hermione wanted to speak with Gabriella alone in the kitchen when Bridget ran in. Like a little shadow, she had a way of finding Hermione.
“Bridget, I’ve about had it with your behavior!”
“If Patrick and Hermione go to Hogwarts, then I’ll be here all alone!” She rubbed her eyes as a large glob of snot dripped from her nostrils. Bridget’s oversized tears saturated the front of her dress.
Edgar opened the door, checking on the commotion. He blanched upon seeing Gabriella’s furious expression and the growing river of water collecting coming from Bridget. He backed out the door, leaving it cracked before speaking to them. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to silence the kitchens. Bit disruptive, all the noise, we have customers.” He pulled out his wand and muttered a few spells. “Right then,” Edgar looked distinctly uncomfortable, “carry on.” He shut the door.
“Useless git,” Gabriella said, her lips pursing with annoyance. Bridget cried harder. Gabriella gave her daughter one last look before deciding that ignoring Bridget was the best course of action.
“You should take the day to yourself!” She had to yell over Bridget’s wails. Hermione suspected Bridget was putting on this show for attention. Her wailing became more theatrical as her mother continued to ignore her. “You can go to Diagon Alley to buy your wand!”
Hermione was about to protest, thinking about the hours of work she would lose. Traffic remained heavy in the Leaky Cauldron now that Hogwarts letters had gone out.
Then her eyes flicked to the nine-year-old throwing her tantrum. “I think I’ll do that, thanks!” If she stayed here any longer, her shoes were going to get wet.
Navigating Diagon Alley’s serpentine cobblestone paths felt familiar and alien. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as witches and wizards bustled about their errands, packages tucked beneath arms and children in tow. Hermione recognized the storefronts; Flourish and Blotts with its towering displays of leather-bound tomes, Eeylops Owl Emporium where cages swayed in the breeze, the apothecary with its pungent odors wafting through open windows.
Her eyes scanned the supply list, tallying what she needed: school robes, a cauldron, scales, potion ingredients, a telescope for Astronomy...
A hollow pit formed in her stomach. How would she pay for this? Most of her money went towards everyday items like soap and clothes. She splurged on a soft apple-scented shampoo that she found discounted. These things added up. She’d need to pick up more shifts.
The storefront for Ollivander appeared just as shabby as it was when Hermione entered the shop fifty years in the future. A familiar gold sign read ‘ Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.’ in the same peeling gold lettering. The man inside, however, was very different. His light brown hair could’ve passed for a bird’s nest. His crystal blue eyes lit up as the bell above the door chimed, signaling her presence.
“Afternoon,” Ollivander said, coming around the desk of the tiny shop to examine Hermione closer. He circled her, assessing her from every angle.
“I’m here for a wand,” Hermione stated, her voice faltering as Ollivander plucked inquisitively at a strand of her hair.
“Indeed! Most people come here to buy a wand.” He gripped her chin and examined her face, tilting it this way and that. “I remember every wand I ever sold, but I can’t say I know you. Is this your first wand?”
“My parents purchased my first wand during our travels,” Hermione said. A weak excuse, but the simplest answer was still the best choice. She worried she would get lost in a web of lies if she said too much.
“Is that so? Who made your wand?”
“Gregorovitch,” Hermione said. It was the first name that popped into her head.
Ollivander looked gravely insulted. He puckered his lips and said something unintelligible before saying in a falsely sweet voice, “I am sure we can find the perfect wand for you. The wand chooses the wizard Miss…”
“Granger.”
“Miss Granger, and I have found that Gregorovitch occasionally forgets that when selling his wands, not that I would speak ill about another wand maker! To each their own! Right! Let’s get started, a few measurements if you please, stand here.”
He extracted a silver measuring tape from his waistcoat pocket and extended her arm to measure from fingertip to shoulder. Just as she remembered, the tape continued its work as Ollivander disappeared among the towering shelves of wand boxes. It measured the span from knee to floor, the length of her foot, the circumference of her wrist, and, somewhat disconcertingly, the distance between her nostrils.
The tape darted between tasks with manic enthusiasm as Mr. Ollivander flitted about the shop, collecting boxes from various shelves. He returned to find the measuring tape entangled in Hermione’s curls as it attempted to gauge the length of her hair.
“Now what did you go and do that for?!” Ollivander exclaimed, carefully extricating the device from her tresses.
“I didn’t do anything—”
“It’s quite alright, Miss Granger, I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm,” Mr. Ollivander wrestled the tape back into his pocket.
“Try this one out!” he urged, opening a box to reveal a pale wand. “Walnut and unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches, very bendy. Give it a go!” She reached for it, but before her fingers fully closed around the handle, he snatched it back with a grimace. “Oh no, that’s not it!”
He replaced it with “Ash and Horned—oh dear...” before whisking that one away as well. The pattern repeated with dizzying speed. More than a dozen wands thrust into her hands only to be reclaimed before she could so much as wave them.
When she was here with her parents, they watched the process with an expression of utter bewilderment. As they left, her mother could only say ‘he seemed friendly,’ to which Hermione and her father nodded in agreement. They never spoke of the bizarre encounter again.
“Don’t worry! We will find your wand! I think I have just the thing!” He pulled out his own wand and summoned a box from across the room. He caught it with ease and popped the lid open before shoving another wand into her hands. A warm, buttery liquid rushed up her arm and over her body, making her muscles shiver. “Vinewood and Dragon Heartstring, 10 3/4 inches,” he said, a broad grin spreading over his face.
Hermione heaved a breath in shock. “I can’t take this!”
“Why ever not! Look at the glow! This wand chose you, Miss Granger!” Ollivander looked positively giddy.
“It’s just…” she cut off. She couldn’t tell him that this was the same wand she would buy in fifty years. If she bought it today, then how would she be able to get it later? She would change her own timeline!
As soon as she held her wand, a sense of familiarity rushed through her body, as if she had found a long-lost limb. The idea of giving this wand up was deplorable. She didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t buy it.
“This wand isn’t mine.”
“Quite right, you don’t own the wand, but the wand owns you, Miss Granger. It can be a funny feeling when first connecting with your wand. I suppose you didn’t experience that before when buying from Gregorovitch.” he said with a hostile sneer in his voice.
“But—”
“I collected the dragon heartstring from a Ukrainian Ironbelly initially bred in a dragon sanctuary. After her death, my father and I collected bits for wands.” Hermione knew this already. He told her this story when she first purchased the wand.
“It still isn’t right,” she tried again.
“I assure you Miss Granger, the dragon died of natural causes,” Ollivander smiled as he plucked the wand from her hands and put it back in its box before circling the counter to wrap it with plain brown paper. “I hate for you to think I go around poaching dragons, unicorns, or phoenixes for my wands. It’s a delicate art, wand-making.” he gave a forlorn sigh.
Hermione went to interject, but Ollivander hadn’t finished talking. “This wand is special, you know. One of my first creations. Made it with my father. He’s gone now, but it’s nice to see it find a place after all these years. I always knew this wand would go into excellent hands.”
How was she supposed to refuse now? She begrudgingly paid for the wand and left. She had to get it back on the shelf at Ollivanders. Otherwise, she could damage her own timeline.
*
Over the next week, Hermione asked to borrow Patrick’s new school books to review for her upcoming exam. She couldn’t help it. It went against her nature to not study. She reviewed On e Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi , A History of Magic , and Magical Drafts and Potions . She was halfway through S tandard Book of Spells Grade 1 on Monday when an owl from Dumbledore arrived telling her he would meet her at the Leaky Cauldron at ten o’clock the following morning.
The next day, she felt a sense of confidence with her wand tucked in her pocket. Gabriella planned for Bridget and Patrick to play Quidditch to avoid another scene.
“Good morning, Miss Granger!” Dumbledore greeted her, his smile radiant beneath the auburn beard.
“Good morning, Professor Dumbledore,” she tried to grin back, but her nerves were so wound up she could only manage a slight twitch to her lips.
“Are you ready to go? We will take the Floo Network to Hogwarts; had it opened for this occasion.”
Hermione nodded and waved at Edgar as he prepared to open the pub. She felt guilty for leaving, but Edgar insisted they managed fine before Hermione started; they would be okay today. Gabriella pestered her over how often she worked. It thrilled her that Hermione took the day off.
Hermione followed Dumbledore to the parlor room where he used his wand to light a fire for them to travel with.
Twenty minutes later she sat at a conjured desk in the middle of Dumbledore’s office, which Hermione knew as McGonagall’s office, with an anti-cheating quill in her hand. He wanted to take the test at Hogwarts to minimize distractions. Unfortunately, his office may have been the most distracting environment Hermione had ever tested in. A whirring noise came from the closet. What would possibly make such a sound?
She looked down at her test.
‘5. Name the incantation and describe the wand movement for the Summoning Charm.’
After helping Harry in the Triwizard Tournament, she would never forget the Summoning Charm. They spent countless hours sending cushions around the empty classroom late into the evening, having to sneak back to the dorms under the invisibility cloak after curfew. The stress and exhaustion took a toll on them, but their efforts paid off when he flawlessly performed the charm against the Hungarian Horntail.
She scribbled her answer and moved on. About twenty minutes later, Fawkes, Dumbledore’s resident phoenix, started singing on his perch near the window. He flew a couple laps around the room before landing on Dumbledore’s shoulder.
Her eyes flitted down to the next question.
‘18. Name the moons of Jupiter.’
She bit her lip. This was a problem. She could easily name Jupiter’s moons, but it would be suspicious if she named some that had yet to be discovered. She listed a few of the first discovered moons of Jupiter to start with.
Thebe. When had astronomers first observed it? After 1942, surely...
She compiled a list of eleven moons before advancing to the next question.
Dumbledore flipped a page in a book and cleared his throat. The fire crackled and popped, casting dancing lights across her parchment. Who lit a fire in the middle of summer? Dumbledore stroked Fawkes, who hummed with appreciation.
‘30. Name the five signs that identify a werewolf (against a regular wolf).’
She thought of Lupin as she answered the question. Snape gave the lecture about werewolves in their third year. It provided her with the last piece she needed to figure out Lupin’s secret.
The desk lurched whenever she leaned down to write. Why would Dumbledore conjure a desk that wobbled? Was this supposed to be a joke?
The window shuttered as the summer breeze blew against the panes.
Last question.
‘50. Describe the role Wendelin the Weird played in medieval witch hunts of the 14th-18th centuries.’
The question was a more specific version of an essay she wrote over the summer after her second year. Her family took a trip to France, and she ended up rewriting her essay to incorporate information she learned there. Her parents were always so supportive of her magical pursuits, even if they could never understand them.
She reviewed the questions and felt confident with her answers when Dumbledore announced the end of the exam.
“I will review the exam while you are being sorted into your house,” he said, setting Hermione’s completed exam on his desk. “At Hogwarts we sort you into one of four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.” He reviewed the differences between the houses and the sorting process. Hermione, of course, knew all this, but she listened. “We normally do the sorting at the beginning of the school year during the opening feast, but we decided it would be imprudent to sort you with the first years.”
Dumbledore rose from his desk, causing Fawkes to startle and take flight again. The bird returned to his perch as Dumbledore walked towards the mysterious whirling cabinet and pulled out a worn, patched, and frayed wizarding hat. Hermione tried to peek over his shoulder but could not identify what made the aggravating noise. “Borrowed this from Professor Dippet for today.” The Sorting Hat looked old and decayed. She recalled how disgusted she felt the first time she realized she would have to wear the hat.
Without further preamble, Dumbledore plopped the old hat on her head. When she was eleven, the hat was so large it covered almost her entire face. Now it covered her eyes but caught on her nose, leaving her nostrils and mouth exposed under the brim.
‘Hmmm…’ the voice of the hat spoke into her mind, echoing into her thoughts. ‘Hmm... I’ve met you before... this is not the first time I’ve sorted you. You are in the wrong place; you are in the wrong time. I know this, I see it in your head. You are a long way from home. Very long indeed. I feel your loneliness. This is not your world. Your friends and family are gone. But you have courage, you are brave. I see the bravery. It is clear.’
Her face heated… Ron… Harry... How was she going to be at Hogwarts without them? They gave her courage. Before them, she was alone in Gryffindor. She learned how to be a friend after they defeated the troll together. She discovered who she was, who she aspired to be when she had them. In the blink of an eye, it had all disappeared. She lost herself when she fell through the veil and left a piece of her very soul behind.
‘I assure you, your soul is intact,’ the Sorting Hat said, sounding almost amused. ‘I see your soul. Whole and unharmed. Your friends helped it germinate. You did well in Gryffindor. You thrived there.’
Only because of them… Could she call herself a Gryffindor anymore? Could she be that person without Harry and Ron?
‘True, they brought out your best qualities, but those qualities are still inside you. A part of your very makeup.’
She remembered how the hat had contemplated for so long when initially choosing her house. It debated putting her in Ravenclaw. During the sorting, she sat for what felt like an eternity on the hard wooden stool.
‘Ravenclaw would be a fine house for you, but your strongest quality is your bravery. So much courage and adventure. You have faced death and lived.’
She lived because she was lucky. The veil didn’t kill her, though all accounts say it should have.
‘What led you to face the veil was bravery. A loyalty to your friends. A selfless sacrifice from you. I am in the presence of a true Gryffindor. You have made Gryffindor house proud. You belong there. I would never put you anywhere else.’
It was all too much. Hermione burst into blubbering sobs as the hat shifted and shouted aloud, “Gryffindor!” She could feel the inside brim of the hat become damp with her tears. She sniffed.
Dumbledore moved somewhere in the room. As the hat was being removed, she picked up a soft, fading voice. ‘Everything happens for a reason, Hermione Granger. You can do good in this world too.’
Dumbledore stashed the Sorting Hat back in the cabinet and returned to his desk. He didn’t make any comment as Hermione hurried to wipe her face with her sleeve. “Sorry...” she muttered in a croaky voice.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Miss Granger, it has been a hard year for you.” Hermione never saw another student cry after being sorted. Normally, students celebrated, cheered, and felt excited after their sorting. Her situation was anything but normal. She couldn’t compare it to others. She took a leap of faith with everything she did, hoping to land on the other side unscathed. Ultimately, she did not know what she was doing. No guidebook existed on surviving the past. She never planned on traversing Hogwarts without her friends by her side, without her parent’s support.
“I’m glad I sorted you privately. The Sorting Hat took almost nine minutes to sort you. I’ve never heard of it taking so long. May have been a record.”
“Nine minutes!”
“The rest of the school would have been rather irritated if they had to wait so long for one student to be sorted,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle. “I should welcome you to Gryffindor house. I am the head of Gryffindor, after all. And your test scores are quite remarkable. You could easily test into the sixth year. I’ll admit, I was thinking we may do a practical next, but I don’t think it is necessary with marks like these.”
“Thank you.” Hermione blushed.
“You are ready to start 5th year.”
“Fifth year! You said sixth—”
“I know you are sixteen and may have expected to start in the sixth year. I encourage you to reconsider. You should take O.W.L.s. You need to test into N.E.W.T. courses and these are important for your future career goals.”
“I…” She frowned at the floor. She just took her O.W.L.s, but now she would never know her scores. She supposed repeating fifth year may not be the worst thing. After all, she knew the material. It would give her more time to research the veil. To study time travel. To figure out how to get home. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right.”
“A wise decision!” Dumbledore flipped through some parchment on his desk and read some of her answers. “Many of these questions addressed topics from the fifth year and above, not a single mistake. Your parents taught you well.” He sounded impressed, but Hermione detected a hint of doubt in his tone. He stared at her, searching for the lie in her story.
“Yes, they were very... passionate about my education.”
“I see...” She didn’t think he believed her.
“What electives are you interested in?” he asked in a sudden change of subject. “Hogwarts offers a selection—”
“Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures,” she answered, not letting him finish.
“I see someone already informed you of our elective offerings. Very well. I will mail your book list tomorrow morning. Now, would you like a tour of our school?” He stood from his chair once more. Fawkes, who sat on his perch, returned to Dumbledore’s shoulder.
“Actually,” she started with some hesitation. “I should really get back. I’ll need to work some more if I’m to afford my school supplies.”
He raised a brow at her admission. “Did your family leave you with anything?”
“No... not exactly,” Hermione said, biting her lip. Fawkes cocked his head at her and looked at her with interest.
“The school has a fund for students without the means to buy supplies,” Dumbledore informed her.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll get by okay.”
“It sounds like it will be necessary. I’ll make the arrangements.”
Hermione didn’t argue.
Notes:
Chapter 4 Song: Fix You: Coldplay. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Thank you for all the support so far! I was so nervous to start posting this and everyone has been so encouraging!
XOXO, Tipp
Update: Chapter reread and edited on March 20, 2025
History Through Photography:
Gas Masks
This is more in reference to last the last chapter but I already had a topic there, so we are going to do it now! In the last chapter, when Tom Riddle got off the train in the countryside, Mrs. Cole handed him a gas mask and told him the orphanage had closed (he immediately threw the gas mask away). Gas masks were widely distributed in response to rising tension in the late 1930s due to fear of chemical warfare, as it had such a large role in world war I. In 1939, after Britian declared war, people were required to carry them, and drills were frequently conducted to ensure people knew how to use them properly. In one photo you can see the school children with their gas masks on their desks (in the boxes), and in the other, the school children are running a gas mask drill.
They even made special-issue models for children called "micky mouse" masks to make them less scary (I couldn't find a great picture, but they sound terrifying!). They also had special masks for babies (pictured above: yes, those are babies in those space-suit things. I was rather appalled myself. No, I have no idea how that woman in the front is holding onto that baby. I looked at this photo for a long time trying to figure that out.)
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter Text
She worked all the time, her crisp white apron tied over her modest skirt and tights. Her wild curls tumbled in an untamed cascade down her back, each lock containing a personality of their own. Somehow, the riot of cinnamon and chestnut complemented her delicate features.
When Tom passed through the Leaky Cauldron en route to Diagon Alley, his gaze sought her out. She weaved through the cramped space with practiced efficiency, balancing platters of food and mugs of butterbeer with the dexterity of someone who’d spent years mastering the art. She offered smiles to patrons, warm, polite curves of her lips that illuminated her face. These expressions, though flawlessly executed, never reached her eyes. Those caramel depths remained guarded.
His curiosity got the better of him and, one late morning, while crossing into Diagon Alley from Muggle London, he took a detour and sat at a table in the far corner. The same table he occupied during his previous visit. When she noticed him, her false smile faltered, replaced by undisguised apprehension. Perhaps she feared another confrontation with Abraxas?
Punching Abraxas had been a reckless decision. In Tom’s experience, vicious acts required planning. Tom had learned not to leave marks when inflicting pain. Sometimes psychological torment proved most effective. Mind games that left victims questioning their own sanity. Other occasions called for more creative magical solutions. He had a particular fondness for the Curse of Nightmares, a complex bit of spellwork that forced victims to relive their worst memories in excruciating detail. Even a simple stinging hex, properly applied, worked well. His growing proficiency with Legilimency had proven valuable. The mere threat that he could tear apart their minds was enough.
She turned her back to him and hurried towards the bar. She leaned over the counter towards the bartender and spoke to him. The fabric of her skirt stretched taut over her rear end. From this angle, he could appreciate the gentle curve of her figure. This girl had to be around Tom’s age. Did she attend Hogwarts? How had he not noticed her? She would have been the subject of countless crude remarks whispered between the boys in the Slytherin dormitory.
The Granger girl and the bartender concluded their conversation, with her returning to her duties while the older man emerged from behind the counter and approached Tom’s table. He regarded Tom with indifference, as if Tom were any other trouble-making, bratty kid. He was mistaken about that.
“What can I get for you, son?” the man asked. No introductions, no pleasantries, straight to business. Tom instantly disliked him.
“Nothing.”
Now go away.
The waitress avoided him, sending this man to get his order.
The bartender raised a skeptical brow but didn’t leave. “I don’t want more trouble today, do you hear me?”
Tom narrowed his eyes, his expression darkening as a scowl formed across his lips. The man looked wary. “My hearing is just fine, thanks.”
“Hermione is a good girl. You and your friends should leave her alone.” The bartender gave Tom a final aggravating glare before he returned to his post.
Tom mulled over his words. He hated to admit it, but the guy wasn’t wrong. Girls were a distraction Tom didn’t need. Right now, this Hermione Granger, for some inexplicable reason, captured his attention. He couldn’t help but notice her charming smiles and mannerisms that left him intrigued. The mystery lurking behind those caramel eyes had him enthralled.
But she was insignificant. He needed to get his hormones under control. It had been over a month since he fucked Walburga Black. He didn’t do relationships. Just sex. Only sex to quiet his annoying, raging teen hormones. No romance. Ever. So far, Walburga understood that. Perhaps he should visit the owl post office and send her a letter.
Tom rose from the table and strode toward the back courtyard, his mind already shifting to the day’s agenda in Diagon Alley.
***
After he sent a message to Walburga, he spent the next several hours thumbing through the lackluster dark arts section at Flourish and Blotts. He would have wandered down to Knockturn Alley, but underaged wizards required parental supervision. Abraxas loved to boast about his excursions to the shadowy district, causing Tom to grind his teeth with barely suppressed envy.
The dark arts books in Flourish and Blotts were about as tame as the Hogwarts library. At least, the part of the library that is available to students. The restricted section offered a range of colorful options. He needed access to those books. It wouldn’t be hard to convince Professor Slughorn to sign a permission form. The man was putty in his hands, eager to please his star pupil.
“Can I help you find a selection, young man?” A wiry wizard with cropped silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard emerged from around the stacks.
“N—”
“Oh, the Defense Against the Dark Arts! A noble subject!” The older wizard beamed like a proud grandparent. Tom frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m fi—”
“It was a particular favorite of mine in school, though I’ll admit I had very little talent for it,” the clerk continued, undeterred. “Anything in particular you were looking for?”
“No, I’m g—”
“My boy, if it’s defensive magic that interests you, might I recommend this superb new publication? Written by a dear friend of mine who really knows his stuff.”
“I’ll—”
“That’s a good lad. Here, take the book, give it a go!” The clerk thrust a volume into Tom’s unwilling hands. Tom’s irritation reached such heights that he contemplated emulating the Granger girl’s approach and breaking the insufferable man’s nose.
He resisted the temptation.
“Do you have all your required texts for the upcoming term?”
“I’m working—”
“Oh, your book list! Right! Smart to bring it along with you. Can’t tell you how many students come in here looking for books with no idea of what they actually need. It’s most vexing,” the man said. Tom mentally composed about a dozen rude remarks, but thought better of it. “And it makes our job so much more difficult, but you came prepared! I do appreciate a lad that comes prepared.”
He tore the paper from Tom’s hands and bustled off, forcing Tom to follow. The man scurried about the shelves talking animatedly about… well, honestly, Tom wasn’t listening. He dumped three textbooks into Tom’s arms before finally pausing for breath..
“Anything else I can help you with?” the clerk asked. This time, he waited for Tom to answer.
“No,” Tom said through gritted teeth. He had four new books piled in his arms. He planned to purchase his books second hand, but since he had pocketed some extra money, a few new books wouldn’t hurt. After Abraxas’s unfortunate nasal injury, the git didn’t notice leaving his entire bag of Galleons on the table. Tom pocketed it. Abraxas wouldn’t miss a few Galleons, or sixty-one Galleons, twenty-two Sickles and nine Knuts.
“Excellent, take your time browsing, oh customers! Yes, are you here for Hogwarts? Do you have your list?”
They did not. The man looked disappointed.
Tom retreated deeper into the stacks, trying to put distance between himself and the overzealous shopkeeper. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice his surroundings as he rounded a corner. Suddenly, he collided with someone.
He stumbled. A startled shriek pierced the air as something crashed to the ground. A hand clutched his shirt and threw off his balance. He reached out and grabbed the figure, planning to push them away. But he recognized the mane of dark curls, the bright caramel eyes stared into his. He hesitated for a crucial second. That hesitation led to his downfall.
This was chaos. His head and elbow throbbed. Numerous manuscripts lay scattered beneath him, their bindings digging into his back. Tom groaned, reaching up with his free hand to rub the ache in his scalp. He encountered resistance while attempting to move his left arm. Then he noted the pressure. The weight. Hermione Granger lay sprawled across his chest, pinning him to the floor. She no longer wore her waitressing uniform, but normal, everyday clothing. Her hair brushed against his chin as it swirled around them both, her head resting over his heart while his arm remained trapped beneath her.
Tom needed a moment to process what had just occurred. Somehow, he ended up with this girl in a compromising position. They were lucky that nobody witnessed this.
She tilted her chin, her cheek brushing against his chest as she met his gaze. This close, he could see flecks of gold in her eyes, framed by long, dark lashes. Her teeth were remarkably straight. Her hair carried the fresh, crisp scent of autumn apples. He liked the fragrance.
She didn’t move. A manuscript beneath him stabbed into his spine, making his back ache. Her freckled cheeks glowed a soft pink hue.
“Um… would you mind moving?” he asked with a mixture of frustration and amusement. It surprised him that the noise didn’t attract any attention. Generally, this corner of the store remained undisturbed. It’s why Tom liked the Modern Research and Magic section. Few members of the wizarding community took an interest in the latest research studies and literature. The isolation allowed Tom to spend hours here unnoticed.
“Sorry!” She jumped off him. At least, she tried to. In reality, as she pulled away, her hair snagged on his top button, and she collapsed back on top of him. Both of them grunted as her chin slammed into his sternum. He gripped her waist on instinct, catching her fall. “S—Sorry!” She stammered, “Um, let me try to…” Her fingers fumbled over his chest.
His hands remained at her waist, aware of her slender form beneath the fabric of her dress. She shifted against him, still working to free her trapped hair. Her knee slid higher between his legs, her thigh pressing lightly against him. Her breath brushed across his neck, sending a wave of desire coursing through his body.
Damn...
She had no clue how she affected him. His cock stirred. He closed his eyes, concentrating on anything, arithmancy equations, potion ingredients, Dumbledore’s insufferable smile—anything to prevent getting an erection while she practically rubbed herself on him. “Can we at least sit up?” he asked, sounding strained.
“I’m stuck,” she said, sounding defeated.
“We can move slow. I just… you need to get off me,” he finished lamely. He pushed up on his elbows as her eyes flicked to his. The girl looked mortified.
Despite not being able to move her head more than a foot away from his sternum, they maneuvered to a kneeling position. She swept the rest of her hair aside so she could assess the situation. He felt the gentle pressure of her fingers on his chest as she untangled the curls wrapped around his button. She tucked her head under his chin while she worked. Her scent was stronger here, a hint of sweetness, like honey. Despite the unruly nature of her curls, they were soft against his skin.
He watched her struggle and grew more amused as time passed. At least, he found it all funny until he noticed that, at his current angle, he had a straight view down the neckline of her dress. The gentle swell of her breasts, the shadow of cleavage, became impossible to ignore. His mind conjured images of how those breasts might look without the barrier of fabric. His humor was gone now, replaced by something different. He groaned and turned his head to the ceiling.
“Sorry!” Granger said again; probably assuming his groan was a sign of annoyance. “Sorry, I think I got it…” With a final tug, she freed herself.
“Right, you okay?” he asked her, his eyes fixed on a chip he noticed on a shelf above him. He didn’t actually care about her answer.
“Fine,” she said, though she looked a bit frazzled. She picked off the strands of hair left on his chest.
“You really don’t have to do that…”
“R—Right, sorry, okay, we should clean this up.”
He sighed and stood, trying to hide his partial erection tenting his trousers.
The stack of manuscripts they fell on top of was Albus Dumbledore’s and Nicolas Flamel’s publication on the twelve uses of dragon’s blood. Tom heard something about that research project at Hogwarts; this must be the results. Apparently, it was a big deal. It explained why they had dozens of copies of the manuscript.
They started picking up books, stacking the manuscripts, gathering their scattered selections, and sorting them out. He handed her the copy of Intermediate Transfiguration he found open on the floor. She took it and tucked it under her arm. Why would she have that? Was she going to Hogwarts then? What year was this girl in? That text was required for fourth and fifth year transfiguration.
She picked up one of his books that slid under a shelf and froze. He peaked over at her. She stared at the volume the clerk had recommended, Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhart, with an expression of utter horror, as though she’d discovered a venomous serpent lurking among the pages. Her eyes widened, jaw slackening in disbelief. The color drained from her face.
“What are you doing with this?” She held up a book for him to see.
“What?”
“This book; why do you have it?”
“Someone recommended it.” He hadn’t decided if he was going to buy it yet. He planned to flip through the book first.
“Someone recommended it!” Her voice shot up in pitch, coming out more like a squeak.
He shrugged and reached for the book. She jerked back.
“Someone actually recommended this book? You can’t be serious! You can’t buy this book!”
He didn’t respond, just raised a brow in question. What right did she have to make opinions on the books he bought? He didn’t even know her!
“If I had the Galleons, I’d buy every damn copy of this bloody book to burn them as a sign of protest, the stupid toad.” Tom wasn’t sure who or what this “toad” was, nor was he certain he wished to know. Luckily, she continued talking with no help from him.
“Spitting on someone would provide better defense than anything in this book, I swear. Complete and utter rubbish!” He would have told her to mind her own business, but she intrigued him. He could read every emotion that flashed across her face. She took interest in the strangest things. Something felt off about her. He needed to discover what it was.
She squeezed the book so tight in her hands, her knuckles turned white. Tom wondered if she was trying to crumple the book up in a ball to throw it away. This whole thing seemed rather dramatic.
Without warning, she seized his arm and tugged him out of the isolated corner into the main area of the store. Her sudden movement caught him off guard, but he managed not to stumble as she dragged him past browsing customers. He could hear her muttering to herself. Something about toads and various creative curses directed towards the book. They halted in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts books.
“I came all this way and still can’t escape that bloody book!” Rather than returning the book to the shelf like a dignified person, she threw it to the ground with a loud thunk . He half expected her to stomp on it, fall to her knees and tear the pages from the binding. She seemed to have difficulty restraining herself. Tom had to wonder how a book could have offended her so much. Perhaps this witch was off her rocker.
Something he should consider.
“And she had the nerve to tell me—ah!” She started skimming the shelf. “ Self-defensive , that’s okay…” He could grab that book off the ground and ditch her in front of the stacks. He doubted she would even notice.
He remained in place. He wanted to see what she would do next. “Quentin Trimble… hmm,” she said. “ Charm of Defense … damn Slinkhart, useless git.” Her finger stroked along the spines of the book reverently, which surprised him, considering how she treated Defensive Magical Theory. “No sense… there’s better… has it been published? I came so far. The book is haunting me!” Tom tucked his school books under one arm and waited, watching her move across the stacks. Admiring the flare of her hips, her slender neck. Her cheeks flushed with her ire. She was a pretty witch.
Tom shook his head, as if the physical gesture might dislodge thoughts of her from his mind. Women were a distraction.
Tom didn’t need romance to fuck a witch. He had no trouble finding a willing partner, but based on the way she rejected Abraxas… Or perhaps he could…
“Here!” He scrambled to grab hold of the book shoved against his chest. “I would certainly recommend this book, if you want to actually learn something of use and substance rather than the rot and rubbish Slinkhart has to offer.”
He glanced down at the title, The Dark Arts Outsmarted , as she prattled on. “There are other great options, though, depending on what you were looking for, but really, this is one of the better options by far. Some really great, practical spells and scenarios discussed in this book. The author used to be considered a dark wizard, but dedicated his life to fighting dark arts. He offers a very fascinating perspective on the topic. His biography might be around here…” she looked around as if expecting to see the author’s biography fly at her from another shelf, her eyes landed back on Slinkhart’s book on the floor and narrowed, “I cannot stand by and watch someone spend actual coin on that foul book, really, take my advice.”
Still, Tom said nothing.
Granger’s eyes met his. He had practice in keeping his face impassive, but she didn’t. Her bright caramel eyes rounded and lost their luster as an even deeper shade of crimson spread over her freckled cheeks. She opened her mouth, only to close it again. She appeared to be at a loss for words.
“Right then… Have a nice day.” And with those parting words, she turned her back and walked right out the door. She didn’t stop to pay for the book tucked under her arm, not that he was going to chase her down to remind her.
He scooped up the Slinkhart book on the ground before finding a chair to confirm for himself the quality of these books. He wasn’t about to trust the word of a half mad witch.
Ten minutes later, he walked out the door with his new copy of The Dark Arts Outsmarted . The mad witch was right, Slinkhart was bloody rubbish.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione stole from Flourish and Blotts. Not only had she stolen her copy of Intermediate Transfiguration , she had to return to the scene of the crime to purchase the remainder of her texts. She paced in front of the bookstore, feeling flustered. Students and families streamed past, getting their school supplies early to miss the rush of late comers in August. Most ignored her, some shot her apprehensive looks. One family gave her a wide berth, likely thinking she was a crazy person who stumbled up from Knockturn Alley.
Her stealing the book wasn’t what made her face burn with horror. Hermione dragged the future Voldemort through the bookstore while throwing a tantrum over Slinkhart.
Worse still, he was devastatingly handsome. His dark hair, those penetrating obsidian eyes, those broad shoulders and imposing height, all crowned with a smile he had undoubtedly practiced to lure witches. More disturbing was the analytical gleam in his eyes. That calculating assessment that analyzed the world around him, absorbing and learning from it. Even without knowing his identity, she would have recognized his intelligence. Smart, handsome, charismatic, the ideal combination in a wizard.
Oh, and he’s a psychopath . She wasn’t sure if that thought made her feel better or worse.
She sighed and stopped pacing. The stolen book under her arm grew heavier with the weight of her guilt. She needed to go back inside and get her school books. Plus, she had summer essays to work on. Then she wanted to read Dumbledore’s manuscript, The Twelve Uses of Dragon’s Blood . The Daily Prophet had an entire article dedicated to its publication, accompanied by a picture of him with Nicolas Flamel.
She ground her teeth. This was ridiculous! She shouldn’t let an embarrassing incident with Riddle scare her away! Wasn’t she in Gryffindor? Didn’t the Sorting Hat say she had made Gryffindor proud? She needed to gather up some of that courage and march back inside with her head held high. If she encountered Riddle again, so be it.
With newfound determination, she strode towards the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. Of course, timing be damned, Riddle emerged from the shop at that precise moment, his purchases tucked under one arm. She was curious if he ended up buying the book she suggested or if he wasted his money on Slinkhart’s worthless book.
She wasn’t about to ask him.
“Pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger,” he greeted her, his lips curving into that crooked, charming smile that crinkled his eyes and illuminated the features.
Oh Merlin’s saggy…
She darted past him into the sanctuary of the bookshop, the sound of his soft, amused chuckle following her like a shadow.
Notes:
Chapter 5 Song: The Devil is a Gentleman: Merci Raines. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Again, this is my first fan fic and the first time I've publically shared my writing with the world (outside of scientific research journals, but that's a very different kind of writing). I get so excited to read everyone's comments everyday; I'm truly overwhelmed by the support!
Update: Chapter reread and edited on March 24, 2025
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter Text
'Due to the Muggle war, Muggle buses and cabs are not currently in service. The Ministry has arranged various locations across the region to pick up and transport students via ministry car to Kings Cross Station. Note listed locations below and times of pickup. All these sites can be accessed by Floo Powder. Please be cognizant of the statute of secrecy when making travel arrangements.'
It was the same every year since the damn war started. To make matters worse, Tom couldn’t use magic outside of the barrier he created around the orphanage. He had to haul his trunk to the Leaky Cauldron without using magic.
It put him in a bad mood.
When he pushed the door open, he found about a dozen people waiting inside. The old bartender shuffled between tables, preparing to open as soon as the group left. A young girl danced along behind him, her blonde pigtails bouncing as she hopped from foot to foot.
“What do they mean, the Muggle cars aren’t running! What does war have to do with transportation?!” a severe looking older man said. Tom recognized the old man's son, a Hufflepuff, who fidgeted beside him.
“It’s because of gasoline—” Hermione Granger started.
The man cut her off. “What in Merlin’s name is gas-ell-ine?!”
“Gasoline, it’s needed for cars to run, and there isn’t much of it because of the war,” Granger continued to explain. The man didn’t want an explanation. He wanted to yell. Tom couldn’t understand why Granger had even bothered.
“Dad, you complain about it every year. Would you stop?” the Hufflepuff said, grimacing at his father.
Granger shook her head before strolling away. She scanned the growing crowd, looking from person to person until her caramel gaze locked with his. Her eyes widened in surprise as her mouth fell open.
Every time he looked at her, he traveled on another adventure through her expressions. How could she be so easy to read yet hold so many secrets? He couldn’t figure her out.
Tom leaned against a nearby wall, his arms crossed over his chest with a smirk playing on his lips.
She whirled around and walked in the opposite direction, almost running into the irritating man still complaining about Muggle transportation.
Even after their bizarre encounter in Flourish and Blotts, she continued to ignore him. He was fine with that; he learned a lot by watching. Listening to what people said. Seeing how they interacted with the world. Observing her effortless grace and charm. Her warm caramel eyes sparkled with a kindness Tom couldn’t understand, and her lips curved into a gentle smile that put everyone at ease. She twirled her fingers around her curls and smoothed her skirt with the palms of her hands when nervous. When she bent over the bar…
How long till the Ministry cars arrived?
He glanced at a clock on the wall. Any minute now.
The girl tied her hair in a loose knot on her head. Tendrils fell out, framing her heart-shaped face.
Tom turned away as more people emerged from the fireplace, dragging their trunks behind them. The irritable man smiled at one arrival and started talking amicably. The Hufflepuff looked relieved.
The girl sat next to a scrawny young boy with dirty blonde hair. Her smile returned. She crossed a leg over her knee, causing her skirt to rise up…
“The cars are here!” someone shouted.
Tom really needed to get out of here.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
The summer flew by and before Hermione knew it; she was packing her belongings. The only difference was this time, her mother wasn’t helping her fold clothes. Instead, she had Bridget sitting on the bed, and despite her good intentions, Hermione had to refold every garment Bridget touched.
“How do you get them so small?” Bridget asked, shaking out the blouse to try again. Hermione attempted to show her, but Bridget’s attention span wavered throughout the presentation. “Mum waves her wand and folds clothes. Why don’t you do that?”
“Because I can’t use magic outside of school.”
“How did you learn how to fold things without magic?” Bridget asked in disbelief.
“It’s an excellent skill to have. Try again.” At some point, Bridget recovered from her tantrum and accepted that she would not be attending Hogwarts this year. It happened somewhere around the time she saw Hermione working on homework and Patrick reading his schoolbooks. Her new complaint centered on how boring she now found Hermione and Patrick.
Hermione’s trunk felt empty by the time she finished packing. She only purchased the bare minimum to survive, meaning she saved more money than expected. Five sickles an hour went a long way when she worked eighty hours a week and bought things secondhand. Plus, Dumbledore came through and sent her twenty-five Galleons for school supplies. It provided an extra cushion that she was grateful for.
Bridget helped her carry her trunk down the stairs. People were already arriving through the fireplace and from Diagon Alley.
She chatted with a few and helped Edgar serve drinks while they waited, despite not being formally open yet. She tried to explain gasoline to a crotchety old man, without success. Then she turned around and saw Tom Riddle staring at her with his mysterious penetrating gaze while he leaned against a far wall. He exuded confidence. She felt naked under the intensity of his expression.
Hermione swallowed hard and attempted to ignore him. She sat with Patrick while they waited for their ride to Kings Cross Station. She didn’t notice the way Tom’s eyes followed her. Didn’t look at him as he ran his hands through his hair, making it a disheveled mess.
The Leaky Cauldron suddenly felt small. She breathed a sigh of relief when the ministry cars finally arrived.
***
“Okay, Patrick!” Gabriella said, helping him steer his trolley. “Run straight at the wall to get on the platform!”
Hermione gave him an encouraging nod.
They were running late. The ministry cars were on schedule, but another fit from Bridget caused a significant delay in their departure. The rest of the group piled into the first two vehicles, magically expanded to accommodate three times more than the Muggle manufacturers intended, leaving Patrick, Gabriella, and Hermione to deal with Bridget.
Gabriella tried to explain that the ministry cars weren’t making a return trip to drop them off. She planned to apparate home and wasn’t comfortable with side-along apparition.
This didn’t matter to Bridget.
Eventually, they left her shouting on the pavement as they pulled away.
“What?” Patrick looked green as he gaped at the seemingly solid wall.
“Oh, we don’t have time for this! Hermione, you go!” Hermione nodded and tightened her grip on the trolley. She ran at the brick pillar and, instead of crashing, vanished from sight, appearing on the familiar platform nine and three-quarters. The scarlet steam engine gleamed on the tracks as students poured on and off the train. The place swarmed with families seeing their children off to Hogwarts. Hermione’s heart raced as a surge of excitement washed over her. It felt like she was going home.
Patrick appeared from the barrier, his face pale. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and hands stretched out in front of him. Hermione had to stop him before he ran into a blonde witch wearing elegant emerald robes.
The woman stared down her pointed nose at them with a disgusted sneer. Abraxas Malfoy stood behind her, his expression tightening when he noticed Hermione. A figure grabbed his arm. Riddle shook his head at his friend. She saw his lips move. Malfoy frowned at whatever he said before he turned his back to Hermione without sparing her another glance.
“Isn’t that the guy you punched?” Patrick asked, eyes darting from Hermione to Malfoy.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“What house do you think he’s in? I don’t want to be in that house.”
“Slytherin.”
“How do you know?”
“I… I just do...” Gabriella appeared moments later, pushing Patrick’s trolley, and the group walked together to a more secluded area.
Hermione’s mum cried the first time she left for school. Her father hugged her and told her he loved her. When did she last see her parents? Would she ever see them again?
“Hermione,” Gabriella said. Hermione jumped, too busy watching the hustle and bustle. “Good luck… You’re always welcome at the Leaky Cauldron.” There was an awkward pause before Gabriella pulled Hermione into a quick hug. “I mean it, Hermione, anytime.” She turned to give Patrick one last embrace and peck on the cheek.
Patrick and Hermione found themselves in the middle of the train corridor, surrounded by the constant movement of students rushing to their compartments.
“Where do we sit?” Patrick asked, scuffing his feet with a nervous edge. A couple of girls squeezed past them and through a sliding door nearby. Hermione sat with Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott for her first time on the Hogwarts Express. Neville lost his toad, and she spent the entire trip helping him find it.
“Patrick.” She looked down at the younger boy. Patrick’s disheveled, dirty blonde hair and wide, worried gaze gave away his anxiety. “You should make some friends with other first years.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll find a compartment in the back of the train. I’ll read during the ride.” Patrick didn’t like her suggestion, but Hermione insisted. She peeked in a few doors and ended up finding one with a single tiny boy sitting by himself. The boy’s legs dangled a solid foot from the floor. Hermione wondered how he climbed on the bench at all. His trunk sat untouched in the middle of the compartment. Clearly, he was too small to stow it himself.
“Introduce yourself.” Hermione mouthed to Patrick. Patrick’s entire face flamed red. When he remained quiet, Hermione took the lead.
“Excuse me... can my friend join you?” Patrick looked like he wanted to hide inside his trunk. The boy nodded and introduced himself as Filius Flitwick in a high, squeaky voice.
Hermione only paused for a moment at the name before returning to help Patrick stow his trunk. Hermione and Patrick put away Filius’s luggage next, who stammered his thanks. She left the two boys with a wave, marveling over her future Charms professor as a student.
Hermione reached the back of the train with her luggage and collapsed in an empty compartment. She felt too exhausted to stow her belongings. She pulled out a book and propped her feet up on her trunk instead.
This would be a long year. It didn’t feel like she was going to Hogwarts when Harry and Ron weren’t with her. The sensation of loneliness weighed heavily on her chest.
She had nothing here. She needed to find a way home.
Hermione glanced out the window at the dwindling platform crowd. The beautiful blonde Malfoy woman in her expensive robes still stood with a disapproving scowl etched across her face. Like she smelled something foul in the air. A few younger siblings cried when they realized they couldn’t go to Hogwarts yet. If Bridget were here, she would do the same thing.
Hermione searched for Gabriella but didn’t find her. She must have returned to the Leaky Cauldron.
“Hey Julia! Some girl is in our compartment!” Hermione’s head snapped to the open compartment door. A lanky boy with auburn hair and an unfortunate case of acne scrutinized her with the most striking green eyes she had ever seen. Perhaps he should get some Bubotuber pus from the Hospital Wing for that acne. Even Eloise Migens had better skin.
“What girl?”
“’Dunno.”
Hermione stared at the boy as a blonde girl came into view. “If you want to know who I am, you could ask,” Hermione said. Both acted surprised by her comment. Like they hadn’t expected her to be capable of speech.
The train lurched and pulled away from the station. Hermione looked out the window, watching families wave. They picked up speed and left the platform behind, flying through Muggle London.
“Right,” The boy stepped forward and held his hand out for Hermione to shake “I’m Alfred Hensley, Ravenclaw, and this is Julia Brown, Hufflepuff.” He gestured to the blonde. “I’m a sixth year, she’s in fifth.” They let themselves in and stowed away their trunks before grabbing Hermione’s luggage and putting it up for her.
“Hermione Granger, starting fifth year in Gryffindor.”
“Aren’t we an adorable mixed bunch, add a Slytherin and we would have all the houses represented,” Alfred said, sagging back on the bench across from Hermione.
Julia sat next to him after she spent an extraordinary amount of time flattening her skirt with the palms of her hands. “I’d rather not invite any Slytherin’s if it’s all the same to you,” Julia said with distaste. “My ex is in Slytherin,” she told Hermione without prompting.
“Oh?” Hermione asked, feigning interest.
“Reinhardt Lestrange. Nice guy, but distant.” Julia shrugged.
“Can we not talk about your ex right now?” Alfred sighed.
“You act like I bring him up all the time! This is the first time I’ve ever mentioned him since we started dating!”
“Is not! You brought him up when we were leaving on the train at the end of last year.”
“I didn’t bring him up! I said goodbye to him as we passed him in the corridor.”
“Same thing.” Hermione felt like a third wheel as she watched the couple bicker. Clearly, they were hoping to find a compartment alone. She looked at the book in her lap. Would they notice if Hermione started reading? Probably not.
“So, Hermione, why have I never seen you around till now?” Alfred asked as Hermione flipped her book open to the first page.
“I’ve seen you at the Leaky Cauldron!” Julia shouted, sitting forward and pointing her finger at Hermione.
“I would kill for some Butterbeer! Spent the entire summer at my uncle’s in the country since my parents wanted to evacuate London,” Alfred said with a dramatic groan for effect.
“Alfred’s Muggle-born, so his family is involved in that Muggle war stuff.”
“Yeah, my dad’s in the military. Mum is staying with my uncle outside of Kent. I hate farm work and I can’t use magic. It sucks.”
“As if you would know any helpful magic for farm work,” Julia chided.
“Even a simple Summoning Spell would be nice!” he argued. “But next summer will be different since I’ll be of age. I could get all my chores done with a flick of my wand!”
Right, World War II. She found it easy to forget while in the Wizarding World that there was a war going on. Wasn’t the London Blitz supposed to be over by 1942, though? Hermione couldn’t remember the exact dates. The war tore families apart. Parents sent their children to live with strangers in the country, thinking they would be safe from bombings outside of the cities. They encouraged children to not return until it ended in 1945.
They separated Hermione’s grandmother from her parents when she was eight-years-old and sent her, along with her four-year-old brother, to the middle of nowhere with people they never met. To her surprise, she loved the animals and farm work.
When she reunited with her parents after being apart for five years, they felt like strangers, but she kept in touch with the family that raised her during that time. The experience influenced her decision to leave Bristol and raise her own children outside the city.
“So why haven’t I seen you around here before?” Alfred asked again.
“Oh, I’m transferring this year.”
“To fifth year? Why?”
“Oh, well...” Hermione started. She reminded herself to stick with her vague story. Both Julia and Alfred looked at her expectantly. “My parents died a few months ago, and we traveled a lot. But I settled at the Leaky Cauldron where Dumbledore offered me a spot at Hogwarts.”
“That’s a bummer...” Alfred said. Julia gave him a disapproving glare.
“Yes, my parents dying was indeed... a bummer.”
Julia swatted at him. “Alfred, you can’t say stuff like that! It’s rude!” He appeared genuinely surprised by that.
“What?”
“You’re being very insensitive.”
“Sorry.” He looked more confused than sorry.
“Don’t mind him, he has no tact.”
Thankfully, the compartment door sliding open interrupted their awkward conversation. A tall, sandy-haired, grey-eyed boy already dressed in his Hogwarts uniform stood at the doorway.
“Barnabas! Come join us,” Alfred said with enthusiasm, “we were getting to know… uh...” Alfred paused.
Julia sighed. “Hermione, Alfred, her name is Hermione.”
“Right! Getting to know Hermione!”
Barnabas looked back and forth between Hermione and his friend before holding his hand out for her to shake.
“Barnabas Cuffe.” Hermione took his hand. “Pardon my rude friend, he means well... I think.” Alfred gave an indifferent shrug as Barnabas collapsed beside Hermione. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair and straightened his gold Prefect badge.
“How was your prefect’s meeting?” Julia asked.
“Fine, I guess, same as last year. So... Hermione, are you new then?” He turned his body to face her. “Tell me about yourself.”
The next few hours passed on the train with relative ease. Julia fell asleep, her head resting against Alfred’s shoulder. Barnabas ordered a few sweets from the trolley. When he asked Hermione if she wanted anything, she blushed and declined. She hoped they would leave it, but Alfred announced Hermione was an orphan and didn’t have any money.
“What!” Barnabas flushed.
“No, it’s fine! I worked all summer and made money!”
“I’ll be right back!” Barnabas said, flying out of the compartment to chase after the trolley. Hermione glared at Alfred.
“What?”
“You shouldn’t assume things about me just because my family is dead.” His assumption was spot on, but Hermione didn’t need charity from another student.
“Are you saying your parents left you with loads of Galleons?”
“What? That’s a rather personal question.”
“Don’t look so upset. He’s rich, you know. He can afford a few extra sweets.” Alfred found the situation amusing.
“Don’t go around telling people that,” Barnabas groaned, reentering the compartment with what appeared to be the entire contents of the trolley in his arms.
“Why? It’s true,” Alfred shrugged, “His dad owns the Daily Prophet or something,” he added to Hermione.
“Please stop talking, Alfred, or I’ll wake up Julia and tell her how rude you’ve been,” Barnabas threatened. He dumped the sweets on the bench between them. To her relief, Alfred complied.
They spent the next hour laughing and sharing the enormous haul of candy. Hermione recognized some names; Berty Botts Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasty but there were others like Lemon Snowflakes, Sizzling Stars, or the Fire-breathing Dragons, which were gummy dragons that caused her to exhale flames. The fire was fake, of course, which disappointed Alfred.
Barnabas loved Fizzing Wizzbees. He cracked open the box and laughed as they made him levitate a few feet off the ground.
He opened another package when the door slammed open, making Julia jump awake. She hit the top of her head on Alfred’s chin and they both doubled over with groans of pain. Hermione gave a small yelp in surprise. Riddle stood in the doorway, looking irritated. His gaze flicked to Hermione, eyes widening, before narrowing on Barnabas, who floated three inches off the ground. “Hey Rid—”
“You’re late, Cuffe,” Riddle said, cutting Barnabas off mid-greeting. Riddle wore his school robes with the gold Prefect badge pinned to his chest. His dark eyes fixed on Barnabas, then Hermione, then back to Barnabas. When Barnabas’s feet touched the floor, he collapsed onto the bench, almost falling on top of Hermione. She hadn’t realized how close they got as they ate through the candy. She shifted a little closer to the window.
“I’m late?”
“Your patrol, Cuffe. It was supposed to start twenty minutes ago.” Riddle folded his arms across his chest with a scowl fixed on his handsome face. He surveyed the room with his intense glare. He appeared to restrain himself from speaking further.
“Did you want some candy, Riddle?” Cuffe asked, looking flustered.
“I want you to show up to your bloody shift.”
Barnabas blinked once before he registered what Riddle said. He shot to his feet. “Sorry! I forgot! Got distracted.” He gave Hermione an apologetic smile. “And I—”
“I don’t care what your excuses are.” He backed out and slid the door shut. Silence filled the compartment as everyone stared at each other.
“That guy is usually so nice,” Julia said.
“I’ve heard rumors he could be... scary...” Alfred said before glancing back to his friend. “You should go.”
“Right!” and with that Barnabas Cuffe straightened his Prefect’s badge and rushed out of the compartment, assuring them he would be back after his patrol shift.
***
The sun was setting when they pulled into Hogsmeade Station. She stepped off the train behind Julia wearing her new Hogwarts school robes. Barnabas followed her, talking about his summer holidays and asking Hermione about all the places she’d been. She was at least able to share some of this conversation since her family traveled a lot, but her anxiety increased as he probed for details. At first, she could deflect his questions, but it did not deter him. He continued to press for more information, forcing her to keep her answers vague and uninformative.
“So, you’re in fifth year? We won’t have classes together then,” he said, walking next to her in the crowd of students.
“I suppose not.” He looked disappointed.
“Are you Hermione Granger?” a voice asked near her. She turned, nearly slamming into someone behind her. He had gaunt features and wavy dirty-blond hair that was a tad too long, curling over his ears. A severe expression seemed fixed to his face, like he never formed a smile in his life.
“Yes.”
“Oh hey, Alastor, how was the summer?” Barnabas asked.
“Fine.” He didn’t bother to say more.
“Were you looking for me?” Hermione asked.
“Alastor Moody, fifth year Gryffindor Prefect.” He held his hand out for her to shake as if they were completing some sort of business transaction. “Dumbledore asked us to find you.” It wasn’t clear who ‘us’ was until a tall, pretty girl appeared next to him. She also had a Prefect’s badge pinned to her robes.
“I’m Augusta Crouch, we got you covered, Hermione! We will make sure you get the hang of this place.” She gave Barnabas a pointed look. He took the hint.
“I’ll see you around then.” He hesitated only a moment before he pushed through the crowd after his friends.
“Now that he’s gone, let’s catch the carriages!” Augusta said with enthusiasm.
Notes:
Chapter 6 Song: Cool Kids: Echosmith. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
We have a lot of people to meet and lots of things to set up in this story! Again, slow burn (emphasis on this point). But we will get there eventually! Thank you for all the support ❤️
Update: Chapter reread and edited March 27, 2025
History Through Photography:
Transportation
Transportation was dramatically altered during the war, this can mostly be attributed to the fuel rationing. Fuel rationing during the war largely restricted private transportation and caused a sharp decline in the availability of public transportation. The London Underground, however, played a crucial role in providing shelter and transportation during the war, with trains running even during bombing raids. In the picture, you can see people are sheltering in the underground, likely during one of the raids. In addition, routes of transportation changed as evacuation and safety measures became a priority. Rationing, of course, was not restricted exclusively to fuel (though that is what I’m focusing on here, since I mentioned it in this chapter). It extended to textiles (i.e. woman dress styles became shorter) and food. Rationing fostered a sense of shared sacrifice and solidarity among the population, allowing everyone to do their part to help in the war effort.
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter Text
Tom climbed into a carriage next to Reinhardt Lestrange. The crisp night air nipped at his skin, despite the cloak covering him.
He was in a foul mood. He met Walburga for a quick fuck over the summer and she thought it meant something more. Then she attempted to cuddle with him on the train like they were a couple. He set the record straight. They had no relationship. They had nothing.
She didn’t bother him for the rest of the trip. After arriving at Hogsmeade station, Walburga, still nursing her wounded ego, dragged Abraxas and Norris off while Reinhardt followed Tom.
But that wasn’t the root cause of Tom’s irritation.
He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. “You’ve been in a mood today, Tom.” Reinhardt said. He watched Tom with patient hazel eyes, his chin resting on his fist. His thick, shoulder-length brown hair, usually kept loose and wavy, was pulled back in preparation of the windy carriage ride.
Reinhardt Lestrange was perhaps the most tolerable one of the group. He was more intuitive; able to pick up on Tom’s shifting moods and respond accordingly. Academics were not his strong suit, but that didn’t matter to Tom. He had skills in other areas.
“Things on my mind,” Tom said.
“Seemed fine before you had your patrol.”
Tom grunted, which Reinhardt took as a confirmation. “You’re usually...” He paused, choosing his words. “In a better mood when returning to school.”
He wasn’t wrong. Tom was about to return to Hogwarts, the only home he’d ever known. Back to his four-poster bed within the magical world he belonged. He awaited this all summer.
But then he had his patrol…
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so bloody abrasive to Cuffe. No one except his fellow Slytherins were meant to see that side of him.
He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more, that Cuffe was late, which was an indiscretion Tom had little tolerance for, or that Hermione Granger gave that useless waste of space such undivided attention.
What made him so worthy? She avoided Tom, even after their encounter at Flourish and Blotts. What had he done to deserve such ire from this girl? Tom didn’t harass her in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. He was a perfect gentleman in the bookstore when they were in that rather compromising position.
When he realized how much all these questions weighed on his mind, his rage sparked anew.
“Just in a bad mood. Does it matter?”
“Not particularly, I suppose.”
Reinhard never had problems with females. He didn’t engage in the crude conversations in the common room. He didn’t sit there drooling over girls in class. What was his secret? If Tom could suppress his desire for sex, tame his baser urges, he could accomplish so much more.
“Reinhardt, why don’t you date?”
“What?”
“Abraxas has a new girl on his arm every other month. Norris has dated that Ravenclaw for a year. What’s your excuse?”
Reinhard was speechless. He swallowed before finding his voice to speak again. “No particular reason.” He tried to evade the question. Tom narrowed his eyes. His friend took the hint and continued. “I mean, I dated Julia Brown.”
“You and I both know you didn’t care about Julia Brown.”
“I guess not...” He trailed off.
“Nothing else to add to that?” Tom asked. Reinhardt avoided his stare. He was hiding something. As Tom went to question him further, a loud gasp caught his attention.
“What the hell is that?” A voice squealed beside him. Tom glanced over to see Hermione Granger looking wide-eyed at the front of the carriage. Her curls tumbled loose and wild around her heart-shaped face. She had her mouth pursed, her lower lip jutting out in a frown. He stared at it for longer than he cared to admit.
“What?” Alastor Moody asked behind her. Augusta Crouch stood on her other side. The Gryffindor Prefects. Cuffe was nowhere in sight. Good riddance to that bastard.
“No, I—I’ve never seen one before.”
Moody and Crouch surveyed their surroundings as if waiting for a ghost to appear. “You’ve never seen a carriage before?” Crouch asked.
“No! Not that, a Thestral!”
“Thestral?” Crouch peaked at Moody, who shrugged.
“They are pulling the carriages,” Granger said. The carriage shifted as Moody climbed in. He gave Tom a nod in greeting, but didn’t acknowledge Reinhardt.
Reinhardt folded his arms and sat back with an exasperated huff.
“There’s nothing there, Hermione,” Crouch said. Her green eyes scanned Granger, sizing up how crazy she might be. Tom couldn’t blame her. This was the same girl who had a meltdown at Flourish and Blotts over a book.
Granger took a deep breath before turning to climb into the carriage after Moody.
“They’re Thestrals...” she repeated, taking a seat beside Moody. Crouch flipped her long auburn hair over her shoulder as she sat on her other side. “You must not be able to see them. You can only see them if you... well... if you...” She continued to stare off behind Tom. Crouch squinted, as if looking harder might make them appear. Idiot.
“You can only see them if you’ve seen someone die,” Reinhardt finished. “I can see them too.” Tom raised a brow at his friend, surprised to find he knew this information.
Crouch grimaced. “That’s depressing.”
Tom tried to hide a snort but ended up making a strange coughing sound instead. Granger’s eyes darted to his as if now realizing he was there. She blinked and returned her gaze over Tom’s shoulder.
He glowered before clearing his throat. “Hogwarts has the only tamed herd in England. Thestrals aren’t a species inclined to be trained,” Tom said as the carriages jerked and started towards the castle. The girl didn’t tear her eyes away from the creatures. Tom couldn’t see them… yet. His plans were his top priority, and he would do whatever it took, even if it meant sacrificing a few lives.
“They wouldn’t make dangerous creatures pull the carriages,” Moody said with a shrug.
“You’ve seen someone die?” Crouch asked.
“Uh, yeah... in St. Mungo’s. Long story.”
“Right, well, the castle is coming up around the corner here,” Moody said. “First years take the boats across the lake before they are sorted, but you were sorted already, of course.” Tom tuned out Moody’s winded explanation of Hogwarts. When did she get sorted? What house was she in? Probably Gryffindor. That would explain why she was hanging out with Moody and Crouch.
He released a sharp exhale and leaned back in the carriage as it rattled on towards the school.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione followed Augusta and Alastor to the Gryffindor table located against the far wall. Dishes and cutlery adorned the long house tables, waiting to be filled with delicious food. Despite being fifty years in the past, the castle looked the same. She’d almost expected to see the familiar line up of professors at the front table, but instead, numerous foreign faces stared back at her.
As they took their seats, Alastor barraged Hermione with details about the school. Some facts he told her were outright wrong, but she couldn’t correct him… Hogwarts: A History had yet to be published.
Another boy sat next to Augusta. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark features. He looked strangely familiar.
“This is Archie Longbottom,” Alastor said, gesturing to the new arrival. Hermione had to consciously keep the surprise from showing on her face. This had to be Neville’s grandfather.
Archie gave her a nod in greeting before turning his attention to Augusta. It was then that Hermione realized who Augusta was, Neville’s grandmother. The woman who raised him.
Archie’s gaze was full of affection. Perhaps they were already in a relationship.
A few seats over, the largest student in the school sat at the Gryffindor table, the seat creaking under his enormous weight. He was over six feet tall with short shaggy brown hair, big brown eyes, and a youthful-looking face. It had to be Hagrid. This must be the year he’d be expelled. Which meant...
The Chamber of Secrets… Voldemort hadn’t opened it yet.
Her breath got stuck in her throat. The room became sweltering. She tried to act natural, hoping the others would question her burst of anxiety. Her stomach churned as overwhelming nausea took hold. Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat.
Harry and Ron weren’t here… What would she do when the chamber opened? Should she tell someone? She knew where the entrance was. But it would look suspicious if she, a transfer student, suddenly revealed her knowledge of the school’s greatest secrets and legends.
What if the Basilisk Petrified her again? What if the Basilisk killed her?
Maybe coming to Hogwarts was a bad idea… This was a mistake. She prepared herself for a simple year, where she would spend most of her time researching a way to return to the future. She hadn’t expected to deal with the Chamber of Secrets.
Her hands felt clammy as she wiped the sweat away on her robes. She needed to let it go; there was nothing she could do about it now. It wasn’t like he would open the chamber tonight. But how long did she have? Myrtle died in June, but he Petrified others before that.
Her best option was to find a way home before the chamber opened. She couldn’t interfere with history more than she already had.
The doors opened, and Dumbledore escorted the first years into the Great Hall. He wore eggplant purple robes today with a tall, matching wizard’s hat. Patrick caught Hermione’s eye and gave her a thumbs up, which she returned. He walked beside tiny Filius Flitwick, who had to run to keep up.
“So they didn’t make you go through the sorting ceremony?” Archie asked her.
“No, they decided to not sort me with the rest of the first years. Mine took place six weeks ago.”
“Lucky! Sorting was horrible!” Augusta said.
“Oh, it’s not that bad!” Archie argued.
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t trip and knock the hat and stool over!”
“I forgot about that.” Archie smirked.
Augusta pursed her lips at him. “Did you know the sorting hat yelled at me when Dumbledore put it on my head? I had to apologize!” Hermione and Archie chuckled. Even Alastor cracked a small smile.
“Well, this is the sorting ceremony for new students. Sort of tradition,” Alastor said. Of course, Hermione knew all this but feigned interest. Dumbledore placed a ragged, patched wizard’s hat on the conjured stool. The brim of the hat peeled apart like a mouth and sang.
“Each September we start anew
with bright and cheery faces.
Everyone coming together
with their books, robes, and cases.
“Some reuniting with old friends
and others meeting new ones.
All sitting down for a shared meal
with biscuits, meat pies, and buns.
“But before we all fill ourselves
to the point of distorting,
we must give our attention to
the new students who need sorting.
“Maybe they are a Gryffindor,
a gold and scarlet lion.
Someone who is brave and daring
with courage to rely on.
“They may belong in Hufflepuff
with the loyal and the just.
Those black and yellow badgers who
are very easy to trust.
“In Ravenclaw they will find those
who value wit and learning.
A nest of bronze and blue eagles
with academic yearning.
“In Slytherin they might belong
with those of great ambition.
Those green and silver serpents who
pursue goals to fruition.
“Don’t be shy, step on up
and place me on your noggin.
I will look inside your mind and
see which house you belong in.”
As the sorting hat sang, Hermione examined the faces of all the small new students gathered together. They looked terrified. She remembered the feeling well. She had felt like she was going to be sick before she sat on that stool.
“Aarons, Gilbert.” Dumbledore read off a long list.
“Hufflepuff!”
“Belby, Damocles.” Was the first student sorted into Ravenclaw. Hermione stifled her gasp at the name as she watched the young boy find a seat with his new house. He would one day invent the Wolfsbane potion.
“Black, Alphard…” The hat only brushed the boy’s head before it shouted “Slytherin!” The far table cheered, and the boy scrambled to seat himself on the end. She saw Riddle watching the sorting with a bored expression, not taking part in festivities like the rest of the students. He shifted his position and his dark eyes locked with hers.
Would he really open the Chamber of Secrets? Was he destined to become the darkest wizard in history? He was so gorgeous. Utterly captivating. It was hard to imagine him becoming something so horrible.
The person next to Riddle jabbed him with their elbow. Hermione’s gaze flicked over and caught Malfoy’s hateful glare. She looked away and refocused on the sorting. No point in worrying about Malfoy or Riddle now.
She cheered for the Gryffindors joining their table and perked up when Dumbledore called “Dodderidge, Patrick.” Patrick’s face turned an unhealthy shade of green as he approached the stool. The hat fell over his eyes, but she could see him twiddle his thumbs in his lap.
“Ravenclaw!” Hermione clapped for her friend.
When “Flitwick, Filius,” was called, the small boy who Patrick befriended wobbled up to the stool. Dumbledore had to help him into the chair amid a few mocking chuckles. Filius Flitwick would be the dueling champion at Hogwarts. He was going to stay and teach their children. Patrick smiled at his new friend when he joined the Ravenclaws.
When “McGonagall, Malcolm” was called and sorted into Gryffindor, a tall stern-faced witch sitting beside Archie clapped exuberantly. Hermione recognized the girl to be a much younger Minerva McGonagall.
“Umbridge, Orford,” went to Hufflepuff. Hermione’s cheeks heated. He had the same toad face she remembered from the foul teacher.
When the sorting finished, the Headmaster stood. Professor Dippet looked ancient. The man was feeble, with withered skin so thin it appeared almost transparent. He didn’t have any muscle or fat left on his decrepit body, resembling a skeleton with skin. When he opened his mouth to speak, it sounded like a hoarse croak. “Welcome, we will begin the feast!” with those words he sat.
“Was that it?” Hermione asked Alastor.
“He doesn’t say much.”
“Probably because he’s so old,” Augusta said.
The dishes on the table filled with splendid food. The kitchen elves were no less enthusiastic in the 1940s. Meatloaf, lamb chops, roasted chicken, sausages, bacon, steak, mashed potatoes, grilled corn, peas, carrots, baked beans, coleslaw, and three types of gravy. It all was delicious.
For dessert, there was bread pudding, jello salad, coconut cream pie, apple pie, chocolate cake, carrot cake, and mountains of cookies.
“I’ll go introduce myself to the first years,” Alastor said, standing and straightening his Prefect’s badge.
“Should I do that too?” Augusta asked, looking genuinely surprised.
“Doesn’t matter.” Alastor shrugged as he walked to the end of the table where all the new students sat together.
“Gussie, can you pass the Jam Tarts?” Archie asked.
“You go by Gussie?” Hermione asked, as she piled her plate with more lamb chops and potatoes. Noise in the hall rose with each passing second.
“Some of my close friends call me Gussie,” she replied with an air of indifference.
“Oh.” Everyone Hermione’s age already had friends. She would probably end up an outcast in this school.
That wasn’t a pleasant thought.
A shadow loomed over Hermione’s plate. She caught Augusta’s face as it morphed into a sneer. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder.
“So you came to Hogwarts, Granger?” The familiar drawl said behind her. She knew it was a Malfoy without even looking.
“What are you doing over here?” she asked him.
“I’m surprised to see you, honestly. You were so desperate for coin, I can’t believe you could afford a quill, let alone the rest of your school supplies.” Hermione opted not to answer him. In a gesture of dismissal, she picked up her fork. A hand slapped down next to her, making the plates and cups rattle.
“Get out of here, Malfoy.” It was Augusta who spoke up.
“Stay out of it, Crouch!” He leaned threateningly over Hermione. She was used to the Malfoy intimidation tactics by now. “So what did you do, Granger, take up a different customer on their offer? Was my gold not good enough?” She wanted to punch him again. Her fingers ached to form a fist.
“You came all the way over here to taunt the new girl? That’s low, even for you, Malfoy.” If looks could kill, then Augusta would be strangling Malfoy with her eyes. Archie’s mouth formed a thin line, and his jaw tightened.
Malfoy ignored her. “Didn’t I say I would get my revenge,” he whispered so nobody else could hear, “I promised you would pay.”
“Malfoy!” The boy jumped back, and everyone looked over to see a furious Tom Riddle, his arms crossed, and a fiery glare directed at his friend.
“Tom! I…” Malfoy was genuinely terrified of Riddle. He went rigid. Hermione could imagine why. She heard how Voldemort treated his followers. Riddle would lead and gain power using fear.
“I told you to drop it, Malfoy,” he said in a low, threatening tone.
“I was just… Tom, she—”
“She punched you. She broke your nose. I was there, and I told you to drop it!” he sneered. The blond blanched and with a final scathing look towards Hermione, Abraxas Malfoy walked away.
Riddle met Hermione’s eyes, his gaze softening. He gave her a nod before following Malfoy back to the Slytherin table.
A tension reverberated through the group. The rest of the Great Hall hadn’t noticed the commotion. Hermione stared down at her lamb chop, feeling less hungry. She was waiting for somebody else to break the silence.
“You punched Abraxas Malfoy and broke his nose?” Augusta asked.
“Yes.”
A wide grin spread over Augusta’s pretty lips. Her green eyes brightened with delight. “I’ve decided, Hermione, you may call me Gussie!”
Hermione slumped in relief. Had she made a friend? Perhaps this year wouldn’t be so bad.
It became apparent what a privilege it was to call Augusta Crouch, Gussie. As Alastor said when he returned to the table, she gave only three people permission: himself, Archie, and her fiancé, Ignatius.
Hermione tried not to let the surprise show on her face. She already knew they would become Neville’s grandparents. She didn’t miss Archie’s sullen expression at the mention of Ignatius.
“Who’s Ignatius?” Hermione asked.
“He’s in Hufflepuff,” Gussie said with an indifferent wave toward the Hufflepuff table. Hermione looked over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone waving at her and announcing themselves as the aforementioned Ignatius.
“Ignatius Prewitt, he’s a sixth year,” Alastor added.
Hermione hardly had time to process the new information when Archie interrupted to change the subject. “So Hermione! What brings you to Hogwarts at the start of fifth year?”
“Oh! And you have to tell me what it was like to punch Malfoy! I can live vicariously through you! I bet it was wonderful,” Gussie said with a dreamy sigh.
“You punched Malfoy?” Alastor asked.
“Look at that, Hermione, you shocked Alastor!” Gussie chuckled.
Hermione gave them a soft smile and took a deep breath before she, once more, dove into her vague, well-crafted story.
***
Hermione followed Gussie along the corridor as she led her toward the Gryffindor common room. They stayed back to talk more about school and classes before heading to bed. Gussie described the schedule and the general expectations for classes. Hermione, of course, already knew this, but she listened politely.
“I should probably warn you,” Gussie smirked, looking down at Hermione as they climbed the stairs. “Two warnings, actually. First there is a vanishing step. Oh—guess you caught that, good. Also, the portrait that guards Gryffindor Tower is a tad crazy.”
“Crazy?” Hermione questioned. The Fat Lady was stern, sure, but Hermione would have never called her crazy.
“Yeah, he’s been going more insane through the years. We’ve been trying to get him removed, but the Governors say he’s a piece of Hogwarts history or something. They refuse to do it. But they aren’t the ones that have to deal with him every day!”
“That’s uh…” Hermione started but shut her mouth again when she wasn’t sure how to continue. Was the Fat Lady not guarding Gryffindor Tower? Hermione could have sworn she had been in place since the late 1800s... She must have been mistaken...
“My advice is to go along with his crazy. He gets upset if you try to argue with him.” They climbed up a final set of stairs as Gussie explained the rotating staircases and the layout of the castle.
They turned a corner and Hermione saw what Gussie was referring to. Sir Cadogan stood tall and proud with what was perhaps the fattest horse in history, grazing behind him. His suit of armor was freshly polished, and he had his sword in hand. He straightened taller when he noticed Gussie and Hermione coming towards him.
“M’ladies! The soldiers have returned from the long summer battle! I am told that we were victorious!”
“Yes, I have also come back with wondrous splendor,” Gussie said with a straight expression that baffled Hermione.
“Gussie, what—” her new friend cut her off with a look.
“He thinks there is a war going on and we are all soldiers in a battle. Like I said, go with it,” she hissed.
“And no fatalities! We must write to their families and inform them of their safe return!” Sir Cadogan said.
“Yes—”
“And share stories of our heroic deeds when the war is won! I am pleased to hear that you have been promoted in the ranks, m’lady! I am honored to serve you!” Sir Cadogan bowed so low he stumbled forward and nearly face planted in the grass. Hermione could only assume he was referencing Gussie’s position as a Prefect.
“Thank you—” Gussie started, only to be interrupted again.
“We have many new recruits to our numbers. It has come to my attention that our elder soldiers retired from duty. But we will honor and remember them as they served our cause well.”
“Of course, Sir Cadogan.” The irritation was clear on Gussie’s face.
“The soldiers are convening inside to discuss strategy for the next battle now!” Sir Cadogan said like a child giddy over a piece of candy.
“You don’t say!” Gussie said with a dramatic gasp, “This sounds like a very important meeting, Sir Cadogan! I must attend!”
“You are quite right, m’lady! The leaders of our troops should all be in attendance! Make haste! Password?”
“Uh, Victory.” Without further comment from Sir Cadogan, he swung open on his hinges, revealing the portrait hole.
“Password is victory?” Hermione asked.
“Yeah, it’s usually some battle-related password. He changes them like... every week, it’s obnoxious.”
Hermione followed Gussie inside the common room and was not surprised to see that there wasn’t a strategy meeting going on. The fire blazed with only a few scattered students sitting about and discussing the summer holidays. A small group gathered around a table in the corner, watching a heated battle of wizard chess. The place hadn’t changed. Being here again filled a small piece of emptiness in her heart.
Later that night, when lying in her fourposter in the dormitory she shared with Gussie and a girl named Sonya, Hermione could pretend, if only for a moment, the world was right. It was easy to imagine that nothing outside the protective fabric drapes around her was any different. She would wake tomorrow and enjoy breakfast with Harry and Ron like she always did.
Notes:
Chapter 7 Song: Devil's Playground: The Rigs. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Update: Chapter reread and edited March 29, 2025
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Chapter Text
The Great Hall buzzed with activity the next morning over breakfast. Slughorn walked around the table, passing out class schedules. The man had on tacky emerald green robes that were covered in stains and stretched tight over his large midsection. He styled his dark hair to hide his prematurely receding hairline. Tom wondered how a wizard, with all this magic at their disposal, could allow themselves to look so disgusting.
“Mr. Riddle! How was your summer!” he asked, as if seeing Tom was the highlight of his pathetic existence. Slughorn passed him his schedule.
Tom turned on the charm and gave Slughorn a dazzling smile. “Not bad. How was yours, professor?” He even put extra effort into wrinkling his eyes to make it look believable. It made his head hurt.
“Eunice Murray died this summer, Seeker for the Montrose Magpies. Very talented and a wonderful friend. I met Nicolas Flamel at the funeral! He recently published The Twelve uses of Dragon’s Blood with Professor Dumbledore! If that wasn’t a—”
Tom stopped listening and nodded at appropriate intervals. He regretted asking about Slughorn’s summer, but he needed to keep up appearances.
Slughorn thought Tom was the perfect student, and perhaps he was. But one day, he would be more than that. He would distinguish himself from the common, nobody wizards like Slughorn and rise above. He would obtain a place in magical history. He would be a legend. He would be extraordinary.
“Sounds incredible, professor,” Tom said with false bravado while pouring coffee into his mug.
“It was! Truly a marvelous experience! Oh, Mr. Crocket, don’t leave without your schedule!” With that, Slughorn moved on. The guy was an oaf. He wouldn’t survive a day in the wizarding world Tom dreamed of. Too weak. It would crush him.
Reinhardt, Abraxas, and Norris sat around Tom with their own schedules in hand. Tom scanned the contents.
“Hey ‘Brax, isn’t that the girl that punched you?” Norris asked. Tom glanced up and spotted Hermione Granger entering the Great Hall next to Augusta Crouch.
“Fuck off, Norris.”
“Heard she broke your nose.” Reinhardt chuckled as he added a splash of milk to his tea. Granger laughed at something with her friend as she sat at the Gryffindor table. Her hair was unruly, but her caramel eyes were bright with excitement. She looked up and her gaze locked with his. For a moment, the world froze. Her smile dropped as she studied him, and her brows furrowed, as if she was concerned. What about? A heartbeat later, she looked away and time returned to normal.
“Who told you that, Reinhardt?!” Abraxas seethed. Tom frowned. He was in no mood to mediate a petty fight today.
“Calm down, just heard it in passing! So it’s true? She really broke your nose?”
“I swear if I get my hands on that girl—”
“Malfoy.” Tom only said his name. Nothing more. He didn’t even look at him. It was enough to stop whatever Abraxas planned to say.
“You should have been there, Reinhardt! She rejected him and punched him when he made a pass at her,” Norris said with barely contained glee. Abraxas’s jaw clenched. He looked ready to curse his friend, but he wasn’t sure how Tom would react.
“Didn’t she share the carriage with us?” Reinhardt asked. Tom nodded.
“She has an incredible arse, doesn’t she?” Norris said. “I wouldn’t mind—”
“You do not want to finish that sentence, Avery.” Tom’s eyes blazed fire at Norris and the boy went silent.
“Why weren’t you able to join us over the summer, Reinhardt?” Abraxas asked. Tom took a sip of his coffee, bitter and black. Not as strong as he preferred. He caught Hermione Granger pouring cream into her mug.
“I stayed with my grandparents in France, which reminds me,” Reinhardt glanced around, ensuring nobody overheard. They usually sat at the end of the Slytherin table for privacy. Other Slytherin’s avoided Tom, mostly out of fear. He hid that side from the rest of the school. Regardless, his charms, intelligence, and looks intimidated his peers.
Reinhardt leaned in and the others followed his lead. “I asked my grandfather about the Chamber of Secrets,” he whispered. Tom’s lips curved into a deranged smile. His eyes gleamed with predatory hunger. All last year, they had been stuck in the same circle, chasing their tails to find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Tom spent his first two years at Hogwarts obsessed with learning about his family. All he knew was what the orphanage told him. His mother named him Tom after his father and Marvolo after her father. Initially, his progress was slow. Tom had assumed his mother to be weak and worthless, someone who couldn’t even save herself during childbirth. Tom focused his efforts on finding out about his father, Tom Riddle.
There was nothing. No leads. No signs. Nothing to point to who his father might be within the extensive records kept in the school library. After a year, he concluded his father wasn’t a wizard. It dealt a crushing blow to his pride; an embarrassment that he had to live with. One that he never shared with anyone.
Tom was the only person in the school that could talk to snakes. A language, he learned, was called Parseltongue that Salazar Slytherin famously spoke. It wasn’t a coincidence. Eventually, he found his grandfather Marvolo Gaunt and his mother Merope and traced their lineage all the way back to Salazar himself.
During his research he came upon the Chamber of Secrets, learned of Salazar’s mission, and discovered himself to be the Heir of Slytherin. He surmised the monster in the chamber to be a snake. Salazar Slytherin would have planned for the longevity of his line and would guarantee the survival of the monster. He eventually concluded that the snake would be a Basilisk. No one has yet determined the average lifespan of a Basilisk.
When he returned for his third year, he started his search for the chamber. It was in vain.
Tom choked on his pride and turned to his gang his fourth year, revealing what he was searching for and telling them he was Slytherin’s heir. They never questioned it, but none of them had insight into the Chamber of Secrets. They made no progress.
“He said his grandfather would tell him stories about when he was at Hogwarts. Apparently, he was friends with this guy named Gaunt, who had a hell of a time keeping the chamber hidden when they were installing plumbing. Gaunt had to redesign the entrance using pipes or something so it would remain undetectable.”
“Anything else?” Tom asked
“Gaunt also maintained an enchantment so only Slytherin’s heir could open it... he didn’t really know too much. He said he never asked about it when his grandfather was alive.”
“What bloody good is that!” Abraxas interrupted with his characteristic sneer. “Great lot of help—”
“Enough!” Tom said. Reinhardt frowned. Abraxas was getting on Tom’s last nerve these days. “Did you discover anything about the Chamber this summer?” Tom asked Abraxas. He already knew the answer.
“Well... I—”
“Isn’t the Malfoy family library the largest collection in Britain?”
“I looked but there wasn’t—”
“Liar.” Tom seethed. His dark eyes swam with fire. Abraxas turned red... then blue... then purple. He couldn’t breathe. He grabbed at his face like there was an invisible hand suffocating him. It was a little trick Tom picked up over the summer when he practiced wandless magic. A very useful skill.
Tom released the spell when Abraxas’s eyes rolled back. Norris paled. Reinhardt stirred his tea like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Abraxas coughed and gasped for air.
Tom stood as Abraxas gained control of his breathing. “You are a bloody nuisance, Abraxas.” Tom swept out of the Great Hall.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
“Today we will brew the Draught of Peace, a potion that commonly shows up on O.W.L.s. It’s a rather tricky brew to get right. The instructions for it are on page 62 of the text. Each step—” Hermione listened to Professor Slughorn and mindlessly took notes. She brewed the Draught of Peace loads of times. He was right. It showed up on her O.W.L.s as well.
“How will you know if you brewed the potion correctly? Ah, yes, you must be Miss Granger?”
“I am. The potion emits a silver vapor when made correctly.”
“Very good! Ten points to Gryffindor! Dumbledore told me about you; said you got a perfect score on the aptitude test in every category. Very impressive! Not sure that’s ever happened before! I trust you will do well in your potion studies.” Gussie sniggered next to her. Did Slughorn have to announce that information to the entire class? It seemed rather personal.
Hermione could feel the gaze of her classmates boring into her despite sitting at the back of the room. She couldn’t stop herself from raising her hand if she knew the answer. It was a compulsion. Since she was essentially repeating her fifth year, she knew every answer. But already people recognized her for being clever rather than just the new girl.
She peaked up through her lashes and noticed Tom staring back at her. They had double Potions on Thursdays with the Slytherins. He studied her like she was a complex Arithmancy equation that he was trying to crack. His hand ran through his hair, making it a dark tousled mess. On him, it only made him more gorgeous.
Hermione looked away.
“You have an hour and a half, begin!” Slughorn said with a clap of his hands.
Hermione sighed and flipped her book open to review the recipe before gathering her ingredients from the cupboard and starting the fire under her cauldron.
It was mindless work to brew this potion.
Add powdered moonstone until the potion turns green.
“How long do you think it needs to simmer?” Archie asked Gussie. She shrugged. Hermione leaned over and answered him.
Simmer till it turns purple.
“Damn, I didn’t grind enough moonstone! Did you see we needed to add it again!” Gussie gasped.
“Don’t steal mine!” Hermione slapped her hand away.
“I wasn’t going to!” Gussie lied, looking offended by the accusation. She turned her attention to Archie and, staring longingly at the extra moonstone powder in front of him and pouted.
Add more powdered moonstone till it turns pink.
Of course, Archie shared it without a second thought. Hermione smirked.
“Miss Granger! Your draught of peace is a fantastic shade of pink!” Slughorn boasted. Hermione blushed and tried not to look too pleased. Alastor’s cauldron was a transparent pink and Gussie’s looked more brown. Hermione’s was a brilliant fuchsia.
“You know Dumbledore told me he had never seen such wisdom in a witch so young. You have such talent! Are you at all related to the famous potioneer, Hector Dagworth-Granger?” He asked her.
Hermione had to keep herself from sighing.
She wanted to deny it, shout that she was Muggle-born, remember her roots and where she came from, but she couldn’t. According to her alibi, her parents homeschooled her before being murdered by Grindelwald.
“Yes, though rather distantly, of course.” She wasn’t ashamed of being Muggle-born, she was proud of it; somehow, lying about it felt like she was tossing her family aside. Was she even Hermione Granger anymore?
“How fascinating! I’m sure you know what he is most known for then?”
Hermione bit her lip before answering the question. “He theorized that there is no way to control or create the feeling of love and that love potions in existence merely induce a powerful infatuation.”
“Indeed! Of course, I only cover such material with my N.E.W.T. students. I hope to see you continue your studies in Potions. You should have been sorted into my house, very talented. Quite talented.”
Tom walked up to her table and peered into her cauldron for a critical inspection. “Riddle!” Slughorn patted Tom on the back like a proud uncle. “You may have some competition for top of the class this year!” Slughorn chuckled before wandering away. Tom didn’t look remotely amused. Without another word, he completed his assessment of her potion before returning to his own cauldron.
Hermione gave a groan of relief. Gussie looked more entertained than upset by all the attention Hermione was getting.
“He picks favorites,” she shrugged with a light smile.
“Looks like he has a new member for his Slug Club,” Archie said, smirking.
“The Slug Club?”
“It’s for his favorites, usually people with high-ranking connections or who show a lot of promise,” Gussie said.
“Are any of you in it?” she asked Archie, Gussie, and Alastor.
“Nope!” Gussie answered, not upset in the slightest about being left out of the group. She looked relieved. “I prefer to spend as little time with Slughorn as possible,” she whispered. “The guy creeps me out.”
“I am,” Alastor said. It was the first time he had spoken the entire class period. He was a man of few words. Gussie assured her he would open up once she got to know him.
“Alastor comes from a long line of high-ranking aurors,” Archie said. Alastor only shrugged.
Allow potion to simmer until it turns orange.
She reviewed the last step while the potion simmered. She knew from experience this step called for about 10-15 minutes of steady simmering. Many students get impatient and move on without waiting the whole time. She reached for her porcupine quills, only to find them missing.
“What?” Hermione looked around in time to see Gussie shaking the contents into her cauldron. “Gussie!”
“What?” she gave Hermione a wide-eyed innocent stare, acting like she hadn’t stolen her porcupine quills and used them.
“Oh, never mind...” Hermione muttered as she stormed back to the student store room to fetch more ingredients.
She found them on a top shelf, out of reach. With the help of a stepstool, she climbed up and grabbed the jar she needed. Suddenly, the sound of the door opening and shutting caught her attention. She spun so abruptly that she almost lost her balance.
Tom assessed her with a carefully neutral expression, but she could sense the tension in his posture. Something simmering just below his skin. She struggled to pick up on it. He wiped his face so thoroughly clean of emotion that anything that seeped through became muted.
“So Slughorn thinks you will be competition,” he said to her. It wasn’t a question.
“Did you need something Riddle?” She stepped down and clutched the jar closer to her chest.
“Nope.” She squirmed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He blocked the exit.
“So you followed me here because?”
“I’m trying to figure you out, Miss Granger.” He said it with such a finite air; like he figured her out already. His dark eyes flashed, and a sardonic smile curved on his lips.
“Because I’m competition?”
He snorted. “We will see about that.”
What the hell did he want from her? He had trapped her in the room! She felt her face heat with frustration. “I agree. I hope you prove to be a worthy adversary.”
His face twisted in anger, the smile replaced by a sneer and a menacing glint in his dark eyes. He didn’t like his talents being called into question. Until now, Tom was placed on such a high pedestal, nobody had a chance of reaching him. He loved sitting on his throne, and his world didn’t have space for someone else to join him. “Let me give you some advice, Miss Granger. You may be intelligent, but that alone won’t be enough to beat me. You may have everyone else fooled, but not me.”
She swallowed through the lump in her throat. “I could say the same about you, Mr. Riddle, now if you’re quite finished, please step aside so I can finish my potion.” He smirked and took a step closer to her. She instinctively stepped back. Her breath caught as he closed the gap between them.
When she moved again, her foot hit the stool, she lost her footing; she choked a gasp as her knees gave out. In the next heartbeat, Riddle grabbed her hips and steadied her before she could fall. She panted as she regained her faculties. He looked shocked, his hands still gripping her waist, even when she was firmly on her feet.
His scent of cedar and peppermint surrounding her, his breath ghosted over her ear as he spoke. “Careful little lion, watch your step. You never know what might come out and bite.”
“A lion bites harder than a snake,” she hissed, shaking his hands off her. She was grateful the student storeroom was dark. He wouldn’t be able to see the way her cheeks heated at his touch.
“A snake can easily devour a cub like you.”
With a final intense look, he slipped out the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts. For some reason, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she just raged war against the devil.
Notes:
Chapter 8 Song: Love and War: Fleurie. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I'm loving all the comments! Life can overwhelm me as I make my way through my residency, but it seriously makes my day to read them! Thank you so much everyone! I never imagined this story going anywhere and it has far exceeded my expectations! Its motivated me to keep working on book 2 and to continue making the book the best I can make it before sharing!
Update: Chapter reread and edited May 18, 2025
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Chapter Text
Hermione hoped to avoid Riddle after their encounter in the student store room but luck wasn’t on her side. She had to see him that afternoon in Arithmancy, her favorite subject. She entered the classroom alone since none of her friends chose that elective. Now, as she scanned the room, a pit formed in her stomach.
Two students sat at each table in the classroom. Looking around, she noticed Riddle was the only one with an empty seat next to him.
Wasn’t he popular? Why was he sitting alone?
She walked with confidence to the open chair and tossed her stuff on the table. She expected him to make a snarky comment. Continue his huffing and puffing from earlier. Instead, he glanced at her with indifference, then returned to staring vacantly ahead.
Silence. She could work with that.
Multiple times throughout the lesson, she caught him looking at her. His expression gave nothing away. What was he hoping to gain by watching her with his dark, mesmerizing eyes? His very presence next to her was distracting. She focused all her energy into taking notes.
The first month of school passed without another incident. So far, she answered twenty-two questions in class and Riddle answered eighteen, not that she was keeping track. She was becoming the girl ‘with all the answers’, much to Riddle’s ire and Gussie’s amusement.
Regardless, she was determined to make this a seamless year without the drama she typically experienced at Hogwarts. She hoped to figure out how to return to her own time before he opened the Chamber of Secrets. Then she wouldn’t have to undergo the moral dilemma of trying to stop it. A thought that pressed heavily on her mind.
She shouldn’t mess with the timeline more than she already had.
She spent almost every evening researching any topic that pertained to time travel, with nothing to show for it. With each book she re-shelved, she fought off the discouragement that threatened to consume her.
She couldn’t give up! She played this game before! She combed the library time and time again to find answers to impossible questions. Like when she searched for ‘Nicolas Flamel’ in her first year, or when she scoured the shelves for a way to breathe underwater in her fourth year.
She diligently jotted down any detail that might come in handy. This amounted to only half a page of scribbled rubbish. She thought she found something with the woman who bounced back an entire century. She returned to her proper time, but her body aged with the passage. Rumor was she arrived as a rotted and decayed corpse, having died of starvation early in the journey.
Hermione sighed as she stared at the book. Hopefully she could avoid that mistake, but the text didn’t detail information on how the woman returned to the future. Hermione scribbled down the name, hoping it would come up again somewhere.
Double Defense Against the Dark Arts took up her entire Friday afternoon. Gussie joined Hermione at her desk and complained about the mountain of homework.
“I know it’s fifth year and we have those exams, but this is ridiculous! It’s going to take me all weekend to write Professor Beery’s essay on medicinal plants. Plus, I was supposed to help Archie scout for Quidditch!”
“You’re not on the team. Why are you helping him?” Hermione asked, setting her bag down. Gussie sat in the seat closest to the window. She claimed looking outside helped her think. The way she never took notes and her inattentiveness in class suggested otherwise. Somehow, Gussie passed her classes. Hermione suspected Alastor played a large role in that.
“Oh, I like helping,” she said. Archie was captain this year, playing Beater. He wasn’t the oldest member on the team with Minerva being a sixth year, but he joined his second year, and she joined her fourth, giving him the most experience. Minerva didn’t mind. She claimed to have enough going on. Minerva was working on a special project with Dumbledore. Hermione suspected it might have to do with her becoming an animagus in the future.
“You don’t even like Quidditch!”
“I never said that!”
“Okay, name me five Quidditch league teams.” Hermione decided not to mention that she probably couldn’t name five teams herself.
“Okay! Ireland, England, Bulgari—”
“Those are countries, not British and Irish Quidditch League teams.”
“I know! I wasn’t done.”
“If you would like to continue to name countries, I won’t stop you.”
Gussie glowered at her. “Well, there’s the Chubby Cannons and the Montrose Mongooses, or is it Mongeese… is mongooses a word?”
“You mean the Chudley Cannons and the Montrose Magpies, I assume?” Hermione smirked at her friend.
Gussie gave an impressive pout. “That’s what I said!”
“I’m pretty sure you were talking about mongooses just now.”
”Hmm, was I? Strange.” Gussie batted her pretty long lashes and flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder.
Hermione chuckled and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t figure out what stopped Archie and Gussie from entering an official relationship. Why would she date Ignatius Prewitt if she wasn’t interested in him? She rarely talked about him, and Hermione never saw them spend time together.
Was she lying? Why would she lie about that?
The rest of the class filed in, followed by old Professor Merrythought, who had her waist-length grey hair in its usual braid. Her keen gaze assessed each student. She was tall, with broad, masculine shoulders, and an enormous nose where the thickest pair of glasses known to man perched.
“Today we will discuss Dementors before we move on to jinxes. On page 144, you will find a picture of a Dementor.” The classroom echoed with the sound of shuffling papers as students flipped open their books. “They are cloaked figures that are best known for guarding the wizard prison, Azkaban.”
Hermione stared at the image of the Dementor in her book. The cape whirled around the formless body as it floated down a strange corridor. Even through a mere photograph, an icy chill spread over her. She heard the rattling breath as they neared.
“Augusta, did you have a question?”
“What’s under the hood of a Dementor?” Gussie asked.
“Nobody knows—”
“They have these empty eye sockets, deep and shadowed,” Hermione said. She tasted the despair on her tongue. Felt the cold in her bones. Those empty eyes haunted Hermione’s memories. Made appearances in her dreams… her nightmares.
She swallowed before continuing. “Their faces are almost skeleton-like except they have scabbed skin and gaping holes for their mouths that they clamp over your lips to suck the soul from your body.”
“Ew!” Gussie shrieked. Professor Merrythought studied Hermione with interest.
“Have you encountered a Dementor before, Hermione?” she asked. Hermione blushed. She hadn’t been thinking about how much she was revealing when she answered Gussie’s question.
No use lying about it… She gave a quick nod.
Tom Riddle surveyed her. He would use those creatures… He would use those awful, foul, dreadful monsters and take pleasure from it.
She looked away from him
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard an un-hooded Dementor described.” Hermione saw the face when it lowered its hood to kiss her when she was only fourteen, and she lived to tell the tale. “Then I suppose you can tell us what being in a Dementor’s presence feels like.”
Hermione wasn’t sure if Merrythought was expecting her to answer or not. She didn’t phrase it like a question.
When the silence stretched a beat longer than comfortable, Hermione exhaled, trying to shake the cold off her skin. “They feed on your happiness. They devour any light in the world around you. The air becomes frigid, the stars go out and the only thing is darkness. The Dementor, you, despair, and darkness.
“Then you hear their rattling breaths, and you freeze in fear. You remember all your worst memories. You feel empty, hopeless. Like you’ll never be happy again, like there may not be any point in even living.
“The cold gets worse as they come closer. The horrific memories become more vivid. They feel suffocating. Your body becomes numb and weak as they draw all the strength and will out of you. Eventually you collapse...”
She took a deep breath, lost in her recollection of the night she, Sirius, and Harry were confronted by a team of Dementors. “The last thing I remember is the Dementor lowering its hood as it bent over me… and those eyes.”
The hush that followed was heavy. Hermione could hear her heart pounding in her ears, she counted her breaths. She avoided thinking about that day. The only time Hermione had revisited it since was in her nightmares. Professor Merryweather cleared her throat. “That… that is an excellent description of a Dementor.”
“Wait!” Archie spoke up. “Are you saying that the prisoners in Azkaban live like that the entire time they’re there?”
“Yes,” Merrythought said.
“Wouldn’t death be better?” he asked. Hermione had to agree. If left in that state for a prolonged time, she would wish for death. “Even if they had a limited sentence, they would go insane!” Archie looked appalled.
“Well, they’re prisoners...” Sonya, the other Gryffindor fifth year girl, shrugged.
“But it’s like we are torturing them!”
“Why do you care? Why does it matter? They’re prisoners!” said one of the Slytherin girls.
“Any thoughts Archie?” Merrythought said.
“Isn’t being imprisoned punishment enough?” Archie asked. A few students murmured agreements, while others looked uncomfortable. Riddle stared straight ahead like he had never been more bored in his life.
“So, who do you want to guard the prisons? Aurors? Because they are busy,” Alastor said. A wistful expression crossed his face as he lost himself in memories of his own family. Both his parents were Aurors. He told Hermione they were rarely home, and the family house-elf raised him.
“Maybe we need more Aurors then.”
“Are you going to train them?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Then what do you do with the Dementors?” Reinhardt asked. “After you release them from Azkaban, then what? Let them live out their lives as they please? That doesn’t seem safe.”
“Well—”
“And you send them out and they go into London. A Muggle would notice a creepy hooded abomination flying around,” Reinhardt leaned forward on his desk, staring Archie down.
“Actually,” Hermione interjected. She was getting a headache. “Muggles cannot see Dementors.” A fact that ended up being a major point of discussion for Harry’s trial. He used a Patronus to escape two Dementors that attacked him and his cousin over the summer.
“This is true,” Professor Merrythought said. “There are stories of Muggle children with magical abilities seeing Dementors. They require earlier intervention from the ministry.”
“Really? So what then? They do nothing to Muggles?” Gussie asked.
“Not exactly,” Hermione said. “They can feel the cold, despair, and all the effects of a Dementor but they can’t see the creature in front of them about to suck their soul out through their mouth.”
“You need to stop putting that visual in my head!” Gussie ran her hands over her face.
“I don’t know what we would do with the Dementors after removing them from Azkaban,” Archie admitted, returning to the previous topic, “but what we are doing now isn’t okay.”
“I agree with Archie,” Hermione said, rubbing her temples. Riddle watched her every time she spoke. Studied her. The proximity of him sitting at the next table left her feeling exposed. “We are torturing them without them having any way of protecting themselves. We are intentionally making people feel hopeless when they are already in a hopeless situation.”
“Right, because you have all your personal experience,” Malfoy drawled, his voice dripping with condescension.
“I never said I’ve been in Azkaban, just that I’ve encountered Dementors before.”
“Yes, because outside of Azkaban, the world is roaming with Dementors.”
“Are you suggesting we give prisoners wands?” the Slytherin girl asked, rolling her eyes at Hermione.
“And how do you expect them to protect themselves if they could?” Malfoy argued.
“A Patronus.”
“I know a Patronus! I mean, most wizards can’t even cast a Patronus! It’s only taught at the N.E.W.T. level and still it’s never tested on the actual exam since some wizards will never be capable of casting it!”
“Is it really so difficult?” Archie asked.
“It’s a spell of pure happiness,” Hermione said. “You have to imagine your happiest memory until you feel it within you when you cast the spell. A strong Patronus will take a form specific to the person who casts it.”
“Like what?”
“Mine’s an owl,” Merrythought commented. That fascinated Gussie.
“I wonder what mine would be?” she asked, mostly to herself.
Hermione shrugged. “Mine’s an otter.”
“Seriously!” Malfoy slammed his hand on his desk, making everyone jump. “First you say you’ve encountered Dementors and now you’re trying to convince us you can produce a corporeal Patronus!”
“I can.”
“You’re so full of it, Granger! Everyone sees through you!”
“Mr. Malfoy!” Merrythought shouted. Hermione flushed. She bit her lip and clenched her jaw. She wouldn’t engage. Wouldn’t push this. Her head pounded.
“You walk around here like you own the place! Like you aren’t some grubby waitress at a pub!”
“Mr. Malfoy, that’s enough!”
Her body buzzed. Her toes curled. Hermione liked her job at the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn’t a dream career, but it saved her. She refused to be belittled for that.
Her breathing became shallow. She stared at her desk. At the open book with the haunting image of a Dementor. The darkness. The cloak.
“Who are you really?! Where did you even come from?”
Merrythought said something, but the words sounded muffled. She could only hear Malfoy’s shouting. His harsh tone. The shocked silence of the class. The rattling breaths of the Dementor.
“You're just a nobody pretending to be something special!”
She was better than this. Better than him. She wouldn’t let him beat her down. The Dementor wouldn’t win this time. She refused to fall again. She wouldn’t lie there as it pulled off its hood. The icy chill. The empty eyes…
“For all we know, you’re a filthy Mudblood!”
The tight hold she was keeping on herself shattered with those words. Hermione stood. She pointed her wand at Malfoy.
“Expecto Patronum!” Her silver otter flew out and glided around the classroom as if swimming through water. She flipped and turned, wiggling her flippers and whiskers.
Hermione’s lungs expanded with air as she watched her Patronus dance among the students.
She slammed the book shut on the Dementor. Professor Merrythought hadn’t regained her ability to speak yet.
What was Hermione supposed to do now? Heat crept up her face as she registered what happened.
She swiped her book into her arms and pointed her wand at the door, gesturing for the otter to follow her out. With that, she stormed out of class with whatever dignity she had left.
Class was almost over anyway. Maybe she would get detention? It wouldn’t be the first time.
Didn’t Filch say something about whips and chains being used at Hogwarts back in the day?
Her otter glided along next to her, circling her. A comforting warmth washed over Hermione with her Patronus by her side. Her steps lightened and her headache faded as she put more distance between herself and the classroom. She rounded the corner and walked up the stairs towards the common room. She decided to get a head start working on her weekend homework. She’d find Professor Merrythought later to apologize.
“M’lady! How was your adventure today? Did you learn any useful information while undercover?”
“Umm...” After a month, Hermione wasn’t used to Sir Cadogan. “It was a bad day.”
“This is most unfortunate,” Sir Cadogan sighed. “But alas, you live to tell the tale, so not all is lost!”
Hermione couldn’t argue with that. Despite everything that happened, she was still alive... in a manner of speaking.
She gave the password, and the portrait swung open to admit her. It wasn’t until she sat at a table in the common room did she realize she left her bag in the classroom.
***
“Hermione, you should have stayed to see the look on Malfoy’s face after you produced that Patronus!” Archie said with a snigger.
“Impressive magic,” Alastor said.
“Your otter is so pretty! Does it have a name?” Gussie asked. Her friends bombarded her in the common room after class.
“Um... no, she doesn’t have a name.”
“We should name her! We’ll have to come up with a good one. I’m partial to the name Augusta, but I’d be okay with Gussie. Oh! How about Gus Gus? That’s kind of cute and since the otter’s so cute, I think it’s fitting.”
“Was professor Merrythought angry?” Hermione asked. The group passed looks among each other before Alastor spoke.
“I wouldn’t say angry.”
“More surprised,” Archie added. “Impressed, too.”
“It was impressive magic,” Alastor repeated in awe. Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did that mean she was in trouble? They wouldn’t expel her, would they?
“Gussie, do you have my bag?”
“What?”
“My bag. I left it next to my chair in the classroom.”
“Oh, I didn’t see it.” Gussie shrugged.
“Maybe it’s still sitting near your desk,” Alastor suggested.
Hermione frowned, staring into the roaring fire. Then she stood. “I guess I’ll go get it.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom tossed Granger’s bag on his bed and flipped open the clasp. He wasn’t planning on keeping it. She would get it back... after he sorted through all the contents.
He noticed that she magically expanded the inside, which was illegal. She had even lightened the bag so she could carry more around with her. Clever little lion.
He smirked. Perhaps he would hold that over her head… But that was too petty for his tastes.
He pulled out bottles of ink, a handful of quills, most with frayed feathers, piles of parchment, boring and basic contents of any bag at Hogwarts. At the bottom, she had a pile of six books stacked. Two of them were class books, and four she checked out from the library.
The Sands of Time , Tom read the title. Was she trying to learn about time travel? He could see the appeal. Perhaps he should give it a read.
He tossed the book aside and picked up the next one. Magical Mysteries in Controlling Tim e and Time Travel Travesties: When Meddling with Time Goes Wrong , he was seeing a definite trend here.
The last book he pulled out differed from the others. Its cover was so old and worn that the title was no longer legible; he had to flip to the first page to see what the book was.
The Veil: The Barrier Between Life and Death .
After a quick inspection, he determined the book had been published nearly five centuries ago. The librarian kept these older texts in a back room of the library since students rarely browsed them.
Every day, Tom saw Hermione in the library, sitting at his favorite table that had a perfect cast of moonlight. She was there so often, he hadn’t been able to seize his spot back. But Tom watched, waiting for her to give some hint of her secrets away.
When she read, she stroked the feathers of her quill. As a result, most of her quills had become worn and bare.
When she was deep in thought, she would purse her lips and look at the moon as if it could provide her with the answers she was looking for.
When frustrated, she chewed on her lips. The pale pink flesh turned swollen and red. Tom couldn’t tear his eyes away…
Her lips… He wanted it to be his teeth biting them, his teeth making her lips swell. And he refused to acknowledge the way they appeared in his dreams at night.
He needed to figure out what this girl was hiding!
Much to Tom’s irritation, he had seen Cuffe coming around the library more recently.
Tom wasn’t sure if it was Cuffe’s general existence that angered him, or the way the girl smiled at him with sparkling eyes, glowing cheeks, and a straight smile. Tom imagined what it would be like if she looked at him like that... Instead, when she saw Tom, her body went rigid, and any trace of a smile would wash away. It made him think he was getting closer to whatever she had hidden. That she was keeping him at arm’s length so he wouldn’t uncover it.
Just when he felt like there was nothing else she could do that would surprise him, she turned around and cast a magnificent Patronus.
Had she really met a Dementor? Her description seemed so real, she couldn’t have read it in a book.
Tom ran his hands through his hair. The girl was such an enigma. What had her life been like before coming here? What was her secret?
The door flew open, and Abraxas walked in, looking furious, followed by Reinhardt and Norris. “I got three detentions!” he yelled. Tom shoved all of Granger’s belonging back in her bag and clasped it shut. “I got detention and I bet the bitch won’t get anything! No, she’s too bloody perfect!”
“I doubt that,” Reinhardt said as Abraxas paced the dorm room.
“She looked so mad! You’re lucky she didn’t break your nose again,” Norris laughed.
“Shut the fuck up Norris!”
Mad wasn’t how Tom would’ve described her… she looked devastated.
“So what if you got detention? It’s not that bad!” Reinhardt said, giving Norris a glare.
“That was a cool Patronus too, seemed powerful,” Norris said, acting like this was the best day of his life.
“And she can do a Patronus?! That kills me! What is she playing at?!” Abraxas continued. Tom slung the bag over his shoulder and left. He would let Reinhardt deal with Abraxas’s little tantrum. He had a little lion to hunt down.
To his pleasant surprise, he didn’t have to track the cub, rather, she came to him. He found her glowering at the top of the dungeon step. He gave her a radiant smile. One of his best. One that made girls drool. Which, admittedly, he found distasteful.
“What a coincidence, Miss Granger! I was just coming to find you to return your bag!”
“Cut the crap, Riddle! Professor Merrythought said you took my bag. I want to know why.” Her nose wrinkled in an adorable little scowl. The lion thought she could bite, but she couldn’t even manage an intimidating roar.
“You left it behind. I am merely returning it.” He climbed the stairs. Even a step below her, he was still at least an inch taller. He was close enough that he could see her freckles through the angry flush on her cheeks.
“Oh, so you didn’t dig through all my belongings like some creep?” He raised a brow at that. Another new one for him, being called a creep. Was he creepy? Frightening, intimidating, scary... these were all words Tom had heard whispered about him... But to be called a creep…
“Is it so hard to believe I was just trying to be chivalrous?” He lifted the bag from his shoulder and held it out for her.
“Yes.” She snatched the strap from him with a dramatic huff. She turned on her heel and retreated.
Her instincts about him weren’t wrong, but it disturbed him how easily she saw through him. He worked hard to cultivate his image.
“Oh! Miss Granger.” She stopped, but didn’t turn to look at him. “It’s impressive how you fit six books in such a small bag. I’d love to learn your trick.”
She said nothing, continuing into the Great Hall, but not before Tom heard the little lion snarl in frustration.
“You good, Tom?” Reinhardt asked later as Tom sat next to him at dinner. Tom found it strange that Reinhardt would ask that. Then he realized he was smiling.
Notes:
Chapter 9 Song: I Think You're Hiding Something: Jesse Harris. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I should just say I will update "every weekend" rather than on Sundays. I'm not consistent enough to stick to a specific day. I should also inform the audience at large at some point that I'm American and thus, try as I might, I'll never know how to properly use british slang. So I chose to not use much at all. Whatever! We are all having fun here! ❤️🖤❤️🖤
As always, thank you for the support! I was so terrified to post this project but I'm so glad that I did! I'm already thinking about what projects I'll work on after I've completed this entire series!
Update: Reread and re-edited May 18, 2025
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Chapter 10: 10: The Slug Club
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It took a week for students to stop talking about the Patronus incident. Hermione completed her detention, a miserable occasion where Malfoy glared at her for three hours as they cleaned shelves in the library. Then life returned to normal.
Over the next few weeks, Hermione searched every nook and cranny of the library. It came to nothing. She felt the weight of her situation sink in. A feeling of isolation as she realized she may never find her way back to her time.
She refused to give up hope. Gussie, Archie, and Alastor took to spending evenings in the library with her. Alastor more than most. Occasionally, Barnabas would visit and talk about Quidditch, sixth year classes, and how he would work for the Daily Prophet after graduating. She liked Barnabas’s infectious, cheery attitude. Her friends made this place bearable.
Gussie had her nose buried in Magical Drafts and Potions , flipping back and forth between the same three pages. Alastor wrote line after line on his parchment, turning to the fourth page. Archie was busy with Quidditch practice.
“I can’t figure out what this ingredient does,” Gussie huffed, looking about ready to pull her hair out. She slammed her book shut in resigned defeat. Slughorn assigned every student a poison. They needed to explain the effects and create a cure which they would brew in the next lesson.
“I told you not to leave it till the last minute,” Hermione said, turning the page in her book.
“Not everyone likes to spend every waking moment in the library doing homework and reading.” Hermione ignored her comment and continued scanning Myths and Legends of the Magical World . She squinted at the fine print under a picture of what appeared to be a horrible sea monster rumored to live in the Mediterranean. This didn’t seem like the type of text to help her with her time travel. She followed suit and slammed the book shut.
“I can’t look at these anymore!” Gussie’s parchment had more scratches and ink blots than actual legible words. She crumbled it in a small ball and tossed it in her bag. “I’m going to bed early.”
“You should get some of it done tonight, at least.”
“I can do it tomorrow evening. It isn’t like I have a Slug Club meeting to go to.” She smirked at both Alastor and Hermione, who were both invited. Alastor insisted they weren’t that bad.
“I’ll join you Gussie, I left a book in my trunk,” Alastor said, recapping his ink bottle and leaning back in his chair.
“I assume you’re going to stay here, then?” Gussie asked Hermione with a knowing grin.
“Yes.”
“Suit yourself. Oh, and by the way,” Gussie leaned closer to whisper in Hermione’s ear while Alastor was busy packing his bag. “You-know-who is staring at you again.”
Hermione had to hold back her snort. Gussie wouldn’t understand why she found that funny.
“No, he isn’t.”
“He’s looking at you like he would eat you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and still have room to feast on dessert after!”
“Oh Merlin!” Hermione blushed and dropped her head in her hands.
Gussie smiled and shrugged as she tossed her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she said as she departed. Alastor followed her out of the library.
Hermione fought the urge to confirm Riddle’s presence for herself. She believed Gussie. She had the constant sensation of being watched. He was everywhere. In her dreams and lurking in the shadows of the castle. He preyed upon her, making her feel like a helpless cub about to be pounced on by a snake.
She did her best to ignore him.
She slid Myths and Legends of the Magical World aside and pulled Modern Magical Catastrophes and How to Prevent Them down from her pile. Her situation was probably not the sort of catastrophe they were referring to.
She only had an hour until the library closed. Her eyelids drooped. She read every text on time travel and any book that mentioned the veil. This led to her reading about Dementor origins, a topic with little information. She studied geography to learn more about the Sands of Time and where they were mined in Western Africa. She learned about the Department of Mysteries and any unexplained event, unsolved enigma, or absurd legend she could find. Without a doubt, she combed through every shelf at her disposal. A heavy weariness weighed her down.
Hermione shook the sleep from her eyes
Perhaps the place she needed to browse was the one place not at her disposal… The Restricted Section…
Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the row of books, chained off and spelled so students couldn’t freely enter. She knew what sorts of texts lay on those shelves. Harry browsed them for the Triwizard Tournament, and she even checked out Moste Potente Potions to make the Polyjuice potion in her second year. Lockhart signed the permission form for her then. Unfortunately, she didn't have a ditz like Lockhart readily available this time.
Her eyes unwillingly flitted towards Riddle to find his penetrating gaze staring back at her. His enigmatic demeanor captivated her. He twirled his wand between his long, slender fingers. The book on the table in front of him remained untouched, with all his attention on her. His lips curled into a mischievous grin as if getting caught stalking someone pleased him.
She kept her face impassive and returned to her research. She pulled her notes closer and set to work; not thinking about Riddle’s dark gaze. Not thinking about the curve of his lips. And not thinking about the elegant way his fingers danced with his wand.
As she skimmed the table of contents for a place to start, she decided; if she was going to make progress, she needed full access to the Restricted Section.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom hated the Slug Club. He tried to get out of the meetings. At first, he planned other obligations to conflict, but Slughorn wasn’t a man to be denied a prize. He caught on to Tom’s methods and changed tactics. He would ask Tom what nights he was available now.
This time would be different. He saw Slughorn approach Hermione Granger last week and invited her to attend. She blushed and stammered her acceptance, looking pleased.
It didn’t surprise Tom that Slughorn invited her. She stood out like a diamond among rocks. A rare gem. Slughorn collected the rare and spectacular for his club meetings. He wanted to display his prized pupils like trophies. It was a disgusting trait, but Tom understood the appeal behind having Granger in his collection.
Tom flipped through Magical Catastrophes and how to Prevent Them . What did the girl want with this book? This was a far cry from the material he had previously seen her with; books about time travel, alternate timelines, and the intricacies of temporal paradoxes.
As Tom delved deeper into the subject of time travel, it became clear her obsession extended beyond academic interest, this was personal for her.
Hermione Granger had traveled through time…
Rather than feeling relieved at having answers, new questions gnawed at him, intensifying his curiosity and driving him to continue unraveling the knot that was Hermione Granger.
Why her? Why now? Where and when was she from? How did she get here? Why come here at all? It felt like the universe conspired to bring them together just to drive him insane.
He had to admit, he learned a lot from reading the books she picked. While he found the topic interesting, she always tossed each book aside, looking disappointed.
What answers did she hope to find that remained elusive? What was the point of it all?
Tom felt like he only scratched the surface of her secrets. He knew she held a captivating allure, like a dense forest full of hidden paths and undiscovered wonders. He wanted to uncover all those treasurers for himself. Experience them first hand…
He scanned a few catastrophes that could have easily been avoided using a mere speck of common sense. Perhaps these wizards were better off dead. One story mentioned a wizard that mispronounced a spell and ended up with a buffalo on his chest. Another talked about a witch who couldn’t differentiate between an ostrich egg and dragon egg, resulting in a dragon being born in a Muggle zoo. Idiot.
He tossed the book back in his bag.
The common room crowded as dinner finished. He stretched and stood. He would drop his things off in his dorm and head to the Slug Club meeting. He wanted to be on time, for once.
***
“Tom! Take a seat! Here!” Slughorn said, producing his wand and conjuring a loveseat next to himself. Damn... Tom would have to sit next to the guy.
The meeting took place in Slughorn’s office, where about twelve students were sitting on mismatched chairs and couches. Norris and Reinhardt arrived earlier, having found seats across the room. Walburga planned to skip today, much to Tom’s relief. The only reason Slughorn invited her was because she was a descendant of one of Hogwarts ex-headmasters. There were three other Blacks in attendance; all invited for the same reason.
Slytherins dominated the Slug Club. It was no secret that Slughorn favored his own house.
Barnabas Cuffe stared at the floor through his long fingers, looking pleased with himself. Abraxas followed Tom in and sat on the loveseat with an exasperated huff. There were some younger students scattered around. Tom didn’t know their names, nor did he care to. He noticed Moody seated beside Reinhardt, watching the fire with a bleary-eyed expression; like he was sleeping with his eyes open.
Where was she?
Tom was still a few minutes early. As he sat, Slughorn rounded on him, asking a question. Tom refrained from rolling his eyes. He replied with clipped one-word answers. Unfortunately, Slughorn wasn’t deterred.
“Tom, have you met Damocles Belby? Very talented Potions student. His grandmother is Sacharissa Tugwood, who invented all those beauty concoctions the witches use.”
Tom forced a smile and nodded at the kid.
Five more minutes passed. Where was she? Wasn’t she always the punctual one? Had she decided not to come?
“Mr. Moody, is Miss Granger coming this evening?” Slughorn spoke Tom’s thoughts out loud. Moody looked surprised to be addressed. He came from a long line of prestigious aurors. He would probably follow the trend; being boring and unoriginal.
“Yes, she is.” As if on cue, the curly-haired witch stepped into the office. Slughorn smiled as he caught sight of her, and she beamed back.
What had Slughorn done to earn such a bright smile from her? She never looked at Tom like that. Nothing so serene and real.
“Miss Granger! Come sit next to me here! Mr. Riddle can move over. Oh! Mr. Malfoy, would you mind moving? You can sit in that chair by Mr. Moody.” Abraxas scowled, offended to be displaced from his seat in favor of the Granger. He appeared ready to argue and suggest Granger sit next to Moody instead, since they were such close friends already.
Abraxas halted any protest he may have made with one look from Tom. Tom stood and looked down at his friend, waiting for him to vacate the loveseat. The pale boy blanched. Abraxas sprang to his feet and hurried across the room.
He’d been unusually cooperative lately. Tom suspected it had something to do with the torture session he administered after his verbal assault on Granger in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tom had a good time making his friend scream in agony. Abraxas did not find the experience as enjoyable.
“I was worried you would not make it!” Slughorn said. Once again, echoing Tom’s exact thoughts.
“Sorry, got held up!” she said. She noticed Tom and the empty spot next to him where Slughorn indicated she should sit. Her eyes darted around the room. Was she looking for another open seat? Did she abhor him so much she wouldn’t even sit by him?
“Not a problem, not a problem! Sit! Sit! Here next to Mr. Riddle!” She tucked her skirt beneath her as she sat, crossing one knee over the other. She had incredible legs; slender, long. He needed to not ogle her in public.
Sitting near her like this, sharing the small loveseat, he felt every shift of her frame. Heat from her small body warmed his side. He smelled that honey apple scent that was so potent he could taste it on his tongue. He swallowed hard.
Chatter started filling the room as students got plates of snacks and cups of pumpkin juice. Tom remained seated. Sure, he liked the food Slughorn provided well enough, but he liked this seat more. He didn’t want to risk losing it. Instead, Tom caught Norris’s eye and jerked his chin towards the food and drinks.
“Here Hermione! Brought you some pumpkin juice.” Barnabas Cuffe held a goblet out for her, acting like some gentleman suitor.
“Barnabas! I didn’t know you would be here.” She stood and actually hugged the imbecile.
Tom’s fist clenched as she sat again, her delicate fingers grabbing the goblet from Cuffe. The guy looked like he won the bloody lottery. The frustration and anger bubbled up from within, begging to be released. It took every ounce of self-control to resist giving in to the overwhelming desire to punch Cuffe in his pretty-boy face. His jaw ached from fighting to keep his expression impassive. Nobody saw Tom’s inner turmoil that raged out of control.
“Mr. Cuffe’s father is the Editor of the Daily Prophet,” Slughorn said as if he was telling her that Slughorn himself was editor of the Daily Prophet.
The snarl Tom held back leaked out.
Cuffe was rich too?
Damnit.
Tom shifted in his seat, the strain in his limbs demanding he move. His leg brushed hers. She twitched in her seat. Her eyes jumped briefly to his before she turned, settling her attention back on Slughorn and Cuffe. Maybe he imagined the faint blush on her cheeks when she looked at him. The way she shivered when their shoulders touched.
She smelled so good.
Why did it feel like he was competing with Cuffe? Ridiculous thought. He didn’t want the Granger girl. He didn’t care if the pretty witch and her intelligent mind settled for a guy like Cuffe. It wouldn’t bother him if they held hands in the hall and stole kisses in empty classrooms. The only thing Tom cared about was unlocking the mystery behind her. Uncovering everything she kept hidden.
But why was he so bloody angry!
Luckily, Norris appeared with a plate of pastries and a cup of black tea. It distracted Tom enough to keep him from doing, or saying, something stupid. Norris even remembered to include the extra tea bag to strengthen the flavor. He would make a dutiful servant in the world Tom envisioned.
“Professor Slughorn? I was wondering if I could ask for your advice?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide with over-the-top respect and admiration. Cuffe returned to his seat at Slughorn’s other side, staring at Granger like she was a dripping ice cream cone he wanted to lap up.
And Hermione Granger called Tom a creep…
“Oh, of course!” Slughorn’s face turned red with delight, and he grinned down at Hermione. “Anything you need!”
“Yes, well, I was working on my Potions essay in the library yesterday. I came across some material about the venom of ancient, mythical, magical creatures! It was an intriguing subject!” She paused for dramatic effect. He nodded, looking interested. “I wanted to learn more information about the venomous properties of those sorts of creatures.” She smiled at him. She hadn’t read a thing about venomous creatures yesterday. Tom heard her say she finished that essay days ago. Load of rubbish.
“What a fascinating topic! What piqued your interest?”
“I’m considering a career as a healer. I think it could be useful for my future.” Tom wished he knew if that was true or if that was also part of whatever lie she was brewing.
“Have you spoken with Professor Kettleburn at all?”
“What?” she faltered. Clearly, she was not prepared for this question. If other students were interested in this topic, they would turn to their Care of Magical Creatures professor.
Tom popped a cream puff in his mouth and watched the witch play the part of besotted student to the old fool. “Oh, well, I really admire your view, Professor Slughorn. I hoped to ask you first.” Slughorn pinked like a blushing child. “I was wondering if you had any recommendations on where I should start my research? I couldn’t find too much on that topic in the library.”
Slughorn chuckled. “Oh, it’s there! You just have to look in the right place. Any particular ancient creatures you had in mind?” Tom brought the tea to his lips and took a drink, trying to act casual, as if he wasn’t watching every move the witch made or listening to every word she said.
“Umm...” Tom noticed the way her posture tensed as panic overtook her. She scrambled to come up with an answer that she hadn’t planned in advance, “uh, Basilisks... for one.”
Tom choked on his tea. He drew the attention of everyone in the room.
“My goodness Mr. Riddle, are you alright?”
“Y—yes,” He spluttered through a fit of coughing, his face turning red. Did that girl just say Basilisk? She had to be kidding, right? It must have been a coincidence. It had to be! There was no way....
He finished his embarrassing coughing fit and caught Granger’s stare. A flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks as her caramel eyes widened. She looked... startled. Tom suspected it wasn’t from the choking episode that just happened.
“Where were we, Miss Granger? Oh! For less… hmm… let’s say, conventional poisons and venoms, those are not discussed much in the general stacks of the library.”
“I see...” She gave a pout that could break a statue’s cold, stone heart.
“Don’t look so discouraged! I’d be happy to give you permission to browse the Restricted Section for what you need! You should start with A Collection of Outlawed Powders, Tinctures, and Bitters. There’s also Moste Potente Potions , Calamitous Venoms of the Mysterious , and The Ancient and Powerful . I believe these are in the Restricted Section. They should help with your research. If you have any trouble finding them, you only have to ask. I may have a few of those titles in my personal collection.”
Did Hermione Granger just manipulate Slughorn into free access to the Restricted Section? Admirably done, very Slytherin-like. Tom couldn’t help but even feel a pang of jealousy. This witch could browse the shelves that Tom had longed to explore himself. To research texts and tombs that contained all the forbidden knowledge and darkest magics. It could aid his quest for immortality. Help his search for the Chamber of Secrets...
Slughorn was such an easy target, too. So readily charmed and easily manipulated. Tom intended to do something similar, but now he had to bide his time since Hermione beat him to it.
He scowled and leaned back. What was it about this girl?
She thanked Slughorn and almost immediately, Cuffe was there, demanding her attention. Tom saw the weary glances Cuffe cast at him the entire evening. He viewed Tom as an opponent, someone also vying for Hermione’s affection.
Cuffe offered his hand to her, and she stood and walked with him to Slughorn’s bookshelf to review his collection. He wanted to get her alone, away from Slughorn and Tom. He wanted the witch for himself.
Cuffe said something. She laughed.
He smiled. She grinned back.
It was nauseating. It was at that moment that Tom realized he hated Barnabas Cuffe. He detested the pretty-boy maggot with every ounce of his very soul. Contempt flowed through him and made his bones vibrate with repressed rage.
The fire in the hearth roared higher as his magic leaked out of him. The surrounding air filled with static electricity making the hair on Tom’s arms rise. He fought to regain control. He was losing his mind!
“Mr. Riddle? leaving so soon?” Slughorn peaked at his pocket watch and gave Tom a pathetic frown. When did Tom stand?
“Yes, thank you for inviting me,” Tom said. The words sounded like ice. He didn’t miss the way Granger kept looking at him. The way her lips parted… her lower lip swollen…
His mind ceased firing... this witch was giving him a headache.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione couldn’t believe it worked! She had done it. Slughorn smiled as he handed her a signed permission form to browse the entire restricted section! She thanked him repeatedly and clutched the parchment close to her chest like it contained a map to buried treasure. She wouldn’t let the paper out of her sight until she turned it in to Madame Pince.
“My pleasure! I’m always delighted to encourage a student’s desire for knowledge!” A broad grin spread over her lips as she nodded and left. She wanted to squeal and do a little happy dance in the hallway. Sure, she had messed up and mentioned a Basilisk while Riddle had been listening. It was the only creature she could think of on the spot, but it didn’t matter. She got the signature.
She had to admit, the shock on Riddle’s face was amusing. And then he choked on his tea.
Her lips turned up at the memory.
With an hour until curfew, she had plenty of time to go to the toilets, then the library to turn in the form. She climbed the stairs and turned down another hall, heading toward the girls’ toilets on the first floor. She wasn’t used to using this bathroom undisturbed. No crying in the background, no moaning and groaning about dying and death, and no simmering cauldrons of Polyjuice potion brewing over the toilet bowl.
She pushed the heavy wooden door open and tripped when she heard sobbing. It felt like she had stepped through a doorway to the future. The exit slammed shut behind her and tears stopped, only to be replaced by a loud sniffling.
Unfortunately, Hermione recognized that crying. There was no mistaking it. For a moment she thought Riddle must have already killed Myrtle, that her spirit was here, haunting the girls’ toilets.
She came to her senses. The death of a student wouldn’t go unnoticed. Plus, Myrtle died in June, at the end of the school year. Which could only mean…
“Umm...” Should she say something? Hermione’s prior experiences with Myrtle taught her it was best practice to ignore her. But she wasn’t dealing with a ghost. This was a miserable girl being bullied. “Are you okay?” She knocked on the only closed stall door. The one in the far corner that contained the toilet Hermione knew Myrtle would haunt in her afterlife.
“What do you want?!” a shrilled voice said. Hermione hesitated at the aggressive tone. “Did you come to mock my glasses again, or m—my,” she never found out what else Myrtle was being mocked for as a fresh wave of sobs drowned out her ability to speak.
“Of course not!” Hermione said, sounding breathless. “I heard you crying and… and I wanted to check that you—”
“What!” The door flew open, and Hermione only barely dodged before it collided with her face. “Make sure I’m still miserable!” She sneered. “To make fun of me for crying in a bathroom stall! To mock me!” A large bogey was dripping from Myrtle’s right nostril. Hermione wanted to grab the girl a tissue, but she feared any sudden movements might set her off again.
Hermione hated to admit it, but alive Myrtle was about as unpleasant as her ghost. She had pale skin and dark brown, oily hair pulled back into two braids that were tied off by small bows. Her large green eyes were overflowing with tears, with their size distorted by an unfashionable pair of glasses. A terrible case of acne marred her face. Her teeth were too big in her thin lipped mouth and her arms and hands were almost bony in appearance. She was at the height of puberty, and it didn’t serve her well.
Hermione realized that the poor girl would spend her entire afterlife in this unfortunate pubescent state. It was no wonder she was so intolerable.
“Myrtle, I’d never make fun of you...” Hermione said.
“How do you know my name?! Were you gossiping about me?! Talking about the sad little Ravenclaw with no friends? I saw how you looked at me! You think I’m ugly!” Myrtle shoved Hermione aside and rushed out of the bathroom.
“Myrtle! No!” The door slammed shut, leaving behind an echoing silence.
Hermione sighed. She assumed that death and her endless existence haunting toilets made Myrtle so... unbearable. Hermione was mistaken. Myrtle was apparently always unpleasant.
She felt a pang of guilt. Tom Riddle would kill Myrtle this year and Hermione had no intention of stopping it. She would let Myrtle die. Did that make her just as guilty as him?
She hadn’t discovered a way back to her own time, but she came across dozens of stories of time travel going wrong. Changes in the past causing irreversible damage to the future. Hermione already knew her presence was damaging the timeline. There was nothing she could do about it, but she could at least attempt to keep the overall course on the right track.
That meant Myrtle had to die. She had to haunt this bathroom. There was no other way.
Hermione looked around the room. The bathroom had a stale stench. A draft blew over her skin causing cold air to seep into her bones. She shivered as an ominous energy washed over her.
This bathroom housed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, where a Basilisk slept. Which sink was it? Harry and Ron had mentioned some sort of snake engraving.
Hermione never looked for herself, choosing to bury the memories of the Chamber of Secrets. Being Petrified haunted her more than she cared to admit. Once she learned Harry defeated the monster for good, she moved on without looking back.
The sinks were clean and well-kept. The mirror was in pristine condition, contrary to the cracked and dirty state when Myrtle haunted the place. She surveyed each sink, checking the taps and faucets for a snake engraving, finding nothing.
Maybe they concealed it with a spell? Or perhaps Riddle would mark the tap with a snake after he opened the chamber himself? Ron also mentioned the sink not working, saying that it was ridiculous that nobody noticed the broken sink. They would’ve found the Chamber of Secrets if they ever attempted to fix it. Myrtle’s ghost told them the sink never worked.
Hermione paced the row of sinks again and started turning on each faucet. One of these wouldn’t work. That would be the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Where Myrtle would see the eye of the Basilisk before dying.
The first two faucets turned with ease. Water ran into the bowl and spiraled down the drain. The faucet on the third sink squeaked as she turned it, but water still flowed from the tap.
There were only two left. She hadn’t expected them to be one of these. These were the furthest from Myrtle’s stall. The girl wouldn’t have a clear view of the Basilisk.
Water flowed from the fourth tap, hesitating slightly before running fully. Only one sink left then.
Hermione could study how to say ‘open’ in Parseltongue. Especially since she had access to the restricted section where there was surely a text on the language. If she learned it... she could enter the chamber. She could kill the Basilisk while it slept...
She could...
But she wouldn’t...
For completeness’ sake, she turned the knob on the final sink. She knew this was the broken one. This had to be the entrance. The faucet squeaked louder than the others, but clear, warm water spilled out, the tap being just as functional as the rest.
She stood frozen for a few more seconds, eyes wide, a chill running through her body. The joy she felt from gaining access to the restricted section morphed into anxiety. Her lungs burned as she inhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath until oxygen expanded her chest.
This isn’t right!
Hermione took a step back and looked down the line of sinks, all in perfect working order. No snakes engraved on the taps.
But this was the correct bathroom. With all the time Hermione spent here, she was certain this was the place. Myrtle was even here! This was it! It should be here! This was wrong! This wasn’t right!
Hermione spent the next five minutes turning each tap almost a dozen times before she would admit that all of them worked. She wasted another ten minutes crawling around the floor to inspect every inch of every sink to find a snake engraving before she convinced herself there wasn’t one there.
In the end, she sat on the bathroom floor staring at the water flowing through the taps. The sound of five sinks running simultaneously roared in her head. Her mind reeled. She felt sick.
All signs pointed to this not being the location of the Chamber of Secrets.
That was impossible…
Notes:
Chapter 10 Song: THE DINER: Billie Eilish. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Update: Chapter reread and edited May 22, 2025
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Chapter 11: 11: Heart's Desire
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione went through the Restricted Section and reviewed the book titles. She grabbed Secrets of the Darkest Art , The Destruction of Space and Time: Controlling the Unknown , and A Study into the Possibility of Reversing the Actual and Metaphysical Effects of Natural Death, with Particular Regard to the Reintegration of Essence and Matter .
“Browsing the Restricted Section now?” Tom leaned against her table when she returned with her selections. He looked like one of those ancient statues of a Greek god. Lean but shapely muscles, features of his face perfectly angled, unbelievably gorgeous. She hated him for it.
“What do you want, Riddle?”
“Nothing in particular, just to… talk.” His eyes flashed. Something about that reaction made her uneasy. A hidden agenda lurked beneath his words.
“If you don’t need anything, then go away.”
“Hmm, it’s a public library, Granger.”
“I’m perfectly aware of where I am right now.” She slammed the books on the desk with a bit more force than she intended.
“I was thinking I would sit with you today.” He gave her his most charming smile. Did he expect her to thank him for the honor of sitting with him in the library?
She sighed. “What do you want?”
“I told you—”
“You lied.”
The grin dropped from his face. He felt so close. Closer than what was acceptable. She noticed the iron grey of his irises, a deep smoky color that would pull her in if she wasn’t careful. Her desire to step back conflicted with her need to stay in control. She refused to back down. “And what makes you so sure that I lied, Miss Granger?”
“What do you want?” she asked for a third time.
“I’m interested in learning more about Basilisks as well, if you must know.” She raised a brow at that. Of course, he caught the Basilisk slip. He was always watching. Listening.
Creep.
She remained quiet, on high alert for any sudden movements. The gorgeous smile returned. His smoky grey eyes sparkled as he ran his hand through his hair in an incredibly attractive move that she was certain had to be rehearsed. Most girls would drool right now. Hermione wouldn’t.
On the surface, Tom Riddle looked like every girl’s fantasy: intelligent, handsome, confident, with an edge of dark mystery to keep any girl hanging. Hermione wasn’t just ‘any girl’. She understood the depth of his mystery and just how dark his darkness could get.
“I hoped to convince you to let me join you in your research,” he said. If she didn’t know him better, she might have believed him.
“I prefer to work alone.” She didn’t attempt to disguise the hostility in her voice.
He glanced at the pile of books before looking back at her. “I don’t think any of these are going to help with that topic.” He gestured to the stack on the table.
“Slughorn was enthusiastic to assist me in expanding all my academic interests,” Hermione said, giving him her sweetest smile while her gaze remained hard.
“Right...” He analyzed her face before he grabbed the top book from the stack. He flipped it over to review the title. “ Secrets of the Darkest Art ,” he mumbled. The shift in his expression was instant. Something menacing formed as his lips curled and his eyes became wild.
She snatched the book back from him before he ran with it. Those books should not fall into the wrong hands; and Tom Riddle’s were definitely the wrong hands.
He looked furious. The atmosphere crackled with tension, and his eyes bulged with anger. “That’s some dark magic you’re studying, Granger,” he said through his teeth.
“If you must know, I’ve decided that Basilisks, and really all snakes, are repulsive creatures that I’d rather avoid at all costs.”
Tom went rigid. She could practically taste his growing rage on her tongue. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” All false friendliness between them vanished.
“I think you’re underestimating snakes, Miss Granger.” He stepped closer. Too close. The proximity between them felt overwhelming, almost suffocating. His warm breath ghosted across face. Her heart raced as she struggled to maintain her composure.
“They haven’t given me a reason to believe otherwise.”
She wanted to step back, create some distance between them, but something held her in place. The tension in the air was palpable, and she couldn’t deny the pull she felt towards him, even if it terrified her.
“They might surprise you.”
“I don’t think I asked for your opinion on the matter, Mr. Riddle.”
She’d had enough of his games. He always captivated her with his magnetic presence. She needed to escape somewhere he couldn’t play.
“You know what, you can have the table. I’ll read these in the stacks of the restricted section.” She picked up the books and walked away, leaving Tom to snarl at her retreating form.
Hermione selected a spot out of sight of the rest of the library. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate with Tom watching her.
She settled on the floor and started by completing her school work. It wasn’t long before her hips screamed in protest. She had to shift to keep her limbs from going numb.
Eventually, she secretly cast a cushioning charm, which provided some relief, but her side still burned. She ran her hand over the scar, hoping it would ease the pain.
She wouldn’t be here, trying to study on the floor, if Riddle would leave her alone! Why was he so obsessed with her? Why couldn’t she get through a single year at Hogwarts without an incident?
She shook the frustration from her mind and focused on the project at hand. The stack of books sat untouched next to her. She grabbed one and dove in.
She discovered quickly that they were mostly about dark magic, disturbing spells, and strange theories. She didn’t get far into those before she decided they were useless.
She ended with The Destruction of Space and Time: Controlling the Unknown . She pulled her notes out of her bag. This book seemed promising.
Hope blossomed within her like a fragile flower, filling her with a sense of possibility.
Over the next two weeks, Hermione completed her first pass through the entire restricted section. She found a detailed description of how they made time turners. One book described how to cast the Hour-Reversal Charm. Complex, daring magic to attempt. To make a time turner, she needed to acquire Sands of Time. It would require half the Malfoy fortune to afford even a gram. Even if she obtained the sand and created a time turner, it wouldn’t be helpful to go further into the past. She would have to manipulate the time turner to send her to the future.
She experimented with the possibility before deciding to move to more practical ideas.
The most intriguing thing she found was a theory that using a counter curse with the Hour-Reversing Charm should forward time. Trying it with no prior experience would be dangerous, and brought back the time turner problem.
She discovered theories regarding the formation of alternate realities when interfering with time. Hermione tried not to dwell on that. Was she forming an alternate reality now with her meddling?
She forced the thought from her mind. There wasn’t much she could do about it in her current situation.
Halloween came and went, and she had no new leads, no more books to review, and no additional sections to explore. She was back to grasping at anything different she could find, only now she was reading disturbing dark arts books rather than children’s books about time traveling hippogriffs.
The discouragement settled in.
To make an unpleasant situation worse, her cursed scar acted up more than ever. Her typical Saturday potion was no longer enough to last her through the week. By Wednesday, would wake with her side burning. Thursday, the pain became so unbearable she needed to take the next dose.
Healer Spleen said this might happen. The symptoms could fluctuate, and the dosing may need adjusting. She sent him a letter, and he replied with an extra batch along with well wishes.
“Hermione... is everything okay?” Gussie asked her over dinner one evening.
“Fine.” Hermione grabbed a serving of corn for her plate.
“You’ve been moping for over a week now; spend all your time in your bed. You haven’t even gone to the library!”
Archie and Alastor glanced at each other as they silently debated joining the conversation.
“Things have been a bit weird.”
“I feel like I don’t really see you anymore...” Archie said. “I know you don’t talk about what you’re reading, but what happened?”
She sighed and pushed the corn around her plate. “I didn’t find what I was looking for...”
“You read the entire library, including the restricted section!” Gussie argued.
“I know.”
“You could check a bookstore,” Alastor said. Hermione considered his suggestion, but she realized she had no means of going to a bookstore and even if she did, she had limited funds.
“I don’t think that’s really feasible.”
“How about I look through my family library!” Archie offered.
“We all could check our homes,” Gussie said.
“None of us have vast libraries at home. I doubt they contain anything the Hogwarts library wouldn’t have,” Alastor said.
He was probably right. Too bad she didn’t have access to the Malfoy family library. She heard rumors it was the largest wizarding library in Great Britain. Arguably throughout all of Europe.
“Guys, I appreciate this. I really do. I’ll find a new lead soon. It’ll be fine.”
“Well... I’ll look over Christmas break, anyway. I’ll mail you a list of anything similar to the topics you’ve been reading about... if there is something,” Gussie shrugged.
“Same,” both boys said in unison. Hermione’s heart swelled for her friends. Only sheer force of will kept her fragile emotions from bursting into blubbering tears.
“You know what Hogwarts needs?” Archie chuckled, “A magical room full of limitless books that you can browse.” Gussie and Alastor rolled their eyes at their friend. Hermione stared at him.
A magical room full of books...
A magical room in the castle... with books...
A magic room…
And then it hit her.
An hour later Hermione stood in front of the tapestry depicting Barnabas of Barmy, who was teaching trolls ballet. They were working on pirouettes which went about as abysmally as one might imagine.
Rather than examining the tapestry, she stared at the boring stone wall with interest.
Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? The DA meeting space produced stacks of books. Hermione read them! It stood to reason that if she requested it from the Room of Requirement, other books could materialize.
Her heart pounded in anticipation. She needed to pace in front of the wall three times and think hard about what she wanted... Easy enough. She closed her eyes tight and concentrated.
I need someplace with lots of books. I need someplace with lots of books. I need some place with lots of books.
As her eyes fluttered open, she found an enormous door looming before her. A smile burst across her face, and she ran to the entrance with a delighted squeal. She expected to walk into a grand library with every book known to man. She thought it would have rows and rows of shelves with stairs and ladders allowing her to access upper levels. In her imagination, there would be a magnificent chandelier with plush chairs and large wood tables. Perfect warm lighting and tall windows. A place out of a fantasy.
That was not what she found.
At first, Hermione wondered if the Room of Requirement somehow misunderstood her request. It had enormous, towering stacks of broken furniture and other miscellaneous objects. There were old, worn books mixed in, along with loose papers and other rubbish. It had a vaulted ceiling with immense windows near the top that allowed light from the moon in. The piles of discarded items stood tall like skyscrapers, with cleared roads and alleys between. A dusty, stale smell in the room intensified the ominous atmosphere.
With her insatiable curiosity won, she started down a random path. Chairs, tables, and dingy cabinets were stacked precariously on top of each other, some in better condition than others. Magic must keep the towers from collapsing. She found scattered bottles of old potions, some congealed into a jelly substance. There was a pile of rusted knives and swords. An axe leaned against the wall with something brown smudged over the blade that Hermione suspected was blood.
She shied away from those and continued walking. There were thousands of books here, none of them organized. It would take her ages to figure out which ones were worth reading.
She walked over to a pile of volumes that had a generous layer of dust covering them. She cleaned the debris with her wand and glanced through the titles; Spells for the Student , Advanced Potion Making , 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi . This stack looked like ancient school texts previous students abandoned.
She collected a few she would need in later classes. If she never returned home, then at least this would help with her tight money situation.
She continued searching the seemingly endless room. In another pile, she found a book called The Space-Time Continuum: Probing the Unexplored that looked promising, and one titled Exploring the Future , which she suspected would be a divination text. She shoved both books in her bag to review later.
When she turned a corner, she came to a halt in front of a massive structure concealed by a heavy cloth, shielding it from the room's debris. She spotted gold supports holding up whatever was hiding underneath.
She approached it cautiously, noticing the reflection of dust on the covering. Something eerie coursed through her, a feeling of unease.
Despite that, she grabbed a handful of fabric and tugged it off, seeing a large, elegant mirror beneath. In contrast to the other items in the room, this mirror was in pristine condition. Utterly stunning and intricate craftsmanship. Like something found in a museum. Its golden frame gleamed under the moonlight like freshly polished metal. The glass surface was flawless, without a smudge in sight.
Who would hide this in a place nobody knew about? Why hide something so magnificent?
She took a step back and examined her reflection.
“How did you get in here?” a voice said behind her.
Hermione’s heart burst through her ribs. She jumped and turned with a surprised gasp. Tom Riddle stared at her with suspicious, narrowed eyes. He had his arms crossed over his chest. Her fingers itched to run through his tousled hair. It should be a crime to be so handsome…
She mentally slapped herself back into reality. Tom Riddle caught her in the Room of Requirement.
She was a new student who had been here for just over two months! Hermione shouldn’t know about castle secrets.
Her stomach clenched. The temperature of the air rose as her anxiety piqued. She attempted to act natural. “I imagine the same way you did, unless there are other entrances to this place I’m not privy to.”
She cursed her luck. Riddle was already skeptical of her. He watched her like a hawk circling its prey.
“Don’t give me that shit. Nobody knows about this place,” he said.
“Clearly, you were mistaken about that.”
“I was not mistaken!” He looked offended. His glower deepened.
“Interesting, I found this place okay.”
“Yes, and I asked how. You failed to answer the question.”
“Actually, what you asked me is how did I get in here, and I answered that question.” She didn’t want to make a personal enemy of Voldemort, but this guy had a way of getting under her skin.
“You damn irritating witch!” He looked close to pulling out his wand and cursing her. She backtracked before she pushed him too far.
“Listen, I just stumbled upon this room. I’m not sure what it is!”
“You expect me to believe that rubbish?” His fingers flexed.
“Are you suggesting you had a different method for finding this place?” She mimicked his posture, throwing him a hard glare and crossing her arms over her own chest. She was sure she didn’t appear nearly as intimidating. He looked downright terrifying. Everything about him screamed danger.
Despite that, deep down, she knew he wouldn’t harm her. She couldn’t comprehend why she was so certain of that. Perhaps it was the way he had watched her all these months, even before they started school. He wanted something from her, and he wasn’t done with her yet.
Riddle didn’t answer, but made a low ‘humph’ sound that sounded like a mix between a grunt and a cough. He maintained his threatening stance. Of course, he blocked the only path to the exit.
“Why are you here, Granger?”
“I stumbled upon this place and now I’m investigating,” she said, sticking to her simple fabrication.
He scoffed.
She ignored it.
Silence stretched between them, filling every corner of the massive space all the way to the vaulted ceilings. His smoky eyes flashed, looking darker in the moonlight.
“So... why are you here then?” Hermione asked, breaking the tension.
“None of your business.”
“You know what? You have no right to question me, because it’s none of your bloody business either!” She turned her back to him in a dismissive gesture to inspect the mirror. “Oh!”
“What?”
“This mirror...” her words trailed off.
“What!” Riddle said again, coming to stand next to her. She glared at him.
“Why are you so crabby?”
“What?” He looked surprised. His arms dropped to his sides.
“Is that all you can say now?”
“I’m pretty sure that is the first time anyone has ever referred to me as... crabby,” he said looking, not so much upset, but more curious. Maybe even amused.
“What do they usually call you then? A creep, perhaps?”
Riddle snorted and didn’t answer the question.
When she thought about it, she knew what he would say. Nobody insulted him and got away with it. He led with fear. He required unwavering obedience, and any hint of defiance would get you tortured or killed. Maybe he hadn’t reached those extreme methods yet, but that person was inside him.
So why was he letting her speak so freely to him? And why was she doing it in the first place, with everything she knew he could do to her? Was she that certain he wouldn’t hurt her?
She put a pin in these thoughts to explore later.
“It’s called the Mirror of Erised,” she said, looking at the inscription arched across the top.
“You know this mirror?”
“Not really... but I’ve heard of it.” Harry and Ron told her about it. Harry saw his family surrounding him and Ron saw himself as head boy and Quidditch captain. Later, the mirror played a key component in Harry getting the sorcerer’s stone before Voldemort... the same Voldemort that stood next to her now...
She shivered as a chill passed over her.
“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi?” Riddle mumbled, reading the inscription etched along the top arch of the large ornate mirror.
“It’s inscribed backward; like a mirror image,” Hermione said. His gaze flicked to her before studying words again.
“Ishow no tyo… that isn’t right...” He scanned it a few times, “I show not your face but your heart’s desire.” He walked around her to stand in front of the glass.
Hermione couldn’t see what Riddle saw in himself. Only the person standing before the mirror saw their own desires. She watched as his eyes widened and jaw dropped in shock. She was tempted to ask, but she bit her tongue. Knowing what she knew about Voldemort and the sort of man he would become, she could only imagine what horrible things were reflected at him.
Suddenly, he darted to the side, “Did you see what I saw?!” He shouted at her. His outraged reaction only confirmed how treacherous his desires probably were.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You won’t be able to see mine either.” She stepped in front of the mirror and gazed at her reflection. Her parents stood behind her. Ron and Harry. Neville, Luna, Ginny, Fred, George, even Crookshanks. Shadowy figures occupied the background of the reflection.
Everyone she lost in the future smiled at her, waving like they missed her as much as she missed them. Her mom placed an arm around her waist and gave her a loving embrace, and she swore she could almost feel the warmth of her hand there. She reached for it, only to find her cotton shirt.
Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. She averted her gaze from the mirror towards the boy who scrutinized her with keen interest. A drop escaped and rolled down her cheek. His eyes remained fixed on her fingers as she wiped away the traitorous tear.
“What do you see?” he asked her with all the enthusiasm of Professor Binns lecturing on goblin rebellions.
His expression suggested otherwise. He watched her like he was trying to dissect her very soul. He had to realize how personal that question was.
“If I tell you what I see, would you tell me what you saw?”
“Sure.”
“And you’d be honest?”
“Absolutely.”
“Liar.” To her surprise, he wasn’t angry like the last time she accused him of lying. He chuckled. A crooked smile spread across his face that made Hermione’s heart skip a beat.
“You are rather quick to assume me a liar.”
“I call it as I see it.” She wasn’t sure she even spoke loud enough for him to hear.
She looked at the mirror. The pang of emotion hit her like wave crashing against the shore. She longed to be with them. To be near them, to touch them, to talk with them. Somehow it felt worse seeing them again... but not having them there.
“What do you see?” This time, when he asked, it sounded more like a command. He demanded an answer.
She pressed her lips into a thin line before answering. “I see myself sitting in front of a warm fire reading a brand new book.”
“Hmm… and you were so moved by this scene you were brought to tears?”
“Of course, it’s a really good book.” Ron whispered something to Harry, and they both laughed. She had seen them do that countless times.
Ginny scowled at Fred and George as they leaned their heads together, plotting mischief. Luna had her characteristic dreamy-eyed expression as she looked around the room, not interacting with the others.
He scoffed and shook his head. “Okay, deal’s a deal. Since you told me about your reflected desires, guess I’ll tell you mine.”
She raised a brow and considered him, holding her breath as she waited for him to continue.
“I see myself eating a big bag of sweets.”
“A big bag of sweets?” It was probably the most absurd answer he could come up with.
“Sure, everyone has a desire for sweets, and I’ve never had any of those wizarding sweets.”
“Right, and your heart desires nothing more than sweets.”
“Stuff looks delicious,” he smirked.
“You… I,” she stammered before taking a deep breath. “I knew you would lie.”
“Are you saying you were telling the truth? Sobbing over watching yourself read a good book?”
“I was not sobbing…” A single tear did not qualify as sobbing.
“What do you really see?” He still hadn’t wavered in his intense stare. She felt so exposed, standing in front of the mirror that revealed what she longed for with him devouring her.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just do.” He looked greedy. Starved.
“And why should I tell you?”
“Because I asked nicely.”
“It sounded to me like you demanded to know the answer. Just because you didn’t threaten me or include choice words, I wouldn’t qualify that as nice.”
He groaned, saying something like “exasperating witch,” with a dramatic eye roll. Hermione wanted to laugh. “Fine! Would you please tell me what you see, your highness?” He dipped into a low, dramatized bow, complete with an outward swing of one arm and stepping a foot back.
Hermione blinked. A slight twitch of her upper lip was the only thing that gave away her amusement.
“Hmm. Better,” she folded her arms over her chest as if considering, “but I would really prefer to be addressed as ‘My Most Noble and Intellectually Superior Queen’.”
He gaped at her, appearing to be at a complete loss for words. Hermione couldn't handle it. She broke into a fit of giggles. Even Tom’s hard glare gave way to a small smile.
It took about a minute for her laughing to subside enough for her to speak. “Okay, fine,” she exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. When she opened them again, she had shifted to face the mirror. And everyone was there. Surrounding her.
All the humor faded as the somber atmosphere overtook it. She licked her dry lips. “I see my parents on either side of me. Mum and dad. As if they were alive. They’re smiling at me… supporting me… I miss them.” She didn’t add the part of all of her friends also being there. She kept it simple to avoid too many probing questions.
“You’re an orphan?”
“Yes.” She looked at him in time to catch his eyes widening ever so slightly with shock. He ran his hand through his hair, further disheveling his dark locks. It only made him more gorgeous. It was unbelievably irritating. She flicked her gaze away from him.
Her parents stayed by her side. Like an anchor. They supported her even when she was out of her time.
Luna cocked her head, looking right at her with interest. The look in her eye seemed different. As if Luna could actually see Hermione there, in front of the Mirror of Erised, fifty years in the past.
She swallowed before glancing back at Riddle. He remained quiet for so long she had to make sure he was still there. “Well?”
“What?” he asked. He was no longer watching her, but was staring ahead, deep in thought.
“Tell me something real,” she whispered.
He tensed, not looking in her direction. Finally, he strolled towards her, and Hermione stepped aside for Riddle to stand in front of the mirror.
There was an eerie hum in the silence, a restlessness that stretched between them that Hermione wasn’t able to identify. The pale moonlight reflected off Riddle’s pale skin. His deep, smoky eyes flicked all over the mirror, focusing on things Hermione couldn’t see.
She realized she was doing what he had been doing earlier. She stared at him as he assessed himself in the mirror, trying to read his shifting expressions, his body language.
Hermione looked away and examined various parts of the surrounding room, noticing more details of the objects and furniture that had accumulated here over the many years.
How long she and Riddle stood like that, she wasn’t sure. May have only been five minutes but it might have been thirty. Time seemed to lose its meaning as seconds ticked by.
“I see myself...” he said, pausing after to contemplate his words, “I see myself in a position where nobody would ever underestimate me again.”
She raised a brow at that. “You think people underestimate you?”
“They do.” She considered this. Only a few weeks ago, he warned her not to underestimate snakes. She didn’t underestimate him at all. Deep down, he terrified her, but there was also a thrilling excitement in her chest whenever he was around that she refused to acknowledge.
She stepped closer to look in the mirror with him. His gaze continued to pass over the mirror, evaluating his heart’s desire reflected back at him. Their arms brushed against each other as they stood shoulder to shoulder. She smelled the incredible scent of cedar and peppermint on him. Neither of them made a move, but the sound of his sharp inhale filled the silence.
She only saw the two of them standing in front of piles of old rubbish and tossed away junk. The two of them, shrouded by moonlight in the dismal room.
She wanted to see her family again... her friends... she wanted to touch them. Harry spent hours staring in this very mirror, looking at his family, watching them surround him, making him feel less alone in the world. She understood that now.
As if he was listening to her thoughts, Riddle took a small step to the side, allowing Hermione to center herself before the mirror again. In an instant, everyone appeared. Her dad’s lips curved into a smile as he adjusted his glasses on his nose. A gesture she had seen him make thousands of times.
She could appreciate the appeal of passing hours gazing at the reflection. It would never come close to filling the void inside of her, but it was better than nothing. Hermione had been here five months. She needed to consider that she may have to live the rest of her days here and take the slow path to the future.
Was this better? To see them, knowing they aren’t really there? Maybe this wasn’t better… maybe this was worse.
She realized Riddle stayed pressed against her side. His dark stare fixed on her reflection, posture was stiff and eyes narrowed. His expression was so intense, Hermione had difficulty focusing on her loved ones around her. It was like he was the only one there.
Hermione took a shaky breath, only inhaling more of his delicious scent. She forced her gaze back to the mirror, spotting Luna. Her lips moved, saying something while looking right at Hermione.
Hermione cocked her head, trying to focus on her friend’s face. Luna pushed past the reflected people in front of her and advanced closer. Her reflection became larger as she neared, blocking those behind her. Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she tried to make out the words.
Everything will be okay, Hermione.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
A stunning interpretation of what Tom Riddle might see in the Mirror of Erised by: Dara for Union of Artists challenge (April 2024), used with permission
Her hand was so close to his. He wanted to feel her skin, wanted to know if it was as soft as it looked. If her long fingers were as delicate as they appeared. He needed to know. He was acutely aware that it was just the two of them in this room. A place nobody else knew about. Truly alone.
He wanted her... he wanted her so desperately, it drove him insane. The realization knocked the air out of his lungs. His jaw clenched. How did it take him so long to work this out? All this obsession, watching her, trying to figure out her secrets. He wanted this girl. He wanted this intelligent, mysterious, beautiful witch with her knowing eyes and pure soul.
That he was sure of. This girl was good, like an angel sent from some muggle heaven. She was a purity in his inky-black life. He would ruin her, taint her, destroy that pure soul that sucked him in like a moth to a flame. Despite that, he wanted to consume her. He wanted her in ways he wanted no other person; in ways he didn’t understand himself.
If he thought he would feel better after such a revelation, he was mistaken. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot next to her, incapable of stepping away. Not ready to put distance between them. Warmth radiated from her body, like a gentle caress. He wanted to feel that heat everywhere; wanted to breathe the same air as her. To taste every inch of her skin.
They were alone... he could have her here... take her against the dusty floor and piles of rubbish. A thousand possibilities flashed through his mind. He thought about what it would feel like to hold her against his body. To kiss her deeply. Fuck her against this mirror of desire, as it was so aptly named.
It would be glorious.
He burned as he watched her now. His breathing became short and shallow as his hands twitched to tear off every article of clothing on her body. She would hide nothing from him when he slid inside her.
It would be incredible…
Would once be enough? He couldn’t imagine stopping after one time. The first time he claimed her would be fast, his desperation for her taking control. Then he would make it slow. Explore every inch of her until he found the spots that made her wild. Thrust into her slick warmth until she screamed his name. He would take her over and over until they were both spent and satisfied.
He wanted to memorize her face when she came around his cock. A beautiful sight… He imagined what they looked like before. In his dreams. Alone in his bed at night. He didn’t want to imagine it anymore.
Would she? Could he? He knew he could…. He was ready.
Her wide, innocent eyes stared at her family in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed. The moonlight cast an almost ethereal halo around her, like the glowing purity of her very soul shining out from within.
Something in his chest twisted.
Fucking her wouldn’t be an act of passion and ecstasy. She would fight him. He would have to force her. She would hate him. In the end, it would be easy to compel her into complacency. Then he would obliviate her memories after. She would never remember. Never realize what happened…
The idea left him with a hollow pit in his stomach. Taking her like that… forcing her… it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t satisfy this craving he had. He wanted her to want him back. To hear his name on her lips. Longed to feel her hands on him and see the pleasure and desire reflected in her face.
She would scream. She would fight him. She would hate him.
She sniffed, distracting him from his sinister thoughts. She made a strange choking sound. He gave her a curious look, trying to figure out what she was doing. It became clear a moment later as she started sobbing. Wet tears glistened on her cheeks and her body curled in on itself. Her arms wrapped around her waist.
What the hell? Did he do something wrong? Why was she crying? What was he supposed to do? The strong, beautiful lion that always held her ground was bursting into a puddle of tears.
Never in his life had he comforted someone who was crying. Usually he caused the tears, and he walked away with grim satisfaction. This girl was bringing out urges in him he did not know what to do with!
He shifted onto each foot as his witch brought her hands up and rubbed at her swollen eyes. He wished her tears would stop. For her to smile again. Don’t people sometimes comfort others through touch? Would she let him touch her?
He wanted to hold her... Could he really touch her? Make it seem innocent?
He reached his hand out and placed it on her shoulder. She twitched, feeling the pressure, but she didn’t recoil.
Now what?
In a slow, hesitant movement, his hand enveloped her back. This was way out of his element. She had him questioning his every move.
Was he doing this right? She wasn’t pulling away. Perhaps that was promising.
The next thing he knew, she turned into him. He had his arms wrapped around her, and she cried into his chest, wetting his shirt with her tears. He acted on instinct, snaking a hand into her hair and rubbing her spine.
Her curls felt soft, her body was slim. She fit against him perfectly. Warm and delicate in his embrace. Then that bloody smell. The crisp apples and the sweet honey. He wanted to bathe in it.
He buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in. When he was this close, he could almost taste that intoxicating scent on his tongue. Heat coursed through his veins.
This wasn’t close enough. It would never be close enough. He needed more, but he also couldn’t stand her crying. Anger bubbled up in the pit of his stomach. His fingers gripped her blouse as he restrained himself from doing something rash.
What made her cry? It wasn’t him, right? He had done nothing to warrant this sort of reaction. It had to be the mirror.
Tom considered smashing the bloody mirror. He needed her to stop crying!
Her shoulders shook against his body. Her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt.
How long did they stand like that? The moon was high in the sky now. Her sobs turned into whimpers, which then settled into sniffles. Maybe this was the right thing to do after all. It felt right. How could this not be right?
She was small...
What was he doing anymore?
“S—sorry...”
“What for?”
“I’m… I’m just...” She stepped back and wiped her freckled cheeks. Then she looked at him, gaze wide and full of... something…
Did she feel it too? The magnetic pull between them sucked the air out of his lungs. Even with her red eyes and tear-stained skin, she was still pretty. Then there were her lips. Those luscious, pink, pouty lips that were damp from her tears.
He couldn’t take his eyes off them. He became fixated. Completely entranced. He imagined what it would be like to lick them clean with his tongue. Make them red with his teeth. He wanted to destroy her.
“I’m going to bed!” She scrambled away, darting around him.
“Wait! What?”
She didn’t answer.
“Hermione!”
By the time he moved to follow her, he already lost her among the piles of rubbish.
He ran his hands through his hair, groaning. What the hell just happened?
She soaked the entire front of his shirt. It smelled like apples and honey.
Notes:
Chapter 11 Song: Desire: MEG MYERS. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Things are ramping up guys! This chapters get longer from here on! ❤️🖤❤️🖤
Update: Reread and edited on May 27, 2025
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Chapter 12: 12: The Only One He Ever Feared
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hermione, are you sure you don’t want anything?” Gussie asked as she slipped on a light fall cardigan. They were half-way through November, and it was the first Hogsmeade weekend. Today was unusually warm and students were eager to enjoy the sunshine in Hogsmeade.
“I’m good, have fun.” Hermione put her feet on the ground and braced herself to stand. She needed to get her potion in her trunk. Her entire body ached with electrical zaps running along her scar. She woke up hissing in pain, her skin flushed with the overwhelming burning sensation. She had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep herself from groaning. Her legs felt weak. She questioned their ability to support her.
“Uh, Hermione, get back into bed. I’ll grab the potion for you.”
“I’m fine!”
“Bed! Now!” Gussie pushed Hermione into her pillows and glowered till she was convinced Hermione wouldn’t try to get up again.
“In your trunk, right? Big round bottle. Oh… there isn’t much here. Okay. Found it!” Gussie stood holding up the large flask filled with the disgusting amber potion and the smaller vial Hermione used to dose. “We are storing this inside your bedside drawer from now on. It’s painful to watch you get out of bed every Saturday morning.”
“I agree. It is painful.”
Gussie poured the potion for her and handed it to Hermione. She swallowed it down in a single gulp. When Hermione was done, her friend cleaned the bottle with her wand and tucked it into the bedside table.
“Thanks Gussie,” Hermione smiled. It would be a few minutes before the agony faded.
“Wish you could come with us,” Gussie pouted. Every Gryffindor third year and up was heading out, except Hermione. Since she had no family, she didn’t have permission to go.
Hermione tried to argue with Dumbledore that she was seventeen and shouldn’t need parental permission. He remained steadfast in his decision.
“My parents are dead. Who would you expect me to ask to sign this form?” Hermione had asked him with a sour expression. That at least had triggered a sympathetic frown to appear on Dumbledore’s face.
“I understand that you’re frustrated, Miss Granger, but I cannot allow you to go to Hogsmeade.”
“My previous question stands. If you want a signed permission form, who do you expect me to get it from?” It felt like they were punishing her for being an orphan.
“I will speak on this further with Professor Dippet. Perhaps we can find a solution. For right now, I cannot allow you to go to Hogsmeade for this visit.”
It reminded her of how Harry had reacted on the first Hogsmeade weekend when he had to stay behind. It wasn’t like Hermione had an invisibility cloak in her trunk that she could use to stroll into Hogsmeade using the secret passage inside the hump of the one-eyed witch. But even Harry’s case was different. The Dursleys had been his guardians.
Gussie talked nonstop about the Yule Ball and how she, Minerva, and Alastor were going dress shopping on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Gussie insisted she needed a man’s opinion, so she forced a begrudging Alastor to go. Archie flat out refused. Hermione wished she could join. Do something normal.
“If you aren’t there, then how will I ever convince Minerva yellow looks terrible on her?! She’s convinced she wants that yellow dress she saw over the summer! She didn’t believe me when I told her it’s vile!”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“The dress is fine, but Minerva would clash terribly with the shade. As her friend, I cannot allow her to purchase it!”
“Gussie, you don’t need me there. You are perfectly capable of telling Minerva that yourself,” Hermione sighed. She didn’t want to talk about dress shopping. It disappointed her. “Or maybe Alastor will back you up.”
“Alastor will tell us everything looks great because he doesn’t have the guts to say otherwise,” Gussie sneered, as if gravely insulted by the compliments. “I wish you could come…”
“I know. I need to work on that essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“Oh, you mean the one that you finished three days ago?” Gussie asked, batting her lashes. Hermione grimaced.
“I found some new material—”
“Cut it out Hermione. Admit that you’re sad you aren’t going and move on. It’s okay. It sucks.”
“Fine… it sucks.”
“There, feel better?”
“Not really.”
“Neither do I.”
***
Hermione sat on a patched, frayed blanket she laid out in the shade by the lake. The sun glistened off the surface of the calm water. She found it hard to believe this was the same lake, teeming with Grindylows, Merpeople, and the Giant Squid. The one Dumbledore had placed her in after putting her in an enchanted sleep for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.
Nothing here felt the same.
She planned to have a nice pity-party for herself in the common room, but the warm rays of the sun streaming into Gryffindor Tower beckoned her outside.
She thought the sunshine and fresh air would help her feel better about her pathetic situation. It didn’t. But she had appreciated the brief visit from Patrick and Flitwick, who sat in the shade with her talking about their classes. Flitwick tried to convince Patrick to join the Dueling Club with him. Hermione saw how nervous Patrick was. His face had brightened to the color of a tomato, making his blonde hair look awkward against his reddened skin.
“You should go, Patrick!” Hermione encouraged. Tiny Flitwick’s large, round cheeks split into a smile.
“What about school?” He looked nervous. Like someone might have overheard his interest in the Dueling Club and give him detenti00on.
“It’s only a few times a month!” Flitwick squeaked. Hermione nodded at Patrick with enthusiasm.
“Will you join too, Hermione?” Patrick’s eyes had filled with hope as he stared at Hermione. Not that she wouldn’t be interested in the Dueling Club, but she needed to focus on her research.
“No, I have O.W.L.s coming up. I’m already behind since I started Hogwarts so late.” Patrick looked resigned. If Gussie overheard that, she would have laughed in her face. Hermione excelled far beyond anyone’s expectations. She was the top in every class… Next to Tom Riddle.
“It would be fun!” Flitwick said. “Please, Patrick!”
The boy pursed his lips. “Fine, but only if all my homework is done!”
“Yay! Let’s go!” Flitwick jumped up and swung his bag over his shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“We have homework to do!”
“Don’t pull so hard! The club isn’t until next week! Wait! Ouch!” Patrick almost face-planted into a pile of dirt as tiny Flitwick dragged him to the castle.
“We should get a head start! To make sure it’s done!”
“Filius!” The two boys ran off, leaving Hermione in peace.
She had a book open in her lap, but she couldn’t focus enough to read it. This was a selection she checked out from the restricted section called The Secrets of the Darkest Arts . It was vile, but she wondered if it would mention the veil as a dark, magical object. She also wanted to learn more about the curse that Dolohov cast on her, with the pain worsening.
The book mentioned neither of these topics. Instead, she learned about Horcruxes, a vile form of magic. It involved tearing your soul into pieces by committing murder, then attaching the fragmented piece to an object.
Who would do something like that? It made her nauseous.
“Afternoon, Miss Granger,” someone said as a shadow cut across her line of sight. She could feel the unmistakable weight of his gaze on her back. She recognized Riddle's melodic voice, its smooth cadence echoing in her ears. The way he said her name sent a chill down her spine.
“Riddle.” He stepped closer, stopping beside her. He appeared to be eating a baguette. Strange choice of snack. She hadn’t spoken to him since the Room of Requirement incident. If she was being honest, she avoided him.
“Nice day out today.”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to rain later, though.”
“Hmm...”
“It should warm up tomorrow.”
“Is that what you came here to talk about? The weather?” She glared at him, and he looked back with gleaming eyes as a sly smirk formed on his face. Was he trying to intimidate her by his very presence? Loom over her, waiting for an opening to pounce?
“Did you have another conversation in mind?” he asked.
“Why did you come all the way down here, Riddle?”
“The weather is nice.”
“I know the weather is nice. We covered this,” she grumbled.
“Bit touchy today, aren’t we, Miss Granger?” He found this amusing. Without asking permission, he seated himself on her blanket, taking another bite of the baguette. She made a sound that may have been a muttered insult or her clearing her air passages; difficult to tell.
“I’m surprised you aren’t sitting in the sun. It’s too nice to hide in the shade.”
She rubbed her hands over her face. Part of her enjoyed his company, which aggravated her more. The way he looked at her in the mirror the other day… like she was the only girl in the world. He wrapped his arms around her and held her in a tight embrace. He stared at her lips with eager fascination.
She didn’t hate it…
Then she soaked his shirt in tears. Instead of pushing her away, he pulled her closer. Rubbed comforting circles on her back and whispered soothing words.
It was wrong, Voldemort providing comfort to a sobbing girl. Those pieces refused to connect in her mind, so she concluded she must be missing sections. Something that would tie this entire picture together, so it fit in her world.
She was overthinking it. Riddle was a master charmer and an expert manipulator. He must be putting on a show for her.
The whole thing was humiliating.
“So...” He trailed off, watching her like he was expecting something. He took a bite of his bread and chewed slowly.
“Care to explain why you’re here?”
“Are you so opposed to my presence?” He raised a brow. The sun shone over his hair and half his face. His eyes... they were a smokey brown like bittersweet, dark chocolate.
“I’m just in a bad mood,” she snapped at him.
“And what has you so grouchy on this fine day?”
“Right now, you.”
He ignored that. “What are you reading?” He asked. The open book sat in her lap. How did she forget about it? She should have hidden this from him, from everyone, until she safely returned it to the library. She closed the cover, being careful to hide any trace of the title from him.
“ Fifteenth-century Fiends .” She slipped the book into her bag and buckled it shut. It was difficult to tell if he believed her. Rather than fretting over it, she decided it didn’t particularly matter. “What’s with the bread?” she asked to change the topic.
“Did you want some? I have more.”
“Excuse me?” This was a strange interaction. Was she really sitting here having a casually mundane conversation with Tom Riddle? He seemed almost chipper. Was he under the Imperious Curse?
“I figured we could feed the Giant Squid. Bloke’s a big fan of bread.” To prove his point, he dropped a cloth bag between them with what appeared to be a dozen, or perhaps more, full baguettes. “Got them from the kitchens.”
“You got this bread from the house-elves to feed the Giant Squid?” This was too much. Hermione felt exhausted and didn’t have the energy to tease out Riddle’s ulterior motives.
“Sure, it’s a nice day out.” If he said that one more time, she would curse him. Was he trying to irritate her?
“Why aren’t you with the rest of the school at Hogsmeade?” she asked, her tone clipped.
“Could ask you the same question.” He popped a piece of the baguette in his mouth.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “My parents are dead, remember? I don’t have anyone to sign the permission slip.” She could feel a warm breeze on her face… smell the fresh baguettes along with moss and the scent of water from the lake.
She had spent a lot of time with Viktor here. When he had kissed her that first time, her cheeks turned a deep shade of red that took hours to fade. It had been her first proper kiss, if she didn’t count Jordan Matthews kissing her during recess in primary school before she started Hogwarts. With Viktor, it had been passionate and followed by multiple very similar kisses, either by the lake, in the library, or tucked behind a tree inside the boundary of the forbidden forest. She had never let him take things further, and he had accepted that.
While they kept in touch through the next year, she had trouble keeping the romance alive. She liked Viktor, but not the same way he liked her. She ended their relationship a few months before she fell through the veil.
She remembered all these things. She had a life full of memories that never actually happened. Not yet. Did any of it matter?
She frowned, her face flushing as she pulled her knees to her chest. Her vision blurred with oncoming tears, which she held at bay.
She’d been an emotional wreck since seeing her family in the mirror. She cried almost daily. Gussie had commented on it the other day, but Hermione couldn’t share this pain with anyone. Nobody could know. Instead, she bottled it up inside until she felt like bursting at the seams. Until she lost herself in a pool of tears that she could no longer control. Eventually, she would drown in those tears.
“I’m not good with crying. Are you going to cry, again?” he asked.
She sputtered a laugh. He had no tact. “Scared of crying females, Riddle?” Her voice sounded croaky to her ears.
He watched her for a long moment. She rested her head on her knees. Riddle’s hair was wind swept as his dark eyes searched hers. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but the smooth melody of his voice ghosted between them when he finally spoke. “Only you.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Why did he say that? What a stupid thing to reveal. It was like painting a target on his back, telling her how vulnerable she made him. But seeing her cry felt different from watching any other girl cry. He never cared about girls crying. Often, he was the one that caused the tears.
Did this mean he cared?
He cringed at that thought. Caring was never a good idea. This led to attachments, and he understood the importance of not getting attached. Everything and everyone would always leave in the end. The only one he could count on was himself.
When he saw her sitting alone in the shade, he had to sit with her… talk to her. He rushed to the kitchen and demanded bread to create a flimsy excuse for his presence. The house-elves provided in excess.
The idea of coming down here to feed the Giant Squid seemed laughable. Never, in his life, had he fed the beast. He had heard in passing that people sometimes gave him bread. He never felt compelled to try it. Still didn’t, if he was being honest.
“Here.” He handed her a baguette, and she took it tentatively, staring down at the loaf as if it was a foreign object. Then she jumped to her feet, ran to the edge of the lake, and chucked the bread in. They watched it spin through the air until it landed in the water with a finite splash.
Guess they were really doing this…
He stood and grabbed the bag of baguettes and brought it over to Hermione.
A tentacle broke through the water and wrapped around the bread, pulling it beneath the murky surface. She had a wide smile on her face now.
“There’s more!” she called out, snagging another loaf and snapping it in half.
“They say the Giant Squid has been here since the start of Hogwarts,” he said, needing to fill this tension between them with something… anything. A tentacle rose from the water, stretching towards them like a child asking for a snack. “Some claim they built the lake to house it.”
“I wonder how old it is?” she asked as it pulled a second baguette out of sight.
“Who knows?” Tom held out another loaf for Hermione. She grabbed, their fingertips brushing. A shock ran through him at the touch of her chilled fingers against his.
He wanted to warm them. Run his palms over her skin until the friction heated every inch of her. Until they were both sweating and panting.
The tentacles popped up, coming closer to the shore with each subsequent appearance. She ran a finger along the slimy surface, a chuckle passing between her lips. It twitched then snapped back, as if confused. It retreated as soon as it snatched the loaf she held.
The next time the squid appeared, it was only six feet away. If the water wasn’t so dark, they might’ve been able to see its body, but the Giant Squid never revealed itself.
“Makes you wonder, if it was always here, what about the Merpeople and Grindylows?” she mused aloud.
“Dunno.” It wasn’t a question he ever cared to ponder.
“Are you only going to watch?” Hermione asked. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. Her eyes sparkled in the midday sun. She had an incredible smile. He dreamed she would one day show it to him. It was more radiant than he imagined it to be.
He couldn’t say no to her. If she asked him to jump in the filthy lake fully clothed... he would…
He was screwed.
He picked up a baguette and approached the water’s edge, but before he could toss it, the dripping wet tentacle tugged it from his hands. The Giant Squid was getting impatient.
They were coming to the end of their bread pile. Hermione stroked the tentacle that had massive, pink, bulbous suctions the size of Tom’s palms lining its surface. She beamed brighter than the sun. He would do this again—if only to make her happy.
Tom detested the person he was becoming. He needed to refocus. He needed to get this bloody witch out of his head!
“I’ve never fed the Giant Squid before!” she chuckled, reaching out and tickling the slimy opal arm. She chased it across the shore as it played a game of cat and mouse with her.
“You only just started at Hogwarts. I would have been surprised if you had already.”
“Right.”
A second tentacle popped out of the water and slid along the grass, making its way toward the now-empty pouch. He found it strange how a tentacle could look disappointed, but when it discovered the bag was empty, ‘disappointed’ was the best word to describe the sad, sagging slouch it did.
In an act of defiance, it snapped its limbs into the water with such force it caused a massive splash, leaving them drenched in the filthy liquid.
“That was rude!” Hermione spluttered, wiping her now wet hair off of her face. “After we fed you and everything, was that really necessary?”
“I doubt it's there anymore.” Tom huffed, pulling off his dripping jacket only to find the clothes beneath soaked through.
“Still, it’s the principle of the thing!” she said. With her wet hair clinging to her face, she mimicked Tom by slipping off her cardigan. If Hermione in the glowing afternoon sun was beautiful, it was nothing to dripping clothes clinging to her skin. Her cheeks flushed with excitement. He could see every dip, angle, and curve of her body. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He watched her lips move as she spoke, not hearing a word that came out of her mouth.
Did she not see how much he craved her? Did she not feel it too? He couldn’t be the only one. He caught her watching him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. The heat in her eyes. She wasn’t immune, no matter how much she wanted to pretend otherwise. He needed to get her to see sense. Understand how great it would be.
Incredible.
“I could’ve been dress shopping in some uppity, overpriced store right now,” she said with a wistful sigh.
“Huh?”
“For the dance.” She picked up the blanket and tossed it around her shoulders, covering the body that he was busy ogling.
“Dance?” He ran his hands through his wet hair and tried to grasp whatever she was talking about.
“The Yule Ball, Tom, is there another ball happening that you are confusing this with?” she chuckled.
“Right.” The Yule Ball. What dress would she wear? Long and elegant? Would it be red for Gryffindor? He might ask her to wear green… or black… she would look lovely in white.
She started back towards the castle, and he followed her.
Was she going then? Did she have a date? He never took anyone. He had plenty of offers and every one he refused.
The whole concept was infuriating. He didn’t want a female thinking she could cling to him because she walked into a dance on his arm. Then they would expect romance. Ridiculous.
Maybe Hermione was going with friends.
He couldn’t stop the fantasy of her dancing with him. In his arms, twirling around the Great Hall for the entire school to see. It would be equivalent to making a bold declaration. Nobody would approach her after that. They could find an empty classroom, a dark alcove, a broom closet, and he would show her how crazy she’s been driving him. Peel her out of her silky dress. Hold the body underneath, the one that he had a preview of today. Grip her hips. Taste her lips. Her warm breath. Listen to her moan.
Damn…
She wasn’t going with someone else, right? He had to find out. He should suck up his pride and ask her to the dance. Who was she going with?
“I can’t exactly afford a dress, but I think Gussie is arranging that for me.” She smiled. It didn’t tell him what he needed to know.
“So you’re going then?” He asked.
“Of course!” She opened the doors to the castle and waited for him to catch up. He felt like he was walking in a haze as he stepped inside. She grinned at him as the door shut behind them. “Aren’t you? It isn’t like we are leaving on the express the next day,” she said.
“Right… Yeah, I’m going.” So she was staying over the holidays. She would be here with him all winter break. The two of them. The things they could do together…
“How did you know I’m staying for the holidays?” he asked abruptly. As the fog clouding his thoughts lifted, the world came alive with vibrant colors and sharp details. They hadn’t posted the sign-up sheet to stay over the holidays yet. There was no way she could know that.
She looked confused as she pulled the patched and frayed blanket tighter around herself. “Well, you don’t have permission for Hogsmeade, so I assumed—”
“I never said I didn’t have permission.” His defenses went up as he stepped closer to her. Her back pressed against the nearest wall. How could she know? Only the staff knew about the orphanage! Not even his friends! He was careful not to reveal anything in the Room of Requirement.
She looked nervous. Her eyes darted around as if trying to find the nearest escape route.
“How did you know, Granger?” he hissed, walking closer. Her caramel eyes watched him with trepidation. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip, a sign of her anxiety. He caught her in something. He needed to figure out what.
“Answer me!” The palm of his hand slammed against the stone next to her face. She flinched.
“I… I’m sorry, I assumed, I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry!”
“And what is it, exactly, that you assumed?”
“That you didn’t have permission.” It was a non-answer! She was evading the real question. His mind reeled. Did she know? Everything would be ruined if people found out! His jaw clenched. His body burned, not with lust, but with rage. He was furious. He could barely catch his breath.
Running on instinct, his fingers latched onto his wand and pointed it at her. Her eyes widened and her face paled. Slowly, he lifted the wand higher until the tip dug into the skin of her forehead. He would dig out everything she was hiding. Find the deepest roots of this witch and rid himself of her once and for all! “Legilimens.”
Light flashed around them. A vortex formed as he invaded her mind, diving into the deepest parts of her brain. She organized her thoughts like shelves in a library, predictable Hermione Granger. He forced the closest book open and flipped through the memories.
The place he found himself in had a dreamlike quality. A gentle haze hung in the air. He noticed a fireplace roaring next to him, casting a glow around the out-of-focus room. A boy’s voice spoke.
“Dumbledore told me…” The noise trailed off into a muffled rumble that drowned out the voices.
There was a brief flash of clarity. “Don’t say his name!” someone else said. The haze returned as quickly as it left. The faces blurred, features undefinable. He couldn’t keep his grip on this memory. It felt like he was trying to recall a dream just after waking up. Everything appeared frayed and fragmented.
A pressure accumulated in his head as he fought to maintain his hold on her mind. Hermione resisted him; pushed him away.
This girl knew Occlumency!
“The diary was…” The scene dissolved as the crushing sensation built.
He struggled to regain control, but the book of her memories crumbled in his hands.
As he stretched his hand to grab another volume, she forcibly ejected him from the vast expanse of her mind's library, and the door slammed shut with a resounding thud.
“FLIPENDO!” she shouted, and an invisible force slammed him against the wall. The impact knocked all the air out of his lungs. He gasped, but nothing came through his closed throat. He had difficulty staying on his feet with the pricks of pain in his limbs from the shock. “How dare you use Legilimency against me!”
He narrowed his eyes at her as he steadied himself. “You bitch.”
“You will not invade my mind again, Riddle!” Her wand pointed at him. His lungs burned with fury. He raised his own wand with a sneer.
And there they were. Standing in the middle of the castle entrance, eyes blazing, and wands aimed, ready to strike.
They both moved simultaneously.
“Furnunculus!”
“Impedimenta!”
Both of them dodged the other’s spells with a simple flick of their wands. The curses flew into the stone wall with an exploding crash. Fragments of rock sprayed around them, but neither looked up to assess the damage done. Their eyes remained locked, a silent standoff as they waited for another attack.
Rage reverberated through her entire posture. Tom had never seen her look so angry. Somehow, it only made her more attractive. Even damp with disgusting lake water, she looked beautiful.
He needed this witch out of his head! He needed to be done with her!
“Brachiabindo!”
“Stupefy!”
“Flipendo!”
“Expelliarmus!”
“Petrificus—”
“Riddle! Granger!” Merrythought shouted as they both dodged the next spell. She marched towards them with a scowl. Slughorn ran behind her, panting to keep up, his face red with the exertion. “How dare you fight in the corridors!”
“Now, now, it looks like they were only practicing dueling!” Slughorn huffed, each breath strained.
“I don’t care what they were doing! Casting jinxes and curses in the middle of the hall! Anyone could’ve been hurt! Detention for both of you!”
“Is that necessary, Galatea?” Slughorn tried to reason.
“It is necessary, Horace!” Merrythought spat with anger. “My two brightest students! I’m disgusted! Tom, you are a Prefect! You are supposed to represent this school! I have half a mind to remove your Prefect position!”
“Galatea! I’ll remind you that his Prefect position is entrusted to him by Professor Dippet and myself!” Slughorn interrupted.
Merrythought frowned at that and folded her arms across her broad chest. “Regardless, I’ll be writing to both your families!” Tom had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“I don’t have any family,” Hermione said, looking sourly at Tom as if she blamed him for their current predicament. She couldn’t blame him for her lack of family; that had nothing to do with him.
There was no point in trying to hide his secret from her. Hermione already knew. “Neither do I,” Tom said through clenched teeth.
Merrythought flushed. She shifted from foot to foot. “Right…”
“Now you’ve gone and upset the children,” Slughorn sighed, shaking his head. “If they must serve detention, I need help gathering potion ingredients at the next full moon to refill my supplies. Things run low this time of year; you know how it is!” He laughed as if someone told a hilarious joke. Nobody else joined in his humor.
Tom and Hermione stood in tense silence, their wands poised, and their gazes locked, anticipating the next spell. Even with two professors present, neither would back down.
“Fine! And thirty points from each of you—”
“Now Galatea, be reasonable—”
“Horace, I will not stand by and allow students to cast curses at each other in the halls of this school!” Slughorn’s face went red as he crumbled under the weight of Merrythought’s withering stare.
A beat passed before Slughorn held his hand out to Tom. “Come on, Mr. Riddle, we should talk in my office. Would you escort Miss Granger to her head of house Galatea?”
“Of course.”
Tom pocketed his wand, his scowl not letting up as he followed Slughorn to the dungeons.
This witch was getting under his skin. His body burned all the time. Worse when she was around. She slowly drove him insane with each passing day! He was torn between his intense craving and his strong aversion towards her. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts wandered back to her!
The rage, wanting, longing, and the flurry of emotions that he would never understand!
He cornered Walburga in the Great Hall at dinner. “Meet me in the broom closet, third floor, you know the one.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond, but as he walked away, he heard her reply with a small “okay.”
There was no passion or romance in the actions between him and Walburga. It was about sex. An arrangement they made, and, for whatever reason, she agreed to it. Who knew what she gained from it.
He barely got the door shut behind him before her hands fumbled at his buttons. He locked the closet, muffled the walls, and appeased her by pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside.
She tried to kiss him, reaching for his lips, but settled for his chest when his mouth remained out of reach.
He came here for one reason, and foreplay wasn’t part of his agenda.
He wanted a hard fuck. He wanted to lose himself in the moment. Forget all about Hermione Granger’s caramel eyes and apple-scented curls. Walburga ran her hands down his chest, her lips following. She didn’t get far before Tom spun her around and bent her over. “Grab the shelf,” he commanded.
With a practiced hand, he released his belt buckle and shoved his trousers down his legs.
“Tom?” Walburga’s raspy voice said as he flipped up her skirt.
“Shut up!” She hissed in pain when he rammed into her. She wasn’t ready for him, but she would loosen up.
He took her rough and fast, trying to clear his mind. Release the tension. Feel with his body instead of his head. He hated having feelings. It destroyed him… his motivations, his goals, passions… it would ruin him.
It was quick, just as he intended it to be. When he finished, he pulled out and cleaned the mess with his wand and muttered a contraceptive charm before pulling up his trousers that were pooled around his ankles.
“Tom,” she turned to face him so she could more effectively bat her eyelashes. “Go with me to the Yule Ball?” Walburga begged, looking at him while she readjusted her bra. At some point, while slamming into her, he ripped her shirt open and started grabbing her chest. They were nice enough. He wondered what Hermione’s breasts looked like. He hadn't missed how shapely she was under her wet clothes today.
Not now!
Walburga gave him a disgustingly pathetic look.
“No.” He glanced around for his shirt.
“Why?” she whined with her lip pushed out into a dramatic pout.
Something about her had changed this year. She was becoming clingy. She wanted to meet in the dormitories despite his constant refusal. That would lead to her wanting to cuddle, or worse, her staying the night!
Tom didn’t do romance or relationships; it was a distraction. Sex was also a distraction, but his teenage hormones needed to be appeased. He found that after an orgasm, he could focus better.
When they made this arrangement last year, they agreed this would be sex. Just sex. They met in random places around the castle. He fucked her. They went their separate ways.
“I don’t need a reason.”
“Are you going with someone else?” she asked. He froze. Then Hermione’s face was in his mind again… curls, caramel eyes, freckles, radiant smile…
Damnit!
He just got her out of his system! What was his problem?! It had to be the hormones. It was the only explanation.
Why was nothing working?! His urges were sated, and she still occupied his mind. She was like a ghost that didn’t care about the walls he placed to keep her out of his thoughts. Studying wasn’t helping, sex wasn’t helping, nothing he tried was helping!
She distracted him. Making him look, want, and long for her… Desire her.
The room smelled like sex. His trousers felt rough on his skin.
Would she be soft? Her skin? Her lips?
She smelled like apples and honey. Fresh night air. Would she taste like that, too? Sweet. Crisp.
They knocked a pail over in the corner. Water flooded the floor. Probably happened when he fucked Walburga into the shelf. Except, in his mind, it wasn’t Walburga he was with. He saw her pressed against the cold stone as he ran his hands over her hot skin. He would taste every inch of her with his tongue. Tangle his fingers into her wild curls.
He needed to get out of this bloody broom closet!
Walburga gave him an irate look as he struggled to compose himself. What were they talking about?
“I’m not going with anyone.” He somehow ground the words out.
“Then go with me.” He returned to his search for his shirt.
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because I said no!”
Where is my shirt?
Why did she always insist on taking it off? He could have sex with his shirt on. He wanted out of that broom closet. It smelled like sex and with Hermione on his mind… He felt dizzy.
“We are making love multiple times a week! Wherever you want and whenever you want!” She gestured around the dim, dumpy, cold room they stood in now, as if offended by his choice of location for their little rendezvous. No way in hell was she ever getting into his bed.
“I’m there…” she muttered, losing some of her ire when she spoke again. “So why can’t I be your date to the dance?” She buttoned her blouse, avoiding eye contact.
Tom forgot he was a wizard. “Accio.” The white fabric flew his direction from behind her. He didn’t know how it got there. He glanced at her as he caught his shirt and gave her a bored expression. Her eyes glistened, betraying the tears that were coming.
“First off, Walburga,” he slipped his arms through the sleeves, “I do not make love,” he refrained from laughing at the ridiculous insinuation. “I fuck you. I fuck you, like we agreed. I tell you when to meet me and I tell you where to go. You show. And I fuck you. That is the extent of this relationship. If you don’t like it, then don’t come.”
His fingers made quick work of the buttons as Walburga sniffled, silent drops spilling from her eyes. This is how he was supposed to feel when he saw a girl cry. Nothing. Absolutely bloody nothing. It felt good. It felt right.
“Sometimes I don’t,” she muttered. He couldn’t hold back the smug chuckle anymore. She had wit despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“That isn’t my problem.” He slammed the door shut behind him.
Notes:
Chapter 12 Song: Who Do You Want: Ex Habit. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Sorry about the other woman guys. No one ever said Tom was a nice guy.
Update: Reread and Edited on May 29, 2025
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Chapter 13: 13: The Forbidden Forest
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom Riddle,
Your detention is to take place on Sunday, November 22, at 11 o’clock in the evening, with Professor Slughorn. Meet in Professor Slughorn’s office in the dungeons. Dress warm.
- Professor G. Merrythought.
“So you really got detention?” Norris asked, looking over Tom’s shoulder. The bloody owl dropped the note into Tom’s coffee before nipping his bread and flying off. It would’ve been angry if he wasn’t so distracted by the letter. He never received mail. All his friends watched as he opened it.
The news of Tom and Hermione getting detention quickly spread throughout the school. Their fight wasn’t exactly private, a few younger students witnessed it and word was out by dinner that evening.
“You knew this already, Norris. Why are you acting surprised?”
“You never get detention!”
“I’m well aware of my past record.”
“What happened anyway? Did she try to break your nose, too?”
Norris yelped as Abraxas kicked him under the table, “Stop trying to stir shite up.”
“He never told us, I—”
“There’s a reason I haven’t told you, Avery! And I have no intention of telling you.” Hermione’s eyes flicked to him as she tore open her own detention notice. Their gazes met, and in that instant, a wave of fury washed over her expression before she turned away.
Ever since their fight, she went out of her way to avoid him. The problem was, he couldn’t decide if he wanted her to continue avoiding him or not. He felt hollow every time she averted her eyes or purposely walked in the opposite direction. He refused to delve deeper into his feelings on it. Not yet.
“Hopefully you won’t have to spend detention with her, too. I spent three hours with her bossing me around, showing me how to clean a shelf. She’s such a know-it-all.”
“Hmm...” Tom replied, only half listening. The girl knew a lot. Not just in academics. She had knowledge about Tom and the castle that was impossible for her to know.
What sort of future did she come from?
***
As the afternoon wore on, Tom found it difficult to concentrate in class. That was the only explanation he could come up with as to why the Devil’s Snare wrapped its slimy tendrils around his leg. To make matters worse, Reinhardt saw, and, with an easy flick of his wand, the plant drowned in bright light and retreated toward the shadows.
Tom grimaced as he swung his wand at the repulsive plant, levitating it off the ground and sending it into the barrel with a bit more force than required.
Professor Beery tasked the class to gather Devil’s Snare from the caves during their afternoon Herbology lesson. He planned to use it to stew a medicinal paste. The problem was, Devil's Snare possessed a deadly grip that would constrict anything within its reach.
“Don’t forget the sunlight charm. These plants can be sneaky little buggers!” Professor Beery called. Tom couldn’t see him, but his voice echoed throughout the damp, dark cave.
“Damn plants!” Norris cursed, casting a weak spell of light towards the offending monstrosity. It wasn’t powerful enough for the plant to even twitch. Abraxas had to help him get untangled.
The way they slithered across the ground reminded Tom of snakes. They emitted a strange hissing sound. He wondered if they communicated through the noise somehow. It didn’t translate into anything meaningful in Parseltongue.
When they attacked, it was always when their victim least expected it. Out of shadows and darkness. When the victim realized they were trapped, it would already be too late to get away.
Tom sighed and returned to the task at hand. He preferred to work alone. He performed a tricky bit of magic to keep a steady bulb of sunlight nearby while he effortlessly charmed the Devil’s Snare into the collection barrel. At least, normally he wouldn’t have trouble with such a mundane task when he didn’t have curly-haired witches on his mind.
Would Professor Beery make the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw class do this too? Did Hermione know how to fend off Devil’s Snare?
He barely avoided an oncoming vine. He needed to focus!
“Reinhardt, point that light this way!” Norris said. Reinhardt shifted. Abraxas and Norris scuffled around the cavern floor and continued muttering curses as they collected samples of Devil’s Snare.
“This is servants’ work to be in this disgusting cave collecting this repulsive plant,” Abraxas said. The boy did nothing but complain since they entered the cave. Tom usually had no trouble shutting up Abraxas’s complaints, but his mind felt too crowded to spare any attention for him.
A piercing shriek filled the air as a figure stumbled into Reinhardt, nearly toppling him over.
“Sorry!” Julia Brown squeaked. She blushed a vivid pink as Reinhardt steadied her. “I hate these slimy plants!” Her disheveled blonde hair had specks of dirt scattered throughout, remnants of a fall that occurred earlier in the lesson.
“I think everyone does.” Reinhardt shrugged. Tom watched as Julia's eyes grew wider, captivated by Reinhardt's presence. She stood frozen in place, unable to move. Reinhardt released her and aimed his light back towards Norris and Abraxas. “Be careful, Julia,” he said, his voice sounding rough.
Julia looked ready to swoon. “Thanks…” she lit her wand and shuffled back towards a group of Hufflepuff girls. They dated last year, and Julia avoided Reinhardt ever since their breakup. But she still watched him. Blushed when he glanced her way. Despite having a new boyfriend in Ravenclaw, she wasn’t over Reinhardt. The entire school knew it.
“Remind us why you broke up with her?” Norris asked.
Tom picked up on the subtle pause in Reinhardt’s reply. “I didn’t like her as much as she liked me,” Reinhardt shrugged. He almost looked disappointed.
“So? She’s hot. No one said anything about having to like her,” Abraxas snorted.
“Tom fucks Walburga regularly, and he hates her,” Norris added.
“Leave me out of it, Avery,” Tom said through gritted teeth. Letting them find out about Walburga was a mistake. Norris went quiet after muttering a small apology. Tom’s temper was fragile these days. It wasn’t hard to trigger an explosion from him.
“She’s still into you,” Abraxas said, returning the subject back to Reinhardt and Julia. “You could at least get a few more years of decent sex from her, if nothing else.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to marry the girl.” Norris said, “Just ditch her when something better comes along.”
Abraxas nodded his head in agreement.
Reinhardt looked at his friends, his gaze empty and distant.
Then he dropped his wand.
Blackness engulfed their corner of the cave. The only source of light was a small orb by Tom's side, its faint glow illuminating the surroundings. It only provided enough light to ensure the Devil’s Snare kept its distance from Tom but wouldn’t protect anyone else.
“Reinhardt, what the hell?!” Abraxas yelled.
“It has my leg!” Norris cursed.
Tom rolled his eyes. He flicked an orb of sunlight from his wand and sent it towards the three boys. A few vines emitted a feeble squeal, but the light Tom produced wasn’t strong enough for them to retreat.
It was intentional. Tom wanted to see Abraxas and Norris suffer. He found it oddly satisfying.
Norris tugged at a tendril of plant that slowly wound its way up his body. Abraxas reached for his wand, but the Devil’s Snare seized his arm in a vice grip. Reinhardt’s expression gave nothing away as he took his time picking up his own fallen wand. He even pretended to fumble for a moment before recasting the sunlight charm to free his friends.
Norris and Abraxas became too distracted to continue any conversations about Julia. Tom suspected Reinhardt dropped his wand on purpose. But he wasn’t sure why.
***
On Sunday evening, Tom walked into Slughorn’s office wearing his wool coat and scarf, as suggested. Hermione was already there, her hair pulled up into a messy topknot with a few honey brown curls framing her face. She had a Gryffindor scarlet and gold scarf wrapped around her slender neck with a long grey coat. She didn’t acknowledge Tom as he entered, only turned her attention back to Slughorn, who was saying something to her about some important contacts he had at St. Mungo’s; offering to help kick-start her career as a healer.
“Thank you,” she said. It was the first time he heard her speak in a week. She hadn’t even volunteered answers to questions in class. She scribbled notes in Arithmancy, not glancing at him once. Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn’t any better. In Potions, she completed her work with a deadened expression.
“Mr. Riddle! Right on time, my boy! We should get going then. We have a lot of ground to cover.” He approached Tom and gave him a hardy slap on the back. “Okay, I’ll explain what we will do on the way. Let me go grab some flasks and bags too… and a pruning knife... yes,” he hobbled out of the room, leaving Hermione and Tom alone together.
Silence stretched between them as Tom stared at the cowardly lion as she examined her shoes. “Haven’t seen you in the library,” he said.
“Hmm.”
“You’ve been quiet lately.”
“Huh.”
“You haven’t been yourself.”
She shook her head. He wasn’t sure if she was confirming or denying it.
He stepped closer to her. There were dark circles under her eyes. The sparkle was gone from her sad, defeated expression. She looked pale. Her lower lip had taken a beating from her teeth.
He wanted to bite that lip…
“You’re avoiding me.” He could smell the apples and honey, taste it on his tongue… she would taste incredible.
“What did you expect, Riddle! You attacked me!” she snapped. There was the spark. It came back to greet him. Tom missed that fire in her eyes. He wanted to be consumed by them. He no longer cared if her flames burned him alive. It had been too long since she showed him any signs of life.
Without thinking, he reached out and cupped her face, his thumb running across her freckled cheek. “Who taught you Occlumency?”
Her breath hitched, her pale skin colored. She stumbled back a step.
“What?” Her voice sounded breathy.
“That was the first time someone forced me out of their mind. Who—”
“Are you two fighting again?” Slughorn asked, coming in with a crate full of bottles. “I really hoped this would be a pleasant evening.”
Touching her was a bad idea. A blush colored her cheeks. One touch and life returned to her… he wanted to run his hands over her skin. Make every inch of her feel alive with—
“No, we aren’t fighting.” Hermione said, casting a weary look towards Tom.
“Good... yes, very good.” Slughorn was not paying the least bit of attention. “I’m ready to go!”
Slughorn waved his wand at a pile of crates. They rose off the ground and hovered beside him. He handed large pouches to both Tom and Hermione to sling over their shoulders. They each contained empty bottles they would use to put collected plants in.
They followed Slughorn to the grounds, the cold November air chilling, but nothing his coat and a few warming spells couldn’t fix. Hermione did the same beside him.
“We will gather various potion ingredients, herbs, fungi, that sort of thing. But mostly we need to gather Fluxweed since it’s a full moon tonight.”
“Planning to brew Polyjuice Potion, Professor?” Hermione asked.
“Nothing gets past you, does it, Miss Granger? Yes, I am brewing Polyjuice Potion with my N.E.W.T. students. We stewed the Lacewing flies for almost three weeks, so we are setting up the next steps. Any other tidbits of ingredients we find will be a bonus.”
They passed through the first line of trees. Tom came here frequently to practice dark magic. Nobody disturbed him since the forest was off-limits and the creatures made excellent targets.
“Be sure to stick together. Have your wands ready; never know what one will find in there. Oh, most important, label all your bottles! We can’t be getting ingredients mixed up now, can we? You two are my brightest students. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with such a task!” The man was acting like they were doing him a favor rather than serving detention.
“Lumos,” Slughorn said. Hermione and Tom followed suit.
They hiked further, stepping over roots and stumps. The trees grew thicker as they pushed onward. The forest was pitch black without the light from their wands. Tom heard the occasional sound of rustling leaves, or the fluttering of a bird’s wings. Slughorn jumped with each new disturbance, but Hermione took it all in stride.
A smile played on Tom’s lips. It looked like his brave little lion was making an appearance. She kept her head held high as they pushed through the trees, never glancing in his direction.
Tom wanted her smiles again, but if she refused to grant him those, then he would take her anger. He would even content himself with her tears, despite the way they made him sick to his stomach. Her ignoring him was like a knife chiseling away at him. He couldn’t stand it. He needed her to look at him. Notice him. Give him something. Anything!
Occasionally, Slughorn gestured for one of them to collect a sample while the other labeled the container. Even then, Hermione would only spare him a glance when necessary.
She was getting under his skin, this witch. He was aware of her every move. The sway of her hips as she walked in front of him. The sound of her feet stumbling along the forest floor. Her fingers fiddled with the fringe on her scarf. She had to retie her hair repeatedly as it got caught in leaves and twigs. Eight times, to be precise.
Tom waited next to her when she stooped to collect Nightshade. Slughorn wandered ahead to continue scouting. “How did you learn Occlumency?” he asked again.
She looked up at him, the light from his wand reflecting off her face, making her rich irises glow an even brighter caramel. She had incredibly long eyelashes. Her eyes scanned around them, spotting Slughorn in the distance, too far for him to hear. “I taught myself. I had a… friend who was learning Occlumency. While he did that, I also learned some techniques. I thought it might be useful.”
Friend? What kind of friend?
He scuffed his feet in the dirt, the urge to ask her about this ‘friend’ on the tip of his tongue. He rolled the question in his mind. She was a stunning witch. Tom saw the other boys take notice. It stood to reason that she may have had a prior relationship. Perhaps she had one now...
Cuffe’s face invaded his thoughts. His wandering hands and coy smile. A girl like her should be able to see through him. Bloody prat.
“You thought you might encounter someone who would use Legilimency on you?”
“It’s always a possibility,” she muttered.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I learned about Legilimency?” he asked with a smirk.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I don’t think I want to know the answer.” Hermione stood. She was right; she wouldn’t want to know the answer. Not that he would have told her the truth. He taught himself Legilimency using his friends and, over the summer, people living on the streets. He would invite them into the orphanage under the pretense of shelter, use the body binding curse, practice magic, obliviate them, and send them on their way.
“You act like you already know the answer.”
“I can assume, or should I not say that? Last time I assumed something, you attacked me.” He chose not to respond to that.
Slughorn’s light was getting further away. “We should catch up,” she said with a sigh.
There were benefits to hiking through the forest at night. Six times in the past hour, she stumbled, and Tom had the pleasure of helping her regain her balance. He could feel her small waist. Hold her close for a moment when he helped her steady herself. She probably didn’t need his help each time, but he wasn’t one to let an opportunity pass. He even got a mumbled ‘thank you’ and a slight smile. Nothing near as radiant as the one she gave him by the lake, but he considered it progress.
He was pathetic…
They paused when they reached a clearing with a small pond. Slughorn pressed a finger to his lips, signaling them to remain quiet and put out the light from their wands. He set down the crates and stole a glance at the open meadow beyond, hidden by the protective cover of trees. Hermione crept next to him.
“Oh!” Tom heard the air escape from Hermione’s lungs. Was there danger? That would spice up this evening. He shifted to look over their hunched shoulders and saw a shimmering gold shape drinking from the pond.
A unicorn. Not any unicorn, but a fawn. Usually, if there was a fawn, the mother was close by. But this unicorn looked to be alone; its golden fur reflecting the moonlight.
Perhaps the mother was also watching from the trees? Though this wasn’t likely. It was instinctual for unicorns to avoid open spaces since they were so easily spotted. They had coats that glowed gold in youth and silver as they aged. Evidently, this one was too young to have developed those instincts. Without its mother, the unicorn had no guidance.
“It’s alone,” Hermione whispered, coming to the same conclusion as him.
“Yes… perhaps its mother is around,” Slughorn considered aloud. Going near a lone fawn with the mother nearby was asking for trouble.
“I doubt it. The mother would never allow her fawn to wander into the open alone. She’s either injured or dead,” Tom said. He tried to stifle a yawn. It had to be past midnight.
Hermione looked horrified. “It won’t survive on its own!” she choked. The unicorn sniffed around the foliage near the pond, looking for food.
“It wouldn’t have wandered far from the mother,” Slughorn said, “or the mother’s body if she really is dead. It would stay close to her, no matter what state she’s in. She must be nearby.” The golden creature nibbled at something before spitting the plant out. It huffed with disappointment.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Tom looked again. Was it beautiful? He might see the appeal in the shimmering gold coat. The horn glittered. Did she like that?
The creature nosed some other foliage before stomping its hooves in disapproval. It trotted back towards the tree line on the far side of the clearing.
Slughorn jumped up. “You two stay here. There are plenty of ingredients around the pond to collect! I’ll go after the fawn, find the mother!” Before either of them could reply, he was running after the fading golden light.
“Wait! Professor!” Slughorn ignored Hermione, who watched his retreating form in shock.
They were alone now. Tom knew what Slughorn was doing. He wanted to find the dead unicorn mother and poach its horn and some of its tail hair. He could collect blood, depending on how fresh the body was. The curse on unicorn blood was only real if you drank it after killing the unicorn personally. That was also when it contained the most potent magic.
Tom followed Hermione into the clearing. She pulled her hair out of the knot and started running her fingers through it, pulling out any stray twigs and leaves that got caught. Tom reached over and plucked a few out for her, feeling the silky strands between his fingers.
“Did he really just leave us here?”
“Scared, Miss Granger?”
“No! But it seems rather unsafe! We are students!”
Tom rolled his eyes and tossed his pouch to the ground. Without Slughorn looking over his shoulder, he no longer had to search for ingredients. Hermione watched him with interest.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t particularly feel like collecting potion ingredients.”
“He might notice if we don’t make any progress the entire time he’s gone!” Hermione folded her arms and frowned at him. Tom doubted Slughorn would check, but just to appease the witch, he stood again, pulled out his wand and pointed it at the edge of the clearing, where he saw a large patch of Fluxweed. A few spells and some summoning charms later, he had two crates full of the plant beside him.
“There, I’ve gathered enough Fluxweed to last the guy for years.” They may not be the most delicately collected samples, but they would work fine.
She glanced over at his pile before her gleaming eyes peered back at him. He hoped she would sit with him. In this clearing, with the moonlight shining through the forest trees, she looked even more captivating.
He wanted to hold her, kiss her, press her against the soft ground and remove every barrier between them.
She invaded his dreams more frequently now. There were many nights he woke up panting. Even in broad daylight, his imagination knew no bounds, painting vivid pictures of her in his mind. Especially when she sat next to him in Arithmancy, and her scent of apples and honey surrounded him.
Countless times he imagined himself fucking her on that desk. Sinking into her until she was shaking beneath him; until he'd come deep inside her. He crawled under the table, pushed her thighs apart, and made her come on his tongue over and over until she cried out for him. She begged for more. She never wanted him to stop. He never wanted to stop. It was the most erotic sight. She was a vision. A fantasy that he was addicted to… then he'd come down to earth to realize she really was a vision. This was all a fantasy.
He couldn’t focus during that class anymore. No matter what he did, his mind returned to her, attuned to every shift in her posture, her smell, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
Norris and Abraxas were too self-involved to notice how distracted he’d been, but Reinhardt had, on more than one occasion, given him a kick to return his thoughts to the present.
This witch would be his. In his mind, she was already his. She didn’t know it yet. She would learn soon enough.
Hermione looked uncertain, her eyes darting around.
“Sit down, Granger.”
“But what if he comes back?”
“Then we will tell him we were busy collecting all this Fluxweed and then you felt unwell and needed to rest with a sudden headache.”
“Why me? Because I’m a girl?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, looking offended.
“No, because Slughorn won’t question you, as a woman, becoming ill. Figure out the lie, Granger.”
“Seems rather presumptuous of you.”
“If you want to continue collecting herbs and fungi like a good girl, I won’t stop you. I was suggesting an alternative.” He hit his intended mark. She sat with a huff.
“Fine!”
Unfortunately for him, she sat too far away. He couldn’t feel her warmth.
The passage of time was fleeting. He watched her as she gazed over the surface of the pond. She shivered when the air cooled further, pulling out her wand to cast another warming spell.
Maybe he could use that as an excuse to get closer. He stood and found a leaf that he transfigured into a blanket. He enlarged it so it would be big enough to cover both of them. When he returned to her, he wrapped it around her shoulders and then sat close to her so he could wrap it around his own.
There. This was better.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione was grateful for the blanket but surprised when Riddle sat beside her to share it. The blanket was warm and so was he… she decided not to complain.
“Thanks.” She leaned back, letting her palms graze the soft grass. His fingers brushed hers.
“Your hands are freezing,” he said in a quiet whisper. He gripped her fingers in his palm.
Her breath caught. What was happening here? Neither of them made any sudden movement. She hated the cold. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself and nestled closer to him. He really was warm… “My mom used to say I was a walking icicle.”
“You miss her.”
“Yes...” She tried not to think about it. Because she doubted she would ever see them again. “Do you miss your mother?”
He scoffed, “Hard to miss something you never knew.”
“Oh… I guess.” She knew he grew up in an orphanage, but she didn’t know the exact circumstances. Perhaps she shouldn’t ask him such personal questions. He wasn’t much of a sharer. To her surprise, he shared the information all on his own.
“She died giving birth to me.” His voice dripped with disdain. “I never knew her.” He sounded hateful about it, like he thought less of his own mother for dying.
Would he get mad if she asked more questions?
“And your father?”
He was silent for a long moment. Long enough that she wondered if he would ignore the question. “I never met him either.”
“Oh.” She knew his father was a Muggle, but she couldn’t imagine that was something he would share with her.
He sighed heavily before looking at her again. “What about your father?” he asked.
“He… uh…” her mouth suddenly felt dry, she cleared her throat. “He always saw the best in everything. Optimistic to a fault. Said he wanted to leave the world better than he found it…”
“Do you think he did?”
“I know he did.” Riddle had his hand wrapped around hers, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist in a gesture that was almost too intimate.
Obsessed with this piece that I commissioned for both this scene and my cover! Art by: Dara
Something shuffled beyond the trees.
“Damn.”
“That was fast...” Was she disappointed? She set that thought aside to examine later.
Then the rustling increased, followed by a thumping noise. “Riddle... are we sure that’s Professor Slughorn?” He dropped her hand and was on his feet in an instant, but kept his wand tucked away as he stared into the darkness beyond the tree line.
Hermione stood on shaky legs, debating if she should draw her wand. The thumping got louder. Then she realized they were hooves.
Three figures emerged from the forest. They had the torso of a naked man attached to the body of a horse.
“Centaurs!” Hermione stammered, stumbling backwards. Riddle gripped her wrist again to keep her from falling. His fingers slid down her arm and laced through hers. She felt her heart race faster at the contact.
The one leading had long, white-blonde hair that was pulled into a loose braid with a palomino coat. The creature in the back charged around the others.
This one had black hair that hung loosely over his shoulders. Thick, bushy eyebrows adorned his face, and the moon glowed off his midnight coat and swooshing tail. He held a spear in his hands that Hermione kept a wary eye on.
“Students from the school, Ronan!” he announced back to a red-haired centaur with a gleaming chestnut body. Ronan was noticeably younger than his two companions.
“What are you doing in our forest?” Ronan spoke with a voice dripping with scorn. The blonde one remained silent, eyeing Hermione with interest.
“We… we were...” Hermione’s voice choked off.
“We are serving detention with Professor Slughorn,” Riddle said calmly. How could he be so relaxed? Ronan and the dark centaur disliked that answer. They stamped their hooves.
“You trespass on our lands! Leave at once!”
“But our professor!”
“You will leave!”
The largest one with the midnight coat spoke next. “The only reason you are not dead is we do not harm children! Your presence is unwelcome!” Hermione wasn’t about to inform them she was technically of age.
“Wait!” Riddle said to placate the angry centaurs. The blonde continued to look at Hermione, then examined the stars. At least, he examined whatever sky he could see through the trees in the clearing.
“Leave!” the dark centaur repeated, pointing his spear at them. Riddle looked ready to grab for his wand, curse the centaurs, and be done with it. He may have if Hermione hadn’t squeezed his fingers still intertwined with hers. She could feel his pulse, beating quickly at first, but slowing as she ran her thumb over his wrist in that intimate way he did with her earlier. He took a few deep breaths. Something about that calmed her.
“We can’t leave without our professor. We don’t know the way,” Riddle said. It was a lie. They could find their way back if necessary.
“Kieran!” Ronan said as he moved towards the crates of ingredients. “They have harvested foliage from the forest!” Apparently, this was a grave sin because Kieran’s eyes glowed with anger as he stepped closer, his spear descending on them.
Hermione wanted to take a step away, but Riddle’s warm hand linked through hers held her steady. His pulse never quickened. He looked calm and collected, like he had complete control over the situation.
“Wait, Kieran.” The blonde spoke with a soft voice that cut through the angry stamping hooves. His blue eyes still fixed on Hermione with startling intensity.
“Diarmaid?” The spear holding warrior tried to argue.
“This one does not align with this world.” Those softly spoken words drew every centaur’s eye towards Hermione, then they all tilted their heads to the sky.
Neither Hermione nor Riddle moved as they waited for the centaurs to come to a verdict from the stars.
Finally, they all looked back at Hermione. “This is most unusual,” the one named Kieran said. Riddle and Hermione shared a confused glance.
On seeing this, Ronan explained, “Jupiter is in line with a full moon.” It was obvious this meant nothing to either human.
“Right. We did not mean any harm coming on your lands,” Riddle started.
“It is dangerous in these forests at night,” said Kieran, returning his focus to Riddle.
“We came with Professor Slughorn. He will be back shortly,” Riddle continued. Hermione wasn’t paying attention anymore. She thought about what Diarmaid said about her not aligning with this world. What did he mean by that, exactly? And why was he studying her like she was an enigma he couldn’t wrap his head around?
Riddle gave her fingers a squeeze, bringing her back to the present conversation. He nodded at her before dropping her hand to show the centaurs the crates of materials they collected. He played up the charms, smiling at all the right moments, listening and acting sympathetic to the centaur’s frustration. Riddle worked his own sort of magic to diffuse a dangerous situation. She had to be grateful for that.
Ronan and Kiernan followed Riddle to the stock of supplies, leaving Hermione with Diarmaid.
“Um... excuse me.” The large centaur had hair so blonde it appeared almost white. He stood at least two heads taller than her, his ice-blue eyes boring into her with interest, as if fascinated by her ability to speak.
Riddle was distracted. This was her chance.
“What did you mean when you said I don’t align with this world?” she asked him. He blinked at her, then stared at the sky again. He had been looking at the stars so often in this clearing she wondered how he hadn’t memorized the pattern already. Surely the stars hadn’t moved that much between each inspection.
Almost five minutes passed with Diarmaid watching the sky. She wanted to tell him to hurry it along. Riddle might return at any moment. She glanced at them to assess their status. The centaurs were criticizing them for taking resources from the forest. Riddle ignored each explosive stamping of hooves. Hermione would shake in her boots if they confronted her like that.
She glanced at the stars as if she expected to see something other than specks of light in the sky. She found nothing enlightening about them. Maybe if they lined up and spelled out a word, that she could interpret.
“You do not align with this world,” Diarmaid repeated.
“What do you mean by that?”
He paused for an extraordinarily long time. “The stars tell me you do not belong here. However, our meeting was foretold.”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t mean to sound irritated. She never had much patience for divination.
“There have been signs. Seen in dreams and in the waters. You are not of this world.”
“Yes, but, I know, I’m…” she looked around to ensure Riddle was well out of earshot. He stood on the opposite side of the clearing. He had done such a thorough job at charming them, they were now showing Riddle other useful plants to harvest. How Riddle had charmed a group of furious centaurs Hermione would never understand.
She turned back to Diarmaid, who continued star gazing. He didn’t look convinced that what he was seeing was real. “I’m from the future, Diarmaid,” that got his attention. He cocked his head at her, his long white braid falling over his shoulder. “It’s a bit of a mess, to be honest, but I’m stuck here…” she trailed off when he started shaking his head.
“You are from no future of this world.”
“Are you saying that I’ve messed up the timeline so bad that my future can never happen?” She could feel her heart thudding in her chest. She should have expected this. The five months of her existence here had surely caused some distortion in the future. He was shaking his head again. She frowned, wishing he would give a straight answer.
“Tell me, Hermione Granger,” he started. She didn’t bother asking how he knew her name. “What is the brightest star in the sky?”
She couldn’t see the sky through the branches. But she knew the answer from her studies. “Sirius,” she said.
Diarmaid, again, shook his head. “The stars you were born under do not exist in this world, but in another place entirely.”
What the hell did that mean? Hermione could feel a tension forming in her limbs. “How do I return to my time?” She asked, trying to approach her problem from a different angle. He tossed his head back again to examine the stars.
She was getting irritated by that. Just answer the questions already! Riddle remained on the other side of the pond with the centaurs, but his impending return weighed on her. She didn’t have long.
“It is not time that you should ask about, but place,” he replied in that same slow, careful voice. Hermione pondered over the idea. Her mind raced with possibilities for what seemed like an endless minute. This extended into five full minutes, at which point, Riddle returned. He intertwined his hand in hers again, but her mind was too preoccupied to notice.
“Oh! Kieran, Diarmaid! Good to see you!” Slughorn appeared from behind the brush, looking pink and jovial. He noticed the spear in one of the centaur’s hands and hurried to inspect Riddle and Hermione. He gave a clear sigh of relief when he saw them unharmed.
“Your students were alone. They should leave,” Kieran said in place of a pleasant greeting.
“It is unsafe in this forest at night,” Ronan said, with a rough stamp of his hoof that had Slughorn jumping in surprise.
“Oh! Yes! You’re quite right! Very unsafe, we will go now. Thank you for watching the children. Hope they weren’t much trouble!” Slughorn said, scurrying over. Hermione noticed he was keeping both hands in his pockets, where they bulged at odd angles. Did he find something when he followed the unicorn? Did he find the mother?
Now didn’t seem like the time to ask.
“Trouble? He was the one that ditched us that fat—”
“Riddle!” Hermione hissed at him. She forgot they were still holding hands, and she snatched her arm away, feeling her cheeks flame. His expression darkened, but he said nothing.
“No trouble,” Diarmaid said. It was the first time he looked anywhere other than at Hermione or the sky since entering the clearing.
“This forest is unsafe for children, Slughorn, you should know this,” Ronan said with a flat voice dripping with dislike. These centaurs had met Slughorn before.
“Oh yes, Ronan, very dangerous in these woods. Glad you came around. Rather kind of you!” Slughorn rambled. There was nothing kind in Ronan or Keiran’s expressions now. Diarmaid looked curious.
“May your journey home be swift,” Ronan said, nodding his head towards Riddle like they were old friends. Hermione got stuck on his use of ‘home’. Would she ever go home?
Riddle thanked them in a clipped tone. Hermione grabbed the blanket he transfigured and wrapped it around herself. He watched her with his unwavering gaze; his eyes darkening and a frown forming on his face. He stuck his hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. He was significantly more sullen the entire walk back to the castle.
Notes:
Chapter 13 Song: In the Shadows: Amy Stroup. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Hello my lovely readers!
There are going to be multiple references to "The brightest star in the sky" throughout this book. This is merely one of them.
I love reading everyone's thoughts, opinions, and feelings in the comments every week! You all are really the best. I mean that from the bottom of my exhausted heart
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 14: 14: Quidditch
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was almost three in the morning by the time the group returned to the castle. Hermione’s body ached from hiking through the forest. Her skin was littered with scratches and leaves were embedded in her hair. She didn't bother cleaning up. She could barely keep her eyes open long enough to collapse on her bed and fall into a fitful sleep.
Despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t shake off the centaur’s words.
Not of this world...
Classes wore on the following day in a blur of motion. Her eyes glazed more with each lesson. Her notes lay forgotten. She couldn’t focus. Her mind whirled with fleeting thoughts.
It is not time you should ask about, but place.
Did it mean what she thought it meant? But that was impossible!
After dinner, she grabbed the copy of The Space-Time Continuum that she took from the Room of Requirement and went to the library to pull The Destruction of Space and Time: Controlling the Unknown from the shelf.
She opened both books and pulled out her notes, flipping to a new page. She started with The Space-Time Continuum .
Many theorize that space can fluctuate as much as time, which calls to question the idea of multidimensional travel. Exploration into how multidimensional universes are created has been the focus of the renowned researcher, Hester Prime. She theorized that when a timeline changes, it can create a new timeline while the original one continues to exist. She frequently referred to these as “time diversions.”
“It is conceivable,” says researcher and Arithmancy specialist, Artemis Gobran, “that major decision points of the world can create time diversions that all exist as shadows over each other.” He further suggests that each time diversion could occur in a flux, where time may not flow along the same thread as other worlds. This suggests that the time point of one universe may not overlap with the time point of another. There are other arguments that time might exist simultaneously, as suggested by our ability to manipulate it with magic.
Travel between time diversions has never been proven, but investigation has been underway on this very subject.
Hermione tapped her quill against the paper, rubbing the feather between her fingers, deep in thought. Time diversions? Is that like a parallel world? She had only seen them mentioned occasionally, but they were only theoretical. She flipped the book to the copyright, noting the publication to be 1882.
She switched to the other book, a publication of 1933. Much more recent. Perhaps they have more to say. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case. After spending three hours reading every page of the book, she only found one small reference in the entire book, mentioning the idea of alternate universes and parallel worlds.
Parallel worlds can be created when time travel is used to transform a future. These were previously referred to as “time diversions” by the famous researcher, Hester Prime.
There have been arguments that wizards should be allowed to alter timelines, as both worlds would exist in parallel. However, altering the timeline and the creation of a parallel world creates chaos in our universe that cannot be reversed.
Travel between the parallel worlds is called into question. Carolina White was most famous for her claim that she traveled from a parallel world which differed in small ways. She was believed to be insane and has been a long resident of St. Mungo’s Hospital. No substantiated claims have been made that this travel is possible.
There have been subtle hints of communication between parallel worlds. When speaking with ghosts, many will claim a feeling of partial existence across multiple planes. This is thought to be because of the world's overlap and a ghost may exist in multiple parallel worlds simultaneously.
Hermione hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath until burning air filled her lungs. Her hands shook. Waves of nausea crashed over her. In her anxious state of mind, she stripped her quill and remnants of feathers spread all over the table.
If this was a parallel world. Her future wouldn’t be here…
It wasn’t a matter of being in the wrong time... she was in the wrong place.
Part of her suspected this. She noticed the subtle differences in this world. Deep down, she knew something was off, but she ignored the signs. It was easier to live in denial; pretend everything had a reasonable explanation. But now, as she stared at the open book with specks of feather covering its pages, she couldn’t continue to brush this aside.
She journeyed through the veil and emerged in a parallel universe. Did that mean passing through the veil again would send her back?
She doubted it. By the sounds of it, there were multiple parallel worlds already in existence due to time travel meddling. Did she and Harry create one in their third year when they saved Buckbeak and Sirius?
She hurried to clean the mess with her wand and packed the books up, stopping first to check out the one book from the Restricted Section.
Hermione stumbled into the girls’ bathroom to take a quick breath, trying to collect her thoughts. Thank goodness Myrtle wasn’t there crying her eyes out in the corner.
She eyed the sinks warily. The Chamber of Secrets wasn’t in this bathroom, Sir Cadogan guarded Gryffindor tower. She refused to acknowledge the other changes around the castle, but they were there. Glaring at her. Separately, they meant nothing, but together, it was proof that she was in a parallel world.
Was the brightest star in the sky not Sirius? What was it then?
Trying to travel in time was one thing, even if it was only possible to go back in time. Nobody had figured out how to cross between alternate realities. Many didn’t believe they were real. Hermione wouldn’t have believed it to be true if she wasn’t standing here now, living proof.
She washed her hands, scrubbing the dirt from under her nails that remained from her previous evening in the Forbidden Forest. The hike that changed everything. She swallowed a thick lump in her throat. An icy chill swept through the bathroom, making her shiver. The air became stale. Her skin tingled. The walls verged on collapsing around her. She felt like she was suffocating.
Hermione needed to get out of there. Her desperate desire to escape intensified as her trembling hands grappled with the doorknob.
Breaking free from the bathroom only provided temporary relief. She didn’t belong here. Every step up the stairs felt like an arduous feat, burdened by the extra weight of her emotions. Her heart pounded in her chest; the rapid beats echoed in her ears. She panted for air, but not even the oxygen filling her lungs helped.
Ten minutes later, Hermione pushed her way into the Room of Requirement, racing to where the mirror stood, uncovered and gleaming in the moonlight.
She told herself she wouldn’t come back here. She carved the promise in her mind like a desperate mantra. For thirty-seven days, she'd kept that vow. But her resolve had crumbled like parchment in flames, her frail emotions hemorrhaging under the weight of isolation. She needed to see them again... to pretend they could still hear her voice, even as the silence screamed back.
Hermione sank to the floor in front of the mirror, a sick numbness washing over her. Nausea twisted her stomach into knots. She cast a quick silencing charm around her, in case Riddle came sauntering in again. He had a habit of turning up.
When she looked in the reflective glass, she saw them there… her family… her friends… her world that she left behind.
A sob tore from her throat. It echoed off the stone walls despite the silencing charm, reverberating through her bones until she thought she might shatter from the sound alone.
The hopelessness didn’t just fill her, it devoured her. Before, the research and studying kept her too preoccupied to wallow in her misery. Now she had no direction. The rug was torn out from under her when she fell through the veil.
She thought that was rock bottom… she foolishly thought that was the worst of it…
How naive she’d been.
She’d spent six months in free fall, mistaking the plummet for stable ground because she hadn’t felt the impact. The reality suffocated her. This was rock bottom. The ground rushed up to meet her with devastating finality.
The following evening she found herself haunting the same spot in front of the Mirror of Erised, the silencing charm cast and her loved-ones surrounding her. She had exhausted her tears for the day.
In the mirror, Luna Lovegood’s ethereal presence drifted closer, those knowing eyes radiating with compassion. While the others cast occasional glances and friendly smiles, they were devoid of any depth. Luna was the only one who truly saw her.
“What now?” Hermione asked. Luna had a tendency to have bizarre solutions to any problem. Even an absurd answer would make her feel better.
Luna's slight shrug hit Hermione like a physical blow.
“I guess I could go back to the veil.” Luna's head tilted, considering. The veil was Hermione’s only lead. The library had scarce information about the Department of Mysteries.
Luna mouthed a word to Hermione. How?
She wondered about that herself. She couldn’t wander into the Department of Mysteries again. The place was highly secretive. Even if she did sneak inside somehow, she required more than a brief examination of the veil to provide answers.
“Maybe I could get a job there, as an unspeakable?” Hermione phrased it like a question. It would allow her to gain access to the veil. She’d be able to study it.
Luna nodded slowly.
Securing a position as an unspeakable would take years of dedication, with no guarantee of success. They were highly coveted jobs. How could she survive here for that long? Attend classes like they mattered, complete homework like it had meaning, smile at friends who weren't really hers? Work at the Leaky Cauldron all summer, serving butterbeer to strangers while her heart bled out drop by drop?
She'd never planned for a future because she'd never believed she'd need one.
Hermione pulled her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible, as if she could fold into nothingness entirely. Her eyes darted around all the faces in the mirror. In the back, a massive man stood with bushy, tangled brown hair and beard… Hagrid. Odd that he would appear since he was at school with her now.
Would he still get expelled?
She felt a sudden burst of adrenaline. She sat up straighter, eyes locked on Hagrid as he chatted with Harry and Ron.
If this wasn’t her timeline, could she change things without consequences? She came across the Chamber of Secrets mentioned a few times during her research. It existed in this reality.
Then there was Riddle’s reaction to her mentioning a Basilisk. He knew about it too, which meant he could still open it. Someone could die.
Before, she’d been paralyzed by the fear of changing her own timeline in a catastrophic way. The guilt gnawed at her knowing that Myrtle would die, and Hagrid would be expelled, along with half a dozen other students getting Petrified.
But this wasn't her world. These weren't her consequences to bear. She could stop him. She could find the chamber before he opened it and kill the Basilisk. Save them all.
The hours had passed in the space of a heartbeat, and finally she understood what she needed to do. She climbed to her feet, Luna watching her with interest. A few others glanced her way. “If nothing else, I’m going to leave this world a better place than I found it…” Her voice cracked. Her father nodded his approval. Hermione cleared her throat and managed a small smile.
Luna beamed as Hermione regained her faculties. She needed to refocus. She couldn't keep looking at her past, grasping at ghosts and shadows. She wouldn't abandon hope of returning to her world, magic had taught her that impossible was just another word for 'not yet', but she wouldn't waste away waiting for miracles either.
She hesitated before leaving, her eyes drifting to each person reflected in the mirror. Memorizing the curve of her mother's smile, the stubborn set of Ron's jaw, the way Harry's eyes crinkled when he laughed. Her heart was a raw wound, but it was beating again.
“Goodbye.” She whispered into the silence.
She turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing with newfound purpose. The Mirror of Erised held no power over her anymore. She had work to do, lives to save, a world to change.
She would not be back.
***
The entire week, all anyone could talk about was the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. It was a welcome distraction from her fruitless search of the bathrooms. Hermione had already gone through every girl’s bathroom she had access to, with no luck.
She asked Alastor and Archie if any of the boys’ bathrooms had broken sinks. Both of them shrugged and said something like, “I don’t think so.” She couldn’t demand they double-check for her, so she was stuck.
“I’m adding practice for Wednesday and Thursday to this week for the game Saturday,” Archie said over breakfast Tuesday morning. He was shoveling food without even watching his plate, not noticing half the bites brought to his mouth had no food on them. He flipped through his record of Quidditch plays. “Can you tell the others, Minerva?” Their 6th-year friend looked a bit startled by the sudden addition of two practices but nodded and stood to find the rest of the team.
“That’s a lot of practice. Did you finish the essay for Herbology on Devil’s Snare?” Hermione asked him.
“Uh, not quite.”
“You forgot about the essay, didn’t you?” Gussie sniggered.
“No, I’ll do it tonight!”
“Why do you need so many practices?” Hermione asked. Harry sometimes had more practice before a big game, but she disapproved when they impeded on their studies.
“They have to practice a lot since Slytherin creamed them last year,” Gussie said.
“We were not creamed,” Archie blundered. Even Alastor chuckled.
“They won by 270 points, Arch. I’d say you were creamed,” Alastor said.
“What about the Chudley Cannons then? Were they creamed when the Falmouth Falcons beat them 360 to 30?”
“Hell no! It was a rebuilding year! Everyone knew that,” Alastor said. Quidditch was one of the few things he and Archie fought over since Archie supported the Montrose Magpies and Alastor was a firm supporter of the Chudley Cannons.
“Rebuilding year, my arse!”
“Okay, Archie, then what’s your excuse for the 270-point loss because it wasn’t a rebuilding year for Gryffindor?”
“Alastor, you are walking on thin ice here!”
“And besides, the Magpies bottomed out in last year’s season, not the Cannons.”
Archie slammed his playbook shut and stomped out of the Great Hall without saying another word.
Hermione and Gussie cautiously examined Alastor, who had a faint grin on his face. “Um,” Gussie started, “What was that about, Alastor?”
“He plays harder when he’s mad. If he plays better, we might have a shot at beating bloody Slytherin on Saturday. I can’t stand the idea of losing again.” He popped a biscuit in his mouth.
Hermione quickly learned that the entire school cared about this game. Tensions ran high in classes shared with Slytherin. A fight broke out between Minerva and Winky Crocket, the Slytherin Captain, which resulted in detentions for both. Minerva seethed in the common room that night. A boils curse hit her, and she had painful bumps break out on her face.
This only spurred on more antagonism. Archie had a downpour of raw eggs pelted at him from out of nowhere. The Slytherins showed up at Wednesday’s practice to taunt the team until an all-out brawl broke out between Archie and Abraxas. Archie was furious, saying it was one of the worst practices they ever had.
On Thursday, Dumbledore conjured a table and chair on the Quidditch pitch to grade essays while the Gryffindor team practiced. When the Slytherin’s arrived, Dumbledore gave them a friendly smile and politely asked if he might be of assistance. That evening, Archie was feeling more cheerful.
Even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were picking sides. It looked to be about 50/50 for Gryffindor and Slytherin supporters. While they didn't take part in the taunting, someone distributed pins so students in different houses could show what side they were on.
Hermione tried to hide out in the library to escape the Quidditch talk, but eventually, Archie and Gussie appeared followed by Barnabas. He and Archie got into an intense discussion about the game since they were both Beaters. Hermione had to move to another table so she could focus. Barnabas accompanied her a few minutes later, and they worked in quiet proximity together after that.
By the time Saturday rolled around, Hermione was ready for the game to be over. She followed Gussie and Alastor out to the pitch, all wearing flashy red hats and scarves to support their team.
“Archie looked like he might be sick at breakfast this morning.” Hermione frowned as they started into the stands.
“Oh, don’t worry about that! He looks like that before every match!” Gussie was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. They arrived early to secure front-row seats, but soon the rest of the school joined in.
Hermione had rarely seen the stands so packed. Professors filled the faculty booth, all huddled together to watch the match. With a quick scan of the crowd, she spotted Riddle across the pitch, his expression betraying his complete disinterest. He didn’t bother to adorn himself with even a speck of green. It surprised Hermione that he bothered to show up.
The entire school was here… which meant… the castle would be empty. A surge of excitement rushed through her. Hermione wanted to check the boys’ bathrooms for herself. This could be her chance!
“Welcome to the highly anticipated match, Slytherin versus Gryffindor!” The voice of Alfred Hensley boomed through the stands. Hermione hadn’t spoken to him much at all since they met on the train. Though she ran into Julia Brown often in their shared classes.
“I am your announcer, Alfred Hensley! And the teams are entering the field! We have the Slytherin team led by Captain and Keeper Winky Crockett! Rumors are that Lucretia Black, the Slytherin Chaser, and Crockett are officially over after their very public argument—”
“Please try to stay unbiased, Mr. Hensley,” Professor Merrythought said.
“No problem! After a public argument last week, witnesses reported Lucretia Black was said to have found a new man. News on this—”
“Alfred! Would you please introduce the Gryffindor team?!” A girl with long, strawberry blonde hair on the Slytherin team stared daggers at Alfred. Hermione had to assume that it was Lucretia Black.
“Of course, professor! Now we have the Gryffindor team lead by Captain and Beater Archie Longbottom! Recently Longbottom was spotted in a compromising position with—”
“Mr. Hensley!”
“I’m staying unbiased! I’m reporting gossip from both teams!”
“Report the match Mr. Hensley!” Alfred tried to argue that the match hadn’t started yet. He lost the argument.
Hermione peaked over at Gussie. The smile fell from her face, and she looked pale. Hermione was sure those rumors weren’t true. Archie never mentioned seeing anyone. Then again, wasn’t Gussie going to the dance with Ignatius Prewett, her supposed long-time boyfriend and fiancé? It was a delicate subject.
Moments later, the players mounted their brooms, and they released the Quaffle. “The game begins! Gryffindor takes the Quaffle, McGonagall passes to Lesane who passes to Isobel Max who… hit by a Bludger from Malfoy! That looked painful. That is why I don’t play Quidditch. Dangerous sport, though I can’t deny that it is exciting when someone breaks an arm out there. Hopefully, this game won’t disappoint. I’m not serious, professor!”
“Right! Max spun out and dropped the Quaffle after being hit by the Bludger! Black from Slytherin now with the Quaffle, Girl Black, Lucretia Black, not Boy Black, just to be clear. It’s easy to tell though, she has the reddish blonde hair and boy Black has short dark—honestly, they look nothing alike. I think they are siblings. Or are they cousins? There are a lot of Blacks at the school, so it’s hard—”
“Mr. Hensley, please focus on the match.”
“Just wanted to make sure there was no confusion about who we were talking about! Excellent save by Gryffindor Keeper, O’Hare, who is riding a Comet 180, a very nice broom. He got it last year for Christmas. Don’t worry, professor, I plan to talk about Slytherin brooms too, not just Gryffindor!”
“Isobel Max takes the Quaffle, passes to McGonagall, who supposedly can turn into a cat now. I’ve been asking her to show me, but she refused. Not sure what that’s about. Back to Max, another Bludger pelted away by Archie Longbottom, Gryffindor Captain. Excellent flyer! Max shoots and… and Gryffindor scores! Gryffindor 10, Slytherin 0. Wonderful shot by Isobel Max!”
All the Gryffindors went wild. Even Gussie cheered up once the game started and was yelling with the rest of them.
“Slytherin in possession! Boy Black this time, again, you should be able to tell. He favors a Cleansweep Six which is known for its speed over precision. Told you I would mention Slytherin brooms too. I’m staying impartial here. He passes to Bulstrode. Amazing maneuvering around that Bludger! Who passes back to Boy Black. Boy Black with the Quaffle now who—I don’t believe it! Boy Black dropped the Quaffle! Wow! That has to be embarrassing!” There was an audible groan through the crowd of Slytherins as the Gryffindors stamped their feet and clapped for McGonagall, who swooped into a spectacular dive and caught the Quaffle.
“McGonagall catches the Quaffle, but what is Crockett doing? He looks furious. He is yelling at Boy Black now, leaving the hoops wide open for Gryffindor to score! What a spectacle this is folks! We love to see it! Unfortunately, we are not privy to the conversation, but Girl Black is defending Boy Black to their Captain. As mentioned earlier, Girl Black is, of course, the ex-girlfriend of Winky Crockett. They were going strong until a few weeks ago when they broke into a spectacular argument in the Great Hall over a boy she was spotted with. The identity of the boy is—”
“Hensley! The match!”
“Yes, professor, just adding a bit of color. This is a very exciting match today!” Hermione watched as Abraxas hit a Bludger at McGonagall who had to swerve to avoid it, which caused her to ram into Bulstrode. In the confusion, Bulstrode took the Quaffle.
“That’s a foul! Call it ref! Call that!” Alastor shouted. As the outraged fans roared for their team, Glynnis Griffiths, the Gryffindor Seeker went into a dive, followed closely behind by the Slytherin Seeker. They hit another Bludger towards Griffiths, which Archie pelted away, but in that moment, Griffiths lost visual contact of the Snitch and came to a full halt, causing the Slytherin Seeker to crash into her.
In the chaos, Hermione took a chance and slipped out of the crowd, her heart racing with anticipation. They were already diving for the Snitch. The game could end at any time.
How many boys’ bathrooms were there? Probably the same number as the girls. She’d have a dozen bathrooms to search. She needed time. It all depended on how fast they caught the Snitch. Hermione hoped the Snitch would remain hidden.
She wished she had the invisibility cloak. That would be useful right now.
Hermione headed into the castle and rushed towards the boys’ bathroom in the dungeons. She pushed the door open and went straight to turning on the faucets, not wasting time searching for snake emblems in hidden locations.
She checked all the sinks, ensuring they were in working order in record time. She ascended the stairs again, heading towards the next bathroom on the ground floor.
When she got to the first-floor boys’ bathroom across from Myrtle’s bathroom, she had a slight clench in her chest. Could it be that easy? Hide the Chamber of Secrets in the boys’ bathroom near the girls’ bathroom where it was in Hermione’s world?
She opened the door and twisted the first faucet. The metal resisted the motion, but water eventually poured from the tap. She sighed and looked up, ready to move on to the next. Instead, her gaze met a pair of dark eyes in the mirror’s reflection.
She jumped and whirled around with a startled squeal. Tom Riddle towered over her, his lips spread into a sinister smirk. Was he in here when she walked in? He couldn’t have been... Right?
“Good morning, Miss Granger, fancy seeing you here.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
This was unexpected. When he saw her sneak out of the crowd and not return for almost ten minutes, he followed her. It wasn’t like Tom cared about Quidditch. A waste of time. It surprised Reinhardt that he even bothered to show up to the match at all. Tom was too, if he was being honest.
When he reentered the nearly empty castle, he hesitated. Where would she go? Maybe the library? Why would she want to be alone? She already had full access to the restricted section.
He considered her behavior since their night in the forest. He hadn’t seen her around much. Usually, he could expect to find her in the library at the same table every evening, engrossed in her studies.
What had she been up to?
He decided to check the library, to be sure. He climbed the stairs and turned down a corridor. As he neared the library’s entrance on the first floor, he spotted his bushy-haired little lion push open a door that led to the boy’s bathroom.
What the hell would she want to do there?
He slipped in before the door shut behind her.
She headed straight for the closest sink and turned on the faucet. Had she come in here to wash her hands? The girls’ toilet was across the hall.
He moved closer, watching as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. Her caramel eyes met his in the mirror, and she practically jumped out of her skin in shock.
“Good morning, Miss Granger, fancy seeing you here.” His voice was smooth, dripping with heat and accusation. She flushed a bright pink.
“Riddle! What are you doing here?”
“This is the boys’ bathroom, Granger, I imagine you already know what I’m doing here.” The sound of running water echoed off the walls. “The real question is, why did you come here?”
“I… I was meeting someone.” If her face heated any more, her skin would burn. But she straightened her spine and composed herself.
“In the boy’s bathroom?”
“Yes, it was a… uh, a private meeting.” What the hell? Was she telling the truth? Did he see Cuffe at the match, or did he leave too? Was she planning to have a scandalous meeting with that bastard here, of all places? There were so many better suited locations all over the castle; alcoves, broom closets, empty classrooms. Tom had never fucked Walburga in a bathroom, too public.
Was that why he hadn’t seen her much over the last week? Was she sneaking around with Barnabas-bloody-Cuffe right under his nose? He would never let that happen.
He suspected she was lying... but part of him wasn’t sure. It infuriated him! Normally, he was excellent at spotting a liar. She threw off all his natural instincts.
“Who were you meeting?” He asked, trying to keep the surge of anger under control.
She narrowed her gaze and looked him in the eye. “None of your business.”
“And yet I would like to know. Who were you meeting?”
“It was supposed to be private.” She took a step closer to him. So she was going to play a power game with him? He liked that idea. Particularly when they involved the tempting cub in front of him now.
“Were you meeting Cuffe?” She flushed again. Was he right or was she embarrassed at the insinuation?
“Why would you think that?”
“Because the guy eye fucks you every time he sees you.” Tom said. He wasn’t better in that regard.
Hermione gaped at him and struggled to find words. “What! No! No it isn’t like that!”
Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes at the innocent girl. “I already know you’re not stupid, so that must make you naïve.”
“What?”
“You can’t be that clueless, Granger!” Her blush only spurred on the fire as he moved closer to the witch.
“Cuffe has bent you over that library table dozens of times, fucking you on top of your half-finished essays. Pulled you into the stacks and pressed you against the shelves as you wrap your legs around him when he presses inside you. He has stripped you out of those clothes, but he goes slowly, because he has fantasized about your knickers and bra. Maybe he would peel them off you, or perhaps just fuck you with them on. He has taken you on the floor, touching and tasting every inch of you. Then your thighs, those too, how warm, how soft it would be to have them wrapped around his head. He would only need to turn his head to suck a bruise into the sensitive skin there before he tastes you and makes you come with his tongue.”
Tom wasn’t sure he was talking about Cuffe anymore. Granger froze like his words had Petrified her. He chuckled at her discomfort and ran his hand through his hair.
Her eyes were wide as saucers and her lips parted as she panted. It was addicting. “When you part ways at the end of the night, he returns to his dorm and dreams about you while stroking himself. Thinking about how your tits bounce when you ride him. He imagines the faces you make, the way you cry out during an orgasm. How your cunt squeezes his cock while you come. When he finally comes, he wishes it was inside you. Deep in that wet, tight cunt that would take all of him so perfectly.” He was definitely not talking about Cuffe anymore.
Tom gravitated towards her, closing the distance between them. Their bodies touched, her breasts skimmed his chest as she inhaled. Her lips were so close, a breath away. He could kiss her. Just a fraction closer and he could claim her and all that he’d been craving. His hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t move. It was a form of sweet torture.
“Oh...” was all she said before her voice trailed off. A small puff of air passing through her lips and ghosting over him.
Damn...
This girl had his world twisted in knots. Nothing made sense anymore. All of his intuition, his ability to read a person, flew out the window with her.
He was so close he could count the freckles splattered across her cheeks and nose. He wanted to do that. To know every inch of skin on this girl.
Her tongue peaked out to wet that lower lip. That was his undoing. “Fuck this!” he groaned before his lips crashed to hers and everything he held back poured out of him like an avalanche.
He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it made his insides burn. She was everywhere. He couldn’t get enough. She was intoxicating. He wanted to melt over her.
She was motionless at first, not responding to his kiss, not breathing. His heart hammered in his chest. Would she push him away? Did she not want this? Part of him didn’t care what she wanted anymore. He was determined to possess all of her, whether she liked it or not. She belonged to him. He would ruin her. Destroy her so no one else would have her.
He relaxed into her when she started kissing him back, wrapping her up in his arms. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry.
When her mouth opened, he didn’t hesitate to grab her face to deepen the kiss. He stroked his tongue against hers, tasting her. The sensation was heavenly. Finally getting what he wanted for months. He imagined this so many times; what her skin would feel like, what she would taste like, the noises she would make.
His fingers wrapped around her mane of wild curls and gripped it in a tight fist. His other hand held her hip, keeping her in place, ensuring she wouldn’t push away.
He needed her to know how much he desired her. What she did to him. How she made him crazy. Every day, he felt like he lost himself more. This witch haunted him everywhere he went.
He planned to drag her into his dark world. Taint her soul and forever bind her to him.
His teeth nipped at her lower lip. She moaned. He inhaled the sound as he forced her back till he had her pressed against the mirror. Without breaking the wild kiss, he cupped her arse with both hands and lifted her onto the edge of the sink.
He needed her closer. To open her knees. It would be so easy to lift her skirt, slide her knickers aside, and plunge inside her. Feel that hot, slick cunt engulf him.
Fuck!
He groaned when he felt the pressure of her hands glide up his chest. She touched him. Wanted him. The weight of her fingers burned like a heavenly inferno. He could sense her hunger in the desperation of this kiss. They would lose themselves. With their tongues stroking, breath mingling, and bodies writhing. They panted against each other.
He needed more! More of her skin pressed against him. More of her breathy moans and choked cries. He needed to feel that wet heat between her legs. To taste more. Devour every inch of her.
He grasped her knees and shoved them apart, pressing his hips against hers. She shuddered when she felt how hard he was as he ground himself against her core.
She was warm. His entire body sang with electricity. His hands slid up her jumper, reveling in the heat of her skin as he found her bare waist.
Would she stop him if he reached lower? If he stroked her between her incredible thighs that straddled his hips? Dipped his fingers inside her fiery core to feel how wet she was? He wanted to taste it. He wanted to make her come so hard she would beg him to fuck her. She would never leave him.
His grip on her waist became bruising. Maybe he would leave marks on her skin… He hoped so. Whenever she looked in the mirror, she would think of him. Remember this.
She shifted her arms around his shoulders, dipping her fingers into his hair. The movement caused her core to brush against his aching cock. They both moaned. His cock twitched. He felt that tightening sensation build. She rubbed against him again… and again. A devastating friction forming between them.
The kiss became desperate. The lapping of tongues mixed with echoing moans. He would suffocate in her lips. He pressed her tighter against his body and ground against her with a satisfied grunt.
She mewed in response. He broke the kiss and held his forehead against hers. A gorgeous flush covered her erotic expression. He burned the image in his memory.
“So. Bloody. Beautiful.” He said the word out loud without realizing it. She looked at him with dazed eyes and swollen lips. He did that. All of it. She was his.
“Riddle...” she breathed as he kissed her jaw. Merlin, his name coming from that mouth. The breathless way she said it. He’d fantasized about how it would sound; heard it in his dreams. The reality was so much sweeter.
“So perfect…” He trailed a line of kisses down her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access. Just above her pulse point, he latched, biting down and sucking hard.
“Oh, Merlin!” she said through a sharp intake of air. He eased the sting with his tongue. It would bruise. The thought only made his cock harder.
“Sound like an angel, Hermione.”
His lips moved against her skin as his hands trailed up her spine. Soft. Smooth. Perfect. Every inch.
He pushed her back against the mirror, changing their angle. “And mine!” he hissed.
“Oh! I—mhm!” They were grinding hard against each other now. Moving to a frantic rhythm.
“You’re so good, Hermione.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. She groaned his name. Maybe he could make her come. He wanted to see that. He needed to see that. The desire consumed him.
It would be beautiful. So perfect. This witch.
“You're mine!” It was more than he could take.
Her eyes shot open, her lips parted. She was so close…
“Do you think Longbottom’s okay?” A voice said as the door opened. Tom and Hermione froze, both having forgotten where they were. Snogging in the boys’ bathroom. This was why this was a terrible location for a hookup.
“He’ll be fine. But did you see Crockett after? He acted like he was proud of it.” They were about to be caught. Hermione gave a small cry and buried her face in Tom’s chest as if trying to disappear inside him. He wasn’t sure she was even breathing.
Part of Tom wanted them to see. Wanted everyone to know this witch was his, but he also wanted to wrap his arms around her.
The second instinct won out as he covered her as much as possible with his body.
“Surprising after how he… uh.” The boy froze.
“Tom!” one said. Tom gave the two cock blockers a furious glare, tucking Hermione closer. They shouldn’t be able to see her well from where they stood, but they would see her legs dangling on either side of Tom’s hips. There was no question what Tom had been doing just now.
“Get out!” He growled at the two Slytherin first years.
“So s—sorry!” Their faces fell into a look of panic as they scrambled out of the bathroom. He could always find them later and obliviate their memories. Tom doubted they would say anything. They’d be too scared. For good reason.
As soon as the door shut, Hermione was out of his arms, straightening her disheveled clothes while pulling out her wand to disillusion herself. Within seconds, she scrambled out of the bathroom, leaving Tom alone with his lips still swollen and the memory of her body pressed against his.
Notes:
Chapter 14 Song: You Put a Spell on Me: Austin Giorgio. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I debated a lot on how far they would take things. I decided this was a long time coming. It's about damn time. ❤️🖤❤️🖤
Update: Reread and Edited May 31, 2025
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Chapter 15: 15: In Memoriam
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Did that just happen? Did Tom Riddle really violate her in the bathroom?
No… she also wanted him. She moaned against him with abandon. It felt so wrong and incredibly right at the same time. What they did pushed the boundaries beyond mere kissing. She was on the edge of having an orgasm!
Then, to make matters worse, those boys caught her with her legs wrapped around Riddle. The thought made her cheeks flush with heat.
What was she thinking?
She hadn’t been thinking. The moment overwhelmed her. That dark expression drew her in. He was so tempting, everything about him screamed danger and intelligence. He was gorgeous with a smile that made her knees weak. Any girl’s dream.
Would they have stopped if those boys didn’t walk in?
She refused to consider that.
Plus, she still needed to search the boys’ bathrooms for the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle derailed her plans, and she missed what should have been a perfect opportunity…
Now what would she do?
Riddle suspected her. She couldn’t afford to be reckless about this, but she needed to find the Chamber of Secrets! The Basilisk had to die before it was too late! Before Riddle found it first and students died!
Hermione suddenly felt like she was in way over her head. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. The castle spun as her feet led her down various corridors on their own accord. She didn’t realize where she was headed until she stood in front of Sir Cadogan’s portrait.
“M’lady!” the knight bowed. “Have you heard the tragic news?”
“Excuse me?” The tragic news that she kissed Tom Riddle and liked it?
She needed to stop thinking about that!
“One of our soldiers fell in battle, m’lady, gravely injured. I am told only death awaits him. But he died for a noble cause! We will honor him and remember him!”
“What are you talking about?” Her mind was too overwhelmed with information.
“Hermione!” Alastor appeared next to her. “Where did you go during the game?” She couldn’t think of an answer, so she said nothing.
Sir Cadogan gathered sticks from the forest in the background of his portrait and used thread to fashion them in the shape of a cross. Hermione assumed he stole the thread from another painting.
He shuffled into the tea party next door, plucked up a bouquet that adorned their table, much to the outrage of the two women chatting. and returned to place the flowers in front of his makeshift memorial.
“I think we should observe a moment of silence for our fallen comrade-in-arms.” Sir Cadogan said, his voice cracking.
“Sir. Cadogan, Archie is fine! He has a few broken bones and bumped his head, but he’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
Sir Cadogan jumped and spun around, looking outraged. “He lost his head?! This is most tragic! That the enemy would decapitate our beloved soldier! This calls for justice to be served!” He drew his sword.
“No! Sir Cadogan—” Alastor started, but Hermione cut him off.
“It was horrible Sir Cadogan! But rest assured the culprit is being hanged for their crimes as we speak!”
“A fair punishment!” Sir Cadogan said with a nod so fierce it caused his face plate to slam in front of his eyes. Alastor sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
“Can I trust one of you to write to his family and inform them of his demise? Please make sure to include all his noble…” Sir Cadogan sniffed, “and h—heroic deeds. Such a fine lad.” He removed his helmet to use the red plume to wipe his tears.
Alastor appeared incapable of speech. Hermione spoke instead, “We would be honored.”
“If you don’t mind,” Sir Cadogan said, “I would like to say a few words in remembrance.”
“Um… of course.” The fat pony that always grazed in the background of his portrait meandered to the memorial and started chewing on the bouquet.
“The war has been long. Exhaustion is taking its toll on the soldiers, and no end is in sight. But it is time we pay respect—get off those flowers! Those aren’t for eating! Oh, the disrespect! Not to worry, my comrades, I will replace the flowers with fresh blooms. I will brave trespassing enemy lines to build a new monument! One that we can… we can all be proud of…” He trailed off, walking back into the tea party painting to grab a napkin and emphatically blow his nose before returning.
The women were very unhappy now. They packed up their tea and crumpets into baskets, muttering about finding a new location to complete their party.
“I apologize for my emotional state. Loss is always difficult, but is so pronounced in times of war.” He dabbed his eyes with the napkin clutched in his hand. “The new password shall be ‘in memoriam’ to honor those that we have lost.”
“You can’t change the password like that! How will everyone know?” Alastor said, having regained his ability to speak.
“My decision stands! This is about more than passwords, lad. It is about honoring and respecting our fallen allies!”
“But… I… Dammit! Now I have to find every Gryffindor and tell them!” Alastor scowled.
“I can help.”
“Thanks, Hermione.” He paused, shifting his weight on either foot and looking distinctly uncomfortable, “Um... By the way, I don’t know what you did during the game, or who you did it with. Honestly, I would rather not know, but I would Glamour that bruise forming on your neck if I were you.”
“Merlin!” Hermione squealed, slapping her hands over her neck, “Alastor, you better not tell a soul about this! That includes Gussie and Archie!”
“Not Gussie?” He looked stricken.
“No!” He frowned. The silence stretched and finally it was too much for Hermione to take. “What’s that face for?”
“I’m trying to decide who’s the bigger evil, you, or Gussie, once she finds out about this and turns on me for never telling her.”
“Alastor! I swear if you tell her—”
“I’m joking, Hermione!” He gave her a rare grin. “We’re all entitled to keep secrets, cover up the mark and we won’t have to talk about this ever again.”
“Thanks...” Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief, but a small part of her wondered what secrets Alastor Moody kept. She wasn’t about to pry after the escape he offered.
“I’ll go to the Great Hall, then out to the grounds if you could take the rest of the castle.” It took her a moment to recall what he was talking about, then she remembered the password change.
“This is going to take all afternoon,” Alastor grumbled. “Guess I’ll see you at the Slug Club meeting later.” With that, Alastor turned on his heel and headed down the corridor.
Hermione gaped at him. She forgot about the Slug Club meeting. Considering Slughorn’s persistent reminders, it was incredible that it slipped her mind! Then again, she had been distracted today.
The anticipation of seeing Riddle there tonight filled her with both excitement and dread.
She sighed and ran her hands over her face. All she needed to do was act like nothing happened. Be casual, calm, and collected. She didn’t need to sit by him, she could sit with Alastor or Barnabas. Barnabas had a knack for demanding a lot of her attention. Maybe it would help take her mind off.. that kiss. That dreadful, tantalizing, toe-curling kiss…
Her thoughts flitted back to Riddle’s words. Did Barnabas Cuffe really think of her like that? In such a sexually aggressive and passionate way?
Was Riddle referring to Barnabas or himself?
She groaned, already knowing she would spiral down a rabbit hole with this train of thought. It would be fine! She had no reason to engage Tom Riddle in conversation or acknowledge him. She wouldn’t think about the way his eyes burned with desire. The erotic things he said to her.
Her cheeks heated, and she slapped her hand over her neck again. Why did she let him mark her like that?!
She tried to refocus. She needed to spread the word about the new password. It was already almost three o’clock and Slughorn was hosting a dinner party tonight at six. It wasn’t a formal event at least, though he held a gala in the spring for all previous and current members of the Slug Club.
First, she needed to cover the damn bruise… and change. Her knickers were probably ruined.
She turned towards the portrait to find Sir Cadogan standing with his head bowed in front of the lopsided cross and half-eaten flowers.
“Uh, Sir Cadogan… in memoriam.” He choked on a sob before swinging open for her.
***
“Hermione! Where have you been?” Gussie jumped up as Hermione entered the Hospital Wing.
The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team stood together around one bed, all wearing their Quidditch robes. A few of them carried their brooms. Glynnis Griffiths played with the Snitch that was still clutched in her hand.
“Alastor told me about Archie. Oh, also, the password to Gryffindor Tower is now ‘in memoriam’ if you could pass it around.”
“What!” Minerva stood taller. “Sir Cadogan can’t change the password in the middle of the day like that!” She looked outraged.
“He wished to honor those we have lost in the war,” Hermione replied. It was a testament to how insane Sir Cadogan was that nobody questioned that line of reasoning.
“What happened?” Hermione asked.
“Malfoy.” Gussie scowled.
“He hit Archie with his beater bat hard enough that he fell off his broom. Luckily, he was only twenty feet off the ground, could have been worse.” Minerva said. Archie lay in the hospital bed, his head wrapped in bandages. Someone removed his top and wrapped his lower chest and abdomen.
An assortment of scrapes and bruises marked all the visible parts of his body, though a particularly nasty mark was forming over his stomach, probably where the bat made contact.
“He claimed he missed the Bludger! There wasn’t even a bloody Bludger around! Worthless liar is what he is!” Isobel Max was red-faced with anger.
“Got him back, though,” one of the younger boys said. He was the other beater on the team. Hermione wasn’t sure what his name was. The entire Gryffindor team grinned, and a few of them gave fleeting glances to another bed in the corner.
“Lyall landed a well-aimed Bludger to the back of Malfoy’s head,” Isobella chuckled. Lyall? Hermione looked closer at the boy. He had a few recognizable features. This must be Lyall Lupin. Remus Lupin looked a lot like his father.
“Alastor said he was fine,” Hermione spoke hesitantly. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. Harry had faced several injuries from Quidditch. Even lost all the bones in his arm once, though that was more Professor Lockhart’s fault than Quidditch. Madame Pomfery always patched him back up, but it didn’t make her any less anxious when she saw him unconscious in the hospital wing.
“He will be fine!” The Hospital Wing Matron strode in, carrying a tray of potions. She was an extremely old woman. So old that her skin took on a dull gray appearance, with wrinkles so deep they drooped off her face. Despite her withered body, her eyes were bright with a youthful spirit.
“I have already healed his broken bones. You lot are absolutely filthy!” She said in horror at the sweaty group of Gryffindor Quidditch players. “Get out! How unsanitary! They should not have allowed you in here in the first place! Out! Out!” She shooed out all the members of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team who left begrudgingly.
Gussie pushed closer and sat next to Archie’s bed, grabbing his hand. He had a deep purple bruise on his arm.
“As I was saying,” the hospital wing matron continued. “Bones are healed. Does have a laceration to the spleen, but that’s an easy enough fix.”
Hermione recalled hearing about her cousin lacerating their spleen. She lost a lot of blood and ended up in surgery. They had to remove the organ. Was it really such a simple fix for wizards?
“I’m going to wake him up now so he can take these potions. If you cause trouble, I’ll kick you out too,” she said, giving both Hermione and Gussie a disapproving glare.
“No problem, Madame Blainey.”
Madame Blainey didn’t look convinced, but she pulled out her wand and waved it towards Archie, “ Innervate .”
Archie woke with a flinch, his good arm coming up to rub at his head with a groan. “Good afternoon, Mr. Longbottom. How are you feeling?” Madame Blainey asked. Archie looked around, confused, taking in the new surroundings. Then he spotted Gussie in the chair next to him.
“Who won?” he asked.
Gussie beamed, tears filling her eyes. “We did.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom found the two first-year boys cowering in the Slytherin common room. He was sure they didn’t see enough to identify the girl. He debated ignoring it to let the rumors fly. What did he care if everyone knew? Maybe he would drop hints about the girl’s identity, too.
He smirked at the thought. The entire school could know who she had her legs wrapped around. He liked that idea.
But then he had Hermione to consider. She would be upset. She might even cry…
Damn, he hated it when she cried. It stirred something inside him. Made him sick to his stomach.
He promptly obliviated their memories of the incident and that was that.
The things he did for that witch.
After taking care of the two Slytherins, he dragged his feet back to his dorm room and collapsed in his bed.
Tom desired every piece of her. Every untamed strand of hair on her intelligent head. Every inch of her soft skin. Every breath from her lungs. Every sound from her throat. He wanted all of it, uncensored and raw. She drove him wild. Sampling her did nothing to tame his cravings. It made it all worse.
She wanted him, too. He was sure of it. The way she kissed him back, moaned into his mouth; rubbed herself against him in the best possible ways.
What if those boys didn’t interrupt them? Would he have fucked her on that bathroom sink?
Probably...
Tom waved his hand to draw his curtains closed around his four-poster bed. Then he cast a quick Silencing Charm before he unbuttoned his trousers and finished what that witch had started.
This wasn’t the first time he fantasized about her, but this time it felt more intense. His shirt smelled like apples and honey, and he could taste her on his tongue. He pulled his shirt up to his face and buried his nose in her scent.
“Hermione…” Just her name was enough to make his cock swell again. He closed his eyes and gripped himself, falling into a fantasy. One where she was in his bed. Her knees straddled his hips, her expression glazed with lust.
She smirked at him in his fantasy, running her hands up her body, sliding under her jumper. The fabric lifted as her palms stoked her bare skin, moving higher. She had nothing on underneath. Her fingers grazed over her gorgeous breasts, circling over her pink nipples. In one swift movement, she removed the jumper and tossed it aside.
“Perfect little lion!” He tightened his grip but slowed the strokes, trying to prolong the moment. Her scent was everywhere. It made this almost feel real…
She grinned down at him, the smile that he was always desperate for. Her body lowered, setting her weight over his tight groin. She was bare and soaked under her skirt. So wet, he wanted to taste her. But he had to settle for this.
For now.
Her hips rolled and she hummed in approval. She joined his rhythm, rubbing herself against him like they had today. There was nothing between them this time. The head of his cock grazed her entrance as she ran her clit along his shaft. It would be so easy to thrust up and finally plant himself inside her.
He couldn’t catch his breath. Perspiration covered his skin. She braced her hands on either side of his head, panting and sweating as she rode him. Her breasts bounced; her nipples were hard peaks.
He imagined taking his hand and cupping her full tits. He ran a finger over the tight peak and pinched the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
She gasped, her teeth bit down on that delicious lower lip. The same lip he pulverized only twenty minutes ago.
Their eyes met in a passionate gaze before she threw her head back, releasing a sensual moan. Her curls left wild over her shoulders. A goddess in the throes of ecstasy.
He was close. He was so close. It was a good thing he silenced his four-poster bed because he had no control over what came out of his mouth. He jerked himself harder. Heat flooded his groin, with waves spreading over his thighs and up through his chest. A shudder wracked his body. A convulsion made his back arch.
She was still there, working herself against his hard cock. Her face contorted as her own orgasm consumed her. She trembled and moaned.
Then he came, spilling onto his own hand and abdomen. He inhaled her sweet scent; embraced the burning in his muscles with his release.
Despite knowing he would be alone, a pang of disappointment still washed over him when he opened his eyes. He wanted more. He needed her.
He would have her. One way or another. He would have her.
***
By the time Slughorn’s dinner rolled around, Tom could barely contain the urge to see her. Maybe they could sneak off again tonight, after the Slug Club meeting. Finish things together.
Slughorn had a large round table set up in the middle of his office with about twelve chairs surrounding it. He set the table with cups of water and goblets of pumpkin juice to start. Tom had to assume Slughorn asked the house-elves to send the meal up in courses.
Half the students already arrived, chatting amongst themselves. Hermione wasn’t there yet.
“Mr. Riddle! Take a seat here!” Slughorn motioned for the spot beside himself. Slughorn practically worshiped the ground Tom walked on and it annoyed the hell out of him. But at least there would be an empty chair next to him for Hermione.
Maybe he could put his hand on her knee, gradually sliding it higher beneath her skirt. The tablecloth would provide a veil of secrecy, concealing everything he would do to her from prying eyes.
He knew she would never allow it, but it didn’t stop his mind from imagining the possibilities.
With a nod, he obliged the man and settled into the chair. Cuffe sat across the table chatting with someone Tom didn’t know. He’d been hanging around Hermione more often. Seeking her out. It needed to end. Maybe now he would take the hint. If he didn’t, then Tom would relish the opportunity to clarify things.
“Mr. Riddle, did you attend the match today? Quite a game, wasn’t it?” Slughorn said. Tom blinked at the man. He had forgotten about the Quidditch game.
“Yes, excellent match,” Tom lied. He never bothered trying to find out who won.
“Shame about Mr. Malfoy, though. Know how he’s doing?”
“What?” Now that Tom looked around, he noticed Abraxas wasn’t there. Was he injured? Probably deserved it. He’d hurt himself during Quidditch games before. “Oh, uh, no, I wanted to give him some space to get better first.”
“Very kind of you. I’m sure Madame Blainey appreciates it too.”
Hermione’s arrival sent a spark through his chest. He was too busy reveling in her appearance to catch the way Cuffe smiled and waved her over. His eyes focused on every shift in her body, so he didn’t see how her gaze passed over him when she glanced around the table. If he wasn’t so aware of the soft flush over her freckled cheeks, he may have noticed that she directed her smile at Cuffe, not at him.
As it was, Tom didn’t recognize any of these things right away. His eyes were greedy for this girl. So when she approached Cuffe, and the guy stood, giving her a long embrace, Tom froze in shock.
“Mr. Riddle, You alright?” What was she playing at?
She’s mine!
“Mr. Riddle?” Tom looked around at Slughorn. His mask slipped off and his face contorted with fury. His entire body tensed. He felt an intense burning sensation, as if flames engulfed him.
“Yes… I… bit of a stomachache.” What a lame thing to say. Luckily, Slughorn was no longer paying attention.
“Miss Granger! I didn’t see you come in! How is Mr. Longbottom doing?”
“I saw him not too long ago!” She beamed as she sat in the chair next to Cuffe. Alastor Moody joined her, taking the seat on her other side. “He’s awake and already gloating over beating Slytherin, so I guess he’s not feeling that bad.”
“You may have won this one, but we all remember the wipeout last year, Slytherin won’t fall that easily.”
To Tom’s irritation, Norris sat beside him. He talked nonstop about Abraxas being pummeled by a Bludger.
Reinhardt appeared last, slumping into the only empty chair left by Alastor Moody. They eyed each other warily. Something strange flashed across Reinhardt’s face. An expression Tom wasn’t familiar with from him.
Hermione chuckled at something Cuffe said. The prat leaned in closer.
Tom grabbed his pumpkin juice and took a drink. He felt nauseous. Would he have to sit across from them all evening and watch them flirt?
Perhaps he was overreacting. Cuffe and Hermione had always been friends... or at least friendly. Was there something there he missed? As he looked at Cuffe’s face, his irritation grew even stronger.
He wanted to dive into Cuffe’s memories and snag out what exactly was going on between them. Hermione may know Occlumency, but there was no way Cuffe did. The guy barely qualified as a wizard, in Tom’s opinion.
Regrettably, Tom struggled to devise a discreet method of aiming his wand at Cuffe to unleash his spell. He was competent enough at wandless magic, but only with simple spells. Legilimency required intense focus and control. Most people never accomplished it with a wand, let alone without one. He was certain he could teach himself, but it would take time.
There was still after the dinner though. He could find her and corner her in the corridor. Figure out what game she was playing. Tom always won every game, but it was impossible to win when he didn’t know the rules. Not that Tom ever followed anybody’s rules. He always got what he wanted.
This wasn’t over yet.
The dinner passed in a haze of pointless questions, uninteresting discussion, and not a single glance given to him by Hermione Granger. Instead, he had to sit there and endure an hour of Cuffe’s shameless flirting and her blushing in response.
By the time dinner ended, his posture was so tense, he felt his joints resist when he stood. He planned to pull her aside. Talk to her in private. She wouldn’t get away from him. He could tell her he took care of the two intruders. Ask her what she was doing in the bathroom again... and perhaps drag her into a broom closet and find out just how wet she would be between those legs when he fucked her.
He rounded the table, his eyes fixed on her. She didn’t pay him any attention.
“Can I walk you back to your common room?” Cuffe said to Hermione right as Tom stepped behind her.
He stayed quiet as he listened to her agreement. Then they departed side by side.
“Tom! You look like you ate something bad, but the soup was pretty good.” It was Norris. Tom ignored him. Maybe later he would punish him for being a useless git, but for right now, he needed to follow Cuffe and Hermione. Listen to their conversation. Try to understand what was happening.
He followed at a distance, disillusioning himself to stay just out of sight. He crept down the dungeon corridor and listened to their meaningless chatter about nothing of particular importance. Stuff about family. Talking about classes. Discussing Quidditch. Cuffe bragged about some of what he considered his most impressive plays.
He really was an idiot. Hermione didn’t care about Quidditch.
Tom followed them up multiple flights of stairs before Cuffe finally stopped her.
“I wanted to ask you,” he said, placing his hand on her arm. Her bare arm. He was touching her. Tom froze and pressed himself against the wall. “Well… I mean…” He sounded flustered.
Tom’s anger sparked in the surrounding air. His hand reached for his wand, stroking the wood between his fingers. As soon as they separated, he would destroy Cuffe for this.
Cuffe needed to get his bloody hands off her!
The guy had no charm or charisma. Why he was in the Slug Club was beyond Tom’s comprehension. Sure, his father owned the Daily Prophet or some shite, but there needed to be some merit requirement for entry. Ridiculous. Hermione and Tom were the only people in the Slug Club there purely based on intelligence and skill.
“The Yule Ball is coming up.”
Damn.
“And I’m not sure if someone has asked you already.”
Fuck!
“But would you go with me?” He finished pathetically. No way Hermione could like this guy, right? There was no way! He gripped his wand. He could curse Cuffe, then obliviate both their memories of this ever happening…
“As a date?” she asked, sounding hesitant. That slight note of hesitancy stayed Tom’s hand. He held his breath. Maybe he wouldn’t have to step in after all.
Cuffe stammered some words and finally said, “I was hoping so.”
Tom had half a mind to punch the guy. He could see the way Cuffe was now holding Hermione’s hand. His fingers stroked across her knuckles. Tom knew what those hands felt like. He held them in the forbidden forest. They were freezing, but soft. He also knew what they felt like when they ran up his chest and gripped his hair.
She looked flustered. There was no way she would say yes to this guy! Tom couldn’t have missed his chance! Why did he wait? He thought he had a good reason to not ask her to this dance. None of those reasons mattered anymore. Not if she was going with someone else. Not if someone else would waltz with her around the Great Hall. Holding her closer than he was now.
The entire school would see them together! Cuffe had no right!
Tom wouldn’t allow him to feel her skin. To hear the moans she makes in the back of her throat when aroused. Those weren’t for him!
“O—okay.”
A hollow pit formed in his stomach. He had to do something! Should he reveal himself and walk out there like he was just passing by?
Hermione would never buy it.
“You’ll go with me to the dance?” Cuffe asked, sounding hopeful.
Tom felt consumed by this witch. Overwhelmed by her presence in his life. This female changed everything. Things that were set in stone. Plans that he had made for years.
“Yes.”
This had to stop. He was going against everything he believed in, all of his values that had never led him astray. Attaching himself to a girl would cause his downfall! Tom knew this! He always knew this! The only thing he sought from females was sex. What was he doing?
Cuffe stepped closer to her. She didn’t pull back. Her eyes widened as he touched her jaw. Their gazes met.
Tom couldn’t move his limbs, as if Petrified in place. He stood his ground as a wave of numbness engulfed him, leaving him feeling detached from his surroundings.
He was better than this. Better than them and everyone else at this school! They would all find out soon. That was the whole point! He wouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of that.
Barnabas Cuffe is going to kiss her…
Tom was supposed to open the Chamber of Secrets. To prove his power and rightful place as the heir of Slytherin. He was supposed to be threatening those below him to obey. He was supposed to rule the world. To become the most powerful wizard that ever lived. He would be immortal! Take control over both life and death!
Their lips barely brushed against each other before the kiss ended. Chaste and simple. Detached. Nothing there.
Tom could feel pieces of his sanity slipping away. She ruined everything when she fell on top of him in Flourish and Blotts.
This was her fault. He hated her for it.
As soon as the pair started moving down the corridor again, Tom regained control of his body. He didn’t follow them.
When did Tom stoop to following people in the corridors while disillusioned? Even reflecting on his own behavior of late was embarrassing.
He released his grip on his wand. His lungs filled with air. This would stop now. He would regain control of himself and return to his objectives.
He dropped the disillusionment spell and started silently towards the dungeons.
Notes:
Chapter 15 Song: I Put A Spell On You: Annie Lennox. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Sorry everyone! This is a slow burn! We took one giant, leaping step forwrd in the last chapter... and now a few steps back. It's okay! We will get there eventually!
Don't hate me!I’m on vacation this week and plan to do a lot of writing! Book 2 is coming along and I’m beyond excited for you guys to ride this rollercoaster I’ve set up! Thank you for the support everyone! I can't explain how much I love it! ❤️🖤❤️🖤
Update: Reread and edited June 1, 2025
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 16: 16: The Unbreakable Vow
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dear Gabriella,
Thank you for your generous offer to let me spend Christmas at the Leaky Cauldron! I really appreciate how you have welcomed me into your family. I wanted to inform you that I’ve decided to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays this year to catch up on my studies. Hope things are well! Tell Edgar and Bridget that I miss them! I look forward to seeing you next summer.
- Hermione Granger
Hermione reread the letter a few times before folding it up and sealing it. She lied. She was actually ahead in her schoolwork. But she didn’t want to intrude on Gabriella’s hospitality more than necessary.
November was coming to a close, and December was on the horizon. Dumbledore posted the typical sign-up list in the Gryffindor common room for students who were staying over the holidays. Hermione immediately scribbled her name down. It turned out she was the only one. Even Hagrid was leaving, though she knew his father died last year. Perhaps that was another change in this parallel world. Maybe Hagrid’s father was still alive.
She had stayed over the holidays before, but not without Harry and Ron. She tried to adjust her outlook; think positively. It might be nice to have the place to herself. She could sit on the comfortable couch in front of the fire every night. By herself. Alone.
“I thought you were going to go back to the Leaky Cauldron over the holidays,” Gussie commented. They had claimed a table in the corner of the common room. Archie and Alastor were playing wizards’ chess; Gussie and Hermione were writing letters.
“Gabriella invited me, but I’d rather stay here.” She felt more at home here than at the Leaky Cauldron. “Who are you writing to?”
“My parents, I told you I was going to have them send some dresses for you to try for the Yule Ball,” Gussie said, folding up her letter.
“Yes, because that worked out so well last time.” Hermione grumbled. About a week ago, Gussie wrote home, requesting a dress and her mother sent back the most vile pink gown with an attached petticoat so large, Hermione was sure it wouldn’t fit in the stairway. She tried not to act ungrateful. She couldn’t afford one on her own, but it was difficult to do when the dress reminded her of a bright pink lampshade.
Gussie had laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes and that was that. Her friend immediately packed the audacious gown and said she would write home again and be a bit more specific about her instructions.
“My mum was always a fan of the big and tacky. She likes to call them the money pieces because they are clearly the most expensive. It’s a sign of wealth and prestige or something.”
“What? How much was that dress?”
Gussie considered the question, “Oh... I think it was four or five hundred galleons. In that region. When she brought the thing home last summer, I refused to wear it. She brings it up all the time. Pretty sure I insulted her by not wearing it.”
“So, you never actually wore it!” Hermione couldn’t imagine spending so much money on something only to leave it packed away in a closet.
“Oh, Merlin, absolutely not!”
“Why are you acting surprised, Hermione?” Archie cut in as Alastor studied the chessboard. Archie was losing spectacularly. His chessmen glared at him in defiance as Archie sent each one into their doom. A few of the pieces recognized Alastor’s set and outright refused to play. Archie gave his men a stern talking to and set up the board, anyway, leading to a raucous game with Archie’s chessmen criticizing every move he made and fighting amongst themselves. Even though none of these things aided Archie’s ability to win, it never mattered in the end. Alastor always won when it came to chess. Hermione had to wonder if Ron would have been able to beat him. “Gussie comes from old money, remember? She probably owns about 100 dresses like that.”
“I do not! He’s exaggerating. I own around thirty. Over half wouldn’t even fit anymore.”
What sort of life did pure-blood wizards lead, exactly? “Why so many?”
“Oh well, there’s the Yule Ball, then the family new year after that, then my mother always hosts a grand dinner party for her birthday. Then there is the International Wizarding Consortium Annual Charity Gala.”
“What was the pink cake dress supposed to be for?”
Gussie blushed bright red, “Oh... uh… that one she got over the summer for… uh... for—”
Alastor made his move and cut in, “it was for her and Ignatius’s engagement party this past summer.” The silence that followed that announcement was deafening. Hermione didn’t miss the flinch on Archie’s face at the mention of Gussie’s engagement.
“Oh...” was all Hermione could think to say.
“Anyway, I’m asking her to send a few specific dresses this time. Ones that I know Riddle will love!” Both Archie and Alastor stared at Hermione, forgetting the game and chessmen who were now taunting each other using rather crude expletives.
“You're going with Tom Riddle?” Archie asked. Hermione was too busy glaring at Gussie to spare extra ire for Archie.
“No! Of course not!”
“Hermione, give it a rest already! You can’t tell me there is nothing between you two! Have you seen how he looks at you when you walk into the library? He’s stripping you with his eyes and having his dirty way with you—”
“Gussie, please stop.” All those things Riddle had said to her when he told her what Barnabas thought… He wasn’t talking about Barnabas when he said those things. His smooth voice lowered and rumbled against her when he spoke. She forgot to breathe.
“It’s indecent! You should start using the Contraception Charm before going there to study!”
“Oh Merlin...” Hermione blushed and hid her face in her hands.
“I mean... He does watch you a lot,” Alastor said, as if Gussie alone wasn’t already bad enough.
“Wait!” Archie cut in again, looking confused. “We are talking about Tom Riddle, right? That Slytherin prefect bloke?”
“Yes, Archie, please keep up.”
“Honestly, Arch, even I’ve noticed. It’s not some big secret. He looks ready to take a bite out of her.” Alastor smirked at his private joke. Hermione kicked him under the table. He jumped and tried to cover it with a quick cough. Luckily, Archie and Gussie were too distracted to notice. Alastor returned his attention to the chessboard. It was only a matter of time before he pieced together who she was with during the Quidditch match.
“That guy doesn’t date anyone. It’s like... a known thing. Saw a Hufflepuff crying in the corridor once because he turned her down. Actually, I saw that happen a few times. You’re dating him?”
“No, Archie! I’m not.”
“I’m confused. Then what’s happening?”
“Supposedly nothing, but the guy is bordering on obsessed with Hermione! Oh, and he’s gorgeous.”
“Gussie, I told you, I’m going to the dance with Barnabas.”
“Barnabas Cuffe? He seems cool. Good quidditch player.” Archie said. He appeared to lose all interest in the conversation and returned to the chess game. His chessmen were now shouting about rebellion.
“I know you are,” Gussie said with a dramatic sigh as she jotted her family’s address on the envelope. “Poor Barnabas doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Who are you going with, Archie?” Hermione asked to take the scrutiny off her. Gussie blushed and sat back in her chair.
“I’m going with my best friend, Alastor!” He beamed like he announced that he won an Order of Merlin. Alastor, who had been ignoring the conversation, perked up.
“Since when?”
“Oh, sorry, did I forget to ask? My bad. I’d be honored if you would accompany me to the dance, Alastor.”
Alastor gave him a blank stare, “fuck off, Arch.”
Archie slammed his hands over his chest and stared at Alastor with awe and adoration. “He always knows exactly what to say to unlock my heart!” Alastor appeared less than impressed.
“Uh Gussie, if we don’t leave now, we won’t be able to mail these letters before curfew.” A group of students entered through the portrait hole, probably returning from the library. The halls would be deserted.
“Sure!” Gussie followed Hermione out to the corridor. Sir Cadogan gave them a curt nod. Staying true to his word, he worked on the memorial he said he would build. He took a large rock from a scenery painting after finding a portrait of a sculptor willing to put in the work. They were now discussing what the sculpture should look like.
“I think it should be in the shape of our recently departed student,” Sir Cadogan said, assessing the rock critically. The artist stared out with an expression of utmost boredom. He was clearly questioning why he agreed to do this.
“Do you have a depiction of this student?”
Sir Cadogan looked uncomfortable. “Alas, I do not.”
“Can you give me any descriptive details about the student?”
“Of course! The student was male, of this I am certain!”
The sculptor furrowed his brow and sighed with frustration. “Anything else to add to that?” Hermione and Gussie sniggered as they turned down another corridor.
“I’m so excited to see this finished memorial of Archie!” Gussie chuckled.
“I somehow doubt they are going to capture Archie’s image,” Hermione said.
“That will only make it funnier!”
The Owlery was on the opposite end of the castle, in the west tower. Gussie spent their walk talking about the dresses she was having her mother send.
“I told her to send the red one, but I’m not sure the shade is really your color. It’s more of a salmon-pinky. Not at all a dreadful color, but I don’t know. It will either look outstanding on you, or the color will clash and be awful. Suppose we’ll see.” They turned a corner. “Personally, I’m partial to the emerald gown. It’s an elegant—”
“I’m not wearing a green dress!” Hermione cut her off.
“Why not! You would look ravishing in green! It’s a magnificent dress too, really classy but also kind of sexy. Truth be told, I’m surprised my mum approved of it.”
“We both know that is not why you want me to wear that dress.”
“What an absurd accusation! I’m sure Barnabas would love to see you in that green dress.” She wasn’t talking about Barnabas, and they both knew it.
“No green!”
They turned around another corner as Gussie was about to respond and came face to face with Riddle, watching them from the other end of the hall. He had his prefect’s badge pinned to his robes. Hermione had to assume he was patrolling right now. He stared at them, his posture rigid.
Hermione’s step faltered when she saw him. He must have heard them talking. Which means he knows Barnabas is her date to the dance. Why did that make her feel… guilty? She wasn’t lying when she said there was nothing going on between her and Riddle. That snog was a one-off incident. Sure, it was the hottest, most passionate, exquisite kiss Hermione ever experienced…
A broad grin spread over Gussie’s face. “But you know,” Gussie said, walking forward like she hadn’t noticed Riddle there at all. She spoke a little louder, letting her voice carry down the corridor. Hermione fell into step next to her friend. “Barnabas would probably prefer to see you in nothing at all!”
“Gussie!”
“What?” She batted her eyes, looking the picture of innocence. Riddle stopped in his tracks. His expression darkened. His gaze flicked away from Hermione. She couldn’t read the look on his face. Was it anger? Frustration? Shock? Heat?
He regained his composure and looked back at the girls with a calculated smile. “Good evening, Miss Granger, Miss Crouch.” He nodded to each of them.
“Hey Riddle!” Gussie said, a bit too eagerly, stopping in front of him. Hermione’s heart raced, and a sickening knot formed in her stomach. She had successfully avoided Riddle for the last week. This was their first encounter since the kiss, and the tension in the air was palpable.
“I should tell you ladies, clothing is required at the Yule Ball this year.”
Gussie snorted a laugh while Hermione cocked her head at him. “Is that implying that clothing hasn’t been required at prior dances?” She meant it as a joke, but Riddle answered as if she asked a question about an Arithmancy problem.
“I can’t say I’ve looked into the dress code for previous dances, but I would assume that there has never been a dance held at Hogwarts where clothing was optional.”
Gussie shrugged, unperturbed. “Sure, Riddle, clothing is required for the ball, but no one said anything about clothing requirements after!” She gave Riddle a wide, radiant grin before dragging Hermione away.
“What the hell is your problem, Gussie?” Hermione whispered. She refused to turn back to see Riddle’s reaction.
“Just shaking things up a bit!” Gussie said, reveling in the drama. Hermione fixed her with a scowl and barreled past her.
Hermione didn’t speak to Gussie again as they climbed the stairs to the Owlery. The air was getting colder, but not cold enough for ice to form. On more than one occasion, Hermione almost met her death on this icy stairwell. The chill, at least, dulled the senses to the unpleasant odor of owl droppings.
As they approached the top of the west tower, they could hear the distinct sound of feet shuffling on the hay. When they got closer, they heard the rustling of clothes and the soft hum of a female’s voice. Gussie and Hermione glanced at each other. Hermione suspected she knew exactly what was going on; it wasn’t something she wanted to walk in on. Gussie felt differently. She raised her finger to her lips, and continued up the stairs with lighter steps.
When they reached the top of the tower, they caught two unsuspecting students in a passionate embrace against the stone wall. It was too dark for her to identify them, and they were too preoccupied to notice their audience.
Hermione cleared her throat and the two figures darted away from each other as if burned.
The moon shined down and illuminated the faces of Ignatius Prewitt and Lucinda Black, causing Hermione to let out an audible gasp. They were both dressed warmly since the Owlery was freezing this time of year, but Lucinda’s blonde braid was coming undone, and Ignatius’s auburn red hair stuck out at odd angles. He had the decency to look guilty.
Hermione glanced at her friend, wondering if she would run away in tears or start yelling. To her surprise, Gussie did neither of these things. Instead, she looked annoyed, with her hands on her hips in a very Mrs. Weasley-like pose.
Hermione eyed the pair squirming uncomfortably in front of her. The cheating boyfriend of her best friend and the Slytherin girl. Their names had sounded familiar, but she never made the connection until now. These two married each other. Their marriage was a controversial one and resulted in Lucinda Black being removed from the Black family tree. Ron once mentioned his great uncle Ignatius. It was quite the scandal at the time.
Nobody spoke. It was an uncomfortable standoff in the freezing cold Owlery. The only noise was the occasional hooting of an owl and flapping of wings. The same dilemma she experienced many times since coming to this world roared through her head. These two were supposed to end up together… but this knowledge directly conflicted with the outrage she felt for her friend, which was a complicated enough situation. Already she contemplated if Neville would ever exist since Archie and Augusta were so reluctant to enter a relationship.
Then again, this was a parallel world. Maybe fate had a different outcome in mind. Just because events occurred a certain way in her world’s past doesn’t mean it would happen here.
“Uh... we should go,” Lucinda said, scurrying around the two girls toward the stairs.
“Sorry...” Hermione heard Ignatius mutter before he followed his secret lover.
They were gone.
Hermione turned to gape at Gussie. She was waiting for a reaction. She expected her to hex the cheating bastard. Rant in outrage. Instead, a smirk spread over Gussie’s face. “Well, that was awkward.”
“I’m sorry Gussie... are you okay?” Awkward was exactly what that whole thing was, but she had counted on a bit more emotion from Gussie.
“Yeah.” Gussie shrugged. “I figured he was seeing somebody.”
“What?”
“He mentioned something a few weeks ago. Nothing specific, though.”
Hermione stared at her friend in shock. Gussie casually attached her note to her owl, like they hadn’t just walked in on her boyfriend snogging another girl.
“What will you do about the Yule Ball?” Hermione asked as Gussie gave her bird a few treats and stroked her feathers.
“What about it?”
“Who are you going to go with?”
Gussie looked at Hermione like it was the most ridiculous question she had ever heard. “I’m going with Ignatius, obviously.”
“Wait… You realize the person we saw kissing that girl was Ignatius… right?”
“Hermione, what do you want me to say?” Gussie turned sharply to glare at Hermione, causing her owl to startle away into the night sky.
“What is going on, Gussie? You see your fiancé snogging another girl and you are acting like it’s no big deal!” Hermione found one of the school owls and tied her note to its waiting foot. “What is up with you two? You never really talk about him. You’re rarely together. You say you guys are engaged, but you act like you don’t even care! Then there’s Archie, who you are constantly blushing over, and he’s clearly into you too, but both of you just... ignore it!” The owl flew off as Hermione turned back to her friend. Gussie leaned against the wall, the smirk gone.
“That speech you gave proves how little you know about pure-blood society.” Gussie’s voice hit her like ice in this bitter cold.
Hermione frowned.
“I’m going to the dance with Ignatius Prewitt. Him picking up some side piece will not change that.”
“Why are you so determined to stay with him?”
“Because I don’t have a choice! Many pure-blood families are obsessed with keeping the family line pure. My parents are among them, as is Ignatius’s father. Our parents decided we would marry as soon as I was born. When I was old enough to follow directions, my mother had us make an unbreakable vow.” Gussie paused and stared at the straw-littered ground. She wasn’t really seeing it; it was more like she was looking past it.
“I was barely four years old when it was determined that if Ignatius and I didn’t marry, we would die. My parents felt so strongly about my offspring being pure-blood that they would rather end my life than risk me marrying and having kids with someone who isn’t pure-blood. Making children undergo an unbreakable vow is an ancient custom. One that is actually illegal, but it still happens regardless. The Blacks do it. Malfoys, Bulstrodes, Carrows, Notts… plenty of students at this school are locked into a marriage they never decided on for themselves!”
“But Archie is pure-blood. Wouldn’t your family approve?” Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The thought of subjecting a toddler to an unbreakable vow! It was despicable!
“Perhaps, but I already underwent the vow with Ignatius, so it really doesn’t matter.” Gussie frowned. Her breath escaped her in small puffs of mist. “We have tried to make the best of it. We even dated, hoping that a spark might form, but nothing ever ignited... I’ll marry Ignatius Prewitt. We get along well enough. I’ll have his children. But I know there will never be romantic feelings of any kind between us.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Hermine asked. Her lips were numb with cold. Her fingers tingled.
“Do I have a choice? I accepted this a long time ago. If I desire love and romance, then I’ll have to find it outside of my marriage, and he will do the same thing.”
“Gussie…”
“Don’t pity me Hermione, I don’t want it. If I’m forced to spend the rest of my life with Ignatius, then I’m at least going to try to be happy with him.”
“It seems so cruel and unfair…”
Gussie shrugged, “my parents had an arranged marriage too. My mother had an affair with a Muggle-born wizard for the first 15 years of their marriage. Pretty sure my father was seeing someone too, but he wasn’t so open about it. They get along enough to live together and raise their family. They act more like roommates, honestly.”
Hermione couldn’t even imagine it. Her parents were one of those couples that held hands in the grocery store. They liked to take evening walks alone. They still kept the romance alive. If someone were in a dead-end marriage, why would they subject their children to the same thing? Was having a pure-blood lineage really so important?
“Sometimes the arranged marriages work out!” she said with a little fake enthusiasm as she headed down the stairs. Hermione followed behind her. “You should see Septimus Malfoy and his wife. He is head over heels for her. Though she is a total bombshell, so maybe that has something to do with it.”
“Does Longbottom have an arranged marriage set up?” Hermione asked.
Gussie glanced back at her for a long moment before responding. “No, the Longbottoms are one of the families that rejected the pure-blood arrangement of marriages. Recently they completely backed out of society, despite still being a member.”
“Then why can’t you be with Archie?” Gussie looked so defeated every time Hermione brought him up. But if Ignatius is seeing someone else, shouldn’t Gussie be allowed that too?
“Archie would never be okay with being someone on the side... he’s an all-or-nothing sort of person, you know... it’s part of why I love him… but also why we can’t be together.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom stared into the fire in the Slytherin common room. It was late now, close to eleven o’clock. A small group of Slytherins huddled at a table in the corner working on a Potions essay due tomorrow. Walburga sat among them, but he didn’t acknowledge her.
He glanced back, out the window that revealed the dark depths of the lake. He could make out a few shadows of fishes swimming by, but without the sun, the waters only added to the ominous darkness of the Slytherin common room.
That Crouch girl was trying to bait him. He knew that. But he couldn’t shake what she said.
Clothes aren’t required after the dance… the implication was clear. Was Hermione actually planning to go somewhere with Cuffe afterward? Let him peel her out of her dress and show him what was underneath.
Hermione wouldn’t do that! She was good.... She was innocent. But then, why would her friend bring it up? Did she want Cuffe to do those things?
The thought made his blood boil. Cuffe had no right! Hermione belonged to him, not Cuffe, nor any other person on this bloody planet! Tom would tear out his eyes if he saw her in any state of undress. He would rip out his tongue if he ever tasted her. If Cuffe ever heard Hermione’s breathy moans, he would torture him until blood poured from his ears. If Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe penetrated her with any piece of his anatomy, well then… Tom would have to kill him. He would be no loss to the world.
If anyone were going to undress Hermione after the dance, it would be Tom. She refused to wear green, but he couldn’t help but imagine a green dress hugging her curves, revealing the tops of her breasts. A simple tug and those perfect mounds would spring free for him. Another pull and the fabric would tear slightly. It wouldn’t matter then, since the dress was ruined, he would rip it the rest of the way off her. They would work themselves into a frenzy of passion. He would fuck her hard in an alcove somewhere. Or perhaps an empty classroom so he could silence the walls. He didn’t want anyone else to hear her moan his name when she came with his cock buried inside her.
The fire crackled somberly. He couldn’t focus. He tried to move on since he watched Cuffe ask Hermione to the dance. He avoided the library in the evenings. Ignored her in Arithmancy, though he cast a charm around his seat to keep the scent of apples away. The smell was enough to make him lose his mind. She drove him crazy. The harder he pretended he didn’t care, the worse it got.
He lived in denial. Only in his dreams did none of it matter anymore. He fucked her with abandon every night. Lost himself in the fantasy of her. Dragged her away into the shadows, where she could be his queen.
He woke in the morning panting and restless. Part of his mind urged him to close his eyes again and return to the dreamland, but he never listened. Eventually, he stole Dreamless Sleep Potion from the hospital wing just to obtain peace. But then… he missed those dreams.
He continued in this intolerable state every day. Things were fine until their run-in today.
Tom looked down at the book in his lap. He attempted to read up on the Patronus charm, determined to cast a corporal Patronus. Right now, all he could manage was a few wisps of smoke. He checked out Charms of Defense and Deterrence , which contained a breadth of information on the spell. Perhaps understanding the theory would help.
‘For it is evident, that a human confronted with inhuman evil, such as a Dementor, must draw upon resources he or she may never have needed, and the Patronus is the awakened secret self that lies dormant until needed…’
It was probably the fifth time he read the same sentence, and he had no idea what it said.
Did she actually like Cuffe? Was he the one she wanted? He could still hear Hermione’s ‘yes’ echoing round the halls as if on repeat. It rang in his head.
‘For it is evident—’
What if Tom asked her first? Would she have said yes?
He imagined having her on his arm. He fantasized about her in so many ways. Did the thought of them together ever cross her mind?
‘—that a human confronted with inhuman evil—’
Or did she think about Cuffe? Picture Barnabas Cuffe fucking her into the bed at night. Imagine the weight of his body pressed against her.
Tom felt sick.
‘—inhuman evil, such as a Dementor, must draw upon resources—’
He should have asked her when he had the chance. He had so many chances!
‘—must draw upon resources he or she may never have needed—’
Cuffe surely didn’t know that she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him like nothing else in the world existed.
‘—may never have needed, and the Patronus is the awakened secret self—’
He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to feel her skin against his. Devour the apples and honey off of her. Fuck her until he spilled inside her. See himself dripping out of her quivering cunt.
‘—awakened secret self that lies dormant until needed—’
Tom still wasn’t sure what he had read.
He clenched his jaw and started again.
‘For it is evident, that a human—’
Would he have to watch her kissing Cuffe during the dance? Or would they go back to the Ravenclaw dorms together? Or to a secluded alcove? His hands on her. His lips. Her lips. Their breath. Her legs wrapped around his waist as their tongues—
Damnit!
The book in his lap tumbled to the floor when he suddenly stood. The fire in the hearth grew with his growing fury.
“Tom, what’s wrong?” Walburga stepped in front of him. When did her friend leave? He was so distracted these days! The witch might actually get him killed at this rate!
Walburga took a step closer and placed her palm flat on his chest.
He said nothing. He didn’t move.
“You’ve been… different.” She whispered.
He didn’t react.
“You’ve been… tense.”
No response.
She increased the pressure of her hand as she guided him back until his legs hit the edge of the chair he had been sitting in. She gave him one last push, and he fell into the seat without a word.
He had always concealed his genuine emotions behind his practiced mask. He could fool anyone. But even those walls were crumbling around him.
“You know, Tom, I could help you.” She kissed his jaw, running down his neck and chest as she worked open the buttons of his shirt. “Help you,” she panted between kisses, “ease some of that tension.”
He knew her destination now. His cock gave a half-hearted stir. He thought about stopping her. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood. But… maybe getting off really was what he needed. It helped him focus better in the past. Perhaps he could finally sleep afterward. Too many nights he had laid awake. Everything was in shambles. He never felt so out of control in his life. He was at a point where he would do anything for even an ounce of relief.
She unbuckled the clasp of his belt and popped the button on his trousers. His cock twitched again, but he still said nothing, as she grabbed hold of his half-hardened shaft.
“Relax Tom, close your eyes and relax.” He needed to get hard, or this really would not work.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as she pressed kisses against him. Behind his eyelids, she was there. It was her small hand squeezing his cock in a firm grasp. He imagined her pouty lips pressing against his sensitive flesh, licking the glans with her soft, wet tongue; holding him with reverent attention like she holds her wand.
“Ohh!” His hands reached for her head while he kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to ruin this fantasy. If someone trapped him here forever, he may be okay with that. He could feel her soft hair between his fingers. She would peer up at him with her large crystal caramel eyes as she opened her mouth wider to take his cock deeper.
He moaned.
She sucked him hard, and her hair brushed against his chest and thighs as she took him all the way to the base. His size made her gag, but she didn’t give up. She tried again, over, and over, until she got it right. She was a perfectionist, after all… a perfect little perfectionist.
She continued to ravish him like she was worshiping him. She moaned with him inside her wet mouth; the vibration sending chills up his spine.
“Yes… take it…” he gasped for air. Trying to fill his lungs. She popped off him and she pumped him with her fist, once, twice.
“You like it, Tom?”
The illusion shattered when the sound of Walburga’s voice interrupted his fantasy. It wasn’t Hermione. She wasn’t here.
His eyes opened, meeting Walburga’s dull hazel gaze. His gaze narrowed as he growled with frustration. Walburga smiled up at him and he wanted to curse the smile off her face. He grabbed her hair roughly and pushed himself back into her mouth.
“Don’t,” he said tightly. “Fucking. Talk.” He thrusted his hips, slamming himself between her lips, fucking her throat. He shut his eyes once he found a pace and tried to reclaim his fantasy. The one Walburga ripped away from him with her voice.
He couldn’t stop the moans vibrating around his cock. He desperately attempted to distort the sound in his head. Make them softer, higher in pitch. Imagining they were little moans coming from his lion as she sucked him hard.
She was there again. She rubbed her tongue greedily along his cock. Her breath surrounded him as she choked on his size and girth. Her mouth felt so warm. So wet.
Just like that cunt that would be wet and ready for him. Ready for him to slam inside and claim. Those caramel eyes looking at him with longing and ecstasy. He could even smell the apples and honey wafting off her.
Her hair was soft.
Her palate moved, squeezing him, begging him to come; waiting to swallow all of him.
Those pretty lips would take every drop. She would love it. He gave her exactly what she desired. After a few more thrusts, he released a guttural groan and came down the back of her throat with her name ghosting over his lips.
Hermione…
Did he say it out loud? What did it matter if he did?
He kept his eyes closed as he panted, striving to keep the dream alive for as long as possible. This was the bliss he craved.
“Feel better?” Walburga asked. She knelt between his legs. Tom cracked one lid open to look at her, but once again didn’t bother answering. She tucked his cock back into place and worked all the buttons on his trousers closed before standing, moving to his shirt.
He hated looking at her. Perhaps he should brew up some Polyjuice potion for her. It would be easier to pretend she was actually Hermione. He could even get her apple-scented shampoo. As long as Walburga never opened her mouth, he could fuck his curly-haired goddess.
He closed his eyes again.
“Tom?” Her fingers skimmed up his chest as she buttoned his shirt. His lack of response didn’t deter her. “Go to the dance with me?”
“Hmm...” It didn’t matter anyway, “fine.”
Notes:
Chapter 16 Song: Mr. Sandman: SYML. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
We are headed to the yule ball next! ❤️🖤❤️🖤
Update: Reread and edited on June 5, 2025
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Chapter 17: 17: The Yule Ball
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In the days leading up to the Yule Ball, Hermione spent more time in Barnabas’s company. He joined her at the Gryffindor table a few times, which, according to Gussie, was a controversial move. It led to them being a subject of scrutiny by the entire school.
The first evening that Barnabas had sat next to Hermione at dinner, she couldn’t help but flick her gaze up towards Riddle. His dark eyes had bore into hers. The blank stare had held something sinister beneath it. Her breath had caught in her throat, and she looked away as her face heated. Despite the flat, bored expression, she could tell he was angry.
They hadn’t spoken in two weeks now. Not since their brief encounter in the hall. Regardless, her skin prickled when he watched her. The hunger in his expression made her stomach clench. She thought about that kiss more than she cared to admit. She assumed it meant nothing to him. He had plenty of girls falling at his feet, so why was he so interested in her? Did he feel the same way she did after the kiss; like it was incredibly right but sinfully wrong?
Then Barnabas Cuffe had kissed her, and it felt empty. Devoid of any emotion.
Hermione occupied her free hours by reading about Hogwarts construction. She tried to learn more about the castle plumbing. She racked her brain for new ideas on where to search for The Chamber of Secrets.
When she didn’t uncover any leads, she swallowed her embarrassment and asked Alastor to check all the boys’ bathrooms to ensure every sink worked. One of the things she loved about Alastor was he never asked too many questions.
When none of the sinks panned out, she checked the toilets. She spent an entire Saturday afternoon going to every girl’s bathroom and flushing toilets. They all worked. So she spent Sunday afternoon escorting Alastor to the boy’s bathrooms asking him to flush toilets.
“Is this really necessary, Hermione?” Apparently, toilet flushing was where Alastor drew the line.
“Yes.”
“What will you do if one doesn’t work? Read up on plumbing and find some tools to fix it?”
“Yes.” If he thought she was crazy, he didn’t comment.
It took her another week to realize she never checked the sinks and toilets in the Prefect’s Bathroom or the Faculty Lounge. Each dormitory also had a bathroom. But surely, they wouldn’t hide the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in just any dormitory bathroom…
Worst-case scenario, she might have to brew a batch of Polyjuice Potion and sneak into the Slytherin dorms.
That would be a last resort.
The Prefect’s Bathroom was easy enough with Alastor and she smooth-talked Slughorn into the faculty lounge.
She officially exhausted all avenues in the toilet-sink department. So she was back to reading about the Hogwarts layout and plumbing installation.
Finally, the Yule Ball arrived, marking the end of the first term and the beginning of the Christmas holiday.
Gussie’s mom sent the six requested dresses carried by no less than twelve owls. The gown Hermione ended up wearing was an elegant shade of blue that reminded her of the dress she wore to the Yule Ball. It had an off-shoulder neckline. The fabric clenched her waist and hips before falling delicately to the floor. She worried about tripping over the long skirt, but she drooled over the gorgeous lace. The dress lacked any glimmering sparkles or stones. Simple, elegant, and classy. It was exactly what Hermione would have chosen for herself.
She slipped it on, letting Gussie handle the four dozen buttons running up the back of the gown.
“It looks amazing on you!” Gussie clapped her hands and circled Hermione, muttering a few spells to adjust the dress’s hemline.
Gussie insisted Hermione needed to wear gloves with the outfit and she arranged her hair in a fancy twist. She even applied makeup to Hermione’s face and finished the look with deep red lipstick.
She felt beautiful.
Barnabas Cuffe came to escort Hermione to the dance but ran into a minor hiccup at the portrait hole.
“Can you just tell her I’m out here?” She overheard as one of the Gryffindor couples opened the door.
“Not a chance, you scoundrel!” The portrait swung closed quicker than normal after the couple was out.
“I think your date is stuck.” Gussie grinned.
Hermione exited the common room to find a very annoyed Barnabas standing off with their guarding knight.
“M’lady! The enemy tried to seize the tower! I was able to hold him off! I urge you to be on guard as I sense treachery!”
“Treachery?” Barnabas scoffed indignantly. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, letting the locks fall haphazardly over his forehead and ears. He wore velvet dress robes the color of the midnight sky that brought out a hidden blue in his grey eyes.
When Hermione looked at Barnabas, she could objectively admit he was handsome. But her breath never caught when she saw him, and he couldn’t make her blush with his piercing gaze.
She sighed and refocused on the situation. Hermione had perfected her technique when handling Sir Cadogan. “You are mistaken, Sir Cadogan! This is an ally who is spying from within enemy ranks. He will be essential to the war efforts,” Hermione said.
She had to hand it to Barnabas for maintaining a straight face. Luckily, he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.
Sir Cadogan measured Barnabas with a fixed frown. “Nevertheless m’lady, be watchful, as an enemy that turned traitor is liable to turn on you as well. I encourage you to have backup at your disposal.”
“Thank you. I will take that into consideration.” She grabbed the confused Barnabas by the sleeve and dragged him down the corridor.
They were a little way down the hall before Barnabas finally broke the silence. “Is that seriously who guards the Gryffindor common room?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I thought Ravenclaw had it bad with their endless riddles.” Hermione’s step faltered. She had avoided thinking about Riddle for the past two weeks. She was actually quite proud of herself. Even Gussie hadn’t brought him up, nor did she tease her about the looks he gave her.
Would he have a date tonight?
Of course he would. He was charming, handsome, and intelligent. Hermione frequently saw girls surrounding him, trying to get his attention. Didn’t Archie say something about him never dating?
“I should tell you,” Barnabas started, looping her arm through his in a more formal way. “You look lovely.”
She beamed at him, but his compliment didn’t make her heart skip, no matter how much she wished it did.
People trickled into the Great Hall. The event started with dinner followed by dancing until midnight. Twelve enormous Christmas trees lined the walls. Candles floated above them under the ceiling, bewitched to resemble a gentle snowfall coming down. Ten chairs and a piano were situated where the faculty table usually was; likely to accommodate a band. Instead of house tables, there were round tables with white tablecloths, each set up to seat ten students. Large red poinsettias decorated the center of each table that dripped with ice crystals, creating an incredible shine.
Hermione wasn’t certain, but she also suspected they magically expanded the Great Hall. The entire place looked stunning and elegant.
She followed Barnabas as he led her to the edge of the room where Julia Brown and Alfred Hensley already sat. Hermione hadn’t talked to either of them much since they shared the compartment on the Hogwarts Express. She saw Julia around in her classes with Hufflepuff. She rarely ran into Alfred, even though he and Barnabas were supposedly best friends. He spent all his free time with Julia and getting up to date on the latest gossip for his quidditch match commentary.
“Hermione! How are you?” Julia gave her a gleaming smile. She had her hair down in soft blonde curls and wore a glittering champagne dress.
Alfred greeted them with a jovial wave. He must have gone to the Hospital Wing for his acne at some point. His face was clear now. It further enhanced the striking, forest-green color of his eyes.
“Hey, Julia! Any big plans for the holidays?”
“Not really, going home, but Alfred will visit after Christmas.”
“I refuse to spend the whole time trapped on my aunt’s farm. Not happening. Not after being forced into farm work for my entire summer!” Alfred said.
“And you want to visit me, right?” Julia asked with fluttering lashes.
“You bet I want to visit you.” He winked at her. Julia blushed. Hermione did not gag.
Gussie approached the table with Ignatius Prewett. When she went shopping with Minerva and Alastor, she found a burgundy dress with thin, strappy sleeves and a V-neck. It clenched at her waist with a jeweled clasp and fell into an elegant, sparkling skirt. It looked incredible on her. The whole thing glittered when she walked. With the enchanted snow and soft light, she looked almost ethereal.
She sat next to Hermione, but Ignatius hesitated. He eyed Hermione skeptically, like he was waiting for her to spit fire at him. Now that she knew the truth of their relationship, she couldn’t be mad at him. If anything, she was furious with their parents for forcing this situation on them.
“Ignatius, sit!” Gussie prompted. Finally, he sat. It didn’t take long for Julia and Gussie to start an enthusiastic conversation about dress designers and current fashion trends. Barnabas cleared his throat and turned his attention to Hermione.
“They make a special meal for the Yule Ball. I’m told it rivals the Christmas feast, though I’ve never stayed over Christmas to find out for myself,” he said.
“I’ll have to let you know,” she said. She stayed for the holidays before and the food was always incredible. She couldn’t tell them that.
“You’re staying over the holidays?”
“Yeah, I like it here! I’ll go back to the Leaky Cauldron for the summer.” His expression was filled with sympathy. She didn’t want his pitying looks. “What are you doing over the holiday?”
“I’m traveling. My father has some events in Paris. Then we’ll head to Germany and Italy.”
“What? What about the war?”
Barnabas blinked at her a few times as he tried to understand her meaning.
“She’s talking about the Muggle war, Barnie, the one between Germany and the rest of the world,” Alfred cut in with an eye roll.
“Oh yeah, that. What about it?” He cocked his head at her. She gaped at him.
“Hermione,” Alfred said before she could form a reply, “the Wizarding World isn’t involved in World War II. Other than a few air raid sirens interrupting their peace and quiet, it hasn’t affected wizards at all. Even the wizards in Germany are staying out of it. They probably know as much about the war as Barnie here, which is next to nothing.” Alfred shrugged.
Hermione had read that article when she first arrived about how wizards would not be involved in the war, but she figured it had to affect their lives somehow. Apparently, she was mistaken.
“My father is in the navy,” Alfred added. His eyebrows pulled together, and a frown formed on his face. “He writes sometimes.”
Hermione had never seen Alfred look so sullen. Barnabas glanced at his friend. “What’s the navy?” he asked.
“Never mind, Barnie.” He said before changing the subject, “I need you guys to keep your eyes and ears open for some juicy gossip! I think my quidditch commentary might be getting a little dry!”
It was like there was a hidden city within a city. The societies knew nothing about each other, despite inhabiting the same space.
Archie arrived next with Minerva and Alastor on either side of him. With a carefree grin, he seemed to be in his own world, while Minerva's gaze toward Archie held a hint of murderous intent. Hermione had never seen Alastor look so irritated.
“You okay, Minerva?” Gussie asked as the three of them took a seat. Minerva darted a glare at Archie before responding. She wore a yellow silk dress that was loose and flowing. While it wasn’t figure-flattering, it looked good on Minerva’s slim build. Reluctantly, Hermione acknowledged Gussie was correct about the pale shade. It clashed terribly with Minerva’s skin tone.
“I’m fine, but Archie here forgot that we agreed to go to the dance together months ago and then told me today he was going with Alastor.”
“Worked out great for me! I have two lovely dates now!”
“I’m not your date, Arch,” Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose like he was holding off a pounding headache.
“Then I have one lovely date and one remarkably grumpy best friend. Things couldn’t be better!” The table laughed, but neither Minerva nor Alastor appeared remotely amused.
“You know what? No, Archie, absolutely not!” Minerva crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “Alastor, would you like to be my date for the dance?” Laughter erupted as the amusement vanished from Archie’s face.
“It would be my honor, Minerva.” Alastor stood from his chair and took Minerva’s hand, dipping into a low bow to kiss her knuckles. He escorted her to the only other open seat between himself and Julia.
“Wait! What about me?” Archie asked.
“I’m sure you’ll still have a fantastic time, Archie!” Gussie said through a fit of giggles.
Moments later, a menu appeared on the fine china plate in front of Hermione. Despite already knowing, she dutifully listened as Barnabas instructed her on how to order her food. She did not scowl at him for explaining it as if she were a complete imbecile.
All she had to do was look at the menu, say her order, and it would magically appear. She ordered Lobster Thermidor, which was perhaps the best thing she ever tasted.
The table layout shifted after the meal, leaving a few scattered tables around the perimeter of the room, creating a spacious dance floor in the center. The band launched into a vibrant jazzy tune, setting the mood for the night.
Hermione beamed. She adored jazz and never knew it found its way into the wizarding world.
Gussie dragged half the group to dance. Her friend swayed her hips and danced her heart out. Hermione joined right next to her. She saw groups of other students trickle onto the floor. The noise grew as the music swelled. It felt like she was back at the Yule Ball dancing with Viktor Krum and his Durmstrang friends.
When the band started a slower tune, she half expected it to be Viktor, pulling her closer to wrap his arms around her. She wasn’t necessarily disappointed to see Barnabas; he just reminded her of how different her life was.
Barnabas smiled, and she took his hand and allowed him to lead her in a slow dance.
She realized in that moment, at the center of the dance floor, Barnabas, with his fingers gripping her hip and the other on her shoulder, under the enchanted ceiling of falling snow… There was absolutely no spark between them. She liked the guy. He was interesting. But there was nothing there. She had no desire to cuddle closer or to share secret kisses. He wasn’t the one she dreamed about at night...
Unfortunately, it was obvious he didn’t feel the same way.
What terrible luck! How had she got herself into this situation, anyway? She didn’t have problems with guys in the past. Though she also never had much attention from them.
She tried to engage Barnabas in casual conversation while they danced; an attempt to distract from the looks he gave her. Was he thinking about her in all those dirty ways right now? Was this the expression Riddle was talking about?
Barnabas talked about his future goals to be a reporter for the daily prophet. He elaborated on the conference he would attend over Christmas and the remarkable landmarks he would visit. He asked about her family and the places they traveled. Hermione answered a few of his questions, but then dodged the rest with the excuse that talking about her family was upsetting.
When she spun, she caught Riddle’s eye. He leaned against the wall with Walburga Black hanging off his arm. She was upset, frowning at him, her black dress accenting her feminine figure. She pressed her breasts against Tom, and Hermione wondered if she was about to hump his leg.
He ignored her. Instead, he watched Hermione dance with Barnabas. His gaze burned into her with blazing heat like she was Aphrodite herself, and he couldn’t get enough. Like she was the only girl in the world and not even the beautiful young woman hanging on him could draw his attention away.
Hermione spun back to Barnabas and refocused on her date.
After a few more dances, Barnabas excused himself and weaved through the crowd to locate Alfred and Julia. Alastor didn’t waste time cutting in and, to Hermione’s surprise, he was a graceful dancer.
“I love to dance,” Alastor said, “My mother taught me, and it became a thing we would do after dinner when I was little.” Hermione grinned, thinking of a small boy dancing with his mother. There was also a pang of sympathy. In the future, he would lose his leg and have it replaced by a wood stump. His dancing would never be the same.
When the band switched back to the upbeat songs, Gussie, Archie, and Minerva joined in. Except for Alastor, not a single one of them had a lick of talent. Her hair fell from the updo Gussie worked so hard on, falling in curly tendrils around her face. Despite the sleeves of her dress hanging off her shoulders, the thick fabric felt hot and heavy, but it didn’t restrict her ability to move. The dance floor became crowded, students pushing closer together as they all squeezed in.
“I think I need to sit down,” she said when Barnabas found her again.
They walked back to a table lining the perimeter, where she sank into a cushioned chair. She had a smile plastered on her face. The exertion of dancing left her cheeks glowing, and she heard her breath coming in ragged heaves. “I’ll get you something to drink. What do you want?”
“Punch?”
“Sure!” His grin widened, and he winked before walking away.
As Barnabas departed, Riddle entered her line of sight. His step was unhurried, but purposeful as approached. He didn’t look remotely happy to be here. Walburga was nowhere to be seen.
He wore dress robes that were a deep silky midnight black with an emerald green sheen in the light. His foreboding presence was like a magnet, and she hated herself for finding it so captivating. He stopped in front of her, standing so close his legs almost brushed hers. He examined her, but what he was looking for, she wasn’t sure.
“Dance with me.” It wasn’t a request, but he said it like the words caused him physical pain. Was it dancing that made him angry, or was it the thought of dancing with her specifically? Why would he ask if it upset him so much? He reached his hand towards her, waiting for her to take it.
“Are you asking me to dance with you or telling me?” She grimaced, folding her arms.
His lip twitched, but his hand didn’t move. “Which answer will get you to dance with me?”
“Neither, just curious.” She shrugged.
He kept his expression carefully neutral. She shifted away from him, trying to appear unaffected by his presence. She swiped a few stray wisps of hair out of her face and scanned the room for Barnabas. He stood with Alfred near the drink table, laughing about something.
“Dance with me, Miss Granger.” He dropped his aggressive posture, his arms relaxing at his sides.
“Where’s Walburga?”
“I don’t know, don’t care.” To her surprise, he sat, his whole body turned towards her.
“Isn’t she your date tonight?”
“Isn’t Cuffe yours?” He said Barnabas’s name like he swallowed acid.
“Yes, but unlike you, I know where my date is.” He didn’t appreciate that answer.
“What does it matter where Walburga is?” His face twisted into a scowl and his teeth gritted. His mood swings gave her a headache. She couldn’t keep track of them. He tended to be triggered by even the smallest transgressions.
She sighed. “What do you want, Riddle?”
“I want you to dance with me.” The irritation seeped into his tone, but in the next blink his expression soothed. He stood and dropped into a deep bow. “Please dance with me, my most noble and intellectually superior queen.” The melodic voice washed over her like buttery silk. Hermione gaped at him. She couldn’t believe he remembered that ridiculous title. It happened months ago in the Room of Requirement. She never thought he would actually use it.
She felt the same pull again. His eyes, his charm, his demeanor all called to her.
Without hesitation, she intertwined her fingers with his and allowed him to guide her to the center of the dance floor. The most prominent spot, under the star-filled, snowy sky. She was thankful for the long gloves Gussie insisted she wear, her palms were probably sweating right now. And it protected her skin from his. Not that she thought he had poison seeping from his pores...
The ten band members pulled out their wands for a quick re-tuning of their instruments while the pianist continued a soft melody in the background. They played with no magic. She appreciated that.
“Barnabas Cuffe shouldn’t have left you alone.” Riddle looked surly again.
“He didn’t. He went to get me a drink.”
“And left you alone.” The band readied their instruments and started playing Moonlight Serenade. She hesitated—this song felt too romantic for them to dance to.
Riddle weaved his fingers through hers while his other hand wrapped around her shoulder where the dress didn’t cover her skin. His hand felt hot. She jolted at the touch, like he just shocked her. He tugged her closer.
“Why are you so angry, Riddle? You didn’t have to come ask me to dance.” She dropped her hand on his shoulder. She tried to pull back, but his grip on her didn’t relent as they started moving to the slow, sensual tune.
“Are you having a good night?” he asked evasively. The words themselves were pleasant enough, but he said them through his clenched jaw.
“Yes, thanks for asking.” Riddle glided her around the dance floor with ease. Who taught him to dance? Didn’t he grow up in an orphanage?
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Wasn’t aware there was something you needed from me.”
“There isn’t,” he snapped.
“I haven’t been avoiding you, I just haven’t had a reason to talk to you.”
He frowned, narrowing his eyes on her, pulling her even closer. Their chests were touching now. She could feel his hand digging into the skin of her shoulder. “You’ve had nothing to say to me?”
“No.” She took a deep breath to calm herself. Instead, she inhaled his alluring cedar wood and peppermint scent that only muddled her thoughts more. He made her nervous with his dark eyes and angry stare. She felt like he was trying to cage her in his arms and build a wall between them and the rest of the world. It drove her mad. “Why did you want to dance with me if it was going to make you so angry?” She didn’t think it was possible, but his scowl deepened.
“Why are you here with Cuffe?” he quipped back.
“Excuse me?”
“Why did you come to the dance with Cuffe tonight?” He repeated the question slower, enunciating each word like she was a foreigner with minimal understanding of the English language.
“Barnabas is my friend, and he asked me.”
“So he’s your friend.”
It wasn’t a question, but Hermione treated it as one. “Yes, of course he is.”
“Really? Because he doesn’t look at you like you’re merely his friend.”
“Yes, you’ve told me this before.” Hermione noticed this too but had chosen not to address it. She wasn’t sure how to handle it yet. Barnabas was nice, but did she want to date him? Her heart ached for a glimmer of passion to form between them.
“And?”
“And what? You didn’t ask a question.”
“What do you plan to do about it?” This guy was nosy. His fingers flexed over her shoulder blade.
“I hardly see how it’s really any of your business.” Not that Hermione had an answer.
“You don’t?” He raised an eyebrow in mock shock.
“No, I don’t. Who I attend dances with has nothing to do with you.” They spun around another couple, and Hermione’s eyes flitted, evaluating the rest of the school. Everyone watched them. Literally. Even half the couples dancing kept stealing glances their way. Walburga looked furious. Barnabas furrowed his brow, his expression filled with unease. Gussie had a smirk that Hermione knew she would have to deal with later. Girls had expressions ranging from envious to appalled. If she was being honest, the boys wore the same looks.
She returned her gaze to his. “Why do you even care?”
“Because, Granger,” he spat her name like it was venom in his mouth. “You were supposed to attend this dance with me tonight.”
“Was I?” She feigned innocent bewilderment, “I don’t recall you asking me? Did I say yes?” This situation felt a lot like the incident between her and Ron when she went with Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball.
“Don’t be coy. You’re smarter than that.” It was truly amazing that he could compliment her and make it sound like an insult. How they ended up in an argument while twirling around the Great Hall with the entire school watching was beyond her. Why had she accepted his offer to dance?
“Well, you’re here with Walburga. Are you going to tell me she’s just your friend?”
“No, I’m not.” Hermione would never admit to feeling a sharp pang in her gut with those words.
“That’s what I thought.” She tried to pull away, but his grip on her was too tight and he tugged her back against him. His hand, which had been on her shoulder, slid down to grasp her waist. Initially, they danced across the Great Hall like seasoned experts. Now, the intensity of their conversation consumed their attention, leaving no room for them to muster energy for dancing. She followed his turns, ignoring how her feet fumbled beneath her.
“I don’t give a damn about Walburga. She is not my friend.” He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over her ear. “She is a girl I fuck sometimes when it’s convenient for me, but it’s you I think about when I’m inside her. How does that make you feel? Knowing that I fuck her, but fantasize about you while doing it?”
She gasped and blushed. He didn’t move. His hand slipped lower to her hip. This was not the proper way to dance.
“Does Cuffe know about how you had your legs wrapped around me in the bathroom? Does he know how you moaned my name? Does he know how much you wanted me? How wet you were for me?” His hand gripped just above the curve of her bottom. They weren’t even pretending to dance anymore. He whispered in her ear. Holding her so close, she could feel his erection pressing against her.
She ignored the pleasant shivers that ran through her body. The tingles where his warm hands touched.
“Or perhaps,” Riddle continued, his breath running across her skin, making her heat to the point of aching. “It doesn’t really matter for whom you spread your legs. Maybe you just do that for any guy, even Cuffe.”
It was cruel. Hermione’s whole body tensed. She tried to keep the shock off her face and hold the tears at bay. She would not cry in front of him. Not in the middle of the Great Hall. He wanted to provoke her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She blinked and swallowed hard as he pulled away to study her. Her face remained neutral, betraying no hint of emotion.
“So what if I do?” She said, finally shaking him off just as the song came to a close. “If you recall, Riddle, there is no dress code after the dance.”
He did not like that answer. He snatched her wrist before she could walk away.
“We haven’t finished yet!”
“I have a date to get back to.”
“I’m not letting you go back to him!” His grip tightened.
“If you wanted to go with me, Riddle, you should have asked. I’m no mind reader.” She stepped closer and spoke softer, throwing him off guard, “Unlike some people, I’m not in the practice of using Legilimency to learn what I want. I expect people to tell me the old-fashioned way.”
“Can I cut in?” Barnabas smiled at her, then looked at Riddle, who still had Hermione’s wrist in a death grip.
Riddle looked ready to tell Barnabas to ‘go away’ and include a few choice expletives in that request but Hermione spoke first. “Of course! Thanks for the dance, Tom. I hope you have a lovely evening.”
It was the first time Hermione had ever addressed him by his first name. Perhaps the shock of that was what led him to drop her wrist. She walked away with Barnabas filled with grim satisfaction. It felt like she just beat the devil at his own game.
I commissioned a number of pieces from Dara throughout the book! I'm in love with all of them! She captured these two so beautifully!
Notes:
Chapter 17 Song: Moonlight Serenade: Glenn Miller. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I just spent 3 hours reviewing all the previous chapters doing edits! If you guys notice any grammar mistakes, spelling errors, and capitalization inconsistencies, just let me know and I will fix them. It’s a lot easier than me having to comb through everything over… and over… and over myself.
With that being said, welcome to the Yule Ball! I know Tom didn’t get his POV in this chapter, but he will when the Yule Ball continues in the next chapter!! 🤍🩵💙🩶
Update: Update and edited June 10, 2025
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Chapter 18: 18: Unforgivable
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“So… Riddle, huh?” Gussie asked. Gussie found Hermione as soon as she walked away with Barnabas and tugged her aside.
“What about him?”
“You guys dancing.” Gussie fanned her face and pretended to swoon for dramatic effect.
“It was just dancing!” She frowned. Wasn't this supposed to be a simple and fun night? Why did it become complicated again?
“Looked more like a mating dance. It was like he was laying claim to you on the dance floor.”
“Gussie, stop!”
“Don’t blame you, I mean, it’s Tom Riddle!”
“There is nothing between us!” Hermione's skin still tingled with the lingering sensation from Riddle's touch. She wanted to scream.
“Mmhmm, you’re in denial.”
“Let it go, Gussie!”
“The sexual tension is wild between you two. I can hardly stand it, and I’m just watching from the sidelines.”
Hermione ignored her friend. Unfortunately, Gussie wasn’t deterred. “I bet he’s an amazing kisser! You need to kiss him and tell me all about it! I kissed Ignatius once. It was awkward. But you and Tom Riddle! That is a fire that would set all of Hogwarts ablaze!” Gussie chuckled. Hermione kept her gaze fixed ahead.
Their kiss was an inferno. It felt like not only the castle collapsed around them, but the entire world. She bit her lip. Her core warmed as she relived the memory she tried to suppress. Gussie examined Hermione. Despite her attempts to remain impassive, she couldn’t hide the blush that covered her face at the reminder of her heated encounter with Tom Riddle.
“Oh, Merlin,” Gussie gasped, “No way! You already kissed him?! When?!”
Of course, Alastor chose that moment to approach. He sat beside Gussie, sipping from a goblet.
“When did you kiss him?! You have to tell me!” Hermione would rather live in a pit than have this conversation.
“Kiss who?” Alastor asked.
“Tom Riddle!” Luckily, the music and dancing were in full swing, so nobody could overhear this interrogation.
“Found out about that? It happened ages ago.” Alastor shrugged. Hermione wanted to kick him. Apparently, Gussie had a similar idea in mind. “You knew?!”
“Hey! Don’t hit me!”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
Hermione refused to endure this. She stormed away from her so-called friends while they were distracted.
She found Barnabas, who passed her goblet of punch to her. She downed it immediately and handed the cup back. Barnabas didn’t say a word, but his knowing smile was telling. He noticed the way Riddle held her during their dance. Maybe he would take the hint that she wasn’t interested.
“Want more?”
“Sure!” she licked her dry lips, feeling parched. This time, she joined Barnabas at the refreshments table. No chance she was going to be caught alone again, and she refused to rejoin Gussie.
He filled her goblet, which she drank down just as quickly as the first.
This would be a fantastic night! She wouldn’t let Riddle ruin this for her. She shoved any thoughts of him and their increasingly complex relationship into a small box in her mind and sealed it shut. Tomorrow, she could sift through the chaos held there. Today, she would dance.
Barnabas handed her a third goblet filled with the sweet punch. The stuff tasted good. Better than the beverages served at the Yule Ball. She felt like a weight was lifting from her shoulders as she talked easily with Barnabas. Alfred and Julia joined. The next thing she knew, she was back on the dance floor.
As the night went on, the musicians veered towards more energetic jazz tunes. The moon appeared in the enchanted ceiling and the candle flames turned a crystal blue. Ice crystals dripped from the candles, creating glittering luminance that reflected around the room.
Hermione danced with Barnabas, Julia, and even Alfred. She laughed. All her worries vanished, and she felt a newfound sense of liberation. It had been ages since she last experienced this feeling, and now it came rushing back to her in full force. She missed this.
She did not think about Tom Riddle.
Her feet were light as she twirled around the Great Hall. Gussie and Ignatius joined them, joining in the dancing. To Hermione’s relief, her friend dropped her questions about Riddle.
Alastor, Archie, and Minerva found them next. The band played a slow, sensual melody. Ignatius, with encouragement from Gussie, broke off to dance with Lucinda Black.
Hermione laughed as Alastor resisted Archie’s attempts to waltz with him. “C’mon Alastor! You’re my best friend! Dance with me!”
“Absolutely not!”
“But what are friends for then?!” Alastor ignored him and took Minerva’s hand and spun her through the crowd, leaving Archie frowning after them like a lost puppy.
Gussie grinned and tapped Archie’s shoulder, “I’ll dance with you, Archie.” There was no amusement in the smile he gave her.
How much time passed? Hermione never wanted to stop. Everything she wanted was here! There was punch, cookies, and dancing. Music. Friends. Faces.
There were a lot of faces. They all blurred past her in a swirl of motion within her euphoric haze.
Gussie found her later. She said something to her. Hermione couldn’t make out the words. Her voice sounded muffled. She looked worried. What was there to be worried about? Perhaps she also needed to lock her concerns away in a box to deal with tomorrow.
Barnabas stood beside her. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. The more she spun, the more disoriented she became. She felt warm. Maybe it was all the dancing? The free feeling was morphing into something sinister.
She was going to be sick.
It was snowing now. Where was Gussie? Wasn’t she here? The oppressive heat made Hermione's breathing feel heavy and labored.
The ceiling resembled soft snowflakes falling from the sky. Maybe if she went outdoors, she would feel better. It must be cold outside. It was sweltering here. Her legs trembled. Had she danced too much?
Barnabas had her arm looped in his.
“The doors…” she said, trying to head towards the exit leading outside. To the crisp night air.
“Not now.” He continued speaking, but that was all she could comprehend. The sounds made no sense. Or was he done talking?
She moved. Her legs barely held her weight. She clung to a point of stability within her reach to keep from falling.
Who was talking?
Right… Barnabas Cuffe. He guided her with a firm grip, leading her… somewhere. Where were they headed?
She stumbled over her feet, and the support she required shifted and an arm wrapped around her. She couldn’t see whose arm it was. They steadied her.
The castle spun, but she wasn’t dancing anymore… or was she? No, Barnabas was leading her somewhere. Barnabas… her date.
She was going to be sick. Did she tell him that? She needed him to know. Then he would take her outside. Did she tell him she wanted to go someplace cold?
She heard muffled shouting. Hermione realized she wasn’t walking anymore. Who was yelling? What were they fighting about? She couldn’t understand what they were saying. It made her head hurt more. There was a pounding. A heat. It was so hot. Was no one else hot?
An arm squeezed her. She didn’t want to get closer to this person, though! She was already burning. Why would no one put out the fire?
Who was she even with?
Oh… Barnabas…
She swayed. Was the band still playing? That’s why she was swaying. It had to be music. Though she couldn’t hear any. It must be there.
She wasn’t in the Great Hall. Where was she?
With Barnabas Cuffe… that’s right.
Her head shrieked. Screams echoed through her brain. Her knees throbbed. She was on the floor now. She tried to stand. It was no use. She hit her nose. She tried again. No luck. She was stuck. She whimpered.
Something lifted her.
“Hermione, are you okay?” The words sounded oddly crisp. She felt trapped, her body drenched in sweat from the intense heat. Her dress was too heavy. She couldn’t breathe. Suffocating.
That smell… cedar wood and peppermint. Devine scent. She wanted to bury her nose in it.
She spun. Someone spoke. Who was talking to her? She needed help.
Please help…
“Fuck!”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom sulked against the wall while Walburga complained about not dancing. She cried on and on about how he danced with Hermione Granger and not with her. She knew he didn’t want to go to this dance with her. She was the one who pressed the issue. This is what she got.
“Abraxas!” He barked out. His sudden outburst startled Walburga, and she jumped back. Abraxas Malfoy had the decency to look uncertain as he approached. He recognized Tom’s mood for what it was… lethal.
“Yes?”
“Dance with Walburga.” It was not a request. It was an order. Walburga's expression turned sour, her mouth twisting into a scowl. Abraxas eyed Walburga, his gaze wandering down her figure in a leering way.
If Abraxas wanted Walburga, fine. Tom didn’t care. He felt wound so tight he was liable to burst at the seams at any moment. He needed Walburga out of his hair.
Abraxas turned on the charm and fell into a deep bow before the insufferable witch. He kissed her knuckles and asked her to dance. Eventually, much to Tom’s relief, they walked away.
He could see Hermione out there laughing and dancing with Barnabas Cuffe. Some of her other friends joined them.
His skin prickled as Cuffe wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. The guy was scum. It was unacceptable for him to lay a hand on her, no matter the reason. To hold her close like that, inhaling the sweet scent. Bask in the warmth of her body against his.
Barnabas Cuffe had no right!
When Cuffe looked at her, he only saw the pretty brunette witch in her lacy blue dress and caramel eyes. He was too shallow to see deeper. That guy didn’t notice the masks she wore as a guard around everyone. He never realized she carried a web of secrets within her. Her entire life story was a lie. He was too self-absorbed to see how lonely Hermione was. There was a sadness inside her that she hid from the world. A misery that made Tom ache.
Barnabas Cuffe didn’t know just how brilliant she was. That she knew magic well beyond any level of training Hogwarts provided.
Was he aware that she couldn't care less about quidditch? Or that she likes her coffee with a generous amount of cream and no sugar? Did he know all her quills were feather-bare since she stroked the feathers when studying?
Tom doubted Cuffe had ever seen her raw and vulnerable. Held her close while she cried…
No… Cuffe didn’t see Hermione the way Tom did.
Her smile stretched from ear to ear, radiating pure delight. Like she wanted Cuffe to touch her. Tom could tell by the look in her eyes that Cuffe wasn't the one she desired.
Right?
Yes… her expression was devoid of its usual passion. She didn’t want Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe. Tom was certain. He had to, needed to believe it. If he didn’t, he would lose his mind.
“What’s going on with you, Tom.” Reinhardt Lestrange, perhaps the only person he could tolerate just then, approached him with a drink in hand, taking a slow sip from the goblet.
“I’m fine.” He felt an actual sense of insanity creeping into his thoughts. His veins burned with anger yet he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him! Why was this girl always getting under his skin? Why was she so special?!
To make things worse, he snapped at her while they danced! Why did he have to go and imply she was a whore for arriving on Barnabas’s arm? Despite her attempts to hide the hurt, he knew his words stung her.
How was he supposed to fix this?! It wasn’t supposed to go like that! He couldn’t control his own thoughts these days, let alone the things that spilled from his mouth. This wasn’t like him! What was he even doing?!
He needed to focus. To think. He yearned to escape the madness. He needed peace! But the only time his mind stopped racing in the last three weeks was when he had her against the bathroom sink. When he was inhaling the air from her lungs and running his hands over her skin. All the chaos in his head halted, and he existed in the moment. He never felt more alive.
It ended too soon.
Cuffe spun her, and she tripped over her own feet, falling into his arms while laughing.
Tom grunted and ran his hands through his hair.
“I see...” Reinhardt said, following Tom’s gaze.
“What?”
“You’re jealous. You want the girl? He has the girl.”
“What the hell?!”
“You’ve done nothing but watch her for the entire night. You aren’t exactly subtle.”
“I… he doesn’t have her!”
“Are you sure about that?”
Tom clenched his jaw so tight his chin ached. Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe didn’t have her. She didn’t want that prat. That would be ridiculous!
They stood in silence for a moment. Watching the dancing as the song wound down to an end.
“Damn!” He felt his body vibrating with tension.
“What is going on between you and her? You’re the most popular guy in the school. Girls practically beg for your attention.”
“She doesn’t want me,” the words tumbled out of his unwilling lips.
“Doubtful.”
“She doesn’t want me!” Even as he spoke, part of him didn’t believe what he said. She wanted him… he knew that. He could feel it. She just hadn’t realized it yet. So here they were, Tom watching her dance with some other guy.
“So that’s what this is? You’re pissed that a girl doesn’t want you. You want what you can’t have.”
“This discussion is over.”
“Tom.”
“Over!” He wouldn’t tolerate being deemed as petty! This wasn’t as trivial as him wanting what he couldn’t have. There was nothing that said he couldn’t have Hermione Granger. He would have her, even if he had to cast an Imperius Curse to make it happen.
But forcing her wouldn’t be enough. It was cheap and easy. He would get under her skin just like she got under his. It would feel so bloody good…
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Reinhardt didn’t move, waiting for Tom to either speak or dismiss him. When Tom opened his eyes again, he saw Hermione talking with her friend, Augusta Crouch. Julia Brown and Alfred Hensley, the couple that was friends with Cuffe, danced next to them. They were actually not dancing so much as snogging passionately in the middle of the dance floor.
Barnabas Cuffe was nowhere to be seen.
“Reinhardt, what happened between you and Julia Brown?” Tom glanced at Reinhardt. The boy stared back at him. The abrupt change in subject caught Reinhardt off guard.
Reinhardt opened his mouth, and then promptly closed it. Tom watched his throat bob with a hard swallow before he spoke. “Julia?”
“Yes, you were dating Julia Brown last year. Now you’re not. What happened?” Tom never cared to ask his friend about his relationship with the girl. He wouldn’t care if he didn’t have a vested interest in figuring out the way girls worked. What made them tick? How did they think?
“We broke up.” Reinhardt answered. He averted his eyes, deciding that a brick on the wall was more interesting than anything else going on in the Great Hall.
“I’m aware you broke up. I want to know why.”
Reinhardt grimaced, choosing his words carefully before answering. “I broke up with her.”
Tom scowled. His friend wasn’t looking at him. “So help me, Lestrange, if you continue evading the question I will—”
Reinhardt never had to find out what Tom would do. “I dumped her because she loved me, and I didn’t… I couldn’t love her. She was going on and on about our future. Planned this whole life together. My family pushed the match with her. A pretty little pure-blood princess. She was nice. I enjoyed having her around, I guess... but she looked at me with these big doe eyes and it just freaked me out! She wanted more! She tried to push things further between us. Said I was the one. Then a wedding was brought up by our families. Discussions about engagement announcements and children. Julia agreed, but it seemed fast! She said it would be easiest to just go along with it all. Said it wasn’t happening tomorrow and there was no harm in letting our families plan! I thought that was fine. I could do that. Then she said she loved me. I froze. She expected me to say it back. I choked. I couldn’t keep it up anymore. The pretense that—”
“Stop talking,” Tom said. Reinhardt’s rambling showed his nerves. His face flushed and his eyes widened as he stared at nothing in particular.
So Reinhardt broke the girl’s heart, and she bounced back on Alfred Hensley, a boring Mudblood. She probably chose a Muggle-born specifically as a jab to Reinhardt’s ego. But Reinhardt said nothing about Julia dating someone else. He acted unaffected by it.
Someone loved Reinhardt though? That idea floated through Tom’s mind. Nobody had ever genuinely loved him. But he also never sought love. Even now, he wasn’t sure he wanted it.
But he wanted Hermione Granger. That much, he couldn’t deny.
“Your parents didn’t have you take an unbreakable vow?” Tom asked. Abraxas took one, said he would marry the girl his family wanted and fuck whoever he pleased on the side. Tom never asked if Norris had one.
“No, my grandmother said she would disown my father if he made me take one.” He smirked like it was a fond memory. “She always resented the vow her family forced her into with my grandfather.”
Tom nodded.
He turned around to check on Hermione. “Where did she go?” He shouted. He looked away for ten seconds! Or did Reinhardt ramble longer than that?
“What?”
Tom ignored Reinhardt as he pushed through the crowd of students on the dance floor, looking for a glimpse of that lacy, blue dress… fitted around her gorgeous curves.
Crouch talked to Ignatius Prewitt, with Hermione nowhere near them. Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall danced together. Archie Longbottom stood next to them, dancing solo with chaotic jerking movements. Julia Brown and Alfred Hensley were still evaluating each other's tonsils with their tongues.
She wasn’t by the refreshments. The table she was at earlier was empty.
Cuffe was gone, too. Did he take her somewhere? No way, no way!
He would kill him. He would end Barnabas Cuffe if he touched her.
Tom exited the Great Hall to see a mostly deserted corridor. One couple was walking together from the main entrance. They were complaining about some frigid rain as they reentered the ball. Cuffe wouldn’t take her outside then.
Tom headed in the opposite direction. Where did they bloody go? There was no way Cuffe walked her back to her dorm like some act of chivalry. It was still early. Would he take her to the Ravenclaw dorms?
He knew the layout of this castle better than anyone. Hell, he had sex with Walburga in almost every broom cupboard and alcove. The ground floor had a small storage space halfway down the hall. If Tom was going to fuck a girl during this dance, that’s where he would take her.
He had his wand out in an instant as he stormed in that direction. With each step, his feet reverberated against the cold, unforgiving stone. His heart pounded. He could still hear the music from the Great Hall and the chattering of students, but the roar in his head was louder.
How did I lose sight of her?
He waved his wand and the door burst open. The wood cracked against the stone wall as it hit with explosive force. Empty…
The noise in his head increased in volume. His rage blinded him, his vision becoming hazy.
There were dozens of places to hide in this castle. They couldn’t have gotten far. He needed to pull it together, to think.
He paused for one breath. A single inhale, followed by an exhale.
“Hot…” Her soft voice broke through the noise, and everything was instantly quiet. He spun around, looking for the source.
“I know, I’ll help…” the Arithmancy classroom!
“Get your hands off her, Cuffe.” Tom had his wand out and pointed at Cuffe as he slammed the door of the classroom open.
Cuffe only looked surprised to see Tom. He was not in Slytherin. If he had been, he would have dropped Hermione and ran. If he had been in Slytherin, he would have known just how vicious Tom’s anger could be.
Cuffe wasn’t privy to those things. He saw Tom and his wand as a mere obstacle, maybe even some big misunderstanding. Tom would be sure to set the record straight.
“Is there a problem, Riddle?” he asked indifferently, stepping back from Hermione. She had a faraway look. Her red-painted lips curved in a gentle smile. The dress slipped down her arms, revealing a tantalizing view of the top curve of her breasts. Had Cuffe done that?
“Riddle,” Hermione said, pronouncing his name more like Rithle.
Just how much punch did she drink? What had they spiked it with this year?
Her legs wobbled. She gasped for air. Tom’s wand shook with repressed rage.
“What was in the punch?”
Cuffe shrugged. “No idea, I didn’t spike it.” Hermione stumbled and Cuffe stabilized her. He snaked his arm around his witch!
“Who did?”
“That’s a Ravenclaw secret,” Cuffe replied sourly. He hauled Hermione closer to his side, and she gripped his waist to steady herself.
Tom stepped forward, his eyes glaring daggers at Cuffe. His face lit up as he passed into the silvery patch of moonlight coming from a high-up window. There was no hiding his tense, threatening posture. The wand in his hand glowed with the force of his magic.
He wanted to curse Cuffe… he wanted to do worse. He was so furious he felt smothered by it.
“I will be nice and give you one more chance, Cuffe, who the fuck spiked the punch.” He enunciated each word clearly. Not yelling, but speaking low and dangerous. His grip on his wand tightened. His jaw set.
Tom saw the moment Cuffe realized just how serious Tom was. He tried taking a step back but struggled with Hermione hanging on him. His eyes scanned the room looking for an escape, but he had to know there was only one way in and out of this room and Tom was in front of it.
“It…It was,” he stammered. “It was Alfred Hensley this year,” his voice sounded small and weak, squeaking slightly at the end of his sentence. Tom would deal with Hensley later.
“And what exactly did Hensley put in the punch?”
“Honest! I don’t know what he added! He didn’t tell me! I don’t know!” He spoke in a hurry, the words tumbling out of his mouth.
There was a twitch in Cuffe’s expression that gave him away. A tremor. He didn’t meet Tom’s eyes when he spoke. His posture shifted. Tom knew the signs. “You’re lying!”
“Hot,” Hermione mumbled, her face flushed. She tugged at the neckline of her dress. She would expose her nipples if she pulled the fabric any lower. As much as Tom dreamed of seeing those breasts, he wouldn’t let that happen with Cuffe here.
“It’s hot.” Her gloves were missing. Where did they go?
“I’m really not sure! It was some sort of mix of a Strengthening Solution, Euphoria Elixir, Heating Infusion. I’m not really sure!”
“And you just let her drink the potion dumping ground!”
“I thought—”
“What? That she would be an easy fuck in this state?!” Cuffe looked desperate.
“No! I wouldn’t!” He glanced around the room as if expecting something to come out and save him. The only thing he had was a disoriented Hermione lolling her head against his chest.
No… he didn’t have her. He would never have her!
“Crucio!” The Unforgivable Curse glided off his tongue with ease. Like it was second nature and not the first time he ever used the Cruciatus Curse on another person. He practiced on animals plenty.
Barnabas Cuffe fell to the ground; screaming, spasming, writhing. He deserved this. He planned to fuck Hermione in this empty classroom in her delirious state. This curse wasn’t unforgivable, Cuffe was. He had brought this pain upon himself, and now he must face the consequences. He earned every second of agony… Every tear streaming down his face… He deserved death for what he wanted to do to Tom’s little lion.
“S—stop! Aghh!”
Tom released the spell and silenced the room. Cuffe’s screaming was a tad loud. Tom really didn’t want to be caught. It would be a hassle to erase the memories of whoever saw him. Plus, he wanted to take his time destroying Cuffe.
The pause gave Cuffe a moment of respite. Tom watched him, satisfied with how the boy heaved for air. Blood streamed from his nose. His limbs still spasmed with residual pain. He rolled on his side and vomited.
“Please…” he sobbed once he finally caught his breath. “Please don’t…”
“I’m not done with you yet, Cuffe. But I’ll be generous and give you a brief break.” There was nothing kind about the smile that spread over Tom’s lips.
Cuffe cried on his side. Trembling. Tom should kill him and be done with it. He wasn’t worth mercy. It was sickening. But then, he didn’t deserve a quick death either. He deserved pain. Endless agony. Nobody would ever mess with his little lion and get away with it!
She. Was. Off. Limits!
She is mine!
“CRUCIO!” The screaming fueled Tom. He felt powerful! This was what he wanted! He wanted Cuffe to suffer! The empty classroom echoed with his yells and sobs. He cried as his limbs bent in unnatural directions. His whole body contorting against his will. His eyes bulged as his voice croaked.
Tom held the spell for what felt like an eternity. Was Cuffe dying? Tom lacked the experience to identify the signs of impending death brought on by the Cruciatus Curse.
Cuffe’s face turned red with a silent scream. He couldn’t stop long enough to refill his lungs with air. The lack of oxygen made him purple. Another minute of this, and Barnabas Cuffe really would die.
Tom released the spell to consider his options.
Killing Cuffe would be simple, but then he would have to dispose of the body. A mild inconvenience. There would be an investigation after, but Tom wasn’t too worried about that. He had this school wrapped around his finger. Everyone here was like pawns on his chessboard. Everyone except Hermione, but his queen was out of commission right now.
Cuffe twitched on the ground, his sobs echoing through the empty classroom. “Y—you c—c—can’t,” he said once he found his voice.
“Can’t I?” Tom smirked. A numb void of anger and power surged through him. He felt almost exhilarated.
“P—please…” Cuffe sounded like he was choking on something. Perhaps it was blood? Maybe saliva? More vomit? “P—p—please…”
“You disgust me,” Tom hissed. He stepped closer, looming over Cuffe. The weakling's only response was to cry.
Tom dropped to one knee, avoiding his pooled blood, vomit, and what Tom thought might be piss, all mixing on the floor. “Tell me, Cuffe, does it hurt?”
He sobbed, pulling his legs to his chest and curling into a ball.
“Don’t worry, nobody can hear you. I silenced the room and locked the door. We have all the time in the world.”
His tears mixed with the blood bubbling from his mouth and nose. It dripped down his face and turned parts of his blonde hair red.
“S—s—stop,” he shook too hard to get his words out clearly.
“I don’t think so.” He pointed his wand at his forehead. “Crucio.”
The wails started again; the noise sounding unnatural. His back arched. Tom heard a snap that sounded like a bone breaking. He wondered which one.
Perhaps death would be a mercy at this point. Tom never considered himself merciful.
Hermione stumbled as she tried to stand, distracting Tom from his spell. The curse stopped as his attention wavered to the girl that haunted his very soul. The lion who was now on the floor.
When had she fallen? He supposed she fell when Cuffe did. She was using him for support, after all. Now, she was having immense difficulty getting onto her hands and knees. Her arms weren’t strong enough to hold her up. Her knees repeatedly slipped from under her. Side effects of too much Strengthening Solution, extreme weakness.
She was in no state to walk. Tom watched her try over and over, still on one knee with his wand pointed at Cuffe. He was doing this for her, but somehow, amidst everything, he forgot she was there. Vulnerable and incoherent. Beautiful in her light blue dress and those breasts… so close to being revealed…
Tom swallowed and refocused.
After a few more attempts, she balanced on her hands and knees, but she couldn’t figure out what to do next.
Her hair, which was elegantly styled earlier, fell out of its twist. It wasn’t her normal untamed curls, though. Waves of golden-brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. She was breathtaking.
She attempted to stand but became dejected when her efforts failed. Her entire body flushed with the effort. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
Tom lowered his wand and watched her struggling next to Cuffe’s twitching form. He sobbed. Hermione furrowed her brow, her expression filled with confusion.
“D—d—don’t…” Cuffe said after a much longer time. He looked bloody terrified. He feared Tom Riddle now. How satisfying. Perhaps someday he would end his worthless life, but unfortunately, not today.
“Don’t worry,” Tom smiled, addressing Cuffe. He shifted further away from Cuffe’s body as the puddle of mixed bodily fluids expanded. “You won’t remember it was me.” he pressed his wand into Cuffe’s forehead, making an indent. Cuffe stopped breathing.
“P—please….” He pleaded. Tom hated people who begged. Weak.
He snarled down at the boy lying on the stone ground. “You’re pathetic, Cuffe. You won’t remember me, but I’ll make sure you always remember the fucking pain. Obliviate!”
With that, he pocketed his wand as Barnabas Cuffe collapsed in an unconscious heap on the floor. He stared down at the mess of a boy. He would stay far away from his witch now.
A sniffing noise that drew his attention. Hermione was still on her hands and knees but cried. He could only assume it was from frustration at her inability to stand up. What was in that punch? Everyone knew the risk of drinking the punch at the Yule Ball! What was she thinking?!
The Euphoria Elixir part must be wearing off by the looks of it. But Cuffe wasn’t privy to all the potions dumped in the punch and Tom doubted Alfred did any research on potion interactions with each other.
“Hermione?” Tom approached her carefully. Not sure what sort of behavior she may exhibit in this state. Tom did just attack her date, though she seemed too preoccupied to notice.
She didn’t respond as she tried to stand again, but her foot tangled in the hem of her long dress, and she collapsed to the floor. She would have landed on her chin had Tom not swept down and caught her.
He helped her to an awkward standing position. She hung on to him to keep her balance. Her entire body was warm, covered with a layer of perspiration.
If she was in her right mind, she would never have her arms wrapped around him. Her cheek pressed into his chest. He could feel her panting breaths caressing his neck. She gripped his dress robes tight in her small fists like he was her anchor. Like she was afraid he might leave her.
He would never leave her.
What was he supposed to do now? Cuffe wouldn’t be out for long.
“Hold onto me,” he said, sweeping her hair behind her shoulders and readjusting her dress. It was difficult to focus when her nearly bare breasts pressed against him like that.
When she was decent again, he pulled her back against him. He buried his nose in her curls, breathing in the fragrance that he wanted to smother himself in. It calmed his rage. Allowed him to recenter. She needed him right now.
“Can you walk?”
“Mff flp,” she said. He hadn’t realized her face was suffocating in his chest. He interpreted her response as a ‘no’.
He tried again, adjusting her head for her. “Hermione, are you okay?” He studied her expression. Her glassy eyes gazed into the distance, looking at nothing.
Next thing he knew, her head drooped back, and her body lost the ability to support itself.
“Fuck!” She went limp in his arms.
Notes:
Chapter 18 Song: How Villains Are Made: Madalen Duke. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Gotta love Tom's perspective 🖤🖤
Update: Reread and edited June 10, 2025
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Chapter 19: 19: The Damsel and her Dark Knight
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom carried Hermione up multiple flights of stairs to the Room of Hidden Things. It would have been easier to levitate her unconscious body, but carrying her felt like some kind of sweet torture.
Her head lulled against his shoulder with each step he took. Her skin blazed with a fiery heat where his hand made contact.
What was in the bloody punch?! What did Cuffe plan to do with her?!
Tom should have killed Cuffe when he had the chance. Left him dead rather than beaten and unaware in a pile of his own blood, vomit, and piss.
Tom was being merciful, and Cuffe didn’t deserve his mercy. He would never touch his witch again.
He didn’t notice how tight he clutched Hermione until she whimpered.
He paused on a landing and took a deep breath, regaining control of his sudden surge of anger. The honey and apples infiltrated his lungs like he just swallowed a Draught of Peace. Her soft, sleeping body stirred. He had to get her somewhere safe.
When he finally got to the empty wall, he debated what to do. He paced in front of the tapestry of dancing trolls, adjusting her in his arms.
He imagined stumbling upon a welcoming mattress or comfortable couch inside, a place where he could lay her down to sleep. Objects and rubbish cluttered the room. Worst-case scenario, he’d transfigure a bundle of blankets for her to curl up on.
What if she was sick in the morning? It wouldn’t be unexpected in the aftermath of a potion overdose. What would he do then? She already felt too warm.
It made more sense to find her friend, Augusta Crouch, to take her back to her common room. He could take her to the hospital wing… But leaving her somewhere in this condition—so vulnerable—he hated it. Tom couldn’t bear the idea of being separated from her. He had already lost sight of her once this evening, which ended in disaster. He wasn’t about to repeat his mistake.
He would take her to the Room of Hidden Things, find a bed, and stay with her…
Tom hadn’t realized how long he had carried her until his arms complained. He adjusted his hold on his witch. As he glanced toward the wall, he discovered it already magically morphed into a door.
Strange… He paced the corridor, but he hadn’t been thinking about needing a place to hide.
Or had he?
Tom maneuvered the handle awkwardly, with the little lion in his hold. Inside weren’t the towering stacks of rubbish and endless rows of objects. Instead, he found himself in a quaint room with an enormous bed covered with a light canopy and what appeared to be soft, white bedding. It came equipped with a hutch, displaying an array of bottles, a stocked bookshelf, and a cozy chaise placed by the bedside. The moon peaked through the windows and illuminated the space. He noticed a fireplace piled with fresh logs, but not lit.
The castle tailored the room to his desires. He never realized what magic ran through this place. He underestimated the Room of Hidden Things.
As he lowered her onto the white sheets, she exhaled with contentment. He covered her in blankets and lit the hearth.
Now what? Should he leave her here?
She slept peacefully… would she know if he crawled on the mattress next to her? If he pulled her against him. If he—
Getting into bed with her was out of the option. His cock ached in resentment at the fleeting thought.
He wanted to, though. He longed to do so much worse.
To distract himself, he shifted through a cabinet of potions the room produced. Every bottle was labeled, so long as he trusted the contents inside. He had no reason not to. He selected a few to have on hand whenever she woke up. She would need them.
Her soft cry caught his attention. Was she hurt? Was she in pain? Did something happen? He was becoming paranoid about this girl! He needed to pull it together.
Her skin glowed a brilliant red as a sheen of perspiration formed on her brow. Her body burned like a fire lit from the inside.
He imagined all the different ways he wanted to destroy Alfred Hensley for making the potion dump. For doing this to her. Hensley would be well acquainted with Tom’s wrath by the end. Or he would be dead.
Both were reasonable outcomes.
His death wouldn’t be slow. First, he would feed the boy all the fucked-up potions he mixed in the punch. Let him experience this for himself. Then, when he believed the worst was over—Tom would torture him until he begged to die. He would grant his wish… eventually.
Hermione made another whimper, pulling him away from his thoughts. He needed to cool her. Beads of sweat dripped down her body. He tracked their progress with his eyes until they disappeared under her dress… or in her hair. She panted.
After a few spells, he chilled blankets and conjured an icy cloth to drape over her forehead. The tightness in her muscles subsided, and she let out a sigh of relief.
He slumped onto the chaise at her bedside. The room knew he wouldn’t leave her side. That he would need a place to sleep.
Tom stayed the rest of the night. His eyes fixed upon her sleeping figure. Hermione lay there, escaping reality in her dreams.
Did she dream of him?
What was he even doing? What was it about her that brought out this side of him? Who was he anymore?
He contemplated leaving. Letting her rest in peace. But nothing would convince his legs to stand and walk out the door.
It was impossible for him to leave her in this condition…
He had to keep her safe. Like a white knight protecting his princess… The hero of some children’s fairytale. But Tom Riddle was no white knight, nor would he ever be the hero of any story. His blackened soul tainted everything he touched. There was nothing chivalrous about the things he desired from her.
In the end, his desire to protect her and keep her comfortable defeated all the opposition. He leaned back on the chaise and stared at the vaulted ceiling.
Who would protect her from him in the morning?
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
The sheets on her bed were soft under her fingertips. There was a crackle of a fire, popping behind her closed eyelids. Her limbs felt like wet noodles and her head was heavy.
What happened?
She danced with Riddle, then she walked away with Barnabas. After that, she remembered feeling jubilant. Almost euphoric. But then the night got more blurred. She felt sick. She recalled the heat. A relentless warmth that she couldn’t escape. It was snowing. She wanted to go outside. Did she ever make it?
Why was her memory so hazy?
She stared up at the vaulted ceiling high above her. Moonlight seeped through the windows and the fire crackled in the hearth.
Fireplace? Vaulted ceilings?
This wasn’t the Gryffindor dormitory! She wasn’t in her bed!
She bolted upright, finding herself unsteady, and almost tumbled off the mattress. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar place. She hadn’t realized there was a cold, damp cloth draped across her forehead until it fell into a wet lump in her lap. The room was small but contained a gigantic bed that faced a roaring fireplace. Her blankets were cool to the touch. Someone stocked the cabinets on her right with various potions and basic salves. A red chaise sat beside the bed on her left with a sleeping form curled up.
“Riddle!” she squealed. On instinct, her hand reached for her wand but found the lace of her dress instead of pockets. She hadn’t brought her wand to the dance! Now she regretted not strapping it to her thigh, but she never thought she would need it!
Surely the Slytherins didn’t get private glamorous dorms like this… so where was she?
Her eyes caught the door behind Riddle. If she could walk, she would rush to the exit and escape this place, but her deceitful legs trembled as she tried to move them. She doubted they would support her weight. Her whole body felt weak. She was having enough trouble staying upright in bed. Her only consolation was her scar wasn’t hurting this morning since she took her potion a day early.
What did Riddle do to her? All this started after they danced. What was his game? She needed answers! Why was he sleeping here?!
Hermione glanced at him, his face serene as he slept. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him without his signature intensity masking his expression. She couldn’t believe he would let his guard down and sleep with her here. Did he trust her that much? Didn’t he have any sense of self-preservation?!
He looked so handsome. The peaceful look almost made him… cute. A subtle smile played on his lips. She wondered what he dreamed about. Sometimes she dreamed of him… did he dream of her?
She needed to wake him up. Her hand wrapped around the wet cloth, and she chucked the rag at Riddle’s sleeping form. There was a satisfying slap as it nailed him on the cheek.
“Argh!” He jumped to his feet, disoriented. “What is wrong with you, Hermione?”
“Where am I Riddle? What did you do to me?” He threw the rag to the ground and scowled. His wand was out in an instant and he sent the cloth soaring into the roaring fire. He stared down at her, armed with his wand, his eyes running over her entire body in an appraising, almost sinful, way. She felt helpless, couldn’t stand, and her only defense, a wet rag, was now burning to ash.
He ran his free hand through his sexy, disheveled hair and straightened his dress robes. He looked like he was trying to come to grips with himself after waking up from a deep sleep.
“Answer me, Riddle!” She shouted. She wanted to sound intimidating, but instead the strength of her core muscles gave way, and she collapsed back into the pillows. Her body tingled. Her limbs were numb. How long would this last? Was this some kind of weakness potion?
“Give me a bloody second to wake up!” She spotted a clock behind his head that read six o’clock. Gussie must be worried sick.
“Have I been here all night?!” she asked. Panic rose in her gut.
“I brought you here to rest after you passed out on me!” He said after a while. He was stretching out the kinks in his neck. Probably developed those sleeping on the chaise. She was relieved that he didn't climb into bed beside her. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
She considered that. She went through the night in chronological order, starting from when she entered the Great Hall. Dinner. Dancing with Barnabas and friends. Then she danced with Riddle. She sat down and Gussie harassed her before Hermione stormed off to find Barnabas again.
“I danced with my friends,” she said. She squinted as if it would help her see through the fog of her memories. “I danced with Barnabas, Julia, Alfred... I was having fun.”
“And after all the fun?” To her relief, he pocketed his wand again.
She furrowed her brow, straining to piece together any thoughts, but her mind remained blank. It was giving her a headache. “Where is Barnabas?” she asked instead.
“Who cares?” Riddle scoffed.
“He was my date, Riddle! Where did he go?”
“Hell if I know.” He sat again, leaning forward, closer to her. Was that dried blood on the sleeve of his robes?
“What did you do to him?”
“You’re quick to assume I did something to your precious boyfriend.”
“It wouldn’t be out of character for you.” She ignored the ‘boyfriend’ comment. Maybe that’s why he sat back with a disgruntled huff.
“True,” he shrugged. His frankness surprised her. “What does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Is that blood on your sleeve?”
“It might be,” he said as if it was of little consequence.
“Why are you being so difficult?!”
“I’m being difficult? You’re the one yelling at me after I helped your ungrateful ass!” He jumped to his feet.
“Helped me after you poisoned me! Did you expect me to thank you?!”
Riddle walked around the bed to the cabinet and shifted through the contents. She could tell how angry he was by the tension in his muscles. He muttered curses under his breath every few seconds. He tossed a few bottles on the mattress beside her. “Drink those.”
“I’m not drinking anything from you!”
“What is your problem?!” He looked indignant. His handsome face set and jaw tight. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“What did you do to me, Riddle!”
“You think I did this to you?” he hissed. There was fire in his eyes. His face contorted with rage.
“Of course you did! Who else could it have been?”
“Why would I give you something that knocked you out and then carry you up seven flights of stairs?! I laid you down in the bed to sleep with chilled blankets and a cool washcloth on your head when you practically drenched yourself in sweat! I helped you drink potions whenever you cried out through the night! I even cleaned up after you vomited all over yourself! Then I slept on this uncomfortable chaise!”
She vomited on herself? She might die of embarrassment. Hermione wanted to believe him. But she had no reason to trust him. Not now. Not after everything that’s happened since she came to this world. And the horrible things he did in her reality. That person still existed inside him somewhere. “Do you have another explanation for what happened? This all started after you danced with me, Riddle!”
“Your date served you a large amount of potion-spiked punch. A concoction of Strengthening Solution, Euphoria Elixir, and Heating Infusion, though he wasn’t confident.”
She frowned. Overdose of Strengthening Solution would also explain her weakness this morning. It could be true. “He wouldn’t do that,” Hermione said. It must have been a mistake.
“Wouldn’t he?”
“No! Barnabas has only ever treated me kindly, unlike you—”
“You don’t know shit about it!”
“Am I wrong?!” she asked.
“Yes!”
“Then what happened, Riddle?!”
“I already told you, Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe—”
“I heard what you said. I don’t believe you!”
She recognized the fiery rage in his eyes. She wondered if he would start casting curses at her again—like the last time she made him this furious. His anger felt too raw and potent. Somehow, she held her ground.
“I don't think you would believe me no matter what I told you,” he said, his words laced with bitterness.
The fire in the hearth grew, glowing off his profile. The heat of his magic suffocated the air. “Why are you so angry all the time?!” she asked.
“Right now, you! Because you’re accusing me, and I thought…” he trailed off. His eyes darted around the room with a fierce intensity. He looked ready to smash everything in sight with his fists.
“You thought what?” Her lips curled into a snarl.
“You know what? I don’t have to stay here and put up with this!”
“Excuse me? You never told me where I am!”
“You’re in that Room of Hidden things, or whatever you call this place! Have a pleasant holiday.” With that, he stomped to the door and flung it open, slamming it shut behind him. He left Hermione weak and alone inside the Room of Requirement. A room only they knew about. Nobody would come by and help her.
She sighed and reached out for the potion bottles beside her. One was a small round bottle with a glass cork. Written in a messy scrawl, read Strengthening Solution. If the bottle could be believed, it would help her feel better. The trick to treating an overdose of Strengthening Solution was to prevent the horrible crash. Steady intake with a regimented tapering of the dose.
The next bottle she grabbed was a tall thin jar labeled Pepper-up Potion. Another thing that would help if she could trust the contents inside.
The last tiny vial contained a few drops of the Draught of Peace. Hermione could go for something calming right now. She teetered on the brink, her body taut, and her head felt like it was being crushed. She struggled to move. At this rate, she would be stuck in this bed for the foreseeable future. She grimaced.
If it had been Riddle, it must have been a slow-acting poison. The symptoms worsened throughout the night. Unless… could he be telling the truth about the punch? Hermione drank multiple goblets of the stuff as the evening went on. Barnabas always kept it filled… did he do this? Did he know?
She pushed the covers off her body and examined her condition. Her dress was intact, covering her from head to toe. No part was out of place. Despite looking wrinkled and disheveled from being slept in, it showed no signs of damage.
She felt sticky with dried sweat, but no blood or bruises to be found. She appeared physically uninjured. Emotionally, she was torn between screaming and crying.
What was the point of all this? What did he intend to do with her? Tom Riddle didn’t make kind gestures. He must have had an ulterior motive.
She looked up at the high vaulted ceiling and thought through her options. She could take the potions, trusting they were what they said they were. Then again, she was dealing with Tom Riddle, a cunning, manipulative boy who became the darkest wizard the world had ever seen…. It stood to reason that he may try to trick her with a few mislabeled potion bottles.
One bottle could have Veritaserum. He could drag her secrets out of her. Learn about the potential future from her. He knew she had secrets she would never share. Not willingly.
If he was going to give her Veritaserum, wouldn’t he stick around for the questioning? He stormed out with a note of finality. He wasn’t likely to come back.
She decided to wait an hour for Riddle to return. If she still couldn’t move, then she would take the potions.
Five minutes passed. Was Barnabas looking for her? The last time she saw him, they were dancing through the Great Hall. Did she want him to find her? She didn’t know what to believe…
Ten minutes. Should she report this to someone? What would she say? That she woke up alone in a place nobody else knew about.
She could keep it vague. Tell them she woke up somewhere with Tom Riddle. People would assume she was there willingly. A whole different rumor would spread about her and Riddle that she didn’t want to deal with. Maybe she should make sure she got the facts straight before she reported based on suspicion.
Thirty minutes flew by. The roaring fireplace made it uncomfortably hot. She recalled the cool feeling of the blankets that she kicked off her earlier. She pulled them up to her chin and sighed in relief. Better.
Forty-five minutes passed. The numbness in her limbs improved. Hermione wiggled her toes but had difficulty moving her legs. She was still too weak to walk.
After an hour, she resigned herself to take the potions. To her relief, she felt better after drinking the three small bottles.
With the potions down and her ears smoking, she could stand again. She combed her fingers through her hair, and tried to straighten the wrinkles in her gown to look presentable when she walked back to the Gryffindor common room.
Even though she didn’t run into any students, the portraits talked.
“Who do you think she was with?”
“Students these days with no care for dignity!”
“Is that girl still wearing her dress?”
“Oh dear, hope she was safe—”
“An embarrassment—”
Hermione ignored all of them. Luckily, she didn’t have to walk far. The Room of Requirement was on the same floor as Gryffindor Tower.
“M’lady! We were worried that the enemy captured you!” Sir Cadogan said. “I knew that traitor couldn’t be trusted! This is war! These are—”
Hermione was in no mood. “I’m fine—in memoriam,” she snapped, cutting off whatever he was about to say.
He ignored her. “Did you uncover—”
“In memoriam, Sir Cadogan! Let me in!” He looked put out but swung open so she could crawl through.
She was barely inside when a figure leaped on her. “Hermione! I was so worried!” Gussie flung herself into Hermione’s arms, practically knocking her over. “What happened? Where were you? I looked for you everywhere! Didn’t sleep! I asked everyone if they had seen you, but nobody knew where you were. We couldn’t find Barnabas at first either! But then… I mean, did he—did…”
“Nothing happened.” It wasn’t exactly true, but Hermione didn’t want to rehash a night she couldn’t remember. She glanced around and noticed a few early risers getting up for the day. “Why are you up?” She asked her friend.
Gussie's brow furrowed with irritation. “You were missing! We couldn’t find you!” Gussie’s sudden outburst got the attention of the few students in the common room. Eyes turned to Hermione. Coming back early in the morning, still in her formal dress, wasn’t giving others the best impression.
“Um… can we talk upstairs?”
“Sure…” Gussie looked relieved, and Hermione followed her up the winding staircase. Sonya, their roommate, wasn’t there. Hermione would not question her stroke of luck. Gussie turned on Hermione as the door clicked shut.
“Where were you?! I looked for you for hours!”
“It’s… I think he drugged me.” Tears welled up in Hermione’s eyes as the significance of what happened finally caught up with her. A surge of emotions flooded over her, threatening to drown her in their intensity.
Gussie’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“Riddle!” Gussie looked shocked. “I don’t know what happened! I wasn’t myself and then I just can’t remember! It all started after I danced with Riddle! He did something to me!” She collapsed back on her bed, leaving her friend standing in the middle of the room.
Gussie shook her head, looking sad. “No…”
“What?”
“Hermione… I forgot to tell you before the dance… It slipped my mind. Everybody already knows about it, it didn’t occur to me you wouldn’t. I’m really sorry… I’m so sorry.”
“Know what?”
“The Ravenclaws spike the punch every year. Everyone knows you shouldn’t have more than a single glass of the stuff if you’re daring enough to risk it at all. And I mentioned something to Cuffe, but he insisted it was your first drink! But then you got more—uh, off—as the night went! I knew he was lying. Someone kept filling your glass!” She looked frantic, pacing the dorm in her long sweeping dress. She hadn’t changed yet.
“I tried to tell you, but you were so far gone. There was no getting through to you. I took the punch away, but you got mad! You refilled it yourself and drank more! I found Ignatius and told him I was going to take you back to the dorms, but you vanished! We couldn’t find you anywhere. I’ve been looking for you ever since. Where the hell were you?”
“I woke up in a,” she hesitated. She couldn’t say anything about the Room of Requirement. She bit her lip and blurted the first thing that came to mind, “a storage room.”
“A storage room.”
“Yes, in a bed.”
“You woke up in a bed in a storage room?”
“That’s correct.”
“By yourself?”
“Not exactly.”
“We found Cuffe unconscious in the Arithmancy classroom, so you weren’t with him this whole time. He looked… well… he looked terrible, honestly.” Gussie’s brows furrowed. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him. Was it Cuffe’s blood on Riddle’s sleeve? What did he do to him?
“I was with Tom Riddle.” Hermione admitted.
“You were with Tom Riddle in a bed in a storage room…”
“Riddle wasn’t in bed with me!”
“Hermione, be honest, do you need the contraceptive charm? There’s a time limit for when you have to use it. There’s a potion too. I think it has a longer time window but I’m not sure. I don’t know the recipe for that, either. Ignatius might, I could—”
“Nothing happened, Gussie!” Hermione was ready to die of embarrassment.
“Sorry! Just—it’s been a long night.” Gussie ran her hands over her face, causing her makeup to smudge even further. She sat on the edge of her bed and kicked off her shoes. Her hair flowed in messy locks over her shoulders. She looked exhausted.
“I was in a bed and Riddle was asleep in a chair, okay… It was fine… what was in the punch exactly?”
“Nobody knows… the Ravenclaws won’t even reveal who made the potions to spike it with. It’s a big Ravenclaw secret thing.”
“So Barnabas… He knew?” Gussie only nodded. She looked about as upset and guilty as Hermione felt. She yelled at Riddle. Accused him of something terrible. He didn’t deserve that.
“Did he try anything?”
“I don’t remember, but Riddle implied he found me before anything could happen.” In reality… It sounded like Riddle may have attacked Cuffe and saved her.
So Riddle told the truth. He brought Hermione to the Room of Requirement to recover. Made sure she was safe and comfortable. He even let her take the enormous bed for herself and he slept slouched in that awkward chaise. Hermione woke up with a cool cloth over her forehead and blankets he somehow enchanted to keep her from getting too hot. He cleaned her up after she vomited all over herself. It was… sweet of him…
She screwed up. She shouldn’t have yelled at him. The guilt gnawed at her. She needed to make it up to him somehow.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Damn ungrateful bloody witch! He helped her, saved her, protected her, stayed with her and made sure she was okay, and what thanks does he get? She turned it around on him and accused him of dosing her with something!
He was livid as he barreled through the castle towards the Slytherin common room. The anger boiled the blood running through his veins. He was losing his sense of reasoning. It became difficult to think.
He wasn’t sure who he was mad at: Cuffe, Hermione, or Alfred Hensley. Maybe all three, but if he ran into Cuffe or Hensley, he would kill them. Hermione wasn’t there, whimpering on the floor to distract him this time.
Part of him hoped he would run into the fucker. For good measure, he descended the stairs to the ground floor and peaked in the Arithmancy classroom. Unfortunately, Cuffe had vacated the room already.
Damnit!
He wanted to destroy something! Someone! Anything!
What did Tom think she would do when she woke up? Did he expect her to be so enamored with his good deed that she would throw herself at him? That she would strip off that dress and beg him to take her?
Sure, he imagined it, but he didn’t believe that would happen. One thing was certain—he hadn’t expected the hostility that radiated from her. Her accusations that he didn’t deserve. Despite his best intentions, she repaid his good deed with ingratitude.
Her rejection stung worse than he cared to admit—and that only pissed him off more.
When he stormed into the dormitory, Reinhardt jumped. Abraxas was still asleep, and Tom heard the shower running and the distinct sound of moaning as Norris fucked his girl in the bathroom.
“Hey Tom, where’ve you been?”
“Reinhardt, I have a task for you. This one you should start immediately.” Reinhardt’s movements faltered for only a fraction of a second before he nodded. “You are going to seduce a girl.”
Notes:
Chapter 19 Song: Devil Devil: MILCK. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
That backfired on poor Tom! 😭
She owes him now! What should our girl do to apologize? That will be fun!Happy Thanksgiving! I had to work (medical resident life) but, if you celebrate this very American holiday, I hope you got to spend quality time with those you care about ❤️🖤❤️🖤
XOXO - TippTUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 20: 20: Christmas in the Castle
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom avoided Hermione after the incident at the Yule Ball. It proved more challenging than expected. She made several attempts to talk to him. Clearly, she had something to say. He had no intention of hearing her out.
There were a few instances when she tried to catch him during meals, but he bolted before she started into her tirade. He had no intention of staying for her lecture on improper behavior.
He started attending meals at less popular hours, times when the five other students remaining in the castle would not be there.
The clever witch caught on to him. So, he stopped going to the Great Hall all together, choosing to approach the house-elves directly and eat by the fire in the kitchens.
He spent his days in the Slytherin common room. While not exciting, it worked out well. He liked his privacy and the only other Slytherin that remained behind was a second year Tom didn’t know. They each kept to themselves, which suited Tom.
Once he came up with a satisfactory routine, it was rather easy to avoid somebody in a castle this big when classes weren’t in session. But then that was the problem. Because more than anything, he longed to see her. He craved it. It gnawed at his bones and the pressure of it sometimes overwhelmed him. He got by with brief glances as he passed by places he knew she would be. Most notably, the library. Hermione was predictable like that.
Wasn’t she the one who always kept him at a distance? Wasn’t she the one that accused him of poisoning her? Part of him imagined cursing her for turning on him, despite how much he did for her. Then again, he also longed to talk to her. Preferably alone. Maybe they could move the conversation into an empty classroom. Somewhere they could forget all about talking. He would have her screaming his name at least half a dozen times before sunrise. He would lose himself in her. Claim the peace he’d been desperately craving with her wrapped in his arms.
This was all wishful thinking. Fantasies that plagued him. She made her feelings regarding him clear. Hermione Granger rejected him. She hated him. She wanted nothing to do with him.
And so went his winter holiday. He longed to talk to her, to be near her again, but he ran away from her at every opportunity. When did he become so pathetic? He hated what he was turning into. He needed to arm himself against her. She made him weak—powerless. Tom was done with it.
What was perhaps most frustrating was how all this havoc affected his magic. Before the dance, he could produce wisps of silver vapor when casting a Patronus. Now, he was incapable of that.
Another humiliation he couldn’t bear!
The girl tore his entire life apart!
His plan to avoid her worked well until it came time for the Christmas Feast. Slughorn cornered Tom in the Slytherin common room just as he prepared to start a biography on Morgan Le Fay, a dark sorceress from the Middle Ages. He kicked up his feet on the black leather couch by the fire and flicked the book open, hardly starting the first sentence when Slughorn appeared.
“Mr. Riddle! Haven’t seen you all holiday, I came to check on you.” It was too much to hope that his surly attitude and lack of attendance at meals would go unnoticed. Particularly by Slughorn, who had a strange obsession with Tom.
The fat man examined him with an enormous grin spread across his pig-like face. He had a Santa hat perched on his receding hairline. All he needed was a big white beard and the red suit and he would resemble the Muggle depiction of St. Nick himself.
Tom remained silent, lacking the energy to fake a placating attitude right now. He waited for Slughorn to say what he came to say and then leave Tom in peace.
“You wouldn’t be thinking of skipping the Christmas Feast tonight, would you?” Slughorn asked him. Tom planned to do just that. He would grab leftovers from the kitchen like he had been doing for every meal for the last three days.
He shut the book and stared at Slughorn. Unfortunately, his lack of reply didn’t deter his head of house. The man must have interpreted Tom’s glower and sneer as answer enough.
“That won’t do, my boy! No, not at all! You have to come to the feast! Come on, we will walk together. Come on.”
“I’d rather not—”
“Nonsense lad! I know how much you enjoy the apple tarts the elves make!” Tom didn’t ask how Slughorn knew he liked the apple tarts. With purposeful strides, Slughorn circled the couch and motioned for him to rise.
“I’ve not been feeling all that well—”
“I’m sure a nice, hardy Christmas feast will perk your spirits right up, Mr. Riddle! Let’s get going. Don’t want to be late.” Slughorn practically dragged him to a stand and shoved him out of the common room. He had no choice. He had to go. For now.
Tom was halfway down the first corridor when he started mapping out his exit strategy. If he tried to leave without explanation, Slughorn would follow him. He could fake illness and escape to the hospital wing. But then, Hermione would know where to find him.
He could ask Peeves, the castle’s resident poltergeist, to create some sort of uproar, but he doubted even Peeves would cause a raucous with all the professors gathered in one spot. The poltergeist had more sense than that.
At the very least, he wouldn’t sit by her. There would be other people there. Surely that wouldn’t be so hard.
Tom wasn’t sure what angered him more. He was hiding from this girl, the one he desired with such intensity it made his bones ache, or that he was unsure of why he felt compelled to avoid her. Was he actually considered skipping the Christmas Feast because of her?
They decorated the Great Hall more simply than it was for the Yule Ball. The ceiling was, once again, enchanted to resemble falling snow. Twelve Christmas trees encircled the room, while a single long banquet table replaced individual house tables. About twenty chairs surrounded the large table, with the ancient and decrepit Professor Dippet sitting at the head. He wore festive bright red robes that made him appear paler than before. Like a light wind might shatter every bone in his body.
Tom seated himself next to Slughorn and stared down at his empty plate. Slughorn talked to him about decorations and some prior student who did something impressive. Tom pretended to listen and gave a noncommittal hum at appropriate intervals. It appeased the man. Even with no encouragement, he could hold a full conversation all by himself.
He knew the moment she walked in the room. He had an uncanny ability to sense her presence, like he was picking up a frequency only he could hear. It was a subconscious fixation that he couldn’t shake off. Nor could he stop the shock that ran through his system just knowing she was near. His body vibrated, and every nerve ending was on fire. He hated it… but it thrilled him at the same time.
He stared at a chip on the table. Unfortunately, he soon realized, there were only so many things to think about when it came to chipped furniture. When did it happen? Was there a spell to repair it? Who had done it? Why choose a damaged table for the Christmas feast instead of one of the dozen other tables in the Great Hall?
“Hey Tom,” her gentle voice forming his name rang through his head like the melody of a siren calling out to him. How long could he resist the call?
“Oh, Miss Granger! How lovely to see you here, Happy Christmas my dear! Have a seat, sit—sit. Yes, here. I’ll move over. Sit there between myself and Mr. Riddle. That’s right, Miss Granger, don’t be shy. We are all quite pleased to have you here!”
Damn!
She seated herself to his left in the space Slughorn previously occupied. Resigned, he looked up at her. Her caramel eyes pierced him. They were bright, with flecks of gold. She chewed on her plump lower lip. Did she have some sort of gloss on them? They seemed shinier. He knew from experience how soft those lips were. She tasted incredible… He missed those lips!
“Something I can do for you, Miss Granger?”
Or to you? With you? Inside you?
Merlin, her scent was intoxicating. The apples and honey swirled around him. It took every bit of his control not to lean into her and inhale her deeper into his lungs.
Pull it together!
“I wanted to say. About the other night—after the Yule Ball…” Hermione cast her eyes down before flicking them back up to meet him. Slughorn turned away, distracted by something Professor Kettleburn said across from him.
“Yes,” Tom prompted impatiently.
“Thank you! Thank you for helping me! I treated you terribly that morning and it wasn’t fair. Without you there, I might have…” the words caught in her throat as blood rushed to her freckled cheeks. They both knew exactly what would have happened if Tom hadn’t been there. His hand clenched into a fist at the mere memory. “You didn’t have to and, well, I appreciate it! So, again, thank you!”
What was she playing at? Was it a trick? What did she want from him? His guard went up. An alarm rang in his head like an air-raid siren going off in Muggle London. He needed to figure out what they were warning him of.
There had to be a catch, there always was. He wasn’t sure anybody ever gave him a sincere apology in his life, not without a reason. The question now was, what was her motive? She must want something from him.
He narrowed his eyes, not bothering to respond. He didn’t like not knowing the game before being forced to play it. Before her, he was always the game master, moving everyone like pawns on the chessboard. He was in control. He had every move planned and calculated until the end. Then she came into his life and fucked everything up.
The silence stretched between them until it became unbearable, until Tom wondered if they would spend the entire Christmas feast staring at each other in this strange battle of wills. He would not break eye contact first. That was a sign of weakness. He was sick of how weak she made him feel.
“Umm, and Happy Christmas, Tom.” Hermione plastered a smile on those luscious lips. He was so fixated on them he didn’t even notice the paper bag she held out to him. She moved the bag higher and shook it a bit for good measure to make sure he saw it.
He gaped. Distrust morphed into confusion.
“It isn’t much, and—well—you said you’d never been to Hogsmeade, and you said you wanted sweets one time. That you had never had any before. Anyway, I got you some sweets from Honeydukes. It’s a wizarding sweet shop in Hogsmeade. It opened last year and has been really popular. They have all kinds of different sweets there. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I chose a variety of things, plus a few of my personal favorites. Sorry if you don’t like any of the things that I chose, I didn’t know what to get. I hope it’s okay. It isn’t much or anything, but I just thought that… you know, and—” She abruptly shut her mouth when she realized she was rambling. He would have found it cute if he wasn’t so shocked. He remained motionless, not making any attempt to grab the bag from her. Realizing he wouldn’t take it, she thrusted it into his hands, adding a quick “Happy Christmas,” as she did so.
Hermione turned away from him, her gaze shifting to Professor Slughorn sitting on her other side, and she engaged him in conversation.
Tom remained transfixed, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as he stared in her direction.
What was he feeling? He couldn’t name it. Was this shock, confusion, or skepticism? Perhaps some combination of all three?
Tom peaked inside the bag to see a colorful array of chocolates, a few boxes, and other assorted sweets. He’d seen other students with these before. Care packages from home. Shopping sprees after a Hogsmeade weekend. They never shared any with him. Not that he asked them to.
If he stopped to consider it, he realized this was the first time anyone had given him a gift since he started Hogwarts. Children at the orphanage got donated presents for Christmas, but nobody ever purchased him something specifically with him in mind.
The feeling… he couldn’t figure out what he was feeling! Was it distress, suspicion, or wariness? But, as he dug deeper, he discovered a deeply rooted seed of happiness, joy, and amazement. What was he supposed to do with that?!
An unsettling queasiness formed in the pit of his stomach. Tom might actually throw up all because of some sweets. He felt out of control. He had to get out of there. The feast was starting. He didn’t care.
Tom couldn’t stay. One more second at that table, beside her, next to her mouthwatering honey apple scent… he may lose his bloody mind.
He had to leave.
Before Tom realized what he was doing, he darted out of the Great Hall, bag of sweets still in hand.
His lungs could fully expand once he stepped out of that room. The Great Hall could seat the entire school and he felt like the walls were caving in with merely seventeen people.
Maybe she poisoned the candy? She accused him of poisoning her. Maybe this was her way of getting revenge.
Oddly, that thought improved his mood slightly. Revenge made sense in his world.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
“Is Mr. Riddle alright? The feast is about to begin.” Slughorn looked over Hermione’s shoulder, watching Tom’s retreating form. He never said a word after she gave him the candy. She meant for the gift to seem natural, like it was no big deal—that failed.
“Maybe he isn’t feeling well?” She said, trying to feign nonchalance.
“Perhaps so. It’s a shame to feel poorly on Christmas. Wait till you see our Christmas feast, Miss Granger! The house-elves really outdo themselves. Best food I ever tasted. If I was still a student, I might have stayed over the holidays just for the feast!” Slughorn chattered away, but Hermione only half listened.
She spent the last week trying to figure out how to apologize to Tom for treating him so terribly the morning after the Yule Ball. That day, he went above and beyond to help her. He stayed with her all night and made sure she was comfortable and safe.
She had good reason to be cautious of Tom Riddle. But now, she accepted he hadn’t become Voldemort yet. He was still a boy in school, capable of more. Capable of almost anything.
“I warned her about that pumpkin juice, though! I told her not to drink it—” Slughorn said next to her.
Did he have to become the darkest wizard in history? Was it possible for him to be something better? He could do so many good things. He proved that by saving her. Maybe he could use his vast power and intelligence to improve the world rather than destroy it.
She knew she was asking for the impossible, that her dreams were unrealistic. But she desperately wished for it. Sure, she imagined a world where the first wizarding war never happened. Yet, deep down, she wanted to believe in him. He had a way of making her feel valued and cared for. The intensity in his eyes as he looked at her made her feel desired and beautiful. He challenged her when they spoke, engaging in intelligent banter that left her thrilled.
She enjoyed being around him.
She nibbled her lower lip and drummed her fingers on the table.
“Then his mother sent a howler, poor tyke,” Slughorn chuckled.
Tom acted weird. Hermione couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that something was wrong.
She ran through the entire conversation, or lack thereof. She did most of the talking. What did she say that made him so upset? He took the sweets—it was a start.
Hermione decided. If she wanted answers, she needed to ask Tom directly.
“Her hair turned blue! Can you believe—”
“I’m sorry professor,” she cut him off and stood in the middle of whatever story he was telling her, “I should check on Tom!”
“Oh—yes—good. Boy seemed quite out of sorts. Poor kid. He spends every Christmas here and his birthday since it’s on New Year’s Eve. No family, you know—” Hermione didn’t stay to listen. She rushed out of the Great Hall at a near run and headed toward the Slytherin common room. She knew it was somewhere in the dungeons, not that she had ever been there.
It didn’t take her long to find Tom. He leaned against the stone walls of the dungeon corridor, staring at the floor. The soft candlelight flickered against his pale skin. He held the paper bag limp at his side.
“Tom, what—” she took a breath and tried to gather her thoughts. In her pursuit, she never stopped to think about what she would say once she caught him. “—what are you doing? You’re going to miss the feast.” Merlin, she was out of shape without Harry and Ron running her around the castle.
His gaze snapped to hers, dark, cold, harsh. He stood tall and moved towards her. Each step was deliberate. His eyes narrowed further. The scowl etched on his face deepened.
She took an unconscious step back, but he lengthened his stride and backed her into the wall. His intimidating presence filled the corridor. Her heart started racing. She swallowed thickly but maintained eye contact. She couldn’t look away.
“Are these sweets poisoned, Miss Granger?” He asked her in a quiet hiss.
“W—what?”
“Why did you give me the sweets?”
“I—the sweets?”
“Yes, Miss Granger, why did you give me these sweets?” He leaned in close. His breath brushed against her cheek in a gentle caress. Mere inches separated their bodies. “What do you want from me?”
“The sweets were a gift.”
He scoffed in clear dismissal. “You hate me! Hell, you barely know me! Don’t tell me it’s a bloody ‘gift’.”
“It’s Christmas, Tom, people give gifts! It’s what they do!”
“Did you get something for Slughorn? What about Dumbledore? Or perhaps you gave that girl in Ravenclaw who is spending her holiday in the castle something?”
“You helped me the other day, and I wanted to thank you!”
“If I recall, you weren’t all that grateful,” Tom said.
“I know! I treated you awfully. I’m sorry! Because I am grateful for what you did and when I was in Hogsmeade two days ago, I—I thought of you and how you said you always wanted a big bag of sweets. Remember?”
He snorted, probably remembering how ridiculous it was in the first place to call a bag of sweets his greatest desire.
“Ok, so I know you lied about the whole sweets thing in the Room of Requirement, but I thought about how you never had Honeydukes sweets before. Never tried the Honey Toffees! I can assure you, it is without a doubt the best sweet you will ever taste! But above all, I was worried that you wouldn’t receive any presents for Christmas! I couldn’t let that happen! And I really am sorry for how I yelled at you after the dance and accused you of doing terrible things! You didn’t deserve that! I realize you were trying to help me and I—” She mentally slapped herself to stop her rambling.
His mouth gaped, a silent testament to his disbelief and shock. She snatched the bag from his hands, reached in, grabbing the first thing she touched. She fumbled the box open with her fingers, not breaking eye contact with him. Eventually, she had the small sweet in her grip and popped it into her mouth.
She kept her gaze locked on him as she chewed... then she cringed. Then her eyes watered, and she coughed.
His eyes widened as she gagged, followed by more coughing and sputtering. She bent over at the waist and clutched her stomach, heaving for clean air.
“What’s wrong?!” He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down till she sat on the dungeon floor. “What happened?”
She was too deep in another fit of coughing to form a coherent response.
“Was it poison?! Did you just poison yourself?!” She would’ve found that funny if she wasn’t choking and wiping away involuntary tears streaming down her face.
“P—pep—” she hacked.
“What?”
“Pepper!” she rasped, finally forming the words. “I—” she took a few calming breaths and cleared her throat, “I need a—a second.”
He sat close next to her and waited for her to regroup.
"They're called—" she faltered for a moment, her voice interrupted by a cough and a quick throat-clearing. Fortunately, it didn't escalate further. “They’re called Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.” She fished the box out of the bag and held it up for him. “Most are decent, but there are some really nasty flavors.”
“Like pepper?”
“Like pepper,” she conceded. He looked disgusted. “Usually it isn’t so dramatic.” She swiped away a stray tear with the sleeve of her jumper. “I wasn’t ready for that.”
She pulled another jellybean out of the box and held it out for him.
“Hell no!” He pushed himself further from her.
“Tom!”
“After your display just now, I’ll pass.”
“Come on! Take it!” She crawled after him, not letting him put much distance between them.
“No!”
“You can’t be serious?!”
“Completely serious.”
“You accused me of trying to poison you, least you can do is eat the sweets!”
“Absolutely not!”
“Where are you going?”
“Away from you, Granger!”
“Don’t you dare leave, Tom Riddle!”
“What do you think you’re—!”
“EXPELLIARMUS!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Hermione?!”
“Running away from a girl with a jellybean, Tom?” she smirked, pocketing his wand.
“I’m not eating that!”
“Oh, no you don’t—Oomph!”
“You tackled me, you bloody—”
“Can’t escape now!”
“Get off me!”
“Eat it!”
“Fuck no—Ouch!”
“Just eat it and I’ll move!”
“What—hey, that hurts!”
With him disarmed, and her laying practically on top of him, she shoved the orange jellybean between his unsuspecting lips.
He struggled for about three seconds with her hand clamped over his mouth to keep him from trying to spit anything out. He paused and considered after that. His soft lips grazed against her palm as he started chewing the sweet.
“Not bad…” he said, the sound muffled. She removed her hand, and he gave her a sly, crooked smile she couldn’t help but return. “Pumpkin.” His eyes were bright when he looked at her now. He glowed, which only enhanced his beauty. She’d never seen him look so… content.
Her palm pressed against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath. There was also a firm something else against her thigh. She felt it that day in the bathroom... that day she tried to never think about and thus thought about it all the time.
Her cheeks flamed and her teeth bit down on her lip. She sensed his kisses as if they were real. The soft press of his lips that turned hard and desperate. She never had passion like that before and dreamed that she would experience it again.
His eyes flickered to her lips. To where her teeth made an indent. She felt the thumping of his heart against her palm. He tentatively moved his hands from her hips, slipping his fingers around her back to encircle her in his warmth. His gentle caress sent a shiver down her spine.
One hand traveled into her hair, winding the curls through his fingers. He was going to kiss her. Right here on the freezing cold stone floor of the dungeon corridor. She could see his desire written on his face. It was the same longing she felt pooled in her stomach. The one she was having an increasingly more difficult time ignoring.
She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel alive again.
She shifted as he tugged her closer, causing her foot to slip and crash into something. There was a loud clatter echoing against the floor. The noise shocked her to her senses, and she jumped off him with a squeak.
The moment was broken. He huffed and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. She knocked over the bag of sweets. Boxes and packages splayed across the ground. Thankfully, the jellybeans spilled inside the bag, which she dumped back into their box.
After gathering the sweets, they settled down together on the cold, stone floor of the dungeon. They each took another jellybean, sniffed them, before popping them in their mouths.
“Tom. I really am sorry for accusing you of poisoning me. And yelling at you.” She said after a while. She chose another sweet to eat and chewed it slowly.
“I gathered that,” he frowned at her, “And I’m sorry for calling you a whore.”
She choked.
“Again!” He looked horrified.
“No, it’s strawberry! When did you call me a whore?”
“When we were dancing! I didn’t say the words exactly, but it was implied.”
“I forgot about that.” She remembered something about him saying she would spread her legs for anyone. It got overshadowed by all the other events from that night.
“Well then,” he said, grabbing another jellybean from the box, “I’m sorry for bringing it back up.”
She snorted. “Maybe we should start over.”
He blinked at her. “Yeah, sure. Would you like me to introduce myself again or can we skip that part?” He smirked and popped another sweet in his mouth. He made a face, “Huh... eclair.”
“Technically, you never introduced yourself. I saw your name on your Hogwarts letter.”
“Oh, well, that changes everything!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Okay, Tom, we can skip that part!” she rolled her eyes. As he reached for another sweet.
“Blech, yuck!” She laughed as he grimaced and spat the contents on the ground.
“Ew!”
“Soap!”
“You didn’t have to spit it out on the floor!”
“I’ll vanish it if you return my wand,” he said, holding his hand out. Hermione forgot she still had it in her pocket. She handed it back to him and he promptly vanished the contents. She wondered if she would have to fight him to eat more, but he grabbed another from the box and continued to eat them with her.
“These are pretty gross,” he said.
“I never said they were good. They are merely a classic wizarding sweet.”
“So, you gifted me sweets that you knew were disgusting?” He raised a brow at her.
“No, I gifted you a variety so that you could try them and determine for yourself how you feel about them.”
They spent the next ten minutes sharing the box of Every Flavor Beans on the floor of the dungeon corridor. Hermione got butter, blueberry, vomit, cauliflower, bouillabaisse, spinach, bogey, lemon, coffee, pizza, and bubble gum. Tom had orange, asparagus, toast, apple, chocolate, cinnamon, dirt, banana, steak, vanilla ice cream, and fish. They were twenty minutes late for the Christmas feast.
Notes:
Chapter 20 Song: Angels Like You: Miley Cyrus. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
'Tis the season!
Someone said I should make a tumblr, so I caved and finally did it! Find me on tumblr here! I plan to use this for updates, previews, and announcements. I'll post some bonus content there too probably, things that won't go on ao3. I'm still getting it all up and running :)
Thanks for the love everyone! We are officially halfway through book 1! To think I considered never posting this anywhere, look how far we've come!
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 21: 21: A Not Friendship
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione and Tom fell into a strange sort of truce after sharing the jellybeans. Tom wasn’t sure he would call her a friend. He never had a genuine friend before. Reinhardt was perhaps the closest person to occupy that title. The idea of her filling the void of friendship in his life felt wrong.
No, they weren’t friends.
He had to admit, though, the Honey Toffees were delicious. On Christmas evening, he sat in front of the fire in the empty Slytherin common room and dumped his bag of sweets on the rug. He spent a good five minutes looking at all the options, in awe that she gave him a gift. Then he tried at least one of everything. By the end, his stomach hurt, but he’d never felt so content.
He wasn’t fond of the Fizzing Wizzbees. The Sugar Quills were his favorite, but they made his lips blue. Thankfully, no one else was in the common room to witness that.
Did she get sweets for herself? Maybe he should’ve waited to eat them with her? He had plenty left… perhaps she would like to share them? He should have asked her to come back to Slytherin dorms after dinner. They could’ve sat by the fire together and eaten Sugar Quills till both their tongues were blue. Then he would devour the sweetness directly from her lips…
He and Hermione were definitely not friends.
***
On boxing day, Tom forwent avoiding the witch and took his seat at the long Slytherin table in the empty Great Hall to eat breakfast. He often found himself alone at breakfast on the day after Christmas. Most people slept in. He pulled a book out of his bag and read while sipping his coffee.
“Morning, Tom.”
“Damn! Hermione—ouch!” Coffee splattered all over his lap and saturated the pages of the book, lying open on the table. Both he and Hermione pulled out their wands. He evaporated the spill on himself and cast a cooling charm while she flicked her wand at the book.
“Believe me, I’ve spilled a lot of coffee on books,” she beamed at some private joke. She looked ready to laugh.
Tom sighed.
“Don’t tell Madame Pince,” she said. “I suck at household magic, but I’ve gotten rather good at clearing coffee stains… and ink stains… and food smudges...”
She was right. He could barely make out a slight tint on the page.
“Your mum didn’t teach you household spells?” Most witches Tom knew were at least somewhat proficient in household magic. Hogwarts offered an elective that most females took, though they did not include it in the O.W.L. exams. Maybe whatever future Hermione came from, that wasn’t typical. He still couldn’t determine how far back in time she traveled.
“No, my mum was never any good at housework. The most she could do was bake a mean batch of Christmas cookies. We would use stencil cutouts to make shapes; like Christmas trees, snowmen, angels, and stars. She was uh—Muggle-born, and she used to bake cookies with her mum. It was something we did every year until... well, until this year.”
Tom never had homemade Christmas cookies except for those served by the house elves, if that counted. They sometimes received cookies over Christmas at the orphanage, but they were store-bought. The younger kids would leave cookies out for Father Christmas. The older orphans got up in the middle of the night to eat them.
“Do you have the recipe? You could probably still make them.”
“Sure! I have it memorized... butter, flour, sugar, eggs, baking powder, sour cream—”
“Sour cream?”
“It’s a tried-and-true family recipe.” Hermione shrugged.
He glanced up at her. She looked so refreshed today. Her skin glowed and her eyes glittered in the morning light. Despite the empty seats in the Great Hall, she sat with him.
They weren’t friends.
A plate and cutlery appeared in front of her, along with a mug. During the holidays, because of the low number of students present, the house-elves distributed food and place settings to any occupied seat.
“You’re up early,” he commented. Watching her pour coffee into her mug. He passed her the creamer without thinking. She hesitated for a second before taking the pitcher from him. Luckily, she didn’t ask how he knew how she took her coffee.
“Had no reason to stay up late. What are you reading?” She eyed the book.
“Oh, nothing special.”
“Is that why you were so engrossed you didn’t notice me walk across the Great Hall and sit across from you?”
He grimaced.
“Why won’t you show me what you’re reading? Is it bad? Is it like a sappy romance? Or did you snag it from the restricted section? Is it like… full of evil?” She laughed and took a quick sip from her mug. A satisfied hum escaped from her lips as she swallowed.
Did she always drink coffee in such an erotic way? Tom couldn’t take his eyes off her. A lump formed in his throat. He grimaced, readjusting on the bench. Damn, he smelled her from here.
Didn’t she ask a question? Something about the book. He regrouped his thoughts and cracked a small smile back at her.
“I prefer to read my evil prose after lunch. I feel first thing in the morning isn’t the best time for brushing up on committing malevolent acts of death and destruction.”
“Oh yes, I quite agree. Truly vile works are best enjoyed when fully awake and able to appreciate the dark magic. The rising sun is too soft to accommodate such depravity. It’s hard to get yourself in the right mindset.”
“Never has a truer statement been said!” He picked up his mug and toasted her. Only when he went to drink did he remember he just spilled the contents. He set the cup down with a huff.
She grinned, trying to hold back her laugh. “So, what are you reading?”
“It isn’t anything special.” He snagged it off the table and shoved it in his bag, taking care to hide the title from her. She smiled and twirled her wand.
“Accio!” she quipped before Tom could stop her. The book zoomed out of his bag and into her outstretched hands. “The Dark Arts Outsmarted.” She read aloud as an ear-splitting grin covered her face. A pleased flush crossed her cheeks.
He scowled but didn’t respond.
“So, you got the book I recommended! Isn’t it excellent? There is so much great material here! The author really knows dark arts. I mean, it changed the way I view a lot of protective spells and charms, truly ingenious!”
Tom watched her as she spoke about the things she loved most about the book. She talked at length about which areas she considered to be especially useful. How the information she learned was already benefitting her. She told him about the author and a biography she once read about his life. Then she recommended more books covering similar topics.
He caught fragments of her words, but they slipped away like a whisper. He was too busy watching her talk. Her eyes always lit up when she talked about books. She spoke animatedly with her hands, moving them because she couldn’t stand to keep them still. He watched her lips as they formed every word. Her teeth. Her tongue. He wasn’t even mad that she found out he bought the book. How could he be when she was so damn happy?
She blushed once she realized how long she had gone on. Adorable. She was adorable. She started dishing food on her plate.
She was going to eat with him. He liked that.
She came here willingly to sit with him. He didn’t have to trail behind her, pleading for the tiniest crumb of her attention. She wanted to be here. Across from him. Spending time with him.
They weren’t friends. It would never be enough. An invisible force pulled them together. He felt the tug, even now. She captivated him with her intelligence, wit, and unwavering determination. His desire for her went beyond mere friendship. The craving consumed him, a relentless need that refused to be easily satisfied.
“Hey Hermione, I have a favor to ask.” He folded his hands on the table and firmly told his pride to stand down. He rarely asked for favors. However, when it involved the witch standing in front of him, he frequently did things that he would have considered out of character in the past.
She held her food halfway to her mouth when she froze in surprise. The eggs perched on her fork slid off and flopped back on her plate.
“Oh? What sort of favor?”
“I would like you to help me cast a Patronus.” It was the first time he openly admitted to a flaw with someone. He figured the words would taste sour in his mouth and his stomach would churn. It didn’t. Instead, he felt hopeful. It would mean he could spend more time with her.
She furrowed her brow as she examined him, “but you can already cast a Patronus. I’ve seen you in class.”
“It’s noncorporeal,” he sneered like it was a grievous offense. “I can’t get it to take a damn shape.” Even the silver vapors were difficult to form these days. Either way, it was a weak version compared to her glowing otter that danced around when they were practicing the spell work. She was the only student with a corporeal Patronus. She never bragged about it, but it was clearly an area of pride.
“But it doesn’t need to take shape yet, not for O.W.L.s. In fact, they don’t even test it until N.E.W.T.s. Even then it doesn’t have to be corporeal! Yours is definitely strong enough for that.”
“Will you help me or not?” He knew she would never say no. Her compassionate nature compelled her to always lend a hand to those who asked. Because she was good.
She didn’t disappoint. “Fine, but you have to teach me something in return.”
“Like what?”
“I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”
He could think of many things he would like to teach her.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom asked to start working on his Patronus right away, but the familiar, unwelcome ache in her side returned. She felt it when she woke this morning, but believed she could handle it. She didn’t want to become reliant on her potion doses. If possible, she tried to tough it out.
But then, the pain escalated to a raging burn. She told Tom she had to fetch her belongings from the Gryffindor common room and would meet him outside the Room of Requirement in an hour.
He didn’t hide his dissatisfaction with the plan, but he rather begrudgingly agreed.
She had trouble keeping herself standing as she stumbled upon Sir Cadogan, who interpreted her distress as a potential attack. She spent some time pacifying him before he finally relented and allowed her inside.
Hermione collapsed on the couch in front of the fireplace, pulled out her wand and summoned the potion that she knew sat on her nightstand. Within minutes, she choked down the disgusting contents and placed the now-empty bottle aside. She curled up and focused on her breathing while waiting for the potion to take effect.
That’s when she saw them. The presents sitting under the tree. Had they been there since yesterday? How did she miss them?
She didn’t expect any gifts and never thought to look. Despite her limited funds, she purchased a small gift for each of her friends, which she used the school owls to send a few days ago. Why did she assume they wouldn’t get her anything in return?
She tried to pick herself off the couch but flinched with the movement.
Summoning it was then.
Once she had all the presents beside her, she ripped open the first card and found a note written in barely legible script.
Hermione!!!
I wish you had come back! Mum and Patrick say you were busy and wanted to stay at school! Why would you do that? Patrick is being really annoying. All he talks about is school and mum is acting so proud of him. Mum thinks telling me I will go next year would make me feel better. She doesn’t get it. Bet you would. Anyway, I attached your Christmas gift. Mum said I had to tell you it’s from all of us, but I was the one that did most of the work.
- Bridget
Hermione grinned and tore open the large package to find a knitted blanket inside. Bridget must have spent hours on this. She knew from experience how tedious knitting could be, and this project was massive! Hermione never realized she didn’t have any blankets to call her own. All the bedding she used either belonged to Hogwarts or the Leaky Cauldron.
She smiled as she draped the blanket over herself, already basking in the warmth. It was easy to forget the pain with something this cozy wrapped around her.
She grabbed the next package, able to push herself into a sitting position, adjusting Bridget’s gift to lie across her lap. The next present contained a fashionable cream-colored hat, scarf, gloves, and a burgundy winter coat. Hermione gaped. She could tell it was from Gussie without glancing at the name. Knowing her, this cost a small fortune.
She ripped open the card.
The most lovely Hermione,
As your best friend, I can no longer allow you to go around in that atrocious transfigured coat. You thought I didn’t notice? Well, I did. I initially bought this coat for myself, but then I remembered you and that awful garment you sport and decided you were in desperate need of an upgrade. But I got us matching hats and scarves! We are going to be adorable!
- Love, Gussie
PS: I’ll mail you later with a list of our library collection. Been busy with family holiday things!
Hermione snorted. It may have sounded offensive to some, but Hermione knew Gussie meant well when writing this note. She wasn’t wrong, either. The garment was beautiful and her current coat was merely for functionality.
The wool coat had double-breasted buttons, clenched her waist, and flared to a skirt that fell to her knees. Some kind of fur lined the collar and the end of the sleeves. It was stunning. This is the most exquisite thing she’s ever owned.
She continued opening her gifts. Alastor got her a book called One Thousand Books Every Witch or Wizard Should Read. She wondered if she already read some titles. She would check them off one by one.
Archie got her what appeared to be a stuffed animal that resembled a puffskein. She stared at it, wondering what he was thinking when he selected this. She supposed she could use it like a pillow, if nothing else.
She shrugged and set it aside, picking up the last gift. She opened the letter first and grimaced.
Hermione,
I’ve debated sending you this, but I decided I needed to make sure everything was okay. I didn’t see you after the dance and I’m certain you heard by now that I was attacked. I still don’t recall who did it and I hope you weren’t hurt as well. Please write back and tell me you’re okay. Augusta accused me of trying to take advantage of you and I swear that isn’t what happened! Please, give me a chance to explain.
- Barnabas Cuffe
Inside was an assortment of gourmet chocolates. Truffles elegantly decorated in all different mouth-watering flavors. They were probably delicious, but she couldn’t be sure they weren’t poisoned.
She threw the box and card into the fire before leaving to meet Tom.
***
“Expecto Patronum!”
A light flashed from his wand. The air consolidated. For a moment, it looked like it might take shape, but the form lost its thread and the vapor dissipated. Once again, he failed.
“Fuck!”
“Tom, maybe we should stop…”
“No!”
She shrugged and resumed reading her letters. She made herself comfortable on a plush cushion against the wall with her new knitted blanket wrapped over her shoulders.
Hermione wrote Bridget back, and the girl responded promptly with an extensive narrative of her year so far. Despite the long-winded explanations and details, she read it carefully and had every intention of responding. Though she wouldn’t be as descriptive as the young witch.
They practiced in the Room of Requirement. She made the space appear as it had when they used it for the D.A. It brought back memories. Hermione half expected Harry to walk inside and start giving instructions. For one of the Creevy brothers to fail spectacularly or blow something up. She might find Luna staring into the distance. Neville with his determined enthusiasm… But this wasn’t the same world. They would never be here.
She finished up the third and final page of Bridget’s narrative before folding it up and placing it back in the envelope.
“Expecto Patronum!” Hermione glanced up to see the silver vapor disappear. He hissed with frustration.
“I don’t think you’re thinking of a happy enough memory,” Hermione said.
“I’m an orphan! I was raised in a filthy orphanage in the middle of a war-torn Muggle London. What do you suggest my happy memory should be?” He scowled at her.
They spent the last four days practicing the Patronus. To say it frustrated Tom would be an understatement. She tried to reassure him that the magic was complex. It didn’t help.
“What memory are you using?” She asked.
He gave her a glare full of skepticism. “That seems like a rather personal question.”
“The one I used to use is a day I spent with my parents in France.”
“Used to use?”
“Sometimes I’ll still think of that memory. It makes me happy, but it doesn’t reliably produce a corporal Patronus anymore… It's hard to remember them.”
He took a moment to ponder that. Studying her. She caught him doing that from time to time, watching her. Hermione usually pretended not to notice, acting like all her attention was on a book. Or in this case, her letters.
She was equally guilty. She fixated on him when he was otherwise preoccupied. His long, elegant fingers twirled his wand when he focused. He had this look in his eye when he did magic—a ferocious concentration. But then, when he looked at her, everything softened.
“What memory do you use now?” He asked her, coming closer.
She shrugged, “The same memory I guess, but I have to shift my perspective of it, otherwise, it doesn’t work.” His fingers spun his wand as he watched her. She wondered what he was thinking. Even knowing what sort of person he could become, he was such a mystery. “So, what memory are you using?” she asked again.
“Why do you want to know so bad?”
“Because I would like to make some level of progress before the rest of the school comes back from the Holiday break,” she chuckled. It was supposed to be funny. He didn’t laugh.
“You don’t think I’m capable?”
She sighed before answering. “I think you’re capable of anything. You’re absolutely brilliant! But I also wonder if you’ve ever experienced true happiness a day in your life. Genuine happiness, that is light, freeing, and unrestrained. Happiness that doesn’t have conditions or expectations behind it.” She folded Bridget’s letter and put it aside.
“Huh…” he didn’t appear to be upset by her assessment of him. Merely curious. He analyzed the new information, then he would solve the problem and find a solution. No barrier was too high for Tom Riddle to overcome. It set him apart from the rest. Showed how intelligent he was, but also made him terrifying.
“You walk around, viewing the world as if it owes you. When you look at something, you’re trying to decide how it can benefit you, but do you ever enjoy the moment? Live for the sake of living?” she added, wrapping the blanket tighter across her shoulders. She was getting a lot of use out of Bridget’s blanket here. Was the Room of Requirement always drafty?
He closed his eyes before holding out his wand again. “Expecto Patronum!” The silver vapor exploded from his wand. Something solid formed in the cloud. She could make out a three-headed snake. As soon as she saw the figure, the image dissipated.
“That was progress!” she squealed.
He continued to stare at the spot where the snake was like it might appear again. “Sure... it took form, but it still wasn’t powerful enough to hold its shape,” he snarled.
“Well, at least now you know what form your Patronus is going to take. That looked like a Runespore.” A Runespore was a three-headed mythical snake. She guessed it would be a snake before they started. It was less surprising that it took the form of a Runespore, known to be associated with dark wizards.
She tried not to dwell on that thought.
“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I’ve never been happy before. Maybe I’ll never be able to produce a proper Patronus.”
“I never pegged you for someone to just give up.” She was poking the bear, and she knew it. He turned his head towards her and frowned.
“Nobody said anything about giving up, Hermione.”
She wouldn’t admit it, but she was glad they would keep meeting. She liked these moments with him—the time they spent together in the Room of Requirement. Maybe part of her hoped he would continue to fail day in and day out, just to prolong this. Did he feel the same way?
He waved his wand at the stack of cushions. Two of them flew across the room and arranged themselves next to her. He plopped down on the pillow and then laid back, resting his head on the other. She didn’t comment and picked up the last letter in her pile.
Hermione,
I wanted to check in again. I’m worried you might not be getting my letters. It’s that or Augusta got to you with some nonsense about how I tried to poison you. If you don’t want to write me, fine, but you should at least give me a chance. If nothing else, I will see you at the start of the new term.
- Happy New Year - Barnabas Cuffe
She had no intention of giving him any chances. She balled up the letter and burned it with her wand.
Tom stared at the flame dancing on the ground in front of her.
“What was that?” He asked.
“Letter from Barnabas Cuffe.” He sat up. She watched fury flash across his face. His jaw tightened and his body became rigid.
“Why the fuck is Cuffe writing you?!”
“Checking in again.”
“It isn’t the first time he wrote you?” Tom stared at the remnants of the letter like he wanted to put it back together just to burn it again.
“No.”
“How long has he been writing you?!”
“Oh, um. I got a letter with a gift for Christmas. He wrote to me a few days after. Then this one today,” she said, gesturing towards the pile of ash.
“What did it say?” She hadn’t expected such a powerful reaction from him.
“He wished me a Happy New Year,” she said. It wasn’t a lie.
“He wished you a Happy New Year, so you burned his letter?”
“No, I burned the letter because… because I don’t trust him.” A sigh of relief escaped from Tom’s lips as he visibly relaxed. “I also burned the box of gourmet chocolates he got me.”
“As if you can ever trust anything he gives you,” Tom said.
Those were her thoughts exactly. “I’ve ignored all his letters.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, he’s no good for you.” Silence stretched between them. Did Tom think he was good for her? He wasn’t. She knew that. Yet she wanted him around. She enjoyed having his attention.
“Who taught you how to produce a Patronus?”
The question surprised her. “Oh… an old friend of mine,” she said evasively. His expression darkened.
“What friend?”
“He was just an old friend... I learned a lot of useful defensive magic spells from him. Like Disarming Charm, Impediment Jinx, Reductor Curse, Stunning Spell, the Sheild Charm—” she abruptly cut off when she caught sight of his face. It was hard for her to predict Tom’s every shifting mood.
“What friend?” He asked again. Something dangerous lurked beneath the surface. His eyes were almost completely black now.
“What do you mean? He was just a friend?”
“Was it the same friend that you learned occlumency for?”
“Oh, yeah. I suppose it was.” He did not like that answer. His posture stiffened. It occurred to her in that moment why he was so angry. He was jealous. Not only was he jealous of Barnabas Cuffe, but also jealous of Harry Potter, one of her best friends who didn’t exist in this reality. Someone she had no romantic attachment to.
“Why are you smiling?” He looked close to exploding. His misdirected anger couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. Her eyes flicked down to his scowling lips.
The tension in the air was palpable as their gazes locked again. The smile fell from her face. Her voice failed her. They both knew where this was going, right? He never hid his attraction to her. His intentions were apparent for months, even before their desperate snogging session in the boys’ bathroom. It was always her holding him at bay. Now that she was no longer resisting him, everything could be different.
If she kissed him again, it would change the nature of this relationship. End this game of cat and mouse. Maybe change the future. Could one kiss stop the first and second wizarding wars from ever happening? Did one kiss have that much power?
She would have liked to believe that her desire to kiss him was only because she wanted to alter the course of the future. It would be a lie. She relished the notion of him being consumed by jealousy because of her. That he wanted her. The way he looked at her, like he dreamed of devouring her—it sent delicious shivers down her spine. But most of all, she liked his air of confidence and his infallible intelligence. He was like a powerful stimulant, fueling her desire for more.
Her stomach did somersaults as she stared at him. She could do it. A quick, chaste kiss... “We should get dinner!” Her voice sounded squeakier than she intended as she pushed herself up to a stand and tossed her blanket over her shoulder. Her cheeks grew warm, and a blush crept down her neck, betraying her embarrassment.
“Wait! Hermione!” She was already halfway across the room before he came to his senses.
She didn't stop. “Hermione!”
She should have kissed him. Why didn't she just do it?!
“Stop!” She stopped just as she got the large door tugged open. “Why are you running away?”
“I'm not running away, I'm just really hungry,” she said. He looked incredulous. Hermione was acutely aware of how alone they were.
“Who was this friend of yours?” He asked. She had forgotten all about their conversation from before. A wave of sadness washed over her. The Room of Requirement; It was here that her otter first came out to dance.
She turned away from him. She moved to leave, but he snuck up on her, catching her arm in a vice grip.
“Why won't you tell me about your friend—”
“Because it doesn't matter! He was my best friend and he's gone! I'll never see him again and it hurts, okay?! It hurts to think about him and my family!” He dropped her arm, his muscles relaxing.
“Okay.”
“Can we please go to dinner?”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
They started towards the Great Hall in awkward silence. They descended a couple of flights of stairs when she remembered her plans for the next day. How could she have almost forgotten?! “Hey Tom, tomorrow—I was thinking,” she said glancing over at him. He kept his expression stoic. He appeared to be deep in thought.
She played with the sleeves of her blouse, “Maybe tomorrow we could do something different.”
His breath caught. He cleared his throat before speaking. “What sort of thing did you have in mind?”
She grinned at him. “It's sort of a surprise. But we’ll be outside, so come to breakfast dressed warm. Oh! And bring money too!” They started toward the Great Hall.
“Planning to rob me, Hermione?”
“Wouldn’t be very deceitful if I told you to bring your money to your own robbery.”
“No, but you look so bloody innocent you could probably get away with it. Nobody would suspect a thing.”
Notes:
Chapter 21 Song: Like U: Rosenfeld. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Thanks for sticking with me! Your comments and support keep me motivated to work on book 2. I love hearing your thoughts, feelings, and opinions on everything! ❤️🖤❤️🖤
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Chapter 22: 22: Birthday Surprises
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione spent all morning bouncing in anticipation as she gathered her things from around her dorm. She wore her new coat and had her hat and scarf shoved in a bag that she slung over her shoulder. Gabriella got her the satchel for her birthday in September, and now Hermione had a use for it.
As she made her way to meet Tom for breakfast, her face lit up with a smile that she couldn't suppress. She found him already seated at their usual spot at the Slytherin table. Clearly, he had been there for quite some time. His mug of coffee was almost empty.
“I thought we said we would meet at eight?” Hermione frowned. She still had five minutes.
He glanced up at her. Hermione didn’t miss the way Tom’s eyes drank her in. The coat fit her perfectly, showing off her narrow waist and flaring around her hips. She also spent a little extra time taming her curls this morning and put on a bit of makeup Gussie left for her. She tried the lipstick, but instead of being elegant, she looked like a clown. In the end, she wiped it off and decided on simple mascara.
“Um—yeah,” he licked his lips, “Uh, we said eight.” He stared at her. By the way he acted, it was like she appeared in front of him completely nude.
She pretended not to notice. Eventually, he pulled it together. “I got up early,” he shrugged. She saw the food was untouched in front of him. He waited for her to eat.
She didn’t comment on it, and instead, sat across from him like she had done for every meal since Christmas.
“What are we doing today?” he asked while buttering his roll. She dished a healthy portion of eggs on her plate.
“You’ll see!”
“Or you could tell me now.”
“And ruin the fun?” She chided, reaching for the salt. He grabbed it with his longer arms and passed it to her.
“So when will I find out?” He asked.
“Just eat, Tom.” She stuffed her mouth with scrambled eggs. As they ate, he tried to get her to confess the plans.
She didn’t oblige him.
“Ready to go?” Hermione asked after they both cleared their plates.
“Where?”
“It’s a secret!”
He grimaced and muttered something about not liking surprises. She grabbed his hand and dragged him down the corridor.
“Aren’t we going outside? I wore my coat?”
“Don’t question it, Tom.”
He grumbled about nagging witches and reiterated his hatred of surprises. She arranged this outing to perk him up after his discouraging week working on the Patronus charm. She knew from experience how draining the spell was.
They ascended more staircases and turned a corner on the fifth floor.
“Ready?” she asked with an eager squeal.
“For what?” She stopped in front of the statue of the one-eyed witch with her large humpback.
“Just—okay,” she faced the statue and pulled out her wand, tapped the hump, and murmured a spell under her breath. She glanced back in time to see Tom’s eyes light up with interest as the hump moved to reveal a passageway. Now she had his attention.
It didn’t occur to her they were holding hands until she let go to crawl inside the narrow opening. Her skin felt cold without his warm fingers intertwined through hers. Evidently, he shared the same sentiment. He grappled for her in the dark after they entered the passage. She didn’t protest.
They both lit their wands as she led him through the rocky passageway. Hermione used this route to get Tom’s gift last week. Before that, the only occasion she opened the hump of the one-eyed-witch was when Harry stashed his invisibility cloak there in their third year. She had to reclaim it for him.
“Where are we going?” Tom asked for the tenth time. They were now twenty minutes into the walk.
“Stop asking!”
“Does this passage end? How did you know about it?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“Stop giving me so many questions to ask.”
“Stop complaining and enjoy the mystery.”
“I hate mysteries.”
“Who hates mysteries? Afraid of a bit of a challenge, Tom?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m not avoiding the question. I’m telling you, I won’t answer it.”
The passage continued on. It was like someone carved it into the dirt and stone under the castle.
“You aren’t taking me out here to kill me, are you?” He asked after another ten minutes. Her coat got caught in a jagged rock and she had to stop and tug it loose.
“There must be a better way to murder somebody; hiking through this damp, dark passage seems rather inefficient—ouch! Watch your head. Ceiling is low there.” She rubbed her scalp and continued on.
“Just as well to kill someone in The Forbidden Forest. No one around to hear you and you could bury the body there.”
“Or the Room of Requirement. We are the only ones that know about it. I could leave your corpse to rot there for an eternity. By the time anyone found you there, you would be a pile of bones.”
“Why does it sound like you’ve given this actual consideration?”
“Tom, I know you hate surprises and all, but won’t you play along?” She spun around, holding her wand high enough to illuminate his face. He looked disgruntled, he said nothing.
She sighed, “okay, I know you don’t want to go along with it, but at least do it for me! I’ve been excited about this.”
His expression softened, “fine.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.” He had dirt on his nose. She considered wiping it away but found the small smudge charming. She left it alone.
Several minutes passed. The ground sloped to an incline, then to stairs. Endless stairs. Her legs started feeling numb about halfway. Her lungs burned. She used her wand to light the path ahead. Last week, she hit her head on the trapdoor.
“We’re here!” She huffed. She meant it to sound more enthusiastic, but it came out as a breathy gasp of air. She had a stitch in her side and it wasn't from her scar this time.
“We are still in a dark, rocky passageway,” she heard Tom say behind her.
“You promised!”
“Just stating facts, Hermione.” She glared back at him to see his wide grin. Despite the exhausting journey, he at least appeared to be enjoying himself. It was a start.
She raised her arms and shoved her hands against the wood of the trapdoor. The hatch rose above their heads and light flooded in, blinding them both. She used the rocks to haul herself up, with Tom following close behind. They ended up in a storage room piled with boxes and shelves of crates. The place smelled sweet, a preview of what was outside the confined space.
When she shut the trapdoor, the wood grain blended almost seamlessly with the floor. Whoever made this concealed it impeccably.
“This is your surprise!” she clapped her hands together, jumping on the balls of her feet.
“A storage room? Are we going to make out? Couldn’t we do that at school? They have plenty of broom cupboards. There’s a particularly nice one on—”
“Tom, stop talking and follow me.” She decidedly ignored his 'make-out' comment. She peaked outside, checking the coast was clear. When she saw an opening, she grabbed his arm, and they slipped out. They were now in a dazzling and colorful store selling every candy imaginable.
“What is this?” Tom said next to her. She glanced up at his face. His mouth was hanging open as he watched the surrounding people.
“Happy birthday, Tom… I brought a piece of Hogsmeade to you for Christmas… I thought I would bring you to Hogsmeade for your birthday.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
A small girl ran by while a worn-out witch chased her. An elderly couple stood at the register, purchasing a mountain of sweets from the young store clerk, talking about all the grandchildren they were giving the sugary concoctions to. An irritated man walked by, dragging a child under each arm. Twins who were up to mischief.
He never admitted it to anyone, but he loathed being left out of Hogsmeade weekends. He despised watching the students file out and come back with their various shopping bags. They laughed in the Great Hall together while they talked about everything they did. He hated it!
Did she know that, too? The girl always knew things she shouldn’t be capable of knowing.
When he glanced at her, she looked apprehensive. Waiting to hear his thoughts.
“Thank you.” He beamed at her and took her hand again. “It’s perfect.”
Tom could only imagine how ridiculous he looked. He was becoming a sap. He hovered over her like a hawk circling its prey. Despite his better judgement, he couldn’t stop the gut-wrenching pull. He wanted to bathe in the peace that accompanied being around her.
They spent the next hour wandering Honeydukes and looking at the sweets. He grabbed a basket and started gathering various items. He stocked up on Honey Toffees for her and Sugar Quills for himself, taking care to avoid the Berty Bots Every Flavor Beans. As much as he enjoyed eating them with her, he wasn’t willing to take the risk again.
They stopped in front of blood-flavored lollipops in a section titled ‘Unusual Tastes’.
“Probably for vampires,” she said next to him.
“They cater to vampires?”
“Why not? It opens up a whole new market.”
“What about this one, Human Flesh Gum Drops or the Eyeball Jellies?” Hermione’s nose scrunched.
“Um, hags… or giants?” she tried.
“Giants?”
“Maybe.”
“So you’re suggesting a giant would go strolling down Hogsmeade’s main street and think to itself, ‘Hmm, I really have a craving for some human flesh,’ and then look over and spot a large sign that reads Honeydukes. They rush inside with their pouch of galleons because they know the local sweet shoppe must sell human flesh. They purchase a handful of Human Flesh Gum Drops to eat and a few extra Eyeball Jellies for their little Timmy back home since they’re his favorite.”
“Your hypothetical giant has a child named Timmy?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Sure, why not? Saying the giant has a child named Timmy is no more ludicrous than suggesting that the sweet shoppe makes treats for giants.”
“It’s not that absurd!”
“A giant wouldn’t be able to get through the door. Why sell something to giants if they can’t even fit inside the building?”
Hermione’s laugh made her entire face light up. Her pure joy was infectious. “I’m sure they’re marketed for vampires, giants, and hags, but their real audience are humans who want to see what it’s like to try something as distasteful as Blood Suckers or Sugar-coated Worms.” They meant that literally, too. The slimy creatures wiggled within the tin.
“You could be quite the businessman, Tom!”
Perhaps so. He never thought about it.
Tom paid for the sweets and followed Hermione out of the store. He brought half his money stash with him; which amounted to over a hundred galleons and some odd sickles. Abraxas, Norris, and a few first and second years generously supplied him with all his gold. Slytherin was full of pure-bloods that descended from old money. They recklessly flaunted their wealth. So Tom used a memory charm so they wouldn’t remember having money in their pocket and helped himself. He built quite a fortune this way.
He followed Hermione to Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, where he watched her ponder over new supplies for the better part of an hour. It surprised him how much effort she put into it, since she ruined every single quill by running her fingers along the feather. He never considered his quills before then.
He spent ten minutes staring at the gaudy writing utensils kept locked under the glass counter. They had exotic quills, such as flamingo, ostrich, and peacock feathers. He had to admit—he liked the large, black ostrich feather. Tom saw the appeal. The dainty pink feather of the flamingo made him think of Hermione.
They sold a variety of enchanted quills such as never-ending ink quill, quick quotes quill, anti-cheating quill. Among those was a quill labeled as having a 'self-refreshing feather'. It promised that the plume would remain clean, dry, and would never become limp. The little card propped in front of it listed a cost of ten galleons; more than he spent on his wand. A rip off. But when he looked back at Hermione, shopping for clearance quills, he knew she would love it. She could run her fingers along the feather as much as she liked. Stroke the plume during class while listening to lectures…
He asked the saleslady to see it. She had her hair pulled back in a severe bun and there were deep wrinkles etched into her pale skin. She eyed him skeptically, like she thought he might try to run off with the thing.
Who would steal a quill?
Eventually, she obliged him.
The feather was an ethereal white, dainty, and fluffed. It practically gave off its own shine. The fringe was soft. She would love it…
“I’ll take it.” He handed it back to the saleslady, who nodded.
“Would you like this gift wrapped?” Her voice croaked when she spoke.
“What?”
“For one sickle, we will wrap it for you.” He never purchased a present for someone. Did that mean he needed to wrap it? Was he supposed to wrap every gift? Why was he buying this? What was the occasion? Should he pretend it was a Christmas present? She got him a gift for Christmas.
“Um,” he cleared his throat, “sure.” Damn, he felt stupid. The woman nodded. When she handed the box back. The bright red paper had a subtle sparkle, and she tied an enormous bow around the center. He couldn't deny that it had a certain charm to it when wrapped. He tucked it into his Honeydukes bag.
After Hermione bought her own quills and ink, they stopped at a tea shop for a late lunch before heading to Zonko’s Joke Shop. It quickly became apparent that neither of them had much interest in pranks, they didn't stay there long.
They ended their shopping at Tomes and Scrolls. Sure, he liked reading, but he enjoyed watching her browse for books more. He examined the array of expressions that crossed her face.
“Oh!” she squeaked. Her lips curved into a radiant smile.
“What?” He approached her, looking at the shelf that contained what he deemed to be an unimpressive selection.
“They’re Muggle classics!” she said. He glanced up and, sure enough, a sign posted above the shelves labeled the section as ‘Muggle Literature.’
Tom shrugged. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Tom! You were raised in a Muggle orphanage! Haven’t you read any classic literature?”
He might have, but he doubted it. An older girl in the orphanage used to read him fairytales when he was small. He tried not to think of her. “Like what?”
“Like Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare, Mary Shelley?!”
“Nope.” He had no interest in reading sappy romances. Recently, he experienced enough of that drama in his own life.
Apparently, he said the bit about sappy romances out loud because Hermione glared at him, “they are not sappy! Pride and Prejudice happens to be one of my favorite books! Jane Eyre is a gothic romance, and Charles Dickens writes about society, not—”
“Didn’t he write about the worthless brat that got obsessed with some girl that treated him like rubbish?”
“So you read Great Expectations?”
“No, I’ve heard of it.” The older girl at the orphanage read it. She told him the highlights of the story. Tom never understood it. Why would that boy structure his entire life around one person? Utterly ridiculous to let one person hold so much control over him.
Tom grimaced. He really wasn't one to talk. Not anymore. Not now that the little lion came into his life. He didn't hate it either.
Hermione’s menacing glare narrowed further. “Well, Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein about a scientist who creates a monster that goes on a killing spree.”
“That sounds fun,” he considered this.
“Of course that would be the one that gets your attention.” Hermione rolled her eyes and stormed away. Tom chuckled at her ire.
As soon as she was out of sight, he plucked up Frankenstein and Pride and Prejudice and carried them to the clerk. The older man grinned as he examined the titles. “My late wife always told me I should stock Muggle literature. I never did. Claimed to not have the room.”
“Oh,” Tom said with false interest. He really didn't want to hear this man's sob story.
The man noted the books and prices on a ledger. “But then she died, and only then did I find the space for them.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Tom said, not sounding remotely sorry at all.
Hermione snuck up behind him. “You're buying something? What are you getting?”
“Frankenstein,” he said, omitting the Jane Austen. He only bought it because she claimed it was her favorite. He figured he would read it himself and then give it to her.
The man rose a brow at him but didn’t dispute Tom’s claim to the one book. "My best sellers, those Muggle books,” the clerk commented as Tom handed over a few galleons.
“I heard what you said about your wife, I'm sure she would have appreciated you honoring her memory like this,” Hermione said. Now she sounded genuine. Her eyes softened.
“Nice of you to say. Wherever she is, she is probably rolling her eyes at me saying I should've listened to her from the start. And she isn't wrong.”
The two finished exchanging pleasantries and shared grief while Tom took the bag from the man. It was probably best to let Hermione do the talking. Tom had about as much emotional intelligence as a flesh eating slug.
He continued to follow Hermione around the bookstore as she plucked various tombs from the shelves.
Eventually, they settled in a love seat in the corner, where they sat next to each other to review their selections. He found a few books for himself, but he could hardly focus on the material. He was more interested in the little lion sharing the love seat with him; regardless, he played his part by picking up a book and flipping through it.
“That is a brilliant book! I recommend it!” She said when he held A Guide to Medieval Sorcery. He wasn’t looking at it. He had to glance at the cover to figure out what book it was.
He ended up buying that one too.
After the shops closed, they retreated to the Three Broomsticks to eat. The sun set a few hours earlier. He followed her inside the cozy pub, which was finishing up from the dinner rush. They tucked themselves into a small booth in the corner.
“I’ll grab us drinks,” she said.
She returned ten minutes later with two goblets of warm Butterbeer. “It’s nice not to be serving for once.” She slid across from him.
“How did you end up at the Leaky Cauldron?”
“They gave me a job for room and board. Plus, it was money, which I desperately needed.”
He let her talk the night away, and he was fine listening. Watching her lips move. A waitress stopped by later and they ordered food. The crowd was getting bigger at that point. There wasn’t an open seat in sight.
Time was fleeting with her. There was never enough of it.
She asked about the orphanage. The place he always kept secret. The questions he couldn’t sidestep, he provided vague answers to. He had no desire to talk about his life there, much less remember it. Eventually, he managed to steer the conversation to the year he spent in the country working on a farm after the evacuation of London.
“I didn’t want to go back after that,” he said.
“But aren’t the children of London still evacuated?” she asked.
“Well, yes… technically.”
“So where do you stay?”
He sighed and opted for the truth. Maybe she would visit him if she knew where to find him. “I’ve stayed in the abandoned orphanage since after my third year. Cast a few protection spells around the place to avoid getting blown up during an air raid.”
He thought she would ridicule him for doing magic outside of school. It was grounds for expulsion. Instead she said, “those wards and barriers are complex bits of magic.”
“I guess.” It took him almost his entire third year to perfect them. A protection spell gone wrong could be deadly.
“How do you avoid the underage magic restrictions?” She asked.
“There’s a shield charm for that too,” he shrugged. He said it casually when, in reality, he couldn’t count the hours that he slaved over that spell.
“You figured out how to get around the ministry underage magic detections?!” She didn’t look angry, more amazed.
He smirked, and she shook her head, as if laughing at her own private joke.
“Doesn’t it get lonely staying there by yourself?” She leaned her chin in her hand and watched him with such open and honest eyes. He didn’t particularly feel lonesome, he had plenty of things to do to occupy his time.
“It can be—not seeing anyone all summer…” He gave his best pitiful frown. Maybe if she thought he was lonely, she would visit him over the summer. Perhaps this wouldn’t end with today—with this year.
They fell into further easy conversation as the crowd around them expanded. Time ebbed and flowed without meaning—until she said, “It’s getting late. Should we head back?”
He didn’t answer, avoiding the question. “My birthday is almost over.”
“I suppose it is…”
“How did you know it was my birthday?” he asked her.
“Slughorn,” she chuckled as she gave her answer.
“You guys were talking about me?” He looked suspicious.
“No! It… came up.”
“It came up…”
“He mentioned it in passing.”
“He talks about my birthday in passing with other students?”
“Um… I guess. He mentioned it after you stormed off all pouty on Christmas. He said you always stay for Christmas and your birthday.”
“I was not pouty.” he grimaced at the word.
“What would you call it, then?” She grinned. Glasses clinked and laughter filled the air as the overwhelming crowd gathered together.
“Hmm… Sexually confused.”
“I—uh—what about me giving you a bag of Honeydukes sweets was sexually confusing to you?” She fumbled with her words. Twirling her finger in her hair.
She didn’t run away at the idea. It was a start. “Most of the things you do leave me both aroused and confused,” he said. His voice dropped in pitch. Those teeth bit into her lower lip and his eyes followed the movement. Could he kiss her? Here and now? Lean across the table—
She looked away from him, his stare too intense for her.
A deep shade of crimson colored her skin as she picked up her tankard to take a long drink. He could tell it was only to hide her burning face. She didn’t have any Butterbeer left.
“I’ll get us refills,” he said. All orders went through the bartender since the servers left an hour ago. It was late, but he wasn’t ready to head back to the castle and let this day end. He didn’t want to wait for her to object, so he escaped.
Pathetic of him. But at least if they had another round of Butterbeers in front of them, they could stay until they finished them. It bought them some time.
He slipped out of the booth and headed towards the bar. After some time, he flagged the bartender and ordered more Butterbeers. People filled the room. Drunk and falling over each other.
The enormous clock on the wall behind the bar read nearly midnight. A few minutes away. People cheered, ready to ring in 1943. Tom stared at the second hand as it ticked onward.
He should kiss her. Claim her. Take her for himself. She had to feel it, too. He couldn’t possibly be alone in this. It was too overwhelming for one person to bear by themselves.
He waited at the bar… time moved forward… he needed to kiss her. Bite that lip. Wrap her curls around his fist.
The countdown started. He could hear his heart beating in his ears.
People kissed at midnight on new year’s. Witches, wizards, and Muggles alike.
He turned on his heel and headed back towards the booth, drinks forgotten. This was his opportunity. Seconds away. He wouldn’t let the moment pass.
The bar grew louder, Tom ignored everyone. His sole focus on the witch sitting in the corner booth. She looked radiant. He was sick of her fleeting glances and mixed signals. Fed up with waiting, he resolved to take matters into his own hands.
She titled her head at him, her brows furrowed in confusion, “I thought you were getting a refill—”
He slid into the booth beside her, grabbed her face with both hands, and he kissed her.
There was cheering. Banging. Some sparks, booms, fireworks. There was toasting, singing, dancing. The Three Broomsticks exploded as the entire pub celebrated, but the detonation in Tom’s head was louder than anything else. Despite how absurd it may have seemed, it felt as though the new year had bloomed exclusively for them. For this moment, here and now.
She didn’t push him away. She didn’t put up any fight. In fact, his witch dove into the kiss almost as enthusiastically as him.
It took her three or four long seconds to react. She responded, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer. Tom leaned into her warmth. Hermione was as adept at ignoring the raucous noise as he was. She ran her hands through his hair. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for him, letting him explore her mouth. Tasting. She tasted like Butterbeer. Intoxicating and sweet. Perfect.
She hummed in contentment and relaxed into him further. The entire caliper of their kiss changed. His hands tightened on her hips, his mouth demanded more. The tender kiss became rougher. She gripped his hair, ran her nails along his neck. He gasped, and she breathed him in, inhaling all the sounds his throat made.
His hands flattened on her back before wrapping around her ribs. The coat covered her breasts. He could feel the shape of them hidden beneath the fabric, but he wanted to test their weight. To run his thumbs over her nipples. Suckle the skin there and run his tongue around her areola.
He pushed flush against her. It wasn’t close enough. She leaned back against the wall, one leg draped across the booth while the other dangled off. He devoured her. She slid down, slumping further on the bench. His body covered hers as he tried to crawl over her.
Wasn’t everyone celebrating now? Would they even notice if he fucked her right here in this corner booth? If he moved his hand up her skirt? He had to do something! He needed more!
This coat clenched her waist and other curves taunted him all day. He wanted to tear it off her. To rub his aching cock against her heat between her legs. The layer between them was too thick.
He fumbled for the buttons.
“You guys know there are rooms upstairs for that sort of thing… if you’re interested. We have one left.” It was the bartender now standing next to their table with an amused expression. He had shaggy brown hair with streaks of gray that hung to his shoulders.
Hermione shoved Tom off her and scrambled as far away as the booth would allow. Her face burned.
Tom cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts quicker than her. “Thanks for the offer. We got a bit… carried away.” His voice dropped an octave at the end, his eyes flicked towards the blushing witch trying to melt into the wall. The bartender shook his head with a laugh as he set two full tankards of Butterbeer on the table. Tom forgot about those. The man walked off.
Hermione dropped her flushed face in her hands. Tom shifted, his trousers now uncomfortably tight.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Tom said. He adjusted himself as he stood.
The bartender was pouring a round of Firewhisky for a group of four ruckus guys at the bar. He raised a brow at Tom as he approached.
“Where’s the girlfriend?” He asked. Was that what she was? He always thought the term would bother him, but when applied to Hermione, it didn’t.
He may not know the first thing about being a boyfriend, but Tom would learn for her.
“Back at the table.”
“Change your mind about the room?” Tom would take him up on the offer in a heartbeat. He would drag Hermione upstairs, silence the walls, and have her over and over all night long. Feel her beneath him. Maybe he would hold her for a brief nap before he fucked her in the early hours of the morning.
She wasn’t ready for that... not yet.
“Bathroom.”
The bartender nodded his head to a small hallway. Witches lined up for the toilets, but the wizard’s bathroom was open. Figures. He slammed the door behind him, locked it and revealed when he got his cock gripped in his fist. He needed to relieve this pressure.
He could still feel her lips on his. Her tongue. Soft. Passionate. Incredible.
Was this going to be a habit? They passionately make out and then he would get off by himself after? He contended with the knowledge that eventually they wouldn’t end with a few kisses. He would know every inch of her body. Find out what made her crazy. One day, he would press inside her. Bring her to the brink of arousal until she could hardly stand it. Make her cry out when she came, her tight walls gripping him almost painfully; like she never wanted him to leave. In the best possible ways.
He thrusted harder into his fist as he imagined her tits bare. He would ravish her breasts once he got his hands on them. Give them the attention they deserved. Make her scream and beg for more.
Tom pictured his little lion, legs spread before him, her pink, wet cunt dripping as she eagerly awaited him to push inside her. Her big brown eyes sparkled with ecstasy when he—
It didn’t take him long to shudder and spill into the toilet.
A sense of clarity passed over him. The tension lifted. He washed his hands and cleaned himself before he pushed open the door and reentered the crowd.
They needed to define whatever this was between them. There was something there, something that he never experienced before, something he could no longer ignore. He didn’t want to ignore it. He wanted more. Rather than this craving for her getting better, it was getting worse.
His normal tactics of being charming and flattering weren’t possible with Hermione. She always saw right through him. Knew exactly which buttons to push to rile him up.
At least Cuffe was out of the picture. Tom made sure of that. Maybe Cuffe would consider transferring schools. An unknown assailant tortured him. Surely that was transfer worthy.
He froze when he spotted Hermione. She had her head held high. Fury stretched across her usually angelic face. A wiry-thin blond man sat in the seat Tom vacated. His eyes were glassy and his skin red with intoxication. He had to be in his 20s.
The guy flung his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against his side. She tried in vain to shimmy away.
This fucker was touching his witch. He pressed his lips against her ear as he said something that made her blush. Her mouth fell open with a mixture of both shock and outrage.
Tom's fists clenched, but he let a cool smile cross his face as he approached the booth. He intended to look calm and collected. He probably appeared sinister. Tom stewed with anger.
Hermione looked visibly relieved to see Tom. The guy didn’t even notice him there. Until Tom slammed his fist on the table. Their full tankards of Butterbeer splashed with the sudden movement.
“Problem mate?” he slurred his words.
“I think you’re at the wrong table.” Tom’s nails dug into his palms. He needed to move his hands! It drove Tom crazy! The way he touched her—felt her skin. Could he smell the apples in her hair too?
“Who you?” he asked, turning to Tom without letting Hermione go. Hermione used the distraction to push him away. He fell out of the booth, knocking into the table next to them, where a group of giggling witches squealed.
Tom sat beside his witch, coolly observing the guy getting up from the floor.
“I’m not interested!” Hermione snapped at him. Tom had to wonder if the male cared if she was interested or not. He appeared too sloshed to know the difference.
“Sure you aren’t interested in sharing?” He asked Tom. He practically laid across the table to stay on his feet. Tom heard Hermione’s sharp intake of air. If it wasn’t for her sitting next to him, he may have killed the guy.
But he didn’t. Someone should commend him for his restraint.
Before Tom could answer, another person appeared behind the guy and grabbed his arm. “Westley, come on!” This one had darker hair and looked irritated with his friend as he dragged him away.
The blond continued to leer at Hermione from across the room. He stripped her with his eyes. It was enough to push Tom over the edge.
Hermione grabbed her mug and started complaining about the way the fucker manhandled her before Tom appeared.
Tom didn’t say a word. His anger was simmering below the surface, out of reach but gaining heat. His fingers stroked the cool glass of the Butterbeer. He barely tasted the liquid in his mouth.
She started talking about classes then. Trying to engage Tom in some conversation. They finished their drinks, but the tension never dissipated. She must have sensed it because moments later, her warm hand touched his arm.
“Are you okay, Tom?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to the restroom, but we should probably head back.” He nodded, not wanting to admit his desire to stay. To sit next to her in this booth forever. Nothing in his life compared to this one day with her.
He saw Westley stumble by the table, telling his friend he was about to take a piss. Apparently, he didn’t plan to use the provided facilities because he walked right outside into the snow.
Tom couldn’t let the perfect opportunity pass. Hermione went to the bathroom, inserting herself into the endless line of witches, and Tom followed him into the snow.
The biting chill fueled the fire under his skin rather than tame it. Tom had his wand pointed at the man before he even saw him there. The guy collapsed into the snow, screaming in pain. He was probably too drunk to comprehend what was happening. Too sloshed to realize who he messed with today. But Tom would make sure to engrave the pain forever in his memory.
He liked the noise. He found it satisfying, but he had to silence the guy since he was being a bit too loud. Tom had no intention of being caught.. He didn’t have long either. Hermione could return any time..
He had to work fast.
He strengthened the magic behind the spell, watching the silent screams with satisfaction. He sent a slashing hex at him, slicing through his coat and across his chest. Blood poured from the wound. Tom noticed his half-empty glass of beer sitting on a crate in the alley, picked it up, dumped the contents over the gushing injury. While he couldn’t hear the screams, based on the man’s face, it hurt. Then he smashed the glass against his sternum. Tom left a few of the shards embedded in his skin for good measure.
It was bloody work, but nothing Tom couldn’t Scurgify from himself. He wished he had more time, but he had to settle with this. He couldn’t risk being away for much longer.
Hermione wasn’t back when Tom returned to the table, but his mood was significantly better. He left the fucker in the snow, his trousers around his ankles, covered in his own piss, vomit, blood, and beer. He deserved it.
Someone would find him eventually. His friends would assume he vomited and passed out, smashing his glass and cutting himself. Only Tom knew how the guy screamed before he lost consciousness. Depending on how quickly they found him, they could still heal his injury and save his life. Or he'd be dead. Tom didn't care either way.
Nobody touched his witch and got away with it.
Nobody.
Notes:
Chapter 22 Song: enemy: Charli xcx. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Sorry about all the fluff guys ❤️🖤❤️🖤. Tomione fluff isn't something we see very often, but I like it so here we are! Let this also serve as a friendly reminder that despite all the fluff in the chapters over the winter break (we have a few left), Tom Riddle hasn't changed.
Fyi: a bit of a rocky posting schedule for the next few weeks. I’ll still post every weekend but perhaps not as consistently as I try and get these chapters edited among other life obligations ❤️🖤❤️🖤
XOXO- Tipp
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 23: 23: The Three Broomsticks
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A large ‘closed’ sign greeted them as they approached the doorstep of Honeydukes. It didn’t surprise Tom; it was well after midnight on New Year’s Day after all. Hermione, however, acted like the news was completely unprecedented.
“What do they mean they’re bloody closed?!”
“It’s past midnight on—”
“I know what time it is, Tom!” She paced in front of the doorstep, her feet dragging through the freshly fallen snow.
The winter chill was making itself known in the Scotland mountains. Icy air entered his lungs with each breath. He shifted their shopping bags to his other hand. His fingers going numb.
He opened his mouth to reply, but then decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Any attempt to console her would only rile her further. Silence was his best option.
“We could unlock the door!” She suggested.
He kept quiet.
“It’s a simple spell!”
He said nothing.
“It’s worth a try!”
He tried not to say anything. He really did. But the words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You think they wouldn’t have wards? You believe wizard-owned shops lock their doors at night and move along?” He watched Hermione’s eyes widen with horror. He pursed his lips as he fought to keep the smile off his face. She looked ready to pull her hair out.
“We could go through the main gates!” She rushed to say, her pitch getting higher. “It’s late. Maybe no one would notice us sneaking back into the castle!”
“I highly doubt that. Plus, with all the students at Hogwarts, I’m sure they have more security measures in place than some iron gates.” She glared at him. His blasé attitude about the whole thing probably didn’t help.
“There are other passages! We could go through the Shrieking Shack!”
“What is that?”
“Shoot!” she muttered something about werewolves and a willow tree; along with a bunch of other stuff Tom couldn’t quite make out.
Speaking of making out… He watched her assault on her lower lip increase with her anxiety. That bartender interrupted them just when things were getting good. He had his hand poised, ready to slide under her skirt. He didn’t care who saw them.
His eyes glazed over as he imagined the possibilities. Apparently, a quick wank in the bathroom didn’t satiate his appetite for her. Nothing did these days. “We could get a room,” he said. He would have her all to himself. No interruptions. All night long. Together. Alone. On a bed.
“What?!” She stopped pacing and gaped at him. She looked at him as if he just suggested running away into the mountains to be married and having her bear his children—rather than merely staying some place warm for a night.
He watched her tongue peek out and wet her lips. He would suck on that tongue as soon as he slammed the door closed.
Snow fell lightly on her curls. Her nose was pink with the cold.
“The bartender said they had a room. We’ll come back in the morning when Honeydukes is actually open.” He gestured at the building with his hand—or was it a giant ice cube? It was difficult to tell.
“We can’t share a room!” She squealed, crossing her arms over her chest in exasperation. She did this adorable, outraged scowl—like a cute little lion.
“I would have suggested sleeping on the doorstep of Honeydukes, but it’s freezing and doesn’t look comfortable.”
“Are you laughing right now?”
“No.”
“This isn’t funny!”
“I’m not laughing.”
“It looked like you were laughing to me!” She moved her hands to her hips and her lips pressed into a firm line. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he fought to suppress a grin at her comical pout. She definitely wouldn’t appreciate that right now.
“I promise, I wasn’t laughing,” he repeated.
“You’re a garbage liar, Tom!” she said. He was actually an excellent liar, but he wasn’t about to dispute her claim. “I don’t appreciate any humor in this!” she huffed and returned to her pacing, watching the ground where the snow accumulated. He could almost see the panic welling under her skin.
Dammit. Despite how entertaining the situation was, he hadn’t planned on freezing tonight. His witch was being stubborn.
He stepped closer to her. “Hermione, stop.” His fingers touched her upper arm. He imagined her red coat’s texture to be soft, but the bitter chill made his skin prickle with pain at the contact.
She paused and eyed him skeptically.
“I’m going back to the Three Broomsticks.” He had a purse full of Galleons in his pocket. There should be enough for one night. “I would like you to come too, but I won’t force you. It’s up to you.” He decided not to add that he wanted to fuck her into the mattress.
She blinked at him once, then twice, three times before she spoke. “Okay,” her voice sounded small in the strange quiet of the winter. “I’ll go back to the Three Broomsticks with you.” His eyes glazed over as images of her smooth skin and naked body infiltrated his thoughts. Despite the biting cold, the blood rushed to his cock. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?” He said, his mind distracted by the fantasy of all the things he would finally do to her once they were alone.
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
That startled him back to reality. “I highly doubt there will be more than one bed—”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
What the fuck?
“Um—” he started. Did she expect them to just go to sleep? No way would he doze off with her lying right beside him. “Okay,” he said, his expression said otherwise. There was no use hiding it.
“I can sleep on the floor—”
“Absolutely not.” She was being absurd.
“We can’t share a bed!” she squealed.
“You aren’t sleeping on the floor, Hermione.”
“Then what do you suggest?” she asked with a huff. He knew exactly what he wanted to suggest, but she probably wouldn’t agree to it. Not yet.
Damn… it was going to be a long, frustrating night.
“Look, Hermione, it’s bloody freezing out here. I want to get warm.” Now they were both on edge. The way he imagined getting warm was not rubbing his hands together in front of a fireplace.
She glared at him. When she said nothing, he grew more irritable. “I won’t even touch you if that makes you feel any better.” He should have said he planned to curse both his hands off. It was the only way he was going to keep his fingers from finding her if they shared a bed. Warm and soft. Innocent and sweet. Part of him wished he had suggested sleeping on Honeydukes’ doorstep.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
Together, they trudged through the snow back to the Three Broomsticks. She must have sensed his tension because before they walked through the doors, she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. She wore gloves and the soft fabric enveloped his fingers.
The crowd had mostly dissipated. A few stragglers remained, finishing the last of their drinks with their friends. The bartender had his wand out. With a quick wave, dishes gathered in the sink behind him.
“I’ll get the room.” He said, reaching for his coin purse.
“I can’t let you pay!”
“You work at the Leaky Cauldron, barely making sickles to survive. I can cover this.”
“Like you’re rolling in Galleons growing up in an orphanage,” she scoffed. Tom rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. “I can’t let you pay, Tom. This was my outing for your birthday.”
“Hermione, do you even have enough money to pay for the room?”
“I do!”
“And how much would you have after?”
She frowned, but didn’t respond.
“That’s what I thought.”
Hermione was apparently unwilling to pursue the argument because she dropped it.
The bartender gave Tom a cheeky grin when he asked for the room. Blushing, Hermione scanned her surroundings, perhaps searching for a barrel of mead to drown herself in. Tom handed over the required Galleons.
“Room twelve. Up the stairs on your left.” The man said, tossing Tom a large brass key before returning to wiping out a row of freshly cleaned mugs.
And just like that, they secured themselves a room for the night. Together. Alone. And he promised he wouldn’t touch her.
If she were anyone else, he might shrug it off as an empty promise and take his chances. He was an excellent liar, after all. Once he had her alone in the room, she would be at his mercy. Vulnerable to his desires. He could do whatever he wanted to her. Seize everything he dreamed of. Then, if worse came to worst, he would alter her memories.
He grimaced at the thought. Hermione was brilliant. She would have the counter curse ready if he tried to break into her mind again. She was the only person who kept one step ahead of him. He couldn’t understand how she pulled it off. Did her future offer some source of knowledge base on him? What era did she come from?
He glanced down at her. Her eyes were tired but had a golden gleam to them. Her hair, which earlier fell in delicate waves over her shoulders, was now more unruly than usual. She pulled it up in a messy bun of curls on top of her head, her slender neck now on display.
She was a pretty thing... and he promised not to touch her.
It didn’t mean he couldn’t watch her sleep. Run his fingers along her skin while she was blissfully unaware. Feel her breath on his neck. He was desperate for any morsel he could get.
There was no way he was keeping his hands to himself tonight.
She stared at the key like she expected it to burn his hand. He needed to ease some of her tension.
He turned his attention to the bartender. “Can I get a double pour of brandy, neat?” The man raised a brow as he considered the request. Tom heard Abraxas order this before. He figured if he spoke with confidence, the guy would serve him without question.
“Sure you’re old enough to be drinking?”
“Pretty sure I know my age.” Tom gave a casual grin. The man behind the bar arched an eyebrow, unconvinced.
“Tom.” Her hand touched his arm. She looked confused, probably trying to figure out how to chastise him for ordering alcohol when she knew he was underage. “I’ll get the brandy since you paid for the room. Make it a triple pour Dragon Barrel Brandy.” She pulled out her money pouch.
“I’ll need for you to prove your age.” The bartender said. He extended his wand and Hermione presented her palm. Tom grimaced. Abraxas never had to pass an age test. He ordered whatever he wanted. Perhaps it was because of the Malfoy name, not his confidence in ordering. That irritated him more.
He tapped her hand with the tip of his wand. Her skin glowed, producing a brilliant yellow color. It was mediocre magic.. a drop of aging potion would fool the spell. Regardless, the man seemed satisfied and poured the brandy.
“Not going to ask why I ordered the drink?” He asked her, leaning against the bar.
“Nope.” He raised a brow at that.
“No?”
“No. Because I also wanted the brandy.” She leaned on the countertop, smirking at him. “Besides, you would have probably gotten us kicked out when he realized you weren’t of age yet.” As if on cue, the bartender slid her a large glass of amber liquid.
She took it without comment and lifted the glass to her lips, taking a swig. “Shall we head to the room?”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione served a lot of drinks at the Leaky Cauldron—the drink passed across the counter was more than a triple pour. The bartender was generous with the liquor. Not that she was going to complain.
The brandy burned her mouth and throat with each gulp. She had to admit that it left a pleasant aftertaste. A sweet aroma that convinced her to take another drink, only to shudder when the liquid stung like swallowing acid. She drank hard alcohol once before—the summer before her first fifth year. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place contained an extensive liquor collection. It wasn’t difficult for Fred and George to swipe a bottle. Hermione spent most of the evening holding Ginny’s hair while she vomited.
They drank Dragon’s Barrel Brandy that night. It was the reason she knew the name. Tasting it again made her nostalgic. A hint of sadness crept unbidden into her chest. She took another drink of the liquid to wash it away.
As Tom pushed open the door to room twelve, a strange echoing of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place reverberated through her. Hermione half expected a long hallway to be on the other side of that door with a portrait screaming at her, calling her filth, Mudblood, and scum of the earth. Walburga Black, Sirius’s mother, was a piece of work. Both in life and in death. The same Walburga Black that hung on Tom like a cat in heat. Hermione heard the rumors about them. It seemed the entire school knew they were hooking up around the castle.
She took another sip of the brandy.
Thankfully, there wasn’t a screaming portrait to greet her when she stepped inside. A fire roared in the hearth and a candle flickered on the bedside table, making the space warm and cozy. They furnished the room with a dresser, end table, desk, and chair. A simple, connected bathroom contained a toilet and a sink. The bed was bigger than the single beds provided in the dorms but smaller than the one she recalled her parents having while growing up. She supposed they could both sleep comfortably.
She grimaced as she took another drink of the brandy. A light fog clouded her brain, and a pleasant tingling ran through her body. She was still in control of her faculties, that’s what mattered. Unlike at the dance...
“It’s—uh... cozy,” she said.
“I suppose,” Tom stood at the doorway and watched her open the curtains to let in the moonlight reflecting off the winter wonderland outside. She felt acutely aware of his presence. His every shift in position. The rustling of his clothes as he walked and the sound of his breath. She tried her best to ignore it.
They both kicked their shoes off and placed them in front of the fire to dry, along with their wet socks. They used the hooks for their coats. The skirt of her simple blue mid-calf gown, which was fashionable for the time, was also damp. She grimaced. She couldn’t possibly sleep in this uncomfortable dress.
Hermione set the brandy on the end table and searched the drawers for a solution. She discovered an extra sheet in the dresser and transfigured it into a nightgown. She shut herself in the bathroom and slipped it on. It wasn’t much. Plain, white, not particularly shapely. It was knee-length with short sleeves. She had improved her clothing transfiguration over the last year since she was too poor to afford a new wardrobe. She waved her wand at the garment again, creating a ruffle along the neckline. It gave it a little more style this way.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, it was to find Tom sitting in the chair, facing the fire, but staring directly at her. He didn’t look away. He didn’t blink. His mouth slightly parted. She looked down at herself. All her lady bits were covered. The soft fabric was knee-length, but she acknowledged the skirt would likely ride up when she sat. She wished Wizarding hotels had robes like some muggle ones did. She could at least cover herself a bit more.
He shifted in the chair, his eyes running the length of her body. His scrutiny brought the crimson to her cheeks. The warmth from the hearth and the glowing fire flickering against his pale skin made him look ethereal. The window showed the softly falling snow outside and set a precedence of peace. It had a romantic aura, bordering on erotic.
She broke the tension as she hung up her damp dress to dry before perching on the edge of the bed. She smoothed her nightgown, making sure it covered as much of her legs as possible.
At some point, he had picked up the glass of brandy. He held it forgotten in his hand.
“Are you going to drink that?” she could use some liquid courage about now.
“Right.” He brought it to his lips and took a lengthy drink. Then he choked. “This stuff is vile!” He gagged.
“It isn’t meant to be chugged! That is straight alcohol!”
“I know—achm—I know what brandy is.”
“You sure? You drank it like a rookie.”
“And how would you know how it’s supposed to be consumed?” He glared at her with no real ire behind it.
“I work at the Leaky Cauldron. I’ve served loads of liquor. You learn to spot the rookies.”
He lifted a brow at her and took a tentative sip before handing her the glass.
“If you want to be really pretentious,” she grinned, “You can swirl and sniff it before taking a dramatic drink. This has a spicy aroma with a hint of fig.” She slurped the liquid, letting it spray across her palate. “There is a subtle oak taste with a crisp, fruity flavor with a honey and cinnamon finish.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know, could be. Hard to say. Mostly it burns.” She conjured a glass and poured a generous amount for Tom. She didn’t want to drink the entire thing herself and spend the night on the bathroom floor.
“You’ve done this before,” Tom said. It wasn’t a question. She crossed her ankles, reveling in the fire, warming her freezing feet.
“Once. Drank with some friends. We played drinking games a few summers ago while sharing a bottle of this stuff.” She held up the brandy.
“What sort of games?” Tom leaned forward in the chair, his dark gaze on her.
“Um, have you ever played Never Have I Ever?” He shook his head. She figured as much. It was a muggle game she taught to everyone that night. “Right, someone says something they’ve never done before and if someone else in the group has done it, then they have to drink. It wasn’t fair, since we knew each other so well.” She smiled at the fond memory before nestling back on the bed, savoring the plush mountain of pillows.
He watched her in silence. Once again, she nervously ran her hand down the transfigured nightgown.
“I’m down, you first,” Tom said. He really wanted to play? She considered it. As long as she divulged nothing about her past. She could always be vague.
“Never have I ever... um...” She searched her brain for something benign, “cheated on my homework.” Tom didn’t drink.
He shrugged, “no point in cheating.” For him, there wouldn’t be. Tom Riddle was brilliant. Handsome too... Hermione blushed and glanced down at her brandy.
“Never have I ever shared a bed with someone,” he said.
“I don’t believe that.” She thought about the way Walburga clung to his arm at the dance.
He shook his head.
“Not even Walburga? Really?”
He snorted but said nothing.
Hermione briefly paused before taking a sip.
“Who?” His eyes narrowed. Tom could go from cheeky to terrifying in a matter of seconds.
“What?”
“Who did you share a bed with, Hermione?”
He definitely took this the wrong way. “My friend, Ginny. When I would stay at her house, we shared the bed in her room.” His anger deflated. “My mum and I also shared a few times on holiday. I’ve never slept in the same bed as a guy before,” she said. “Guess I won’t be able to say that after tonight.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. It was then that she noticed the way his shirt fell open. She tried not to gape. It took everything she had to keep her composure. When did he unbutton his shirt? His chest… His skin looked so smooth. Creamy and flawless by the firelight. His dark hair was slightly damp from the snow. A smile curved on his full lips.
Hermione felt overwhelmed by her attraction to him, despite knowing what sort of person he could become. He held himself with confidence and intelligence. Power radiated off him. It was magnetic.
His gaze traced every contour of her face, as if he was trying to commit it to memory. As if she had consumed his attention and captivated his every thought just by her being here. It felt... powerful.
“Not still determined to sleep on the floor?”
“No, you promised not to touch me.” Part of her wished she hadn’t agreed to that.
He grimaced. “I did.” He took a drink from his glass. “I’m regretting that promise right about now.”
Her stomach flipped. She swallowed hard. The small room suddenly felt sweltering. Maybe they should open the window, snow be damned. His chair was close to the bed. Did he move closer?
Hermione opened her mouth to reply but couldn’t think of anything to say.
She cleared her throat. “Never have I ever been inside the Slytherin common room.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope, drink up!”
“Are we playing dirty now?” He ran his hand through his hair. She watched a single drop of water drip down the side of his face and roll along his neck. She looked away and refocused. This was never a problem with Krum. She always had her faculties about her.
“No idea what you’re talking about. You were perfectly aware of the rules of the game, were you not?” She batted her lashes innocently.
“Fine.” He took a drink. Their glasses were almost gone now. Probably a few more drinks each. “Never have I ever snuck into a bathroom I wasn’t supposed to be in.”
“Never have I ever followed a girl into the bathroom she wasn’t supposed to be in.”
“Never have I ever manipulated Slughorn for access to the restricted section of the library.”
“Never have I ever used legilimency on someone.”
“Never have I ever worked at the Leaky Cauldron.”
“Never have I ever lived in an orphanage.”
“Never have I ever kissed Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe,” he said.
She frowned at him. “How did you know about that? Nobody was supposed to know about that.” It was one time. After he asked her to the Yule Ball. She hadn’t seen it coming. Didn’t know what to do when his lips touched hers. She froze and waited for the moment to end.
But they were the only ones there. Right?
“Is that why you kissed him in a secret corridor that nobody ever goes?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but she didn’t miss the anger there too. The hint of darkness dripping from his mouth. The kiss infuriated him.
She bit her lip, eyes gazing into the fire, unable to face his furrowed brow. “I was surprised when he kissed me. I hadn’t expected it, and I didn’t know what to do once it started, so I just let it happen.” She wasn’t sure why she felt like she owed Tom an explanation. It wasn’t like they were dating at the time. He had no claim on her. They weren’t really dating now… were they?
She drained the remainder of the glass. The tingling became a vibrating sort of numbness and warmth wrapping around her.
“Never have I ever cursed Barnabas Cuffe after the Yule Ball when his date was too... indisposed to defend herself.”
He stared at her, unblinking. There was a hush in the room. She suspected he was the one that left Cuffe in the “bad shape” that Gussie found him in. Would he admit to it?
Slowly, he lifted his glass and drained it.
“You knew?” He asked. His eyes fixing on hers.
“I assumed.”
“He was going to hurt you, Hermione.”
“I—I know.” She didn’t want to think about it. How someone she trusted could deceive her like that. How did Tom Riddle become the hero? He wasn’t supposed to be the hero in any story. “I may not like the way you handled it, but I am grateful you were there.” Her words were soft. Perhaps a bit slurred.
“I’ll always protect you, Hermione.”
She knew, without a doubt, that his words were true.
***
Hermione woke to the sunlight slanting across the bed. At first, she was confused, her brain not registering where she was. But then the distinct smell of Tom engulfed her, the comforting cedar wood and peppermint, and she remembered.
He breathed deeply against her back. She could feel the warmth of his arm draped over her, his hand splayed over her abdomen. He had his nose buried in her hair.
She wasn’t on her side of the bed anymore. During the night, she invaded his space. Snuggled closer to him and he responded by putting his arms around her.
This wasn’t the “no touching” scenario she envisioned, but she couldn’t be upset about it. She never wanted to escape this feeling of comfort and safety being wrapped in his arms.
Pushing her thoughts aside, she ran her fingers along his skin; feeling the chords of muscle in his hand covered by smooth flesh. She was having a pleasant dream. She was home helping her mom with Christmas dinner. Ron, Harry, Tom, and Gussie were all there too. She couldn’t say they got along, but their antics amused her. Tom sulked about something Ron said. Then she woke up.
They fell asleep on top of the comforter, not even bothering with the blankets. Her nightgown rode up, revealing most of her thighs. Their legs were intertwined, hers bare, but he still had trousers on. She thanked Merlin for that. She tried not to overthink this erotic position they were in.
Carefully, she shifted her body to face him. He removed his shirt before climbing into bed next to her. His solid chest pressed against her. His eyes were closed. Long lashes, casting shows over his cheekbones. This close, she could see very light freckles over his cheeks. He looked at peace while asleep.
She liked him and it was clear he was at least attracted to her. She couldn’t tell if his feelings for her ran deeper. Maybe whatever this was between them would stop him from opening the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps he wouldn’t try to take over the entire wizarding world.
She reached up and pushed the hair out of his eyes, then trailed her fingers along the stubble of his jaw. He was so handsome. It wasn’t fair.
The pads of her fingers traced his full lips, feeling his breath against her flesh before moving over his cheek again. She wanted to memorize every arch and angle of his beautiful face. Keep it with her forever. If she were to find a way home, she would always have this memory. She wanted it to be as vivid as possible.
“Hermione.” His palm cupped fingers against his cheek. He kept his eyes closed. He couldn’t see the fierce flush covering her face. She felt like he just caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “I thought we agreed to no touching.”
“You had your hands on me this morning,” she mumbled.
“Hmm... but I was sleeping when they got there, wasn’t I. I can’t be blamed for unconscious touching.” She wouldn’t put it past him to pull her closer when she was asleep to use it as an excuse.
“Sorry. I thought you were asleep.” He kept her fingers locked against his cheek. Like he planned to trap her there. She didn’t hate the idea…
“I was.” His voice sounded smooth and melodic—a caress all by itself. His eyes opened and his sleepy gaze landed on her. He wrapped his hand around hers and tilted his head to place a soft kiss against her palm. A shiver coursed through her entire body. “I’m not asleep anymore.” His lips moved against her wrist as he spoke. He pressed closer to her, their legs still tangled, but she could feel his erection against her thigh. It was exactly what she was trying to avoid by staying with him. Right now, she couldn’t remember why she didn’t want this. He was so captivating.
His fingers glided along her arm as his eyes continued to examine her. Waiting for her to pull away. Did she even want to stop him?
She pressed her hand into his hair and shifted against him. The electricity between them sparked, triggering a small fire. This was the moment. Either she could stamp the fire out... or she could fan it to a blaze.
Her body decided for her. Her lips found his in a slow, chaste kiss. The movement caused her thigh to rub against the hard length of his cock through his trousers.
He groaned. They grabbed for each other. She pulled him towards her. Their mouths met again. Sleepy and slow. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for him, letting him explore the inside of her mouth. She thanked Merlin for the scurgify charms for oral hygiene—before the thought eluded her brain entirely.
When she nipped him with her teeth, he hummed again and rolled her onto her back. Tom’s body covered hers. His skin felt hot against her thin nightgown, now hiked up to her hips. His rigid cock rubbed against her core, only hidden by the limited material of her knickers. He ground in an intoxicating way that made her entire body shudder.
His hand tangled in her hair to angle her better. The other gripped her bare thigh and lifted her leg over his hip, running down the skin of her leg until he cupped her bottom in his hand, kneading the flesh. He pressed their pelvises together.
Holy hell, she felt like she was flying. No. Not flying—she hated flying—she was high on him. But she was falling. Hard. Intoxicated by his scent, lips, hands, heat, and body. The way he rolled his hips. Even through his trousers and her knickers, she could feel the shape of him. He stimulated her in ways she wasn’t familiar with. It wasn’t unwelcome either.
“Fuck, Hermione,” he breathed against her. His eyes popped open, dilated and huge. Looking at her like she was the center of his universe. She was a goddess in his arms.
They grew frantic. Panting as they strained against each other. Touching as much as they could. She moaned against him when his cock rubbed her in the most delicious way. He made a guttural sound deep in his throat. They were all for her. He was hers.
His hand dipped under the fabric of her knickers. He was going to touch her, and she was about to let him. She desperately desired it. Craved more of what he gave her. The devil dragged her into his world, and she never wanted to escape.
There was a knock on the door. They froze.
“Check out in ten minutes unless you pay for another night.” A man’s voice said. Hermione blushed. Could he hear what they were doing? They hadn’t silenced the room! She once read that wizarding hotels silenced and muffled rooms by default. She hoped that was true!
Tom rolled off her and covered his face with his hands. She sympathized with his obvious disappointment. Reality came crashing down on them both.
He muttered something under his breath. She had to strain to hear him, but it sounded like he was listing off potion ingredients.
“Tom, what are you doing?”
“Trying to get rid of this.” He gestured to his blatant erection, showing through his trousers.
“Oh... uh.. okay, carry on.” She slid off the bed to get dressed.
Notes:
Chapter 23 Song: Too Sweet: Hozier. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
For those on my Tumblr I did post a little preview to chapter 23 last week! I'll do this from time to time. So check it out if you don’t want to miss those 😏
Thank you for all the love and support! ❤️🖤❤️🖤 This book is going so much further than I ever imagined! As many of you know, this is not only my first fanfic, it’s actually my first work of fiction that I’ve ever released to the public to read. I could have never imagined such a response. It’s overwhelming 🥺
Happy Holidays everyone! Next chapter to be coming your way on January 1st! Sorry for the funky posting schedule, it will get back to normal in a few weeks!
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 24: 24: Kitchen Nightmares
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Despite Tom's desire to spend the day in Hogsmeade, Hermione insisted they return to the castle. Her panicked expression at the idea of not going back swayed him—he had no choice. He obliged the little lion and followed her through the rocky passageway and out the statue of the one-eyed witch.
“What did you want to do today?” Tom asked her. He needed to shower and change his clothes, but this conflicted with his desire not to part from her. He studied her expression as it morphed into—he honestly wasn’t sure what to call it. A look of discomfort. Perhaps disappointment.
“I need to head back to my dorm for a bit, but we can meet for lunch around one, maybe?”
Three hours? He frowned but conceded.
He made his way to the Slytherin Common room alone and headed to his dormitory. He was looking forward to that shower. And he wanted to look through his purchases again. He marveled at the weight of the shopping bags in his hand.
As he entered his dorm room, it was to find it wasn’t as deserted as he anticipated. An owl occupied his bed. When it noticed Tom, it hooted with glee. Flapping its wings in its excitement for a successful delivery.
Tom scanned the creature with suspicion. Nobody ever sent him letters. He wondered how long the thing waited for him to return. He detached the note tied to its leg, and the owl departed out the door after making a quick victory lap around the perimeter of the room.
He briefly considered how an owl would get inside the Slytherin dorms. They were located under the lake. It wasn’t like a bird could fly in through a window.
He shook his head and tore open the letter.
Tom,
You asked me to send you an update on the task you assigned me during break. I danced with her at Crouch’s New Year’s party. She definitely showed interest. So far, I have encountered no issues. As you expected, this was not difficult to accomplish.
-Reinhardt Lestrange
Tom nodded in approval. He hadn’t forgotten his plans he put into play just before the holidays. They were merely pushed aside as a little lion occupied more of his thoughts. A certain level of discretion was required, especially now that Hermione was hanging around.
He could manage that.
Would she remain beside him when the other students returned to the castle? She wouldn’t turn her back on him, right? Maybe they would spend the summer together, too. He planned to take a trip to meet the Gaunt family, relatives of his mother. He tracked them down to a house outside of Little Hangleton. Tom doubted he would be gone long. They still had the rest of the summer to spend together.
Tom started folding the letter before spotting more text on the other side of the parchment. He flipped it around and continued reading.
By the way,
Hermione Granger wrote to me a few days ago and chastised me for not getting you a Christmas gift. Though, I would like the record to show that it was you who insisted we not get you anything on the threat of torture. She also informed me that yesterday was your birthday. She was rather aggressive about it in her letter. Said I should step up and be a better friend. I didn’t appreciate the accusation considering you were the one that refused to divulge the date of your birth. I asked you about it during our first year and you blew off the question.
Please tell your witch that I wished you a happy birthday, and I sent you a gift.
-R.C. Lestrange
Tom ignored the thrill that ran through him at the ‘your witch’ comment. She was his, and soon everyone would know it. He wouldn’t let her slip through his fingers again. No more fuckers like Barnabas Cuffe or Westley thinking she was up for grabs.
She’s mine.
He looked around for the reported present and noticed a small package sitting on the bed, perfectly wrapped with neat folds and crisp edges.
Reinhardt actually sent him something. Why would Hermione bother writing to him? When did she even do it? She probably composed the letter when they were chatting in the Room of Requirement. He never should have confessed his shock at getting a Christmas present. She must have assumed his friends had never got him anything. Which, in all fairness, was true. Tom never cared about presents for pointless celebrations. But apparently, she didn’t feel the same way.
A smile curved his lips as he picked up the simple, paper-wrapped package.
Tom needed to do something for her. Return the favor. He considered this. She wasn’t one to care for material things. A gesture to get her attention was in order.
Then it hit him. He knew exactly what to do, and he had just enough time to set the plan in motion.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
After Hermione and Tom agreed to meet for a late lunch, they parted ways. A sense of relief overcame her when she finally left his sight. It wasn’t because she wanted to be apart from him. It was the pain that reared its ugly head this morning.
On their walk through the passageway, the ache in her side took occasional sharp turns, causing her to almost collapse. She pretended she stubbed her toe. Or hit her skull on a low-hanging rock. She didn’t think Tom noticed, or at least, he never commented on it. He probably thought she was clumsy.
Regardless, she needed to distance herself from him. Her thoughts fixed on trudging back to her dormitory and retrieving her potion, hoping it would bring her some solace.
Hermione wasn’t due for the potion until tomorrow, but already, she could barely walk. Her twice-weekly schedule wasn’t enough anymore. What would happen if she got to the point where she needed it every day? Or, even worse, the potion stopped working entirely…
Somehow, she made it up the stairs to her dorm. It was difficult not to flinch as spasms of pain shot through her. Her vision blurred in and out. A darkness crept inside her, filling her soul with every passing breath. She wanted it out. Her fingers prickled to claw at her skin. She would drown at this rate.
Hermione snatched a bottle out of her end table and collapsed on her bed. She didn’t bother measuring out the dosage when she brought the glass to her lips. She estimated three swigs would be sufficient, then set the bottle back down.
To think that this was only the beginning. Her symptoms would have continued to intensify if she hadn’t intervened. A roar would start in her head. She would scream and cry with no control. Then, when things progressed to their breaking point, the hallucinations and emotional torment afflicted her mind.
It wasn’t nearly that bad… yet. She would define it as mildly unbearable currently. Which meant it was slightly bearable, right?
She wasn’t sure.
After a few minutes, a pinching pain on her forearm distracted her. She yipped and pulled her arm away, only for the pinch to start again.
She sat up and noticed three elegant owls staring at her. Each looked thoroughly annoyed. Their beady glares focused on her as if offended that she ignored them. The largest of the three nipped at her to get her attention. They each had a letter.
She shifted on her side and untied the notes from their legs before opening each in turn. Her friends followed through with their promise to send a list of the books within their family libraries. They told their owls to return after receiving Hermione’s reply, hence the irritation of the birds beside her. She did not know how long they waited for her.
It was clear, based on the titles listed, that her friends noticed her interest in time travel, paradoxes, and parallel worlds. While she never explicitly mentioned what she was reading about, they must have seen a trend in books she pulled from the shelves.
Perhaps one of these would contain some sort of answer that she needed. Fill the gap of knowledge that she required to return to her own world. She hadn’t given up hope on ever returning. If she managed to come here, she should be able to return home. There might not be an immediate solution. It may mean that she would have to wait until she secured a job as an unspeakable.
But there was always a chance. That possibility of there being a way home for her kept her motivated. She held to that small bit of hope in a vice grip. She left her world at the brink of war. It was probably in full swing now. Her friends would be fighting for their lives. Working to destroy the same dark wizard that she kissed with abandon a few hours ago.
She blushed at that thought. What would Harry and Ron say if they knew the nature of her relationship with Tom Riddle? What was her relationship with Tom Riddle, anyway?
Hermione refocused on the task at hand. She tackled Gussie’s letter first. It contained three parchments full of scribbled book titles. She marked about half a dozen books that could pertain to time travel or parallel worlds. One was a journal of someone whose name had come up before in her prior research. She had to wonder how Gussie’s family obtained such an item.
Then she marked three more because she couldn’t help herself.
The other two contained similar lists of books from both Alastor and Archie, which Hermione hurriedly replied to and attached her notes to the leg of each owl. There wouldn’t be a lot of time for them to compile the requested titles. The entire school was due to return tomorrow on the Hogwarts Express.
After releasing the owls, she relaxed back on her bed and watched them fly off into the cold, winter air. Hermione had been so distracted; she hadn’t realized when the pain dissipated. She desperately wanted a shower.
***
They sat together at the Slytherin table in the vacant Great Hall. The food appeared before them. He looked as refreshed as she felt. But he gave her a strange look. She couldn’t figure out why until he said, “I was told to inform you that Reinhardt wished me a happy birthday and sent a present.”
She froze as she reached for the plate of sandwiches. She studied his expression. He didn’t seem mad. That was good.
“What did he get you?” she asked, trying to sound innocent. She mailed him that letter on a whim. She wasn’t sure if Reinhardt Lestrange would even follow through. Though she was pretty irritated when she wrote it. She may have included a few veiled threats in the prose.
He reached into his robes and pulled out a silver pocket watch. The letters ‘T.M.R.’ were engraved on the front casing.
“Wow!” she gasped. Reinhardt came through. Much better than she had expected.
He smirked before tucking it away. He folded his hands in front of him like they were amidst a business meeting. “Did you also send letters to Norris and Abraxas?” he asked.
She snorted, “Of course not, Malfoy is a selfish… well—he’s an ass. There’s no way he would do anything. More likely, he would send me something cursed in response. Avery would probably find the whole thing funny. I figured Reinhardt Lestrange was the only one I had a chance of appealing to.”
“I see.”
“Are you mad?”
“Not really,” he said. So did that mean he wasn’t mad? She wasn’t sure. He didn’t exactly say those words... Was he a little angry with her then?
Tom sat too still—not reaching for the food. He studied her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat under his scrutiny.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m not mad, Hermione.”
“Okay…” the atmosphere between them became tense. He gave no indication of his current emotions. She had no way of knowing what mood he would display. She didn’t like entering unprepared.
She distracted herself by filling her mug with coffee and cream. He remained motionless as she took a sip. When the silence became unbearable she finally snapped, “Please say something!”
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. Even that infinitesimal movement eased some of her tension. “I have a surprise for you.”
She wasn’t expecting that. “Is this payback for my surprise yesterday?”
“Not at all—call it gratitude,” he gave her his most charming smile. One that made her heart flutter.
“How did you arrange a surprise already? It’s only been a few hours.”
He didn’t answer the question.
“Fine. When will I be getting this surprise?”
“This afternoon.”
She took another sip of coffee and watched him with interest.
“Okay.... when this afternoon?” She asked.
“Trying to fit me into your busy schedule, Miss Granger?”
She grinned at him. “I merely wish to gauge the nature of the surprise.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a surprise?” he asked, as if he hadn’t pestered her for hours the day before to reveal what she had planned.
“Not at all! Unlike you, I won’t be a baby about it and complain about hating mysteries the entire time. I’ll actually play along and will have a fantastic time doing so.”
“I was not a baby…” he grumbled. The pout on his face was priceless. She couldn’t stifle her laugh.
“You certainly complained like a toddler!” she chuckled.
“I’ll have you know I am well versed in the complaints of toddlers, since I was raised in a home that had a continuous rotation of them.”
“I see, so you learned your tantrum techniques from the source.”
His jaw dropped in a look of utter incredulity. She took pity on him. “Thank you, Tom. I’m very excited about whatever you have planned.”
They played a round of wizard’s chess after lunch using an old school set they checked out from the library. The pieces looked like they had seen many battles. The chessmen no longer had loyalty to anyone. They gave Hermione and Tom scathing looks every time they were told to move. Tom at least built some credibility among his black chessmen, but Hermione’s white chessmen argued endlessly with her. Eventually, they started quarreling amongst themselves, which escalated into an all-out brawl.
Tom watched in amusement while Hermione’s men shouted about civil war. Madame Pince walked by to investigate the commotion. She was a little more lenient since it was the holidays and allowed them to set up their game in the library.
“Are they fighting again? They do that. The white queen gets particularly upset when the left rook is taken. Rumor is they have a fling going on. It’s created some tension among the other chessmen.” Hermione looked down at the board. The rook in question was in pieces beside the board.
“Are you saying that in addition to keeping my king safe, I have to keep the left rook safe in order to avoid a coup d'état?” Hermione asked.
“And the queen herself, she’s had multiple flings, if I’m being honest. Last year, it was a knight. To win with those men, it’s important to know the current gossip. A few years ago, before I took the job here, she supposedly had a relationship with one of the black chessmen. Apparently, the entire set was unusable until the affair ended.” Madam Pince chuckled. Hermione frowned at her. She might have mentioned this when they checked out the chess set.
Tom sniggered as Madame Pince walked away.
“Oh hush. I’m losing because my queen has a lot of romantic interests!”
“Come off it, Hermione. She’s a slut.”
“How dare you slut shame her! What she does in her spare time is none of your business! And how was I supposed to know there were stipulations to this set?” Hermione gave him a withering glare that she knew was very effective in shutting up both Ron and Harry. Unfortunately, it made Tom laugh harder. Apparently, she was losing her touch.
“Say what you will Hermione, you’re dreadful at chess regardless of the chessmen you have.”
“Do you think you could do better leading the white set?” She asked.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Next time,” he grinned, “I’ll play with the white chessmen, and show you how it’s done.”
Hermione hadn’t stopped sulking about the chess game as she followed Tom down the corridor. He led her down a few flights of stairs and around the corner and finally stopped in front of a large painting depicting a bowl of fruit.
“The kitchens?” she asked. He raised a brow at her.
“You know where the kitchens are?”
“Sure, Gussie told me,” she lied. Hopefully, that was convincing. She already revealed too much of her knowledge about this school. It would rival most long-standing professors. Even Professor Binns.
Sometimes she needed to play dumb.
The thought made her stomach hurt.
Tom tickled the pear on the painting which swung open on invisible hinges, revealing the entrance to the Hogwarts Kitchens. Dozens of house-elves ran about the room. Many turned to bow to them, their bat-like ears flopping as they did.
“Master Riddle, Zooly prepared the requested ingredients!” One elf exclaimed, running up to meet them. This elf had thin, knobby knees, bright green eyes, and an enormous amount of white hair protruding from its ears. Based on the squeaky voice, Hermione assumed this was a female house-elf.
“Can we assist you with anything else?” another house-elf asked.
“Would you like a drink, miss?”
“Master Riddle, might we offer you any snack cakes?”
“Is there something we can get you?”
Every house-elf was speaking simultaneously. Hermione scanned the crowd, instinctively looking for Winky or Dobby. Neither of them would be here. While aware of this, her yearning to glimpse a familiar face overcame her.
Hermione had to bite back her old habits of spatting house-elf rights. Now was not the time to revive S.P.E.W.
“So, this is the surprise?” she asked him, looking at all the gleeful house-elves surrounding them.
“No,” he said, pointing to one of the long tables in the center of the room, “That’s the surprise.”
The table was overflowing with massive bags of flour, sugar, and bowls filled with butter and other assorted baking ingredients. A stack of empty dishes of all sizes sat next to a towering pile of cookie sheets.
“What is this?” Her heart clenched. She suspected she already knew but needed to be certain.
“We are going to make Christmas cookies.” He barely got the words out before she pressed onto her toes and kissed him.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
“You remembered?” she sputtered. “I said that offhand. I didn’t think you—I,” tears filled her eyes. He grimaced at the sight. He hated it when she cried. What did he do wrong now?
“Um—”
“Thank you! I mean it!”
“Does Miss not like the flour?” Zooly, the house-elf squeaked in alarm. Others were scampering about gathering more ingredients to stack on the table.
“More sour cream, miss. We have more eggs here!” A high-pitched voice said as they rushed back to the storeroom to grab another bowl of butter. The mountain of flour and sugar was growing as house-elves continued to pile on bags in response to her tears. Tom doubted this would solve her crying.
“No, stop!” Hermione shouted as she wiped her eyes. “Um... this is enough, thank you.” They had effectively doubled the amount of flour and sugar on the table.
“Just how many cookies did you think we were going to make?” She smiled now. That was good. The witch’s shifting emotions always threw him off. It didn’t help that he was trying to figure out why he wanted to please her so desperately.
He glanced at the mountain of ingredients on the table. Tom opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had asked the house-elves to gather some ingredients for Hermione’s recipe. But true to their nature, they never did anything by halves.
“I thought the house-elves might enjoy making cookies with us,” he lied. He didn’t care what the deformed goblin babies would like.
He glanced back at her, seeing her frozen in place, her mouth parted. To his horror, her eyes welled with tears again. Was she offended by the house-elves baking with them? They made all the Hogwarts food, and they were spectacular at it. Or was there something else about the creepy house-elves that upset her?
“Master wants house-elves to bake cookies!” Zooly squeaked.
“We bake cookies?”
“Gather all house-elves!”
Tom ignored the rambling idiots and stared at his pretty witch, waiting for her to give him a sign, any sign, of what to do next. She didn’t appear sad, but he couldn’t assume anything with her.
Once again, he didn’t get the chance to ponder this because she threw herself at him and kissed him with tear-filled enthusiasm.
He decided not to overthink it. He spent a few minutes devouring her lips while the insufferable creatures gathered in the kitchens. Cookies be damned. He would rather do this for the rest of the day. But Hermione broke away and insisted they get started.
Baking with a hundred house-elves might seem fine in theory, but in practice it was a chaotic disaster. Hermione started by taking out her wand and writing the recipe in the air and sending the words high so everyone could see. This worked well and was probably a good idea on Hermione’s part. What they hadn’t expected was the house-elves’ reaction.
Half the bat-eared freaks were so honored to be baking alongside their masters that they sobbed with uncontrolled joy over their dough. Hermione couldn’t salvage the tear-filled concoctions and tossed most of them out. Tears of joy morphed into tears of misery as house-elves, believing they failed their masters, agonized over ruining their cookies.
The other half of the inbred monstrosities, while polite, appeared exasperated by the turn of events. They had a million better things to do and couldn’t fathom how they wound up baking bizarre cookies. Tom could understand their ire. He felt the same way as he mixed what Hermione defined as wet and dry ingredients into separate bowls.
“Okay! Normally we would put our dough in the fridge overnight so it would be firm enough to cut into shapes, but uh... let’s just use a chilling charm.”
Every single house-elf had their huge orb eyes on her, looking like a sea of reanimated gnome corpses. Tom couldn't fathom how Hermione tolerated all their disturbing eyes on her. She pulled out her wand and muttered a chilling charm on her ball of dough.
“Um... do you have magic that can cool things?” she asked the crowd.
“I can,” Tom answered, holding out his hand and flicking his wrist for a quick, wandless, chilling charm.
Hermione was mid eye roll when she saw him do that. “Did you just do wandless magic?” She gaped.
“Yeah, I’ve practiced focusing my magic to perform a few simple spells without a wand.” He could also wordlessly suffocate people, but he didn’t think she would appreciate that.
“Chilling charm, miss?” One of the house-elves said. It had an extraordinary amount of white hair protruding from its oversized ears. Tom thought the name was Zooly, but he wasn’t sure. Nor did he care. He also had no clue if the thing was male or female. They all looked the same to him.
“Yes, to make things cold.”
As hundreds of glowing eyeballs stared at them, a sense of foreboding filled the room.
“How do you make pumpkin juice cold for meals?” Tom asked the group. The faster they finished, the sooner he could grope his witch again.
“Oh, yes Sir! We can make pumpkin juice very cold! Masters like cold pumpkin juice.”
“Yes!” Hermione said, “Make the dough cold the same way you make pumpkin juice cold!” Half the house-elves nodded eagerly, their ears flapping back and forth like deranged cabbages.
If the prep was disorderly, it was nothing to the decorating.
While the house-elves cooled and rolled their dough; Hermione and Tom transfigured hundreds of paperclips into Christmas-shaped stencils. They helped the house-elves punch out hundreds of cookies and put them in charge of baking while Tom and Hermione prepped the colored frosting.
Once again, pandemonium ensued. Most of them decorated as shamelessly as Tom and Hermione. They put minimal effort into slapping frosting on cookies. A few house-elves meticulously adorned their cookies with such precision, a single cookie took almost an hour. They came out looking like masterpieces.
“This looks wonderful Zooly! Great job!” Hermione praised.
“Zooly works hard! She is a good house-elf!”
“Did she add shading to each pine of that Christmas tree?” he asked, glancing down at one of the decorated cookies.
Hermione nodded. “She meticulously placed each spec of glitter to align where she wanted it.” Tom couldn’t decide if he was impressed or horrified by the outrageous waste of time.
Hermione explained to the house-elves that the cookies were for them to eat, but this confused them. In the end, they left the kitchens with bags full of cookies that they each dropped off in their common rooms before meeting for dinner.
Slughorn beamed at them as they entered the Great Hall. Since it was New Year’s Day, they set a single table. Though not as extravagant as Christmas, it was still a cause for celebration. At least, that’s what Slughorn said.
Hermione seated herself next to the fat wizard and chatted amicably with him, allowing Tom time to think. Slughorn kept eying him with a knowing gleam that made Tom imagine all the ways he could hex the fucker. He asked Hermione about their relationship, a question which Hermione dodged.
Tom frowned at that. What was their relationship anymore?
The dinner was uneventful until dessert, when mountains of decorated Christmas cookies appeared at the table.
“Christmas was last week. What are the house-elves doing?” Slughorn asked. He had to use his wand to summon a cookie from the top of the stack.
Hermione’s face reddened as she held back a laugh.
Tom rolled his eyes.
Neither of them partook in the provided dessert and instead left the Great Hall early. They stood side-by-side outside the doors. Did he invite her back to his dorm? There was that other Slytherin there. He couldn’t guarantee privacy.
There was always the Room of Requirement. Tom doubted she would go for sharing a bed again…
He tried to think of something—anything that would give them more time together.
Apparently, she was also thinking along these lines. “Um…” she stared at the ground, a blush creeping up her skin, “did you want to see my common room?” she asked.
Tom didn’t care what the Gryffindor common room looked like. This was their last night together before everyone returned. He wouldn’t miss this opportunity to be alone with her.
Notes:
Chapter 24 Song: LUNCH: Billie Eilish. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Tiny teaser of chapter 25 can be found on my tumblr here
I think we all know what's about to go down :)Again, temporary adjustment to posting schedule: planned posting for January 9
Also: this marks the end of the heaavvvy tomione fluff, hope you enjoyed! ❤️🖤❤️🖤 We still have a few light showers of fluff on the forecast, no raging storms though 🤣
XOXO - Tipp
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 25: 25: The Scar
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They walked together up the grand staircase. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every brush of his arm. The sound of his voice when he spoke. It distracted her.
Was he planning to accompany her through the portrait hole? It surprised her to realize that she wanted him to. This was their only chance since the entire school would be back tomorrow.
They reached the final landing that would lead them straight to Sir Cadogan’s portrait guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.
Sir Cadogan!
She spun on her heel to face Tom. She forgot all about the insane painting. He would start a frenzy when he saw Tom Riddle, a Slytherin ‘war general,’ as he so graciously put it, approach the tower.
“Um—” She started.
Tom looked apprehensive. Like he was afraid she would run away. Or that she would tell him she changed her mind. She could see it hidden deep in his dark eyes.
“I should probably let you know, the portrait that guards the common room is a bit, well—he’s mad.”
Her statement was clearly not what he expected. “Excuse me?”
“He thinks there is a war and has some erratic behaviors. But he’s a historical landmark or something, so the school won’t remove him. We are stuck with him despite his insanity. He requires frequent redirection and can go off on crazed tangents. Sometimes he will start an uproar and is nearly impossible to calm down. He believes the entire school is in battle right now and they left me behind to guard the sanctuary. He stands lookout over base for enemy attacks and, of course, you would be considered an enemy, being from another house. It’s difficult to predict his reactions sometimes.” She was rambling, and Tom gave her a bewildered stare. She had never seen Tom Riddle look bewildered before.
“Are you… are you asking me to leave?” There it was again—that furrow to his brow. The desperation in his eyes mirrored her own.
“No! Not at all! No! It's not that! I want you to stay—please stay!” She flushed a deep crimson as his lips quirked in amusement. “I was just going to warn you. And I think it’s best if I do the talking.”
“Whatever you say,” he grinned.
They started walking again, moving around a corner to the end of a corridor where they stopped in front of Sir Cadogan’s portrait. The knight was vigorously polishing his helmet and grumbling unintelligibly under his breath.
“Good evening, Sir Cadogan.” The knight’s eyes snapped up as he scrambled to place the half polished helmet on his head.
“Good ‘eve m’lady!” He said with a bow. “Dangerous to walk around alone during these times!”
“Oh, it can be,” she said. He stood again, straightening his helmet. “In memor—” but the knight wasn’t even looking at her. He fixed his gaze on Tom standing just behind her. The knight’s face morphed into an expression of shock and elation.
“You have returned with one of the enemy generals for capture! This is splendid news, m’lady!”
“No! This isn’t an enemy!” Sir Cadogan was beyond listening. Hermione seethed with frustration.
“This will surely turn the tides of war! He will provide us with valuable intel!”
“This is Tom Riddle, Sir Cadogan! He’s my friend!” Hermione wasn’t sure where their relationship was. They were, at the very least, friends. Friends who enjoyed a few heated kisses in private moments alone.
She glanced back at Tom and noted that rather than being amused by Sir Cadogan’s antics; he appeared annoyed. Like he just ate something sour. He glared at the floor. She couldn’t blame him. The knight was irritating.
“We must make haste in questioning our captive! I have heard rumors of an attack tomorrow! We should prepare for combat! Learn the weaknesses of our enemies!” Sir Cadogan looked downright gleeful. Hermione did not remind the insane knight that their troops were limited in number since she was the only Gryffindor in the castle.
Hermione peaked at Tom again before scrambling for words.
“Yes, I apprehended a captive, Sir Cadogan. We will proceed into the base for further questioning of the prisoner, password—”
“I am impressed by your bravery in entering enemy territory, m’lady, and that you have returned with such splendor! Indeed, this cannot go unrewarded!” He bowed somewhat awkwardly, his backside grazing the legs of the fat pony standing behind him. The horse glared at the knight, then walked into the adjacent tea party painting and enjoyed some fruit at the table. There was no one in the painting to reprimand him for eating their food.
Sir Cadogan didn’t notice. “We will honor you for your efforts in aiding the war! This will surely secure our victory in the upcoming battle!” He held his sword up as if charging into a line of enemies. His expression turned fierce as a fire danced in his eyes.
“Yes, password, Sir Cadogan—”
“They may have won the last battle, but the war will be ours!”
“Sir Cadog—”
“We will have the final victory! We must prepare our troops for combat! This is the sign we have been waiting for!”
“Sir Cadogan!” She had to shout to be heard. The fat pony gave her an irritable look before proceeding down the hall through the various portraits. A few ladies enjoying a picnic in a portrait around the corner shouted at the equestrian intruder, adding to the chaos of the corridor.
“Goodness, Sir Cadogan, come restrain your beast!” A woman said in a heavy french accent. “He is eating our crumpets!”
“My apologies Mademoiselle! My steed is merely guarding the perimeter of our territory. One cannot be too careful in times of war! I’m sure you understand!” The woman evidently did not understand and was very vocal about it.
“If you do not claim your beast this instant, I will send for Hundras the Werewolf to take care of him!” She threatened.
“Sir Cadogan, if you please!” Hermione stomped her foot, trying to regain control of the situation. This was particularly unruly, even for Sir Cadogan. At least Tom remained quiet, despite how exasperated he looked.
The knight stared down at her as if surprised to still see her there. “The password is ‘in memorium!’ Please let us through!”
“Yes, m’lady...” he glanced briefly behind him at the sloppily constructed wooden cross made of twigs. “To all those we have lost.... I bow to you.” He bowed so low that his partially polished helmet fell off his head. With that, his portrait swung outward.
She smiled back at Tom and gestured for him to follow her inside.
They were two steps into the common room when Tom pushed her against the stone wall and kissed her. He gripped her hair. Pressed the length of his body against her. He pinned her in place with his hips.
There was nothing gentle about this kiss. He was determined to own her.
She felt his tongue running along her lips, forcing his way in.
“Tom?” she tried, but she lost her words against his demanding kiss. Instead of stopping, he pulled her hair to deepen the kiss. He licked and sucked. He stole the air from her lungs. She panted, “I can’t —” She was having trouble speaking with his lips pressed so firmly against hers. “I—” He fueled the inferno between them but wouldn’t allow her the oxygen to keep the fire going.
She felt dizzy.
“I can’t breathe!” She finally managed. She pushed him off her. They both panted for air as if they completed a marathon. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her temple before running down the length of her jaw until his mouth hovered over hers.
“What is this for you?” His breath ghosted over her lips.
“What?”
“We’re friends?” She flinched at his harsh tone.
“Of course we’re friends.”
“Dammit Hermione!” He pushed off the wall and ran his hands through his hair.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re what’s wrong, you bloody, irritating witch!” Her brows furrowed. She hadn’t prepared for his anger.
He continued to mutter a nonsensical stream of curses and insults.
“Tom, calm down!” She felt lost and confused. The fury in his expression left her almost as breathless as his kiss.
“Don’t you dare try to placate me!”
“I don’t understand why you’re mad!” Despite the tension in her limbs, she refused to let him tear her down. She tightened her jaw and straightened her spine.
“Really? You don’t?” His anger only grew. “For fuck’s sake Hermione!” He slapped the wall next to her. She flinched but held her ground. “We shared a bed last night!”
“You’re making it sound worse than it was—”
“You make it sound like you routinely crawl into bed with men! Was there more than just your friend, Ginny?”
“What?!”
“I’ve never been in the same bed as a girl before! Never!”
“I know that!” He told her as much yesterday, but she couldn’t fathom what triggered this sudden explosion of outrage from him. “I still don’t understand why you’re so upset!”
“So what happens when everyone comes back tomorrow? Will you go up to Crouch and tell her we’re friends?”
“I—” She stumbled over her words. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
He didn’t like that answer. His glare tightened. Perhaps he wanted to keep this friendship a secret from Sir Cadogan and everyone else. Maybe this was nothing more than a winter break fling for him.
She frowned. Her bravery was collapsing by the second. She swallowed hard. “Did you—” her words faltered. “Did you not want that? To continue being friends when people come back?”
He scoffed, as if the notion was utterly ridiculous. She wouldn’t cry. Not when he was in the middle of crumbling her. She should have never opened herself up to him—allowing him the ability to hurt her. It gave him power over her emotions that she should’ve kept to herself.
“I thought you wanted to be friends.” She felt paralyzed.
“You can’t be serious! How dense can you get, Hermione?”
“I guess after everything—I just assumed.” Despite her best efforts, her eyes burned.
I won’t cry.
I won’t cry.
“How did anything over these last two weeks give you the impression I wanted just friendship with you? I thought my intentions were crystal clear!” He folded his arms over his chest.
Just friendship?
“What exactly did you not understand?” he asked, stepping forward. “Did you not notice I’ve used any excuse to be near you over the holidays? I was practically following you around this entire castle even before Christmas!” His eyes were wild.
“Was there uncertainty in the way I kissed you?” He grabbed her hips and pressed her back against the wall. The threat of tears was gone now, replaced by stunned silence. “Or how I can’t stop myself from touching you?” He grabbed her chin and forced her face towards his.
“Was this not obvious enough?” She let out a harsh breath of air as he pressed his erection against her. “Or do I need to say this out loud?” He consumed all of her senses.
“I—I think our track record with subtlety and implications has only led to trouble. Tell me in words, Tom. What do you want?”
“Everything.”
Her eyes widened.
“I want bloody everything. All of you. And I don’t want fuckers like Barnabas Cuffe to take you to dances or guys named Westley at a bar, thinking you’re available and flirting with you.” That guy at the bar? The drunk one? She had forgotten all about him.
“I don’t want to watch you dance with anyone else at balls or kiss in corridors. It drives me mad when someone touches you. Feels your soft skin. Gets close enough to smell the apples in your hair. It’s mine! Those, you, everything—it’s fucking mine!”
The possessiveness of his words should have terrified her. Instead, her heart swelled while her body melted. “And what about you?” she asked. “You and Walburga and the other girls that are hanging off you all the time.”
“Fuck them, I want you, Hermione.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip in a gentle caress that contradicted his harsh tone.
“You want more than friendship, then?”
“Yes.”
“A relationship?”
“Yes.”
She was through fighting this.
Her hand reached up, cupping his cheek. “This goes both ways, Tom.” He leaned into the caress. “You’re mine too.” It was clear he hadn’t expected her to say that.
“Damn,” he breathed, just before he lunged for her.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
He had her. At last, he bloody had her. It was more than he could’ve hoped. He finally had his little lion trapped in his cage and he was never letting go. She was more than a prize to be won. She was a treasure. The sweetest of treats. She was everything.
His mind whirled as he ran his hands up the side of her body, anchoring on her hips. He lapped at her, nipped her with his teeth. Sucked on her lips and moaned when she responded in kind.
His witch. His lion.
Mine!
“Sir Cadogan—” Hermione murmured as Tom kissed a sensitive spot on her neck. He froze in place, mouth hovering over her skin.
“Excuse me?” He leaned back. “Don’t tell me you were fantasizing about Sir Cadogan just now.”
“What?”
He pressed his lips against her jaw again, relishing the shiver that ran through her. “I was about to give you some of my best work, Hermione—”
“No!”
“No? You claim this to not be my best work?” He nipped and licked a soft spot below her ear. He was certain he could change her mind on that front.
“I—but. Wait—Sir Cadogan—” her voice sounded breathless as she said that name.
“I may have to blast that portrait into pieces.” He ground out, running his hands up her spine.
“I wasn’t—no!”
“So you don’t want me to burn Sir Cadogan?” He raised a brow as his thumb stroked over the back of her soft neck. The knight was a piece of work. Nobody would miss him if Tom cursed him to smithereens.
But that wasn’t important right now.
“Burn him?” she asked.
“Hmm.” He agreed. He ran his tongue along the curve of her ear.
“Don’t burn him.” She breathed. He leaned forward to press his lips against her temple. He could smell the apples. He wanted to devour her. “No! What if he hears?” she gasped as he tugged her head back and kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Let him.” His mouth moved over hers as he spoke, taunting her before trailing to the underside of her jaw.
“But—but he’ll think you’re attacking me!”
“Believe me, Hermione, I plan to do just that.” His teeth latched on to the skin over her pulse. She trembled and gripped him for support before swallowing.
“He m—might cause an uproar.” Tom lapped the area with his tongue before sucking. He would leave a bruise there. Another reminder that this witch was his.
She groaned before she continued speaking, “Sir Cadogan could start a frenzy—” He sucked harder and she squeaked, “He might—”
“Hermione.” Tom pulled away, caging his lion against the wall. “What do I have to do to get you to stop talking about Sir Cadogan right now?”
A grin spread over her swollen lips. Tom stared. He would love to fuck that mouth. He had frequent fantasies about those lips wrapping around his cock already. Maybe now—
“We have to move.”
“Huh?” He was too distracted by his imagination to see her hands rise and shove him. “What!” He stumbled. She latched on to his hips, staying pressed against him as she continued to force him backward.
“All we have to do is move.” She kissed his jaw as she pushed him into the common room. He let her lead wherever she wanted. He didn’t care where they went as long as she didn’t stop. As long as he could keep touching her.
The back of his legs hit the couch and her small hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to sit. He felt trapped, like a snake in the lion's jaws. He let her take control. At one time, it may have bothered him, but currently, he reveled in it. He would give her anything she wanted.
Hermione stood over him with an air of confidence that was indescribably sexy. His cock responded as she climbed on his lap, her knees straddling his hips.
He reached for her waist, running his hands down her sides, stroking the inch of bare skin that appeared between her skirt and jumper.
She slid her fingers through his hair and drove her lips against his, controlling their kiss. Thrusting her tongue inside his mouth and gripping his hair. He pulled her hips down so her pelvis rocked against his aching erection. Her eyes shot open in surprise, but he controlled her movements. His grip bruising on her hips as he pressed her harder against his cock. She tasted like sweets, Christmas cookies, and sin.
Eventually, she started relaxing into him. He gasped, inhaling the air from her lungs. He groaned, and she swallowed the sound. She moaned when he found the perfect angle to hit her clit and a shock ran through his system. The sensual noises she made as she rode him drove him wild with need.
There were too many layers between them!
Her fingers caressed his face, tracing over his jaw, down his neck and chest. Her hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. She could tear the thing to pieces for all he cared.
He needed more.
He tried to wait. Tried to give her a chance to do it on her own. Wanted to let her lead this in her own way. But he couldn’t take it anymore. His impatience got the best of him. He was desperate for her. It felt like they had a time limit and if he didn’t seize this now, there would never be another opportunity.
He grabbed her, flipped her, and slammed her back into the cushions. Her eyes glazed with lust; lips swollen. He raked his gaze over her. Despite being fully clothed, it was one of the most erotic sites he’d ever seen.
In a fluid motion, he pulled the shirt she had fumbled with over his head and tossed it aside. Her hands reached for him. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, letting her explore him. He never allowed a girl to touch him like this. With Hermione, it was different. Everything was different.
Her knees parted, letting him cradle himself between them. Feeling her heat. Rocking against her.
He gripped the edge of her jumper and lifted the fabric, leaning down to follow with his lips. Gentle kisses, soft caresses. Nothing could have prepared him for this. He nipped at the skin and dipped his tongue in her navel. She shifted and squeaked but didn’t stop him.
Please don’t stop this. Not yet. Not now.
He pressed the jumper higher, just below her breasts, then paused.
“What happened here?” His voice came out gruff.
“Hmm?”
“This scar.” He stroked his thumb over one of the raised edges of the jagged purple mark. It spread out across her body from a central point on her left hip. This mark could only be the result of dark magic. Extremely dark magic.
“I was cursed.” She spoke. He knew this, but her confirming it only made it worse.
People seldom lived to recount this kind of dark magic.
He leaned back on his heels, inspecting her abdomen, tracing the scar with his eyes. She attempted to push her jumper down to cover herself, but he snatched both her hands to intercept her.
Someone tried to kill her. Someone tried to kill his witch. His lion. The girl that has consumed his every waking hour and invaded his dreams for months now. Someone tried to kill her!
“Tom?”
“Who did this to you?!” he ground out through his clenched jaw. The intensity of his emotions overwhelmed him, causing his hands to tighten around her wrists. She winced at the strength of his grip on her. He had to focus all his energy on loosening his hold, but he didn’t let her go. He would never let her go.
“It’s no big deal,” her words glided out of her mouth in a hushed whisper, but it did nothing to soothe his growing temper.
“This curse could have killed you! You could have died!” Hermione, his little lion, had come so close to losing her life, and the mere thought of it made his blood boil. The rage! Raw hatred! His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs. His lungs constricted. Air hissed past his teeth. He was desperate to lash out—destroy everything. He felt wild—out of control! The room felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in on him.
“But I didn’t! I’m okay!” His eyes shot to hers. She looked despondent, begging him for something. He wasn’t sure what it was. If she wanted him to drop it, he would never grant her wish. Nobody hurt his witch and got away with it. They would all pay.
“Tell me who did this,” he said again. It was a command—leaving no room for argument. He would find out somehow.
“What will you do?” Her eyes frantically searched his.
Darkness swirled in his vision as he imagined all the things he would do. A smile curled on his lips, triggered by the mere thought. He pulled one of her hands closer and kissed the sensitive flesh on the inside of her wrist.
“Do you really want to know?” Everything about Tom Riddle screamed danger.
She didn’t answer, but he heard the catch in her throat as his teeth nipped her skin. In a single fluid movement, he had her arms pinned to her side and his mouth hovered over her abdomen.
“I won’t kill them. I’ll fucking ruin them. I’ll destroy them.” His tongue ran along a ray of her scar. She whimpered, and the sound went straight to his cock. “I’ll remove every shred of their sanity, one thread at a time. I’ll trap them in a world of eternal suffering until they wish they were never born. Then I’ll burn them alive from the inside out by boiling their blood. I’ll watch them scream until they beg to die.”
“Tom—”
He kept going, ravishing kisses along her scar as he spoke “I’ll never let them die easy. Death would be merciful. I’ll keep them on the brink. Until they are a shell. No mind or body, no existence but pain.”
“Tom.” At some point, he released her arms, but she remained frozen in place. He crawled up her body, looking into her eyes. Those mesmerizing caramel eyes.
“What happened!?” His eyes blazed, his body burned. No longer with desire, but with his fury. He could feel his magic slip away from him. The flames in the fireplace roared higher.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice small.
“Like hell it doesn’t!” He pushed off her.
“Tom, please.” She wanted him to drop this. He could see it in her expression. He couldn’t. Not when she walked around carrying the marks of this curse as a constant reminder.
“No Hermione.” He leaned over her again and pressed his lips to the tip of one of the purple rays. She shivered.
“Please let it go.”
“Tell me what happened. You need to tell me.” He kissed along the purple edge to the center mark that was so dark it appeared almost black. The skin there died and never recovered.
The unwelcome image flashed through his mind. The black decay spreading across her skin. Devouring his witch. Eventually, the curse would completely consume her, leaving nothing behind.
“I—I can’t—” she said breathlessly. If she wasn’t such a good occlumens, he would have dove into her mind and rummaged for the answer buried there..
He had to know.
Not knowing would make him crazy. He would rip anything and everything apart to find out who hurt her. He would destroy the entire world for this witch. The only thing keeping him grounded was her warm skin beneath his lips. Her smell in the air defusing the charged magic.
“Tell me, Hermione, tell me—” He traced the lines with his tongue and teeth, ravishing the dark curse with tender caresses, “Tell me—you have to. I have to know. I must know. Please. What happened to you?” Glancing at her face again was like being hit with a wave of cold water. There were tears in her eyes.
He hated it when she cried! It made him feel things he didn’t understand.
“I—I don’t—I can’t.” He pressed soft kisses to the tears on her cheeks. He would try a different approach. More direct questioning.
“Did it hurt?” he asked before kissing her lips. He knew it did, but he started easy.
“Y—yes.”
“Was it recent?”
“Um. Last summer.” It must be related to how she ended up in the past. That might explain why she couldn't bring herself to share it with him. She hadn’t realized that he figured out ages ago that she was from the future. But he wasn’t about to play that card now. Not yet.
He kissed her jaw, then moved down her neck.
“Where were you?”
She considered this before answering, “London.”
“Do you—” he swallowed, “do you know who did it?” There was a brief pause after this question, but he continued pressing kisses to her skin while he waited. Normally he considered himself patient man, but when it came to her, all his normal characteristics went away. But it was surprising how long he would wait when he had something like kissing her to occupy his time.
“Yes.” He lifted her jumper higher, pushing the clothing over her breasts and exposing a silk fabric bra that did nothing to hide her hard nipples.
He wanted her.
“Are they alive?” Another longer pause followed. He wrapped his lips around one tight peak through the layer of fabric. His tongue swirled. He sucked. She moaned.
“No.” She finally said. That disappointed him. It would have given him immense satisfaction to kill the fucker himself. Or perhaps they weren’t alive yet… could she be from that far in the future?
He nipped the underside of her breast. She arched into him. She shimmied the jumper over her head and tossed it aside. Seeing her like this, in just her bra and skirt, even with the scar stretching across her abdomen, she was bloody beautiful. For a moment, he lost track of his questioning as he tucked a stray curl out of her face and stroked his fingers down her cheek.
She was his. He finally had her, and he would not lose her.
“Does it still hurt?” He asked. He noticed her flinch when she thought no one was watching. The way she occasionally grabbed her side. He thought little of it at the time… but now...
She wet her lips. His eyes followed the motion.
That tongue...
He couldn’t let her distract him!
“Sometimes. I have a potion.” He tried to keep his expression impassive, but he was sure the tension in his shoulders and jaw were a dead giveaway to his feelings. “I take the potion when it hurts. It helps.”
“This curse could have killed you,” he said again.
It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway, looking away from him.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you. Do you understand?” She said nothing. He pinched her chin and tilted her head to look at him. “Do you understand, Hermione?”
She nodded again, but he knew she didn’t really get it. She didn’t grasp just what he would do for her. It felt vitally important that she knew this.
He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips. “I don’t think you understand. I won’t allow anyone to hurt you. I will destroy them.”
Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, only to shut it again. “Why?” was all she could manage.
“You need to know this, Hermione; what you’re getting into with me. What kind of person I am. You might hear things about me, but you need to know that I would never hurt you.” His fingers stroked down her chest, “I will keep you safe, I’ll protect you.”
“Okay.” His eyes brightened before he suddenly tugged the fabric of her bra up, exposing her breasts and rosy nipples. He covered a bud with his lips while he pinched the other with his fingers. He continued until she was moaning and squirming beneath him.
“Tom, oh Merlin!” She ran her fingers through his hair and pushed her chest into him.
He dreamed about these breasts. He now had them in his hands, rolled his tongue around the peaks. He ached for this witch. Her whimpers made his head spin. He had little experience in pleasing women, having never cared in the past, so he paid attention to her cues. Listened for the things that pleased her. Felt her body pressed into him when he moved his tongue a certain way. Reveled in the trembles of desire that ran through her.
She bent her knees on either side of him, pressing into his back as her toes curled. “More!” She gasped. He could give her more. He could give her everything and somehow it still wouldn’t be enough.
Tom tore her bra off, tossing the fabric aside. Her hips jumped and ground against his as she writhed. He rocked against her heated cunt. She moaned and arched off the couch.
His cock throbbed between them as she continued to roll her hips. He moved in rhythm against her. He was giving her the friction right where she needed it. She wasn’t the only one. He needed it too. He needed her.
He sucked her nipple in his mouth again, rolling his tongue around the stiff peak.
“Please, Tom, please.”
“Hmm—please what Hermione?” He asked popping off her breast to peek up at her. A fierce blush covered her face.
“Umm…”
He stopped all ministrations. “What was that?”
“Touch me…” her voice sounded small, her embarrassment palpable.
“I was touching you already if I’m not mistaken.” He rocked his hips against her cunt, cupping her breasts. She groaned with a mixture of pleasure and frustration.
“Tom…”
“Be more specific little lion.” He kissed her lips.
“Tom! Stop being difficult!” she cried out. He snorted, pressing another soft kiss to her lips.
“Hermione, I believe you were the one who said that our track record with subtlety and implications has only led to trouble. Tell me in words, what do you want?”
“I want you to—” her face turned so red he thought it might burn from the inside out “to touch me between my legs…”
He froze, licking his lips. “Fuck Hermione, you have no idea what you do to me.” He tried to regain control of himself. She chuckled at his admission and pulled him down for a kiss. He obliged while his hands found the waistband of her skirt and slipped lower, dragging down her knickers. “You’re perfect, look at what I do to you…” he growled. His fingers stroked over her wet folds and dipped inside, finding the sensitive nub.
She cried out and her thighs parted to give him better access. He tried a few different strokes, speeds, and pressures—trying to figure out how she wanted to be touched. Flicking her clit around was not the answer. He didn’t miss the grimace that crossed her face.
Eventually, he extrapolated slow and indirect pressure. Her back arched, pressing her hips further against his fingers. “Like that! There! Don’t stop!” Her moans made his cock weep for her.
“So warm… feel so bloody incredible. Made for me my gorgeous girl.” He kissed her neck again. She whimpered incoherently at his praise. His studious overachiever liked to be praised. Somehow it didn’t surprise him.
“So wet for me, my needy little lion,” He pressed a single finger inside her, and she arched further, her nails digging into his shoulders.
“You’re so tight.” He would need her to relax more before he could insert a second finger. Then a third. Then she would be ready to take his cock. “Made for me, made for my cock.”
She mewed, her walls tightened further around his finger at the mention of his cock. He was painfully hard. He pressed himself into her thigh to relieve some of the aching pressure in his groin. He made a noise that may have been a curse in parseltongue. He was too far gone to care, and she was too far gone to notice.
“My innocent witch. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me?” he asked. She nodded her head in agreement through her moan. He pumped his finger inside her, curling it back towards himself and finding a spot that made her legs tremble. His thumb pressed against her clit, circling it how she liked it, making her cry out.
Again, he took her cues. He focused on stimulating her front walls, feeling her relax further.
His hips moved against her thigh, trying to chase his own release, but it wasn’t enough. Eventually, he paused to take his free hand and press three fingers into her open mouth. He stroked her soft tongue, collecting the moisture. She closed her mouth around them and sucked, as if she knew instinctively that’s what he wanted. “Good girl,” he breathed, as he pressed his fingers further past her lips.
Her legs spasmed as he continued his assault on her cunt and clit. He removed his fingers from her mouth and unbuttoned his trousers, gripping his cock, jerking in time to his thrusts inside her.
“Tom!” she croaked. He glanced up at her face. Her erotic, flushed face panting his name. He was so close. There was no way he would last much longer with her beneath him looking like a goddess of debauchery, sin, desire, and beauty all tied into one delectable combination.
He released his cock from his hold and latched onto her nipple. Reveling in his name coming from her mouth. He swirled his tongue around the bud, suckling the skin on top of her breast leaving a bruise before breaking away. “Hermione! Has anyone ever touched you like this?” He asked as he worked in a second finger.
“Tom—I—oh Merlin!” She gripped his hair and pressed him tighter to her breast.
He bit down. She yipped. “Answer the question, Hermione!”
“No!”
A wave of relief combined with intense possessiveness washed over him. He pushed back to look at his fingers as they disappeared inside her. He gripped his weeping cock again. All of her was his. Nobody ever touched her before him. Nobody would ever touch her again! “This cunt is mine!”
She shuddered at his words, a moan escaping her throat. Damn—she liked that. She might not enjoy it as much if she knew the extent of his depraved thoughts.
He continued stroking the soft walls inside her. Her legs shook as his thumb circled her clit. He released his cock so he could climb over her and suckled her sensitive nipple back into his mouth. His little lion enjoyed having her nipples sucked. It made her wild beneath him. Squirming and moaning utter nonsense. He combined that with sucking bruises into the skin on her breasts.
“I’m going to—”
“You going to come on my hand, little lion?” She was so close. He wanted to feel her cunt grip his fingers.
He looked down at her, a sheen of perspiration on her gorgeous skin, her eyes closed. “Y—yes.”
“Look at me,” He gritted out. “Look in my eyes when you come for me!” He wanted to see her fall apart when she climaxed. Her eyes snapped open as he increased the pressure on her clit. A flush spread up her cheeks. Every muscle in her body tensed.
He could see the spring tightening within her and knew the moment it released. Her eyes glazed as she continued to watch him, panting for air, her breasts heaving.
He watched in adoration as she climaxed beneath him. Her cunt squeezed his fingers in the most delicious way. Her thighs shook. She gasped for air. Fluid rushed from inside her, coating his hand as he continued to stroke her until her quivers subsided.
Fuck… It only took him a few strokes of his cock to finished after watching his witch climax. As much as he wanted to come on her cunt, he was certain she wasn’t ready for something so direct. Every inch of her would eventually experience his come, but that wouldn’t start today.
He came in a discrete location towards the back of the couch with his eyes closed and desperately suppressing a guttural groan in his throat. He would vanish it with his wand before she noticed.
Tom hid his cock away.
“You did so good, Hermione. So pretty when you come.” He slipped his fingers from inside her and examined the moisture. This girl would be his new addiction. He wanted to savor every inch of this witch.
He popped his fingers into his mouth. She was perfect. A blush rose on her cheeks as he sucked all her honey off each digit. One day, he would taste her directly from the source. He hoped that day would be soon.
Once he finished devouring her from his fingers, he moved over her to kiss her lips. Slow at first, then longer, deeper. Hotter.
Crack!
The loud noise echoed through the room, shocking them both. Tom fell off the couch and Hermione banged the top of her head against the armrest.
“What the hell!” Tom yelled.
“Sorry to disturb!” A squeaky voice said. Hermione squealed and covered her bare chest with her arms. It was that house-elf, Zooly. She fumbled with her tea-cozy and stared into the fire in an effort not to look at the two mostly nude students she just interrupted.
“I was going to cleans before masters returned tomorrow. I was! I thoughts it would be empty. I’m sorry to disturb!”
“You can’t be serious!?” Tom clambered to his feet.
“Zooly is sorry! Zooly is a good house-elf. She didn’t means to intrude!” The elf’s large blue eyes filled with tears as her lower lip quivered. Tom didn’t give a damn about the elf’s tears. He was ready to hex the thing. Would have already if his wand hadn’t fallen on the floor somewhere!
Hermione hurried to intervene. She grabbed a scrap of clothing off the floor to cover herself as she rushed to the weeping house-elf. “Don’t cry Zooly! We know you didn’t mean any harm. It’s okay, we were uh—about to go to bed.”
Tom snorted at that comment. Hermione glared at him.
“Zooly is a good elf! Zooly just trying to do her works! Zooly is sorry!” The elf’s cries only increased. They echoed off the walls.
Hermione kicked Tom. “Say something nice!” she said under her breath.
He would rather pull out his own tongue than say something nice to the house-elf, but Hermione was giving him that look. The one he couldn't refuse—which was true of almost every look she gave him.
“Zooly is sorry! Zooly is a good elf! A good elf!”
“Um, Zooly,” Riddle cleared his throat. “Your dedication to your job is admirable.” Apparently this was the wrong thing to say because Hermione glared at him and Zooly cried harder. What was he supposed to say? It was a house-elf! A house-elf that interrupted him making out, mostly naked, and post-orgasm! The thing was clearly unwelcome!
“Zooly likes work! House-elves likes work! We work because we likes it! Zooly is a good elf!”
“Of course you like work, Zooly!” Tom hastened to say when he couldn’t stand the daggers coming from Hermione’s glare any more. “And you are an excellent house-elf! Bloody brilliant, really! Made some fantastic cookies today, best of the batch!” The words didn’t exactly sound sincere, but Zooly didn’t mind. She went from crying to overjoyed as she clapped her bony hands. Her bat-like ears flopped as she hopped in place.
“Zooly must cleans this room! She says she would cleans for tomorrow! Zooly comes to clean!”
“Very good, Zooly,” Hermione smiled. “You can clean, and we will… um, retire for the evening.” She glanced at Tom, who had a scowl imprinted across his face. “Would you just leave us for maybe five minutes so I can say goodnight to my—my boyfriend?”
His mood lightened considerably at the sound of that word passing through her lips in reference to him.
Notes:
Chapter 25 Song: Worship: Ari Abdul. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Finally we are getting somewhere with these two!
We are continuing the adjusted schedule (sorry, funeral arranging with family all week and I still have residency in training exams coming up) I'll see you on January 19th!
XOXO - Tipp
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 26: 26: The Unveiling of the Statue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione shifted in her seat at the Gryffindor table the next evening. The room felt cramped after the peaceful winter holiday. Now students returned and the opening feast was coming to a close.
“But my mom, of course, needs me to wear the nicest dress that drips with money, so she buys this disgusting thing—” Gussie said beside her.
Hermione needed to tell them about Tom. She hesitated, not wanting to disrupt the conversation. Plus, she knew Gussie would press for details Hermione wasn’t ready to share. Actually, on second thought, she never planned to divulge those details. They were private.
Her face turned red, but nobody noticed. Archie stared at Gussie as if she were more enticing than the dessert in front of him. Alastor pushed the untouched steak around on his plate, never once looking up.
“But nothing was worse than the hat, Hermione! It had this giant stuffed vulture on it! It was the most audacious thing I’d ever seen! My mom thought it was sophisticated! I couldn’t believe it! I even told her that Ignatius would probably end our engagement if he saw me come out wearing that!”
“A stuffed vulture?” Hermione asked. Neville’s grandmother wore that hat in her world. Was it the same one? Why would a hat that Gussie hated become a staple piece in her closet?
“Yes! I think the only useful purpose it would serve is to scare away unwanted suitors! It’s hideous!”
Archie snorted.
Alastor stabbed his fork into a broccoli without comment.
Hermione considered this. She supposed that made sense. Gussie must’ve started wearing it after her husband died.
“What did you do during break, Hermione?” Gussie asked.
Hermione blushed. “Oh... um...” she fumbled. She could feel the intensity of Tom’s gaze on her, as though his eyes were boring into her very soul. The sound of clinking silverware and murmured conversations filled the air, mixing with the faint aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. A shiver ran down her spine. She sensed his presence from across the vast expanse of the Great Hall. It took everything in her power not to look at him. “I uh...”
“Oh, no!” Gussie gasped. “Don’t tell me you spent the entire holiday in the library!”
“What?”
“You did, didn’t you! Hermione, did you have any fun at all over break?” Gussie’s entire face fell.
Hermione had plenty of fun… not the fun she wanted to talk about. “I uh—”
“Next year, you are coming home with me for the holidays! I can’t have you moping about the castle.”
“I wasn’t moping!”
She needed to change the subject. “Were you guys able to bring the books?” she asked.
Gussie and Archie confirmed. Alastor stared at the broccoli on his fork. Archie nudged him.
“What?” Alastor looked around like someone confunded him. Archie shrugged at the girls.
“Are you going to eat that broccoli or just admire the foliage?” Archie asked. Alastor scowled and dropped his fork.
An awkward silence descended over the table. The atmosphere became heavy.
“Um, well... I think Alfred and Julia had a fight over the holidays,” Gussie supplied in a not-so-subtle shift of topic.
Alastor’s eyes flicked to her before returning to his plate.
“I guess he never showed up to visit like they planned. Said something came up? I’m not sure. She actually spent most of my family’s New Year party with Reinhardt.”
“Reinhardt Lestrange?” Hermione asked, jumping on the shift in topic.
“Yeah,” Gussie nodded, picking up her mug of pumpkin juice.
“I didn’t see them together,” Archie said, his mouth full of potato.
Gussie frowned at him. “They danced together! I even pointed it out to you!”
“When?”
“When we were dancing!”
“Which time?”
“I don’t know! Does it matter?”
“I was distracted when we were dancing,” Archie said. Gussie blushed. She took a slow sip of pumpkin juice, hiding behind the mug.
The unbreakable vow created a barrier between them that neither could penetrate. Gussie had to marry Ignatius Prewett. Archie could never change that.
Hermione could tell how much it hurt her friend.
“Um... She still liked Reinhardt even after they broke up... or something.” Hermione had never seen Gussie’s face burn so bright.
“Reinhardt always avoided her until then.” The way Archie watched Gussie made Hermione feel like she was intruding on a private moment. “She said he wrote to her—”
“Would you guys stop!” Everyone jumped at Alastor’s sudden outburst. One of the first years sitting next to them knocked over her pumpkin juice. The Great Hall fell silent as students searched for the source of the disturbance.
Alastor clenched his jaw. His body vibrated with tension.
“Alastor?” Archie asked. He kept his voice low. None of them had ever seen him lash out like that.
He picked up his fork again, then dropped it back on the plate. He didn’t speak. The noise in the room returned to its previous volume.
“Is everything okay, Alastor?” Gussie asked. “I mean, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. But you’ve been acting off for a while now. Even at my family New Year's party, you were on edge. You seemed fine before break, and we just want to make sure everything’s okay. I’ve never seen you get so upset and we are worried about you, you know? You barely spoke at all on the train. I mean, we just want you to know that we are here for you and that we care about you. You definitely don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to or—” Hermione placed her hand on Gussie’s shoulder to stop her rambling.
Again, Alastor said nothing. Suddenly, he stood. “I’m going to head back to the common room.” Without another glance, he walked away, leaving behind his friends in a dumbfounded stupor.
“Should I go talk to him?” Archie asked. Gussie shrugged.
“I think you should give him some time to cool off and see how he’s doing later,” Hermione suggested.
“Yeah… right, that’s what I’ll do.”
The three Gryffindors watched as he exited the Great Hall. Hermione’s eyes flicked towards Tom. His gaze was already on her with a dark intensity that made her pulse quicken. She could feel the weight of his stare. It reminded Hermione of everything he would do to her once they were alone together.
For a moment, she forgot all about Gussie and Archie sitting next to her. She forgot about Alastor storming off. The Great Hall and everyone in it faded away. They were the only two there.
Part of her wished the school had never returned. She would have enjoyed having more time with him. Alone in the castle—
“Hermione?” a deep voice said. It jolted her back to reality. Barnabas Cuffe stood behind her. His blue eyes bore into her. He looked ready to say something, but hesitated when he spotted Gussie. She was giving him a look that dripped with hatred.
He turned away from Gussie and focused his attention on Hermione. “I was wondering if we could talk.”
“No, she will not talk to you!” Gussie crossed her arms over her chest and sneered at Cuffe. “Not after what you did.”
Hermione half expected him to deny her accusations, but he didn’t. “This is between me and Hermione.”
“I don’t think so! Any harm inflicted on my best friend is harm done to me, too!”
“And me!” Archie chimed in.
Hermione looked at her two friends, both outraged on her behalf. She felt overwhelmed by their support. She wasn’t alone in this world. The void inside her, filled with her grief over losing her friends and family, was still there. It would always be there. The pain would never entirely fade. But it gradually diminished, eclipsed by her affection for everyone in her life now.
“Stay out of this,” Cuffe said. Hermione needed to amend her previous statement. She didn’t have affection for everyone in her present life.
“Gussie—” Hermione tried. She appreciated Gussie defending her, but it wouldn’t help the situation.
“I’ll make this easy. We have nothing to say—”
“It’s fine Gussie. I’ll meet you back in the common room.” Hermione interrupted whatever tirade her friend was about to embark on.
“Hermione!”
“Really, Gussie, it’s fine,” Hermione said. Gussie clearly thought this idea was far from being ‘fine’.
“No, we will wait for you here,” Archie said, scowling at Cuffe.
Hermione didn’t argue as she stood with as much bravado as she could muster. “We can talk in an empty classroom.” Cuffe frowned, giving his best innocent look to Hermione that she was in no mood for. This would not be a pleasant conversation.
She walked out of the Great Hall with Barnabas Cuffe trailing behind her. The entire school watched them. Even though Tom would undoubtedly be furious, she had to speak with Cuffe. She had to end whatever was building between them before the travesty of the Yule Ball.
Hermione directed Cuffe towards an empty classroom on the third floor, hoping it was far enough away that Tom wouldn’t find them. She opened the door for him to lead the way inside. Once the door shut behind her, she leaned back on the wood, keeping close to her exit. She didn’t believe Cuffe would attack her, but she also would never have believed he would get her intoxicated on a potion-infused punch.
“Did you receive my letters?” he asked. She reached into her pocket, fingering her wand. Just in case.
“Yes,” and she burned them.
“You never replied.”
She said nothing.
“I wrote to you three times.”
She stared at him.
He grimaced. “I was worried about you—”
“Stop it, Cuffe.”
“What?”
“You gave me potion-spiked punch!”
“Yeah?” he said as if confused by her outrage.
Hermione was speechless. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Sure, I mean, everyone was drinking the punch,” he said with a shrug.
“It was spiked with potion!”
“Yeah,” his casual attitude about the whole thing only fueled her anger.
“Don’t you see a problem with that?” she asked, her jaw tense.
He stared at her with a blank expression. “I mean, everyone was drinking the punch.”
Hermione opened her mouth only to close it again. Was he serious? Did he not comprehend the problem or was he being intentionally obtuse? His expression gave nothing away.
Her stomach churned. “People didn’t drink as much as you provided me,” she said, her tone clipped.
“How would you know? Did you ask them?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you interview the other attendees at the dance and inquire about their punch intake?” His eyebrows knitted together. His lip twitched in a subtle sneer that was gone as soon as it made itself known.
“I didn’t have to ask, Cuffe.”
“So you don’t actually know.”
“Are you trying to make excuses?”
“Only stating facts. Take these other facts—yes, the punch was spiked. Everyone drank it.” She heard the anger seeping through his words.
“Just because everyone else was doing it, you assumed I would want to as well?!”
“We were having fun!” His blue eyes deepened to the color of the night sky.
“You were having fun! I don’t remember most of the ball!”
“How was I supposed to know that?!”
“Did you ask if I was having fun?”
“You looked like you were having a fantastic time.”
“Again, did you ask if I was having fun?”
“You seemed to be having fun to me.”
“For the last time, did you ask if I was having fun?”
“Maybe I did. Would you know if I didn’t? You don’t even remember that night.”
Hermione officially hated Barnabas Cuffe.
“So you knew?”
“What?”
“About the potions in the punch!”
“Come off it, Hermione! Everyone there knew!” He folded his arms across his chest, taking on a defensive posture.
“I didn’t!”
He had the audacity to actually snort.
She glared at him.
“Even if you somehow didn’t know before the Yule Ball, I mean, obviously it was spiked! How could you not tell?!”
“You expected me to assume our school would have spiked punch at the Yule Ball?!” she asked. Her entire body vibrated with tension. She had to lift her fingers off her wand to avoid casting an errant spell.
“It’s a long-standing tradition!” He shouted, throwing his arms out in exasperation.
“This is my first year at Hogwarts!”
“Maybe your friends should have told you then.” Hermione’s blood boiled at the sight of the sneer that twisted his face. Her fingers tingled with the desire to hex him.
“Maybe you should have told me,” she said, her voice low.
“I assumed you knew, Hermione—”
“And that’s just it, Cuffe. You assumed—you never ask. You didn’t confirm a damn thing.”
“Okay, pardon me for keeping you hydrated. I’ll endeavor not to do it again—,” he said in a mocking tone. She took a deep breath, calming the magic that sparked in her fingers.
“What was your game that night?”
“What game?”
“You gave me continuous refills of spiked punch, then what?” Part of her was reluctant to know the answer. The possibilities of what might have happened… Yet she couldn’t move on until he confirmed her suspicions.
“I don’t see how you could blame me! Everyone there saw you drinking multiple rounds of the stuff! Everyone knew the consequences of that!” He crossed his arms and glared at her.
“Answer the question.”
“We were having a good time, Hermione.”
“Once again, I don’t remember it,” she hissed. They were going in circles. Continuing this discussion served no purpose. He would never admit to what he’d done. He would never apologize. “You know what? I think we’re done here.” She turned to leave.
“Were you the one that attacked me?” The question came out of nowhere. She froze with her hand on the doorknob.
“Do you actually believe I was in any state to attack someone?” she asked, rolling her eyes. She knew who attacked him. It was a secret she would take to her grave.
“You were the only one with me.” He shrugged as if it was a logical conclusion.
“From what I hear, you were dragging me off to be alone somewhere.”
“I figured you needed some air.”
“Then why drag me to an empty classroom? Seems a strange place to go for fresh air,” she snarled.
He arched a brow. “How did you know it was an empty classroom? I thought you didn’t remember.”
Her mind raced, trying to formulate an excuse. “It’s where they found you, wasn’t it?”
A look of unease washed over his features. Apparently, he had no comeback for that. “What, exactly, did you plan to do in an empty classroom with a girl that could barely stand?”
“Are you accusing me of something?” Hermione had never seen Barnabas Cuffe so angry. His boyish charm was gone now.
“Not at all.”
“I was the one that was attacked that night, not you.” He stepped closer to her, but she held her ground. His attempts at intimidation were almost funny compared to Tom’s. This was nothing new to her anymore.
“Maybe I was attacked too?! But how would I know? I don’t remember!”
“Are you trying to accuse me of something, Hermione?”
“I don’t know, Cuffe. Are you guilty of something?”
“You know, can be a right bitch—”
“Did you ever consider that maybe you deserved it?” She didn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. She faced him again, both poised for a fight.
“So was it you?”
“This is ridiculous?!”
“Maybe you planned it. Pretended you were incoherent to get me alone.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Is it?! Do you have another explanation?! I was in St. Mungos for three days! Whoever did it placed a powerful memory charm that not even the mind healers could reverse!”
“As flattered as I am that you think I could successfully perform a powerful memory charm in whatever state I was in that night, let’s consider an alternative theory. Maybe somebody saw you dragging an incoherent girl into an empty classroom and intervened!”
“I almost died!”
She glared at him. Her fingers wrapped around the vine wood of her wand. “Why did you do it?” she asked, her breathing steady and gaze unfaltering.
“Do what?”
“Give me punch until I was a wreck, then drag me into an empty classroom. I want to know why.”
“What did you expect to happen?! We were flirting for months! I took you to a dance! We were having a good time and drinking punch! Why are you acting so surprised by this?!”
Hermione completely forgot about her wand and did what she did best. She punched Barnabas Cuffe in his arrogant pretty-boy face. True to form, she felt the crunch of his nose breaking under her fist. She also felt a bruising pain in her knuckles, but she was too furious to notice.
He howled and cupped his now bleeding nose with his hand. “Argh! What the hell?!”
“If you ever pull a stunt like this again. Against anyone. What happened to you that night will look mild compared to what I will do to you.”
With those parting words, she walked out.
Hermione found Gussie and Archie waiting outside the Great Hall for her. Most students already left for their respective common rooms.
“I was about to come find you,” Gussie said. The look of relief that crossed her friend’s face made Hermione’s anger soften. She looked over Hermione, inspecting her for damage.
“I told her to give you some time,” Archie said.
“What happened?” Gussie asked as they started up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower.
“We fought, then I punched him in the face and broke his nose.”
Gussie paused mid-stride and gaped at her. Even Archie turned to stare, probably to gauge if she was telling the truth. Then Gussie pounced, throwing her arms around Hermione in a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of you!” Gussie said.
“I wish I could have seen that,” Archie added thoughtfully.
Gussie made Hermione rehash her entire encounter with Barnabas Cuffe on their way back to the common room. Hermione felt exhausted. She hardly slept last night after Tom left. She was riding some kind of high. Now it felt like the rug was being tugged from under her after her encounter with Cuffe. She was falling down to earth again—and it hurt.
“Wait! That bastard hurt your hand?!” Gussie shrieked, inspecting Hermione’s bruised knuckles after she recounted the explicit detail of what it felt like to break Cuffe’s nose with her fist.
“It wasn’t exactly his fault—”
“Was it not his nose that caused this injury?! That makes it his fault!”
“Infallible logic, Gussie,” Archie nodded his approval.
As they climbed the final staircase and turned the corner, it was to find a large crowd waiting outside of Sir Cadogan’s portrait. They argued as Sir Cadogan stood proud next to a tall figure covered by a patched blanket. His helmet sat on a rock in the background of his painting. The fat pony was, as usual, eating.
“What’s going on?” Gussie asked over the crowd of annoyed students. All the voices in the hall drowned her out.
“If I can have your attention!” Sir Cadogan called.
“We’re tired! Let us in,” someone shouted. There was murmured agreement.
“We shall begin our ceremony shortly, my comrade-in-arms! Don’t you fear! You have safely returned home!” An audible sigh came from the crowd. Knowing Sir Cadogan, this would be nothing good.
“I would like to unveil the memorial I had commissioned prior to our troop’s departure into battle!” he said proudly. It appeared Sir Cadogan had already planted flowers around the base of the statue. Many of them were half-eaten.
“Sir Cadogan, it is highly inappropriate for you to lock us out of the common room!” Minerva’s voice rang through the hall.
“I assure you, madame this won’t take long. I wished to wait until the soldiers returned from battle. Many of you look dreadful, but war does terrible things to us all. I am pleased that we have not suffered additional losses in the winter conflict!” The students glanced around at each other, probably trying to decide who he thought looked ‘dreadful.’
He cleared his throat. “This statue is to represent all our comrades we’ve lost in this endless war!”
Annoyance seemed to be the common sentiment among most Gryffindors. Sir Cadogan’s antics were only amusing for so long.
“And I have commissioned the wonderful artist, Sir Antonis Vlachas, to create this piece for us. I have yet to see the finished product myself, but I instructed him to create a statue in the likeness of the male student beheaded this past November.”
A few students gasped. Apparently, the news about Archie’s supposed beheading didn’t reach the entire house. “I wonder if they captured my image?” Archie whispered to Gussie.
“So there is forever going to be a statue of you in Sir Cadogan’s painting, standing proud over Gryffindor Tower?” Gussie asked, “What an honor that must be.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Now!” Sir Cadogan said, his voice projecting over the crowd. “Let us unveil the memorial statue and give a moment of silence to the soldiers lost in battle!” He grabbed the cloth and ripped it off.
The entire Gryffindor house inhaled.
“Is that—”
“Oh, Merlin—”
“Umm—”
There was a single heartbeat of absolute silence, followed by laughter that echoed through the corridor.
“Well, it is… exquisitely crafted,” Sir Cadogan said, “but it seems there was a bit of a miscommunication in the instructions.”
The statue depicted a life-sized man with long, flowing locks of hair. His eyes were stern and his face gaunt. He stood tall and proud, with his hands on his hips. His muscles were large, with well-defined abs. But what was most notable was his testicles hanging just below a flaccid penis. The rock was as nude as a newborn baby.
Gussie lost her composure. She was laughing so hard, tears streamed down her cheeks.
“What do you think of your depiction, Arch?” She asked.
Archie evaluated the statue like a critic might inspect a painting. “I must say, it looks nothing like me, does it?”
“I think we should be grateful it looks nothing like you,” Hermione said.
“What do you mean by that?!” Archie feigned offense, “I would have you know that the beauty of this statue would be further enhanced by my likeness!”
“Sir Cadogan! Cover that immediately!” Minerva’s shrill voice broke through the crowd.
“My apologies, madam! I will ensure a new memorial is erected!” Hermione couldn’t hold her laughter in anymore.
Thirty minutes passed before any Gryffindors made it into the common room. Sir. Antonis Vlachas watched the statue’s great unveiling, and the discussion of his art mortally offended him. He threw such a fit that Albus Dumbledore himself ended up having to intervene, which resulted in a rather uncomfortable explanation of why a nude statue was commissioned.
Dumbledore, Sir Cadogan, and Sir Vlachas reached a compromise in the end. They agreed to cover the statue’s genitals but keep it on display.
When they reentered their dorm, Gussie didn’t waste time bringing Hermione up to speed on the new Reinhardt, Alfred, and Julia gossip.
“I mean, we all knew that Julia was still into Reinhardt and Alfred was a fallback,” Gussie said. Even Sonya, their less-than-pleasant roommate, was listening.
“Really? She still liked Reinhardt?”
“Obviously. Who would choose Alfred Hensley over Reinhardt Lestrange,” Sonya said. Apparently, she believed this was explanation enough. Reinhardt was a wealthy member of the Sacred Twenty-eight.
“Yeah. No one thought Alfred stood a real chance but, after nine months of them dating, we figured maybe we were mistaken.”
Hermione needed to write to Healer Spleen about a new batch of potion. She would run out soon.
Eventually, the girls went to their separate beds. As Hermione was drifting off, she realized she never told Gussie about Tom.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Anger boiled inside Tom. He wanted to kiss Hermione senseless, but he also wanted to kill someone. Preferably, that person would be Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe.
He spent so much time with Hermione over the break that it felt like he was going through withdrawal, not having her next to him now. It had only been a few hours since the school returned. Already, he was desperate to have her to himself again.
Then she walked out of the Great Hall with Cuffe. Alone.
His entire mood plummeted after that. Unfortunately, the entire school started heading to their dormitories at the same time. It took him a while to push through the crowd and escape the Great Hall. He checked nearby classrooms and broom cupboards, finding them empty. This was an enormous castle. Tom would never find them.
He retraced his steps, returning to the Great Hall to find two of her Gryffindor friends leaning against the wall outside. Crouch talked about checking in on her. Longbottom told her to give it some time. Tom considered cursing them for allowing her to leave with Cuffe.
He reminded himself that she had her wand; she wasn’t a potioned wreck, and she was a talented witch. She would be safe. That reminder did little to soothe his fraying control.
He searched for another twenty minutes, without success. When he returned to the Great Hall, her two friends were gone. He must have missed her!
Seething, he headed for Slytherin common room, collapsing on the couch beside Reinhardt in front of the fire. Abraxas sat in a leather armchair across from them. An eerie glow permeated the room from the windows, which revealed glimpses of the life within the lake.
Just as the silence between them threatened to turn awkward, Norris bounded towards them from the dormitory. “Hey ‘Brax! Here’s that gift I got you!” He tossed a parcel on Abraxas’s lap before collapsing in the chair beside him. He looked giddy. They all knew nothing good happened when Norris was that pleased about something. Tom wasn’t in the mood for his antics.
Abraxas appeared skeptical as he opened the package, revealing what seemed to be a book. Tom couldn’t see the title from where he sat, but Abraxas’s irritation was palpable. “You bastard!”
“Hey!” Abraxas threw the book back at Norris, clipping him on the forehead before falling to the floor.
“You think you’re so funny,” Abraxas growled.
“From what I hear, you could use the help.”
“Fuck you, Norris!”
Tom peered at the title, Arousing the Witch: A Wizard’s Guide to Magical Sex. Tom rose a brow. That might not be a bad read. Sure, Hermione fell to pieces beneath him yesterday, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pick up a thing or two.
He leaned back on the couch while the boys across from him bickered.
Reinhardt sulked. He was acting like someone killed his cat—which, in Tom’s opinion, was a terror to society. Tom chose not to concern himself with Reinhardt’s distressed mood. It wasn’t his problem. The important thing was Reinhardt’s execution of his orders.
Hermione would never find out his plans, he set everything up perfectly. Tom was good at being discreet. Perhaps he should start using an alias name while at school. Something his followers could refer to him by.
The argument ended, and the book lay forgotten on the floor. Abraxas and Norris continued to talk about pointless, mundane things with very little input from Tom or Reinhardt. Eventually the topic shifted to females, as it usually did.
What happened between Cuffe and Hermione? He couldn’t take his mind off it. That bloody witch would drive him insane.
“Saw you talking to Julia Brown at the New Year’s party,” Norris said to Reinhardt, interrupting Tom’s thoughts. “Haven’t seen you two together in ages.”
“I wrote her over the holiday.”
“Didn’t you dump her at the end of last year?” Abraxas asked.
“Yeah, but you know.” Reinhardt leaned back and stared into the flames. The common room had only a handful of people left as students trickled off to bed.
“Julia’s hot, and she could do way better than her current Mudblood boyfriend,” Abraxas said. Norris agreed. Tom made a non-committal noise.
“Saw his friend, Cuffe, walking away with Granger today,” Norris commented.
“Probably dumping her after her horrid display at the dance. One night with Granger and the guy is regretting it.” Abraxas smirked.
“Didn’t they disappear early? She looked like she could barely walk,” Norris said.
“Bet she was an awful lay.”
“I don’t know. She seems like one of those nerdy girls that can get really filthy. If I fucked her—” Norris cut off with a choking noise. His face turned red, and his eyes went wide as he tried, and failed, to bring air into his lungs. He clutched his throat as if trying to pry away the invisible constriction on his airway.
“Malfoy, Avery, you do not want to continue this conversation.” Tom hissed. Tom’s gaze narrowed as his magic vibrated around him. Even the flames in the hearth burned brighter.
Norris’s lips were a dusky shade of purple when Tom finally released the spell. He choked and coughed. He couldn’t hide the terror on his face. It had been a while since Tom violently reprimanded Norris.
“You will keep your eyes, hands, and your filthy fucking thoughts off my witch.” The fire crackled into the silence. Was it just yesterday that Tom had her on the Gryffindor common room couch? If only that elf didn’t interfere.
“Your witch?” Reinhardt asked. He was the only one brave enough to speak up.
Tom stood and scooped up the book off the floor. “I have a girlfriend,” Tom said. He didn’t miss the scowl that crossed Abraxas’s face. Norris hadn’t recovered enough to give any reaction.
Tom took his reading material and headed to bed.
***
To Tom’s dismay, he shared no classes with Gryffindor the next day.
They were public now. She said she would tell her friends, and he already made their relationship clear to his. Soon all of Slytherin would know. Then the entire school would find out. News spread fast in this castle.
She glanced at him as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast, giving him a small smile before returning her attention to her friends. Would it be so bad if they continued to eat together? There was no rule saying you had to stay at your house table.
He contemplated this throughout the meal and on his way to class. In the end, he concluded he would sit with her at lunch. He figured he could wait till then…
Apparently, he couldn’t. First period started, and he was about to lose his mind. He could barely focus on Dumbledore’s ramblings. Something about owls and transfiguration. Or was he talking about O.W.L. exams? Tom really didn’t listen.
The only thing Tom wanted was to locate his witch. He memorized her schedule—she was in Herbology. If he was quick, he could find her and have a few minutes together. She had a free period after Herbology, and he had History of Magic. Professor Bins wouldn’t notice if he was late to class.
It served a noble purpose.
Tom wasted no time. As soon as class ended, he dashed out the door.
As expected, he found her walking by herself in the corridor, on her way to the library. It was where she always spent her free period.
Tom grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in for a kiss. A few students glanced at them with interest. He wanted them to see. Wanted them to know she was his. Claimed. They would never take her from him. He owned this school and now he had her.
When their lips were a breath apart, she reacted and pushed him away. He frowned.
“Wait.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him around a corner and ducked into an alcove hidden by a tapestry. Next thing he knew, she had her arms looped around his neck. She kissed him.
Her mouth moved on his. His hands gripped her hips. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She pulled back, “Kissing you?” She looked confused.
“What was with the sudden relocation?” He scowled.
She frowned. “There were people out there.”
“So?”
“Isn’t there a rule about intimacy in the corridors?”
“And?”
“What do you mean ‘and’?”
“There weren’t any teachers around, only students, Hermione.”
She wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze fixed on the floor. Her curls fell around her shoulders, bringing the scent of apples and honey.
Why did she act guilty?
Was it Cuffe? He would kill that bastard if he tried something again. People didn’t get second chances. Cuffe didn’t even deserve a first chance. He should count himself lucky that he lived at all.
“What?!” he demanded. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Her silence was driving him crazy.
He grabbed her chin and tilted her head, forcing her to look at him. “Why don’t you want to be seen with me, Hermione?” The words sounded angrier than he intended them.
“I didn’t want Gussie to find out from someone else,” she said. He hadn’t realized how tightly he gripped her until she flinched.
“You didn’t tell her?” He released her as she shook her head.
“Why not?” Tom clenched his fists.
“It wasn’t the right time!”
“What kind of excuse is that?! You say ‘Oh, I’m dating Tom Riddle now’ and that’s it!”
“It was complicated!”
“Then is it, Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe?” He imagined killing him. He wished he had killed him. If it wasn’t for Hermione whimpering on the floor that night, he would have killed him.
“I knew you were going to get mad about that,” she grumbled.
“Then you shouldn’t have walked off with him!”
“You can’t tell me who I can and cannot talk to!”
He stepped into her, pinning her against the wall. His hands curled against the cold stone of the castle. “If it means keeping you safe, then I sure as hell will tell you who you can and cannot talk to.” His voice was low.
“I was safe,” she said. The heat from her body warmed him. She was so perfect. And so infuriating!
She wasn’t safe every second she was away from him. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He pushed off the wall.
“No, Tom! I won’t have you overseeing my every move! I don’t need permission from you to live my life!”
He glared at her; she stubbornly returned his stare. His fury knew no bounds. He towered over the little lion. The snake ready to ensnare the cub. “Do you not understand what happened that night, Hermione? By the time I got there, your dress was falling off your shoulders. Cuffe had to hold you up to keep you standing. You could barely talk. You were so out of it. If I hadn’t stopped you, you probably would have stripped that dress off yourself. You kept saying you were too hot. You were shaking and terrified. You vomited on yourself, then cried incessantly. You may not remember it, but I do! I remember every bloody minute! So when I say you will stay away from Barnabas Cuffe, it isn’t something that’s up for discussion.”
Her eyes widened; the blood drained from her face. Her breathing sped up as she held Tom’s livid stare. “Okay.” she sounded small, a whisper of a word in reply.
Tom nodded. It didn’t dissipate his anger, but regarding the matters pertaining to Barnabas-fucking-Cuffe, he was satisfied.
“You have till the end of the day to tell your friends.” He said as he pulled the tapestry aside. He would take matters into his own hands if he had to.
Class had already started by the time he made it to History of Magic and, as expected, Professor Bins wasn’t even aware of his absence.
Tom sulked throughout the dull lecture. He fumed with anger when she avoided eye contact with him at lunch. He was livid when he finally reached his afternoon classes.
“Trouble in paradise, Tom?” Abraxas asked in Charms, his last class of the day. They were supposed to be practicing the summoning and banishing spells, as they would likely come up on O.W.L.s.
Tom didn’t bother. He knew he could perform them perfectly and didn’t feel the need to prove it. Instead, he glowered at everyone who dared to look in his direction. He was one second away from exploding.
“That girl is more trouble than she is worth, believe me.”
“What would you know about it, Abraxas?” Tom hissed. Abraxas shrugged. His arrogant attitude was getting on Tom’s last nerve.
“Witches like her are only good for one thing, and even that they aren’t usually good at.”
Did he think being in the middle of class made him untouchable from Tom’s wrath? Tom wanted to try a new spell. Now seemed as good of a time.
He glared at Abraxas, his eyes narrowed as he let the magic flow through his body and out of the tips of his fingers.
Abraxas’s nose flooded with blood. He scrambled to stop the flow with his hands, but the blood continued to pour with such force; that it came out his mouth.
“Ew!” some girl shrieked. A few chairs shifted, as they tried to push away from Abraxas. Blood covered his hands and robes; the metallic scent filled the air.
Tom leaned back and watched the scene unfold. Abraxas coughed and chunks sprayed out of his mouth.
Professor Felter attempted some spells to stop the river without success. The chaos in the room only amplified. The only other person remaining calm was Reinhardt, who eyed Tom with interest. He knew exactly what happened.
The curse exceeded Tom’s expectations. If he was lucky, maybe Abraxas would die. He was sick of him these days.
Professor Felter dismissed the class and took Abraxas to the hospital wing. Abraxas lost enough blood that he looked pale. Tom contorted his face to look concerned. It was only appropriate, after all. His supposed friend was losing a lot of blood.
He would be fine. The spell, while dramatic to watch, didn’t last long. He would need a few blood-replenishing potions, though.
Tom exited with Reinhardt. They walked together in the general direction of the Slytherin common room.
“Told him to drop it,” Reinhardt said.
“Didn’t listen.”
“Guess not.”
Students filled the halls as the remaining classes were dismissed.
“Tom!” He looked over his shoulder to see Hermione rushing towards him, followed closely by her Gryffindor friends.
He didn’t react as she stopped in front of him, but somehow, just seeing her made him feel a sense of calm. It didn’t matter that just a few hours ago they fought in an alcove. It didn’t matter that she was reluctant to make their relationship public. He still wanted her.
Reinhardt glanced at them and then back at her friends. The color drained from his face. He looked almost afraid.
“I’ll catch you later, Tom.” He said before he practically ran down the corridor. Tom was so engrossed with Hermione that he failed to notice Reinhart’s actions.
Her friends caught up. Moody watched Reinhardt scurry away with a frown. Longbottom and Crouch looked between Tom and Hermione.
“Right, um.” She turned to the Gryffindors. “We’re dating now and I’m going to walk with him. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
“No way!” Crouch squealed. Everyone in the corridor stopped to look at them.
Tom’s face betrayed a combination of surprise and satisfaction. She peeked up at him, a pretty blush covering her cheeks.
“Um… public affection makes me uncomfortable,” she said. Tom wasn’t surprised that she felt that way. He could feel the stares of the school on them. He reveled in it. But she shrunk under the pressure of their eyes.
“Guess we will start small,” he grabbed her bag off her shoulder and slung it over his as they walked down the corridor. “I was about to drop my things off in the common room.”
“I need to drop off my things in mine.”
“Okay,” he said. Their common rooms were about as far apart as one could get in this castle, but she didn’t seem to mind taking a detour.
“Yeah.”
“Then we’ll eat?” He suddenly felt famished. Did he even eat lunch?
“Sure.”
“Okay—I have to patrol tonight, but we could meet in the library tomorrow,” he said.
“Um. Actually, I can’t tomorrow.”
Tom froze mid-step, cocking his head at her. “Why not?”
“I have detention.”
Tom gaped at her. He was about to ask why, but she started speaking before he could get the words out. “I punched Barnabas Cuffe in the face and broke his nose.”
He stared at her as a smile formed on his lips. “That’s my girl.”
Notes:
Chapter 26 Song: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can): Taylor Swift. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I realized I never described some of the characters! Eventually I'll go back and edit the earlier chapters to add that description but in the meantime, here is some of the inspo pics! Ignore the fact that they aren't time period appropriate!
Next chapter on January 19th
XOXO - Tipp
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 27: 27: The Lion and the Serpent
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Seven times in the first week back, Hermione found herself tugged into an alcove, and passionately kissed within an inch of her life. Tom’s hands moving along her body making everywhere he touched burn. His tongue and lips pressing against hers. He took any available opportunity to be alone with her, and she reveled in it. If not for class, she might not have concluded each session with a final peck and a whispered goodbye.
Now that they were publicly dating, he was always around. Discussing class work with him exhilarated her. He offered her intellectual challenges she never considered and every day she tried to stump him with something he didn’t already know. She wasn’t always successful.
The weeks continued to pass and the workload for the fifth years piled up as their O.W.L.s loomed closer. It felt like the time they spent together comprised meals, late-night study sessions, and stolen kisses. Tom also kept busy with his prefect duties.
The group sat at a large table at the front of the library. Tom sat beside her and watched with keen interest as she flipped through a book about curses. The pain in her scar became more unbearable, despite the regular supply of potion from Healer Spleen.
“I think I’m going cross-eyed,” Gussie said. After a month of the new term, every fifth year anxiously anticipated their O.W.L.s. Gussie flipped back and forth between a few pages in her divination text. She was supposed to interpret stars or some rubbish like that.
Hermione watched as Tom turned the pages of The Mystery Behind Arithmancy. He worked on solving a complex code for class. His fingers stroked over the lines as he read.
She dreamed about those fingers last night.
His eyes flicked over and met hers. That look conveyed a myriad of emotions: unspoken promises. The heat in his gaze made her toes curl. Sometimes their kisses weren’t enough. She desired more... so much more. Her lips parted as the surrounding room faded. She bit her lip and his eyes narrowed, tracking the way her teeth connected with the flesh. A blush crawled up her skin.
“You should’ve dropped Divination like I did,” Alastor said. Tom’s gaze snapped back to his book, but somehow the tension didn’t lift. “Study of Ancient Runes is much more interesting.”
“Divination isn’t terrible...” Archie said, not sounding convincing.
She felt his hand over her skirt, on her knee. Her breath hitched. His eyes never left his text as he pushed her skirt away so his thumb could brush over her skin. Her heartbeat quickened as he rubbed gentle circles, moving to her inner thigh, above the joint. This was too intimate for the library. She leaned forward. Breathing faster. She swallowed the flood of saliva that filled her mouth.
Merlin… He knew how to drive her crazy…
She couldn’t focus on her book anymore.
She craved Tom like she craved no other guy. The feeling was foreign. Her body felt twisted in knots when they were together. Kissing in the alcoves and closets didn’t soothe the flame, it made the fire burn hotter; flare into a raging inferno that consumed everything in its path. Like a fire that had been smoldering, their desire grew slowly over time. Nothing would stop them anymore.
It didn’t help that she knew he felt the same way. The filthy words he whispered in her ear as he sucked her skin between his teeth made her long for more. While not prepared, she entertained the idea of having sex with him. What would it be like? What would it feel like?
Hermione almost fell out of her seat when the chair next to her moved. She shoved Tom’s hand off her, not missing his disgruntled huff. Julia sat beside her, giving Hermione a radiant smile. She flipped her gorgeous blonde hair and tossed a few books onto the table. Reinhardt greeted Tom and seated himself across from Julia.
“Reinhardt and I were about to work on our history of magic essay,” she said. A faint blush colored her cheeks like she was far from interested in working on her essay. According to Gussie, Julia still dated Alfred, but everyone saw her spending more time with Reinhardt these days. So far, tensions had been building, but nothing had reached a breaking point.
“I told you to have that done by now. The paper is due tomorrow,” Tom said.
Reinhardt cleared his throat. “I hoped to work on it with Julia,” he replied, giving her a beaming smile that appeared tight around the edges.
Julia looked ready to melt in her chair.
“I’m going to bed.” Alastor stood up suddenly, waving his wand at his books to gather them.
“It’s seven o’clock!” Archie said. Gussie gaped at Alastor while he slammed his bag closed and latched the buckle.
“I’ll finish this in the dorm,” he snapped.
Gussie frowned. “Alastor, is everything—”
“I’m fine!” Alastor neared his breaking point. He always seemed so close to snapping. Hermione opened her mouth but knew from his previous outbursts that nothing she had to say would help. Julia’s eyebrows drew together. Reinhardt watched Alastor with an impassive expression. Tom looked at Hermione.
“I’m tired,” Alastor said before swinging his bag over his shoulder and walking out.
Archie stood a moment later. “I’ll go check on him.” Gussie hesitated, probably wondering if she should follow them too. She decided against it, returning to her star charts with much less enthusiasm.
“Is he okay?” Julia asked. They all asked that same question multiple times over the last month.
“He’s fine,” Reinhardt responded, his answer short and quipped. Gussie and Hermione looked at him in surprise.
“Excuse me?” Gussie asked. Nothing about Alastor’s behavior would indicate him being ‘fine’.
“He said he was fine!” Reinhardt said, flipping open his book. “We need to start this essay, Julia.”
“Oh, sure...” Julia pulled out her quill and ink. “Reinhardt, you have a couple feathers on your robes.” she reached over to pluck them off, but he batted her hand away. Reinhardt looked flustered. His eyes widened, but Hermione couldn’t quite identify the emotion in them.
“Thanks.” He flicked the offending feathers. Even Tom frowned at his friend. The atmosphere became stifling.
Hermione returned to her book, trying to ignore the tension. Something eased in her when Tom placed his hand back on her knee, his fingers stroking. If they were alone, maybe he would move higher...
“What are you reading?” he asked, his lips a breath away from her ear.
Gussie looked over at them.
“Um... I’m reading about curses.”
Gussie cut in, “She has been having a lot of trouble with her curse lately. Been acting up more.”
Tom raised a brow. Hermione glared at her best friend. His hand froze on her leg.
“You didn’t tell him, did you, Hermione.” Gussie accused. Hermione blushed; she hadn’t told him. She thought she had it under control, and she knew how fiercely protective Tom could be. Then the longer she went without telling him, the more uncomfortable bringing it up became.
“How bad is it?” he asked her. His hand gripped her knee tighter. His nails dug into her skin. Pain. He was angry.
“Not that bad! I have it covered.”
“She wakes up screaming at least twice a week,” Gussie said. Hermione kicked her friend under the table. Gussie squeaked.
“What curse?” Julia asked. Even Reinhardt looked at Hermione with interest. Hermione didn’t want to discuss her entire curse history here.
When she didn’t answer right away, Tom spoke. “What have you been trying to figure out?” She heard the rage simmering below the surface of his voice. He slammed his book shut and turned towards her.
“The pain has been getting worse. I’m trying to learn about curse scars and what I can do to ease the symptoms. The potion helps, but I’m not supposed to take it too often.”
Tom stood from his chair. “Where are you going?” Hermione asked.
“Obviously I’m going to help you!” He walked into the stacks. Hermione turned to glare at her friend, who didn’t look remotely apologetic.
***
Tom escorted her back to the Gryffindor common room in complete silence. She waited for him to crack. He’d barely spoken two words to her after he returned with his stack of books. Now he glowered while walking beside her through the corridors. That is until he grabbed her arm and veered off course into a vacant area before pushing her against the wall.
“Why didn’t you tell me how bad things were getting?” The anger in his gaze was undeniable.
“I had it handled,” she said.
He scoffed. His powerful arms caged her against the stone.
It was always like this between them. Tom pressing her against the nearest wall. Him crawling over her on the bed in the Room of Requirement. Him touching her. But she wanted to touch him, too. Badly. She may not know how to do it right, but she wanted to try.
“But you didn’t have it handled, little lion.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against her jaw in a gentle caress, “or else you wouldn’t have been reading so fervently about it.” His tongue moved against her skin. She made an embarrassing sound in her throat, and he chuckled.
He had experience and knew what he liked. What if she did it all wrong? There were girls before her, even girls before Walburga. What did those girls do that kept him going back to them?
“You don’t have access to the restricted section,” she said. He bit down on her neck. She moaned. She loved the feeling of him against her sensitive skin. Maybe he would like that too…
“You don’t think I could get access?” he rasped.
“I—”
“You don’t think I could help you?”
“Merlin—”
“Didn’t you think I would want to help you?!” He had her wrists pinned against the wall above her head.
She panted.
“I won’t be left in the dark, Hermione!” He snarled against her.
“Tom!” she cried. They were going to miss curfew, and she didn’t care. His thigh pressed between her legs, and she ground down on him, the shock running all the way up her spine.
“Shameless little lion, aren’t you?” He wrapped her wrists in one of his large hands as he left bruise after bruise on her neck and clavicle with his lips.
“Ah!” She rolled her hips on his thigh… she wanted to touch him… Her eyes shot open. She chewed her lip as he found her nipple, even through the fabric of her robes. He had a gift for that.
“Will you tell me what’s been going on?”
“Yes!”
Hermione continued to move on him as he kissed along her skin. She could touch him. She would touch him. How bad could it be? He was right there! She could do this!
He bit down on her nipple, and she squeaked, “I won’t ask again, Hermione!”
I can do this. I can do this...
“I’m sorry!” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell him. At the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal.
“Sorry isn’t good enough!” He seethed. He released her wrists and pressed her harder against the wall, decidedly pinning her. They both froze as he looked into her eyes. Even in the dimly lit corridor, she could see the fury and lust in his gaze. It morphed into something almost feral. She couldn’t look away from him. The erotic sight that left her so aroused she wanted to… to…
Hermione grabbed his hair, pulling him to her. She kissed him with as much passion as she knew how to give. He responded immediately. Groaning in the back of his throat as he latched on to her. His tongue stroked hers. She hitched her thigh over his hip, not caring that her skirt hiked up. His hand traveled up the exposed flesh of her leg and the curve of her bottom.
She knew he was angry. She understood why he was upset. Right now, she didn’t care. All she wanted was more. More of him. More of this.
“Tom,” she choked.
“Hmm?”
“Can we not talk about this right now?”
He said something, but then stopped as she righted herself and dragged him further down the corridor, away from the portraits, into the darkness with a few lonely tapestries.
“Hermione?” With a surge of bravery that she would have never thought possible, she used all her strength to push him against the wall. She pressed her mouth against his neck since she couldn’t reach his lips, even on her toes. His breath hitched.
She bit down. “Fuck!” He loved marking her. She always glamoured them, but once in a while, she wouldn’t, when her clothing concealed them. That drove him particularly wild.
She followed her instincts, sucking harder, pressing her body against him. He grabbed her hair and held her tighter against his skin. She ran her hands up his chest and over the buttons of his shirt.
She hoped he didn’t notice her fingers trembling as she undid each one. The way her flesh burned. He moaned as her lips kissed down his body until it became too awkward to continue. He seemed to like this. She pushed on. He gripped her hips.
“Hermione, are you—Merlin,” he panted. His lungs heaved as her hands moved lower. She reached for his belt, her fingers fumbled with the buckle. He helped her push his trousers over his hips, freeing his erection, and then she had him in her grasp.
She couldn’t look at his penis, but she felt him. The hot, hard flesh, thick under her grip. Her thumb traced the veins running along the shaft. He panted against her, letting out a jumbled stream of curses. A strange mix of power and insecurity crashed into her. Her chest tightened and her mouth went dry with a sudden uncertainty of how to proceed now that she got this far. He looked down at her in awe, not yet realizing her trepidations. She needed to do something, and soon or he might become disappointed in her. She should have thought this through.
Didn’t boys wank? So she should… stroke him? Maybe he would give her a bit of guidance? He had testicles too… was she expected to do something with those? She had no idea what she was doing! It wasn’t a test she could prepare for. She didn’t think there was a book on this topic in the library. Even if there was a text on the subject, she doubted Hogwarts had a reason to carry the title for their students.
Her chest constricted. Her eyes flicked away from Tom’s. She was on the brink of tears.
“Charlotte, there are students canoodling by my tapestry! We leave for five minutes and return to this travesty!”
“Is there really, Eleanor?”
“Every year I demand a more prominent spot in the castle! Students constantly think they can engage in nefarious activities here!” Hermione jumped at the intrusion, freezing in place as if they might detect their movement and see them again.
“I suppose it is rather dimly lit here,” Charlotte’s calm voice replied.
“I have half a mind to take names and report the individuals myself!” Eleanor’s contrary shrieking tone said.
“Now Eleanor, be reasonable!”
“I am being reasonable!”
“I would have to disagree—”
“They act like this corner is free for sexual pursuits and I am tired of it!”
A brief numbness encompassed Hermione at the shock of being discovered. Tom wrapped his arms around her, hiding her against him.
“I think we should be supportive,” Charlotte the calm said. Hermione felt Tom snort softly against her.
“Supportive?!”
“Of course, the girl is clearly inexperienced!” Hermione wanted to crawl into the darkest corner of that corridor and leave her body to rot.
“I will not encourage this behavior!” Eleanor the shrieking said.
“I’m sure she’s terrified. It’s hard when it’s your first time.”
“You cannot be serious!” Eleanor said, her voice filled with clear indignation.
“Don’t you remember your first time?”
“This is a most undignified discussion. I will remind you I am a lady!”
“A lady who had relations with half the castle in her day—”
“How dare you!”
“It’s the truth.” Charlotte said.
“I am—”
“A lady, so you already reminded me, though let’s be honest, dear friend, it’s only a title,” Charlotte said with a lilt of amusement.
Hermione peeked up but couldn’t see the two women in the tapestry. She did, however, hear their argument echoing throughout the corridor. She focused on her breathing, keeping her nerves, and consequently her brimming tears, at bay.
Her eyes clenched shut again and her body went rigid with her climbing nerves. Something twitched her hand. Once again, she felt the searing heat of embarrassment spread through her entire being. She had forgotten she had her hand wrapped around Tom’s rapidly deflating erection. Nothing killed a mood faster than an interruption from the surrounding décor. She released him and he readjusted his trousers on his hips and buckled his belt. They both knew this wasn’t happening anymore.
“If you wish to offer support, I will not stop you, Charlotte!” Eleanor the shrieking said. Hermione wished she would.
“I think I will.” Hermione couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She felt nauseous.
“Listen dear,” Charlotte said, her voice closer to Hermione, clearly addressing her directly. “You were very enthusiastic, which is good—no one can fault you for a little enthusiasm! In the future, you might consider spitting on your hand first before touching a man’s member. Lessens the friction on the erection when you go to run your hand—”
“Charlotte, this discussion is quite obscene!” Eleanor the shrieking interjected.
“These are important things to know!”
“It is highly improper!”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t stop me!”
Hermione’s eyes burned with humiliation. Was this something every witch knew? Was she about to rub Tom raw and give him some sort of skin burn? Hermione remembered getting a rug burn once when she was younger. Would it have been like that?
Tom watched the tapestries with a bemused expression as they bickered amongst themselves. His lip twitched as he glanced down at Hermione. “You don’t have to spit, you can always use pre-come,” Tom shrugged.
His comment was enough to shatter her already fragile nerves. She burst into tears, pushed away from him, and ran down the corridor.
“Wait! Hermione!”
Tom chased after her, as the tapestry said, “Well that went horridly. Perhaps next time she will spit.”
When he caught Hermione a few moments later, he dragged her into an empty classroom. This time, he did not shove her against a wall and kiss her mindlessly. She probably would have cried harder if he had, and perhaps he sensed that.
Tom clarified his earlier statement which ultimately allowed her to calm her tears. Then they discuss her curse. They were an hour late for curfew and both were a little on edge.
Hermione couldn’t sleep that night. The events of the evening left her emotions rocked and shattered. One question still weighing heavily on her mind. What even was pre-come?
***
The following evening was the first Slug Club meeting of the new year. Slughorn planned the meeting in one of the dungeon classrooms, where he set up multiple chairs and couches for the students.
Hermione and Tom took the loveseat together. The rest of the group trickled in around them.
Alastor arrived last and sat next to Reinhardt in the only vacant seat. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes that grew bigger every day since he returned to school.
“Mr. Moody, how is your father doing?” Slughorn asked. Alastor blinked like he couldn’t believe someone was talking to him.
“Fine, sir.”
“I heard they released him from St. Mungo’s! Quite a tragic event, but I’m glad he is doing better!” Alastor nodded but said nothing. Hermione gaped at him. Alastor never said a word to anyone about his father being in St. Mungo’s. Was that the reason for his unusual behavior?
“Good friend, your father. One of my brightest students. Tried to convince him to become a potioneer but, of course, he was determined to go into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!” Slughorn chuckled and Alastor cracked a tense smile.
Slughorn continued, “Miss Walburga Black! I’ve heard your grandfather has taken ill.”
Hermione stopped listening when Tom’s arm reached around Hermione’s shoulders and pulled her closer. She tensed but didn’t pull away. He did this sometimes; these displays of public—she didn’t know what to call them. It wasn’t affection, it was possessive.
Walburga frowned at them but continued speaking to Slughorn.
“I’m going to ask Slughorn for access to the restricted section,” Tom whispered in her ear. She blinked at him. “So I can help with your research,” he said.
She should have expected this. Was it an excuse to access the dark arts books in the restricted section? She thought about the horrid book on horcruxes she read.... It seemed like something that would interest him.
Hermione became his sole focus these days. Could she change him? Even her efforts at finding the Chamber of Secrets went by the wayside.
“It really isn’t as bad as Gussie made it out to be,” she tried again. She told him as much during their discussion the previous night.
He didn’t believe her.
Hermione couldn’t imagine him following through with his plans to build an army of death eaters. Not the boy who looked at her like she was the center of his universe.
How much did she know about Tom? He grew up in an orphanage, but who were his parents? What was his childhood like?
Slughorn gestured for everyone to grab food and drinks. Tom and Hermione both stood, but rather than heading towards the pastries, Tom’s aim was Slughorn. “Excuse me, professor, might I have a word with you?” he asked, looking the picture of innocence. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes.
“Mr. Riddle! So glad to see you and Miss Granger this evening! I always knew you two were made for each other! Like to believe I played a part in your relationship starting.”
Tom’s lip twitched but that was the only sign of irritation he showed. Hermione was getting good at seeing through the mask he wore. She smiled when he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
“Things are going very well, thank you, Professor.”
“You wanted a word, Mr. Riddle?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Right, well, how about we step over into my office for a quick spot? Won’t take long, I trust?”
Tom nodded and looked down at Hermione, leaning over to whisper in her ear. His warm breath ghosted over her skin. “I’ll be back soon.” He winked and followed Slughorn.
Why couldn’t Tom ask Slughorn about getting permission here? That’s what Hermione did.
She decided not to overthink it and moved towards the snack table before deciding what to do next. She scanned the room, searching for Alastor, finally spotting him engaged in a lively conversation with Reinhardt in the dimly lit corner. Despite the distance, she could feel the intensity of their discussion and the heat emanating from their argument. It didn’t look like something she should interrupt.
Her eyes ran over Barnabas Cuffe, talking with Rudolf Brand, captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, near the hearth. Nothing against Rudolf Brand, but she wanted to stay as far away from Cuffe as possible.
She decided on her usual past times and busied herself by browsing the bookshelves. She ran her fingers over the spines of the volumes as she waited for Tom to return. Hermione looked through these publications at least twice already during the previous Slug Club gatherings, but Slughorn was always updating his collection. He really was a scholar at heart and despite his questionable morals, Hermione could respect him for that.
“Hello, Hermione.” She turned to find Walburga Black standing behind her. Her pale skin and dark hair created an almost ethereal look. She was unrecognizable from the screaming portrait in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The same painting that called Hermione “filth”, “scum of the earth”, and “Mudblood”.
“Walburga.” Hermione nodded but didn’t return Walburga’s sweet smile. The 7th-year Slytherin was taller than Hermione by at least a few inches and she used every bit of her height to her advantage. She straightened her spine and tried to tower over her in a strange act of dominance while keeping her demeanor charming.
Hermione never interacted with her before, but she hated her.
“The entire school has been talking about you and Tom.” Hermione knew this. Gussie said they had become some kind of power couple. Tom Riddle never dated. The girls were curious about how Hermione caught his attention. Boys wanted to know what Hermione had that piqued Tom’s interest?
“Yes, since we started dating, it seems like the school has nothing better to talk about,” Hermione said. Walburga’s eyes flashed.
“You act like you’re the only girl Tom’s ever had. He’s done this before, you know.”
“Is that so? I’ve heard he’s never publicly dated anyone.” Hermione couldn’t pinpoint what Walburga’s aim was.
Walburga moved closer. “Maybe not publicly.” Hermione tried to move away, but her back hit the bookshelf. “But in the end, you’re one of the many, aren’t you?”
Hermione flushed and said nothing.
“You don’t seem like anything special?”
Words got stuck in her throat.
“What did you do to ensnare him?” Walburga cocked her head.
“Ensnare him?!” Hermione asked, her voice cracking.
“Boring, not particularly pretty—so how did you trap him?”
“I didn’t trap him like some kind of caged animal!” Hermione wished she wasn’t pressed against the bookshelf. What was it about Walburga Black that terrified her? There was something unpredictable and unstable lurking beneath the surface.
“You had to do something! What could you possibly give him he couldn’t get from me?” Walburga’s sweet smile was gone now. Replaced with something sinister and ugly.
“That’s none of your business, Walburga.”
“I’d say it is, considering you stole him from me,” she hissed.
“I didn’t steal him from anyone.”
“Do you know what I had to do to get him to pay attention to me?”
Hermione couldn’t look Walburga Black in the eye. She didn’t want to know what she used to do for Tom. She never wanted to know. Apparently, Walburga intended to tell her anyway.
“I sucked his cock in the common room late at night and in alcoves between classes! I let him fuck me in broom cupboards and empty classrooms. He used me in any way he wanted! I did everything he ever asked! So, what are you doing for him?”
Hermione couldn’t breathe. She was aware of Tom’s prior relationships but having them thrown in her face was too much. Between classes? Hermione could never imagine doing something like that.
Merlin… Her stomach churned. Vision blurred. She felt sick.
Students mingled in the room; nobody paid them any attention. Hermione wished Tom would come back. Or maybe she never wanted him to return. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore.
Walburga pulled away. Hermione didn't realize she was holding her breath until all the air escaped her lungs. Her eyes flicked up to Walburga’s, seeing confusion there. The smile was gone as she studied Hermione. “You haven’t given him anything, have you?” Hermione’s lack of answer was enough for Walburga. The evil grin returned to her face.
“Tom knows exactly what he wants, Hermione. He knows what he wants, and he gets it. He isn’t patient, and he doesn’t wait.”
The last strand of her fight snapped. She was letting Walburga prod at all the insecurities she felt in her relationship with Tom.
“If you aren’t giving him what he’s looking for, he can always get it somewhere else. From someone who knows how to please him.”
Hermione straightened her spine and stared down Walburga. “Who says I can’t provide him with what he wants?”
Walburga rolled her eyes. “Be realistic, Hermione. You will never be enough for him.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
“I’ve heard about her curse. Rather tragic.” Slughorn said. Tom nodded. They were in Slughorn’s office. Though he didn’t wish to leave Hermione, Tom needed access to the restricted section.
“I want to do some further research on it. I don’t know if I can help her... but I have to do something...” He gave Slughorn a pitiful look that he would probably hate himself for later. It was all part of the larger game.
“I understand. I’ll write you a permission slip, of course.” He pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment. Slughorn played right into his hand. “But Mr. Riddle, there was something I needed to discuss with you.”
“Of course.” This must be the real reason Slughorn insisted they talk in private.
Slughorn sighed and looked uneasy. “Miss Granger is a young, rather innocent witch. I’m familiar with your upbringing and am unsure what discussions you’ve had about these things.”
Tom stared at Slughorn as he waited for him to finish.
“As your head of house, I feel I should take on the role. I want to make sure you are considering your futures and being safe.”
Slughorn had somehow left Tom speechless. He cleared his throat. “We just started dating a month ago.”
“Oh, I know, but you’re young, in love, and everything seems so exciting.”
‘Love’ wasn’t the right word. Sounded like a pointless, distracting emotion.
Tom also used to say that about relationships…
“I was young and in love once myself. I know how these things go. What sort of—um—activities students partake in.” Tom hoped Slughorn wouldn’t expand on that.
“I am not naïve enough to believe these things don’t happen within the walls of this castle. Students are often exploring more—achm—mature aspects of puberty together... which, as you can imagine, can get rather complicated in a school such as ours,” Slughorn said.
“Are you trying to ask if we are hav—”
“Oh, no! I—no! Absolutely not! Please don’t—no! That’s not it at all! I just mean that you are two of the brightest students I’ve ever had; capable of accomplishing anything in your lives! Miss Granger lost her family and is in a rather vulnerable position right now in a new school. I hope you are considering your futures when you are... together.” Slughorn wouldn’t meet Tom’s eyes.
“I see.” Under no circumstances would Tom be discussing his sex life with his professor. Not that he and Hermione were having sex. But Tom wanted her. She drove him crazy with her sly touches and heated kisses. She grabbed his cock last night. He could hardly believe she initiated such contact. Unfortunately, things did not progress any further.
“You are both still very young and should keep your options open. Are you familiar with the charms—”
“Yes, professor.” He cut him off. Tom was also not interested in discussing the contraceptive charm with this man, either. He used it any time he used Walburga. Knowing her, she would get herself knocked up, thinking he would care enough to stay with her. Walburga didn’t know Tom well.
“Yes, it would be in your best interest to use the charm every time you, uh—you know—even when you don’t ejacu—umm…well, inside the female, you understand. Things could still happen.” Slughorn turned so red, he looked like a sunburned pig, wearing a wig. He bent over the parchment with his quill at the ready. “It needs to be done within an hour to be effective. Don’t forget that.”
“Okay.”
“Of course, there are also some potions that can be useful as well, if you prefer. Some people like them more than the charm. I would be happy to teach you about these potions. They aren’t terribly difficult. But if you know the charm, that would work fine too. I teach the potions to my N.E.W.T. students, so you’ll learn them eventually. They have a longer duration of effect, which is better when you have multiple—uh—sessions.” Slughorn, having now finished signing the parchment, had nothing left to distract himself. He dutifully stared at Tom’s right ear.
Tom nodded. He never desired a conversation’s end more in his entire life.
“In my experience—" under no circumstances did Tom want to hear about Slughorn’s sexual escapades. “You should inquire about her—I mean—talk to your partner about her preferred method for preventing procreation during se—intercourse. Some witches will tell you certain ones don’t agree with them. Have you—uhh—had these discussions?”
Tom blinked at the fat man. “Umm—"
“Please don’t answer that question.” Slughorn rushed to add.
Tom hadn’t planned on it.
“The last thing I want to say,” Tom almost groaned in relief at knowing this painful discussion would be ending, “if you ever have any questions or—er—concerns regarding some of these more—um—sensitive topics, my door is always open for you,” he said, sounding a little too bright as he made the offer. “I’m happy to talk to you at any time, Tom.”
Tom knew, without a doubt, even on the threat of his own death, that he would never be accepting the invitation. “Thank you, professor,” he said, his voice cool and expression giving away nothing.
“Right, very good. Here’s your signed form for the restricted section. Yes, very good. Glad we had this talk, Mr. Riddle. I think this went very well! We should probably get back now!”
Slughorn threw himself back into the Slug Club gathering as if he hadn’t tried to have a sex talk with Tom in his office. They shared an unspoken agreement to never mention the conversation again.
He found Hermione next to the bookshelf, watching him with an unreadable expression. He only had eyes for her. The curls that glowed in the firelight. Her pouty lips. Damn…
His focus was so fixed on Hermione, he didn’t even notice Walburga standing next to her until she stepped into his line of sight. Walburga leaned in and said something to his witch.
Tom froze in his tracks as his eyes narrowed on Walburga Black. She wouldn’t talk to Hermione if she knew he was watching. He wanted Hermione nowhere near Walburga.
“Hermione,” Tom called as he approached. Tom’s unexpected arrival made Walburga spin around, her expression startled.
“Did you get it?” Hermione asked. She looked relieved to see him, which made his muscles tighten. What did Walburga say?
He held up the signed form before pocketing it and throwing his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Walburga said. She spoke with an unmistakable sneer. They ignored her.
“What did she want?” He asked once Walburga departed.
Hermione smiled up at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just to talk.”
“What about?”
“It wasn’t important.”
He could tell when someone lied. What he needed to figure out now was why she would lie. He glanced over at Walburga, who made her way next to Abraxas and Slughorn.
“Then why are you upset, little lion?” He whispered. The smell of pastries and pumpkin juice permeated the air. He could barely smell the apples and honey usually surrounding her. Something about that irritated him more.
She sighed and shook her head. “It really was no big deal. So, what happened with Slughorn?” She tried to change the subject. He would let her. But this was far from over.
His anger festered within him throughout the rest of the Slug Club meeting. He was on the verge of exploding. He walked Hermione back to her dorm and kissed her goodnight in front of Sir Cadogan’s portrait. Even the touch of her lips against his did nothing to calm his fury.
He couldn’t shake the thought infiltrating his mind.
Walburga did something...
He didn’t remember walking back to the Slytherin common room. His body moved on autopilot.
When he spotted Walburga standing in a corner with her friends, he blasted her against the wall with a flick of his wand. She screeched on impact and slid to the floor, gasping for air. He was on her in an instant.
Students screamed. A few ran to their dorms. Some hid. Nobody would report Tom Riddle though. He ruled Slytherin’s house, no matter what Slughorn wanted to believe.
“What did you say to her?” he hissed. His body trembled.
A hush fell over the room.
Walburga licked her lips but remained calm. Did she think she was immune because Tom fucked her? She meant nothing to him! “I wanted to get to know her a little,” Walburga said.
“Do you think this is a game, Walburga?”
She smirked. “Isn’t it always a game with you, Tom?” She reached her hand up to touch his cheek. He stiffened. “Don’t you always control the board?” A strong floral scent wafted off Walburga, which made Tom want to gag.
Walburga leaned in closer. The smell became overpowering. It fueled his outrage. “You could have everything, you know. Both of us. I can give you what you really want, and you can keep your innocent, inexperienced witch.” She moved closer, her voice dropping to a throaty whisper. “You can use me however you want. And when you’re done with her, I’ll still be here.”
She was disgusting. This display wasn’t a turn on. It was pathetic. Tom snatched Walburga’s wrist and pulled her hand off his skin. Her touch felt vile.
Walburga screamed as Tom sent flames through his hand, burning Walburga, searing her flesh, and dropping her on the ground. She cradled her injured wrist and whimpered.
Tom was possessive of Hermione. He would never let her go. He would do anything to ensure she stayed with him. Hermione belonged to him. He craved the touch of her skin. He wanted to own every piece of her soul. It was all his.
In comparison, everything about Walburga was repulsive.
He pushed away from her, pointing his wand at her. “Hermione is everything I need,” he hissed. “I will never leave her.”
She flinched. “Isn’t that what you do? Love ‘em and leave ‘em—” she started choking. He was so mad he suffocated her without even realizing he cast the spell. He didn’t care. She could choke and die. Nobody would interfere with what he had with Hermione. Especially not Walburga Black!
This was public. Half the house was here. People screamed. Tom didn’t care. Let it be known that nobody could fuck with his witch. Nobody could crush her soul or put tears in her eyes. Nobody would ever dim her light…
He heaved air into his lungs as magic poured out of him. His tightly contained control was gone now. All of his chaos directed towards the bitch now dying on the floor in front of him.
“She isn’t worth it, Tom,” someone said. He looked over at Reinhardt. His friend’s face remained impassive as he watched the scene unfold along with a third of Slytherin’s house. Those that didn’t go running at the violence.
Tom blinked. If he killed Walburga Black, it would cause mayhem. Witnesses. A body. Questions.
Hermione… He would lose her for sure.
Reinhardt was right, Walburga wasn’t worth it. Tom dropped the spell. Walburga croaked. Wheezed. Her skin a dusky purple and her trachea bruised as she gasped for air. She whimpered on the ground. Her body shook. “You’re mistaken, Black. I don’t love ‘em and leave ‘em. I never loved you. I don’t give a fuck about you.”
He pointed his wand at her again. “Crucio.”
Notes:
Chapter 27 Song: Dangerous (feat. blackbear): DeathbyRomy, blackbear. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I enjoy writing little spurts of Tomione humor! I feel like this pairing doesn't have enough of it!
Next chapter February 1
Sorry for the longer gaps between posts. I've been less motivated to stay on top of the editing and I've had to rewrite a lot of the later chapters from book 1. It's taking longer than I anticipated. I’m very very motivated by all the comments! ❤️🖤❤️🖤 Thank you everyone! It does help 🥰 Love you all!
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 28: 28: The Rematch
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They decorated the castle with little floating cupid statues that flew around and giggled with glee the week before Valentine’s Day. Tom wanted to kill the person who thought it was a good idea. The teachers appeared to be on the same wavelength as him. The incessant annoyances had a knack for chasing each other into classrooms, interrupting lessons, and playing rambunctious games in the halls. Hermione and her friends considered them cute, but Tom couldn’t see how fat, ugly, winged babies were appealing.
Slughorn spent most of the lesson trying to rid the room of a group of plump, flying infants. They were supposed to be brewing the Deflating Draught, but very few students were having success. The classroom was in so much chaos, Tom didn’t notice Augusta Crouch standing in front of his cauldron.
“You better have something good planned.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“What?” He looked around for Hermione, but she must have gone to the storeroom.
“For Valentine’s Day!”
“What about it?”
“It’s this weekend, Tom!”
He restrained himself from telling her to “fuck off” since she was Hermione’s best friend.
Augusta scowled at him. “Valentine’s Day, Tom! It’s a romantic holiday for couples!”
“Okay.”
“Are you and Hermione not a couple, Tom?!”
“We are.”
“How dense can you possibly be?!” Tom had never been treated so idiotically in his life. If she were anyone else, an unfortunate accident would have befallen her already. He ground his jaw and narrowed his eyes at his girlfriend’s best friend, whom he disliked at the moment.
“Get to the point, Crouch,” he bit out. To his credit, he kept his wandless magic under a tight leash and did not choke her. She didn’t miss the underlying threat in his voice. Something in her expression changed.
“Hermione is my best friend and she better have a perfect Valentine’s Day! She’s already bummed she can’t go to Hogsmeade! Don’t screw this up!”
She stomped away, leaving Tom next to his boiling cauldron looking nothing short of bewildered. Did Augusta Crouch just threaten him? What did she think she could do to him? It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so astounding.
Reinhardt peaked over at Tom as if expecting some sort of outburst in response, but Tom couldn’t publicly retaliate against her without retribution from Hermione. Gritting his teeth, he decided to let it go and returned to his potion. His mood soured.
He racked his brain all week for an activity to do with Hermione. Tom considered ice skating, but the lake was no longer frozen. He didn’t want to feed the giant squid again, and he definitely had no desire to bake with house-elves.
Eventually, he swallowed his pride and asked Augusta for advice. He would have rather taken a flobberworm to his bed than ask Augusta Crouch for help, but he was out of options. Incidentally, fucking a flobberworm would’ve probably helped about as much as she did, because she responded by saying she would personally kill him if Hermione wasn’t happy, to which he scoffed at her before mentally hexing himself for thinking approaching her was a good idea.
Sunday arrived and most of the school departed to celebrate Valentine’s Day in Hogsmeade. This left the castle quieter than usual, but with the first and second years scampering about, it felt far from empty. Tom and Hermione made the most of the smaller crowd and had breakfast together again. It was like a watered-down version of winter break.
“I have an idea for what we could do today,” Hermione told him over breakfast. They agreed to meet at the tail end to avoid the crowds.
“Do you?” He asked. He hoped her plans entailed finding some place and stripping their clothes off. Tom wasn’t picky. He was desperate. Especially with her teasing glances that she’d given him all week that were driving him mad. She hadn’t tried to touch him again since that day near the tapestry, and he didn’t think he could take it anymore.
“Chess, I want that rematch.”
This didn’t seem romantic… did he even want romance? Damn! What did he want from this?! No… he just wanted her. Dammit! Was he above begging at this point? He needed some reprieve. He couldn’t remember the last time his hand had seen so much action.
He cleared his throat. “Chess?”
“Didn’t you claim you would beat me even using the white chessmen?”
What if he groaned with dramatic frustration? Would that change her mind?
“You want to do that today?” he asked, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. He usually enjoyed coffee, but then, it tasted bitter.
He set the mug down with a disgusted scowl.
“Hear me out,” she said with a huge smile on her face. If she was that happy about it, he could play a round of chess with her. Maybe.
He really didn’t want to play chess today!
“If I win, I get something from you.” Her caramel eyes lit up as she spoke.
“And if I win.”
“Obviously, I would give you something you want,” she shrugged. He raised a brow.
“What exactly do you want from me, Hermione?” He asked, leaning forward.
“Tell me about the orphanage and about your parents. I want to know about your past and childhood.”
He froze. The air escaped his lungs. He couldn’t inhale the oxygen back in. “No.”
“Why!?”
“You would need to give me something really good to convince me to agree to that.”
The way her lip jutted out into a dramatic pout was adorable. He was fully aware of what he desired from her. “Like what?”
He smirked. He knew his sweet, innocent little lion would never agree to his demand. But the idea made him ache.
Tom leaned in further, holding eye contact as he reached a hand out to brush his fingertips along her jaw. A blush crept up her cheeks as he stroked his thumb over her lower lip. “You would have to use that pretty mouth of yours and suck my cock.”
The mouth in question dropped open. He stared, imagining his cock passing between her plump lips. Worshiping him with her tongue. Sucking and savoring him like a Sugar Quill. Moaning around his girth before letting him finish down her throat…
She glowed a brilliant shade of red.
He knew she wouldn’t agree. She ran the opposite direction after merely touching his cock and hadn’t done it since. So innocent… and he found that to be both frustrating that she was too shy to take those next steps and such a bloody turn on! This witch was his. All his. Would only be his.
His.
Mine!
He could practically see the cogs in her mind turning as she panicked to come up with an alternative. Some way to get him to change his mind, but he wouldn’t back down. This wasn’t open to negotiation. Either she sucked his cock, or the deal was off. He had her cornered.
He leaned back, smugly accepting his victory as he picked up his coffee and took a drink.
“D—deal.”
He choked on his coffee.
“What?”
“If you win, I’ll... um… I’ll use my…” she was so embarrassed she couldn’t even say the words. This must be some sort of joke. “I’ll use my mouth and I’ll suck your penis.” She spoke so fast he could barely make out the words. As soon as they were out, she slapped her hands over her cheeks to hide her flaming face. Her eyes darted around, ensuring no one overheard.
Just like that, at ten in the morning, he was already hard as diamonds at the breakfast table. The tantalizing fragrance of apples consumed him, making him want to draw her closer.
Wizard’s chess didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.
***
There were two other students in the library. The place was a ghost town. Even Madam Pince was absent from her usual post. He never paid attention to her schedule, but he supposed she couldn’t be there all the time.
Hermione went straight behind the counter and grabbed the chess set from the shelf while Tom dropped his bag on an empty table.
He stared at her as she approached him. Watched the sway of her hips with each step. The curls coming loose from the high bun she wore today. She was stunning. And he might get his cock in that mouth…
“Ready?” she asked, setting the chess set down.
He took a moment to refocus his thoughts. “I need to talk to my pieces first.”
“What?”
“My chessmen. Take your set and wait for me over there.” He nodded his head towards an armchair across the room. She blinked at him before realizing that he was dead serious.
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes and sauntered off.
He waited until she was gone to set up his side of the board. He turned it so the chessmen faced him.
One knight blew their nose. The queen gave him a scathing look. These chessmen were more dramatic than all of Hogwarts.
“Okay, so here’s the deal.” Tom started, his eyes scanning each chessman in turn. “I’m supposed to play a round with my girlfriend and I need to know what I’m dealing with. Any current issues or predicaments that might impact my match today?”
“Felix has a cold!” someone said while the white knight sneezed. Tom doubted that would affect the gameplay.
“Anything else?”
“I won’t play if we lose Elliot!” The queen huffed. It took a while, but Tom eventually figured out that Elliot was a bishop standing beside the king. He decided not to investigate the intricacies of that any further.
“So it’s Elliot now, is it?” The king growled towards his queen. His crown sat askew on his head and his robes hung limply off his frame. He was beyond caring about his appearance. “I can’t believe they stuck me with you for all of eternity! You should all put me out of my misery! I’m at wit’s end!” Tom inwardly agreed with the king’s assessment, but insulting the queen was not the best way to go about this. Instead, he had to persuade the king not to put himself in danger on purpose. Tom couldn’t win if the king was out to checkmate himself.
Tom sighed. Felix coughed. The queen made a noise of disgust.
“Felix, cut it out!”
“I can’t help it!” He sniffled.
Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose. The chess pieces fidgeted on the board, watching Tom with mild interest.
The other knight glared at Tom. “Why should we help you? You’re just like the rest of them!” He waved his hand in no particular direction. “You’re all the same! Watch us crumble for your own selfish amusement!”
Tom ignored him. “I’ll be honest, if I win this match, my girlfriend said she’d blow me—”
“Heard that one before!” a pawn said. The other bishop removed his hat and feigned a sudden interest in its design while humming. Apparently, he thought this was an inappropriate topic.
“Now wait a minute! We should help the lad out!” a different pawn argued. A few others agreed.
“This is an unseemly discussion!” the queen said.
Felix sneezed.
“We can’t leave him hanging! Don’t you remember the battle of ‘O8!” one rook shouted. There was a lot of grumbling about that.
“’O8?” Tom asked.
“Oh yes, the chap made a similar agreement with his girlfriend,” another chessman said. Tom wasn’t sure who.
“That poor bloody bastard,” someone muttered. “Sometimes I still wonder if he ever lost his virginity—”
“It was 35 years ago. I’m certain the bloke has managed since then,” Tom said incredulously.
“Feels like we failed him, though,” the left rook said, sounding choked up.
“We failed him?! It’s your fault we lost Rufus!”
“Is not!”
“You knew you had to be taken so I could checkmate the king, but you didn’t want to make the sacrifice!”
“That is not what happened!”
“Is too!”
“As I recall, Bernard was supposed to take the bishop but Gerald—”
“Don’t drag me into this!”
“Not this old argument…” someone sighed, shaking their head
“Which argument?” someone else asked.
“Battle of ‘08.”
“Oh yeah, that poor bloody bastard…”
“SILENCE!” The king stood up taller and straightened his crown. Apparently, something about the discussion of gambling for virginity intrigued him enough to reinstate his kingly status.
Everyone listened.
“I know the Battle of ‘08 is a sensitive topic for many of us!” the king announced. There was a dramatic pause as the chessmen turned to face their king.
Felix coughed.
“We promised him a victory and assured him the loss of his virginity—”
“That poor bloody bastard,” Tom overheard someone say in the crowd.
“But alas… we could not deliver, and we are all to blame for the tragedy that befell that young lad who thus has to now go through life with his virginity intact! We were enchanted as a set! We live as a set, and we die as a set! No man or queen could possibly shoulder such an insurmountable burden alone! We bear this together!”
Tom watched the scene take place with a sort of baffled expression. Never could he have predicted the direction that this took. He wondered if this was the most absurd thing he’d ever seen. It may have been…
Then again, he baked Christmas cookies with a hundred house-elves. Fed the giant squid and got soaked by lake water after. He witnessed a tapestry giving sexual advice to his girlfriend, which, while the advice was sound, she did not appreciate. Then his professor gave him a painful sex talk. What had his life become since Hermione fell on top of him in Flourish and Blotts?
“But I would like to propose!” The king now looked up at Tom, gesturing towards him, “That before us is another lad that is asking for our assistance! This could be our chance to redeem ourselves since our failure from the Battle of ‘08! We may have failed once but we shant fail again!”
Tom decided not to include that he was far from being a virgin. Nor did he remind them that his agreement was not regarding intercourse, but fellatio.
“We will conquer our enemies and vanquish all the obstacles! With sword in hand, we will remind our enemy who we are and what we were enchanted to do! They may have forgotten, they may laugh at us now, but not for long! We shall reinstate our pride and take back our dignity one virgin at a time!”
There was a roaring cheer from the chessmen. A united battle cry surrounding their king. Tom was speechless.
“Wow Stuart,” the queen cooed, “I haven’t seen you look so authoritative since we were both first enchanted.”
Tom flipped the board and motioned for Hermione to return. She ambled over and set up her chess pieces with a small smile on her face before sitting across from him.
“You ready?” She asked.
He was so ready. “Felix to F3.” The knight blew his nose before moving.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Whatever Tom said to his chessmen, it worked. Hermione could do nothing but watch as his men massacred her. She noticed Tom put extra effort into protecting one of his bishops. Maybe that was the queen’s current lover. Despite changing strategies to target the bishop, Tom took her out before she came close.
His chessmen never argued with him. They were steadfast and loyal.
“What did you say to them?” Hermione asked as Tom checked her for the third time.
“I rallied the troops is all,” he said. She was going to lose. She was delaying the inevitable at this point. Her heart pounded in her ears. A blush formed on her cheeks.
She shifted in her chair, the leather squeaking beneath her. Her fingers tangled in her curls as she nervously pulled her hair free of the bun. She wet her lips. A small thrill of excitement raced through her veins. She longed to touch him, to feel his warmth against her skin. His dark, penetrating eyes watching as he drove her wild with desire.
The only thing stopping her from taking this step sooner was her lack of experience. Despite her efforts to brush everything Walburga said off, something still stuck to her like gum in her hair. It wouldn’t let up. Leave her alone. What if she disappointed him? Walburga knew what she was doing with Tom. She knew how to please him. Make him come back for more.
Hermione was out of her element.
As his knight, Felix, went in for the checkmate, he rose his sword in the air and shouted, “this is for virgins everywhere!” before he charged her king.
Hermione gasped. “Did he just say that ‘this is for virgins everywhere?!’” She looked utterly horrified.
Tom ignored her question. “Checkmate,” he said as Hermione’s king crumbled. Cheering and celebration came from the white chessmen. It had been ages since they won a match. She stared at the board.
Tom was almost always the one to initiate intimacy between them. Was Walburga more forward? Would Tom like that?
What if he didn’t?
“Stop thinking.” Tom’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What?”
He smirked as he stood, reaching across the table to grab the front of her blouse and tug her over the chessboard. He kissed her. His mouth moved on hers as chessmen shouted, some toppling aside as their chests knocked the board. A few shouted profanities while others cheered.
“Aye! Do you think he’ll let us watch?”
“What a magical moment!”
“We should’ve asked!”
“I would rather not watch intercourse, if you don’t mind.”
She pushed him away. “What are they talking about?!” she squeaked.
“Ignore them.” His expression was stony, like he wanted to smash the entire chess set below them. “You’re overthinking this. I can tell,” he said.
“How do you know what I’m thinking about?”
“Because you make a face when you’re thinking hard. You twirl a finger around your curls.”
She blushed. He saw right through her.
“There’s no one here,” he said. She nodded. It started snowing and someone popped in, shouting something about a huge snowball fight on the grounds. Hermione could hear the snowballs hitting windows. They were alone.
Next thing she knew, he was dragging her across the library, pulling her through the gates of the restricted section.
“Here?” she asked.
“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you taking me in your pretty mouth in the restricted section?” She saw the way his dark eyes watched her when she researched time travel within these stacks. Was that what he thought about?
He pulled out his wand and silenced the gates surrounding them. She swallowed hard, but didn’t protest when he pressed her against the shelf and kissed her again.
Her trepidation about the restricted section fell out of her head when he started kissing her. No one was in the library. They hid in the stacks of a section that most students couldn’t access. She would never admit it, but there was something erotic about doing this here.
His hands gripped her hips, running up her sides, cupping her face. His tongue slipped past her lips as he kissed her with a fiery passion. She didn’t know what to do next. Was she supposed to unbuckle his belt and get on her knees? Is that what girls did? Was there something else she should do first?
What would a girl like Walburga do? She mentioned doing this for him before.. Hermione desperately wanted to touch him like he touched her… but if she did this wrong...
“Why are you worried, little lion?” He asked against her lips. His thumb stroked over her cheek in a gentle caress. “No one is here. We are silenced.” He pressed his mouth to hers again. His hands slid down the front of her blouse, flicking open the buttons as his fingers ran over them.
She wished those were the only things she worried about. “It isn’t…” she stopped herself from saying more. Her concerns sounded silly. All in her head. Festering thoughts that she ignited into a problem all on her own. Yet she couldn’t shake these feelings!
“It isn’t, what?”
“Never mind.” He tugged her blouse out of her skirt, pushing it off her shoulders. His eyes drank in her silky teal bra, so thin it clearly outlined the shape of her nipples. He cupped her breasts, testing the weight in each hand, running his thumb over her nipples and making her cheeks blush.
“Damn, where do you get these things?” He asked.
“Umm—”
“On second thought, don’t answer that.” Gussie got her a set as soon as she found out about her relationship with Tom. Hermione tried to refuse, but her friend insisted.
His eyes roamed her body. He devoured her.
“Now tell me why you’re worried.” He ran his hands over her silk-covered breasts again, then bent over and, to her surprise, he put his mouth over her nipple, suckling and licking with her bra still on as his other hand reached around and popped open the clasp.
“It’s nothing,” she squeaked. He switched to her other breast as her bra fell to the floor. He produced a guttural noise that resembled a mixture of a groan and a curse. She was naked from the waist up.
“Let me decide if it’s nothing,” he said against her skin. He moved back to admire her, cupping her again in each hand and stroking the areolas. He stared at her so intently she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.
When she didn’t respond right away, his face morphed into something feral. Suddenly, his fingers clamped down on both of her nipples painfully hard. She cried out.
“Tell me!” Then he pulled on her chest by her sensitive nipples. She hissed. The line between pleasure and pain blurred. Her vision fogged as spots invaded her periphery. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to melt. Her legs trembled.
“W—Walburga,” Hermione started, her head fell back, looking at the ceiling as she gasped and groaned at the shocking stimulation.
“What about her?” He pulled harder at her nipples and Hermione choked on whatever she was about to say. She could hardly think. When she didn’t answer right away he increased the stimulation further shocking her system.
“Merlin, Tom! Please! I’ll tell you, but please!” Tom paused, releasing the pressure on her nipples. A rapid stinging pain of blood returning made her whimper.
She felt something wet and warm covering the peaks. Licking with gentle ease, but they were too sensitive now. Her nipples were sore. His stimulation made them hurt more. “Stop!”
He chuckled. He knew what he was doing to her. “Answer the question, Hermione.”
“She just...” Hermione took a deep breath, trying to gather some of her Gryffindor courage, “she said I wouldn’t be able to satisfy you because I’m… inexperienced. I couldn’t give you what you want.” A beat passed. Her eyes flicked down to see the rage swirling in the dark abyss of his gaze.
“Did she now?” There was something absolutely lethal in the tone of his voice. Acid dripped from his sickly sweet tongue that ravished her moments before.
“She said you would leave me and find someone else to satisfy you,” she said. Her chest heaved, then the tears fell. She hadn’t realized how much anxiety she built around this until it came pouring out of her.
Tom slammed his palms on either side of her head, “fuck!” He panted staring at the top of her chest, his eyes wild. His anger radiated out of him and saturated Hermione. She flinched, at his sudden burst of fury.
“And is she wrong? I have no experience!” His entire body went rigid with tension. “I don’t know what I’m doing! I’ll probably do this all terribly. You may not enjoy it. I don’t want to mess this up, but I have no idea how to do it right!” She couldn’t even look at him anymore. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt so exposed admitting all this to Tom and not knowing how he would react to her vulnerability.
He grabbed her chin and forced her gaze to his. His wild violence mixed with exasperation and heat. “Is that what you’ve thought for the last month? Since that bloody Slug Club meeting?” She was sure her face blazed so brightly, the contact must’ve scorched his fingers. She nodded a bit stiffly with her chin in his grasp.
"Fuck!" he repeated before clenching his jaw and looking at her face again.
Tom swiped his thumb over her cheek, collecting a tear on the pad of his finger. His expression darkened. His grey irises turning nearly black. “I think I need to clear this up, Hermione.”
He moved closer, taking care to avoid touching her overly sensitive nipples with his chest as he kissed her jaw.
“You’re mine.” He said against her neck before he sucked the skin. She whimpered, tilting her head for him. He marked her to prove his point.
“I will be the one to teach you everything. Me. Nobody else. I will show you all you need to know.” He kissed the side of her throat with each statement. “In fact, I’ll kill anyone that ever touches you. This is all mine. I get all the inexperience. I get every fumbling finger and every uncertain breath.” He reached her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I want it all.”
He ran his tongue over the shell of her ear, making her spine shiver and toes curl. Her breath caught in her throat.
“You can’t do this wrong, Hermione. I’ll talk you through it. I know you take direction well. You’re a perfect student in class. I’m sure you’ll be incredible at this too, given enough study.”
He kissed her temple “we can have lessons,” he kissed her eyes “practice sessions,” his lips moved over her nose “hands-on practicals,” her cheeks “and oral tests,” he landed on her mouth. The implications and innuendos were not lost on her. “If I know anything about you, little lion, it’s that you will work until you’re the number one in class. Until you’ve learned all there is to know.”
He bent and kissed the tops of her breasts. “Do you understand, Hermione?”
“Yes.” Tom wanted her exactly the way she was. Hermione had no sexual experience, and he wanted her. She might be terrible at this, and he wanted her. He knew it could take time for her to figure out what to do, and he wasn’t discouraged by that. He looked forward to teaching her. He didn’t want her any other way.
“You’re perfect for me.” He bit the top of her breast before sucking the skin, leaving a bruise that she knew would remain for days to come. He loved dominating her like this. Whenever he saw a mark that he left, he became almost wild.
The entire world fell away until they were the only two. The smell of cedar, peppermint, and old books surrounded her. Her favorite scents.
“Please…” she swallowed hard. Her legs shook, struggling to support her weight. She didn’t want him to stop. But this wasn’t their agreement. She was desperate to get on with it. “Please tell me what to do.” She wanted to touch him under his guidance.
He breathed against her skin. “Absolutely.”
He unbuttoned his shirt, but she stopped him. “Let me.”
Her hands ran up his chest, wanting to remove the shield to his skin. Her unpracticed fingers fumbled with the buttons. She pushed the barrier off his arms as he grabbed her for a desperate kiss. Wild. His tongue drove into her mouth and danced with hers.
She closed her eyes and let him control their kiss while she ran her hands over his bare chest, around his broadening shoulders, down the lean, chorded muscles of his back.
Her breasts brushed up against chest and she yelped at the pain. How could her nipples still be so sensitive? She rounded her back to keep some distance between her breasts and his skin.
He let her explore every dip and crevice as she went lower, coming forward to outline the hard ridges in his abdomen with her fingertips. Down further south. Until she reached uncharted territory that she only traversed once before and never dared go again.
His teeth nipped her lower lip, and she yipped in surprise. Something about that gave her more courage to move her palm over his erection. It was the right thing to do. He groaned against her lips before pressing his hips further into her. She cupped him, massaging him through his trousers. Then, feeling bold, she dipped her hand under his waistband and wrapped her fingers around his thick, hard flesh.
“Ahh! Hermione, get on your knees!” She followed. Somehow, him telling her what to do gave her more confidence. She was a perfect student, after all. She took direction very well.
He licked his lips as he looked down at her on her knees in front of him. She looked up at him with large patient eyes, waiting for his next order. “Take my cock out.”
With a seductive grin, she reached for his belt, tugging at it with anticipation. He helped her push his trousers over his hips, freeing his erection. He seemed to like it when she gripped him before, so she did it again, feeling the impossibly hard flesh. She noticed something wet gathering at the tip.
She could tell he was large when she grabbed him in the corridor, but now she saw him. Thick and long. Not that she had anything to compare him to. It would be one thing to put him in her mouth, but how was she supposed to take him inside her? There was no way!
She didn’t need to think about that right now. That would be a problem for another day.
“Tighter Hermione. Like that. You can either gather some of your saliva and spit or spread some of my pre-come from the tip around my cock,” she considered this. So was that little bead now weeping down the end of his penis what “pre-come” was? She had no idea guys did that. At least now she knew. She decided to spit, remembering what the lady in the tapestry said that night a few weeks ago about spitting in her palm. “Pump me with your fist. Harder! Faster!”
When she slid her hand along his erection, it moved easily with her saliva coating him. Now she understood what the tapestry meant about the friction. “So pretty.” He gripped the shelf behind him. His knuckles turning white.
“You going to use your pretty mouth, little lion?”
Hermione nodded. She licked her lips as she pumped his length. The way his dark eyes looked down on her had her shivering.
He clutched his hand in her curls, pulling her forward to nudge her mouth with his cock. “Stick out your tongue.” He stroked himself on her protruded tongue.
She took control then. Ever the diligent academic, she catalogued his every reaction—taking notes.
“Merlin, fuck, Hermione!” He said, when she swirled her tongue around the glans and lapped at the tip that contained a beaded drop of pre-come. It was bitter-tasting, but she was too far gone to care.
He panted, his eyes darkening when applying pressure with her tongue down the underside of his penis, but then “Oh hell! Incredible! Hermione!” When she traced the thick vein from base to tip.
She kissed the tip delicately, humming against him, smiling as he muttered out a stream of curses. She peeked up at him, waiting for further instruction, like an excellent student sitting diligently in class.
“What a good girl you are. Open that mouth so you can take me between those luscious lips. No teeth,” she did as she was told, and he pushed inside her mouth. He hissed, “You’re so bloody gorgeous Hermione with my cock in your mouth. Suck! Take me deeper!” His commanding tone was such a turn on. She did, sucking his cock and bobbing along his shaft.
She thought it would feel degrading to be on her knees in front of him, taking his cock in her mouth, and perhaps it appeared that way from an outside perspective, but it wasn’t. He sounded desperate for her while she maintained a level of control over him. He was eager and ravenous. Transfixed by her. Addicted to her. His panting breaths, muffled curses, and frantic pleas. She made him feel this way. She did this to him. It gave her the most incredible sense of power over Tom Riddle.
“Deeper! Take me all the way into that throat, little lion!” Saliva dripped down her chin, but she ignored it. Her eyes watered, but it didn’t matter. She tried to take him deeper and regretted the effort. She gagged. So she tried again, getting almost all of him inside except the last inch or so, but once again sputtered and gagged.
“We will work on you getting all of my cock in that pretty mouth in time. For now, grip what doesn’t fit with your hand,” he growled out with a strange hiss. She wondered if Parseltongue slipped out of the edges of his voice. She nodded and complied.
He gripped her curls tighter. “Incredible, your mouth is so good!” As she continued to bob her head over him, she felt his hips thrust into her.
Ever the over-achiever who wouldn’t admit defeat, she continued to attempt to take him past her throat but faced the barrier of the pesky gag reflex. Once she got his full length inside without gagging and she moaned at the success which made him let out a stream of curses that she could’ve sworn were half in Parseltongue. Then she gagged. But she was getting better at opening her throat to avoid the issue!
“Dreamed of fucking this mouth.” His thrusts were getting more demanding. He took over the pace. She felt him hitting the back of her throat. “Suck harder. Good girl, you learn so fast. Going to take it all.”
Hermione never knew she would like such filthy talk, but she could feel her knickers getting damp. She gripped him harder. Sucked him, hollowing out her cheeks.
“I’m so close, you’re going to take every drop of my come down your throat.”
She gripped his backside for leverage. His cock twitched. He groaned, his thrusts were erratic. His grip on her hair tightened. He became a babbling mess.
“Fuck!” He jerked. Spasmed. Her eyes shot to his as he froze deep in her mouth, trembling. He cupped her face as he came, staring right into her soul, grunting deep in his chest as he spilled down her throat. To her surprise, he slowly pulled out through his orgasm so he could ejaculate throughout her mouth until the tip was inside and she sucked to coax every drop out of him.
His eyes were glassy as he watched her. His hand absentmindedly stroked her cheek, wiping her tears away. He popped out of her mouth. “Open,” tapped her chin, his voice soft and slightly raspy. She did, showing him her semen coated tongue and palate. It was bitter and salty. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with it. His eyes darkened almost possessively at the sight.
“Swallow it.” He commanded. She nodded and complied, gathering the thick, sticky substance and swallowing. It left an odd taste in her mouth but the way he watched her as her throat bobbed… He really liked it. A lot.
He pulled up his trousers before he dropped to his knees and, to her surprise, he kissed her. He didn’t seem to mind that she was just sucking his cock. That his taste still lingered in her mouth. Tom kissed her like she was everything.
She felt like his everything.
“I have a confession.” She said later when he sat back on the floor, his back against the shelves. She moved next to him. “I’m dreadful at chess. There was a good chance you were going to win today, regardless.” He wrapped his arm around to pull her closer.
“Are you trying to tell me you lost on purpose?” He said into her hair as he kissed her head.
“Not at all! I really want to know about your past. I gave it my best! But there was no chance I would win... Even if your chessmen fought amongst themselves, you probably still would have won.” When she thought about it, the last time she won a chess game was when she was nine and playing with her father. He took pity on her and let her win.
“I have something for you.” Tom said. She watched him pull out his wand and cast a quick summoning charm. Moments later, a box came zooming into the restricted section, which he reached up and caught.
“You got me a present?” she asked as he handed her the long box adorned with a large, bright red bow. She wondered if he wrapped it himself. He shrugged it off.
She tugged the ribbon and ripped off the wrapping. Inside the box, she found a beautiful white feather quill.
“It’s charmed, so the feather always stays fresh. It won’t lose the plumes or become dull.”
Her heart exploded. She felt so overwhelmed.
“I’ve been watching you stroke your quills for months. You ruin them. This one you can’t destroy.”
The feathers were so soft. It had an almost iridescent look. Stunning. “When did you get this?”
“When we were in Hogsmeade together.”
“I didn’t know...” She snuggled closer to him.
“I was looking for the right time to give it to you,” he said with a serene smile on his lips.
“What made you think now was the time?” She chuckled as she leaned her head on his shoulder.
“No better time than post fellatio to shower my little lion with gifts.”
She busted out laughing.
He cut her off with a kiss.
They may have stayed kissing like that for ages if it wasn’t for a chubby baby with wings flying through the restricted section. Another followed close behind. An arrow hit the first cupid, and an almost nauseating floral scent filled the room upon impact. Hearts showered in the air as the cupids giggled with uncontrolled glee before zooming away.
The intense atmosphere that was building between them dissolved. Hermione once thought the cupids were cute. Not so much anymore.
Notes:
Chapter 28 Song: You're Mine: Phantogram. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Posting a day early (yay!)! I got a lot of editing done in the last week! We are going to get roughly back on a weekly schedule, I'm shooting for February 8th.
These graphics take me way too long. But I have too much fun making them so, yeah, I'm not stopping!
XOXO - Tipp
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 29: 29: Sinil Conceptio
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
March started by bringing blizzards to the Scotland mountains. Along with snow came the cold, which froze Tom to the bone. At least he had Hermione to keep him warm. She became bolder since Valentine’s Day, offering him suggestive touches here and there that near drove him insane. She gazed at him with large doe eyes that begged for more.
Tom sat beside her in the library with her friends around them as they worked on their potions essay. They spent less time these days reading about curse scars. Hermione discovered last week that a cooling charm helped ease the pain. She insisted they move on to other topics. He did his own research in private, not trusting Hermione to be honest with him.
Augusta Crouch had her pointed nose over her essay, scribbling lines about the properties of moonstone. Archie Longbottom flicked aimlessly through his potion’s text. Alastor Moody was on Prefect duty. Reinhardt joined them, appearing weary of Tom as he took a seat beside Hermione.
Tom tapped his quill on the table with too much energy rushing through his bones. His fight with Abraxas earlier that day weighed on his mind, but then there was his little lion sitting next to him. His potions essay was the last thing he could focus on.
She was also restless tonight. She squirmed in her chair while twirling her curls around her finger. He wondered what had made her so distracted.
Their eyes met. She blushed and refocused on her scroll. Why did she look guilty?
Tom got lost in his own fantasy. Imagining all the ways he would push her up against the nearest stack in the library, lift her by that perfect arse, and flip up her skirt. Peel her knickers down her legs or vanish them by magic. Then he would have full access to her—
Damnit! What was his lioness thinking about?
“Hermione?” Tom asked. She made a strange yipping noise. In his dreams she made that sound when he thrusted inside her over and over, flushed and sweating, calling his name in between. He wished they weren’t surrounded by people right now.
“I’m fine!” Her voice sounded squeaky. Tom raised a brow as he searched her face. Her breathing sped up and her fingers stroked the white feather quill he gifted her. Still in perfect condition despite all the rough treatment Hermione put it through.
He shouldn’t be thinking about rough treatment when he needed to get his erection to go away.
“You look a bit flushed.” Augusta Crouch said, glancing up from her essay, “Are you in pain?”
That possibility hadn’t even occurred to him!
“Um... no.” Hermione said. Her friend nodded and returned to her work.
“Hermione.” Tom lowered his voice so only the two of them heard. He grabbed her wrist, running his thumb along the delicate flesh over her pulse. Her skin felt hot against his. Not feverish but flushed. She fidgeted again in her chair as her breath caught. The apples and honey radiated around him. She smelled incredible. He leaned closer.
“What’s wrong?” Her wide caramel eyes flicked to his.
He wanted her. Here in the middle of the library. His gorgeous girl. He was ready to spread her out on this table and take her with reckless abandon.
He swallowed and tried to think of their escape plan. If necessary, he'd throw her over his shoulder and carry her up the numerous staircases, to the Room of Requirement. Delicacy be damned. He’d done it the day of the Yule Ball, and he would do it again!
She reached out, placing her hand on his thigh as she leaned, “Don’t you think it’s hot in here?” she asked, her voice a low breath against his skin. Her eyes flitted around, seeing nobody was watching as her fingers inched higher.
He held his breath, “are you teasing me little lion?” Bold. Flirty. She drove him crazy.
“Hmm...”
“Hell.” his voice sounded husky. He grabbed for her. They'd never get to the Room of Requirement. He wouldn't even make it outside the library. His intention was to find a remote stack in the restricted section, cast a silencing and notice-me-not charm and show her just how wild she made him. He didn’t care that it was a busy Wednesday evening. She should have considered that when she started this.
Tom might be patient, but his cock was not.
Julia Brown chose that moment to appear and threw her heavy bag on the floor. The sound echoed through the space, causing the air to thicken with a sudden tension. Everyone turned to watch her.
Hermione tugged her hand out of Tom’s grasp to show concern for her friend.
Tom grumbled a series of unintelligible curses. His cock was achingly hard. Almost painful.
“Finally broke up with Alfred,” she ground out. Tom didn’t care about Alfred Hensley and Julia right now.
“He tried to convince me someone confunded him to forget about visiting me over winter break and Valentine’s Day!” Julia said. Augusta scoffed. Hermione remained silent. Tom wanted to tell her to fuck off and gossip later.
“So I humored him! I said ‘Okay Alfred, who confunded you then?’ and he’s like ‘I’m still trying to figure that out.’ What am I supposed to do with that?! Why would anyone bother? What a stupid thing to accuse someone of doing!” Julia shouted.
“Then he got mad when I broke up with him! I would’ve done it sooner if I had seen him at all over these last two weeks! But of course, he’d been conveniently absent! That’s all he’s ever been, absent! Absent over break, absent over Valentine’s Day, absent from my life!” A shadow stretched across the table. Madame Pince glared down at Julia, who was doing nothing to hide the rising volume of her voice.
“Continue this discussion outside the library.” Madame Pince said before returning to her desk. Tom glanced at the poor tent in his trousers and wondered if Hermione would do something about it after this conversation ended. It wasn’t going down!
Julia leaned in closer to the girls. Her tone lowering to a whisper. Tom was on the verge of screaming at her to hurry up and finish already “He said he forgot we were dating! Like that was supposed to make me feel better!” She glanced at Reinhardt, whose expression remained impassive.
Julia leaned back in her chair, looking disappointed. She then stood and swung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m going to bed,” she scowled, running her fingers through her long blonde locks.
Reinhardt jumped as if hit by a spell. “I’ll walk with you!” He said, gathering his things.
Tom readjusted himself in his trousers as Hermione returned to her essay. He grimaced, snatching her wrist again.
She glanced at him in surprise as he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I think you forgot about something, little lion.” He brought her hand to rest right over his tented trousers. She bit her lip, feeling how hard he was.
“Pack your things.” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Where are you two going?” Her annoying friend asked.
“She needs a dose of her potion,” Tom said, waving off Augusta Crouch’s question.
“I thought you weren’t in pain?”
“Sorry, I hate worrying you, Gussie.” Hermione gave her friend a small smile. Tom brandished his wand so all of her things would gather in her bag faster. He rushed her along like there was a time limit. His cock needed to be appeased.
Hermione glared at him. “Impatient, are we?”
“Very,” he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the library.
As expected, he didn’t take her far, dragging her to a nearby alcove around the corner. “Wait!”
“What!” he glowered. His hands itched to touch her. When would that longing for her go away?
“There’s a tapestry over there!” she pointed across the corridor.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“No, really, it’s right there—”
“I see the bloody tapestry, Hermione. What about it?”
She gaped at him. “Exactly! We have to go somewhere else!”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Completely serious! I don’t want Charlotte to come by and start giving me sexual advice again! We need to move!”
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him, kissing her hard and sound. He let her feel his erection against her hip. His anger simmered at his unsatiated arousal for this witch.
She must’ve sensed this because she trailed a hand down his body, palming his cock and making him groan, “I promise to make it worth your while, Tom,” her sensual voice, a melody to his ears.
“Damnit!” and then he dragged her away again. Up the stairs to the Room of Requirement.
He set such a fast pace that they were both gasping for air when they finally tumbled through the door. It was the same bedroom that they stayed in for the Yule Ball. The fireplace glowed with a comforting heat, but not even the hearth burned brighter than them. They were on each other, kissing frantically. Both tugging at their school robes and tops.
She became more skilled with buttons, perhaps not as quick as him, but she didn’t fumble as readily as her fingers glided down his chest and shifted the fabric of his top away.
“Tom, I said I would make this worth your while,” she said against his lips as they moved further inside. She had her hands on his belt and unlatched it before flicking open the button there. Her fingertips brushed against his throbbing cock. He needed her to grab him. Grip him and pump him until he shivered.
He stumbled back by her lead until he hit the chaise. She had him sitting. He gasped for breath, and, to his surprise, she kneeled on the ground between his legs. He knew exactly what she planned to do. What she had done one time since Valentine’s Day. She smirked her devilish mouth.
He could only imagine the expressions that crossed his face as she kissed down his chest. Her teeth nipped at his hip before she sucked, leaving a bruise behind. He drew in a sharp breath.
Her tongue followed a path further south. She pulled out his cock and flicked her gaze up at him, licking her lips as she palmed his testicles and pushed his legs further apart to kiss his inner thigh.
“So good...” he let his thighs relax. This exceeded his expectations, and she hadn't even put him in her mouth yet. She teased him with her lips. Kissing along the shaft. Running her wet tongue along the thick vein, lapping until she reached the tip, and she barely pressed him between her pouty lips.
This girl was going to drive him insane.
Then he felt her take him into her mouth, rubbing her tongue along his length as she took him deeper. As it exited, she used her fist and ran her tongue around the tip, pulling back the foreskin to access the sensitive glans.
His leg shook. He shuddered in a breath. He looked down at her and she peeked up at him, shirtless, with her curls hanging over her shoulders as she took him in her mouth. It felt incredible. Almost too good. His heart stuttered. “Where did you learn these things, Hermione?” His eyes squeezed shut.
A fear seized in his chest. Had she been practicing? If she learned from anywhere else, he would lose the last shreds of his sanity. Destroy everything in his path. No amount of occlumency would keep him from tearing into her mind and finding out who exactly laid their hands on her. Nobody touched his witch.
It couldn’t be…
The pressure of her tongue made him grunt as she swirled it around his cock, taking him deep into her mouth. She palmed his testicles in her free hand. He hit the back of her throat. The only thing that prevented him from ejaculating was his sheer determination. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.
He told her that every unpracticed breath, every fumbling finger, was his. He wanted to experience all the swipes of her inexperienced tongue and gags from her throat. Did someone rob him of those?! She was his witch!
His lioness!
Mine!
His hands clenched into fists.
“Hmm?” she said with her mouth full. Saliva dripped off her chin as tears stained her cheeks.
Tom ground his jaw, unable to stop the anger from seeping out. He grabbed her hair and forced her off his cock. “Answer the question, Hermione, where did you learn these things?!” He would teach her everything she needed to know! She was his witch! She would never need anyone else but him. He would be it for her. All she would ever need in the world! He would ruin, kill, and wreck, anyone that tried to take her away from him!
His blood flared. He panted for air. His cock ached between them, getting impossibly harder as she continued to pump him with her fist.
He knew his thoughts were going somewhere dark. Someplace they shouldn’t be. A place he’d easily lose himself in. If he could, he would lock her in a cage. Conceal her from everyone. Build a sanctuary just for them. Safe. Secure. Nobody would take her. She would be all his, only his. His lion…
His hand gripped her hair tighter. She winced as he forced her gaze toward him. Her gorgeous caramel eyes widened, and he wondered what she saw in his face. Maybe she saw the black pits looming in his eyes. Perhaps she saw their shadowy depths. If she knew the thoughts running through his mind, she wouldn’t still be on her knees before him.
Her movements on his cock froze. “A good student always takes notes, Tom,” she said. He hadn’t expected her to say that. “For instance, I learned through trial and error that you like it when I do this.” she leaned forward, maintaining eye contact, as if asking for permission. He released her hair. She pulled down his foreskin again, and she traced her tongue around the tip of his erection.
“Fuck!” He wheezed.
“Or when I move my hand like this,” she pumped him in a twisting motion. “I’ve also figured out the amount of pressure you like,” she said.
He stared at her. He should’ve known. She wasn’t the only one that had studied the topic. He had Abraxas’s book in his nightstand, Arousing the Witch: A Wizard’s Guide to Magical Sex. He read the thing twice and his witch watched him as much as he observed her. They both looked for signals. Trying to figure out what the other person liked. True to form, they were fast learners.
He grinned at her. “Don’t keep me in suspense, little lion. I know how much you love showing off your knowledge.”
And she did. Then he showed off his.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione gave a lot of thought to her current relationship. It felt like her head was spinning whenever they were together. She was becoming more comfortable with the kisses, touches, and suggestive glances they shared. It was almost not enough anymore.
He really was gorgeous. In the Room of Requirement yesterday, by the firelight on the chaise, when she had him stripped bare, she could barely believe he was real. She couldn’t get enough of him, and he could scarcely keep his hands off her.
She needed to learn the Contraceptive Charm.
She was sure she could find it in the library, but she would die from embarrassment if Tom caught her looking up reproductive charms, or worse, Madame Pince.
She considered her other options. Gussie once joked with Hermione about learning the charm. Perhaps she knew it? Hermione could always ask her.
She could’ve asked in the dorm, but their roommate, Sonya, was nosy, rude, and downright disrespectful. She couldn't ensure a private conversation. The common room was not an option.
In the end, she pulled Gussie aside while walking back from the library one evening. Usually, Tom escorted her to Gryffindor Tower. He was often insistent, using it as an opportunity to drag her into an isolated corridor to feel her up on the way. Hermione stood her ground on the matter.
She looked into his irritated gaze with her chin held high. “I’m sorry Tom! I have to discuss a... uh,” she hurried to think of an excuse, then settled on the oldest excuse in the book. One that never failed to make the boys buggar off, “a female issue with Gussie!” All the color drained from Tom’s face.
“A what?” Tom asked, as if he might have heard her incorrectly.
“A female issue,” she repeated. She pressed to her toes and kissed him swiftly on the lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Uh, right, okay.”
Never, in her life had Hermione seen Tom Riddle look so uncomfortable. He spun on his heel and retreated without further complaint.
When she turned to speak to Gussie, she discovered Archie and Alastor already making their getaway up the stairwell without looking back. Her friend was trying to hold back her laughter as the boys practically ran from them.
After the fourth staircase, Hermione finally pulled Gussie into an empty classroom.
“What’s up, Hermione?”
“I need to talk to you.” Hermione shut the door and paced the classroom.
“Um… yes?”
“Right. I needed to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
Silence fell over the room.
“Did you want me to assess your pacing skills?” Gussie eyed Hermione up and down as if giving her a genuine assessment.
Hermione ignored her.
“Perhaps you need advice on your homework. However, your super-hot boyfriend could probably help you with that. Plus, you’re doing better than me in every class, anyway.”
Hermione said nothing.
“Or maybe you aren’t actually interested in talking at all. Not that I don’t think you’re a sexy beast of a woman but—”
“Can you teach me the Contraceptive Charm?” The words rushed out of her mouth in the space of a single heartbeat.
Gussie blinked. “The Contraceptive Charm?”
“Yes.”
Everything happened in slow motion. Gussie’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Wait... are you? You’re not, are you?”
“No! I mean, I’d like to be ready if… when…” her words trailed off. Yesterday, Tom had his hands between her legs in the Room of Requirement and she came twice! She blushed thinking about it.
Gussie said nothing. Hermione could hear her friend thinking from across the room. She leaned back against a desk and sighed. “I actually don’t know the Contraceptive Charm.”
“Oh,” Hermione said. She deflated.
“Sorry.” She looked sincerely disappointed.
“No, it’s okay.”
Hermione moved to leave the room but was surprised to find Gussie wasn’t following. Her friend watched her with her brows furrowed, her hands fumbling in front of her.
“To be honest, Hermione, my mom never told me much about it.”
“The Contraceptive Charm?”
“Um, no. Well, yes, that too. But, you know... it.”
Hermione stared at her best friend as the blush formed on her cheeks. She wouldn’t make eye contact, and then Hermione knew. Her stomach plummeted. “Your mom never told you about sex!” she whisper-shouted ‘sex’ like someone might overhear them and reprimand them for the inappropriate discussion.
“I mean! It isn’t something high society, pure-blood ladies talk about!” Gussie argued, running her fingers through her brown hair.
“What?!” Hermione could hardly believe it. With all the jokes her friend made, she thought she knew. She assumed any sixteen-year-old female would know! Wasn’t Gussie engaged?!
“I asked once, but she got mad!”
“When did she expect you to learn?!”
“I imagine I would’ve figured it out on my wedding night… or something…” Hermione had never seen Gussie look so mortified.
“So you would’ve just shown up with no idea?!” Hermione shouted. Gussie flinched. Hermione backed off. She hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive.
“It isn’t my fault,” Gussie frowned. Hermione flushed because it wasn’t her fault, but she was horrified on behalf of her friend. If Gussie was unaware of sex, there must be other girls in the castle in the same situation. “I’m sorry, Gussie.”
“Hermione, you’re my first female friend! I couldn’t exactly go up to Archie or Alastor and ask them to explain the act to me!” Hermione dropped her head in her hands. She could imagine that conversation. Alastor might’ve eventually explained sex, but the discussion would’ve been so awkward he would’ve never spoken to Gussie again after. Archie would make so many inappropriate jokes that the whole thing would’ve ended in disaster.
“Okay, sit down,” Hermione said.
“We’re going to be late for curf—”
“This is important, Gussie! Sit.”
She sat. And that was how Hermione ended up sitting with her best friend and explaining the mechanics of sex in an empty classroom. It was not how she expected to spend her evening, and sex was far from the glamorous romanticism Gussie imagined it to be. But what in life ever is.
***
By the following day, Hermione regretted ever asking Gussie about the Contraceptive Charm. She fished for details Hermione would never share about her relationship with Tom. Armed with her knowledge of the intricacies of sex, she was able to ask specific and probing questions.
“Have you seen his penis yet?” Gussie asked.
“What?!” They had a few minutes alone in their dorm before supper to change out their supplies for the evening. They planned to go straight from the Great Hall to the library.
“Tom’s penis. What does it look like?” Gussie asked, emptying her books into her trunk and repacking.
“Merlin, Gussie!”
“Can you tell me what it looks like?”
“No!”
“Have you not seen it?”
“We are not talking about this!” Hermione slammed her trunk shut, clasping her bag closed.
“I’ve never seen one!” Gussie complained.
“Didn’t you see the one on Sir Cadogan’s statue?”
Gussie considered this, sitting on the edge of her bed, “Can’t be sure, we were far away.”
“I suppose we were.”
“Back of the crowd.”
“Right.”
“And it was rather small.”
“Well, it wasn’t erect,” Hermione shrugged. She wanted to hit herself as soon as the words were out.
“If I saw Ignatius’s penis grow on my wedding night, I would’ve assumed he cast some sort of Engorgement Charm! I’d be worried it wouldn’t stop and was about to attack me! Probably run for my life or get a healer or something!”
Hermione blinked at her friend. “What?”
“How would I have known without you telling me yesterday that it was supposed to do that?!” Gussie said, her voice sounding a tad shrill.
Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line as a pressure built inside her chest. She tried desperately not to laugh, she really did, but she couldn’t hold it and it busted out of her with full force. She doubled over. Tears filled her eyes.
“It isn’t funny!”
Hermione didn’t agree, she found it to be hilarious. “Run! The penis is coming!” Hermione chortled.
“Stop it!” Gussie crossed her arms over her chest. She sat cross-legged on her bed.
Hermione laughed. Holding her stomach as her bag fell off her shoulder and thumped on the floor. She ignored it.
“Hermione!”
“Healer, come save me from the erection!” Hermione said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Ulg,” Gussie dropped her head in her hands.
Hermione's face turned a brilliant shade of red from her laughter.
Gussie groaned in mock outrage.
“It’s too big! No one can stop it!”
“I hate you, Hermione!”
Hermione choked on her own saliva.
“I give up!”
“Hahahaha!”
“I’m just going to let this happen.”
“Oh Merlin!” Hermione heaved for air through her howling.
Hermione's laughter came to a halt when a sharp pain shot through her side, causing her to wince. She collapsed on her bed, exhausted from her fit, though a few residual snorts escaped through her lips and nostrils.
“You done?” Gussie asked.
“For now.”
They enjoyed a moment of silence before Gussie spoke again. “So, how much bigger can they get when aroused?” Gussie asked.
“Umm,” Hermione cleared her throat, “they can get a bit bigger,” she answered evasively.
“How big does Tom get when he’s aroused compared to when he isn’t?” Gussie asked with genuine curiosity.
This was exactly the sort of question Hermione wanted to avoid. She preferred to steer all conversation away from further probing questions about Tom’s genitals.
“Can we not talk about Tom’s penis, please?!”
“Can we talk about his testicles?”
“No!”
“Fine!”
Gussie pouted throughout supper.
Hermione couldn’t believe this was an actual disagreement they were having.
Then they walked beside each other to the library in melodramatic silence. It wasn’t until they approached their usual table that Gussie spoke to her again with newfound vigor, as if she hadn’t refused to speak to Hermione for the last hour because she wouldn’t discuss her boyfriend’s genitalia with her.
“You should ask Julia about the Contraceptive Charm!” Gussie suggested.
“Maybe,” Hermione said, knowing full well that she would not be dragging Julia into this humiliating spectacle.
An hour later, Gussie took it upon herself to pull Julia and Hermione away to ask Julia to teach them both the charm.
“It’s fine, Hermione!” Gussie argued, grabbing the back of Hermione’s robes as she tried to return to the table. “Tom has Prefect duty, right? He won’t know!”
Hermione somehow doubted that. Tom always knew. Julia looked between the two girls with a wary expression. Gussie was a bit too enthusiastic about learning the charm. Hermione wanted to die. But, to her surprise, Julia agreed.
Ten minutes later, the group of girls ended up in an empty classroom together, practicing magic. Julia provided instruction while Gussie and Hermione followed. For all of Julia’s prior dramatics, she took the lesson very seriously.
“My older sister taught me the charm,” Julia shrugged. “She told me every young witch should learn it… just in case.” It was exactly the reason Hermione desired to learn the charm.
The enchantment, Sinil Conceptio, was easy enough. It was the wand movement that proved difficult. It comprised a complicated swirl and a sharp swing out, then a crossover. To make matters worse, it had to be done while pointing your wand at your uterus.
Gussie impaled her abdomen with her own wand when attempting the configuration. She groaned, rubbing the spot, her brows knitted together. Julia looked calm and casual, with the moonlight reflecting off her blonde hair. She demonstrated the awkward motion again. “Sometimes it’s easiest to let the guy do it since it’s troublesome to do on yourself.”
Hermione never considered that Tom probably already knew the charm. He was having regular sex with Walburga and others before her. Surely he planned to prevent pregnancy.
She’d rather not think about his previous encounters with other girls.
Hermione attempted the movement, feeling a strange chill, like a fluid moving through her pelvis. She shivered.
“Probably means you did it right,” Julia said. “Tends to feel like cold water flowing inside you.”
“That was unpleasant,” Hermione shuddered.
“At least it’s brief,” Julia said with a half-smile and a shrug. It wasn’t painful either. Which was also something.
Julia hopped up on the window ledge to continue to observe their practice. Hermione successfully cast the charm again, timing its effects to last about two seconds before they faded away.
Gussie made a yipping noise beside her. “Oh! That is unpleasant!” she frowned.
“Suppose it would beat getting pregnant when you aren’t ready,” Hermione shrugged.
“I guess—”
“What the bloody hell!” Julia shrieked “Spiders! Gross! Are they on me? Don’t tell me they are on me!”
Julia jumped off the window ledge and shook like a wet dog. Gussie squealed and cast frantic scurgify charms haphazardly around the room. Hermione ran to the window. Sure enough, a mass group of about thirty spiders trying to escape a tiny crack in the window.
“Why are there so many?” Julia raced across the room, sending an orb of light to the ceiling, revealing about a hundred more spiders around the room, all headed towards the same window, ready to join the mob to escape through the same crack.
What were they doing? Was there some sort of spider pow-wow going on outside the castle? She had never encountered anything like it. She briefly contemplated trailing them to see if there was a spider gathering somewhere in the forest.
She chuckled at the idea of following a line of spiders. What a silly thing to do.
Then again… Harry and Ron did it.
Harry told the story after Hermione woke up from her Petrification. Ron refused to speak of it. Spiders were escaping because of the Basilisk, their one true enemy that they fear above all else.
Wait... She had seen this before. In her second year, she saw spiders frantically escaping the castle out of a crack in the window when investigating the Petrification of Mrs Norris...
Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy…
She read that in the library book. She tore the page out for Harry and Ron to find.
Were the spiders fleeing? What other explanation was there?
The Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it...
She felt like she was being hit by the Hogwarts Express. Her muscles went rigid as she struggled to inhale the stale air. The sound of her gasping breaths echoed in her own ears, drowning out the noise of Julia’s squeals and Gussie's spell casting.
“Hermione? Hermione, are you okay? I think you need to sit down?” Gussie dragged her across the classroom. Hermione barely noticed being pushed into the chair. Her body trembled.
The feathers on Reinhardt’s cloak. Julia picked them off his robes all those weeks ago. Did he... could he have killed the roosters? Had they been dead for a month, and she never realized it?
It seemed like nothing at the time! It was only a few feathers! What if they came from his pillow? But she should have known the significance of it. Reinhardt acted weird after Julia pointed them out.
It happened again. Right under her nose, Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets. If the spiders were already fleeing... the Basilisk must already be awake.
Without a word to either of her friends, she was on her feet, throwing open the door, and racing down the corridor. Maybe they would think she was terrified of spiders. Maybe they would think she had gone insane from all the Contraceptive Charm casting.
Hermione didn’t care what they thought. She needed to see the chicken coop for herself. She needed to find Tom. He was on Prefect duty. Tonight would be the perfect night to set something up. Would it be too late to stop him?
Notes:
Chapter 29 Song: MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT: Elley Duhe. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I actually had to split this chapter into 2 during the editing process so we now have 41 chapters in part 1 of this story! ❤️🖤❤️🖤
Created a Facebook page here for those without a Tumblr to follow updates and previews. I may one day make a Instagram... but I've never had an insta and don't really want to figure out a new type of social media.
Anyway, the facebook is super new so I'm still trying to figure out how it will fit into my previews and postings 🥰XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 30: 30: Slytherin's Heir
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom walked down the corridor, his feet echoing off the stone. He heard the Basilisk whispering in the pipes as she made her way through the walls, right towards her intended target. Like Tom ordered.
“Hurt.... devour...”
He followed the sound of her hissing voice, darting around a few stray students that lingered in the halls before curfew. He kept his expression stoic. His posture relaxed as he strolled the corridors of the castle.
Everything finally fell into place and right on time, he couldn’t wait any longer to open the chamber. Abraxas and Norris were losing faith in him. He wouldn’t tolerate such behavior. A few days ago, Abraxas had the audacity to accuse Tom of abandoning his ambitions. He listened to his ramblings with a bored sort of expression, not giving anything away. It pushed the boy to say more.
“Are you even the heir of Slytherin? Or are you playing us?” Abraxas spat, stomping around the dormitory with fury in his eyes. Tom leaned back on his trunk and listened. Observing provided a vast amount of insight.
Norris hesitated, suggesting that he entertained similar thoughts but never planned to voice them. He was keen to follow orders and to never ask questions. Norris was an idiot, and every powerful leader needed a couple of idiots on their side. It kept the scales balanced. Well, perhaps not a balance, but an appropriate tipping in Tom’s favor.
“You said you found the chamber ages ago, and you’ve done nothing! We are still at school with Mudbloods!”
Reinhardt kept his back to Abraxas in a gesture of dismissal. Reinhardt almost looked disappointed in his friend. Not that Abraxas deserved anyone’s friendship.
Tom let Abraxas ramble on. Then he would punish him. He would use everything he said against him. To do that, Tom needed the wanker to keep talking. Tom was patient. His planning was meticulous and flawless. He would never be caught, unlike Abraxas who was eager and rash. He wanted results without any consideration of the consequences.
That would one day get him killed.
Good riddance.
Abraxas paced the room. “What was the point of all this, anyway?!” The longer he went, the more uncomfortable Reinhardt looked. Tom half listened as he daydreamed of all the ways he was going to torture Abraxas when he was done.
“Will you follow through on your promises or not? It’s like you don’t care about anything anymore.”
Pratt. Abraxas wouldn’t survive the new reign. Of course, Hermione would stay by Tom’s side. He thought extensively about how to get her there. His little lion with her pure heart. Tom could influence anyone. He needed to find the exact angle to push her. He was sure she would cave. Follow him anywhere. He would appeal to her goodness. Threaten that without her, he might do terrible things. Manipulate her without her knowing.
He’d have to come up with backup plans in case all else failed to keep his queen by his side. Make sure she had no other choice in the end. He would need to think on that.
“When will you finally step up and do something about all this?!”
Tom pursed his lips and flicked a piece of string off his trousers.
“If you don’t, then we can always find someone who will!”
That was almost a laughable thought. Nobody could take Tom’s place. Besides not knowing Parseltongue, they were weak excuses for wizards. Tom would give them a demonstration of this soon.
“It’s all because of that whore! Ever since that bitch, Granger, came around, you changed Tom! It’s like you don’t even—”
“Crucio.” Abraxas fell to the floor. Tom drew the line at insults against Hermione.
He felt a sense of satisfaction watching those that dared to stand against him writhe and twitch on the floor. The air filled with the smell of fear and the sound of screams. Normally, he would let the noise wash over him and fuel his magic, but today they were loud and bothersome. Tom paused.
“Avery, silence the walls,” he ordered. Norris Avery rushed to comply. Tom could have done it himself, but something about making Norris silence the walls so Tom could torture his best friend felt particularly diabolical.
He waited for Norris’s shaky arm to finish waving his wand before resuming the curse. It would be unfortunate if someone walked in on this display. He would have to obliviate them. Then punish Norris for failing his simple task.
Abraxas arched on the floor. All the blood drained from Norris’s face, like he might be sick. The fight left them. Abraxas twisted into an unnatural position.
Tom released the spell again. Abraxas panted, his voice hoarse from screaming and pupils blown with terror. “Let’s make one thing clear, Abraxas. Leave Hermione out of this.” Blood leaked from his mouth. He sputtered. “Do you understand?”
He nodded.
Tom pointed his wand at Abraxas. The delicious fear crossed his expression again as Tom said, “Crucio.” They were back at it. Playing the game that Abraxas had no prospect of winning. The one where Tom tortured him until bones cracked, blood dripped on the carpet, and screams echoed long after the spell ended. These were the sort of games Tom enjoyed.
Tom took a break from the Unforgivable Curse to hit Abraxas with a few other inventive hexes and curses. Some of his own creation that he wished to try out on other people, others he read about in books and wanted to test the effects for himself. Some of these left more damage than the Cruciatus Curse. Abraxas’s flesh tore open. Bones broke. Shocks raced across his skin. He screamed. Then water began pouring out of his mouth as Tom drowned him with another spell.
“Innervate!” Tom hissed when Abraxas lost consciousness. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of sleeping through this! He pointed his wand at him again, his dark eyes flashing with something barely human, “Crucio.”
A pool of water mixed with blood expanded around the boy. It covered him so none of his Slytherin green was visible anymore. He may have been mistaken for a Gryffindor now. The very thing he hated. Something seemed almost poetic about it. It was difficult to tell where the blood was coming from anymore. It leaked from the unknown. A torturing so powerful the body broke from the inside out, releasing the pieces.
Tom let the spell go and crouched down next to the crumpled, whimpering body. Tom could tell Abraxas fought to maintain consciousness, afraid of the consequences should he pass out.
“Were you finished or did you have more you wished to say?” Tom asked the mutilated figure.
Abraxas shuttered in response, so Tom looked to Norris for an answer. Norris appeared as though he was about to vomit. He shook his head.
“Answer the question, Avery!”
“No! T—Tom! No! Everything is f—fine!”
Tom slammed Norris against the wall with a hex. “I expect to be treated with respect, Avery!”
“No, m—my Lord!”
My Lord? Where did Norris come up with that? No matter. Tom liked the sound of it. He smiled as Norris slumped to the floor, trembling in obvious terror. “You sure? I think I may have interrupted you.” Tom’s voice turned sickly sweet.
“N—n—no,” Abraxas shuttered while slowly shaking his head. He spat blood on the floor.
“Respect, Malfoy!” Tom commanded, kicking his foot into the already fallen boy’s abdomen. He doubted Abraxas was aware enough to say more. But he also didn’t give a damn either.
“Ulg!” Abraxas broke into a fresh round of sobs as he curled in on himself. Tom waited, wand pointed at Norris, but gaze locked on Malfoy as he waited for the respect he deserved. He expected it would take a few minutes for him to compose himself to speak. Tom was patient.
Each passing second increased the tension in the room. The fear grew to new heights as the boys worried about Tom’s mounting temper. But Tom didn’t mind waiting. He watched the blood-soaked tears fall down Abraxas’s cheeks. He reveled in the growing panic and gasping breaths.
“No, m—my Lord—d,” Abraxas finally said, his lip quivering. His eyes were glassy. His grip on reality slipped away.
“So to summarize the highlights of your little rant, you think I’m an incompetent leader, you think I’m lying to you, you think I won’t follow through with my promises, and you don’t trust me. Did I forget anything? Oh, and your last comment about my girlfriend being a whore, but we can forget that one. If I don’t, I may be tempted to kill you outright, which would be messy.”
Abraxas didn’t move. Powerless to exhibit any expression or reaction.
“Reinhardt, how is it going with Julia?” Tom’s abrupt change in direction seemed to catch the group off guard. He looked at Reinhardt like he might snap him like a twig. He could... but he was fond of Reinhardt.
“G—good.”
“Any problems with the plan?”
“No, my Lord.” Reinhardt said, sounding uncertain. He stumbled over the new title, unsure if he should use it like the other two did. Tom didn’t care if Reinhardt used the name, but it was easiest if he had them all address him as such in private as a way of showing his position in this group.
He grinned.
“You see, Abraxas, I’m always scheming, always planning. Just because I don’t share it with worthless filth like you doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”
Reinhardt had also taken care of the roosters in preparation for the chamber’s eventual opening well over a month ago.
Tom eyed Abraxas with disdain, his body too broken for him to move. Blood, vomit, piss. Tom did a number on him. If things continued, he would bleed to death before reaching the hospital wing.
Tom considered his options. He could take his chances. Leave Abraxas like this and let the boys handle the aftermath. He might survive. Maybe. If he died, there would be an investigation. Nobody would rat him out, but there would be questions.
“Damn.” Although he would prefer to leave him, chances were Julia would break up with Alfred soon. He hoped to avoid inquiries when things escalated in that department as well. Not after all the planning he had done to remain undetected.
He pointed his wand at the lump of meat on the ground. Norris froze, his body rigid, his eyes widening with the horror evident in his face. Tom healed the worst of Abraxas’s injuries to prevent him from outright dying. Killing Malfoy would lead to a scandal that he didn’t care to deal with. Not now.
“Norris!” the boy in question jumped, “clean up this mess. We would hate to stain the carpet.” He figured someone would probably take him to the hospital wing, but he didn’t care.
With that, Tom turned to leave. He was furious, and he wanted to find his witch and devour her in an alcove... Or perhaps the Room of Requirement. There would be an actual bed there. She would be at dinner at this hour, later in the library. He might drag her out of there to somewhere more private.
Tom glanced back once his hand reached the door. He saw the boys standing still as statues. It felt like the entire room held their breath, waiting for Tom to leave.
“I’m merciful,” Tom said, “So I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. But my mercy only extends so far. Doubt me again and you will see what happens when it runs out.”
That silenced the whispers of rebellion, but it also meant he needed to open the chamber once and for all to keep them satiated. Tom planned for this, and he wouldn’t become careless and put everything at risk. He needed to wait for the opportune moment. It just so happened that he didn’t need to wait long.
That time was tonight.
“I want to kill...” the Basilisk hissed as she slid past a wall near Tom. He knew she wanted to kill, but she had explicit orders. Nobody would die today. No direct eye contact. She would obey this command. Her loyalty was unwavering.
He heard her moving skyward, and he followed up the staircase. He chose this night because he was on Prefect duty. It wouldn’t look suspicious for him to be wandering the castle like this. Tom had to pace the corridor, watching for trouble and make sure students were in their common rooms by curfew.
“Murder…” the voice said. Curfew was close, the corridor nearly empty. Good.
Stragglers snuck by. Only Tom could hear the distinct sound of the Basilisk in the walls, while everyone else remained oblivious. He couldn’t help but smirk.
“It is done, Master,” Tom didn’t reply. She muttered to herself as she slithered underneath the school. She would sleep again until she was called.
Tom turned the corner and entered the Trophy Room. The metals and awards gleamed with fresh polish. A group of students polished them for detention last week. They shined brighter than ever.
Alfred Hensley had his forehead against the glass containing the largest trophy. It was done. After months of planning, Alfred Hensley was Petrified. They ruined his relationship with the girl whom he claimed to be the love of his life. Drove him to near insanity with a series of hexes. Then when Julia finally cut ties with him, a crazed Alfred challenged Reinhardt to a duel.
He chose Hensley for a reason. It was personal. Nobody fucked with his witch and got away with it. Alfred Hensley spiked the punch at the Yule Ball. Tom didn’t forget. Nor did he forgive.
Tom stared at the stiffened form. Eyes empty and dulled. No life there. As planned, he saw the Basilisk’s reflection in the large, gleaming trophy. Reinhardt stood behind him, his eyes squeezed shut and twiddling his wand in his fingers.
“It’s done. You don’t need to stand there with your eyes closed,” Tom said. Reinhardt slumped in relief.
“I worried he wouldn’t show! Then he kept trying to start the duel. I tried to put it off. I wasn’t sure when the, uh... the monster was coming. I know you said it would be here, but I wasn’t sure how punctual it would be! Julia’s in the library. I didn’t tell her Alfred challenged me to a duel. I don’t think anyone can trace this back to us.” Tom had never seen Reinhardt look panicked.
“But it was hard to get him to look at the bloody trophy! He yelled at me to raise my wand and I told him I thought I saw someone following us! Then he finally looked where I pointed. I didn’t open my eyes to check, and I wasn’t sure what happened! I couldn’t hear anything, nothing happened! I thought—”
“Stop.” Reinhardt was rambling. A rare occurrence saved for the highest level of stress. He looked like a sweaty mess, but he had performed his job admirably. Reinhardt would be fine. He could always bathe the sweat off.
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
The look that passed over Reinhardt’s face may have been relief or a bout of nausea. It was difficult to tell which.
“Leave,” was all Tom said.
“Yes, my Lord,” Reinhardt didn’t hesitate to oblige.
Tom could have easily killed Hensley. He didn’t care if the guy died. He controlled this school. Could kill them in the dark of the night without them realizing it. Not that he would be so careless. He would never get away with something so drastic.
He started small, a Petrification to test the boundaries of what he could do with the power of the Basilisk. Tom wasn’t foolish enough to believe that accidents wouldn’t happen. That an intended murder might not accidentally become Petrified. What would they remember? Would they need to be obliviated when they woke from Petrification?
Some kinks may need worked out. Tom left nothing to chance.
He pointed his wand at Hensley. It was a long shot, but he figured he would try it. “Legilimens.” As expected, there was no mind present to explore. It was like trying to enter a rock. He wouldn’t be able to answer his questions until after Hensley woke.
Tom grimaced.
He refrained from killing the boy for another reason... He did it for her. Because he knew she was friends with him. She might even cry if he died. Tom would lose his mind if his witch shed a single tear for Alfred Hensley.
He lifted his wand again and created a slash across Hensley’s forearm, deep enough so drops of blood snaked down his arm and dripped off his fingers to the floor.
He waved his wand, and the blood collected in the air and adhered to the glass next to Alfred’s body, forming a message: The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir... beware. After five years, he succeeded.
He smiled as he left the Trophy Room, leaving the door open so someone strolling by might notice his handiwork.
Amazing image of Tom Riddle by: Dara , used with permission.
Tom considered what would happen next. Someone would find Alfred. They would put him in the hospital wing and speculate about what happened. They would wonder if the chamber was real. They would question if they could open it. The school could search, but they’d never find the Chamber of Secrets.
Eventually, Madame Blainey would have the Mandrake Restorative Draught created to cure Hensley.
Tom would consider future victims once he saw how everything fell into place here. That was fine; plenty of options at this school. Murder would eventually be a viable option, much easier than Petrification. While killing people was overall messier, it led to a more permanent outcome, and the effects had a larger impact.
That’s what he wanted. He would rock this school to its core without them even knowing it.
He wouldn’t have to target every Muggle-born. Eventually, fear would prevent them from returning to Hogwarts. Tom would gain further notoriety. He didn’t care if a witch or wizard was Muggle-born, but he had a pretense to keep up. A power to obtain.
He wasn’t worried about Hermione finding out. Tom was careful. Discrete. Nothing went unnoticed. She would never know the truth.
She would never forgive me.
It was no matter. She would never find out.
Tom had little interest in pure-blood supremacy. What did he care who attended Hogwarts? However, he latched onto the ideals to please his followers. The Chamber of Secrets was a means to that very end. He spent years searching and months planning. Now that the chamber was open, he could bask in the glory and power that it brought him. He owned this school.
His robes swirled around him while his feet hit the stone floor as he paced the corridor, deep in thought. He had no particular direction in mind.
He could lie. He could deceive. She would never leave him. He’d control this school. He would rule this entire world with Hermione by his side.
Petrifying Hensley left him feeling like he was riding some kind of high. He still had a few minutes till curfew. Could he find Hermione and drag her into the Room of Requirement? It was Friday. Maybe he could persuade her to spend the night with him there.
Dammit, he hated having to walk the corridors with an erection. The power, his witch, the Chamber of Secrets, the glory. He was getting everything he desired.
He felt lighter than air. His lungs expanded further than he ever thought possible, a smile spreading over his lips as he headed toward Gryffindor Tower, hoping that he would run into her. Perhaps he could disillusion himself and at least sneak inside. The portrait was insane. He could probably get away with it, and he figured out ages ago how to get around the girls’ staircase spell.
Crawl into her bed and silence her curtains before waking her up with his hands running along her curves.
Walburga emerged from the shadows in front of him. He hardly registered the sight of her.
“Hello, Tom.” She purred as her hand ran down his arm. Her lips brushed against his ear in a would-be seductive way. His mind snapped to attention as his face contorted into a sneer.
Maybe he would send the Basilisk after Walburga next. She would be no loss to anyone. Her death would make Tom’s life easier.
It was a tempting thought.
“What do you want, Walburga?”
“Come on Tom, you’ve been distant for a while, but you haven’t touched me in ages.” She leaned closer, her fingers running up his chest. “Don’t you miss my hands on you? I know you liked it before. That girl can’t handle everything you need—”
“Fuck off, Walburga!” He gripped her shoulders and shoved her off him. Her touch felt vile. He recoiled away from her.
Unfortunately, it didn’t deter her. She stumbled back only to pounce again like a cat in heat, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her chest against him. “You always did like to play rough, Tom. I did everything for you, things you only dreamed of. With my mouth. My body—”
Tom scoffed. Walburga frowned. He didn’t miss Walburga’s mouth. It wasn’t her lips he dreamed about at night. It wasn’t her body he wanted pressed against his.
Hermione filled his dreams. Her confidence with him grew with each passing day. Their exploration of each other went further. He didn’t know how much more he could endure with her. The way she touched him left him aching for more. The sound of her gentle breathing when she sat near him, or the smell of apple and honey in the air. Even the sight of her curls cascading over her shoulders. It was all overwhelming.
He almost forgot it was Walburga touching him until he felt a sharp pinch on his neck. She bit him.
“Damn!” He grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground. He was furious. Seething with anger as he looked down at her.
He reached for his wand. “Fuck off! I don’t want you, Walburga!”
Walburga glared up at him from where she kneeled on the floor while rubbing a now sore spot on her scalp. “Why? Because of your new girlfriend? She can’t handle you and you know it!”
“Our relationship is none of your concern.” He was supposed to be finding his witch right now. He didn’t have time for this!
“We kept it a secret before, Tom. She doesn’t have to find out.” The words echoed the exact thoughts Tom had earlier, reminding him of Alfred Hensley who was in the Trophy Room.
Hermione must never find out. He refused to lose her. He wanted to feel her touch his skin and hear her moan. To kiss her in the private moments they had together. Maybe he could catch her on her way back from the library. Carry her books. She would like that.
He lost himself in thoughts of her.
When he refocused his vision, he saw Hermione at the end of the corridor. Her hair was a mess of curls piled atop her head. Even from a distance, her freckled cheeks looked flushed. He couldn’t discern her expression. Was she upset? Jealous? Sad? Did she want him as badly as he wanted her? Her eyes narrowed.
It was then that he noticed the compromising position he was in, Walburga on her knees in front of him. At some point, she crawled closer. Her hands were on the waistband of his trousers. Why hadn’t he noticed this?! Where was his mind at? He was done with this!
All distractions were suddenly gone, with his witch directly facing him. Everything became clear. Tom had his wand out, pointed at Walburga, “Flipendo!”
The girl flew backwards, twisted, and hit a nearby wall before falling to the ground in a moaning, crumpled heap. Normally Tom would’ve stuck around to prolong the torture, but he needed to do damage control with Hermione first.
He moved towards her, his steps deliberate. Tom wouldn’t lose her because of bloody Walburga. He was done with her! Didn’t Hermione see that? He followed her around the castle. Found her between classes to get his fix because he couldn’t keep his hands off her. It was never enough. Nothing was ever enough.
Tom stalked towards her, a predator after his prey.
Hermione turned and fled as he closed in on her.
He would not allow her to escape. Tom wouldn’t let this be what drove a wedge between them, but she had a decent head start down the long corridor. He should have cast the Jelly-legs Jinx and forced her to stay, she would have been furious but at least then they could have talked about it.
Something!
He turned the corner, but she had already disappeared. Likely, she’d gone up the staircase towards Gryffindor Tower. He headed in that direction, knowing that he could be faster. Believing that his longer legs would catch up to her.
This seemed like a good idea in theory. But as Tom ran straight at Gryffindor Tower at top speed, the crazy portrait took this as an act of aggression and started an uproar about an attack. He sounded every alarm in the entire tower waking all the other portraits. An entire frenzy broke out. People and animals alike ran through paintings as if escaping an unseen threat. The chaos was overwhelming, but amidst it all, the profane nude statue that had been so crudely displayed in the crazy knight’s portrait was knocked off its pedestal and shattered into a thousand pieces.
Notes:
Chapter 30 Song: Mount Everest: Labrinth. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
If you're interested in reading this scene from Reinhard't perspective, you can check that out HERE!!
In other news, I changed the series title to Nightpiece. So anyone who subscribed to the series, your will have to do so again (sorry).
XOXO - Tipp
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 31: 31: The Flaw in the Plan
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione was restless all night long. What would she do? How could she face him again?
He did it... He really did it.
She couldn’t shake the scene from her mind. Finding Alfred Hensley, Petrified in the Trophy Room while she was looking for Tom. A message written on the wall about the Chamber of Secrets. The words blazed a deep red. Blood red. Alfred’s blood. It dripped down his arm. She could almost smell it. Taste it in her mouth.
Hermione wanted to cry, but the misery jammed inside her chest, unable to well into the sobs she needed. Instead, it expanded through her torso, taking up all the space she had to breathe. She wanted to scream, if only to relieve the pressure. She closed her eyes and focused on the air flowing in and out of her lungs.
Fate had a funny habit of making a joke out of her life. That was the only explanation she could think of for how she ended up facing Tom seconds later. Her gorgeous boy. Her beautiful broken boy. Desire flooded her. It left her frozen in her tracks. She couldn’t give in to his charms, no matter how tempting.
Her heart raced as his dark gaze snapped to hers. Everything slotted into place. It wasn’t her boy. The person looking back at her wasn’t Tom Riddle. The boy that cared for her and desired her. Something sinister, evil lingered there.
Was it new or had it always been there, stationed below the surface and she refused to acknowledge it?
She saw it now. This was the Dark Lord. Voldemort stared back at her. She never met him before, but she was meeting him now.
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, resisted the tears threatening to fall, and she ran. She had no destination in mind as her feet pounded against the stone floor. Eventually, she found herself in the dimly lit corridor beside Charlotte and Eleanor’s tapestry, who gawked at the distraught student.
Hermione collapsed on the ground, bringing her knees to her chest, but she still didn’t cry. No matter how desperately she wished for it, the tears refused to come. Instead, she stared at the wall as the two women in the tapestry debated about how they should console the upset girl. They offered kind words that were not necessarily appropriate for the occasion, but Hermione couldn’t blame them. They weren’t privy to the exact circumstances after all, but she appreciated the effort.
Unfortunately, when their attempts to provide comfort went ignored, they began speculating reasons for her distress. Eleanor suggested, perhaps other girls were being mean to her. Apparently, she retained emotional scars from being bullied during her own time at Hogwarts. She didn’t admit to this aloud, but Hermione heard the deep-rooted pain in the tone of her voice.
Charlotte, however, thought she may have forgotten to spit and thus her boyfriend, rather dissatisfied, might have rebuked her advances. She followed this with exaggerated pity and grotesque sexual guidance that neither Hermione nor Eleanor wished to hear.
She took that as her cue to leave. She returned to Gryffindor Tower, finding the common room almost empty when she passed through. Her limbs felt heavier than usual as she climbed the stairs to her dorm. She didn’t bother changing for bed as she crawled between the covers, grabbing Bridget’s blanket and wrapping it around herself.
She told no one. In all the chaos, she forgot to report Alfred’s body. The guilt for leaving him in that state weighed on her. Perhaps someone else found him... or Tom reported his own crime…
Hermione wiped her dry eyes and blinked at the closed curtain around her four-poster. Pain ached in her side, but not even her curse could overshadow the anguish in her chest.
She finally fell asleep as the sun rose.
***
“Hermione, it’s almost lunch, you need to eat!” Gussie pulled the curtain back. Hermione rolled over to glare at her friend. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean it. You look awful! Oh! I have to tell you what happened!”
“Can it wait... please?”
“You sure? It’s crazy!”
“Please Gussie, tell me later.” She didn’t want to hear about Alfred’s fate from Gussie. Not yet.
“Uh... okay...” Her friend evaluated her. “Tom asked about you at breakfast.”
“What did he say?”
“That he needed to talk to you.”
“Oh.”
“He said he would be in the library.”
“Huh.”
“He was acting weird. Worried. He had this look in his eye, like he was irritated about something. I don’t think he slept well either. Seemed pretty on edge and tense. Got upset when I said you were tossing and turning all night.”
“Okay.” Hermione doubted he worried about anything. He used her this whole time. For what, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe to improve his patronus. Perhaps he wanted her to prove he could have her. He viewed her as a challenge to be won. A treasure to add to his little collection of trophies.
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image of his exquisite face, but it ignited in her mind. He comforted her when she cried. Brought bread to feed the giant squid with her. Held her hand when they hiked through the forbidden forest. Protected her from Barnabas Cuffe and kept her safe all night. Spent the splendid day with her in Hogsmeade. He baked cookies with her and a hundred house-elves. Bought her the perfect quill and helped her research her curse. When he was around, he challenged her intelligence, and stimulated her thinking. Because he was brilliant, charming, and seemingly flawless.
It happened all at once. The tears that lodged inside her yesterday rushed out of her like a dam being split open. Hermione sobbed with no way of stopping the onslaught of emotion.
“Oh Hermione…” The bed dipped beside her as Gussie lay down. Her fingers stroked Hermione’s forearm in a comforting gesture, but she said nothing as Hermione choked and blubbered through her tears.
“Scurgify,” Gussie said every now and then, pointing her wand at Hermione’s face to clean up the mess of snot and tears. After about ten minutes, Hermione finally calmed down and looked at Gussie. It occurred to her that her friend had never seen her cry before.
Hermione wiped her eyes using the soft yarn of Bridget’s blanket and sniffed. “Tom and I, well,” she considered her words, then came out with it, “It’s over between us.”
The truth was out. Saying it out loud made the whole thing feel more real. It happened. Whatever grew between them shattered.
Gussie split the pillow with her, staring in shock. Hermione watched her friend’s mouth fall open. Then she shut it. Then she opened it again before she finally said, “What?”
“We’re done.”
“But... I don’t understand! Just yesterday we talked about sex and his penis—”
“We did not talk about his penis.”
“Yes, we did!”
“I think I refused to talk about it.”
Gussie waved that off. “Oh, you know what I mean. You mentioned doing dirty things to his penis!”
“Merlin, Gussie, would you stop mentioning his penis, please?!”
Gussie sat up and crossed her legs, facing Hermione on the bed. “He follows you everywhere! He’s obsessed with you. I swear he drools when you walk into a room. He gets this glassy-eyed stare like he’s encountered nothing more beautiful in his life. It’s every girl’s fantasy to have a boy look at her like that!”
Hermione knew the look and painful memories pushed to the forefront of her mind. She’d seen it. It made her heart swell. Tears burned her eyes as she forced them back. She couldn’t cry more. “Yeah, well, it’s over now…”
“What happened?”
“It wasn’t working anymore.”
“That’s a load of bloody shite!”
“Gussie!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it!”
Hermione swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed beside Gussie.
“It’s a long story...” Hermione said. She didn’t want to talk about it. She couldn’t explain why things really ended with Tom.
Oh yeah, my boyfriend opened the Chamber of Secrets and Petrified Alfred Hensley last night. He’ll probably Petrify a few others and kill someone before the year is out. One day he will become the most powerful dark wizard the world has ever seen, and I knew all this would happen before I started dating him. I also knew some of his followers would torture your future son and daughter-in-law to the point of insanity. You would then raise your grandson since they would become permanent residents of St. Mungo’s. I thought I’d still give it a go and date him anyway.
Hermione was an idiot.
“That guy borders on creepy with you! And he’s gorgeous, smart, and handsome. Did I mention how good-looking he is?” She sighed, losing some of the heat in her tone as the initial shock dissipated.
“I... I don’t know what to say…”
“We learned the Contraceptive Charm, then you freaked out and ran off. This morning, you are both acting strange, and you tell me you’ve broken up. What happened?”
“It would never have worked between us,” Hermione muttered.
“Did you not hear what I said before, about how he looks at you?!”
“I heard you.”
“Do you not understand the significance of that?!”
“Please, Gussie, I don’t want to cry again,” Hermione’s voice cracked.
Her friend’s expression softened. “Okay... well...” Gussie paused, searching for the right words. “Here’s what we will do.” Gussie stood, eyes blazed with determination. “You are going to get out of this bed, put on some clean clothes, dab on some perfume, put some color into those lips and cheeks, and look casually fabulous and totally at ease during lunch.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you want him back?”
“No.” It was a lie, but she could never be with someone who could do such heinous things.
“Okay then, you need to show that you’re moving on. Sitting here crying is not helping your case.”
“Can’t a girl get a day to wallow?” Hermione pouted.
“Yes, after she’s had lunch.”
“What if I don’t want lunch?”
“Then you can go to lunch and not eat.”
“I feel sick,” Hermione groaned, her stomach churning at the thought of leaving her bed.
“Whatever, get dressed. You should wear that flippy skirt. I like the flippy skirt. It looks amazing on you.”
“Fine.”
“Leave your hair down.”
“Okay.”
“You should probably comb through it first, though.”
“Whatever you say.”
Before they reached the Great Hall, Hermione already heard multiple rumors about Alfred Hensley’s attack. Gussie told her the heir of Slytherin personally attacked Alfred, resulting in an epic duel that ended in Alfred’s Petrification. A group of third years in the common room said Alfred was tragically killed by a rogue Thestral that he, unfortunately, did not see coming. The most ludicrous of all was the theory that Alfred’s body was a fake that he devised to escape the school to attend to his broken heart after his public breakup with Julia Brown since she left him for Reinhardt Lestrange.
Hermione knew the truth. As she listened to the stories, she tried to keep the ache in her chest at a minimum. She ignored the feeling of betrayal that sank in.
Before they entered the Great Hall, Gussie whispered in Hermione’s ear. “Don’t look at him when you step through those doors. Sit with your back to him.” Hermione nodded without enthusiasm, allowing Gussie to drag her through the large doorway under the afternoon sky of the enchanted ceiling.
She didn’t want to see him pretending like nothing happened. Like it didn’t matter to him. Like he hadn’t used her. He would never change. But this was the reminder that she needed, the realization that he would be the future dark wizard Lord Voldemort despite being hidden behind the name Tom Riddle.
There was nothing she could have done to stop it.
She walked by Myrtle on her way to the Gryffindor table. The girl pushed her glasses higher on her nose as she spoke in a hushed voice to another Ravenclaw beside her. Probably telling her own fictitious version of events.
She passed Julia, whose eyes were puffy and red from a night of crying. Reinhardt sat next to her, looking uncomfortable; it was hard to tell what he was thinking. He patted her shoulder awkwardly.
Hermione had to do something! Tom might decide to kill someone if he opened the chamber again. Myrtle and every other Muggle-born were in danger. She couldn’t let him get away with this!
A fresh wave of despair washed over her. In this world, she was alone. The void inside her heart suffocated her. The gap that used to be filled by Harry and Ron—their friendship and support as they went on grand adventures. But this was her fight. She had to confront Voldemort in the flesh, with no one by her side.
She seated herself beside Archie and Alastor with her back to the Slytherin table, like Gussie instructed. It was unusual for her to sit next to, rather than across from the boys, but they were amidst a lively Quidditch debate and didn’t notice.
Gussie sat across from her. “Now sit straight. You look like a pathetic mess.”
“Thanks, Gussie...” Hermione rolled her eyes but obliged.
“See! Now keep your head high. Like that! You still look like a mess, but at least you look like a presentable mess. Don’t you feel better?”
“No.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Hermione sighed, looking at the assortment of food. Her stomach clenched. There was no way she could eat.
“What if he tries to talk to me?” She should have considered this earlier. Tom would have his sights on her the second she walked into the room.
Gussie considered this. “Hmm, we have two options. Option A, we could tell him to bugger off and leave you alone.” Hermione knew that would not go over well. He would grab her arm and force her out of the Great Hall. He wouldn’t allow anyone to deny him, especially if he was already pushed to his breaking point, which Hermione suspected to be the case. “Or, option B, you can run away and hide if you aren’t up for talking to him yet.” Gussie shrugged, like either choice was perfectly valid in her mind.
Gussie peeked over Hermione’s shoulder. “And you better decide fast because he’s coming over here now.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom visited Abraxas in the Hospital Wing the next morning. Not out of genuine concern, but out of maintaining an appearance of friendship and to check on the status of everyone he put there in the last week.
As he entered the room, he could hear the faint murmur of voices coming from the bed in the corner. He assumed this to be Abraxas, considering the other patients were in no state to chat. Alfred was, of course, Petrified. He saw Walburga unconscious in a bed he passed. The story was she took an unfortunate tumble down multiple flights of stairs the previous evening. That occurred after Tom was unsuccessful in tracking down his witch. She truthfully looked worse than her excuse could support, but no one challenged it. They never questioned Tom’s word.
“Madam Blainey said I could leave at the end of the weekend,” Abraxas said. Tom wondered who he could be talking to behind the privacy of the curtain around his bed. Tom stopped short outside the fabric barrier and listened.
“About time,” Norris Avery responded. Tom could hear the other boy pacing beside the bed.
“About time?! I had internal hemorrhaging, broken-bones, multiple sites of nerve damage from whatever bloody curse he hit me with! My right arm and hand frequently spasm! I won’t be able to play Quidditch anymore if it doesn’t go away!”
Tom considered the list of curses he used on Abraxas that night. He tried one of his own invention inspired by Muggle electricity which caused a shock through the nervous system and immense pain. He tested it on animals and noticed the spasms that Abraxas mentioned. It wasn’t Tom’s intention to cause permanent damage so Abraxas could never play Quidditch again, but Tom wouldn’t complain.
He smirked at this fortunate turn of events.
“Did you write to your father? What did he say?”
“He sent some letters to Healers at St. Mungo’s, but they aren’t even sure what sort of injury it is! They can’t make sense of it!”
Of course they couldn’t! The wizards didn’t use electricity. Fools, all of them. He noticed the world around him, even in the Muggle world. Tom recognized something useful when he saw it, whether it was a spell or a Muggle invention. He took advantage of everything. It was one of the many things that made Tom better than everyone. They would recognize his power and his worth. They would have no choice but to accept his rule.
“I can’t believe they bought the Quidditch accident and falling into the forbidden forest,” Norris said. There was a creaking noise as the boy sat in a chair.
Abraxas scoffed. “Yes, well, he would kill us if we suggested otherwise, wouldn’t he?”
Tom may have killed them. Or he might have punished them in other ways. It would have depended on his mood.
“Yes,” Norris confirmed, his voice falling flat. A silence fell over them. Tom considered announcing his presence, but something stayed his hand. Tension rose in the room. The conversation between the two boys wasn’t over yet.
Tom waited. Then Abraxas cracked.
“Everything was fine until she showed up. He’s changed since Granger came around—”
“Abraxas!” Norris hissed. Tom clenched his fists. Norris had the right idea for once.
“It's all because of her. It’s her fault that I’m in this Hospital Wing! This is her bloody fault my hand and arm—”
“Quiet! Stop!” Norris tried again. Tom could see the boy’s shadow standing from the chair and trying to physically restrain Abraxas back into bed.
“Get off me, Norris! I can barely write anymore! I can’t play Quidditch!“
Tom rolled his eyes at Abraxas’s petty vendetta against Hermione. “No Abraxas! He almost killed you last time! Drop it!”
So Abraxas Malfoy blamed Hermione for everything? To Tom’s surprise, he wasn’t mad. He considered this. He changed since Hermione fell into his life, but he refused to ever think of it as a bad thing.
Tom heard Abraxas panting. His anger was palpable from the other side of the curtain. “She ruined everything,” he grumbled before sighing, clearly resigned to let the argument go.
The boys remained silent for a while. Norris returned to his chair with a loud squeak and Abraxas shifted in the bed. “Listen, someone was Petrified last night,” Norris said after a while.
“Really?”
Tom pulled the curtain open and stepped through. Abraxas looked shocked and Norris blanched. “Good morning Abraxas. Norris.” He nodded at the two boys, keeping his expression impassive, giving no indication that he heard any of their earlier conversation.
“Um—” Norris started but choked on his words
Abraxas recovered first, “Norris had been informing me that you opened the Chamber of Secrets, my Lord?” He grimaced while saying the title, like it caused him physical pain.
“I did,” he pushed the curtain open wider revealing the Petrified form of Alfred Hensley in the corner bed. Abraxas flicked his eyes in that direction before returning his gaze to Tom. “I came here to inform you of that development. Alfred Hensley was Petrified last night. Don’t doubt me again, Malfoy.”
With those parting words, Tom swept out of the room. He had no desire to linger. He needed to resolve things with Hermione. She was reasonable. Surely, after spending the evening cooling down, she would listen to him. They needed to talk before this situation with Walburga escalated any further.
He entered the nearly empty Great Hall and took his seat at the Slytherin table. Most students were asleep at this hour. Tom drank multiple mugs of coffee, staring at the Gryffindor table wishing for her to appear.
How did this become such a mess?
He set the coffee down after his third mug. His fingers trembled. Instead of bringing him comfort, it added to his distress.
More students trickled in and the noise in the room amplified. Tom inspected each face that entered.
Reinhardt sat with his new girlfriend at the Hufflepuff table, patting her arm while she sniffled. Little did she know the rift they created between her and Hensley was what lead to his downfall. They mocked him, pushed his buttons, confunded him, encouraged Julia to break up with him, triggered him into challenging Reinhardt to a duel.
Slytherins filed in around Tom, giving him fleeting glances. Norris sat with a few sixth years, recognizing the lethal expression on Tom’s face. For once, he developed a sense of self-preservation.
Hensley was all anyone could talk about in the Great Hall. The rumors that spread around the castle became more farfetched every minute. Most recently, Tom overheard that a vampire attacked Alfred Hensley. This led to an unfortunate transformation, leaving him confined to the Hospital Wing as a bat. He ignored the absurd tales.
As the sun rose, her friends arrived without her. Maybe she overslept? It wouldn’t be the first time she skipped breakfast on a weekend...
He narrowed his eyes at the group of Gryffindors as they sat in their usual seats. Then his body moved of its own accord. He stood, circling the Slytherin table, and headed straight for them. He stopped behind Archie Longbottom and Alastor Moody, staring down at Augusta Crouch.
“Hey, Tom,” she said pleasantly, as if he wasn’t seething with barely repressed rage.
“Where is she?”
“Hermione?”
He opened his mouth to say ‘who do you think I’m talking about,’ but thought better of it. He decided not to clarify her stupid question. Instead, he stared at her until she got the point.
“She’s asleep. She tossed and turned all night.”
Tom didn’t move. Augusta stared at him, her brown gaze dissecting him in that annoying way girls do, so they could gossip about it later.
“Tell her I’ll be in the library. I need to talk to her,” Tom tried to sound casual about the request, and not desperate and pleading. Augusta gave no reaction. He hated females. He ground his jaw as he waited for her to give some sort of confirmation.
“Sure thing, I’ll let her know.”
He walked away with a nod, heading straight out of the Great Hall. He couldn’t be there another minute.
She never showed up at the library that morning. Not that Tom expected her to, but he held out some hope. His hair stood on end with how much he ran his hands through it. His mind reeled, thoughts spinning. Walburga deserved a much harsher punishment for this. With scrapes, bruises, and perhaps a few broken bones. She got off easy.
Tom’s anger against her was nowhere near satiated.
This was why he didn’t do relationships! How was this not a distraction? This was everything he wanted to avoid! But then... What was he supposed to do without her?
He would never admit it to himself, but he had become dependent on her.
He tried again at lunch, hoping she wouldn’t skip two meals in a row. He sat alone. Reinhardt accompanied Julia, and Norris continued to avoid him. He preferred being by himself, unless the alternative was being with Hermione.
A weight lifted from him when he saw her curls. Her skirt flipped out, showing off her legs as she walked and clenched at her waist. He felt like a mess, but she looked incredible. Was she not being torn apart inside? Did she not suffer all night long? But at least she was here, right? That had to mean something.
He could talk to her. He could fix this. Put this whole mess behind them.
She didn’t look at him. She ignored him. Then she sat with her back to him. It was like all the water of the lake flooded on top of him, flattening him to the ground. Augusta Crouch peeked over at him and leaned across the table towards Hermione. His witch ducked her head. They were talking about him. It wasn’t subtle. Despite her outright scorning him, it pleased him to know that she thought of him.
Hermione’s shoulders tensed. She straightened her back and ran her fingers through her hair. He wanted all her waking hours to be consumed by him. When she slept, she would dream of him. He wouldn’t let her get away with disregarding him like this.
Tom stood from the table, ready to make his way towards her. She wouldn’t run from him again. He would cage his little lion if he had to. Ensnare the cub in the jaws of the snake. They would talk this out today. Now.
He circled the table, all his senses locked on his witch. Her friend looked at him, but he ignored her.
As if on cue, Hermione stood and whirled around. Their eyes met. Her large caramel irises looked right into his dark soul. Then she bolted.
She lasted all of three minutes in the same room as him before she ran!
Once again, he pursued her through the castle, but there were countless nooks and crannies that were easy to hide in. Tom was intimately familiar with most of them, but there was no telling which one she dashed into.
He couldn’t believe his luck! Tom had her in his sights and she escaped. He needed to get a tracking spell on that witch.
Infuriated, he returned to the library. His anger festered. She was absent from dinner. She remained missing for every meal on Sunday as well.
Hermione avoided him. It was so beneath her it made his skin crawl. Tom never realized how much the little specks of attention she gave him throughout the day fueled him. He knew she was upset about what she witnessed in the corridor, but how could she think he cared about Walburga Black? He drowned in Hermione most days? Now he might lose her to some inconsequential bitch that he hated?
By the time Monday classes rolled around, Tom was close to losing his temper on anyone that dared to look in his direction. Reinhardt was the only one brave enough to sit with him.
At least Walburga stopped approaching him when she and Abraxas were released from the hospital wing. She received the message this time—Tom wanted nothing to do with her. In fact, he saw her hanging off Abraxas’s arm and avoiding all eye-contact with him. Abraxas smiled like he won some sort of competition and stole Walburga away. In reality, he was getting Tom’s leftover rubbish.
On Tuesday, Tom was in higher spirits knowing they had Arithmancy together that afternoon. He was sure he could get her attention there. Finally, talk to her. They always shared a desk since the first day of class.
Somehow, she avoided him there, too. She snagged a chair by the window, forcing poor Sylvester Sallow to sit next to him. The kid sensed his fury and scooted to the very edge of the table. The professor’s voice sounded like a roaring in Tom’s ears. His quill remained abandoned on the desk. Nothing registered. She was too far away. He couldn’t smell the apples in her hair.
Damnit! He needed to talk to her!
She escaped to the bathroom a few minutes before the lecture ended to avoid him.
Something sparked in the surrounding air. Sylvester Sallow flinched and, if possible, scooted further away.
Wednesday he had had enough. Augusta Crouch was on prefect duty, and he cornered her that evening.
“We need to talk,” he demanded. He wasn’t asking.
The girl shrugged and followed him into an empty classroom. She watched him with vague interest as he blocked the door. She appeared unconcerned about being trapped in a room with a pissed-off Tom Riddle. He swore these Gryffindors had a death wish.
“You look awful,” she said, cocking her head to the side like she was doing a critical inspection. If she wasn’t Hermione’s best friend, he would have her writhing on the floor for such a comment.
“My girlfriend won’t talk to me, and I want to know why.”
“I think it’s a little presumptuous to be calling her your girlfriend.”
“Excuse me?”
“You guys just broke up, Tom. She needs space.” The girl rambled on about some other pointless stuff, but Tom heard none of it.
They broke up? When did they break up?
She was mistaken!
No, she was her best friend.
She continued talking. Said something else about the end of their relationship. Hermione moping around their dorm.
Did Hermione tell her friends they broke up?
Tom was so shocked by the news he couldn’t process any other emotion. He stared at the girl as she shifted from foot to foot, flicking her brown hair over her shoulder without a care in the world. Her lips moved, but the words didn’t register.
The rage hit him suddenly like the force of a Bombarda blast. He became so blinded by his anger that he didn’t notice Augusta slip past him and exit the room.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because Hermione wasn’t leaving him. She would never fucking leave him!
Magic sparked in the surrounding air. Something in the room shattered, and he didn’t check to see what it was. He exited the classroom and headed back to the Slytherin dorms. Rather than his anger dissipating with time, it grew.
That evening, he was so bloody pissed; he hexed Norris for sneezing in the middle of the night. Granted, it was a minor hex. The boy remained in his own bed after with minimal whimpering. The others silenced their curtains out of an abundance of precaution.
The next morning, he stared at his food with no desire to eat. His appetite vanished. It enraged him that she felt she could walk out on him. Every reminder made his magic tremble in anger all over again.
Abraxas and Norris sat as far away from him as one could possibly get. To his surprise, Reinhardt climbed onto the bench beside him, putting food on his plate as if it were a typical morning.
“What’s going on, Tom?” Reinhardt asked as he poured juice into a glass and snagged a few slices of toast.
“Nothing,” Tom snapped sounding as unconvincing as a Hufflepuff trying to start a fight.
“Okay then.”
He ground his jaw. He clenched it so much during the past week he felt the tension radiate into his head.
Reinhardt spread the jam on his bread in silence, making no further comment.
Tom picked up his coffee mug, still staring straight ahead. She still hadn’t come to meals. Her spot remained empty. He assumed she ate in the kitchens, but he checked and didn’t find her there. Maybe she talked to the house-elves and asked them to bring food to the Gryffindor common room for her.
He ended up placing the cup down without taking a drink.
Reinhardt stabbed his fork into his eggs and ate.
“Hermione is telling people we broke up,” Tom said. He wasn’t sure why he told Reinhardt this, but once the words were out, he couldn’t take them back without obliviating the boy.
Reinhardt set his fork down. “I know.” It felt like he punched him in the gut. He hadn’t expected that. “Julia told me,” Reinhardt supplied without Tom having to ask.
Of course she would have. Reinhardt was now dating one of Hermione’s friends.
“Damn.”
Reinhardt didn’t reply.
“How long have you known?”
“Since Tuesday,” Reinhardt said. Who else was aware of the breakup prior to him?
“She caught Walburga and me in what would have appeared to have been a compromising position,” Tom explained. But he hadn't finished with her yet. He would never be done with her. She had no right to decide on her own that this was over.
“Huh.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Tom snarled.
“That just doesn’t seem like her.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Tom's temper rose.
Reinhardt, astute as ever, sensed it. He waited a moment before answering, his expression calm and unchanged, letting Tom’s anger fizzle out. Once the tension eased, Reinhardt continued, “Hermione knows Walburga is a manipulative bitch. She’s reasonable. Do you think she would cause such a commotion over finding you and Walburga in a compromising position? Especially when it can be easily explained away as a misunderstanding?”
It’s funny, Tom thought the same thing, but then, here they were.
“I need to get her to talk to me,” Tom said. He picked up his toast and took a bite. Despite his lack of appetite, he felt better with some food going into his stomach. He took another bite and chewed.
“Well,” Reinhardt said, picking his fork up, “we do have double potions this morning.” Tom raised a brow at him and, for the first time in a week, the corners of his lips turned up.
Hermione and her friends occupied a back table across the dungeon. Throughout Slughorn’s lecture about Strengthening Solution, she used her hair as a curtain to shield her face from him. It didn’t stop him from watching. Her curls glowed in the dim light. Her pale, smooth skin looked almost delicate. He longed to see her eyes and the body concealed by the school robes…
Slughorn released the class to begin their potion. Tom lit his cauldron and started like the rest of the surrounding students. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Bided his time. She squirmed under his scrutiny. She had to know he would approach her eventually.
Double potions continued, and Tom brewed a magnificent strengthening solution. With about forty-five minutes left in class, Tom nodded at Reinhardt to move. He strolled across the room and stopped to chat at the station where Hermione set up her cauldron between Augusta and Alastor.
His excuse? Julia’s birthday was next week, and he wanted advice on what to get her. In reality, Reinhardt was an excellent gift giver and already got her something, but the girls didn’t need to know that. While they talked, he reached out and pocketed the vial of salamander blood on the table. Then he retreated.
A few minutes later Hermione would notice her ingredient missing and head to the student storeroom. Easy.
Reinhardt circled back and returned to his own potion beside Tom. Reinhardt’s strengthening solution looked thicker and darker than ideal, but Tom shrugged off the mess in his cauldron. He compensated for his lack of skills in academics quite effectively. Tom couldn’t deny that he was fond of Reinhardt Lestrange.
Tom saw the minute Hermione noticed the ingredient missing. The clever witch put together the situation immediately. Her head snapped over towards Tom and Reinhardt, her eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched. She knew exactly what his game was.
Tom smirked, waiting for her to make her move.
She grimaced, and to his surprise, leaned over to Augusta Crouch and whispered something to her. Her friend rolled her eyes at Tom and retreated to the student storeroom.
Damnit...
Alternative plan then. He needed to get Alastor Moody away from her. Archie Longbottom wouldn’t be an issue since he set up at the table in front of them. Then he could talk to her alone by coming up behind her. They positioned themselves at the back of the classroom. He could cage her against her desk. At least for a little while.
“Reinhardt, distract Moody!”
“What?!” He blanched.
“Go tell Alastor Moody you need to talk to him and drag him away from the table!”
“I, uh...” Reinhardt turned green.
“Now!” Augusta was an idiot at potions. It would take her ages to find the Salamander blood in the storeroom.
“Okay,” he scurried off. It didn’t take Reinhardt long to get Alastor’s attention. Then Hermione was alone.
Tom walked the perimeter of the classroom until he stood behind her, close enough to inhale the honey and apples into his lungs. Almost taste it on his lips. He wanted to consume her. Drag her into the supply closet and show her exactly what snakes did to cubs like her. What he promised on their first potions lesson together. He remembered it vividly…
A snake can easily devour a cub like you…
He would do that right now if she hadn’t sent her bloody friend in her stead.
“The silent act is getting old, Granger,” He let his breath ghost over her ear as he spoke. An audible gasp escaped her lips as her body tensed up.
“Go away.”
He hadn’t heard her speak in almost a week. The melody of her voice sent a shiver of longing through him.
The sound of bubbling cauldrons filled the room. Tom refused to be rushed with her, even though her friends could return at any moment. He would take his time. Cherish every moment.
“Never.” He seethed over the shell of her ear.
“It’s over betw—”
“Don’t you dare finish that bloody sentence,” he growled so only she could hear. He could tolerate it from other people, barely, but he wasn’t sure what he would do if he heard those words from her.
He noticed the angry flush rise from the base of her slender neck. He wanted to follow the color with his lips. His tongue. “Leave me alone, Tom.”
“No. I’ll never leave you alone, Hermione. Do you want to know why?” He pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled her sweet, alluring scent. He sensed her tremble beneath him. She felt it too. The need. She may deny it, but it was there. She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her.
“You’re mine. I won’t let something as petty as Walburga Black drive a wedge between us.” If they weren’t in the middle of a bloody classroom, he would wrap his arms around her and… His mind raced with all the possibilities of the things he would do to her. Some they had already explored, and more.
He pressed his hardening erection into her tempting arse. She felt so warm. Her heated body against his, even with too many layers separating them, felt amazing. Her harsh intake of breath made his blood rush further south. Damn, he wished they were in a more private location. Someplace where he could lift her skirt away. Perhaps everyone could leave the room so he could bend her over this desk.
“It’s always you, Hermione.” His hands gripped the table on either side of her hips, caging her in. “You do this to me. Only you. Not her or any other girl in the school,” he whispered in her ear. He could tell she fought back a moan, shivering as she let out a breathy huff of air. His erotic little lion, even in the middle of a classroom. The things he could do to her.
Slughorn chose that moment to approach them. He beamed like a moron whenever he saw them together. “Miss Granger! Marvelous Strengthening Solution as always!” As he looked at her cauldron like a proud father, Tom circled his hips against her before stepping back, adjusting his robes to fall loosely around him. He hated putting distance between them after finally having her so close.
Augusta Crouch appeared and cocked her head at him as she set a vial beside her cauldron. Tom glanced at the green liquid. It was, without a doubt, not Salamander blood.
He ignored the issue and peaked in Hermione’s cauldron, admiring the brilliant turquoise brew. Her potion was flawless.
“Thank you, I was about to add the Salamander blood,” she said, picking up the vial. It was the last step in the strengthening solution. Her eyes flicked to the contents of the vial before she glared at her friend.
“What?”
“Gussie, this isn’t Salamander blood.”
“It isn’t?”
“No! It’s green!”
“Oh.”
Slughorn looked between the two girls with a rather baffled expression. “Miss Crouch, Salamander blood is red,” he said with uncertainty in his voice, unsure if this might be a practical joke.
“I’ll get your Salamander blood, Hermione,” a deep voice said behind them. It was Alastor Moody returning to his station. Reinhardt slipped past, appearing flushed. Alastor grabbed the vial of green liquid and turned on his heel.
“I trust I will see you next weekend at my annual Spring Gala?” asked Slughorn.
Hermione stammered. Tom watched as a blush crept up her face. They discussed attending the event together with her shimmering and pretty on his arm. The idea of her going with anyone else made him fucking murderous.
“I do hope you will be there. Many important people will be in attendance. I recall you have an interest in healing! I could introduce you to Madam Whitlow, who is the head healer at St. Mungo’s! Close, friend of mine! I know Mr. Riddle was planning on attending. Wouldn’t want him to attend empty handed either, would we?” Slughorn winked at Tom as if they shared a private joke.
“She will be there, Professor! I’ll make sure of it!” Augusta Crouch spoke up, ignoring the midnight blue potion in her own cauldron.
“Gussie!”
“Fantastic, Miss Crouch, pleased to hear it!” He walked away.
Augusta gave Tom a smirk and returned her attention to Hermione.
Tom glowered at her as he made his way back to his cauldron. He continued to listen in across the room to their conversation.
Hermione turned on her friend as soon as Tom left. “I never said I was going!”
“Oh, you are going to that gala, Hermione. Even if I have to drag you there myself, I don’t care if I don’t have an invitation.”
“I can’t go!”
“And why not?”
“You know why.”
“That’s why you have to go! Trust me, Hermione! You are attending the gala!”
Tom peaked over at them, watching Hermione’s beautiful face, that had been so blank the last week, contort into a scowl, “you’re the worst.”
“I know, which is why I’m your best friend and you love me. I got your back.”
Notes:
Chapter 31 Song: Happiess is a butterfly: Lana Del Rey. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
The longest chapter in the book guys! More drama to come! Ten chapters left in part 1!
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Chapter 32: 32: Slughorn's Gala
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Slughorn really knows how to demand a turnout,” Norris said. Tom hummed a non-committal response. He leaned against the dungeon wall in the large event space that Slughorn always used for his spring gala. Shimmering chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room. The sweet aroma of fresh flowers and delectable cuisine served by the waitstaff in crisp uniforms floated on the air. Lively chatter of the guests mixed with the melodies of the band playing in the background created a symphony of sound.
Crowds of people mingled in his line of sight. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Reinhardt dancing with Julia Brown. Her smile stretched across her face so broadly that it seemed to touch both ears. Reinhardt looked tense in comparison.
Abraxas stood with Walburga at a drink table, filling goblets with pumpkin juice.
Norris prattled on about nothing important.
Tom ignored it all. He watched the door with anticipation, waiting for her to arrive. His hands ran down his robes, smoothing the material. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. This was unlike him! He hated how worked up he was. How much he needed her to show.
The robes he wore dripped with wealth. He purchased them over the summer with money he stole from Abraxas. Made of the finest silk, and the color was a deep shade of emerald green that complemented his pale complexion. Intricate embroidery lined the hems and collar, and the buttons shined silver. Tom also styled his hair, slicking it back with a bit of gel. He looked every bit the charming and sophisticated young man he wanted to portray himself as. Normally, he wouldn’t have tried so hard. But normally he wasn’t trying to impress a witch.
Almost a half an hour into the start of the gathering, students were still trickling in, wearing their formal attire. His gaze flickered to each with disinterest. Norris talked about the cleavage one witch sported in her dress. Tom didn’t pay attention. He only had eyes for one girl these days. He didn’t care about another witch’s tits.
He only showed up because of her! Her friend swore she would be here. At an event like this, it would be easy to press her for answers. Maybe win her back with charms. Dance with her to the slow music playing in the background. Hold her close. He missed her smell, the apples and honey. He craved it.
“Why would Slughorn invite scum to these events?” Abraxas asked, stepping next to them, drinking from his goblet. He had Walburga draped over his arm, practically humping his leg. She was revolting. “I saw Mariella Skinner. She’s a Mudblood! It’s disgusting!”
“Yeah, but did you see her tits?” Norris asked. Abraxas looked around but paused when Walburga gave him a fierce glare. He turned back to Norris and shrugged. Walburga swirled her glass half-filled with what appeared to be punch.
“Can I have some of your pumpkin juice ‘Brax?” She asked to regain his attention. She wore a low cut black dress. It left little to the imagination. Abraxas appreciated it. Tom didn’t.
“Why didn’t you get some when we were at the refreshment table just now?” Abraxas rolled his eyes but passed his goblet to her. Tom knew her games. She couldn’t stand not being the center of attention. She would flash Abraxas her smiles and tits until his eyes were glued to her. Tom ignored her.
“I’d rather have what you’re having,” she cooed in a would be seductive way.
“Hmm, can I have what you’re having, then?” He asked.
“You don’t want any of this, but I have something else that may interest you,” she leaned in, speaking low in the blonde boy’s ear.
“Consider me very interested.”
The two of them were disgusting. Tom was about to tell them to go continue their display somewhere else but, in the end, he didn’t have to. To his immense relief, Abraxas and Walburga walked away together, allowing Tom to refocus on the door.
She wasn’t here. She was usually punctual. Did she decide not to come? Was she waiting for her date?
No… it was too last minute for her to arrange another date!
His beautiful witch could have almost any boy in this castle. They would fall over their feet to escort her to this dance. She could have made arrangements with someone else.
No! She wouldn’t have!
“Maybe we could target Skinner next,” Norris said. “Look at her acting like she’s one of us. She should know her place.”
Tom didn’t care about finding another victim, he just wanted his little lion back!
“But I want to take those tits for a ride before we do that.”
A girl walked in wearing a light blue gown. It reminded Tom of the dress Hermione wore to the Yule Ball. It wasn’t her.
“And since I broke up with the Ravenclaw bitch—”
He saw her! She entered looking... damn! She looked bloody fantastic! A shining jewel in this dank dungeon. His eyes drank in the sight of her. Traced the stunning deep green gown as it draped over her body and accentuated her incredible curves. She turned, giving him a peek of her exposed back on display in the low-cut, backless dress. Her skin glowed in the dim light. He wanted to reach out and run his hands over every uncovered inch. He longed to keep her hidden, away from the curious gazes of others, who would be captivated by her mere presence. Lock her up somewhere for his viewing only.
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the usually wild curls fell into tamed waves. She had most of it pulled back into an elegant twist, revealing her slender neck. Her luscious, painted red lips curved into a smile as she greeted someone at the door. He wanted to taste the color.
His cock stirred. She was trying to kill him. He would be stiff in his dress robes all evening! He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His entire body gravitated towards her. It felt like she placed him under a spell. He desired her so bad. Hermione lit up the room with her radiance. Her presence in his life brought warmth and illumination that he never knew he was missing. She wasn’t just the brightest star in the sky; she was the only star in the sky. She shined on his dark world. Without her, everything froze. The stars went out. He plummeted into the pits of despair.
Look at me…
Norris said something next to him about dancing with the Mudblood and her tits.
Someone approached Hermione and placed a hand on her exposed back. Tom’s jaw clenched, his eyes sharpened. Rudolf Brand stood beside her like he belonged there. His gaze traveled the length of her figure, taking too long to complete the journey.
Every muscle in Tom’s body tensed. Brand had no right to touch her! The intensity of his possessiveness was almost palpable, radiating from him like a dark cloud. His eyes fixed on her, watching her with a fierce determination. He had to control himself, but the thought of losing her was unbearable. Seeing someone else lay a hand on her, feel her soft, smooth skin—it made Tom murderous.
She appeared to hesitate. Or was Tom just hoping she hesitated? That she didn’t want Brand to touch her. To leer at her in such an obvious display of lust.
Clearly, he imagined Hermione in an obscene way. Pictured what she looked like if her dress slipped off her shoulders. Her body nude, wearing only those sinful heals. If the slit running up her leg cut over further, giving him a peek at the treasures beneath.
Tom couldn’t take it! Her in that gown, standing next to Brand!
Look at me!
She gave the prat her dazzling smile. Tom felt like she knocked the air out of him. It took forever for her to show him her authentic smile. He remembered the moment vividly, by the lake, feeding the Giant Squid. Now she bestowed it upon this undeserving fool as if it was nothing!
He was going to lose her. Another person turning their back on him like everyone else in his life. They always left him. Nobody wanted him. His mother died. He didn’t even know who his father was! Then there was Cora from the orphanage... No! He returned Cora to the recesses of his mind where she belonged.
Tom’s thoughts spiraled. The reality closed in on him. He tried to refocus.
His robes were green. The floor was stone.
I can’t lose her!
The juice felt cold in his hand. Norris was talking.
Brand touched her hair! His fingers wrapped around a stray curl as he pushed it over her shoulder.
Music played. Voices spoke.
The fucker leaned in closer to her. His palm slid along her arm.
Tom saw red.
The room smelled like cologne and pumpkin juice. All Tom could smell was blood. He fantasized about it. He would spill Rudolph Brand’s blood. Brand needed to get his hands off his girl!
Mine!
Tom didn’t care that he looked ridiculous staring at her. Eating her alive with his eyes. He couldn’t tear them off her.
“I’m going to dance with Mariella Skinner,” he heard Norris say next to him before running away. The boy sensed Tom’s mounting fury. He restrained his magic to keep it from raging out of control. Everything in his body burned.
Brand looked ready to eat out of her hand. Like he just got the most spectacular birthday present. Tom would destroy him. Ruin him.
He said something that made her laugh.
That joy, those smiles, they were all his!
His pulse pounded as his breathing sped up. The control slipped through the cracks. Magic sparked around him. Mere threads were all that held him together. The only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Tom tried to remind himself that it wouldn’t matter if she decided she wanted Rudolf Brand. She could flirt. She could smile. They could even dance. When night finally ended, Tom would hunt him down and exact his revenge for daring to touch what wasn’t his. Hermione would never leave him.
Despite knowing that, he continued to spiral. The darkness swallowed him.
She ran her finger down Brand’s forearm, and the last threads of his control unraveled.
Get off her!
A roaring starting in his ears, causing a vibration to roll through his body.
Don’t touch her!
She is mine!
The rage consumed him. Like he may suffocate on it. She tore his life to shreds.
Look at me! Bloody look at me!
Her eyes snapped to his.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione didn’t know what she would say when she faced Tom again. She considered their encounter in the potions classroom. He acted like he still wanted her. As if he desired her above all else. His manipulative tactics centered on reminding her of how much he could attract her, and, to her dismay, it worked. She needed to overcome that. Move on and conquer these complicated feelings she held for him.
If only it were that easy.
Over the course of the following week, she poured over it, examining every detail. She was so distracted she even neglected taking notes in some of her classes, much to Alastor’s amusement when she had to ask to borrow his.
She also continued to avoid Tom Riddle. Next time they spoke, she planned to have her words ready. It didn’t stop him from trying to speak with her. The trick was never being alone. Her friends surrounded her at all hours, but she couldn’t keep this up forever. As days passed, Tom’s fury escalated. She needed to take care of this before she pushed him too far. Only then could she move on.
She considered a direct confrontation. Contemplated telling him what she knew about the Chamber. Accuse him of opening it and explain her knowledge about his heritage and his ability to speak Parseltongue. While simple, it was a terrible plan. He’d probably perceive it as a threat and kill her.
Perhaps approaching it from a different angle would be better. If she asked him to stop, would he? Didn’t he like her? Would that be enough? Could she plead for the sake of their relationship?
She scoffed at that idea. At one point, she thought he might care for her, but now she had doubts. More likely, she was a way to improve his patronus and kill time. He wouldn’t miss her on any personal level. He didn’t enjoy losing. She hurt his pride and his ego.
She fell for it. Every lust filled gaze he fixed her with. Every touch of his lips and every word of affection. Hermione never felt so stupid. Enveloped by his mesmerizing presence, she couldn’t help but surrender herself to him. She trusted Voldemort. The darkest wizard of all time, the most powerful, cruel, and depraved. Killed hundreds. Tom Riddle’s smile and swoon-worthy eyes made it easy to forget everything she knew about Voldemort. Pretend they were two different people.
She needed another option. She considered going to Dumbledore, but it wouldn’t do any good without proof. Dumbledore didn’t trust Tom, but there wasn’t much he could do.
Now she had to deal with Slughorn’s annual gala since Gussie insisted she attend. Hermione’s mind raced with excuses as she tried to come up with a way to get out of the event. She considered setting off dung bombs to land herself in detention. She contemplated removing the bones from her arm so she could stay in the Hospital Wing. It was a true testament to how badly she wanted to skip; she would rather suffer an evening of Skelegro.
To make matters worse, her curse acted up more frequently. Despite taking her potion every other night, the nightmares continued to torment her. The pain in her side persisted. She wrote to Healer Spleen and was waiting for his response. She consumed the potion too fast these days. It wouldn’t be long before she ran out.
“Hermione, you’re going!” Gussie said, sounding like a broken Muggle record.
“I don’t want to see him.” It took everything in Hermione’s power not to flinch. She took her previous dose of the potion yesterday. The symptoms returned too soon.
“That’s why you have to go! You need to look fabulous and show Tom you don’t give a damn about him. You’ve been walking around the last week looking like somebody kicked your puppy. It’s pathetic.” Gussie leaned forward, sitting across from Hermione at one of the common room tables. Alastor and Archie sat next to them, ignoring the conversation.
“It’s tomorrow, Gussie, and I don’t have a dress.”
“You already know I have dresses,” Gussie scoffed.
“Plus, I would have to do my hair.”
“Obviously, I would do your hair and makeup. I don’t trust you to do it yourself and, as your best friend, I think I’ve earned the right.”
“You’re not giving me a choice are you…”
Gussie beamed, “Nope! We will turn you into a goddess Hermione, just you wait!”
Hermione had to hand it to Gussie. She knew how to make a statement. She insisted Hermione wear the emerald green dress. The same gown Hermione refused to wear to the Yule Ball. Hermione lacked the energy to fight Gussie on this.
She worked her magic, adjusting the fabric to accentuate Hermione’s figure. Gussie added a slit up the side to show some leg. It didn’t escape Hermione’s notice that it showed a little more cleavage and exposed more of her back after Gussie was done than the designer probably intended. Hermione felt both sophisticated and seductive in the gown. A perfect balance.
The real problem was the shoes. For the Yule Ball, Hermione chose flats and outright refused to wear heels. This time, however, Gussie wasn’t letting her go out in anything sensible again. She argued heels would best showcase her legs.
“I can’t walk in heels, Gussie! I’ll fall flat on my face and really ruin the whole elegant image we’re going for.”
“Is that what this has been about?” Gussie laughed. Hermione frowned and folded her arms. “Okay, let me let you in on a little secret, not that it’s much of a secret, to be honest. Literally every witch knows this but you, apparently. No witch just walks in heels.”
“What do you mean?”
“We charm the shoes with stability and softening charms, Hermione! We glide like they were made for us! We have magic. May as well use it!”
The silver heels Gussie chose for her were the complete opposite of sensible. These shoes, with their five-inch height, were unmistakably crafted with the sinister purpose of eliminating any poor, unsuspecting witch who dared to put them on.
She begrudgingly conceded. She strapped on the dainty buckle around the ankle. Before she tried to stand, Gussie pulled out her wand and muttered a couple spells towards Hermione’s feet. It changed everything. Her toes felt light as air. Her ankles weren’t wobbling, and she hated to admit it, but she glided in the shoes, just like Gussie said she would.
Gussie finished her look with some potion in her hair and a half up-do that made her curls delicate and intentional rather than wild. She dabbed makeup on Hermione’s face and painted her lips with a deep red lipstick that Gussie insisted made her appear glamorous.
That was that.
This was it.
“Merlin, I’m good!” Gussie smiled, eying her handiwork. “Venus would envy you tonight.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she had to admit, her friend had done well.
To Hermione’s credit, she didn’t run away and vomit while walking to the gala despite how badly she preferred to. She considered spending her evening in an empty classroom.
Instead, she put on a brave face and entered the party.
I can do this.
She could feel Tom’s eyes on her as she stepped through the doors. She wondered what was going through his mind. But Gussie told her to look fabulous and show him she moved on. She would do that.
“Hermione!” She turned as a hand skimmed her spine, causing her to jolt. She found herself face to face with Rudolf Brand.
“R—Rudolf, how are you?” She didn’t know him well. They only had brief conversations in passing, but everyone knew who he was. Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, handsome with his mahogany hair and blue eyes. His skin was the color of caramel, a result of the countless hours spent in the sun training. It’s no wonder the girls drooled over him. Hermione heard a rumor he got signed by a professional team, so he must have actual skill too.
“You look lovely this evening,” Rudolf said. His gaze lingered as it slid down her body, taking in the dress, the way it hung over her figure. His gleaming eyes made her feel naked.
Typically, she shied away from such direct attention, but Gussie’s reminder ran through her head.
I need to move on.
Hermione’s eyes sparkled when she smiled. “Thank you, Rudolf! I heard you got signed to a team.”
“The Heidelberg Harriers,” he grinned proudly.
“So you are going to be playing professionally?” She hoped it sounded flirty and not like she was only stating the obvious. Which she was.
“I’ll be the starting Keeper next season.”
“Wow, starting Keeper. Yu must be really talented,” she said. Apparently, her unimpressive statements worked. Rudolf glowed at her attention.
“Have you not admired my skill at the matches this year?” As he asked, a smirk played on his lips, a look that Hermione objectively found attractive. Rudolf was handsome, but his eyes didn’t have that dark mystery to them. He didn’t hold secrets hidden deep within his smile. There wasn’t intelligence behind his expression, calculating and knowledgeable, that drew Hermione in.
She shouldn’t want those things! Not anymore!
I need to move on.
She blinked the thoughts away and refocused on his question. She hadn’t attended games unless Gryffindor played. But Alastor and Archie always talked about them. She picked up the major highlights.
“Didn’t you break your arm in the last game?” She asked him, stroking her fingers over his forearm and batting her lashes at him. She felt ridiculous. Did girls do this while flirting? She had no experience in this area. She never so brazenly flirted with a guy before in her life.
He looked as if it was a fond memory. “I’ve broken my arm twice, and a few ribs. Nothing a little magic can’t set right. Quidditch can be quite dangerous,” he leaned in closer to her. She resisted the urge to step back.
I need to move on…
“I can only imagine, I’m sure you’re covered in scars,” she tried to sound seductive while she said this. To her ears she sounded breathy, like she had a sore throat. She offered him light touches that could appear innocent. They were enough to keep his attention.
“So what about you, Hermione? I noticed you didn’t arrive on Tom Riddle’s arm this evening.” At the mention of his name, her eyes flicked towards where she knew he was standing, and she froze at the dark, murderous glare he was giving them. His knuckles were white around the goblet in his hand. He looked ready to storm across the room and tear her away from Rudolf.
He steadily shook his head and mouthed the word “don’t.”
She grimaced.
He had no right!
“We had a bit of a falling out,” she said, tearing her eyes off Tom and returning to Rudolf.
“Hmm… his loss. You look lovely tonight.” He took her hand and kissed the knuckles.
She did not yank her arm back when she stammered her thanks.
“Would you allow me to take his place this evening?” he asked her, his lips curving into a sweet grin as he held his elbow out for her. She went to accept his offer before she felt herself wrenched away by a rough grip on her opposite wrist.
“Excuse us, Brand, I need a word with Miss Granger,” it was Tom’s melodic voice. She could hear the tension in it. Rudolf barely had a chance to react before Tom yanked her out of the room. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the corridor. Thank Merlin for the spells on her heels. She would have broken her ankle with how hard Tom pulled her. She wanted to grab her wand, but she didn’t bring it with her. Gussie argued there was nowhere to put a wand, plus she wouldn’t need it.
Gussie was mistaken.
Next thing she knew, he shoved her into a broom closet and pinned her to the wall between his arms. In her heels, Tom matched her in height. He looked ready to kill someone. His normally carefully constructed bored expression turned wild.
“Why are you ignoring me?!” Tom snapped. He didn’t care about Petrifying Muggle-borns. Torture and killing meant nothing to Tom Riddle. Hermione giving him the cold shoulder bothered him. She was the one that got under his skin. His crazed look was because of her.
Hermione had to tread lightly with this. Keep her cool. Stay in control.
“Let me go, Riddle.” She steeled her spine and stared into his murderous glare.
“I’m not touching you, Granger.”
She shifted to dodge under his arm. She knew it would be a pointless move. He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the stone.
“Don’t you dare run from me!”
“We are not discussing this,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.
“Like hell we aren’t!” He hissed. “You can’t just end this between us with no explanation! No reason! You didn’t have the decency to tell me yourself! No,” he leaned in, his body a breath away from hers as his voice dropped, “I heard it from your friend.” He panted. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers.
He was right about one thing, she should’ve had the courage to end things properly between them. Despite her anger towards him, she needed to at least give him that for the sake of whatever relationship they had. But something about that night shattered her Gryffindor spirit, leaving her feeling fragmented and unable to piece herself back together. Maybe part of it would always remain broken.
She pulled up the tiny spark still left inside her and let it germinate. If she was going to pull through this encounter with him tonight, she needed all the bravery she could get. “What do you want me to say?” she shrugged.
“I told you there is nothing between Walburga and me! I told you, I don’t care about her!” Hermione looked skeptical. She couldn’t imagine why Walburga was being brought into this. “And you put on that display with Brand? Tell me, Hermione, did you want him tonight? Because he wanted you. He wanted to peel this dress off you, feel your skin, kiss you, fuck you. Were you going to let him?”
“That is none of your business!” Hermione flushed.
“As if I’d ever let that happen!”
“We’re over! It isn’t up to you!” She jutted her chin at him. His entire body trembled with the force of his rage.
“I would never let him have you.” His voice became low. His breath ghosted over the curve of her ear. “I would never allow him or anyone else to have you.” A sigh caught in her throat. “You’re mine, Hermione.” She swallowed but couldn’t make herself move as his eyes devoured her and his hands skimmed up her dress, touching her bare thigh. His lips pressed against the skin at her pulse.
“I can talk to whoever I want.” she said, sounding forced.
“Hmm.” His teeth. Oh Merlin, his teeth. Her hand reached around and gripped the back of his head, entangling in his hair. She should pull him away... she should...
A moan escaped her lips and her fingers tightened around his soft hair, making a soft groan blossom deep in the back of his throat. She swallowed, “And,” she licked her suddenly dry lips, “if I decide to sleep with guys like Rudolf Brand, you can’t stop me.” They both knew she would never do it, but the words hit their mark.
His body froze. She could feel the tension radiating off him. “Perhaps… but I can kill them. Brand and any other fucker who touches what’s mine.” There was a sharp pain at the base of her throat. He bit hard, sucking and licking the skin. She tried not to shiver. She used every bit of her determination to keep him from getting under her skin. It didn’t matter in the end. He tore her open and forced his way in.
“I’ll kill them all,” he said. She shivered from both pleasure and pain. It was like he could suck the thoughts rights out of her head. “I’ll kill them for touching you. For getting close enough to smell the apples in your hair.”
His lips moved over her neck. He took a deep inhale, as if he could fill his lungs with her. He licked down to her collarbone. “If anyone ever tastes the honey on your skin, then I won’t give them a quick death. I’ll torture them. A slow, sweet death. Agony. I am the only one who can live with your taste on my tongue.” He bit down on the top curve of her breasts. She gasped. Arching her back. She still wanted him. She hated that.
“You. Are. Mine.” He enunciated each word. Her heart slammed in her chest, right where his lips pressed against her flesh. Could he feel it?
“No!” She came to her senses and pulled him away from her by his hair. He moved with a hiss, his gaze darkening like storm clouds. She could finally breathe again. “I’m not some toy you can own, Tom!”
Lightning flashed in his eyes.
“We’re done, and I’ll move on no matter what you think about it! This is the last time we play this game!” Rage. Pure, raw, uninhibited anger consumed him. Before she could comprehend what was happening, he spun her, wrapping an arm around her waist and his other hand gripped her throat, before pressing her against the wall with his body. His erection rubbed her bottom, reminding her just how aroused they both were by this encounter.
“Is that so?” His voice sounded murderous in her ear.
“Y—yes,” she flushed. His hand caressed down over her collarbones, pulling her against his chest so his fingers could stroke the curve of her breast. He circled and tormented her nipples through the fabric. She gasped and shimmied in his restrictive hold. He had one of her arms pinned under his and the other trapped against the wall. He pressed her cheek against the stone. She wiggled against him, which only teased him rather than serving as a genuine effort to get away.
His palm caressed her as he journeyed lower. It took everything she had not to tremble against him.
“You don’t want me?”
“I—” she couldn’t think. The pressure of his hips against hers released slightly, allowing his hand room to dip inside the slit of her gown, traveling up her thigh. “I, oh Merlin.” His caress was unhurried. She ached as his wandering hands moved between her legs. With the additional space, she extracted her trapped arm. She shifted down and grabbed his wrist between her thighs. She intended to pull him away, but instead, she squeezed him, her body unwilling to remove his presence.
“Your damp knickers would suggest you do desire me,” he said. His voice resembled a seductive melody that drove her wild.
“Tom!” she moaned. She shouldn’t enjoy this. His fingers brushed against her cotton-covered core. Her body froze.
I shouldn’t want this!
Merlin, she wanted this…
He pushed her knickers aside and ran a finger through her folds, making her let out a pleased hum. She felt overheated and shifted so her forehead leaned against the cool wall. Her eyes squeezed shut at the intensity of the moment.
“Perhaps I should remind you who this cunt belongs to.” he pushed a single digit inside slowly. Letting her feel the way she sucked him in, her muscles fluttering at the intrusion.
She whimpered.
“Damn, I’ll never get enough of how wet you get for me.”
He worked a second finger in and started stroking her walls. “You’re so tight, little lion. It will be incredible when I finally have my cock inside you.” All thoughts flew out of her head. Hermione gasped with each thrust inside her. She felt his other hand snake up her torso and dip under the neckline of the dress, cupping her breast. He played with her nipples, pinched and flicked the peaks.
“Tom, ahh!”
He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit, and she couldn’t help but ungulate her hips against him, seeking more friction.
He hummed in amusement against her neck. “Such a needy lion. So good. It would be glorious between us. I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll feel me leaking onto those sweet thighs when you go to class. You can attend these bloody galas and flirt with whoever you want, but your voice would still be hoarse from screaming my name and it’s my come inside you.”
He circled his hips against the curve of her arse and groaned. “I’ll fill you so thoroughly. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
I shouldn’t want this! I shouldn’t want him!
But she panted for more. It felt so good. She wanted to melt into him. Every fiber of her being ached for him to continue, to push her over the edge that she was so close to. Her thighs spread wider, opening for him. They moved in tandem. He rubbed his erection against her while she mindlessly ground down on his hand.
His fingers slid in and out of her, pulling against her walls. She trembled in pleasure; he grunted in satisfaction, making small noises in the back of his throat. The pace increased.
“That’s right, Hermione, this cunt is mine,” he pulled out to circle her clit with his moistened fingers. She whimpered at his loss. Her core clenched in the most delicious way, but he was absent.
She wanted to run, but she was so close… her hand squeezed his wrist tighter, and he chuckled, sounding almost menacing in her ear. “These breasts are mine.” He rubbed her nipple then moved across to the other, giving it equal attention. “You are mine.”
He worked her over, stroking his thumb in a wide circle around her clit as his fingers entered her again. They pushed deep, focusing on a spot that made her legs tremble. Extraordinary… She was going to fall. She gasped against the wall.
“Can you take more, little lion?” He asked. Removing his hand again before she felt more pressure at her entrance, he slowly penetrated her with three fingers. The air caught in her throat. Pain. Stretching.
“Such a good girl.” He murmured as her walls fluttered around him. She stiffened as he pushed his way inside. It was too full. The invasion was becoming too much.
“So tell me, Hermione. Who does this cunt belong to?” He said. The words felt harsh against her skin.
She didn’t reply. Her eyes shut tight. This wasn’t right. This felt wrong. It hurt. A sharp, stabbing pain inside her. She cried out when he pulled out slightly and then thrust in to the last knuckle.
He stilled his movements and bit down on her neck again. “Answer me!”
Clarity returned to her mind.
I shouldn’t want this! I shouldn’t want him! I’m supposed to be moving on!
She recalled her grip on his wrist and pushed his arm away while simultaneously spinning around. Her palm connected with his cheek with a loud crack.
He stumbled back a step, cursing.
In the faint light inside the broom closet, she could see the surprise on his face. Her body resented her for pushing him away, for being denied the pleasure it so desperately sought. She shoved it to the recesses of her mind, reminding herself why she rejected him.
“That is the last time you ever touch me,” she seethed. Her hands smoothed over the dress. She turned to leave. Just as she pulled the door open, he reached over her and slammed it shut. He had her trapped.
“This isn’t over!” he said in her ear.
She glared at his hand, holding her hostage, then she saw the blood. It coated three of his fingers. The same three fingers that were just inside her. She gasped. “You—is that?!” Her stomach dropped. She knew exactly what that blood was. What had she expected? The pain. The stretching.
Her face blanched. Tom Riddle just took the physical sign of her virginity.
He let out a low chuckle in her ear. “You’re mine. I told you I would have all of your inexperience and you dare threaten to give that to someone else?” He rubbed the blood between his fingers combining it with her release. “I may have broken your hymen, Hermione but I’ll have the experience too. My cock will be the first one to fill you. All of it will belong to me.”
She felt sick. Because part of her wanted that. She needed to get out of this room. This broom cupboard was too small. Something inside her stung, her core ached. She wanted to cry but refused to do it in front of him. “Let me go, Riddle.”
“No. I’m never letting you go.”
She clenched her jaw. “Then I’ll keep pushing you away.”
He leaned over her. His body pressed against her, his erection still hard. “I’ll pull you back. Over and over. I’ll always come for you. And you will only come for me.”
The insinuation was clear. She gritted her teeth before flipping around in his. She fought to keep her face expressionless. To keep the growing anger under her skin from showing. “Step back, Riddle.”
“What is wrong with you, Hermione!?”
He always knew how to break through her barriers. She could never hold them up long around him. The wall protecting her emotions crumbled to dust. “Wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you?!” she shouted. “I thought you might be different! I cared about you! But in the end all you care about is yourself and ruling the whole bloody world! You only care about getting more power! I want no part of it! I’m done, I’m out. Now, let me go!”
His face fell. “Where is this coming from?” His posture slackened. He looked broken. Like he had cared.
The fury inside her tightened around her lungs to the point of constricting. She couldn’t breathe. Any logical thoughts fled her mind. “Maybe it escaped from the Chamber of Secrets after you opened it, Tom!”
The silence was so intense; it felt like a physical pressure on her body. His vulnerable expression vanished in an instant. He straightened his spine again. She could see the cogs in his head spinning out a lie.
“What are you talking about?” His voice dropped an octave. Low and threatening.
Although she hadn’t planned to address this now, she realized it was too late to change her mind. “Don’t bother trying to lie about it.” She huffed. His eyes narrowed.
“You think I opened the chamber?”
She glared at him.
“A bit of a ridiculous accusation,” he continued,. “I thought you were clever, Hermione, way too clever to come up with such nonsense. No, I didn’t open the chamber,” he said. A lie. Every word, a lie. Always lying. He was Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort.
“So, you didn’t open the Chamber of Secrets?” she raised an eyebrow.
“No! Is that really what this was all about? You avoiding me? You ignoring me? Having your friend tell me you broke up with me? I didn’t open the chamber! I have nothing to do with the chamber! Can’t we just…” he stepped towards her and cupped her cheek, “can’t we just go back to how things were?”
“So you’re telling me you aren’t Salazar Slytherin’s last remaining ancestor, and you didn’t open the Chamber of Secrets and order the Basilisk inside to attack Alfred Hensley that night where he could see the reflection of an eye in a trophy? You weren’t the one that ordered Reinhardt Lestrange to kill the roosters a month ago, knowing the cry of a rooster is fatal to a Basilisk?” she pressed against him, causing him to step back in his state of stunned silence.
He recovered and shook his head. “What proof do you have of this?”
“None, but I know what I know.”
“So you’re only guessing? You’re assuming it’s me?”
“No, Tom. I know it was you. And we are over,” she said. A wave of emotion washed over her. Tears pricked her eyes. Before he could form a response, she slipped out the door.
Hermione ran down the corridor, not wanting him to see her cry over him, to see how much he could hurt her.
She sprinted all the way back to Gryffindor’s common room, thanking Merlin once more for the charm on her shoes.
Notes:
Chapter 32 Song: War Of Hearts: Ruelle. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
You can read about Slughorn's Gala in Reinhardt's POV in Chapter 3 of Shadows of Doubt HERE . If you haven't read the prior chapters, I would recommend it just to see the progression of the relationship thus far.
I can't believe part one is coming to a close! This has been a ride! Thanks for the love everyone! I do post chapter previews and updates on my Facebook and Tumblr so follow me if you want to see those!
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 33: 33: The Chamber of Secrets
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The realization of what happened at the gala hit Hermione the next morning while she pushed her food around her plate over breakfast. She confronted Tom about the Chamber of Secrets and he would need to guarantee her silence. She was a loose thread in whatever he must be planning, and loose threads needed to be cut.
She couldn’t focus on that. Her priority was making sure nobody else got hurt.
“Hermione, are you listening to me?” Gussie asked.
“No.” He had blood on his fingers. Her blood. She felt the stinging discomfort in her core even today. She woke up to find streaks of red in her knickers. It shouldn’t surprise her; he tore her flesh. Literally. There was bound to be lingering pain and spotting. Yet, she couldn’t get past the shock! Not that he did that to her... she expected that from him. Tom Riddle was possessive and jealous; always forthright in his desire to fully claim her. No, she struggled to come to terms with her yearning for him to continue. She wanted more. She wanted him.
“Hello! Did you hear me just now?” Gussie reached across the table and poked her shoulder.
“Huh?”
“Pay attention! So I told Julia that next time she sees Reinhardt she should—” Gussie continued.
Hermione tried to push away thoughts of last night's intense encounter.
He opened the Chamber of Secrets. Who was at risk? In her world, Tom Riddle pinned it on Hagrid and his spider. Despite being expelled for it, Hagrid stayed as the gamekeeper. He made the best of the situation, but it pained him to be denied the magical education he desired.
Did Hagrid have the monster? Could she save him from getting expelled?
Another task to add to her growing list of problems... saving Hagrid. She couldn’t stand by and watch him go through that. He didn’t deserve it. If his timeline here matched her own, he would have lost his father a year ago. Hogwarts was all he had.
She looked down the Gryffindor table and spotted Hagrid sitting with a group of third-years. He was a head taller than everyone else, even the older students. He had a youthful face that lacked his characteristic mane of tangled hair and bushy beard.
“Hermione! You aren’t listening!” Gussie squealed.
“Umm..." He looked happy. Content while surrounded by a group of friends. What would Hagrid’s life be like if he could finish school with his peers? He wouldn’t need a pink umbrella to do secret magic. Maybe he would still teach Care of Magical Creatures. Perhaps he might go into more of a research field or wrangle dragons like Charlie Weasley. He would enjoy that.
Hagrid had no reason to know her. She should have attempted to befriend him sooner, but she was preoccupied with other things, such as an evil, dark wizard boyfriend.
She had to end this for good. She needed to locate the Chamber of Secrets and seal it forever. This had to stop.
“Ulg! I give up! Alastor, pass the bread!”
The perfect opportunity presented itself the very next evening. Despite Hagrid’s attempts to be sneaky, it was impossible not to notice that large boy leaving through the portrait hole with forty-five minutes left until curfew.
Hermione followed him. She tried to walk with care, but Hagrid was so big that one of his strides equaled almost three of hers. She had to muffle her feet to keep her jogging silent.
As expected, he led her into the dungeons, descending another deeper flight of stairs, and arriving at a disheveled broom closet that seemed to have been abandoned for ages. She hid around a corner, her heart pounding with anticipation, and waited. The door opened with a loud squeak that rang in the air as Hagrid slipped inside.
She crept down the dimly lit corridor, the soft patter of her footsteps barely audible. She heard him in the closet, singing to the spider. It may have been surprising, but she was used to this sort of behavior from Hagrid. Especially after the disaster with the dragon, Norbert. Hermione and Harry snuck the beast out of the castle under the invisibility cloak.
She hoped this would be simpler and not end with her getting detention. She wished she had the invisibility cloak. That made all of their rule-breaking a lot easier. The Marauder’s Map too. Although she had her doubts at first, it proved to be a valuable asset.
Fifteen minutes passed before the door opened again. Hagrid’s eyes widened when he noticed her there. He fidgeted from foot to foot, at a loss for words before he blurted out, “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’!” His face turned beet red. He had the guilty look and nervous tone of someone caught in the midst of a crime.
Hermione sighed. She and Hagrid weren’t friends in this world. For all he knew, she would report him and get him expelled. This wasn’t how she imagined meeting him for the first time. “Hagrid, I know about the Acromantula you have hidden in a chest.”
Hagrid reeled back like Hermione threw a hex at him. Guilt flashed across his features. He opened his mouth and shut it again before collecting himself. “So! He’s harmless!” His words boomed through the halls.
“Shh! I know, but you can’t keep him here! In a school! It isn’t a proper place for him.” She lowered her voice, hoping it sounded soothing.
“I’m takin’ care of ‘im jus’ fine!” Hagrid said, crossing his arms. He was trying to use his size to intimidate her. It may have worked on anyone else, but Hermione knew he wouldn’t harm a fly.
“I’m sure you are, but he shouldn’t be living in a school. In a chest!” She gestured towards the ground behind Hagrid where a trunk sat covered in debris. With occasional shaking, the trunk exuded a sense of foreboding. If Hermione didn’t know better, she would have thought there was a boggart hiding inside.
He stood there, staring at the chest. When he finally faced her again, his eyes were glassy. “You won’ tell, will yeh?”
“Of course not! He hasn’t hurt anyone, right?”
Hagrid nodded his agreement. Hermione gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. The corridor became silent except for an eerie scratching noise that came from inside the chest. It made Hermione’s hair stand on end.
“Acromantulas shouldn’t live in chests, Hagrid.” He seemed resigned. He knew she was right but couldn’t admit it yet.
“I wasn’ gonna keep ‘im here forever! Jus’ till he’s a bit bigger is all…” His voice trailed off. There was a repeated thump, thump, thump, against the wood as if a heart inside drummed. Both of them looked at it, Hermione with trepidation and Hagrid, like a proud father. It was clear that Aragog was aware of their presence and hoped they would release him as his attempts to capture their attention escalated.
The words floated in the air between them. They listened to the spider thrash around in the confined space that it was already too big for. Acromantulas could get enormous. The chest wouldn’t hold him for long.
“B—but, he’s only a b—baby! He c—can’t jus’ live out in the wild! He’d die!”
“Hagrid!”
“N—noooo!”
The massive boy started crying. Hermione wanted to pull her hair out. Her side hurt. She wasn’t sleeping well these days. Nightmares plagued her. She needed to protect the Muggle-borns of Hogwarts. That meant she needed to locate the Chamber of Secrets and kill a Basilisk. Sneaking this spider out of the castle was low on her list of priorities, but she still cared for Hagrid.
Then, when all that was done, she would need to deal with Tom Riddle’s aftermath. What obstacle would he throw at her? What would he do next on his pathway to becoming Voldemort? How would she stop him?
“Hagrid, if you keep it here, someone will find it and think it attacked Alfred Hensley,” Hermione said, trying her best to sound reasonable.
Hagrid looked stricken. “Aragog wouldn’ hurt anyone!”
“That doesn’t matter.” Hermione was about to lose her temper again. She reined it in with a deep breath.
“But where would he go?” Large tears fell down his immense cheeks.
“How about the Forbidden Forest? Maybe we can find him a uh... mate. Then he could um, start a nice family of his own.” Hermione felt ridiculous talking about happy spider families with Hagrid, but tact was in order here.
She spent the next five minutes trying to convince Hagrid that the Forbidden Forest would be a lovely place for an Acromantula to live. He eventually conceded and Hermione had a headache.
With about ten minutes left until curfew, she followed Hagrid as he carried the trunk outside to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Throughout the entire journey, Hagrid sobbed over the chest. The solemn atmosphere was more akin to a funeral procession than a release of the spider back into its natural habitat.
“He’d bin sayin’ he wanted ter leave for ages,” Hagrid cried, “I shoulda listened!” Hermione patted his arm and said a few soothing words. She knew why Aragog wanted to escape the castle. Basilisks were their mortal enemy. Aragog must have sensed when the chamber opened.
By the time they made it to the edge of the forest, Hagrid’s sobs deflated into sniffles. Hermione’s face and arms were numb from the icy wind. She hadn’t dressed to go outside when she followed Hagrid this evening. Even though it neared April, the chill of the Scotland mountains hung in the air. She tried to keep her teeth from chattering, not wanting to distract from the moment. It didn’t stop her entire body from shaking.
Hermione was eager to be done with this, but she allowed Hagrid a few moments to say goodbye to his monster friend before he opened the chest.
Hermione never met Aragog, but she heard stories of how massive he was. Harry described him as the size of a van. Ron wouldn’t talk about it; he left a room whenever Aragog was mentioned.
The creature that emerged from the trunk was as big as Crookshanks. Huge, furry, and utterly terrifying. The spider glanced around, its many eyes darted towards Hagrid, then to Hermione. It made a clicking noise with its fangs. She held her breath. No wonder Ron had nightmares about them. She couldn’t imagine this thing growing ten times bigger.
Hagrid leaned in close to the beast and whispered something to it. Within a heartbeat, the spider fled into the forest, swallowed by the shadows.
Hagrid and Hermione watched the line of trees, as if expecting Aragog might reappear again. A chilly breeze passed over her, making her entire body shake. She couldn’t wait to be back in front of the Gryffindor fire.
“What’s yer name?” Hagrid asked. He wiped his nose on the sleeves of his robes. How his tears had not frozen to his face, she would never know.
“Hermione.”
“Think he’ll be okay out there, Hermione?”
“I think he’s going to be really happy in the forest.” She answered with a tight smile. Her freezing lips couldn’t manage anything better.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom returned to his dormitory on the evening of the gala close to midnight. Reinhardt sat up in bed, a book in his hands with only a candle lit on his bedside. Tom might have found Reinhardt's late-night reading strange on any other day, but his mind was preoccupied. He noticed Abraxas and Norris were absent from their beds.
“Abraxas is staying with Walburga. Norris walked off with some girl. I assume he’s shagging her somewhere for the night,” Reinhardt said without Tom having to ask.
Tom nodded, his face expressionless. He waved his wand to further light the room. Reinhardt took one look at Tom and dropped his book, the text sliding off his bed and landing on the stone floor.
“You went after Rudolf Brand, didn’t you?” He asked. Funny how Reinhardt knew him so well. It wasn’t exactly subtle. He had blood splattered on his face and collar.
“He touched her,” Tom replied, his expression giving nothing away.
“If you keep sending people to the Hospital Wing, they may start getting suspicious,” Reinhardt said, climbing out of bed to grab the book on the floor.
“Good thing he isn’t in the Hospital Wing.” Tom started pulling off his robes and waving his wand to clean a few spots of blood. There wasn’t really that much. It only looked like a lot since it smeared on his cheek.
“You killed him?”
Tom felt nothing as he tossed his dress robes in his trunk. Earlier he was so lusciously aroused and vividly angry as Hermione tried to reject him. This turned into a mess of panic when she identified him in everything he attempted to hide from her. The feeling swelled. And then he remembered Brand, and his hand running down her spine. Touching her skin. So Tom waited out the gala and took care of Brand, bordering on murderous rage.
Now… now he felt hollow. Stone cold. Void of all emotion. He quenched his fury. Hermione rejected him. Everything was gone. It left nothing but an empty shell behind.
“No, after I tortured him and threatened him, I healed his surface wounds before numbing and paralyzing his right hand permanently.” If he had done anything more drastic, Hermione would’ve heard about it. She would know it was him.
“Didn’t he get signed to a professional Quidditch team?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“I also ensured his silence about the incident,” Tom said. Reinhardt arched a brow, surprised to hear Tom didn’t Obliviate Brand and be done with it. Tom stepped into the small bathroom and wiped the blood off his face. What's the point of threatening him if he couldn’t remember who did it? No, Tom needed to make sure they knew and wouldn’t talk.
He left nothing to chance. Other than, of course, promising harm to Brand himself should rumors spread, Tom used Legilimency to pull out any deep secrets that he wanted kept quiet. He discovered who Brand loved most and threatened their well-being. Then he forced him to take a blood contract of silence, a complex bit of dark magic.
He cried the entire time. He knew his Quidditch career was over. His life was in ruins. All because he flirted with the wrong witch. Perhaps the punishment may have been less harsh if he hadn’t been so riled up following his encounter with the witch, but that was beside the point.
Tom stepped out of the bathroom, tossing the bloody towel aside. Reinhardt held the closed book in his lap, staring at the cover, deep in thought. They didn’t speak to each other as Tom shut the curtain around his four-poster.
He stared at the ceiling, thinking about Hermione, the way she looked at him, and betrayal portrayed in her gaze.
He felt nothing.
He thought about her anger and her caramel eyes. Windows to her soul. He knew she turned away just as her tears fell, hiding them from him.
His heart beat a calm rhythm. His chest rose steadily as his lungs filled with air.
Then she ran from him again. For the third time in two weeks.
If it was space she wanted, then fine. He would give her space.
***
Tom saw Hermione everywhere. At first, he thought nothing of it. It was strange seeing her around after she avoided him for so long. As the days went by, he had to admit Hermione was indeed following him. In the halls between classes, in the library, she even followed him after meals. He couldn’t make sense of her abrupt change in behavior.
Whenever he looked at her, she feigned interest in a cobweb in the corner. When there wasn’t a cobweb, then she stared blankly at nothing. When he tried to approach her, she ran.
It may have been funny if he wasn’t so frustrated. Seeing her was almost worse than not seeing her. It felt like she was taunting him with her presence. A savory treat staying just out of reach. He didn’t understand it. She asked him to leave her alone and now she goes and starts following him? She was the one who ended this! Not that he accepted the ending of their relationship. He intended to let the situation cool down before he claimed her again. He wasn’t letting his witch go.
Finally, after almost two weeks of being followed by the girl, exasperated, he confronted her in the crowded corridor after lunch. The students concealed him. She didn’t see him coming. That was the reason she hadn’t run in the opposite direction as he approached.
As soon as she noticed him standing right in front of her, she froze, her eyes widened. Tom couldn’t read what he saw in the depths of her gaze. Fear? Trepidation? It was hard to tell what she thought anymore.
“If you’re going to follow me around the entire school, you may as well walk with me,” he said. She clenched her jaw. An adorable pout formed on her lips.
“Fine,” she said, not even trying to deny it. “We have the same class, anyway.”
He jerked his head, indicating that she should stand beside him. A couple of students skirted past them, a few stared. The entire school knew about their breakup. Tom heard people whispering about it in the halls. Girls approached him with confidence, thinking that since he had one girlfriend, he might desire another.
He was sick of it.
They headed towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her arm brushed against his as she moved. Her brow furrowed, deep in thought. The air perfumed with the smell of apples and honey as she came closer. He missed her.
He licked his lips. “Going to tell me why you suddenly felt the need to follow me around the school?”
“No.”
Frustrating female.
“Okay, so I’ll have to guess then…” he paused in the middle of the hall for dramatic effect. His eyes roamed the air, as if seeking a source of inspiration. He scrunched up his face like he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle. “You want to catch me doing something horrible and evil to get me expelled?”
She rolled her eyes. “The world isn’t always out to get you, Riddle,” she said. Does that mean she doesn’t hate him? Does he still have a chance? It didn’t matter either way. He would have her back, regardless.
“You hope I’ll reveal my big plans for world domination in the corridor between classes?” He asked. He couldn’t hide the smirk on his lips.
“Seriously Riddle, stop.”
Tom hated hearing her call him Riddle. Not that he liked his given name, but when she said it, it felt like it meant more.
“You want to make sure Walburga doesn’t take advantage of me?” He said more as a joke. The snort she let out told him what she thought of that suggestion.
He was done guessing. He was done with the secrets. He was done with her trying to hide from him.
Done.
So. Fucking. Done.
He became on edge with all the students passing around them, with her so close, her hair untamed and smelling of apples. He grabbed her arm and dragged her down the corridor, in the opposite direction from where they had come.
“Riddle! What the hell!”
“Shut up, Hermione,” he growled as he pulled her into an alcove behind one of the large tapestries. A spot they often used for snogging between classes.
That was then. This was now.
Abraxas Malfoy was in the middle of a heated session, his hands riding up the skirt of Walburga Black. This wasn’t a quick kiss after lunch. They were about to fuck against the castle wall. They were so distracted they didn’t even notice Hermione and Tom’s presence.
“Malfoy!” Tom’s voice reverberated off the walls in the small space. The couple jumped away from each other. Walburga let out a squeal and moved to straighten out her disheveled clothing. They looked confused, like they didn’t even know where they were.
“Get out!” He felt Hermione shift behind him, trying to pull her arm free. She would have hexed him by now if her other arm wasn’t full of books.
“If I catch either of you again, I’ll dock points!” He tightened his grip on his witch as fury washed over him. It became too much. His emotions were out of control since she left him. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore! He built his reputation, amassed more followers, and for what? What was the point if she detested him? How had his life become so bloody complicated?
Abraxas made a huffing noise but complied. He hurried to button up his shirt. Walburga’s eyes narrowed on Hermione. Tom didn’t like the glint he saw there. Hatred. Something sinister.
“Don’t look at her, Walburga!” She flinched and said nothing. She scrambled out after Abraxas.
Tom’s jaw ground as he swung Hermione in front of him. She would have to get past him to escape. He had the upper hand. At least, for now.
“Let me go!”
“Are you going to run?” he asked, raising a brow.
“You—you’re hurting me!”
“Damn!” He released her. Had he hurt her? She shook her arm out and shifted to dump her books into her magically expanded messenger bag.
She frowned as she pushed up the sleeve of her cloak and noted the light bruising from his fingertips. Those would darken with time. Become more visible. She would remember him whenever she looked at them. Think of him. He had left his mark on her again. He had done it before, but those faded. These were fresh. She was his. She would always be his.
He reached out and ran his fingers over the marks on her forearm. He promised he would never hurt her. What was he doing? She jerked back as if burned by his touch.
Looking at her now, in the dim light peeking through the tapestry, he wanted her. He wanted every piece of her. Every inch of her skin and every strand of her curly hair. It wasn’t complicated at all. She didn’t just have what he wanted; she was everything he wanted.
Her bright caramel eyes met his, and the world stopped spinning. He couldn’t remember the last time he gazed into her eyes, losing himself in their depth.
He took an unconscious step towards her, pulling out his wand and silencing the space around them. Privacy. They were alone.
He stepped closer.
When was the last time he held her close?
Another step.
When was the last time he sucked her skin between his teeth, tasted her, pressed against her? At least two weeks.
She stepped back.
“Don’t run away,” he said. He wanted her to stay. She had to stay. He blocked her exit. They needed to work this out. He needed the truth.
She stopped her retreat. He watched her chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath. “Tell me how to fix this!” The words tumbled out. “What do I need to do, Hermione?!” She frowned and looked away from him.
“This can’t be fixed.”
“I refuse to believe that!”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“What do you want from me?” He needed the truth. He needed her to stop keeping so many secrets from him.
Her eyes darted back to his as if searching for her own answers. She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear and wetting her lips with her tongue.
That lip.
Was she trying to distract him?
“Whatever you wish, Hermione. Anything.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione watched Tom, waiting for the catch. Dealing with Tom Riddle was always a convoluted affair. She missed simple. Though, if she thought about it, her life was never simple with Harry and Ron, either.
“There are a lot of things that I wish for, Riddle,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I wish my parents were still alive. I wish I could see my friends again. I wish you never opened the Chamber of Secrets and Petrified Alfred Hensley. I wish you weren’t so obsessed with this twisted idea of gaining power.” She watched him frown at her last statement.
“Did you know Alfred was the one who spiked the punch at the Yule Ball?” He asked her with an air of arrogance.
Her eyes widened with surprise. She hadn’t expected that. It took a moment before she regained her composure, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Are you trying to excuse your actions as some form of vigilante justice?”
“Are you saying he didn’t deserve it?”
“Of course! Nobody deserves that! And it isn’t your right to decide!” She shouted at him. The angrier she got, the calmer Tom became. As if shielding his emotions from her.
“I can’t change what I’ve already done, Hermione.” He didn’t look remorseful in the slightest.
“I know you can’t and I’m not sure you would if you could because you don’t care. You never will.”
“Care about what? Alfred Hensley? Because you’re right, I don’t give a fuck about him.”
She scowled at him. “Not just Alfred, do you care about anything?”
“Do you think I don’t care about you?” His eyes narrowed.
“I think you don’t know what it really means to care. You aren’t capable of it.”
“How can you actually believe that?!” His calm demeanor evaporated. He stepped towards her, caging her against the stone wall. “You’re the only thing I care about anymore! It’s making me bloody insane!”
With a frown, Hermione averted her gaze to the floor. She struggled to gather her thoughts when he looked at her like that. So intently—like he was seeing inside her soul. She had a secret desire she would never share with him. More than anything, she wished she didn’t care for him.
She took a deep breath and grabbed hold of her courage. He said he would do anything… “I want you to show me the Chamber of Secrets,” she said.
His expression closed off, like a door slamming in her face. “Why?” he said, his tone clipped.
“Does it matter? You asked me what I wanted, and this is what I want.”
“I know what I said. I’m now asking why,” he loomed over her, his voice low and menacing.
Hermione needed to find the entrance. She would put an end to this for good. Depending on Tom was not the smartest decision, but it was her only idea. She followed him for days, hoping he would slip up and lead her there. But Tom never made careless mistakes. This was her next best option.
“I want to see the Chamber of Secrets. My reasons are my own.” Clearly, he didn’t like her response. He looked furious. He watched her, thinking he could break her with his glower. She wouldn’t crumble.
She had to think fast. Something to hold over Tom. Something to attract his attention before she lost her only shot.
The answer to Tom’s desires was unmistakable. As she stood before him, she could feel the heat emanating from his body. The sound of his breathing came in short, shallow gasps, as if he was struggling to contain his desire. She knew without a doubt that he wanted her. His eyes locked onto hers with a lust that ached deep within her bones.
She examined him. His anger simmered, but his gaze remained fixed on her with an undeniable hunger. He stood rigid as his eyes raked over her. The answer was obvious. She knew what Tom wanted most. He never tried to hide it.
He wanted her. He would do anything for her. For whatever reason, she had some kind of pull on him. A power she never realized she had.
“Fine, if you won’t show me, then I guess we’re done,” she said, trying to sound haughty. She moved to skirt around him, planning to exit the alcove.
“Don’t you dare run away from me again!” he shouted, grabbing her bag and yanking her back. She barely stayed on her feet.
“Listen! You have no right to be mad because of my request. If you won’t show me the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, then we have no reason to continue this discussion.”
“And what if I do this? What do I get?”
“You never said I had to give you something in return, Riddle. That wasn’t part of the agreement!” She attempted to snatch her bag back. It was futile. He had the strap wrapped around his fist in a firm grip.
“Fine!” He released her bag. He swept the tapestry aside as he stomped into the corridor, walking in the opposite direction from where their next class was.
Was he confused? Did he forget where they were? Class had started five minutes ago. They were already running late.
“Where are you going?” She shouted after him.
“You can’t be serious! You’re the one who asked me to show you the entrance!”
“But we have class!”
He snorted, "if you want to know where it is, then follow me. Otherwise, go enjoy yourself in double Defense Against the Dark Arts, learning things that you clearly already know.” It was strange how he conveyed her familiarity with the material as a negative thing.
He started walking again, fast, not waiting for her to follow. She had to make her choice quick, or she would lose sight of him.
She hurried after him, her breath quickening as she jogged to match his pace. They walked up staircases, down corridors. Hermione panted as they took their fourth flight of stairs.
“Please slow down!” she gasped.
“Try to keep up, Granger,” he responded in a mocking tone, only spurring him to speed up. They went up another staircase.
“Tom!” she shouted after him. He halted, eyeing her from the landing as she stood at the bottom, panting, trying to catch her breath. She pulled her hair back into a messy bun with a fabric band. Some of her curls came loose around her face. He leaned against the railing. For a moment, they locked eyes.
“Why are you so angry right now?” she asked, leisurely taking the stairs while he just watched her. He didn’t reply.
“This is the last staircase.” They were on the fifth floor. He walked much slower down the corridor this time.
“Please answer, Riddle,” she asked again. He stopped walking so abruptly she nearly ran into him. He spun around and glared at her.
“If I show you this entrance, will you forgive me? Will you stop ignoring me?”
She opened her mouth… then shut it again. She couldn’t lie to him. He would see right through it. He always did.
“That’s what I thought,” he turned away, “we are almost there.” She glanced around, noticing the statue of Boris the Bewildered with his familiar—bewildered expression as he looked confused as to how his gloves got on the wrong hands.
“Here.” She crashed into him when he stopped in front of a door. He steadied her, his fingers lingering on her hips longer than necessary.
She cleared her throat. “This is the Prefect’s Bathroom,” she said.
“Indeed.” He didn’t bother to ask how she could possibly have known where the Prefect’s Bathroom was.
“Orange Blossom.” The door clicked, and he pushed it open, holding it for her to follow him inside.
“The entrance is in the Prefect’s Bathroom?” she asked, looking around. He didn’t answer her question.
It looked identical to how it would be in fifty years. White marble covered every inch of the bathroom, and a candle chandelier softly lit the space. A massive marble pool sunk into the floor surrounded by hundreds of golden taps with different colored gems decorating each handle. Hermione remembered spending hours playing with their various settings. Making multi-colored bubbles until she was sloshing around in a pool made of rainbows. Natural light peaked through the white linen curtains of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Hermione missed the perks of being a Prefect sometimes. Right now, the pool was empty, and the blond mermaid depicted in the single golden framed painting on the wall flipped her fins and hummed a soft melody that Hermione didn’t recognize. She was watching the mermaid shake out her locks and run her fingers through it.
“The entrance is at the center of the pool,” he said, his voice echoing in the large room. He walked around the edge of the pool and stood at the top of the stairs that descended inside the bath. “Only I can open it.”
“Figured as much.” He raised a brow. She cursed herself for saying that. “I assumed only the heir of Slytherin could access it,” she followed, trying to recover from her blunder.
He hummed in agreement and turned to the pool. The glow from the candles danced through his hair. His pale skin glowed. The way the light hit his face made him look even more attractive.
His eyes narrowed. Harry said he had to pretend there was a live serpent present if he wanted to speak Parseltongue. He couldn’t do it otherwise. Hermione wondered if Tom did the same thing. If he imagined a snake slithering at the bottom of the pool.
He made some hissing and spitting noises in the unfamiliar snake language. Somehow, Hermione doubted he pictured a serpent on the ground. He spoke Parseltongue better than Harry. It came naturally to him.
On cue, a loud crack and rumbling reverberated off the marble walls as the bath split open. A large circular section of the floor rose upward, supported by three marble pillars with carvings of snakes wrapping around them. The process was slow, the sound of stone grinding on stone echoed through the bathroom as the pillars pushed the floor in a spiral direction, stopping after elongating almost eight feet off the ground. Hermione found the entrance. A massive pipe four feet in diameter at the bottom of the pool leading into pitch darkness.
“You don’t seem very surprised.”
“What?” She snapped her eyes back to him, confused. About the chamber? The whole point of all this was to see the chamber. Wasn’t that why they were here?
“That I can speak Parseltongue.”
“Oh—well, Salazar Slytherin was famous for speaking Parseltongue.”
“I’m well aware of this, Hermione.”
“Right, and you’re his heir.”
He studied her with his arms folded. The chamber was open now. She examined the snakes wrapped around the pillars. Carved with such detail, it almost looked like they were moving.
“Does one of the faucets not work?” she asked.
“Around the bath?”
She nodded. She forgot, in her initial search for the Chamber of Secrets, about the hundred taps surrounding the pool in the Prefect’s Bathroom. She had Alastor check the toilets and sinks but it never occurred to her to try the taps.
“The silver one over there, with the green jewel on top.” Hermione walked around the perimeter of the pool and knelt by the tap. On the most shadowed part of the metal, carefully hidden, was an engraving of a snake.
She scowled. If she had been a Prefect she would have found this ages ago.
She stood, straightening her skirts and adjusting her bag on her shoulder. What was she going to do now? Did she jump in there and kill the Basilisk? Perhaps she should go to the village and find a rooster to bring down there with her. That probably be the easiest way to handle this… She hadn’t planned this far. Her focus had been on finding the entrance.
She didn’t have to wait to decide. Tom had his own plans in mind.
“Right, Hermione, here’s what will happen next.” She looked over to see him point his wand at her.
“Expelliarmus,” he said in a lazy, offhanded way. Her wand flew from her pocket. He grabbed it with his free hand.
Her body tensed as he tossed her wand in the empty pool. Her wand clamored on the marble. Out of reach. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get it before he caught her. But the exit was close, six feet behind her.
She turned on her heel and gripped the handle before he spoke. “Don’t worry about the door. I took care of that right after we entered.”
He locked it! Wandless, nonverbal magic. Hermione wanted to scream! Tom would always be one step ahead!
She drew a steadying breath before turning to face him. She stepped closer, unwilling to cower against the door.
“Now, Miss Granger, you are going to answer some questions for me.” He gave her a smile that sent a chill down her spine.
Notes:
Chapter 33 Song: Gilded Lily: Cults. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
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Chapter 34: 34: Hermione's Secret
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A faucet dripped, echoing through the white marble room. The candles from the elegant chandelier flickered off the vaulted ceiling. The mermaid hummed and splashed her tail in the water of her portrait. Hermione turned back to confront Tom, taking a few slow steps towards the pool. She watched him, waiting for him to show her a signal of his next move.
His face appeared hard as stone as he watched her. His expression lacked any trace of softness, making him resemble a sculpted figure rather than a human. Hidden behind a mask of cold indifference.
It terrified her.
Angry Tom she stood up against. If he were belligerent, she fought him. When he was cocky or coy, she threw an argument back at him. But how should she handle this stony, apathetic person before her now?
Hermione swallowed before deciding her best defense was determined bravery. She straightened her spine, calmed her expression, and flipped the curls over her shoulder.
She was unarmed, her wand abandoned in the middle of the pool. The only item on her was her messenger bag, which contained nothing useful. She clung to the strap like a lifeline. It was all she had.
“So tell me,” he said, twirling his wand between his fingers, something she’d seen him do countless times when bored. “How far back in time did you come?”
All the air expelled from her lungs. Her stomach clenched like she might be sick. The room boiled, causing sweat to drip down her temple.
There’s no way he knew!
Her breathing sped up as her pulse raced. She tried to regain control of the situation. Hide her display of panic. She snorted as if the accusation was absurd and rolled her eyes.
“Don’t try to deny it. You are a talented witch, Hermione, but a bloody useless liar.”
She said nothing.
“Not going to answer?” he asked, cocking his head at her with interest.
She remained silent, holding her ground.
“I don’t think you quite understand the predicament I have you in. Do you need a reminder?” he asked, his condescending tone made her want to scream. She clenched her jaw, her lips thinning into a tight line.
“Maybe I’ll give you a little taste of your situation Miss Granger. Perhaps that will make you a bit more compliant.” Hermione disliked the way his lips curled. His deadened eyes, combined with his malevolent grin, sent a haunting chill down her spine.
Her heart stumbled in her chest as it tried to escape. Unfortunately for her, Tom Riddle had her trapped.
He lifted his wand and hissed a spell, spitting the incantation in Parseltongue.
Before she could react, something flew out of the tip of his wand towards her. Dark and long. It landed on the white marble five feet in front of her. A snake. A huge black serpent about eight feet long and coiled up.
Hermione gasped and scrambled back.
“Seems now you might be getting the picture,” Tom said, watching the scene unfold. He still stood at the top of the stairs that descended into the pool.
The snake’s head lifted off the floor, glancing around before its beaded black eyes locked on her. Then it opened its jaws and hissed. A frightening rush of air exiting its mouth.
Bile burned the back of her throat while wave of nausea washed over her. A shudder swept through her body as her eyes remained fixed on the creature. Hermione took a slow step back, putting more space between her and the snake. She couldn’t say how she knew. Call it intuition. She couldn’t claim to be an expert on serpent behavior, but she was certain this snake was primed to attack.
“Riddle,” she hated how her voice warbled his name, revealing her mixed horror and fury. A pressure built on her chest from forgetting to breathe. She inhaled, trying to calm her emotions and regain some semblance of control.
She hated snakes! Why did it have to be a snake?! Ever since she was Petrified, she developed a fear of them that she refused to speak of. She never imagined confronting her fears head on! Damn Tom Riddle! Rotten Parseltongue bastard had to have an affinity with serpents! It couldn’t have been cats or puppies, no, it had to be serpents!
“Yes, Hermione? Were you going to answer my question?” he asked.
She wanted to scream at him, but the serpent hissed, reminding her that Tom wasn’t important right now.
Her back hit the wall. She did not like how long those fangs were. They dripped with something dark. Even its mouth appeared black. Was that possible? Was this a venomous snake or a constrictor? She wasn’t sure how that information would help her in this situation. Either way, venomous or not, the fangs could slice open a major artery or a vital organ.
Her limited knowledge about snakes was of no use at the moment. An angry snake was an angry snake. She had no wand, and she wasn’t about to wrestle with the monster.
It moved towards her, lifting its head further off the ground.
She grabbed her messenger bag, prepared to throw it at the creature. She wrapped the strap around her fist and swung it at the spitting, slithering serpent. The snake’s fast reflexes avoided the toss. She missed. With a gentle thud, the bag slid across the marble floor and halted against the row of taps lining the bath.
Damn!
Hermione didn’t have time to wallow in her useless aim, the snake closed in on her. It would soon be within striking distance. She moved, putting distance between herself and the creature. “Do you always attack people when they’re defenseless, Riddle!” Hermione shouted, furious.
There weren’t many places to go. The door was locked. There were two sinks, a mirror with an expanse of white marble floor and a toilet opposite. Then the edge of the pool, where on one side Tom stood. He appeared to be sauntering around the corner, making his way towards her with easy strides.
“I can’t say I make a habit of it. But I’m more than happy to help you with your little problem if you would answer my question.”
Bloody bastard! She wouldn’t give in! There was too much at stake!
She darted to the sinks and climbed on top of one, knowing it was useless since the snake was so long. “You’re a coward!” She shouldn’t be provoking him, but she was too angry to care.
Instead, she heard his laugh echo through the bathroom, taunting her. “I’m a man who gets what he wants by any means necessary. I might be open to considering an alternative. Beg me. Beg me to save you and I’ll make the snake disappear.”
Her stomach churned at the thought of pleading with him for her life. The serpent slithered the short distance towards her. She watched as its thin black tongue fluttered out of its mouth. It tasted the air, smelled her. Then it opened its jaw wide, menacing.
Why was everything about this snake so dark? Black. Was it to do with the dark magic that Tom used to conjure it? She couldn’t tell the exact spell since he said it in another damn language!
She needed to get her wand, but there was no way that psycho would allow her anywhere near it!
The snake loomed closer. She needed to time this right…
She calmed her breaths and focused on the movements of the snake, then she jumped just as it lunged for her. Hermione grimaced and cried out as she landed awkwardly on her foot, feeling it roll beneath her weight. She fell on her chin. The impact jolted her and brought tears leaking down her face. Her ankle throbbed, but she hardly noticed the pain.
She turned on her back to see the serpent hovering above her. Its dark eyes staring down at her, unblinking. Another threatening hiss escaped its mouth. Hermione choked in alarm. She stared up at death, her body frozen with terror. But she faced death before and somehow survived. She ended up alone in this world. The Muggle-borns of Hogwarts and the future of wizards relied on her to stop Tom Riddle.
The snake struck. Jaws wide with its teeth on full display. It darted with its quick reflexes.
Hermione rolled with a small shriek escaping her throat.
Tom let out a menacing chuckle. She scrambled away. Her hands trembled. Sweat formed on her brow and she flinched at a shifting noise behind her. There was no pain. The creature must have missed. Her heart continued to beat in her chest. Her ankle throbbed, but she ignored the insignificant ache as a flood of relief drowned her. She would live a minute longer, for whatever that was worth.
Hermione tried to ignore the rush of dizziness, focusing on her breathing as she pushed onto her hands and knees. Her plan was to escape to the other side of the room. That was when she saw the head of a snake pass right through her torso.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom stared at her. His witch was shaken and terrified on the floor. She genuinely thought he would’ve attacked her? How? After everything, how could she have honestly believed that?
The shadow continued its ministrations, darting strikes at her but passing through her body. She figured out the truth. She sat up and glared at him, climbing awkwardly to her feet. “Are you bloody kidding me, Riddle!” She seethed. His little lion wasn’t so little anymore. She stood tall and proud, a lioness ready for battle.
He waved his wand and the billowing serpent formed from condensed shadows vanished. Somehow, that pissed her off more. “Just a test. One which you failed, by the way.”
“Excuse me?!” she shrieked. Hermione didn’t take kindly to failing a test of any type. “You conjured a snake to attack me! What was I supposed to do?!”
“I gave you two options, answer or beg.” He shrugged.
“So you’re saying if I would have answered your question or begged for help, then I would have passed your pointless trial?!”
“I didn’t say that.” He would have considered both outcomes failures, but he would have fulfilled his promise and removed the snake.
She blinked at him, bristling with more rage than he’d ever seen from her. “You know what? I don’t even care! You’re mental! I’m done with this, and I’m done with you!” She turned her back on him and stormed towards the door. He trailed behind her, maintaining the distance between them. He didn’t miss the way she favored one foot over the other. He grimaced at the sight but didn’t let her see his dismay, replacing his mask before she noticed anything out of place.
She couldn’t leave. She knew this, but she tried anyway. “DAMMIT!”
Tom folded his arms and watched the little lion roar.
She spun around, taking a few steps towards him, keeping her head held high. Bravery emanated from her. Sparks of anger fueled her. “What do you want from me, Riddle?!” Her hands clenched into fists. If she came any closer, she might try to punch him and break his nose, too.
He strolled to position himself in front of the pool, hands clasped behind him, before turning to face her. He kept his posture relaxed. She glared at him skeptically, waiting for him to make his next move.
“I’ll ask again, how far back in time did you come?”
“You know nothing. Stop trying to bait me,” she sneered.
Tom shook his head. “Bait you? Oh, Hermione, you give yourself too much credit. I don’t need to bait you. You followed me here willingly. I have you hooked, trapped, and cornered. I’m not in any hurry to go anywhere. We can stay here as long as it takes. I will uncover your secrets.” He took a step closer with his arms folded and his best arrogant smile displayed.
A faint blush pinked her lovely cheeks. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but it doesn’t mean you know the first thing about me, my life, or what I’ve been through.” Now she stepped towards him, closing the gap between them on her own terms. She narrowed her eyes in challenge. Her caramel irises gleamed. He loved it when she got fired up like this. Six feet of white marble floor separated them.
“Would you like to play more games, Hermione?” He said, his lip twitching.
“I’m not scared of you, Riddle.” Lies. Because when he sent the snake after her, he could practically taste her fear. It permeated the air. She was bloody terrified.
He humored her. “Is that so?”
She didn’t answer.
“Are you not afraid of what I might do to you while you’re trapped in this room?” He asked. “I think you already aware of exactly what monster lives within the pipes.” He nodded towards the chamber’s entrance. She flinched. “Do you realize the extent of what I am capable of, Hermione?” He pulled out his wand. “I hope I’ve made it clear by now that I won’t hesitate to use my skills.” He ran a finger down the length of his wand. A small smirk played on his lips as he toyed with his witch. It felt like foreplay. At least, that’s what his cock thought this was. He wanted her so bad. The intensity of her gaze fueled his desire for her. He craved the fire of her raw fury. He’d never seen anything so erotic.
He gripped his wand and dropped it to his side. He would get answers first. Then he would deal with his aching cock.
“Fuck you, Riddle.” He had never heard such profanity pass through her lips. Merlin, he was so hard. “You and I both know you won’t call your Basilisk on me. You want something from me! Why else would you set up this dramatic little scene of yours?”
“I confess, I do want something from you,” he sighed. He stepped towards her and returned to twirling his wand. “I want to learn all of your secrets and why you hid them. I want to discover how deep your magic runs and draw it out of you.” His eyes flashed with something sinister. “I want to fuck you until you can’t think of anything else but me when you scream my name. I want to see my come dripping from your pretty cunt after I’ve fucked you so hard and deep you will feel my presence everywhere for days. I want to own you. Control the air you breathe. I want your entire body, mind, heart, and bloody soul to be mine.”
Her face lost all color. She closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths. He watched her. She unclenched her fists. “I know if you really wished to, you could force me. Take a lot of those things without my consent, without giving me a choice.” She said. He could. And he’d considered doing this before. Although it wasn’t his preferred method, he would settle for it if it became the only way he could have her. “But understand this: you would never have my heart or soul. Only the shell of a girl. You will never have the real me.”
The wand in his hand stopped moving. He stared at her as her words sank in. The emotionless expression on his face became malevolent and unyielding. His lip curled.
It wasn’t enough for him! He wanted it all! Every piece of her! All of her! But he knew she was right. He would destroy and ruin her. Turn her into something empty.
“That makes you angry, doesn’t it? Knowing you will never have it all. That you are incapable of it,” she said.
“Stop pretending like you know me! You don’t understand anything about me, Granger!” Tom hissed.
“On the contrary. Aren’t you the one who claimed I’m from the future? Clearly, you must think I know something about you.” He can’t let her make him forget the purpose of being here.
“So how far back did you come, Hermione? I imagine we are looking at the order of years since nobody recognized you,” he said, trying to steer the conversation to the prior topic. He worked to replace his mask. Eventually, he would possess all of her, but he’d address that issue later.
She grimaced as she tried to make her face impassive.
No response? He’d work with that.
“Five years?” He knew it had to be over five years. She would have started Hogwarts already if she traveled back five years. But he would start her off easy; let the anticipation shake her as he got closer to the real number.
“Ten years?” Her expression didn’t falter.
“Fifteen years?” Nothing. He pondered about the time-traveling device capable of taking someone so far back. To his knowledge, time turners had restrictions on how far they could go. The amount of Sands of Time that would have had to be mined would be outrageous. The cost alone...
“Twenty years?” He took a threatening step closer now. Closing the gap. This time, Hermione was losing the fight. She shuffled backwards. Her gaze flicked to his feet.
“Twenty-five years?” He asked. Her lips thinned. Her eyes darted to his wand as he slipped it into his pocket.
“Thirty years?” He kept the surprise out of his voice. He hadn’t imagined the number of years would climb so high. With each question, he took another step.
“Forty years?” she moved backwards. The wall was getting close. She would have nowhere else to go soon. She gave nothing away. The rise and fall of her chest was even. Her expression, hard.
“Fifty years?” The shuffling stopped. Her breathing faltered. If he had been any less attentive, he would have missed the signs.
Too still, my lioness… She really was a useless liar.
“Fifty years…” It was much further than he thought. “You are a long way from home, aren’t you?” She recoiled, but said nothing. “I’m honestly surprised that you would come so far back in the past, Miss Granger. You will most certainly wreak havoc on the timeline. Your presence here alone can cause so many future events to not happen.”
Her expression darkened, and he smiled deviously. “Some of your friends may never be born. Perhaps you won’t be born. Yet here you are, interfering with the past like you have some kind of right.” The flush on her cheeks spread down her neck. Magic sizzled in the air between them. She was so close to breaking. He needed to crack her open and spill out everything she kept hidden inside. Just a little more…
“Do you enjoy having power over the past and future? Spouting off your knowledge like you earned it when you cheated your way here. I expected you, of all people, would know better than to tamper with the timeline. Or were you not aware of the rules of time travel? Perhaps I should enlighten you if you are just uninformed—”
“I’m not messing with the timeline!” She shouted at him.
He cracked her.
“Then why all the interest in paradoxes back in November?” She seemed surprised that he knew about her reading habits. Did she not notice him watching her from the moment school started? Didn’t she see him searching for her in every room? “Though it wasn’t only time travel, you were interested in. What was it? Oh yes, ‘Parallel worlds can be created when time travel is used to transform a future.’” Tom quoted from a book he saw Hermione read all those months ago. He checked out a lot of books after she finished with them. “Is that where you came from, then? A parallel world?”
“How do you know about that?” She did a poor job at hiding the surprise on her face. She looked impressed, even. Tom did not come into this unprepared.
“You saw me watching you in the library. Do you think I only observed? I read every tome you took a special interest in.” She pressed her back against the wall, but he kept a safe three feet between them. She had nowhere else to go.
“Why?”
“Because there was always something off about you, Granger. I was going to piece together exactly what that was.” He loomed over her, but she didn’t cower in front of him like many of the Slytherins would. By now, a Slytherin would be in tears, wetting themselves in fear. Hermione was made of stronger stuff than that. He may have cracked her shell, but he needed to pry it apart to reach the inner core he craved.
“So next question I have—”
“No, Riddle, I think I get a question,” she grinned. He raised a brow at her sudden bout of confidence. “How much do your friends really know about you? For instance—” she stepped closer to him, moving away from the wall. A glint crossed her eye. Two feet of air separated them. Tom wanted to grab her and shove her against the wall again. He wanted to press his body against hers...
“Do they know you were raised in a Muggle orphanage?” She whispered. “Do they know you’re half-blood?”
His eyes darkened like storm clouds. A sink dripped beside them. It had been dripping the entire time. Why had nobody fixed the bloody faucet?
“What do you know?” What the hell could she know about him? Was he successful in his quest for power so she came here to stop him? This is a parallel world, though. That wouldn’t line up. Killing him wouldn’t change who he was in her version of the future. That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be aware of what he might do. What he is. What he would become.
“I know quite a lot, Tom. You’ve seen me in class. They don’t call me the brightest witch of the age for no reason.” She stepped back against the wall again, crossing her arms over her chest with a smug grin.
“Don’t be coy, Granger! What do you know?!” His hand twitched, itching to grab his wand. He resisted the temptation.
“Why would I tell you? So you can turn around and use it against me?” She spat. He seethed. He stepped closer. A foot of air between them now. He inhaled the sweet aroma of apples in her hair. He saw the faint moisture on her lower lip where she chewed it. He drank in every long lash and every small freckle on her cheeks.
“Why are you here, Hermione?” He whispered. Having her so close. Smelling her, seeing her. It calmed him. She met his gaze and the dark look washed away, being replaced by something vulnerable. His hand… he wanted to touch her.
“I don’t know…” she said. Silence. In that moment, even the humming mermaid and the dripping faucet fell silent. His palm found her cheek. His fingers stroked down the curve of her jaw to her chin, feeling her soft skin. Tears glisten in her eyes.
“Do you... do you want,” He swallowed hard, the words left a heavy film on his tongue, “are you going to leave?”
Please, no…
He was searching for the answer in her caramel irises. Flecks of gold gleamed back at him. He didn’t find it, instead he saw her there. It was all he could see, all he ever wanted to see.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione wasn’t sure who moved first. It didn’t matter. Their lips collided, igniting a passionate fire that consumed her senses. He pushed her back flush against the wall. Their hips connected. A sense of desperation washed over her, causing her heart to race. She wanted to feel every inch of him. They’d been fanning this flame between them for weeks. It felt so good to let it roam free.
She opened her mouth for him, and he dove in. His soft tongue caressed hers. It pressed and licked between her lips. Teeth clashed. They moaned. Touched. His hand grabbed the backs of her thighs, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, letting her skirt fall open. His erection rubbed against her at this angle.
“Don’t leave…” he said as he nipped at a spot on her neck that made her groan.
Hermione needed to touch more of him. She started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her hands trembled. She couldn’t get the fine movement. Frustrated, she tugged the fabric until the buttons gave way and clattered to the ground.
He tossed the shirt aside. They’d use magic and repair the clothes later. “Don’t go.” He said against her skin. She unwrapped her leg from around his hip, letting her toes touch the ground as he yanked her blouse free from her skirt. She grabbed the hem and, together, they removed the fabric between them.
She couldn’t control the desperate mewl that escaped her throat when his hands pressed beneath her thin silk bra and palmed her breast. He moved the barrier aside to replace his fingers with his lips.
“Oh, Merlin!”
“Will you stay?”
“I—I…”
He suckled. She threw her head back.
His hands and tongue. She ran her nails along his scalp.
She moaned as he sucked harder. The sound echoed off the walls. He was going to eat her alive. Grab on to every inch of her. It had been weeks since he last touched her. Did it always feel this good?
Her legs wobbled. She wouldn’t be able to stay standing much longer.
Her mind emptied as he continued to ravish her breasts with his lips and tongue. His hands moved over her body with a desperation that was almost overwhelming. She felt the heat building inside her, a primal urge that threatened to engulf both of them. She hoped it wouldn’t burn her. He burned her too many times before.
Tom caught her around the waist as her legs gave out. Together, they dropped to the cool marble floor. He hovered over her, his wild eyes searched her face, pupils blown wide. His chest rose and fell with each panting breath he took, brushing against her own.
“Damn,” he muttered before he descended on her, crashing his lips to hers. Every nip, every kiss sent shivers down her spine and made her gasp for air. Fire and ice licked across her body everywhere he touched. Raw, unbridled passion coursed through her veins.
Where had this come from? It was like she opened the curtains after weeks of being in the dark.
“Please, Hermione.” What was he begging for? She couldn’t recall as his lips trailed south. They brushed over her stomach, and she arched her back with a cry. He ran his tongue down her scar, sending electric shocks of delicious pain coursing through her. She always found the scar hideous, but with the attention he gave it, she almost felt beautiful.
“My gorgeous girl.” He tugged at her skirt and started dragging the hem down her legs along with her tights. She kicked off her shoes, her instincts taking over. She lay there in her knickers and in a bra pushed up over her breasts. He took a moment to look at her before lowering back down and finding her mouth. His hands parted her thighs, coming so close to where she wished he would touch her.
“Tom…” His hands stroked up and down her thighs as he kissed her deeply.
“Answer me,” he said. Despite the softness of his voice, Hermione heard the command in his tone. She couldn’t remember what he asked. His kiss was languid as he continued to tease her skin with the tip of his finger. Not giving her what she really wanted—needed.
“I—what?” her words cut off with a gasp when he nipped at her sensitive neck. His favorite spot. He groaned and sucked hard. She would be covered in bruises tomorrow. His fingers played over her soaking knickers, but moved before she could get any relief.
“Tom!” she moaned.
“Will you stay?” he asked. That jolted her mind back to their previous discussion. He looked down over her, his pupils dilated, full of lust and wanting. He dropped his arm next to her head, using his fingers to push a stray curl away from her face as he studied her. Where his expression was hard and angrier earlier, it was now soft and affectionate.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’s possible to go back.” She could tell that wasn’t the answer he wanted. He frowned, his brow furrowed, and jaw clenched. Before they lost the moment, she grabbed him and kissed him again.
He relaxed into her. His palm flattened on the backs of her thighs and slid over the curve of her bottom, giving a gentle squeeze. She flushed.
“More.” She panted against his lips. “Give me more, Tom. Please.”
“Anything, Hermione!” He groaned, stroking up her body, until he reached her nipples and circled them.
“I—ahhh!” she gasped as he pinched and released again.
“Such a good girl, you respond so well for me.” His other hand traveled down her torso and slid between her legs. She moaned as his fingers found the spot she desired.
She whimpered.
“So ready and waiting. Was this what you wanted?” he asked.
She couldn’t form coherent words as he pushed her knickers aside and circled her clit. So she nodded frantically.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me what you want.”
“More,” was the only word she could manage.
“Hmm... as you wish.” he bent to kiss the top curve of her breasts. He moved his way down, kissing along her scar, dipping his tongue into her navel, biting a sensitive spot on her hip. His hands found her center and tugged her knickers down her legs.
“Damn, you’re gorgeous.” He shoved her thighs wider apart with his hands before pressing his lips to the skin on her inner thigh. She gasped when his tongue moved higher.
“Tom, what—”
“My exquisite witch.”
She didn’t realize what he intended to do until his lips found her clit, catching her off guard. She felt nothing like it before. The sensation was too much to handle. She stood on the edge of a precipice, about to explode as he sucked and licked. He dipped a finger inside her and curled, finding a spot that drove her crazy. Her back arched, her hands found his hair. Her eyes closed, reveling in the mind-numbing sensation.
It felt incredible.
“Bloody perfect,” he murmured before continuing the torture.
“Don’t stop!”
His tongue flicked her clit over and over until her toes curled, and she gasped for breath.
“Oh! Fuck!”
“Mmm, such filthy words from that mouth today.” He removed his finger from inside her and she whimpered in his absence.
“No, Tom, please!”
“Hold on, my lioness,” he turned his head to kiss her inner thigh before he licked her from her entrance to her clit and dipped his tongue inside her. She was going to lose her mind. She started circling and lifting her hips with her moans. He held them down.
“Mine.” He pressed two fingers inside as his mouth found her clit again. Thrusting. The sensation was unreal. Electrifying. Her legs shook and she could hardly draw air into her lungs. When she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he intensified his movements.
“Ahhh!”
Her muscles tensed, coiling like a spring ready to snap. And then, with a last burst, her entire body went rigid before she exploded. Her body convulsed with the rush of bliss.
“TOM!” she cried out through her climax.
He didn’t stop. He kept ravishing her until she came down from her intense orgasm, and still didn’t relent.
He was going to kill her at this rate. He sucked her harder. Her clit was almost painfully sensitive, but he wouldn’t cease.
“So beautiful, I’ll never tire of watching you come.” He ate her like it was his last meal. His fingers inside her filled her, and she whimpered. She couldn’t differentiate between pleasure and pain anymore.
“You taste so fucking sweet. I want to sink my teeth into every inch of you,” he said. He bit down lightly on her clit, causing a shock to burst through her skin. She choked, screamed, sobbed as she came again. Her core pulsed around his fingers as a flood of fluid flowed from her.
Hermione went limp. Her eyes shut as she tried to catch her breath. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room as he pulled his fingers out of her. Her body was sore, and she felt hollow. Cold in the places where he touched her before. He kissed her inner thigh, his lips soft and warm against her flesh.
A wave of numbness swept through her.
She barely registered the rustle of clothing.
Part of her couldn’t believe this happened, but she also wanted it to happen.
He pressed her thighs wider with a bruising grip.
She gasped.
Then she felt it. Something hard running along her soaking core.
Her eyes flew open as panic stirred inside her. “Wait!”
He held his cock and kept her legs open with his other hand. He looked feral, like he wasn’t living on this plane anymore. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight. He gave his erection a tug.
“Stop!” She didn’t want it like this! They were supposed to be fighting. He betrayed her! He could never be the sort of man she needed!
She felt the pressure of his cock against her swollen flesh.
“Tom!” She didn’t want this! Tears filled her eyes. Would he do this? Go this far? He gave no sign that he heard her.
He ran his erection along her core, coating himself with her juices.
“Tom, stop!” She rolled away.
He froze. She sobbed. Her shoulders shook violently, and her entire frame trembled. She tasted the salt from her tears as she curled into a ball on her side.
“Hermione?” he questioned. She couldn’t look at him. She wanted to conceal herself, hide her body. Everything around her crumbled.
“Hermione!” He draped something over her, covering her nudity. She smelled the cedar wood and peppermint on the fabric. His shirt. She clung to it and covered herself as if it were a blanket.
“Hermione, don’t cry…” he kneeled next to her. She kept her face buried in her knees. Her curls draped around her like a hood, providing an extra layer of concealment.
He swept her hair aside to see her expression. Tears streamed down her cheeks, which he wiped away with the pad of his finger. “Hermione… please don’t cry…” Despite everything that’s happened, her tension dissipated with his soothing touches.
He curled up next to her, pulling her against his chest. He stroked her hair and muttered comforting words. The tears wouldn’t stop, but she didn’t fight him.
“I’m sorry, Hermione… I’m so sorry.” His lips moved against her curls. She doubted he had any idea what he was apologizing for.
“I trusted you, Tom,” she said through choking sobs. “I thought you would be different. I thought I could believe in you.” His body went rigid. “But you... you. I knew what you were!”
Her chest hurt. Her heart ached. She took a deep breath, but the only thing that filled her lungs was the scent of cedar and peppermint. The smell brought more memories to the forefront of her mind. It burned and made the tears fall harder.
“I wanted so badly. I wanted you to care. But you can’t. You will never care. You’re not capable of caring.”
She wanted him. She wanted what they had. When she was with him, she felt alive. She may not belong in this world, but with him, she finally felt whole. He filled the void inside her. They could never go back. Not anymore.
“I hate it. I hate it. You... I thought... you can’t be that person. You aren’t. Yet I can’t move on.” She sniffed. Her face stiffened where her tears dried.
Time stood still as they remained locked in that embrace. Tom held her. Both of them curled up together on the white marble of the Prefect’s Bathroom. The mermaid hummed. The faucet dripped. Hermione’s chest rose and fell against his and occasionally he would brush his lips against the crown of her head.
After a while, he broke the silence. “You’re wrong.” He squeezed her tighter. His voice dropped to a whisper, so not even the mermaid heard them. “I care about you, Hermione… it feels like you’re the only thing I care about anymore…” Tom ran his fingers along her spine in a soft caress.
“Why Tom?” Why did he open the chamber? Why did he want power? Why did he lock her in the bathroom with him? She questioned everything she knew about him.
“I want you,” he said. “I need you.” Her eyes closed, feeling him against her. This would be the last time. She couldn’t do this anymore. She was being pulled apart bit by bit. But right then, she wanted to experience the now with all of her senses. Feel his warmth, smell his skin, and listen to his voice.
Neither of them moved. Hermione took time to gather her thoughts. She was done crying for him. She had no further tears left to shed on his behalf. It didn’t matter if Tom Riddle really cared about her or not. They had no future.
There was one last thing she needed to know.
“How was I supposed to pass your test, Tom?” she asked.
He scoffed before pulling her impossibly closer. “How could you believe I would ever hurt you? I promised you I would keep you safe. That I would protect you.” He said as if the notion was utterly ridiculous. He tucked her into his chest, under his chin.
She recalled him saying something like that. It was all those months ago on the couch in the Gryffindor common room the night he discovered her scar. Told her it was important that she understood what it meant to be with him. She believed him.
“It didn’t seem relevant anymore.” She engraved his warmth into her memory before pulling back to look at his face. He looked confused.
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head and pushed away from him, standing up and making sure the shirt covered her. “You already hurt me, Tom.”
She gathered her clothes and dressed as she started towards the pool. Tom sat up and watched her from his perch on the other side of the expansive bathroom.
“Hermione,” Tom called. She glanced over at him as she picked up her wand off the bottom of the empty pool, where he tossed it next to the open chamber. “How did you know about the chamber… about the Basilisk?” She looked at him for a long second before closing her eyes and breathing deep. Her hand clenched around her wand and without a word, she walked towards the door. Towards her exit out of here. She would leave him, and this would be it between them.
“Alohomora,” she muttered, and the lock clicked open. He made no move to stop her. She paused with her hand resting on the handle.
He already knew everything else. Perhaps he should understand how personal this was for her. How deep her scars went.
“The Chamber of Secrets was opened when I was at Hogwarts,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him when she spoke. “I was Petrified for three weeks.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Notes:
Chapter 34 Song: Mind Games: Sickick. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Snake scene took inspiration from the fabulous tomione fanfic, Gryffindor Red by foolishlywandwaving
I posted some previews and some other fun things on my socials! Follow if you want to see them!
I made an instagram! Come follow me so I don't feel like such a loser with no friends!
I read another fic where the author said "comments are my tip jar" - I love that! I agree!
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 35: 35: Peace Offering
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione woke screaming that night. Something gripped her mind, twisting her into a pit of darkness. Her side burned, her body contorted. Her vision blurred. Tears streamed down her face. She tasted the saltiness on her lips. She struggled to breathe. The reality around her waxed and waned.
It’s occurred before. In fact, this happens at least twice a week these days.
Hermione had to take her potion. She tried to move, but agony filled her entire being. She was being sucked into it. There wouldn’t be a way out. She needed the potion!
She was incapable of moving. She spun. The world moved around her while she lay frozen in place. Nothing made sense anymore. She found it impossible to get air in her lungs.
You abandoned them, witch. You left all your friends behind.
“Hermione?” Gussie pulled back the curtains surrounding her four-poster, but she couldn’t see her face. She couldn’t see anything. The hallucinations. Nightmares. Voices in her head. She cried. It hurt.
Her spine stiffened as a spasm of pain overcame her. It was too much. She tried to cry out, but her vocal cord closed, only allowing her to make this high-pitched screeching noise.
They died in the Department of Mysteries. Every single one of them. Dead. You should have died with them.
“What’s going on?” someone asked. Hermione recognized Sonya’s voice, their roommate.
“Sonya, go get Dumbledore!” There was movement and a door shutting.
They would resent you for living.
They would never hate her because she survived. They would be happy for her. She would be overjoyed if they lived, even if she didn’t. Despite the possibility of never seeing them again, believing in their survival brought her solace. She had to believe they were out there fighting the war.
Sweat coated Hermione’s skin, soaking through her clothes as she trembled in bed. Gussie pulled off her blankets and cast a cooling charm, but it didn’t help. It made the shaking worse as water poured from her body. The loss of fluid caused her muscles to cramp. She moaned.
Hermione heard Gussie working to prepare the potion. She tried to focus on her breathing but struggled not to scream. A wasted effort. She sobbed. Curling up on herself. Her body burned.
You don’t belong here. Nobody wants you.
It wasn’t true. That couldn’t be true. Because she found friends here. She created a place for herself. This was her life now. She had nowhere else to go.
“Hang on Hermione! Drink this!” Gussie helped Hermione sit up. The motion made her cry out, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of the potion slipping down her throat. It burned like acid as if something pierced her from the inside, causing her to writhe in agony. Every nerve in her body shot up in flames. The torment had her trapped.
Her screams grew louder. The anguish intensified. Gussie spoke, but Hermione couldn’t make out words anymore. Her inner dialog overshadowed them.
Do you feel that pain? You deserve it.
The taste of iron filled her mouth. She wretched and expelled all the contents of her stomach.
Blood. So much blood. Nobody could survive this. Part of her didn’t want to survive this. She couldn’t go on like this.
You deserve it.
Maybe the voice was right. It was a relief when she finally blacked out.
・・・・ ★ ･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ* ･ ★ ・・・・
After Hermione walked out of the Prefect’s Bathroom, Tom remained on the floor, trying to gather his thoughts. The entrance to the chamber closed on its own. He watched the columns disappear in the pool’s ground.
Petrified for three weeks… that would mean she’s Muggle-born. Abraxas would lose his shit if he found out. No one needed to know. Smart, dedicated witch. She shined brighter than any pure-blood. It intensified his yearning for her.
She was a treasure. His prized possession.
He also couldn’t shake the idea that in her reality, fifty years in the future, someone who spoke Parseltongue would come to Hogwarts. Did that mean he had children? What sort of witch caught his attention without Hermione around? Or did he plan something else? A way to keep his control at the school? Perhaps he became a professor or found an alternative way to establish permanent roots here. It seemed more plausible than him reproducing like a typical family man.
He found the thought distasteful.
But then he thought of Hermione, with a baby in her arms. He pictured a little boy with black hair and his mother’s caramel eyes running through the halls of Hogwarts. Perhaps a girl with her mother’s wild curls and his dark hair...
He wanted to meet those children. Would they be as brave and intelligent as their mother? Would they be in Gryffindor, too? Tom couldn’t imagine any direct descendants of Slytherin being in Gryffindor.
Would she stay? He needed her to stay.
Someone Petrified her. She had been attacked by himself or one of his descendants...
He dropped his head in his hands.
She knew about everything the entire time. It was no wonder she hated him as soon as she heard his name. Why she kept her distance and resisted him for so long. But then she gave in to their mutual attraction in spite of that. She thought things could be different. She believed he changed... then he opened the Chamber of Secrets anyway.
He had changed! Things were different now! But she didn’t see it that way. This hit her on a deeper, personal level. She had been Petrified by the very monster he unleashed.
His head spun. There was a throbbing in his temples.
“Tom?”
Tom looked over to see Alastor Moody staring at him. He wondered how long he had sat there? The mermaid continued to show off her bright tail with enthusiasm. He saw the sun setting through the window.
“I was going to take a bath,” Moody said, holding up the clothes and soaps he carried.
Right... This was the Prefect’s Bathroom. Tom remained with his shirt off and trousers unbuttoned on the floor.
He cleared his throat. “Sure, I’ll leave.”
Once he righted himself, he headed for the door, but Moody didn’t move to let Tom pass.
“You and Hermione missed Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
Tom stayed quiet.
“She showed up in the common room in tears.”
Tom didn’t want to hear about Hermione crying. Moody looked determined to say something. He didn’t budge from his position. There was an intensity in his expression.
When Moody said nothing, Tom tried to move around him.
“Reinhardt. Does he care about Julia?” Tom paused. Moody kept his face stoic, but his body tensed. Why was he asking about them?
Tom considered ignoring the pointless question, but decided he should play nice with her friends if he wanted to win her back.
“I doubt it.” He was with Julia because Tom ordered it. He watched Moody for a shift in his expression. His apprehension didn’t relent. He averted his gaze.
“I’m going to take a bath now.”
Tom left without comment.
***
Tom considered his encounter with Hermione in the bathroom. He imagined things must have improved between them. She confessed she desired him, after all. She told him she cared about him. He held her on the floor while she cried, and she let him. Didn’t that mean they fixed whatever had broken between them? He wasn’t sure what the status of their relationship was. He suspected that something still spoiled the air between them.
He didn’t know what to do next. Should he pretend they were back to normal? Walk up to her in the Great Hall, kiss her cheek, and sit with her at the Gryffindor table? He desperately wanted to end the separation…
Dammit!
Tom prided himself on always being certain of his next move. He planned everything out. He couldn’t handle the lack of control this witch brought into his life, but it didn’t matter. He would do whatever it took to keep her.
The weekend passed in a blur. Tom mostly isolated himself to the dorms and the Slytherin common room, trying to think through the influx of information. He glanced at the Gryffindor table during meals, but he never caught sight of her or her friends. He ate and retreated to the dungeons.
What if things weren’t fine? What if she pushed him away? Maybe the reason he hadn’t seen her was because she was still avoiding him…
Damnit!
He needed to be sure! He had to convince her she was the axis his world rotated on. Hermione never cared about material things. Even with unlimited galleons, nothing he purchased would be enough. This called for a gesture… baking cookies with house-elves wasn’t the answer…
He stared at the common room fire in a daze, trying to pull together an idea. Something grand but subtle that only he could give her. Perfect and special for his witch.
It was ten o’clock on Sunday when Reinhardt plopped in the cushioned chair next to him, throwing his bag on the floor. Tom watched with vague interest.
Why would Moody ask about Reinhardt and Julia? He wondered if it had anything to do with Moody’s abrupt changes in behavior since classes restarted. Tom didn’t know the guy well enough to notice, but Hermione mentioned it on several occasions. She expressed frequent anxiety over her friend’s wellbeing, something Tom never understood.
Maybe it was Julia? The girl was popular and considered pretty by most boys, with her golden waves and big blue eyes. But it never bothered Moody when Julia dated Alfred during the first half of the year. What irritated him now?
Tom watched Reinhardt run his hand through his disheveled shoulder-length hair. Dark circles lurked under his tired eyes, reflecting his weary state. He pulled out a book and a couple of scrolls filled with hastily written notes.
Even Reinhardt grew more distressed since the new term began. Tom noticed, but he ignored the issue. Hermione was more important, particularly now that she was slipping through his fingers. However, when he examined his sole friend, he acknowledged the boy looked like absolute shite.
Could it be Reinhardt?
Tom squinted at him as if seeing him in a new light. It would make sense. There was something about Reinhardt these days. Last year his family pushed the match with Julia Brown, so he broke up with her. He never dated other girls. Neither did Alastor Moody for that matter. Reinhardt was clearly uncomfortable with whatever relationship he and Julia developed. In fact, if Tom stopped to consider recent events, Reinhardt was miserable.
Then there were all the interactions between Reinhardt and Alastor Moody that he ignored. They made excuses to leave when the other showed in the library. They walked in the opposite direction when they encountered each other in the halls. Reinhardt looked like he was about to be sick when Tom ordered him to talk to Moody in Potion’s Class.
Could Reinhardt Lestrange be gay?
Tom continued watching his friend as he shifted through scrolls of notes. It seemed so obvious now. The animosity he thought he saw between Reinhardt and Moody wasn’t that. They were hiding something. They shared a secret. Guarded a romance that they never intended to reveal to the world. Tom’s intense focus on his relationship with Hermione Granger prevented him from recognizing the events unfolding right under his nose.
“You’re staring at me, Tom,” Reinhardt said, peeking up at him.
“Ran into Alastor Moody in the Prefects’ Bathroom,” Tom said casually.
Reinhardt’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Really? Ok then.”
“He asked about you.”
Reinhardt blanched. “I—I see.”
“Would you like to know what he asked?”
“If you want to tell me, I... uh I wouldn’t stop you or anything.” Reinhardt wasn’t looking at him. He stared at the crackling fireplace.
“He wanted to know if you cared about Julia Brown. Funny that he would ask that. Why would Alastor Moody care about you and Julia’s relationship?”
Reinhardt’s eyes lingered on the flames, as if considering the drastic option of throwing himself into the fire to avoid the impending discussion. “I don’t know.”
Silence passed with the noise of the crackling fireplace filling the room. A grin formed on Tom’s face. Reinhardt was lying. He’d been watching him for almost six years now. He knew all his mannerisms and quirks. “Shame,” he said, “thought you might have an idea.”
Reinhardt’s eyes widened. His posture stiffened. Tom wondered if he was even breathing. Then his chest expanded. The air moved in and out of his lungs at a rapid rate. Panic overtook him. “Oh, fuck,” Reinhardt muttered. He dropped his head into his hands. The scrolls in his lap scattered to the floor. The common room was empty. No one to overhear this conversation.
“Something come to mind?” Tom asked with a raised brow.
“Are you going to tell?” Reinhardt choked the words out.
Tom frowned. Reinhardt understood the extent of Tom’s determination to reach his goals. It would be easy to hold this over his friend as leverage. Blackmail him with his biggest secret. If it were anyone else, Tom may have done that. Ensure the boy’s compliance and cooperation in the future. But he always had a soft spot when it came to Reinhardt.
“No,” Tom said with a casual shrug. “I won’t tell.”
“Really?”
“Your secret’s safe, Reinhardt.” Is this what it meant to have an actual friend? Sharing secrets and promising to keep them for no other reason than out of mutual respect? Tom never had that before.
The boy slouched back in his chair as if he’d been Stupefied. Eyes closed and body slack. “My family would kill me…” he muttered.
The wizarding world did not accept homosexuality. To make matters more complicated, Reinhardt was a product of the prominent Lestrange house. He had a duty to marry a pure-blood witch and have pure-blood children. Any other outcome would be unacceptable. Even if he did care for Alastor Moody, as Tom suspected he might, they’d never have a future together.
A real pity, honestly. Tom liked Reinhardt more when he wasn’t moping around like this.
“Probably,” Tom agreed. Why did it take Tom so long to figure this out? It made so much sense!
Reinhardt grimaced.
“You won’t tell?”
“I won’t.”
“Not even Abraxas or Norris?”
“I already told you I’m not telling anyone. Stop asking me about it, Lestrange!” Tom snapped.
To Tom’s surprise, Reinhardt chuckled at that. His gaze softened when he looked at Tom again. “Thanks Tom.”
***
Classes started the next morning, and Tom wrapped his peace offering in a grubby cloth before shoving it in his bag. He had a lot riding on this. Everything. If she hadn’t forgiven him, and this failed, nothing would work.
He felt hopeful. He would find her after breakfast and give it to her in private. Then kiss her. Things would be clear. He would have his witch.
But she wasn’t at breakfast. Nor was she at any other meal on Monday. He watched her friends talk amongst themselves. The seat next to Augusta Crouch remained empty where Hermione should have been. Her absence caused a deep, unsettling darkness to grow within him. Even looking at her eased his mind. Now that was taken away from him.
He pretended to be patient. When he packed his bag on Tuesday, he counted on seeing her in Arithmancy, if nothing else. But then, when she didn’t show up for class, something in him snapped.
Why would she avoid him again?! Things were supposed to be better between them!
He refused to play this game. Not anymore! Hermione wanted him and cared about him! She admitted it! Why would she continue to deny this attraction between them? The gut-wrenching pull was so intense that it felt like his insides were being shredded. He needed her! How could she dangle herself in front of him and remain out of reach?! He wouldn’t stand for it! Nor would he wait for her to come to him. He endured two weeks of agony, subjecting himself to a self-infected torment, only for her to create an illusion that they repaired their relationship. She betrayed him.
He was done with waiting.
Tom Riddle ran out of patience.
“Where is she, Crouch?” He caught Augusta Crouch as she left the Great Hall after dinner.
Tom spent the rest of the day escalating. Hermione vanished. He spiraled. Did she find a way back to her own time? It was unlikely, but as soon as the thought entered his head, he couldn’t release the dreaded sensation that he may never see her again. Her smile. Her wild curls. He lived for all of it. She couldn’t leave. He would never allow it. He needed her to stay. Damnit! He already begged her like a pathetic pratt!
He refocused on Gussie, who scowled at him. “Hello, Tom, nice to see you.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm that he wanted to strangle out of her. Instead, he did the dignified thing and dragged her down a deserted side corridor.
“Don’t fuck with me, Crouch. I’m in no mood.” His voice came out frigid and threatening. Any Slytherin would have pissed themselves. Gussie looked vaguely interested in his intrusive presence. These Gryffindors didn’t know the difference between courage and being suicidal.
“Leave her alone, Tom, you broke up.”
“I swear, push me farther on this and find out exactly what happens.” It didn’t matter what label they attached to his and Hermione’s relationship; she was his and always would be.
“And what would that be?” Gussie taunted.
Bitch. Tom fingered his wand. Fuck Crouch. Fuck her and everyone else in this damn castle. Nobody would keep him away from his witch.
“Do you want to know what happens when people piss me off?” he asked, his eyes darkened. He would find Hermione. She was his and she couldn’t run from him. Even if she attempted to escape through time and space.
“Not particularly,” Gussie shrugged. She tried to walk away.
He lost control. He had his wand out and pointed it right at the back of her retreating form, “Legilimens.”
Augusta Crouch was no Occlumens. Her head was wide open, like a book. He flipped through her memories, ignoring all her personal drama. Tom didn’t care about her romance with Archie Longbottom or her arranged marriage with Ignatius Prewitt. He cared about one thing.
He saw flashes of Crouch laughing with Hermione, dancing at the Yule Ball, and talking over meals. He didn’t linger on any of them. It wasn’t the reason he was here.
He found her memories from a few nights ago. They were hazy. As if she was walking through a thick fog. Blurred and undefined in places. The memories contained a buzzing in the background, as if a distracting bee hovered near her ear. Tom ignored it. It didn’t matter. He got the information he needed to know. Crouch woke up to Hermione screaming. His witch was in pain. Curled up on her bed, crying. Sonya showed up.
The scene faded in and out of focus. A shadow of a wizard appeared. Based on the height and beard, he assumed it was Dumbledore, but the grainy images made it difficult to confirm. Hermione vomited. There was blood. The screams echoed. Madame Blainey in the Hospital Wing. Blood.
“Augusta, please return to your dormitory,” Dumbledore said to her. Tom sensed a coldness inside Augusta. The peculiar aspect of Legilimency was the ability to detect emotions linked to memories. He couldn’t identify this one, though. Was this fear or worry? He had trouble placing it.
“Yes, professor,” the girl responded.
Crouch fell to her knees as soon as Tom exited her mind. “W—what did you do!” She appeared on the verge of a complete panic attack.
“I got what I needed from you,” he replied with an air of indifference. Her eyes widened in horror. For once, the Gryffindor looked afraid of him. “Now you understand what happens when people piss me off, Crouch.”
She blanched. Her hands shook, the adrenaline of her mind being torn through caught up with her. “You... you… How could you?”
“Don’t give me some moralist lecture. Normally, I’d threaten you so I could allow you to keep your memories. It might do you some good to put you in your place, but I’m in a bit of a hurry and I’d rather Hermione not find out about this.” He held up his wand, his stony eyes meeting the wide glassy gaze of Augusta Crouch. “Obliviate.”
Four days Hermione had been in the Hospital Wing, and he didn’t think to check. He left Crouch looking bewildered on the floor and headed to claim his witch.
・・・・ ★ ･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ* ･ ★ ・・・・
Hermione was bored. It had only been twelve hours since she woke up from whatever happened Friday night and she already was losing her mind sitting in bed. To make matters worse, whenever Hermione tried to move, she experienced sharp flashes of pain. Her entire body shook with the force of it.
Healer Spleen arrived first thing Tuesday morning. His enormous frame coming out of the fireplace reminded her of St. Nick, which made her laugh. An act she regretted because of the excruciating agony it caused.
“Madame Blainey owled me yesterday evening to notify me you woke up!” he said. Hermione forgot how loud he was when he spoke. The man needed volume control.
“I was preparing your new batch of potion, but it seems the potion didn’t help in this case.” Perhaps Hermione should inform him that the curse inflicted upon her did not affect her hearing.
She tried to sit up, whimpering as her stomach seized. Her dizziness was better, and her vision and hearing returned. She couldn’t get the taste of blood out of her mouth. Madame Blainey said they had to give her multiple doses of Blood Replenishing Potion.
“It actually made things worse,” she said. Her voice sounded hoarse; her vocal cords strained from the vomiting.
His brows knitted together. “Worse? It would be rather unusual for that to happen! I could see it perhaps not helping but to make things worse—”
“Healer Spleen!” Madame Blainey’s shrill voice echoed from across the room. “Would you mind speaking a bit softer?”
“Oh, of course, my apologies, Madame Blainey.” He returned his attention to Hermione. “How did it make things worse?”
She tried to recount the events, but her memory of the details was hazy, at best.
“But before then, the potion did help, correct?”
“Not like before. I’m going through a bottle and half a week to get by.” She frowned as she glanced at the supplies on her bedside table. She told the hospital matron she didn’t want to take it after what happened.
The potion used to help, but not anymore. What if she took it again, and it killed her? Madame Blainey was keeping her symptoms at bay with a mixture of Cooling Charms, Strengthening Solution, and Wiggenweld Potion. She spread a constant layer of Murtlap Essence on Hermione’s scar. It was like sticking a Band-Aid on a hemorrhaging wound.
“I’m not surprised the effects aren’t working as well. That was an expected outcome, though the time to get there varies from patient to patient—”
“Healer Spleen! Please lower your voice! You are disturbing the other patients!” Madame Blainey shrieked in a much louder volume than the older man ever achieved.
The Healer flushed and nodded, though Madame Blainey couldn’t see him.
Hermione knew for a fact that the only other patient in the Hospital Wing was Alfred Hensley. She doubted anything happening around him in his present state disturbed him.
“I can’t say I have an explanation why the potion would supposedly make things worse,” he said. He spoke so softly, his voice almost droned into a hum. Hermione had to strain to hear him. “But without knowing the nature of your curse, I suppose anything is possible.”
Hermione studied his expression. He looked doubtful. What was he implying? Was the potion faulty? It was the same batch. Perhaps something happened to it? Was something wrong with her potion?
“I have to brew a new potion that uses a few alternative ingredients that will hopefully help us navigate your growing tolerance to the original recipe. I’ll have the first batch ready next week.”
Hermione would be stuck here until then. “You hope it will help?”
Spleen’s normally jolly demeanor drooped. “I believe it will give you some reprieve for a time, but I don’t expect it to be nearly as long as the previous potion.”
“Then what?”
Healer Spleen frowned. “Those are the only things I have to offer you. I’d hoped we might get by for many years with the potion, Miss Granger” He conjured a chair and sat down. A pit formed in her stomach. She didn’t like where this was going.
“Could have told me you were here!” Hermione didn’t look up from her Defense Against the Dark Arts book when Tom Riddle entered. She knew he would show up eventually.
“How did you find out I was here?” She asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “What happened, Hermione?!”
In her current condition, she couldn’t run away. She had no choice. She had to talk to him. “Seems I have taken ill,” She answered innocently, flipping to the next page of her book.
“Bullshite!” Magic sparked in the surrounding air, evidence of his mounting anger.
“Is there another reason you think one might spend time in the Hospital Wing?”
“Why are you here?” Fury etched along every surface of his body.
“I told you—”
“Hermione, be straight with me. I know it has to do with your curse. I know you woke up screaming again.”
She sighed and flicked her Defense Against the Dark Arts text shut. Gussie probably gave it away. “The curse is getting worse.”
“Worse how?!”
“Calm down, Riddle! You’re going to get yourself kicked out!”
He scowled but pulled up a chair and sat with a huff. The magic in the room swelled. This was not ‘calming down’. Perhaps she should have let him get kicked out. Then she might avoid this all together.
He glared at her, waiting for her to say more. “It’s been getting worse for a while, but things escalated Friday night.” She tried to sound off-hand about it. Like it was no big deal, even though she was internally freaking out.
“Is it because of… because we—”
“No, Riddle, I don’t think me having multiple orgasms made the curse worse.”
His lip twitched. He shut his eyes and gathered his scattered emotions. The static dissipated from the room.
“I thought I lost you.”
“What?”
“I begged you to stay, and I thought you up and left, anyway.” If she had found a way back, she would’ve taken it. She spent the better half of the year working on it. Until she got distracted with her curse… and Tom Riddle.
Would she have told him first? Would she say goodbye to him?
No... She would’ve left without warning... because telling him meant she would have to watch him break. She couldn’t do it. She hated that she still cared about him.
“Why didn’t you tell me things were getting worse again?”
“I had it under control,” she said.
“Your presence in the Hospital Wing points to the contrary.”
“Perhaps, but I also broke up with you, so my problems are none of your business.”
Despite his palpable anger, he made it clear before that he would never hurt her. She didn’t react. Her exhaustion prevented her from responding to his labile emotions.
“No, Hermione, when it comes to you, it is always my business! I don’t care what label you have on our relationship.” His eyes flashed and lips curved into a snarl. The possessiveness of his words made something in her stomach clench. She shifted, trying to sit up to face him better, but that caused a shooting pain to tear through her.
Damn this curse!
Her jaw clenched, a rush of air escaping through her teeth in a hiss. She balled her hands into fists to keep from spasming. She learned the hard way that sudden movements made things worse. Pressure built in her chest as she tried not to breathe, but then she couldn’t hold the oxygen back any longer. Her lungs expanded, creating a harsh noise through her constricted vocal cords.
“Damn!” He jumped to his feet.
Hermione flinched. “It’ll pass,” she ground out. Her muscles relaxed. She took slow, even breaths.
“Is this what it does to you?”
She wet her lips. This attack was shorter than most. Healer Spleen told her that while the curse went untreated, she could expect sporadic attacks. Unfortunately, the timing and severity of these events would be unpredictable.
“Among other things.”
He remained silent, watching her as she regained her faculties. Eventually, he sat again, but the tension in his posture didn’t let up. “Looks like we were both keeping secrets,” he said after almost five minutes.
“Yes, well, my secrets didn’t involve harming the lives of others.”
Once the symptoms were tolerable, she returned to her book, or at least she pretended to study. She couldn’t focus with him watching her. His dark, mesmerizing eyes ran over her body like he could dissect her soul. Nothing remained hidden from him. She felt exposed.
Her heart sped up and a faint blush spread over her cheeks as she turned the page, pretending to read the passage on Hags without absorbing a word.
She couldn’t help but be aware of every move he made. He leaned back in the chair, humming a sigh and pursing his lips. His fingers slid through his dark hair, letting the strands fall over his forehead. Then he bent forward, propping his elbows on his knees. Cedar and peppermint. A scent that was distinctly Tom.
She couldn’t even pretend to study anymore.
“I got something for you,” he said.
“Riddle, it will take a lot more than a quill to fix this,” she grumbled. “Some things can’t be fixed.”
His face flickered with an emotion, but it vanished before she identified it. He put all his energy into restraining himself. “It isn’t a quill.”
“Please stop, you’re making this harder—”
“Give me a chance to—”
“You pitted a bloody serpent on me, Riddle!” The words came out in a sharp hiss. “You locked me in a room, took away my wand, and sent a snake after me! Your actions left me defenseless, terrified, and trapped! Then you mocked me for it!”
His eyes narrowed as he approached her bed, pinching her chin and forcing her to look at him. “You left me! Abandoned me! You put me through hell! I may have kept secrets. I made mistakes I couldn’t fix, but I was bloody trying for you! I wanted to give you everything! Then you were gone! You acted like we didn’t matter anymore! After everything…” His voice sounded rough. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. She had never seen him so raw, and then she understood. He was hurt too. Perhaps he couldn’t articulate it, and he didn’t know how to handle that pain, but she hurt him. Deeply.
He gazed at her with his melting dark eyes. The ones she could drown in.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” she whispered. There was something vulnerable between them. Any sudden movement and one of them might shatter.
His eyes slowly drifted shut, and the tension eased. He dropped her forehead against hers. “Perhaps not...” he conceded. “I thought you would understand how much I care for you.”
She swallowed. “I do, but it’s complicated.”
“I get that now.” He knew how personal the Chamber of Secrets was for her. The Basilisk.
“Would it have changed anything?”
He loosened his grip on her chin, sliding his fingers over her skin to cup her cheek. His eyes opened again, and it he was so close. Their noses brushed. Their breath mixed. The feeling was so intense and intimate, and she couldn’t withdraw. She needed an answer. She wanted him. “Yes.” he said. “It would have changed everything.”
He released her and turned away. Hermione discharged the air she hadn’t realized she was holding. She returned to the book on her lap, ignoring the rapid thudding of her heart. She trampled on the butterflies that rose in her stomach, and letting her hair fall over her shoulder to hide the flush in her cheeks. The oxygen entered and escaped her lungs at an accelerated rate. Damn! She needed to regain control of her faculties!
She heard him rummaging in his bag before tossing a bundle of fabric on top of her book. The cloth was rough and stained with dried blood. She felt the heavy weight of the object as it sat in her lap.
“What—”
“Just open it, Hermione.” He stood from the chair, turning to look out the window. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow in the hospital wing. The golden hour made his skin radiate. She saw the flecks of brown in his black hair and eyes. He was beautiful.
Hermione returned her attention to the package in her lap. She hesitated before curiosity got the better of her. Carefully, she unfolded the fabric, recoiling from the grimy sensation it left on her fingers. It almost felt wet. It would stain her book.
She gasped. She held up a smooth, pearly white tooth stained with blood.
“Merlin! Is this... Is this what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s a Basilisk fang, then yes, it is exactly what you think it is.” He turned to face her, watching her hold the fang that was longer than her entire forearm. She read Basilisks were huge, but she couldn’t imagine the size of the creature that this tooth belonged to.
“You killed it?” Harry and Ginny talked about the Basilisk. They were difficult to kill. Like dragons, they were impervious to many forms of magic.
“She’s gone.” She? It’s female? Hermione wondered if she had a name. She couldn’t imagine the monstrous snake having some normal name, like Beatrice or Caroline.
“How did you do it?” Harry used the sword of Gryffindor; Hermione doubted Tom Riddle, as a direct descendent of Slytherin himself, could obtain such an item.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Hermione turned the fang in her hands. She needed to be careful. There would still be venom inside. It’s how Harry destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary. “Do you have a diary?” she asked without thinking.
“What?” He looked incredulous.
“Sorry, never mind! So she’s dead?”
“I told you before, Hermione, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to get you back. I can’t change what I’ve done, but I can change what I do going forward.”
She wanted to believe him... But if she did, even if she agreed to restart whatever this was between them. It would never last.
She gripped the fang tighter in her hands. “Tom, please sit. I think... I think we should talk.” He looked surprised but followed her request.
She sighed. “We can’t be together—let me finish—we can’t be together because my curse is getting worse. My dependence on a potion to sustain me grew increasingly, but now no amount is adequate. I’m switching to a slightly different brew, but ultimately the outcome will be the same.”
She rolled the smooth tooth between the palms of her hands. She needed to tell him. He would probably be angry. He may lash out, but he deserved to know from her rather than finding out from somebody else again. She bit her lip. “This curse is going to kill me.”
He didn’t answer. When she built enough courage to look at him, she found him staring right at her with an unreadable expression.
“Tom... please say something?”
“No.”
She blinked. “What do you mean by ‘no’?”
“It means that I don’t accept your reason for why we can’t be together. It means I refuse to accept that you are dying. I won’t allow it. You can’t use that as a valid reason for us not to be together. I’m staying beside you. Even if you try to run from me, I’ll find you. Because you’re mine! And I’m sick and tired of you thinking you can push me away because of—no, please don’t cry!” He rushed to her side. Sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping his arms around her.
Hermione was done resisting him. The things he did didn’t seem important anymore. Not when she was dying. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to feel whole again. She wanted him. Being held by him made her feel complete. Her body melted into him, feeling the comforting warmth of his embrace. There was no pain here, just a blissful peace. She buried her face in his chest and inhaled deep. His lips brushed against the crown of her head. Gentle and affectionate.
Her tears dried, but he didn’t let her go. She didn’t want him to. Instead, she pulled his head down to press her lips to his. The Basilisk fang tumbled to the floor. Without hesitation, he pressed his body against hers, his hands exploring every inch of her as his tongue danced with hers.
This was real. Every touch, every kiss, she never felt more alive. The way he looked at her, the way her entire body ached in his presence. How could this be fake?
She moaned. Her skin buzzed as pleasant tingles ran through her. It had been so long since she had experienced anything other than pain and suffering.
“No, Hermione, I missed you.” He kissed her jaw, pulling her tighter against him.
“Me too.” She breathed. He shifted and pushed her onto her back. His lips never left hers. His hands roamed her curves. He nipped and sucked her skin.
She opened her legs and wrapped them around his waist, rubbing herself against his erection, making them both long for more.
She desired this with him. All of it. She wished to experience all of life’s pleasures, and she wanted Tom to share that with her.
His hands dipped under the hem of her shirt, the tips of his fingers brushing along her scar. The electric pain made her gasp. He didn’t notice right away. His fingertips traced the edges of her scar like he had done so many times. Usually it sent a pleasant sort of zap through her, but this was different. She screamed. Her body went rigid. The pain spread further, licking across her soul, contorting her muscles and tearing her to pieces.
“Hermione?!” He stilled.
A spasm jolted up her spine, her body seized. Every muscle clenched. The pain escalated further. Then she cried out.
He pushed off her as tears leaked from her eyes. She whimpered, her vision spotted. More incomprehensible noises escaped her. Fire licked up her body, growing in ferocity. It burned her alive. It wouldn’t stop!
She made out the sound of potion bottles clinking on the bedside table over the roaring that started in her ears. Hallucinations would come next. She hated those. Dreaded them. She cried harder in anticipation.
“Hang on,” she heard his melodic voice beside her again. He cast multiple cooling charms, dimming the flames and making her shiver. His fingers stroked her skin, spreading what felt like Murtlap Essence over her scar. His hands were gentle. Despite the ache it caused, she savored his touch, feeling more like a caress than the administration of medication.
The symptoms dissipated. The pain subsided. The hallucinations didn’t come. She wanted to cry with relief.
“Can you take a potion?” he asked.
She hesitated. “What potion?”
“Wiggenweld Potion. It was on your bedside table.”
She nodded and allowed him to tip the contents into her mouth.
He wiped her face with a cool cloth, removing the salty tear stains from her cheeks. Then he climbed back in the bed with her and pulled her close, stroking her hair and kissing her head.
When she could breathe again, she took a deep lung full of cedar and peppermint. His soothing scent and his melodic voice, whispering occasional comforting words, lulled her into a peaceful sleep.
Notes:
Chapter 35 Song: I'll Probably Never Be Somebody: Vlad Holiday. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
There we have it! Hermione essentially said “fuck it I’m dying” and took him back! What do you think?
Read Reinhardt's POV in Chapter 5 of Shadows of Doubt HERE This can be read as a stand alone!
I need to give some love ❤️ to TheBloodyLoveof SakuraHaruno who (inadvertently) advised me/helped me in areas that needed edits in this chapter! (you can refer to the conversation in the comments of chapter 34 if you’re interested 😅)
Follow me on one of my socials (links below) for updates and previews! I was very active last week!
Comments are my tip jar! ✨✨
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 36: 36: Fallen Friends
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Miss Granger! Mister Riddle!” Tom jerked awake. Hermione squeaked. “How dare you use the Hospital Wing in such a—a disgraceful manner! Miss Granger, you are ill! Mister Riddle, you are a Prefect! Fifty points from each of your houses!”
Hermione glanced around, disoriented. Sun beams peeked through the curtain, signaling the new day. They had slept through the night!
“I’ll be notifying your Heads of Houses and writing to your families.” Despite her elderly appearance, Madame Blainey’s powerful voice carried across the entire room.
Hermione sighed. They were going to do this again. “I have no family.”
Tom yawned like being woken up by Madame Blainey was a mild inconvenience. “Neither do I.”
The old woman didn’t flinch. “Be that as it may, Mister Riddle, leave. It’s almost lunch! You already missed most of the morning classes!” Tom got up as slowly as possible. They had clothes on, right?
Yes. She stopped things because of her pain.
The Basilisk fang!
She scanned the floor, finding the gleaming tooth under the bed beside them. It was barely visible, but if Madame Blainey moved a little to the left...
Hermione pulled Tom towards her. It was a rare moment that she was thankful for her bushy hair, which concealed her lips moving, instructing him to grab the fang.
Madame Blainey scowled, her bony arms folded, but kept quiet. Tom’s eyes gleamed, but he carried on, completely at ease as he stood from the bed and started gathering his bag and a few scattered books.
“Madame Blainey, did Healer Spleen mention when the new potion would be ready?” Hermione asked, trying to distract the elderly woman. The stern look on her face melted.
“He sent an owl this morning saying he would have it this weekend.” Tom reached under the bed and shoved the fang in his bag. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.
“Will I be able to return to classes next week?” She asked.
“Are you certain you wish to continue with school?”
“Of course I want to stay!”
Madame Blainey looked skeptical, but nodded.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Tom said as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.
“If you try a stunt like this again, Mister Riddle, I’ll ban you from this Hospital Wing!”
Hermione couldn’t look Madame Blainey in the eye after Tom left. She felt the judgement.
“I hope you used the Contraceptive Charm!”
“Oh, um, I’m familiar with the charm, but we aren’t—we’re not—”
“Save me the speech, Miss Granger! I know what young people get up to! I’ve been running this Hospital Wing for a long time!”
Hermione bit her lip. She wasn’t having sex, but nothing she said would convince Madame Blainey of that. “Um okay.”
“I will not tolerate such behavior in this Hospital Wing! This is a place of healing, not for—for clandestine meet-ups with your boyfriend!”
“Of course, Madame Blainey.”
Memories of how things concluded the previous night replayed in Hermione’s mind, casting lingering shadows of disappointment. She wanted to do more with Tom. If nothing else, then to ensure she didn’t die a virgin. It may sound pathetic, but she yearned to experience everything life had to offer. Even sex.
“Now I brought the morning potions.” The old woman’s demeanor transformed. She smiled at Hermione as if the awkward conversation never happened.
***
Hermione ended up not leaving the Hospital Wing until Monday. The potion took longer than Healer Spleen anticipated to brew and Madam Blainey wanted to monitor for adverse effects after administration. It wasn’t as powerful, unable to remove her symptoms, but she felt significantly better.
While packing up her belongings from the Hospital Wing, she gazed at the potion with curiosity. She considered throwing it away… but then tucked it into the recesses of her bag. What if something was wrong with it? Maybe she should look into it.
She grimaced at the possibility and continued to gather her things. Her legs felt weak. They trembled, but she ignored them. Her entire body ached from days being detained in bed. Even packing exhausted her.
When she climbed the endless flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower beside Tom, she had to rest at every landing. He offered to carry her. She put her foot down and refused. She needed to feel independent again, even if that meant crawling up to Sir Cadogan’s portrait.
Regardless, the following day brought a wave of relief when she woke up in the comfort of her own bed. The familiar sight of her dorm greeted her, bathed in the gentle morning light.
Despite the continued pain, the void haunting her, and a lingering emptiness that followed everywhere, Hermione resumed life as close to normal as possible. She walked the halls with her friends, ate in the Great Hall, and went to class.
By Arithmancy on the first day back in classes, she was struggling. Tom sat beside her and kept a reassuring hand on her knee. He sensed her tension, along with the chills and aches that ran through her body. He gave her cautious glances, but she remained steadfast in holding on to her dwindling independence. She kept her focus on the lecture and ignored the haunting cold in her bones.
In the end, there were gaps in her notes and she had to borrow Tom’s anyway.
She felt more energized the next day. She sat in the library with her friends that evening and completed her homework, laughed with Gussie, and kissed Tom in the hall, though he kept his hands from wandering.
She thought things might be returning to normal. Perhaps the potion may be more effective than they expected. She felt hopeful that she might make it to the summer on her own two feet.
Then she woke on Thursday morning, covered in sweat. Muscles cramped and rigid. Her head spun. She had nightmares. She attempted to move and cried out at the effort.
What happened?! She locked her potion in her nightstand with an unbreakable lock. No way someone could access it, but she felt something odd on her tongue.
She rolled and tried to stand, ignoring the wave of nausea that washed over her, waiting on the edge of the bed for it to pass. The sun was up. Gussie’s towel was gone. She must have gone to the Prefect’s bathroom. Sonya’s bed was empty.
Hermione grabbed her wand to unlock her drawer, but her hands trembled, and the roaring in her ears reverberated in her mind. She couldn’t focus enough to perform even simple magic.
She needed to get to the Hospital Wing.
Hermione would never know how she reached the Common Room. Tears streamed down her face. The pain in her body increased with the movements. The stabbing sensation in her side magnified with each step.
Her vision faded in and out.
Not the hallucinations! Please no!
“Hermione?”
She clumsily descended the final set of stairs, relieved as a pair of hands steadied her. She screamed at the contact on her sensitive skin.
“Merlin!” the voice said. She couldn’t recognize who it was. Male. Rough around the edges.
She cried when the boy lifted her into his arms.
“Alastor, what happened?”
“I don’t know, found her like this. I’m taking her to the Hospital Wing.”
Her head pounded as her friend carried her through the castle. She recognized the taste of blood in her mouth, but unlike the last time that she woke up with these symptoms, she didn’t vomit blood. She hadn’t blacked out either.
Time went simultaneously fast and slow. Madam Blainey gave her a potion. Spread the salve over her scar. Alastor Moody sat beside her. Gussie showed up with her school supplies and set the bag by the bedside. She didn’t stay long, darting down to grab some last-minute breakfast. Alastor stayed though, wanting to keep Hermione company despite her insistence that he should eat too.
“Mister Moody, you are going to be late for your first class,” Madam Blainey said. Hermione pushed up on her pillows. Her muscles felt sore, but she was starting to recover. Her heart twinged with jealousy. Two days of class and she was already stuck in the Hospital Wing again.
Alastor checked his pocket watch, his eyes widening. “Damn! I don’t have any of my things!”
“Gussie brought my things,” Hermione shrugged, nodding to her bag. “Obviously, I won’t be needing them today.”
“Thanks Hermione.” Alastor grabbed her bag and swung it over his shoulder.
“Can you let Tom know what happened?” She imagined his reaction when he didn’t see her at breakfast this morning.
“Yeah, I will.”
・・・・ ★ ･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ* ･ ★ ・・・・
Tom spent every free moment he had reading about curses. He checked out stacks of books from the library and pored over them. He refused to accept Hermione dying. She acted like it was too late. As if she had already given up.
Never.
He wouldn’t lose her. Not when he just got her back.
He sighed as he flipped through the pages of Curses and Catastrophes over breakfast. There was nothing useful here; made more challenging since she couldn’t identify the curse that hit her. How could he cure something without knowing what it was?
He glanced up and frowned before checking his timepiece. Breakfast was almost done. Where was she? She looked better when he dropped her by Gryffindor Tower yesterday. She had more color in her cheeks. But none of her friends were here either.
Augusta promptly appeared, quickly stuffing bread in her mouth before dashing out the door. Still no Hermione.
Tom glared at the Gryffindor table as he packed his book into his bag. Did she end up in the Hospital Wing? Did the new potion not work? Tom needed more time to discover a cure! He had to save her!
Perhaps he would see her in class…
He walked to Potions in an irritable daze. If she remained elusive, then he would hunt her down over lunch. He wouldn’t stop until he found her. She always kept him in the dark! It drove him insane! He wouldn’t stand for it. Not when the stakes were this high.
As if reading his thoughts, Alastor Moody approached him. He narrowed his eyes at the boy.
“Where is she?”
“Hospital Wing. I carried her there this morning after she practically collapsed coming down the stairs into the Gryffindor Common Room.”
This was supposed to be better with the new potion! What was happening to her?!
“You carried her?”
“She couldn’t walk.”
The idea of Alastor Moody carrying his witch through the castle irritated him, even though he knew the boy had no attraction to her. Tom wanted to be there for her! It should’ve been him by her side when she needed someone!
Dammit!
His jaw tightened as he gave Alastor a stiff nod of acknowledgement.
Reinhardt set his cauldron up next to Tom, neither of them speaking. Tom didn’t offer answers to any of Slughorn’s questions about the Blistering Brew, and started his potion half-heartedly, his thoughts consumed with Hermione. What was happening to her?
Class continued. Mundane passage of time. Everything the same. He would see her soon. He needed to finish Double Potions. That was all.
How much longer did she have left? Will she survive the year?
His body burned. His heart pounded in his ears. Reality crashed down on him as something exploded in the room. Students screamed. Chaos erupted in the class. Tom refocused, but knew he maintained tight control over his magic. Whatever happened, it wasn’t him. This was something else.
Tom looked over to see large blisters forming on half the students. Alastor Moody got the worst of it. He was flat on his back, his entire front saturated with partially concocted Blistering Brew.
Abraxas sniggered as he watched the drama unfold. All the color washed out of Reinhardt’s face. People writhed in pain, others cried. Some had cuts from shattered pieces of cauldron.
“What happened?! What happened?!” Slughorn shouted, running around inspecting the injured.
It was clear what had occurred. Alastor Moody’s cauldron exploded, sending his Blistering Brew flying throughout the classroom. Surprising, really. Moody was a decent student. If anyone’s cauldron should explode, Tom would have expected it to be Norris or Augusta Crouch.
A Slytherin girl sobbed in the corner, cradling her injured arm. One side of Augusta Crouch’s face peeled from the impact. Alastor Moody’s shirt was in shreds, with blisters forming on his chest.
“Mister Riddle, please escort Mister Moody to the Hospital Wing! Everyone else, I have burn cream here, should set things right.” The class lined up as Slughorn hurried to apply the cream.
Tom glanced at Moody. He resembled a childhood nightmare. His skin sloughed off in places revealing red and bloodied tissue underneath. Large, bubbling blisters formed in some areas as the potion advertised. The mixture partially disintegrated his robes, exposing more skin to the damaging solution. The guy appeared half dead.
Tom sighed. At least he could see Hermione if he took Moody to the Hospital Wing.
“Can you walk?” Tom asked. Moody couldn’t open his eyes. Tom noticed his blistered tongue as he opened his mouth and made a throaty moan.
Tom interpreted that as a ‘no’. He pulled out his wand and levitated the boy. It would be fastest this way. With that, he walked out of the chaos with the floating body.
“Oh, dear!” Madam Blainey squealed as Tom entered the Hospital Wing with the hovering Alastor Moody. “Put him here, Mister Riddle.” She gestured to a bed across from Hermione, who watched with wide eyes at the scene. She probably didn’t realize who Tom had levitated beside him. Moody was so disfigured he wasn’t recognizable.
Tom set Moody down and turned to Hermione while Madame Blainey fussed over him.
“What happened?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the boy. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the level of attention and concern she gave him. He craved to have her all to himself.
He stooped and kissed her lips, distracting her. She offered him a small smile as he pulled away.
Much better.
“Alastor Moody’s cauldron exploded while preparing the Blistering Brew,” Tom said.
“Is that...” she looked back at the boy who Madame Blainey was covering in salve while bandages wrapped themselves around his limbs. He made occasional moans.
“That’s Moody.”
“Merlin!”
Tom frowned. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“You said his cauldron exploded? You’re sure it was his cauldron? Not someone else’s?” She sounded distressed.
“Positive.” Tension filled the air and palpable unease settled on his shoulders. Tom pulled a chair up and sat. He didn’t like the expression on her face. It wasn’t just worry, something scared her. She was afraid.
“But Alastor’s good at potions!” Hermione said. Funny, Tom had a similar thought earlier.
“Several students were hit, but Slughorn is taking care—”
“Others were injured?” Madame Blainey said, cutting Tom off as she suddenly appeared beside him. She looked furious.
“Yes, Professor Slughorn had a supply of burn cream—”
“Of course Horace thinks he can handle his disasters himself!” Madame Blainey marched around the room and filled a bag with supplies. “Does it ever go well? No, no it doesn’t. Every time I tell him to send the students to me, but does he listen? No, no he does not! At least he sent this boy to me, though he didn’t have the decency to bring Mister Moody himself. No, he had a student levitate the critically injured patient to the Hospital Wing!”
Madame Blainey was still muttering as she swung the bag over her shoulder and left.
Hermione cleared her throat. “Is he okay?” she asked Tom. Tom didn’t care about how Moody was doing, but if it would calm his lioness, then he would check. He stood and approached Moody’s bed. Bandages covered him from head to toe.
“He’s sleeping. Looks like Madame Blainey gave him some dreamless sleep potion,” Tom said, looking at the empty bottle at his bedside.
When he returned to Hermione’s side, the tension was still there. She chewed her bottom lip. If she wasn’t so scared, Tom might’ve helped her chew that lip.
His fantasies ran away with him. They were alone in the Hospital Wing. Perhaps they could take advantage of this time together.
“I think…” Hermione swallowed. “I think something isn’t right. This isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be.”
Tom froze. “What do you mean?”
“First the potion and then the cauldron.” He heard the panic in her voice.
“What happened?”
“And maybe what happened this morning too?! Could it all be connected?”
“Connected to what?”
“It’s like someone might be after me! I can’t understand why!” Her breathing sped up. A visceral reaction rocked her body. She didn’t see him there anymore. Her eyes glazed over as tears filled them.
“Hermione?!” He hated it when she cried!
“It could have been me if I had gone to class today!” Tom stood and sat on the bed beside her, wrapping an arm around his witch before she went into complete hysterics. She took the opening, leaning into him and breathing deeper. He stroked his fingers down her spine.
He was furious. Why would she react like this? He tried to recall if he had ever seen her fly into such a state of panic.
Yes, when they were locked out of Honeydukes and stayed at the Three Broomsticks. It amused him then; it didn’t now.
After a few minutes passed, she calmed enough to continue. “Tom, that was my cauldron that Alastor used today. He didn’t have time to go back and get his own, so I let him use mine.” The significance of this settled on him. She suggested that this wasn’t an accident. Someone was targeting her. Tom kept his face impassive as he absorbed this new information.
“And a few weeks ago, when I ended up here, the potion, it didn’t help. In fact, I got worse until my body passed out! Healer Spleen couldn’t explain it! He suggested something may have been wrong with the potion.” Tom’s jaw clenched as she continued. “Then last night, I felt better! When I woke up, it was horrible, almost the same as when I was given the faulty potion, though not as bad! I had a strange taste on my tongue, Tom. Maybe I’m panicking for no reason! It’s possibly all coincidence. Maybe this is the natural decline of my curse. Perhaps this is all part of dying.”
Hearing the word ‘dying’ come out of her mouth made him ignite with a murderous fury that he could barely contain. She would not die. Not in any universe he inhabited. She wouldn’t leave him. He refused to allow it!
She kept talking, but his head spun. He had difficulty focusing on her words. He inhaled, her apple scent filling him and bringing him back to reality. “I don’t know! It feels wrong! Something is wrong!” She sniffed.
Tom went rigid. His hand curled around her shoulder, his fingers pressed into her skin. She winced. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was as stony as his posture.
“I wasn’t sure,” she said.
“Where’s the potion?” He asked. He pushed away from her and stood, pacing next to the bed. She frowned.
“What potion?”
“The one you took that night!” Who would attack his witch! It was obscene to even think about!
“What do you want with it?”
He drew a calming breath. “I’m going to dump it in my cauldron and figure out what was added to it,” he sneered.
She opened her mouth in surprise and then shut it again. He waited for her to fight him. Despite her constant resistance, he refused to be denied, especially with her safety and life.
He glared at her, waiting for her argument. Hermione blinked and shook her head. “Okay.”
Her ease threw off his anger. “Okay?”
“Yes, but only if I’m there, too. We will work on it together.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
・・・・ ★ ･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ* ･ ★ ・・・・
Hermione left the Hospital Wing over the weekend, more out of an abundance of caution than true necessity. Madam Blainey wanted to ensure she fully recovered before she left. She recommended keeping multiple supplies of her potion around to ensure she always had some nearby and taking a small dose before bed every night. Hermione nodded her understanding.
Tom wasted no time making arrangements to break down the potion. He asked Slughorn if they could use the Potion’s Classroom after curfew since it was a time-consuming process.
Slughorn agreed with unnecessary enthusiasm.
“Did you bring it?” he asked as she entered the dungeon.
“Of course I brought it.” She rolled her eyes and placed the bottle on the table next to Tom’s already set-up cauldron. Hermione looked into ordering a new one for herself, but then she saw the cost of a replacement cauldron plus shipping. Her curse wasn’t so painful next to that price tag. It would empty every Galleon that remained in her savings. Part of her wondered if it was worth it considering her impending demise. In the end, Alastor insisted on getting it for her. She had trouble refusing.
Tom took the potion, lit the fire under his cauldron, and dumped the contents inside. He flipped open a book and started skimming the first set of instructions.
Something had been off with him. He hovered around her like usual. Kissed her like he was starved, but it felt almost desperate. He barely spoke, and he always had his nose buried in books. It reminded her of her own behavior while trying to figure out how to return to the future.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said, his smooth voice sounding almost harsh. They worked in silence for the last thirty minutes.
“Okay.”
“If anything ever happens, tell me. It doesn’t matter how, find me, send me an owl, or send me your otter patronus for all I care, but, just don’t leave me in the dark again.”
She felt guilty. She tried not to dwell on that. “Okay.” He nodded before returning to his book.
She added a few ingredients to the cauldron and pulled out her wand to cast a few spells. Trying to identify elements in a potion was complex magic, but between the two of them, they should be able to figure it out.
The next step in the process called for running the brew through a filter. It would take at least an hour.
She looked back at Tom as he flipped the page in his book. His fingers glided across the text as he skimmed the words. Then he cursed and tossed the book aside.
“What are you reading about?” she asked.
He glanced up. “Curses and curse scars,” he muttered. She should have expected this reaction from him.
“Tom—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to stop, Hermione,” he hissed, his eyes narrowed on her. “I won’t allow you to die.” She peeked at the titles in front of him; Curses for the Cursed and Scars and Marks of Dark Magic.
“I’m doing better, Tom. The new potion, it really helps.”
“Don’t lie. I see you flinching.”
She grimaced. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice.
Apparently, she spoke the words out loud because he answered. “Of course I noticed. I’m always watching you.”
The look he gave her made her toes curl. The breath caught in her throat.
“If there was a cure out there, wouldn’t the Healers at St. Mungo’s know about it?”
He scoffed, as if the notion was utterly ridiculous. She frowned as he reached for another book in the pile. “I refuse to believe death is undefeatable.”
“Defeat death?” She cocked her head at him as he returned to his book. It was an odd way to phrase the problem. She considered it, observing him while she turned over his words in her mind.
He refused to believe death was undefeatable. Invincible? He wanted to conquer death. To defeat death itself. Gain the ultimate control over living and dying.
It hit her. A sudden epiphany that took her breath away. Tom Riddle—Voldemort longed for immortality. Perhaps he somehow accomplished this? Was that how he came back over and over through the years in her universe? What sort of terrible, dark magic did he use to make it possible?
She glanced at the pile of books, her mind racing with this new information, then she saw it: Secrets of the Darkest Art, the atrocious book detailing the creation of Horcruxes. Vile didn’t begin to describe what those pages contained. Was that how he did it? Did Voldemort create a Horcrux? Could he have made more than one?
The thought made her stomach sour. These were things to consider another time.
“What do you think you’ll find in here?!” She grabbed a book, bearing the title for him. “This is dark magic, Tom!”
He snatched it back. “I don’t care what kind of magic it is as long as I can save you!”
“I don’t want to be immortal!”
“This isn’t about immortality! This is about keeping you alive!”
“And you wanting to defeat death? That isn’t about immortality?”
“No, it’s about you.”
“What about me?”
“You! Your curse! You dying!”
“What? So you’re going to do some dark ritual to keep me alive? Exchange one curse for another? Sacrifice one soul to save mine?!”
“You don’t want to know the lengths I would go to save you,” he said, his voice sharp as an icicle.
“Tom—”
“Don’t argue with me on this, Hermione, because you won’t win. And I won’t stop.”
She frowned. His interest in the dark arts didn’t shock her; it served as a means to an end for him. Conflicting emotions surged within her as she grappled with the anger she should hold for his involvement in dark magic, yet couldn’t help but feel touched by his unwavering dedication towards her. He’d do anything for her. She saw it in his eyes, in his actions, in his words.
The air between them heated. His gaze darkened. A shiver ran down her spine. Everything became remarkably simple. She wanted him. Here. Now. It was almost midnight. She didn’t care. They were in the dungeons. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care about the trickling potion running through the filter or about the aching pain in her side.
Hermione moved closer and pressed her lips to his. Her hand tangled in his hair and he opened for her, letting her lead this kiss. She took it, sliding her tongue along his and breathing in his delicious scent as she crawled on his lap.
His arms wrapped around her. He cradled her against his chest like she was something to be treasured. She knew deep in her soul how much he cared for her, even if Tom didn’t say the words out loud.
“I asked Julia to teach me the Contraceptive Charm.” His movements halted.
“Don’t tell me that.”
“Why?”
“Because if you tell me that, it makes it harder to resist. I’ll take you right here.” He kissed her collarbone. “I’ll take everything I ever dreamed of.” He flicked open the top button of her blouse and panted against her skin.
She smiled, “maybe I don’t want you to stop.” His hands gripped her hips.
Her breath hitched as pain shot through her entire body. She stiffened, trying to hide her reaction and breathe through the agony. It subsided.
He released her. “No,” he said.
“What?”
“I can barely touch you anymore without you flinching!” He looked as frustrated as she felt.
“It isn’t bad! I can take it,” she argued.
“No.”
“Are you refusing to have sex with me?” She sounded incredulous. Never could she have imagined this turn of events.
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
“Let it go—"
“No, Tom, give me a reason. Not that long ago you would have had sex with me on the bathroom floor if I hadn’t stopped you. Now you don’t want me anymore?” It hurt to say out loud. She loved his desperate desire for her. It made her feel alive, beautiful, and cared for. She didn’t want to lose that. Not when everything else in her life was falling apart.
“Do you know what it’s like seeing you in so much pain?!” His mask shattered, and she saw the raw emotion beneath, wild and untamed. His pupils dilated and his face distorted into something that almost looked vulnerable. Before Hermione could react, he pieced his disguise back together; but she now saw the cracks in her beautiful, broken boy that he couldn’t repair.
She frowned. Tom grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. “Get better and I’ll fuck you on every available surface of this castle.”
She swallowed and raised a brow. “This is a really big castle.”
“It is, and it would probably take us a while to get through all the surfaces. Which means you have to live for a long time.” He kissed her. “Live a long time and we will spend the rest of our lives trying.”
“Trying to have sex throughout the castle?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“I think I can persuade you to change your mind.” He lifted her and set her down on the table behind them. She wrapped her legs around him and dove into the kiss. The pleasant fluttering started up in the pit of her stomach. It almost overshadowed the pain she felt.
“How about we start with a little taste here? Third table on the left in the potions classroom.”
“I thought you said no.” Hermione hummed as he unbuttoned her blouse. He was careful to avoid touching her scar.
“Hmm… perhaps I misspoke. I’m going to be the one doing the tasting.” He flipped up her skirt, grabbed her thighs, and pulled her to the edge of the table before kneeling on the dungeon floor. He kissed the inside of her knee, and that small touch made a shiver run up her spine in anticipation.
He kissed up her thigh to her knickers. He parted her thighs wider and pressed a tender kiss onto the fabric. Her face heated.
“I hope you aren’t too attached to these,” he said.
“What?” She felt the cool air touch her core as his fingers parted her. “What did you do?”
“Vanished your knickers. They were in the way.” He pushed her legs further apart.
She was about to berate him, clothes were expensive, and she didn’t have a lot of them, but all thoughts left her when his tongue slid through her folds and made her groan. He circled her clit and sucked on the sensitive nub. She hooked her legs around his shoulders. He grunted, his hands caressing her inner thighs before one moved up and he pressed two fingers inside her.
“Fuck, Tom!”
“Damn, that filthy mouth,” he dove back in, stroking her clit with his soft tongue and teasing her walls with his fingers. Her toes curled. She moaned. She gripped his hair, holding him closer, thrusting her hips against him.
“Merlin, more. Please.” She wanted to cry. She felt the pain. It started trickling up her body. If she didn’t finish soon, she was afraid it may become too much, overshadow the pleasure. Overtake overthinking. Ruin this for her. Did Tom know this?
He hummed against her clit, causing a spasm to jolt through her. She arched. He did something he’d never done before. Using his free hand, he ran it through her folds, gathering her release, before he pressed a single finger to her back hole with the slightest pressure.
“Tom?”
“You can take a little more,” he muttered.
It was enough. His tongue, his fingers, that small extra stimulation, she came. She moaned his name and reveled at how her core clenched his fingers as they glided gently in and out of her through her release. Her mind rode the high while the orgasm temporarily washed away the pain.
Hermione didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until Tom woke her. She curled up on top of one of the open tables, using Tom’s shirt as a pillow. She tried not to overthink how Tom completed the separation naked from the waist up. It might have been strange if it wasn’t past two AM.
She yawned and sat up, straightening out her skirt. She wished Tom hadn’t vanished her knickers.
Tom looked grave. “Someone added Syrup of Arnica to the potion,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “But… Syrup of Arnica? Are you sure?” It was a highly poisonous substance. Difficult to get, too. It wasn’t something that would be found in the Student Store Cupboard.
“I’m positive,” Tom answered.
Hermione frowned. “So someone did tamper with my potion...”
“Yes.”
“Most likely a female in Gryffindor then. I don’t think any of the boys could get around the spell keeping them out of the girls’ dorms,” she said. But which of the Gryffindor girls would possibly want her dead? She couldn’t make sense of it!
“I can. But yes, most boys probably couldn’t. Though Gryffindor Tower could be accessed by broomstick through the windows.”
Her face crumbled. She hadn’t considered that.
“There’s more, Hermione.” She studied his grave expression with apprehension. “This potion also contains a substantial amount of Boom Berry.”
“But that would neutralize the Syrup of Arnica,” Hermione said. She knitted her brows, confused. The Syrup of Arnica wasn’t neutralized in her potion that night.
“It takes about two minutes for the neutralization to occur, meaning they would have had to add it immediately before giving you the potion to avoid neutralization by the Boom Berry in the original mixture,” Tom said.
Hermione’s chest tightened. Her palms became sweaty. “But that would mean…”
“Who was with you when you took the potion?” Tom asked.
Hermione felt sick. She thought back to that night. Her memory was hazy; pain overshadowed everything else, but there was only one person present.
“Gussie.”
Notes:
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Chapter 37: 37: Origins
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom watched his witch crumble in front of his eyes. She looked ready to cry. “Did she make my cauldron explode too?” she asked. Her breathing sped up. “It can’t be true, Tom! So many people were injured!”
He remained silent, letting the initial anger fade away. Storming off and attacking Hermione’s best friend wasn’t an option. He needed to think clearly.
Tom saw what was inside Augusta Crouch’s head. Her memories were an open book, waiting for him to peruse at his leisure. Everything was neat and orderly; until that night. Unlike the rest of her thoughts, those appeared hazy. He didn’t give it much consideration at the time. Sometimes when people woke up, recollections were unclear. He also found fogged memories when he practiced Legilimency on drunks off the streets of London. Their minds were more like puzzle pieces needing to be fitted together. But Augusta was facing a critical and chaotic situation. Her mind should’ve been clear.
Someone put Augusta under the Imperious Curse.
Tears streamed down Hermione’s freckled cheeks. “She’s my best friend, Tom!” She buried her face in her hands. “It can’t be her! There must be another explanation! There has to be!”
What was she hoping to hear from him? What should he do?
He reached out and wiped away a drop from her cheek. “I don’t think it’s Augusta,” he said. He needed to calm her down. Her tears made it hard to think rationally.
“She was the only one there!” She looked at him with her huge caramel eyes full of hope, like he could make her troubles disappear. If he could, he would. He longed to hide her away from the rest of the world. He would do anything to keep her safe. To stop her tears. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell her he tore through her best friend’s mind with Legilimency. He needed another reasonable explanation.
“Augusta is terrible at potions. I highly doubt she could have come up with something so intricate.”
She chewed her lower lip while she considered this. It was distracting… “Someone could have helped her.”
“Or forced her. She has no motivation to harm you, Hermione.” His witch turned to pace the room, trying to catch her breath. He wanted to smooth the crease between her brow and take away her panic.
“Coercion? Or… could she be under the Imperius Curse?”
“Perhaps.” Tom was sure of it. The problem was, he couldn’t think of anyone besides himself powerful enough to cast the Imperius Curse. And who would want to kill Hermione? Everyone knew she was dying.
As Tom watched her wander the classroom, he could see her mind racing. There was no interrupting her right now. At least the tears stopped. Her breathing grew steady. It allowed him time to think of a solution for his most immediate problem—it was late, and he needed to find some place safe for her to sleep.
“I need to run by the Slytherin Dormitory.” She glanced at him as if surprised to see him there. “Don’t leave. I’ll be back soon.”
Twenty minutes later, he followed her to the Gryffindor Common Room. Sir Cadogan, the crazed knight, flatly refused him entry.
“Our soldiers are sleeping! I cannot allow an enemy general inside at this hour, no matter what honorable intentions they may hold!” Tom wasn’t sure he could claim any honorable intentions where Hermione was concerned, but he wasn’t about to correct the guy standing in his way.
“You have no right to decide that!”
“It is my duty to guard the resting camp! Your presence may cause a panic and our soldiers need rest for the upcoming battle! Your entrance is not permitted!” The knight lifted his chin higher. His fat pony slept in the portrait's background, lounging beside the nude statue that appeared to have been magically repaired, though rather crudely. The stone had obvious cracks. They concealed the statue’s cock with a strand of ivy tied around its hips, allowing the foliage to fall just so.
“Tom you really don’t need to come inside—”
“Hermione!” Tom hissed in warning.
“This isn’t necessary! I’ll see you tomorrow!” she glared at him, crossing her arms.
“No.”
She blinked. “No?”
“I’ll see you in ten minutes. Get your things. We are moving into the Room of Requirement.”
“What?!”
“Pack what you need for tonight. You aren’t sleeping in the dormitory anymore and I’ll be joining you.” She looked ready to argue, but he cut her off by snagging her around the waist and pulling her against him. He leaned in to whisper in her ear so not even Sir Cadogan overheard them. “Someone is trying to kill you. This isn’t up for discussion. Either be out here in ten minutes or I’ll drag you out here myself. Don’t think the insane knight will stop me from coming after you.” There was nothing Tom Riddle wouldn’t do to keep his witch safe.
She begrudgingly conceded.
***
Tom spent all his spare time reading about curses or in the dungeons over a simmering cauldron; trying to establish the cure that the Healers at St. Mungo’s were too useless to piece together. He dedicated his nights to Hermione in the Room of Requirement, watching her worsen before his eyes. It drove him wild. The reason he did his schoolwork at all was because she demanded it. He should have studied for his O.W.L.s, but they weren’t important anymore.
Hermione made it to her classes, but as days went by, her symptoms worsened. She would freeze in the halls, collapse in class, flinch throughout the day. They became more frequent and more debilitating, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. It sparked something primal in Tom. He needed to save her. He had to fix this. Nothing else mattered. He didn’t care about the Chamber of Secrets or his quest for power. He didn’t care about gaining followers.
It became an obsession.
“My Lord, it’s been over a month since you Petrified Alfred Hensley,” Abraxas said one evening. Reinhardt and Norris sat on their beds. It was a rare night Tom returned to his dorm to pick up a few extra things that he left in his trunk.
Abraxas saw this as the opportune moment to accost him.
“Your point, Abraxas?” Tom asked.
“It’s been over a month. You promised to rid the school of Mudbloods.” Tom raised a brow. “My Lord.” Abraxas added as an afterthought.
Tom shut his trunk and faced the boy. He knew he was towing a very dangerous line here.
“I promised to open the Chamber of Secrets and prove myself as Slytherin’s heir. I promised nothing else.”
“And, my Lord, as Slytherin’s heir, shouldn’t we strive to continue his legacy and rid the school of Mudbloods? That was why he built the chamber.” Abraxas tried to remain calm. He appeared ready to rage again but feared retribution, like last time. Another slip and Tom might not be as forgiving and allow him to live.
“I’m well aware of the purpose of the Chamber of Secrets.”
“Then where are your loyalties?” Abraxas snapped. Tom remained guarded. The air thickened with tension as the two boys locked eyes. Abraxas stepped back, breaking his stare first.
“I am the heir of Slytherin, and I will uphold his legacy as I see fit. I will not allow anyone to question me, especially you, Malfoy.” He spoke with an eerie coolness to his voice. His eyes flickered with a dangerous intensity. “I will not be rushed. I will do things my way.”
Reinhardt looked worried. Norris started examining a crack on the wall.
Tom towered over Abraxas as true terror flooded his silver-grey irises. His body became rigid with fear. Tom didn’t want to torture Abraxas tonight. That required a lot of effort and energy. He intended to briefly stop by the dorms before meeting Hermione in the Room of Requirement.
Abraxas took a step back, his legs hitting his bedside table, causing a stack of books to fall to the ground. It broke the tension. The boy gasped, air filling his lungs as he dipped into a bow. “I’m sorry, my Lord, forgive my imprudence! I hoped to give my assistance to whatever your plans may be!”
Tom narrowed his eyes at him. To the untrained eye, Abraxas Malfoy appeared broken. Loyal and afraid of his master. Tom lived with him for years now. He saw his jaw twitch and the subtle clench in his fists. Malfoy was furious. He tried to join the game with Tom, but instead of fighting back, he would sneak in and strike from within.
“Do you have a problem, Malfoy?”
The pale boy blanched, holding the deep bow, but his gaze flicked up. “No, my Lord.”
Could Abraxas be the one trying to kill Hermione? He hated her enough. He made it obvious. But Abraxas was not capable of casting the Imperius Curse. He may be pure-blood, but he lacked both power and common sense.
He was a pathetic excuse for a wizard.
Without registering the movement, Tom pulled out his wand and pointed it at his blond head, “Crucio.” He didn’t belabor the torturing—he had places to be. Abraxas, aching from a prolonged session of the Cruciatus Curse, crawled off the floor and into his bed as Tom stormed out.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Even though nothing appeared wrong with Gussie, Hermione couldn’t shake the fear that something might happen. Gussie could turn on her. Try to hurt her. She worried for those around her becoming innocent victims in some sort of attack. Tom said it was unlikely Gussie was aware of her actions. He advised her to continue as if nothing changed, not wanting to rouse suspicion. Hermione tried to heed his advice. The only actual change was her belongings all moved to the Room of Requirement. She told her friends she slept in the Hospital Wing.
At first, Hermione was paranoid. Everything put her on edge. But after three weeks of nothing happening, she hoped the sense of dread would subside.
It didn’t.
Haunting nightmares filled her dreams, and she constantly battled excruciating pain during the days. Her Hospital Wing visits became more frequent. Tom made the nights bearable. When she woke up in burning agony, Tom was there, potions in hand and spreading Murtlap Essence over her abdomen with his fingers. He calmed her, knew exactly what to do, and had everything ready to respond.
He treated her like she was fragile. It left her endlessly frustrated. No matter how much she coaxed him, his unwavering determination remained unyielding. As time passed, even slight brushes against her skin made her shutter. Attacks of pain were unpredictable. Despite that, she insisted on maintaining her independence. Demanded that she continue to attend her classes like normal. She wanted to upkeep some level of dignity.
Tom frowned at her as she paused on a landing, trying to control her breathing. Each inhalation into the base of her lungs stretched her skin. It hurt. It took her ages to return to the Room of Requirement every night. Why did it have to be on the seventh floor?
Why are you breathing?
She closed her eyes. Hallucinations were as unpredictable as the pain.
Wouldn’t it be easier to stop? No longer take a breath? End it?
She grimaced. Sometimes the voices made sense. That terrified her more than anything. It would be easier to stop breathing. Then this torture would end.
Somebody wants you to die.
Why would someone want to kill her?
They hate you. Everyone hates you.
She felt cold.
You are a burden.
“Hermione?”
She bent over at the waist and heaved. No! She wouldn’t give up yet! Her knees hurt. She collapsed on the ground. Aching spread through her joints.
“Dammit Hermione! I’m done watching you take these stairs every night!” He scooped her up in his arms.
“Tom!”
“Don’t bother fighting. We both know you’re too weak to win!” He was right, of course. His warmth washed over her. It chased away the voices. She settled in and steadied her breathing. She relinquished a small shard of her independence that she desperately fought to maintain. She knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of her world crumbled around her.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
“Hermione, I want to see your memories,” Tom said. May was halfway gone, but it left behind warmth and sunshine.
Hermione glanced at him, confused. Like she couldn’t understand what he asked her.
Things continued to get worse. She started missing classes occasionally shortly after collapsing on the stairs. Now she missed more classes than she attended. Sometimes, the potion did nothing to ease her suffering. Madame Blainey asked if she would like to go to St. Mungo’s, but to Tom’s immense relief, she refused.
“There’s no treatment that St. Mungo’s could do that I’m not already getting. Healer Spleen would have told me if there was,” Hermione said.
Tom needed her close. The sight of her was his anchor in a chaotic world, keeping him from descending into madness.
“My memories?” she asked. The sun rose hours ago, but they stayed in bed, enjoying their Saturday morning in peace. Hermione slept longer these days and Tom was content reading until she woke up. It felt like he had already gone through every tome in the library. Even the restricted section was running out of selections.
Hermione blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her curls were more unruly than usual. He found it adorable.
“I want to see your memories of the time you were cursed.”
She sat up, flinching a little but doing her best to hide it. He always noticed. He was constantly watching.
“Why?”
“I need to know what the curse was. If I could see it being cast, I may be able to identify it.”
She looked uncertain. He gritted his teeth. They raced against time, but it was running out. If she said no, he would spend weeks trying to change her mind until she was too weak to use Occlumency. By then, it could be too late.
“I mean... how do you plan to do that? Do you think the Room of Requirement could assemble a Pensive?”
He frowned. “No, I’ve tried.”
“So then—”
“Legilimency.” He cut her off.
She stared at him as if she expected him to laugh and say it was a joke.
He never joked when it came to keeping her alive and safe. He wouldn’t lose her.
“You’re asking me to voluntarily allow you to sort through my memories?” she cringed.
“You’re an Occlumens! Keep me out of the memories you want hidden!” He didn’t add how much it irritated him she was still keeping secrets. It wasn’t what mattered then.
“I’m an untrained Occlumens, Tom! I’ve never tried to compartmentalize my memories before.”
He was losing this battle. He could already tell. “I need to know, Hermione. I need to know what happened that day. I will not dig through your thoughts. I’ll go wherever you lead.”
If she were anyone else, he would have threatened them. Forced himself into their mind after weakening them through torture. He would relentlessly search their memories until he uncovered every detail. She would resist him if he pushed his way into her head. It would be painful. As if he were tearing through her skull. He could never harm her. He needed her to open up to him willingly.
She grimaced, uncertain. “I need some direction here. Let me see. Please.”
The word ‘please’ coming from his lips always softened her. He used it to his advantage.
This time, the effect was no different. She studied him before she nodded. “Okay.”
He released the air he didn’t realize he was holding. They both shifted to face each other. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and pointed it at her forehead.
She looked nervous. He clasped her right hand in his left, his thumb caressing her knuckles. A small smile curved her lips.
“Legilimens.”
A mist. Swirling darkness. He sensed Hermione guiding him through her mind. He tried to glimpse the memories they passed, but she kept them just out of reach.
Finally, she dropped him where she wanted him.
Tom sensed her fear. Something in this memory terrified her. It was the difference between Legilimency and a Pensive. A Pensive showed memories from an outsider’s perspective. Legilimency was invasive. He felt every emotion that ran through her. All the gut-wrenching horror. The panic and anxiety. The feelings were diminished, but it put him on high alert.
Darkness surrounded Tom. The scene had yet to clear. He waited for his eyes to adjust, but nothing happened. He considered perhaps this was where she was, in this dark, uninhabited place. No light. Emptiness. Was this what made her so afraid?
A door opened, and it was like a veil lifted from his vision. A dim light peeked through the black haze. Through the opening, he could make out three figures falling over each other to escape wherever they exited. One turned and slammed the door shut.
Tom’s gaze swept across his surroundings as the room gradually came into better focus. He was in a strange circular room with various unlabeled doors surrounding him. This wasn’t Hogwarts.
Tom recognized Hermione’s brown curls which stood out among the flaming red hair of the other two. All of them were clearly scared, but it was Hermione’s feelings that stirred him. Made him burn. The others could rot for all he cared. He wanted to protect her. Fight off whatever had her so frightened. He wanted her safe. But these were memories. There was nothing he could do.
He opened his mind to her, feeling her presence wash over him.
We are in the Department of Mysteries. Her voice whispered in his mind.
What were you doing in the Department of Mysteries? Tom asked.
We were... we were looking for something. She evaded the question. He was already in her head. It wouldn’t take much to rummage deeper and find the answer. But she would shut him out before he found anything useful. Then he would have to face her wrath.
“Harry!” the red-headed boy said. He stumbled around laughing like a drunk man. Hermione’s emotions roared to life inside Tom’s chest. She cared for him.
Tom hated him.
A few others came into view. A boy with glasses, addressed as Harry. Another familiar boy dragging the limp form of an unconscious blond. Tom stepped closer to examine his face. He looked startlingly similar to Archie Longbottom.
Neville Longbottom. Hermione said, probably recognizing the resemblance Tom saw. Must be a descendent. A grandson, perhaps.
Tom felt Hermione’s surge of relief at seeing these people. Odd to feel relief at the well-being of others. It was something that made Hermione special. Good. A concept he would never truly grasp.
“What happened?” Harry asked. Everyone turned to him like a leader and Hermione spoke first. She told some far-fetched tale about Ron being hit by a Laughing Curse. Hermione talked about a room in space and a girl named Ginny getting injured.
Tom raised a brow. Hermione once mentioned sharing a bed with a Ginny.
The girl in question, Ginny, glanced at her ankle that was crudely wrapped with a poorly done Ferula Charm. She tried her weight on her foot but flinched with the effort.
These were my friends. Hermione explained. After she revealed being from an alternate future, she spoke about her experiences at Hogwarts when they talked in bed together. The boys, Harry and Ron, were often mentioned, but she never admitted to feeling affection for the red-head.
Tom studied him. A curse hit the guy?! Didn’t he know a basic Shield Charm? Was he incapable of defending himself?
Tom hadn’t realized how stiff he held himself until he tried to move. His muscles ached with tension, resisting the motion. If this weren’t a memory, Tom would rid himself of this boy. He hated the way Hermione looked at him. Despised the emotions he felt from her. It filled him with such rage that he had an overwhelming urge to obliterate everything in sight.
Had Tom been present, an accident would have occurred. One that would have cost this boy his life. He would have ensured it.
“We have to get out of here,” Harry grabbed the red-headed prat, who laughed like a maniac. He dragged him towards a door on the other side of the circular room.
“There they are!” Hermione’s spike of fear and adrenaline flooded Tom. Three people cloaked in black robes appeared. Hermione threw spells at them as the group ran through the entrance. Tom followed them inside, Hermione falling in last. She swung her wand at the door and cast Colloportus to seal it shut.
Tom grinned. Smart girl.
The door thumped as the cloaked figures’ efforts to open it failed.
He almost choked on her powerful relief, even muted as it passed through the memory into him.
There was a problem, though. The room they entered had more doors spread around the perimeter.
Everyone scattered, running for each entrance and casting the Colloportus Charm to keep out the attackers.
These people were aiming to kill. They wanted to remove his witch from existence. The girl who was becoming the center of his entire universe.
Who are they? Tom asked her. He didn’t have to clarify who he was referring to.
They’re dark wizards.
Why would a group of dark wizards want to kill a bunch of kids?
She didn’t answer. She hid something from him. He took a moment to consider. Piece together what he knew. Hermione was from a future alternate universe. She instantly hated him when they met. They are being attacked by a group of dark wizards in the Department of Mysteries. She was reluctant to share this memory and now she was being oddly silent about the details…
Tom clenched his jaw. He understood the significance of this. Did a version of himself from her world have something to do with this?
A wave of nausea ran through him. He looked for Hermione, wondering what caused her to experience something so visceral. Then he realized it wasn’t her emotions but his own. If things went according to plan, he could only imagine how much he might accomplish in fifty years; what sort of power he could obtain.
He couldn’t think about this now. He needed to focus.
He tried to take in his new surroundings. There were floating brains being suspended in a green liquid. Why would the Department of Mysteries need this? Were they researching a wizard versus Muggle brain? Maybe experimenting with Squibs? Bizarre place.
He became curious about what the other rooms might contain. He already heard them mention something about a planet room.
“Aargh!” Tom turned to see Ginny flying across the room and landing on her back, unconscious. She was too slow on her ankle. She was a liability at this point. It was probably better to have her weeded out.
Cloaked figures entered, casting spells at Hermione and her friends.
Amidst flying spells, Tom searched for Hermione. Many of those chasing her were aiming to kill. Hermione’s fear grew, but it was being drowned out by Tom’s anger that these people were actually trying to kill her. What had she gotten herself involved in?
Why are they trying to kill you? He asked her again.
We had something they wanted. Another evasive answer.
“Honestly, Hermione, they’re brains—look—Accio brain!” Tom faced the red-headed idiot who summoned a brain to his hand. The fighting stopped as everyone watched what happened next. The brain, as many summoned objects do, flew towards him, green slime dripping from its spongy cortex. It had thin tentacles waving in all directions. Tom wondered what those were supposed to represent. A spinal cord? It wouldn’t explain why there were so many of them. A brain should have a single spinal cord attached to it. Perhaps neurons? He had his doubts about this, too. In his experience, when dissecting animals in his childhood, nerves were thinner, less robust.
He didn’t contemplate this for long. As soon as it touched the boy, the tentacles wrapped around him like a rope, binding him.
Hermione’s horror rushed through Tom as she tried casting spells on the brain matter, attempting to disconnect it from the guy. She caught him as he fell, making sure he landed safely on the ground.
Her affection hit Tom like flames, burning him from the inside out. He couldn’t take it anymore! He hated knowing Hermione felt this way about someone else! It infuriated him! It was jealousy. He knew that now. She was his witch!
Who is he?! He asked her. The words came out harsher than he intended.
He was my friend.
You care about him! Was he really just your friend?
It doesn’t matter! He isn’t here anymore! And above anything, he was one of my best friends! She was mad. Tom had to force himself not to push the argument further. He risked her driving him out of her mind if he angered her.
Tom hated this guy. With any luck, he died here today.
Tom moved to stand next to her. As if him being there could hold the danger at bay.
The black-haired boy, Harry, bolted across the room, holding up a glowing orb.
That must be what they were after. What started this fight? What could be so important?
“Harry, no! Neville, stay with Ron!” She sprinted after Harry, with Tom following close behind. He slipped through the doorway to the new area, watching Harry crash to the floor and Hermione help him up. Seconds later, about a dozen robed people surrounded Hermione and Harry. They climbed onto a dais where a stone archway loomed ominously over the room, its black tattered curtain billowing in an invisible breeze.
“Potter, your race is run,” someone said, pulling off his mask. The person speaking had white blonde hair and a long, straight nose. It had to be a Malfoy.
That’s Lucius Malfoy, Hermione said to him as if reading his thoughts.
Did Malfoy do this to you?
No.
Tom was almost disappointed. He would have enjoyed killing Abraxas and ending his family line.
There was some laughing around the room. Dark and sinister. Tom walked among the cloaked figures, looking at each of their faces. Studying them. Others were unmasked, but nobody had such identifying features as the Malfoy. Tom couldn’t be sure what family they belonged to.
“They’ve still god be!” the boy with the broken nose shouted from the top of the stairs. What a stupid thing to do, announce his presence. He had the perfect opportunity to sneak up on the enemy, catch them by surprise. Bloody idiot.
Chaos ensued again as spells went flying.
Who did this to you!? Tom was at wits’ end. He needed to know who did this and see the spell!
To your left. She answered. Tom looked at a man next to him and she confirmed. The man was unmasked, but his features were too generic to identify. He had dark brown hair and a scruffy, short beard. He firmly fixed his brown gaze on the boy, who cast spells haphazardly into the mass of people.
He wanted to ask her who he was. He wanted a name, but she would never tell him. Hermione knew how he would react if he found out who did this. What he was capable of. What he would do...
The man pointed his wand at the boy. Something on his finger gleamed, drawing Tom’s eye. He looked closer. He saw an emblem engraved on the metal ring. The crest featured an ornate ‘D’ with three small diamonds below. Wrapped around the letter was a ram with large horns, roaring to the sky. The band had crossed wands on either side.
A signet ring.
“Avad—”
“Silencio!” Hermione’s voice rang out, silencing the man. He turned on her, eyes flashed, slashed his wand in front of him, releasing a purple spell that hit her in her hip. Right where her scar would be.
He felt the pain rip through her.
The scene became hazy. He couldn’t look away from Hermione as she fell backwards through the stone archway, lost behind the billowing curtain.
He felt her tug at him, forcing him out of her mind. He wanted to resist, but his anger, like a raging inferno, threatened to consume him completely. It surged through his veins, blinding his vision and distorting his thoughts. The air crackled with the intensity of his fury, filling his nostrils with the scent of his burning resentment. Every fiber of his being trembled with the overwhelming power of his rage.
“Tom?” Her voice sounded far away, like they were still in her memories despite her sitting in front of him.
The unyielding desire for vengeance, an insatiable hunger to unleash his wrath upon the world, overwhelmed him. The mere thought of resistance seemed futile, as his hatred transformed into an unstoppable force, crushing any semblance of reason or self-control.
“Tom?” He couldn’t grasp the cord of what she said. “Tom, are you okay? Did you figure something out?”
“Yes...” His own voice sounded foreign. He felt like he might explode. He unraveled.
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Everything was wrong. Which thing was he supposed to pick? He abruptly stood, throwing on his clothes and shoes. She looked surprised, but didn’t move to stop him as he stormed from the room.
Tom had seen that ring before. He knew exactly who it belonged to. His grip on his wand tightened.
He cursed her. He brought her harm, pain, and suffering. Potential death.
Tom would repay in kind.
Notes:
Chapter 37 Song: Meet Me on the Battlefield: SVRCINA. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Posting a day early just because!
These last five chapters I think of as a series of "Tom centric" chapters! We are about to tear this our boy apart! The guy in the picture isn't really my fan cast by any means but I needed 5 similar images of the same person for my series. So here we are!
XOXO - Tipp
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 38: 38: Madness
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He did this to her. Tom saw the ring on his finger before. It was Dolohov!
Tom clenched his trembling fists as he barreled past the ornate tapestries and a sneezing suite of armor, his furious footsteps echoing off the stone walls. His magic crackled with the intensity of his seething anger, its palpable heat radiating through the corridors. His piercing gaze, filled with a mix of determination and resentment, sent shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to meet his eyes. Nothing could stand in his way. He would find him. He would destroy him.
The students took advantage of the beautiful weather and spent the day outdoors, enjoying the warmth and sunshine. Tom found Dolohov sitting beneath a shady tree with a group of fellow Slytherin third years. They had books strewn haphazardly around the group, forgotten and ignored.
It was tempting to kill him, but he had to be discreet. He had to get him alone.
Seeking a moment of seclusion, he ducked into the shadows. The silence enveloped him as he sought clarity in his thoughts. He needed to draw him out without bringing suspicion to himself.
Tom pulled out his wand, holding it in a death grip. Then he went with the simplest solution. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and pointed his wand at Dolohov from across the grounds.
“Imperio.” He whispered the curse, but put all the force of his magic and fury behind it. The effect was instant. Tom felt his spell enter Dolohov‘s consciousness. He overtook the boy’s weak mind, taking command of his actions.
Dolohov stopped talking. One of his friends gave him an odd look. Matilda, another third-year, sat next to him. She chuckled before leaning her head on Dolohov‘s shoulder.
“You okay?” his friend asked.
“Yeah,” Dolohov said. He stood up and started packing his bag. The girl almost face planted into the grass with his sudden movement. “I forgot about something.”
“I’ll go with you!” she said.
“No, stay here.”
She pouted. “But I—”
“I told you to stay!”
Tom practiced the Imperius Curse on multiple Muggles during the summer. So easy. Almost unsatisfying.
Tom would lift the spell when he tortured the life out of him. It wouldn’t be fun if he didn’t fight back. Beg for mercy. Scream. He had no intention of it being fast. The boy would experience every second of pain and agony.
As directed, Dolohov strolled away from his friends. He moved towards the courtyard, but ducked left rather than entering the castle. He walked around the perimeter and across the lawn.
Tom followed at a safe distance. Staying disillusioned and keeping to the shadows. He pursued Dolohov into the Forbidden Forest where the boy waited.
He lifted the Disillusionment. “Keep walking,” he commanded. No emotion passed over Dolohov’s face as he turned and continued onward.
The same ring adorned his finger. The three diamonds glared at Tom like a beacon that ignited his anger. He saw the resemblance to the guy that cursed his witch. The dark hair and deep-set eyes. It must have been his offspring.
That didn’t soften Tom’s resolve.
He would end his family line today. Now.
Together, they walked deeper into darkness. Far enough that nobody would hear the boy scream.
Ten minutes passed before Tom turned on Dolohov, and in a second, lifted the Imperius Curse.
He stood confused, looking around the forest, wondering how he got there. He ran his hand through his brown hair, as if trying to rub away a headache. His memory would return soon.
Then he noticed Tom standing there, casually twirling his wand. “Tom Riddle?”
“Hello, Dolohov. Fancy meeting you here.” The smirk that crossed Tom’s lips told him that this was no coincidence.
The color drained from the boy’s face. He swallowed hard. “I—Is there a problem, R—Riddle?” His voice shook. Weak. A skilled wizard for his youth, but feeble of mind. He could have been useful had Tom claimed the power he once dreamed of.
That search for ultimate power and control meant nothing these days. Now all that mattered was her. The girl Tom would lose because of the bastard in front of him!
A fresh wave of fury washed over him. Dolohov saw the signs. He knew what Tom was capable of. He scrambled for his wand. Tom wanted to scoff at the notion. What did a third-year student think they could do against him? Regardless, he refused to allow the boy a fair fight. He wasn’t worthy of it. He deserved nothing but death. “Crucio!”
The wand in Dolohov‘s hand fell to the forest floor as he screamed. He collapsed to his knees. His delicious cries of anguish filled the clearing. His body heaved. He resembled a puppet manipulated by a string. He flailed and rolled, contorting his limbs in unnatural ways.
He released the curse, his hand going numb with the force of his magic. “You did this to her!”
“I d—don’t,” Dolohov sobbed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
He wouldn’t, would he…
That was inconsequential.
“Crucio!” Something inside Tom unlocked as all his emotions poured out of him into the spell. A flurry of animals fled the area, birds flew from the trees, escaping the onslaught of noise. Terrified of the threat. An unknown predator appeared in the forest; they hadn’t realized it feasted on a very specific prey.
Nothing could save him. Just the two of them were here. Tom was determined to end his miserable life.
“Pl—please!” Tom would never admit it, but he was impressed Dolohov spoke through the Cruciatus Curse.
The boy bucked in the dirt, twisting and writhing in agony. His muscles clenched and his face turned purple as oxygen eluded him.
He lifted the spell to allow the fucker a few moments to cry. Rather merciful of him. Selfishly, Tom didn’t want him to die too fast.
“I’m going to kill you today, Dolohov.” The boy trembled on the ground. “Do you know why?”
“N—noooo... I didn’t. I didn’t do anything.”
“No, perhaps not. Now your family will never have the opportunity. Crucio.” Tom barely recognized his own voice. Dolohov twitched, spasmed, and jerked. He squirmed in pain with chokes of air escaping from his lungs. He was too weak to scream anymore.
Perhaps today he would create his first Horcrux. He read about them in his quest to save Hermione. The idea intrigued him. He devoured everything he found on them. Truthfully, this didn’t amount to much. But Tom was sure he could manage.
It would bring him one step closer to immortality. To living forever. Defeat death itself.
If Petrifying a student resulted in her casting him aside, killing… Hermione would never forgive him if he killed someone.
His spell stopped as his determination wavered. Dolohov tried to move. He shifted onto his side as if he might try to crawl away. His body shook. His arms didn’t support his weight, and he collapsed. Tom seethed.
He could make it look like an accident. A mistake. He lost control. He didn’t mean to actually kill the boy. She would never know the truth. She couldn’t blame him for wishing him harm! For desiring revenge! Hermione must understand that!
“Crucio!”
Even if she discovered this, she may not care. This was his fault! The curse! Her dying! A future Dolohov pointed his wand at her, cursed her, and now Tom might lose her... He discovered the star that lit up his world only for that star to flicker out. It drove him to insanity! How could he return to living in darkness after experiencing her warmth?
That was not a bloody option!
The fight left Dolohov. He gave up. How could the ancestor of this pathetic, insignificant bastard take away the single person he cared about?!
Tom’s next spell was stronger than the last. A fire ignited under Riddle’s soul. He felt disconnected from the surrounding forest, from his wand, from the words coming out of his mouth.
Reality seemed muffled. A fog enclosed around Tom, leaving him in a haze of rage. His breathing echoed in his ear. The world moved in slow motion.
Tom would kill Dolohov. It would be righteous. Dolohov didn’t deserve to live. Wouldn’t Hermione realize that? How could she not? If she was present, Tom might be able to persuade her to deliver the last strike. If she was the one to end Dolohov‘s pathetic existence, then he could show her all he learned about making Horcruxes.
Save her... all she would have to do is finish what he started. Surely she would see the sense in that. She... she...
He knew it wasn’t true. Hermione was good, despite his inability to comprehend it. She was pure... and kind. She wouldn’t perceive the justice in killing Dolohov, no matter how well intended. She wouldn’t care if it was an accident. She wouldn’t care if Dolohov‘s death meant she would live by making a Horcrux. In fact, she may not be capable of making one, being so guilt-ridden by the act.
If he did it, she would know. Somehow, she always knew.
Hesitation returned as Tom broke the spell. Dolohov wasn’t conscious anymore; the pain overwhelmed him.
Tom’s wand twitched as he gritted his teeth, his very soul demanding him to cast another curse but his better senses holding him back. He hadn’t found an inner sense of right and wrong—a moral compass to stable his hand. Tom didn’t give a damn about morality. It always circled around to her. That was what mattered. It was all that mattered.
His lion. His guiding star.
“Tom...” her voice. It resounded through him like a spirit haunting his very soul. So sweet. He longed to hear that voice. He would accept this haunting freely if it was her. Fragments of her created by the kid in front of him!
A different spell burst forth from the tip of his wand and Dolohov rolled... once... twice till he connected with a tree.
He was going to lose her. It was all his fault! Tom couldn’t take it.
“Tom…” that haunting voice of hers. It ignited his rage, blinding him. His rage blinded him. She was everything. All his research to save her had come to nothing! He didn’t care anymore. This boy needed to be eliminated from the Earth. Tom would deal with the consequences.
He still had his wand pointed at the lump of meat on the forest floor. His deadened eyes narrowed. “Avada Kadavra!”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ* ･★ ・・・・
Hermione sat on the bed in stunned silence as Tom stormed from the room. She felt his magic radiating off him, like he lost control of it.
What made him leave so abruptly?
She hissed in pain as she shifted to the edge of the bed. These days, the curse became bad enough that she carried a stash of the potion with her in her bag. She pulled it out and took a swig before tossing it away.
What angered him so much? If he figured out the spell involved, he wouldn’t have been furious. He would have stayed and discussed it with her.
She rubbed her aching side as she dragged on her clothes.
Something was wrong. Something didn’t sit right with her.
When he saw Ron, he became pissed, probably sensing the romantic emotions she once had for him. That couldn’t be why he ran off. Tom surely wasn’t that petty! Was he? Hermione couldn’t decide. He had a nasty jealousy streak, but her feelings for Ron were gone now. And Ron didn’t exist in this world!
She brushed that explanation aside.
She considered his reaction to the memory. She pointed out Dolohov and Tom had moved in close to watch as the Death Eater cast the spell.
That was when everything had shifted...
Hermione knew a Dolohov was in Slytherin. She never spoke to him, but she saw him around. He wasn’t the spitting image of his future son, but there were some similar features. She hadn’t counted on Tom recognizing him.
What if he did? Tom walked through the crowd of Death Eaters and inspected each one. It stood to reason that he may have recognized Dolohov too...
If he did, then he would kill him. Tom would hunt Dolohov down and destroy him. Revenge.
The pain fell to the background of her mind.
She should have never shown him that memory!
Hermione was on her feet and running out the door in seconds. She scanned the hallway for any sign of Tom. Where would he have gone? Her best bet was to find Dolohov. Tom would be wherever he was.
She ran to the Great Hall to discover a few students finishing lunch.
“Hermione!” she turned to see Gussie running straight at her. “About time you made an appearance!”
“Gussie! Have you seen Tom?”
“What? Tom? He’s always with you. How should I know?” Gussie shrugged.
“Have you seen him? It’s important!”
Gussie frowned, “Not since yesterday.”
“What about Dolohov?”
“Dolohov? That Slytherin guy? What—wait, Hermione! Where are you going?”
Hermione was wasting time talking to her friend. She shoved by Gussie and headed towards the entrance hall. The nice weather drew most students out of the castle.
She found a group of Slytherin third years sitting together under a tree. They gave her a strange look as she approached them. Her entire body burned from the curse, but she did her best to ignore it.
“Aren’t you Tom Riddle’s girlfriend?” someone in the group asked as Hermione hurried towards them.
“She’s the one with the curse,” a girl said.
“Isn’t she supposed to be dying?”
“Yeah, Walburga was bragging about it the other day. Said she’d get Tom back once she was out of the picture,” a boy said. Hermione studied the kid. She recognized his portrait from Grimauld Place. Orion Black, Walburga’s future husband.
Hermione tried to ignore what they were saying. These days, it wasn’t unusual for students to whisper about her in the halls. They typically weren’t so brazen to talk about her in front of her face, though.
“Have you seen Dolohov?”
One girl in the group scowled at Hermione. “Is Tom Riddle not enough for you? Now you want Dolohov too?” She asked with a sneer. It took all of Hermione’s willpower to keep her from rolling her eyes. Dolohov was a kid! Probably thirteen!
“Matilda, you should really think twice before you make enemies with Tom Riddle’s girlfriend. Wouldn’t want him going after you,” Orion said.
“Dolohov, where is he?” Hermione asked again. She directed the question to Orion.
“Got up and walked that way about ten minutes ago.” He pointed back towards the courtyard. Hermione‘s heart pounded in her chest as she ran; the sounds of her footsteps and ragged breaths filled the air. No sign of Dolohov or Tom. She asked a few students if they’d seen him; they all shrugged.
Where would Tom take him? Would he go inside? She doubted it. Not when Dolohov was already outside and exposed. It would be easier to get caught going back inside the castle.
She paced, her mind racing as she tried to come up with a plan. Then she spotted the line of trees in the distance. Hadn’t Tom joked about how easy it would be to kill someone in the Forbidden Forest when they went to Hogsmeade?
It wasn’t much to go on, but instinct drove her forward. She rushed towards the trees, ignoring the searing pain in her body. Trying to pretend she wasn't feeling an encroaching gloom enter her mind as the curse tried to invade.
She was using an excessive amount of energy. But Tom would kill Dolohov if she didn’t stop him.
People will die, and it’s your fault.
The strain. Hallucinations. Darkness in her vision. She couldn’t cower at them now. She had to keep going. Everything hurt.
She reached the forest and planned her next move. In the end, she continued along the trail, keeping her ears open for the sound of voices.
So many people died because of your incompetence.
Her legs trembled. She couldn’t drop now! She had to push through this. What if she was mistaken about her assumption of checking the Forbidden Forest? Would she collapse here? Too weak to escape or perform the most basic spells to call for help.
You will rot alone.
She choked on a sob. She couldn’t let the hallucinations tear her apart. Not right now.
There was a rustle in the trees. Then she heard it—a distant screaming.
She ran. At least a dozen times she tripped over roots on the forest floor as her vision blurred. Darkness invaded. Hallucinations, horrific voices, and nightmare visions she knew weren’t real. But she had new resolve that motivated her to block them all out.
“Tom!” she cried. But nothing changed. The screaming continued. The noise increased in volume as she drew nearer. Then it was replaced by crying. Moments later, the sound stopped.
Was she too late? Was he dead?
“Tom!” Still no response. Her heart pounded. She wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. They had to be close.
Finally, she found them. Dolohov lay in a heap on the forest floor as Tom watched him, his face expressionless.
Tom raised his wand again, and Hermione didn’t hesitate. “DISPULSO!” She shouted. She knocked Tom off his feet. He slammed into a tree behind him as a flash of green light exploded from his wand and crashed into a thick tree trunk that cracked ominously.
“Tom!” He didn’t hear her. He picked himself off the forest floor, remaining calm. She barely made it into the small clearing before she collapsed on top of Dolohov, shielding him with her own body.
“Hermione.” His voice had an unnatural edge to it like he wasn’t really there.
“Tom, stop!” She heaved for air. Tears streamed down her face as the agony of her curse caught up with her. She trembled. Sweat poured off her. “You’re killing him! You’re going to kill him!”
“So?”
Dolohov wasn’t moving. Blood oozed out of his nose and mouth. It was a horrific sight. Was he already dead? Tom cast the Killing Curse. Was it necessary? Was she too late?
Despite her own pain, she pressed on.
“He didn’t do anything!”
“He cursed you! He scarred your body! You’re dying and it’s because of him!” He raised his wand again, about to aim for Dolohov—
“Expelliarmus!” His wand flew through the air and she caught it awkwardly, giving a small wince at the pain the movement caused her. His eyes narrowed on her, and his jaw clenched.
“Give. Me. My. Wand.” She ignored his panted demand.
“It wasn’t him! It was a different Dolohov from a different time in a different world!”
“It’s still a Dolohov, somebody produced by this fucker—”
“It isn’t, though! Not him!”
“Somebody needs to pay!”
“I don’t want you to get revenge for me!” She glanced back at Dolohov. Desperate to see him move. Any movement would calm her frayed nerves. He needed medical attention, but if she left to find someone, Tom would kill him with his bare hands.
“This is my curse, my battle, and my body! It’s my life! I don’t want revenge.” She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Dolohov’s chest expand.
She looked back at Tom, but instead of seeing his anger, she faced a coy smile that didn’t reach his cold, hardened eyes. “You think this was for you? You think I came in here and planned to give Dolohov a slow, painful death for you?” His chuckle sent a chill down her spine.
“I did this for me! I did this because I’m so fucking angry that if I didn’t kill this bastard, I’d explode! Lose my mind! I would burn this entire castle to the ground in a blind rage! I’m so furious I...” he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. They stared at each other in silence. Hermione needed to reach for Dolohov, get him to the Hospital Wing, but she was afraid any movement may set Tom off again.
He held his hand out, moving slow, not breaking eye contact with her. She knew what he was about to do before the words left his mouth. “Accio.” His wand flew back into his palm.
Her vision blurred. Her strength drained. It would be pointless to fight him with magic while she was in this weakened state. Instead, she covered more of the boy with her body. It would be easy for Tom to move her, but it was her only defense.
“Do you know why he did it?” She asked. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t seem to think it mattered why. “He did it for you.”
The silence was deafening. The only sound in the forest was Hermione‘s labored breathing as she tried to suppress the pain.
“I...” she gulped, “you have followers, and they attacked us in the Department of Mysteries for your power agenda. On your orders. And…and I was cursed.”
He didn’t say a word. And she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
Harry…
Ron…
How could she have forgotten everything? Was she betraying them by falling for Tom Riddle? And did she honestly expect him to change? Despite knowing who he was, they ended up here. After she defied space and time; the two most unlikely people fell into a twisted dance together.
Maybe this would only ever be a fantasy…
“A fantasy?” he asked. She hadn’t realized she said that part out loud.
“What you and I have,” she felt the sting of oncoming tears in her eyes. She held them at bay, “it isn’t real, Tom. Nothing about this, about us, any of it!”
The stony shield that surrounded him shattered. “No, Hermione, you are the most real thing I’ve ever had in my life!” He moved closer to her. She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“No, none of it makes sense. We don’t make sense. You’re supposed to be my enemy. You’ve killed so many people and hurt more. People that I care about. You would kill me without a second thought.”
He dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands wiped the tears on her cheek that she hadn’t realized had fallen. The tender gesture increased the streams from her eyes. “I would never hurt you, Hermione. I could never!”
“I don’t blame you for this, Tom, just like I don’t blame Dolohov.” She swallowed hard and continued, “That was a very different time and a very different place. And in many ways, you are a very different person but... but in a lot of ways, you are exactly the same.”
He grabbed her and hauled her off Dolohov and into his arms, onto his lap. Hermione was too weak to fight him. She felt the dark agony fog her mind. But as the scent of peppermint and cedar enveloped her, providing some comfort.
She needed him.
“It’s too much…” her voice cracked.
“Hermione… nothing ever made sense until you came into my life and gave me purpose.” He sounded desperate.
“Tom…”
“I’m sorry I’m not the man you want me to be, and maybe I’ll never be that man, but I would burn the world if it made you smile. You are everything I need,” Tom rasped.
“What if I don’t want this world to burn to ashes?” Hermione asked "What if I want it to be beautiful?"
“The world is already beautiful because you live in it.”
He peppered her tear-stained face with gentle kisses. They could both feel it; something between them shattered, and he begged between kisses to fix it.
“What if I don’t want you to kill Dolohov?”
“Hermione…” his voice sounded strained.
“Answer me, Tom,” she whispered. Her breath came out in harsh gasps.
“Damnit!”
“Tom.”
“He hurt you.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Tom looked frantic. She attempted to hide the true extent of her pain, understanding that displaying it would complicate matters. “I’m so angry…”
She wrapped her arms around him. “It’s okay to be angry, Tom.”
“Hmm,” she heard his intake of breath as he buried his nose in her hair, pulling tight against his body. “Don’t tell me this isn’t real, Hermione.”
“I’m sorry…” He kissed behind her ear and down her neck. It had been a long time since he held her this close. The shivers of pain and pleasure ran through her. Tears streamed down her face. “Don’t kill him, Tom.”
She sensed his hesitation as he paused against her collarbone. “Okay.”
“You mean it?”
“I won’t kill him,” it sounded like he choked on the words.
Tom Riddle was broken. She could see it now. But something about her healed the cracks in his soul. He needed her just as much as she needed him. She had been so wrapped up in her own curse, pain, and scars that she overlooked the extent of his suffering. All this time, he supported her, and she left him to fend for himself.
He dropped his wand, leaving it forgotten on the forest floor. The anger dissipated for now. She leaned against him, allowing him to hold her, in reality, too weak to move away, but also comforted by his embrace.
“I should despise you. I should want nothing to do with you,” she said. “Instead, against all my better judgment, you maneuvered your way into my heart and latched on.”
He doesn’t want you.
She knew that wasn’t true. He made her feel cared for. Even loved, if he was capable of such a thing.
“I’m not letting you go,” he kissed her neck. She whimpered, her skin becoming overly sensitive. He pulled back.
You will only live in a world of pain.
The torment increased. She sobbed from the intensity. Her vision gave way next. He spoke to her, but that incessant roaring started in her ears that drowned out all other noise.
He would be better off without you.
“Hermione?!”
“I’m sorry, Tom.”
The voice in her head was wrong. He would be lost without her.
Notes:
Chapter 38 Song: Don't Blame Me: Taylor Swift. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Thanks for being patient guys!
Once again the next chapter will be delayed but I'll post a long preview on my socials next weekend!
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 39: 39: Monster
Notes:
Most of you voted on my instagram that you would rather have this chapter earlier and wait a little longer for the next one. I'm staying true to what you guys asked for! Here's the next chapter!
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Chapter Text
Tom carried Hermione to the Hospital Wing, her cries becoming more distressed with each passing second. The intense pain she experienced was evident in her agonizing screams, resonating through the corridors as they made their way to the infirmary. Despite the urgency of the situation, Tom remained unusually calm, all his energy focused on her well-being. When he gently laid her on the bed, he saw the beads of sweat forming on her forehead as tears streamed down her face.
Madame Blainey administered her potion, which reduced her screams to whimpers, muttering incomprehensible words to something unseen. When it became too much to bear, she gave her a Dreamless Sleep potion. Her expression eased. Tom was grateful for it.
Eventually, Dolohov showed up, saying some nonsense about why he went into the forest. Tom erased his memories and planted new ones. He wasn't worth any additional effort. Leaving him alive was a testament to what he would do for this witch. In her current condition, she may never know he died. But Tom decided it wasn’t worth the potential argument. Killing him would require dealing with the body and Hermione's pain took precedence.
A week passed and she didn’t improve. Tom spent every hour over his cauldron or digging through books by Hermione’s side. The St. Mungo’s Healer stopped by the castle but had nothing left to offer. Hermione cried, Tom comforted her, but he was furious. It pushed him to work harder. Everyone else gave up on her but he refused. He would never give up, despite the number of dead ends that turned up in his efforts to cure her.
Hermione couldn’t keep up with her studies anymore and moved permanently into the Hospital Wing. She spent more time sleeping than awake. Whimpering in her bed with Tom helpless to do anything to ease her pain. He doubled his efforts to find a cure.
Tom considered moving back into the Slytherin dorms now that she no longer occupied the Room of Requirement with him. He trudged up the stairs well after curfew one night and collapsed in his bed, wondering if his familiar sheets would provide any sort of solace. But the pillow didn’t have her apple scent on it. There was no honey-filled sweetness in the air. She wasn’t there. After experiencing almost a month of her comforting warmth sleeping in his arms, he couldn't bear the coldness of his own bed without her.
He slept in the Room of Requirement after that, not bothering with his dorm.
While Hermione continued to be miserable, she at least didn’t worsen, but then Tom saw it. Something dark, like a web, streaking across her skin. It started at the scar and spread around her back, torso, and down her legs. It looked like her blood turned black, with each vessel visibly protruding darkness. How long had it been there? Was she hiding it from him?
Madame Blainey frowned. “The curse is taking over,” she said.
No! It was too soon! He thought he would have more time! The air hummed with magic as his emotions overwhelmed him.
“I’m sorry, Tom.”
They disgusted him! He would do this alone!
Tom stayed by her side reading, researching, but there was nothing! It felt like he was going in circles. He was halfway through Curses and Catastrophes before he realized he read it already!
His research took a turn when he started trying to unravel the composition of a soul. He investigated soul-binding runes and ancient, mostly forgotten rituals. In a book called Life Force, he discovered a way to harness her soul at the brink of death, but timing was critical. He needed something to attach it to. Her body would have died. He would need to create a vessel for her.
The task became more daunting the further he got. The ritual required a specific set of runes. Though the descriptions were vague, he felt confident in his ability to assemble powerful runes that would complement each other. He’d try it on animals to ensure it wouldn’t fail. Then he would need a blood sacrifice. The magic would be stronger if the sacrifice was related to her somehow. Would he have to track down her Muggle ancestors?
He peaked up from his book at her. The black webs on her skin now ascended her neck. Even with Dreamless Sleep potion, she whimpered, unable to escape her pain in reality. He didn’t have time for a complex ritual! No matter how effective it may be.
If only he had more time…
What if he made a Horcrux? Could he input a piece of his soul into her to keep her alive? He had no doubt in his ability to make a Horcrux. He didn’t care who he had to kill, but to transfer his soul to someone else. Was that possible?
Damnit! He knew that sounded ridiculous. It didn’t matter! He would tear apart his soul as many times as it took to keep her!
Could he restore her body after death?
His thoughts spiraled like this. Every day a new tangle of rituals, books, and notes as he tried to piece together a way to save her.
He never realized he could care for another person. He hated it. It ruined him. He felt distraught. When did she become the center of his universe? Was it when she gave him the sweets? Danced with him at the Yule Ball? Their first kiss in the bathroom? Fed the Giant Squid? Or shared what they saw in the Mirror of Erised?
He stood, the book in his lap falling to the floor.
He never returned to the Room of Hidden Things. The mirror showed your greatest desire, didn’t it?
He grabbed his bag and was out of the Hospital Wing moments later. Could the reflection show him how to cure her?
He wanted her to stop screaming every time she opened her eyes. He wanted the black webs to disappear from her skin. He wanted to save her. It was his greatest desire. The mirror would show him! It had to!
Tom was panting when he arrived at the seventh-floor corridor. He paced in front of the empty wall, waiting for the door to appear.
The mirror remained undisturbed in the back of the Room of Hidden Things. A light layer of dust coated the glass, but the golden frame gleamed in the moonlight.
Last time, it reflected his desire for power. He was the best. He was distinguished. The greatest that ever lived. More powerful than death itself. Immortal. Everyone equally feared and admired him. He recalled his visceral reaction. It was a rush, seeing everything he hoped for obtained.
Those aspirations had been long forgotten. They felt like fragmented memories of an ancient past. A dream that belonged to another person.
Tom stood in front of the enchanted mirror and waited. His heart raced, beating through his ears. His skin prickled with anticipation. His deepest desire would show back at him. All his hopes and dreams counted on this.
What he saw wasn’t the cure he wanted.
True to its word, the mirror revealed his heart’s greatest desire. It showed Hermione next to him, smiling, healthy, looking at him with eyes full of affection. Between them was the dark, curly-haired child he imagined. A little girl, no older than four. In her arms, she cradled a bundle of blankets.
Tom should have known that the mirror would show him this. How did he not see it coming? He hurried here without thinking. Desperation clouded his judgment. Now that he was here, he couldn't avert his gaze. Why did his desire cause so much pain? It felt unprecedented. Something he never experienced before. Was he always capable of such emotions? He didn’t know what to call them.
He didn’t want to name them.
Occasionally, Hermione stooped and kissed the head of the infant tucked inside.
Did he desire to be a father? He hated children. Growing up in the orphanage solidified that. But with her…
How long did he stay there? Minutes? Hours? He knew that if he wasn’t careful, he could spend days wasting away in front of the mirror. If he lost her... if she died... he would always have her here. Even if it was a fragment in a mirror’s reflection. Better than nothing.
He would make this dream come true. He wouldn’t give up on her yet.
***
“How’s Hermione?” Reinhardt asked him one afternoon about a week later. Madame Blainey kicked him out of the Hospital Wing and told him to spend time with his friends. Tom sulked in the library with Reinhardt and Julia.
Tom didn’t answer him. He flicked through a book about wizarding wars, seeing if there was any mention of curses being used in battle.
He was desperate.
“Reinhardt, if you’re going to ignore me, then I may as well be sitting with my friends!” Julia said moments later. They had a fight. Tom told Reinhardt to break up with her ages ago. It was obvious he wasn’t romantically interested in her. Particularly now that Tom knew Reinhardt was gay.
Reinhardt looked up at her, but no readable expression passed over his face.
“Fine!” She stood and stuffed her belongings in her bag before stomping out of the library.
Reinhardt still didn’t react. He shuffled his papers and returned to his homework. He worked on an essay about the magical properties of unicorns for Care of Magical Creatures. A picture of a unicorn adorned the page. Unlike the creature Tom saw with Hermione in the Forbidden Forest, this one was fully grown with silver hair.
The magical properties were endless. Everything from their horn, hair, even their damn eyeballs were useful. It was probably the most valuable creature for a poacher to hunt. The problem was when someone killed a unicorn, they became doomed to a cursed life.
Tom didn’t find any books that described the ramifications of this cursed life.
He stared at Reinhardt’s open book.
What if he acquired unicorn blood? If Hermione drank it, it could keep her alive. It wouldn’t fix the curse, but it would buy her time.
If he killed a unicorn, the unknown curse would afflict him. If only he had more information about the effects! Perhaps he could do this without killing a unicorn, but what were the odds of Tom finding a dead unicorn to harvest?
He ran his hands through his hair, feeling a headache coming on.
Did Slughorn ever find the unicorn mother? He never asked. Now he needed to know. Slughorn was one of the few people despicable enough to drain blood from a freshly dead unicorn.
Unicorn blood could keep someone alive, even when on the brink of death...
Next thing he knew, he was packing his belongings. Reinhardt watched without comment.
Tom headed straight for the dungeons. The clock struck seven and dinner was about to close. Tom wasn’t sure he would find Slughorn in his office, but he took his chances. When he arrived, the door was locked tight, and he couldn’t hear any sounds from inside.
Tom rubbed his temples to alleviate the tension.
Where else would Slughorn be? He debated trying the faculty sleeping quarters… or perhaps the Potions Classroom. Doubtful. In all Tom’s evenings spent working over his cauldron, Slughorn never appeared. He wouldn’t be there.
“Mr. Riddle!” A booming voice said. The fat man hobbled down the hall, catching Tom’s attention. He’d never been more pleased to see Slughorn.
“Can I have a word with you, professor?” Tom asked. He needed to be tactful with how he asked Slughorn his questions.
“Of course! Come in, come in!” Slughorn waved his wand at his door and shuffled inside. Tom followed and sat across from his desk. “Can I interest you in some tea?”
“No thanks, professor.”
“Just as well!” The man started pouring himself a drink. “What can I do for you Mr. Riddle?”
“I was wondering if you were going back out to the forest to collect ingredients anytime soon.”
“Interested in joining me on another adventure! We had a good time, didn’t we? Centaurs caused a bit of trouble, but nothing I couldn’t handle!” Tom wanted to scoff at that. Tom was the one who took care of the centaur problem.
“I was thinking of harvesting potion ingredients for my personal supply.”
“I’ve been seeing you working over the cauldron a lot these days,” Slughorn said cautiously. He moved around his desk and sat down in the plush chair next to Tom.
“Yes, well, there are some ingredients that are hard to acquire. I hoped to harvest them myself in the forest,” Tom said. It wasn’t completely a lie, but he had no problems finding what he needed. Whether through pilfering from Slughorn’s personal storeroom or stealing funds to purchase them.
“Always amazes me what can be found in the forest. Never disappointed.”
“Did you find that unicorn in the Forbidden Forest?” Tom asked. He sounded at ease. Like two friends chatting.
Slughorn beamed, “Sure did! Poor thing seemed to have died that very night.” It didn’t sound like he felt bad for the unicorn in the slightest.
Tom didn’t either.
“Made a pretty penny from the samples I collected from her,” he laughed.
“So you sold everything?” Tom asked. Was it too much to hope that he held onto a vial of unicorn blood?
“Not everything, kept a bit of the horn. I ground it for my personal supply.”
Tom frowned. Of course the oaf wouldn’t keep the blood! His primary concern would be the profit he could gain from it.
Could Tom hunt a unicorn before running out of time? Why should he care about being cursed after he killed the thing? He only cared about her. Saving her.
“Maybe you’ll find another when you go out again.” Tom’s cheeks were tense as he forced them into a grin.
The jovial smile fell from Slughorn’s face. “What makes you so interested in the unicorn?”
“Just curious.” He tried to sound dismissive.
Slughorn observed him as if he possessed the ability to perceive something in Tom that he was attempting to conceal. “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Riddle, and unicorn blood won’t save her.”
Tom scowled. Was he really that transparent? He felt like he was losing his grip on himself these days. His emotions were trying to burst through his skin. Everyone knew. Everyone saw. The privacy he once cherished was out of reach.
“What other options do I have?” he lashed out.
“Death is part of life,” Slughorn said calmly.
Tom couldn’t accept that answer. “So you’re saying she’s doomed to just die?”
“Everyone is doomed to die, eventually.” Tom attempted to keep the disgust off his face. Death may be a part of other people’s lives, but never his unless he caused it. Death would be on his terms.
“I have to do something!” Tom stood, glaring at Slughorn. He had never shown his professor this side of himself, but Slughorn didn’t appear alarmed.
“Unicorn blood is a vile substance. Even poachers won’t drain blood from a unicorn. The unicorn’s blood brings a haunting existence to those who drink it. You may feel keeping her alive would be worth that sacrifice, but all available descriptions describe a slow mental decline into complete insanity. It wouldn’t cure the effects of her curse, either. She would continue to suffer. Don’t subject her to that existence, Tom.”
It was the first time Tom heard Slughorn address him by his given name. He was trying to be compassionate, sympathetic. It only served to heighten his anger. His jaw tightened and muscles clenched. Slughorn had no business telling him how to live his life!
Regardless, he didn’t have any unicorn blood. There was no point in arguing.
“I see… Thank you, professor.”
Slughorn nodded, and Tom let himself out.
Living in any condition was better than her dying.
He stopped at the end of the corridor and thought. He was supposed to be on Prefect duty tonight, but this was more important. There was no point in patrolling the halls. It was a waste of time. He had more pressing matters to attend to.
Tom closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall. He breathed, letting his mind clear, trying to wash away the emotions that clouded his judgments. They evaporated as he inhaled and exhaled. The cold seeped through his skin and he welcomed it. It was like his mind stepped out of his body. He watched himself.
He would never know what curse hit Hermione. Approaching the problem from that angle wasn’t an option. No potions cured her, only aided in her symptoms. Unicorn blood wouldn't be a possibility. He still had the ritual. Perhaps that should be his primary focus… but it would take time to piece together.
Right now, he needed time. His eyes opened, his mind reentering his body with a strange mental clarity that he hadn’t experienced in weeks.
He knew precisely what he had to do.
Tom made his way to the Hospital Wing two hours later. A sense of dread filled the pit of his stomach. He ignored the tension in his limbs. Nobody could know what he was about to do.
He pushed the door open and took a furtive glance around. Only the moonlight lit the room. Even Madam Blainey’s office was dark, having turned in for the night. Someone drew the curtain around Hermione’s bed. It was the first time Tom had seen it closed. Something about it made him uneasy.
He approached with quiet steps and peeked through the curtain.
Hermione slept, incoherent to the world while another figure leaned over her. “What are you doing here, Walburga?”
Walburga about fell over in surprise. “Tom!” He glimpsed a small potion bottle before she concealed it in her bag. “I thought you had Prefect duty tonight!”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. He pulled out his wand and pointed it right at Walburga. “Answer the question.”
“Just visiting—”
“Accio!” The bottle zoomed out of Walburga’s bag and into Tom’s hand. “Don’t think about reaching for your wand! Expelliarmus!”
He caught the wand in the same hand that he held the potion bottle and tossed it in his pocket.
The bottle was small, unlabeled, filled with a murky substance. “What is this?” He asked. He glanced at Walburga. The shadows slanting across her face gave her an almost sinister appearance.
“A potion,” she shrugged.
“What is in the bottle, Walburga?”
“It’s not a big deal, Tom—”
“Then why are you being so secretive?”
“I’m not—”
“What’s the fucking potion?!” Tom’s voice filled with rage and his eyes blazed with anger. He pinned Walburga with his gaze. “You have five seconds before I tear open your mind and find out for myself!”
He wanted to destroy her. Rip apart every existing piece of her mind and watch her crumble to dust. Tom had never known such deep-seated hatred before. Like a fire that burned within him, consuming him from the inside out. He felt like he was suffocating.
She flinched before straightening her spine. She could pretend to be brave, but Walburga was useless. Tom had her in his grasp. She couldn’t run. “I’ve seen how miserable you’ve been lately. I’m trying to help her—”
“Liar!”
“No!”
“Legilimens!”
Tom wasn’t gentle as he ripped his way through Walburga’s head. Vaguely, he heard the girl scream. He silenced the walls before delving back in with his Legilimency.
He forced memories forward, flicking through them until he found the information he needed. He went back to the Slug Club meeting when Walburga spoke to Hermione. Her deep-seated hatred seeped into his bones. The jealousy and disgust filled her in equal measure.
“I sucked his cock in the common room late at night and in alcoves between classes!” Walburga said to his witch with a disgusting sneer smeared across her face. “I let him fuck me in broom cupboards and empty classrooms. He used me in any way he wanted! I did everything he ever asked! So, what are you doing for him?” Walburga loomed over Hermione like a threat.
His witched flushed. She looked ready to faint, but Walburga painted a false image. On all occasions, Tom used her and tossed her aside. Hermione’s eyes flicked towards the door, probably hoping he would appear. Instead of being here, protecting her from this bitch, he had to listen to Slughorn talk about safe sex! The most uncomfortable conversation he’d ever endured!
“You haven’t given him anything, have you?” Hermione didn’t answer. The flush on her cheeks deepened.
“Tom knows exactly what he wants, Hermione. He knows what he wants, and he gets it. He isn’t patient, and he doesn’t wait. If you aren’t giving him what he’s looking for, he can always get it somewhere else. From someone who knows how to please him.”
Hermione's stare intensified as she narrowed her gaze at Walburga. “Who says I can’t provide him with what he wants?”
Walburga rolled her eyes. “Be realistic, Hermione. You will never be enough for him.”
The memory version of Tom appeared and broke up their conversation. The hatred inside Walburga festered. She wandered away, joining a discussion with Slughorn and Abraxas.
“Oh, yes, so much promising talent here!” Slughorn boasted, looking around at his Slug Club members. “You know Miss Granger is descended from Hector Dagworth Granger! What an impressive connection!”
Tom released the memory, finding another not long later where Walburga wrote letters to her family requesting information about Hector Dagworth Granger’s family line. She hired an investigator.
Tom knew what she would find. Hermione Granger was not related to Hector Dagworth Granger. He saw her reading that news in a letter from the investigator. The ink bottle on the table exploded.
Another memory. She walked through the halls, her eyes wide and determined. Tom felt a strange hope coming from her. The moon glowed through the castle windows, but it wasn’t until they turned the corner that he realized what would happen. Soon he would see himself walk down the hallway and Walburga would intercept him. This was the night he Petrified Alfred Hensley.
She stopped and ducked around a corner, taking a breath. “Tell him she’s a filthy Mudblood,” she muttered to herself. “He’ll leave her then.”
Did Walburga truly believe that would work?! Tom scoffed at her presumptuous attitude.
A moment later, he saw himself strolling down the hall. His face remained expressionless, but he walked with purpose. As he passed, Walburga revealed herself, throwing herself at him. The display continued as he remembered, ending when he hexed Walburga into the wall to chase after Hermione.
Walburga took her time standing. Her body trembled with a mix of sadness and anger. Tom ignored the misery that washed through him and smirked at the tears in her eyes. He watched her with contempt as she wandered back to the Slytherin Common room where Tom found her and punished her. She ended up in the Hospital Wing.
The memory transitioned into the next day. She and Abraxas speculated together in the Hospital Wing if Tom was under some kind of spell cast by the witch. They grew closer and Walburga stirred with satisfaction. Despite parading around with Malfoy, her envy and disdain towards Hermione and Tom remained evident. He felt the disgusting emotion every time she looked at them.
She started plotting to remove Hermione herself. Through the investigator, she learned about Hermione's curse and its nature. She purchased the Syrup of Arnica after researching its accelerating effects on curses. At the gala, she poisoned her own goblet, planning to dump the contents in Hermione’s cup when she wasn’t looking.
Her plan failed. Shortly after Hermione arrived, Tom watched himself drag her away. She didn’t return.
Walburga sent a letter to a shop in Knockturn Alley, purchasing Polyjuice Potion. She snuck into Gryffindor Tower, putting the poison into her potion. Her disappointment filled Tom when it didn’t work. Hermione’s condition didn’t change. That’s when she dug into the ingredients of her potion and realized the Syrup of Arnica would’ve been quickly neutralized by the Boom Berry.
She cast the Imperius Curse on Gussie, knowing she needed inside access. Her first attempt at using Gussie to dose Hermione with the Syrup of Arnica worked. It made Tom want to level the castle with the force of his anger, but he continued forward through Walburga’s recollections.
She had Gussie poison her again after she left the Hospital Wing, but directly this time with a diluted concoction of the Syrup of Arnica that she brewed and stabilized herself. Tom had to admit, it was masterful potion work and took out their complication of the neutralization by the Boom Berry. She had Gussie put a few drops of the new mixture in Hermione’s mouth while she slept.
Walburga made Gussie tamper with Hermione’s cauldron so it would explode when creating the Blistering Brew, hoping to disfigure her. She had so many plans, each getting more sinister, but everything got derailed when Hermione stopped sleeping in her dorm. Nor did Walburga find her in the Hospital Wing. Tom remained by her side all the time. There was never any access to her.
She watched and waited for her time to strike.
Then, after weeks of waiting, Hermione moved into the Hospital Wing permanently. Walburga came in on nights when Tom had Prefect duty, putting drops of the Syrup of Arnica brew on her lips before retreating. Her glee ran through him as she reveled in Hermione’s continuously deteriorating condition. She’d done her research. She knew that her interference hastened Hermione’s death by at least a few years.
Tom couldn’t take more. He pulled out of her mind, his anger so overpowering he descended into a state of calm. The room darkened as his eyes narrowed, a chilling aura emanated from him. He squeezed his wand as he fought to control the rage that pulsed through his veins. Every muscle in his body tensed. His mind was a dueling ground, with a single goal driving him forward: revenge. He would destroy Walburga Black until there was nothing left.
He took a breath and a twisted smile curled on his lips, revealing a hint of malevolence. With each passing second, his resolve grew stronger and the calmness that enveloped him became a mask for the brewing storm within.
Walburga panted, holding her head. Tom didn’t move.
“Why?” Tom asked, keeping his wand pointed at her.
Walburga took a breath and lifted her chin. “Someone had to help the curse along. It would have taken years for her to die otherwise.” Her voice came out cold as ice.
Tom’s eyes flicked to Hermione. The web of black lines now spread up to her left cheek. Even with Dreamless Sleep potion, she whimpered in pain. He needed to help her. Protect her. Nobody else could.
“You’re killing her.” He sounded emotionless as he spoke.
“No, the curse is killing her!”
“Aided by you.” The occasional drop of Syrup of Arnica would cause her body to decompensate and allow the curse to take over.
Walburga didn’t answer.
“Are you really so petty and jealous? We never dated. I never gave a fuck about you,” Tom said, pushing every button Walburga had. He would break her.
Walburga looked unsure. Her hands trembled. Tom continued pushing. “I never loved you. I don’t care what happens to you. You’ve mean nothing to me! I used you for sex because you were an easy fuck!”
A fire lit under Walburga’s eyes. Tom knew he had her.
“Ever since she came around, she’s all you care about! She’s a Mudblood, Tom! A filthy Mudblood! She claimed to be related to Hector Dagworth Granger, but his family line died, Tom! She’s lying to you! To everyone!”
Walburga paused, waiting for some kind of response. She didn’t get one.
“You knew?” she said after an uncomfortable silence.
“I really don’t care what she is.”
“It’s disgusting! And you left me for her! It’s humiliating! She’s nothing! No money, no family, nothing!”
“No Walburga, she is everything. You are nothing. I should have killed you ages ago, but I will rectify that today.” He spat, his voice dripping with disdain. The air grew heavy with the weight of his contempt. His lips curved into a dark smile. His eyes brightened.
Walburga shuffled back a step. “You can’t kill me! That’s foolish! You’ll be caught—”
“I’m quite good at remaining discrete.”
Her eyes flicked around, as if searching for an escape. There was no escape.
“Then what about her?! If, by some miracle, she survives, she would leave you. She would never want you!” He didn’t move, keeping his wand steady. “Even now she has you wrapped around her finger! Why would you let her control you like that?!”
He would not deny it. He didn’t want to deny it.
Keeping her alive was what mattered most. “You will never hurt her again, Walburga. I’ll keep her safe, even if she hates me for it.”
“Killing me won’t save her.” She gasped out through her accelerated breathing. “You would only—”
He cut her off. “Avada Kadavra!”
Walburga’s body hit the floor.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione’s existence became a black fog of misery. Something was under her skin, trying to tear its way out. An invisible tormentor had taken residence within her, relentlessly gnawing away at her spirit, leaving her hollow and broken. Each inhale she took felt like a heavy burden on her chest. The pain was so all-consuming that it seeped through her every pore, making it impossible to escape. She longed for relief, for a break from the relentless torture, but it seemed the darkness had become a permanent part of her existence.
“Hermione?” Tom stood in front of her.
“Tom?” How could she speak? How was it possible? It had been so long.
“I can’t watch you scream anymore,” he said, coming closer. He looked beautiful. His dark hair tousled in a way that looked intentional, his deep, knowing eyes watching her. His full lips separated as he spoke. She missed those lips on hers…
“Why do you keep fighting, Hermione?”
“What?”
“What do you really have to fight for?”
“What about you?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
He sighed. “Perhaps I should tell you, you are the worst thing to ever happen to me. You ruined everything. Destroyed my dreams and aspirations. You hold me back from reaching my true potential. When you're gone, I can finally do everything I desire without your interference. You are a burden, and I am tired of hearing you scream. It’s incessant.”
She gasped. She couldn’t breathe. Her soul ached. Her skin burned. “No, Tom? What—”
“I was supposed to be powerful. Rule this country. Be feared and respected. Now I have to deal with you,” he sneered.
“Why are you doing this!” She cried, tears fell down her cheeks. She could taste them on her lips.
“Why are you fighting! You are not wanted here! Why won’t you do the world a favor and die already?!”
“STOP!”
Tom vanished. It was like he was never there.
Another hallucination. They became more vivid with each passing day. More cruel and haunting. Sometimes it was difficult to tell what was real anymore. Her mind brought forth such detailed scenes without her eyes ever opening. When was the last time she opened her eyes?
She wanted it out! She wanted it gone! She wanted this to be over!
The only thing that kept the hallucinations away was Dreamless Sleep potion, but then her pain consumed her.
She would never escape.
Her body couldn’t survive this. Did others with this curse endure or quit? Choose to end it all... She could see the merit in that. It was a tempting thought.
People talked around her. She couldn’t make out the voices. Her agony drowned out everything else. She didn’t want to breathe anymore. Could she just stop breathing?
“Hermione…” Another hallucination. It had to be. His voice echoed in the distance.
She felt Tom’s warm fingers stroke her cheek. Were her visions touching her now? Would they hurt her?
She couldn’t look at him. His face turned cruel every time. As her curse progressed, the stimulation of sight made things worse. What did it matter anymore? If things worsened, it would be over sooner.
A hiss reverberated through the air.
“Hermione…” He touched her hand. The warmth seeped through her skin and caressed her soul. His scent penetrated the fog washing over her. It didn’t hurt.
She heard more hissing and spitting. The bed dipped. She felt his lips press against her forehead. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything other than excruciating pain. His tenderness made her want to cry.
This was real. It had to be. The hallucinations never treated her gently.
She hated leaving him. What would he become now? Would he return to his quest for power? Would he find a new girl to spend his nights with?
“Hermione, open your eyes.” His lips pressed against her skin again. His hand held hers. It had been days since she last opened her eyes. She yearned to see him one last time.
“Open your eyes, my lioness.” She hummed her understanding, but it came out more like a strained groan.
“I’m here. Just let me see your eyes.”
She opened her eyes. Light flooded in, blinding her.
When her vision cleared, it wasn’t Tom that she saw. The last thing she remembered was seeing a big yellow eye reflected at her in a hand-held mirror.
Notes:
Chapter 39 Song: Lose Control: Teddy Swims. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I commissioned art for the next chapter that should be completed in the next 2-3 weeks (assuming we stick to the timline). Regardless, I'm posting the chapter as soon as the piece is done!
XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 40: 40: Implore
Chapter Text
“I heard she was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets!” a Ravenclaw said in their Herbology lecture.
“The Blacks aren’t descendants of Slytherin, though?”
“Maybe that’s why she disappeared. She couldn’t control the monster!”
“You think Slytherin’s monster killed her?”
“Either that or she thought she might get caught and ran for it.”
Tom stopped listening. He heard similar rumors for days. Whispers about it filled the corridors and the Great Hall rumbled with tension. Ultimately, they came to a consensus. Walburga vanished after she attacked Hermione Granger.
The status of Walburga’s life remained a subject of debate. Some people assumed Slytherin’s monster killed her, as she wasn’t a rightful heir. Others thought she ran away, fearing the consequences of her actions. The Black family arrived and threw a fit over their missing daughter. The rumors horrified them. Professor Dippet couldn’t say much about the matter without a body.
Tom expected the students to be afraid; worried they might be next. He thought the school would tighten rules and enforce more restrictions. To his surprise, that wasn’t what happened. Hermione’s Petrification aligning with Walburga going missing led to her being accused of being the Heir of Slytherin. People assumed, without Walburga, the attacks would stop.
Tom wanted to roll his eyes at the notion. Walburga had no knowledge about the Chamber of Secrets. Nor did she speak a lick of Parseltongue to open the entrance. It was laughable, really. But Tom let the rumors ride. The crucial thing was that nobody suspected him. He made quick work of Walburga’s corpse. He told the Basilisk to do whatever she wanted with the body. She took it and returned to the chamber.
As he watched the Basilisk slither away, he couldn’t help but think how he underestimated Walburga Black. Tom wasn’t proud enough to admit she did her research and performed some powerful magic. It made him reconsider everyone around him, evaluating their skills and faults in a whole new light. He would need to be more prepared in the future. Hermione was his weakness. He knew this. Yet he was still unwilling to give her up. She could always become a target.
Tom never discussed what happened with his friends, but they knew. When he stopped by his dorm the next evening, he was met with a furious and uncharacteristically silent Abraxas. “What did you do?” He asked. Norris sat on his bed watching the encounter with a sheepish expression.
Tom blinked at the blond. Abraxas may be an idiot in his antagonism towards Tom, but he got high marks. He took to all the dark magic Tom taught him. He also had connections in influential places because of his family. He could be capable of learning powerful spells…
Tom narrowed his gaze at him. “Did you know about it?” Tom asked.
Abraxas looked wary, “Know what, my Lord?”
Tom lifted his wand. “Legilimens.” Abraxas croaked and dropped to his knees, holding his head. Norris gasped in horror. Tom ignored them. He wouldn’t take anymore chances. He dug through Abraxas’s memories with Walburga, ensuring his lack of involvement. It was immediately clear that the boy knew nothing about her plans, but Tom uncovered the depth of his fury. He blamed Tom for everything that occurred with Walburga and accused him of forsaking his mission for the sake of a girl. It didn’t matter what Abraxas thought. Tom was the one in charge.
He pulled out of Abraxas’s mind and pocketed his wand. “I think you both know exactly what happened,” Tom said, his eyes flicking between the two boys. “Consider it a warning for you. Do not fuck with her. And do not fuck with me.”
Tom flicked open his trunk, grabbing the couple items that he came here for, and swept from the room.
Later, when he ran into Reinhardt, he took one look at Tom and said, “you killed her.” It wasn’t a question.
“I caught her trying to kill Hermione.”
“I see.” Reinhardt nodded like it made perfect sense. They continued on as if nothing ever happened and never spoke of it again.
Hermione might never forgive him for this, for petrifying her and deceiving her about keeping the Basilisk alive, but she wasn’t dead. Small mercies. He suspected Walburga’s death might be a point of contention between them, but his actions were justified. Walburga tried to kill her.
Petrifying Hermione bought a little more time. Would it be enough? Madame Blainey told him the Mandrakes would be ready in about four weeks. He needed to make every second count.
Tom pushed forward, hoping that the next book he read would hold the secrets he searched for. He kept books stacked high around him, like a wall between him and the rest of the world.
Just one more…
He flipped the pages of a book called Runes and Rituals. His eyes could barely comprehend the words anymore.
The next one. It has to be here.
He took notes from information he read in a book titled Soul Bound.
The next one…
The first week passed. Tom stopped eating. They barred him from entering the Hospital Wing for the week during the initial investigation. It put him more on edge.
In the second week, he successfully bound souls of dying animals to objects. But the objects deteriorated, making the soul unstable. They couldn’t hold on. He lost them. This wasn’t a fragment he was trying to capture, like with a horcrux, he needed the entire soul intact. He practiced with a combination of different runes to prolong the stability of the object. He tried transferring the soul from item to item as the deterioration started, but that was too risky. While successful in theory, it required perfect timing to make the transfer. If he ever made a single mistake, Hermione’s soul would be lost forever.
Could he attach her soul to himself?
Tom considered this, then dove into his research.
The week came to a close. He couldn’t focus on anything else but finding a solution. Days flew by and the Mandrakes matured. The Herbology professor mentioned their acne started improving, and they were now throwing frequent parties.
“Soon they will start canoodling in each other’s pots. They will be ready then,” Professor Beery said with enthusiasm. Tom knew what he meant. Time was running out.
He needed more time! That was the whole point of petrifying her! Now that wasn’t enough!
He stopped sleeping. His Prefect duties went ignored. Fortunately, he was more advanced than his peers. He put very little effort these days into his schoolwork and achieved top marks.
At first, her Gryffindor friends tried to help, but their presence slowed his aggressive pace. They hindered progress. They were holding him back. So he told them to, frankly, “fuck off.” He didn’t care what they did, as long as they weren’t bothering him.
Everyone knew what he was doing. Some people watched with interest. Others looked at him with pity.
Tom hated their pity. Failure wasn’t an option. He believed every problem had a solution, no matter how complex.
As time passed, he noticed the looks on their faces changing. They thought he was crazy.
Perhaps they were right. Tom felt like he was going insane. His mind teetered on a precipice. The more he tried to grasp reality, the more it slipped through his fingers like sand. He was obsessive. Fixated.
He worked on, ignoring the stares of professors and students alike. They left him to his own devices.
Reinhardt remained impassive, using his keen ability to know when to speak and when to stay quiet. These days, he rarely spoke to Tom, but he randomly appeared. Some nights, as Tom poured over potion ingredients in the dungeons or flipped through endless piles of books in the library, he’d look up from his stupor to see Reinhardt sitting there, silently keeping Tom company.
When did he arrive? How long had he been there? It was unusual for Tom to be so unaware of his surroundings. Before he drowned himself in his determination to save his witch, he always kept his guard up, watching, listening. It was how he learned about those around him. He reacted and responded to what he noticed.
Not anymore.
His O.W.L.s started without him even realizing it. He floated through them as if on autopilot. He wasn’t worried about his scores. Tom felt confident he would do well, despite his lack of studying.
Hermione would be pissed that she missed them. If she ever had the chance to find out.
That’s not an option!
He forced the thought from his mind. He wasn’t successful in binding a soul to another living creature. An intact soul was too much. The animal died. No combination of runes fixed the problem. Two souls could not occupy the same body.
What if he tore his own soul into pieces and attached the fragments to objects? Made horcruxes. Then would his body be able to accommodate her intact soul?
It seemed plausible in theory but there was no way to test if it would work in advance. Was it worth the risk?
Damnit! He couldn’t do it! The risk was too great! He would lose her!
As Tom took his final O.W.L. of the year, a wave of dread washed over him. He would leave on the Hogwarts Express in a week. Before they left, the Mandrake potion would be ready to administer. He begged to stay over the summer, but they denied all his requests. The other option was to stay close to Hogsmeade and use the passageway to be near her. He’d sneak into the castle daily if he had to.
Tom went through the motions to transfigure a barn owl into opera glasses for his transfiguration practical. His spectacles were immaculate. Jewels ordained the gold rim, and the handle had a detailed design carved into it.
The ministry official looked at Tom with a gentle smile that made his skin crawl. “This concludes the O.W.L. examination, Tom. Congratulations.”
He didn’t respond. He pocketed his wand and left the room. He almost crashed into Dumbledore outside the door.
“Tom, this was your final O.W.L. exam for the year, yes?”
Tom nodded. Dumbledore undoubtedly already knew this. It was the last exam being administered.
“I was hoping to have a word with you in my office.”
Tom was contemplating a respectful way to tell the wizard to fuck off when he said, “It’s regarding Miss Granger.”
Tom experienced a sensation of being drenched in frigid water. Dumbledore said the right words to get his attention.
He indicated for Tom to follow him. Something about the middle-aged man made him uneasy. He held back, as if he knew more than he was letting on.
When Dumbledore opened the massive wooden door connecting his classroom to his adjoining office, Tom’s eyes were immediately drawn to the most repulsive bird he had ever seen. Its muddy-brown feathers were dull and unkempt. The floor was littered with feathers, outnumbering the ones on the bird. The creature was skin and bones.
Tom ignored its feeble cry and took a seat in a chair across from Dumbledore’s large desk. Dumbledore sat behind his desk and watched Tom with a calculated gleam. He adjusted his spectacles perched on his very pointed nose, then folded his hands with a slight up-turn to his lips.
“I called you in here to tell you we will have the Mandrake Restoration Potion ready to administer by the beginning of next week.”
Tom’s stomach churned. He only had a few days left! He had to do something! Anything! He needed more time!
He could Petrify her again, but they would get suspicious if that happened. Plus, they would reverse it right away. Petrification wasn’t an option anymore.
He needed to find the mandrakes and burn them! Ruin their development!
“Professor Beery has been working hard on the mandrakes. We have left their location undisclosed given their importance. We wouldn’t want the perpetrator to sabotage any progress,” Dumbledore said.
Professor Dumbledore was surely an Occlumens but what about Professor Beery? It might be worth the risk to find out… or perhaps Tom could follow—
“And we have Aurors stationed for protection, of course.” Dumbledore added, as if reading his thoughts.
FUCK!
Tom kept his expression neutral despite the war raging in his head.
Dumbledore was probably the only person in the school that didn’t immediately point his finger at Walburga. He watched Tom with a suspicious edge. He had no proof that it was him that Petrified Hermione and Alfred. In truth, nobody could prove it was Walburga either. It was all circumstantial evidence. Dumbledore studied him as if witnessing the battle for himself. Tom felt like he was being ripped apart. No… being torn to pieces had to feel better than this. Despair settled over him, leaving him trapped. Strangely, it hurt. It caused physical pain in a way he couldn’t describe. These wounds would scar, if they ever healed.
“Given Miss Granger’s state at the time of her Petrification, it’s probable that when she wakes up, she will not be of sound mind. I wanted to prepare you for that possibility.”
The bird chirped, but it sounded more like a croak of death. Tom glanced at the vulgar thing, watching more feathers float to the floor.
He shouldn’t be sitting here in Dumbledore’s office. He needed to keep working!
His gaze shifted back to Dumbledore. The wizard sat straight, his long auburn hair and beard neatly groomed. He acted like this information was of little consequence.
“Despite being given more time by Miss Granger’s Petrification...” Dumbledore’s expression revealed nothing, “we are no closer to finding a cure for her curse.”
Tom knew this, of course. He devoted countless hours to searching for a cure, making no progress. He accomplished this all by himself, with no help from anyone!
He remained silent, looking at the ugly bird again, not wanting Dumbledore to see something he couldn’t hide. The bird stared back with large black, beady eyes. Why would Dumbledore keep such a vile creature?
Dumbledore glanced at the creature. “Fawkes is typically a magnificent bird. Shame you had to see him so close to his burning day. Any time now, I expect.”
“Burning day…” Tom muttered to himself. It triggered something in his memory. Knowledge in the recesses of his brain, but he was too exhausted to latch onto it.
Dumbledore replied as if he asked a question. “Oh yes, Fawkes is a phoenix.”
“Hmm.” Tom considered this. The ugly bird blinked and a sudden jolt ran through his body.
A phoenix! Their tears had healing powers. They could cure all kinds of physical ailments, even dark magic curses. Poachers sold phoenix tears on the black market for an astronomical amount of gold, but getting it from the source was more potent.
His mind started piecing together a plan.
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Thank you, professor.” He stood. “For updating me on the progress.” The words tasted sour in his mouth. Dumbledore nodded and Tom left without another word.
***
Tom approached Dumbledore’s locked office concealed under his Disillusionment Charm and the darkness within the castle. He glared at the door and started through a series of detection spells. Considering what a pompous bastard Dumbledore was, he anticipated shields and wards. To his surprise, there were only two, a simple notify spell and an outsiders ward. They would alert Dumbledore if someone attempted to break in and deterred them from crossing the threshold.
Tom dismantled them. Dumbledore was crafty with his spell-work, but he found their weak points. It was satisfying watching them fall.
“Alohamora.” The lock to Dumbledore’s office clicked open. That was easier than he expected. He figured a simple unlocking spell wouldn’t work. The lack of additional security made him pause. Despite his reluctance to admit it, Dumbledore was a brilliant wizard. Wise enough to have methods of keeping students out of places he didn’t want them. Tom would have found a way inside, regardless. He perfected such spells a few years ago to live in the orphanage.
He vividly remembered the snowy day when he and Hermione were locked out of Honeydukes. She looked beautiful with her pink cheeks and nose, the snow falling delicately on her curls. He found her flustered reaction arousing. He could have broken the wards and gotten them into Hogwarts, but he preferred to hold her in bed at the Three Broomsticks. Everybody won.
Everybody could still win.
He needed those phoenix tears. He didn’t have time to dwell on Dumbledore’s lack of protection around his office.
“Lumos.” His spell revealed the outline of the pathetic mess of a bird sitting on his perch.
This needed to work. It had to work. He had no other options if it failed. He was putting everything he had on this bird.
He studied the creature. There was no way to force tears from a phoenix. They had to be shed voluntarily. “Fawkes?” the bird looked up at him. He squealed, sounding pained rather than musical. At least he had his attention. “Fawkes, I need your help.”
The bird cocked his head with mild interest. Tom could count how many feathers he had left on his body. “Help her... Hermione. She’s dying. I’ve tried, but nothing is working.” He hadn’t found a way to capture her soul. The rituals he attempted were unstable. He knew a blood relative sacrifice would help, but there was no guarantee; and it would take him ages to find her ancestors.
Fawkes made a sound that was a mix between a sneeze and a choke.
“She’s going to die. I don’t know what to do. I need her, Fawkes. You can help her!” The bird shifted on his perch, the movement almost causing him to topple over.
Tom pressed on, “Your tears can save her. I need your tears.” He wasn’t above begging a bird for help anymore. His pride wasn’t worth anything if he lost her. “Losing her, I can’t stand it. I would do anything to save her. I would give her the entire world. She deserves to have everything. I have to save her.”
The phoenix didn’t move. He stared, unblinking, at Tom. His massive, black eyes appeared bigger with the strange lack of feathers on his face.
“I just need a few tears,” Tom fumbled in his pockets for the vial he brought, “save her life. Bring her back to me. I need her.” Fawkes turned his head and started grooming under his wing. More frayed feathers fluttered to the ground.
He was losing the bird’s attention! He barely started and already the phoenix dismissed him! He couldn’t fail! It wasn’t an option!
A devastating panic flooded him. His legs lost their strength. He collapsed to the floor, his knees hitting the stone with a thud. It should have hurt, but nothing could physically hurt him, because the pain inside was so overwhelming. His hands trembled. Beads of sweat formed on his brow yet he shivered in the frigid air.
He couldn’t lose the only person who ever made him feel alive. The only person who made him feel important and cared for. The person he wanted by his side forever. He craved her smile, her touch, her intellect.
He couldn’t fail her. He ran his hands through his hair, straining his forearms and trying to breathe. The air lodged in his throat. His eyes burned as his vision blurred.
He loved her. He fucking loved her…
All this time, that emotion inside that he couldn’t identify… He never loved anything before. It overwhelmed him. Caused a visceral reaction in him. His chest constricted, stomach clenched. He felt sick.
I love her…
Did he really know what that meant? He couldn’t be sure. But this had to be love. He couldn’t deny it. A longing to be with her, to make her happy. It consumed him, and directed his every thought and action. It was as if his love for her had ignited a fire that burned in his soul with a passion that he had never experienced before.
He closed his eyes, taking it all in. Was love supposed to be so painful? Was love supposed to make him feel so fractured and broken? The agony was nearly unbearable as it crushed him.
“Please, Fawkes, I need your tears. She needs your tears. If they could save her… I have... I have to t—try.” He hadn’t realized he started crying until he tasted the salty wetness on his lips. The damp streams felt foreign as they trickled over his cheeks. Yet, he couldn’t stop them. He hadn’t slept in so long. He barely ate. His mind buzzed with books, potion ingredients, runes, and rituals. His reality was becoming his own personal hell.
“I can’t l—lose her, Fawkes, it hurts. I l—love... I love her so m—much!” His voice choked on the tears as Tom hastily wiped them away with his sleeve. A wave of dizziness passed over him with the motion and threw his palms out, catching himself on the stone floor, barely protecting the vial from smashing on the ground. He cried harder. He couldn’t breathe. His heart raced, thumping in his chest as the sound reverberated in his ears. It wouldn’t stop.
Maybe later he would berate himself for this pathetic show of weakness. But right now, it was him and the phoenix, with Tom baring his soul between them.
“She m—means everything to me!” He cried. Tom desperately struggled to fill his lungs with oxygen. He felt his stomach twist and turn, a nauseating sensation threatening to make him sick. He swallowed painfully around his dry throat. “She is the center of my entire universe! Please, I’m b—begging you to save her!” If anyone could see Tom Riddle now, he would lose all the power and respect he worked so hard to gain. None of that seemed important anymore. Nothing mattered if he couldn’t rescue Hermione.
He gripped the small vial in his trembling hands, feeling the cool glass against his sweaty palms. The room was silent except for his ragged breaths. Blinking, he willed the tears to retreat, preventing them from cascading down his cheeks.
Tom cleared his throat, sounding steadier when he spoke again. “Please help, Fawkes. Please save her, please, I love her. Please.” He repeated the words like a prayer. Over and over.
“I love her. I love her so much. Please. Please save her. I love her. Help her.” Tom couldn’t leave until the phoenix agreed. He would stay here all night. He would waste away on Dumbledore’s office floor. His muscles tensed as he waited. Despite his desperation to control the tears, silent ones trickled from his eyes.
“Please. Please. Please.” His voice sounded raspy from all the crying. His body ached.
Fawkes shuffled on his perch. Tom snapped his eyes up to see the bird leaning over, his beady, black stare penetrating through him. Was he going to shed tears?
As Tom uncorked the vial, the phoenix blinked once. The massive eyes drifted shut, then opened just before the pitiful creature burst into flames.
“FUCK!” Tom scrambled back as the fire grew. He dropped his wand, and the light went out. It didn’t matter anymore, flames were brighter than any magical light. Smoke filled the room and a smell, something Tom couldn’t describe, filled his nostrils.
No! No! No! No!
He felt the fumes entering his lungs. It smothered him. He was going to pass out. This wasn’t happening! He couldn’t have failed! This wasn’t real! He was sweating and he was sure it wasn’t because of the flames that were roaring in front of him.
“NO! NO!” He smashed the vial on the stone, the glass cutting into his hand. He ignored the pain. He ignored everything. The fire died. The smoke faded. The oppressive darkness enveloped him. It was over.
Tom failed.
No! He refused to accept it! After everything he did for her. He wouldn’t allow failure. He couldn’t. It wasn’t…
He failed…
He dropped his forehead to the cool stone and breathed, but no tears fell. Instead, a numbness permeated him. He couldn’t move. His body and mind were drained of all energy.
He rolled onto his back, sprawled on the office floor, ignoring the glass still embedded in his hand from the shattered vial. He lost track of time, unsure how long he remained like that. Tom stared straight ahead, looking at nothing, feeling nothing. He couldn’t move his body. A weight sat on his chest, restricting his ability to breathe. His heart hurt. He never felt this kind of all-consuming pain and simultaneous numbness before.
She was going to die… The reality of that suffocated him.
Could he bring her back from death? There had to be a way…
I failed. Hermione… I’m sorry.
A chirping croak filled the room. Tom’s brows furrowed before he gathered his strength to stand as he looked at the pile of ashes. A tiny, featherless face popped from the smoldering pile. The hideous, reborn phoenix studied Tom with bug-like eyes too big for its face before making another strange sounding chirp.
It was useless. From everything he read, a phoenix didn’t produce tears until they were full grown. Even though they didn’t take long to develop, there wouldn’t be enough time.
A burning phoenix symbolizes rebirth and renewal of life from the ashes. To Tom, it represented death. Her death.
He stopped by the Hospital Wing rather than return to the Room of Requirement. The door creaked open to an eerie silence. The moonlight through the windows provided a subtle illumination, but it cast more shadows than light. Tom moved to her bedside. She would’ve looked like she was sleeping if her eyes weren’t stuck open. Madam Blainey once said their eyes disturbed her. It wasn’t the empty eyes that bothered Tom, it was who they belonged to. He sat in a chair that always remained by her bed.
He took her hand, stiff and frozen in his. “I’m sorry.”
One of Tom’s favorite fairytales an older girl read to him when he was small was about a sleeping princess and the prince who came to rescue her. The prince traveled far. Climbed the thorny brush. Passed all the sleeping members of the kingdom to find her, almost lifeless. But she looked so lovely that he kissed her… and she woke up.
This wasn’t a fairytale, and Tom wasn’t a hero. Despite knowing his kiss wouldn’t revive his lioness—that it wouldn’t heal her wounds and it wouldn’t save her—he kissed her anyway.
Incredible commissioned art by: Dara
Notes:
Chapter 40 Song: Bad Dream: Ruelle. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
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Chapter 41: 41: Restore
Notes:
The LAST chapter of part 1!
There will be info about PART 2 at the end!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As the school celebrated the end of exams, Tom sat alone with his thoughts, contemplating the impossible task of resurrecting the dead.
The Mandrake Restorative Draught would be ready in time for the train to leave. He tried to prepare for the possibility that, after getting the potion, she may die.
He threw together a back-up plan. His intention was to wait until the school was deserted, then sneak her into the Chamber of Secrets to Petrify her. It wouldn’t solve his immediate problem of finding her cure, but at least nobody else would find her there.
Tom talked with the Headmaster again, and he finally caved. He could stay for the summer until she died, but Tom was determined to avoid that outcome. Her fate hinged on her survival until the students departed from the school. There were too many variables! He made the idea haphazardly. Normally he calculated every move, considered all the alternatives. Now, time pressed on him, and he couldn’t afford such luxury.
Dumbledore would know it was him that took her. All his work to maintain his image would be for nothing if he kidnapped her.
He would have to go into hiding to avoid getting thrown into Azkaban.
He loved her… he had to save her somehow.
He sat by her side more these days. Others occasionally joined, including friends in Gryffindor, Reinhardt, Julia, and a boy named Patrick who said he lived with her at the Leaky Cauldron.
She formed deep connections with many people despite only being here for a year.
Madame Blainey approached him one afternoon the following week to inform him the Mandrake Restorative Draught would be ready the next morning.
“I want to be here when you give it to her,” he said. He wished he knew where they were making the potion so he could destroy their progress. Slughorn wasn’t brewing the potion; he complained in class, acting offended that they did not ask him to make it.
“Be here at 9am,” Madame Blainey said. She stopped questioning why Tom stayed by Hermione’s side. She thought it was pointless to sit with a petrified person who had no awareness, but seeing Hermione brought him some comfort.
Sometimes he would spend his evenings in front of the Mirror of Erised, watching his heart’s desire take shape in its reflection.
Tom was a mess. Who had he become? He hardly recognized himself anymore.
The following morning, Tom sat next to Hermione on a stool, waiting for someone to arrive. Hermione’s skin was cold to the touch. None of her usual warmth remained. Even her scent had dissipated. But the black webbing hadn’t spread since the day he Petrified her. They peeked from her collar, creeping up her neck and chin.
The door creaked open and Tom listened to the footsteps approach her bed. Were they here already? They were thirty minutes early…
He glanced up to see Dumbledore in billowing purple robes and a tall wizard’s hat. The man smiled at Tom, as if he wasn’t about to revive his witch. An act that would kill her. “Good morning, Tom.”
Tom didn’t return the greeting.
“I figured I would find you here.”
Tom nodded.
“Madame Blainey will be here shortly with the Mandrake potions. Some other friends of Hermione and Alfred are also attending. Before they arrive, there is something I wanted to speak with you about.”
Tom scowled. If he started talking about how Hermione might die after being revived then Tom may actually kill the wizard.
“Fawkes has been quite restless these last few days since his burning. I imagine I know why.”
Dumbledore strolled across the room with all the calmness of taking an afternoon walk by the lake.
Tom glared at him. He reached for his wand on instinct.
“Ah, right on time.” Tom never took his eyes off the wizard as he walked towards the window near Hermione and unlatched it. “I usually wait a few more days for him to grow before letting him test out his new wings, but he seemed to insist that matters were of an urgent nature.”
The bird no longer resembled the raggedy chicken that it had a week prior. Now it had pale red feathers tipped with gold, its wings expanded as it flew, though his flight was unsteady—like he couldn’t quite figure out how to use them. He soared around the hospital wing, getting tangled in curtains as he misdirected his flight and crashed into shelves. Vials and potion bottles smashed to the floor. A putrid smell of potions mixing in a puddle filled the room.
“Madame Blainey will not be happy about that,” Dumbledore muttered.
The phoenix didn’t seem to notice the path of destruction his haphazard flying created. His song reverberated off the walls, no longer sounding like a deathly lament. Quite the opposite, he sounded joyful. The energy in the air was contagious. The numbness that had consumed Tom for so long suddenly dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of vitality.
“Phoenixes require about ten days to return to their full size after burning. Fawkes here isn’t at his most brilliant, but I assure you he is truly magnificent when in peak form.” Dumbledore smiled at Tom while the Phoenix landed without a bit of grace on the mattress next to Hermione. He took the landing too fast, causing him to fall forward and face-planted against Hermione’s abdomen.
Once the bird righted himself, he pecked at her shirt. Tom came to his senses. He scrambled to raise the fabric as wet drops fell from the bird’s eyes onto the raised scar. These days, it appeared almost black and ulcerated, with necrotic tissue in the center.
The phoenix bobbed his head, dropping a few tears on each extended ray. Tom watched as the water found the scar and spread along the wound of its own accord.
Could this work?
He waited with bated breath. Watching the liquid drop. Watching the skin glisten. The mark slowly disappeared, beginning at the center and spreading outwards until even the intricate black webs vanished.
Tom couldn’t process what he was seeing.
“You are not the first to request tears from a phoenix and you won’t be the last. Usually, they don’t produce tears until full-grown, but Fawkes was rather persistent that his development needed to be hastened. Their magic has always puzzled us. Remarkable creatures that can cure even the darkest of magic. There are few things they cannot heal.”
Was that really it? Was it over or did this only remove the curse’s external marks? Tom wondered what those sorts of injuries might be impervious to phoenix tears. Maybe this was one of them.
With his irritating ability to sense his thoughts, Dumbledore continued on “Phoenixes cannot heal curses that are rooted into the very soul of a person. As this curse had its core on her physical body, I believe it’s gone now.”
The relief washed over Tom when he learned he had saved Hermione. He felt like crumpling into a ball and basking in the sensation. Another part of him wanted to punch Albus Dumbledore for keeping his phoenix locked away when it could have helped her this entire time.
Fawkes took off and flew back out the window, his wing clipping one of the glass panes, causing it to shatter.
“That bird has a strong will of his own. He rarely offers his tears by request. I have tried numerous times before. Fawkes responds to those who have shown loyalty to me, or to requests rooted in the deepest love.” Dumbledore observed Tom with a penetrating stare. They both knew he held no loyalty to him. “You must have shown something extraordinary the night you broke into my office for Fawkes to respond this way.”
Of course he knew! He probably left the security lacking on purpose, expecting him to come. He may have staged the conversation earlier that day to show Tom the phoenix.
As he looked at Hermione, he noticed the sunlight coming through the windows dancing across her radiant skin. Skin that was clear and unscarred. “Don’t tell her.” Tom said, his voice croaked. When was the last time he spoke?
Dumbledore raised a curious brow at him. “About the office, about what I did. Please, don’t tell her.”
He said ‘please’ to Albus Dumbledore. He was also in his debt since the wizard was the one that brought the phoenix here. Normally, that would make Tom sick to his stomach, but his relief overpowered any disgust he might have felt.
“Alright.” Dumbledore nodded before slowly backing out of the room.
Tom wasn’t ready for Hermione to discover how he begged a phoenix on his knees with tears in his eyes to come heal her. He couldn’t tell her he loved her…
Dumbledore left him alone. He collapsed in the chair and leaned his head back. A weariness he had never experienced before overtook him, as if every muscle in his body begged for rest. His eyelids drooped, struggling to stay open. All the lost sleep caught up with him now that Hermione was safe.
She was safe. She wouldn’t die. The curse was gone.
He did it…
“Damn…” He pushed forward, putting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head in his hands.
She’ll be okay… she is going to live. He looked at her, anxiously awaiting the Mandrake Restorative Draught’s arrival. He longed to witness the flush of blood color her cheeks. He desired to see her radiant smile, and for the sparkle to dance in her caramel-colored eyes. He ached for her touch, for the sensation of her warmth against his skin.
He squeezed his eyes shut. They burn. Why was there a sudden urge to shed tears? He wasn’t sad! What was happening? He never cried and now he was going to cry twice in one week.
At least this time, they weren’t the retching sobs like in Dumbledore’s office. They were a silent misting. A faint wetness around his eyes as he looked at his witch.
He really loved her.
・・・・ ★ ･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ* ･ ★ ・・・・
There was nothing. It was as if existence itself vanished, leaving behind a hollow void. Feeling isolated, she was trapped within her own mind, unable to interact with the world. She just was. Darkness. Nothing. No pain or agony. Nothing.
A prickling ran through her limbs. As the shadows receded, a swirl of vibrant, indistinct colors took its place. It hurt. Her body was in stasis and coming to life. Having encountered this situation before, she knew what awaited her. This time, the physical pain wasn’t what consumed her; it was the clarity that suddenly entered her thoughts. The agony when she realized what happened to her.
Tom lied to her. He made her believe the Basilisk was dead when he gave her the fang. Then he used the creature against her despite knowing her history with it! She told him about her intense fear of snakes after being petrified in her second year!
She was so furious she hadn’t realized until later that the pain was gone. Her mind was no longer clouded by nightmares and gloom.
She bolted upright, ignoring the wave of dizziness with the sudden motion. Soreness and weakness spread throughout her entire body, a result of countless days spent lying in bed. Dumbledore stood in front of her with a gentle upward turn to his lips. Hermione lifted the hem of her blouse and stared in shock at the smooth skin of her abdomen. “W—” she cleared her throat. Her vocal cords resisted being moved after being immobile for so long. “What happened?”
“My phoenix insisted on coming to you. He provided tears to heal your curse.” Hermione gaped. Fawkes had been here and cured her? What did she do to deserve this? Harry claimed Fawkes went to the Chamber of Secrets while he fought a Basilisk and saved his life. Hermione did nothing so noteworthy. It never occurred to her that a phoenix could heal her.
Her eyes filled with tears and the next thing she knew, she was crying. It had ended. She survived. She was a blubbering mess. Dumbledore handed her a handkerchief and waited for her to compose herself.
She was so distracted by her sobs; she didn’t notice a warm hand grab hers, stroking her knuckles.
“Some friends are waiting outside for you. They would like to see you after you get your bearings. We didn’t want too many people here when we revived you,” Dumbledore said.
She glanced over and spotted Tom Riddle sitting by her bedside, an unreadable expression on his face. In a flash, she went from overjoyed relief to unbridled anger. She wasn’t about to engage in a heated argument with him, especially not in front of Albus Dumbledore.
Madam Blainey stood on the other side of the room, leaning over Alfred Hensley. An older woman sat at his bedside. Even from a distance, Hermione saw the woman’s striking green eyes. It had to be his mother. It surprised her they invited a Muggle into the castle. When Hermione was petrified before, they hadn’t allowed her parents to visit. They sent scathing letters about it to Dumbledore, who responded that his hands were tied on the matter.
“You better let us in Hermione!” She heard Gussie say from outside of the hospital wing.
“Augusta, this really should be Hermione’s decision,” Dumbledore said, but his voice was not admonishing. Hermione saw the amusement in his face.
Hermione nodded her agreement, and Dumbledore left the room. The door flew open and Gussie ran in, followed by Archie, Alastor, and Julia. To her surprise, Barnabas Cuffe trailed close behind them, but then to her great relief, he stopped at Alfred’s bed, not sparing Hermione a glance.
“Hermione!” Gussie sobbed. She launched herself at her, throwing her arms around her and causing them both to fall back into the pillows.
“Gussie?” This was her friend, right? Could she still be under the Imperius Curse?
Hermione got her answer soon enough.
“Hermione I’m so sorry!” Gussie wailed. She sobbed uncontrollably, holding Hermione in a tight embrace. Hermione couldn’t sit up with all of Gussie’s weight on top of her. “I didn’t know! I tampered with your potion and I didn’t know! It was Walburga, I’m so sorry!”
Walburga?! Walburga was the one that was trying to kill her? Hermione would have liked a moment to absorb that bit of information, but Gussie required more immediate attention. She tried to pat her friend’s head comfortingly, but it only made her cry harder. Hermione didn’t understand the next few things she said through her tears.
Alastor stepped forward. “Um. Walburga put the Imperius Curse on Gussie and ordered her to tamper with your potion and cauldron.”
“I see…” Alastor had a couple subtle scrapes on his cheek from where the cauldron exploded in his face. They would undoubtedly scar. Hermione knew Alastor would have a lifetime of scars. Archie’s expression contorted into a furious scowl. Riddle remained expressionless as he kept his focus fixed on her. Hermione tried not to look at him. She knew it would make her fury boil over.
“I swear I didn’t do any of it on purpose, Hermione! I would never hurt you!” The front of Hermione’s blouse dampened with the evidence of Gussie’s tears.
“Gussie, stop! I don’t blame you for it! I sort of figured you were under the Imperius Curse.”
That got everyone’s attention. Gussie pulled back, looking at Hermione in shock. “You knew?”
“Syrup of Arnica was added to the potion. It had to be added immediately before I took it, otherwise it wouldn’t be effective. It had to be you,” Hermione admitted.
“What the bloody hell is Syrup of Antarctica?!” Gussie screeched, her voice echoed through the Hospital Wing. Alfred’s mother gave Gussie a scathing look before returning her attention to her son.
“Arnica, Gussie.” Alastor said. Another reason she knew Gussie couldn’t be the culprit. Her friend had no sense for potions.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Archie spoke up then. Hermione had never seen him so angry.
Tom was the one to answer him. “We didn’t know who was the true mastermind behind it. The fewer people that knew, the better.” Alastor shrugged like that made perfect sense. Archie wasn’t so convinced, but he said nothing.
“How did you find out it was Walburga?” Hermione asked Gussie, who shifted to sit on the edge of the bed like a dignified person.
“The spell broke as soon as Walburga died.”
“She’s dead?!” Hermione’s eyes flicked to Tom before landing back on Gussie. His expression never faltered, but she knew, without a doubt, that Tom killed Walburga Black.
“She’s missing,” Julia amended.
Gussie shrugged, “I assume she’s dead considering the Imperius Curse lifted that same night. Unless it’s a freakish coincidence.” Clearly, she didn’t think it was a coincidence at all. Neither did Hermione. She knew Walburga hated her, but to want to kill her? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.
“They say she sent Slytherin’s monster after Alfred for being Muggle-born and then you out of jealousy,” Archie said, ending his silent brooding. Hermione rose a brow at that. Was that what the entire school believed?
“It’s been, uh, tense since you’ve been Petrified,” Julia said, her eyes stealing a look at Tom who looked bored with the discussion.
“So your curse is gone?” Alastor asked. She nodded. They spent the next five minutes talking amicably. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she felt normal. She reveled in it. The smile on her face persisted, despite her anger towards Tom.
Eventually, Julia gave her a quick hug before leaving with Alfred and the rest of his group. Apparently, Alfred was going straight home after his ordeal via flu powder with his mother. Hermione couldn’t blame him for wanting to escape the castle, but to her, this place held all the memories and comforts of home.
“She broke up with Reinhardt,” Gussie told her after they left.
“Really? Why?”
“Didn’t say, just said it would never work between them. She didn’t seem too upset about it to tell the truth. They actually look happier when they’re together now that they aren’t dating.”
“They’re friends?” she asked. Gussie shrugged.
A few minutes later, Gussie, Alastor, and Archie excused themselves, leaving her alone with Tom.
He came closer. The smell of cedar and peppermint hit her, but rather than being comforting, it made her anger return in full force. Tom beamed like he had done nothing wrong.
She wanted to jinx him! No! She would throttle him with her bare hands!
She turned on Tom. “You lied to me!”
He ignored her, “Hermione, you’re okay!” He leaned in to kiss her, but she pushed him away with all the strength her weak arms could manage.
“Don’t you dare touch me!”
The grin fell as eyebrows came together in confusion.
“You lied, Tom!”
He frowned. “Hermione—”
“I don’t want an excuse!”
His eyes narrowed on her. “I never lied.”
“You told me the snake was dead!” she shouted, her anger growing with each passing second, exploding out of her in uncontrollable waves.
“No, you assumed the Basilisk was dead,” he looked exasperated, as if she was being unreasonable right now.
“You let me assume that! Why didn’t you correct me?!”
“Because I desperately wanted you back, and it didn’t seem important! She was as good as dead to me! I never intended to use the Basilisk again—”
“So you thought I wouldn’t find out?” She shrieked.
“Calm down, it isn’t—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to ‘calm down’! After everything. You promised! I gave you another chance, even though you didn’t deserve it!”
Tom said nothing. He watched her with his lips pressed into a hard line. He looked tense.
“Would it have been better if I told you the truth?” he asked, his voice tight.
“It would have been better if you actually killed the Basilisk.”
“I don’t regret it.”
Her eyes flashed. She clenched her fists and tightened her jaw. She looked away from him, staring past the end of her bed.
“I don’t regret it because, Petrifying you bought time, allowing me to find a way to save you.”
“You didn’t save me, Dumbledore’s Phoenix did,” she snapped, darting her gaze back at him.
He didn’t reply.
Silence stretched between them. She swallowed. So many feelings and emotions. She was angry and sad. Happy to be alive and the curse gone. Tired from the exhausting months she’d had. Heartbroken, confused, sore. These were all morphing together inside her into one big mess of chaos.
“I did it for you. It gave us time. I am sorry for deceiving you. But I’ll do anything to keep you… safe.” She couldn’t help but notice how he said the word ‘safe’ almost as an afterthought.
Possessive, controlling bastard.
“You killed Walburga.” It wasn’t a question. Tom didn’t deny it. “You pinned the chamber on her, then killed her.”
“She was trying to kill you, Hermione,” Tom said like it explained everything. “She put the Imperius Curse on Gussie and snuck into the Hospital Wing to poison you. She attempted more than just those things. I dug into her memories and confirmed it all.”
There was no remorse in Tom’s expression. He believed murdering Walburga was justified.
“So you killed her and pinned everything on her?”
“I didn’t pin the chamber on her. Everyone assumed it was her on their own.”
Hermione scoffed.
He didn’t reply. He didn’t move.
“First, you petrified me using a Basilisk you led me to believe was dead, then you kill Walburga?” Hermione felt sick.
Tom still didn’t speak.
Hermione swallowed hard. “Do you even care?”
Something in him snapped, “What is that supposed to mean! I did this for you! Everything is for you! You’re all I care about!”
“What about Walburga?”
“What about her?”
“Do you care at all?”
“No!” He looked pissed.
“You killed someone Tom! She had a family! She was going to have a future! You took that away!”
“Why are we still talking about Walburga?!”
“Because she’s dead!”
“Exactly! She’s no longer our problem!”
“What do you want from me, Riddle?”
“What does that mean?!” He scowled.
“Exactly what I’m asking! What do you want? Why did you bother? You must be trying to keep me alive for a reason. Think I will share my knowledge of the future with you? Is that it?” She folded her arms.
“I never asked you to!”
“What do you want?”
“What makes you think I want anything other than you!?” He yelled.
“Because I don’t believe you anymore! Everything you say is a lie! You’re manipulative—”
“You’re always quick to assume the worst of me!”
“You killed someone, and you act like it’s no big deal. Who’s saying you won’t do it again?! I know what you become!”
“Who says I’m that person at all?” He shot to his feet. His eyes looked almost black in his anger. Magic sizzled in the room. “Since you came into my life, everything has been completely turned upside down! I barely know who I am anymore!”
“You’re already becoming that person.” She narrowed her eyes. “I missed it before, didn’t see it, but I see it now.”
He tightened his jaw.
This was pointless. Hermione felt her bones ache with exhaustion.
“Leave.”
He looked stricken. “What?”
“Get. Out.”
He didn’t move. He watched her like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“I’m ending this between us. Officially and for good.” She felt so overwhelmed, she wanted to cry for at least an hour. She wouldn’t do that with him present.
His expression was impassive. “Do you know what I went through this past month?” He growled.
She could only imagine what he did, envisioning a scene similar to before she was Petrified.
“Do you know how much of myself I put into trying to save you? The hell! Everything that I did for you?!”
“Why did you bother? You never do anything without expecting something in return.”
“I told you—”
“Get out, Tom.” She couldn’t have this out with him. Her heart pounded with frustration. Preferably, they would never have this argument. It wasn’t worth it. They would never reach common ground. It would never work.
He panted. His face flushed and eyes wide. He looked crazed. “Fine.” He headed for the door. It surprised her, he conceded so quickly. She assumed he would push back. Fight her on this. Kiss her until she was a mindless mess.
The thought of all the intimacy they shared fueled her fury. Maybe that was all he wanted from her, but she doubted it. He would have no problem finding another girl to have sex with. It was an added perk for him, as he worked tirelessly to achieve his true objective with her.
She clenched her jaw, holding back the tears, trying to fill her eyes.
Riddle opened the door, but before leaving, he faced her. “I will tear the world apart to keep you, Hermione. It will never be over between us.”
He left.
***
Hermione slept in the Hospital Wing that night with Dreamless Sleep Potion. Despite what one might think, someone didn’t wake up feeling rested after being petrified for a month. Her body had a lot of healing to do. Especially after all the energy the curse drained from her.
Gabriella visited the next morning with Bridget and Patrick. Bridget tackled her on the bed, much like Gussie had done. She chatted endlessly about her year. She practiced flying and hoped to join the quidditch team at Hogwarts in a few months. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to tell Bridget that first years couldn’t join the team..
Patrick and Gabriella couldn’t get a word in for almost twenty minutes.
“You’ll come back to the Leaky Cauldron, won’t you, Hermione?” Bridget asked.
“Um...” Hermione blushed. She had given little thought to summer. If she was honest, she gave up on the idea of needing future plans. “I really don’t think I can keep taking a room from you.”
“Nonsense!” Gabriella interrupted. “Summer is our busiest time of year, and you were very helpful. Now that you’re of age, we can have you behind the bar. Edgar could use some help. He’s been feeling unwell lately.” Gabriella frowned. Hermione did not know Edgar’s age, but he had been a constant figure in Gabriella’s life since she was a little girl. Time took its toll on him, even by wizarding standards, he was old, his voice crackled with wisdom and experience.
“It was nice having you around,” Patrick said. It surprised Hermione to hear him say this.
She beamed at the group. “Guess I’m coming back then!”
Bridget cheered and started jumping on the bed. Madam Blainey and Gabriella shouted at her, throwing Bridget into a tantrum. The room filled with chaos, but Hermione didn’t care. As she looked around the room, a warm feeling of familiarity washed over her, causing her lips to split into a wide smile. Everything would be fine.
The lightness inside her wouldn’t repent—until she realized being at the Leaky Cauldron meant Tom Riddle would be nearby.
It would be a long summer.
Notes:
Chapter 41 Song: favorite crime: Olivia Rodrigo. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
PART 2 INFO!
Hey guys! As promised, this story WILL be a happily ever after but at the end of the series (sorry if you guys didn't get that memo earlier)
Anyways: Part 2 will be coming eventually - I'm still working on the first draft and occassionally I'll go back and edit the beginning chapters so I can keep sort of regular updates (hopefully) as the edits are done! I don't think I will make a new story but rather tack part 2 onto the end of this one so it's like one larger project. If you want updates/previews/and to know what's coming, follow me on my socials (i'm most active on instagram but I update and am active on the others)
Part 2 Summary
Hermione reclaimed her life. She survived her curse and could now look to the future. One without Tom Riddle’s infestation of manipulation and lies. She needed to focus on more important things—she planned to revive her quest to find her way home. If she could journey to a parallel world, there must be a way back. She would discover out how.But then there was Tom. Hermione couldn’t be with someone she didn’t trust. No matter how much she longed for him. But he haunted her, lurking in the shadows of her life. She wished Tom Riddle would let her go. It would make moving on so much easier...
Additional Tags:
Tom becomes more underhanded with his manipulation, Tom Riddle vs feline enemy, Let the sex begin (and lots of it), Angst, Humor, Compromise, minor character death, A tad darker than part 1 (based on the draft so far), Character growth, plus all the possessive insanity tags from part 1!, Part 2 is a HEATUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 42: 42: The Boy in the Shadows
Summary:
Let Part 2 Begin!
Hermione reclaimed her life. She survived her curse and could now look to the future. One without Tom Riddle’s infestation of manipulation and lies. She needed to focus on more important things—she planned to revive her quest to find her way home. If she could journey to a parallel world, there must be a way back. She would discover out how.But then there was Tom. Hermione couldn’t be with someone she didn’t trust. No matter how much she longed for him. But he haunted her, lurking in the shadows of her life. She wished Tom Riddle would let her go. It would make moving on so much easier...
Tom and Hermione start the next phase of their journey into sixth year. It will be full of heartbreak, love, romance, angst, intrigue, reappearance of old faces, tragedy, and lust-filled moans.
Notes:
I'm so excited to be starting the next part of Tom and Hermione's journey!! Thank you so much to all of those who have been recommending The Brightest Star in the Sky to others, I really appreciate it! And thank you to Smolbangs for Beta reading this first chapter! And, as always, my mother, who reads and reviews everything I write before I post it :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
December 1929:
Once, there lived a small boy who was scared of the dark. He climbed into bed wearing his worn, striped pajamas, now too short on his rapidly growing body, waiting for the lights to go out.
He grew up within the confines of the surrounding walls, knowing nothing beyond their boundaries. This was home. But something was missing. He couldn’t figure out what; or perhaps he didn’t have the language necessary to articulate it.
The twelve other boys sharing the room shuffled around, taking the last few minutes to play with their toys until Miss Cole, the orphanage matron, flicked off their light. It happened at nine o’clock, but the small boy couldn’t tell time. The uncertainty of when the darkness would arrive kept him in a constant state of unease. It surprised him. Caught him off guard.
True to the prediction, the lights extinguished, leaving him in the disorienting void. He frowned, blinking as his vision adjusted. There was a murmur of descent among the other children as they placed their toys aside and climbed into bed.
The boy held Mr. Teddy against his chest. He slept with this faded stuffed animal every night. It protected him. Noise filled the orphanage at all hours. Cries echoed, branches hit the windowpane as the winter wind blew, and he heard older children outside the door, still awake and walking through the halls.
He knew he was supposed to be asleep, but his heart raced too fast for him to relax. Was he safe? What if someone tried to take Mr. Teddy while he slept? He squeezed it closer. The stuffed bear was his. He didn’t let anyone play with it. It belonged to him.
What if someone tried to hurt him? He wouldn’t be able to see them. When he turned the lights on once, the other boys and Miss Cole became angry. As punishment, the small boy had to sit in the closet... in the dark. He cried, hoping Miss Cole would hear him and let him out.
She didn’t.
So he stopped crying. What was the point in tears if he didn’t get what he desired?
He sat quietly on the floor, hiding his face in Mr. Teddy’s ratty fur. The boy relied on Mr. Teddy’s ability to see in the dark for comfort. If something attacked from the shadows, his bear would protect him.
A church bell rang in the distance. He counted the chimes. What came after eight? He tried to remember. But the ringing continued on without him. He lost track.
The door creaked open. The boy covered his head with his scratchy blanket. He pretended to sleep. Miss Cole got upset if they weren’t asleep when she peeked in.
“Tom?” a whisper echoed into the room. He recognized the voice.
“Cora?” Tom rolled over in his bed as the older girl made her way over to him, holding a flickering candle that barely illuminated her face. Even that tiny flame brought him some relief. He relished it.
“I got this from Miss Cole’s stash for you.” She held out a small package. He took it in his hands and realized it was a little cake.
“Why?”
“Your birthday!” Cora replied with a cheeky grin that Tom could barely see in the dim light. “You’re three today!”
“Oh!” He smiled too. “I’m three?” the number sounding more like ‘fwee’ from his mouth. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.” Tom scrunched his nose, trying to remember where fourteen fell in his counting.
“Make a wish and blow out the candle,” Cora said, holding up the single candle that flickered on the brass candlestick holder she held in her hand.
“Why?” Tom’s face flushed. He didn’t want to extinguish the flame. Then it would be dark again!
“It’s what you do on your birthday. My parents used to have me blow out candles on my birthday and make wishes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what?”
“Anything, but don’t tell me. You have to make it quietly in your head.” Tom considered that. He heard the other boys sleeping. None of them were afraid of the dark.
He hesitated before blowing the flickering candle. Without the flame, he would be plunged into darkness. He didn’t want to tell Cora his fear. To look scared. It was a small light, but it was the only one in the room.
But if he blew out the candle, it wouldn’t be a surprise. He would bring the dark on his own. By choice. Control it.
He thought about his wish—inhaled and blew. The flame danced and extinguished, leaving behind a faint wisp of smoke barely discernible in the moonlit glow filtering through the dirty window.
“Happy birthday, Tom.”
He and Cora shared the little cake. Like magic, Tom’s wish came true. Afterward, the dark wasn’t as frightening. He chose darkness.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione weaved between the tables with her tray of liquor that she passed around to the drunk Ministry workers who stopped by the Leaky Cauldron for a pint on their way home from the office. She was exhausted. Her body ached from long hours at work and the weight of the past year’s events. Nothing went as intended. However, her years at Hogwarts were always filled with unexpected twists and turns.
At least she was alive to talk about it, though that thought offered little comfort. Things were dicey by the end; complicated by her Petrification and Walburga Black’s death.
She placed Firewhisky in front of an elderly wizard who came by every evening to get sloshed. It became a ritual after his wife left him a few months back.
She served a pint of beer to the quiet man and a glass of wine to his companion. The uncomfortable silence between them indicated their first date was not going well.
Gin to the blonde who was celebrating his week at the Ministry with his new coworkers. Hermione tried to determine what he did there. Sounded like something in Magical Law Enforcement based on the exploding plants he and his colleagues eagerly discussed. She served the rest of the drinks to the other Ministry workers.
“Anything else I can get for you?” she asked the table with her broad, practiced grin.
“Now what’s a young pretty thing like you doin’ working ‘ere,” one man slurred.
“It’s a job,” she replied.
“There are many ‘etter jobs for a chit ya know,” his glassy eyes gleamed. A hand patted her backside. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time customers got handsy with her. She learned to handle these situations with ease. She would avoid him for the evening. If the harassment continued, Edgar would serve him. If it became bad enough, they would remove him from the building.
As she attempted to evade the man, a sudden explosion of shattered glass erupted in front of him.
“Perry! You got booze all over me!” The blonde yelled.
“S’not my fault!”
Hermione frowned. Her body tensed, and a shiver ran down her spine as she realized who was to blame. All night, she felt his penetrating gaze fixed upon her. It dug between her shoulder blades while she worked. He made her stomach churn and her skin crawl.
She peeked at Tom Riddle. His handsome yet ominous glower. He was like an unwelcome gnat that she couldn’t get rid of. Why wouldn’t he move on and stop bothering her? She had only been on break for three days, but his constant presence drove her to the brink of insanity. He was her shadow, hiding in the dark, always there, watching, stalking.
When she first woke up, all the emotions that were previously suppressed by months of unrelenting pain and suffering suddenly seemed unbearable. She cracked under the pressure of it all. She couldn’t help but blame Tom, knowing the extent of his wrongdoing. Knowing he was a younger version of the Dark Lord… but she couldn’t figure out which crimes he was guilty of. Petrifying Alfred, then herself, killing Walburga, lying about the Basilisk, his deception, his overbearing possessiveness… She struggled to sort through everything that happened.
Some of those actions deserved her scorn, but did all of them?
The more she thought about it, the more mixed up her feelings became. It numbed her on good days. On a bad day, it felt like a heavy weight pressing down on her heart, compressing her skull, squeezing her anxieties, and drowning her in a sea of sorrow. Hermione wasn’t able to sort this out yet. She craved solitude to mull over and untangle her thoughts.
The problem was, Tom Riddle refused to give it to her. She kept him at arm’s length ever since the incident in the hospital wing, and he fought her every step of the way.
On the Hogwarts Express, he dragged her into an empty compartment, locking the door behind them. He pressed her against the wall. His warmth surrounded her, his scent overwhelmed her. He suffocated her. Her body stiffened at his sudden proximity. Hermione should have expected him to pull something like this, prepared herself for his attack. She let her guard down.
“You really should have expected this, my lioness,” Tom hissed in her ear. Hermione’s senses heightened as his fingers slid along her hip. Dipping lower. Her breath caught in her throat. Those hands... his hands. Her eyes widened at the touch.
Then he pulled away.
“So you don’t get any ideas,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. She recognized her wand in his hand. He plucked it from her pocket without her noticing.
Her back straightened as she glared at him. “Give me my wand.”
He smirked and pocketed it. Damn, he looked handsome with his lips curved in that gorgeous grin. His deep brown eyes fixed on her, his hair falling in dark, disheveled waves. “Ok, if you admit you still want me.”
“What?”
“Admit it and I’ll let you go.”
Her mouth went dry. He appeared so calm and collected. Nothing phased him. Hermione couldn’t wrap her head around it!
“Why would I do that?!”
“Because it’s true,” he smirked, running a finger along her jaw. She tried to suppress the shiver that ran through her. “Because you’re denying it to yourself. Denying us. Because I want you.”
She needed to get out of here. She grew tired of the constant games and their never-ending cycles. The locked doors that he always trapped her behind. It had only been a few days since she woke up in the hospital wing free of her curse and she wasn’t ready to face whatever was broken between them. Perhaps this relationship couldn’t be salvaged. Some wounds never truly healed; rather than scar, it might remain like a festering infection, resistant to any treatment.
“Step back, Riddle.”
“No.”
“Are you even sorry for everything that you’ve done?!” She had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling.
His gaze lingered on her body, his eyes flickering with desire, making her cheeks turn crimson. “What answer will help me get you back?”
He said something similar when he asked her to dance at the Winter ball. Which answer will get you to dance with me? Hermione should never have danced with Tom Riddle.
“None. Give me my wand—”
“I told you this wasn’t over. I told you this would never be over,” Tom hissed. "Now, tell me you want me.” Tom gazed upon her as if she embodied all the beauty and wonder of the world. She found it difficult to absorb the intensity of it. Her entire body overheated. Her soul ignited at the mere touch of his skin against hers.
“Did you not hear what I said?!”
“I did.” His mouth twitched. He leaned forward. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, but he didn’t. His lips caressed the curve of her ear. “You can despise me, my lioness. Scorn the ground I walk on. Hate me. But that doesn’t mean you don’t desire me.”
He reached up to push the curls over her shoulder. His breath brushed over her neck. “So tell me, Hermione. Tell me you want me as bad as I want you.” His lips pressed against the sensitive skin over her pulse. She couldn’t hold back the tremble that raced through her. Based on the way his mouth curled into a grin, he noticed his effect on her.
She needed to get out of here! To get her wand back, she had to create a distraction to divert his attention.
Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. She hoped he didn’t see her cheeks burn. She moved fast, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him closer.
Their lips met.
For once, she shocked Tom Riddle. He hadn’t expected this turn of events. He was momentarily stunned, but then quickly snapped back to reality and responded. Tom grabbed her and kissed her with a ravenous hunger. His body pressed against hers with an unyielding force, his grip so tight it bordered on violent. He would devour her. Consume her in this kiss. She had to be cautious around him, or else she might get lost in him. Fall prey to his seduction.
Give in…
Tom tried to deepen the kiss. Hermione opened her mouth, but it wasn’t to allow him access. “Relashio.”
He immediately released her with the revulsion jinx, stumbling back against the window. “You weren’t watching your pockets, Riddle,” she muttered, stepping back towards the door with her wand pointed at him.
His jaw tightened. His eyes widened in surprise. “Deceptive. Perhaps you have more Slytherin in you than I thought.”
She snorted but didn’t grace him with a response. She flicked her wand at the lock, hearing the click of freedom. “You can run for now, my lioness, but I will catch you in the end.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
Her heart skipped a beat as she slammed the compartment door shut behind her. Gussie didn’t leave her side after that.
He started coming to the Leaky Cauldron. At first, he attempted to speak to her directly. She made it clear where she stood in their relationship—or lack thereof. Tom’s response to that discussion was exactly what she expected. His brows furrowed with a fiery intensity, his face burned with anger and resentment before he nonchalantly dismissed the conversation as if it never happened. She brushed him off and continued working.
Hermione refocused on the chaos in front of her. The irritable group of ministry workers. She pulled out her wand and had the mess cleared with a flick of her wrist. Benefits of being of age during the summer.
Edgar, the elderly bartender, appeared over her shoulder. “I think you boys are done for the night,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion. The group grumbled their complaints but chucked a few galleons on the table for their drinks and departed.
Hermione sighed and returned to her work. The moon’s eerie glow through the window hinted at the late hour. Edgar would start getting ready to close soon.
She knew the moment Tom left. Because no matter how much she wanted to deny it, she watched him almost as much as he watched her.
***
Albus Dumbledore wrote a letter informing her of his plan to stop by the Leaky Cauldron a few days into her first week of break. Hermione expected to run into Dumbledore eventually. Her studies fell behind, considering her curse and Petrification. She missed her O.W.L.s and almost a month of classes. Now she was left to pick up the pieces of her already fragile life. Gabriella insisted she needed time off to recover, but Hermione knew it wouldn’t help. Engaging in work allowed her mind to clear and knowing she was managing her finances was an enormous burden lifted off her shoulders.
She waited for Dumbledore at the bar wearing a red skirt and white blouse in a recent delivery of “old clothes” that she received from Gussie. The package comprised a casual dress, two skirts, and four blouses, all in warm colors that suited Hermione. There was even a pair of stylish boots that she suspected were dragon-hide. Everything appeared suspiciously unworn. When Hermione tried to write her friend back and question her about the clothing, Gussie assured her that she planned to toss the clothes in the fire if Hermione didn’t keep them.
She took them, of course. Each item was beautiful, showcasing Gussie’s keen fashion sense.
Edgar engaged in friendly conversation with her while she waited for Dumbledore, but she noticed the older man deteriorate. His eyeballs sunk into his skull. His skin looked ashen. Even his weight dropped, causing his clothes to hang lifelessly off him. His illness took a toll on him. With him taking extra time off, Gabriella and Hermione had to step in and cover his shifts behind the bar. Patrick occasionally helped serve tables for pocket money, but Gabriella never wanted him to feel obligated. He spent most of his free time with Filius Flitwick over the summer.
Despite her enthusiasm, Bridget’s efforts to assist were more of a hindrance. Gabriella entrusted her with one task: clearing the tables, a job easily accomplished with magic. Gabriella insisted work was good for Bridget. Mostly, it kept the girl out of trouble.
The situation motivated Gabriella to post announcements to hire additional servers.
Edgar glanced up, raising a brow as the first customers arrived.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” Hermione asked, frowning at her coffee. They both knew she wasn’t referring to Dumbledore.
“At the usual table,” Edgar nodded before walking around to take orders. Hermione groaned. What was Tom hoping to achieve by showing up? Did he expect her to change her mind about everything because he was back to stalking her?
“Who’s here?” Bridget climbed up on the bar stool beside Hermione. She had her blonde hair in a braid today, looking almost picturesque in her childlike appearance. Hermione’s instincts warned her not to trust this girl, whose eyes held a hint of mischief.
“Nobody!”
Bridget wasn’t perturbed. “Edgar, who’s here?”
“Oh, Hermione’s ex-boyfriend,” he shrugged, pouring a few drinks.
“What?! Who?!” Bridget swung in her chair and stared at the few patrons. “Unless it’s the old guy with his wife, I’m going to assume it’s the one near the window. Wait, is he the reason you’ve been so mopey since returning from school?”
“I have not been moping! I’ve been working!”
“Uh-huh,” Bridget rolled her eyes.
“He needs to stop coming here every day.” Hermione dropped her head in her hands. Bridget patted Hermione’s shoulder in an awkwardly sympathetic gesture.
“I don’t understand why he would want to watch you work. Seems rather boring to me,” Bridget said. Hermione glared at the girl. She evidently failed to grasp the intricate dynamics of their relationship.
Or lack thereof.
Hermione spent the next fifteen minutes hearing Bridget’s complaints about her insufferable attitude. To her dismay, Edgar chuckled and left the child to her devices.
It was a relief when Dumbledore finally appeared, sweeping into the chair on Hermione’s other side with a polite smile wearing blue wizarding robes. He folded his hands on the bar and studied Hermione. “Good morning,” Hermione fidgeted under his scrutiny.
Edgar greeted him like an old friend, making short small talk before Hermione led him to the parlor.
“Are you feeling better, Miss Granger?” he asked, sitting in a cushioned chair across from her.
“Yes, the effects of the curse are completely gone.”
Dumbledore grinned, “amazing magic, phoenix tears. They don’t bestow it on many, Fawkes is especially particular. He could barely fly being so soon after his burning, yet he insisted on reaching you.”
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had never heard of an immature phoenix producing tears. “Why?”
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, watching Hermione. The silence stretched between them. Hermione’s foot tapped nervously against the floor as she anxiously shifted in her seat. She wished he would say something. “Perhaps it was devotion that led Fawkes to you.”
Hermione frowned. Dumbledore had said something similar to Harry after Fawkes came to his aid in the Chamber of Secrets. That his loyalty to Dumbledore himself had summoned the phoenix. Did Hermione show such steadfast loyalty? She trusted Professor Dumbledore. She admired him. Perhaps that was enough for Fawkes to save her.
“I would like to thank him.”
Dumbledore nodded, “you can do so when you return to Hogwarts.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, for the reason I came today.” Dumbledore smiled and folded his hands in his lap. “Do you believe you will be ready for your O.W.L.s in two weeks? I realize this isn’t ideal. You missed three weeks of classes and had been ill prior to that. Unfortunately, it was difficult to arrange your exams separately, and many examiners were unavailable—”
“It’s fine!” She said, cutting him off. It didn’t sound like she had a choice in the matter. Truthfully, she could have probably taken her exams the week she arrived in this universe and performed okay. Repeating her fifth year provided additional review for her to enhance her base skills.
“Very good,” he nodded. “We can compile your score with the others to place you in classes next year.”
“Of course.”
“And we need to speak about your career goals as well. Given your illness, it seemed imprudent to discuss the topic before.”
Essentially meaning it was pointless to plan her future, considering her impending death. At least, that’s what they were both thinking.
“Have you considered what sort of career you would like after Hogwarts? I realize you are comfortable here at the Leaky Cauldron, but you are one of my brightest students if you wish to consider other opportunities.”
Hermione thought about this. A year ago, when asked, she considered doing something in the Ministry. She was passionate about elf rights then. Not that she didn’t care about house-elves now! These days, other things took priority over her advocacy.
She also contemplated pursuing a career as a Healer. She wasn’t serious when she told Slughorn at the Slug Club meeting last year. It was a ruse she used to gain access to the restricted section. But she honestly considered it after her conversation with him. She had the potential to make a real difference in people’s lives.
Then the Department of Mysteries pressed on her mind. She could study the Veil. Be part of the team that investigated the magical marvels. Perhaps return home...
She had to wonder what sort of world she would return to. Would it be as if she never left during the battle for their lives, except she mysteriously aged? Or would time have passed there too? Would the war be over? Who won?
Dumbledore didn’t appear phased by the prolonged silence that stretched between them. He waited, hands folded in his lap, chin held high, and eyes searching Hermione. This decision could wait for now. “Um... I was thinking something in the Ministry... or perhaps a Healer. I’m not entirely sure. I’d like to keep my options open.”
Dumbledore nodded. “Healers require N.E.W.T.s in Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Ministry... that depends on what you were interested in, but those subjects cover most positions.”
“I also enjoy Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I’d like to continue those.”
“Very well, Miss Granger. An ambitious schedule, but I have no doubt that you could accomplish it. From what I hear, you were in route to receiving an ‘Outstanding’ in every subject. You will require at least an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ to enter N.E.W.T. level classes for Transfigurations, Potions, and Charms. Professor Merrythought will only take students that receive an ‘Outstanding’ in her Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. course.”
Hermione nodded. This didn’t surprise her. She heard rumors about the advanced magic that Professor Merrythought taught in her upper-level classes. It also explained why so few students took N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts.
“Like last year, we will provide you with some funds for school supplies,” Dumbledore finished. She needed all the help she could get. Alastor did purchase her a new cauldron after hers exploded, but advanced books were harder to find used and tended to be more expensive.
Dumbledore stood and said his goodbyes. He was barely out the door before Hermione pulled out a parchment and quill and began drawing a study schedule for the next two weeks.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
She ignored him! It drove him crazy! After everything he did for her, all the hell he endured finding her cure, she wouldn’t speak to him! She wouldn’t look at him!
Tom’s daily routine involved a trip to the Leaky Cauldron, where he would occupy a table in the corner and wait. Waiting for what? He wasn’t sure. Something. Anything!
Then she appeared and the roaring in his head stopped. Even watching her skirt between the tables, delivering drinks and food—it calmed him.
She lived.
He wanted her back.
He knew she would be upset when she woke up from her Petrification, but he never imagined this. Observing her like an outsider. No matter how hard he tried to keep her, he lost her anyway.
Tom contemplated telling her about the phoenix, but something inside him held him back. He couldn’t do it. What if she knew the truth? What if he told her he loved her and she still didn’t choose him?
As the thought crossed his mind, a deep and unfamiliar pain stirred within him. A chill ran down his spine as a sinking sensation formed in the pit of his stomach, like an icy hand tearing out his insides. Nobody ever chose him in the end. They never wanted him. Everyone left. At least he never let her realize the amount of power she held over him... Hermione’s grasp on his heart was undeniable as if she had a hold of his every emotion.
Concealing the truth had to be better…right? Because it couldn’t be worse.
A week passed with the same routine. All he desired was to have her close, press her body against his. How long had it been? He was getting desperate. In his dreams, she approached him. He smelled the apples. Tasted the honey. Felt her smooth skin beneath his hands.
He ravaged her. Over and over. He craved those dreams. Wished more than anything they would become a reality. He’d wake up hard and panting, aching for her.
Tom would close his eyes to prolong the fantasy, gripping his cock and imagining her small hands around him. Her caramel irises looking at him with their devious glow.
His gorgeous witch.
She may deny him in reality, but in his imagination, she moaned his name as he fucked her hard. She cried out with abandon. Hermione clung to him like he was her lifeline. She would say the words he desperately wished to hear from her. With each forceful thrust, she whispered them like a mantra, finding solace in their rhythm.
He longed to experience the sound of her voice saying those words. Could this ever become real?
No… It was a fantasy. Tom was sure he would never hear those words fall from her lips.
“Hey there,” a young girl sat in the empty chair across from him. Her blonde hair pulled into pigtails and her clever green eyes critically assessed him. He recognized her from around the Leaky Cauldron. But why would she be sitting across from him now?
“What?” Tom snapped.
“Hermione says you need to stop coming here.”
“She sent a child to tell me to go away?” He grimaced. Hermione would never do that. She knew how friable his temper was and wouldn’t risk setting it off against this brat. Hermione was brave, she’d never cower behind a little girl... Then again, she was avoiding him.
“Nope!” She popped the ‘p’ and shrugged. So, the girl was acting on her own accord.
“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck off, kid.” She didn’t even flinch. She sat back and examined Tom with her piercing green stare. Tom wrapped his hand around his tankard of Butterbeer. He wished he was seventeen. He needed some damn whisky. Maybe some of that Dragon’s Barrell stuff he and Hermione shared at the Three Broomsticks.
“My name’s Bridget.”
“I don’t care what your name is, scram.”
“You know, the polite thing to do would be to tell me what your name is.” This girl had guts.
“If I wanted to tell you my name, I would’ve told you.” Normally Tom kept up his charming persona in public, but after recent events, he wasn’t in the mood.
“It doesn’t matter. I actually already know your name,” Bridget said. Tom blinked at her. They stared at each other. Bridget cocked her head. “Why do you come here every day?” She finally asked when she realized Tom wasn’t inclined to speak.
“None of your business.” Without other options, he found himself here, hoping Hermione might take him back. When planning for summer, he initially planned to find his mother’s family. If the books he read on Slytherin’s ancestry were to be believed, his mother’s last name would have been Gaunt. The next step was to determine the residence of the Gaunt family. It wouldn’t be difficult to find. But those plans would have to be put on hold. He had a lion to catch.
“You must really like Hermione.”
He loved Hermione. He loved her with every piece of his very being. She was everything his life needed. All he would ever desire.
He refused to divulge such personal information to this prying child. It was bad enough that he told a phoenix.
Tom ignored her.
The girl didn’t look the least bit deterred. “You know, you should be nicer to people.”
“Sod off, kid.”
“My name is Bridget, actually.”
“I know your name.”
“Just making sure.”
Tom glared at her when she didn’t immediately vacate her chair as directed.
“Hermione is nice to everyone,” she continued. “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you anymore.”
That got his attention. “Did she say that?” Hermione’s soul radiated with pure goodness. He shouldn’t pull her into his dark world. His existence in the shadows. But he was drawn to her light. He craved it so much it made him ache.
“Not really. Maybe if you were nicer, you might get a few allies.” Her smile was full of mischief. Tom hesitated before telling the girl to ‘fuck off’ again and considered her words. He employed the charming student persona at Hogwarts for that reason. To deceive people for his own agenda.
He shook his head. “I don’t need help from some kid.”
“Not even the tiniest bit curious as to what I could do?” she asked, her face glowing with excitement. This girl was feeding off the drama of Tom’s pathetic love life.
“Why would you help me?” Tom crossed his arms and glared. He made many wizards older than her quake with this look. Bridget didn’t even bat an eye.
“Hermione’s been moping around since she got back from school! She’s no fun anymore! Won’t go with me to Diagon Alley, doesn’t want to play games. It’s annoying! I’m bored! I need someone to hang out with! I begged Mum for a pet, but she said no! Ridiculous! I could take care of it! And I know the school lets us bring certain animals!” Bridget scowled.
Did Hermione feel just as lost and empty without him? It was like exploring a labyrinthine, with countless doors but no windows to provide a glimpse of what lay beyond. Bleak. She pulled him out of the confusion and straight into the sun. Life was bearable, and Tom was happy. Now he felt worse having all of it torn away.
This was a prison. A wasteland. Nothing made sense.
If Hermione was so miserable without him, then why was she still ignoring him? Insufferable, beautiful witch!
“Bridget!” a shrill voice rang out. “Bridget, get away from him!” Hermione stomped over and grabbed the girl by her arm. For the first time all summer, their eyes met. He might lose himself in the depths of her warm, caramel gaze. Her freckled cheeks flushed with color, but despite the relentless summer sun, she looked pale.
He held his breath. The world stopped moving around them. For a moment. One glorious moment, he drowned in it.
Then everything snapped back. “Hermione! Stop pulling me!” Bridget whined. Tom raised a brow. The girl’s calculated deviousness was gone, replaced by a childlike tantrum.
“I told you to stay out of this!”
“I wasn’t getting involved! I just wanted to know who he was! I didn’t even mention you! Honest!” The girl lied. She sniffled. The tears were so fake they could have been magically summoned there. Tom had to admit, the girl’s talent was impressive. Her curly blond pigtails and sweet wide eyes punctuated her innocent image. She was a mastermind. Tom couldn’t help but admire her.
Hermione dragged the girl away, leaving Tom to contemplate their strange interaction. How might the kid benefit him? His pride wanted to decline any assistance, but what was his pride worth without Hermione?
Damn, he needed something from her. Her brief glance just now made him feel more alive than he had in a month... since he Petrified her.
It was early afternoon, and he had till midnight until the Leaky Cauldron closed. Not that he usually stayed the entire time. While he could waste coins to pay for a Butterbeer every day, he couldn’t spare the expense of purchasing food. At least, not until he restocked his pockets. He considered meeting up with Abraxas Malfoy and stealing a few galleons from his sizable stash. Even Norris Avery and Reinhardt Lestrange came from old wizarding wealth. Norris would be an easy target. Reinhardt spent his summers in France with his grandmother.
He pulled a book out of his bag and flicked it open. With all the distractions from Hermione’s curse last year, he never read the books he purchased from the bookstore in Hogsmeade. He decided to peruse them now. She would most certainly approve of his reading choices, if he could gain her interest enough to notice.
Today, he flipped open Pride and Prejudice and continued where he left off. He couldn’t say he enjoyed the book, but he found the Bennet sister’s constant whining about their misfortunes amusing. They had a roof over their heads, servants that cooked their meals, and two parents that loved them—though the mother was more of a hindrance and better off dead, in Tom’s opinion. What were they complaining about?
Despite his reservations about the novel, he continued reading.
About an hour later, Bridget approached his table and plopped a Butterbeer in front of him. He scowled at the child.
“I’m not paying for this,” Tom said, taking the Butterbeer and sliding his empty mug aside.
The girl shrugged. “Whatever. I wanted to finish our talk.”
“We weren’t having a talk.”
“We were too having a talk!” she pouted. Bridget wouldn’t get past him so easily. Tom wrote the book on manipulation. He stared at her with a bored expression. The girl’s resistance crumbled in an instant, and a wide smile spread across her face. She climbed into the chair across from him.
“Aren’t you worried Hermione will drag you away again?” Tom hoped she would. It was the closest he’d come to her in ages.
“Nope!” she said with a cheeky grin. Tom frowned.
“Why not?”
“You’re looking a bit disappointed, Tom.”
This child was getting on his nerves. But she had a point earlier. The kid was close to Hermione, and he couldn’t afford to push his lioness further away than she already was.
“What do you want?”
“I’m here to give you some friendly advice.”
“I don’t need relationship advice from a kid.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to turn down some advice. You aren’t exactly doing well by yourself.” She grinned like it was the most delightful thing she ever said.
“And you have great new ideas?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Hmm...” she considered, “I was thinking you might try following her and sitting at a table in a dark corner to watch her work all day... wait... no, you tried that already.”
“Sod off, kid.” Tom had his reasons for being here. He needed to see her. He needed to figure out where he stood with Hermione. He reveled in her passing glances and her fleeting attention. Eventually, she would come to her senses. She would realize everything he did for her!
“Again, my name is Bridget, not kid.”
“I know your name.”
“Just making sure.”
His demands went ignored.
“You’re mean. Whatever,” she shrugged. If Tom wasn’t in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, he would hex this child. Damn, she was annoying. “I’m going to help you out anyway—”
“I don’t want your help—”
“I know! That’s what makes me so nice! I’m willing to help you, anyhow! I recognize how much you need me!”
Damnit.
“I could be a real asset to you, Tom.” There was a glint in her eye that caught his attention. Stopped him from getting up and walking away.
“Why?”
“I already told you why earlier! Didn’t you listen?” she grumbled. She mentioned something about Hermione not spending time with her. He could relate to her frustration. “Okay, here’s what you need to do—stay away.”
He blinked at her. She had to be joking. “No.”
“Before you reject the idea, hear me out. You need to stay away so she misses you! Right now, you are always there! Always watching! She feels suffocated by your presence.”
Tom opened his mouth to object but shut it again. He considered this. Hermione expected him to be around, but what if he disappeared? He hated to admit it, but the idea had merit.
He found it hard to imagine not seeing her every day. His witch was like a drug he was addicted to. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious. Stay away for a bit, Tom! It would do you both some good!”
He glared at her and said nothing, crossing his arms and giving her a blank stare as if waiting for the punch line of her joke.
“Let Hermione miss you,” she repeated.
“Do you think she would miss me?”
Bridget shrugged, “you haven’t exactly given her the opportunity to miss you. Let her wonder what you are doing. Where you might be. How are you spending your time? Who are you with?”
Tom ran his hands through his already disheveled hair. These girls were giving him a headache. He couldn’t decide who was worse: Hermione or Bridget. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fine.”
Notes:
Chapter 42 Song: What Was I Made For?: Billie Eilish. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
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Chapter 43: 43: Distance
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom hated to admit it, but the kid had a point. Hermione needed a chance to miss him. The problem was, he didn’t know if he had the willpower to stay away from his witch for long. Regardless, he begrudgingly took the girl’s advice. He found himself on a bench in the middle of Vauxhall Park in Muggle London, a place he often visited as a child. He recently discovered the Ministry had no way of detecting wandless magic and he used this knowledge to his advantage.
I need to pick up this week’s ration of meat today.
Did I drop off that paperwork?
I wonder if he’s thinking of me.
What if there’s another raid tonight?
Tom dove into the heads of passing Muggles, practicing wandless Legilimency. Distance was a major limitation. He found himself only able to infiltrate minds within a few feet of him. As soon as they walked out of range, he lost the connection.
All he heard were snippets of their boring thoughts. Ramblings about war and Muggle chores. Worries about the safety of loved ones and themselves. Muggles really were dull.
A man sat next to him on the bench. He wore full military regalia, though Tom wasn’t familiar with how the Muggle military was organized to identify this man’s specific branch or rank. Now that he lived alone in the orphanage, he was no longer surrounded by the chatter regarding Muggle life. He didn’t keep up on the topic.
Tom seized the opportunity presented to him and pressed into the soldier’s mind.
Where is she? She was supposed to be here an hour ago. We said same time, same place, right? Did I get it wrong?
He tried to dive deeper, beyond his superficial thoughts and into his memories. The link dissolved.
He groaned with frustration. The man jumped in surprise, as if he had just noticed Tom. Disregarding him, Tom stood and searched for a new victim.
He discovered a woman walking a dog. He followed her, dipping into her thoughts and maintained close enough proximity to sustain the hold. It was a fleeting connection that lasted fifteen seconds before severing.
So it wasn’t entirely a distance problem. He needed better control of his magic. Hone the skill. The thread was too weak and snapped after a short time.
He spun on his heel and sat on the nearest bench, closing his eyes. He delved deep within himself, exploring his magic core, immersing himself in its sensations and becoming acquainted with its various textures and colors. Tom explored his magic with each one of his senses. It pulsated, ebbed, and flowed. He tried to press it in certain directions through sheer will and bring it back to the center. He balled it tighter until it was compacted into a single sphere in the palm of his hand. The task proved to be more challenging than he expected, and the magic burst free of its restraints, catching him off guard, forcing him to hastily collect and contain it within himself once more.
He found this exercise to be helpful. A lesson in control and meditation. When he opened his eyes again, hours had passed and nobody bothered him. People probably assumed he fell asleep.
Regardless, he felt his magic woven through him more surely than ever before. He stood, finding another Muggle walking home from work. He reached out and touched their mind.
***
For a week, Tom drained all his energy into his magic, practicing Legilimency on the streets, figuring out ways to control his power. To strengthen it. Any additional time he spent meditating where he morphed his core into shapes. He was successful to a degree, but found the task arduous.
He didn’t have the will to resist anymore.
Seven days without her… He felt hollow. Was it working, or was he wasting his time? Was he torturing himself for no reason?
Did she move on? Did she forget about him while he was gone?
No! He wouldn’t allow it! Tom would make sure of it! He should’ve made sure! Kept watch from a distance! The sudden uncertainty made his breath catch! Panic propelled his feet back to the Leaky Cauldron. He couldn’t let her forget him. And perhaps he could just glimpse her. See her. Bask in her light. If fortune favored him, he would reach Diagon Alley before she noticed him.
Hermione stood behind the bar as the owner served food and drinks. It was a busy midday shift. She had her curls pinned up today, tendrils falling down to frame her face. A burst of laughter escaped her lips at something a woman sitting at the bar said, her caramel eyes gleaming. Her slender fingers gripped the stem of the wineglass and set it on the counter for the server to grab before she spun to prepare another drink. She bent over; the dress tightening around her arse. She had an apron tied around her small waist, accenting the body he wanted to run his hands over. Lose himself in.
Thoughts of her haunted his every waking hour and anchored into his dreams. Some were fantasies, others were memories. Tom knew what it felt like to have her skin pressed against his. To wake up with her curls tickling his chin. Sometimes, when they lived in the Room of Requirement together, he’d wake her up with soft peppering kisses up her thighs until her back arched and her legs parted for him.
She’d moan his name. Her fingers curled in his hair as he buried his face in her cunt. Tom worshipped her, sucked her clit, fucked her with his tongue, and brought his witch to the very brink of ecstasy until she toppled over the edge, panting as Tom devoured her orgasm.
It was a miracle that she didn’t see Tom staring at her. If she had looked at him, she would have seen his utter devotion and adoration of this witch embedded in his very soul. At that moment, he couldn’t hide it. As he struggled to regain his composure, a realization struck him—he was supposed to be staying away. He ducked behind a pole.
He missed her.
He needed to regroup. He would ensure she thought of him. Remembered him. He would not lose her.
A smirk played on his lips as he pulled out his wand. Not only could the Ministry not detect wandless magic, they also couldn’t differentiate underage magic in wizard populated areas. The magical concentration was too thick. It wasn’t like they had a tracking system on every underage wizard’s wand. It was the fear of getting caught that prevented students from acting and the thought that the Ministry was mightier than they actually were. No matter how much magic Tom used, they could never distinguish who cast the spell. In reality, underage magic laws were a joke.
He pointed his wand towards the bar and levitated a bottle behind Hermione, shifting it onto the counter and out of place so it would catch her attention.
She would have to notice it.
With the job done, he continued to Diagon Alley without being seen. At least, he thought he wasn’t noticed until the kid stepped in front of him with her arms crossed and a fierce glare on her not-intimidating face.
“You said you would stay away, Tom.”
Tom ignored her and kept walking, sidestepping into a sweet shop. The girl followed him as Tom grabbed a basket and started throwing items from around the store inside. With the items in tow, he walked towards the register, casting a sidelong glare at the kid, who stubbornly continued to follow him.
She was a handful. “I am staying away. Look at me now, not in the Leaky Cauldron. This is staying away.”
Bridget shrugged, “I don’t think Hermione saw you, so it’s fine, I guess. I catch her looking for you at that table sometimes.”
A wave of fresh energy washed over Tom. Was she missing him as much as he missed her? Doubtful. He never knew such longing for someone. A desire to possess them in every way possible.
“What are you getting, anyway?” Bridget asked.
“Sweets.” Tom answered.
“Get me something.”
He snorted at her.
She stared back.
Tom tossed a Galleon on the counter and took the paper bag from the clerk. He reached inside and threw a box at the girl. “Eat it in front of her.”
She looked at it and shrugged before pocketing it.
He stepped around her and walked into Diagon Alley. To his relief, Bridget didn’t follow.
***
He spent the next few days setting up new ways to get Hermione’s attention without her noticing him and practicing Legilimency. Hermione never noticed him passing through the Leaky Cauldron, but the kid always did. Then she lectured him about the issue, which Tom ignored before tossing her a small box of sweets to shut her yapping mouth.
Things continued in this same mundane pattern. How much longer must he continue this? When would Hermione ask about him? Would she look for him? Wonder where he might be? Despite his desperation to get her back, he needed to see this through. Handle the situation with care. It wasn’t the right time to approach her.
He pulled out his wand and moved the bottle of whisky before entering Diagon Alley. He made his way towards a small tea shop around the bend. Today, he wanted to speak with the two elderly men who played chess there every afternoon.
“Tom!”
Damn.
He considered ignoring the girl but then thought better of it. She hadn’t spoken to him in a few days. Why would she decide to bother him now? Perhaps it was about Hermione.
Tom contorted his features into something neutral and turned to face her. She stopped in front of him, her blond, wavy hair shone in the sunlight. She tied a ribbon around her head, topping it with an enormous bow.
“What?” he said, his tone sharp.
“I wanted to invite you to my birthday party tomorrow at noon.”
Tom blinked at the kid. He tried to recall if he had ever been invited to a birthday party. No... No, he had not.
“Why?”
“Because my mum said I could invite whoever I wanted and I’m inviting you.” Bridget crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. The menacing stare Tom gave her made many people cry. This girl didn’t flinch.
“And what makes you believe I would ever attend a bratty child’s birthday party?” He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Because Hermione will be there, of course!” she said as if Tom was a complete imbecile. He had never been treated so disrespectfully in his entire life. This kid!
He scowled, losing his patience, but Bridget ignored him. “Presents are mandatory. It better be good because she will see what it is.”
He wanted to role his eyes.
“And if it’s really good, I might gush over it in front of her for ages!”
Damn, he hated her.
“Plus, if you come to my party, you will get to see Hermione again, but it won’t be like you’re there for her, because you were invited, and it’s my party.”
“I think we both know that I don’t care about your birthday,” Tom said.
“Now don’t be like that!” Bridget pouted. She batted her big green eyes up at him. Tom wouldn’t fall for any of her fake tricks.
“Sod off, kid.”
“My name’s not kid, it’s Bridget.”
“I know your name.”
She snorted and started walking away. “Just making sure!” she called back. They both knew he would go to her party tomorrow. He wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to be close to Hermione again.
He needed to get the girl a gift.
Tom had no idea how to buy a present. He got lucky with Hermione. Being at the right place at the right time, he found the perfect present for her. Actually... that quill was the only present he ever got for anyone. He never thought about what sort of thing people might get as a gift. “Kid, what do you want for your birthday?”
Seemed like an easy solution to ask her.
“I’m sure you will figure something out!”
Brat.
Tom reached out with his magic and touched the boundaries of her mind, but she was too far away. He couldn’t pick up anything useful. The girl ran off.
Fine. He could do this. How hard could it be to shop for an 11-year-old’s birthday?
That was at eleven o’clock. Four hours later, Tom concluded he had no knack for knowing what to gift a bratty, 11-year-old female he hardly knew. In fact, Tom found himself rather terrible at it. He wandered from store to store at a complete loss for what to do.
At least he had funds handled.
He found the elderly wizards playing chess and after a charming chat he tucked his wand in his sleeve and cast two rapid Imperios. Tom wouldn’t call himself rich, but he had a cushy pocketful of Galleons. Afterward, he obliviated their memories of ever having the coins and the men packed up their game and shook Tom’s hand merrily as if they were old friends, and relocated their match.
Tom had that effect on people. He charmed those men, while also robbing them. They were none the wiser and happy about it. Ultimately, everyone won and everyone was pleased. Of course, he kept his dealings discrete and limited, never becoming too greedy. It was a definite way to get caught.
Galleons weren’t worth it.
His afternoon wore on. Whatever gift Tom was getting, he would need to purchase it today. He wouldn’t have another opportunity later. Yet nothing grabbed his attention at every store he entered.
He started following a mother and child that appeared to be about Bridget’s age, hoping they would start shopping. That might give him a clue. He reached out with his Legilimency.
Did mum have to bring me with her? I wanted to go to Helen’s. I wonder if she will let me get ice cream?
“Mum, can I get ice cream?”
“Not right now.”
I bet Dad would’ve gotten me ice cream. It isn’t fair. I don’t want to be here! I want to go home! Maybe I could still go to Helen’s later? Or maybe Helen could come over. Mum said she was making a roast tonight. I like roast night. Maybe we can have a sleepover!
“Can Helen come over tonight?” the girl asked.
Tom didn’t hear the mother’s answer as they entered Gringotts Bank. He was almost relieved. He didn’t think he could stand another second of the kid’s pointless chatter in her mind.
He considered getting Bridget sweets but decided the gift was too superficial. Generic. Bridget wouldn’t be impressed.
Hermione got him sweets, but he said he wanted them that day in front of the Mirror of Erised. She got them while thinking of him.
He collapsed on a bench and groaned. What did children at the orphanage like? Somehow, Tom thought Bridget might be too old for baby dolls or coloring books. She didn’t seem interested in studying, so books about magic were probably not interesting to her.
He didn’t have anyone to ask for help. Outside of Hermione, the only other girl he talked to was Walburga. Of course, he killed Walburga, so fat lot of good she could be. He might try asking Reinhardt, but he was in France. By the time he wrote back, it would be too late. Assuming Reinhardt had any helpful guidance to give.
Maybe he was overthinking this. Usually, solutions to these types of problems were obvious. Right in front of a person.
Tom took his own advice literally. He looked straight ahead. He stared into the display window of the Magical Menagerie, where a white cat sat, its fur appearing almost iridescent in the sunlight. The creature seemed barely a year old. It peered unblinkingly back at him with its massive blue eyes and chin held high. It carried its puffed tail up and swished it about behind it. Occasionally, its ears twitched, but the large eyeballs remained fixed on him.
Somehow, Tom knew exactly what the feline was trying to communicate. It tried to tell him that if he didn’t bring it home, this cat would one day find him and murder him. Tom could see, beneath the depths of those blue eyes, the murderous glint. It may look like an innocent puff ball kitten, but it concealed something sinister inside.
Normally Tom hated animals, but he took an immediate liking to this creature. It distinctly reminded him of Bridget.
It was perfect.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione poured the drinks while Gabriella served tables. It was nice working behind the bar. It gave her a different point of view. Allowed her to do something new. Mix things up.
Whatever time she didn’t spend working, she studied. Her professors stopped by and dropped off the syllabus for her O.W.L.s. Despite being comfortable with the material, but wouldn’t be satisfied until she reviewed each topic. Unfortunately, it added up to a significant amount. During her breaks, she locked herself in her room and pored over her textbooks, soaking up every piece of knowledge she could. Then she worked until she could study again. If she had the evening off, she spent it at Flourish and Blotts, hidden in the Modern Magical Research section. She couldn’t afford the texts from prior years—this was her solution. A knot of unease tightened in her stomach as guilt washed over her for using the books without buying them. But what choice did she have?
Luckily, Patrick supplied her with most of the prior-year materials she didn’t already have. She also mailed Gussie asking for her old school textbooks, which she said she would drop off in a few days.
Life became a haze. Hermione was exhausted. Between working and O.W.L.s, she had very little time to herself. Gabriella lectured her about skipping meals, but often she was so engrossed in studying, that she forgot.
She shut the Standard Book of Spells Grade 4, sitting in her normal hideaway corner at Flourish and Blotts. This was the same place she fell on top of Tom. She vividly recalled the feel of his hard body beneath hers as she tried to untangle her traitorous hair from his button…
Her stomach growled. Her head spun. How late was it? Wouldn’t they be closing soon?
She glanced around, seeing The Journal of Medicinal Herbology and Potioneer Society Journal of Brews. She found one titled Journal of Magical Theory that she pulled down and flipped through. Some were a tad outlandish. Theories that stars were made from pure magic energy of dead witches and wizards or human blood would reverse the curse on those who drank unicorn blood. She didn’t like that idea.
She found one article by Dr. Hester Prime called New Methods of Interdimensional Travel. Hermione recognized the name. Dr. Prime had been a landmark figure in the investigation of parallel worlds. She came across her theories multiple times in her previous research at Hogwarts.
The article explored the concept of traveling in the void between life and death. It’s a realm where boundaries between dimensions dissolve, merging into a single, unified space. Hermione considered that. Was that what the veil was then? The doorway to this “void” that united all dimensions? It reiterated the theory that ghosts might straddle this plane and thus be able to traverse multiple dimensions. Hermione recalled seeing this before. She had meant to ask Nearly Headless Nick about it but truthfully forgot with everything that happened.
She had all but given up hope of ever returning home. Could it still be a possibility?
With a fresh surge of energy, she pulled out a piece of parchment and quill.
‘Dr. Hester Prime,’
She considered how to start this outlandish letter. Why would this researcher believe her? Did it matter?
Then she continued...
‘I have come across your name multiple times during my personal research into time travel and parallel worlds. About 1 year ago, due to extraordinary circumstances, I ended up in this place, a world, and while similar to my world, there are marked differences. I have reason to believe I traveled to the void and came out in an alternate dimension.
I wondered if we could meet in person to discuss these circumstances further. I hope to return home if possible.
Please reply at your soonest convenience. I am currently staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London this summer. However, I am a student at Hogwarts and can be reached there in the fall.’
Hermione signed her name at the bottom and scrolled the return address before she folded the note. She returned her attention to the article in her lap. She would mail the letter on her way back to the Leaky Cauldron.
***
Days passed, and Hermione continued her routine. Gabriella told her not to overwork herself, but she couldn’t help it. She needed the money, and she had to study. As she exited her bedroom after her lunch break, she picked up the coffee Gabriella left and drank it. It was something she started doing as she saw Hermione becoming more rundown with each passing day.
As Hermione slipped behind the bar, her gaze flitted to the secluded table tucked away in the back corner. Empty currently. She tamped down any emotion she felt with that revelation. This was what she wanted to happen. Whatever he was up to now, she hoped it would remain far away from her.
She busied herself with polishing glasses and pouring drinks, trying to distract herself from thoughts of him. The last thing she needed was for him to disrupt her newfound peace. So, she focused on her work, serving customers with a smile and maintaining a professional demeanor. Deep down, though, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder about his intentions, what he had in store. But she pushed those nagging ideas aside.
Bridget hopped up on the bar stool and beamed as Hermione started pouring Witch’s Winter Whisky, a premier brand they kept in stock initially for the Minister of Magic when he announced it was his favorite. Once the secret was out, the whisky became popular among other prestigious families. Unlike Firewhisky, which caused a burning sensation, Witch’s Winter created a “snowy experience.”
“Hermione, are you coming to my party on Friday, or are you going to hide away and study?”
She set the drink on the bar for Gabriella to grab before frowning at Bridget.
“I told you I would be there. I wouldn’t miss it!” Hermione would have been offended that Bridget would ever imagine she would skip out on her birthday, but then she saw the girl’s sly grin. She was teasing her. Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to cleaning behind the bar, pulling out her wand so the dishes could gather.
Bridget popped something in her mouth.
“What are you eating?”
“Berty Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, want one?”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Oh, c’mon, it’s fun!”
Hermione paused. She hated those jellybeans, but then, hadn’t she forced them on Tom when he refused? “Fun” didn’t quite capture the essence of the Christmas night they shared those jellybeans; “surreal” would be a more fitting description. As she watched Bridget chew, she realized how real Tom Riddle was... how human. She may have sensed that before, after the heated session in the bathroom, feeling his solid flesh and skin under her hands. The warmth of him. The taste and smell... she explored Tom with all of her senses. However, that night, she experienced a side of him he showed no one else. He revealed it to her. A private part of himself… and belonged to her.
Damnit…
Hermione’s face heated. “No… Where did you get those from?”
“A friend.” Bridget shrugged.
“Oh.” Hermione turned her back on the girl and straightened up some disheveled liquor bottles with a flick of her wand.
Hermione filled in for Edgar at the bar the next day, while he took time off for his illness. She tried not to pry into the elderly man’s condition, but she could tell Gabriella worried for him. Patrick picked up a few hours during their lunch rush to help, saying he wanted to get some money to buy a broom.
Hermione poured drink after drink, letting the rush numb her. She got into her groove and time flew by. Eventually, the crowd dwindled, and she was back to straightening up behind the bar while pouring drinks for the steady flow of customers between the lunch and dinner rushes.
Patrick gathered dishes and brought them to the kitchen where their separate cook staff would take care of the cleaning. Hermione knew they had a permanent rotation of cleaning charms going for dishes. Hermione did too at the bar, but she preferred to wipe the glasses dry the Muggle way, inspecting the cleanliness herself before putting them away.
While straightening the liquor display, she noticed a solitary bottle misplaced on the other side of the sink. She picked up the bottle of Dragon’s Barrell Whisky. Nobody had ordered it. Why was it here?
She glanced at the label depicting a dragon curled around a wood barrel and occasionally breathing fire on it. The barrel never burned to ash, though. It didn’t stop the creature from trying. Apparently, they fermented the liquor in barrels maintained by dragons, hence the name of the whisky. She hated this stuff, but she not only shared it with her friends at Grimauld Place, she shared it with Tom at the Three Broomsticks. She was so nervous to stay the night with him, but he stayed true to his promise and didn’t touch her… for the most part.
She relished waking up next to him, basking in the feeling of safety and comfort his warmth provided. Not just that morning at the Three Broomsticks, but also in their secret hideaway they created in the Room of Requirement. He developed some rather creative ways of waking her up some mornings.
“Hermione, are you okay?”
She jumped at Patrick’s voice. “Huh? What?”
“You look flushed,” the boy said.
“Oh yes, I’m fine! Just a bit hot behind the bar!” She squeaked. She should not be thinking about Tom’s tongue while at work! What was she doing?! She might die of embarrassment!
He looked skeptical but then shrugged. “Do you have those Butterbeers ready?”
“Sorry, yes, sorry. I’ll get those.” She placed the bottle of whisky in its proper spot.
***
The next day, she found the whisky sitting beside the sink again. She wondered if someone was stealing sips from it, but the bottle was unopened.
Hermione glanced over at the table in the corner where Tom sat their first week back from school. Two elderly men were playing wizard’s chess. Why did they choose this location to play their game? It wasn’t particularly quiet. The influx of customers and high ceilings allowed for some echo. They were in the lull right now. Perhaps they thought they might squeeze a match in?
Gabriella walked up to the bar. “Hermione, can I get two single pours of Dragan’s Barrel Whisky for the gentlemen playing chess?” she nodded to the corner.
Hermione blinked, gazing down at the bottle she held. It had to be a coincidence... right? She hadn’t seen Tom in over a week. Where had he been? Why did he start avoiding her? That wasn’t like him.
Did he give up? Did he find someone else and move on?
If that were true, she should be happy for him. It would make things easier. She needed to do the same. They were stuck in an intricate dance, but she wondered if she was the only one left twirling. Fumbling over her own feet. Falling down. Injured and hurt.
She was the one who ended this! She kicked him out of the Hospital Wing after she woke up from her Petrification! She had no right to feel this way!
As Hermione poured the whisky, the familiar spicy and sweet aroma hit her nostrils. She did not think about Tom Riddle while she brought the drinks to the two elderly men. She did not remember how they played chess together in the library and she lost miserably. That shortly after that chess game, she got on her knees for him in the restricted section, making him lose control. She remembered the want and longing in his expression. It was a look that spoke volumes, revealing a hidden depth of passion and intensity that he reserved solely for her. In his eyes, she could see the unspoken yearning, a burning desire that consumed him from within. It was a darkness that intrigued her, drawing her closer to him. In those moments, she felt a sense of power, knowing that she held the key to unlocking his deepest desires. She reveled in it.
She set the drinks down and the men thanked her and continued their match.
Hermione felt like she couldn’t breathe. The room was too hot. The air constricted her lungs.
“Gabriella, I’m going to take my break!” She called, scrambling up the stairs. She tugged on the strings of the apron tied around her waist. Her eyes burned. She stumbled into her room, collapsed on the bed, and started crying.
I survived the curse! Why am I so upset?!
It didn’t make sense, yet Hermione sobbed into her pillow until her ribs hurt. Her chest heaved and her hands shook. She wrapped the blanket Bridget made for her last Christmas around herself and curled into a ball, letting the tremors wash over her.
Wasn’t this what I wanted?! For him to vanish from my life?!
No matter how much she tried to reason with herself, the tears wouldn’t stop.
In the end, she couldn’t articulate what it was that made the tears come. A combination of everything, perhaps, all the studying, working, and these invasive reminders of Tom. His presence yet lack-there-of.
Eventually, Hermione rolled on her back and wiped at her cheeks. She stared at her ceiling. Her eyes were tight and puffy after crying for fifteen minutes.
Maybe this time apart was exactly what Hermione needed. This proved that, even without Tom around, she still sought him out. She had become dependent on him, relying on his constant presence.
Now that her curse was cured, Hermione had a future to consider.
She didn’t study during her break. Instead, she spent the whole time building her resolve up again. Things between her and Tom were too complicated. She was never sure if he was completely honest when he spoke to her. It left her feeling unsettled and unsure of where she stood with him. Despite her efforts to understand his inner world, there remained a lingering sense of incompleteness, a piece of the puzzle that he kept to himself. He always held something back. Why? Why did he want her? What did he want from her? Did it matter?
Why Hermione thought pursuing a relationship with Voldemort was a good idea in the first place, she would never know. Now her heart was paying the price.
She rubbed her hands over her face and sat up after twenty minutes passed and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. They felt like jelly, but they supported her weight, which she considered a win.
She opened the door and saw the familiar cup on the floor. Gabriella always brought her coffee, but this time there was a peppermint stick in the mug.
She picked up the mug and took a tentative sip, enjoying the flavor the sweet added to the beverage. Gabriella must have heard her crying... She should have silenced the room.
Hermione sighed and took another drink of the hot coffee.
Tom used to smell like peppermint... cedar wood and peppermint.
Notes:
Chapter 43 Song: Can't Catch Me Now: Olivia Rodrigo. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Hey guys! Still working on this draft but it's coming along! I'm starting fellowship in a few weeks but hopefully I will still find the time to write.
For those of you that have been following me for awhile, I'm starting these "History Through Photography" blurbs. I've done so much research for this book and figured I'd start sharing some of it! I'll add a few of these into park 1 as well!
Tipp
History Through Photography:
Vauxhall Park
The park that Tom goes to is Vauxhall Pak located in the London Borough of Lambeth. In full transparency, I know very little about London and have never been there so I had to map this out for myself when writing this book. Pictured right, is Vauxhall in 1894 where they opened its first children's playground. The model village (left) has its own story being created in 1930 but after being moved to a few other locations, it ended up in Vauxhall in 1950. It wouldn't have been there when Tom walked through the park. My understanding is this same village is still there today having undergone some renovation in 2002.
I have no idea what year this "vintage" map of London is from, but I used it to work off of. It helped when trying to figure out where things might be and what sort of landmarks Tom/Hermione might pass when they are walking around London.
If you are interested in reading more of my "History Through Photography" blurbs that I went back and added to Part 1, you can check out the author's notes on Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , and/or Chapter 6 .
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 44: 44: Birthday Party
Notes:
Click for trigger warning(s): Warning: spoiler!
Animal abuse (Tom kills a rabbit)
Shout out to Smolbangs and Emerald_andAmethyst for Beta reading my work! And as always, my mom, who always reads everything I write before I post.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
February 1937
Tom Riddle strolled through the corridors of Wool’s Orphanage, his dark eyes scanning the common room for any signs of weakness among the other children. He grew adept at sensing fear and insecurity; he exploited those traits. It was how he gained his control.
His gaze lingered on the group playing Snap at a large table. Billy, a new arrival at the orphanage, rapidly became popular among the younger children for his cheerful demeanor. Tom’s gaze narrowed as he observed how effortlessly Billy assimilated himself. His infectious laughter drew smiles from even the most reserved orphans. Then he’d bring out his rabbit and let the other kids play with it.
Tom hated that rabbit!
As the card game progressed, Tom’s patience wore thin. He sauntered over to the group, his footsteps echoing on the creaky floorboards. “Having fun?” His tone sounded smooth yet tinged with a hint of mockery.
The boys glanced up at Tom, their expressions wary. Billy sensed the tension and offered a friendly grin. “Yeah, Tom. Care to join us?”
Tom’s lips curved into an icy smile. “I don’t play games with those who are beneath me.”
The boy tried to maintain his composure while the other children looked nervous. “You don't have to. I was only offering.”
As Tom’s gaze shifted, a glacial intensity filled his eyes, sending shivers down everyone’s spine. “You don’t belong here, Billy. You’re too soft, too weak.” Tom would have fun destroying this boy. The others already knew their place. They avoided looking at Tom.
Satisfied, he turned to walk away.
“What’s your problem?!”
Tom froze, glancing over his shoulder at the one who would dare challenge him. The entire room held their breath.
“You’re cruel, always trying to control everyone! I won’t let you do that! My father told me to never let people push me around!” Billy said.
Tom sneered at him. All pretense of civility gone. “Your father is dead, Billy. He isn’t here to protect you, is he?”
The boy looked like he’d been slapped. His lips quivered and his eyes became glassy. Tom loved to remind them about everything they lost. Hit them where they were most vulnerable. All these children were so predictable. They always cowered at this point. To his surprise, however, this boy didn’t. “I don’t have to put up with you! I don’t have to do anything you tell me!”
“Is that so?”
Billy nodded.
Tom’s eyes sparkled. He stepped closer to Billy Stubbs, dropping his voice so only the two of them could hear, “do you know what happens to those that challenge me?” he asked. He was impressed the boy didn’t back away. His face flushed and his eyes dilated. Tom could almost hear his rapid heartbeat.
“Do your worst, Tom. I’m not scared of you.”
Liar. Such a liar. Like the rest of the orphans, Billy was terrified of Tom. “I accept the challenge, and when I’m done, I expect you to grovel at my feet and maybe I’ll forgive you for this.”
Tom glanced at the empty table where the game of Snap should have been. The other boys fled. Typical. He had the rest of this place firmly under his thumb. He would ensure Billy joined them.
Tom left the room.
He didn’t strike right away. He allowed Billy to ruminate on it. The looming threat of an attack had him on edge, fearing an ambush around every corner. When a week passed and nothing happened, Tom could see how tense Billy had become. Tom Riddle never let things go. He didn’t forgive and forget.
He got even.
No, not even... He ruthlessly destroyed his adversaries until the balance shifted in his favor.
Around midnight, Tom crawled out of bed and tip-toed to Billy Stubbs’ room across the hall. He shared his dorm with three other boys. The older children got the smaller dormitories, allowing them more privacy and fewer roommates. Tom managed to at least get down to one roommate because of his influence. Their shared space was small, barely larger than a closet. The orphan in question avoided Tom, clearly terrified of him. It suited him well.
Tom peeked inside Billy’s room, ensuring everyone was asleep before entering. Then he crept towards the cage, unlatching the door with a click. The rabbit inside tried to evade his hands, but eventually, Tom used some of his strange abilities, causing the creature to stumble and collapse to the floor in a faint.
Sometimes, whatever skills he had didn’t work as expected, but he was figuring out what they were. What it meant to have them. The power surged through him, sending an electrifying thrill down to his very bones. The skill was a secret known by a select few orphans. He knew if more were to find out, they would question him. Maybe some officials would experiment on him to discover the source of this power.
No, this was something special he needed to keep to himself.
He grabbed the small, limp body of the rabbit and slipped out the door into the hushed orphanage. The rest of the building remained immersed in sleep, oblivious to his activities. Nobody knew what he planned to do. This was Tom’s domain, his personal hell where he had grown up, but he dominated these halls, hiding his cruelty in plain sight.
But this was different. This was the rush he yearned for, the culmination of a devised plan in his restless mind. He moved with purpose, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and something darker, something he dared not name.
His grip tightened on the length of rope slung over his shoulder. In the shadows, he fashioned it into a noose with unsettling ease and looped it around the rabbit’s neck. Tom’s face betrayed no emotion as he gazed upon his handiwork, a twisted smirk flickering across his lips.
The rabbit hung motionless, a mere puppet in his hands. Still alive, but not for long.
He had always been different, feeling the mysterious pull of unseen forces that others couldn’t understand. It was how he discovered his abilities. He focused on them now, the talent that he nurtured in secret. With a subtle exertion of his will, the rope hovered in the air, defying gravity as it ascended. Higher and higher it went, until it reached the rafters above, where he manipulated the other end into a tight knot around a sturdy wooden beam.
The rabbit dangled grotesquely, swaying gently from the ceiling like a morbid ornament. A silent testament to Tom’s prowess, its life extinguished by his hands.
As he retreated to his room, a chill settled over him, mingling with the thrill of what he had done. The orphanage seemed colder now, shadows whispering secrets of his transgression. Soft echoes of Tom’s footsteps on the worn carpet broke the night’s silence.
He knew Billy Stubbs would find the rabbit come morning. The boy would sense Tom’s presence in its lifeless form. Mrs. Cole would search for answers, but the only thing that would make sense defied logic. No one would ever know, only fear. Scared of what they didn’t understand.
Tom embraced the twisted sense of power he held over the forces of life and death, however minuscule it may be. He slipped beneath his threadbare covers. His lips contorted into a cruel smile as he dreamed of power, control, and dominance whispered in his mind.
He never escaped those dreams.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom despised cats with every fiber of his being. They weren’t just irritating; they were the epitome of annoyance, the bane of his existence. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would willingly invite such insufferable creatures into their home. Buying the cat was a good plan. Bridget would consider it a thoughtful gesture. Hermione would notice his regard of the brat. But now, he was faced with the reality of actually having to deal with the wretched creature until he got the thing to her.
He carried a package with holes in it back to the orphanage, figuring he would transfigure a bow, tie it around the box, and give it to the girl the next day. Seemed simple enough. But the cat wouldn’t cease its wailing! It was relentless! Endless screeching! Scratching at the cardboard with its claws and releasing a cacophony of meows that grated on Tom’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard! The piercing cries echoed through the quiet streets, drawing curious glances from passersby. Some concerned Muggles even stopped in their tracks, their eyes filled with worry, unsure if they should aid the distressed creature.
“Would you shut up?!” Tom hissed to the infuriating feline, his patience wearing thin.
The cat hissed back.
He scowled, his frustration mounting. While he boasted many skills, conversing with snakes being among them, communicating with felines was not in his repertoire.
Tom might have tolerated the behavior had it not ripped through the cardboard and adhered its claws to his arm, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from him.
Fuck this!
He stopped at a bench in Muggle London and slammed the box down. When he opened the top, he met the blue-eyed glare of the white fluffy creature within. It tried to look innocent in the shop window—Tom had known better. Viscous beast.
He thrust his hand into the carrier, seizing the creature by the scruff of its neck. The cat erupted into a whirlwind of indignation. It howled like a banshee, thrashing and flailing against his hold, its claws slashing through the air with deadly intent. Every hair on its body stood on end, electrified by the sheer force of its fury. Each hiss that escaped its lips was filled with pure rage. Its blue eyes blazed with an intensity that might’ve sent shivers down Tom’s spine... if he found the white ball of fluff remotely frightening.
“You should’ve kept quiet,” Tom said with a twitch of his lip.
He cast a wandless Stunning Charm. The feline became a boneless heap in his hand. It wasn’t as powerful as it might’ve been if he had used a wand.
It would be fine.
Probably.
With a thud, Tom dropped the lump back in the box. He closed the top and picked it up before continuing towards the orphanage in peace. Eventually, he reached the tall iron gates and passed through the large wooden door to the inner sanctuary of Wool Orphanage. He set the box on the coffee table and collapsed on the well-used couches.
Now what? He was probably expected to feed the thing between now and tomorrow. What did they eat?
Maybe he should’ve asked these questions at the Magical Menagerie. He flicked open the lid and glared inside at the white puff ball curled up on its side as if it were fast asleep.
It would be out for a while.
He shrugged. Deciding that there was no need to worry about feeding it, given it was in no condition to eat. He would toss it some chicken later or something. Or not… It probably wouldn’t die overnight. Besides, cats could hunt. It might find a nice mouse to eat.
Tom decided not to give the feline another thought and closed his eyes, letting his magic ebb and flow within him. He wondered momentarily if Legilimency worked on animals as he tightened his control on his inner magic and meditated with it.
***
Tom Riddle sat on the couch while the cat perched on the chair, its tail swishing back and forth behind it.
They stared at each other, each with a menacing glare in their eye. Both were determined to win this power play.
“You hate me and I want to assure you the feeling is entirely mutual,” Tom said, his voice dripping with disdain. The feline blinked as if affirming his statement.
“I’m not keeping you,” he snapped. The cat sniffed and then groomed itself with a pompous air of indifference.
He heard magical pets had some understanding of human speech. The degree varied. Tom pretended this creature understood every word he said so he didn’t feel so ridiculous holding a one-sided conversation with a cat.
In reality, the entire situation was absurd. Tom spent the better part of an hour trying to find the bloody feline. Fed up, he transfigured five of his school ties into serpents and commanded them to hunt down and retrieve the elusive beast.
Minutes later, a snake delivered an extremely pissed-off cat to Tom, the serpent’s body constricting around the animal. The feline glared at him with its piercing blue eyes full of hatred as the snake deposited the creature in the very chair it now occupied. After returning the ties to their original forms, Tom faced the thing.
The cat huffed with barely contained anger.
“I’m taking you to your new owner, but you better cooperate,” Tom growled, his frustration mounting. The feline lifted its leg and licked a line from hip to foot.
“You need to get in the box, shut up, behave, and act like a perfect cat. I can’t bring her a stunned monstrosity.” The cat didn’t take kindly to being insulted. It hissed, baring all its teeth in a warning that went unheeded. It was almost cute with its white fluff, trying to look intimidating.
“You worthless ball of fur. Why would anyone want something so pathetic in their home?” Tom sneered. The cat acted mortally offended. It glanced away, ears perking up, deciding Tom Riddle wasn’t worth its time anymore. It jumped off the chair and started walking off.
“Hey, we weren’t done! Accio!” He summoned the feline back. The creature did not appreciate being summoned. It was quite vocal about its dislike of this act.
“You have two options here!” Tom flicked his wand and dropped the cat on the chair it just vacated. Its hair stood on end. The thing was furious; its eyes glowed with murderous rage. “Either you get in the box and stay quiet, I gift you to the girl who will literally worship the ground you walk on and spoil you rotten. Or you stay with me, and I’ll make your life miserable!”
The cat started scratching at the chair with its claws, which Tom scoffed at. He didn’t care what the thing did to the furniture.
“You can tear apart this entire orphanage. I don’t care. It won’t change anything.”
The cat hissed, making a snarling vocalization as it continued its destruction. Tom watched, twirling his wand.
“You will regret ever being born by the time I’m done with you. You could have chosen a lavish life, but instead, you stayed with me.”
The cat stopped its ministrations and glared at Tom. “Perhaps I’ll turn you into a toad and set you loose in the streets. Or a mouse and watch the other cats chase you.” It seemed to consider digging its claws into him next. Its back rose with each word Tom said.
“I’ll remind you every day that you chose this! All you had to do was get in the box, but you decided to live at the end of my wand!” Tom snarled. The creature radiated an almost palpable hostility. Tom swatted it away.
It pounced, leaping over the table at Tom, claws extended, ready to draw blood. He flicked his wand, and the cat repelled back into the chair. The noises that emitted from the feline were dysmorphic and unhinged. Sounds foreign to Tom’s ears. It seemed possessed as it stood and huffed toward Tom.
“It’s charming how you think you can best me. But I have grown bored with our game. Perhaps you would rather play with the snakes again?”
It froze. Not a single hair on the cat moved at the mention of the serpents.
Tom smirked. “I will give you one last chance. Get in the box—” The cat jumped in the box.
Tom paused. He couldn’t believe the creature caved. He thought it might be a trick.
With his wand wielded, he looked in the box. The white fluff ball was curled up, its nose pressed against the cardboard wall. “And you will stay quiet and behave?” he asked. If the cat ruined this for him...
The cat didn’t acknowledge him.
“Whatever. We are leaving now.” He shoved the lid on the box, flicking his wand at one of his ties, and transfigured it into a ribbon that he fashioned into a bow.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Bridget was bouncing the morning of her party. She skipped down the stairs in a pink party dress with decorative lace across the hem and sleeves, making her look more like a porcelain doll than a human child. Even Hermione put on a burgundy A-line dress with silver buttons down to her waist with both a white lace collar and gloves. The entire outfit belonged to Gabriella, who fluffed her curls and braided them to the side. She added simple makeup for a minimal yet refined look, defining her eyebrows and subtly enhancing her lips. Getting dressed brought on memories of Gussie, as if she was there giving her fashion advice. Hermione felt elegant in a sophisticated way. The style suited her. She could grow accustomed to 1940s fashion trends.
They were holding the party in the parlor. Gabriella arranged to have the Leaky Cauldron run by retired staff who used to work for her father. When desperate, she would call them up for a favor. The elderly servers stepped in so Bridget could have her eleventh birthday party—a rite of passage in the wizarding world.
Hermione helped arrange snacks with Gabriella, put up simple decorations, and lit the fire, connecting the floo network for other guests to arrive.
An hour later, the many family friends of the Dodderidge’s started streaming in, piling their presents on a table in the center that Bridget admired.
Hermione walked around the outskirts of the room. She recognized most people as regular guests at the Leaky Cauldron but didn’t have the energy to mingle. All the lack of sleep. All the hours of working and studying. It took a toll on her. She reminded herself it would be over soon. Once her exams were done, she would resume her simple life, focused on her work. With graduation from Hogwarts a few years away, she needed money more than ever. She needed financial stability.
She needed to avoid thinking about these things in the middle of a children’s birthday party.
She picked up a mug of cool butterbeer and drank from the glass, her eyes darting around the room.
Then she saw him. Tom Riddle. He walked into the parlor carrying a cardboard box with a red bow tied around it. His toned arms strained against the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves, his movements exuding a quiet strength. His tousled, ebony locks added a touch of disheveled charm to his mesmerizing appearance. As his piercing dark eyes scanned the room, he paused by the doorway, surveying his surroundings. For a moment, she held her breath, wondering what he would do when he saw her, but his gaze passed over her as if she were transparent.
He hadn’t shown his face here in over a week, and he appears today of all days? Bridget was looking forward to this party! A surge of frustration coursed through her veins. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what he was plotting.
She skirted a few guests and stalked up to him, her heels clicking on the wood floor with each step. He didn’t acknowledge her as she approached. Was he intentionally ignoring her? How did he know about this party? She glared at the present, wondering what sort of gift Tom might get a little girl.
Would it be something horrible? Cursed?
She shook off the thought. He wouldn’t do that so openly. Tom may be devious and manipulative, but he was always smart about each move he made. He calculated every step.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice came out sharper than she intended.
He turned his gaze towards her, his eyes widening in surprise as if he had just noticed her presence. His expression gave nothing away. He evaluated her with indifference as if she were any other person he might pass on the street. “Is there another reason someone might be here with a gift in hand?” he asked, cocking his head. His hair fell over his forehead.
He was incredibly handsome.
“You can’t crash a child’s birthday party, Tom! You can’t follow me—”
“Contrary to what you might think, Miss Granger, it isn’t always about you. I’m here for Bridget because I was invited. If you would excuse me.” He pushed past her and found Bridget in the center of the room, setting his gift on the pile of other presents.
Hermione stared at him. Bridget didn’t appear surprised to see him. Maybe she really did invite him. Why would she do that?!
Her stomach soured. She thought over Tom’s words.
Always about you?! She didn’t think it was always about her! That was ridiculous. Based on past experience with Tom, it was reasonable to assume that most things revolved around her. She didn’t always assume everything was about her! Tom could have other dealings. He had his own life, after all.
Why would he come to a child’s birthday party? How did he even know Bridget? When did they talk, besides that one time when she dragged the girl away from his table?
She watched him circle the room. He gave a polite nod to Edgar, the bartender, who was back from his illness, looking pale and having lost some weight but insisting on being here. Hermione had yet to uncover all the details regarding his health, but the effects were clear. It meant a lot to the family that he came today. He was like a father figure to Bridget and Patrick.
Speaking of Patrick, the boy in question shook Tom’s hand, his eyes bright as if he were meeting some sort of celebrity. Tom laughed, his face jovial. Hermione grimaced. Tom Riddle was charming them. All of them. Was that why he was here—to get everyone on his side? Was he trying to turn her friends on her?
Why would he do that?
He continued to ignore her. Not once did he glance her way. She didn’t feel the weight of his dark, oppressive eyes on her, or the suffocating presence that always haunted her whenever they shared a room. What had changed? Why would he disappear for almost two weeks, then return and pretend she didn’t exist? Like there was nothing between them.
Once most of the guests arrived, Gabriella brought out the cake, and everyone sang to Bridget. While everybody was distracted, Hermione approached him. She would decipher whatever his angle was and uproot his plans.
She walked around the edge of the room, treading lightly on the balls of her feet so her shoes wouldn’t make a noise. In hindsight, she should’ve muffled her feet, but it never occurred to her. Instead, she tiptoed awkwardly in her heels, stepping gingerly past guests, until she came right behind Tom, who hadn’t noticed her.
Perfect!
At least, it might’ve been if Hermione, in all her glory, hadn’t tripped over the edge of the decorative rug and gone sprawling forward. He reacted fast. Tom spun on his heel and snagged her around the waist, tugging her against his body as he braced her fall.
“Was the lioness trying to pounce?” he whispered. She froze. He knew. He saw her coming, and he waited for her.
She smelled the cedar and peppermint on him. Felt the warmth of his arms around her. All so familiar and comfortable. It overwhelmed her. Made her dizzy. She had trouble thinking. She wanted to melt.
“No!” she snapped, keeping her voice hushed as people stepped forward to take a slice of cake. She wasn’t sure if she was saying ‘no’ to his question or her inner monologue. Perhaps both.
He ran his hands down her sides. “What are you doing?” She asked. Hermione was so distracted by him that she hadn’t noticed him maneuver them into the corner of the room where they were partially hidden from view by a cast iron plant displayed on an end table.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved one hand to grip her braid, his touch sending a jolt of awareness through her. With deliberate slowness, he angled her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. There was nothing in his expression, no hint of emotion or vulnerability, just the cool mask he wore so well. His arm around her waist tightened, drawing her closer until she could feel the heat of his body against hers. She felt powerless and strangely exhilarated, like a marionette under his command.
“Why are you here?” she managed, coming out in barely a whisper against the charged silence between them. Something flashed in his eyes. His chest rose and fell with a controlled rhythm that betrayed nothing, yet his proximity spoke volumes. He lowered his head, his eyes closed, and for a breathless moment, she was certain he was going to kiss her.
But he didn’t.
Instead, lips hovered over her skin, not touching but caressing from her jaw to her cheek. Her heart raced in her chest as he moved a tantalizing path over her nose. Every inch he moved felt like a seductive exploration, his hand gentle yet possessive as he tugged her hair, exposing more of her neck, and twisting her head further.
Hermione panted in his embrace. Desire and confusion warred within her. This shouldn’t be happening! It wasn’t supposed to feel like this!
Just when she thought she couldn’t endure another moment of this torture, he whispered against the curve of her ear, his voice low and achingly intimate, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
He released her, stepping back and rejoining the party as if nothing occurred. Hermione stood there, her senses reeling like a ship adrift in a storm. His touch lingered, imprinted on her skin, leaving her shaken and breathless in his wake.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
“The kitty peed in her box! She’s covered in urine!” Bridget cried. Tom could’ve sworn the cat gave him a devious glare. This was a calculated move to spite him!
That bloody feline! He clenched his jaw. The kid held the cat at arm’s length, and scrunched up her face in disgust as she examined the damp lower half of the cat’s fur, unmistakably soaked in piss.
“Don’t worry, Zephyr, we will get you cleaned up. You probably hated that dark, cramped box. It’s okay,” Bridget cooed. She grabbed one of her new sweaters and wrapped it around the cat, cradling the creature close against her chest as she walked out of the parlor room with it.
“Wait, where is she going?” Gabriella asked, recovering from the shock of seeing an animal emerge from the box.
“The cat peed in the box, so she went to go clean the urine off her,” Tom replied. This was where he did damage control for the brat. She wanted the cat. He would have to convince her mom to let her keep the thing. Perhaps he would get another ally along the way.
Hermione’s intoxicating honey-apple scent surrounded him. He couldn’t escape it after she tumbled into his embrace. Then he held her close. His lips just a hair’s breadth from hers. Somehow, he found the strength within himself to step away from his witch.
She wanted to deny him, but she couldn’t hide the way she blushed in his presence. The trembles of desire that went through her while he held her. Her heart raced against his chest as she stared up at him, lips parted, eyes smoldering.
He affected her. She watched him throughout the entire party, and a mere hint of seduction was all it took to unravel his lioness. He would use those newly exposed strings and bind her tighter to him. Reel her into where she could never escape him again.
“Bridget? Bridget did that?”
Tom nodded. “She’s a good kid.” he gave Gabriella one of his charming smiles.
“I can’t believe she left in the middle of her party,” Gabriella looked flustered.
Tom shrugged. “I’m sure she will be back to show off her cat once she is cleaned up. She won’t be able to help it.”
“Yes, you are right.”
“I’m sorry to shock you with the cat,” Tom said, lilting his voice and crinkling expression into an air of sincerity. “I thought Bridget might do well with a pet to take care of… especially at Hogwarts. First year can be hard.”
She sighed. “Patrick struggled, but I think he found his place. I worry Bridget might fit in too well…” Her voice trailed off. Tom picked up on the woman’s unspoken message. She was concerned Bridget would be a troublemaker. He would’ve rolled his eyes at the suggestion. The worst Bridget had done was petty, superficial manipulation. She wouldn’t bully the other students or try to learn the darkest forms of magic.
“She can be mischievous, but she means well,” he said.
The woman inspected him; her face difficult to read. “Aren’t you Hermione’s... friend?”
He wondered what Hermione told her employer about him. He cast a glance towards the girl in question, who looked away as soon as his eyes landed on her. Tom caught her red-handed, watching him. He had her attention now. Gorgeous witch in that delectable dress. And those gloves. He wanted to peel them off with his teeth.
“Uh. We were...” he did his best to appear as if the topic made him uncomfortable. “We broke up. It wasn’t a smooth ending.” He looked at the ground.
“Yes, she doesn’t talk about it, but it’s been hard for her, too.”
His heart leapt in his chest. “At first, I hoped she would speak to me again, but then I thought I’d keep my distance.” Tom’s overly lavished vulnerability completely entranced this woman. These motherly types... so predictable. “Actually, that was Bridget’s idea for me to give Hermione space. She thought it would do us both good.”
Gabriella looked shocked. “Bridget?!”
“She cares about people,” Tom said. “She has a wonderful heart.” In reality, Bridget was a selfish brat who only helped others out of boredom or when it directly benefited her.
She was a lot like him in that way.
“I suppose.”
“She could surprise you with the Zephyr.”
“Who?”
“The cat.”
“Oh… she named her Zephyr?”
“Seems so.”
Gabriella’s eyebrows knitted together as her hands clenched the fabric of her dress and then released it. She looked emotional. “You know I had a cat named Zephyr as a little girl… my mum got her for me before I went to Hogwarts…”
“Is that so?” Damn, Bridget was good. She knew exactly what strings to pull with her mother, down to the cat’s name.
Gabriella straightened up and grinned, preparing herself to change the topic. “Why don’t you try talking to Hermione? Maybe she would listen to you now?”
Tom considered this. His witch wasn’t ready to talk. She was too angry. Any discussion would end in an argument. He needed her to make the first move. He would hang the bait in front of her until she did. “I don’t want to force anything on her and make her uncomfortable,” he lied. He was prepared to do just that if necessary.
But that was down the road. A last resort. An “if all else failed” scenario.
Gabriella nodded. “You’re a good guy, Tom. I wish you the best.”
***
Tom stood behind Bridget as the girl played with the feline. From time to time, the cat would shoot him scathing glares, but then it would nuzzle Bridget affectionately, emitting a soothing purr. Fucking beast.
“Can’t believe you talked mom into letting me keep her!” the kid said for what had to be the fourth time.
Tom hummed and checked his pocket watch.
“Hermione says I can take her to school with me too!”
Tom ignored what the girl said while she played with her new toy. Hermione returned to work a while ago. He assisted Gabriella with tidying up after the party, hoping to secure a good impression. He thoroughly won her over by the end of the night. Tom Riddle charmed her, and she even said she hoped things worked out between him and Hermione.
He couldn’t agree more.
Now he had to kill time. Which was fine. At least he didn’t have to avoid his witch anymore, though he still stood on an uncertain playing field with her.
Tom stood up after a while and headed towards the door. If his calculations were correct, and they always were, Hermione would be on her break right now.
“Where are you going?” Bridget asked
Tom glanced back at her. “I have a cup of coffee to deliver.”
Notes:
Chapter 44 Song: My Immortal: Evanescence. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
History Through Photography:
Women's Fashion
Due to the war and rationing, woman’s clothing underwent some adjustments in the 1940s. Fabrics were rationed, so dresses and skirts became shorter. In the 1930s, dresses were worn at mid-calf to ankle length. These were raised to the knee or just above. The hour-glass figure was defined by padding the shoulders and having fabric clench the waist. Often, skirts flared from the waist to eventuate this. It was also during this time that synthetic fibers became more popular due to a shortage of natural fibers such as silk and wool.
Women adopted trousers in the 1940s as they filled “men’s jobs” during war. Their shoes similarly represented this, focusing more on comfort for everyday work and also using synthetic materials due to the shortage of leather and other natural materials. Low pumps and wedges were popular for this purpose. Peep-toe shoes became popular during this time period to add a touch of femininity to their style.
And, as always, every generation has their hollywood trend-setters. Here we have Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca wearing a dress that set fashion standards for the time. We also have Lauren Bacall (best known for her film "The Big Sleep" in 1946) wearing trousers that were becoming trendy for women at the time
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 45: 45: O.W.L.s
Notes:
As always, thank you to Smolbangs and Emerald_andAmethyst for Beta reading!! I love all the feedback! Thank you for bouncing ideas and waylaying my stupid anxieties about this story that come up!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione struggled to find the strength to get out of bed for her O.W.Ls. She was exhausted to her bones. Her head buzzed. She fell asleep while reviewing her Herbology notes and she had ink smudged on her cheek.
She pulled herself together, crawled out from under her sheets, and cleaned herself up. She was ready in time for Dumbledore to arrive.
“They are doing us a special favor by allowing you to take the tests. I offered to oversee the written portions of the examinations, but a ministry witch or wizard will perform the practicals.”
Hermione nodded. She slung her bag over her shoulder, which contained a quill, ink, and a book to read in case she had to wait. She hoped the examination would take place somewhere other than in Dumbledore’s office. Unusual noises and his pet phoenix provided too many distractions.
As if reading her thoughts, Dumbledore continued to explain the procedure, “We will accelerate things a bit for the practical portion since you won’t have to wait your turn behind other students. So you will take Potions written and practical this morning. This afternoon you have the Transfiguration written and practical followed by the Astronomy practical.” Hermione recalled the Potions practical being the longest at around two hours, otherwise the others lasted about half an hour to an hour.
Again, Hermione nodded. She already knew this. Dumbledore sent her schedule ages ago. He squeezed all her exams into four days. Despite being crammed, she felt prepared.
She accompanied Dumbledore to the fireplace. He pulled a pouch out of his pocket and held it open for her. “Any questions before we depart for the Ministry, Hermione?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Her examinations impeded her working hours. She would work from seven to midnight every evening after testing. She would need to wake up at seven the next day for exams. It left little time for sleep.
She had to make it through this week. Then everything would be better…
“Very well, take a bit of Floo powder. We will head to the Ministry. They have a room set up there for you to test in.”
Hermione grabbed a handful of the green powder and tossed it in the fire, “Ministry of Magic,” she said and then the tunneling sensation that she dreaded began. The spinning and whirling of views. Images flash before her. She squeezed her eyes shut until the journey ended and her feet landed on solid ground.
Dumbledore followed close behind and led her to the elevators. He said nothing as they descended to the Department of Magical Education. He handed her an anti-cheating quill and escorted her to a plain conference room that only contained a single long table. Hermione took a seat across from the middle-aged wizard.
“You will have three hours to complete the written examination, then we will take a break before your practical exam.”
“Okay.”
He pulled a book out of his bag and set it on the table. Hermione glanced at the title.
“Professor, where did you get that book?” she asked. He had her favorite book, Hogwarts: A History. She didn’t think it had been released.
“Oh, this? I am close friends with the author. She sent me an early release copy.”
“When is it supposed to be published?”
“End of the week, if I’m not mistaken, trying to catch the students as they pick up their school supplies.” He grinned and stroked his short auburn beard. “Ready to begin?”
She nodded. She would be so strapped for Galleons, that she couldn’t imagine sparing any to purchase it. Already she had to give up a significant number of hours for her O.W.L.s. She tried not to panic at the thought. She shouldn’t focus on that now.
Her testing booklet appeared in front of her, along with the anti-cheating quill and ink.
“You may begin.”
Three days of five hours of sleep was catching up with Hermione as she shuffled into her fourth, and final, day of testing. She noticed some questions were the same ones on her own O.W.L. She wondered how much they actually changed the question pool. She figured after fifty years, they would alter it a little.
Apparently not.
Normally, guilt would consume her in situations like this, but exhaustion left her devoid of such feelings.
On the last day, she had Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, and Herbology written all in a row and finished with her Defense Against the Dark Arts practical.
She would be free after that. Her exams would be over. Even though she knew she had to work that evening, she looked forward to being done.
She breezed through the written exams, asking Dumbledore if she could complete them back-to-back with only a quick bathroom break in between.
Perhaps she could offer tutoring services at Hogwarts; surely there would be a demand for it. It would get her the extra money she needed throughout the year so she wouldn’t have to emphasize making it all now.
What would she do after she finished school? How would she afford her own place? She knew Gabriella’s hourly deduction for room and board was an incredible bargain. She couldn’t take advantage of her generosity forever. It was one reason Hermione needed to save every sickle. To be ready.
With each step towards her final practical, a wave of numbness washed over her body. She held her wand limp in her hand. She felt more prepared for this area than she had during her last O.W.L. exam. She had an entire year of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with an excellent professor. Outside of Lupin, she never experienced that before. Although the fake Moody wasn’t terrible, the thought of him made her stomach churn.
“Good evening, dear,” an elderly witch greeted her with a kind smile. Hermione usually reciprocated pleasantries, but fatigue gripped her so fiercely that she couldn’t find the willpower to respond. After this, she would be done. That was all she could think about. It was her sole focus.
“We will begin with curses, jinxes, and hexes. Then end with defensive magic and Boggarts.” she said.
Hermione grasped her vinewood wand, waiting for instruction. She went through the motions, casting each spell in sequence towards the target. Her mind went blank with the action. Hermione followed the woman’s orders without hesitation as if she were a puppet on strings.
Sweat trickled down her brow. A dull ache throbbed in her chest, reminding her of the immense power she was harnessing. A sour tang filled her nostrils, a sign that her magic was surging within her. Even her magical core trembled, struggling to contain the raw energy coursing through her veins.
Just a little longer!
The woman continued to guide her, relentless in her demands. Time stretched as the minutes ticked by.
A trunk appeared out of nowhere and smoothly glided across the room, aligning itself in front of Hermione.
Her heart raced as she realized that this was the Boggart, the final test of her skills. A Boggart took the form of a person’s greatest fear; it was up to Hermione to confront it.
“Whenever you are ready to proceed,” the woman said.
Hermione stared at the wooden encasing. In the past, her Boggart was Professor McGonagall, telling her she failed her exams. She ended her finals during her third year sobbing when trying to face one. Somehow, that seemed so petty.
It wouldn’t be Professor McGonagall that appeared today… What would be her biggest fear?
She feared being Petrified again. If she opened the chest, would a Basilisk emerge? Could a Boggart disguised as a Basilisk Petrify her? Or would it be a depiction of her Petrified...
She didn’t know what to prepare for, but she reminded herself that whatever emerged from that trunk wouldn’t be real.
Hermione filled her lungs with air, collecting herself. The dreadful sensation inside her gut subsided. She allowed herself another deep breath before nodding at the woman. She felt more human now, her mind coming into sharper focus.
“Right then,” her instructor said. She brandished her wand, and the chest popped open.
Nothing happened. There was no movement. No noise.
Then a swirling, smoky darkness engulfed her. Hermione waved her arm, trying to bat away the fog like it might float off into the atmosphere. It didn’t move.
What was this?
The blackness thickened, wrapping around her, leaving her blind to her surroundings. The ministry witch disappeared. Hermione called out, but the only response was the haunting echo of her own voice.
Nothing. There was nobody here beside her to help her. A feeling of solitude washed over her as she realized she would have to face this challenge alone.
Complete isolation. The room was devoid of any sound, except for her own rapid heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Absolutely nothing. She was stuck in a void, absent of anything other than herself.
Her hands tightened into fists, her vinewood wand rubbing against her palm. She forgot about it. This was a Boggart. Her greatest fear materialized before her eyes.
A void of nothing. Being alone and defenseless. Trapped.
But Hermione wasn’t helpless. She still had her wand. The darkness was so thick, she couldn’t see her own fingers when she raised her hand. She closed her eyes, blocking out the impenetrable seclusion that clouded everything before her.
“Riddikulus,” she said, the words barely audible to her own ears. As if even noise itself wasn’t allowed to exist here.
Something popped, and rainbow confetti and glitter rained down around her. Streamers cascaded from the sky as if a grand celebration was about to commence.
The witch from the ministry reappeared, nodding her head across the room. With a wave of her wand, the glitter and confetti gathered and dropped back into the chest, the lid slamming shut.
Laughter was supposed to defeat the boggart, but Hermione wasn’t amused. The memory of her initial loneliness upon entering this world resurfaced in her thoughts. How helpless she was when her curse took over? When she was Petrified, there was nothing.
Hermione continued through the practical almost robotically. Her heart dulled and her mind fogged with emotion.
“This concludes your examination, but before you go, I was hoping you could humor an old woman and show me your Patronus! I heard all about it from Professor Merrythought.” She asked.
“Oh, um,” Hermione hadn’t tried producing her Patronus in months. It had gotten harder in the end. Her otter only making an appearance half the time. What if she failed today in front of this ministry official?
“For extra credit, of course!” The woman hastened to add once she noticed Hermione’s hesitation.
Hermione sighed and nodded.
She searched for a happy memory... She thought back. Then tried to make the memory sing inside her soul. She needed to feel the happiness in her veins. Harder than she expected after wandering through a sludge of numbness for so long.
“Expecto Patronum!”
The tip of her wand flashed. Bright light poured out. A silver vapour formed a creature that turned to look at Hermione.
It wasn’t an otter. It was an occamy. A snake with two large, magnificent wings on its back. With a soothing grace, she moved around the room, commanding attention. She rolled and danced, flapping her wings as she soared through the air.
“Oh, marvelous!” The ministry witch said. Hermione didn’t respond as her occamy slithered towards her to greet her. Her mouth went dry as her chest constricted.
This wasn’t right. No! This wasn’t her Patronus? Why would it change? What happened to her otter?
She shut her eyes and breathed. The answer was obvious, she changed. She wasn’t the same Hermione Granger. Among all the new things she encountered, her otter provided a constant reminder of home, providing a sense of familiarity and security. Now even she vanished from her life.
Hermione wanted to cry.
The occamy spun and twirled, glowing silver until her light dissipated.
“This concludes our exam! And I think all your exams are complete if I’m not mistaken. Congratulations Miss Granger.”
She mumbled a thank you as she left the room. She caught the woman’s delighted expression and mustered a weak upturn of her lips in return. Her exhaustion was palpable as if it had settled into her bones. Countless nights of little sleep between working and studying. Even when she lay down to rest, her mind raced with thoughts of Tom and their relationship—or lack thereof.
When was the last time she really slept?
No! She needed the money! She had to work to afford school supplies and materials to live. It was her only source of income for an entire year was working over the summer. Then, after Hogwarts, she would need some sort of financial stability to kick-start her career.
Dumbledore met her outside of the room and escorted her to the fireplace where she would return to the Leaky Cauldron. The world spun around her. Faces passed. The fire turned green when she threw the powder in the flames. Gabriella said she should take the day off since she completed her exams, but Edgar was ill again. New hires were trained. Hermione needed money.
Her feet found their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. She put on her apron in a daze and started walking around to tables. Table one wanted two Butterbeers.
She got them.
Table two needed a Shepard’s Pie with an ale. She sent the order to the cook.
The same old song and dance. She had done it so many times. Did she remember to smile at the customer? What did they get again? She couldn’t recall. Wait... didn’t she already put in their order? They had drinks. Did she bring them their food?
Numbness spread across her body, making it difficult to move. “Hermione, what’s wrong?” Her vision blurred. Everything felt heavy. She needed to sleep. Bone deep weariness settled over her.
“Bridget, tell your mum I’m taking Hermione to her room!”
“Yeah, alright!”
Something roared in the surrounding air. She couldn’t hear anything. She wanted to cry. Her otter abandoned her, replaced by a beautiful occamy. Who was she anymore? She needed to sleep. She would never go home. She was alone.
“It’s okay, my lioness, I got you…”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Gabriella and Bridget entered the bedroom, followed by the vile cat, Zephyr, who gave Tom a disgusted sneer.
He stiffened as he waited for Gabriella to tell him to leave. Not that he would. He refused to abandon Hermione like this. She regained health, only to be thrust back into the same predicament. She took life for granted. He would never understand that!
She crumbled in his arms…
The older blond woman gave Tom a nod in greeting. “Thanks for taking her upstairs,” she said. “I hired new staff last week. They both started this week but are still new. I should have hired people sooner.” She frowned, glancing at Hermione, who slept in the bed. She worked ridiculous hours. She lost weight. The dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin looked unnatural in summer. She appeared almost as dreadful as she did under the curse. Pale, exhausted, on edge. Tom found himself powerless to do anything.
Tom couldn’t live through that again.
Part of him resented Gabriella for this. This woman lived with Hermione! She was the one who set employee hours. She claimed to care about her and yet she let this happen! Tom’s presence could have prevented this, but Hermione pushed him away, locked him out, and here they were.
“Tom, she may not want you here... considering your breakup and all,” Gabriella frowned. It took all of Tom’s energy to hide the scowl. He considered his words carefully.
“Perhaps, but I’m not leaving her.”
Gabriella was clearly not going to push the issue. She nodded and left the room.
Zephyr jumped on Hermione’s bed and curled up on top of her legs. Tom stared at the fluff ball. The animosity between him and the cat persisted. Just as well.
Bridget watched Tom as they listened to her mother’s retreating footsteps.
“Wake her up and I’ll hex you, kid,” Zephyr’s head snapped up. She did not appreciate the threat against the girl.
“I thought we would be past this whole kid thing by now.” Bridget sighed.
“What are you doing here?”
“Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“Because there are no chairs in this tiny room. What do you want? Hermione needs to rest.”
Bridget glanced at the sleeping witch before looking back at Tom. “I need her apron. I’m going to take orders so Hermione can have time off.”
Tom raised a brow at that. “You’re going to be a waitress?” he asked.
“I plan to try, no guarantees about my success, but I figured if I bounced from table to table with my hair in those pigtails, bat my lashes, and give them my adorable smile, people would probably think I’m cute enough not to care if I screw up.”
Tom had to admit, the girl had a point.
“And if they do, I’ll flash my big pouty sad eyes and say that I’m realllly soooorrry! And add a few sniffles for effect.”
Tom stared at her, then he shook his head.
“Her apron’s on the dresser,” Tom said with a jut of his chin.
Bridget snagged it. “Mum wanted me to ask you to leave too,” she said, throwing the apron on and tying it around her waist. “But I’ll say you refused, yeah?”
Tom smirked. Smart kid. With those parting words, Bridget skipped from the room, leaving him with Hermione. Unfortunately, the cat didn’t follow her, choosing to stay on the bed. Tom couldn’t blame the thing. The desire to be close to her consumed him. Near her warmth. Hold her small, fragile form in his arms, where he could protect her from everything else.
He missed her.
Tom picked himself up off the floor. There was no point sitting. He sat there for the better part of thirty minutes and it made his back throb.
He looked around her room. It was bare. She didn’t own much. He moved the piles of books off her trunk and searched the contents, finding a few bottles of potions at the bottom, likely leftover from the days of her curse.
He read the labels. Dreamless sleep... could be helpful, though she didn’t have any trouble sleeping currently. He glanced at a few others, tossing them back inside, pulling out the Strengthening Solution. He placed that bottle on the bedside table.
Tom contemplated his next steps.
She appeared so frail... his witch... It didn’t matter. He could sit on the floor again… Maybe on the trunk. She was asleep. She looked so small. He wanted to hold her. His breathing accelerated as he studied at her. The girl that consumed his very existence. He licked his lips.
He gave into his desires and crawled on the bed beside her, staying on top of the covers to at least give her some space.
Zephyr glared at him, realizing that the bed was too small for all three of them. With a quick leap, she jumped down and slipped out the door.
Hermione nestled against him, her body radiating a comforting warmth that seeped through the layers of soft blankets. He felt the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each tranquil breath. He extended his hand to touch her, feeling the silky smooth strands of her curls between his fingers.
How did it reach a point where she would collapse? She had pushed him so far away that he hadn’t noticed.
Gently, he brushed her hair out of her face, observing the pallid, dull skin that covered her features. Her eyes appeared sunken into her skull as if her skeleton were trying to protrude. She seemed delicate.
Despite everything they endured to keep her alive, this is how she treated herself? Part of him wanted to resent her, punish her for disregarding her own life, and abusing her body. But then, for the first time in over a month, she lay beside him. An overwhelming desire to embrace her washed over him. He wanted her. Desired her. Craved her. She had entangled him in a web of emotions, tying him in knots.
Tom needed to let her rest. He picked up a ratty novel sitting on her bedside table, waving his hand at the candles to light them. It appeared she purchased it second-hand somewhere. The book was well used. Regardless, Tom, flip it open to the first page.
In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit...
***
“Tom?” Tom hadn’t realized she woke. He peaked down at her. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Three hours.” He only had a few chapters left. He was enjoying it more than he thought he would.
“Why are you in my bed?”
“You collapsed.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You’ve been overworking yourself, Hermione.” he reached over to the bedside table where he set the vial of strengthening solution. “You’ve lost weight, you’re exhausted—”
“Tom stop—”
“and you never ask for help! It’s infuriating that it’s gotten this far—”
“What is that potion?” She glanced at the bottle like it might contain a deadly poison.
“Will you allow me to care for you, just this once?!”
“Stop trying to give me that potion!”
“Why do you insist on fighting me every step of the way?” He scowled.
“I don’t want it!” She swatted his hand away.
“I would never hurt you,” he tried to argue, feeling his frustration grow. He may have done some horrible things, but never to her. Always for her. He would do anything for her.
She didn’t let him get far in his defense. Words poured from her mouth. “Stop! Stop! I don’t want anymore potions! I’m tired of all the potions! I don’t want to anymore!”
“Hermione?!”
“Please, Tom! Don’t give me any potions! I won’t take them!”
It was the small potion bottle in his hand that caused his witch to break. The reminder of her curse and the months of constant torment.
“I don’t need it. I’ll be fine!” She sobbed. Tom’s heart dropped to his stomach. With her face buried in her hands, Hermione curled up into a tight ball and wept, her sorrow reverberating throughout the room.
He hated it when she cried.
He set the potion down and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest with him on top of the covers and her underneath. She sobbed against him. “What is this about, Hermione?”
“She’s gone...,” she whimpered. If Tom ever wondered if he had a heart, he now knew. It broke. He wanted to destroy whoever brought on these tears.
Tom rubbed her shoulder. So warm. Soft. “Who’s gone?” He asked.
“G—gus—”
“Gussie?” Her best friend?
“Gus gus!”
“Gus gus?” He stared at her. He just needed to know who to point his wand at.
She sputtered some nonsense that Tom couldn’t understand. He didn’t ask her to repeat herself.
He needed her to stop. Her tears made him feel a nauseating mixture of rage and misery. He breathed her in, letting the scent of apples and honey calm him. She smelled better than he remembered. Nothing did it justice. It was everywhere in this room. But her pillow was drenched in the smell that was distinctly her...
Eventually, her tears dried, and she sat up, turning sideways so her back was against the wall, letting the knitted blanket fall over her lap. With a shaky hand, she wiped her swollen eyes before finally looking at Tom. “My otter is gone.”
Her answer caught him off guard. Tom shifted closer beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Can you not cast a patronus?”
She frowned. “No, I can...” Hermione reached for her wand and held it delicately between her fingers. She straightened her spine. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths as she sought to calm herself, searching for some semblance of inner happiness that eluded her at this moment.
“Expect Patronum,” her voice sounded smooth as she said a spell she practiced countless times. Her face relaxed as she reveled in whatever memory brought her the joy required.
The force of her spell blew out the flickering candles. Out of her wand floated, not an otter, but a shining, silvery occamy—elegant and graceful. Its intelligent eyes scanned the room. A creature of legend, a mix between a serpent with the wings of a bird. Perfect for his witch.
He wet his dry lips.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
Hermione’s eyes flicked to his in surprise before softening, resting back on the wall. “She’s smaller than she was at the ministry,” she muttered.
“Occamy have choranaptyxic abilities. They can grow and shrink depending on the space they are in.”
“Right...” she released a sigh.
The occamy danced around the room, its wings spread wide as its body swirled. It explored. Tom flicked his gaze to her. Her skin was more pale in the glowing silver light of the Patronus, but her eyes sparkled. Her curls had more volume, having just woken, but it suited her.
“I can cast a Patronus now, Hermione. A corporal Patronus,” Tom said.
“Really?!” She would have sounded eager if her voice hadn’t cracked. With the countless hours they spent practicing, perhaps this would be exciting for her, too.
Tom nodded. He reached into his pocket and produced his wand. She didn’t comment on him using magic while underage. Hermione was a smart witch. She had to know the ministry couldn’t track individual magic usage in wizarding-populated areas.
Both Hermione and her occamy observed as Tom gripped his wand, focusing on the vision. His most cherished memory was one where he held her close, feeling the warmth of her presence enveloping him. It was when her smile lit up the world around them. He longed for those days. “Expecto Patronum.”
Her occamy shrunk slightly to accommodate his Patronus entering her small bedroom. The silver light from his wand consolidated and formed, not a snake, but his own occamy.
He heard her gasp.
Curious about each other, the winged serpents locked eyes before moving closer, as if ready to exchange a long-overdue greeting.
“Yours is also an occamy?” she asked. It wasn’t a question that she expected him to answer. They could both see their Patronuses interacting. They twirled together in the air, as if amidst a mating dance. A dance he wanted to perform with her.
“I was surprised...” he said, “they are supposed to present for those with a pure soul...,” they both knew Tom Riddle’s soul was not pure. “But then I see yours and it makes sense.”
“My soul?”
“Your soul is perfect.” Hermione, his gorgeous witch, her soul would always be good to its core.
Tom discovered more lore about the occamy. Their devotion knew no bounds—just as he’d do anything for the witch beside him, they’d go to remarkable lengths for those they loved. Logical, intelligent creatures but also loyal and devout. Perhaps Tom couldn’t see the occamy for himself alone, but his being was so integrally intertwined with Hermione’s that it had to represent both of them.
The snake and bird. A blend of his serpent and her glorious wing spread wide to hold him up, taking them to new heights.
Another amazing commission done by: Dara
With a graceful motion, the two snakes extended their wings, casting a luminous silver glow that bathed the entire small space in a soft, ethereal light.
This was a sign. Their inner souls are called to each other through their compatible Patronuses. They were meant to be. Surely even this stubborn witch couldn’t deny that.
And she hadn’t kicked him out of the bed yet.
A spark of hope ignited in the deepest part of him.
Eventually, their spells dissipated, leaving them in darkness, with only the moonlight shining through the windows to illuminate the room. Neither of them spoke.
“Hermione... can we talk about what happened?”
She said nothing. He waited, the silence between them deafening. She sighed and flicked her wand towards the candles on her bedside, lighting them again. “You lied to me, Tom.”
“I know.”
“You lead me to believe the Basilisk was dead.”
“I know.”
“You Petrified me.”
“I know.”
“And you Petrified Alfred Hensley.”
“Are you going to list all of my misdeeds?” He asked, rubbing his hands over his face.
“No. The list is quite long, and I would rather not rehash it all.”
Damnit.
He held his tongue, unsure how to respond.
“Are you sorry?” she asked.
He grimaced. His mind whirled. What answer was she looking for? What would get her back? That was the response he needed to give her. But then, what she truly desired was his honesty. “Depends on which deeds you have me on trial for. Some of them I would do again without a second thought. Some I might reconsider.”
“What a nice evasive answer,” she grumbled.
“Let me put it this way, Hermione. I would change the things that led to me losing you. But I wouldn’t change the things that resulted in you surviving. Killing Walburga. Petrifying you. I would do it again. I told you I would do whatever it took to keep you safe.”
She furrowed her brows but didn’t comment. He couldn’t get a read on her. Was this going well? Were they bridging a gap or was this making things worse? He couldn’t tell! How was he supposed to plan his next move if he didn’t know where he stood?
“I was furious at first. When I woke up in that bed and realized what happened, I was so angry I couldn’t think straight. You didn’t deserve all of that, and I’m sorry.”
He froze. He hadn’t expected her to apologize to him! It actually rendered him speechless.
Hermione pushed the knitted blanket off herself and crawled off the bed to stand.
“I’m not mad anymore,” she said. Did that mean he had a chance? He scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, not taking his eyes off her. He didn’t want to miss a moment in her expression. Standing tall, he gazed down at her, prompting her to retreat a step towards the door. “I understand why you Petrified me and I can now appreciate that had you not done that, I probably wouldn’t have survived.”
He felt uneasy thinking about how close she was to death. Every second she tittered on the edge. He never knew when he would receive a note announcing she had died… That he was too late.
“And Walburga... If somebody was hurting somebody I cared about... I don’t know... maybe I would do the same thing?” she said it like a question. Tom couldn’t imagine her killing anyone, but these revelations were too important to interrupt. She was getting it, the hell he went through. Everything he did to keep her alive.
All because he loved her.
He wanted her to know. He wanted to tell her. Tom breathed in, but the air got stuck in his throat, refusing to pass his vocal cords to allow him to form the necessary sounds.
Instead, he stepped closer to her. His mind constricted, and his tongue felt heavy.
Perhaps if he told her, she would take him back. He could have it all.
Or not.
Fuck! What if she didn’t want him regardless?! Love already made him vulnerable, but then to lay his soul out for her to crush! He couldn’t expose himself like that!
“I need you to know that I get it, and I’m not angry anymore. I wish things could have been different,” she said.
What did that mean?
She looked away from him, focusing her gaze on the wall. “Things between us will always be complicated, and I think I need something more than complicated...”
What was she saying? This wasn’t happening! She couldn’t do this!
“I need something, someone, stable. Reliable. Trustworthy and that I can count on.”
She could always count on him. Because she was the center of his bloody universe. Didn’t she see that? How could she not see that?! He spent his days consumed by her. He needed her to feel alive, to breathe! Without her, he felt like he was suffocating. A mixture of both obsession and dysfunction melded into one.
Her caramel eyes met his. “And I think this is too much... for me.”
He couldn’t speak. It was as if she literally grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. No words would escape his mouth.
“I think it’s time we let this go. I want to let whatever this was between us go. I want to move on.”
Notes:
Chapter 45 Song: chaotic: Tate McRae. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
If you are following me on my social media, I've been posting a bunch of character profiles! Check them out! They have extra info and background stories to the characters. I'll be making more over the next couple weeks so follow to see them!
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XOXO - Tipp
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Chapter 46: 46: Hogwarts: A History
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Hermione completed her OWLs and discovered her patronus changed from an Otter to an Occamy. She colapsed from exhaustion and Tom stays with her as she recovers. He reveals his own patronus is also an Occamy. Hermione and Tom then talk about what happened between them, she isn't angry anymore, but she wants to move on.
Thank you to my betas! Smolbangs and Emerald_andAmethyst for Beta reading!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
May 1931:
Tom swung his feet off the stool as Cora set a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. There were about 40 other children in the hall, waiting for their breakfast.
Cora sat across from him with her own cereal. He watched her eat. She had thin auburn hair and a face that had a strange lack of chin with her slim lips. He liked her. She was nice to him. His best friend.
She smiled at him when she caught him staring. They weren’t supposed to talk during meals, so Tom remained silent and grinned before returning his attention to his food.
It was Tom’s turn to help clean the dishes. Cora always signed them up for the same chores. They did everything together. They stood in front of the sink, wiping down the cups and bowls while she told a story about an enchanted place where a princess ran away from her castle after her evil stepmother tried to kill her.
“Why?”
“Because she was the fairest in the land and the stepmother wanted to be the most beautiful.”
“What happened to her?” Tom asked as he dried the cup Cora handed him. He couldn’t reach the sink yet, but he was close. He could almost get his fingertips under the water without a boost.
“She ran away and lived with seven friendly dwarves in the forest. They took her in and looked after her.”
“Why?”
“Because she needed help, and she cared for them. But then the evil queen found her. She tricked the girl into eating a poison apple that put her in an enchanted sleep.”
Tom considered that. Why would the princess eat an apple from somebody who wanted her dead? Perhaps the apple was exceptionally delicious. Or maybe she was stupid.
He didn’t voice his thoughts aloud. Cora got upset when he called other people “stupid”.
She continued with the story, telling about the brave prince who found the girl. The dwarves that cried. The evil stepmother turns into a monster. Tom listened to every word.
“And then the prince returned to the princess.” Cora said as she placed the now clean dishes in the cupboard, “and by kissing her cold lips, he woke her from the enchanted sleep.”
“Ew. Why would he kiss a dead girl's lips?”
“She wasn’t dead, Tom, just asleep.”
“Why would he kiss a sleeping girl’s lips?”
“Because he loved her?”
“Why did he love her?”
“Because she was beautiful.”
Tom stared at her in disbelief. He was starting to dislike this story. Cora told so many better ones.
Later, as they finished the dishes and Mrs. Cole and one of the older girls started preparing lunch, Tom turned to Cora. “Did Snow White also have a mother?”
“Everyone has a mother,” she replied with a shrug. She didn’t talk about her own mum.
Did that mean he had a mother somewhere? “Are you my mother?”
Before she could answer, Mrs. Cole started laughing. “Tom, your mother was a carnie that died on the floor of the orphanage after you were born.”
Cora frowned. Tom stared at the ground.
He was unfamiliar with the term ‘carnie’, but the way she said it suggested something negative. He didn’t want to ask. Mrs. Cole got irritated by Tom’s questions. Cora never did. She always answered him. If she couldn’t, then she suggested a trip to the library, where they’d dive into the shelves and hunt for the solution. Usually, they never discovered anything, but he had fun looking. She taught him to read, which he became proficient at.
Later, Cora said that she could be his mum if he wanted. She mentioned rocking him as a baby when he arrived at the orphanage. She changed his nappies and gave him bottles when he cried.
It wasn’t unusual for the older children to help look after the younger ones. But there also, typically, weren’t infants there. Tom was the youngest they had. Small. A newborn. He required a lot of care that Cora helped provide.
“What’s a carnie, Cora?” he asked as she tucked him into bed. She did that whenever Tom was upset. Sometimes he cried to get her to tell him a bedside story. It always worked. After she would sleep in her own room in a distant, separate wing of the orphanage only for girls.
“Someone who travels a lot,” she said.
“Do I have a father, too?”
“Everyone has a father.”
“Who is my father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we go to the library and find out tomorrow?”
Cora sighed. “No, Tom, the library won’t be able to help us with that.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
“I want to move on,” Hermione said, her eyes devoid of any emotion.
“What?” His voice sounded distant to his ears.
“I think it’s time we both moved on.”
Unlike all the previous fights, arguments, or disagreements, this time, they weren’t actually fighting. She met his gaze; her speech both firm and eloquent as she ripped his heart out. She stood with her back straight, head held high, hair disheveled from her sleep, and eyes devoid of life.
Was she really in there?
“You can’t be serious?!” he choked.
“Yes, this has been going on for too long.”
I love you...
He was grateful he hadn’t said the words out loud. He would never tell her. Never. She would reject him.
Everyone always left him. Nobody cared. He told himself to avoid a relationship. Instead, he fell in love and now he couldn’t detach himself from her. He didn’t want to separate from her! Tom needed her!
A numbness passed over him. A sense of eerie calm as he stood straighter, “Do you think that will work?” His entire demeanor contradicted his internal panic.
“What?”
He stepped towards her, closing the distance between them.
“This isn’t over.”
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” she sighed.
“No.” His answer would always be ‘no.’
“Tom—”
“Did you not see our Patronuses? The occamy! We match Hermione!”
“I saw them.”
“Then what is it?! Why are you fighting this?!”
Her mouth turned down, “I’m not angry… I don’t want to fight.”
“I do!” He moved closer, coming toe to toe with her. Her breath hitched. A flush spread across her cheeks. He still affected her. Tom would use that to his advantage! He would rile her! He wanted to argue. He wanted to yell. He was furious. His anger surged through him all the way to his bloody fingertips, but she wasn’t giving in. She kept her face serene and her caramel eyes held his.
“It’s complicated—”
“Afraid of a challenge?”
“Tom, don’t do this,” she looked resigned. He would fight for her! He would do anything for her! If she wanted the sun to orbit the Earth, then he would make it happen! He was prepared to revive her from the dead! Was she giving up because it was too hard? Because they were too complicated? Do they have too much baggage between them? He would carry it all if he had to!
“Don’t do what? Fight for you? I’ve already done that. I’ve done a lot of things for you, as you’ve mentioned.” Was he not enough? Was he not worth it to her?
“Why are you so determined to start an argument right now?!” she sparked. Her eyes glinted. He loved the way he could get under her skin.
“Fight for me, dammit!”
“No!”
“Yes!” He stepped closer till she was pushed against the door. She was so close. He felt her breathing against him. Count the freckles smattered across her nose and cheeks. Their eyes met, her glowing caramel into his dark depths.
“Stop!”
“Bloody fight!”
“Get off!”
“No,” he growled. He pushed a curl behind her ear, letting his fingers linger against her scalp.
“Tom, don’t.”
“Don’t act like you don’t feel this, Hermione.” His finger ran down the curve of her jaw, lifting her chin. A faint blush covered her cheeks. He had her cornered. And she wanted to pretend this was over. That she wanted to move on. “Even if you say you don’t want me anymore, I’m not going anywhere.” He felt her body against his. Her warmth pressed against him. His lips were so close to his. It would be so easy to ravish her. This was her bedroom. Oh, the things he would do to her.
As his hand cradled her cheek, his other hand clutched her hip, creating a tender and secure embrace. “I’m going to keep fighting,” he said into the curve of her ear. He inhaled, drawing her scent into his lungs. She smelled divine. His mouth watered with the desire to devour her.
He left a slow, lingering kiss on her temple. She stiffened beneath him, like she may have stopped breathing, but she didn’t resist him. He kissed down her face beside her eye, only then noticing the salty wetness that met his lips.
He pulled away, staring at her in horror.
“No, I can’t fight. I’m exhausted. I can’t do it anymore. Stop…” Silent tears slid down her cheeks. Her voice quivered as she spoke.
His mouth fell open as he watched her, once again, crumble. He had finally crossed the line this time, pushing her to her breaking point.
“Damnit!” He pressed off her, giving her space that she clearly wanted, but he loathed. She exhaled. Her panic disappeared. His did not.
“Maybe we should see other people.”
“What?”
“If we dated other people, it could help. It might—” she said something else. Nothing registered. He couldn’t hear anything. The flush was still on her face. He no longer knew how to interpret it. He didn’t ... He—
All at once, the situation caught up with him. It was as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, stunning him. The mask fractured. Shattered. He burned. His body shivered. He needed to escape this room. He was going to go insane. This place was too small. She couldn’t leave him like this.
See other people.
“No.”
He would destroy anyone who dared to lay a hand on her. Tear them limb from limb. His mouth opened to continue his argument, but nothing came out. He tried to gather his thoughts in that split second, but he couldn’t debate this right then.
“Obviously, I can’t force you. That’s your choice, but you need to let this go.”
“No!” His eyes flashed. He could practically see her slip through his fingers. Slide away.
“Maybe someday I’ll see someone else, Tom. You should prepare for that.”
NO!
What was it all for?! How could she toss him aside like he meant nothing?!
Abandon him...
“Will you really, Hermione? Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
She lost the ability to speak. Was it? Did he want to know the answer? Did it matter?
He needed to escape before he made things worse. To clear his mind! He’d explode if he spent any more time in that tiny bedroom. His control unraveled, and he felt magic spark in the air.
She said something, but he didn’t hear the words. The noise in his head was overwhelming, a constant barrage of screams, demanding that he reclaim her. It would push her further away. Ruin the already fragile healing of the deep wounds between them. There was a small sliver of his rational brain that remembered that. He grasped onto it and let it germinate.
His legs regained their function. Tom shoved past her and out the door, rushing down the stairs. He wouldn’t lose her. Not to anyone. She couldn’t decide to leave him like this!
He was going to be sick. All the progress he made with her was abruptly torn away. He was tired of people leaving him. Thinking they could toss him aside like yesterday’s garbage.
Tom needed to gather his thoughts and devise a new plan.
***
Tom Riddle couldn’t sleep. She occupied every corner of his mind. His dreams were filled with her. He hoped to find some solace in his thoughts of his witch, but he didn’t, instead, it brought him more distress.
When he returned to the Leaky Cauldron the following day, he was exhausted, eyes tired and face bleak. Was she really going to see somebody else? Did she have anyone in mind when she said that?
Tom needed to find out.
He rolled over in bed and buried his face into his pillow, almost suffocating in its embrace. He duplicated her pillow while she slept, placing the copy under her head and putting a stasis charm on the original, shrinking it, and stashing it in his pocket. As he held her pillow to his nose, he caught her essence—a sweet, haunting perfume that usually brought him peace. But today, it stirred a frenzy of emotions.
He breathed deeply, letting her scent consume him, before he flipped on his back, clutching the pillow against his chest. His arms wrapped around it, squeezing as if trying to merge their souls. The smell, unmistakably hers, overwhelmed his senses, offering a delusion that she was beside him, however fleeting. He was desperate.
He would not lose her!
His eyes flew open. Anger surged through his blood.
How could she do this to him?! The witch thought she could walk away.
No… never.
His hands balled into a fist against the fabric of the plush pillow.
Tom would make her regret trying to leave him. She would suffer. Then she would know. He would have to be subtle, underhanded. Generate the perception that she brought on her own suffering and regret.
He inhaled again, before moving a hand into his briefs and getting lost in the fantasy of his witch.
***
“Hey, Tom!” Bridget said, bouncing up to him in her usually cheery mood. Zephyr weaved between her legs and pointedly ignored him, which suited him well.
He nodded at her.
“I think Hermione’s on her lunch break,” she said with a grin.
“So she’s upstairs?” He asked. He wouldn’t go up there. Not after their talk yesterday. He wasn’t sure he could have a rational discussion with her.
“Nope, she’s at Flourish and Blotts looking at some new book that came out, which she insists she can’t afford. I guess the author is doing a signing today.”
The kid wasn’t subtle, but Tom appreciated that. She got to the point. The message was obvious: buy the book for her and get the author to sign it.
Great. He could do that. He had plenty of galleons left from the elderly man who supplied gold for Bridget’s cat. He was generous enough to offer Tom a surplus for extra spending money.
He glanced towards Diagon Alley spotting a young man stepping out of the kitchens with a tray full of food. He couldn’t have been older than twenty. Tom vaguely recognized him from the halls of Hogwarts a few years ago.
“Who’s that?” He watched the guy with wavy auburn hair, broad shoulders, and a muscular build push between the tables, dropping off plates of food.
“Oh, he’s the new server that mum hired last week. I think his name is Robin? or Rodney? I can’t remember.” Bridget shrugged as if it was of little consequence that this guy was suddenly here.
Could he be the reason Hermione wanted to see other people? Him?! Light brown hair and grey eyes and a dimple-cheeked smile. Tom supposed the witches might look at him if he passed them on the street.
“Who is he?”
“Like I said, his name starts with an ‘R’ and he’s the new server.” Tom stared daggers at his broad-muscled back. Damnit! Some might consider him attractive! “Don’t you listen? Or is that why Hermione broke up with you?” Bridget chastised.
He glared down at the girl. “I’ll have you know I heard every bloody word you said. Why is he here?”
“I already told you!”
“Right.”
“Are you going to Diagon Alley or do I need to be more clear—”
“I got the message, kid.”
“My name is Bridget, not kid.”
He wasn’t in the mood today. He glowered at the girl. “I know your fucking name,” he snarled. She crossed her arms and frowned. The cat hissed at him as Tom turned and departed towards Diagon Alley.
As expected, he found Hermione right where Bridget said she would be, standing inside the crowded bookstore, flipping through the new publication proudly displayed on every table.
Tom ducked into the crowd, but patrons jostled him to the side as they grabbed their book copies. He lost sight of Hermione as an elderly wizard shoved in front of her to grab a book. She toppled to the floor. Tom felt sorely tempted to hex the man who sneered at his witch like she was the scum beneath his shoe.
His eyes flicked to the man, engraving the details of his face to memory, before returning his attention back to his lioness—engrossed in her reading again.
“Please line up and Mrs. Bagshot will sign your book!” the owner announced, gesturing widely with his arms towards the small table where a middle-aged witch was sitting with her quill poised and ready.
The announcement brought order to the building, and Tom found it easier to navigate through the crowd to reach his witch.
“Did you eat?” He asked her, his lips brushing against her ear. She jumped.
“Tom!” She whirled around so fast she rammed her head against his and they both stumbled back groaning. “Ow,” she hissed, rubbing her forehead.
He stepped into her, cornering her against a shelf. She continued to rub at her scalp where they collided. “Did you eat?” he asked again.
“Why are you so interested in knowing if I ate? What are you even doing here?”
He ignored her second question. “You passed out yesterday. You exhausted yourself. You’ve lost weight.”
“I don’t need you to remind me to eat.”
“Don’t I?”
“No, that won’t happen again.” She hissed, rubbing her forehead and muttering something about how it hurt. She grimaced. He rolled his eyes.
“I know. I saw Ronald serving today. Didn’t think to mention him?”
“Huh? Ronald?” Her eyes widened before they became confused. Tom tried not to let the jealousy consume him. Seeing another man get close to his witch despite how badly he wanted her. Would this other guy sweep her off her feet instead? He doubted Robert could hold a candle to him in any category.
He gritted his teeth. “The new server!”
“Oh! Yeah, Gabriella hired Reggie last week. He just started. It will be nice having him around.”
“Will it?” His voice dripped with restrained fury, the intensity palpable. The idea of someone else possibly claiming her gnawed at him like a relentless beast. Another guy so close to her, making advances. It ignited a possessive rage within him. Hermione was everything, stunning, brilliant, and extraordinary. Every man’s fantasy.
His dream!
“You didn’t think to mention Roger to me? I’ve come by every day!” Bridget told him to stop lingering, so he stopped in for brief visits after her birthday. Maybe if he had sat at his table, he would’ve known!
“His name is Reggie, and it didn’t seem relevant.”
He fought to rein in his emotions, though they surged like a tempest within him. Tom needed her. Watching from a distance was torture enough, but the thought of her in another man’s arms…. Absolutely unforgivable!
“Tom?”
“Um…” Surprisingly, he held himself together, but the air crackled with intense emotion. Hermione must feel it too. She’d seen him lose it over less. Yet she regarded him with mild curiosity.
Was she playing with him? Testing his boundaries?
Tom always passed his exams with flying colors.
“It’s your lunch break and you appear to be spending it here with,” he plucked the book from her hands and glanced at the title, “Hogwarts: A History.”
The abrupt change in subject caught her off guard. It took her a moment to react. “I had the morning off, actually,” she snatched the book back from his hands.
“I’ve been waiting for this book to come out... it was—is one of my favorites.”
He knew what she meant. She had read this in her reality, fifty years in the future. Impressive that it would stand the test of time. There must be something to it.
“Are you going to buy it or hug it close to your chest? Or perhaps you plan to walk out with it?”
“What?”
“I seem to recall you doing something like that last year,” he commented. She flushed. After their first encounter, when she fell on top of him in this same bookstore, she ran out holding Intermediate Transfiguration.
“I might get it…eventually,” she looked torn. Bridget was right, Hermione was hurting for coin. He understood. While the school offered him a small allowance for his supplies, it was barely enough to cover everything. But she also had living expenses and day-to-day items, clothes, and necessities. The orphanage would give Tom these things if he bothered to associate with them. Now he took the money that he needed without a second thought. It was easier that way. Saved him a lot of the stress that Hermione appeared to be suffering. He could teach her a thing or two about altering memories, compelling people, and pick pocketing, but somehow, he doubted she would appreciate these skills
“I found it comforting. I read it over and over again.”
She must have read it dozens of times.
He said nothing.
“Why are you here?”
“Checking in on you.”
“I told you to stop—”
“I told you I wouldn’t—”
“You can’t keep doing this.” She held her head high, her caramel eyes glowing.
“Contrary to what you think, I didn’t come here to start a fight,” he said, his tone calm.
“What do you want, Tom?”
His eyes flashed as his jaw twitched. He bent over her. He’d grown taller these past few months, more imposing over his lion. “I would rather ravish you against these shelves. Maybe strip you out of this tantalizing dress hugging your curves. No, I would hike it up to your waist, lift you by your incredible arse so your legs could wrap around my hips. You would feel me pressed against you, how much I want you. I would drive you insane. As mad as you make me every moment of every day. Wild with desire.” A blush spread across her face, her eyes widened. He placed his hands on either side of her head, caging his lioness against the shelf as he spoke. “I’d devour your mouth with a need so primal, so overwhelming, it would defy the fabric of time and space. I want to hear you moan my name from those pretty lips as I take you to the brink of ecstasy. I’d never leave you panting. I’ll always fulfil your every need. Fill your every want. Fill you... Damn, we would be glorious.”
Tom’s voice dropped as he continued, “You may toy with the idea of seeing someone else, my lioness, but I will etch myself deep into the very essence of your being. I will be the shadow that darkens your thoughts. The warmth that floods your body when you’re cold and alone. I’ll be the unseen force that brings forth those sweet, solitary moans from your trembling lips as you lay in your bed, dreaming of my touch.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear, humming his words to her in a seductive drawl. “I’ll ruin you for everyone else. Only when I’m buried deep within you, will you know what it means to be possessed by passion. You will crave me. Then I’ll find you and claim you. I’ll fill you… until the end of days.”
His witch shuddered. Her entire body flushed. “I—I shouldn’t have asked,” she swallowed.
“Didn’t I tell you not to ask questions you already know the answers to?”
She nodded absently. “I should... I should go.” Hermione ducked under his arm, shoved around him and ran for the door, escaping into the streets of Diagon Alley.
He watched her scramble away, only to quickly turn and rush back into the building. She didn’t look at him as she tossed the book she stole on a nearby table before retreating.
Tom chuckled, as he picked up the copy of Hogwarts: A History she abandoned. He joined the crowd to purchase the book and get it signed.
“You can take a hint!” Bridget squealed as Tom exited the building with his gift tucked away in a shopping bag.
“What are you doing here, kid?”
“Making sure you don’t screw up,” she said with a shrug. He stared at her. Bridget rocked on her heels and toes, her blond hair gleaming gold in the bright summer sun. She had her it in a loose braid with a blue ribbon at the end, tied in a neat bow to hold the strands together.
“Whatever. I need to drop this off?” He said.
“Drop it off?”
“I’ll leave it in her room or something for her to find.” He doubted she would accept it from him in person.
“You can’t deliver it like that?!”
“Why not?” Tom scowled.
“You need a card with it!” Bridget argued.
“A card?”
“Yeah! How would she know who it’s from if you didn’t get her a nice card?!”
“You can tell her!”
“What if I forget?”
“Excuse me?”
“It could slip my mind, you know. I am awfully busy. She might think some creep is following her and leaving presents in her room!”
“She will know who it’s from!”
“Or maybe she will think I got it for her, or my mum. And perhaps I forget to correct her when she asks—”
“Just get to the point, kid!”
“You need a card! Hermione is traditional and sentimental! She would appreciate a note with a personal message inside!”
“You’re kidding…”
“No! And you have to write something nice! Are you capable of being nice?”
Tom ignored her question. “Fine!” he shouted. He knew the girl was right. Hermione would like something personal attached to it. It didn’t make the child any less irritating.
Tom shoved past Bridget and headed to the gift shop across the street. All he needed was a small, simple note. He found that inside for three Knuts. He asked the clerk to use her quill, which she agreed. With the item in hand, he stepped aside towards a table in the store. Bridget trailed behind him like an aggravating shadow.
“Can you not look at me when I write this?” He grumbled at Bridget, who stared at him with her big green eyes while he had his quill poised over the card.
She smirked, “Why? Is it going to say something sappy and gross?”
“Sod off, kid. This was your idea.”
Stepping back, she clasped her hands behind her, staring determinedly at the ceiling. “By the way, my name is Bridget.”
“I know your name.”
“Really? Just making sure. It seemed like you thought my name might be ‘kid’,” she said.
Bridget really knew how to push his buttons. He tolerated her because she was close to Hermione, but his patience was wearing thin.
He bit his lip and scribbled his note before shoving it into the envelope. He returned to the shop counter where the clerk was nose-deep in a book.
“Can you magically seal this for me? I don’t want the kid trying to think she can open it?” He gave her a charming smile and a shrug for effect.
“Of course, dear!” She pulled out her wand and tapped the envelope. The paper smoothed shut. For good measure, she grabbed a candle from behind the counter and added a wax seal to it.
He took the card back from the clerk and returned it to Bridget, who frowned at the whole encounter. “There, happy now?”
“I think we both know you don’t care if I’m happy,” she shrugged, “You care if Hermione’s happy and she will be ecstatic.”
“Really?”
“Yep. She’s talked nonstop about this release. Had been planning on going to that book signing all week.”
He sighed. That seemed good. Maybe it would put him one step closer to getting her back.
But Hermione wanted to move on... to see other people.
Something in his throat closed with that reminder. His jaw tightened. His knuckles turned white around the handle of the bag.
“What’s wrong, Tom?” Bridget’s entire demeanor changed. If he didn’t know better, he may have thought the girl appeared genuinely concerned.
He swallowed, gathering himself. He ignored her question again. “Let’s go.” He walked around her and headed back towards the Leaky Cauldron.
As Tom passed through the pub, he stopped by Hermione’s bedroom to drop the book off on her bed, placing the card on top. He left before he could second-guess himself.
The night was slow, and he saw Hermione working behind the bar. He noticed a group of ministry workers gave her leering glances that made his blood boil. His gaze narrowed on them. The new guy, Reggie, stopped at their table, dropping off a round of drinks.
Why would he still be here? Wasn’t he working earlier?
Instead of passing into Muggle London, Tom ducked into the shadows.
Tom watched their every interaction, the air thick with the pungent scent of his own envy. The very sight of them together was a visceral assault on his senses, a potent cocktail of rage and despair that set his blood aflame. Apparently, the boy was working a double shift, saying he needed some extra money. The way her eyes sparkled with mirth at his every crude jest made his stomach tighten.
When she laughed, the thunderous crescendo of jealousy swelled within him. It was a symphony of malice, each note a reminder of the unbridgeable chasm that formed between them. And when the fucker dared to ask, “Are you free tomorrow after work, Hermione?” the cacophony grew deafening.
Go where? Where was this guy taking his witch? He had no right to take her anywhere!
The world around him slowed to a crawl. Each beat of his heart became a painful throb in his chest. The boy’s words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. His mind spiraled. Darkness filled the depths of his soul and threatened to boil over as he listened to the casual way they discussed their plans.
“We are both working lunch shifts, right?”
Was this a date?
No!
With that thought, the room started spinning. He watched her smile, a beautiful brightness that was once reserved for him, now bestowed upon this fucker! Tom clenched his fists so tight, his knuckles turned white. The veins in his arms bulged with the effort to contain his wrath.
“I get off a little before you, I think, but I can wait,” he shrugged.
“If you don’t mind waiting a bit, then sure,” she said, her voice as intoxicating as the elf wine she so effortlessly poured.
“Perfect!”
His vision blurred, and a crimson haze descended on him. The mere thought of her with this… this bastard! It was a betrayal so profound it threatened to shatter him.
This could not stand. This insolent boy had no claim to her time, her attention, her laughter. Tom’s mind raced with a thousand dark thoughts, each more venomous than the last. But for now, he would bide his time, a coiled serpent waiting to strike. He would watch, and he would wait. And when the moment was ripe, he would make sure that this guy knew exactly who Hermione belonged to.
A few months ago, Tom’s magic might have shattered glasses in the bar, but he established more control these days. He kept it restrained within him as he glared at the boy, imagining all the ways he would destroy him.
Things were worse than he thought.
It was time for Tom to prepare his backup plan... It appeared that he might need it.
Instead of returning to the orphanage in London, he revisited Diagon Alley. He had purchases to make before the shops closed. A sense of foreboding filled him. There was no going back if he did this. It was a choice he would have to live with forever. But Tom would do anything, absolutely anything, to keep his witch.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione closed that night behind the bar while Reggie waited tables. They were slow in their last remaining hours before closing. Hermione grew fond of the charming boy with his gentle smile, green eyes, and kind demeanor. He worked hard and was punctual, which, as she mentioned to Gabriella, was everything she desired. He could hold somewhat intelligent conversations, but perhaps not to the degree she might’ve liked.
Edgar cut his hours down to three days a week, but between Gabriella, Hermione, and Reggie working full time with Edgar, Lori, and Theresa, two new waitresses, all as part-time. Patrick and Bridget helped, and occasionally retired staff members filled shifts here and there. For once, the Leaky Cauldron had enough staff.
Hermione waved her wand towards the stack of bar glasses in the soapy water to wash themselves, as she wiped them down and put them away. Reggie grabbed a rag to wipe surfaces.
She couldn’t believe Tom had attacked her about Reggie... Then again, Tom was never one to mince his words once his jealousy flared to life.
On second thought, she could believe it.
She felt torn between wanting him to find someone and be happy, but at the same time, a pang of sadness filled her chest. It was hypocritical for her to feel that way, and she knew it. She was the one who ended this. But her body still craved his touch, even if her better judgment told her to steer clear.
It was harder to smile these days. She felt tired all the time. Her stress piled up.
As she looked at Hogwarts: A History earlier today, she experienced a potent reminder of her life before coming through the veil. She had been here for over a year. Stuck in the past. She left her friends during a life-or-death battle in the Department of Mysteries. For all she knew, they may have died there. She sent a letter to Hester Prime seeking a way home, uncertain if anyone would remain to return to.
By the time they finished closing, she had worked herself into a frenzy, her mind buzzing with a whirlwind of thoughts and her body tense with exhaustion. She couldn’t fake her cheery attitude anymore. It was past midnight when Hermione trudged up to her room and collapsed face-first onto her bed, not bothering to change out of her uniform. Only, her bed wasn’t empty. She fell on top of something hard.
She hissed in pain as she rolled over and clutched her abdomen. Someone placed a book on her bed.
She waved her wand, and the room lit up, allowing her to read the scripted, purple embossed title: Hogwarts: A History.
Who got it for her? Was it Gabriella? She heard Hermione mention it, but the new book was expensive! They were selling it for four galleons!
Her fingers stroked the new binding, admiring the book from every angle. She wanted to squeal with delight.
She flipped open the cover.
To Hermione Granger,
May the ancient magic of Hogwarts never leave you.
- Bathilda Bagshot
After what felt like an eternity, she finally grinned. A true, heartfelt expression that had been absent for an entire week. They stood in that ridiculously long line and had it signed…
An envelope fell to the bed. She picked it up. There was no name on it. Just a wax seal enclosing the note inside.
She ripped it open and pulled out the small card.
For the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts history.
-T.M. Riddle
Notes:
Chapter 46 Song: Anchor: Roland Faunte. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Stick with me guys, things will eventually get better!
I've done a series of character profiles posted on my socials! So far I have done Reinhardt Lestrange, Alastor Moody, Bridget Dodderidge, Zephyr, and Tom Riddle (these link to instagram but you can find them on my tumblr and facebook as well). I plan to do Walburga Black, Hermione Granger, Gussie Crouch, and Archie Longbottom in the near future!
History Through Photography:
Life in an 30's/40's Orphanage
Tom Riddle’s life in the orphanage is not entirely accurate. I skimmed through the book above (Children’s Homes: A History of Institutional Care for Britain’s Young by Peter Higginbotham, which is free on Kindle Unlimited if anyone is interested) and I also read numerous online accounts. The thing is, there was no standard way of life for orphans per se. Every orphanage ran a little differently, so it is hard to give straight facts. Instead, I can provide examples. With meals, there were three meals a day with one hot meal. If you didn’t clear your plate, you didn’t get pudding. A few accounts I read stated the hot meal was the midday meal. Being late also meant no pudding, so children rushed home from school. “God help those who were late.” I also read somewhere that meals had to be silent. I found this interesting as now we consider meals to be a valuable social endeavor. Regardless, I briefly mentioned this rule of silence (if you will) in my flashback scene in this chapter.
It is worth noting that they divided many orphanages into “orphanages for girls” and “orphanages for boys”. Obviously, this is not the case for Tom, which would probably be unusual for a large city like London that could accommodate exclusive boy/girl orphanages. Regardless, I chose the two images above to emphasize a few things. In a way, children were dehumanized in the records and labeled by a number. They numbered all of their belongings, down to their toothbrushes. Someone used this image to label all the children by their number, only providing a name to their caretaker. Despite the very different lives they lead, some things for children never change: orphan or not. The other image depicts the boys of Reedham Orphanage in Purley, Surrey, giving a cheer as they are getting out of school for Christmas holiday (19 December 1930)
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 47: 47: The Engagement
Summary:
He headed up the stairs and knocked on the door like a civilized person who wasn’t itching to commit murder. The air was quiet, interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps and occasional creaking wood. The building was noisy. Tom needed to do something about that.
The door swung open. Reggie’s stark silver eyes met Tom’s.
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Hermione told Tom after her OWLs that she wanted to move on and suggested they see other people. Tom doesn't plan on stopping his pursuit of her. He buys her Hogwarts a History as a gift and, while leaving the Leaky Cauldron, overhears her make plans with a coworker to go out after work the following day.
Thank you to Vespertineflower for beta reading this chapter for me!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A weight lifted off Tom now that he had his backup plan in process. Everything would work out somehow. Despite his reluctance to go through with it, he had no alternative. He couldn’t bear to be without her.
The new waiter consumed his thoughts. She was going out with him. They made plans together. What were they doing? Did she want him? Was he the reason behind her desire to date other people?
His body became rigid, and his breathing accelerated. It happened every time the situation crossed his mind. Anger morphed as the panic surged and created a sickening feeling in his stomach. His magic burst out of him, and he hurried to rein it back in. He couldn’t lose control. Not now.
Tom groaned. No other witch could dig under his skin quite like Hermione, her presence always leaving a lasting impression. Scars that would never heal, and part of him didn’t want them to.
He didn’t go to the Leaky Cauldron until the late afternoon the next day to catch them at the end of their shift. They were going out after. He needed to keep his visit as brief as possible to minimize any outbursts. But he had every intention of following them on this date of theirs.
He leaned against the wall in the shadows and watched, remaining unseen. Reggie sat at the counter talking to Hermione while she finished behind the bar.
What if she had a good time? What if she likes this other guy?
Maybe Tom could corner her and Obliviate her memories of Reggie. Replace them with new ones, tainted with malice and hatred. Make her despise and avoid him. He felt the tension building, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he contemplated twisted ideas. However, her Occlumency skills would be like a fortress guarding her mind. Erasing her memories would be a daunting task. It frustrated him. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t care about damaging them when he implanted false recollections, but he would never risk that with her.
It didn’t fix the real issue, either... Reggie. No, Tom he wouldn’t be satisfied until he found a permanent solution to the problem.
What if he tried to kiss her?
Damnit!
Tom’s jaw clenched, muscles tightening in his face as he imagined the bastard’s lips getting near hers. Possessiveness gripped him. He would never allow it! He would intervene. He could use the Imperius Curse on the fool from behind. Stop him before his mouth touched his witch!
Perhaps he should Imperio him now and get him to cancel this outing altogether. A perfect solution. It would keep Reggie away without drastic measures.
Tom’s hand sought his wand, his fingers wrapping around the polished wood concealed within his pocket. His sinister delight shone in his eyes as he searched for the fool who dared approach his witch. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursed through his veins as he prepared to unleash his dark magic.
“Ready to go?”
His attention cut to the sound of her voice. She stood next to the boy, her bag over her shoulder, having changed into a pretty blush-pink summer robe with lacy gloves. How long had he been daydreaming in the shadows? How had he not noticed her leave?
“You look nice,” Reggie said as he glanced down at his own outfit, disheveled from his work shift.
Tom swallowed. Her eyes glimmered. Or was it the clothes that made her glow? It wasn’t the guy that she was glowing for... right? No. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t him. She couldn’t want him!
“Gabriella gave me a box of clothes that didn’t fit her anymore and some extra accessories. Plus, my friend is always sending me new things, though I tell her to stop.”
“Sounds like a good friend.”
“The best,” they headed towards Diagon Alley.
He couldn’t Imperio him when they were already walking side by side. Too risky. She might notice something amiss.
Tom stuck to the original plan. He followed them, keeping a safe distance behind them as they meandered down the cobblestone street. His scowl didn’t let up.
To his surprise, they turned into Jaqueline Fine Jewelry. Tom had never been there before. Jewelry always seemed audacious to him. Did Hermione like it? Was that why they were looking at it? She didn’t seem like someone who’d enjoy frivolous things like gold and gems. He perceived her as practical, valuing knowledge and usefulness over adornment.
He peered through the window to see them examining the display cases together. Reggie had a serious expression while Hermione pointed at certain pieces for the clerk to pull out.
Tom found a bench across the street, hidden by a tree, and waited. They were inside for over an hour, during which Tom’s mind churned with dark thoughts. Eventually, they left empty-handed and strolled along the road, entering another jewelry store. They stayed for thirty minutes before moving on.
They weren’t holding hands—a good sign. They chatted as they walked, and he held the door open for her. She may have mentioned seeing other people, but to actually do it? It was unforgivable. Tom would never allow it.
He narrowed his eyes on the building but couldn’t glimpse them through the shop window from his current distance. He needed to remove Reggie from the picture once and for all. Eliminate the threat.
They left the shop, appearing happier than before. The guy beamed and scooped Hermione into a hug. She laughed and wrapped her arms around him.
Tom’s skin crawled. Blind rage overcame him. Magic sparked as he briefly lost control. He touched her! He laid his filthy hands on his witch! His breath caught. Nothing made sense. The surrounding noise amplified, and the air thickened with the stench of his anger.
Tom observed them as they continued down the street, his thoughts racing with possibilities. The image of Reggie touching his lioness played repeatedly in his head. Each repetition fueled his fury. He clenched his fists. A roar started in his ears.
Losing her to another man was not an option! He would do something about this fucker.
Tom’s eyes glinted with icy determination. A subtle grin appeared on his face. There were other methods that could guarantee Reggie’s permanent removal. So many ideas flashed through his mind. Each one was more sinister than the last.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. A new idea took shape. A plan to eliminate Reggie while enhancing his position in her life.
This was a game of strategy, and Tom was a master at playing it. He would ensure that after he won, she would have no one else to turn to but him. Reggie would be nothing more than a distant memory.
They split up moments later, Hermione venturing back toward the Leaky Cauldron, and the boy continued up the street, heading deeper into Wizarding London. After some time, they reached a secluded corner, where an ancient potion shop stood. The dilapidated building sagged on its supports, struggling to stay upright. He used the side stairway to access the second floor and enter an apartment.
He must live there, in the rugged flat above the crumbling store. The summer sun remained high as a few stray people who had ventured this far passed Tom to finish their shopping before closing.
He considered his options as he put his hands in his pockets. He could dismantle the wards and let himself inside, although it would take time. Breaking wards was something Tom had done before, and he perfected the art without leaving a trace. Yet, it was a risk. A big one. If Aurors investigated, it would be suspicious if no wards were present.
No, that wasn’t the solution. He would need to get invited in.
He headed up the stairs and knocked on the door like a civilized person who wasn’t itching to commit murder. The air was quiet, interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps and occasional creaking wood. The building was noisy. Tom needed to do something about that.
The door swung open and Reggie’s stark silver eyes met Tom’s. He looked imposing in the doorway with his muscular build. Was that what Hermione was attracted to? Brute strength?
Tom’s jaw clenched at the thought.
No. Hermione had more sense than that. She desired a man capable of engaging in intelligent conversation. Someone who could match her wit and challenge her intellect. This bastard would never do that for her.
He raised a brow at Tom. “Aren’t you the guy always at the Leaky?” His entire frame blocked Tom’s way inside.
“I am.”
“Hermione’s ex or something?” He frowned at him like he was an annoying gnat. Reggie would regret underestimating him.
“Or something,” Tom repeated smoothly. He gripped his wand in his pocket.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” No expression passed over Tom’s face. “May I come in?” He asked with an air of easy politeness.
Reggie’s brow furrowed. He appeared uncomfortable. “How did you know where I lived?”
Tom ignored the question. “I won’t be long.”
“I don’t think so—”
“Imperio.” He wielded his wand up before he could slam the door in his face. All the discomfort evaporated. Tom smiled at Reggie. “Again, this won’t take long. May I come in?”
“Of course!” The wards ebbed, and Tom crossed the threshold.
Foolish not to have protection against dark magic, but Reggie seems to lack the intelligence to cast such complex protection spells. Regardless, those wards often couldn’t block an Unforgivable Curse.
The apartment was a simply furnished studio opening to the kitchenette with a table with two chairs. A couch sat nearby with a coffee table stacked high with Daily Prophets. The double bed had disheveled blankets, half hanging on the floor. He noticed a door in the corner that likely led to his toilet and tub.
The place was a mess. Clearly, Reggie hadn’t learned a basic cleaning spell in his damn life.
“Why don’t we sit at the table?” Tom suggested.
Reggie immediately moved to comply. Tom remained standing, turning about the room, casting silencing charms on the walls and floors, ensuring nothing would be overheard. Once he was confident they were alone, he returned to Reggie, still in the same position he left him. Like an obedient dog.
“Now, let’s get down to business.” Tom lifted the Imperius Curse, but before Reggie could react, he followed it with “Crucio.”
He fell out of the rickety wooden chair, his body crumbling to the floor. He flailed like a deranged fish out of water. Tom watched with bitter-sweet amusement as the boy screamed. He clawed at the ground. Cried out for help until his voice turned hoarse.
Tom remained steadfast. Casting the curse was second nature to him. He could now ease the strength of the spell to allow a bit of rest for his victim while sustaining the torture. He was amazed by how meditating with his magic, developing control, improved all aspects of his skills.
As he watched him cry, blood trickled from his mouth, where he clamped down too hard on his tongue. He scraped his skin on the floor. These things should’ve pleased Tom. They didn’t. He didn’t receive the satisfaction he expected. Because no matter how much he tortured this fucker... it wouldn’t bring Hermione back to him. The gap between them remained.
He lifted the spell.
Reggie sobbed. Tom frowned. “W—w—why?” his voice cracked on the word. It was so broken that the sound barely reached his ears.
“I might ask you the same question, Reggie.” Tom twirled his wand, his habit when about to play with his prey.
Reggie panted on the ground, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe. He gasped for air but choked on his saliva, causing him to vomit on the floor. Tom grumbled in disgust. Stepping back. “You were on a date with Hermione today.” The image of Hermione’s radiant face as they left the jewelry shop together flashed before Tom’s eyes. Their damn hug and the intimacy behind it. The scene burned into his memory, tormenting him.
“It wasn’t a date!”
“Don’t you dare lie to me!” He roared, his voice cracking with raw emotion. He moved towards the crumpled body, avoiding the puddle of vomit. “What makes you think you deserve her?!” He landed a hard kick in his stomach. Reggie wretched. “What makes you think you have the fucking right to touch my witch?!” He kicked him again, and Tom barely avoided the second round of vomiting.
Reggie curled into a ball, trying to shield himself from the onslaught, but Tom’s rage was relentless. “Even if this wasn’t a date,” he seethed, “what about the next one? You are a threat, Reggie. And threats need to be eliminated.”
“No. No. No,” the wanker whimpered.
“Crucio.” Reggie was back to his jerking and spasming on the ground. His head knocked into the edge of the kitchen counter, cutting open his skull. Blood pooled on the floor under him, mixing with the vomit.
This was becoming quite a messy bit of torture. He hadn’t intended this to be such an ordeal. But no matter. Instinct spurred him on, pushing him to punish this man more. Make him hurt. Destroy him!
Once he forced Reggie to the very brink of madness, he released the spell. “I don’t really care what the excuse is,” he said. He kneeled next to Reggie, his eyes wide with terror at Tom’s cold-impassionate expression. He stroked the tip of his wand along his tear-stained cheek.
“Please…”
“I’m trying to decide what to do with you.” He ran his wand down Reggie’s jaw.
His whole body trembled. Four years older than Tom yet he looked at him in fear. It was delicious. Tom devoured it. Once, he imagined the world gazing at him with that expression. Perhaps his priorities changed now, but it didn’t make this moment any less thrilling. It lit a fire under his soul! This was exhilarating! The power! The domination!
Hermione would never find out. Not this time. Tom was in control. He would ensure Reggie’s absence was thoroughly explained.
“This is what will happen, Reggie.” Tom smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going to obliviate you and return your wand. Then I’ll leave, and you will never see me again.”
Relief passed over his face.
“On my way out, I’ll set your building on fire. If you wake up in time, you will have your wand. You can escape. If not… then I suppose that’s that,” Tom shrugged.
The relief morphed into panic in an instant. Reggie started screaming. Yelling. Calling out for anyone. His voice cracked with his wails. He became crazed.
Tom rolled his eyes. He saw him silence the walls. He knew nobody could hear him. Tom flicked a Silencio in his direction to shut him up.
“If you survive, find work somewhere else!” Tom hissed. He would implant the memory of him being fired after Obliviating him. Make it brutal so he would never return to the Leaky Cauldron again.
Tom glanced at a small package on the floor. It fell out of Reggie’s pocket when he was being tortured. It appeared to be a jewelry box. “Was this what you purchased today?” Tom asked.
Reggie only looked terrified, giving no indication that he heard him. Tom swung his wand, sending a slashing hex at him. He let out a silent scream. “When I ask a question, I expect a response. Now a nod ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice! I will ask one more time! Is this what you purchased today?”
He nodded his head vigorously. His eyes rolled in his head. Blood poured from the wound.
Tom flicked open the box and glanced at the contents—a sapphire ring nestled between two small diamonds, shining brightly on the golden band. It wasn’t cheap.
“Hmm...” He flicked the lid shut. He considered taking it but decided he had no need. He liked trophies, but if Hermione were to find it, she would recognize it. It wasn’t worth the risk. And he wasn’t hurting for money to bother selling it.
“You can keep this,” he tossed the box on his chest. “If you wake up, don’t forget to grab it. Would be a shame if it burned in the fire. Obliviate!”
As Tom left the building, he ducked into the potion shop. It was open for thirty more minutes, giving him enough time to set everything up. He pointed his wand at the elderly wizard behind the counter, working over a cauldron, and cast his second Imperius Curse of the night.
He made the man empty his cauldron and work on a miscalculated brew of Liquid Flame Potion. Tom made certain to include an abundance of Erumpent horn while brewing. Then, he had the old guy step outside to perform a mundane task, leaving the potion to simmer and explode.
The entire building lit up in a cacophony of flames. The fire started everywhere the potion touched. Before Tom left, he released the Imperius Curse, Obliviated the elderly man’s memory of Tom ever being there and implanted new memories that brewing the Liquid Flame Potion was, in fact, his own idea for a client whom he would be unable to recall as their order turned to ash in the fire.
Shame on how his business burned down. But the thing was falling apart, anyway. Really, Tom did him a favor.
The sight of Tom walking away, his face devoid of emotion, while the flames consumed the building behind him, was a chilling scene that would linger in anyone’s nightmares. He never discovered if Reggie made it out alive, nor did he care.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Earlier that week:
Hermione finished her second day of testing without much bravado. With her work apron tied around her waist, she situated herself behind the bar and tried to lose herself in the shift.
Reggie, the new employee that started last week, and Gabriella waited tables. The recent hire were a refreshing presence. He just finished his training and picked up as many shifts as possible. The extra hands lifted some of the stain off her, but it didn’t cure the relentless fatigue that drained her every waking moment.
Only two days of testing remained. She could do it…
Hermione sighed and poured drink after drink, talking with customers who sat at the bar, distracting herself. Every interaction felt forced and fake, as if she were trying too hard. And, if she was being honest, she was trying too hard.
As her evening neared its end, a young strawberry blond with her hair in loose waves cropped to her shoulders sat at the bar. She pulled out a magazine and flipped it open.
Hermione plastered on her work smile, “I’m going to have to check your age.” The girl peaked up at Hermione with her large hazel eyes. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks giving her an innocent glow.
“I get that a lot,” she shrugged, presenting her palm. Hermione tapped it with her wand, seeing the telltale glow of confirmation. “Nobody believes me when I say I’m twenty.”
Hermione blinked. The girl looked fifteen. “What can I get for you?”
“Cherry fire.”
Hermione turned away and added the cherry mix to a glass, flicking her wand at it to light a small flame, warming the mix before she poured in the Firewhisky. It had a caramel cherry flavor. If she didn’t hate Firewhisky so much, she might appreciate this drink.
The girl halted her retreat after she delivered the drink. “What do you think of this one?” She asked, pointing to a photo in her magazine. Hermione glanced at it. It was a ring, diamond, large and square, with smaller diamonds wrapped around the center setting.
“Um—”
“You hate it.”
“I never said that!”
“You didn’t have to. It’s obvious you hate it.”
“No, it’s nice.”
“Liar,” she snorted. “You think the ring is hideous,” the customer beamed, “good, then we are in agreement! This is what my mom wants me to get, but I think it’s a bit,” she paused to consider her words, “much for my style.”
“What if I said I liked it?”
“Then I would assume you were as insane as my mother and disregard all future opinions from you,” she scoffed. Hermione’s lips broke into a genuine smile, something that hadn’t happened in a while. “I don’t want him to spend that kind of money on me either! It’s outrageous how much these things can cost!”
“Are you getting engaged?”
“Soon.” she practically sparkled with the news.
Hermione glanced around the Leaky Cauldron. There were no drink orders waiting for her, and the crowd was almost gone. Gabriella had already hung her apron and headed to bed, and Reggie was finishing with the last few tables still occupied. She had time to do something normal. “What sort of ring do you want?”
“I’m not sure I even want a diamond, honestly,” she said, flipping through the pages.
“Does he know that?”
“I dropped hints, but who knows what he’s actually heard. You know how men are. I also want to be surprised. What do you think of this one?”
“I like the design on the band—”
“Me too!”
This was how Hermione spent the remainder of her shift. Between cleaning up the bar and looking at rings with the customer, Violet.
“Vi!” The blonde grabbed the magazine and tucked it away as Reggie approached, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her cheek. “I told you not to wait for me.”
“It’s fine!”
Hermione looked between the two of them. She had to be Reggie’s girlfriend, and she was expecting a proposal.
Violet stayed until after midnight, waiting for Reggie to finish cleaning and closing.
“I’m going to use the bathroom before we go!” she chirped before walking off, the magazine hidden in the bag slung on her shoulder. She had just turned the corner when Reggie accosted Hermione.
“She told you what she wanted, didn’t she?”
“What?”
“For a ring!”
“Umm—”
“She won’t tell me anything because she loves surprises, but then I know she will be so disappointed if I get her the wrong thing!” he said. Hermione had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. If Violet had a specific style in mind and wouldn’t settle for anything less, she should select her own ring, but Hermione knew it wasn’t her role to intervene.
“Will you help me?!” He begged.
“With what?”
“Pick her ring! I asked her mum, and she gave me some advice. Lots of diamonds and such. I don’t know!” He looked desperate, his tall, muscular form crumbling under the weight of trying to please his girlfriend.
“I don’t think that’s quite what she’s looking for,” Hermione said slowly, remembering how insistent she was that her mother’s taste was horrible.
“Will you go shopping with me?”
“Shopping?!”
“Please Hermione! We are taking a trip in three weeks, and I wanted to ask her then!”
She stared at the guy. Despite her reluctance, she couldn’t resist his pitiful appearance. “After my exams are done.”
“Thank you!”
Hermione sighed as Violet reappeared. Why did she have to add one more thing to her endless load? But hopefully, shopping with Reggie wouldn’t be too painful.
Notes:
Chapter 47 Song: LET THE WORLD BURN: Chris Grey. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I'm working on a short side project that I'm really excited about! It's a Tom Riddle x Ginny Weasley paring. Dark. Toxic. Unconscious dove. It's a little break from The Brightest Star in the Sky, which I have been working on for two years. It was supposed to be a oneshot but it turned into a 4 chapter fic. I should have it completely posted over the next few weeks (it will have quick releases!). If you're interested, you can check it out here: She Will Lie
Follow me on one of my socials for updates or if you want to read previews :)
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Chapter 48: 48: Work
Summary:
Damn, he was beautiful. Somehow, a domesticated Tom Riddle was more alluring than Hermione could have ever imagined. She found her eyes drawn to him. So handsome—not that she was admiring him or anything. She was merely observing a fact.
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Hermione went shopping with her coworker, Reggie, to help him pick out an engagement ring for his girlfriend, Violet. Tom mistook this as a date and tortured Reggie before leaving him unconscious in his appartment and setting the building on fire.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione lay in her bed, the softness of the sheets providing little comfort. She lacked the motivation to get up. The weight of each subsequent day pressed down on her, suffocating her. There was no end in sight. She never expected to survive the past year, and now that she had, she found herself without purpose. She had been so preoccupied with her impending demise that she neglected to plan anything beyond. There was no future to look forward to, only an empty void.
This wasn’t the life she pictured. She imagined standing side by side with Harry and Ron, fighting the war. Instead, she found herself here, entangled with her enemy, her heart torn between loyalty to those she left behind and these new, unexpected emotions. She may never discover what became of her friends. Did they all die? The odds were in their favor.
She stared at the plain walls. Morning light filtered between the half-closed curtains, casting a hazy glow across the room. Time stretched endlessly, deepening her sense of hopelessness with each passing moment.
She didn’t work till the afternoon. In the past, she used to read during this time but lacked the strength to do it.
Despair flowed through her like lava, burning her from the inside out. It was a lonely battle, one she fought silently, hidden beneath her daily mask of normalcy. No one knew the depths of her struggles, and perhaps they wouldn’t even care. She was alone here.
Her tired eyes fluttered closed, seeking solace in the darkness. Maybe she could sleep until she had to work. It was better than festering in all her overwhelming feelings.
What was her purpose in life anymore?
Her chest hurt. Every fiber of her being ached, a constant reminder of her inner turmoil. Time passed unnoticed until, finally, a loud knock reverberated through the room. She considered remaining silent—hoping whoever it was would think she wasn’t there. She wanted to be left alone, to wrestle with her demons in peace.
“Hermione, open this door!”
Her breath caught.
“I may not be of age yet, but if you don’t open this door, I swear I’ll blast it off its hinges!” Her best friend shouted. Hermione hadn’t seen Gussie in over a week. She wrote letters, but Hermione let them pile up on her bedside table, thinking she would get to them later.
She never did.
“Hermione!”
“It’s open, Gussie!”
“Oh.” The door creaked, and her very vivacious friend stormed in, standing beside her with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Hermione looked away.
“You look terrible,” Gussie grumbled.
“Thanks.”
“You haven’t returned my letters.”
“Sorry.”
Gussie stared at her. “You’ve been hiding from everyone.”
Hermione didn’t reply.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Scoot over.”
“What?”
Gussie snorted and braced her hands against Hermione’s side and pushed her across the bed. She climbed in next to her, laying her head down.
“Something has been off all summer. You haven’t been yourself.” Gussie said, shifting to get comfortable.
Hermione didn’t know who she was anymore. Maybe she used to, but then her otter vanished, replaced by the occamy. What had become of Hermione Granger? Would anyone recognize her if she returned to her own world?
Her eyes filled with tears, and without permission, they spilled over and crept down her cheeks.
“Hermione...” Gussie looked genuinely concerned. A frown etched on her pretty, heart-shaped face. She couldn’t share any of her fears and anxieties. Not about her past. Nobody besides Tom knew her origins, and things with him were so convoluted. She wanted her parents... her familiar home with the smell of vanilla coming from her mother’s perfume. She wanted to go to her favorite ice cream shop. Attend quidditch games with Ron and cheer on Harry.
She wanted her life back. To be Hermione again. She wrote to Hester Prime about her predicament a few weeks ago but never received a response. Maybe the doctor thought she was crazy. Perhaps she was going insane.
“What happened? Is it something with Tom?”
“It’s complicated, Gussie.” Because none of this was his fault. This was her own messed self, trying to cope in a world she didn’t belong.
“You can talk to me—”
“I can’t... I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about it,” she sniffed, rolling into the pillow, squeezing her eyelids shut, hoping it would trap the tears and keep them from falling.
“Hey...” Gussie pulled her closer and wrapped her arms around Hermione. “I should probably tell you something.” Hermione opened her eyes, and a fresh wave of liquid escaped down her face, wetting her friend’s expensive blouse. “I know you aren’t from this time. I’ve known for a while.”
She stared at her. The room grew eerily quiet, creating an unsettling stillness. “No… I—”
“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.” Gussie said, cutting off her protests.
All the words vanished from her vocabulary. Her mind went utterly blank. Eventually, she swallowed and managed, “How?”
Gussie pulled back and looked at Hermione with a slight smile. “Your reading selections made me suspicious but then, during your curse, you would scream things and well... Sonya thought it was strange,” her friend shrugged awkwardly. It took Hermione a moment to recall that Sonya was their Gryffindor roommate. “But I convinced her you were hallucinating nonsense.”
Hermione didn’t respond. She must have known for months.
“You don’t have to talk about how you got here. You don’t need to tell me about your life from before. But I want you to know, you are not alone here.”
Then Hermione started sobbing. The relief of someone else knowing the truth was unbelievable. The albatross around her neck flew away. “Is that why you kept sending me all that stuff?” Hermione asked when she regained the ability to speak.
“I figured you came with nothing. You’ve always been cautious with money and fixated on this job.”
Was it that obvious?
“I know you can’t go to a mind healer. They would probably think you were crazy if you told them anything. Anyway, I brought you something.” Gussie rolled off the bed and reached into a bag that Hermione hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. She pulled out a beautiful red leather-bound book and passed it to Hermione.
A journal. Hermione examined it. She would have declined the present from her friend, who went overboard with her gestures, but it would be fruitless. It might help… and she could enchant the writing to be unreadable to anyone besides herself. A precaution, should it be discovered.
“Thank you.” Gussie lay down beside her again. “What are you doing?”
“Whatever you want.”
Hermione had no inclination to do anything. So her best friend remained by her side all morning, doing nothing.
***
Reggie didn’t show up to work that afternoon. His absence left Hermione to wait tables alone while Gabriella worked behind the bar. They ended the day feeling drained. Where could he be? This behavior was out of character. Hermione saw him yesterday!
Another day passed without Reggie’s presence, intensifying her unease. Something was amiss. The nagging sense persisted, hanging heavy in the atmosphere. Luckily, Edgar worked, allowing Gabriella to cover Reggie’s shift, giving them adequate coverage.
In the afternoon, Violet, Reggie’s girlfriend, walked in. She appeared worn down, her face tear-stained. A feeble smile barely reached her eyes as she approached Gabriella, who stood poised in front of the bar, getting ready to hover drinks to tables. Intrigued and concerned, Hermione rushed behind Gabriella, eager to hear what Violet had to say.
“I wanted to tell you that Reggie is in St. Mungo’s and won’t be able to work for the foreseeable future.”
Gabriella opened her mouth, then shut it again, at a loss for words.
“What happened?” Hermione asked.
“He lived above a potion shop in Diagon Alley. A batch of Liquid Flame Potion exploded. He got caught in the fire.”
Gabriella grimaced, “Magical burns can be nasty to treat!”
Violet’s eyes filled with tears. “They think he will be okay, but he’s in a magically induced coma right now. Anyway, thought you should know...” She glanced at Hermione and took a deep breath, “I found the ring. I know you helped him. Thank you... it’s beautiful.”
With those parting words, Violet left, returning to London and heading toward St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
“He picked up a ton of shifts,” Gabriella muttered. Clearly, she was equally stressed about Reggie’s wellbeing and the state of the pub. Hermione couldn’t think about it more. She returned to her shift, trying not to dwell on what happened.
A horrible accident. Liquid Flame Potion exploded... He may not survive.
She shut her eyes and shook her head.
An hour later, the rush started, bringing in a fresh influx of customers all vying for attention. Between her, Gabriella, and Edgar, they kept up, but they would eventually need to find coverage for Reggie. This was not sustainable.
Somehow, despite the tense atmosphere, she knew the exact moment Tom entered the building. Their eyes locked, and she instinctively broke contact, unable to hold his gaze. Rather than sit at his usual table in the corner, he sat at the bar, chatting with Gabriella, who was covering while Edgar was on break.
Hermione approached cautiously as she went to grab the Butterbeers off the counter.
“I live in an orphanage. My mum died giving birth to me, and I don’t know my father,” she overheard Tom say to Gabriella.
Hermione froze. He couldn’t be telling her that? Could he? She must’ve misheard.
“Oh dear. A Muggle Orphanage?”
“Yes... I try to get out as much as possible. It feels wrong. The people don’t understand. I have to hide everything.”
Hermione hovered, trying to overhear whatever discussion they were having. She knew for a fact that Tom lived in the abandoned orphanage building. London’s children would continue to be evacuated for a few more years.
“I spent my summers working here.”
Tom glanced around. “I thought you hired more people? I don’t want Hermione to overdo it again.”
Something in her gut twisted. She stepped out of earshot to deliver the Butterbeer to the customers before returning to continue listening. She pretended to straighten out some chairs at a table behind them. Normally, a flick of her wand would do this, but she needed the excuse.
“You guys are about to get busy with school supply shopping.”
“Yes… we just lost a server, but we will manage…” Gabriella looked nervous. Reggie picked up a lot of shifts to cover their busiest season of the year. Losing his labor would hit hard.
“Won’t you need extra hands? I could help... I mean.. for a month.”
As she waited for Gabriella’s reply, her body stiffened, and her fingers gripped the chair with anticipation, as if she could sense the inevitable response. Her boss was enamored with Tom. Won over by his charms and whatever sob story about the orphanage he tried to play on her.
A small crowd entered the pub, all coming for a bite to eat after a gobstones tournament somewhere in Diagon Alley. They hadn’t prepared for this rush of people.
“Do you know the menu?”
Tom smirked, “I’ve been... observing a lot this summer. I’m familiar with the requirements.” More like he stalked Hermione for the last month…
“Take orders,” she turned, grabbed a towel, transfigured it into an apron, and tossed it at him.
Hermione couldn’t believe it. Tom’s obsessive watching of her. Always thinking he knew what was best. It made her teeth hurt.
He hopped off the stool and tied the new apron around his waist. He looked incredibly handsome with the apron.
She turned away and resumed her work.
***
Hermione found herself frequently thrown into shifts with Tom. At first, Gabriella asked if it would be okay, given their history. Hermione wanted to tell her it wasn’t okay, that the tangled web of their relationship made such proximity impossible, but the desperation in Gabriella’s eyes broke Hermione’s resolve.
The addition of Tom didn’t leave them fully staffed, but things improved. He took any shift offered and never complained. His only limitation was that, being sixteen, he couldn’t work behind the bar, but among the rest of the staff, Tom maintained a full-time position waiting tables.
Hermione watched him charm the customers as she poured his drinks. He smiled with a glint in his eyes. He would put the little notebook in his apron pocket and pull it out again, flourishing the auto-ink quills that Gabriella supplied them to servers to take orders.
Gussie came to visit Tom’s third day at the Leaky Cauldron, her eyes glued to him as he weaved between tables. She almost tripped on her way to the bar before she climbed onto the stool.
Hermione glared at her.
“Is that Tom?” Gussie’s eyes gleam with untold mischief. Hermione’s unease grew as she sensed the direction things were heading.
“Yes.”
“Are you seeing how the apron trims his waist? He is gorgeous, isn’t he?!”
“Is he?” Hermione asked as if she hadn’t been noticing the exact same thing all day.
“He looks delicious in that apron.”
“Can you not call my boyfriend delicious, Gussie?” Hermione groaned.
“Oh? Is it ‘boyfriend’ now?”
“Ex-boyfriend!”
Her friend smirked before glancing back at Tom. “Fine, he looks positively scrumptious in that apron.”
“Agh!”
“Don’t like that? Okay. How about he looks delectable?”
“Please stop.”
“Appetizing?”
“Do they have to be all food terms?”
She rolled her eyes and evaluated Tom as if about to give a critical assessment. He was busy captivating two older witches with his enchanting smiles and irresistible charm. Hermione could only pray he didn’t notice them staring.
“I got it!”
“I don’t want to hear it—”
“He looks domesticated! If that isn’t the sexiest thing, I don’t know what is.”
“What?!” Hermione squeaked. Her face flushed. She refused to agree with her friend, even if she was absolutely correct in her assessment.
“Why did you break up with him again? Oh, Merlin! Can you get me some water?” She pretended to fan herself, her eyes fixed on Tom like he was a mouthwatering treat she was about to lick up.
Hermione’s face burned. “Gussie, stop!”
“I was actually serious about the water thing. It’s rather hot outside.”
Hermione shot her friend one last glare before getting her the glass of water. She peeked at Tom as he served two men who were amidst a heated chess match. The sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on his hair and turning his dark locks into a lustrous shade of mahogany.
Damn, he was beautiful. Somehow, a domesticated Tom Riddle was more alluring than Hermione could have ever imagined. She found her eyes drawn to him. So handsome. Not that she was admiring him or anything. She was merely observing a fact.
Fact: Tom looked gorgeous in his apron with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top button of his shirt undone. He kept his hair ruffled in an intentional way and his eyes gleamed with dark mystery. Devastatingly beautiful.
Fact: Tom’s smile would make any witch want to swoon. She noticed every female, and a handful of males, had their gaze fixed on him.
Fact: Hermione was not staring at him. She was sizing up his work performance to critique later. Which, of course, was impeccable.
She poured a glass of water and set it in front of Gussie. Her friend smirked at her. She was caught watching Tom.
The man in question approached the bar. He watched her with an almost predatory look in his eyes. It didn’t matter how much attention he received. When it came down to it, he fixated on her. It made her stomach flip and plummet simultaneously. “Hermione, can I get two glasses of ‘32 Elf Wine?” he asked.
“Um. Yes, of course!” Her voice sounded breathy.
Gussie snorted. Hermione wanted to die.
She turned to find the bottle.
Gabriella appeared from the kitchens, hovering a crate over to the bar to restock the liquor with the latest shipment. “He’s a better worker than Reggie was and much more flexible with his schedule. Do you know he took sixty hours next week? I told him not to, but he insisted on taking more shifts.” Gabriella said.
Hermione didn’t answer. She knew Gabriella was right. Yet, there was a lingering discomfort in verbally confirming her decision. It’s like she’s confessing to something more.
“It isn’t like we don’t need the help. Hogwarts letters are supposed to go out next week.” She turned around with the bottle of ‘32 Elf Wine, popping the cork to pour the red liquid into the glasses.
“Oh! We should get our O.W.L. scores soon!” A grin cut across Hermione’s face.
“Don’t remind me of those exams!” Gussie pouted.
“I’m sure you did fine!”
“How would you know? You weren’t there!”
“I... well...” She fumbled with a wineglass, causing it to fall to the floor, smashing to pieces. Hermione stared at the mess, her vision hazy. It wasn’t exactly her fault she wasn’t there for her friend when she studied and took her exams. She had literally been dying. She would have died had Tom not petrified her.
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean it like that... I actually already know I failed charms... my mom heard from an inside source at the Ministry, and she got mad about it. She said I was an embarrassment to the family.”
“Gussie—”
“No, I’m sorry, Hermione. But, uh. I’ll pay for the wasted wine Gabriella!”
“Don’t worry about it, dear.”
Gussie slumped over on the stool. She started tearing at her napkin, looking more anxious than before. For Gussie, gifts were a way to show her love. Even if it was as small as paying for wine... or buying Hermione endless streams of clothes using the money in her family’s bottomless vaults.
“Gussie, you don’t have to pay for the wine, but if you would like to, you can,” Hermione said.
Her friend looked relieved.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom wanted to push Hermione. Dig under her skin. Causing her to feel all the agony and grief he felt while, simultaneously, he wanted to protect her from pain.
The tension in him escalated to a point he couldn’t sustain. He needed a release! Anything to drown out the rush in his own head. Tom stared at the customer, who flirted with him. Tom wanted to destroy something. Maybe this girl? He didn’t care.
He wanted Hermione...
His lips spread into a charming grin. Nobody would suspect the sinister thoughts he buried deep. “How about it, Tom?”
His eyes glimmered. He reached out with his legilimency, brushing the witch’s mind. If Tom had his way, he would shove this female’s face into a pillow, fuck her, and then toss her out. Most girls wouldn’t accommodate such vile treatment.
Maybe he could Obliviate her after? A simple solution.
She imagined herself kissing him, holding him. Pictured what his hands would feel like running up her body. What it would be like to touch his chest and circle his neck with her arms.
He pulled out of her head. Oddly, her erotic imagination didn’t turn him on but disgusted him. He didn’t want to touch this girl. It wasn’t her body he would fantasize about if he ran his hands over her.
The evening was slow. They had a few more hours, but for now, they were in a lull. Tom glanced at Hermione, who turned her head away.
So she was watching.
Good. He wanted her to look. To see him “moving on.”
Newly invigorated, he grabbed the witch’s arm and dragged her to a stand, pulling her towards the bar while his other hand tugged free the tie around his apron. “I’m going on a break, Hermione.” He told her, tossing the apron behind the bar.
She looked from him to the girl he dragged and then back at him. Her face blushed crimson. He almost wished she would say something. Yet, she returned her attention to the bottles she sorted, her hands quivering.
She was the one that wanted this! He begged to take her back, and she told him to move on! She had no right to get upset.
“Ouch!” He glanced at the customer. Apparently, he squeezed her wrist too hard. She glared at him. He ignored her.
With no response from Hermione, he added the finishing touch to his delightful plight by dragging the girl into the parlor room, which they both knew would be empty. He slammed the door shut, his lips twitching in anticipation.
Let her ruminate over what they might be doing. Let her suffer!
He leaned against the door with a devilish smile.
“So, Tom, any reason for the desperation just now?” The female customer asked in a sultry tone. What was her name? Melinda? Marissa? Matilda? Madeline? It didn’t matter.
A fire flickered in the hearth despite it being summer, and the room remained unused. It always seemed to be lit. Perhaps for Floo travel purposes.
“No,” he said. He evaluated the girl without the distraction of Hermione’s gaze on him. Pretty, but not her. He didn’t want to fuck this person. He wanted his witch. Hermione. He yearned to gaze into her warm, caramel eyes and bring her to ecstasy again and again. He longed to possess her so completely that she had nothing more to give. This female wouldn’t be able to provide him with what he needed. It was almost amusing to try.
She stepped closer, invading his space. His skin crawled with her blue eyes on his. Her red hair and sultry smile as she imagined what they might do together. Damnit! She was the opposite of his witch. There was no pretending.
“What did you want to do now?” she asked, pressing herself against him. Her hands slid over his chest like she had done in her fantasies. He snagged her wrists and pulled them off with a sneer. All pretense of charm and friendliness disappeared.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She looked confused. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
He snorted. There was no way he would allow her lips anywhere near his. He didn’t want to feel her hands on his skin. He didn’t want her scent infiltrating his nostrils. “You have one of two options here. Either get on your knees and suck my cock or get out.” He could pretend she was someone else. He’d done something similar with Walburga once.
She stepped back like he slapped her. “What?”
“Are you not interested?”
“Suck your what?!” She squeaked even louder.
“I see we are at an impasse” He moved aside so she could reach the exit. “Now get the fuck out.” He repeated.
She froze on the spot. Probably confused as to what happened to the charming boy out in the pub. “I...” she hesitated.
“Leave!” He shouted.
She scrambled out the door, the hinges protesting with a high-pitched squeal as she wrenched it open. He had no genuine desire for her. He couldn’t muster any disappointment at being denied a blowjob. The goal was for Hermione to see them together. He achieved that.
He stalked back into the main dining area, not bothering to hide his scowl. Hermione watched him with bated breath. It wasn’t like he was gone long. She couldn’t think he accomplished much. But who knew what Hermione’s imagination might concoct these days?
He perched on a stool at the end of the bar. She ignored him, assessing the two remaining customers at her bar. Then she wiped down her glasses and straightened up the space. She approached him once there was nothing to distract her.
He studied her as she came closer; her nervous expression, curls gathered on top of her head with a ribbon, slender waist with the apron tied around it. Beautiful witch. He craved her with every fiber of his being.
She stopped in front of him. “I wanted to thank you for the book,” she said.
He raised a brow. “What book?”
“Hogwarts: A History.”
“Oh, right.”
“I never thanked you. So thank you. It was one of my favorites.” She didn’t need to explain why a newly published book could already be one of her favorites. He knew she was from a future time.
“I would ask to borrow it, but I think I know what your answer will be,” he grumbled, throwing on his best pitying expression. He soared with even the smallest morsel of her attention.
“You can borrow it!” she said quickly.
He pretended to look surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Hermione Granger to delight in spreading her favorite books around to discuss later. With Tom, she knew he would actually read it, return it, and would hold an intelligent conversation about it.
“Really?”
“Of course!”
He allowed his face to light up.
His break was about over now. He got off the stool and came around the bar to grab his apron.
“What happened in there, anyway?” Hermione asked. “That girl was crying.”
This surprised him. He hadn’t expected his lioness to ask about the customer so directly. If she wanted to play this game...
He tied his apron around his waist and looked down at her, his eyes darkening. She noted the change in his demeanor. He saw the flush form on her freckled cheeks. Her eyes dilated. She licked her lips.
Fuck... how he would devour those lips…
He thanked Merlin for the apron that concealed his growing erection as he looked at the pretty witch. “She wasn’t you,” he said as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world.
To him, it was.
He returned to work.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
The next evening, Hermione and Tom closed together. The dinner crowd just let up and Gabriella was sending the extra staff home. Hermione had her wand out, straightening up bar stools while Tom had to wipe tables the old-fashioned way, considering he was underage.
“Hey, Hermione, Tom, these came for you guys during dinner!” Gabriella said, tossing two letters on the counter before she headed upstairs for the night. The Leaky Cauldron had no remaining patrons, but they wouldn’t close for an hour. It was rare, but nights like this happened. On these occasions, they would clean and get ready to leave as soon as it hit midnight.
Hermione recognized the emerald ink and cream envelopes. They were from Hogwarts.
Tom smirked at the letter as he picked his up. Climbing on one of the bar stools. “Looks like they figured out I got a job here.” He said, tearing his open and slipping out the paper inside. “These look like O.W.L. results,” he commented.
Hermione snapped back to attention. “Really?!” She hopped on the chair beside him and grabbed her letter, ripping it open so forcefully that she almost tore the contents inside. Her eyes skimmed the marks.
She had an ‘Outstanding’ in every subject. Perhaps her Patronus at the end had impressed her examiner despite her exhausted performance otherwise. It didn’t matter. A grin split on her face. “Let me see yours!” She demanded.
He raised a brow at her. “Seems rather demanding of you,” he chuckled, pulling his sheet away from her.
“Hey!”
“I see no reason I should share these with you,” he said with a gleam in his eye. His lips twitched. She tried pouting, which only made him laugh harder.
“What if I tell you my scores?” She asked, leaning over the bar
“Now, why would I care about your test scores?”
“Damnit, Tom!”
“Aren’t you adorable when you’re trying to bare your claws, my little lioness,” he grinned.
“Why are you being so secretive?”
“Why do you want to know my results so badly, Hermione?” he asked, his eyes darkening. The air between them thickened. He felt too close. She suddenly realized that as they sat on bar stools, their legs bumped into each other.
“I just... I—”
“I got an E in one subject,” Tom said, his voice soft. She was shocked. She could hardly believe what she heard. Tom Riddle didn’t get perfect scores on his O.W.L.s? It seemed impossible.
“Really?”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you want to know why I got an E in a subject?”
She could feel the warm brush of his breath against her cheek. “Um...” her face flushed, and that familiar scent of cedar and peppermint infiltrated her nostrils. How was she supposed to think with him this close?
“It’s because of you,” he took a single finger and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his penetrating gaze. His pupils blown wide. His eyes full of desire. “It’s because I couldn’t focus during testing with you dying.”
She swallowed. “So you’re blaming me?”
“No. I had more important things on my mind, Hermione. I have lived each day for you, and now, without you, my life feels meaningless. You will always take priority.”
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. His hand embraced the back of her head, running his fingers between her curls. She didn’t miss the way he transitioned from past to present tense. He still lived for her. For him, nothing changed.
Her heart beat in her throat. Why was Tom Riddle so captivating? Alluring ways that drew her in every time. Maybe she was fighting a losing battle. She was transfixed by those molten eyes, deep and intoxicating… she should spend her energy discovering more about parallel worlds, but instead, she drowned in this beautiful boy.
His nose brushed hers. She couldn’t move. Her one hand gripped the bar while the other still rested in her lap. She froze like a statue.
“I don’t regret it,” he muttered, his lips brushing against hers ever so slightly as they formed the words. His eyes fluttered shut. His mouth grazed hers in a barely perceptible caress. She burned. Her mind clouded over.
So warm… so soft…
He gripped her hair tighter.
She gasped for air. She hadn’t realized she held her breath for so long until her lungs forced her to inhale, causing her to startle back, almost falling off the stool. Her head spun, but she clambered down to her feet, despite feeling unsteady.
“We should... we should work.”
“Okay.”
Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the night.
When she finally put the wards up for the evening, she felt all the tension melt away from her body. Hermione referred to their encounter as “the incident,” and in its aftermath, they received two last-minute customers. She headed up the stairs in the dark to her room, pushing open the door, kicking off her shoes, and collapsing fully clothed onto her bed.
At least, that was what she intended to do. Instead, she landed on something lumpy and hard right at her hip and hissed in pain. She shifted and reached under her, pulling what felt like two books. She waved her wand, and a fire flickered in the lamp at her bedside so she could see the titles.
Pride and Prejudice and Frankenstein, both were relatively new copies, too. They looked familiar. She opened the Jane Austen and found its pages littered with ink. Someone had marked the margins with thoughts and comments. Nearly every page had something written. When she picked up Frankenstein, she realized it was in the same condition.
She recognized the handwriting.
These were the books Tom purchased in Hogsmeade over winter break on his birthday. And he annotated them. These were his personal thoughts. Something about this felt very private, and he wanted to share it with her.
She could barely contain her enthusiasm as she eagerly awaited Tom’s perspective on these books. He was brilliant, after all. She could only imagine what fascinating things he wrote in Frankenstein, as the genius scientist brought the Monster to life. She also wondered what absurd thoughts he had when reading Pride and Prejudice with their upper class drama.
She was itching to find out!
Notes:
We now have a playlist with one song for each chapter of this story! I will update it as I post! The Brightest Star in the Sky: Playlist
Chapter 48 Song: She Used to Be Mine: Jessie Mueller. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I'm working on character profiles again! I'll get Gussie and Hermione up sometimes in the next week. So far I have:
- Reinhardt Lestrange
- Alastor Moody
- Bridget Dodderidge
- Zephyr
- Tom Riddle
- Walbruga BlackI COMPLETED my first fanfiction project! I'm so excited! Coming in at about 20k words, it's a dark Tom Riddle x Ginny Weasley fic. Find it here: She Will Lie
Comments are my tip jar! I will always reply! I appreciate every single one :)
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Chapter 49: 49: The Attack
Summary:
He wondered if Hermione found the books he left her. He put them in her room during his break, thinking she might appreciate them. She enjoyed discussing his perspectives on books, but their current relationship wasn’t open to that. The notes he’d scribbled were meant to bridge that gap, a small token of his thoughts and feelings.
It felt like he was giving her a piece of himself when, in reality, she already owned all of him. The gesture was a tangible symbol of that deeper connection she denied.
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Tom got a job at the Leaky Cauldron to stay closer to Hermione. Gussie revealed that she knew Hermione was not of this time and gifted Hermione a journal in hopes of helping her with her mental health. At the end of the last chapter, Tom gifted Hermione copies of Frankenstein and Pride and Prejudice that he annotated in the margins.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
May 1935:
Somebody took Mr. Teddy! Tom looked under his bed and tore off all his sheets. He was gone.
He knew who it was. Ernie had been a bother since Cora left. They wanted to play with Tom’s things when he wasn’t around. Tom refused. It belonged to him! Nobody else could have it.
He ran to the window, too high for him to look through without standing on his toes. He spotted a group of boys all playing together. Mr. Teddy was there in Ernie’s grubby hands, his blue coloring unmistakable.
Tom frowned. He needed to get his toy.
Tom had certain skills the other boys didn’t know about. He did things using his mind, making objects move. In the end, he didn’t show anyone his powers. He concealed the trick up his sleeve, something he might use against them.
He grinned and skipped outside, finding a comfortable spot in the shade. He flipped open one of the worn books kept on a shelf in the orphanage. Tom prided himself on his reading skills, which surpassed those of many older children. Cora taught him, and then, once he started lessons, he excelled further.
He wasn’t reading now. A rock about the size of his fist hovered off the ground next to him. He sent the rock higher in the air, letting the branches of the tree hide its motion.
The other boys appeared to be playing some sort of war game. Tom wasn’t sure, nor did he care. He had no interest in playing with them.
The rock moved until it floated about 8 feet above Ernie’s head–the same boy with his grubby hands around Mr. Teddy.
Tom released the rock. It dropped, connecting with a crack, splattering of blood, and screams from the other children. Ernie collapsed to his side, a pool of red pouring from him. The other boys jumped to their feet, shouting for help, leaving their toys behind, forgotten.
Tom shut his book and wandered over to the unconscious heap. He plucked Mr. Teddy out of his hands. Before withdrawing, he scanned the area, noticing a bright red Yoyo resting in the grass. Tom always wanted to try playing with one. He picked it up and made his way inside. The Yoyo would make an excellent addition to the collection he kept hidden in the tin under his mattress.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom lingered in bed longer than usual the next morning. He wondered if Hermione found the books he left her. He put them in her room during his break, thinking she might appreciate them. She enjoyed discussing his perspectives on books, but their current relationship wasn’t open to that. The notes he’d scribbled were meant to bridge that gap, a small token of his thoughts and feelings.
It felt like he was giving her a piece of himself when, in reality, she already owned all of him. The gesture was a tangible symbol of that deeper connection she denied.
The early morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across his room. He had another closing shift ahead, but before heading to work, he wanted to practice Legilimency at Vauxhall Park.
In the past three weeks, his skills had advanced tremendously. He could sustain a link to someone’s mind almost indefinitely if they remained nearby. Delving into deeper memories posed a challenge, requiring precise control to navigate thoughts without losing his thread. Distance also improved. He could brush a mind from ten feet away, however, he found the connection fleeting and frail.
He wouldn’t discount his progress!
He dressed in his typical work attire, a black button down and trousers. Then grabbed some food from the kitchen that the Hogwarts’ house-elves prepared for him. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he checked the time as he stepped out the door. He had to admit, the watch gifted from Reinhardt came in handy. It was almost eleven in the morning, giving him four hours to practice before his shift.
Today, he practiced going deeper into the mind, digging through memories rather than surface thoughts. This required a stronger control of his magic and iron-clad grip inside the mind. Despite his efforts, he hadn’t been successful in doing this wandlessly. He needed to refine his approach.
Tom sat on a bench beside a man, fast asleep, with a coat shoved under his head. He had a small duffel, likely full of everything he owned, under his arm. He hadn’t shaved in weeks. His unkempt silver hair and the overpowering musk suggested a long time spent without proper care.
Tom placed a hand on his ankle, hoping physical contact might make a difference. He delved into his mind. Rather than trying to wrangle his way past barbed wire, he pushed through a thick, unyielding jello. Challenging, but not impossible.
The man’s memories unfolded before him: a once successful butcher who fell on hard times. The Slump came, and his company barely managed to stay afloat. Then his wife died, and the war ravaged his business. Rationing limited his customers until he couldn’t afford his bills. The streets became his home. He never had children. He found himself unable to secure employment in his present state—
Tom withdrew from the man’s head. He successfully navigated the mind without a wand. A sense of accomplishment warmed him as he stood, heading further into the park to find a new spot. With all the time he spent here, he navigated Vauxhall Park with ease, each path and bench etched into his memory.
The sun shined through the trees, casting dancing beams of light on the pathway. Someday, he might bring Hermione here. Now that they worked together, things between them smoothed. She smiled at him. Talked to him. Seemed to enjoy his company.
He had his lips pressed against hers yesterday…
While turning onto another path, a man getting up from a nearby bench caught his attention, and suddenly, the entire day shifted.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. Tom walked past him, assuming he must be speaking to someone else, but then the man pulled a wand and aimed it at Tom’s throat.
“Wha—”
“Shut up!” The stranger hissed. Someone was attacking him? In the middle of Muggle London? In broad daylight? He was too taken aback to even become angry at the turn of events.
Tom attempted to look at the man. He hadn’t been paying attention. But he didn’t get a good view before everything happened. “I’ve waited a long time for this! Flippendo!”
Just as the spell connected, Tom released his own wandless knock-back jinx, knowing he wouldn’t have time to reach his wand for anything more advanced. They both went flying. He waved for a cushioning charm, but with all the skill he developed in wandless magic, he never practiced casting while flipping through the air, disoriented. He couldn’t get a grip on his power.
A jolt of pain shot up his side as his body crashed against the earth with a bone-jarring thud. His head collided with a stray branch, making him wince. The scent of damp soil and crushed foliage filled his senses as he struggled to regain his bearings. He shut his eyes, agonizing over the pulsing throb in his skull. Ignoring the pain, he stumbled to his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his wand already drawn.
A woman’s terrified scream pierced the air, drawing the attention of everyone around.
Fuck!
Tom locked onto the man across the park. Thin and gangly, yet obscured by a swirling smoky shield that distorted his features.
He swung a spell at the screaming woman, and she collapsed to the ground. The incantation wasn’t green, so she probably wasn’t dead. Tom couldn’t blame him for wanting to shut up her incessant wailing.
Tom waited for the stranger to make the first move. He needed answers. What was this person’s game? What would anyone want with Tom?
The man approached. Behind the enchanted haze, Tom saw him raise his wand. In response, Tom cast multiple layers of shields around himself. He wouldn’t be caught unprepared.
“Avada Kedavra!” The incantation ripped across the air like a deathly whisper, accompanied by a sickly green bolt of light that hurtled toward Tom with lethal intent. Instinct propelled Tom to dive to the side, evading death by a breadth. None of his magical shields would withstand a killing curse!
This man was trying to kill him!
He didn’t check to see where it landed. Maybe it hit a Muggle bystander, perhaps it dissipated in the distance. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Muggles scattered in panic. Their cries blended with the crackles of spells cast and deflected by the two wizards. Tom retaliated, sending a barrage of hexes towards the stranger, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill. Tom could only unravel the mystery by keeping him alive. Their duel intensified a deadly dance of curses and counter-curses amidst the chaos of the park. The clash of magic filled the air, the sound of crackling energy and the occasional explosion. The distance between them closed, revealing his assailant’s dark hair amidst the fog, along with his thin, nobby limbs and dirty clothes.
The coward tried to hide. Did that mean Tom knew him? It made him more furious!
Their spells continued to collide. Tom had to force his attacker to drop his walls.
“Crucio!” Tom shouted.
The man moved fast. He dodged and conjured a wall of flames, encasing himself in the fiery barrier. The intense heat and the roar of the fire assaulted Tom. A sudden explosion followed, sending Tom hurtling backward once again, but he prepared this time with his wand, ready to cushion the blow. He landed on his feet.
He put up a shield charm before he shot another spell towards the man. Whatever wall the attacker had up around himself not only concealed his face but also created some sort of barrier that rebounded the spells thrown at him.
Tom’s heart raced as he thought fast, contemplating how to combat the raging inferno. The best way to fight fire was with fire. His arm swung out with swift precision, his wand cutting across the air. The acrid scent of dark magic filled his nostrils as he channeled his power, guiding it through the intricate motions he had perfected. Fiendfyre was a destructive force to be reckoned with. It would devour everything in London if he lost control, but Tom was no fool. He commanded the beast that emerged from his wand, not the other way around. With all his meditating, his essence wove within the flames as it roared towards his adversary.
The enchanted fire engulfed the man, obliterating his feeble shields with a crackling fury. The park, filled with the symphony of the fiend’s roar, mingled with the cries of Muggles. Chaos ensured in every direction, but Tom beamed in satisfaction as he watched his creation destroy. He intended to keep the stranger alive, but killing him was an acceptable alternative.
The beast’s cry was surprisingly chilling for the murderous flames it exuded. Tom’s body went rigid as he gathered in his magic, absorbing the monster, calling it home. It answered. The fiend withered and vanished into a smoky abyss. As expected, the man’s shields were no match for the cursed fire Tom threw at it. But neither was the man. There was no trace of him. All that remained were the scorched remnants of the once serene park. Nothing survived the warpath.
Did the fire swallow him, too?
Tom cast a layer of shields around himself in case another spell flew at him. He scanned the area, leaving his senses open. The wizard wouldn’t catch him off guard again.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Tom froze as a dozen wands pointed at him. His barriers shimmered between him and the surrounding witches and wizards.
“Stupify!” Tom tried to duck to avoid the mass onslaught of stunning spells. The protection he put up wouldn’t withstand the spells cast simultaneously. Not even dragon armor could protect against that sort of attack.
As expected, all his shields shattered around him with the first handful of stunners, the rest soaring past. Mostly, he succeeded in dodging the attack. But it only took one stunning spell to hit its mark to knock a person out.
And one hit its mark.
***
Tom woke up with his entire body aching. His head throbbed. His tongue probed the makings of a split lip. He hadn’t come out of that attack with that wizard unscathed. He was sure he would have bruises to show for it.
He would worry about those later. Right now, he needed to figure out where he was. The place carried a pleasing scent of lilac. As he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was… nothing. There was nothing in the room. The walls were white, no windows, just a door and the cot he used. Perhaps they were keeping him prisoner here in this tiny closet with its disconcerting white walls and lack of furniture.
He shifted, gripping his wand. Not to his surprise, somebody confiscated it.
Damn…
He picked himself up and rubbed his side, where he landed hard on the pavement earlier. He prodded his temple, where the throbbing was particularly irksome, finding blood on his fingers.
He groaned and eventually adjusted his position, so he leaned his back against the wall, his legs hanging off the edge of the bed.
“Hello, Tom Riddle,” a middle-aged witch swung the door open and greeted him. Tom tried to catch a glimpse of the area behind her, but she obstructed the view. She shut the door. His best guess was he was in the Ministry.
He leaned against the wall, inspecting the incoming witch. Good. He had a way with females. This woman had wavy brown hair and thick spectacles perched on her nose. She was a petite, plump witch with a stern face. She conjured a seat, which she plopped into, leaning forward and surveying Tom with eyes that appeared too large behind her glasses.
Tom shifted on the cot, placing his elbows on his knees and gazing into this witch’s eyes. “Hello, and who might you be?” He asked, his voice smooth.
She blinked at him before answering, “Eloise Moody.” Tom ran his fingers through his hair in a practiced gesture and considered this. This witch must be Alastor Moody’s mother, making her an Auror. Well, if he had to flirt with a classmate’s mum to find answers, then so be it.
“I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid that, under the present circumstances, you might think the sentiment was disingenuous,” he said, trying to add some charming humor.
“Or you might say it because it is common courtesy, regardless of the sincerity behind it,” she crossed her legs, her stony face scrutinizing him.
Shit. That backfired. “Okay, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Seems that you were mixed up in quite the ordeal today,” she said. She scanned him, probably looking for some sign of guilt. As much as Tom was guilty for in his life, he didn’t start the fight. He was only trying to practice magic on Muggles!
Which, granted, was also illegal.
Speaking of the Muggles, it was probably best if he showed concern for the others there. “It seems so… were any of the bystanders hurt?” he asked. He didn’t give a damn about her answer.
“A man was burned, but we will come back to that.”
“I see,” Tom acted sympathetic. Likely the Fiendfyre. The stuff was dangerous.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
“Of course,” he gazed at her. The woman cleared her throat and glanced towards her files, pulling out a blank parchment and quill. Did he perceive a blush? Maybe she wasn’t as cold as she liked to pretend...
“Can you explain the circumstances that led to a few dozen Muggles witnessing a wizarding battle in the middle of the day and causing substantial damage to a London park?”
Tom was an expert liar. He could fool anyone, but there was no need to conceal the truth. He was as clueless about what had transpired today as the ministry. He did not know who attacked him, nor could he explain their motive. Past the fiery barrier, he saw a vague outline of a slender man with dark hair devoid of identifiable characteristics. “I’m sorry, I don’t know myself.”
“We were also told by some Muggles we interviewed that there was a fire monster,” she said.
“Yes,” Tom replied.
“Can you explain it?”
As much as it pained Tom’s ego to do so, he played dumb. He may not have to lie about his understanding of the events, but he was certain that the ministry would not approve of him using dark magic curses like Fiendfyre. “Well, it was made of a blue and red fire. I think it had long teeth and wings, like a dragon.” He pretended to consider, as if trying to remember himself. The woman nodded, prompting him to continue. “Then it engulfed the man. I think it might have killed him.”
“Any idea how it got there, Tom?”
“My attacker must have cast a spell, I imagine.”
She looked suddenly tired. “Very well. It isn’t like I expected a 16-year-old to produce such vile magic. We tested your wand. It appears the last spell used was a shield charm.”
Tom was grateful for his quick thinking of casting that shield charm. “I was trying to defend myself, Mrs. Moody.”
“Do you know why someone would choose to attack you in particular?” She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, assessing him with interest.
“I don’t know.”
“Any enemies?”
“I’m a 16-year-old orphan about to enter his sixth year at Hogwarts,” Tom shrugged. Sure, people didn’t like him. But nobody would try to kill him. Particularly not a grown man.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No, I don’t have enemies.” His lips twitched at her, and she nodded.
“Any idea who the attacker might have been?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Why were you in the park today?” She asked.
“I go by that park almost every day. It’s a habit, I guess. I planned to spend some time there before heading to work.”
“You work?”
“I do, at the Leaky Cauldron.”
The woman jotted some notes on her parchment. Tom crossed his stiff legs and wincing at the ache in his hip. Between being flung into the dirt, dodging magic, and Fiendfyre, Tom could only imagine how terrible he looked.
Eventually, Eloise Moody sighed, her professional demeanor falling. “This is going to be a colossal headache. I’ll have to be here overtime tonight,” the witch wasn’t addressing Tom anymore, but he listened attentively. He learned a lot more by listening than talking.
“Tom, I’m sorry this happened to you, and I don’t think I need to stress upon you the gravity of the situation. Nobody was killed, thankfully, and that area of the park is now irreversibly damaged. You will be required to attend a hearing regarding your status at Hogwarts—”
“Wait, what?” Tom stammered.
“I am in charge of this investigation and will be in touch if we have more questions. In the meantime, you are to be confined to your home under Ministry watch until your hearing.”
“Are you saying I might be expelled?” Tom asked. He hadn’t considered the possibility of expulsion, but then, he broke probably a dozen wizarding laws today.
“They will decide at the hearing,” she said.
“The law says—”
“I know Tom. You seem like a really nice boy. The laws are in your favor.” Eloise Moody sighed again. “We will be in touch regarding the date of your hearing or if there is any additional information we need.”
He couldn’t have the Ministry watching him at the orphanage. They would discover that he lived there alone. They would detect his wards around the building. They would certainly expel him.
“What about my job?” He asked, trying from a different angle.
“What about your job?”
“They are already short-staffed, and I can’t up and leave Gabriella like that. Besides, I live in a Muggle orphanage. I’m supposed to maintain a level of anonymity. The Ministry watching me would surely break the Statue of Secrecy.”
The woman considered him, leaning back in her chair. Her arms folded across her ample chest.
Now was not the time for Tom to notice that.
“I see your point,” she said.
“Might I offer a solution?”
She nodded slowly, her lips pursing.
“Perhaps we could ask Gabriella if I can move into the Leaky Cauldron. She allows Miss Granger to live there, working for room and board along with receiving a small pay.”
Eloise Moody gave no response. She appeared to be mulling over his suggestion. “The idea has merit, Tom. We can also have Gabriella watch you, which would free up an Auror to investigate this issue,” she said as if he were an insolent child who required a babysitter. “I will reach out to Mrs. Dodderridge and discuss the matter with her,” she abruptly stood and exited the room, leaving Tom to consider all his options and come up with ways to avoid further trouble for himself.
A Ministry car transported Tom to the orphanage to pack his belongings. Tom spent the entire ride convincing the driver, an elderly man named Simon with silver hair and a robust gut, not to follow inside with him. “The Muggles are only going to ask questions. I won’t be long. I’ll get my things and be right out.”
“I don’t want any funny business,” the man said, his eyes flicking towards Tom in the rear-view mirror as he pulled in front of the orphanage. Anyone with half a brain could tell nobody else lived there, but most wizards were ignorant to a fault about Muggles.
“No, sir, no funny business. I have to work in an hour.” It wasn’t a lie, but calling this old man sir made his throat itch. Still, Tom played up the charm. He didn’t want more trouble than he was already in. Best to appease these people.
“Leave your wand with me.”
Tom hesitated before pushing his hand into his pocket and passing his wand over. The old man didn’t notice the pure resentment in his glare. Tom hated parting with his wand. He viewed it as an extension of himself, but he, again, reminded himself to play nice.
He climbed out of the car and headed inside the abandoned orphanage.
It was a damn good thing Tom was so adept at wandless magic. He kicked open his trunk and with a few flicks of his wrists, he had his clothes gathered and his books stacked all in his trunk. Unfortunately, without his wand, he wasn’t able to collect his belongings as neatly as he would’ve liked, but it got the job done. He grabbed Hermione’s pillow that he duplicated, and tossed it on top. He added various odds and ends, including basic toiletries and miscellaneous knickknacks that were scattered around.
Fuck! His cauldron!
He rushed to the closet, following the smell of apples, honey, books, and leather. He swung the door open and stared at the potion bubbling in the dark. It wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow! It needed to complete the entire moon phase!
After all the effort he put into brewing the damn Amortentia, he refused to scrap it when it was so close to completion. Eloise Moody promised they would keep tabs on him, but if Tom knew anything about the Ministry of Magic, it was that most of what they claimed was talk. He would need to return tomorrow to collect the potion.
Why couldn’t that fucker wait one more day before trying to kill him?!
Tom slammed the door shut, but as he did. He took one final inhale of the smell. The apples and honey. The scent that saturated his pillow, keeping him up at night.
He needed to return to the car before the old man came looking for him.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione was working midday today and switching to a morning shift tomorrow. She didn’t like the earlier shifts. She considered herself a night person, but sometimes Gabriella needed special coverage, and Hermione was always the first to volunteer.
She yawned as she made her way to a table of women having lunch and dropped off their food with a tired smile. She shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night reading, but she couldn’t help it! The books Tom left her captivated her attention. Despite having read them before, Tom’s internal dialogue fascinated her.
She started with Frankenstein, reviewing his thoughts on Victor’s life; and his genius ambition for scientific knowledge. It didn’t surprise her to find that Tom related to this. He agreed life and death were “ideal bounds” that could be broken.
Ultimately, Victor Frankenstein succeeded in conquering death, but he was so repulsed by the monster's hideousness that he immediately rejected his creation. Tom didn’t understand how he let superficial appearance affect what he set out to achieve. He left a lengthy paragraph about this at the bottom of the page, criticizing Victor and running from everything he worked for. He felt it was selfish and lacked any purpose. Wasn’t this what he wanted?
Hermione sensed his frustration in his words. See the way he pressed his quill harder against the paper when writing. His ranting continued at the top of the following page when she flipped it.
Hermione frowned. She didn’t disagree with Tom: Victor Frankenstein’s rejection of the Monster was the catalyst to future events, but Hermione couldn’t blame Victor for running from the house after waking up and seeing the Monster smiling grotesquely down at him. That would throw her into a panic.
She stopped reading for the night, but the ink lingered in her mind. Tom’s scripted letters in the margins of the book. How his thoughts flowed together.
Hermione wasn’t sure what to say to him when she saw him, which would be soon. He worked today.
She turned around and headed back towards the kitchen. Gabriella stood by the bar and waved her over.
“Hermione!” She beamed, though the grin didn’t quite meet her green eyes. Gabriella had her blond hair pulled up in a bun, showing off her heart-shaped face. “I, well, I have something I should probably tell you.”
A loud dragging sound of wood on wood came from the doorway. Hermione spun to see Tom pulling his trunk inside the building, looking rather irritated. She gaped at him.
“Oh, Tom! Let me help you with that!” Gabriella said from behind her. She passed by Hermione and waved her wand at the trunk so it levitated off the ground. “Right, your room is on the top floor, across from Hermione’s.”
“His room?!” Hermione squeaked.
“Yes, there was a bit of an incident, and Tom is moving in today.”
“Today?! Now?!”
“I’m apparently now running a boarding house for orphaned children,” Gabriella shrugged. Tom rolled his eyes before his gaze darted towards Hermione. He was trying to gauge her reaction to all of this. The only problem was she wasn’t sure how to react yet.
“I’m of age, Gabriella,” Hermione argued.
“Orphaned students then,” she amended. There was a loud noise from the kitchen that made Gabriella flinch. A few customers turned their heads towards the disturbance.
“I should probably go check on that,” Gabriella sighed, “Can you levitate his luggage upstairs. The door down the hall from yours? It isn’t much. It’s actually a modified closet, if I’m being honest. I didn’t have another space to spare for this sort of occasion. Sorry about that. The ministry gave me permission to expand the interior for you—”
There was another clatter and shattering of glass.
“What is going on in there?” Gabriella turned on her heel and walked away. Hermione watched her retreating form, trying to wrap her head around this sudden turn of events.
What kind of incident would require Tom to move in? Did they catch him living alone in the orphanage? She glanced at him. He appeared haggard, with dirty clothes and a cut on his lip. Was that blood on his temple?
Her stomach dropped. Hermione tried to keep her composure. Was he in a fight? What happened to him?
His expression gave nothing away. Calm and collected, as always. His gaze remained steady on her, assessing her almost as closely as she was him. But while she was inspecting his surface wounds, he appeared to be looking for something deeper. Tom searched within her for so deep, so raw, it felt like he stripped her bare in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron.
Only he had the power to make her feel this way.
She swallowed, “Ready?” she asked.
“Lead the way,” he breathed.
Notes:
Chapter 49 Song: Game of Survival by Ruelle. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Question? Are the recaps at the beginning helpful? I feel like when I read fics that update sporadically, I sometimes forget little bits of info (hence why I started this).
I posted a couple new character profiles: You can now find Gussie and Hermione on my instagram and tumblr
Comments are my tip jar!
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Chapter 50: 50: Frankenstein's Monster
Summary:
A blaze of heat rose within him, a tempest of desire that threatened to overwhelm his resistance. Or perhaps he was done resisting. Her delicate fingers tilted his chin, and she pressed her wand to his lip, whispering a spell. A wave of soothing tingles cascaded through him, as if she healed his very soul. His eyes locked with hers as she worked her magic.
Her wand moved to his temple. It had throbbed since he woke up in the white room. Pleasure coursed through him, and he groaned in relief. Hermione’s breath hitched.
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
In the previous chapter, Tom was attacked by an unknown man in Muggle London who appeared to be intent on murdering him. A battle ensued and most of the park was destroyed. The Ministry apprehended Tom and he is now moving into the Leaky Cauldron to be under closer surveillance until his hearing date.
Hermione was gifted annotated books by Tom that she is reading and connecting with him through. She uses the journal gifted to her by Gussie to heal.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Excerpt from Hermione Granger’s journal...
Gussie said it’s okay to miss my life and the people in it. I’m allowed to feel guilty for leaving them like I did, though she reassured me it wasn’t in my control. Which I know, of course, but it doesn’t make it better. I miss the person I used to be... Everyone has to face life, eventually, but nobody should have to face it like this.
What right do I have to complain? I am still alive, my heart is still beating, and I have a place to sleep. It doesn’t make sense.
Things will get better. I woke up this morning, opened this diary, and am writing an entry. Already, today is going better than yesterday.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom waited as Hermione pulled out her wand and waved it at his trunk, levitating it off the ground. When she glanced at him, he didn’t miss the way her cheeks flushed. Her lashes fluttered when she flipped her head forward again, as if trying to shake him from her mind.
Then, god help him, she bit her lip.
Damn, he wanted to bite that lip. Leave his mark and taste her sweetness on his tongue. He ached to devour her... consume her mouth with his own and drown in the sensation of being completely connected to her.
If only...
He followed her up the stairs, his gaze fixed on her graceful movements. As they ascended, he did not watch the sway of her hips as she took each step, nor did he stare at her arse the entire way. Tom definitely listened to everything she said about whatever she was talking about, rather than falling captive to her voice. It was like a haunting melody that he never wanted lifted from his world. The cadence sounded perfect.
That’s the story he would stick to if asked later.
Damn, she had a fantastic arse.
She mentioned a ward spell and needing a key from Gabriella.
He imagined grabbing her, gripping under her thighs to lift her off the floor. Her legs might wrap around his waist as he pressed her into the wall and claimed her with a ferocity that took both their breaths away.
They turned a corner and proceeded up another flight of stairs.
“Gabriella lets us eat anything from the kitchen,” Hermione continued.
It wasn’t comfortable climbing stairs with a growing erection. It was utterly absurd how easily he lost his senses around this girl.
“And you will have to talk to her about wages—”
How would things change between them now that he lived here? She wasn’t pushing him away anymore, but he took nothing for granted with Hermione. He could never judge his footing with her. Assumptions often led him astray.
Every time he looked at her, he became mesmerized by her beauty... He would get her back... At the very least, he would collect the Amortentia tomorrow and store it for the su mmer. Perh aps living here might make a difference. If he made no progress, then he would force her to return to him. He refused to live life without her. She belonged to him.
Tom hadn’t realized she stopped until he almost crashed into her at the top of the staircase. She turned to face him, concern evident in her expression. “What happened? Why do you have to move in?”
He smirked. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to ask. I thought you would at least make it to the door.”
She frowned. “Fine.” She spun on her heel and marched to a door directly across from her bedroom. She pushed open the old, rickety wooden door.
Tom wasn’t surprised to find the room sparsely furnished and under-prepared since Gabriella hadn’t been given much notice of his moving in. But that hardly excused such shoddy spellwork in her attempt to expand the space. The uneven walls and low ceilings in some parts of the room gave it a cramped feel. He would need to stoop to avoid hitting his head. There were odd slants in the floor, and the window appeared misshapen. At least he could see outside. The twin bed was the only piece of furniture, not that anything else would fit.
His witch glanced around as she set the trunk down by the foot of the bed, blocking off the entrance. They would have to climb over Tom’s luggage to get inside. Her face twisted into a frown as she pondered the predicament.
“Cozy,” Tom said with a sarcastic edge. Normally, he would pull out his wand to fix the wrecked room, but he was already on thin ice with the Ministry.
“I’m assuming Gabriella had permission to extend this room?” Hermione asked.
“Probably.” Tom shrugged. The Ministry regulated Undetectable Extension Charms. They were illegal otherwise.
Hermione nodded as she crawled over the trunk, her dress riding up her thighs as she did.
Tom swallowed hard. She moved deeper into his room. He fantasized about pushing her, toppling on the bed with her in his arms. Her body squirming against his as he—
She drew her wand and, with an effortless grace, flicked her wrist, correcting all the kinks and errors in the magic the older witch did. The ceiling lifted, adding life to the space. The walls straightened as if sighing in relief. The window enlarged with a yawn, and the room itself seemed to relax as it expanded. She twirled, unleashing spells like a dance. Tom watched, enchanted by the sight of his girl, commanding her power with an elegance that boarded on divine. In her zone, powerful. What wonders might she accomplish if she meditated with her magic and learned to harness its true potential?
He pondered what they could create together if she allowed him in, giving their magic a chance to intertwine in harmony.
His eyes darkened. He hadn’t realized how much closer he drew to her until she took a quick step back. The trunk and bed shifted, allowing the room to be entered and exited unobstructed.
“Tom?”
“Hmm?”
He loved the sound of his name coming from her lips. He wanted to hear her chant it over and over—echoing, like a prayer, in his mind. When she came, clutching him and never letting go, he remembered her screaming his name.
He moved closer to her. This time, she didn’t step away, but let him approach. A pretty flush covered her cheeks. “Tell me what happened.”
Tom stared down at Hermione, trying to decide how much to tease her with the story. For once, she desired something from him. But she appeared genuinely concerned, her eyes wide, the golden flecks in them glowing brighter than ever before.
“I was attacked in a park in the middle of Muggle London,” he told her.
“What?!”
“A wizard I didn’t recognize tried to kill me today.”
She reached up and prodded at his split lip. It stung, but he ignored it. He poked his tongue out, touching the tip of her finger. “You used magic in Muggle London?” she asked.
Her fingers glided over his jaw and up to where he had the blood crusted on his head. “Yes,” he said.
“The Ministry caught you?” she pushed up to her toes and inspected the injury closer. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with her so close. He craved her. She smelled incredible. She was everything.
“Yes.”
“You’re hurt.” it wasn’t a question. She guided him to the bed, urging him to sit on the edge with tender insistence. She pulled out her wand again and positioned herself between his parted legs.
A blaze of heat rose within him, a tempest of desire that threatened to overwhelm his resistance. Or perhaps he was done resisting. Her delicate fingers tilted his chin, and she pressed her wand to his lip, whispering a spell. A wave of soothing tingles cascaded through him, as if she healed his very soul. His eyes locked with hers as she worked her magic.
Her wand moved to his temple. It had throbbed since he woke up in the white room. Pleasure coursed through him, and he groaned in relief. Hermione’s breath hitched.
Tom’s hand wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer until he rested his cheek against her chest. He kept his temple accessible, and she continued unleashing her soothing magic. He heard the urgent thudding of her heartbeat, mirroring the quickened pace of his own. Her breaths came in shallow waves. He was certain she could feel his aching cock stiffening in his trousers.
He deepened their embrace. He yearned for the warmth of her bare skin against his cheek, but her dress kept it at a tantalizing distance. The desire to tear away the barriers between them consumed him.
It was then he realized the spell ceased, her body remaining pressed to his in quiet surrender. She let him hold her as she stroked the back of his neck.
He needed more. He needed...
Tom straightened, lifting his chin and trailed his lips along the curve of her collarbone. From their current position, he barely reached the base of her neck, but he pressed a fervent kiss there, his teeth grazing the skin. She gasped, a little sound that became his undoing.
He flipped her onto the bed as he positioned himself over her. He returned to her neck, his lips and teeth marking a path of heated kisses and tender bites. She whimpered beneath him, her body writhing, seeking the pleasure she denied for so long.
He could scarcely think anymore. Nobody could make his thoughts vanish like this witch with the power she held over him.
He wanted to leave his mark everywhere. Over every inch of her skin.
Here she was, in his new bed… Would her scent linger here, too?
He bloody hoped so...
She was going to drive him fucking mad.
“Tom!”
He would make her scream his name.
He kissed up her neck. Running his tongue along her pulse.
He loved her so much. He couldn’t let her go. Why didn’t she understand that? She was it for him. Maybe that made him insane, the madness he felt for her. Was love meant to be maddening?
He loved her...
“Tom, we are supposed to work!” She started breathing faster, her chest heaving against his.
Fuck work. He ignored her as he nipped over her jaw. Those pretty plump lips were waiting for him to claim.
She moved her head to the side. For a moment, he tried to chase her mouth, but then her whole body rolled underneath him.
“Tom please... I don’t... we...”
All he wanted was to keep kissing her. He hadn’t held her in so long. His fingers twirled and caressed her curls, savoring their silky texture. He didn’t miss the shiver that ran through her.
She batted his hand away, “Stop. I... I don’t—”
“You don’t want me...” he whispered, finishing the words for her. Everyone said the same thing. He should be used to it by now… Nothing would ever change.
“I don’t know...”
He raised a brow, fashioning his face into an arrogant smirk that he didn’t actually feel. “Is that so?” Perhaps he stood a chance? It wasn’t an outright rejection.
“I don’t know, Tom! What I do know is I’m supposed to be working!” She looked panicked as she shimmied out from under him. He groaned at the press of her body wriggling against his cock. Eventually, he conceded and moved off her, letting her escape.
He required five minutes to take care of the state Hermione left him in before changing to start his shift.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione stayed up late reading again. In fact, she finished Frankenstein and couldn’t get it out of her head. At the beginning of the story, Tom connected with the genius Victor Frankenstein, the scientist who dreamed of conquering death.
That changed.
He felt he was more like the Monster. The creature full of hatred and revenge from being alone and miserable. Perhaps he didn’t say it in so many words, but Hermione saw it in his comments.
“When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I, a monster, a blot upon the earth from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?”
The ink beside that line merely said, “nobody will give him a chance.” Hermione wondered why the Monster had to be a monster. Was it his physical appearance? Was it society’s perception of him?
The creature shared a tale about his curiosity and interest in life as a newborn. He helped others, wanting to do right by the world, but discovered the world wanted nothing to do with him. Tom was right. If someone had given him a chance, he may have lived without so much hatred inside.
Hermione read on about how Victor promised to make the Monster a female companion, only to betray him. Victor destroyed her after months of labor. Tom understood the creature’s rage and resentment. He felt rejected by humans. One-of-a-kind with no one to share his life with. Now he would always be alone. Tom supported the creature’s vendetta, as he hunted and murdered everyone Victor loved in revenge.
Hermione frowned, feeling Tom’s bitter resentment through the pages.
The story had no happy ending. Victor Frankenstein drove himself insane hunting the Monster. In the end, the chase killed him.
While Tom sometimes had trouble putting his thoughts into words, Hermione began to understand what he was trying to say. The Monster found someone to blame for his agony, somewhere to focus his anger. Tom saw himself akin to the Monster. He wondered who created his own sense of resentment. Where did it stem from?
“The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.”
The ink beside this said, “Nobody who is evil has true, loyal friends. Those friendships are full of expectations and hidden agendas.”
Was it all worth it? Frankenstein and his Monster both ended up alone and miserable. Neither of them got what they wanted.
Alone.
It always came back to that…
He slept in the room across from her now. Did he feel alone now? Although he had friends at Hogwarts, they never came up in conversation. She never saw him with anyone this summer. He was always here, with her... and she rejected him.
Everything he did was for her. Voldemort was a monster. A demon. Evil to the core. He hated the world and everyone in it. But Tom Riddle wasn’t Voldemort, he was something much more complicated.
She fell asleep eventually, still with those thoughts pressing on her mind.
***
The next morning, she woke early for the morning shift, shuffling around the pub, flicking her wand at the tables to straighten them to get ready for opening.
Edgar stood behind the bar, taking stock of the liquor. It had been a while since they worked together. As Edgar’s illness progressed, he went down to working two days a week. Gabriella often tried to talk him out of working at all, but he insisted on maintaining some normalcy in his life.
Hermione defended his decision. When she was dying, she was determined to continue studying, despite knowing there was no purpose to it. She wanted to take her exams. She desperately wished to attend classes. These things made her feel better.
Hermione completed her shift, working only a few hours in the morning until lunch before taking off her apron. She had the entire afternoon free, followed by a day off. She hopped up on the bar and smiled at Edgar.
“How is it now that Tom’s moved in?”
“Heard about that already?” Hermione asked.
Edgar shrugged and started pouring a few Butterbeers for customers.
“I’m not sure how to feel,” she answered honestly.
Hermione eyed him warily. His magic had been haywire, and the healers had instructed him to use it sparingly. It was part of the natural progression of Arcane Atrophy Syndrome. He would lose more control of his magical core as time went on. Eventually, his core would escape the confines of his person all together, and he would die. There was no cure.
“You’re happier with him around,” Edgar commented.
Was she? Hermione considered it. Since Tom started working at the Leaky Cauldron, she hadn’t fought herself to get out of bed. He forced her to take all her breaks and insisted she eat. There was no point denying she enjoyed his company. “It’s complicated,” she replied, her voice trailing off as she wrestled with her thoughts.
“All relationships have their fair share of complications.” He started doing the dishes without magic, given his affliction. His skin appeared almost as translucent as the water.
“And I know that,” Hermione said, her brow furrowing, “but… I don’t know what to expect from him sometimes. I feel like there’s something there, but I don’t know what it is.”
“That’s the essence of being with someone,” Edgar said, a serene smile on his face. “It’s about uncovering those mysteries, discovering what’s hidden beneath the surface.”
Hermione was about to respond when Edgar continued, “There aren’t many who would break into Dumbledore’s office and beg a phoenix for tears. And the fact that he succeeded? That must mean something. The phoenix must have seen something in him.”
“What?” She froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
Edgar blinked at, tilting his head with interest. “Did you not know?”
Tom did that? Tom broke into Dumbledore’s office and begged Fawkes for tears?
“Tom wouldn’t do that.” The very idea seemed inconceivable. She couldn’t imagine Tom, the epitome of stoic resolve, ever begging for anything.
“Dumbledore told me last week.”
Hermione forgot Edgar and Dumbledore were friends. Why didn’t anyone tell her?!
Her mind raced back to the anger she had felt when she woke up. Telling him to get out of the Hospital Wing and consequently, asking him to leave her life. She had been furious, but now that anger was replaced by confusion and guilt.
He was alone... The world rejected him. He felt like Frankenstein’s Monster in the story. Hermione was one of the many who brought him more pain.
Everyone turned their back on him. Even her. At this rate, she was pushing him into darkness, but Tom wasn’t Voldemort. Not yet. And if she could help it, he never would become that person.
Tom had baggage. They both did. She told him she couldn’t take on the extra weight. Maybe that was true at the time, but now she realized her rejection only added to both their loads.
She wanted to cry. “I should go!” Hermione whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of emotions. She stood from her chair so abruptly it almost fell to the floor. She sprinted up the stairs towards Tom’s room. He would be there unpacking. He wasn’t supposed to leave without supervision and he couldn’t use magic. The Ministry’s watchful eyes made it difficult for him to continue practicing underage magic… But Tom often did what he pleased.
“Tom!” Hermione knocked on his door, waiting a few seconds before knocking again. And again. And again. When she received no answer, she swung her wand at the lock and forced the door open.
The room was deserted. She could tell he had slept here from the disheveled sheets, but he was gone.
No... Just yesterday, somebody tried to kill him.
Hermione scanned the room, but everything was tidy. Nothing out of place. Did he get attacked again? He mentioned something about a duel happening in the park. Surely there would’ve been a commotion.
Unless he left the Leaky Cauldron.
Hermione paced, trying to think.
She needed to find him. It felt urgent. Like she wouldn’t be able to breathe properly until she saw him again. Surely he wouldn’t go into Diagon Alley by himself with the Ministry keeping tabs on him, so that meant Muggle London.
She hurried down the stairs. The Orphanage was the only place she thought he might go. Maybe he left something behind. Maybe he still had things to do. It didn’t matter.
She rushed out the door into London.
Notes:
Chapter 50 Song: Wicked Games by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
**Follow me on one of my socials if you want to see previews of the next chapter! (You won’t want to miss them, trust me!)
NEW FICS!
I usually don't comment much about my other projects but I have a lot new things and more coming up!I'm dabbling in Dramione now! I have two new spicy dramione oneshots:
- The Tenuous Threads of Friendship and Desire
- The Only One with art by Dara
I also have a Dramione epic, Hallows, that I've started with CrymsyCOMING SOON:
- Tomione Smut Fest (it's pretty much porn guys... just saying)
- The dh/r teratophilia festHistory Through Photography:
Frankenstein
You guys probably think I'm some sort of Frankenstein fanatic... I'm not. I actually had never read Frankenstein until I went to write this chapter (and then I proceeded to read the entire classic only for the purposes of making a few meaningful references). However, I was familiar with the story enough to know it would work. Regardless, it was initially written as a three volume publication under two titles "Frankenstein" and "The Modern Prometheus". Prometheus was a greek god (titan) who created humans in the image of the gods. Mary Shelley initially published the story as "anonymous" which was not uncommon for female writers during that time (1818).
Shelley's life was full of trials. Many major events of the story are a reflection of this with her mother having died ten days after her birth from infection, at seventeen she eloped with Percy Shelley (pictured above) who abandoned his wife, a couple of months later Percy’s wife committed suicide. Before the publication of the novel Mary gave birth to a daughter, indicating that during a good part of the novel’s composition she was pregnant and in mourning. She had five children but only one lived to adulthood. Her husband died in a sailing accident when he was only 24.
She came up the name of "Frankenstein" from a dream. The novel was developed when she, her husband, and a family friend were trapped indoors due to inclement weather and told each other ghost stories to pass the time. Naturally, hers was a story of a "mad scientist" named "Victor Frankenstein". After the first night, she had outlined her entire story.
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Chapter 51: 51: The Orphanage
Summary:
“I—I’m sorry. You—I. Tom…” she had no idea what she was trying to say. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She hurt him. She hurt both of them. After weeks of pain, he still stood here, in front of her, watching her with so much desire it made her chest ache. She didn’t deserve it—him, after fighting so hard against this. Instead of helping matters, she was the one pushing Tom into darkness.
She wouldn’t let him become a monster, full of hate and resentment. He felt like the world rejected him, and in his eyes, perhaps she had too. How could she make things right?
She started to cry, her tears mixing with those of the sky. Tom watched her. His hands ran up her arms and cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes darkened, hiding something beneath them.
“Hermione…” he breathed. Next thing she knew, he pulled her against him and kissed her as if she were the Elixir of Life itself. He devoured her, his hand wrapped around her head, gripping her wet curls.
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Tom was attacked by an unknown assailant in Muggle London and has now moved into the Leaky Cauldron to remain under the Ministry’s watchful eye until his hearing.
Meanwhile, Hermione is having mixed feelings regarding Tom and then discovers from Edgar (the bartender) that Tom begged the phoenix for tears to save her. She rushes to speak with Tom but can’t find him. She heads out into Muggle London in search of himClick for for content/trigger warning(s): Warning: will spoil upcoming chapter
Underage sex, loss of virginity, gratuitous fluff and reconciliation (for those who find fluff reprehensible, have vomit bag ready)
Thank you to Emerald_andAmethyst and zeebee3 (and, of course, my mother) for Beta reading!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione walked halfway down the street before realizing she had no idea where to go. She had never been to the orphanage. She knew it was called Wool’s Orphanage, but that revealed nothing about its whereabouts. It could be anywhere! London wasn’t small.
She asked around. Most people avoided her as if she was crazy. Others pretended she didn’t exist. A few gave vague directions, unsure of the exact location. After an hour, she found herself in front of Westminster Abbey, knowing she passed this place three times already.
The sky parted and thunder rolled as she continued down the cobblestone streets. Hermione cursed her bad luck. Of course, it would start storming in the middle of her being lost. Drops of water pelted down from the sky as she spoke with someone who provided detailed instructions. They directed her across the river into the Lambeth Borough.
This whole time she hadn’t been on the correct side of the River Thames?! She wanted to scream with frustration! She released a few choice curse words that earned her uneasy stares from passersby.
The rain picked up in momentum as lightning flashed across the sky.
She spent three hours locating the place, and when she finally arrived outside of the iron gates, she was drenched. Her blue dress, decorated with little white flowers, clung to her like a second skin. Her curls were now flattened by the rain. She may have cast a charm making her hair impervious to water, had she not been traversing through Muggle London.
She stared at the gate with Wool’s Orphanage spelled out in the metalwork. The brick building behind held a foreboding presence. The place appeared dull, lacking the vibrancy of life. Then again, nobody lived here except Tom for years.
She considered where she was. It would take her an hour to walk back to the Leaky Cauldron. Her feet ached. Did Tom do this every day?
Hermione frowned. She finally arrived, but never decided what she might do if Tom wasn’t here.
As she approached the gate, she felt the spells surrounding the building. Barrier wards that would protect against destruction. Smart, considering bombs were regularly being dropped from the sky. There were Muggle repelling charms to keep people out, and a magic protection spell which Tom applied so he might use magic while underage.
There were others. Many, in fact. A weave of complex spell work that Tom utilized when he lived here over the summers.
She didn’t fully comprehend the ridiculousness of the situation until she rapped her knuckles against the door. What was she doing?! Why had she spent three hours looking for Tom when he would eventually return to the Leaky Cauldron later. She panicked in the wake of his recent attack. Now she stood outside during a storm, clueless about what to say to him.
This was foolish!
She spun on her heel, clambering down the few steps that led to the gate. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she heard the door open behind her. She glanced back to see Tom, standing there, looking gorgeous, his face unmasked with shock.
He didn’t appear harmed. He was okay.
Only the sound of the rain and occasional clash of thunder filled the silent void between them. Neither said a word.
Stupid! She still didn’t know what to say!
You are positively the most gorgeous man alive.
Perhaps true, but she would not be saying that.
Thank you for saving me. Thank you for being there for me, for not giving up on me. For fighting for us when I failed you.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!
“What are you doing here?” He asked. She could ask him the same thing. He was supposed to be under Gabriella’s watch at the Leaky Cauldron, not sneaking around Muggle London!
No words escaped her mouth. They stared at each other.
“I thought... I—”
“Hermione?” And the way he said her name felt like a caress. As if his hands were running over her rain-drenched body, warming her from the inside out.
He took a step towards her, letting the rain fall over him. Thunder shook in the distance and the spell between them broke.
“I shouldn’t have come!” She squeaked. Then she flung the gate open.
“Wait!”
She ignored him as she rushed down the street.
“Stop!” She heard his feet slapping against the wet cobblestone behind her. There was no way she could escape. He grabbed her arm, forcing her to a halt. Her breath caught in her throat as he turned her to face him again. His hair dripped, plastered to his forehead, and his shirt clung to him, showing off every corded muscle.
He looked at her with such earnestness, it broke her. When did Tom become so open? And she knew the answer. It was her. He only revealed this part of himself with her. “Why did you come?” He breathed. His eyes flashed, a hint of desperation leaking from their endless depths.
“I—I’m sorry. You... I... Tom…” she had no idea what she was trying to say. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She hurt him. She hurt both of them. After weeks of pain, he still stood here, in front of her, watching her with so much desire it made her chest ache. She didn’t deserve it—him, after fighting so hard against this. Instead of helping matters, she was the one pushing Tom into darkness.
She wouldn’t let him become a monster, full of hate and resentment. He felt like the world rejected him, and in his eyes, perhaps she had too. How could she make things right?
She started to cry, her tears mixing with those of the sky. Tom watched her. His hands ran up her arms and cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes darkened, hiding something beneath them.
“Hermione…” he breathed. Next thing she knew, he pulled her against him and kissed her as if she were the Elixir of Life itself. He devoured her, his hand wrapped around her head, gripping her wet curls.
She wanted more. More of him. His warmth and touch. All the things she denied herself for months. It came at her like an avalanche, and she was ready to let it bury her, as long as he remained beside her.
He lapped the tears off her lips before parting her mouth with his tongue. She moaned against him. Wound her arms around his neck and reveled in his hard body pressed against her.
His hands gripped her waist, tugging her closer so their pelvises touched. She wanted more. It wasn’t close enough. The layers of wet fabric between them felt like an impenetrable barrier.
She gasped when he bit down on her lip before sucking her tongue. His fingers glided down, stroking her spine until he cupped her bottom in both hands.
She squeaked, breaking the kiss.
“Why did you come?” He whispered against her lips. Reality caught up with her, but rather than feeling consumed by it, she was ready to face it. Next to him.
“Why did you leave?! Someone tried to kill you yesterday, Tom!”
It didn’t surprise her that he looked unconcerned about this. “Answer my question.” He kissed her cheek, sliding his lips down her jaw. She tilted her head back, letting the rain fall on her face as he pressed his mouth to her throat.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the phoenix?” she asked.
He paused, his lips against her pulse. He pulled away. “What?”
“You broke into Dumbledore’s office and asked Fawkes for the tears to save me.”
He grimaced and stepped away from her. The chill of the rain seeped into her bones in his absence. “Who told you?”
“Edgar. Heard it from Dumbledore, I think.”
“And what did he tell you, exactly?” he sounded on edge.
“That you begged...”
“Anything else?” he asked. He looked wary.
She hesitated before responding, “that you cried.”
He ran a hand through his wet hair, not making eye contact with her. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he said. They stood outside the gates, not moving further into the orphanage.
“I know.”
“And despite all that, even though you’re here now, alive, I still lost you.”
She didn’t speak.
“I will always save you, Hermione. You may not always like it, but I will always choose you. Every. Single. Time.”
The words dissolved on her tongue. Not wanting to lose the moment, she rose on her toes to kiss him again. The unspoken sentiment flowed from her lips to his. She knew he understood.
Dara captured this scene so beautifully! I'm in awe!
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
His witch came for him. She stood in front of the orphanage, real flesh and blood. As she cried, his heart sang a symphony that he never realized he could play.
Hermione kissed him. She belonged to him.
The brush of her lips against his was fleeting. A mere pressure that she released too soon. “Thank you, Tom,” she said, “for... For saving me.”
“Always.”
She pulled away, glancing over at the brick of the orphanage. A shiver ran down her spine from the chilled rain. “Maybe I could come inside and we could talk. The orphanage is abandoned, right?”
Tom nodded. He didn’t like the distance she created between them. “If you walk through that door, Hermione, we won’t be spending much time talking. Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” He took a step towards her, caging her against the bars of the orphanage. “You haunt my dreams and warm my fantasies. I crave you. You’re so embedded in me, it’s like you’re a part of me.” He buried his nose in the crown of her head. The rain enriched her scent of apples and honey.
“If you walk through those doors, Hermione, I will kiss you breathless against the wall. I'll carry you into the bedroom and strip you of every piece of wet clothing covering your body. My tongue will ravish you until you cry out for me. I want to taste your release, feel you lose control against my lips. Then I’ll fuck you slow and deep. Do you understand?”
Did he dare to hope he might get his witch back? Hold her again.
Sheer force of will stayed his hands.
He loved her. Could she love him, too? Was it possible for someone to love him?
“Tom…” she breathed against him. His innocent lioness would run. This was her last chance to escape. Then he would chase. He had her pressed against the bars of the gate already. It would be so easy to trap her... keep her...
“What will it be, Hermione?”
She tilted her neck to look at him, “it’s cold out here, in the rain...”
“And talking?” He choked as his muscles clenched. Every inch of him screamed to take what belonged to him, but he wouldn’t mess up this opportunity, not when he was so close.
“Maybe after... I mean, after we,” even in the frigid rain, a blush heated her face. Her small hand gripped the metal gate and shoved it open. She took a step back, closer to the threshold. “We can talk after...” she couldn’t get the words out.
He filled in the end of her sentence in his mind. After they drowned themselves in each other. After they made up for lost time. After everything.
After.
I love you.
With that running thought, he seized her arm and dragged her past the gate, tugging her inside. She squealed as she stumbled through the doorway. He swung the door closed and had her pinned against the wood, kissing her with everything he had.
He tasted the salt from her dried tears on her lips. He lapped them up with his tongue. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and teasing the end of his hair with her fingertips.
He couldn’t get close enough. He pressed his body against her, yet it still felt like too much distance.
She moaned against his lips, a tremor dancing along her skin, and he almost lost his control. This was everything he wanted. Everything he dreamed about for months. He missed her. He would have her.
Her need echoed back at him in unrelenting, powerful waves. Tom kissed her desperately. His hands traveled down her spine, triggering another breathy response against his mouth from her, which he lapped away with his tongue.
Claim her.
His palms wrapped around her thighs, pulling her high on his hips, gluing her body to his, letting her feel the swell of his firm cock. Their tongues continued to swirl in a mating dance, but it wasn’t the dance he wanted to do with her. He craved so much more. He needs everything.
“Hermione,” he circled his hips against her and they both moaned. His teeth nipped at her skin. “Hold on to me, my lioness.” She wrapped her body around him and he carried her through the nearby door to the room that was once occupied by Miss Cole. He used it now since it was the only double bed in the building.
He dropped his witch on the mattress, watching her bounce in the middle of the disheveled blankets. Her face flushed, lips swollen.
“Beautiful...”
“Tom?” Her eyes dilated as she stared at him with burning desire.
“You’re bloody perfect, Hermione.” He crawled over her and she lifted herself to meet his lips again.
Take her.
It took every ounce of his restraint to pull away. “You’re mine,” he muttered against her jaw before sucking the skin. Her whimper went straight to his already aching cock. “I’m not letting you go again after this.”
He expected her to run like she had been doing these last few months. Always attempting to escape him.
She didn’t. Instead, she cupped his face and kissed him harder, her passion searing him as if she was trying to brand herself on his soul.
It was all the permission he needed.
He didn’t waste time tugging her saturated dress over her head and tossing it aside. She looked incredible. Her wet hair, bra, and knickers. Sprawled out for him to sample, devour, to own. Her skin, once marred by a black scar, now appeared smooth and flawless. Her caramel eyes stared up at him as she panted.
His own shirt was gone moments later. He leaned in to kiss her again, halted by her hands fumbling over his belt, trying to undo the latch. Her trembling fingers made him impossibly harder.
“Eager?”
“Take them off,” she huffed in frustration.
Demanding witch, but he wouldn’t deny her anything. Especially getting naked in bed with her.
Tom pushed on his knees, removing his belt. He rolled to his side and removed his trousers, crawling back on her. Their kiss was intense, their bodies pressed against each other, savoring the moment. His skin burned for more contact with her. His cock strained, pre-come weeping from the tip.
“Tom.” He nibbled the curve of her breast. Shifting her bra to reach what was rightfully his. What would always be his.
Ruin her. Ravage her.
His mind degraded into something feral. How could he love someone and want to destroy them simultaneously?
His mouth wandered over her breasts, sucking her nipples, grasping them with his teeth, flicking them with his tongue until he had her writhing in pleasure beneath him. She trembled at his touch. Gasping for air, moaning. Her hands glided across his shoulders as she whimpered.
“Your noises are making me crazy!” He hissed, sucking the skin under her breast, smooth and flawless.
“Oh Merlin!”
Mark her. Make her yours.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he muttered against her abdomen as he kissed lower.
His thumbs hooked on her knickers and dragged them down her legs. She watched his every move, unable to take her eyes off him. There was a hunger in her expression.
“Say it!” He bit the inside of her knee and she yipped. He kissed a trail up to her apex, parting her thighs, baring her sweet, glistening pink cunt for him. He teased her, not giving her what he knew she wanted.
“Please!” she cried.
“Tell me!” he hissed against her hip.
“I’m yours, Tom, please!”
Tom didn’t waste another second. He’d been dying to taste her again to deprive himself any longer. He parted her pretty lips with his tongue to give her one delicious, long lick. Then he latched onto her clit, sucking the nub until she became a trembling mess. His tongue circled her clit, giving her pressure where and exactly how she liked it while she was crying above him. He pushed a single finger inside her.
“Oh! Don’t stop! Don’t! Tom!”
He would give her every orgasm she ever wanted. He would give her the world.
He added another finger, focused on rubbing the anterior wall while he filled her, an act that he knew would make her crazy. His other hand held her thigh in a bruising grip. He became more demanding, determined to pull everything from her. He would have all of this witch.
His tongue circled and his fingers pressed deep into her heated core. Her moaning filled the room, vibrating all the way against her swollen flesh. It spurred him on until she cried out with her orgasm and he continued his onslaught throughout, lapping up every drop she gave him until she became a boneless heap.
He slipped from inside her and gripped his cock, coating himself with her release. As he looked at her, his perfect lion, it wasn’t enough. Even as he had her naked, spread on the bed while he fisted his cock.
“You’re bloody gorgeous,” he muttered. Her cheeks flushed. Freckles painted the bridge of her nose. He would count them one day... memorize every mark on her body. Then leave some of his own.
Her hands ran up his chest as he stared down at her. Even if he absorbed her soul into his own body, it wouldn’t be enough.
“Hey, what—” she said something. He could barely hear her beyond the thrumming vibration in his head. She smelled so good. Her soft voice sounded like music that made him soar light as air.
Her brow furrowed. She frowned with those freshly ravaged, plush lips.
He tugged her hips, sliding her closer. She gasped when his cock met her entrance, slipping between her cunt. She was dripping. The furrow in her brow sprang free. He stroked the head of his erection against her swollen clit and her thighs shuddered.
“Mine,” his voice didn’t sound like his own. He leaned forward, hovered his lips over hers, “You’re mine, only mine.” He didn’t break eye contact as he slowly pushed inside.
“I’m yours, oh!” Despite his desperation to claim her quickly, like this was a race and they might run out of time, he moved surprisingly slow. She whimpered as he pressed further, squeezing her eyes shut and her walls contracting around him until it was almost painful.
“Hermione, you need to relax,” her face contorted in pain. He paused for a moment. The most tortuous moment he ever waited, allowing her time to breathe and feel him.
Eventually, she relaxed, the muscles loosened. “This may hurt, my lioness,” and that made him desire her more. He wanted all of her pain and pleasure for himself.
“I thought you already took care of it,” she gasped. He knew what she referred to, the time in the closet when he fingered her roughly, causing her to bleed.
“But you’ve never been filled by a cock.”
She nodded in understanding. “Do it, Tom. Take me.”
He could never deny her anything. He slammed the rest of the way inside her. She barely gasped before he drowned out her cry with a bruising kiss.
It was euphoric. Bloody incredible. He tensed his entire body as he pulled out to the tip before plunging forward again with a groan. She squeaked. Sweat dripped down his back. He needed to fuck her harder, but he stilled for her to adjust to the sensation, giving her short, shallow rolls of his hips.
She was so beautiful. It was Hermione. She was here. Beneath him. Naked and he was inside her. Her cunt squeezed his cock as if she never wanted to let go.
He’d fucked girls before, but never like this. Never somebody he cared about, let alone loved. Sex was always about reaching the climax. With Hermione, the act was about her—them. Together.
Part of him feared he might lose this again. Maybe this wasn’t real. He couldn’t stop touching her–needing to ensure her flesh was actually soft. That the moans coming from her mouth weren’t in his imagination.
“More,” she gasped. And he didn’t just give her more—he gave her everything.
He ran his hands over every inch of skin while he impaled her again and again.
“So. Good.” He lost all coherent thought.
“Mine! So perfect!” He did not know what he was saying to her. He buried himself inside her, nailing her hips to the mattress with a fierce drive.
“You feel so good. You have no idea. No idea what you do to me.” He kissed her neck, holding her tighter, feeling her flesh against his. “You’re mine. Say it, Hermione!” He could never get enough of hearing her say it.
“Yes, I’m yours!” she repeated.
He gazed at her, greedy and ravenous. “Good girl.”
Her lips parted, eyes glazed. Curls splayed out over the pillow like the halo of an angel. She met him thrust for thrust. Rolling her hips, moaning his name, saying words he couldn’t comprehend in his lust-filled haze.
“All of you! It all belongs. To. Me.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust of his cock. He claimed her other nipple, and she screamed. He could feel her walls quiver around him.
“You’re going to take every drop of my come in this sweet cunt,” she shuttered underneath him as he pounded inside her relentlessly. Part of him wished she had never learned the Contraceptive Charm. He wanted to make his fantasies of the tiny black-haired child running through the corridors of Hogwarts come true.
He knew he wasn’t thinking rationally. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered as he pressed into her sweet heat that felt so agonizingly good.
He muttered nonsense to her as he fucked her into oblivion.
He loved her with every inch of his dark, deadened soul. Maybe that wasn’t much, but it was everything he had to give.
He loved her in ways he never thought possible.
He loved her.
I love her
I love you.
I. Love. You.
His thrusts became more erratic, more frenzied. He gripped her hips tighter, her inner muscles clenching him, urging him on. The bed creaked while the headboard smacked the wall. The air thickened with the scent of their arousal, sweat, and desire.
He let out a shuddering moan as he spilled inside her, filling her up so perfectly. Her cunt milked him in a rhythm that demanded more from him, more of his essence, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him like lightning.
The wet heat of her body surrounded him, her breath hot on his neck. She arched back and cried out, her own release claiming her. He dug his fingers into her soft skin, holding himself deep within her, his cock still twitching as his seed continued to pump into her. The sensation was overwhelming, exhilarating.
He let out a groan, his body going lax as he collapsed on top of her. Their sweat-slicked skin stuck together. Their connection was so intense that it felt as if their bodies and souls were inseparable, intertwining in a passionate and insatiable dance. She shifted to press her lips to his forehead. It was so tender—he couldn’t recall the last time someone treated him with such tenderness.
His cock softened inside her, but he didn’t want to pull out. He never wanted to leave the warmth. She etched herself into his heart, branding into his very being. As long as he lived, she would be a part of him. Her scent, her touch, her taste would torment him, leaving him in a constant state of desire for her.
It wasn’t until she tried to adjust, clearly uncomfortable, that he finally pushed off her. She flinched as he slid out of of her. His cock coated in their mixed releases and a streak of her blood. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.
“You okay?” He asked her.
“Hmm...” She kept her eyes shut. “I need a wand.”
He used his wandless magic to summon his wand from the floor, handing it to her. She waved a quick Contraceptive Charm towards her pelvis. She kept her eyes closed, not seeing the grimace covering his face.
He shouldn’t have these depraved thoughts, and yet he couldn’t stop them.
“I should clean up,” she muttered. He really did frown then. Her eyes cracked open at him in her post orgasmic haze. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Tom wanted to keep his come inside her. He wanted to watch himself drip down her legs and make a mess on her thighs. “I’ll do it,” he crawled out of bed, grabbing his wand and stepped into the hall, returning with a bowl of water, soap, and a washcloth.
“I found something while you were gone,” she muttered.
“Did you?”
“Do you always sleep with a teddy bear, Tom?”
“What?”
“This bear.” She held up Mr. Teddy as he crawled on the bed with the bowl.
“Fuck.”
“Weren’t exactly hiding him very well.”
“No, I don’t always sleep with him. Mr. Teddy’s usually kept in my trunk,” he said. The conversation distracted her, so he set the soapy water aside for now.
“Is that why you came back to the orphanage? Because you forgot your stuffed bear?”
No, he hadn’t realized he left Mr. Teddy. He must have tossed the bear on the bed when tearing through his trunk and forgot about it.
He considered his options. He figured she would wonder why he came back. She was presenting him with the perfect alibi that didn’t involve brewing illegal love potions he had intended to use on her if she hadn’t cooperated.
“Yes.” he gritted out.
“Where did you get him?”
“From Cora,” he answered. He immediately regretted the words.
“Who’s Cora?”
He didn’t want to talk about her.
“Just an older girl that used to live here,” he said evasively as lay beside her and pulled her towards him to kiss her soundly.
His witch wasn’t deterred. “What happened to her?” she asked against his lips.
Tom groaned and flopped against the pillow. “I don’t know,” he tried not to sound too aggravated by the discussion.
“Were you close?”
“I would rather not talk about Cora,” he rolled on his side and started kissing her shoulder, moving lower, over her breasts while his hand ran up her thigh.
He slid a finger inside her, and she sighed, letting her legs spread for him. He nipped her throat while he worked in a second finger.
Her breath caught, her walls clenched. She flinched.
“I’m just a bit sore,” she explained.
He was so damn hard for her, made worse by the reminder of how he was the first to sink inside her. He wanted her again.
He tried thrusting his fingers, curling the digits to hit a spot that normally made her writhe. This time, she whimpered. Pain. She wasn’t enjoying this, but he knew she would never admit it.
He pulled his fingers out. “Tom?”
“I have another idea,” he grinned before moving down her body and spreading her thighs so he could devour the sweetness between her legs. Tom didn’t care that he had just been there. He would clean her with his tongue. He licked along her folds. Sucking her clit, until she trembled through another powerful orgasm.
He swept Mr. Teddy off the bed and continued his onslaught on his witch. She was dripping and swollen. He tasted their combined release leaking out of her as her cunt spasmed and he fucked his come back inside her with his tongue.
“It hurts!”
“You can give me another,” he said. He would feast as long as it took. He knew she was sore, sensitive from multiple orgasms, he worked her over with gentle touches. Caresses that left her shivering. Her breathing became unsteady, her thighs clenched, trying to squeeze his head, but he forced them open with his palms.
He could sense her climbing. Feel her reaching for the precipice. Her breath caught as her entire body became rigid. She trembled as little choking sounds escaped her throat. Then she exploded. She screamed. Cried.
As she came, he shifted on his knees, positioned his cock near her trembling heat, letting her release coat him as he pumped himself with his fist, watching the waves of fluid gush from her, ejecting out of her cunt with each spasm that wracked her body. He’d never seen anything like it.
“Damn. Such a mess you made, my lioness. Fuck, it’s so pretty.” He pumped himself harder as she lolled her head to the side, her legs going limp. Then he came on her pulsating heat, coating her with a fresh layer, claiming her again. He had no intention of cleaning her now, hoping she forgot.
He would never tire of this.
Tom glanced up at her. She appeared to be halfway asleep now. His lips twitched as he lay beside her, wrapping his arms around his witch.
He would never let her go.
Her breathing steadied, her body relaxed further.
Who would have thought he would let a witch sleep in his bed? He never imagined ever wanting this. Now, he couldn’t imagine any other alternative. It was always meant to be.
“I love you.” His lips moved against her hair. If only he could say those words when she was awake to hear it.
He felt like a coward.
Notes:
IT HAPPENED! EVERYONE SCREAM WITH ME IN THE COMMENTS!!
I recognize that this Tom is mushy (don’t expect that from most other tomiones 😅)
Chapter 51 Song: Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want by Deftones. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I participated the the smut fest! I wrote you a lovely (and mostly pornographic) Professor Riddle fic! Ruin Her
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Chapter 52: 52: Filed Away
Summary:
“Hermione?” A high-pitched creak reverberated through the orphanage. She whirled around, spotting Tom by the bedroom door. She watched him from the shadows, dressed in briefs, as he searched for her.
She couldn’t believe what happened between them. Everything changed, and she was okay with it. He didn’t scare her—he excited her.
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Tom was attacked by an unknown assailant in Muggle London and has now moved into the Leaky Cauldron to remain under the Ministry’s watchful eye until his hearing. He snuck out of the Leaky Cauldron to return briefly to the Orphanage to gather the Amortentia that he brewed.
Hermione learned from the bartender, Edgar, of Tom's trials while he was trying to save her from her curse. She went to talk to him about it but didn't find him at the Leaky Cauldron so departed out into London to find the Orphanage where she assumed he would be. They finally made up and have sex.Click for for content/trigger warning(s): Warning: will spoil upcoming chapter
More underage sex (maybe I should just blanket statement now that you can expect a lot of sex from here on... so I'm not going to tag it every time anymore)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
March 1933
“I found employment for you, Cora,” Miss Cole announced.
Cora startled, looking up from the book she and Tom were reading about Ancient Egypt. “You did?”
“Governess. Not a bad job. Your marks were always high,” Miss Cole said.
“Where?” Cora asked.
“Birmingham.”
“Where’s Birmingham?” Tom asked.
“North... and a little west,” Miss Cole shrugged, passing Cora an envelope.
“When did you find this?” Cora asked, taking the envelope.
“This week. You can’t stay here anymore. It’s not appropriate.” Cora’s expression went blank. “Your employer has arranged travel for you. Details are in there.” Miss Cole nodded towards the envelope.
“Right–thank you.”
Miss Cole sashayed off. Cora stared at the package like it might be poison.
“Why don’t you open it, Cora?” Tom asked. He swung his feet off the end of the armchair they sat in together. He couldn’t reach the ground yet, but Cora said he would get really tall. He hoped so.
“Later. Let’s keep reading. You were here.” She pointed to the part they stopped at and Tom read aloud about the Pharaoh Khufu and the Great Pyramid.
***
Tom helped Cora pack her bags. She didn’t own much. None of them did. But she had a couple of duffels that she swung over her shoulder.
“Do you have to go?” Tom asked for the hundredth time since they heard the news two weeks ago. Cora glanced at him with a small smile.
“I can’t stay here forever,” she zipped her bag closed. He knew that. All the other girls her age already had jobs and moved out. At seventeen, she could no longer remain at the orphanage. She was supposed to leave a year ago, but she delayed it as much as possible. “It’s something I need to do.”
Tom didn’t reply. He followed her out the door, dragging one of her bags on the floor behind him while she carried the other. He sniffed. His chest hurt. He never cried, and he refused to start now.
“We will see each other again,” Cora muttered at the doorway.
“But you said Birmingham was far away!” She showed him on a map. She said her train ride was three hours long.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t try to visit my favorite little boy.” His face became wet, and he tasted something salty on his lips. Tom didn’t cry, so whatever this was, it couldn’t be tears. It wasn’t possible.
Something suffocated him. A strange, foreign noise escaped his throat. “You said you would be my mum, Cora.”
The sight of him made Cora’s eyes well. Perhaps if she was sad enough, she wouldn’t leave. Maybe...
She kneeled in front of him. “I’m sorry...” She wrapped her arms around him.
“D—don’t leave,” he stammered, leaning into her embrace.
“I’m sorry... I love you, Tom,” she whispered in his ear.
No one had ever spoken those words to him. And he hadn’t heard them since.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione awoke an hour later, her bladder raging. The stale air mingled with a lingering scent of sweat and sex, making her nauseous. She regretted not taking the time to clean up after their passionate encounter, but Tom’s distractions had sidetracked her.
Guess she would remember that for next time.
Next time…
Tom lay beside her, his rhythmic breathing creating a soothing lull in the room. His hand rested on her hip. Through careful maneuvering, she extricated herself without waking him. She winced, feeling the ache in muscles she hadn’t known existed. Was this post-sex discomfort normal? It was her first time; she supposed it made sense. But she wished she had someone to ask for guidance on the intimate topic.
Hermione felt around for clothes, finding her dress and bra, but not her knickers. After a brief search, she gave up. She cast a charm on her clothes, drying them. Her hair would be beyond saving, having been rain drenched and left to dry while rolling in the bed....
Her face heated.
Now to find the bathroom. She crept out of the bedroom, casting a spell to keep the floor from creaking under her feet.
She flicked her wand, creating a glow from the tip. In the cold light, the orphanage seemed weary and sentinel, its walls weathered by time and sorrow. The air thick with the quiet echo of long-forgotten children.
The recreation room, if it could be called that, contained a small hearth with a few tattered chairs and a couch circling it. The cushions were flat and tired. A single bookshelf leaned against the wall, struggling under the weight of a meager assortment of worn-out books where children found solace in stories of faraway lands and fairytales, which were more vivid and tangible to them than their bleak orphanage. Tom mentioned going to the public library. It didn’t surprise her, given the limited selection provided here.
An old, oak, grand staircase led up to a second floor where Hermione assumed the children’s dormitories were. She wondered where Tom slept at night. Where did he wash up for the day? Where did he spend most of his spare time? Where did he receive his education? Was there a classroom inside the building, or did he have to walk to a nearby school? Did the girls have a separate wing? Hermione assumed they separated the male and female children.
Behind the staircase, she found a room lined with long wooden tables and benches. It reminded her of a hard and unforgiving version of the Great Hall, but lacked all the light and warmth she loved about Hogwarts. It appeared large enough to seat about fifty, at least. She noticed doors leading to the kitchens in the back.
She pictured a tiny Tom running through this building with other small children. She wished he would talk about it. Share more about his life prior to Hogwarts. Was he trying to hide something?
She tried a door beside the staircase, finding it locked. It probably wasn’t the bathroom... but she couldn’t help herself.
“Alohamora,” she whispered, waving her wand. The door clicked, and she pushed it open, discovering an office inside. An oversized oak desk stood in the center with a bookshelf behind filled with files. Each orphan had their own folder.
There were tags grouping the files by last name. It wasn’t hard to find Riddle, Tom, and she pulled it out.
Medical records contained details of doctor appointments throughout his life. He had a rash when he was six-months-old. A respiratory illness at four. Around six, he went through this phase where he stopped eating, which resulted in him getting ill with some sort of pneumonia. He ended up in the hospital for five days. Hermione thumbed through the documents, seeing glimpses into Tom’s past.
She found a birth certificate, the details on it vague and unrevealing. The mother’s name was not filled in, but the father was listed as ‘Tom Riddle Sr.’ The matron provided a statement about his birth, saying he was born in the orphanage and his mother died not long after naming him.
There were a few incident reports. Details were vague, but the trend was clear. The other children were afraid of Tom. He discovered his magic early and even before Hogwarts; he was teaching himself how to control it. All the listed incidents were heresy–none verified. But they suspected Tom. One talked about a rabbit that was found dead—hung from the rafters. Another mentioned two children reporting him for hurting them in a cave. When they were asked for details, they refused to speak further. Later, they denied the incident entirely.
His school records were pristine. They placed him with the older students since he excelled in all subjects. In the back, there was an acceptance letter for a prestigious academy. This was how the ministry excused Tom’s absence. Perhaps they altered the memories of his caretaker to think she sent in an application.
As she replaced the file on the shelf, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of countless stories in her fingertips. The lives of these children are reduced to papers in a folder.
Would Cora be here?
Hermione didn’t know her last name…
She pulled out her wand. “Accio Cora,” she tried. Nothing happened. It was a silly idea.
There were at least five hundred files! She would have to inspect every tab to find the name. She realized the tabs of each file had a pink or blue sticker for males versus females. It made searching a lot simpler.
Starting with the A’s, she checked the names of the pink files. Then moved to B’s. She found Cora Collins, who lived in the orphanage for two years before Tom was born. Cora Dawson, who died from a flu outbreak when she was seven.
Finally, in the R’s she pulled out Cora Robinson and flipped it open. This girl was older than Tom, born August 11, 1915. Parents died of Spanish Flu. She left the orphanage about 10 years ago. Then Hermione found a report about how she requested special permission to take Tom Riddle to the art museum.
Hermione decided to explore this more later. She duplicated the file and shrunk it down to the size of her palm. She needed to hide it from Tom... In the end, her only option was inside the confines of her bra.
She had to keep her clothes on... She could do that.
Hopefully …
Hermione ducked out of the office and continued looking for the bathroom. She headed across the hall to another closed door, first trying the handle and finding it locked. She may have left if she hadn’t noticed the smell. A strange spicy scent like cloves, peppermint, and a fresh meadow. It was intoxicating, alluring, mouth watering! Her vision glazed over as she imagined what produced such an enticing smell.
She reached for her wand, her fingers tracing the wood in her pocket. It would be so easy to unlock the door.
“Hermione?” A high-pitched creak reverberated through the orphanage. She whirled around, spotting Tom by the bedroom door. She watched him from the shadows, dressed in briefs, as he searched for her.
She couldn’t believe what happened between them. Everything changed, and she was okay with it. He didn’t scare her, he excited her.
“Hermione?” He said again, louder. He looked panicked. Did he think she would just leave him?
Perhaps so. She had left him twice now. He hadn’t relearned how to trust her... to believe in her. She understood. Tom was guarded, and it would take time, patience, and effort to earn his trust once more. To him, their relationship must feel fragile, as if it might shatter with a single misstep. But for her, the certainty was clear. This was what she wanted.
“Over here, Tom.” She lit her wand and called for him. His expression softened when he saw her. He marched up to her, swept her in his arms, and kissed her. She sank into him, pressing up against his bare chest and humming softly.
“I was worried you left.” He mumbled against her lips.
“I’m trying to find a toilet... I feel sticky.” She grimaced at her choice of wording, but she couldn’t come up with a suitable alternative.
He chuckled. “Perhaps you need a bath.”
“I need to pee, actually.”
“A guy can dream about bathing with his witch. Another time, then.”
She blushed, but it was too dark for him to notice. She forgot how tender and affectionate he could be. It reminded her of how they spent their evenings together in the Room of Requirement.
He stooped and kissed her soundly before showing her to the bathroom.
Hermione joined Tom in the kitchen where he was putting together something for them to eat.
“We should go back soon,” she said.
He looked over at her, his face gave nothing away. “Yeah.” Did he think this would end when they left? That this was temporary and things would return to how they were?
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’ve said that before.”
She deserved that. Her face heated.
A piece of paper sat on the table. Unable to resist her curiosity, she picked it up and glanced at the contents. If it was a secret, surely he wouldn’t leave it for her to find, right?
“Tom!”
He jumped, “What?!” he looked at her bewildered. She would’ve laughed at the expression if she wasn’t so irritated.
“You told me you got an ‘E’ in one subject!”
He saw what had caught her attention and rolled his eyes, coming over to the table with two bowls of porridge topped with fruit. The house-elves kept him well supplied over the summer. “I did,” he said, placing the food in front of her.
“You got an E in Divination!”
“Exactly.”
“You didn’t even take Divination!” she wanted to crumple up his bloody test results and throw them at him.
“No, I didn’t,” he confirmed, stirring the contents of his bowl.
Damn prat. He may have received an E, but he got ten O’s! She obtained perfect marks on her own exams, and he still had more Outstandings than her. For some reason, this incensed her. And his blasé attitude irritated her more.
“You also didn’t take Ancient Runes or Muggle Studies!”
“I know,” he shrugged, scooping a spoonful of food and shoving it into his mouth.
She glared at him. “Care to explain?!”
He chewed. Slowly. She narrowed her eyes at him. He swallowed. “I asked Slughorn during my third year if I could test for every O.W.L. even if I never took the class. He didn’t mind.”
“You can’t be serious?!” Without taking the course he got O’s in both subjects? Even Ancient Runes?!
“I am.” He took another bite.
She gaped at him, her face turning red with her ire. She left her own food untouched.
“I don’t quite see why you’re upset,” he said finally.
“You're impossible!”
“Okay...” he had the decency to look at least slightly incredulous at the situation.
It would sound too petty to say she was upset he got more O.W.L.s than her. Being mad about such a trivial matter seemed foolish. She knew that.
He set his spoon down and leaned forward in his chair, stroking his fingers down her cheek. “You know, if you want to earn a few more Outstanding marks, I might be able to think of a few ways,” he smirked. His thumb ran over her lower lip.
“Don’t patronize me.” She meant to sound forceful, instead, her words came out breathy.
“Oh, I’m not patronizing you, Miss Granger. We both know you’re interested, you are the witch sitting at the kitchen table not wearing any knickers after-all.”
She blushed. He must have them. He hid them.
“What did you do with my knickers, Tom?”
“They’re tucked away.”
“I need those.”
“Do you?”
She gathered her composure, ignoring how his feather light touches made her burn. “You know, a witch likes to leave her man guessing what she might have on under her skirt... or might not have on...”
His expression flashed with something sinful. “Am I ‘your man’ now?”
Her throat bobbed. “Yes you are… you’re mine.”
His body went rigid and eyes widened. She could almost taste the tension in the air between them. Delicious and spicy, she wanted to roll in it. “Oh Miss Granger, I’ve been dreaming about this smart mouth... You on your knees in the Room of Requirement.”
His fingers danced over her lips. She could hardly breathe.
“Your tongue running up my cock.” His eyes flashed with something feral. His breathing sped up. “Your lips wrapping around me as you draw me in deeper,” he continued.
She couldn’t think as his melodic voice entranced her. “Those noises you make when I hit the back of your throat.”
She nipped his finger seductively. His eyes blazed. Then he moved. He grabbed her arm and pulled her off her chair, swinging her around so she fell into his lap. She had barely righted herself before he kissed her. His teeth biting, hands running up her arms. She wanted him so bad. She couldn’t even remember why she was upset.
She kissed his jaw, licked his neck, then slid lower until she hit her knees on the floor. His thighs spread as she continued to work her way down, brushing her hands over every warm, smooth inch of him. The power she held over him delighted her as she watched him unravel at her fingertips. He panted, gasped as she reached his hips, and sucked the skin, leaving a mark. He emitted a deep, guttural growl that made her toes curl. She was determined to get him to do that again. To amplify. She needed to hear more of him.
She worked his briefs down his thighs and his cock sprang free, thick with a bead of pre-come beaded at the tip.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, his breathing heavy, nostrils flaring as he took in the sight of her. He devoured her with his dark gaze, like she was the only girl in the world. And for him, perhaps she was.
Hermione gripped his cock, running her thumb lightly over the tip, collecting the fluid on her finger and bringing it to her lips. She moved with deliberate slowness, prolonging his agony that she sensed in his strained posture.
He grunted as she sucked the bitter-tasting collection off. His cock twitched in her grip. She lowered, wrapping her lips around him, and he moaned. Her other hand palmed his testicles and his thighs trembled.
“Take me deep!” He commanded as her tongue circled the head of his cock, pulling down the foreskin.
Instead of doing as she was told, she pulled off and ran her tongue along the sensitive underside, caressing his length with her hand. She knew she was torturing him. She wanted to make him beg.
“Fuck!” He gripped her hair and tried to direct himself back to her mouth, but rather than opening for him, she kissed the tip, meeting his eyes as she did. He looked ravenous. His jaw tightened and muscles bulged. She offered him some brief reprieve. Her lips parted, and she took his cock as deep as she could. She bobbed her head a few times, swirled her tongue. He let out a string of curses. Then she pulled away again.
“What game are you playing?!”
Hermione smirked, “what game?” She kissed down the underside of his shaft to his testicles, taking one in her mouth and sucking. She hesitated, unsure if this was something he would enjoy. Apparently it was. His entire body seized. He made a shuddered gasp from his throat. She moved to the other and offered it the same attention.
“Ask me nicely, Tom.”
He muttered something like ‘bloody witches’ and then she suckled the tip of his cock again. He tried to thrust deeper, but she wouldn’t allow him. “Fuck, please Hermione! Suck me...” his words trailed off as he hissed out a breath uttering something that sounded like Parseltongue. With a single motion, she swallowed him whole, letting him hit the back of her throat.
“Damn, so good! This mouth!” She twirled her tongue around him, mixed up the pressure on her lips, and hummed in response to his dirty word. He groaned louder.
“So pretty with your lips around my cock! Harder, my lioness!” She obliged him. He tried to take over, force her head deeper, but she braced herself and resisted. When her mouth was on him, she was the one in control.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she ignored it as she peaked up at him. He appeared to almost be in pain. His breathing became more ragged. His face contorting. He was so close.
“Damn!” He grabbed her hair and pulled her off him. She gasped at the force of his hold. “When I come it’s going to be in your cunt!” he hissed. Tom tugged her to her feet and forced his lips against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he stood, pressing her up against the table until she was perched on the edge.
She craved him.
Their kiss became wild, untamed thorns of their teeth biting each other while their tongues soothed the wounds. Her hands fisted into his hair, making him groan into her mouth.
She felt victorious! She wanted to find everything that made him respond so passionately.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, rolling her bare cunt against his weeping cock.
“Damn!” He broke the kiss. He snaked his hand between them. “You’re fucking soaked,” he breathed, running a finger through her folds, teasing her entrance.
His pupils blew as he looked at her. His lips twitched. He kissed her neck as he pressed a digit inside her.
She moaned as he pushed his digit deeper, stroking her walls in the most delicious way.
“Oh, Merlin Tom.” She groaned, spreading her thighs wider for him.
“Tell me what you want, Hermione,” he said.
She whimpered as he added an extra finger, thrusting them in and out of her. She rolled her hips, gasping for air. Her core tightened around the intrusion. Her mind whirled. She threw her head back, her eyes closed, letting the sensations take over.
“Tell me or I stop!” he hissed. It felt incredible. She trusted him completely.
“What?”
He halted all his movements.
“No! Tom!”
“Tell me, my lioness!”
He watched her, his face flushed as he waited for her to reply. She licked her lips. “Fuck me, Tom. Here. On the table...”
His mouth quirked at her vulgar language. “You’re so beautiful,” he muttered. He reached for her, pulling her against him. She felt his cock straining against her.
Tom watched her, holding her hip in one hand and her jaw in the other as he pressed forward, entering her, filling her. She gasped. The angle was different. He hit her in new places. The ache remained from earlier, but she took a deep breath, trying to relax.
He must have seen something in her expression. He paused, grabbing her wand that she placed on the table and flicking it at their joined bodies, casting a lubrication charm. Then he adjusted her knees to find an angle that she was more comfortable in, moving them up to her waist. Then he reached down and rubbed her clit until the tension escaped her body.
He slid deeper inside and she moaned. Her lips parted, and eyes widened at the sensation of him completely filling her. There was no more room left. He took everything.
“So pretty. So tight. You feel incredible,” he said.
She shifted, trying to take pressure off her tailbone, causing her hips to roll. They both gasped. “Move Tom!”
And he did. He worked her open with his cock, sliding deeper with every thrust. Her breaths came out in rough gasps of air through pursed lips. She couldn’t think, only feel. It was him. Tom. He hit so deep, she cried. Then he reached down and circled her clit again.
“This cunt was made for me.”
“Oh! Merlin, don’t stop!”
He kissed her, sloppy and quick. “I want you to come around my cock, Hermione. I want to feel you grip me.”
She releases a shuddering breath. “I’m so close!” The coil in her abdomen tightened, her muscles contracting with her impending orgasm.
He smirked, his expression darkened. “I’m going to come so deep inside you!”
She gasped as he bit her neck, his possessive side taking over as he wrapped her up and drew her closer. Heat started rising in her. Her limbs tensed. “I’ll always come inside you, Hermione. It’s where I fucking belong! Inside my lioness! Claiming my girl!”
Her thighs trembled around him. He pressed down on her clit and sucked on her neck. She knew he was leaving deep bruises. “You’re such a good girl. You take my cock so well. So perfect.”
She panted, her breathing faulted. “Tom! I—I,” she squeezed her eyes shut. The pressure was almost too much.
“Are you going to come for me?” he growled. His thrusts became harder.
Her eyes popped open as a kaleidoscope of colors danced in her vision. She wasn’t sure what sound fled her throat. Her back arched as every muscle went rigid while her pulse thrummed in her ears. Her core squeezed him in a vice grip as the orgasm took over. Flutters of euphoric pleasure, waves of bliss. It wracked her body with shivers. She gasped for air as she tried to regain her senses.
Tom was merciless as he slammed into her until he found his own release about a minute later. He pressed as deep as possible inside her and grunted while his cock twitched, his come flooding into her.
They were both spent.
He didn’t move, keeping himself buried in her as he softened.
“I think that deserves an Outstanding,” he said, kissing her shoulder. Then he rested his head against her chest. She recalled the file tucked away in her bra. Thankfully, despite their rough fucking on the table, she never removed any clothing.
She snorted and didn’t respond. They were silent for a while, neither of them moving. She broke it. “What classes were you going to take next year?” she asked him. Her fingers idly stroked the back of his head, his soft hair brushing against her skin.
“I’m thinking about picking up Ancient Runes for N.E.W.T. course. Seemed interesting.”
Hermione pushed up on her elbows, looking down at him resting against her chest. “You can’t do that!”
“I got an ‘O’ on the exam. I assure you, they won’t care,” he shrugged. Hermione glared at him.
“What classes will you take?” He asked, pushing off her. He slipped out, causing her to flinch. Everything felt hypersensitive.
“Oh, um. Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, maybe Alchemy if they get enough interest and offer it,” Hermione said. She reached for her wand and cast a quick contraceptive charm and cleaning spell between her legs. It wasn’t perfect, but it vanished the bulk of the mess. “You?”
“Same ones, I guess,” he said, staring at the apex of her thighs with a strange expression on his face. She decided to not ask. She lowered her skirt. She realized then how close she came to pulling her bra off. The file remained safe and secure, chafing against her nipple.
“You guess?” She hopped off the table and slid back in the chair she started in.
“Sure, that seems like a nice spread.”
“Tom! You’re only saying that because I’m taking those classes!”
“So what if I am?” He pulled up his briefs and sat across from her.
“You shouldn’t do that! What about your own career goals?!”
“Don’t have any.” He shrugged and continued eating.
“What do you mean? Don’t you have dreams? Aspirations?” She looked incredulous.
“I did.” He flicked his gaze to hers, his eyes becoming darker. “But I’m not pursuing those now. Let’s say, they don’t align with my more important interests.”
Power, ruling, domination, he didn’t have to say it out loud. They both knew exactly what he referred to.
He stared at her, waiting for some sort of response. “You know Tom, you are charismatic, charming, and a natural leader, threatening and terror aside.”
He raised a brow.
“You could lead, obtain power, but do it in a more... civilized manner.”
He smirked. “Are you suggesting I go into politics of some sort?”
“Perhaps.”
“So the Ministry?”
“Why not?”
Tom leaned back in his chair and studied her. He said nothing. His expression, unreadable.
“You could start as an Auror,” Hermione said.
His lip twitched at the idea.
“I’m serious! There’s no one better to catch a dark wizard than someone with an affinity for dark magic themselves! The stimulation and intellectual challenge that comes along with it, and the fighting... I think you might like it.”
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he find the suggestion as preposterous as he initially let on, or will he take it under consideration? It was a genuine idea for him, a perfect fit that showcased Tom Riddle’s natural talents and abilities.
She decided not to push it further. As she picked up her spoon, he asked, “what will you do after graduating?”
She blinked at him. “Maybe a healer. Or perhaps something in the Ministry?” She didn’t clarify what Ministry position she had in mind. She wasn’t sure it was even possible to return to her world yet.
What sort of place would she go back to, should she return? What would happen to this world after she left? What would happen to Tom?
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
By the time Tom and Hermione arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, it was already late and the streets were deserted. She worried that someone would notice him missing, but he wasn’t concerned, since Gabriella had enough on her plate. Without encountering any obstacles, he reached his room and collapsed onto his bed. He tried to get Hermione to join him, but she thought it wouldn’t be appropriate.
What was that supposed to mean? Gabriella wouldn’t know if they fucked all night.
“We could sleep,” he suggested between tight lips.
“We both know you have no intention of letting me sleep,” she argued.
She was right.
He frowned at her.
She stared at him. Then she offered him a quick, rather unsatisfying peck on the lips and bid him goodnight. He felt the tremor of her magic as she closed the door, warding her room against him.
Did she believe that was enough to keep him from her?
***
The days flew by, and before Tom knew it, the week of his hearing had arrived.
Abraxas Malfoy and Norris Avery stopped by the Leaky Cauldron on their way to Diagon Alley the day before the hearing, wishing him luck. He glared at them with suspicion. He assumed Abraxas’s father heard about it and told him.
Hermione frowned at the two Slytherins. Norris had no opinion regarding her, but Abraxas certainly did. Lucky for him, he learned to keep his mouth shut.
“Hey Tom, who are these guys?” Bridget popped up in her usual annoying way.
Tom glared at her. Now that he and Hermione were back together, he was hoping the kid would leave him alone. Apparently not.
“They’re nobody, fuck off—”
“Hey! You’re the guy Hermione punched last year!” She squealed, pointing at Abraxas.
Norris choked on air. Abraxas’s mood turned sour. “What about it?”
“I punched my brother once! I don’t think I broke his nose, though. I was six and got grounded for a week.”
Abraxas stared at her, unsure of how to respond.
“In my defense, he called me a fart brain.”
“A what?” Abraxas now appeared bewildered.
“He was eight. We hadn’t quite figured out how to give a good insult. Tom regularly tells me to fuck off!” Hearing the crude language from an angelic-looking child was too much for Norris to handle. He fell into a fit of laughter. Even Abraxas cracked a smile.
“You know, I would be honored to educate you on an array of insults,” Norris said. Abraxas smirked at his friend.
Bridget considered the offer, and then nodded. “But if you choose to insult me or my cat, I’ll have Hermione show me how to throw a proper punch so I can really do some damage!”
Abraxas snorted, and Norris rolled his eyes. “She once told me to hit ‘em where the sun don’t shine. I should ask her what she meant by that—”
“No!” Abraxas and Norris said together. Tom watched the interaction in silence.
“No, that just means you hit someone in the... uh, chest!” Norris supplied.
“Right! Because people have shirts on!” Abraxas added.
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Is that true, Tom?”
Tom ignored the question. “I’m going back to work.” He didn’t want to deal with them. Not when he had a meeting tomorrow that could result in his expulsion from Hogwarts.
Notes:
Chapter 52 Song: I'll Be Good by Jaymes Young. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Mostly a fluff chapter! You guys deserve it!
What do you guys think? This is a time consuming epic to write and hearing you keeps me motivated to keep going.
Longest History though photography yet below. As many know, I'm a doctor. I found this topic very interesting to learn about!
History Through Photography:
Spanish Flu
The “Spanish Flu” (also known as the “Great Influenza Epidemic”) was the worst pandemic in recent history (until COVID19). The strain was Flu A/H1N1 subtype (which some of you might recall when the H1N1 “swine flu” was going around in 2009). This took place from 1918-1920. 500 million people were reportedly infected (1/3 of the word’s population) and while the number of deaths is not clearly reported, it is believed about 50 million died. A lot of this was due to unsanitary condition and over crowded facilities--in combination with symptoms from the illness itself (mechanical ventilation systems, such as the iron lung, were not invented until about 10 years after the pandemic).
The name “Spanish Flu” is a misnomer as the first documented case was in Kansas, USA. This is because the flu outbreak occurred during World War I when there was censorship on negative news to maintain morale. However, Spain was neutral in the war, and thus freely reported the flu outbreak in their country giving the impression that this was where it all started.
Like the COVID pandemic, cloth facemasks were worn. In the picture above, policemen are wearing cloth face masks handed out by the American Red Cross. Many places were quarantined and signs were put up in attempt to decrease the spread of germs. But in response, people did do some odd things to protect themselves (described below).
Boys wearing bags of camphor around their necks as “method of flu-prevention”.
World War I military forces gargling salt water to prevent infection.
These machines were somehow supposed to help prevent colds? Or cure colds? Honestly it is unclear what these strange thing are.
Chapter 53: 53: The Hearing
Summary:
“Mrs. Clearwater is through here,” Eleanor Moody said with a nod, opening the door for Tom. “Don’t be nervous—” he wasn’t. “Answer truthfully—” fuck that. “And stay calm—” Did she expect him to panic right now?
Instead of offering any response to any of her statements, he replied with, “Thank you,” and headed inside.
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Tom was attacked by an unknown assailant in Muggle London and has now moved into the Leaky Cauldron to remain under the Ministry’s watchful eye until his hearing. Gabriella (owner of the Leaky Cauldron) set him up in his own room across from Hermione's
Hermione and Tom made up and are now having sex after Hermione discovered just how far he went to save her from her curse the previous year.
Alastor Moody and Reinhardt Lestrange have a secret relationship (can read my fic: Shadows of Doubt, to learn more about their relationship). Tom knows about it but nobody else does.Thank you to my betas! Sukimiya, Emerald_andAmethyst, and (as always) my mother for beta reading!! (my mom doesn't actually know what "beta reading" is. She just wants to read what I write and will edit grammar while she's at it)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Excerpt from Hermione Granger’s Journal:
I can’t believe we are back together! I mean, it’s a good thing! Things are so much better now that we are back together. I feel bad... I was he one that caused all this discord between us. I’m not sure how to make up for it. What to do since I so royally screwed things up. Even the relationship is different now. We are closer (I suppose having sex would do that), but he is wary. I see the tension in his eyes. Neither of us talk about it. I wonder if he blames me. If he can forgive me.
Part of me can’t believe this is the same Tom Riddle that terrified me so much... he is so sweet. I can’t believe he didn't give up on me. I don’t want to give up on him.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione discovered Tom Riddle could be quite persuasive when he set his mind to it. Hermione struggled to remember why she refused to share a bed with him under the roof of the Leaky Cauldron. His teasing glances, like silent promises, lingered on her longer with each passing day. The touch of his hand ignited a cascade of sparks that danced along her skin. In the stolen moments they found in the shadows, his kisses kindled a desire within her that she hadn’t expected.
She could sense the intensity of his desire for her. There was no mistaking it. He pressed against her with an unspoken demand. His erection rested against her hip as he pinned her to the wall, running his hands over her body like fire, searing every layer of her composure. It would be so easy to surrender. Drown in his touch.
No! This wasn’t appropriate! They were guests in somebody else’s home!
Tom’s low, amused voice brushed against her ear. “It’s a hotel, Hermione,” he murmured, lips grazing her temple. “People have sex here all the time.” His logic was maddeningly simple, and worse, probably true. But she continued to resist, clinging to her principles.
His frustration grew palpable with each passing hour, like a storm gathering beyond the horizon. Even Bridget commented on it after Tom snapped at Zephyr. Hermione had to intervene when Bridget ran to her, upset.
This made matters worse, pushing Tom further into his brooding silence.
If things weren’t bad enough, the letter arrived. They scheduled his hearing for mid-August. Eleanor Moody planned to collect him and take him via floo to the ministry. While he never admitted it, Hermione knew how nervous he was about the outcome. Hogwarts was more than a school; it was his home. She saw the dread in his eyes, despite him refusing to voice it.
They both avoided the topic until the night prior to the hearing. The pub was quiet, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows as they straightened up after closing. Hermione wiped down the bar while dishes washed themselves, the soothing clatter of mugs and glasses echoing in the background while Tom cleaned tables. Once they finished, he turned to her, his usual teasing and flirtatious presence masked over with stern determination.
“My hearing is tomorrow.”
The quiet tables gave the illusion that the building was empty. The hotel guest and Dodderidge’s were all asleep.
“I know...” she breathed.
“I face expulsion.”
“You won’t be expelled,” she attempted to sound confident. Something similar happened to Harry. He used a Patronus to protect himself and his cousin.
“A muggle park was destroyed,”
“You won’t be expelled,” she repeated, sounding less sure.
“I could go to Azkaban.”
She paused. “Azkaban?”
“A park was destroyed. People were hurt—”
“People were hurt?!”
Tom shrugged. “I think so. I didn’t really look into it.”
Hermione blanched. “You were protecting yourself, Tom. You did nothing illegal!”
He remained silent.
“Did you?”
“Isn’t using underage magic considered illegal?”
“You’ve been doing that!” she scoffed. His expression didn’t falter. He leaned against a chair in the deserted cafe.
“I have,” he confirmed.
She hesitated, biting her lip. Her hands clenched as she contemplated the possibilities. “Did you use an illegal spell? Dark magic?”
His eyes met hers, and she knew, without him having to answer, that he had. He did something dangerous. The pit of dread opened in her stomach, causing a wave of unease to wash over her.
“Do they know?” she asked.
He shook his head. “The last spell I used was a shield charm. But that doesn’t mean they won’t pull up a witness from somewhere.”
“Tom…” her voice trailed off.
“Stay with me tonight.”
She swallowed.
“Stay with me,” he repeated.
“I—”
“Stay.”
“Tom—”
“Stay.” He grabbed her and tugged her closer, pulling her against the length of his body. Her breath caught as his proximity brought his alluring scent of cedar and spice to her nostrils. His hands burned her skin where they gripped her arms. The intensity in his gaze left her knees weak. She licked her lips, and he tracked the movement. She shouldn’t do this, and yet she couldn’t deny him. What if something happened? What if things went wrong?
“Okay.”
And he kissed her.
***
Somehow, they made it up to his room. Tom shoved the door open with his hip and they stumbled inside with him, kicking it closed behind them. She pulled out her wand and cast a Silencing Charm on the walls, then a quick Contraceptive Charm before tossing it aside.
He never broke away. He never stopped. He never let up.
Hermione drowned in him as he laid her out on the bed, stripping her of every stitch of clothing. When he slid inside her, it felt different from the last time. His movements were deliberate and unhurried. This wasn’t a ravenous hunger but controlled—showing her he wanted her. He breathed the air she breathed and needed to consume the same life force that she consumed. They lived off one another.
She never experienced such a gentle touch from him—so soft. His caresses were kind and tender. His warm gaze was a stark contrast to the icy darkness she became accustomed to.
This felt new... different.
She moaned as his fingers grazed over her body before he rolled them, positioning her on top, her knees straddling either side of his hips. She froze in place, unsure how to proceed in this new position. Hesitantly, she circled her hips, familiarizing herself with the feel of his cock from this new angle.
“What should I do?” Hermione asked. She attempted to move a different way, causing him to slip out. She frowned, but Tom chuckled.
“Like this.” He grabbed his cock and lined her up again, guiding her down, sinking her onto him. His hands gripped her hips, bouncing her so he glided in and out of her.
Once she found her rhythm, she planted her hands on his chest, her palms slick with sweat, both of them flushed from exertion. Their heavy breathing vibrated the air, combining with the messy slaps of their skin as she rolled her pelvis against him. “Good girl. Just like that.”
She let her eyes roam over every inch of him, taking in his unruly hair, the sharp angles of his jaw, the defined ridges of his abdomen, and finally, the place where their bodies connected. But it was his gaze that captivated her most, piercing in the darkness, making her feel like the center of his universe. As if she were a radiant star that he orbited. Could she be imagining it?
Hermione moaned as her clit pressed against his pubic bone, the pleasure intensifying as he penetrated her deeper than ever before. Waves of bliss washed over them both as she rose off him and sank back down, each movement sending tingles across her body, every inch of her skin craving his touch.
This wasn’t fucking anymore, it was a declaration of love. At that moment, she knew she loved him. She loved Tom Riddle. The boy that had embedded himself in her life so deeply, she wasn’t sure escape was possible. Did she want a way out?
No… she didn’t. She wanted more. Everything.
It terrified her.
He cupped her breasts with one hand, running a thumb over the peak while his other put more stimulation against her clit. “Come on my cock, Hermione. I need to feel you.” He thrusted up into her as she dropped on him, her thighs burning.
“Fuck! Tom!” she cried. He circled the sensitive nub, pinched her nipple, and she came, shivering on top of him. Her nails dug into his chest as she tried to find purchase. He hissed as her walls clenched around him. It was too much. The realization of the depths of her feelings for him, combined with her orgasm, overwhelmed all of her senses, unleashing heaving, uncontrollable sobs.
“Hermione?”
“I’m sorry!” Tears streamed down her face for some inexplicable reason that she couldn’t explain.
“Why are you crying?!” His thrusts slowed. He wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped her so they were both on their sides. She hooked her leg over his hip, his hard length still buried inside her.
“I don’t know!” she lied, because she knew. She loved Tom Riddle, a love destined for heartache. But, despite the knowledge that loving him would cause her pain, it felt so good.
He pressed his lips against her tear-stained cheeks, his ragged breath brushing against her face. His hand gripped her thigh, pulling her closer, reigniting the fire within her. As he moved against her, their bodies melding together, she could fantasize that he might, one day, love her too.
Did Tom Riddle comprehend the meaning of love?
She was certain she did. He would do anything for her, even chase her to the ends of the earth. They may not see things the same, and occasionally, his intensity intimidated her, but he was also the person who challenged her, stimulated her mind in ways no one else could. He knew exactly how to touch her, to make her melt.
As if reading her thoughts, his hand snaked between them and he circled her clit, making her gasp. His movements sped up. His grip on her tightened. He pushed himself so deep that it bordered on the edge of pain. He grunted against her cheek as he released inside her.
She loved feeling his cock twitch and soften after he came within her. He held her close. Her head rested against the pillow with her eyes closed.
She was drifting off when she suddenly realized something. “Tom, is this my pillow?”
He was silent for a moment. “Sort of.”
She tilted her chin to examine his face, as impassive as ever. “Did you steal my pillow?”
“Not exactly”
She waited for him to fill in what “exactly” he did with her pillow. They stared at each other. Both of them with unwavering expressions. Tom’s blank and Hermione’s bewildered.
Eventually, he sighed. “I duplicated it.”
“Because it was just so comfortable?” She somehow sensed it wouldn’t be the reason. His wry expression spoke volumes, saving him from answering.
“Because it smelled like you. I put a stasis charm on it so the scent wouldn’t dissipate.”
She wished she could say this revelation surprised her, but it didn’t.
“When?”
“Uh... when you passed out after your O.W.L.s.”
“Oh... okay then.” She plopped her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes.
He shifted, his softened cock slipped out of her. “That’s it?”
She peaked an eye open. Now it was his turn to look incredulous. She smirked. “Go to sleep, Tom.”
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
He didn’t anticipate any issues during the hearing. In fact, he was pretty certain it would be boring. But his sob story did finally get his witch to spend the night with him. Maybe now she would realize it wasn’t a big deal and they could fuck regularly in the Leaky Cauldron.
He enjoyed waking up with her in his arms. It had been ages; not since the Room of Requirement. She was ill, then. He could hardly lay a hand on her without causing her pain. Now he could ravage her and she would respond with the most delightful moans.
He woke the next day, aching and hard, his cock straining against her arse when she breathed in a steady rhythm. He reached around her hip, running his fingers between her folds and feeling the moisture and warmth—remnants from their fierce fucking the previous night. With his knee, he parted her legs, then positioned himself at her entrance. She hummed, but didn’t wake with the movement. Then he pressed inside her, her heat encompassing his cock in a glorious grip. He set an unhurried pace.
“Tom,” she breathed, sleep thick in her throat.
“Good morning.”
“Hmm…”
His cock slipped out of her as he repositioned them, rolling her to her back. Her eyes barely cracked open as she looked at him, heavy lidded. He crawled over her and parted her legs, rubbing the glans against her entrance, then pushing inside.
Her eyes shut again as he slowly thrusted, reveling in the delirious haze between awake and asleep. He bit down on her neck, making her groan.
“Tom…” Her hands ran through his hair and she pulled him down for a kiss. Deep and tender. She was definitely awake now.
“Good morning, my lioness.” He sped up. She hissed against his mouth when he shifted his angle, hitting a new spot. She liked it a lot. He did it again. And again. Driving her wild. His fingers found her clit, strumming her until she sounded out an intoxicating melody.
“Oh, Merlin!” she kept moaning, spurring him on. He mumbled nonsense in her ear. Words about how perfect she was. How well they fit together. He meant every utterance he spoke, even if she never knew it.
He loved her. He had her in his arms. Everything about this was so agonizingly deep. Almost painfully real—these things he felt for her.
It hurt, because she would never understand. Nobody ever understood. In the end, he was alone.
Even his witch, his lioness, left him.
He came with a guttural moan before rolling off her.
She gasped for air. “What time is it?”
He pulled the pocket watch from his bedside table. “Eight.”
“I have to get ready for work. And your hearing is supposed to be in an hour.”
He nodded. She swung her legs out of bed, but before she stood, she leaned over and gave him a last resounding kiss. “I’ll see you this evening.”
***
Eleanor Moody was punctual. More than punctual, the Auror was early. She arrived via floo to collect Tom. “We will go to the Ministry,” she said with no greeting
They were obviously headed to the Ministry, he thought, suppressing an eyeroll at the pointless remark.
He stayed quiet.
“Your hearing will take place with Mrs. Clearwater in the Improper Use of Magic office.”
He nodded.
“You may have to appear before the Wizengamot. I don’t think I need to stress the importance of this interview today.”
He kept his expression calm and collected, not giving anything away. He followed her through the fireplace into an imposing building with marble floors, tall columns, and high ceilings. Enchanted candles floated above Tom's head, illuminating the space.
They started walking across the Atrium where they passed a large fountain featuring a wizard and witch being adored by a goblin, centaur, and house-elf. An absurd statue. The sound of running water and chattering voices echoed off the walls, giving Tom a headache.
He followed the Auror, trying his best to keep his irritation at bay. This whole situation was ridiculous. He was attacked at the park! He was the one who defended himself! They didn’t catch the guy that did it! Though he could be dead. Fiendfyre wasn’t to be trifled with.
They boarded the elevator with a small crowd. Tom didn’t miss the three paper airplanes that flew on the elevator. The doors shut with a clank; the gates locking him to his fate. They descended to the 2nd floor when a disembodied voice said, “Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Improper Use of Magic Office.” They disembarked along with a paper airplane. Tom watched it zoom away.
It made sense that they wouldn’t use owls in the ministry. Nobody wanted to deal with the droppings. Yet, he maintained that Muggles had found better ways to communicate. Despite his general disdain for Muggles, he wasn’t blind to the benefits of a telephone. Even a radio would benefit wizards, another Muggle invention that the wizarding community had ignored.
He considered what spell they used to navigate the planes to their proper destination. Was there private information in the missives? Wouldn’t it be easy to blast one down and read it?
He rolled his eyes at the archaic nature of it all.
“Mrs. Clearwater is through here,” Eleanor Moody said with a nod, opening the door for Tom. “Don’t be nervous.” He wasn’t. “Answer truthfully.” Fuck that. “And stay calm.” Did she expect him to panic right now?
Instead of offering any response to any of her statements, he replied with, “Thank you,” and headed inside.
Mrs. Clearwater was an extremely old witch. Probably the oldest Tom had ever laid eyes on. So ancient, he wondered if her body was about to crumble into dust with age and deterioration. She folded her bony fingers, adorned with ancient rings that whispered secrets of the past.
He stared at her.
Her oversized eyes met his, set in a thin face with a crooked nose that hinted at being broken at least three times before.
“Hello, Mr. Riddle.” Her voice sounded hoarse. Like she had a head-cold.
The room was dimly lit. Heavy drapes over the windows concealed the enchanted view of the outside, despite them being underground. The shadows danced on the walls like specters, adding to the eerie weight of silence. He looked at the chairs in front of the woman’s desk. Normally, he would seat himself and set his place in a room, claiming ownership, but in this situation, a certain level of discretion would be required.
“Good morning,” he put on his best, polite smile. Nothing too overwhelming or dominating.
The woman gave no reaction.
His lips drooped.
They stared at each other. Her eyes bore into him, cold and piercing, and for a moment, he felt stripped bare under her scrutiny, as if she could see every flicker of darkness that curled within his heart. He didn’t sense the use of Legilimency, which reassured him.
“I believe you know why you are here?”
What kind of question was that? Of course he knew why he was here! Did they think he forgot?! Instead of letting his temper rise, he replied with a simple, “I do.”
“Sit.”
He disliked this woman. It gave him some solace that she was on death’s doorstep. The world wouldn’t have to endure her much longer.
He sat.
A quiet descended on them, neither willing to break eye-contact first.
Unsure of what to say, he chose silence. They stared at each other; the seconds stretching into an awkwardly prolonged moment. Long enough that Tom wondered if the woman actually had died. He would have a hell of a time explaining how the woman doing his hearing died in the middle of his interview.
To his relief, her corpse-like body moved, and her mouth opened. “Mr. Riddle, did you use magic in the sight of Muggles?”
“I did.”
“And you’re underage?”
She knew he was! “I am.”
“A park was destroyed.”
“I heard.”
He kept his answers brief. Not that he had much to add.
“I have received reports from witnesses of the events stating they saw a monster of fire.”
“Yes.”
“Care to explain.”
“I think it was Fiendfyre.”
“I see.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know it was Fiendfyre?”
“I said I think it was Fiendfyre.”
“Fiendfyre is notoriously difficult to control.”
“I’ve heard.”
“We are lucky it didn’t burn down half of London.”
“Yes.”
“What you did could have dangerous consequences. Do you understand the gravity of your actions?” It was the longest sentence she’d uttered yet.
“Yes.”
“Is that so? The destruction of a park leaves ripples beyond what you can fathom.”
He pictured the children playing and families gathering for picnics. Why should he care? “They’ll forget,” he said, the words tumbling from him like stones, “they’ll rebuild.”
“You make it sound inconsequential—”
“The Muggles are in the middle of a war, Mrs. Clearwater. They will be rebuilding for a long time.”
“The Ministry is not involved in the war.”
“I’m aware.”
“We cannot ignore the threat you pose, not only to Muggles, but to our way of life. Do you understand that?”
“The threat I pose?!”
“Many were there. Some were injured, and yet you remain unrepentant.”
“I have nothing to apologize for! You act like I might have an ulterior motive for having someone throw killing curses at me in the middle of London!” he heard his tone getting snappy, he needed to reel it in.
“But be mindful, Mr. Riddle. The choices you make today will carve the path for your tomorrow.”
Why did he get the sense that they were having completely different conversations? The topic remained known only to her, and he was expected to keep up. “Are you accusing me of something?” he asked, his annoyance leaking into his tone.
“You claimed to understand why you were here.”
“Yes, use of underage magic, which was clearly done in self-defense.”
“Is that so?”
“I was attacked. My assailant was trying to kill me. I chose myself and my life over the landscape. I won’t apologize for that.”
She said nothing. Her protuberant eyes evaluated him. He calmed his expression, leaning back in the stiff chair. "Who attacked you?”
“I don’t know,” he said through a clenched jaw.
“Why would they attack you?”
“The Aurors questioned me already. They probably have a transcript in their records.”
The woman sighed, and suddenly she looked remarkably younger. “Well, be that as it may, there is another matter we need to discuss.”
Tom remained silent. He manipulated his magical core, trying to regain his sense of peace. He couldn’t lash out. This woman could expel him from Hogwarts.
Her face hardened again. “Mr. Riddle, would you care to explain why you were living alone in a Muggle orphanage?”
His stomach dropped. How the fuck did they find out?!
He opened his mouth, but his tongue had dried so much with her pronouncement he couldn’t form words. “Alone?”
“Quite alone,” she repeated.
There was no point in hiding it. He shifted in his chair. “I made arrangements to stay here so I wouldn’t have to go to the countryside.”
“The country?”
“They evacuated the children of London to escape the war.” He told her.
The woman looked unimpressed. “You realize that a wizard who is underage cannot simply live by themselves.”
“I know.”
“This does not bode well for your trial–”
“I didn’t realize I was on trial right now,” he snapped. He should play nice, but his woman was getting on his bloody nerves. He mentally praised his own foresight to remove all the magical barriers around the orphanage before he and Hermione left the last time.
She ignored his taunt, “you’re a boy living alone and getting mixed up in a violent crime in the view of Muggles.”
“How does my living alone have anything to do with the reason I’m here?” Tom asked after a quick breath to get his anger under control.
“You were unrestricted, Mr. Riddle—"
“My living alone in the orphanage, while disagreeable to you, is not a crime.”
“That is not the point—"
“Are you planning on charging me for something because of my living arrangements?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did you think we would let this go?”
“Perhaps not, but I am now living at the Leaky Cauldron, so it doesn’t matter anymore. This hearing is regarding the events that occurred in Vauxhall Park.”
“What have you been doing while unsupervised, Mr. Riddle?!” Her temper flared. The old woman’s face pinched as if she smelled something sour.
“You act like I’m involved in some illegal crime syndicate.” He said, using all his strength to keep himself calm.
“Are you?”
“You can’t actually believe I am,” he snorted.
“And why would you say that?” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
“Because if you truly thought this, I would stand trial in front of the entire Wizengamot right now for these ridiculous allegations.”
The woman leaned back in her chair, with barely a sound. “True. Nobody else wanted to pursue the direction of questioning. But I felt it couldn’t be ignored. You had strong character references from your professors and employer. The witnesses had no additional evidence to point to nefarious activity on your part, though Muggle eyewitness accounts can never be trusted. Your record is clean. But I have to believe you were targeted for a reason. Were you not born and raised in Muggle London? In an orphanage that you have admitted to hating? Perhaps you’re aligned with an anti-muggle group and orchestrated this!”
Tom agreed he was targeted for a reason, but he couldn’t fathom what that purpose might be. To suggest that he desired to eradicate Muggles and stage such an attack was preposterous.
“You may not have noticed, but the Muggles do just fine wiping themselves out with their World War. They don’t need my help.”
“You are being absurd!”
“I figured such an absurd allegation deserved an absurd response,” he said, his tone flat.
The woman was seething. So angry it looked like her eyes might bulge out of her bony head.
“With all due respect, Mrs. Clearwater, I would like to continue with the actual hearing for the use of underage magic. If you want to question me regarding the supposed activities of some anti-muggle group, then it sounds like a formal trial should be arranged. That is not the purpose of today’s meeting.” He tried to keep his voice calm, holding back the irritation.
A disgruntled grin spread across the woman’s face. “Very well, Mr. Riddle.”
Ten minutes later, she directed Tom out of her office to sit in the hall while she discussed the circumstances with colleagues.
He honestly had no idea what would happen. The woman clearly felt he was guilty–and while he might be guilty of some things, he certainly wasn’t guilty of what she accused him of. But she could still exit her office, stare him in the face, and expel him from Hogwarts. They would snap his wand. He would have nowhere to live–probably have to continue at the Leaky Cauldron…
He could contest the verdict if that was the case. She had no grounds to expel him!
Twenty minutes passed and Tom wished he had brought a book with him. Anything to keep him from staring at the wall wondering what the future had in store. He always believed he was master of his own destiny. With patience and effort, he might manipulate the world around him, and those in it, to suit his needs. Somebody was stringing him along, and he was going to find out who!
Thirty more minutes passed. He found a copy of the Daily Prophet that he flicked through. There was a short article about the rebuilding of the park that was “destroyed early that summer.” The details were vague. They would have to completely replace the dirt. It would never grow anything again after being touched by Fiendfyre.
An additional forty flew by and still he heard nothing. Was the woman trying to gather up the Wizengamot for a trial right now?! Who could she possibly have to talk to?! He’d now read through the entire Daily Prophet twice and tossed it aside.
When fifty minutes passed, he was at wits end. Almost two hours in the damn hallway. He was about to stand to knock, or find someone–do something, when her door flew open.
“You’re cleared of charges,” Mrs. Clearwater said through unwilling lips.
Tom blinked.
“I called Eleanor Moody to collect you and return you to the Leaky Cauldron where you will remain until you are of age.”
The ancient woman shut the door without allowing Tom a chance to respond.
His legs were stiff when he stood to return to the Leaky Cauldron. Gabriella met him at the hearth and berated him for living by himself. Apparently, she received a letter with this update and agreed to allow him to live under her care.
Only five more months and then he wouldn’t have to worry about this damn underage issue anymore!
“You don’t mind staying, do you?”
“No! I mean! I want to stay!” He blurted. Gabriella looked delighted and sauntered off.
Bridget walked around the corner, stopping when she caught sight of him. She held her fluffy white demon in her arms. Zephyr gave him a malevolent glare. Bridget cocked her head. “Not going home?”
Tom looked at her. “Have you ever been to an orphanage, kid?”
She opened her mouth, probably to make her usual comment about the whole ‘kid’ thing, but then she reconsidered. “No.”
“It isn’t a home.” He once heard a saying, ‘home is where the heart is.’ He found it ridiculous at the time, writing it off as a mushy monstrosity. Somehow, it entered his head again as he ducked around Bridget and headed up the stairs to find his witch.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione encouraged Tom as he left for his hearing, but in reality she was bloody terrified. A Muggle park destroyed. Fiendfyre. While they might not know about the dark magic, it was certainly more dire than Harry’s trial.
Would he have to go in front of the entire Wizengamot?
She swallowed and continued her shift. For once, she was grateful to be working a double. It kept her distracted. The time passed faster.
Edgar was behind the bar again today, wiping down the bar glasses with a cloth rather than magic, a symptom of his illness. He mentioned he wasn’t supposed to use magic for anything anymore if he could help it because of his unstable magical core, so, for all intensive purposes, he lived like a squib. But having magic and not using it was nearly impossible. Especially when one went a lifetime with it always by their side.
The illness would kill him. There was no cure. Eventually, his core would become out of control. He would start experiencing random spurts of magic. He would have to be hospitalized at St. Mungo’s for safety. Then his magic would wither away-taking him with it. The time this took varied from person to person.
The Leaky Cauldron remained busy, filled with students passing through to get their school supplies. Patrick worked today to get extra money, now saving to buy what he would deem to be a “nice broom.” He wanted to try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team this year.
“Hermione!” she spun around and smiled.
“Alastor!” Her friend approached and hugged her. It had been ages since she saw him. “What are you doing here?!”
“My mum is meeting me so we can get school supplies after she is done with some meetings. She said she should be back soon.”
Her mouth dried.
Alastor looked over her shoulder and waved at someone. To her surprise, Reinhardt Lestrange appeared. Were they always friends?
“You alright, Hermione?” he asked by way of greeting. He must’ve sensed her distress. Alastor evaluated her again with his brow raised.
“Uh, yeah, Tom’s hearing is today. Alastor’s mum escorted him to it, actually.”
“For?”
“Underage magic.”
Hermione shouldn’t have told them. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. She wanted to curse herself for speaking, but it turned out Alastor had heard about it from his family. He updated Reinhardt on the situation.
“He’ll be fine. Tom’s good at sweet talking his way around problems,” Reinhardt shrugged. Alastor nodded.
“Are you two friends?” Hermione asked, gazing at each of them.
“No.”
“Yes.”
They both answered simultaneously.
“I mean,” Alastor said, “we are friendly—”
“Our grandmothers are friends, actually—“ Reinhardt cut him off.
“Yes, our grandmothers,” Alastor nodded in agreement.
“Right, we met up over the summer,” Reinhardt continued.
“Well, our grandmother’s met up—“
“Yeah! That’s what I meant! And we were there, too!”
“Exactly, I went with my grandmother to France!”
“And I live there!” Reinhardt rushed to add, “I wasn’t visiting or anything!”
“Yeah, his grandmother lives in France!”
“Right!”
“So we talked in France!”
“While our grandmother’s visited.”
“Yes, we weren’t visiting each other or anything,” Alastor said.
“Would’ve been rude not to talk.”
“So we talked.”
“Right!”
“So we talked while our grandmother’s, uh, talked.”
“And while our grandmother’s talked, we got to know each other,” Reinhardt stammered, “through talking.” He added unnecessarily.
“Exactly, so really we would be talking umm acquaintances…” Alastor concluded. Hermione had never seen her friend act so flustered in her life. She also wasn’t sure if she had ever heard the words ‘talk’ and ‘grandmother’ used so many times in a one minute stretch.
She blinked at both of them.
She considered asking what the hell a “talking acquaintance” was when Reinhardt jumped in. “Hey Alastor, did you want to order?”
“Yes!” They scrambled away, despite Hermione being the waitress taking orders. She decided not to prolong that odd interaction and allowed them to escape. Her thoughts didn’t linger on them long as she returned to worrying about Tom.
Hermione was so high strung for the rest of her shift, she could barely focus. Eventually, Gabriella snagged her apron and told her to take the day off. Tom had been gone for three hours now and she had heard nothing.
She retreated to her room, lying on the bed, but found it cold and unyielding. She moved across the hall and lay in his bed. At least, she hoped it would still be his bed.
It smelled like him. Them. She didn’t sleep well last night. But that was mostly his fault.
She tossed and turned, but eventually fell asleep.
Notes:
Merry Christmas! Hope you guys are enjoying the holidays!
Chapter 53 Song: If You Love Her - Forest Blakk. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
I will not be posting another chapter of this fic until I finish the first draft of book 2 (which is almost done... I think.... I hope...). This means it may be a couple months until the next update. You can expect previews on my instagram and tumblr (along with some art that I commissioned!!)
This is for all the dark Tom lovers out there! I dropped a sexy omegaverse oneshot, Scent of Surrender! If you want a redeemable, sweet, and caring Tom like in The Brightest Star in the Sky, you will not find him here. 😏 I also have a very smutty professor Riddle fic that is almost done (probably in a few weeks!) Ruin Her (I also have some soft NSFW art that I'm going to be putting up with it soon!)
Comments are my tip jar! (They keep me motivated to finish this damn draft!)
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Chapter 54: 54: Hogwarts Express
Notes:
Click for a COMPLETE recap of part 1 and 2 (sorry it has been so long since I have posted. hope this helps jog memories) Warning: Will spoil the story thus far
PART 1:
Hermione fell through the veil after being hit by Dolohov's curse and landed in 1940s. She survives by obtaining a job at the Leaky Cauldron and is ultimately admitted to Hogwarts where she quickly discovers that she is in a parallel world, not the past, noticing small differences such as Sir Cadogan guarding Gryffindor and the different location to the Chamber of secrets. While she struggles with lingering effects of her curse and finding her place in this new world, Tom grows obsessed with the mystery behind her. He finds himself infatuated with Hermione. They begin a relationship over winter break after finding common ground.
Things fall apart when Tom opens the Chamber of Secrets and petrifies a student resulting in a breakup. Hermione's health also declines due to the effects of the curse and she rapidly deteriorates. Tom discovers Walburga Black, his ex lover, was partly responsible for hastening Hermione's decline and he kills her and Petrifies Hermione with the Basilisk to give him more time to find a cure for her curse. He ultimately begs Dumbledore's pheonix, Fawkes for tears, admitting that he loves Hermione, to save her. But when she wakes, she is shocked and upset, ending her relationship with Tom.
PART 2:
The start of part 2 focuses on Tom trying to get Hermione back over the summer while she is struggling with crippling depression after the events of the previous year. Bridget, a young girl who lives at the Leaky Cauldron (her mother owns the pub) gives Tom advise to help fix his relationship with Hermione. But Hermione rejects Tom, knowing she is not mentally in a place to handle the relationship.
Tom becomes desperate. He starts brewing amortentia as a backup if all else should fail. He gets a job at the Leaky Cauldron to spend more time with Hermione, but it isn't until Gussie (Neville's future grandmother and Hermione's best friend) steps in to address Hermione's deteriorating mental health does Hermione actually start to accept him again. Throughout this time, there is also an unknown assailant that attacked Tom in a Muggle park in London forcing him to use magic in public. Hermione also starts investigating the possibility of returning to her world by reaching out to a researcher known for studying the subject.
Hermione learns just how much Tom did to save her and rekindles the relationship and they have sex. Tom goes to his hearing for underage magic and is let off as self defense But they still don't know who attacked him or why.
Part 2 also has many flashbacks to Tom's childhood where we meet a girl named, Cora, who was a maternal figure to Tom.
OTHER INFORMATION: This story is full of a large cast of characters.
Gryffindors:
- Alastor Moody: Gryffindor Prefect who is secretly in love with Reinhardt Lestrange (shadows of doubt covers this story).
- Archie Longbottom: Gryffindor quidditch player in love with Augusta "Gussie" Crouch
- Gussie Crouch: Hermione's best friend who is engaged to Ignatius Prewitt through an unbreakable vow made as a toddler but is in love with Archie. She is the only one, other than Tom, who knows Hermione is from a parallel world.
Slytherins:
- Norris Avery: One of Tom's friends
- Abraxas Malfoy: Another friend of Tom's who hates Hermione for punching him at the beginning of part 1 and breaking his nose. He had a brief relationship with Walburga after Tom broke it off with her.
- Reinhardt Lestrange: Tom's only true friend who is the most level-headed of the group. In love with Alastor Moody (only Tom knows that he is gay).
- Walburga Black: Tom's ex lover whom he killed at the end of Part 1 for poisoning Hermione
Other Characters:
- Julia Brown (OC): Hufflepuff in Hermione's year. Became friends on the train. Had a previous relationship with Alfred and Reinhardt
- Alfred Hensley (OC): Muggleborn Ravenclaw was petrified by Tom for spiking the punch at the Winter Ball (which Hermione drank too much of). He is mostly a comedy character
- Bridget Dodderridge (OC): Young girl who lives at the leaky cauldron and about to start her first year at hogwarts. She is known to be manipulative and devious. Tom got her a cat, Zephyr, for her birthday.
- Cora Robinson (OC): Muggle girl that raised Tom at the orphanage as a maternal figure. Her story is still being revealed. Hermione took a file with information about her from the orphanage archives to learn more about Tom's past.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
December 1932
Tom trailed outside of the classroom, scanning the corridor for Cora’s familiar auburn hair.. She always met him after Sunday School so they could walk to church together. Today, like every Sunday, she’d insisted he wear his best slacks, scratchy, ill-fitting things that made his skin crawl, but arguing with Cora was futile when she set her mind to something.
“Tom!” He found her standing by the water fountain, gesturing for him to follow. “What did you learn about today?”
The same question, week after week. While he attended lessons with the younger children, she joined the adult group, discussing biblical passages with Mrs. Henderson.
“Jesus,” he replied. The answer he gave was always the same. They walked around a corner.
“What about Him?”
Tom shrugged. “We talked about praying.” They seemed to pray constantly—at meals, before bed, during services. It had become as routine as breathing. “Cora, why do we pray?”
She blinked at him. “To talk to God.”
“But why would I want to talk to God?”
They shuffled into a pew and took their seats as they waited for the service to begin. Cora smoothed her modest dress and considered his question with the seriousness she always afforded his curiosity.
“Because we can build a relationship with Him, talk to Him, ask for blessings and forgive our sins.”
“Blessings?”
“God won’t always grant us our requests. He has a plan for everyone, but it feels good to know He is listening and we grow closer.”
Tom had no idea what she was talking about. He fidgeted against the worn wood of the pew and considered her words throughout the service, always finding it difficult to pay attention. In the end, he gave prayer a try.
He couldn’t remember exactly what he said, but it went something like this: “Hey God. It’s me. My name is Tom, by the way. I thought I might pray. Um... I don’t really like the orphanage very much. It’s where I live, in case you didn’t know, but Cora says you know everything, so I guess you must know that too? I wish I could have a family. A real one like those kids at school. But I like Cora. I want to be special. Oh! And I’d like to try ice cream!” and on it went.
As the years passed, Tom grew more frustrated with the idea of prayer. The concept felt absurd. Then there was Jesus, the one everyone thought was amazing for his miracles.
Tom found this particularly intriguing. He could do strange things too.. He levitated objects, made fire from nothing, and talked to snakes. Did that mean he was like Jesus?
He stared at the cup of water sitting beside his plate over lunch one afternoon in late December. That morning, in Sunday school, they learned about Jesus turning water into wine for a party.
Tom narrowed his eyes at the cup, his head pounding with his level of concentration.
Turn to wine, Tom commanded. Turn to wine… Turn To WINE!
He focused so hard, his whole body trembled. A ripple formed in the water, like the pulsating of a heart, but otherwise remained unchanged.
He ground his teeth.
Why couldn’t he do it?! If Jesus could, then he wanted to as well. He refused to believe this Jesus was better than him.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
When Hermione woke, she found herself pinned down and uncomfortably warm. She attempted to shift, but realized two strong arms were wrapped around her torso. Tom lay almost on top of her in the bed, his head on her chest, fast asleep.
How did she not wake up?
But she didn’t focus on that question for long. He was back... He looked so peaceful. She interpreted that to mean everything went okay.
A smile played on her lips as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair.
He stirred with a low groan, though she might have thought him still asleep if he hadn’t nuzzled his face against her breasts. Cheeky bastard.
She moved to extricate herself, but his arms tightened around her.
“Don’t move,” he mumbled against her chest.
She rolled her eyes, but complied. “I’m feeling hot. I thought I’d take my blouse off,” she teased.
He stiffened, torn between his desire to keep her captive and the tantalizing possibility she’d actually follow through. Tom would never turn down the opportunity to greet bare breasts. “Okay, you can move... a little.” He stressed the last bit.
She snorted and flopped back on the bed. “I changed my mind.” She propped herself on the pillows.
Tom grumbled his disappointment and squirmed closer, laying his head against her abdomen.
“I will settle for this.” He was being awfully clingy. Not typical Tom behavior. Almost cute. She ran her fingers through his hair, which, judging by the little purr he released from the back of his throat, he liked a lot. She continued her ministrations.
“What happened at the hearing?”
“No charges. Self defense.” His voice grew drowsy.
She hummed, a soothing relief passing through her. “Tom... I don’t want you to go back to the orphanage.” She didn’t even want to return to her own bed. She wanted to remain here… with him. Cuddling and talking. Letting him grotesquely nuzzle against her while she petted his head. These were rare moments she found comfort in it.
“I’m staying.”
“What?”
“The ministry discovered I was living alone,” he mumbled, his voice becoming more faded. “So... Gabriella let me... move in…”
His breathing evened out as he drifted back to sleep, the day’s stress finally catching up with him. It spoke volumes about how much tension he’d been concealing that his body shut down once the immediate threat had passed. There was still the matter of someone trying to kill him, but, knowing Tom, he was least concerned about that.
She glanced around his room. He kept his trunk against the wall next to his bed, letting it double as a bedside table. Like her, he had a small stack of books there that she reached for. She examined the titles: Murder on the Orient Express, Brave New World, Magical Theory, The Hidden Lives of the Hags of Hackney, and Arousing the Witch: A Wizard’s Guide to Magical Sex.
A smile crept over her face. So Tom had been conducting some research of his own. She must be the luckiest witch alive.
***
The rest of summer passed in a blissful haze. Hermione immersed herself in her new textbooks. Tom joined her, which was a nice change of pace. He discussed areas she found interesting, sometimes starting educated debates. She wasn’t sure if he did this because he was genuinely interested or because he realized she found his intelligence to be incredibly attractive. Hermione practically tackled him and kissed him with wild abandon after every session.
She suspected ulterior motives were at play.
When they weren’t studying, they worked side by side at the Leaky Cauldron or explored Diagon Alley together. Now that they’d reconciled, Bridget complained even louder. She thought Hermione would be happier and hang out with her if she had Tom back. Instead, her boyfriend used all her time up. Hermione tried to compromise and offered for the girl to come with them into Diagon Alley.
The horror that crossed Tom’s face at this suggestion only encouraged Bridget to accept with theatrical enthusiasm.
This resulted in Hermione enduring an afternoon of watching Tom and Bridget exchange creative barbs. The situation only deteriorated when Gussie joined them, adding her own commentary to their verbal sparring match.
For once, things were peaceful. She still had her lingering financial troubles, but Tom provided her with a sense of security she longed for. His confidence might border on arrogance, but she found herself anchored by his unwavering strength.
However, Hermione maintained her rule about intimacy within the Leaky Cauldron. Tom expressed his displeasure with this restriction through creative attempts at persuasion, arguing that perhaps “minimal physical affection” might be acceptable.
She knew he would take full advantage of any opportunity, no matter how “minimal” he claimed his intentions were. Hermione had a hard time remembering why she made these rules. Especially since she could silence the walls and ward the doors when Tom fucked her brains out on the creaky beds. The only one who seemed to figure out what they were up to was the cat, Zephyr, who could frequently be found laying outside their door when they finally came up for air, giving them judgmental glares with a pompous swoosh of her fluffy, white tail.
She refused to find the cat annoying, arguing the Zephyr was minding her own business. Tom hated the creature more and insisted the feline was “disturbing” and “perverted”.
But in Hermione’s estimation, life couldn’t possibly be better.
Before she knew it, they were getting ready to leave for Hogwarts. Tom attempted to help Hermione pack but after two attempts ended with his head between her legs until she cried out her name, she kicked him out and told him she could manage perfectly well alone. She ignored his hints about needing assistance with his own packing endeavors.
The ongoing Muggle war continued to limit transportation options, so the Ministry provided their familiar magically expanded automobiles. She, Tom, Bridget, Patrick, and Gabriella all fit comfortably in the rear seat with room to spare.
The extra space proved necessary. Especially when they discovered Zephyr’s aversion to car rides.
By the time they reached Kings Cross Station, everyone had at least one scratch somewhere on their person, while Zephyr acted like the perfect little angel once they exited the vehicle. She lounged on Bridget’s trolly, taking a nap as the luggage swayed beneath her.
Once they boarded the train, Bridget announced it wouldn’t be cool to sit with “old people” and wanted to find her own compartment to sit in.
“You sure you don’t want us to help stow away your luggage?” Hermione asked.
“No. How about you two go claim a private compartment to snog in before they’re all taken,” Bridget said.
Tom enthusiastically endorsed this suggestion as absolutely brilliant, earning himself a withering glare from Hermione.
“Good riddance,” Tom muttered. Hermione couldn’t say if he was referring to the girl or the cat. Probably both.
“Don’t be like that!” Hermione chastised.
Tom arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He dragged his trunk down the narrow corridor. Hermione assumed he was searching for his fellow Slytherins. He stopped halfway down the train at their usual compartment.
“Hermione!” someone called.
“Gussie!”
Before she could take a step toward her friend, Tom’s hand closed around her arm and he pulled her into the compartment with surprising force.
“Wait, Tom!”
“We are sitting here,” he said, not leaving any room for debate. Before she could protest, he waved his wand at her luggage, levitating it to stow it away.
“But my friends—”
“Sit down.” The command in his voice made her bristle, but she recognized the futility of arguing.
She glanced around the compartment, noting Abraxas Malfoy’s expression of profound distaste at her presence. Norris Avery appeared bored by the entire situation. Reinhardt was absent.
Tom shooed Abraxas to the other bench, claiming a space for them to share.
“Tom!” The compartment door flew open, revealing a very irritated Gussie. “You can’t monopolize all of her time!”
“I can and I will,” he replied, settling onto the bench. Hermione glanced between the two of them, bewildered. He grabbed her arm and tugged her on the bench. She landed in his lap with a squeak.
“Stop manhandling me!”
“You guys are revolting,” Gussie sighed.
“Agreed,” Abraxas said.
“Tom, let me go!” Hermione struggled against his hold, but his arms only tightened around her waist.
“Again, you will not monopolize her time. She is my best friend!”
Hermione caught the dangerous glint in Tom’s eyes and intervened. “Gussie, I’ll find you when Tom’s on prefect duties.”
Gussie scowled at the suggestion and stormed off without another word. With her friend gone, Hermione shimmied off his lap and onto the bench beside him.
The train began its familiar journey north, and Hermione tried to settle into the rhythm of wheels on tracks. The silence in the compartment felt charged with tension.
“So,” Norris finally spoke, glancing between her and Tom with mild curiosity, “I take it you two sorted things out over the summer?”
“One might say that,” Tom replied smoothly, his hand finding her knee with casual possessiveness. Hermione shot him a warning look but didn’t move away—she’d learned to pick her battles with him.
Abraxas made a sound of disgust. “Spare us the details, Riddle.”
“I wasn’t planning to share,” Tom said, though his smirk suggested otherwise. “Though I will say some accommodations are far more... rewarding than others.”
Heat flooded Hermione’s cheeks. “Tom!”
Abraxas groaned while Norris chuckled.
“Do you disagree? I was under the impression that you had enjoyed your stay at the Leaky Cauldron,” Tom said with an arrogant smirk that she had half a mind to smack off his face.
Before she could formulate a response to his audacious remarks, Abraxas cut in with, “where’s Reinhardt?”
“Sitting with Julia Brown and her friends,” Norris said
“Are they back together?” Abraxas asked.
“Supposedly, they are just friends and she is single.”
“I thought she was back with that Alfred Hensley.”
“No, they didn’t get back together, either.”
Hermione riffled through her bag and pulled out a book before settling back to read.
The journey progressed with the usual mixture of gossip, speculation about the coming term, and Tom’s occasional sly touches that Hermione shook off given the present company. About two hours into the trip, Tom stretched and stood, announcing that he needed to patrol for the next hour.
He leaned down to brush his lips against her temple before trailing down to her ear. “Be back soon.”
Hermione set her book aside. “I might find Gussie,” Hermione replied, trying to ignore the way his breath against her neck made her pulse race.
He looked ready to argue, but shook his head as if deciding against it. With that, he swept from the compartment with his characteristic dramatic flair.
Hermione followed suit, heading in the opposite direction, towards the rear of the train, where she hoped she would find her friend. She hadn’t thought to ask where she would be sitting.
The corridor bustled with returning students catching up after the summer holidays, trunks being rearranged, and the general chaos of the journey. She slid past the trolly witch, delivering sweets to all the new and returning students.
A tremendous CRASH from a nearby compartment stopped her mid-step. The sound was followed by what resembled muffled cursing and something large scuttling across the floor.
Her wand appeared in her hand before conscious thought kicked in. Heart hammering, she approached the compartment door and slid it open. “Everything okay in here?”
“Shut tha’ door!” a large boy shouted.
“Hagrid! What in the name of...” She was momentarily at a loss for words. “Is that an acromantula?” She skirted inside and slammed the door closed behind her.
Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes went wide with panic as he looked up from his struggle with a spider roughly the size of a dinner plate. Dark, chitinous legs scrabbled against the compartment walls as he attempted to coax it back into a reinforced wooden crate.
“Hermione! I... er... this isn’t wha’ it looks like!”
“It looks exactly like you’re smuggling a highly dangerous magical creature onto the Hogwarts Express!” Hermione hissed, casting a hasty silencing charm. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
The young acromantula clicked its mandibles and attempted to skitter toward the corner. Its eight legs moved with disturbing coordination, and Hermione could see the beginnings of venomous fangs that would prove lethal once developed.
“She’s not dangerous!” Hagrid protested, using dragon-hide gloves to gently but firmly guide the creature back toward its container. “She was gettin’ restless is all, so I thought I’d let her stretch her legs.”
“On the train?!”
“She tried to get out of the compartment,” Hagrid continued as if Hermione hadn’t interrupted. “This is Mosag, and she’s going to be a companion for Aragog. Poor fellow’s been so lonely in the forest all by himself.”
“Hagrid,” Hermione said, fighting to keep her voice level despite her mounting horror, “you can’t bring another monster into the castle!”
“She’s on’y a baby, Hermione! She jus needs to get a bit bigger. Then I’ll let her go.”
“You can’t keep her!”
Hagrid’s weathered face crumpled. “But he’s so lonely. Been askin’ for a companion. I thought... I thought if I could find ‘im a nice female...”
Despite her rational mind recoiling at the implications, Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for the half-giant’s tender heart. “I understand you care about Aragog, but... but...” She should have expected him to do this. Hadn’t Aragog made an entire colony in the forbidden forest with the mate Hagrid brought him? “Remember how miserable Aragog was in that chest in the castle? He is much happier in the forest.” She did not know if any of this was true, but she decided to appeal to Hagrid’s softer instincts towards these monsters.
“What if she doesn’ find Aragog? She’s still so small...” He looked near tears.
“They will find each other,” Hermione reassured.
“I can’. I jus got her.”
The spider worked on a web in the corner, moving faster than Hermione would’ve expected for her size. She didn’t find this comforting.
“She needs space to be free,” Hermione said.
“No!”
Hermione had had enough. She straightened her spine and glared down at the massive boy. “We will release her into the Forbidden Forest tonight.”
“Tonight? But she’s not ready! She still needs proper care—”
“She’s an acromantula, not a house cat! The sooner she’s in the wild, the better for everyone involved.” Hermione’s tone brooked no contradiction. “If you don’t do it, I will have to report this.”
“You wouldn’t...”
“I absolutely would.” Hermione softened her voice. “I know you mean well, but you’re putting people at risk. Students, faculty, even yourself.”
The spider had created an intricate web spanning nearly half the compartment during their conversation. Hermione watched with growing alarm as Mosag tested its structural integrity.
“Alright,” Hagrid said finally, defeat heavy in his voice. “Tonight then. But I’m doin’ it properly, makin’ sure she finds her way to Aragog.”
“We’ll do it together,” Hermione declared, not entirely trusting Hagrid’s definition of “properly” when it came to dangerous magical creatures. “After dinner, we’ll meet in the common room.”
The truth was, she wanted to protect Hagrid from his own dangerous compassion as much as protect the school from the spider. If this went wrong, if anyone discovered what he’d done, Hagrid could still be expelled. Already he lasted longer than he would in her world.
Hagrid nodded, then coaxed Mosag back into her reinforced crate with a handful of what appeared to be raw meat. “She is quite sweet once yeh get ter know her,” he said wistfully.
Hermione suppressed a shudder, already imagining Tom’s reaction if he learned what she’d just agreed to help with. “Just keep her contained until tonight, please.”
She hadn’t even arrived at school, and she was already concocting a plan to sneak out of the castle after hours.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom stared at the sorting ceremony with absent disregard. The hat sang its song, and the students lined up, like every other sorting before. As a Prefect, he was supposed to lead the new students. Greeting them as they entered Slytherin house.
Another pointless task he had to contend himself with.
Reinhardt and Norris sat across from him, watching the sorting with glazed over boredom.
“Dumbledore always reads so slow! I’m hungry!” Norris complained.
Nobody commented. As much as Tom detested Dumbledore, he wasn’t the one that delayed things. It was the hat pondering over his sorting decisions.
Reinhardt’s head bobbed, and he shook it to wake up again. Tom hadn’t seen him throughout the entire train ride. He claimed he wanted to spend it with Julia and her friends. Despite their breakup, they maintained a better friendship than ever before.
At least, that is what he told Norris and Abraxas when they asked where he was. Tom knew, in reality, he wanted to sit with Alastor Moody, one of Julia’s friends that she sat with. Based on the way Julia looked at Reinhardt these days, Tom assumed she discovered his secret relationship.
He glanced over at the Gryffindor table where Hermione clapped alongside her friends and appeared to enjoy herself.
He allowed his eyes to glaze over, his body moving of its own accord to perform the appropriate tasks. Mainly, clapping for the Slytherins that joined his table, though, in truth, he didn’t give a damn who they were.
Bridget Dodderridge was called and, not to his surprise, was sorted into Slytherin with very little contemplation from the Sorting Hat. Tom smirked at the startled expression on Hermione’s face. Bridget even had her fooled, but never Tom. She was a master manipulator. Even Tom could learn a thing or two from the kid. Though, she did have a distinct advantage with the curly blonde hair, big blue eyes making her look like a porcilin doll.
The school awarded her the same clapping and cheering as every other student. The kid walked around the Slytherin table as the sorting continued on. She went straight up to Tom and gave him her most charming smile. Tom rolled his eyes at her.
“What do you want, kid,” he asked as Professor Dumbledore called out the name of the next student to be sorted.
“Hello Tom, not going to welcome me to Slytherin house?” She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth.
He smirked. “Sod off, kid.” He said it just loud enough for his small group of friends to hear. There was no hostility in his voice. Reinhardt rose a brow at the girl. Norris and Abraxas looked ready laugh.
“My name is Bridget, actually.”
“I know your name.”
“Thanks Tom!” she turned to look at Abraxas sitting beside him. “Move over, Abraxas.”
“Excuse me?” Abraxas looked like he’d been slapped.
“Move, I’m sitting next to Tom.”
Tom’s lips creeped into a smile. The audacity of this girl was unbelievable.
“You can’t be serious, kid?” Abraxas wasn’t sure what to do. Bridget frowned and then screwed up her face. Tears formed. Abraxas rolled his eyes.
“Don’t bother with that, Bridget. You’re in Slytherin now and it won’t work here,” Tom said.
“Oh, fine.” She pouted, but the tears dried. She slid onto the bench on Abraxas’s other side. “By the way, my name isn’t kid, it’s Bridget. Only Tom is allowed to call me kid. You don’t have permission.” They were ignoring the sorting ceremony now. The group clapped when other Slytherin’s did just to keep up appearances.
“And how does one obtain this exclusive permission?” He studied the girl with his calculating grey eyes. So far this year, Abraxas had been less of a pratt. Really, everything eased up since Tom killed Walburga. Abraxas probably learned his place. Tom should’ve killed her ages ago.
“Date my friend, Hermione,” Bridget shrugged.
“Ew,” Abraxas started.
“That is not going to happen,” Tom cut in.
They both glared at her. She didn’t look the slightest bit put off by the malevolent stares of the two most prominent members of the Slytherin house.
Reinhardt snorted, “I like her, Tom. Where did you find her?”
“My name’s Bridget and my mum owns the Leaky Cauldron!”
“You don’t say,” Reinhardt chuckled. Norris hid his smile and Abraxas now looked bewildered. They both already met.
“I invited Tom to my birthday party. He got me a cat.”
Every one of Tom’s friends stared at him in surprise. Tom kept his face impassive. With Hermione in his life, he did a lot of things that he never would have done before, such as attending children’s birthday parties… and buying thoughtful gifts.
Damn, he hated that cat,
“You never mentioned being the one that gave her that monster,” Norris said.
Tom made no comment.
Bridget scowled. “Remember what I said about insulting my cat!”
“Oh yes, you said you would punch us in the chest.” Norris shrugged.
“No! I said I would hit you where the sun doesn’t shine and, if you must know, I asked Hermione what that meant and it does not mean chest! She said it meant pen—”
“Bridget, can you refrain from discussing penises during the sorting ceremony? It isn’t proper decorum at Hogwarts,” Tom interrupted.
Bridget appeared to consider this before nodding.
“I also gave Tom a lot of relationship advice, so he owes me—”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“You wouldn’t be back with Hermione if it weren’t for me!”
“I beg to differ, kid. And besides, I got you a damn cat. I owe you nothing.”
It appeared she couldn’t argue with that.
She didn’t have a chance to reply as the Great Hall settled into a silence. Professor Dippet stood to give his opening speech.
Nobody was certain how old Professor Dippet was, but Tom imagined that if a skeleton draped itself in a skin suit and wig, it would look something like this wizard. How he could still be alive was beyond Tom.
“Woah, he looks terrible,” Bridget mumbled. Abraxas chuckled.
“He’s pretty old.” Abraxas said.
“Do you think he’s considered retirement? I mean... he’s way overdue, if you ask me.”
“Why don’t you recommend it?” Abraxas asked.
“Hey, I’m new here. Why haven’t you recommended it in one of your many years here already?” She gave Abraxas a stern side eye.
“Because I really don’t give a damn what that wizard does.”
Bridget shrugged. “Good point.”
The skeletal wizard cleared his throat. “Welcome…. Back….” he croaked as if it required substantial effort. Then he sat.
The food appeared on the table.
“Can you call it a speech if it only consisted of two words?” Bridget asked.
“Not sure,” Norris said.
“He has a way with words.” Abraxas smirked.
“I’ve noticed. A truly inspirational public speaker.”
The rest of the feast passed in a blur of conversation and anticipation. Bridget regaled the older Slytherins with tales from her summer at the Leaky Cauldron, somehow making even mundane events sound exciting. Tom found himself grudgingly impressed by her natural storytelling ability. She had the entire group hanging on her every word, even Abraxas.
“And then Zephyr, that’s my cat, she somehow got into the pantry and knocked over an entire shelf of pickled toads’ eyes. The smell was absolutely revolting, and it took three cleaning charms to get it out of her fur,” Bridget concluded with theatrical flair.
Norris snorted. “Your cat sounds like a menace—ouch! Did you really just kick me?!”
“She’s spirited! Don’t insult my cat!” Bridget huffed. “Tom calls her a demon, but he’s just jealous that she doesn’t like him.”
“To be fair,” Abraxas said. “Most creatures with any sense should avoid Tom.”
Tom raised an eyebrow at this comment, but Bridget burst into delighted laughter. “See? Abraxas gets it!”
“I suppose I do,” Abraxas replied with what might have been the beginning of a genuine smile. Tom had tortured Abraxas enough times for him to really understand.
“Watching Tom try to pretend he’s not completely obsessed with Hermione all summer has been better entertainment than any Quidditch match.”
“Oh, this I need to hear.” Abraxas leaned towards her with interest, and Tom realized with growing horror that his most antagonistic friend was actually warming up to the manipulative little schemer.
“Well,” Bridget began conspiratorially, “there was this one time when Hermione was working a double shift, and Tom spent the entire day lurking around the pub pretending to read the same page of his book for four hours straight—”
“That’s enough,” Tom interrupted, but both Bridget and Abraxas ignored him.
“Four hours?” Norris looked delighted. “Reading the same page?”
Tom’s attention drifted across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione laughed at something Gussie had said. Even from this distance, he could see the genuine happiness on her face, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. It made something warm and possessive unfurl in his chest.
“Earth to Tom,” Norris said, waving a hand in front of his face. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Tom asked, though he didn’t look away from Hermione.
“Staring at Granger like she might disappear if you blink,” Reinhardt said.
“It’s actually quite romantic,” Bridget sighed dramatically. “In a stalker-ish sort of way.”
Tom finally turned back to glare at her. “Are you quite finished?”
“Oh, no! Not at all,” Bridget grinned. “Abraxas, did I tell you about the time Tom got so distracted watching Hermione work that he walked into a door?”
“He did not,” Norris said with obvious delight.
“He absolutely did. Left a dent in the wood and everything.”
Before Tom could murder them both, Professor Dippet rose again, a process that seemed to take considerable effort, and announced the end of the feast. The Great Hall filled with the scraping of benches and chattering voices as students filed out.
“Right then, first years,” Tom said, standing and addressing the small group of new Slytherins. He put on his professional charm for appearances. “Follow me to the dungeons.”
As they made their way through the corridors, Tom caught glimpses of Hermione ahead with the Gryffindor group. She glanced back once, their eyes meeting across the crowd of students. Something passed between them… A moment that ended too quickly.
The Slytherin common room was exactly as Tom remembered: green and silver tapestries, the massive fireplace crackling with warmth, and the distinctive underwater lighting that filtered through the lake windows. He went through the motions of introducing the first years to their dormitories, explaining house rules and expectations.
“Any questions?” he asked once he’d finished his standard welcome speech.
Bridget raised her hand. “Where’s the best place to hide contraband?” Her cat wove between her legs, finding her way to the common room on her own. The white puff ball shot Tom withering stares at every given opportunity.
Could he kill the cat and make it look like an accident?
“Why would you need to know that?” Tom asked, though he was genuinely curious about her answer. A few of her fellow first years sniggered.
“Hypothetically speaking,” she replied.
“Hypothetically, you figure it out yourself,” Tom said. “It’s more educational that way.”
“I could show you a few places,” Abraxas offered. “For educational purposes, of course.”
Bridget beamed at him. “Really? That’s brilliant!”
Tom watched this exchange with growing unease. Abraxas making friends with the girl was not something he’d anticipated, and frankly, he wasn’t sure if it was a good or terrible development.
Notes:
Chapter 54 Song: Ordinary by Alex Warren. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Surprise update! Rewrote this chapter yesterday and edited today. Not fully edited yet so some changes may happen. In the original draft, they had sex on the train. I deleted in favor of getting on with the plot. But I still have the draft
I know it has been a while. I've lost my place in fandom. It has been a weird and lonely place lately. I hope to reignite my spark for it again.
Chapter 55: 55: The Mate
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
After having sex with Tom, Hermione wandered the orphanage and took a file on Cora from the office to learn more about her. Tom never discovered that she took the file. (Chapter 52)
On the train to Hogwarts, Hermione caught Hagrid with a female Acromantula and insisted that he release the spider into the forest. (Chapter 54)
Alastor Moody and Reinhardt Lestrange have a secret relationship (can read my fic: Shadows of Doubt, to learn more about their relationship). Tom knows about it but nobody else does. (Chapter 35)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Excerpt from Hermione Granger’s Journal:
I shouldn’t have taken the file. I know that. It was an impulse decision and a dumb one, but I wish I could understand Tom more. How he thinks and what he wants. He remains an enigma to me. I thought this could be the way to do it. I hate how he gets so defensive when I try to ask him about his past, and I know I shouldn’t push him on it.
The file didn’t say much. She didn’t have any health problems, got good grades, and left to when she got a job in Birmingham. Clearly, she was close with Tom. The file mentioned him a lot. But who was she to him? Why did he refuse to talk about her?
Maybe she died…
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Hermione waited by the dying embers of the Gryffindor common room fireplace with a book and curled up in her favorite blanket. She told Hagrid they needed to do this tonight, and she meant it. The spider couldn’t be kept in the castle. They needed to release it into the wild.
She felt like Hagrid had understood that from a practical standpoint, but his sentimental heart interfered with better judgement.
She checked the time. He would arrive at any moment, and then they could finally put this nightmare behind them.
With surprising punctuality, she heard the stairs creak in a way only the enormous weight of a half-giant could produce. He appeared seconds later with a reinforced wooden trunk cradled in his arms. Hermione could hear the ominous scratching from within. Each sound sent ice through her veins.
“Thanks for yer ‘elp, Hermione,” he whispered, though his idea of a whisper could probably wake half the tower. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from an evening spent crying. “Poor Aragog’s been alone all summer. Took me ages to find Mosag. I hope he likes her.” His voice cracked as he burst into a puddle of tears.
“Shh! Ha—Rubeus, stop crying!” How did she get herself wrapped up in such a mess? She would’ve been better off not checking to see what the noise was on the train. She could be sleeping in her fourposter bed right now…
He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his shoulder. Hermione stood, folding the blanket and leaving it on the couch she had been so comfortable in. “We have to go fast, and be quiet! If we’re caught...” She didn’t finish the sentence. They both knew the consequences.
“Let’s just go.” She pointed her wand at him and cast a Disillusionment Charm. Not perfect, but it would get the job done.
What she had hoped would be a simple outing to the grounds to release a spider devolved into quite the ordeal.
As it would turn out, sneaking around the castle with an almost 7 foot tall student, despite disillusionment, was not the easiest feat. It didn’t help that the spider herself was thumping around in her crate, making an unreasonable amount of racket. Finally, Hermione could bear it no longer and cast a hasty Muffliato on the trunk, earning a reproachful look from Hagrid.
“She’s jus’ nervous,” he protested.
“She can be nervous without making so much noise,” Hermione snapped back.
Already tensions were high between them. This would’ve been much easier with Harry’s invisibility cloak. Though Hermione doubted it would cover Hagrid’s bulk, let alone both of them.
A loud crash came from inside a nearby classroom, startling both students.
“Oooh, what have we here? Little sneaky students creeping about!” The poltergeist’s sing-song voice drifted through the corridor, dripping with malicious glee. “Peeves knows what naughty children deserve!”
“This way!” Hermione grabbed Hagrid’s invisible sleeve and yanked him across the corridor toward the only available door. Another suit of armor crashed to the ground somewhere behind them, the sound ricocheting off the ancient stones like thunder.
“He’s gettin’ closer!” Hagrid’s panicked.
“I know!” Hermione’s hands shook as she pointed her wand at the door’s antique lock. “Alohomora!”
They tumbled through the doorway into what appeared to be a storage closet, all dust and forgotten cleaning supplies. The space was barely large enough for one person, let alone Hagrid. Hermione stepped backward to give him room, only to feel her foot connect with something soft and yielding.
“Ouch!”
“What?!”
“Get off me!”
“Is someone here?!”
“Shh!”
“Lumos!” Hermione lit up the room to find she had stepped on none other than Moaning Myrtle. Having survived last year, she was starting her fourth year at Hogwarts, the same class as Hagrid.
“Myrtle!” Hagrid said with a start. “What in Merlin’s name are you doin’ in here?”
No question was ever that simple with her. Her large, bespectacled eyes filled with massive tears. “Olive Hornsby pushed me in here and then P—peeves locked the d—door! I’ve been trapped for hours without my wand, and nobody came looking, and everyone probably thinks I’m dead in a ditch somewhere, but nobody would care anyway because—”
“Quiet!” Hermione said. “Peeves is out there!” Unfortunately, attempts to soothe Myrtle usually resulted in her crying harder. Today was no exception. Her wails echoed in the closet, making Hermione flinch. Hagrid looked horrified.
“Now, now,” Hagrid said, his voice taking on the same tender tone he used with frightened animals. “It’s alright. We’re here now, and we’ll sort this out proper.”
Hagrid patted Myrtle on the back with more force than he probably intended. She pitched forward, catching herself on some shelving. The shock made her tears dry. Hermione expected her to yell, but instead, a smirk spread across her lips.
“You almost knocked me over.”
“Sorry abou’ that. I forget me own strength.”
“Hmph.” Myrtle adjusted her crooked spectacles with hands that had stopped trembling. “Most people pretend I don’t exist at all.”
Hagrid’s expression softened. “I know what that’s like, being different. Makes yeh feel invisible sometimes, don’t it?”
“What would you know of it? You’re huge.”
Despite everything, Hagrid chuckled at that. “I am. Amazin’ how others still pretend I’m not there.”
Myrtle didn’t appear to have a response for that.
“Is Peeves still there?” Hermione asked, trying to redirect focus to the problem at hand. To her immense relief, everyone stopped talking, all listening for any sign of the poltergeist.
“I don’t hear anything,” Myrtle said.
“We should keep moving then, we can’t stay here.”
Myrtle frowned, seeming unsure. Hermione had no patience for her, but Hagrid appeared to take a different stance on the matter. “Don’ worry, Myrtle, we’ll walk yeh back to your dorm—”
“Rubeus, we have to get that beast out of here,” Hermione said. It felt weird calling him by his first name, but they were peers now.
“But she shouldn’ be wanderin’ the castle alone at night without her wand!” Hagrid argued. She did not have time for Hagrid’s good nature right now! Especially when it came to someone as insufferable as Moaning Myrtle.
At the mention of a beast, Myrtle’s entire demeanor changed. She lifted her head, her eyes widening with interest. “What kind of beast?”
“She’s an Acromantula!” Hagrid boomed proudly, making Hermione shush him for what had to be the fifteenth time since they left the Gryffindor Common room. “Would yeh like ter see her? She’s beau’iful!” He said this like a proud parent, bragging about his child.
“Don’t you dare take her out of that crate here!” Hermione hissed.
Both Myrtle and Hagrid pretended not to hear her.
“But those are so rare!” Myrtle said. Hermione would have never guessed the girl held an interest in magical creatures. Not based on the behavior she exhibited as a ghost. Though, at that time, all she ever did was cry and daydream about death.
“I got another, Aragog, livin’ in the forest! She’s going ter be his companion!”
“You mean mate,” Myrtle said, then blushed furiously at her own boldness.
“Well, er, yes,” Hagrid stammered, his own cheeks reddening. “Hopin’ they’ll get on well together.”
“Could I... could I possibly meet them?” Myrtle asked. “I’ve never seen an Acromantula in person.”
Hagrid’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You’d really wan’ to? Most folks think I’m barmy.”
“You’re not barmy,” Myrtle said, her voice increasing in conviction.
“Rubeus!” Hermione hissed. She didn’t want more people involved in this than necessary. Already she felt the anxiety of being out so late tug at her skin. Her ears fixated on every sound she heard, worried someone might appear around the corner at any moment.
“Oh, please let me come!” Myrtle turned those enormous, pleading eyes on Hermione. “I promise I won’t be any trouble. And I know quite a bit about Acromantula behavior from my reading. I might even be helpful!”
Hagrid looked ecstatic. Hermione was on the verge of telling the girl to get back to her own common room but thought better of it. If she refused, Myrtle would dissolve into hysterics again, potentially alerting half the castle to their presence.
“Fine! let’s go! And I’ll need to disillusion us again!” Hermione cast the spell towards each of them. Myrtle made a choking noise when it was her turn.
“That is extremely unpleasant!” she complained.
“Yeh get used to it,” Hagrid said. “The firs’ time’s always the worst.”
Hermione ignored her and pushed open the door as the group to continue the way towards the grounds. She reinforced their silencing charms and added extra Muffliattos for good measure.
The longer they were out here, the more anxious she became.
“Do yeh think Aragog will like Masog?” Hagrid asked as they pushed open the door to the castle and stepped out into the chilly September night air.
“I’m sure he will love her,” Hermione answered, not sounding remotely sincere.
“How did you get an Acromantula, Hagrid?” Myrtle asked.
“Oh! Funny story. I was visitin’ this fellow in Knockturn Alley who deals in exotic creatures, you understand, and there she was, jus’ a tiny spiderlin’ no bigger than a Galleon. Poor thing was all cramped up in this rusted cage.”
“How terrible!”
Hermione stopped listening as they talked further about proper care of beasts, but she didn’t miss the way Myrtle and Hagrid seemed to flourish when they spoke to each other. They both seemed genuinely happy. She couldn’t bring herself to hush them, despite her growing tension.
“Do you have any other creatures?” Myrtle asked.
“Oh. Well, er.” He flicked his gaze towards Hermione before looking at Myrtle again. “Perhaps a few. Nothin’ too dangerous, mind you. Jus’ creatures tha’ needed a bit of help.”
Hermione caught his evasive tone and decided that ignorance was bliss. What she didn’t know couldn’t implicate her in future disasters. She wouldn’t have to feel guilty for his ongoing fascination with dangerous creature, it was his prerogative. At least she tried to keep him from getting expelled in this universe.
They continued to chat the entire way to the forest’s edge where Hermione spun around and placed her hands on her hip, releasing the Disillusionment charm.
“Okay, Rubeus. Let her out.”
He stared at her in surprise. “What?”
“Release the spider!” She waved her arm in the general direction of the forest to prove a point.
“We can’ release her here! What if she doesn’ find Aragog? What if she gets lost?”
“Excuse me?!”
“We have to go to ‘is nest! It’s not tha’ far. I went there a lot las’ year.”
“You want me to venture into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night to personally deliver a spider to your other pet spider, both of which you illegally obtained and brought to Hogwarts breaking numerous rules, for what amounts to a magical creature courtship arrangement?”
“When yeh put it like that—”
“Hermione!” Myrtle interrupted, looking scandalized. “Acromantula are social creatures! They form family units and territorial bonds. Abandoning Mosag here would be like dropping a lost child in a foreign country and expecting them to find their way home!”
“See?” Hagrid said triumphantly. “Myrtle understands the proper way ter handle magical creatures!”
This was decidedly not what Hermione had agreed to when she’d made her rash promise to help... but there was no winning this argument. Which was how Hermione found herself trudging through the Forbidden Forest at half past midnight, following Moaning Myrtle and a half-giant carrying with a crate containing an adolescent Acromantula.
“Why do yeh like magical creatures so much, Myrtle?” Hagrid asked.
Myrtle considered the question, her face thoughtful in the dappled moonlight filtering through the canopy. “They don’t judge you. Animals see straight to your heart. They don’t care if you’re different or if other people think you’re strange or worthless.”
“Beautifully put,” Hagrid said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I felt that way me whole life.”
Hermione felt an unexpected pang of sympathy watching the two outcasts find common ground in their shared loneliness.
“Here. We are close enough. Why don’t we let the spider out here so we can get to bed,” Hermione said, her tone more reasonable than before. They reached a small clearing that she knew was close to the nest based on stories Harry told.
“But Aragog is up a ways—”
“We need to get back to the castle. I’m tired. It’s late.” Hermione gritted her teeth to keep from snapping.
Hagrid sighed and dropped the crate and opened the lid. The young Acromantula emerged, her dark carapace gleaming like polished obsidian in the moonlight. She was beautiful in an alien, terrifying way. Hermione couldn’t help but think of Ron, who would have screamed at the sight of the thing.
She missed her friends... They used to go on these sorts of wild adventures together. Now, without them, Hogwarts didn’t feel the same.
“There you go, little one,” Hagrid murmured. “Follow the scent trails through the forest. Aragog’s waitin’ for you, and he’ll take good care of you.”
Myrtle crouched down to watch, her face filled with wonder as the spider tested the air with her front legs before selecting a direction and scuttling gracefully into the darkness.
“She really is magnificent,” Myrtle said. “Look at the elegant way she moves, the intelligence in how she’s reading the environmental cues.”
“You’ve got a real eye for creatures. That’s a rare gift.”
Hermione allowed them a moment to watch the beast disappear into the darkness, almost missing Myrtle’s small “thank you” in reply.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom managed to align all of his classes with Hermione’s and, since the N.E.W.T. level courses were combined with all the houses, they shared every class together.
He entered the Potion’s classroom right on time, having spent the morning shepherding confused first-years through the castle’s labyrinthine corridors. Tom hated being a Prefect, but he had an image to maintain.
His eyes narrowed on Archie Longbottom and Alastor Moody, who sat on either side of Hermione, claiming the seats that should be his. His expression darkened as he neared closer before darting to the empty seat beside Reinhardt Lestrange, where he would have normally sat.
He may have been surprised to see Reinhardt taking N.E.W.T. potions, but right now, Tom could focus on nothing but the audacity of Hermione’s so-called friends.
“Hey, Tom,” Hermione called out, her face lighting up with that radiant smile.
“Move,” Tom said to Moody.
“Tom!” He ignored her and continued to glare at Moody.
“Move. Go sit over there beside Reinhardt. I’m sitting beside my girl.”
Alastor’s eyes brightened.
“Tom you can’t just—”
“No, it’s fine Hermione. I’ll sit beside Reinhardt,” Moody said.
Reinhardt watched the exchange over his shoulder with a smirk and rolled his eyes at Tom.
Alastor repacked his belongings without further comment. Hermione glared at Tom. Eventually, he evacuated the seat and Tom sat.
“You can’t just push my friends around like that!”
“Good morning,” He said, ignoring her and instead, leaned over to brush his lips against her cheek. “I didn’t see you at breakfast. Agusta said you slept in.”
“Don’t ignore me!”
“You look lovely today.”
“Don’t try to distract me with flattery!” Despite her protests, he noted with satisfaction the way color bloomed across her cheekbones.
Tom leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual confidence. “We have quite a busy year ahead of us. I believe I made you certain promises last term, and I fully intend to honor them.”
That stopped her mid-glare. “Wait, what promises?”
“I think I made said promises over there, on the third table from the left,” his voice dropped.
“When?” Her brow furrowed in confusion, though he suspected she knew exactly what he was referencing. The slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Tom’s lips curved in a predatory smile, dark triumph gleaming in his eyes. It was his fondest memory of this classroom. Hermione spread out on the table, his tongue playing between her spread legs.
“Hmm... I believe I was kneeling between your thighs at the time—”
“Shhh!” She lunged for him to use her hands to cover his mouth. She looked around, making sure nobody had overheard. The rest of the class was too busy reconnecting after the summer break.
She removed her hands and frowned at him. He shrugged and leaned towards her, letting his breath brush along her ear. “I intend to keep my promise. I will fuck you on every surface in this castle.”
He felt the delicious shiver that ran through her at his words, watched the way her pupils dilated despite her obvious mortification. She wanted him just as desperately as he wanted her. The knowledge was intoxicating.
When Slughorn approached the front of the class and began lecturing, Tom shifted his hand to her bare knee, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin. He kept his expression attentive, as if hanging on Slughorn’s every word about advanced potion-making, while his thumb began stroking along her inner thigh.
The effect on her was immediate. Her breathing hastened, and she attempted to shake him off, but he kept his grip firm. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she fought between needing more and wanting him to stop before someone noticed.
“Miss Granger, do you know?” Slughorn asked in his singsong voice.
Tom watched with amusement as Hermione’s face turned scarlet. She’d been so distracted by his ministrations that she hadn’t been paying attention. He might’ve left it at that if the edge of panic hadn’t entered her eyes.
Tom whispered to her, “It’s Veritaserum.”
“V—Veritaserum,” Hermione said, her voice strained.
“Very good!” Slughorn boomed. “And can anyone tell me what Veritaserum is used for?”
While another student answered, Hermione grabbed Tom’s wrist with surprising strength and shoved his hand away from her leg. But when he twisted in her grasp and instead laced their fingers together, she didn’t resist. This more innocent contact seemed to calm her, though Tom could still see the flush lingering on her cheeks.
She lifted her quill and took notes with her left hand, messier than usual but still legible. Slughorn discussed some of the complex potions that would be covered in N.E.W.T. lessons over the next two years—Felix Felicis, Polyjuice Potion, Veritaserum, advanced healing draughts.
Despite his earlier distraction tactics, Tom listened to the lecture with interest. These were the kinds of advanced magical applications that had always fascinated him, the subtle arts that separated true masters from mere practitioners.
Still, part of his attention remained fixed on Hermione. The way she worried her lower lip when concentrating, the small smile that played at the corners of her mouth when something intrigued her, the unconscious way she leaned closer to him as the class progressed.
Tom felt a rare moment of genuine anticipation for the upcoming year. After all, he had promises to keep.
Notes:
Chapter 55 Song: Anxiety by Doechii. Find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist (I'm just going with vibes for this playlist at this point).
It has been awhile since we had a chapter this short! Just a quick update before I crawl back into my writing hole to finish this first draft. Things will start picking up again soon.
If anyone is interested. The scene where Tom makes those special promises to Hermione occurs at the end of Chapter 36
For those unaware, I did complete another project! A very smutty professor Riddle fic coming in at roughly 100k called Ruin Her. Tom isn't the same soft and mushy guy that I write here. He is evil. It is dark. Enjoy!
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Chapter 56: Hogsmeade
Notes:
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Tom and Hermione broke up over the summer where Hermione fell into a deep depression. During her spiral, she wrote to Dr. Hester Prime (Chapter 43), a researcher in the field of parallel worlds, asking if there might be a way to return to her own world. After the relationship rekindled, she wanted to learn more about Tom and his past. To that end, she duplicated a file from his orphanage on a girl named Cora who seemed to be close with Tom as a child (Chapter 52).
Tom was attacked by an unknown assailant in London. He used Fiendfyre against the man but never found out who it was, why he attacked, and has not seen him since. (Chapter 49)
They have now returned to Hogwarts, and are just starting into the new school year as 6th years.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Excerpt from Hermione Granger’s journal:
I thought sharing every class with Tom would feel suffocating, but it’s... nice. He takes notes during lectures, asks thoughtful questions, and actually reads the assigned texts instead of skimming for answers like most students. He doesn’t ask me to review his homework done in haste, knowing I will return it with the correct answers, like Ron and Harry did. It’s refreshing.
Sometimes, when Professor Binns drones on about something like Goblin Rebellions or the Giant Wars, Tom will catch my eye and we’ll share one of those silent conversations that couples have. Or he’ll rest his hand on my knee under the desk, his thumb running over my skin, making it impossible to concentrate on anything.
He’s been pushing for more, of course. Subtle suggestions about the Room of Requirement, lingering kisses that leave me breathless, hands that wander until I have to redirect them. I don’t know why I’m so resistant to pursuing more. It isn’t like we haven’t had sex before... but it feels wrong to have sex in the castle. It isn’t that I don’t want to, but there is still something separating us, and I’m not sure what it is…
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Six weeks into the new school year, and Hermione was already having one of the best years of her life. The autumn morning light shone through the Great Hall’s charmed windows, giving everything a warm gold hue that made even the simplest conversations seem magical. Things were perfect—no drama, no impending war, just her and her boyfriend working their way through classes.
The memories of her home and previous friends became distant, like looking through frosted glass. Perhaps she would have forgotten entirely had she not received correspondence one morning from a barn owl that landed with an ungraceful thud on the table. Hermione assumed it wouldn’t be for her, out of habit more than anything, until the owl nipped at her while waving its leg over her plate, letting a thick envelope slide over her eggs.
She untied the letter with unpracticed fingers and tore it open, finding a note and another sealed envelope inside.
She unfolded the parchment first, recognizing Gabriella’s distinct scrawl.
Hermione,
Bridget told me you have never gone to Hogsmeade because you don’t have permission. Hogsmeade is a traditional part of the Hogwarts experience, and I would hate for you to miss out on it. Enclosed is a permission form signed by me. I hope this will be enough for the headmaster to allow you to go. I did, after all, take you in. Does that make me like a guardian?
I sent one to Tom as well. Have fun!
—Gabriella Dodderidge
PS: This letter came for you, delivered by a large exotic bird. Interesting creature, but not the friendliest. Figured I would forward it along.
She grinned, glancing at the second page of the letter which contained a signed permission form. Gabriella had embraced Hermione as a member of her family without question. She couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened to her if she hadn’t found someone so willing to take her in.
Her gaze flicked towards Tom, who sat at the Slytherin table fussing with an owl that had landed in front of him. As a Prefect, Hermione felt it was important for him to remain part of his house for most meals, particularly early in the school year. She rarely joined him at the Slytherin table, mostly to avoid Abraxas’s nasty glares and Gussie’s complaining. Didn’t stop Tom from sitting with her for dinner, sliding close beside her, letting his thigh press against hers in a silent gesture that made her stomach flutter.
She slid open the sealed envelope that Gabriella forwarded. It seemed to have journeyed far, having endured the harshness of various weather patterns. Despite the smeared ink, Hermione could still decipher her name and the address of the Leaky Cauldron.
Miss Granger,
I apologize for taking so long to get back to you. I am having my mail forwarded as I am not presently in the country. Your letter was intriguing and not what I expected to find in my post. In forty years of studying temporal anomalies, I’ve had a few people contacting me claiming to be from parallel worlds. None were sincere. I always take these proclamations with some skepticism. I’m sure you can understand.
But your letter was different. The details you provided about your arrival match some very troubling readings my instruments picked up last summer. I’ve been tracking these distortions, and frankly, I haven't been able to make sense of them.
What concerns me is the nature of the magical signature I’ve detected within the distortions. I’ve identified multiple, making them difficult to trace. Then, there’s an unusual power reading in the void between universes.
I’ve traveled to Australia to access some materials related to this research, but it may be possible for you to return to your world. We should discuss this further in person.
I’ll be back in England by Christmas, but I have some family obligations to sort out first. Could we meet in Hogsmeade in January? The Three Broomsticks has private rooms where we can speak freely. I hope I will be able to help you.
—Dr. Hester Prime
The words blurred as Hermione read them once, then twice, her pulse hammering in her throat. The formal language couldn’t disguise the underlying tension in Dr. Prime’s tone, the carefully worded warnings that sent ice through her veins.
Multiple magical signatures? Would one of them be hers?
An unusual power in the void between universes? What did that mean?
Each phrase was like a puzzle piece, scattered with no image to guide their connection. Surely, Hermione wasn’t the first person to experience inter-dimensional travel, not that she recalled falling through the veil, courtesy of Dolohov’s curse.
The Great Hall’s morning chatter faded to a distant hum as the implications crashed over her. She could go back. She could return to her own world. To Harry, Ron, her parents, and everything she’d lost. But the thought didn’t bring the relief she’d expected… It felt decisive. Rather than gaining what she once had, she would lose everything she’d found.
The owl hooted, distracting Hermine. It took up a large portion of the table, with its feathered tail dipped in Gussie’s porridge. Her friend scowled at it, arms crossed.
“I wish it didn’t have its tail in my food,” Gussie grumbled. The perpetrator stooped and pecked at Hermione’s breakfast with enthusiasm. Hermione pushed the plate towards the bird. Once the owl had its fill, it took off, clipping Gussie’s cheek in the process.
“Bloody hell!” Gussie yelped, rubbing her face while Archie dissolved into helpless laughter beside her. Even Hermione managed a weak smile, though her heart wasn’t in it.
Did she even want to return? What sort of world would she be returning to?
Gussie hit Archie on the shoulder and lectured him about gentlemanly behavior. Alastor rolled his eyes at their antics and ate in silence.
Hermione had to admit, she liked it here… She found a place for herself…
Her attention drifted back to Tom, still absorbed in his own correspondence. The morning light caught the sharp line of his jaw, freshly shaven. She admired how his long fingers held the parchment. Fingers that had explored and defiled her in ways that haunted her dreams.
He looked up as if sensing her. Their eyes met across the expanse of tables. His expression was unreadable, but something warm unfurled in her chest at the connection.
Her heart clenched; a pit of guilt opened up inside her, threatening to swallow her whole. Hermione hadn’t needed to consider Tom when she first wrote to Dr. Prime. They were broken up… but things were different now. She let herself get in too deep with him. She loved him. They depended on each other…
She didn’t want to ruin that. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching his face change if he knew what information this letter contained.
With deliberate movements, she folded the letter and tucked it deep into her bag, burying it beneath textbooks and spare quills where it couldn’t accuse her with its presence. It wasn’t like Dr. Prime was available to meet for several months. She had time to consider things further.
***
Tom and Hermione strolled together along the trail from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. The October air was crisp, and she could see her breath in small puffs. Tom’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining.
“I was thinking we could start at Honeydukes,” she suggested, glancing at him. There was something different in his expression today. A kind of focused intensity she hadn’t seen before.
“Actually,” Tom said, “I thought we might try somewhere more... sophisticated for lunch.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Sophisticated?”
“There’s a tea shop. It’s supposed to be quite elegant.” Tom’s chin lifted, the way it always did when he was pleased with himself.
Hermione’s steps faltered. “a tea shop?”
“Madam Puddifoot’s.”
“Madam Puddifoot’s?!” her voice came out a tad squeakier than she intended.
“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
“No, of course not! I’m just surprised, is all.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” His brow furrowed. “Supposedly, it is where many students go on dates.”
Oh, no... Hermione bit her lip, trying to think of a diplomatic way to warn him. “It... it has a very specific atmosphere.”
“Good.” Tom’s hand squeezed hers. “Perhaps that is exactly what we need,” he muttered as an afterthought.
She frowned. They survived on stolen moments of intimacy between classes. Sometimes Tom would make his moves in the middle of class, but he learned Hermione wouldn’t oblige him. She wasn’t one to get off on fondling in secret at inappropriate times. She needed to pay attention. To take notes. Particularly now that the material was new for her.
He let it slide, of course, stealing moments between classes and resulting in them slipping into their next class with hardly any time to spare. Despite that, she couldn’t define the space that remained between them. Could it be the mounting pressure of N.E.W.T. courses? Or perhaps it was the nearly constant company they kept, between Gussie’s need for attention or Bridget regularly barraging Hermione with stories about her cat and friends she made in the Gobstone club, much to Tom’s annoyance. And Hermione insisted on sleeping in her dormitory, despite spending a month with him in the Room of Requirement the prior year. Those were very different circumstances.
Maybe it was the secrets. They rekindled their relationship over the summer with a fiery passion. She drowned herself in him. But then, she realized how little she knew him. The life he refused to share. The way he shut her out of anything personal.
It was unfair of her to blame Tom. She had her own secrets. Things she hoped he would never discover… like the letter that she tucked between the pages of Hogwarts: A History beside Cora’s file. Every time it crossed her mind, guilt-ridden nausea overwhelmed her.
She shut those thoughts out before they could drag her down. This was supposed to be a fun day in Hogsmeade. A date with her boyfriend. And despite his cool attitude about receiving a permission form, she knew how much he looked forward to this. He even planned a place for them to visit.
“Alright then,” she sighed, pasting a smile on her face.
Twenty minutes later, she stood beside a frozen Tom in the doorway of the most aggressively romantic establishment in magical Britain. Pink doilies covered every surface. Heart-shaped confetti drifted from the ceiling like snow, and cherub statues giggled from their perches on lace-decorated shelves.
He held so still, she wondered if he’d been petrified from shock until he said, “bloody hell.” His eyes flitted to a couple who appeared more invested in eating each other rather than the scones on their plates. He seemed ready to make a run for it, but a waitress wearing more ruffles than Hermione thought possible, approached.
“Welcome, lovebirds! Aren’t you just the most adorable couple! Right this way!”
Tom’s jaw had gone rigid. Hermione could feel him calculating escape routes.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “We’re here now.” She couldn’t suppress her smile as she observed the look of horror on his face. As if he contemplated how much his social standing would be ruined by frequenting such an audacious establishment.
They were seated at a table draped in pink doilies beneath an animated cupid statue that kept winking and blowing kisses.
“This is...” Tom cleared his throat, eyeing the cupid with obvious homicidal intent.
“Romantic?” Hermione suggested, barely containing her giggles.
“Revolting.” He picked up a piece of confetti that had landed on his sleeve and examined it with disgust. “People pay money for this?” He flicked it away.
Hermione glanced at the menu. “We are paying money for this.”
“You knew what this place would be.” It wasn’t a question.
She sighed, “I had a friend go on a date here.”
“What friend?”
“Harry, I’ve told you about him.”
“You went on a date with him?” She wanted to roll her eyes, but resisted. He was already on edge.
“No, he went on a date with someone else and told me about it after.” It took all her determination to keep her smirk off her face at Tom’s jealous display. She couldn’t imagine how upset he would be if she told him about Viktor.
Tom seemed to relax, he reviewed the menu with a sour purse to his lips. The waitress appeared again, beaming. “What can I get for you, sweethearts? Our specialty is the ‘Love Potion Latte’—completely harmless, of course!”
“Coffee,” Tom said.
“But sir, wouldn’t you prefer our ‘Passion’s Fire’ blend? It has cinnamon hearts and—”
“Black. Coffee,” he repeated, emphasizing each word as if the waitress might be too stupid to understand his order.
The waitress’s eyelid twitched at Tom’s tone. She turned to Hermione with a look of pity for being here with a man who wouldn’t dote on the romantic atmosphere. “And for you, dear?”
“Um, tea, please. Earl Grey.”
“Oh, but wouldn’t you prefer our ‘Lovers’ Delight’ blend? It’s got rose petals and—”
“Earl Grey is fine.”
The waitress looked put out. She glanced longingly at the overly public displays of affection from the table beside them and sighed wistfully. Despite her deflated gusto, she bounced away. A magical cherub strummed a lyre above their table, playing the same twinkling song on repeat, harmonizing with the smacking noises coming from the couple.
Hermione and Tom waited in uncomfortable silence, each analyzing their surreal surroundings. It was a relief when their drinks arrived—Tom’s coffee in a heart-shaped mug emblazoned with ‘Be Mine’ and Hermione’s tea with a picture of a dancing ballerina painted on the porcelain glass. Tom stared at his cup with undisguised distaste.
“There’s glitter in it,” he said flatly.
“I’m sure it’s edible.” Hermione patted his arm in mock reassurance. His muscles clenched beneath her touch, his eyes jumping to meet hers before looking back at his beverage.
He brought the mug to his lips, took a small sip, and his expression twisted in disgust. “I’m not so sure anything about this could be considered edible.”
“Maybe it’s an acquired taste?”
“The only thing I want to acquire is an exit.” Tom set the cup down with finality. “This was a terrible idea.”
Hermione couldn’t help it—she burst into laughter. The bizarre setting only made the betrayal etched on Tom’s face more amusing.
“It’s not funny, Hermione.”
“It’s a little funny,” she sniggered. “You tried to do something nice. That matters.” She reached out and grabbed his hand.
“I thought... expensive meant quality.”
“Tom.” She squeezed his fingers. “You don’t need to impress me. I’m already here, aren’t I?”
“I guess.” His apprehension didn’t ease. And perhaps that was a direct testament to how deep his wounds ran. Would he ever trust her, again or would this always be a desperate pull for more?
“Besides,” she added with a grin, “now we have a story to tell.”
Tom glanced around at the pink nightmare surrounding them and shook his head. “This is not a story I particularly want to share.”
He stood from his chair, and she followed suit, not bothering to touch her Earl Grey tea.
“Well, then I’ll tell the story!”
“I don’t want you to share it either. Can’t believe I walked in here...” He looked exasperated as he tossed two galleons on the table and muttered something about ridiculous prices. They wound their way out of the building together.
“Perk up, we still have the rest of the day!” He looked so sulky she couldn’t help but push up and press her lips to his cheek in a chaste kiss. His mood brightened slightly with that small gesture.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
The crowd at Hogsmeade reminded Tom of Diagon Alley during back-to-school shopping—cramped and unbearable. There was no peace. The battle was navigating the chaos of students shouting over each other.
Hermione dragged Tom to a handful of shops before making their way to the Three Broomsticks. He could hardly open the door with the size of the crowd. Wall to wall with students. Not a table in sight. He noted the bar staffed four frazzled bartenders trying to keep up with the demand. He wondered why anyone would bother.
“Too crowded,” he said. He found Hogsmeade weekends with the entire school fell short of expectations. He preferred the quiet trip when it was only himself and Hermione exploring the snowy streets.
“There is another pub. The Hog’s Head. It’s less... um... inviting but shouldn’t be crowded,” Hermione said.
Tom nodded and followed her. It didn’t take long to find the Hog’s Head. The dilapidated exterior spoke volumes of the sort of clientele it attracted. He noticed a sharp, musty odor permeating the atmosphere, so potent he caught the scent before they even entered the building. Everything about the place felt unclean. Tom wondered why nobody bothered to do a simple scurgify charm to tidy up. It would require five seconds and make an enormous difference.
Hermione fell into step beside him, seeming unphased by the disgusting surroundings. It appeared she had been here before.
“We should get a table.”
Unlike at the Three Broomsticks, there were numerous open seats available. The customers comprised of a few professors and mostly local weirdos. He could see why students preferred the Three Broomsticks, but he appreciated the lack of people here.
Ignoring the surrounding rot, they chose a table that seemed stable enough to hold them. He drummed his fingers on the wood as he glanced around at the unsavory crowd.
“You seem tense, Tom?” Hermione said, her voice light.
Something about the heavy, stagnant air in this place made him uneasy. Something he couldn’t identify.
“I’ll get us some Butterbeers,” he said in response, standing and walking towards the bar. The bartender was deformed to the point that he coould barely pass as human—as if someone had formed a person with only a vague notion of what one looked like. Most of his nose was missing along with part of his upper lip. A scar cut through his left eye, extending down to his chin. Smaller markings littered his skin, and Tom could only imagine how he had acquired them.
The man’s grin, sharp and predatory, was too sinister to be a greeting. Against his better judgment, Tom reached out with his Legilimency and instantly regretted it. A chaotic jumble of fur, bloodlust, and lewd fantasies assaulted his mind. He recoiled, severing the connection. The man was a werewolf, and a depraved one at that.
“What can I get for you, boy?” he purred, the word “boy” dripping with undisguised lust, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes raked over Tom, leaving a trail of revulsion in their wake. His tongue snaked along his teeth as if savoring a phantom meal. Tom took a moment to revel in the comforting weight of his wand in his pocket. He wouldn’t hesitate to silence this stranger permanently if necessary.
“Two Butterbeers.”
“Right away.” He flashed incisors far too sharp to be human.
He plucked the dusty bottles from under the bar and popped the tops with his bare hands. An interesting, though uncouth, method. Instead of the usual tankards, he slid the bottles across the sticky, beer-stained surface towards Tom.
Tom observed the man with a keen eye, making sure he didn’t try anything funny. A curse danced on the tip of his tongue, fueled by the prickling unease that had settled over him like a shroud.
Perhaps this bartender was the reason he felt so on edge here. Why the atmosphere seemed stifling. Despite the meager scattering of patrons, Tom sensed the pressure of unseen eyes, a phantom touch on his skin. The bartender’s open scrutiny was unsettling enough, but it was the nagging certainty of something else, something hidden.
“Tom?” Hermione asked as he returned to the table, bottles clutched in his hand. She picked up her Butterbeer but promptly set it down, her nose wrinkling at the distasteful grime coating the glass.
Tom barely heard her. Every instinct he possessed screamed danger as his gaze swept the establishment. The sparse crowd felt oppressive—too many shadows, too many places to hide. He catalogued each individual: a witch hunched over her gin, two wizards arguing in hushed tones, a professor he vaguely recognized nursing what looked like Firewhisky, a figure that he suspected was a banshee…
And then he saw him.
A figure lurked against the far wall, melting into the darkness. At first glance, he seemed unremarkable, just another patron lost in thought, gaze downcast, shoulders slouched with the weight of whatever had driven him to this miserable pub.
But the second he looked up and met Tom’s glare, recognition was instantaneous. His medium-length hair fell in stringy clumps to his shoulders. Hollow cheeks created sharp shadows of their own. The poor lighting in the Hog’s Head hid most details, but Tom knew it was him. This man had the same build, the same predatory stance, the same cold eyes that had stared at Tom over a wand in London.
“It’s him!” Tom snarled, his chair scraping against the floor as stood.
The sound shattered the tavern’s relative quiet. Conversations died. Heads turned. In the moment of stunned silence, the man moved, darting for the door and knocking over a chair in his haste. It crashed into a nearby table, shattering glass tankards and sending drinks spilling across the floor.
Tom dodged the mess as he followed. People shouted in alarm as he shouldered past them.
“Wait, Tom! Where are you going?” Hermione’s voice cut through the turmoil, but Tom was beyond hearing, beyond caring about anything except the figure disappearing through the doorway.
His feet carried him across the tavern. The bartender shouted something about paying for damages, but Tom ignored him.
By the time Tom got out the door, the man had slipped into a large crowd of students, walking fast towards the outskirts of town. Tom quickened his pace, not taking his eyes off hist target. He couldn’t be over forty, unkempt with dirty clothes. Part of Tom wondered if they were the same filthy rugs he wore the day he attacked him in London.
He fingered his wand in his pocket in preparation. He would get answers!
His quarry glanced back once, surprise stark on his gaunt features, before putting on another burst of speed. He knocked into a group of giggling fifth-year girls emerging from Scrivenshaft’s, sending one tumbling to the cobblestones with a shocked cry, and disappeared around the corner of Zonko’s.
Tom vaulted over the fallen girl without breaking stride, ignoring her friends’ shouts. He was gaining ground. He could see the panic in his target’s movements now, the way desperation was making him clumsy. With his wand in his hand, he moved, not caring how mad he looked, running through the streets with his wand out.
“Tom!” Hermione’s voice echoed behind him, but he pushed onward.
Just as Tom rounded the corner past the joke shop, a massive crowd of fourth-years chose that exact moment to pour out of Zonko’s, their arms full of Dungbombs and Whizzing Worms, laughing at some shared joke. They filled the street, a wall of shopping bags and oblivious chatter.
“Move!” Tom barreled his way through them, causing one to drop his bag, letting off a Dungbomb in the middle of the street.
Tom gagged at the stench and shoved students out of his path. He ignored the curses and disregarded the stinging in his eyes as they blurred to clear the malodorous fog.
By the time he emerged from the stench-filled cloud, the man had vanished. Tom paused, chest heaving, eyes darting between shop fronts and alleyways. He hadn’t heard the telltale crack of apparition. He had to be here somewhere...
“Tom! What the hell is wrong with you?” Hermione’s voice rang out behind him.
Tom spotted a narrow lane squeezed between Zonko’s and a boarded-up shop, barely wide enough for one person. Perfect for someone trying to disappear.
He plunged into the shadowed gap with his wand still out. It stank of stagnant water and rubbish, littered with broken crates and discarded bottles. In the dim light, it was difficult to see more than a few feet ahead.
Tom had made it about halfway when he slammed into something large and warm, sending him stumbling forward with a curse. He crashed into a pile of garbage with a garbled expletive.
Whatever he tripped over let out a startled yelp and scrambled to its feet. Tom strained to see the enormous black dog with an intelligent glare. It acknowledged Tom with a disgruntled huff before it took off and vanished down the alley.
“Damn it!” Tom spat, his momentum broken. The delay had cost him his chase. By the time he reached the other end of the alley, that man would surely be gone.
Tom emerged onto the main street, his hands clenched into fists, magic crackling beneath his skin with barely contained rage. His first genuine lead had slipped through his fingers because of a bloody dog.
“Tom!” Hermione appeared at the mouth of the alley, her cheeks flushed and her hair disheveled from running. “What in Merlin’s name was that about?”
Tom’s lips twitched, though he found nothing amusing about this situation. “That was the man who attacked me in London. I’m certain of it.”
“Are you—” she bent over, gasping for air. “Are you sure? Its been months—”
“I’m sure.” Tom’s voice was icy. “And he’s here, in Hogsmeade. That can’t be a coincidence.”
Hermione straightened, regaining her composure. “Maybe we should tell someone—”
“No.” He continued to scan the street. “This is my problem to solve.”
Hermione appeared unnerved, glancing over her shoulder as if she expected someone to pop out and throw curses. “But—”
“No.” Tom wouldn’t let anyone interfere. He wanted answers.
Notes:
Chapter 56 Song: I found by Amber Run. Not sure why I vibed with this one but I did. I'm not sure it vibes for this chapter specifically, but I wanted it somewhere on the playlist. You can find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
My goal is to post monthly. The rest of part 2 is outlined and about 60% drafted. I think posting regularly will be my biggest motivator to keep working on this since it results in lovely comments lol
TUMBLR || INSTAGRAM || FAQs/POLICIES
Chapter 57: Traditions
Notes:
Three years ago (September 2022), I took a trip to visit my bestie and while we were in her car chatting like besties do, she convinced me to write my own fic and we started plotting this project.
Two years ago, I nervously posted that first chapter on AO3 (I literally thought I was going to vomit!)
This isn't just my first fic, it's become a home for parts of myself I didn't know how to express anywhere else. Writing it has been like having a years-long conversation with myself, working through things I couldn't untangle any other way. I don't personally relate to the story (obviously) but I put so much of myself into its prose that it feels like it is part of me. I deeply care about this project in ways that I find difficult to express, so I'll let my writing do it for me.
Whether you've been here since chapter one or just stumbled upon this story yesterday, you're part of something that's profoundly shaped who I am as a writer and a person. Thank you for taking this journey with me.
- Tipp
Click for a quick relevant recap: Warning: Will spoil previous chapter(s)
Tom was attacked by an unknown assailant in London. He used Fiendfyre against the man but never found out who it was, why he attacked. (Chapter 49) In the last chapter, during a trip to Hogsmeade, Tom ran into his attacker again. He chased the unknown man but he got away.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
June 1938
Tom didn’t care for these trips to the seaside. Every summer, the orphanage herded them like cattle onto creaking buses, dragging them to some godforsaken stretch of coast where the other children would splash in the freezing water and build pathetic sand sculptures that the tide would claim within hours.
“What will we do this year? Maybe we could toss Miley in the water! Did you know she can’t swim?” Dennis Bishop laughed. One of Tom’s useless followers who worshiped the ground Tom walked on. Rather than oppose him, they joined him.
Amy Benson giggled along, her pale eyes bright with malicious excitement. They both understood that Tom possessed something they didn’t, something that made impossible things possible. They liked to come up with ways Tom could prank the other children with his abilities.
“Miley isn’t worth our time,” Tom said.
“Right, of course!” Dennis readily agreed in that insufferable way that both irritated and pleased Tom.
He huffed and crossed one leg over the other, staring out the window of the bus. He ignored his friends for the remainder of the trip. There had to be something out there beyond this suffocating existence, something larger and more magnificent than the gray walls of Wool’s Orphanage. He could feel it…
When the bus finally shuddered to a stop, Tom remained seated while the other children exploded into motion, chattering about swimming and games and all the simple pleasures that satisfied simple minds. Amy joined in the excitement with Dennis. Tom was alone in his indifference.
The orphans huddled together outside the bus as Miss Cole’s voice cut through the chaos with her usual warnings about safety and staying close, supplemented by several church volunteers who’d come along to help manage the children. As soon as she dismissed them, the crowd ran for the water, leaving behind Tom, Amy, and Dennis to saunter towards the sand.
This year, he would not join them in their usual beach activities. He wanted to explore.
“Let’s go,” Tom said. Amy blinked in surprise.
“Go where?” she asked as Dennis gazed longingly at the water.
“Does it matter?”
They both shook their heads and fell into step behind Tom as he struck out along the coastline. He knew nobody would notice a few missing children. Dennis chattered about family beach trips with Amy. Tom tensed and focused on the cliffs ahead that jutted out of the earth, resembling broken teeth.
“My father would take me out on the boat and let me fish with him!” Dennis said.
“Tom, have you ever been fishing?” Amy asked.
He glared at the two children. “Do you think I’ve ever been fishing?”
“No... sorry.”
Tom stomped off, the sand creating dust clouds around his legs. Each step took them farther from the mundane and brought the unknown closer. The sounds of beach fun faded to a distant hum.
“How far are we going?” Amy asked, slightly out of breath from keeping up with Tom’s determined pace.
“Until we find something worthwhile.”
They nodded, not daring to oppose anything Tom wanted. After what felt like ages of walking, the coastline curved sharply, and they found themselves facing an imposing wall of dark stone that rose straight up from the churning water.
The cliff face was massive, easily a hundred feet tall and stretching endlessly in both directions, cutting off any further progress along the shore. Waves crashed violently against its base, sending spray high into the air. There was no beach here, no gentle slope to climb. Just vertical rock disappearing into the gray sky above and deep, dangerous water below.
Tom’s hands clenched into fists. Another dead end. Another limitation imposed by a world that seemed determined to cage him.
“Well, that’s it then,” Dennis said, clearly relieved they’d have to turn back.
“There’s no way around,” Amy added, peering at the forbidding stone wall. “Unless we had a boat, but even then…”
She was right. A boat would be obliterated by the waves slamming into the rocks.
Tom ignored their defeatist chatter and studied the cliff face. Could they climb it? Maybe go around it? Though it stretched far into the distance with no end in sight.
The others hung back on the narrow strip of rocky shore, waiting for his orders. They hoped he would lead them back to the simple-minded children with their boring sand castles. Tom wasn’t so easily swayed.
Instead, he kicked off his shoes and waded into the frigid water, ignoring the waves that soaked his clothes as he moved closer to examine the cliff. The current was stronger here, trying to pull him out to sea, but Tom pressed forward until he was nearly chest-deep.
“Tom! Come back! It’s dangerous!” Amy called.
That’s when he saw it.
About twelve feet above the waterline, partially hidden by a jutting overhang of rock, was a dark opening that yawned from the stone like a mouth. It was too perfectly round to be natural, too deliberately placed to be coincidence. Someone had carved this entrance with purpose.
“There’s a cave!” Tom shouted back to the others, triumph evident in his voice.
Dennis and Amy waded in to join him, gasping at the cold water and struggling against the current.
“Where do you think it leads?” Amy asked, her voice tight with fear as she stared up at the ominous opening.
“Let’s find out,” Tom said, a smile playing on his lips.
“We can’t get up there. It’s too high, and waves—we’d be killed!” Dennis said, his teeth chattering.
“The rock is smooth, we can’t climb!” Amy added.
They were right, of course. The cliff face was like polished granite, offering no handholds or ledges. The cave entrance might as well have been on the moon for all the good it did them.
Unless...
“I will get us there,” Tom said. He couldn’t levitate people; he’d tried that before with disastrous results. But objects... objects he could move with variable amounts of success.
The children returned to shore and put their shoes back on. Tom focused on the scattered boulders littered around them, some as large as dining tables while others were the size of washing basins. He concentrated. There was a familiar burn behind his eyes that came with genuine effort. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he poured his will into the stones, watching them scrape and roll across the sand with grinding protests. The effort was enormous. Greater than anything he’d attempted before. His head pounded, his vision blurred, and by the time he’d positioned the final stone, he was trembling with exhaustion.
But it was magnificent. Previously, only an impassable cliff existed; now, a crude pathway led up toward the cave.
“Dennis, test it,” Tom commanded, breathing hard.
The boy blanched, but nodded, walking towards the rocks and climbing up. Amy followed without being told. Once Tom felt reassured the structure was safe, he joined them, hopping into the cave behind them.
“Come on.”
“Tom... I’m not sure about this,” Amy said.
“Are you scared?!” he snapped at her.
Amy flinched. “I mean, it’s dark in there…”
Dennis nodded his head in agreement. Tom hated weakness. He hated inferior beings, which he was quickly discovering, amounted to everyone, his cronies included.
And he wouldn’t tolerate insubordination.
“We are going.”
“But!”
“Get your flashlight out, Dennis. You did bring it, right?”
“Yes, of course!” The boy fumbled for the light.
“What if we get lost?” Amy was on the verge of tears now, her composure cracking.
Tom stepped closer, letting his voice drop to a dangerous whisper that made even the older boys at the orphanage retreat. “Need I remind you about loyalty, Amy?”
She shook her head, silent tears spilling down her cheeks.
“No, we will go!” Dennis squeaked.
Tom nodded. He picked up a stick from the ground, using it to feel around him as the light guided their direction. Dennis’s flashlight cut a weak cone through the absolute darkness. Amy sniffled, trying to remain silent in her distress. Tom wanted to scream at her to shut up, but he held his tongue for now. He would punish her later.
The passage was larger than it had appeared from outside; the ceiling disappearing in shadows above their heads. When Tom’s stick hit a solid wall, he adjusted his direction.
The deeper they got, the thicker the darkness became. Time lost all meaning as they continued. Amy stopped crying, much to Tom’s relief. The only sounds were their footsteps, the distant drip of water, and occasionally the skitter of something small fleeing from their light, but the path remained unobstructed, easy for the three children to navigate.
Then Dennis’s flashlight hit a surface that reflected oddly back at them.
Water. A vast underground lake stretched out before them, its face black as oil and perfectly still. The beam couldn’t penetrate far enough to reach the far shore.
Tom’s pulse quickened. Nothing about this place was natural. Someone carved this chamber and filled it with water, creating a sort of hidden sanctuary.
Why?
“What... what if—”
“Shut up, Amy!”
She obeyed. A new scratching noise echoed through the cavern. It didn’t sound like an animal. The darkness became sinister.
“I want to go back!”
“Amy, I swear if you don’t—”
“What was that?!” Dennis jumped, the light shifting, seeking the source of the disturbance.
“Stop moving, point that light at the ground!”
There was a splash. It was soft at first, but more followed, bringing with them a stench of death left to fester. Tom’s stomach lurched.
The flashlight beam swept across the water, and Tom saw ripples spreading outward from a central point. Something moved down there…
A head broke the surface, horrible, wet, and grotesque with skin that melted off its body. It must have been human once—all the proper parts were there, but mutilated with decay. It had stringy-brown hair that dangled off its scalp to its skeletal shoulders. The head swayed, its fogged, empty eyes unable to see the children that had entered its lair, but sensed their presence. The mouth gaped, filled with blackened gums.
Amy’s scream shattered the cavern’s silence.
The creature responded to the sound, its head snapping toward them. Dozens more heads surfaced, all in various states of decomposition, all with white eyes seeking the living children with a hunger that transcended death.
Dennis and Amy turned and ran, taking the light with them, their panicked footsteps and sobbing echoing through the passages as they fled.
“Where do you think you’re going?!” Tom shouted after them, but it didn’t matter. They were long gone.
“Damn!” He stood his ground.
In the sudden darkness, he could hear them moving. The scrape of bone on rock, the horrible gurgling sounds they made instead of breathing. They were coming closer, drawn by his warmth, his life, his beating heart.
Any reasonable person would have run. Any sane person would have followed Dennis and Amy back toward daylight and safety. But Tom would never lump himself among “normal people”. He was more than that. He needed to know, to understand, what they were. What other secrets did they keep?
He raised the stick and focused every ounce of his power into it. He never attempted this, but he was desperate. The wood smoldered, sparked, and then finally burst into flame, creating a makeshift torch.
The creatures recoiled from the light with savage shrieks, their decaying forms revealed in all their horrific glory. There were at least a dozen of them, all moving with a terrible purpose.
His fascination outweighed his fear.
What were these things?
Then Tom realized what he was seeing.
These weren’t random monsters. They were creations maintained by someone with power that dwarfed Tom’s own crude abilities. Someone had made an army of the dead and hidden it within the cavern.
Who would do such a thing? And why? There didn’t appear to be any life inside them anymore. No consciousness but a body following an instinct… or perhaps an order…
The implications made Tom’s head spin with possibilities.
One creature came too close, and Tom swept his makeshift torch across its chest. The rotting flesh caught fire like dry paper, and the thing screeched, nearly shattering his eardrums as it thrashed into the water with reckless abandon, setting two others ablaze in its haste.
The rest retreated from the overbearing heat of the flame, but they didn’t take their vacant eyes off him as they returned to the lake.
Tom backed toward the entrance, his torch held high, his mind racing. This was it! It proved that the world held more than gray orphanage walls and stiff authority figures. There was real power out there. Power that could command death itself. Power that could reshape reality according to one’s will.
It excited him! Thrilled him!
But then…
If this sort of power existed, why was he confined within the orphanage? Why couldn’t he be a part of it? If someone else possessed these abilities, then Tom could learn them too.
He returned to the cave entrance, tossing his torch to the side once the rays of daylight cut the darkness. He couldn’t explain how the whole stick hadn’t caught fire in his hand, but only the end remained lit, the fire never traveling or diminishing.
He found Dennis and Amy huddled together, whimpering like beaten animals. The ocean had destroyed his stairway, leaving them stranded on the narrow ledge with nowhere to run.
They weren’t looking at him. Their wide, terrified eyes darted back toward the darkness where those creatures waited. They were still consumed by fear of the dead things in the water that Tom had saved them from.
They had forgotten about him.
An icy rage built in Tom’s chest. He had faced those monsters while the others fled. He had stood his ground, created fire from nothing, driven the creatures back through sheer force of will. He had real power, real significance.
But Dennis and Amy feared the mindless corpses more than him.
The force inside him was building again, responding to his fury, his desperate need to be acknowledged as something more than ordinary. He’d spent years being overlooked, dismissed, treated as just another unwanted child. But he wasn’t like them.
Those creatures in the cave might inspire screams and panic, but they were nothing more than animated meat following instincts. They held no intelligence, no ambition, no will to reshape the world according to their desires.
Tom did.
Dennis and Amy pressed themselves against the cave wall as Tom approached, their eyes wide with the kind of terror usually reserved for nightmares. They could sense the change in him, the way the shadows gathered around his slight frame, the way the air thickened with potential.
Tom couldn’t have explained what happened next if he’d tried. The strength erupted from him, wild and uncontrolled, shaped by nothing but his desperate need to be acknowledged, to be feared, to be remembered as something more than another orphan boy.
Their screams resonated within Tom long after he descended from the ledge.
Dennis and Amy could never quite explain what had happened in the cave. They spoke of monsters and darkness and terrible things in the water, but their gazes always shifted when the adults pressed for details.
Tom had learned something precious in that dark cave. He’d discovered that true monsters didn’t come from mindless hunger or rotting flesh, it came from intelligence paired with absolute ruthlessness. A monster was someone who understood what they were doing and chose to do it anyway.
Those creatures in the cave might inspire screams, but Tom Riddle would be remembered long after their bones crumbled to dust.
He would be more.
・・・・★･* ﾟ⁂ ﾟ*･★・・・・
Tom refused to tell anyone about seeing the man who had attacked him. When Hermione pressed him about going to someone, he’d given her such a withering look that she’d dropped the subject. Whatever game was being played, he intended to handle it his way.
“Why don’t we head back to Hogwarts?” Hermione said. They weren’t enjoying the Hogsmeade weekend. He knew that, yet the bitter taste of disappointment lingered.
Why would that man be here? What did he want?
Tom nodded at her suggestion, his thoughts elsewhere. He scanned the streets, hoping to catch sight of his attacker.
“We could take the long way. Walk around the lake together,” she suggested.
While Tom nodded again, it didn’t ease the tension in his posture. It vibrated off his skin in cool waves and seeped between his fingers like static. Hermione sensed his unease. She continued to shoot him concerned glances, only serving to tighten his muscles further.
They exited Hogsmeade towards Hogwarts, but when they reached the fork in the road, they veered around the lake instead of over the bridge. The further they got from Hogsmeade, the more he let himself relax. The autumn afternoon worked its subtle magic as the October sun cast everything in warm gold, and the Black Lake stretched out beside them like polished obsidian, the surface disturbed by the occasional ripple as the Giant Squid surfaced and submerged again.
“It really is beautiful here,” Hermione said, her breath visible in small puffs. She’d tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder.
“I think I prefer it when it’s just us,” Tom said at last, glancing at the lake. Was it really a year ago when he brought those damn baguettes to her so they could feed the Giant Squid? A year that he chased her for crumbs of attention…
“I forgot how crowded Hogsmeade gets with the whole school there,” Hermione said.
“Next time, let’s skip the village.”
“Did you have something else in mind?”
His lips quirked. “We could always play chess again.”
She snorted. “When did you become such a big fan of chess?”
“I wouldn’t say I enjoy chess. I mostly appreciate the rewards I get for winning.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He didn’t need to use Legilimency to read her mind—now, more than ever, she was determined to beat him at the game.
That would never happen, but he would let his witch dream.
She was about to respond when shouting erupted from near the boathouse ahead. The sound carried across the water—a mixture of laughter, jeering, and what sounded like crying.
“What’s going on?” Hermione halted in her step. Neck craning to catch a glimpse of the commotion. The boathouse blocked most of their view of the shore beyond.
“Oh, it’s the first Hogsmeade weekend.” Tom shrugged.
“I’m perfectly aware of what weekend it is. What is that noise?”
There was a splash, followed by more laughter. The Giant Squid’s tentacles, which had been lounging in the afternoon sun, disappeared beneath the surface. The water rippled ominously toward the disturbance.
“The Slytherin first-years are being tossed into the lake.”
“WHAT?!” Hermione gaped in horror.
“It’s tradition,” Tom said. “Some of the upperclassmen throw all the first-years into the lake during the first Hogsmeade weekend.”
“Did you get thrown into the lake?!”
Tom recalled his own encounter vividly. Nobody had bothered to warn him. The seventh-years gathered them, promising something exciting before guiding them toward the boathouse. It hadn’t taken long for eleven-year-old Tom to realize something sinister was afoot, based on the way they snickered as they marched across the lawn.
They’d lined the first-years up along the dock, explaining with barely contained glee that they could either jump in voluntarily or be thrown in. Most had gone willingly, not wanting to anger their house seniors. Abraxas had shouted something about his father’s influence and been unceremoniously tossed in anyway. When Tom’s turn came, he’d eyed the two sniveling seventh-years with disdain, then made his choice.
He wouldn’t demean himself by being chucked in like a sack of grain, so he’d launched himself into the frigid water and dragged Edmund Parkinson, the seventh-year prefect, in with him for good measure. He would never go down alone.
A loud shriek pierced the crisp air. “That doesn’t sound like casual fun!” Hermione shouted. She took off running, her bag bouncing against her hip as she sprinted across the uneven ground.
Tom frowned. Sometimes he wondered if she might be completely insane. She dashed straight towards something she had no business getting herself involved in, with no regard for herself.
He groaned and followed her at an easy pace, his hands shoved in his pockets. He would have to deal with the fallout of her actions.
The screams continued, high-pitched and frantic. Hermione sped up, but Tom refused to run like some desperate banshee. He suspected all that noise was coming from Bridget, which meant Hermione was bound to do something stupid and reckless.
This wasn’t her usual playful antagonism. Bridget sounded genuinely terrified.
Being tossed in the lake, while unpleasant, wasn’t harmful. He had to assume Bridget was up to her usual dramatics, though Tom couldn’t guess who’s benefit the show was for.
By the time he rounded the dock, the scene was already chaotic.
A group of seventh-year Slytherins had Bridget pinned between them, dragging her toward the end of the pier despite her struggles. The girl was hysterical, her small fists beating uselessly against her captors as she sobbed.
“Let me go! There are grindylows in there! Please!“
“Don’t be such a baby, Dodderidge!”
“It’s just a bit of cold water!”
A group of first-years huddled together on the shore, soaked and chuckling. Her words dissolved into incoherent pleading, but the older students ignored her, seeming to gain pleasure from her agony. Even Zephyr had thrown herself into the fray, the white feline latching onto Lysander Montague’s leg with all four sets of claws. She hissed and spat as she tried to force them to release her young mistress.
“Get this bloody thing off me!” Lysander swung his leg, cursing at the cat. Finally, he pulled out his wand and shot a stinging hex, blasting her backward into the water with an agonized yowl.
Typical Slytherin behavior. Tom would rather not get involved, but his witch wasn’t leaving him with much of a choice.
It was moments like this that he remembered how damn cumbersome Hermione was.
“Stop that!” Her voice sliced through the commotion.
She had her wand out and charged forward, her face set. She looked like a goddess blazing with rage. Her spell caught the group off-guard, blasting them apart. Unfortunately for her, her aim was true and, in her anger, the force of the spell was stronger than necessary. Instead of depositing Bridget safely on the dock, the girl went flying through the air and crashed into the lake. At least three of the older students went with her, their shouts cut off by the frigid water.
Hermione rushed to the edge of the dock, not hesitating to jump in after Bridget, still fully clothed.
Tom sauntered forward, ignoring the first-years’ laughter echoing all around him.
He caught up with Hermione as she dragged a sobbing Bridget out of the water a few minutes later. The young witch was in hysterics, inconsolable, muttering about grindylows and death. Hermione’s efforts to comfort her went unnoticed.
“Don’t even think about it.” Tom glared at one of the seventh-years, who looked ready to curse Hermione as he climbed, soaking wet, onto the dock. The boy in question quickly pocketed his wand.
A tentacle lifted from the water and dropped a drenched white ball on the shore. It took a moment for Tom to realize it was Zephyr.
Tom turned towards Hermione, assessing her for damage. Seeing none, he decided some routine charm was in order.
“Is she okay?” he asked, not actually caring about the answer, but he figured Hermione would appreciate it if he showed some amount of concern. He pulled out his wand and cast drying charms over both of them, watching Hermione’s relief and gratitude. She mouthed ‘thank you’ over Bridget’s head.
Looks like he did something right.
“Come on,” Hermione said gently, helping Bridget to her feet. “Let’s get you somewhere warm and safe.” Bridget didn’t fight Hermione as she helped her stand and led the young witch across the lawn, looking back at the other Slytherins with a vicious glare.
Even Zephyr looked subdued as she followed behind with her fur matted and her usual swagger replaced by wounded dignity. Tom briefly considered drying the cat off, but dismissed his sentiment as a mere lapse in judgement.
Why would he bother helping that monster?
Did he follow too? He didn’t want to hang around Bridget while she was crying… He remained put, considering his options.
Apparently, his face was set in a disgruntled frown because Lysander Montague spoke up. “Riddle, it’s tradition, you know. We weren’t going to hurt her or anything.” Tom remembered the others around him and inspected each of them. They looked terrified, as if they expected him to attack. Then again, Tom had a reputation within his house, and many of them had witnessed him torturing Walburga in the common room last year. They didn’t know that he later killed her, but they didn’t need to know those details to still be afraid of him.
“Did you lay a hand on my witch?” Tom asked, finding Lysander’s again.
“W—what?! Of course not!” he spluttered. The blood drained from his face. He shivered, but Tom suspected it wasn’t from being wet and cold. The consequences for touching Hermione were dire… they all knew that.
“Good, then we don’t have a problem.”
A splash drew his attention. The Giant Squid surfaced near the dock once more, one massive tentacle depositing something waterlogged on the wooden planks before retreating.
Hermione’s bag, soaked through, with water streaming from every seam.
Tom picked it up with a grimace. Everything inside would be ruined. Maybe he could salvage some of it… if he were lucky.
He tossed Hermione’s bag over his shoulder and followed her across the lawn towards the castle.
Notes:
Chapter 57 Song: Panic Room by Au/Ra. You can find it on The Brightest Star in the Sky Playlist
Next chapter will be first week of October!
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