Venenum

Azemiops.

And besides everything, what could she say to Dumbledore? Tell him everything? Tell him that there is someone out there who is throwing her back and forth in space-time?

Hermione snorted in derision. When her life had become a sick joke?

The wind was a bit strong and cold, she climbed the stairs that led to the top of the owl tower, her stomach having strange sensations because of the height as she avoided looking down. Her fear of heights was not over, only overcome in emergencies.

The higher she climbed, the more determined her thoughts were. She was going to put a stop to everything that happened to her and Riddle, it was too risky and she was sure that he would no longer settle for half-truths. Tom was already investigating her, hinting, searching for what she was hiding. And, to tell the truth, her empathy for him was growing, and it was frightening. Because now she understood a little more about his situation in the face of everything he had been through since he was a baby.

Remembering all that she had seen brought tears to her eyes that she blinked away.

Was there still something good inside him?

Hermione stopped as she reached the top of the tower, specifically the entrance. All thoughts determined to stop any kind of interaction with him silenced, thrown out the window as if they were nothing as soon as she spotted him. She found herself holding her breath, watching him in all his glory with his height and perfect position.

He was standing with his back to her, his hands together behind his back, looking out at the scenery that one of the tower windows provided. The Slytherinrobe he was wearing, swayed gently against the wind, which was almost always present in the Owlery.

The sight of him aroused in her an interest in understanding. Now, more than ever, she sought, fought to have the power to interpret him. One or two things about his behaviour, she could already understand, know the meaning behind the act, after all, she had lived directly with him during her time in the tent. But, his reactions should never be underestimated, he is unpredictable most of the time.

Sensing her presence, Tom looks over his shoulder, turning slowly so he can receive her. He scans her from top to bottom, his face slightly tilted diagonally downwards as he looks at her out of the corner of his eyes and under his lashes. Hermione realises then, that he is kind of copying her movements, as just like him, she is also hesitant and wary, testing whether or not she can approach. Both treating each other as if they were dealing with a wild animal and needed to be handled with care.

Tom stops right in the middle, straightening his posture in the process, waiting for her to approach him.

Hermione walked up to him, not knowing what to expect, dodging the bones and carcasses of mice and other small animals brought in by the owls. She stopped in front of him and held out her hand, asking for her wand. Feathers of various types of owls fell lightly around them. Tom raised one of his eyebrows and looked at her hand for a moment, before returning his gaze to her face.

He noticed at the very beginning that her hair was tied up in a braid, which made her face free of anything that might prevent him from noticing the expressions she was making and would make. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with a shy blush, but as much as her shyness was, she didn't look away.

"That fast? Good morning to you too ... Hermione."

Tom audibly tested her name for the first time to her.

He remembered clearly that when he left the Hospital Wing, he kept her voice in his head, opening and closing his hand by reflex as the sensation of the touch was persistent. She made him feel strange, very strange. She was a constant unknown in his head, always leaving him puzzled.