#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
The two, coming into sight of the Castle's doors, increase their pace, although the dementors are very far behind at this point. And though there is almost a collision, Hermione and Tom are able to avoid the swinging doors as Dumbledore and Dippet rush out, far too fast for old men yet worry sketching their faces.
"Professor! There're dementors by the Forbidden Forest!" Hermione shouts, her breath so heavy from the run and shock that she can barely manage to say anything. Her chest heaves, body bent as she leans over the ground in an attempt to increase her breath, having lost it to the dementors many moments ago.
"Calm down, Miss Granger. We saw it from here. Now, I would like you and Tom to immediately go to Madame Calendula," Dumbledore addresses them, ever the task-master and delegator, level-headed and calm. "Headmaster and I will deal with the dementors."
If anything, Dippet looks fearful at this notion, but he does not say anything as Dumbledore leads them down the hill and towards the Forbidden Forest. It's becoming increasingly obvious that Dumbledore is more of a Headmaster in this time than Dippet is, not shocking to Hermione in the slightest.
With trepidation, but caught breath, Hermione straightens and looks to Tom, her brown eyes wide with tears ready to spring forth. And yet, it's her body that springs first: into Tom's arms as her hands wrap around his neck in the first sign of weakness. The Dark Lord's arms, whether due to compassion or shock, wrap around her hips, pulling her closer as she sobs into his shoulder--her sign of trusting him if nothing else. Emotionless as ever--at least on the outside--Tom brushes his hands across her back in what he hopes to be comfort and proves to be so. With time, Hermione's breath calms and tears dry, though it leaves her with red eyes as she pulls away.
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The time-traveller looks at Tom with an intensity he cannot know the depth of. Her hands still cling to his neck and his sit on her waist, small circles being brushed and pressed into her skin by his thumbs. She realizes, in that moment, that her most impossible task has been accomplished: Hermione's changed the Dark Lord for the better. The man least likely to produce a Patronus has done just that, likely saving the both of them from death. And though it might be for darker intentions, Hermione will take peace in knowing he has some light in that heart of his.
"You did it." Her voice barely comes out as a whisper, wrapping itself into the nightly winds as Tom stares at her with deep feelings, only perceiving the sound through the close contact with her.
But he cannot handle the seriousness after such a tense moment outside the Forest, coping with the shock through the only mechanism, humour: "I told you it would be a Basilisk."
However, Hermione's not up for such reactions, more attuned to these bouts of shock given her horrid few years. And thus, she cannot respond to the humor, focused solely on the significance as she responds with "Nevermind what it was, you're capable of it!"
"Due to you," is all Tom says, leaning forward from their already close connection to lay as soft kiss on her forehead, her eyes fluttering at the perfect feeling. But, ever the driver, Tom has to keep them moving forward. "Now, let's go to the Madame."
