18|| Pawn to B6
The Saturday evening of much waiting arrives without a moment's delay or miniscule moment of interest. Rather, Hermione spends her morning and midday in the library, finishing some of her essays and preparing new ones. Tom is nowhere to be seen, gratefully enough as Hermione assumes he is off on some occasion as Head Boy or for some darker purposes (she believes it is the second). But whatever the case, Hermione finds herself at peace with the tomes surrounding her and knowledge growing, though not to great extent. And by the time dinner arrives, having dropped her school supplies in her room and walking from the Common Room, she is at genuine peace with this 1940s world.
Thinking too soon, as per the usual in Hermione's genuine lack of luck, the girl almost runs into the Head Boy as he sweeps into the Slytherin dormitory with utter confidence and slyness. She steps back and away from his path, though it serves to little extent as his eyes sweep onto her and stay there, ignoring everyone else on their way out of the stone door.
"Wait one minute," he orders, dropping her gaze as he moves to his own room and disappears through the door. Hermione stifles a huff in his direction, impatient to eat and her stomach growling its disfavor at the Dark Lord. But to the extent that he is quick on his toes, Tom Riddle returns shortly, looking no different than moments before but pocketing a book in his black cloak. He gestures for her to follow him from her position beside the door, holding said fixture for her and following her out of the Common Room.
They move in silence to dinner, paying no mind to the lingering and chatting Slytherins near them, yet mentally removing themselves from all other company. Finally, and as they move to the ground level, Hermione finds the charge to speak and dissolve the awkward attention that only she feels.
"I've been meaning to ask: why have you been sitting with me lately?" she questions, serving both as a tension breaker and needed relief from all her ponderings. "What has changed?"
Tom looks down upon the fuzzy-headed bookworm, surveying her soft features permanently tensed into a facade of coldness. From the thick eyelashes and eyebrows to her rosy, petal-like lips--rarely displaying a smile--it would seem Hermione Granger is as soft as a Hufflepuff without a whim for bad in her every bone. And yet, the coldness she exerts, around the Knights and strangers, sings of her dark past and secrets she'll never divulge.
"You're powerful and intelligent," Tom Riddle responds casually and earnestly, looking forward so as to avoid her penetrating gaze that would make most men tremble. "You're a threat to my plans but also the perfect ally, so I've decided I must keep you by my side."
"You do not fear treachery?" she asks, looking up to him and casting a gaze upon his high cheekbones, lovely red lips and dark hair, a picture of Greecian beauty and nothing less.
"I am far too skilled at detecting lies for traitors to go unnoticed," Tom remarks, finally meeting her gaze and this time, she does not back down, "though I still find you suspicious."
"Anyone with a brain would," she says simply, expecting as much given the history of Voldemort and all that she knows of his intentions, from Harry and her own experiences.
No more words are exchanged as they move into the Great Hall, taking seats across from one another and near neither the Knights nor Abraxas. They eat silently, heads downward and hiding their true personas under the pretense of eating and a comfortable silence. But after some time, Tom looks up to Hermione, watching her with a renewed coldness, yet curiosity at the unfitting consciousness living in the sweet-looking female. Everything about her--from the untamed hair to the unmade skin--screams of a bookworm who's never once applied her literary smarts to the world, innocent to experience. And yet, when she meets his eyes with an equal curiosity, Tom knows Hermione's seen near everything in her years of life, a stunning thought and one of great potential in the tasks he has for her.
"Is there something on my face?" Hermione asks, almost gruffly in her surprise at Tom's attention. And to the extent that her words are firm, the infinitesimal softness in Tom's expression is wiped away by the cold demeanor of the Dark Lord.
"Who did you get your hair from? It's horribly frizzy," Tom covers, prompting Hermione to scowl at him in a look typically reserved for the Knights and never for him. And though it really ought to infuriate the Dark Lord, he cannot help grinning at the petty expression and his ability to easily infuriate Hermione.
"My mother always said that curls show intelligence," she responds proudly prompting Tom to release a humoured snort, surprising Hermione greatly. Who knew that Tom Riddle, the proper prick, could snort so lowly?
"What does frizz show then?" he counters, looking thoroughly humoured with her irritation.
"Courage."
"Well, you have enough courage for all of Gryffindor if that is the case." If it had been anyone else in Slytherin, there would have been laughter at his words. And yet, given Hermione's background, she only scowls deeper at the boy in front of her. She is a Gryffindor, and she is proud.
"You're awfully rude," that Gryffindor spirit says brazenly, prodding at the cobra like a child does with a stick. It is surely infuriating to the Slytherin heir, testing his patience yet playing on his superiority over the female.
"Only to you," he simply responds, grinning at the scowling Hermione before turning back to his food, not having noticed the reveal of Hermione's true character in these last few moments. Maybe Hermione Vincetamor Granger does not fall far from the tree.
Whatever the extent she falls, Hermione does not care, taking back to her food with a convincing stubbornness to not yell profanities at the irritating Dark Lord. Some minutes pass with both figures eating quickly, dining just being a simple duty in their busy lives of different intentions.
Upon looking up, Tom is quick to catch her eye and gesture to the door in a sign of departure. She feels no need to nod, following after him like a sheep does a shepherd and subtly nodding back at Dumbledore as he turns an eye to the duo. Tom does not notice, or at least he pretends not to, leading their trek up the stairs and to the Room of Requirement which has seen much in the history of Hogwarts.
With Tom opening the portal to the magical room, Hermione is surprised to find herself in a completely new haven of less darkness and more knowledge. Rather than the dueling room of the Knights and small cabinet of the weekly meetings, this room is expansive in size, filled to the rim with books. Indeed, the only thing similar to the other meeting room is the green fire within the fireplace, bordered by two green couches that sit facing one another. To this, Tom leads Hermione, placing himself on one couch and gesturing for her to sit on the other.
"Before we begin, I need you to understand something," Tom addresses her quickly, resting his elbows on his knees so that he is leaning nearer to her. Hermione props herself up straight on the couch, looking extraordinarily proper, but to the same extent, tense.
"Okay..." Hermione drawls unsurely, not knowing what else to say at Tom's pause.
"No longer can you spend time with Clarence outside of class, nor Abraxas for that matter," Tom orders, sending something of pain into Hermione's heart as her eyes visibly weaken in view of the Dark Lord. Of course, he has no clue what Hermione has forsaken to be here, but it greatly pains the female to lose the only friends she has in this time period, all for a Dark Lord that will kill more of her friends in the years to come. It is unfair, but Voldemort is notoriously so.
"Why?" she asks, curiousness a typical faction of her facade and not surprising Tom in the slightest.
"They make you weak."
"Happiness is not a weakness," Hermione responds stubbornly, her Gryffindor spirit being especially hearty and resilient today, likely due to the harsher challenges and position she now faces.
"It is," he responds, not showing any interest in her words, unsurprisingly given his lack of any positive emotions.
"No, it is not. The prospect of happiness drives men to overcome impossible challenges," Hermione responds strongly, and possibly logically, not that Tom is truly listening. "It is the one true reward for efforts."
"It matters not: you will no longer keep them as friends. Understand?" Tom challenges, looking strongly at her and leaving no room for her argument, smothering her brazenness though not her entire courage.
"Yes, my Lord," Hermione responds, tilting her head in submission.
"That is not necessary between the two of us. I expect you to know your place," Tom grants, as if expecting her to be grateful for this 'gift.' And yet, Hermione can only manage a nod, wishing to scoff at the ignorance of the man. It is not a gift to be allowed to treat another wizard as an equal, but an inherent right for all living creatures.
Tom breaks her thoughts quickly, sensing her rebelliousness and wishing to suppress it into nothingness, "Now, tell me more about the Deathly Hallows."
"I expect you know the story--" she responds, prompting Tom to drop The Tales of Beedle the Bard onto the table between them as if on cue. She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Well, many wizards believe that the three brothers of the story were Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell, receiving the Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone, and Invisibility Cloak--respectively. It is unknown as to when the three lived, although they did, and it is uncertain where the Deathly Hallows ended up."
"Do they have descendents? It may lie with them," Tom offers, simply implying the obvious.
"That's what I was researching. As it turns out, the only two families who have clear ties to the Peverells are the Gaunt family--" Tom's jaw clenches and his body freezes at the trap Hermione purposely set, though she continues as if nothing occurred. "--through Cadmus Peverell and the Potter Family through Ignotus. It is then logical to conclude that their ancestors possess their respective Hallows."
Despite her subtlety, Tom glares at Hermione with a sudden fierceness and flashing red eyes. Hermione only meets them, equally powerful in conviction and the knowledge she has of Tom's family. It is obvious that Hermione Granger knows of Tom's heritage, an infuriating notion to the Dark Lord if there ever was one. And yet, Tom does not perceive her to know of his Muggle father, withdrawing his intention to curse her to Hades for the simple reason that he will need her knowledge in the future.
"Is there any way to acquire the Cloak from the Potters?" he manages from the inners of his hatred at that moment, feeling nothing but darkness yet basking in it.
"I would bet that it is locked away in their Gringotts vault. And unless you really wish to grow close to the blood traitors, you'll have to acquire greater power over the Wizarding World in order to infiltrate Gringotts," Hermione reasons, logically in Tom's mind. And though Hermione's certainty practically begs for punishment, it also serves to calm the man, reason usually winning out over desire, at least for the Dark Lord.
"That leaves the Elder Wand..." the darkness drawls. "Antioch had no family?"
"Not one that is known," Hermione says, sensing the man's receding anger with gratefulness, though expressing none of this.
"So, it could be anywhere," he judges, surprisingly setting Hermione off into a devious grin, unusual for the bright girl.
"I would not be so quick to conclude that," Hermione says, standing and striding over to an appearing map on a table nearby, unmarked and seemingly new with Europe easily illustrated. Tom moves behind her slowly, hating this follower position yet interested enough in her actions. He watches her elegant hand trace over Europe, like a pianist's hand trace the keys to musical victory. And though it takes some seconds of thought, her pointer finger finally stops on England and precisely on Scotland.
"The last known person that was seen with the Wand is not so far from here, actually," Hermione says, her slight grin permeating his peripheral vision in an almost inspiringly devious look of darkness.
"Grindelwald." It's an easy assumption.
"Exactly," Hermione says, turning to him with that bookworm-ish expression that seems to fit the girl perfectly, unlike that of her darkness. "Supposedly, the Dark Lord stole it from Gregorovich and has been unstoppable since. No one in the Ministry can take the Wand from him, and he is undefeatable with the Wand."
"So, how do we succeed in acquiring it?" Tom questions, seemingly testing her intelligence in order to hide his intentions of wishing for her input. It is obvious that Hermione Granger knows more of this matter than he does, but that does not mean Tom Riddle will ever accept this fact verbally.
"Dumbledore had a picture of Grindelwald and himself in his office," Hermione hints deviously, again unfitting.
"Slughorn told me that they were once partners in Grindelwald's pursuits until an 'unfortunate accident' occurred. They are now exceptionally close to bitter enemies," Tom follows, catching her hints and concluding their choice before she can even speak another word. Words are formalities for both Tom and Hermione, far too intelligent to need such communication.
"People say that Dumbledore is the only one who can stop Grindelwald."
"So, we watch Dumbledore. When he makes the trip to stop Grindelwald, we shadow him and capture the Wand for myself," Tom offers, his mind already swarming with possibilities for the power he could possess, given the tale of the Three Brothers. It is inspiring to him, yet blinding, too stuck in what could be rather than the sure consequences of his intended actions.
"I disagree," Hermione says, a first of its kind in the company of the Dark Lord and prompting his eyes to race to hers. However, Hermione does not seem to notice, as if she is still plotting with Harry to infiltrate the Ministry not speaking to Voldemort himself. "You will need to recruit more followers outside of Hogwarts--perhaps the giants and dementors--before you go on the offense. The taking of the wand will be seen as an attack. We cannot afford that."
"What do you propose then?" Tom hisses unhappily, rather disgruntled by her disagreement, infuriated with her rashness, and upset by how right she is. Hermione Granger is the brains of the Golden Trio and the Knights of Walpurgis, it would seem. Sure, Tom is capable of great genius, but he is the power of the operation, mainly.
"You want to teach here, do you not?" Hermione questions in response.
"How did you know?" Tom Riddle was sure he had never told her of such plans, given that they've rarely talked of such personal aspects of their lives.
"I implied it from your actions," Hermione responds, honest to her every word though she implied it from Harry's stories of Tom Riddle, not as a first hand witness.
"Yes, I plan on teaching here," Tom responds, becoming increasingly upset by the knowledge Hermione seems to have of him and his plans. And though he'd shipped off his suspicions in his reassurance that Hermione was helping him, he cannot help the lingering thoughts that she knows too much for a simple stranger.
"Then we wait until that time. We know that Dumbledore will not be going anywhere away from Hogwarts, the Potters will not give up the Cloak, and you will have the Stone. We strike when we're prepared, and no earlier," Hermione plots, logically and near flawlessly in its obscurity. But it serves to blind the boy again, her words of promise and potential hiding his suspicions of her for some time, yet irritating his wish to overpower her in mind. Tom Riddle is surely more talented magically, but Hermione Granger seems to overwhelm the logic that he lacks due to a tendency for anger and greed.
"Fine." Tom moves back to the couch, gesturing for Hermione to take her previous seat across from him, returning to their typical power roles of Tom's superiority over Hermione. He pulls a book from the outer pocket of his coat, handing it to her with a casual expression. "Here is a book on curses--learn them, and then we will apply them."
Hermione nods at the Dark Lord, not having to fake her interest in said text given the possibilities it holds for her. But in divergence of his intentions, this book provides valuable information in defending against the dark arts, rather than progressing offensively in them.
"Is that all then?" she asks, looking up to meet his sharp eyes, his true character shining through in their moments alone.
"No," he says. "Have you been practicing your chess?"
"I read a book of strategies. No one would play with me." Both of which are lies, her head dropping to hide them, yet Tom noticing them all the same. Punishment would be an option, but Tom needs her growth, all the same.
"I will now. Let's see the bookworm apply her lessons," the Dark Lord taunts, the table transfiguring into a chess set with white pieces for Tom and black for Hermione. It is a quicker game than the time before, not because Hermione does worse (she actually does better), but because both players act with more confidence...perhaps because they know each other's strategies better than the previous time they played.
"There is no hope for me," Hermione replies, swishing her wand and sending the figures back to their original position upon the board.
"Possibly. But we're not about to give up," Tom remarks, prompting Hermione to nod since she expected no different from the stubborn Tom Riddle.
Unable to help it, Hermione yawns at the board's shifting back to a table under Tom's nonverbal spell, his mouth opening into a chuckle at her silly actions. Looking to the clock, he realizes the reason for her reactions, muttering "It is near one. We ought to get back."
Hermione nods her head in the affirmative, barely able to keep her eyes open as Tom leads the way from the Room of Requirement and back to the Common Room. And though she is barely lucid upon their arrival, she cannot help admiring how sharp Tom is, not tired in the slightest. And likely due to her exhaustion, she cannot help asking rashly, "Do you ever sleep?"
"Rarely," Tom responds, paying the silly female no mind yet getting great humour from her actions. "I do not need as much sleep as others."
Hermione hums in understanding at his words, moving back towards the corridor to her dormitory as Tom calls out to her: "I will not be seeing you as much from now on. I'll be watching Dumbledore, alone."
Tom Riddle, reasonably enough, does not trust Dumbledore with his leading follower, given their mysterious meeting days prior and her suspicious background basked in darkness. And though he expects her to reveal something of her relationship with the old man, Hermione is tested under a greater weight of feelings, far worse than sleepiness like in this moment. If she revealed nothing then, she'll reveal nothing now.
"Alright," Hermione affirms without a hint towards any relationship she has with Dumbledore before offering him a, "Goodnight, Tom."
"Night," he mutters, watching her stumble off to bed tiredly and surely to a restful night. And yet, Tom Riddle knows Hermione Granger as much as she knows him. They both bare the nightmares of their background, driving one of them to insomnia and the other to nightly battles. It's what differentiates the two of them--the flight or fight--and it's what makes them take two different paths in making their futures--accepting darkness as the only form of power or fighting darkness as the only form of relief.
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