25|| Pawn to H3
The next day, an especially warm winter day, finds Tom and Hermione following a similar schedule as the day before: studying, eating, and then training. Both find great comfort in the mundane schedule as a student, choosing to follow the schooling pattern for their break, subconsciously yet without complaint. And though there are more people about, they choose to eat in the Slytherin Common Room rather than in the Great Hall, avoiding conversation with Slughorn in a silent agreement of wishes.
After lunch, they take to the Room of Requirement, looking the same as the day prior though reminding both parties of the changes in their relationship. They are closer in an understanding of one another, but to this, 'relationship' is not a fitting term. It is still strictly friendship and business, not wishing for more but understanding each other better than anyone else in their lives. It is easy, when it comes down to the schematics, to understand this, given their yearn for knowledge, strong convictions, heartfelt loyalties, and difficult pasts. If anyone would have considered it, this might have been predicted perfectly. Maybe Dumbledore did.
Tom rises from his couch in the Room of Requirement, intent in his search for Hermione's study as he looks at the shelves of old books on dark creatures. Brushing his fingers across them, the Dark Lord comes across the text of his interest, moving to pull it from the shelf before remembering Hermione's notoriety of knowing everything through personal experience, or so it would seem.
"I might as well ask you this beforehand: have you ever been acquainted with a werewolf?" Tom questions, the lycanthropic book still beneath his lean fingers though he makes no move to grab it from the shelf. Rather, he stares at the tome, its old age playing with dust and tempting him to sneeze in a mortal reaction he despises.
"Yes," Hermione says from the couch with an air of composure, watching as Tom's head shakes and he sighs wearily, as if her knowledge of everything is killing him. She grins at the boy, chuckling slightly, although Hermione is proud that she knows so much more than he does. "I apologize for my continual ruining of your lessons." She does not mean it.
"No. It is fine," Tom says, removing his hand from the cover of the book before pacing back towards her. He takes a graceful seat on the leather couch across from her, crossing his legs and leaning back, though still postured in his state. "But now you've got me interested. Spin me a tale." His hand waves as if he is doing just that.
Hermione smiles at him, one of the first in many days given that they often show smirks and grins, but nothing of genuinely joyous intentions. "This one is actually happy...We were hunting an escaped convict from a wizarding prison at the time. One of our leaders was a werewolf--as the adults knew, but not the kids. We had caught ourselves in a dilemma with the convict in a run-down shack, after having been led astray by a rat. Turns out, the rat was a follower of the Dark Lord and the dog seen around the fort was the convict himself, godfather of my friend. The two Animagus knew each other from their conjoined childhood and tried to kill each other while I watched, scared for my life. Then--as it turns out--the werewolf arrived, knowing both the Animagus as old friends. It became more cramped as our instructor stormed in, trying to protect me and my two friends while the three--werewolf, dog, and rat--argued. That night happened to be one of a full moon, so as the werewolf transformed, the convict shifted into his Animagus, protecting us. One of my friends was run into a lake nearby, where he was nearly killed by Dementors, along with the convict, before being saved by a stag Patronus."
The tale comes out more vague than those previous, or so Hermione notices. Rather than just twisting the hard truth for this story, she had to openly avoid half the story, given that the second portion was based solely on time-travel. And given her mission here, with the Time-Turner still around her neck and Hermione's mysterious past, she cannot let anything of this nature slip...even if it makes the story less believable.
Tom looks at Hermione wide-eyed, a shocking transformation from his usual composure though it still rests beneath the surface. It is a continual shock for him to hear of her troubles and trials, such strange things to experience as a young teenager.
"Well, what happened to the werewolf? And the rat? And the convict?" he is unsuccessful in hiding his tone of utter curiosity, not that this is a surprise to Hermione. After all, being so alike, Hermione and Tom could easily be Ravenclaws if not for her courage and his ambition.
"The werewolf resigned his position, choosing to fight the Dark Lord behind the scenes. The rat escaped back to the Dark Lord and has rarely been seen since. And the convict escaped again, lived two years, and then was killed by a follower of the Dark Lord." Hermione does not even attempt to hide her pain at the last words, missing Sirius Black greatly, even through their continual arguments over his actions and her logic. And moreover, he was important to Harry...his godfather and the man who intended to be the father Harry never knew. It was heartbreaking for her simply because it hurt Harry greatly.
"You know all of this sounds utterly ridiculous," the Dark Lord says, noting her pain yet taunting it with his tone. And though he expects her to be angry at his words, Tom predicts it will come from his lack of emotion towards her...his lack of compassion towards the losses she's experienced. He is wrong.
"It's true!" she shouts. Of course, Hermione Granger has always been more fact than emotionally driven, something that Tom Riddle has yet to notice. It is one thing to offend those she loves--now dead-- but to question the truth of her words, Hermione despises him for it.
"I know it is," he is quick to respond, surprised at the focus of her irritation yet following it with ease. "I can see it in your eyes--the way they light up in the happy parts and soften about death."
Hermione looks at him with her deep brown eyes, boring into his own with skepticism and slight affection. No one has ever looked at him like this, so drawn by his character traits and sheer brilliance at everything he does. It is clear that she appreciates his company and enjoys his presence, Tom Riddle being her one true match at everything she does. Who would've thought?...Dumbledore.
"You can read me so well..." she mutters through the depths of her thoughts and appreciation for the sharpness of the boy in front of her. Tom leans forward, elbows on his knees, as Hermione straightens at the smaller space separating them and the intensity of his gaze, though quirked into a mischievous grin.
"You're not nearly as sneaky as you suppose. You're far more of a Ravenclaw than you are a Slytherin." Hermione scowls at the boy, though for different reasons that he supposes. Having been told this by many professors and students, including those she is closest with, it always hurt her to think she's a better Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor. But Tom Riddle does not know of this past, Hermione reminds herself, his eyes tracing her face with new interest.
"When we dueled that first time, you already knew I was Slytherin's descendent...how?" It's a question that has been a long time coming, ever since that duel in Defense months ago. She made a mistake in conjuring that snake, a move regretted for some time. But with the month she's had to punish herself for it, she's come up with the brilliant explanation that really did not require much thought.
"I didn't know, but I did suspect it, given the ring on your finger. And your reaction proved it. You're not as sneaky as you suppose." Tom Riddle glares at the courageous female, her taunts almost as powerful as his own. But it is only fitting that the taunts are powerful, given how well matched they are: able to reason weaknesses and meet each other equally in every battle.
"Did you expect me to use Parseltongue on the snake? To reveal my identity in that moment?" He practically scoffs, not necessarily believing that she did but wishing for Hermione to back down and accept a weakness in her thought. However, he knows she will not, too stubborn to accept defeat.
"Not at all. I just wished to see your reaction," Hermione says, a predicted response though Tom still looks at her with interest.
He thinks of her duels and the reports of her dueling, regarding all the spells at her disposal and characteristics of her magic. Both nonverbal and not, she had an air of complete confidence in her spellcasting, most poignantly in her characteristic attacking birds, the ones he enjoyed so much. "Lestrange was right when he said you're playful when dueling. It explains your Patronus perfectly."
"I would normally disagree, but the Otter does make a good case," Hermione responds with a small and friendly smile, unlike Tom's cold look and eyes of a darkened facade.
"It's hardly Slytherin material," he gripes, dragging her back into his darkness from the momentary lapse of playful words. Her eyes narrow at him, reflecting a look of dislike at that moment, not surprising at all.
"And I suppose yours would be a mighty Basilisk like Salazar Slytherin himself?" she quips, raising a sarcastic eyebrow at him and prompting Tom to relapse into narrowed eyes like hers did, moments ago.
"I do not think I will ever know, but I would say yes. Now, this is a rather good opportunity for learning. Basilisks..." Tom drones off, looking at Hermione's apologetic expression that does not need explaining after hearing her stories. "You have not come across a Basilisk." It comes across almost like a demand, though Hermione looks less than willing to cower beneath his desired presumptions of personal experience.
"Not true," Hermione says without a minute amount of reservation or fear of the Dark Lord. "A Basilisk almost killed me once."
"You have to be kidding," he drones, faking a look of boredom that Hermione almost accepts before noticing the lurking frustration beneath his facade. Not saying anything, but looking wary to continue, Tom huffs. "Well, go on."
"I was thirteen at the time, I think. My two friends and I had come across some horrendous acts of violence, and one of us was hearing strange whispers from within the walls of our hideout at that time. One night, I had been investigating--having suspected it was a Basilisk--by using a mirror to peer around corners. It was the only reason I was petrified rather than killed. My friends found it in the dungeon, although only one of them actually faced it, killing it with a struggle and through an injury."
Tom Riddle looks at her with genuine confusion and irritation. How is it possible to have met so many dangerous creatures in so little years of living? It seems most improbable that there was this many lingering creatures around her Auror camp, but then again, Grindelwald might have been a large factor.
"Are there any other magical creatures in this story that I should avoid?" Tom asks, attempting to smother his agitation with her, knowing that she is not to blame but those she was around. Who lets a Basilisk roam around an Auror camp where children are located, and then sends the children after it?
"A Phoenix and a magnificently daft leader who managed to Obliviate himself," Hermione remarks bitterly, as though she is still personally offended by the daftness of said leader. Tom, in a sudden change of personality, laughs at her words, his questions about the intelligence of said Aurors being answered in her agitation.
"How do you know of Basilisks? It was said that Salazar Slytherin had one here in Hogwarts," Hermione requests, tempting him to tell her about the Chamber of Secrets through the sharing of her curiosity and extent of her knowledge on Hogwarts. Ultimately, it works wonders for her intentions.
"He still does, actually," Tom responds with ease, as if not hiding his history with said creature. Hermione's eyes widen with surprise at his easy revelation, a fake fear flickering across her face given she knew of the creature's life below her. But still, the reminder makes her uneasy.
"In the first floor girls' lavatory, there is an entrance to his home. Slytherin called it the Chamber of Secrets. He sleeps there, even now, waiting for the moment to purge the school of mudbloods," Tom hisses with the pride that she always expecting him to exhibit, filling her with fear. Her deep eyes bore into his own, fearful in entirety and bringing a great sense of joy to Tom's chest as he grins at her maliciously. "Does that scare you, Hermione?"
"It's more unnerving than terrifying, really," she attempts, shoving her fear of the boy away as she takes to the snake instead, truly not fearing it given the Chamber's closure at this time. "A gigantic snake is living beneath us."
"You're a pureblood; you should have no reason to fear," he remarks, her head turning downward in a nod, thoroughly hiding the guilt of lies from his prying eyes. "And besides, I have no intention of opening it."
It makes her angry to hear of his words, so avidly avoiding the notion that he already opened the Chamber and killed Myrtle. He acts as if he is a saint for not opening it, a blessing upon Hogwarts rather than a murderer lurking beneath a badge. Hermione's eyes flick to him with great intensity, her magic sparking and prompting his curiosity at her response, expecting acceptance but not anger. What is with this girl?
"I would hope not," Hermione says, shoving that anger away and tempting her magic to calm around her, breathing deep. "Dumbledore seems far too suspicious of you anyway."
Slowly, Tom nods at her, but with a lurking unease of her knowledge and his genuine wish to tell her of his previous actions. Before this holiday, Tom Riddle never understood the magic of communication, of trusting others with his secrets and him with theirs. It is uplifting and powerful to trust someone so powerful as Hermione, releasing the secrets he holds dear simply to gain closer friendship in her heart, a singular sense of familiarity--homeliness--in another person.
"Chess?" Tom offers, divering from dangerous temptations and thoughts as he gestures to the game board nearby. She nods at him, wishing for a distraction just as much as he does, before standing and taking to the game.
Tom Riddle wins, of course, but the game brings about a new change in his mindset. Typically, while playing, the boy thinks of strategies to win over the Wizarding World, each pawn being a follower, and himself acting as the king. But rather, this game is played in thought of his previous actions, realizing the faults of his past with each move forward, dominating. He tries to place Hermione into the game, unable to make her a pawn simply due to her inequality to the other followers. But a rook is too much of an outsider, and a bishop is too sly for the female. The knight is too stuck in its way for the cunning female to fit its call. But that only leaves the Queen, perfect for her wide range of abilities but overshadowing his own power. The King is more of a protected grail in chess, able to move 1-place while the Queen dominates in all directions. And perhaps it is the fear that she could overpower him, despite her loyalty to the King, that has Tom refusing to label Hermione as Queen. What then?
Hermione simply does not fit into his game, some outside force not meant for the dangers of the Dark Lord and intentions of the Knights. After all, you cannot place a lion in a snakes' lair and expect it to turn into a python.
Hermione loses despite the obvious distraction of Tom Riddle. No words are spoken and no questions are answered in the tension that follows, splitting at the Common Room for another night, alone.
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