34|| Knight to F5
The Saturday before the beginning of the N.E.W.T. week has the masses cramming the library and little-shut-eye clinging to the dark circles of the student populace. It is a frenzy of stress, caffeine, and griping, none of which Hermione and Tom want to be a part of, so they remove themselves from the library for another place of refuge. It's not like either of them need to study, or so Tom pointed out, and so he eases his way into convincing Hermione not to rush off on another studying session, but to walk with him around the Castle. And though she wishes to resent him for it, Hermione finds herself accepting the task and understanding she is truly prepared for these exams.
"I was thinking," the Dark Lord begins, his words rarely boding well when he begins his propositions with these words. "What's better than learning through experience?"
Hermione looks over at him as they stroll along, no longer relaxed in her acceptance of preparedness but baffled by his implications. Having been friends with Harry and Ron, nonetheless the Weasleys, Hermione's mind has been tainted to some extent in the realm of sexual innuendo. Part of her thinks that Tom did this purposefully, but from the look on his face, she truly doubts it.
And thus, all she can answer with is her own question: "What are you proposing?"
"Clarence was telling me the other day that there are Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest. I would like to see them," Tom says, that boyish curiosity being his only redeeming grace when it comes to the seeking of knowledge. And it's as Hermione supposed, Tom not meaning anything sexual by his words, though she criticizes herself for thinking such nonsense.
Hermione knows she does not have a choice in the matter Tom's addressing, given that she is nearly required to be at his side and he wants to visit the creatures. She must follow him, and thus, she answers with "That's all you needed to say."
His mischievous grin paints his face, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the corridors of the Castle. It is a trek Hermione is very used to from visiting Hagrid, down from the school and into the forest. Around them, fog clings to their very skin, unfitting of spring yet typical of Scotland. Between the wet grasses brushing her ankles to the humidity in the air, between the warm hand in her own and to the prospect of something familiar, Hermione cannot help laughing in sure joy as they enter the treeline, Tom not paying her a glance in fear of its repercussions.
It is less rainy and foggy in the trees, not that it aleves the frizz in Hermione's hair in the slightest bit. Rather, her hair grows bushy, a true sight to behold in Tom's mind as he smirks largely and she scowls towards a tree, as if flora is the true cause of her problems. But that anger wastes away as Tom leads her deeper into the forest, light still riding on the waves of fog and brushes of wind, and towards the visible group of Thestrals.
There are six of them--a half dozen. All very similar in features with milky-grey eyes, skeletal frames, thin wings, and pointed beaks, it serves to bring warmness into the heart of Hermione Granger. The creatures turn at the crack of her foot on a twig, the sound ringing in the ears of all six and redirecting focus from the hunt to the humans. They do not look very intelligent with the milky eyes and slow movements, but Hermione knows they are, having read of them and experienced them herself. They seem tuned to her specifically, as if knowing her importance, calling quietly before focusing darkly on Tom. It's as if they are glaring at the boy, sensing the darkness of his soul that should taint theirs but surely cannot.
"They say Thestrals have a great sense of humans," Tom whispers slowly and calmly into Hermione's ear, prompting her brow to furrow in sheer wonderment of where he read this. She'd never heard of such a thing. But, taking no mind to her expression, he continues: "I think they distrust me. You go first."
It's obviously not an option. If his tone is not enough proof of the command, then him pushing Hermione towards the Thestrals surely is. Recovering from an almost fall at the sheer force of Tom's move, Hermione's head whips around to send Tom a nasty gaze, unthreatening to Tom. But he just grins at her perception that he's trying to endanger her. Rather, Tom's confident in the Granger girl's ability to sweeten the Thestrals, and if that does not work, incarcerate them. Little does Tom know that Hermione'd jinx Tom before she'd jinx these lovely creatures.
Pushing her threats from her mind, Hermione turns back to the flock of Thestrals. Her feet are more precariously placed in the foliage, stepping closer to them as they call softly and with uncertainty. But there is one that does not back away nearly as far as the others, clearly the leader, it's head risen high and much like Riddle himself. She grins at the thought, watching as the leader snorts and rears his head, clearly unhappy with her intentions. But Hermione's stubborn, only fearing for her fingers as she offers a hand to them, palm up with a sign of 'no harm.' It sniffs the offer, like death itself, not rearing back but laying its face into her palm in finality. She grins beautifully, her hand rising to pet the leathery skin in soft caresses up its head and down its neck, an ever repeating pattern that has the Thestral moving towards her, wishing for the loving attention.
Even the deadly deserve love.
Hermione flinches slightly as she watches Tom's hand move over her shoulder and onto the back of hers, attempting to try his luck at the Thestral through herself and her kind demeanor. The smart creature freezes under the Dark Lord's touch, but with Hermione's hand reassuring his peace, the Thestral leans back into his calmer state. Tom presses himself fully against Hermione, her breath stilling although her hand moves with his in a surely intimate connection around death.
Just wait till she tells Ron and Harry about this.
Hermione jumps back, directly into Tom's chest as the leading Thestral releases a sharp, yet positive call to the lingering five creatures. And, all at once, the other Thestrals gallop towards Hermione and Tom, swarming them in embraces and a desire for human touch. It is for this reason that Hermione begins laughing, through the pain of her future and the not-so-gentle hits of the Thestrals' heads. But it matters not, with her mouth grinning widely, hands moving over faces with much concern and sheer happiness at the miracle of this moment. They say life is beautiful, but she sees beauty in death.
Tom does not disregard his task in petting the needy animals, a true sight to see, but takes to multitasking with a sudden reverie that overcomes his every cell. Smaller than him, Tom watches upon the laughing and smiling Hermione with utter emotion that never belonged to Voldemort. He feels her happiness within his own chest, blooming with each laugh that comes from her mouth, looking to her eyes that glow pure honey in the light of this miracle. All at once, his heart tumbles from that rocky porch, once glued and chained and tied down by the preservation of his goals. No, he has lost himself in her, the know-it-all, kind-hearted, stunning witch that now caresses death. Why hadn't anyone told him?
The creatures remind Hermione of her proper home, of her friends, and the future that is waiting for her. And though it once was daunting, she finds herself hopeful now, understanding that if death is to come to her or to Harry or to Ron, it will not be like Hell, but something like this. Death is innocent, she supposes.
Around thirty minutes pass with one human looking to the Thestrals and the other to the female, so lost in the moment that the forest darkens around them. Indeed, it is not until Tom vaguely hears the pounding of feet in the distance that he realizes their situation, alone in the Forbidden Forest near night. He does not want to leave, but, more than ever, he does not want Hermione in danger.
"It's near dinner, Hermione," the boy says, snapping her from her reverie with a heavy sigh passing her rosy lips, disappointment evident though she gives no sound to reply. But it is not matter: Tom Riddle knows Hermione like the back of his hand.
"We can come back," he offers, her smile lighting up her face and directed only at him, a notion that is more heartwarming than Tom could ever know. Slowly, he leads her through the attentive Thestrals, keeping her safe from their hooves and sharp beaks. And, in order to get away, he tosses the creatures some meat (from the kitchens) to distract them, thoroughly effective as they rush towards the meal.
Tom pulls Hermione along, his hand tight in hers as she looks completely content, as if her heart's been filled to the chalice's brim with happiness. Tom's cup is more of a teacup, but it is still full of joy, all the same.
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Hermione drags him along to the Forbidden Forest on the following night, not that the Head Boy was complaining in the slightest, having enjoyed the day prior and never wishing to part from Hermione if a choice it given. But, this night, they leave later, Hermione having heard that more of the Thestrals congregate at night than they do in the dusk. She claimed it was curiosity that drove her there, but Tom knew it was a wish for happiness, validated when they come across two dozen Thestrals and she breaks into a grin.
It goes as the day prior, with a demand for attention, just in far greater numbers. The creatures push towards them in a circle, but Hermione ensures they all get equal attention, the new Thestrals wary of the two at first, but calming once the others squirm in glee. Very few creatures are loved in their deaths, but these Thestrals cannot say the same of themselves. The girl fills the cup of both man and creatures alike.
It feels like hours pass in these moments, thoroughly enjoyed by all, but messing up her scaled perception of time. And thus, she asks, "Tom, what time is it?"
The boy looks down to his Muggle watch, something he'd stolen from his father and has proved to be more useful than wizarding goods, not that he'd say this aloud. But it's a passing thought as he recognizes the hour, looking to Hermione with wild eyes. "Bollocks, we're going to be late!"
Tom begins pushing her through the fold of leathery skin upon leathery skin, the thestrals crying in outrage though none of the peaceful creatures even attempt to hurt the two humans. Indeed, Tom's hands on her waist are harsher than the bones of the Thestral, tugging and pushing her with all his might and wish for glory.
"Tom, the meat!" she reminds him over the creaking sounds of the symbols of death. Tom conjures the meat he previously gathered from the kitchen, tossing it back at the horses before pushing Hermione along, more gentle this time. Their hands wrap together, in a brisk run, rushing up the hill, through the halls, into the stairways, and through the Seventh Floor corridors--finally bursting through the doors to the Room of Requirement, only a minute late.
The others stare at the supposed couple with a few raised eyebrows, some furrowed, and others outright gaping. Tom tugs his button-up into a straight line, looking rumpled from some activity. Then there is Hermione whose deep and heaving breath adds another brick of evidence to the pile, not that either notice the tipping scale. Rather, Tom takes on his serious expression, straightening his shoulders and addressing them.
"Excuse our tardiness," he demands rather than pleads. "There are Thestrals congregating in the Forbidden Forest, and Hermione wanted to see them."
Hermione is not surprised in the slightest when he blames her, obviously unwilling to take the blame for such 'improper' behaviors for a leader, being late and all. But her reaction differs from the rest, some of the followers visibly rolling their eyes at Tom's excuse, not completely brainless to the hints the duo provided. It's obvious what they were doing.
But Tom and Hermione do not see to it, whether knowingly or not, taking their seats upon the armchair, with Hermione in the seat and Tom on the arm. The Lord addresses the first and patterned task, "Lestrange?"
"We've got in contact with Rosier's second cousin's cousin. She's trying to recruit for us there. I'll have numbers by next week," Lestrange says, his words taking a moment to decipher, but they eventually understand.
Tom nods at him, pleased with the changing fortunes in recruitment, then turning to another. "Nott?"
"Mulciber and I were wondering, of those in the room, who would be applying for an Auror position?" Normally, Tom wouldn't allow Nott to ask such a question without his permission, but he too is curious, watching eagerly as Hermione, Lestrange, Dolohov, and Goyle raise their hands--at least two being capable of the position.
"In that case, my Lord, I propose we implant a spy through one or more of your current followers who then can report and recruit," Nott says, almost pushing off his task lazily, but Tom knows his followers fear him too much to do such a thing. Tom always finds out.
"Sounds appropriate," Tom says, turning to the next target. "Black?"
"Lupin's being treated with Skele-Gro."
Hermione does not need to look at Tom to know he now adorns a massive grin at Orion's words, understanding that he absolutely despises Lupin for one reason or another. She hates, but loves, to think that she is a large part of that reason. But Tom would never confirm such a thing, saying, "Excellent job, Black. Rosier?"
"Two days.
Tom glares harshly at Rosier, but it is of little use to torture him if he only needs two more days. "Fine. Malfoy?"
"The Veil is supposedly sending off magical and dangerous charges now. The experts, despite not being able to get close, say that a big event for the time-traveller is about to happen," Abraxas tells Tom without a wince of emotion or motive.
"Sure," Tom scoffs loudly at the ridiculous thoughts of mindless Ministry workers.
But Hermione reacts differently, her brain on an entirely different track than that of Tom. It is clear that the Veil is somehow connected to time-travel if the Ministry's words prove correct. But the question is, to what extent? When someone enters the Veil, do they travel through time? And if so, is it possible to return them to the present?
"If that is all..." Tom drawls, breaking her from a growing idea that blossoms beneath the frizzy brown hair of hers. "...you may leave."
Tom and Hermione follow behind them slowly, the others quickly gathering the hint and rushing off to bed, if only to be away from the temperamental brunette and Dark Lord. Tom's face reflects humor after them, a comfortable silence lapsing around their duo in a way that wishes for neither to speak. But with each moment spent in silence, they become lonely, Tom finally breaking it for some realism.
"I think I'll sleep well tonight after that run," he says, prompting Hermione to chuckle lightly beneath her breath, though she does feel especially exhausted from that run. How ever is she supposed to go on the run with Harry in this bad of shape?
But she pushes that worry away for the future, only quipping in response, "That'll be a first."
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N.E.W.T.s week is one forsaken week, or so Hermione finds out. If she had any friends other than Tom, Hermione'd surely have avoided them, given the rubbish mood of every student and teacher due to late nights and long tests. But to the extent that they studied, Hermione and Tom are thriving and working through them with utter grace. Before this year, neither student had an equal partner for studying, something so valuable when it comes to learning. Between explaining and listening, they've discovered and memorized the secrets of magic, expansive in knowledge and challenging to hold. And though it is a heavy amount of knowledge to carry, it was needed for the tests and is surely paying off.
Hermione and Tom's N.E.W.T.s week ends on the Wednesday after lunch, a day later than most given their larger course loads. Large smiles mark their two faces in hopeful light, no longer feeling bogged down by studying, sleeplessness, and worries for the future. Rather, they are now free to wait for their results, to discover how powerful they'll be in the years to come. It is exciting, but does not count from much in Hermione's mind. Truly, she just took them for her cover.
Walking from the last test together, the two are close, hands not woven together simply because there is no need to pull the other along. Rather, their unity is consensual, something not needed to be promised by touching, but just company in one another.
Tom leans over to Hermione's ear, a mischievous glint in his eye, assured in confidence in his spectacular N.E.W.T. performance. "We should celebrate."
Hermione shivers under the heavy tone in his words, feelings racing across her cheeks and down her back though she pushes it behind a grin that could rival any Slytherin's, maybe except Tom's. "What do you propose?"
"The Thestrals."
All Tom needs is her happy nod and they are off, Tom then taking to her hand to pull her along, her shorter steps not nearly fast enough for his hurried ones. So, to an extent, they end up running through the Castle, grabbing meat from the kitchens--but not without Hermione's grateful words to the elves--and dashing out into the weather very unfitting of the time.
Like the previous Saturday, a fog basks the highlands of their Scottish landscape, soft to the rushed touch of skin, but muggy in the long run. However, unlike the previous, it is especially cold for early April, feeling more like February. And though it is unsettling to Hermione, given her sheer paranoia, she's reassured of their safety by the Thestral presence in the Forest. After all, animals are more attuned to danger than humans are, sensing things and fleeing long before a human even recognize the risk. Hermione and Tom are safe.
The creatures gallop up to Hermione and Tom in a pack of one dozen, clearly recognizing the two given their two visits at similar times. Hermione and Tom grin at the attention, greeting them well with pats and caresses though it does not ever seem to be enough. Rather, the Thestrals nuzzle and slurp at the faces of the duo, obviously comfortable in their presence and such an innocent display for symbols of death.
"This is the best celebration I've ever attended," Hermione says, dodging a skeletal muzzle before patting its owner lovingly.
"Being licked by thestrals?" Tom quips sassily, looking to her with a raised eyebrow though it is quickly replaced by a smirk. "Well, I guess it beats the parties at your Auror camp."
Hermione has to laugh at her particularly bad luck at parties, surely more due to Harry than herself, but who will ever know. Hermione takes peace in the closeness of this life and death, the Dark Lord behind her and death surrounding her. But the sheer joy coming from all sides serves as a smile bearer, lifting her higher with each moment...until it all comes crumbling down.
The leader of the pack, marked by a scar on its eyebrow, releases a loud and screeching call, causing Hermione to jump in fear of the sound and its repercussions. It all happens too quick, with the Thestrals moving away from the duo, following the leader deep into the forest without a look back. Hermione and Tom exchange a look, wands tight in their fingers as Tom tries to lure them back with food.
They don't even turn.
And though the Thestral departure is a potent sign, it is not until the creeping sinks into her bones that Hermione realizes. A shiver runs down her spine like a whisper from Tom, but oh--so much colder and more fear inducing, in ways Voldemort is not. It's potent evil and moral loss, the presence haunting her more than any other.
She shivers again.
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Sorry this is late...kinda forgot it was Tuesday. I've started college again so I'm a bit whacked up at the moment.
Anyway, I hope you appreciate this chapter because sh*t kinda hits the fan for the rest of the book.
Please vote and comment!
xo
Patagonian