36|| Pawn to A5
Quickly preparing in her dormitory for the Quidditch game, Hermione has some final moments of thought before she casts herself off into the crowds of cheering students and the company of the Dark Lord. Having showered to extinguish the chill of her blood and erase the mud from her skin, the girl now adorns all the green she owns (not much), including a Slytherin scarf she'd stolen from Abraxas some time ago. Of course she tried to give it back, but Abraxas found it 'fitting' to her appearance and begged her to keep it. And though she initially intended to return it subtly, there is something about the homeliness of the boy's scarf, some instance of love wrapped across her chest. Like a saving grace.
Finishing off the remainder of her Potions essay, Hermione is left to some minutes of waiting before she departs to the depths of Slytherin cheer, ringing from outside her door. How is it that she's fallen for the Dark Lord, Tom Riddle, the man who's supposedly incapable of love? But she gave him that answer: love is not a concrete force that unites two people, but a perceived emotion felt differently for each person. Hermione does not think she truly loves Tom, at least, not yet. It's been a calm few months of growing closer, without the extreme dangers she's used to facing here in Hogwarts. Hermione doubts she'd be capable of falling for the Dark Lord in a time of personal war, but in peaceful times like these, she's very well capable...and in her own way.
When she travelled back in time, Hermione trusted Dumbledore with her full heart, and she still does to this different day. She felt no need to consider the consequences of her actions on the future, given that Dumbledore needed her to learn of Tom Riddle, and that required a closeness to him. But, thinking of it now, Hermione wonders what will happen when she leaves. Will Tom remember her? Most likely. Will her departure cause him to return to darkness? Again, most likely. Must she then stay here? No, Harry needs her and Dumbledore implies a short vacation to these times. But most of all, how will she affect the future? Hermione will not know until she travels back, that much is certain.
It is an all intensive quandary of massive proportions, capable of changing the lives of numerous wizards, all at a single word on her part. But to the extent that it is important, it cannot be answered and it is giving Hermione a headache, sending her to her feet and out the door of her single bedroom.
The crowds of before are departing before her eyes as she steps into the throng, so packed tight with Slytherins that Hermione has a hard time imagining the amount of rooms needed to fit them all. But with each person comes a harder task of finding the one boy she's meant to meet, her smaller form not much manageable in distinguishing the dark hair of Tom Riddle. From the shoving behind her and pushing beside her, Hermione is barely able to distinguish the touch of one from the rest, only realizing the significance as a hand becomes intertwined with hers. Looking up, Hermione sees the smug grin of the Dark Lord himself as he pulls her from the Common Room, out with the masses but down a different path. She finds that he is far too snake-like in his moves, slithering through the crowds and heaving her less agile form behind him. Practically being manhandled, Hermione is glad to be away from the crowds as they take the longer path to the pitch, Tom's irritability keeping them away from others at all costs.
"What are you thinking about?" Tom asks some minutes later as they move down the hill to the Quidditch stadium, hands still clenched together and bodies close in this connection.
Hermione is being strangely silent and withdrawn in Tom's eyes, only looking up to his dark green irises when he addresses her directly. Honestly, Hermione was thinking about the happenings of the previous night, and moreover, what would have happened if she'd not been able to do her Patronus...or if Voldemort would have 'died.'
But given her hidden identity, Hermione cannot say these things, instead taking to, "Just how natural it is for dementors to kill while us humans struggle morally against it."
Tom quirks an eyebrow at this answer, infallibly false given her previous expressions. "Pretty intense thoughts for a Quidditch game." He will not call her out on the lie.
"Yeah..." Hermione mumbles uncertainly, heaving a breath of intention. "I think that it may be more cruel to Obliviate rather than kill. There is a same amount of loss for the victim, but the family will gain false hope for the return of a victim's memory; whereas killing is absolute, grieved then overcome."
Tom looks at her with utter suspicion, Hermione pretending not to notice as she looks ahead at the growing pitch ahead of them. From the unease of her posture to her now lying ways, Tom cannot help thinking something is up. "Why do you say these things now?"
"Because I dreamt of death last night and almost experienced it yesterday. I am trying to make light from the darkness," Hermione responds, the serious passion in her words seemingly worsening Tom's suspicion for her, though he knows he will not discover her true intentions without her acceptance. Breaking his stare, Tom simply nods in response as he looks back to the pitch, not accepting her words at face-level, but simply brushing off the topic for some other time.
Their feet carry them into the stadium, Tom's power over the students giving him some space to pull Hermione through and into the Slytherin stands. Hermione wonders why Tom's not required to oversee the game with Clarence, like before, and yet, she knows Tom's theoretically 'retired' from his duties via their past conversations.
The Dark Lord directs her to the back corner of the Slytherin stands, Tom not wishing to be involved with the chants of his House and Hermione not truly belonging to Slytherins. The duo are outsiders to this green House, not for the same reasons, but easily antonymous in background.
Tom drops her hand once they are firmly stationed in their corner, feeling no need for her warmth or 'comfort' at such a petty pastime that is Quidditch. Rather, the two are just pressed closer than normal, a sign of more than friendship, but not nearly on top of each other like some Slytherins are. The game passes quickly around them, near thirty-minutes passing in entirety with the competition sharp between the two teams and exploring the bounds of hard competition.
With that thirty-minute mark passing, Tom turns to Hermione, leaning down near her face and looping an arm around her waist, as if he is intending to kiss her on a sudden whim. Hermione stills at the feeling, though comfortable in her skin, only releasing her breath once Tom directs his lips to her ear instead of her own mouth.
"I need to check in with Dippet about graduation. Stay here. I'll meet you in the Common Room later," his voice comes out as a large whisper as the Slytherin team scores and the crowds cheer around them. Hermione meets Tom's eyes with a mix of emotions, unwilling to impart their details to Tom if he intends to keep secrets himself.
"Alright," Hermione relents with a bout of uncertainty in her tone, not completely trusting the Dark Lord but trusting him enough to not do something horrid in her absence. It's been some time since Hermione last perceived cruelty in his actions, so the heroine is almost certain he will not impart such torture in her short absence from his side.
Tom makes quick work of her agreement, leaning down to pretty a chaste, yet warm kiss upon her rosy lips, parting soon and without a look back. He leaves in a swirl of black, Hermione alone again, no one seeming to notice. And though she wishes to leave, Tom is still her leader, and she'd rather not face the Cruciatus today.
Leave a man in darkness, and he will only bring you death.
///////////////
Hermione cannot shake off the feeling of unease, a firm rod to her back and iron pressing to her shoulders. But she stays firm in her commitment to the Dark Lord, only departing from the game once Slytherin's won an hour later, having caught the snitch and taken the Cup. She follows within the crowds towards the Castle this time, watching from the sidelines as Abraxas leads cheers ahead of her, many of the Knights echoing after him. But to the extent that this is predictable for Abraxas, Hermione is greatly surprised to see Rosier happily cheering along beside the white-haired heir. The stress in his shoulders is long gone, that serious expression transformed into a grin, and amiability radiating from his every pore. This is the first time she's seen the boy happy and free.
Hermione stills in her steps, realization hitting her like a Stupefy itself. Her eyebrows furrow in quick logic, a sign of her thinking if nothing else. Rosier was searching for a potential horcrux holder. The pressure Tom imposed upon him, due to this task, caused the boy to bear a constant expression of stress. Now, he is happy. Therefore, Rosier's found the potential artifact and Tom's been informed. That's where Tom went during the game, not to Dippet but to darkness.
Hermione, as quick as she stopped, rushes up to Rosier, her body agily dodging the others as she comes to stand in front of him, stopping the red-haired boy entirely. He looks at her with confusion, though for what reason, Hermione does not know. It may be due to her brash actions just now, or it could be due to her partion from Tom's side, the boy having expected Tom to have told Hermione of Rosier's task. He didn't.
"What was it?" Hermione asks anxiously. "The thing Tom had you researching, what was it?"
Rosier looks at her with the validation of the shocking fact: Tom did not share this information with his leading follower, the one well on the way to being a Dark Lady. But he has to answer her with something: "...It wasn't a what, but who he was researching."
"Tell me." It's a demand, Rosier knows, and Tom's given his followers the direction to always listen to Hermione. His shoulders tensed, Rosier--a smart boy--knows that Tom trusts Hermione. And moreover, would it not be better to listen to Tom's direction of heeding Hermione's commands than to avoid them completely.
"The ghost of the Grey Lady. She knows where Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem is," Rosier says, the entirety of his task now laid out in front of Hermione, her eyes widening into realization. Like the locket of Salazar Slytherin, Tom will make a horcrux of Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem.
"Where is she?" Hermione doubts she'll be able to arrive before Tom, but maybe she can stop him from making some massive mistake that'll ruin her time-travelling for good.
Rosier, not sensing her internal panic from her hasty words, simply shrugs and responds with, "Probably outside the Ravenclaw Common Room."
Not a moment is spared for a grateful notion, Hermione sprinting off towards the Castle without a hitch in her step or a break for breathing. She charges down the hallways without the notion to muffle her footsteps, gratefully perceiving Tom down the hall in his obvious rush towards a Hufflepuff Seventh Year. Hermione dodges behind a pillar, peeking out to see Tom force the other student into a small alcove nearby, visible to her eyes from her equally dark position across the way.
"Tom Riddle--" the kid begins with a certainty of panic, his eyes wide and heart racing.
"Imperio."
Hermione watches with horror as the kid's pleading ceases and his body freezes, eyes taking on a milky glaze and one of such distinction in her mind. But unlike her predictions and those of Tom, the kid seems resistant to the magic, muscles twitching in the obvious sign of a fight. Hermione watches with horror, rather than awe, as the kid takes back his mental ownership, falling out of the Unforgivable and onto the ground. Just like Harry.
"Why--?!" the kid cries, but again, it is too late.
"Crucio."
Hermione ignores the Hufflepuff as she watches Tom with complete horror. His eyes are shining a crimson red, no longer dark or green or slightly composed with tension. No, these are the eyes of Voldemort, Tom so greatly angered that he's lost himself to his anger. A silencing Muffliato is cast over the two forms, one innocent and one not, as the kid convulses and squirms under the most painful of Crucios, Hermione is sure. But to the extent of his evil, Hermione does not expect this much, the curse continuing for seconds, then minutes, without a sign of sanity in the Dark Lord's eyes. He's going to kill him. Hermione's heart stops at the many realizations.
Perhaps it's the Slytherin attitude she's accepted that has her running like a coward, back to the Common Room without the notice of Tom Riddle. Indeed, he's so entranced in his anger, he'd likely not hear the approach of Dumbledore, which 'luckily' does not happen due to the game. Hermione is long gone before Tom returns to himself.
She is frantic as she bursts into the Common Room, her eyes teary and hair frazzled by everything she's seen. And though a drunken Abraxas calls out to her from the couch, celebrations well on their way, Hermione only brushes past him in a daze, diving into the loneliness of her room and setting an unnecessary amount of wards upon her door.
And she cries. In that moment, Hermione realizes that she cannot remove the Dark Lord from his even darker path...she cannot change him like she'd once hoped. Hermione knows Tom Riddle was well on the way to loving her, having observed such relations between Harry and Ginny. And yet, Tom is still capable of torturing and using others without a flinch of goodness in his heart, so belonging to Voldemort that he lacks any sense of humanity. If love cannot save him, nothing can. Hermione Granger has failed in her task, knowing now that the hope of salvation for Tom Riddle is a lost cause. He simply cannot be changed.
And though new knowledge had always been her place of safety, Hermione feels weaker and more fearful than ever before. Her body curls thoughtlessly onto the bed, forming into the position of a fetus but far less innocent than such children. Hermione's seen much, and she cries for these visions, falling asleep with tears still falling and Slytherin robes clinging to her skin. Surrounded by the enemy, one last time.
\\\\\\\\\\\\
The next morning, Hermione does not wish to wake and consequently does not rise from her bed until late morning, around ten. And when she does, Hermione does not take to her usual activity of studying, finding no use for such things when she will not be attending school the following day. With a night full of terrors and dreams, the occasional awakening during the night gave Hermione a moment to realize that it's time for her to return home, finding that Tom Riddle cannot be changed in even the slightest of ways. Why stay when nothing will shift?
She packs her bought and borrowed belongings into her trunk, placing the sturdy package onto her bed with no intention of bringing it with her. A note sits on the top of the chest, detailing nothing more than her desire for her clothing to be given to the House Elves, a simple wish, although they'll try to read into it. After that, all she has to do is ensure her appearance for her arrival, adorning the Ministry woman's clothing and frazzling her appearance with mud and twigs. To hide the ruse, she only takes the peacoat of her purchase from her trunk, buttoning it over her inappropriate clothing for fear of being caught. And finally, she ties the shrunken Slytherin scarf around her wrist--much like a friendship bracelet and unable to part with it given her departure from Abraxas's life.
And then, it is just waiting for the noon hour to arrive, for lunch to finish and for the students to rush off to the library: the perfect time for an escape. It is this opening that will provide her with the best chance of going unnoticed, though it is still a danger with Tom lurking and surely looking for her after she fled their meeting the night prior.
The Time-Turner continues to sit around her neck, but now, it is turned the nineteen required times and cast with the incantation recorded: et potestas tenebrarum.
Let darkness rule, indeed.
It is time. With her clothes covered, her Time-Turner tucked beneath fabrics, and her wand in hand, Hermione leaves the room of her four-month stay without a look back, head held high with a conviction not to look back. But just as she goes to open the Common Room door, very few people regarding her in the process, a voice rings out in all its charisma.
"Hey, Mione! I did not see you last night!" Abraxas proclaims, practically skipping up to her as she turns, the boy not noticing the seriousness of her facade or hidden intentions in her eyes. She sighs at the distraction but takes relief in the absence of Tom from the room, looking at Abraxas with a sad smile and surely a 'goodbye.'
"Yes, I--uhh--was quite tired and went to bed early," she stutters, unlike her but forsaken by emotion.
"Well, I hope you slept well," he says smiling kindly, but with that ever present Malfoy gleam in his eye. She will miss him greatly.
"Thank you, Abraxas..." she dawdles, worried about being caught, but overcome with her need to recognize how much Abraxas has done for her. "Thank you. Please tell Clary I say 'hello.'"
If he notices her emotion-laced tone, Abraxas doesn't say anything, only chanting "Will do!" as she departs slowly from the Common Room, almost turning back to embrace him but knowing that'd be suspicious. It will not be her first goodbye, but it'll be the happiest, not having to depart from someone due to death. She should be grateful, but she is sorrowed.
Gathering herself, Hermione increases her pace towards the outside paths, intending to escape to Hogsmeade so she may return to the future in a place allowing apparition. But on her way, as if the gods mean to curse her, Hermione passes Dumbledore, the last time she'll ever see him both here or there. And, as if sensing this fact and her misery, he solely nods at Hermione, that gleam in his eye more radiant than ever before, a promise that she is doing the right thing. She almost collapses into tears, but war has a way of shaping personas, numbness overcoming her and prompting her nod back.
Goodbye Headmaster, and thank you for all you've done.
It's the last obstacle in her perceived way, the last hindrance in her path to Hogsmeade, or so she believes.
But as all things go, the perception of one does not mean the truth of the situation. Indeed, Tom Riddle saw the frizz in her exit from the Common Room, and surely enough, he gives chase to the flighty female of his every adoration.
Her goodbye to Dumbledore will not be the hardest, and that heartbreak will surely not be the worst to come as the countdown approaches her departure.
////////////////