58|| Bishop to C8
Hermione had always wondered what became of begotten broomsticks, quills, and the like within the muggle world. Did they become normal utensils or novelties for living? Were they disposed of entirely? Or did the Ministry of Magic confiscate said items and obliviate their acquired owners? Of course, there were better questions to be pondered, but that did not mistake the flashing thought in her head.
She cannot imagine what the muggles must be thinking as the quartet fly above their blinded heads, small on the back of a dragon and one who's been chained for years. With rock, plaster, and scales falling from the body of said beast, likely into the suburban backyards of Brits, Hermione must assume the scales are disposed of by the Ministry. But, wouldn't that lead Voldemort right towards their Golden Trio, given he controls the Ministry and knows they escaped on a dragon?
Her heart rocks with pain at the thought, anxiety creeping up her already tensed neck and across her shoulders as they cower low to the body of the beast. With legs strewn wide and hangs gripping the boney spines of the Welsh Green, there is not much fear of the dragon knocking them off, but the forceful wind itself, singing songs into the drums of the four human ears. And though it is greatly frightening to be so high above the ground, given her fear of heights, she must admit the wind is a relief to her burning skin, the least of the four people. With Tom having been especially avid in keeping her from harm, she bears near half the burns of the other three individuals, Harry being the worse given his climb.
It is most peculiar, like screaming into a fan, when Ron begins bellowing in great joy and relief, never having expected to ride a dragon, especially in this rather mundane task of hunting horcruxes. But accompanying Harry Potter provides the most interesting of experiences and company, a dragon not so shocking as it ought to be with their near twenty years of life. Indeed, Charlie had not seen one until he was twenty-two...a fact Ron will brag about later.
"That was brilliant!" Ron shouts gleefully and proudly in a mist of positivity that makes Hermione less queasy, "Brilliant!"
But, perhaps on a second thought, it is not as brilliant as he so assumed prior to looking at the ground. Thousands of feet in the air, the ground barely perceivable beneath the wispy clouds, Ron is sure no one could survive the fall, even with the force of magical abilities. At the realization of one mis-motion leading to death, the boy goes green in the face, throwing his head back to look at the dragon rather than the sky.
"Bloody hell," the boy mumbles sickly, that Gryffindor courage lacking at the sight of physics, a notion that has Tom laughing. Knowing that he is more than capable of keeping himself and Hermione safe, the boy feels no reason to fear their predicament, currently enjoying the freedom and power of flight upon a dragon. With the darkening clouds, deeper chill, and slowing day, it is a particularly good moment for the once Dark Lord.
Shouting forward to the leading figure, an equally comfortable but silent Harry Potter, Tom asks, "Do you always cause this much chaos wherever you go?"
From the relatively small distance, Hermione just perceives Harry to crack a grin at Tom's jest, honest in entirety but humorous to recollect on. But, overcome with his own need of a distraction, Ron gripes with lightness, "It's been a wonder of seven years."
Tom can only imagine as much, having heard the story and now experienced a piece of it. It suits him, he would think. Almost at ease with how this war's brought them upward, Tom wraps his arm outward and around Hermione's cowering form. His arm is loose about her waist, but she appreciates the added safety in case she falls, Tom simply feeling content to be nearer her. And though it is chilly and she is uncomfortable, Hermione blushes away from Tom's eyes, not something he needs to see if he is to keep his pride at a manageable level. But nonetheless, she leans into his arm noticeably, like one would snuggle into the arms of a loved one, the boy never once moving back but maybe just forward.
///////////////
The beauty of Scotland lays out in a massive portrait around the flying dragon, filled with high and low crevices, green and brown flora, blue and black water, and a sun pitched over the horizon. With the falling of the sun, the dragon seemed to lower himself closer and closer to the horizon, gradual at first and only noticeable once they pass below the clouds. Behind them, in the remaining dusk light, a shadow passes over river and tree as the dragon passes beneath the clouds, hiding them for mere moments. And with the lower height, the dragon seems to sway more, Tom switching arms and tightening his grip on Hermione after the first gets numb, never once lettering her fully go. He cannot imagine what would happen if he did.
If Harry was lost to thought earlier, he is present again, agily picking between the spines of the Welsh Green to peak over the dragon's head, not too far away. Shouting back, he says, "We're dropping!"
Below them, closer by the second, a pristine loch glistens in the remnant of light, the water tips showing white and the depths, a deep black. From the height they fly at, the water appears almost dangerously sharp, but more fitting to the times simply for this reason. Friends are more dangerous in war. Banks are more dangerous. Strangers are more dangerous. Everything is more dangerous.
"I say we jump!" Ron voices, a good option given the unknown destination of the dragon and the simple company they ride upon. Given he is no dragon trainer, Tom Riddle does not know if the dragon recognizes their presence on his back. And, always thinking the worse, the boy can only imagine the dragon's reaction to discovering such...
And thus, Tom concedes, "That's probably the best option we have."
"When?" Hermione asks, watching the edge of the loch accelerate towards them, closer and lower.
"Now!" Harry shouts, and knowing they'd be left behind, all four dive from the dragon, before the wings and into the water. Almost darker than once thought capable, the water stirs with pristine white bubbles as Tom falls like a stone, feet deep and with every bit of pain to his skin. His clothes sag under the sudden weight, arms shoving out to remove the heavy coat, silently grateful that the Orphanage taught him to swim ('throw them in the river and they'll learn soon enough').
But with the bubbles clearing, breath still heavy in his lungs, Tom's eyes adjust out and into the darkness, seeing the sparkle of white from nearby, where Harry himself fell into darkness. The boy, previously stable, now seemingly struggles with invisible demons, body twisting and convulsing beneath the stoic surface. Widening his legs and scooping his arms, Tom kicks his way over to the squirreling boy, each stroke moving him closer until he can finally cling to the boy's waist. The touch brings Harry out of the trance, both boys kicking upward and to the surface, lungs hurting and hearts thumping loudly in their ears so that when they surface, the bubble of anxiety pops.
Sputtering in harmony, the weighed down, yet different boys swirl about in search of the other two, Tom already preparing for the worst when Hermione surfaces nearby, then followed by Ron. Water streams down their faces from the roots of their hairline, flowing past their eyes, wicked away by their eyebrows, and moving down thin and thick cheekbones of godly sculpting. They all breath heavily and their hair is nothing less than messy, even Tom's as it sticks to his head, though handsome all the same.
Drifting around, Tom watches the Welsh Green dragon swoop and swallow some water from the loch, not once stopping in its instinctual necessity to escape captivity, something Tom understands from the orphanage. Breath calming in quantity, Tom turns to the wading others, none looking particularly impaired by the trip, before digging his feet deeper and kicking himself closer to shore, the others taking the initiative quickly.
Like the most graceful beached whale, Tom Riddle pulls himself from the loch with the heavy planting of his own feet in the gravel-like bottom of the lake. His clothes stick to his lean legs and thin arms, plastered to his chest though with thickness given the scarf around his neck. Raking a hand back through his hair, Hermione almost wonders why he keeps it in the other style, looking almost more handsome this way. But that is not a concrete thought, her mind spinning and feet tripping as she moves less perfectly onto the firm ground and away from the disastrous events of earlier.
"He knows," Harry says, all three witnesses turning to him as the Boy Who Lived stands ankle deep in the waters of the unknown loch. Water streams from his black hair, around his green eyes, and the missing glasses he ought to have removed for cleaning's sake.
Hermione and Ron look startled at the words, not needing the enunciation of the name to know the character. Tom, on the other hand, carries his usual demeanor, eyes on Harry as he wrings out 'his' shirt upon the pebbly ground.
"You-Know-Who. He knows we broke into Gringotts. He knows what we took. He knows we're hunting horcruxes," Harry explains the greater span of the disaster, as if it could not get any worse, and almost prompting Ron to groan in disappointment.
"How is it you--" Hermione begins, her words being predictable as well.
If Harry is unsteady in telling Hermione, he does not show it, remarking "I saw him."
"You let him in!" Hermione panickingly criticizes, knowing the odds of their victory are unbalanced towards Voldemort already, and only furthered by this revelation. "Harry, you can't --"
"I can't always help it, Hermione!" the boy shouts, eyes dropping to the ground in a frustrated appearance. "Maybe I can. I don't know."
Tom understands what Harry means, the boy being so inexperienced in magic when compared to Voldemort. The Dark Lord knows the art, the theories, and the politics. He knows how to play their forces and the minds of individuals. And therefore, Tom takes the side of the other friend, turning to Hermione with a wish for her to understand, "Hermione, you know how hard Occlumency is, especially when I am on the other side."
In the first case since their arrival, Tom does not agree with Hermione's judgement, a strange thing given his near devotion to her. But, it's becoming more evident that Tom is not narrowing himself to Hermione any longer, but to the better cause that may benefit them all. Of course, he is still her biggest advocate, and for that reason, she thinks that Tom may be right in this judgement. Voldemort is simply more experienced in warfare and magic than Harry Potter.
But it's a lost thought, Ron being particularly annoyed with the arguments that he always started in the past. Turning to Harry, he asks, "Never mind! What did you see?"
"He's angry." It's stated with certainty, eyes glazed as if put into a looking glass, directed at a riddle of a serpentine enemy and trying to judge fact through fog. "But he's scared too. He's going to make sure the other horcruxes are safe."
"What happens when he finds out four are gone?" Ron asks, looking particularly worried about the Dark Lord's reaction, but silently hoping that a few Death Eaters are disposed in his anger.
Instead of Harry answering, something he's well prepared to do, Tom speaks up in the sure knowledge of his own character and responses, "He'll do anything to stop you from finding the entirety."
Harry nods at Tom, agreeing completely though it is unnecessary. With the war coming into fruition, the Golden Trio are coming to understand the extreme value that Tom Riddle withholds in his simple presence in this time. Not only is he extremely powerful in magic and charm, the boy knows the Dark Lord as he knows himself. It's no longer a guessing game of Voldemort's reactions, but a certain notion when spoken through the time-travelling boy.
"There's more: one of them's at Hogwarts," Harry says, bidding another bout of bad news, but something better to know now rather than later.
"What?" Ron asks, Hermione looking at Tom rather suspiciously at the implications. He once told her he meant to hide the Diary with her, the ring in the Gaunt Shack, one far away, one in Gringotts, one in Hogwarts, and one remaining unknown. Is it possible that this plan never changed? With the first four having occurred, the next must be in Hogwarts and a sixth one lurks out there.
Not wishing to reveal her lack of realization before this moment, knowing it is pointless drama that will only kill time, Hermione takes the more logical route in questioning about the object, not the place: "You saw it?"
"I saw the castle. And Rowena Ravenclaw. I think it must have something to do with her. We have to go there, now," Harry says, something in the Legilimency having foretold him of the coming battle and sure need to destroy the horcruxes at the first available moment.
But Tom recognizes those visuals, ones important to him back in the 1940s. He had pushed Rosier to acquire it, to find the one person who knew of it. And, in the end, it seems like Voldemort acquired it and brought it home. "I think--"
"Tonight?" Hermione cuts Tom off, not intentional but mistaken in her shock at their need to return to school, something she left behind last year. "But we have to plan. We have to figure out what--"
"Honestly, Hermione, when have any of our plans actually worked?" Harry quips, although with a genuine belief that plans have only brought them trouble, not due to their existence themselves, but the craziness of the Dark forces. What was the saying: you can only fight crazy with crazy? "We plan, we get there and all hell breaks loose."
But Tom does not appreciate the notion for a matter of reasons. First, he's not about to trespass on a locked school run by his enemies with such suddenness. Second, Tom always has plans A through F prepared. And third, Harry is not acting with much respect to Hermione, eyebrows furrowed downward in a silent threat.
"Watch your tone. Not all of us are purely-brazen Gryffindors."
Ron sighs wearily, wondering when he will get to sleep again, but pushes the thought away and reconciles another arising fight. "Plan or not, we still have one problem: Snape's Headmaster now. We can't just walk in the front door."
"We'll go to Hogsmeade. To Honeydukes. Take the secret passage in the cellar," Harry offers, obviously having some bit of a plan even if he does not realize it. But Tom considers elsewise, wondering if Voldemort retained the memory of Hermione and himself and all that she taught him of the secret passageway to Hogsmeade. He's inclined to think as much, but then again, do they have any other hope of getting in?
Looking off from the other three, Harry seems particularly wistful as he watches the dragon fly freely away, up and into the clouds with the certainty they'll never see the beast again, maybe something to hope for in the future. Sighing, Harry almost voices his thoughts: "There's something wrong with him. In the past, I could always follow his thoughts. Now everything feels disconnected."
"Maybe it's because of the Horcruxes. Maybe he's growing weaker. Maybe he's dying," Ron offers, not in the most accurate of truths given the dynamics of horcruxes that Tom experienced and Hermione read about.
"No. It's more like he's wounded. If anything, he feels more dangerous..." Harry mutters, looking to Tom on a second thought. "Tom, you have any insight?"
The boy almost sighs like he is the 'injured' Dark Lord himself, although it's obviously not true given their split existence in this time. No, he looks a bit like Harry Potter, the war of wit and physicality weighing on his body. But he lets himself be snarkily honest, "He's obviously wounded given he's losing parts of his soul. And that would make all of us desperate, I am sure."
Nodding at him, Harry lapses back into his thought, Hermione taking that as her cue to prepare them thenceforth. Digging into her bag, Hermione begins handing out their clean clothing, fit for the weather and wild movements, something that will be necessary if Harry's premonitions are correct. Taking his school slacks from the 1940s and his button-down, ever the classy dresser, Tom follows after their grouping to change in the loch treeline.
It cannot possibly be awkward for the three, having grown up and travelled together, but Tom is particularly estranged by the whole act of changing in eyesight of the others, even as they all consciously look away. And it is all hurried after all, the boys quicker in their adornments than Hermione, but still she's fast with the time constraint Harry's imposing. Cautiously looking over to the girl nearby, Harry is relieved to see her almost ready, but he freezes when he sees the symbol, his glasses now on.
Wearing a dingy tank top that's seen too many days of wear and tear, Hermione has revealed her tattoo to the two boys closest to her, though only one looks now. In Harry's glasses, a thick snake is reflected, wrapped about her arm and prompting him to ask heavily, "Mione, what's that on your arm?"
Ron, most surprised to hear Harry looking but curious himself, casts a glance her way, almost knocked back to see the serpentine characteristics of the magical tattoo. "Is that a snake?"
"It's the original version of the Dark Mark--" Tom answers calmly and authoritatively as he paces nearer them, looking as sharp as ever, "I placed it on all my followers in 1945."
"He has one too," Hermione echoes, not sounding the smallest bit concerned about the darkness on her arm, pushing Ron into a further panic.
So, Hermione was his follower. He cannot say it is overly surprising given their closeness and Hermione's task in the past, but it seems almost intimate that they share a mark like this one, likely the only two owners still alive. And, so overcome with his anger, Ron cannot help snarling, "So now you're scarred in two places?!"
"Scars tell a story. Drop it," Tom hisses, passing by the red-haired boy to adjust the hood of Hermione's jacket, it being crumpled in the back. But it's all a distraction, knowing the girl is sensitive about Bellatrix's 'gift' and not feeling inclined to deal with the emotions at the moment. And, in an unexpected moment, she seems grateful of his intervention, a small smile spent towards him and one he lightly returns, not for Harry or Ron to see. She lingers at his side even as he moves to face them, the silence marking the newest task and the never ending day.
Offering out his hands to Ron and Hermione, Harry completes the circle of united flesh. And, as soon as there is contact, Tom cracks them away in side-along Apparition, deeper into enemy territory and towards a sight they never wished nor expected to find.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\