64|| Bishop To C8
The Chamber of Secrets is a reminder of Tom Riddle's past, looking near identical to how he left it more than fifty years ago. At the end of the long and wide corridor, Salazar's statue stands agape, mouth open with the reminder that the Basilisk never returned to its nest. And along the sides of the middle pathway, the high levels of water almost reach over the pavement, the gauntlet of serpents reaching from the depths of the water, kept from Tom and Hermione's forms.
"I didn't expect it to be like this," Hermione remarks, her eyes keenly appraising the Statue of Salazar Slytherin, someone Hermione expected to vaguely look like Tom, only to be disappointed. It's a rather silly notion to think they'd resemble each other, but both being dark wizards, it seems important that there'd be moral and physical resemblance. But, in fact, she thinks the reborn Voldemort more resembles the snakey-faced House founder.
Tom looks at her, not feeling her itch of curiosity at the sight, simply because he's been here far too many times to count. The tunnels, chamber, and statues themselves bear a great resemblance to what he remembers, like a home of the past that he's barely forgotten in the cessation of visits. But, he is drawn into curiosity at the expression on her face, asking "What did you expect it to be like?"
Hermione does not know what to say. Did she expect a swampy cavern where snakes breed? Did she expect a throne room? In reality, she did not really picture anything, so Hermione only responds with, "Not this."
He seems struck by her inability to communicate her ideas, but refocuses as he sees the gleaming ivory in the corner of his eye. Looking outward to where they now stand, the main platform in the Chamber, Tom is startled not to have seen it before: the large skeleton of his Basilisk. Stepping around a stalled Hermione, Tom makes his way over to the beast with gentle steps that do not communicate his past here or connection to the beast, just his ease with the situation, strangely enough. For an instant, Tom seems overcome with emotion, his long and lean hand reaching out to pet the boney face of the long-dead creature, a simple caress that should look unpracticed, but maybe it isn't. Hermione never expected Tom to have shown genuine care to this creature, but maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree with Voldemort and Nagini.
But the weakness departs as soon as it arrives, Tom reaching out to harshly pull a fang from the beast's jawbone, nearer the front and sharper than she ever could have imagined. Tom stares at the beast for a moment, desecrated by himself, before shoving emotion aside and turning on his heel away from it, a stiff goodbye that exemplifies what this creature was to him. A tool.
But was Hermione not a tool that he came to love?
With him again at her side, no longer easily distracted by his actions, Hermione reaches into her beaded bag for the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, the gold gleaming brightly even in the low and green light of the Chamber of Secrets. Palming it down onto the floor, Hermione stands to her uneasy toes, simply startled to see Tom's hand in front of her, an offer of the Basilisk fang.
"You do it." Hermione does not want to do it...does not want to see what Voldemort prepared for her in this horcrux. But as her mouth opens to protest the silly notion, Tom continues with every bit of stubborn harshness, "Yes, you can."
If she was anyone else or if she had any less knowledge on the previous Dark Lord, Hermione would be offended by his cold command. But, Hermione is the closest companion to Tom Riddle, knowing him as well as she knows herself. He does not mean to be cold, but uplifting. This is just the tone of the Heir of Slytherin at home.
Having forsaken the Cup for the floor, Hermione grabs the fang from Tom's hand, shaky with her every nerve quivering with adrenaline. And though it's not necessary, her eyes meet Tom's in a competition of character, sinking into his expression with the only warmth he can manage and her conviction to be strong. Her eyes pull away from his in sync with the fang, steadying her uneasy breathe. She raises the fang above her head, an unseen threat to Voldemort's legacy.
If Hermione would have looked at Tom in that moment, she would have seen a man worshipping an idol, a sire worshipping a knight, a lord worshipping a king, and a disciple worshipping a god. Tom Riddle is so struck by her strength--not the strength in her tiny arm as it juts down at the cup--but at the conviction in her eyes. Her face is a placid lake, taunted by skipping stones but unwavering in its position upon the shore. And Tom is the storm above the scene, unusually calm and reflecting the lake of his desire. But then he is the lightning, his heart ignited in the strongest emotion he has ever felt. His storm is concern, adoration, attraction, and protection, things that could be differentiated with more ease, but Tom is no longer making those decisions.
What was it that Hermione had told him? It's all about love's recognition, in which the force does not suddenly develop between two people, but a poignant emotion, different for each individual, is uniquely described to be 'love.' Maybe Tom Riddle cannot love. However, as he chooses to believe in that moment, love exists for Tom Riddle when he chooses to love Hermione Jean Granger.
The fang collides with the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and Tom swears he can hear himself scream, though his mouth is firmly shut in awe of Hermione Granger. Skittering across the concrete ground and then into the depths of the water, the Cup sizzles and screams, unleashing a tsunami upon the unsteady forms of Hermione and Tom, both for different reasons. The massive wave, magical in property and suddenly appearing, almost stalls in preparation for the baptism of their souls, quivering and then slowly, exploding upon their two forms.
Despite the traditions behind water, Tom does not feel anything wash away from him, his sins still clinging to his soul and his heart still swimming for Hermione Granger. Both people stall at the sudden and unnecessary rainstorm, though Hermione quickly thanks Voldemort for not making the horcrux more defended. She never did learn what Ron had to witness in the locket, but Hermione knows it was not something fun to watch.
Even when the water abates to where it once was, the Cup long gone and the fang still in her hand, Hermione and Tom are silent in their standing, unmoved by the tsunami he felt blooming in his heart. Water pools around their feet, their forms soaked to the bone, but no bodily sensation is felt other than the connection they have for one another. Hermione wants to be surprised that--when she raises her eyes--Tom is staring passionately upon her, but to the extent of her beliefs in magic and the world, it is the perfect picture to raise from baptism.
He does not blink when brown meets green, when a muggleborn meets the Heir of Slytherin, for it is like the prophecy predicted back in the 1940s. Let there be light, it said, and Tom Riddle is not feeling anything less than fire in Hermione's brown eyes, her power like a wick to his own. He does not say it, but Hermione seems to hear it, a subtle nod under his intent gaze--let me burn you.
And they are kissing. Tom's arms wrap her like a python in need of a meal, his mouth absorbing hers in a fervent embrace of lips, chapped yet sweet. Her fingers cling to his soaked white button-up, like a lifeline in the stormy waves of her lake, clutching to the storm itself for indeed, it contains the powerful. His lips press to hers in a unmoving frenzy, a chaste kiss if not for the pressure he uses, his lips gliding softly across hers as she mirrors the movement, skin slick with rain.
Whatever he wishes is indisposed though, Tom pulling away only subtly, their foreheads pressed to one another and lips still breathing air upon foreign skin. The color in their cheeks never seemed so potent, Tom's eyes glittering like a sea of greenery, and her brown eyes lush in their honey glow. And hesitations they once held are now gone, only wishing to be closer for the remainder of their lives.
His thumb reaches up to brush a drop of water from her cheek, the skin of his finger surprisingly smooth for all they've done in the past months. And though she wishes to lean into his touch, like a cat does their owner, Tom is quicker in moving forth, leaving a warm and soft kiss on her cheek where the water now disappears.
"How do you manage to be beautiful in a battlezone?" Tom huskily asks, as if he awoke from a dream to realize that his dream is now reality. But truly, Hermione Granger is a vision: her hair parted into a soft braid, her lips a rosy pink, her eyes glimmering under thick and dark lashes, her nose quaint between her cheeks, and her skin freckled by the recent travels. And he is no more perfect than Hermione: alabaster skin creamier than ever, dark eyes now a potent emerald storm, pink lips parted, jaw relaxed but cheekbones firm, and hair only partially sodden.
And it is the latter notion that has her asking, "How is your hair still perfect after that plunge?"
Tom grins characteristically down at her, like a distant memory of five decades ago when he first kissed her in the Hospital Wing. It has her reeling and swooning, clinging tighter to him and with every need to stay by his side for eternity. And he seems to sense as much, leaning down with that quirked mouth to press a chaste kiss to her lips, marking a new chapter in this book of war.
"Touche, Granger," the boy says, not lingering in the kiss when there is business to attend to, moving away slowly so that she does not fall. But Hermione is a strong woman, capable of standing on her own two feet and reacquainting herself with reality. This is war, not fun. But, she will not refuse the hand he offers, consequently having them rushing off from whence they came.
Tom looks back at the Chamber of Secrets only once more, not tempting himself to return, but to remember how far he's come...to never forget who he is, the Heir of Slytherin.
By the time they make it back to the second floor girls' lavatory, the walls are shaking with greater intensity and timing, both individuals swaying as Tom Riddle closes the Chamber for its final rest. Almost stumbling, Tom and Hermione rush from the bathroom, no longer entranced by a lavatory romance, but the war currently being fought around them. Hermione grabs the Marauder's Map from her beaded bag, reciting the password and--with the help of Tom--opening it in search of Harry and Ron, plans in place.
"There he is," Hermione points to an upper portion of the parchment, Tom leaning down to watch the footsteps of Harry Potter disappear entirely, all within the seventh floor corridor.
"Let's go," he attempts to grab at her hand, but Hermione pulls it away with her brows furrowed in question.
"Wait, he vanished. Just now. I saw it."
"He must've gone into the Room of Requirement. It doesn't show up on the map," Tom reminds Hermione, the girl's head reeling to him with a bit of praising surprise.
Voice soft with the genuine feeling of adoration for him, Hermione says, "That's right. It doesn't."
"Don't act so surprised." He's not Ron, after all.
Rushing through the hallways with the intent of avoiding the battle at this time, Hermione and Tom end up taking a rather long route to get to their desired location. Through corridors lined in glass and smoke, Hermione wishes not to witness the burning tapestries and portraits as they rush by, now flying through the Seventh Floor with due haste. But, she urges herself to never look away, and a good thing she does, immediately seeing a group of three and pointing them out to Tom: Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and Draco Malfoy. The three slip about a corner in the obvious direction of Hermione and Tom's intent, followed silently by the two time-travellers who do not know if this slowed pace is worth the wait.
They creep around corners and hurry down passages until Hermione and Tom witness the three Slytherins departing into the Room of Requirement, rushing after them before the door disappears, luckily soundless as it swings open. And despite his openness to what this Room can create, Tom is nearly startled to see a room of junk, perfect for hiding the Diadem of Ravenclaw if he knows his other self.
Between piles and against junk, Hermione and Tom continue to follow the other three, knowing Draco is after Harry as it seems a common pattern in their childhood, even now after so much has occurred. And, in the end, they end up finding Harry, Draco threatening the Boy Who Lived for the wand that Harry now possesses. Moving slyly for her acquired wand, Hermione does not intend to reveal herself to Malfoy, but as she points the wand at him, it catches Draco's attention, turning to the muggleborn and mysterious boy with wide eyes.
Not knowing of Tom's attempts, Hermione takes to brute force, throwing a silent Expelliarmus at the white-haired boy and prompting his temporary wand to go flying into a nearby pile of junk. And though he ought to be unable to wield a wand, given his lacking sense, Goyle is the one to fire back at Hermione with multiple dangerous spells, all of them missing.
But nonetheless, it is the last one that has Tom's blood boiling: "Avada Kedavra!"
He's going to kill this boy. The green spell hits the diadem instead of Hermione, a laughable notion given this boy's connection to the Dark Lord. But nevermind the humor, Tom is too infuriated to think of anything else than spellcasting, sending a multiplicity of nonverbal, wandless spells at the startled Goyle across the way. Somehow, likely by the grace of darkness, the boy avoids all but a cutting curse by throwing himself through the pile of junk nearby, exemplifying the extent of his smarts.
Inappropriate for the moment, Hermione is beginning to realize the great extent to which Tom deluded her in his dueling skills. He never once showed his ability at wandless magic, nonetheless nonverbal wandless magic, while they were dueling, something that ought to have always won him a battle against Hermione. He let her win that one time. And as upset by this as she is, Hermione is thankful they now have Tom on their side.
Out of nowhere, Ron jumps through the pile of rubble that Goyle made, giving chase against the boy who tried to kill his best friend. With a ting of magic, Harry hears the diadem careening off a birdcage, deeper into the piles of junk and nearer where Hermione and Tom watch with eyes peeled. Turning back around to the other two Slytherins, Harry wants to be startled to see Blaise's wand pointed towards him--but really, he is not.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry powerfully hits the darker boy, Blaise's wand flying free as the Slytherin rushes off into endless piles of junk, like a game of cat and mouse. But who is the cat, and who is the mouse?
With unknown cause---maybe from the diadem--the pile of junk nearest Harry, Hermione, and Tom begins to groan and creak under a destabilized weight, just wishing to fall on them as their eyes reach heavenward, the sky falling towards them and setting off the others.
Maybe the towers are the cats.
No words are needed as the temporary trio begins running from the collapsing junk piles, hopefully back towards the door and the only source of safety in this dangerous room. And yet, they are not here to escape, a notion that suddenly comes upon all of them, as Hermione asks, "Did you see where it went? The diadem?"
"It's gone! We'll never--"
The Boy Who Lived's hopeless tone is begotten in their sprint, now the radiating sound of metal upon metal meeting their ears, the magic of the Diadem becoming known to them. Like rain pelting the earth, it tumbles downward from the sky, bouncing off various pieces of junk and each making a unique sound at the contact. With only a glance needed for agreement purposes, the trio diverge into the sea of junk, in chase of the troublesome horcrux and heritage of Rowena Ravenclaw.
At first with Harry, nearly grabbing it before being attacked by a pile of books--ironically--but finally with Hermione, the Diadem is snatched away from the chaotic avalanches, all three forms ceasing to run, but panting instead.
"Well done," Harry praises the sly and quick girl, looking more grateful to be clutching the 'last' horcrux. "Let's find Ron and get out of here."
And though it could have been a disaster to search for this boy, the disaster of a panicked scream is none less welcome as what awaits their eyes. Following the roaring sound, the three turn to see a sprinting Ron towards them, his panic unnecessary until they see the flames climbing after him--like fingers grasping for death.
"Fiendfyre!" Tom identifies, synced with Ron's exclamation of, "Run! Goyle's set the bloody place on fire!"
His urgent message to run is really unnecessary, none of them particularly wishing for the lick of fire. So, turning on their heels, the quartet rush back towards the passage into this very room, the fire more of a threat with each step they take. No longer does it just chase, but the Fiendfyre seems wistful to crush the Golden Trio-plus-one, the towers of junk burning and falling just behind their feet.
They try turning and weaving and rushing and jumping, but the flames follow them wherever they go, the images in the flames not mistaken or imagined. No, there is a dragon, a chimera, a dementor, and a serpent, none of which are of virtuous creation and more boding of the Fiendfyre's wishes for them. Tom likes to play with fire, but he is not so sure anymore.
"Split up!" Harry cries, the others not wasting a moment to follow his directions, all splitting off in different directions with the hope that one survives. But, the fire divides after the four with one creature for each of the quartet: serpent for Harry, chimaera for Hermione, dragon for Ron, and dementor for Tom. Of course it had to be a dementor.
Tom could have told Harry of the splitting behavior and principle of Fiendfyre if only the time allowed, but that was not the case, the split of the flames causing the four to seek out one another again so maybe--in a miracle--they'll all survive. Above their heads, Draco and Blaise are scaling a burning pile of junk, surely cursing out their likely dead friend, or so Tom would assume. But the four are distracted by their union back together, a sign that they are surrounded entirely by the flames--hope dwindling like the wooden furniture of the room.
Racing towards them, the fire blooms with the demons of their past, and suddenly, the two Slytherins' plan to climb does not seem so crazy.
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