Chapter 10. Micrurus - Nowhere
Edited January 2024
After he finished cleaning the floor - something he did whilst mentally cursing her all the time - Tom curiously looked around, trying to figure out where he was and to see what Granger had. The first thing he did was look at the books about magic. He realised she wasn't obsessed with just one discipline, in other words, her interests were wide and varied, there were several types of books about diverse and arcane subjects as well as assorted spells and potions. Intriguing.
Frankly, Granger has a vast knowledge range. He admits to himself grudgingly. But what surprised him most was that she read very advanced magic, far ahead of Hogwarts' fifth and sixth years. Well, he can't judge her for that, given the fact when he was in the second year, he had already read and practiced the magic of the sixth and seventh years, but this behavior is not common. But then, what is normal when it comes to Granger?
He looks at a slightly misplaced book as if recently placed on the shelf. Magic and Time, he reads, but doesn't touch.
Tom peruses, walking his long, pale fingers on a smooth path across the table to where the cauldron and potion pots were. He makes a mental note, looking with interest at everything visible, yet he doesn't touch anything. Granger seems too organised to not notice if something was out of place.
He goes into the small room with a two-seater sofa, a shag rug with a coffee table and an armchair. He doesn't have to step far into the kitchen, there is also a small dining table. This entire setup all seems very lonely to him, so he asks himself a question: Where are Granger's parents?
Tom has decided, he needs some answers and he will get them from Granger. He looks to the right where daylight enters and finally decides to go out and talk to Granger. The first thing he does when he leaves the tent is to stumble. And guess what? This is not common for him. Tom Riddle always had impeccable posture and balance, however, he wasn't prepared to step onto soft sand. Tom quickly steaded his composure, now looking back and forth, not expecting to see the beach landscape. He looks left and then right, noting the length of the beach and the foliage that indicated he was far from civilisation. Or at least, far from industrial civilisation.
His eyes finally fall on the small figure sitting on the flatter sand, facing the sea, watching the sun. Granger. He walks over to her.
Hermione had to distance herself from Riddle's presence in an attempt to get her thoughts in order. She didn't know how she should act since she had rescued Riddle and brought him to the safety of the island, to her refuge. It's one thing to be in his presence whilst he was still unconscious, but now he is lucid and awake. Hermione knows she won't escape Riddle's questions, he is very observant, she just needs to maintain the same line of reasoning and keep a safe distance with the 'walls of protection' erected forcefully against him.
"Where are we?"
Speak of the devil, she thought.
Riddle had stopped right beside her, she looked to her right, expecting to find his face, but all she saw was his pelvis, his hips and his legs. She blushed at the sight and his closeness, Hermione looked up to find Riddle staring at her from above, his hands in his trouser pockets. She blinked a few times.
"Where are we?" He repeated.
Tom looked at her, watching the way she sat, hugging her legs and the wand in one hand. Her cheeks were rosier than he remembered and he looked toward the sea and the sun she was staring at. Here is the reason. Now things were making more sense.
She got up to face him.
"Nowhere." She answered simply, Tom narrowed his eyes at her answer.
"I'm not kidding, Granger. Where are we? "
"Nowhere," Hermione replied again, raising both eyebrows as she explained to him.
"Can you answer the question?" His tone increased slightly due to the frustration he was beginning to feel.
"We're, literally, Nowhere." She raised her voice a little, gesturing around. "It's an island."
Tom narrowed his eyes again at her, doubting the credibility of the words coming out of her mouth.
"We are on a small, and I mean very small, island that is surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean somewhere near Europe. Apparating without knowing or seeing the chosen destination is really difficult. Naming the place you want to go makes it easier for the wizard or witch to apparate to. When I first came to the island, I only imagined a secluded, safe place that was close to the sea and well, here we are. So I named the island." Hermione explained.
"You mean to tell me that you apparated here blind and then named the island 'Nowhere,' Granger?" Tom asked skeptically and Hermione shrugged. "Such a lack of creativity." He continued and it was Hermione's turn to narrow her eyes at him.
Tom Riddle made a mental note for later. She knows how to apparate. Not only that, she's at an advanced level and knows how to apparate long distance.
He sighed and rolled his eyes as she began to speak, trying to justify herself and explaining that it was not a lack of creativity.
Oh! Sure she's from Gryffindor, she's always trying to make a point.
Tom scratches his ear with his little finger, trying to tell her that he doesn't give a damn about her explanation, that she's talking too much and that her words make him bored at best. But a sound that shouldn't be in this heavenly environment catches Tom's attention. He stared in alarm at the horizon of the beach.
"Shut up." He orders Hermione.
Hermione is about to answer, her tongue itching to say no one tells her to shut up when she hears the sound too. She stops, looking in the same direction that Riddle is looking, hearing the sound approach. Hermione steps forward.
"Granger." Tom calls her, recognising the droning sound that was coming their way.
"Shut up." It's her turn to order.
Riddle takes her wrist with an iron grip, but not in a way that hurts her. It is at that moment the owners of that noise appear. Warplanes, the Luftwaffe, the German Air Force, passing right now over their heads.
Riddle's hand goes from her wrist to her arm, holding tightly while keeping his eyes trained on the planes until they disappear over the horizon.
"They ignored us," he muttered.
"Not interested, essentially because they couldn't see the island."
"What did you do?" Tom asked, his head gesturing at her wand.
"I set up wards and protections," she replied. "Repello Muggletum is one of them."
"What is the extent of the spell?" He asked curiously.
"The whole island?" She arched an eyebrow.
"Fascinating." Tom complimented. Hermione was astounded by the acknowledgement, her eyebrows raised in surprise and her mouth formed a small 'O'. Realising what he had done, Tom soon corrected himself. "Don't be so happy, Granger. I just hope you didn't put us on a war route."
He seems particularly troubled and walks back towards the tent as if he already owns that island.
In the tent, there is the awkward silence as Hermione sets the dinner table. Riddle is sitting in the far armchair of the room, quiet and unmoving, his legs crossed in a male fashion, looking curiously around, sometimes looking at her in a very fleeting way.
Yeah, certainly very lonely. Tom notices. He is waiting for the right moment to start questioning her, to know how much she says is true, where the lies are. There is something wrong with this situation, he is sure of it. So, he manipulates Hermione in a way that she doesn't appreciate is under his domain, namely: Silence.
People are generally uncomfortable when they are in a situation with someone who is silent. People feel the need to bridge silence, to establish a conversation, something to build empathy, long periods of silence bother them. Tom waits patiently for the perfect opportunity to commence his task.
"What do you think?" She asked softly.
This is the perfect time, he smiled to himself.
"About?" He replies.
"The airplanes. This is the first time I've seen them pass over the island."
"For more accurate information, we'd have to go to muggle civilisation." Tom shrugs.
"Do you think something happened?"
"Something's always happening," He continued. "Muggles are at war."
"It's not much different, is it?" Hermione muttered. "The Muggle War and Grindelwald's War."
"I don't know." Tom looked at her. "I've never been in a war." There was malice behind his words, judging the truth of the facts that Hermione had told everyone else.
"No." She looked down, her gaze thoughtful and sad. "It's not very different."
And it wasn't very different. The Grindelwald War, the Muggle War, the Voldemort War all had awful, brutal and sad similarities.
"The soldiers were knocking from door to door in each orphanage, looking for young boys old enough to enlist" Tom admitted, drawing Hermione's gaze to him.
"And what did you do?" She asked curiously.
"I'm not old enough-" He didn't seem to care about her curiosity, "- yet." Tom finished the sentence.
"You don't want to enlist, do you?" Hermione deciphered.
"It's definitely something I have very little interest in."
They sat at the table after Hermione set the plates, sitting facing each other. Hermione silently keeps her eyes toward her plate.
"I need the knife," Tom says suddenly. Hermione's gaze goes to the fork he holds. She hesitates, unsure that it would be wise to tell him where the knives were.
"Or you could lend me your wand for me to do a simple cutting spell." Tom suggests, raising one eyebrow, the upper corner of his mouth slightly raised with a mini smile.
Hermione stops, holding her cutlery, she swallows hard.
"They're in the top drawer in the kitchen." She responds quickly.
Tom gets up from the table and she hears a little laugh from him, it doesn't take long for him to come back and sit in his place again. He cuts the meat on his plate, looking straight at her.
"You're afraid of me." Tom states.
Hermione debated internally what she should say.
"It's not fear; it's caution." She doesn't deny it but also gives a more appropriate name for her attitude. "We have a history of interactions that are, to say the least, interesting."
They eat in silence for a few more minutes before Tom asks:
"Where does the food come from?"
"Hm..." Hermione finished chewing before answering. "I apparate, buy what I need and come back."
"So, you know how to apparate," Tom says. "I thought we'd only learn that skill this new year at Hogwarts."
Hermione has trouble swallowing and almost choked, coughed a few times before drinking the glass of water offered by Tom. She makes a noise in her throat and takes a deep breath.
"I learned."
"Don't we need a License to Apparate? If not, isn't it breaking the law?" Tom raises an eyebrow, bringing a piece of meat to his mouth with the aid of his fork. "How curious." He smiled as he chewed.
Hermione understood the intentions behind his words.
"I learned from someone in the -"
"war in France." He concluded the sentence for her. She looked at him, realising then how much she had already used this excuse.
"Yeah, that's right." She held herself back. "This person told me that I needed to have a fast means of escape when the situation became too dangerous, if not then I could die. That's why they taught me to apparate." Hermione lied, the words flowing smoothly like water and she was impressed with herself.
"France, isn't it?" Tom put the cutlery on the plate. "You have no accent."
Hermione blinked, politely wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
"Accent?" She questioned.
"Well, if you came from France, fought in the war in France and studied at Beauxbatons, your English should be - if only a little - affected." He concluded. "But you're very English, to be honest."
"That's because I'm English."
"Oh. So please clarify the events for me. I'm afraid that I'm a little confused." Tom leaned his elbows against the table, being drawn towards Hermione. "Where are your parents, Granger?"
Tom watches her gaze fall, the slight intake of air she takes and how she clasps her hands in her lap. He doesn't need an audible answer, he already knows what the answer is. Death.
"More than far enough away that I may never see them again." Her voice wavered at her mysterious words.
"If you're English, why did you go to Beauxbatons?" He asks.
"I didn't attend."
"No?"
"No." She replies. "That's why I don't have a French accent. I went to Ilvermorny."
"The American school?" Tom frowned in confusion. Hermione watches his eyes, trying to connect all the pieces of the story she was telling. "Why? Why not go to Hogwarts from the start?"
Oh, Merlin, this story is getting worse and worse, Hermione thinks.
"I don't know. I just chose one of the schools, I think." She shrugged. "I was born in England, just like my parents and I chose to go to Ilvermorny, I studied for a few years there, my parents moved to France, Grindelwald happened, I went to their aid, they left, I continued to fight until I couldn't, I asked for Professor Dumbledore's help and here I am." Hermione lied, that was the most fibs she had ever said in a minute.
"Where does Dumbledore fit into all this?" Tom asked, tilting his head to the side, his piercing gaze still on Hermione.
"Dumbledore is a longtime friend. A kind of godfather, would be a better way to describe it." She licks her dry lips.
Tom squinted, the mention of Dumbledore's name lovingly coming out of her mouth leaves a small spark of anger in him.
"Does he know I'm here?" He asked. "With you?"
Why did he want to know about that? Hermione wondered. Would it be wise to tell him the truth? Say no one knows the location of the island? That nobody knows their whereabouts?
"I doubt that very much," Hermione replied, watching his reaction, noting how he relaxed - almost imperceptibly - at her words and how the scowl on his face melted away. "You really don't like him, do you?"
Tom paused for a moment, looking back at her.
"There's really nothing to like."
"Why? He's a good man, a good teacher, a good person."
Tom snorted at her comment.
"He's as evil as Azkaban's worst prisoner. Dumbledore is so afraid. A coward, that's what he is. The neutrality and impartiality he seeks so much will be his ruin."
"That's not true." She contradicts Tom.
"It's true and you can't deny it. If you think he's so good, why didn't you tell him about our interactions at Hogwarts? I mean, before I put the curse on your tongue. Do you think he didn't know something was wrong? That he didn't notice? He may not know what it is, but he knows that something is going on. In the Ministry, everyone gossips about what the Mighty Wizard will do, yet he hides. He does nothing. What a coward."
"That's very Gryffindor coming from you." Hermione narrows her eyes and hears a low, hoarse laugh from Tom.
"It's not me he's embarrassing. It's you and your House."
She stared at him, only then noticing the mischievous glint in his eyes.
"You are teasing me" Hermione muttered, earning a sideways smile and a raised eyebrow from Tom "If this was a provocation, then tell the truth: Why don't you like Dumbledore?"
"More than half of what I said is true. He is an old fool and a coward and I don't think he deserves the title he has. That's why."
"You hate him because you disregard him? There has to be more." She frowned in confusion. If there's one thing she learned about Riddle is that he was a complex person.
"If is true, why don't you find out then?" Tom challenged her, his green eyes sparkling.
Hermione stared at him, her gaze didn't waver, she sat up straighter.
"I-I think ... I think you hate him because he knows about the orphanage and the things that happen there, but he did nothing to change that." Hermione looked down after seeing Tom's expression turn white.
Some seconds passed, but it seemed like hours, when she looked back up at him, Hermione found him staring at her, the shadow of a smile wanting to appear and a mischievous look staring at her.
"Um... what do we have here? A smart girl." Tom's long, pale index finger lightly tapped Hermione's nose. The action made Hermione freeze in shock and surprise. Tom didn't deny it, yet he didn't claim that what she said was correct.
Before they could continue, Nix made a noise, demanding that Hermione allow him to hunt.
"What is it?" Tom asked.
"It's Nix. He wants to hunt." She replied, going to Nix's cage and freeing him to fly.
Tom watched Hermione's owl fly out into the night sky.
"Did you name him 'Nix?'"
"Yes, because Nyx was—" Hermione couldn't finish speaking because Tom already knew the answer.
"The protector of wizards and witches. Yeah, I already know." He answered. "But is this serious, Granger? Nix? For a male owl?" Tom raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You have a bad taste for names."
That night Hermione showed Tom where the bathroom was and handed him a new change of clothes that belonged to Harry, to make him more comfortable when he went to sleep. She waited for him patiently, avoiding thinking about what she was doing all the time. When not confronting him, it was much easier to question her actions.
When he came out of the bathroom through the steam, Tom was shirtless, wearing only his trousers and holding the towel around his neck. She was there, waiting for him, ready with her wand, the bandages, and healing ointment in hand. She looked him up and down and then gestured for him to sit in front of her. Tom walked slowly to her and sat on the stool she indicated. She repeated the procedure she had done this morning, adjusting his bandages well. As soon as she was done she got up with a sigh coming from her lips.
"You should dry your hair well. You've just recovered from a fever." Hermione scolded him gently. She didn't know why she was saying it. It's not like he could die.
Tom Riddle looked at her, slowly putting on the shirt she had offered while he was still sitting. He is trying to figure out what she gets by doing all this and watches with interest as she goes from attack mode to defence mode and then to kindness within minutes. The meaning of the word 'strange' is inadequate to describe what Granger is. However, he thinks this is only part of her personality. Curiously, she was afraid of him and yet here she was worried about his health. I can almost laugh.
She stops for a moment, the wand in her hand, she whispers a spell and he feels his hair dry. Magic is amazing.
Granger smiles softly at him, a polite and restrained smile.
"While you were in the bathroom, I prepared a room for you," Hermione said. Tom stood up and followed her closely. She opened the door to a small but decent room with a bed with blankets and pillows. Beside the bed, a small table with a lamp. It wasn't much, but it was cozy and it was enough. It didn't look like she was expecting any company on her stay on this island.
He nodded, entering the room, looking around. Tom turned to her, she was standing in the doorway.
"Well, I think it's good night then." Hermione turned and closed the door.
After doing her nightly routine, Hermione was lying on her bed in her room with her wand under the pillow. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, her hands on the blankets with her thumbs repeatedly tapping against each other. She was nervous and would probably have trouble sleeping tonight. Yeah, it would really be hard to have a peaceful sleep, when the young Dark Lord was a few feet from her, conscious and regaining his strength. Hermione was trying not to think about their conversation, but it's inevitable. Talking with Tom Riddle is one of the things she never thought she would do. She tried to remove her compassion and focus on the logical part. Maybe if she lived with him, analysed him well, she could better understand him. Decipher him. And maybe when she returned to the time in which she belonged, she could foresee his actions and then help everyone.
She fell asleep after a few hours. It was the relaxing first part of sleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath she took, and at that moment, the locket that was on her neck began to pop out from under her t-shirt. Even though still trapped around Hermione's neck, the locket levitated, the Parseltongue whispers began again. The green detailing - very similar to the color of Slytherin House - of the medallion seemed to glow.
Hermione woke up, sleepily blinking a few times to adjust her eyes and was startled to see the locket levitating, the only thing keeping the locket from rising further was the cord that held it around her neck. In one swift motion, she held the locket in one hand and lifted her chest to look around. Everything, exactly everything, was levitating.
Hermione got up, took her wand and left the room. In the rest of the tent everything else was also levitating. Not even Nix, inside his cage, could escape. She went straight to Riddle's room, as she opened the door, she found the blankets, lamp and everything else floating, just the bed and Riddle remained where they should be.
Magic.
She looked at him, noticing that he was still unconscious, asleep. Hermione slowly approached him, not realising that her presence made the floating objects return to the place they should never have left.
She raised a hand toward Riddle, when he spoke a few words in Parseltongue, she stopped instantly. Hermione didn't understand what he was saying, but judging by the scowl he was making, Riddle might very well be having a nightmare. She waited for a moment, their breathing the only sound in the room, trying to figure out what might disturb the Dark Lord's sleep. The answer was simple: many things.
Who knows what Riddle saw or did. Maybe this was a form of punishment, never having peaceful slumber.
When he scowled and whispered something else, she decided it was time to wake him up.
"Riddle?" She called him quietly.
Before Hermione could touch him, Riddle's hand caught Hermione's wrist and his green eyes widened in shock, which soon turned to anger and caution.
"What are you doing?" He asked accusingly.
Surprised, Hermione tried to pull her arm from his grip, but Riddle wouldn't allow it. She sighed.
"You were having a nightmare, I think ..." She said passively. Someone had to be the logical person in this situation. He stared at her for a few seconds, looking her up and down warily, before letting her arm go. He sat up, leaning his upper body against the wood of the bed and Hermione sat on the edge of the bed.
"Are you okay? Feeling feverish?" She asked and before he could answer, she put her hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back to measure the temperature. "Um ... no."
He swallowed.
"I'm fine, Granger." Tom answered quickly and removed her hand from his forehead. The constant contact with her, made him feel weird with feelings he didn't recognise, and so, he wanted to avoid it.
Hermione didn't force him.
"You don't always have to be defensive," She said.
"Look who's talking." Tom snorted.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.
"I am trying to fly the white flag. If we're living together, I think at least we don't always have to keep an eye on our backs. What I mean, is that I've had countless opportunities to hurt you, and yet I chose not to. You don't see? I don't want to create enmity with you. I don't want to be your enemy." She said. At least not in this time.
To her surprise, he said:
"Very well. I won't pretend to you, I haven't done it before, let alone do it now. You saw what you saw, you know what I am and what I am capable of. Maybe your unwillingness to be my enemy is the best thing you ever did."
She growled at him.
"No threats."
He gave a little laugh.
"And what fun would it be?"
A minute of silence passed longer than it should. Hermione hesitantly looked at Riddle and found him staring at her intently, as if he'd never stopped staring at her. He folded his arms in front of his body.
"Tell me what you want to tell me." Tom rolled his eyes.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She tried, speaking softly for fear of his reaction. It was understood that she was referring to his dream.
"No." He didn't even seem to think about Hermione's proposal. Who would believe it? Granger as my private psychologist.
Tom watched her slight tremor with the raw tone of his voice. For some reason unknown to him - which he was unwilling to give meaning - Tom made a sound in his throat before redeeming himself for his brutality.
"No. Because I don't remember." He tried to make his voice softer. No one bites the hand that feeds it.
Hermione nodded and didn't push anymore, but another minute of awkward silence passed and she was more than willing to evade the uncomfortable situation when Riddle said:
"My magic reacts to you. Why?" He asked.
"What?" She turned her face toward him in one swift movement, her expression slightly confused.
"Do you think I didn't notice? Now? Tonight? Just like the time I touched you at Hogwarts? My magic reacts to something in you and I want to know why."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione quickly denied it.
In one swift motion, Riddle reaches forward, his pale long-fingered hand stretches behind Hermione's neck, his fingers circling perfectly. Treacherously, the Time-Turner betrays Hermione when the skin of Riddle's fingers touches the steel of the cord. The Time-Turner seems to heat, a charge of energy sears through both. It's not Hermione specifically that Tom's magic reacts to, it's the Time-Turner. And apparently when she, him and the Time-Turner get in touch ... Boom! It happens.
They gasped, letting out their breath. Riddle was very close to Hermione on the bed, his face only inches from her face. She could feel his breath caressing her skin, both caught in each other's eyes. Tom smiled. It wasn't a smile of happiness, not a polite smile, it was a smile that showed his confidence or the sense of power he was feeling, and it made Hermione's eyes widen wildly at the realisation.
"That's what I'm talking about." He told her, his eyebrows lowered, matching his piercing gaze. "What's this?" His gaze went from Hermione's face to her neck, where he saw a part of the steel cord.
Hermione turned away from him at once, removing his hand from her neck.
"What's is it?" He demanded.
"It's a necklace." She answered and Tom narrowed his eyes.
"It's not an ordinary necklace."
"It's a magic necklace."
"Tell me what the necklace does and why my magic reacts to it." He ordered.
Hermione frowned, outraged at his demand.
"It's a magic necklace that's what it is."
"Granger." His tone was a warning.
"I don't have to tell you anything! If you want to know about the necklace, then why not tell me about your ring?" Hermione said, playing with the one thing she knew would make the young Dark Lord retreat, and she wasn't wrong. As soon as Tom heard the word 'ring', he backed away, hugging his hand to his chest. "Do you think I didn't feel the magic?" She continued.
Hermione watched as Riddle clenched his right hand into a fist with his left hand covering it, denying her the sight of the ring.
He looked at her, licking his lips to moisten them.
"Very well, we'll each keep our secrets for now."
Hermione jumped to her feet.
"I don't care about your secrets, so I don't think you will know about mine. I don't even care about what you did. It was you who dragged me into the Room of Requirement!"
" What? What did you say?" He asked.
"That I don't want to know about your secrets?" She wondered at the sudden change in his tone.
"No. At the end. You said 'Room of Requirement'. How do you know the name of this room, Granger?" He rose from the bed slowly, Hermione's gaze widening as she belatedly realised her mistake and even more so as she watched Riddle rise from the bed.
"Never mind." She turned and started walking back towards her room. Tom followed her closely, the sound of their heavy footsteps echoing.
"Granger, get back here!" He ordered, pointing to the floor like she was a pet.
Hermione entered her room and turned to face Tom.
"Good night!" She slammed the door in his face. She heard him practically growl on the other side, his retreating footsteps and how he slammed his bedroom door too. Hermione let out a sigh of relief.
o0o
Tom awakens after a turbulent night with thoughts of Granger. After that heated discussion, of course, the little witch would stay in his system, taking away his peace.
He gets out of bed and as much as he tries to ignore it, he makes his bed. It is a custom that was ingrained at the orphanage. All children must make their beds immediately on rising.
Tom opens the bedroom door, he is prepared for confrontation. All weapons raised. But all he finds is silence. He goes to the kitchen and is surprised to find breakfast ready for him. Tom is tempted to refuse the food, his pride is taking precedence, however, he knows that food is a source of energy and if she decides to kick him off the island, this will be the last decent meal he will have when he returns to the orphanage.
He sits at the table and waits for her for five minutes, hoping she will join him, but the answer is obvious. After he finishes eating and tidying what has to be cleaned, he does his morning routine. There are clothes waiting for him in the bathroom. Tom narrows his eyes, but he finds himself unable to refuse. When he comes out from the bathroom, she is waiting for him in the living room.
"Good morning." Hermione is polite.
"Good morning." He replies.
She gestures for him to sit on the stool in front of her, Tom does what she asks. He looks at nothing, much more focused on the soft-touch she makes on his back. It's very different from the burning aspect of her personality that confronts him every time.
"You're bipolar," Tom said suddenly.
"What?" She paused for a moment.
"You're probably bipolar," He explained. "Your swings in emotions and actions are constant."
She snorted.
"I'm not bipolar." She denied. "But my 'constant swings of emotions' are greatly influenced by your attitude."
"Oh! I do apologise." Tom replied, not really expressing regret. He could hear her little laugh as if she knew he would never apologise and he found himself joining her.
Hermione was silent, she concluded that her work was done. Riddle's back was smooth and uninjured, except for some small scars that resembled the whiplash injuries Riddle had received. These small scars looked old and healed and were at the base of Riddle's back, she probably didn't notice them because she was so focused on his larger wounds.
She found herself tracing the path of the scars with her fingers and felt Riddle stiffen under her hand.
He sighed, forcing himself to relax.
"I hadn't seen these."She murmured, very kind and soft.
"Once for never again," Tom said.
"Hm?" She looked over his shoulder, trying to see his face, but he was staring at the rug.
"Once for never again," he repeated. "Once caught, never again," he explained.
Hermione knew that there was more. She wondered if he would react brutally if she asked, but she didn't hold back.
"What happened?"
He mused, it took a while for him to respond, probably wondering if he would give her a different part of the story of his miserable life. - The life he will change. Because one thing is he sure of: One day he will be on top.
"I was a young child," Tom replied. "I wanted sweeties. I went into the hidden pantry in the orphanage, grabbed a few sweeties and went to my room, Billy Stubbs ratted on me, Mrs. Cole came along with Mr. Wool and I was punished. First was my hand, so that I would learn never to steal. I healed my hand because it was unacceptable to have such a visible reminder. But, I leave the marks on my back for me to remember that I was once caught but never again."
It was then that little Tom Riddle's rebellion began. After a few more such events, little Tom began to become cold and calculating. He took the other children's things for the simple pleasure of doing so and not getting caught, of seeing their frightened expressions. Definitely once for never again.
Hermione listened attentively and silently, with her wand and ointment, she did magic. A few seconds later she got up and took a mirror with both hands.
"Well, why don't you see for yourself?" She suggested.
Tom got up slowly, he took his full height and looked over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror. His back was smooth as it always should have been. His ivory skin was perfect and as healthy as it could be in its hue.
All the wounds were gone, all the wounds had been healed. She had healed everything.
Tom's eyes go from his reflection to her. He looks at her intensely and sees her in a new light, one that he may have denied at first. She is valuable. He will give her the benefit of the doubt, more patience and he will listen to what she has to say. She is smart and talented. He will give her two favors. Rewards for what she has done for him. She gave him a safe place to be, protection and took care of his health, even after all their difficult history. She also took him from the miserable boring orphanage. Much more than the others have ever done for him.
Tom completely turned his body toward her.
"When we get back to Hogwarts, I'll take off the curse I put on you." He speaks suddenly, never saying this is a form of thanks.
Hermione blinked, surprised that this subject had come up. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish, not knowing what to say.
"That would be really nice," she replies, almost wanting to smile.
Tom walks slowly towards her, Hermione tries to look anywhere but at him, he's still shirtless and she has to admit to herself that Riddle makes her disconcerted and embarrassed. She can't stop the slight flush that starts on her cheeks. Without realising it, she holds the mirror, trying to put a barrier between him and her. She can tell that he seems to be at least a little amused by her attitude.
Tom's confidence returns as he looks at her flushed cheeks. Somehow she is not immune to him.
"So...?" He makes his voice sound purposefully low. "Do you want to tell me about this necklace you wear?"
"Do you want to tell me what this ring is?" Hermione arched an eyebrow. Riddle snorted and retracts a step, Hermione smiled inwardly at herself.
She walks away, putting the mirror back in its place, watching Tom put on his men's vest and then his shirt. When he is done, Tom looks at her, tilting his head to the side, his gaze intense. Suddenly he closes his eyes and smiles without showing his teeth. Hermione swallows, watching his expression. Whatever thought he was having, she only knows one thing:
It all started from now.