-I would like to thank for the words and all the kindness you have with me. There are no words to express how happy and accepted I feel. For me you are not just readers, you are becoming my friends and I highly value your attention and I feel extremely honoured.
-This chapter was edited on 24th August (2020) by my beta-reader Kcarmen. Please give her all the love for all the work she is doing in helping to edit the text to improve your reading.
---
My dedication to this chapter goes to Kcarmen.
For those who don't know, she became not only the beta-reader of this story but also a friend. She is a very, very kind person, extremely patient, she gives me incredible writing tips. Thanks to her, the first chapters are better. So, I ask you to give her all the regards in this chapter.
Thank you very much, Kcarmen. I am extremely grateful that you take time out of your routine to help me and venture with me into this story. I'm sure all readers are grateful for all the work you have done to improve their reading.
------
Chapter 14. Melanoleuca - Fire. Fear. Frenzy.
Hermione was comforting Evelyn, using magic to clean the little girl's hair. Evelyn was still sniffling, trying hard to stop crying and trembling, but little by little she was calming down. Both girls were sitting on the stairs that led to the Dungeons, with only a beam of light coming from a window to illuminate and cast shadows of their silhouettes on the medieval style floor.
Afraid and with tears in her eyes, Evelyn Thomas dared to look into the face of her saviour, in the eyes of the girl, her saviour who was beautiful, gentle and powerful. She just didn't understand why she had been helped by someone else who didn't even belong to Slytherin House.
"You can tell me what happened." Hermione murmured, pulling out a few strands of hair that were on Evelyn's forehead.
The girl looked down, specifically at the small nails of her hand. Should she tell what happened? She had been warned that she shouldn't say anything about what happens at the Slytherin House, because in addition to being a mudblood - something she didn't understand the meaning of - she would also become a traitor to the House itself, which meant things could get worse for her. Evelyn didn't think things could actually get far worse than how she was currently treated, but she thought she shouldn't be pushing her luck.
"You can tell me, I am not going to tell anyone. I promise." Hermione continued, noticing the girl's hesitation.
Two minutes had passed and the girl had said nothing, keeping her eyes on her nails to avoid looking at Hermione as a few drops of tears fell and wet her pyjama pants, which had bunnies designed onto them. Hermione was already giving up on finding out what had happened, whatever happened. Some invisible obligation seemed to guarantee the young girl's silence, but to her surprise, Evelyn started to speak.
"I was happy to come to a school of Magic, I felt I was somehow special." The sweet, childlike voice rang out into the emptiness of the Dungeons corridors. "Everything was fine until we went to the dorms. They said that new students had to follow an initiation, to prove that we were proud and worthy of being a Slytherin. But then, they looked at me strangely and called me mudblood. What is a mudblood? " Despite the sadness in the girl's voice, there was also curiosity.
What was a Mudblood? Hermione asked the same question when she was the same age, if not a little older than Evelyn. This word had plagued her for many years, she had it engraved on her skin, the term used by those who consider themselves Pure Blood wizards. Sometimes she dreamt of Bellatrix carving the slurd on her skin, sometimes she still heard Draco Malfoy's arrogant voice. It wasn't easy, it never was, but over time she learned to deal with it. If today she hid the scar on her arm, it was not out of shame for her birth status - she would never be ashamed of her parents - but for the ugliness that was the scar and the bad memories that it awoke.
"Mudblood is a very ugly word used by those who consider themselves Pureblooded wizards and witches to denigrate those who were born to Muggle parents. A Muggle person is a non-magical person. A Pureblood person comes from a family that has never had a relationship with a Muggle, maintaining the bloodline with other wizards. Those who call you a Mudblood are offending you in the worst possible way. " Hermione explained and Evelyn's eyes got bigger as she listened.
Realizing that it might be much worse to hear that, Hermione continued to explain, but this time softening the words. No child deserved to be discriminated against at such a young age.
"Believe me, they only say that because they are unsure of how powerful you can become and feel threatened that you may steal their place in society if they pale in comparison to you. Don't let it affect you, you will only feel worse. " Hermione wiped away the last teardrop that threatened to fall on Evelyn's face. "Being Muggle-born doesn't make you worse or better than anyone, just as being a Pureblood doesn't make them better. What will make you different from everyone is your attitude. Some people have a hard time understanding this, but they have been proved that they were wrong. Be proud of who you are." She smiled at the young girl, who returned her smile.
Evelyn looked at Hermione from head to toe in a look that could be described as very Slytherin-ish.
"You're not a Slytherin, are you?"
"No, I'm not. I'm from Gryffindor. "
"Hm... your House seems to be... better." Those were the words of a child who did not want to return to the dorms of the House to which she belonged. Hermione couldn't blame the girl, if she were in the girl's shoes she wouldn't want to go back either. "I would like to know what it is like." Evelyn blinked a few times, her brown eyes that were already big because of her round childish face now looked even more angelic and shiny from the tears she had cried. Hermione picked up that she was trying to manipulate her in the way that only a child could.
Oh, her Slytherin side. So young and already cunning.
"No House is better or worse than the other. Each one is good in some way, but to tell you the truth, it is very difficult to have the qualities to enter the Slytherin House. The founder, Salazar Slytherin was a little demanding."
Hermione understood what the girl wanted. She had to find a place where Evelyn could sleep and probably have a conversation with Dumbledore. Despite not foreseeing how much her actions were changing the timeline, Hermione found herself increasingly having difficulties in not taking action.
Looking at Evelyn's face, something caught her eye in the dark corridor of the Dungeons. A shadow was moving, coming towards them. She hoped it wasn't the Bloody Baron or one of the Slytherin students, but she usually was not very lucky, so she prefered to be safe than sorry.
The darkness that seemed to embrace the walls gradually fades away when the One who all will fear to say his name, comes to light. Evelyn's breathing stops the moment she realizes that Tom Riddle is there. Hermione stood up and Evelyn copied her movement. If Riddle had come here to fight, she didn't feel ready.
He stops in front of her, at a distance of around a hundred and fifty meters, gives her a long look without saying anything, the sound of his breathing sounding loudly in that empty corridor. His gaze goes down to where the young girl is, just behind her and clinging to Hermione's skirt.
"Go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day for new students." His voice was calm but demanding. This was not in dispute and the young girl had no choice. "As a prefect, I must put everything in order."
In different words, Tom Riddle had placed order in the Slytherin House. He might not like the girl, he might not be happy to deal with the situation, but for now, he made sure the night ended with everyone in their proper beds.
Evelyn flees Riddle's eyes, uncertain, afraid and hesitant. From everything the girl had learned, what was most prominent in her memory was that she should respect the older students and the hierarchy that existed inside the House.
"She is not going back there."
The young girl tightens her grip on Hermione's left hand when she hears the words that are, in Evelyn's perspective, bravely uttered in her defence.
"The Vow. I stopped that." Riddle says and to Evelyn's ears that has no meaning. But she understood that it was a private conversation between the two older students. "She needs to go back." Now, that was an order.
"Did you really stop that?" Hermione asked, suspicious. She couldn't let a child go back to that situation, but she also couldn't change what should happen... Could she?
Riddle nods. "For now."
He looks at Evelyn Thomas, who looks at Hermione, who against all her heart's wishes, confirms for Evelyn to go to the Slytherin dorm. Evelyn hugs Hermione.
"I will not forget what you did." Slytherins remember those who help them as much as they remember those who harm them. In a way, they have a good memory and are a little bit resentful to those who did them wrong. Her arms tried to exert maximum strength before she let go and turned away from Hermione. She still didn't want to go to the dorms of her House, but she didn't seem to have much of a choice and maybe that was terrifying.
She passes slowly by Riddle, who follows every movement she makes with his eyes, and as soon as she was out of his field of vision, she ran. Tom and Hermione watch the girl disappear into the shadows of the corridor that lead to the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. Hermione is once again concerned, but she has to believe that Riddle is telling the truth, even though she is not satisfied with the situation.
And so, she is alone with Riddle. They look at each other in that quiet environment, so he reaches for her. Invading her personal space as fast as an arrow, holding the wrist with one hand where he knew the wand was in the holster - a detail he realized by watching her - his left hand holds her slender neck and part of her jaw, not to strangle - even though he was in a favourable position for such an act - but only to immobilize and corner her against the wall. As close as he was, he could feel her warm breath against his skin and the sweet smell of the wine they had both drunk.
"You shouldn't have attacked the members of the Slytherin House." He chides her. For Tom, it is a complicated feeling. Even though he finds it exciting - similar to the adrenaline of a spell reaching its target - that she is powerful, intelligent, and that he even admires her stubbornness a little, he cannot have her fighting against his Knights and the other members of the Slytherin House in such a rampant way, especially when it was he who had invited her to the snake's den. It is not that he cares about the health of his Housemates, far from it. Of course, few will dare to question him, but if this becomes common behaviour, the Knights' bloodlust would have to be fed and they will begin to question too much. That's why he needs to keep everyone under a tight leash, so no one will be comfortable enough to try to go against him.
He also could not disregard her actions forever, just as he could not disregard the Vow. Tom will not allow her to have an ace up her sleeve to use against him whenever and however she wanted. He has to retaliate in return so he wouldn't feel indebted to her, especially after what she saw and knew, but he also has to be in control. Otherwise, the lioness that she is could turn relentless. But he doesn't want to think of her as an enemy - even if he doesn't trust anyone blindly - yet she is so far proving to be safe, allowing him to be himself. Unassuming. But she has only seen a third of what he is capable of and yet, his head is starting to fill with thoughts of her being a formidable ally.
But above that, there is something about her that makes him have feelings and sensations that he is inexperienced in. Her fierce expression moves him, trailing goosebumps on his skin like a caress and he finds himself unable not to look all over her face and focus on her lips. What is it? He wonders, and somehow he knows what it is. He's not a fool. However, the why and how he is feeling this is what disturbs him. He does not care about these things, as he is as detached from this idea as anything else that does not interest him - where there is no benefit, there is no interest. But Granger is starting to get him interested in it, making him try to see the benefits and he is a voracious hunter of emotions that make him feel alive and powerful.
There is a fire in her, a spark of determination in her eyes, within her pupils. An inner fire. She wasn't the type to be submissive if she didn't want to. However, that inner fire is coming towards him and it is certainly not friendly. Hermione grunts and squeezes Riddle's wrists so she can get him away from her. She pushes him, gaining a little personal space.
"So, are we back to this?" She asks, hurt by the order in his voice and the short time that peace between them reigned. It hasn't lasted even a day at Hogwarts. Her words seem to affect him. He looks at her as angrily as the beginning of desire is forgotten for a moment, his jaw stiffens in disgust at the new clash they have. "Isn't there a day when we can return to Hogwarts and not hate each other again? And stop doing what? " She asks with a defiant expression. "Prevent them from hurting anyone?"
"She's a mudblood!" Tom snaps. In his thoughts, she also shouldn't be so attached to a mudblood.
"She is a child!" Hermione counters. "She is magical and that is what matters. You more than anyone know that what matters is magic!"
They face each other. Hermione couldn't say whether Tom Riddle hates Muggle-borns and half-blood because of what he considered to be his own impurity in his blood or if he really considers himself the purest of wizards because he is the last known descendant of Salazar Slytherin. But the truth is that Tom does not have hatred towards Muggle-borns - or so he thinks - just a great disdain for everything and everyone he considers inferior to him. Even a pure-blooded wizard from one of the most renowned families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight could be under the sole of his shoe, being just a disposable pawn in his great game of chess.
"I will not discuss this with you." She seems to be resentful. "Nothing I say can change your mind, can it?"
If he is surprised, he doesn't show it.
"Very well," Tom replies, lifting his chin slightly. "Nobody's going to want the mudblood girl." When Hermione makes a confused expression, Tom continues. "We have a sponsorship system inside the Slytherin House. You will have to protect her from a lot, I guarantee that. " He says, already turning his back on Hermione.
Irritated by his lack of empathy and for her having let Evelyn go back, she shouts at Tom Riddle, who is already walking towards the entrance to the Common Room.
"Okay, I will protect her! I'll take care of her -"Hermione doesn't care that anyone can hear her or that the Bloody Baron himself came after her "- just as I took care of you!"
He stops at once and turns to face her, but she is already gone.
Running up the stairs to go after her, Tom Riddle grabs her arm to prevent her from running away. She looks over her shoulder with a furious expression and tears in her eyes; tears that she would never allow herself to shed in front of him. Her breathing is fast as she was losing control of her emotions, aware that the impulsive part of her personality can manifest.
Tom lets her go, removing the grip he has on her arm as if she is hot as fire and he has attacked her in the worst way. But for Hermione, that's exactly how she felt. The attacks on Evelyn Thomas roused Hermione's defence system as if she were being attacked.
He wants to go after her when she leaves and he almost does, but his day and night have been long. He would deal with her eventually and by eventually he means tomorrow.
Already lying on her bed in the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione kept thinking about events. Her housemates were already asleep and everything was quiet, making her realize that she had spent too much time at the snake pit. One of the worst parts of that night was Alphard Black's betrayal. It was not quite a blunt betrayal, but a choice that showed how far Alphard could go for his family. That he could make horrible choices, even though he knew his family was wrong, that they were all wrong. He was someone she trusted, kind,, who until then had had no problem with her being a Muggle-born, but this was the second time he had done this to her.
And what was up with Tom Riddle? She had no words to describe her encounter with him.
o0o
Tom entered the common room, already calm and silent, the students in their dormitories. The flames from the fireplace were the largest source of lighting in the dark greenish room. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed the small figure sitting on one of the sofas in front of the fireplace. Walking calmly towards the person, Tom Riddle approached, perhaps not too surprised to find her there.
"Shouldn't you be in your bed?" He asked, watching as she winced when she heard his voice, possibly not noticing his presence.
Oh, she has a lot to learn, Tom thought. If the girl was going to stay in Slytherin, she would have to learn to be alert. In fact, in her little muggle world, she could be considered a smart girl, attentive to everything that happened around her, but there, in Slytherin, everyone shared the same basic characteristics that made a student suited for that House. Some were more proficient than others. So, if she was there, she needed to improve those skills. Although he thought she wouldn't last long.
He walked around, his shoes making small noises with each step until he sat on his favourite chair. The one that was closest to the fire, where he has a privileged view of the flames and everything that happened around him. He noticed how she stiffened when she caught on to what he was thinking of. He stood right where he was and she tried to escape his gaze, but he doesn't even need to use Legilimency to know that she must be thinking about how to get out of there. He smiled, his left hand entered the flame of the fireplace and he played calmly with the fire, moving his fingers through it without burning himself.
She held her breath and he saw the impressed and covetous look she had, she longed to do the same.
"I asked a question." Tom removed his hand from the fire and blew the magic flames that dissolved into nothing, looking directly at her.
She looked down and the small hands grabbed her own pyjama pants, casting a look or two in his direction and she thought it prudent not to fail to answer his question.
"I am afraid." Evelyn's voice sounded soft, childish and low, submissive and feeling inferior.
"Afraid?" He questioned. "Fear is for the weak. Are you weak?" He had no empathy for her. To be honest, he had no empathy for almost anything. She was no exception. She trembled and shook her head, a pathetic attempt to deny the truth to his eyes. He laughed, a small, almost cheerful laugh.
Evelyn dared to look at him when she heard the sound of his laughter. There was something so strangely attractive about him and she referred to it as the synonym for power. Lying there, sitting in that armchair, with the light from the fireplace creating shadows and lights on his face, it made him look undeniably powerful.
"What did she say to you?" He asked, curious. His question caught her off guard and she noticed that she must have been looking at him for too long. He rested one arm on the chair, closed his hand in a fist and rested his head on it, his eyes never leaving hers. When she was slow to answer for not knowing the right answer, he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow speculatively.
"I asked her what it meant to be a mudblood."
White teeth appeared when an unfriendly smile stretched over his face.
"She said it was a bad word used by wizards and witches who fear that I might become more powerful and steal their magic." Evelyn continued. She looked down when she finished speaking and shook her legs, trying not to be disturbed by the silence that had settled down and by his presence. "Is it true? What she said, is it true? "
Ah, ignorance of a Muggle-born in the Wizarding World. Reluctantly he compares her situation to his. He was also a layman, obviously, he is no longer.
"Lying, she is not. You are just a mudblood to everyone. "
"I will prove them wrong."
Tom Riddle gets up, a smile with eyes closed.
"Really?" He asked, approaching her, stopping in front of her. "Then you will have to face a lot. Be careful not to make enemies that you can't beat. " He put his hand on top of Evelyn's head, her hair is soft to his touch. There was a strange urge to grab the girl's hair, but he just patted her on the head as if she were some kind of pet.
"I am going to bed." She got up, naively ignoring the danger. Tom let her go.
He was particularly uncomfortable with children. He spent too much time with them at the Orphanage to know that. For him, they were usually loud and inexplicably vile. Somehow, there would always be drool or mucus coming from somewhere from them.
On the first step of the stairs, she stopped and looked at him.
"Fear is for the weak, isn't it?"
"Yes." He confirmed. "Fear is for the weak."
He watched the girl finally go to the dorm and for a fleeting moment, his eyes shone red as vivid as the colour of blood. Tom made a movement with his neck from side to side, cracking the tension there. He walked, finally alone, the only sound coming from the fireplace - where the wood burned endlessly - and his breathing, stopping right in front of the flames.
His thoughts were full of the events of that night, especially of Granger. He was still absorbing what the little muggle-born had said about the conversation she had with her, but his mind was now and again replaying the moments he had been with her. Tom was trying very hard to control himself, but his mind was enveloped in a haze of thoughts that focused on the closeness between them, both when he had removed the spell he had cast on her, and the one just then in one of the corridors of the Dungeons. Awakening goosebumps that went up the skin of his arms up to his neck like a caress, things he couldn't control and didn;t understand the feeling. He looked intently at the crackling fire, opening his mouth a little to exhale a little faster.
The flames that seemed to dance, licking the wood, burning endlessly in the fireplace, took shape and Granger's face appeared in the fire. The flames mimicked the smooth movement of Granger's uncontrollable hair and the vigour of her determined expression. But it was obvious that this was happening to his eyes only, that he was only seeing the image of Granger in the fire, because of himself. It was his magic creating the image of the unconscious desire he had and with disbelief, he lowered his gaze, taking charge of the situation and not allowing himself to believe it. With that, the flames returned to normal, but the noise of the wood crackling would always be a constant future reminder from then on.
"My Lord."
Tom Riddle blinked, recognizing the voice.
"Malfoy."
Abraxas Malfoy came down the stairs dressed in a black satin men's pyjama set.
"I thought you were already resting, my Lord."
Malfoy's voice broke the music coming from the flames of the fireplace, for the quiet peace of the Common Room and for Tom Riddle, despite his thoughts being as incessant as possible. Riddle's temperament was like the phases of the moon, easily modified if he so let himself go, and Malfoy's voice, the inconvenience of his presence in the moment of intimate reflection seemed to attract Riddle's anger to the surface. Honestly admitting to himself, this side of him had always been on the prowl, with the potential to come to the surface in the blink of an eye and apparently it would grace Malfoy with it.
Abraxas Malfoy, in Tom Riddle's view, was the most loyal of his followers, along with Lestrange. He bestowed upon Malfoy a level of trust, yet it was not with blind confidence. He trusted Malfoy to make others follow the order of things when he was not present, and that false sense of power seemed to guarantee Abraxas' loyalty, yet it did not impune him from punishment . At that moment, the pupils of Tom's eyes involuntarily contracted as he advanced towards Malfoy. He grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and pushed him against one of the columns of the Common Room, it was so sudden that Abraxas had no time to react and with wide eyes Abraxas looked at Riddle's face, fearing what his Lord would do.
Riddle's proximity was unsettling and Abraxas faltered under the influence of it, and as if without a sense of personal space, Tom took advantage of the moment to get closer. So close, Abraxas could not look away as he knew he must not escape Riddle's gaze.
"M-my Lord ...?" He tried. Malfoy didn't understand what he did wrong. But before he even had the chance to apologize for anything he might have done, he felt it. It was like a grip, like digging nails into his head, into his brain, into his thoughts. Riddle was invading his head mercilessly, violating the privacy of his memories. Malfoy felt the sharp disorienting sound in his ears as if he was going deaf. He didn't know what his Lord was looking for in his thoughts, in his head and as much as he wass reluctant, he did not resist and instead let Riddle see whatever he wanted to see rather than going through mental torture.
Malfoy didn't know what his lord was looking for, however little did Malfoy know that Riddle did not know either. There was no clear purpose there but to torture Malfoy out of a whim of irritation. He invaded like that, without even thinking twice, breaking the natural mental barriers that any human being had as if it were dust. Tom was not kind, he went through Malfoy's thoughts and emotions, dismissing them as if they were nothing, however, leaving a mark of pain. Within out of his reality, he could see Malfoy twitch involuntarily. He was not looking for something specific and for the time being, he had no interest in his conversations with his family or with the Knights, nor in Abraxas' intimate life, he just wanted to cause pain. This was the reason.
However, Riddle's subconscious seemed to have a purpose and he found himself pausing in Malfoy's memories of Granger. In the memory, he sees through Abraxas' eyes, and Granger was dancing.
I was dancing ... Riddle remembers the explanation she had given about her hair being so rebellious. What she had said was true, she hadn't lied to him, but she forgot to mention that the younger brother Prewett was involved in that too. Laughing so blatantly cheerful for Prewett. This left him with a strange simmer in his stomach, which burnt inside him, similar to the sensation he had had in the Hogwarts Express cabin.
His anger seemed to be reflected in his mental attack as Malfoy gasped in pain.
Tom discarded the memory, focusing on the next, the warm clash between Malfoy and Granger in the corridor. In Malfoy's emotions, he didn't seem to hate Granger, he seemed to be relatively neutral to her presence, but there was curiosity and suspicion. Like any good Slytherin.
Thus, Riddle retracted the mental invasion and let Malfoy go. He looked at the state of Abraxas, who was visibly dejected, pale and shaking, eyes fraught. A trail of blood ran down one of his nostrils and he, with his right hand shaking, touches it when he felt the hot liquid, then looked at his hand and then back at his Lord. Mentally weak, Malfoy crumbled upon himself on his knees, breathing quickly and with an incessant headache which seemed it would last for days.
"I'm going to retire." Tom said politely, as if nothing had transpired, going up the stairs to the boys' dorm and leaving Malfoy there.
-
Tom let the hot water fall on his body. He was in one of the five showers in his dorm bathroom.
Now that they were in the sixth year, they were relocated to the boys' dormitory that corresponded to the school year they were in. As always, he preferred his bed to be the furthest away, this time he got a privileged view of one of the windows overlooking the lake bottom. Sometimes it was possible to see the tentacles or the whole of The Giant Squid itself.
He rested his arms against the tiles in the shower and let his head fall, water running through his dark hair, as he stared into the dark hole in the drain where the water was disappearing. Even though the hot water bathed his skin, his arms shivered.
I'm sick. That was the only answer for him. Which was, in fact, wrong and ironic. He never got sick, not once that he remembered, but he was starting to think that this was the case, because he was unable to stop thinking about Granger.
Tom opened his mouth to let his gasping breath out. He tried to erase her image from his mind, but it was unsuccessful, which left him so frustrated that he punched the tile. Stop, fuck. But his mind clenched to the remembrance of the closeness between them and what he did not want to happen, happened. His member started to harden into an erection.
No. He tried to deny it - I'm not going to do that. He did not want to 'stoop' to doing this act, it would be admitting that he desired her sexually, which would go against a part of him that he believed he managed to control . To be honest, the only time he had masturbated was at the age of thirteen and he didn't even remember the reason that made him want to do it He attributed it to a phase of puberty, indicating physical changes. After that day, never again. Of course, he would consider some girl pretty or ugly, arrogant or shy, see the size of her breasts, rear and thighs, he harbored some scientific curiosity about the female's anatomy, but he largely ignored these things because there was no sexual interest on his part unless he would gain something out of it, other than that he always remained in control. And then, Granger came to test that side which never before awoke.
Fuck it. He was not a puritan at all and did not have strict obedience to anything, following only his own personal code.
He did what had to be done. He put his right hand around his member in a slightly tight grip and moved his hand back and forth, the friction, the movement was good enough to overwhelm his mind's sensory receptors and pull a sigh from Tom's lips, causing him to close his eyes. He felt himself grow stiffer,, pulsing, enlarging and quickly becoming fully erect. He tried not to imagine anything, tried to leave his mind blank, while continuing with the repetitive movement of his hand, but that didn't seem to work and the pleasant relief seemed to elude him, which was frustrating and made him ache somehow. Then, reluctantly, he let her image infiltrate his most intimate thoughts.
Tom didn't know what her body looked like, not without clothes, the silhouette of her body that he knew of was the outline made by the uniform and he didn't know what she looked like under the fabrics layers. What was the real size of her breasts, what were their shape, were they tear shaped, round, were they perfectly identical or were there small differences between them? What was her belly, waist and hips, the apex of her thighs and the intimacy between her legs like? Of course, he knew, biologically speaking, what the female body looked like, but he specifically wanted to know hers.
He didn't notice in the moments he was with her in detail. What he studied and interested him at first was her personality, behaviour, attitude, intellectual and magical level and that in itself drew his attention to the point that he started to consider her a formidable ally. But now, here he was, touching himself and thinking about her.
The lack of detailed knowledge about her body left room for imagination and it was exactly what he did. He saw her body, within the proportions he could deduct, the valley between her breasts that he once had the curiosity to touch to get the necklace she hid between, the legs that were dressed in those strange pants that shaped her thighs and calves, Tom clung to the memories where he perceived her body and combined the two memories into one, this time imagining her naked. The image made him falter and the rhythm of the hand increased. He was close, but it is not enough. She never called him by his chosen name, she called him 'Riddle', but it seemed wrong to imagine her there, calling him 'Riddle' - his father's muggle name - didn't convey the intimacy necessary for him to come, so he imagined how it must be her calling him 'My Lord'.
Oh. In the right timbre, sighing in his ear, the auditory fantasy of her worshipping his power sent pleasure impulses through his body.
"Ah...!" He muffled the sound with a clenched first. This felt right. At that moment he did not understand why he had deprived himself from this for so long. It didn't make sense. His cock twitched in excitement, the throbbing member still full in antecipation. .
What else did he need to do to come?
His vivid detail of her turned more audacious and formed into an image so contrasting to her demure demeanour which greatly appealed to him, imagining her touching her breasts, the tips of her nipples and the areola that were probably pink, squeezing and groaning his worship. Dangerous combination. One hand continued on the breasts, while the other went down a sinful path down her flat belly, going towards, further south. The way of sin. The hand hiding between her supple legs that were closed, and when he pictured her slowly parting her legs for him, he comes.
"...!"He clenched his teeth to keep out any sound while the orgasm encompassed his rationale. He came in his hand, while the rest fell on the shower floor, running down the drain along with the water. Tom found his mind to be blank for a fleeting moment as spasms of pleasure ran over his body.
He lifted his head upwards to let the water cascade down and wash over his face. His chest expanded and retracted to follow his heavy breathing.
Already lying on his bed after a long shower, dressed in gray second-rate cotton pajamas - something very different than what Malfoy, Lestrange and others had - Tom's body felt relaxed, his head heavy on the pillow, while he stared at the dark green - almost black - canopy of the bed.
He decided that he would not condemn himself for what he had done. He masturbated thinking about her, so what? How many people didn't fantasise and act on carnal needs? It was not like he was touching her against her will. He would not condemn himself and would do anything to make this act last before the next, but he was not so sure whether he could commit to it. He had enjoyed immensely the feeling, even if quick, euphoria exploded within his mind and almost as if a voracious hunter of emotions, he felt he would need more.
Nobody knew and neither did she need to ever know.
In the morning, Tom was already finishing wearing his uniform, while part of his dormmates were waking up. Nott was trying to tie his tie correctly, Malfoy was still in the shower, Rosier was waking up, and Lestrange was coming out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. Without any modesty, Lestrange removed the towel from his waist and tossed it on his bed, picking up his uniform pants so he could put them on.
"Fuck, turn it over there." Nott said with an expression of disgust at Lestrange's blatant nakedness.
"What is it, Nott? Never seen a cock in your life? " Lestrange replied.
"I still need to have breakfast. That sight makes me sick. "
"If you continue to complain, I will think that you are a little girl."Lestrange pulled the zipper and buttoned his pants.
Tom rolled his eyes. Malfoy came out of the bathroom, running a hand through his blond - almost white - hair.
"Malfoy." Tom attracted his attention. "You will inform me how the Blacks are doing. Lestrange, make sure that no one from Slytherin House says anything about what happened yesterday. " Lestrange smiled with joy and Malfoy nodded.
"And the mudblood girl? Nott questioned.
Did Tom care about the girl? No. He 'saved' her because of Hermione. He had done his part. There was nothing else to do. If the girl stayed, she would have to know how to manage, he would not babysit her. She didn't matter to him.
Tom shrugged at Nott's question.
o0o
She was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, resting her elbow on the table while massaging the left temple of her head. Hermione had woken up early, even earlier than Ectur, there were very few students in the Great Hall besides her. She had a huge headache and last night's events prevented her from sleeping well. Even the simple sound of the teaspoon she was stirring in her teacup felt like a cat scratching a blackboard for her.
Repeat the sixth year, who knew? She snorted, annoyed at anything.
The doors of the Great Hall opened and to Hermione's surprise, it was Evelyn Thomas who had entered. She still looked lost, but she would have preferred to follow her path alone than to be with the other girls in the Slytherin House. She looked around, there were few students and she thought that if she came earlier, she could have breakfast in a more peaceful way.
Her eyes met Hermione's and she smiled slightly.Hermione returned the smile. The Gryffindor table, Evelyn thought. She wanted to go there, but she knew that her path was the opposite way to where she was supposed to go. She was a Slytherin, after all.
With that, she took a deep breath and walked over to the Slytherin table. The five students at the table looked at her with disgust when she sat down. Evelyn looked down, but thought of the words Fear is for the weak.
Hermione looked at Evelyn, a little concerned for the girl, who was alone at the Slytherin table. Hermione took a long drink of hot tea when someone dropped Divination books on the table in front of her.
"Are you going out with Malfoy?" Enid asked, leaning over on the books, too impatient to sit before spilling it out..
The moment she heard the question, Hermione spit out the tea while some of the liquid almost spilled out of her nose. Painful, certainly. But nothing was worse than the assumption that she was dating a Malfoy.
"What!?"
"I'm asking if you're seeing Malfoy." Enid asked again, finally sitting down opposite of Hermione.
"Where did you get that from?" Outraged, Hermione asked.
"Maybe it's because you guys met last night."
Not that it was Enid's business, but Hermione had nothing to hide. She was clearly not going out with Malfoy, nor did she intend to. Merlin, free her from this burden! But also, Hermione would not tell what happened at the Slytherin House, if she opened her mouth about it, the Riddle Gang would never leave her alone.
"Definitely not. I am not with Malfoy. He wanted to say that Riddle was waiting for me in the Dungeons to return the book he had borrowed from me, nothing more. " Hermione lied in the last part.
Enid looked at her for a moment and Hermione held her gaze, and she seemed to accept that answer.
Bilius and Ectur came moments later and sat at the table next to them. As Bilius devoured breakfast, Ectur took a strand of Hermione's unruly hair and curiously pulled it out, watching as the curl of her hair returned to the same position as a coiled spring. She smiled, before putting the stray hair behind her ear. Her hair didn't seem to cooperate with the fashionable pin-up style and she didn't insist on it, opting to leave her hair down.
Her hair was certainly more tame than when she was in her early years at Hogwarts, but was still rebellious.
The Great Hall soon became full of students with the noise of incessant conversation and cutlery. Algie sat next to Enid, talking to Ignatius. Ignatius Prewett became the new Quidditch captain. A murmur that started at the end of the table, passed from person to person - the first gossip of the day - 'Lucretia Black is wearing an opal engagement ring.' 'Ignatius and Lucretia are engaged.' 'Ignatius is going to marry a Black.' 'Lucretia Black is going to marry Prewett.'
When the conversation had reached Prewett's ears, he stopped chewing and threw a fork on his plate. His facial expression was sulky and he locked his jaw.
"Ig..." Enid murmured and Algie put a hand on his shoulder. Ectur looked at his brother complacently and Hermione smiled sympathetically.
The Slytherin table it didn't look any different from Gryffindor. Everyone was commenting, while from Hermione's vision, Lucretia looked like she was going to have an aneurysm.
It was at that moment that Riddle and his most loyal followers entered, Riddle at the front. They were boys, inexplicably handsome, and even Hermione couldn't deny it. They entered as if they were the owners of the school, walked and seemed to everyone to be in slow motion. It was clear as day that they were the most popular bunch and as always, anyone part of their social circle were 'privileged.'
They were at the head of the Slytherin table and it was only then that Hermione realized that there really was a hierarchy there. Her gaze passed over all the members until the end of the table, where Evelyn was sitting like a doormat, for the Slytherins, the lowest place. Hermione clenched her hand under the table.
When she looked back, Riddle was staring at her. She ignored him and focused on the jam toast that was on her plate.
In the background, Dumbledore as Deputy Headmaster was saying something about the best students in each year last year. She was largely ignoring what was being said, much more focused on eating toast. She was glad that such oddly public distinction was not practiced during her time as it fueled animosity intra and inter Houses. Jealousy festered rather quickly and Hermione was all too familiar with the antics of hormonal teens, having been part of the Golden Trio.
"- And to my surprise, to the Headmaster Dippet and also to that of all the other teachers, we got a tie for first place in the fifth year."
"Hey, Lovegood and Riddle tied?" Bilius commented to his friends, but Hermione was still oblivious to what was being said, and rather stubbornly preferred to ignore such announcements Ectur shrugged and so did Algie, as if they didn't understand what was going on.
"Second in the ranking of the best fifth graders, Miss Lovegood. Pearl Lovegood." Dumbledore announced and the Ravenclaw table clapped for Pearl. "First place, Riddle. Tom Riddle." The Slytherin table did not fall short, they clapped and cheered their most distinguished student. "But in first place, there is also Miss Granger. Hermione Granger."
When the Gryffindor House table cheered as they clapped, Hermione was startled to reality.
"Hermione, it's you!" Ignatius said from across the table.
"Hm? What?" She asked without understanding.
"You managed to beat Riddle in the finals ranking. You drew with him! " Ectur spoke beside her.
From the far end, Riddle was looking at her again. Whether he was happy with it or not, he didn't show it.
In any case, she had attracted too much attention to her and it couldn't happen.
-
The first class they had was Transfiguration with Professor Dumbledore.
"Can you believe that?" Bilius complained, while he, Hermione and Ectur walked towards the Transfiguration classroom. "Most of our classes are with Slytherin."
"What classes did you sign up for, Hermione?" Ectur asked.
"All but Divination and Astronomy."
Tom Riddle was already seated, waiting for the Transfiguration class to start. The space beside him was empty because he believed that Granger would sit next to him in class as she had done in the past few weeks last year. But it was not like that, she had instead joined Bilius and Ectur, the three discussing Divination classes, which she seemed annoyed about. He could overhead her clearly claiming that Runes classes were better.
Granger hadn't even looked at him properly, preferring to sit next to Prewett, making his hand tighten into a fist. The image he got from Malfoy's memories was still fresh in his mind. He controlled himself, was impassive again, even though her laughter was bothering him.
He is still digesting the information that she managed to tie him in the ranking, Tom doesn't know how to feel about it, obviously, he doesn't like to share. The darkest and most suspicious part of his mind says he should keep an eye on her.
The class begins, Dumbledore is a teacher much more of practice than of theory, but sometimes he gives some long speeches mixed with sermons, today is one of those days. Explaining what it means to be a sixth-year student and how it changes the work they will have. From now on, things would get more serious. And none of the students doubted it.
"To move forward, it is necessary to regress. This is the theme that I and all the other teachers agreed to be for your first two months. We decided that before you move on to new lessons, we need your practicality. So, don't be alarmed if you are initially tested on subjects that belong to the fifth, fourth or even first year. " Dumbledore explained. "So, who remembers how to conjure a perfect bubble stream?"
What a childish thing. Tom rolled his eyes and without saying a word, made a non-verbal bubble-conjuring spell. His magic was so strong and he was so skilled that he filled the classroom with bubbles in a matter of seconds.
As much as Dumbledore might think there was something wrong with Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boy he once visited at the orphanage, he could not deny or fail to admire Tom's magical abilities.
"Very well, Mr Riddle." Dumbledore praised. "How about something more difficult and solid now? Something from the fourth year? "
Hermione, unable to stop herself from grasping the opportunity of being taught by Dumbledore - something she had only imagined - conjured a chair, practically a throne, fashioned in a true Gryffindor way for Dumbledore. He smiled at her.
"Very well, Miss Granger."
Thus followed the class, each student having the opportunity to prove their knowledge. When Dumbledore informed them that the end of the class was over, everyone started to pack to leave.
"Miss Granger, may I have a word with you?"
She stopped the path she was taking to leave the classroom, Bilius and Ectur as well, but she made a sign indicating that they could go.
"Of course," Hermione responded to Dumbledore's request. Riddle passed by her and their eyes met, for a moment she noticed distress, maybe even fear and reluctance for him to leave her there. But she turned and he had no other choice than to leave the room. " Professor Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore was sitting, looking at her. "How are you?"
Hermione gave a half-smile, tinged with some sadness. "Well, I think. Worried about Harry. I still haven't been able to find a solution."
" I may have been told that you always keep an eye on him."
"I am very worried about him." She replied sincerely, frowning. "I don't know what caused this, I have some ideas, that's for sure. But... He's not waking up and it scares me. "
"Maybe I can help if you tell me some of those ideas."
"Oh, I wish I could tell, I would like it so much. But if I tell... " Hermione looked at her nails. "I wonder if we are already changing history." She looked at Dumbledore. "I am afraid, Professor Dumbledore. A type of fear I never thought of feeling." Her voice became more choked in the end." There are things, things that I did, that I think I shouldn't have done. But I couldn't stop myself. There was something that told me it should be done and I couldn't resist, it didn't go according to what I believe. And maybe, I don't know, maybe... "
"How you tie with Mr Riddle in the top ranking? " He suggested, drawing a smile from Hermione and smiling back to her.
"My fault." She smiled. "I can not avoid it. Sometimes it is a matter of necessity to answer correctly." Hermione looked under her lashes like a child who had been caught doing something wrong. "I didn't even think about the ranking." She defended herself.
That was when Dumbledore smiled the most she had seen him ever since meeting him during this time. "How was your vacation?"
Now, that question made Hermione stiffen. What should she say? Should she tell Dumbledore that Riddle had spent the vacation with her? That she saw the abuse at the orphanage? Should she say everything she knows about Tom Riddle?
"My vacation was good." She said simply. The tone of voice was devoid of emotion. It was not that she was suspicious of Dumbledore, far from it, but it reminded her that Dumbledore knew what was going on in the orphanage and had done nothing to change it, which affected Hermione's emotions on this subject. It was not like she was living in a field of flowers with Riddle, it was more like a field of thorns, and it was not like he was or made an effort to be a good person. But she would not say anything, otherwise, everything would go down the drain.
If Dumbledore noticed her vague response - which he obviously did - he decided not to comment.
"I spent most of it studying how to get home." Hermione continued. "The truth is, I don't know where to start. I'm lost."
"How about you start from the beginning?"
"Hm?" She wrinkled her forehead.
"Where do you think your necklace came from?"
It was then that Hermione knew that he was aware of the amulet having magic related to Slytherin. Of course, no one was a fool at that time - especially Dumbledore.
"You know, don't you, Professor Dumbledore?"
He shook his head. "Try to start there." He suggested. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Granger, I think you'd better go to your next class before you're too late."
"Oh, right." She held her school bag and glanced over her shoulder at Dumbledore to say, "Thank you, professor." Thanking him for the advice he had given.
When she opened the door, the first-year students rushed in, looking forward to the first Transfiguration class. In the background, as she closed the door, she heard Dumbledore start the class, smiling at the new students.
In fact, she wasn't too surprised to find Tom Riddle waiting for her in the corridor with arms crossed in front of his chest and leaning slightly against one of the columns, dressed in full Slytherin uniform that was very suitingly.
She passed him and he followed her.
"What are you doing here?" She asked. "Aren't you going to be late for your next class?"
"Waiting for you of course. You got lost on the way to your next class and I'm helping you find your way. "
"No one will believe this. I'm already familiar with the school, Riddle. "
They continued walking in the empty corridor.
"So, we lost time talking in the corridor," Riddle said. " Which is what we are clearly doing." He took her arm, preventing her from continuing. "Look at me when we're talking, don't ignore me."
Hermione turned to him and looked at him with a frown.
"What did you say to Dumbledore?" His jaw was locked, an expression of few friends, an angry gleam in his eyes and the tone of his voice that was able to give shiver to her arms.
Oh, so is that it? She wondered. Of course, he wouldn't let her go without knowing what she had said to Dumbledore, not when she knew too much about him. He thought she would break the little trust he has placed in her. He felt threatened by Dumbledore, who was the only person who kept him in check.
"Nothing." She replied and he released her immediately. "I said nothing." Hermione shook her head to emphasize her point of view. Tom looked her over from head to toe, not knowing what to say for a moment.
"I didn't say anything, okay? This is between us." She continued.
"A secret? With me, Granger?" He wasn't complaining, but he imagined that as soon as she had gotten back to Hogwarts, she would open her mouth and tell Dumbledore everything. That was his biggest fear, that's why he made the Vow with her. But again she proved to him that she was not as Dumbledore imagined to be and it satisfied him more than he could put into words.
He comes closer to her.
"I don't know what you want from me anymore." She walks away, leaning her hand on the protective fence that prevents any student from falling from the second floor of the castle, while looking at the horizon." Look, I don't care what you do to your 'friends', nor about your darkest thoughts -" Lie, she knows she is telling lies. She cares more than she wants to show "- but leave me out of it. I don't want to get involved, I don't want to make contact with your friends. I don't want to have anything to do with it. "
It was a lie, she would care if he hurt someone, she would care about tortures and dark spells as he gradually built up his army of thousands of followers, but she didn't want to be his target. She didn't want him to pay attention to her.
"Make them stay away from me." She asked, still looking at the horizon. Riddle leaned back against one of the columns, looking curiously at her, trying to assemble her as he assembled a puzzle.
"Are you afraid of them?"
She snorts.
"I can protect myself." Hermione turns away, leaving Riddle alone in the hall. He looks at her as she walks away.
We are only at the beginning.
He had started walking to go to the next class when he suddenly stopped. He looked suspiciously over his shoulder at every corner of the empty corridor and swore that someone had been watching him and Granger talking.
o0o
That night, Tom had decided to go to the Chamber of Secrets to get the diary back. He needed to feed the diary with new memories and emotions, just as he needed to share his thoughts.
Hermione was reading the same page in the book for the fifth time, the fireplace fire in the Gryffindor Common Room no longer seemed to offer warmth. She needed fresh air, judging by the late hour - with her housemates already asleep and she being the only one in the common room - the monitors must have already eased the rounds. She decided to sneak out.
Tom arrived at Moaning Myrtle bathroom. He didn't find her there. Who knew where that weeping ghost was and he frankly didn't care. He turned to the sink and whispered in his ancestral language. Parseltongue.
Hermione was in the corridors, the moonlight between the clouds illuminated the path for her, but it also cast the shadows of the columns on the floor. She breathed in the cool, cold air and sought some help and companionship in solitude.
Tom was in the Chamber of Secrets, looking at the statue of the famous Slytherin Salazar. The Basilisk was asleep, still obeying the master's last order. He walked towards the secret room inside the Chamber.
Clouds hid the moonlight and momentarily the corridor went dark, she took a deep breath and she saw something in the darkness. Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to identify whatever was standing in the dark. The clouds passed, and the moonlight returned and Hermione's expression turned to shock. She took a step back.
Tom picked up the diary with a smile on his face, feeling his own magic. His first Horcrux. One of his greatest creations. The magic was strong and dark, but it recognised who it belonged to. Tom opened the diary.
Hermione looked at the figure covered in a black cloak that crawled on the floor, with long sleeves that hid the hands, the hood covering the head and where the face should have been, there was only darkness looking at her. The culprit of her and Harry being arrested in the year 1943. How did he get here too? What did this person want from her and Harry? Who was that person? They faced each other, the person turned away from her, moving away, luring Hermione and Hermione ran after the person.
Tom wrote.
Hello.
Hello, Tom. How are we doing? The diary replies.
Hermione runs, she runs as fast as if her life depends on it. And in a way it depends. She follows the path that the Hooded does, running down the stairs, following him or her, without stopping.
A lot has happened. Tom writes.
What would be 'a lot'? I'm curious. The diary tries to play, with the same morbid and sombre sense of humour as Tom Marvolo Riddle.
When Tom hesitates, the diary demands the memories:
Give it to me.
Hermione cannot t believe they are close to the Great Lake at Hogwarts
"Come back here!" She almost screams, demanding that they stop running. She stumbles over the gravel on the edge of the Great Lake, but quickly recovers and points her wand at her target. The Hooded person stops and turns, looking into the dark face was somehow scary.
Tom points his wand at his right temple, a bright white line comes out of Tom's head, he directs the memories to the diary and with a gesture, cuts the memory link with his wand.
The diary page lits up after receiving the memory and emotions of each event, and Tom waits until the diary absorbs everything that has happened. And then:
Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Granger. Granger. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Hermione Granger.
Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Hermione. Granger. Granger. Hermione. Hermione Granger.
The diary has gone into a frenzy.
-----
Naja Melanoleuca, also known as Forest Snake. The fourteenth most poisonous snake in the world.
Author's note: This chapter was more focused on Tom Riddle, I think? Please tell me what you think of the chapter. I don't know if this was a good chapter, I'm in doubt.
I always thought that in canon, Tom Riddle / Lord Voldemort was asexual. If he had any interaction with the opposite sex, it would be with ulterior motives. But in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, we find that he had a daughter with Bellatrix, named Delphini and that J.K. Rowling approved. So, I give up!