A/N: This chapter is horrible :( I've failed you guys, and now I'm off to cry forever and ever how I disappointed you all :(
Let me just say, that the response I've received upon submitting the first chapter is overwhelming. Never did I think that this little story of mine would garner so much love and attention. I just want to say thankyou so, so much. I have a tendency to release second chapters of my stories late, as I'm afraid that I'll disappoint you guys. I'm sorry if this isn't up to par.
Everyone seems to be really pleased with the length of the chapter (it's the longest I've ever written lol, my limit used to be 2,500 - 3,000 max per chap. But since all of you are lovely, I will be consistent with the first chapter and will write chapters that are roughly 6,000 +.
Again, thankyou so, so much. I appreciate eveyone's input.
Also, addressing indiat's comment on a possible connection to the legend of St George and the Dragon - wow, I'd never even thought about it, but the storylines are actually pretty similar :) To be honest, I got this idea when I read Mike Magnolia's Hellboy Volume 2, which has a short-story slightly similar to my own :) but your idea of my story being like St George and the Dragon is pretty spot-on, I'd say :D
I have to say, this chapter was very hard to write. Riddle is probably the worst character to write ever.
BTW GUYS - I'd really be grateful if you can give me some new music, not only for the lyrics for each chapter but to listen to c: I like dark, beautiful songs, also indie, like Florence +the Machine, Dead Man's Bones, Twilight Saga OST (Though I'm not a fan of the franchise lol), Black Keys... please offer some via your reviews for this chapter. If you do, it would make the updating process a lot faster (in terms of finding suitable song lyrics)
P.S - anyone an anime fan here? You can imagine some of Hermione's dresses as those from Pandora Hearts c: or marie antoinette dresses
I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters, nor do i intend to make profit from this.
Chapter Two: The Killing Moon
"Under blue moon I saw you
So soon you'll take me
Up in your arms
Too late to beg you or cancel it
Though I know it must be the killing time
Unwillingly mine
Fate
Up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to him"
- The Killing Moon, Echo and the Bunnymen
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.
.
"Hermione! Hermione, we have to run!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs, grasping her hand in his while her other hand latched onto Ron's own. Their palms were sweating and were sticky, and her legs did ache rather terribly, but they had no time to stop. They had to escape and run, run away as far as they could.
They were only 13, but already they had witnessed so many deaths. Colin Creevy, Nymphadora Tonks, Neville's parents... by the end of the day, Hermione was certain that all the villagers of Hogsmeade could see Thestrals clearly, the mysterious gaunt skeleton-like winged equines flocking to the area to lick the blood off the snow and rotting corpses. When she saw some picking off the blood from the body of a very much dead Cedric Diggory, Hermione could barely suppress the urge to vomit right then and there, instead choosing to turn her head away and swallow the tears and bile back down.
Everything was a mess.
"But what about our families?" Ron asked them both anxiously, his pumpkin hair dishevelled and knuckles bloody, "what about them? Are they gonna be alright without us? We have to help them!" he declared, Harry fixing his ginger-haired companion with two sharp green eyes.
"You heard what Dumbledore said," Harry recounted patiently, as they trudged on, Hermione whimpering as a Dementor flew overhead, obviously in pursuit of someone else, "he said we need to get out of here as quick as possible. Don't worry," he assured the two of them, "mum and dad promised me that nothing bad would happen to them, all right?"
Quietly, Hermione observed Harry's face. Where there was distinct fear and terror on Ron's face, there was determination and bravery painted all over Harry's. His glasses were broken, and he had a few cuts and bruises here and there, but he marched on anyways, refusing to display even a hint of fear or uncertainty on his face. Inwardly, Hermione too wished she could be as brave as Harry. She'd always admired him for that.
Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks, each one panting and sweating profusely, despite the chill of the wintry air. Harry had spotted someone.
"Mum! Dad!" he cheered happily. Mrs Potter turned her mane of long red hair, horror and devastation etched on her beautiful face. It seemed she and her husband were helping in carrying the injured away.
"Harry! No!" Hermione heard Mr Potter shout.
There was a green flash.
A silent scream.
And it was all over.
All Hermione could remember was Mr and Ms Potter throwing themselves towards the three of them, before she felt a heavy weight collapse against her, sending her catapulting onto the ground. The impact was harsh, and for several moments everything went black.
"H-harry? Ron?" Hermione muttered weakly, as she came to, sitting up and supporting herself on her forearms as she regained focus. What happened? She noticed she couldn't stand. Something was heavy on her... immobilizing her...
"There's something on me..." Hermione winced, as she rubbed her eyes, oblivious to the horror of her situation. When she was met only with a tense silence, Hermione knew at once that something was wrong. Very wrong.
She looked up. There stood Ron and Harry, Ron's face one painted with shock and pure dismay. Confusion lapped against her. What was wrong? Slowly, she let her eyes wander to Harry's. What she saw sent her into shock.
There was nothing. What were once green eyes filled with life and joy were now dull orbs of sorrow and emptiness, as if a Dementor had just kissed him. The look on her best friend's once lively face scared her. Slowly, Hermione followed the invisible vectors of her two best friends' vision, towards her lap.
She gasped.
Something shattered. A piercing scream broke the air.
"No, no, NO!"
For there, on Hermione Granger's lap, lay Mr and Mrs Potter's very much dead bodies.
She was drenched in their blood.
.
.
.
Hermione bolted up-right, lungs wheezing and heart pounding. A slight sheen of sweat covered her pale flesh, but she paid no mind. She knew it was fake, but the terror was real. It had wrapped itself around her, blinding her senses, consuming her. The fear that she felt was genuine, exactly as if he was around. Slowly, Hermione tried to pull herself back together.
It was just a dream. A memory.
Hermione remembered that day well; afterall, how could one forget the day Voldemort came to the village of Hogsmeade? That was the day so many died, the day she could finally see Thestrals, the day Harry left her... it was Harry's birthday.
It's gone now, Hermione reassured herself firmly, pressing a palm against her forehead, Voldemort isn't here anymore. Nothing like that is ever going to happen again... just calm down...
Eventually, Hermione managed to return to a state of ease, despite the shaking in her hands refusing to cease. The terror that had seized her though... it had felt so real... even now, as she sat upright in the ridiculously comfortable bed, she felt the same traces of fear in the atmosphere that she did when Voldemort was around. She shook her head, hands clenching the sheets covering her as she struggled to take reign of her emotions.
No! Voldemort isn't here. You're just... just imagining things. Stupid Hermione, she inwardly chastised herself, get yourself together!
Gradually, Hermione allowed her thoughts to drift from the terrifying enigma known as Lord Voldemort to the unfamiliar environment she was currently in. Realising finally that this was not a familiar place, Hermione looked around, brown eyes drinking in every little detail regarding her surroundings as she looked for clues pointing as to where she might be.
A luxurious king-sized four poster bed covered in black silk sheets... large velvet emerald wall-hangings proudly bearing serpents as their emblems... majestic black leather couches... grand elaborate forest-green tapestries... finely polished dark mahogany wardrobes and bookshelves... a crystal chandelier...
This, most definitely, was not her home.
"Where am I?" Hermione pondered out loud. It was cool and frigid in the bedroom, casting an unloving and unforgiving atmosphere that made Hermione draw the sheets tighter against her. Subconsciously, Hermione could not help but allow a sliver of anxiety run through her as she shivered. She did not belong here at all.
"You are where you belong." A new voice suddenly offered, chills running down her spine as something cold and foreign pooled within the pit of her stomach. It was beautiful; deep, sensuous and baritone. Just the way she'd always liked voices to be -
and then, it came crashing down on her.
She remembered. Everything.
Draco's proposal, her escape into the cemetery in the wintry dead of night, something pursuing her, her fear, her fall into the icy depths of the frozen lake, the way the water filled her lungs and sent her into almost certain oblivion, the sudden hand of her rescuer, wanting to live so badly, that she, that she...
promised herself to a stranger.
Almost instantaneously, Hermione felt seeds of horror and terror burst within her as she leapt from the bed, mind racing with fear and adrenaline once again. Once again, she needed to escape. Warm brown eyes desperately seeking an escape route, Hermione inwardly scolded herself for stupidly involving herself to become the property of some... some stranger while she continued her search to no avail.
All the while, she was oblivious to the amused smirk playing upon her new mate's lips as he looked on in mildly fascinated interest.
I have to get out... God, this is about the stupidest thing you've ever done, Hermione Jean Granger! Not even Ron would be this stupid to get himself in some trouble like this... she chided herself furiously, finally submitting to defeat that there was no chance of escaping.
Slowly, the realisation that she was not alone trickled back into her conciousness. Now, there was nothing left to do but face the man she had unwittingly become the property of, and hopefully convince him that she couldn't really be his. Bracing herself to be brave like Harry, and praying to all the spiritual entities that she could that he would hopefully be just some lonely, merciful man rather than a monster or creep, Hermione turned herself around...
... and let the sheet she was clenching drop.
Where she had expected some monster, or some decrepit old man, she was met with something else.
He was, in short, absolutely beautiful.
Effortlessly styled ebony dark hair, pale, flawless skin, penetratingly smouldering shadow-coloured eyes... he had breathtakingly beautiful aristocratic features, with the finest face she had ever laid eyes upon. Tall, solid frame dressed in an elegant dark suit and midnight-black cloak, Hermione could not help but feel him reminiscent to a classic gentleman or even a model. He was physically perfect.
Realising she had probably been staring at him for a good while now, Hermione felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she looked away hastily.
"Who... who are you?" she asked cautiously, fear now being overridden by curiosity and intrigue. "And what am I doing here?" she asked, commanding a bit more power in her voice the second time round.
The handsome stranger chuckled, Hermione flinching yet unnerved as more colour flooded her cheeks. Even his laugh was perfect, she remarked inwardly with affection. Quickly, she snapped out of it. Oh no no, Hermione, you do not even know this man! For all you know, he could be Voldemort 2.0!
Oh, if only she knew.
The stranger smirked at her, sending Hermione's heart into an erratic flutter, the organ thumping madly against her chest. Even she, bookworm and general know-it-all of Hogsmeade was not immune to the charms of attractiveness. Finally, after what seemed like decades, he responded.
"Did I not tell you yesterday?" he remarked coolly, the corners of his lips tilted upwards at her perplexed expression, "I am the heir to a great, great king." he finished cryptically, awaiting the muggleborn's reaction.
Right on cue, the bossy streak in Hermione shone through, as her face snapped into one of slight irritation, all traces of shyness and confusion gone. Intrigued by her expression, the stranger raised a single, fine eyebrow.
"How very coy of you," she remarked drily, amusing the individual even further as she released all timidness, "but when I ask people who they are, they usually give me a name. Does that make you a prince, then?" she ventured, carefully gauging his reaction for any clues as to his identity.
But if facial expressions were open books, his was most certainly closed. Another chuckle. "My," he smirked, "you are quite the little Mudblood, aren't you?" but before Hermione could retort at how offensive the term was, or even ask how he knew her blood status, he replied, effectively cutting her down.
"My name," he announced, "is Tom Riddle. And no, I don't suppose I am a prince. But I am a Lord." he said rather smugly, the look of indignation marked on Hermione's face now melting away into curiosity once more. "And you, my dear Mudblood, are my wife."
Suddenly, Hermione felt the colour drain from her face. Her blood ran cold.
Did he... just call her... his wife?
"Or soon to be, anyhow." he remarked carelessly, briefly turning his back to her, "either way, you're mine. You promised yourself to me, correct?" he smiled innocently, as Hermione just blinked blankly at him.
What followed was a tense, uneasy silence as the words sank in, Tom patiently anticipating her reply. Finally, Hermione reacted.
"No... it can't be..." Hermione muttered in disbelief, "I mean, you don't even know me! I don't even know you! Yesterday," she continued weakly, running her fingers through her hair, "yesterday was a mistake," at this Tom's face fell into a cold, hard stare. Oblivious, she continued. "I was confused... I wasn't thinking right, I was dying!... Please," she beseeched him, desperate to get her point across, "you've got to understand! I can't get married! We don't even know each other! We can't possibly be together-!"
Suddenly, before Tom could react, she burst into a fit of coughs, her lungs and chest aching as her eyes swam with tears. Waves of nausea and dizziness swept over her as fatigue crashed upon her. In no less than a minute, Tom was by her side, dark eyes roaming her for analysis.
"You still haven't recovered fully from yesterday," he muttered in an almost apathetic manner, as if his concern for her wellbeing was nothing more than simply out of politeness, "I'll inform one of my healers to come to you immediately. Wait here." and with a curt nod and a swish of black coats, he was gone.
Minutes of discomfort and distress passed before help arrived. Everything becoming more and more blurred, as Hermione felt the gentle touching of hands upon her as she was pushed back onto the bed, feeling thicker and heavier blankets wrapped around her.
"...strained herself... needs another dosage..."
"... rather weak creatures, aren't they?... those mudbloods..."
She wanted to protest, to kindly inform them she didn't belong here nor wanted to be here, but she was far too dizzy and tired to care. All she could distinguish amongst the gentle touches and the buzzing of voices was the sudden bursts of warmth upon her flesh. When she felt someone gently grab her chin and force open her lips, she tried to bat them away, to no avail. Slowly, a coppery-tasting liquid trickled down her throat, forcing her into another fit of coughs. Slowly, she felt her eyelids droop.
Everything was getting hazy again.
"No... I can't be here..." she murmured, sloppily cursing herself for becoming so vulnerable and utterly weak. "I need to... go... home..."
But it was futile. Slowly, Hermione felt herself yet again drift from conciousness, and into the irresistible clutches of sleep itself.
Sleep...
.
.
.
Another dream.
Hermione startled into conciousness, yet again covered in sweat as she panted heavily. It was another one of those dreams, just like the one she'd had before - of Voldemort's attack. This time she saw poor Sirius Black, Harry's uncle, collapsed on the floor. The memory of that incident was almost too much, as she forcefully restrained the tears swimming in her chocolate brown eyes. Now was not the time to be a weak little coward. She had to be strong. Just like Harry.
It was odd though. Never had she experienced such dreams so vividly, except after they'd announced Harry Potter M.I.A, which was undoubtedly one of the worst moments of her life. She could remember, even now, those dreams of Harry being killed by Voldemort himself as she tried to stop him from facing the Dark Lord himself. Still, even then, she'd only had the nightmares for roughly 2-3 days before they vanished. If her logic was correct, dreams about Voldemort were triggered by incidents relating to him. Seeing as to how he was not within proximity of her, it just didn't make any sense.
I must be going mad... she thought, pressing a hand to her forehead, fear still lingering within her. But she did feel infinitely better than earlier. That liquid... whatever they made her drink had warmed her up significantly, and her vision and head had cleared up. That Tom Riddle... she had to go thank him, before saying goodbye to him anyhow.
Tom Riddle...
He was certainly an intriguing figure; mysterious, handsome, dark, intelligent... in the span of the few fleeting minutes she'd been with him, already Hermione was more and more confused about his identity and his past than before she'd met him. He was a Lord, he'd said... what did that mean? He was of royal blood? Pureblood? Hermione thought with a wrinkled nose of distaste. Then again, he hadn't seemed to repulsed to be in her proximity, despite knowing she was a muggleborn. Which begged another question; how did he know she was a mudblood in the first place? There were so many things she wanted to know about him. The mysteriousness and darkness emnating from him both repelled her and attracted her.
Like a moth to the flame.
In short, he certainly ignited a flame of curiosity within her.
Felling quite calm and confident despite being in unfamiliar surroundings, Hermione pulled away the various blankets slung over her now warm body, before getting up and stretching. If she was going to get any answers around here, she'd need to find Tom first. Yawning, and finally noticing how dark it was inside the room, she frowned. The room looked almost... sinister. Vaguely, it reminded her of Slytherin himself. Paying no more heed to that detail, she began exploring the room for clues, before a swift knock interrupted her search.
"My Lady," a trembling voice called from behind the door, as Hermione approached it to get a better listen, "My Lord, Master Riddle, requests you join him in the dining hall for supper. He's entertaining an audience, so he expects you dress formally for the occasion. There are some dresses in the wardrobes. If the young Miss likes, I can assist you in making an appropriate choice for dining." the voice offered, timid and almost cowardly.
She opened the door. "Of course," Hermione said, attempting to converse in a friendly manner to the servant (perhaps she could coax her to reveal more about Riddle and her location), "I've never gone to a fancy upper-class supper before, so I'd be grateful for some assistance."
However, when she opened the door to allow the servant in, she gasped. For, instead of a simple, elderly maid, there stood a strange, cowering creature.
It was a bizarre being. The size of a small child, the strange creature had two large, peculiar bat-like ears, and two big, watery eyes. Its head much too big for its frail little body, Hermione could not help but pity it more than feel repulsed by the grotesqueness or simple ugliness of it. The fact that it wore a torn, stained rag cloth as its clothing too made Hermione feel all the more sympathetic towards it.
Not knowing how exactly to ask what it was without seeming rude, Hermione opted to ask its name instead.
"My name is Daisy, my Lady," it simpered, big watery eyes trained upon Hermione's own.
Hermione smiled kindly at her. "My name's Hermione," she spoke, "and I think you have a rather lovely name."
The creature smiled its hideous smile at her, and at once it set to work - finding her suitable dress.
.
.
.
She'd never found herself overwhelmingly beautiful; nor attractive for that matter. Where women like Harry's mother (her heart clenched at the memory of her) had beautiful green eyes, she had nothing but plain brown ones. Where girls like Ginny Weasley had long, beautiful locks of scarlet and crimson, she had a mane of brown, fizzy, unruly hair. Likewise, whilst girls like Luna Lovegood had perfectly flawless skin with creamy complexions, she herself wore a skin with freckles. Even now, she couldn't help but feel that any other girl wearing the dress she did now would look positively breath-taking in comparison to her.
Not that I care, she grumbled inwardly as Daisy smiled proudly at her.
"My Lady looks beautiful!" the elf squealed joyfully.
At this, Hermione could not help but allow a tiny slip of a smile curve her lips.
Whilst Daisy helped pick an outfit out for her, Hermione had learnt a lot about the mysterious creature. For one, Daisy was what was known as a House-Elf. Apparently, they were very common with Purebloods, despite Hermione not ever having seen one her whole life.
Another point was that House-elves were enslaved to be the loyal and ever-so obedient servants of the Purebloods, sending Hermione into a disgusted rage. According to the various tidbits that Daisy had fed her, House-elves were not unlikely to be subject to torment and punishment from their masters. It made Hermione slightly suspicious as to what type of person Riddle was, despite being seemingly polite and charming before.
But when Hermione had brought up the topic of what Riddle was like, Daisy shut down. Cowering, the House-Elf had shrilly explained that she was forbidden to even talk about or mention Riddle, for fear of punishment. Attempting to ask about her current surroundings instead, the creature shook its head. Apparently, both Riddle and the details of where she currently was were top-secret.
Which made finding out about them all the more interesting.
But Riddle... when Daisy had refused to talk about him, Hermione noticed something. In Daisy's eyes, there was a genuine, pure terror in them at the mention of the mysterious young man himself. Slowly, Hermione began to question whether Riddle was really the eloquent, charming, civil man he appeared to be earlier. It was a huge possibility that with all the secrets and terror running about, he was dangerous.
I suppose I'm going have to be careful around that Riddle character... even if he is my soon-to-be husband... Hermione thought rather grimly.
Yes, she was sure. Despite appearing quite kind and charming, she could not trust Riddle. If the fear in Daisy's eyes and the fact that he had practically claimed her as his own without consideration of her feelings was anything to go by, she knew she'd have to be weary around him and observe him carefully first.
Turning back to the huge ornate mirror, Hermione looked at herself once more. From all of the elaborate, gorgeous dresses, Daisy had insisted on a stunningly-simple yet elegant white dress, with cream and champagne undertones. Slightly irked by the fact that most, if not, all the dresses had rib-crushing corsets, they had opted for one with a simple bodice that clung to her skin (much to her chagrin) with a skirt that flowed past her ankles and pooled onto the floor. If they were attempting to make a very big impression on the 'audience' Riddle was entertaining, she was sure her current look would, feeling slight disdain at how 'dressy' she looked. Even the diamond teardrop earrings were high-class. Hermione inwardly snorted. It was almost like a wedding gown.
At the mention of 'wedding', Hermione gulped. Her wedding to Draco! She'd forgotten! And her parents! They'd be livid now, realising she was gone!
I'll just have to worry about them later, Hermione thought, turning back to face her reflection with a determined face, for now I'll have to figure out how I'm going to get out of here in the first place.
But getting out... was it really all that good a thing? Afterall, she'd be returning to... returning to...
Draco.
But it was true. As soon as she returned, she'd be promised to Draco and would hence be wed to him immediately. Then, after the ceremony, he'd take her to his home as his new wife, to fornicate and...
Hermione cringed. Becoming 'Hermione Malfoy' was almost so undesirable that she'd rather marry Voldemort than -
Quickly, she turned away from those thoughts, Daisy finally finishing her hair. Absent-mindedly, she noted how her unruly hair had been pulled into a classic albeit uncomfortably-tight chignon. If she had been promised to Voldemort for the start of winter this year, she'd have sooner thrown herself into the icy waters once more than even dare think of loving him.
Voldemort was a monster. And she was certain that never, ever in her whole life would she or anyone else ever feel even the tiniest ounce of love for him. He was a destestable monster of a man, one that she would curse forever and ever.
She'd vowed to herself a long, long time ago that if she had to keep any promise to herself at all, it'd be hating the Dark Lord himself for the rest of her life.
By now, her face held that of so icy a demeanour that Daisy's ears drooped slightly. "My Lady...?"
Hastily, Hermione's fell back into pleasant stoicity, her fists unclenching. "I'm sorry, Daisy. Just a little distracted." she said, the elf's face falling into that of relief. "Thankyou for everything." she smiled, directing the kind words to the abashed elf.
"Oh! And Master Riddle doesn't want you getting sick again, so he said bring something warm," the little House-elf piped up, rummaging in the wardrobe, only to pull out a soft fur cape. Hermione draped it around her shoulders, her nose wrinkling slightly. The fact that an animal had died for the pure reason of fashion made her feel slightly sick. Nonetheless, in order to not upset the poor little House-elf, she thanked her once again, following her outside of the bedroom and into an equally-as dark hall.
A nervous anticipation and anxiety gripping her insides, Hermione allowed herself to take a big breath in, before following the tiny tottering figure through the darkness.
.
.
.
"She's late, my Lord."
"Perhaps the poor little wench up and fainted again."
"You don't really think she's the one, do you, my Lord?"
Tom Riddle had no time, nor the capacity to quite frankly care as he ignored the questions, patiently awaiting for his mudblood to arrive. It was true, she was a few minutes late, and he did have a terribly short temper, but he was willing to wait, without inflicting punishments afterwards.
Contrary to many of his minions' beliefs, he did not love nor feel a physical or emotional attraction at all to the girl. For one; she was a mudblood, which was filthy; and two; he was incapable of emotions such as love or affection, except in the case of Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest men of all time, and Nagini, his highly-treasured snake whom both he held in admiration and affection (or as close as he could feel towards such emotions anyhow).
Moving along, there wasn't really anything aesthetically exciting about the mudblood anyhow. Bushy brown locks, a slender yet curvy build that was not exactly the most beautiful he'd seen. In comparison to the other women and whores he'd bedded, she wasn't at all that beautiful. In fact, if anything, she was leaning towards the "average to pretty" part of the scale at best.
Not that appearances mattered much to him anyhow. Frankly, he couldn't care less about how he looked either. However, the fact that he was quite attractive himself was very beneficial in manipulating others into getting what he wanted, despite the fact he loathed how much he looked like him.
But she was a rather interesting character. For instance, her desperation to cling onto her pathetic, pitiful life. Tom almost allowed a snort of derision leave him. Why would anyone want to live a life if they were a pathetic little mudblood, of all things?
There was something else too. In the brief moment he looked into her warm brown eyes, he saw something - a spark, a fire perhaps? Whatever it was, it intrigued him.
Then again, there also was the reason why he'd taken her in the first place.
She'd become a rather valuable and important mudblood. Tom smirked. Quite an oxymoron, or a paradox really.
"My Lord," a squeaky voice announced, Tom's swift dark eyes spotting the kneeling House-elf whose face was practically shoved against the ground, "the mudblood has arrived."
As if on default, Tom's face settled into a polite smile, as his eyes wandered to the girl standing in front of the dining hall doors whilst the giant hall fell silent. He had to hand it to that pathetic excuse of a creature. That elf had really done a satisfactory job with making the mudblood look good.
His companions must have thought so too, as he could see out of the corner of his eye Carrow, Rowle, Dolohov, Avery each respectively looking quite hungrily at the dirty-blooded maiden. Even his most loyal follower, Bellatrix Lestrange, looked positively vehement at the sight of the mudblood, her dark hooded eyes practically dripping with venom of the highest toxicity.
He smirked.
Dressed in white? It was a rather amusing choice. Up against the dark interior of the halls, it made her appear like a heavenly, luminescent being, a sacrificial lamb, the only delicate, untainted lily blooming in a field of blood and decay... almost like an...
angel.
To be tainted by the devil, Tom thought, a smug smirk playing on his lips as her brown eyes finally met his own shadow-coloured ones from across the grand room, her lips parting in surprise. Almost as quickly as she had shown her slightly surprise, she masked it, her face suddenly schooled into one of indifference. Riddle could not help but quirk a brow. Most of the girls he'd encountered would continuously blush and stare at the sight of him.
"Aren't you coming to join us?" Tom called out, his voice echoing whilst the mudblood looked at him wearily. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Why was she being so cautious around him? Other women would have practically trusted him from the get-go, whereas she seemed almost reluctant of joining him. Riddle felt his eyes narrow ever so slightly. It was possible that she was going to be a bit of a nuisance, this one.
Nothing I can't handle.
But he had seen a sliver of fire within her earlier, before she happened to inconveniently fall sick. When he'd mentioned who he was, she'd broken out of her nervousness and into a whole other personality: fiery, sharp-witted. Not that he particularly cared. In the end, he was here to break her and use her.
Tom Riddle had no feelings for the girl standing from across the hall.
Slowly, the mudblood walked up to the table, finally taking a seat at the very end of it, directly across from Riddle. Slipping on his façade, Tom forced a polite smile onto his face. It was so easy, so natural. The only time he smiled genuinely and sincerely was when he was torturing some filthy mudblood or attending to his beautiful inheritance hidden in his chambers (which reminded him, it was feeding time soon). Even then, however, the smile was more like a smirk if anything.
The whole thing was mechanical to him. Smile politely, raise the charm, pretend that he actually cared, and the girl would come swooning to him, trusting him with anything. It was quite stupid, really. People were so... gullible.
They were all fools.
"Are you feeling better?" Tom asked in a civil manner, as he began to dig into turkey on his plate, cutting it with his knife. The mudblood was looking downwards, her mouth a firm line. "You did look quite terrible, yesterday. Even today - the healer said you were quite in a bad state. Did the potion help?" he inquired, forcing every bit of concern he could into his voice. Perfect delivery.
"I'm fine." she said, Tom noting with amusement the way Bellatrix practically glared daggers at the mudblood, for garnering more attention from himself than she. Tom had always known the fanatic devotion and love Bellatrix possessed for him, more so than the love she had for her own husband, who eagerly supported him too. It was people like the Lestranges that made his life just so easy.
After a few more moments, wherein Tom exchanged some pleasantries with his ever loyal followers, all in which the mudblood said or did nothing, she finally spoke up, the room buzzing into a deathly silence. Not once did she back down nor cease eye-contact with him as she spoke. It almost amused Tom.
"I want to go back home."
The deadpan in her voice was enough to cause Riddle to smirk slightly.
"Oh, do you?" he challenged, dark eyes smug and focused on the determined mudblood.
Let the fun begin.
.
.
.
Hermione knew she couldn't trust him. Whenever she thought about him, she remembered the way Daisy's eyes practically widened in pure horror and terror, as if she had just seen the basilisk, or Lord Voldemort himself. Though she knew nothing about him, Hermione knew - someone who instilled that much terror into someone else was not to be trusted.
Though he did save her life. Twice, in fact. First, when he (she suspected it was him anyway) pulled her out of the water (which begged the question: how ?), to when he stopped her from dying from hypothermia. She supposed he couldn't be all that bad, if he'd actually put in the effort to preserve her life.
But he's also claimed it as his own, another voice echoed in her mind.
That was true. Besides being stuck in a completely unfamiliar place, with no friends and with no one to help her, she had to deal with the troublesome issue of trying to convince Riddle he had no ownership over her, which she was sure was going to be difficult, considering how she had practically given him her life in the first place. For now, she belonged to Tom Riddle. It would take a lot of effort to convince him otherwise.
"I want to go home." Hermione heard herself say, voice clear despite the trembling of her nerves and heart.
He smirked rather amusedly at her. "Oh, do you?" he asked carelessly, Hermione wanting to wipe that smirk off his face. It was almost as if they were patronizing her, as if they knew something she didn't. Hermione didn't like that.
It took her another while to gather her nerves before answering back. "Yes, I do. I'm sorry, but I can't stay here. My home isn't far, is it?" she asked, trying to look if there were any windows around that would give her an impression of the environment outside the home. There were none.
Suddenly, the dark-haired woman sitting to Riddle's right burst into a series of cackles, Hermione feeling a shiver of fear run through her. Her voice... it was dripping with malice. There was definitely something evil about the woman. Inwardly, Hermione felt as if it were a familiar sound, that had instilled despair in her before. Whatever it was, Hermione shook it off, determined not to show fear in front of the sinister strangers surrounding her.
"You don't get it, do you my poor little poppet?" the woman jeered, chest heaving, upper body constricted in a tight-fitting leather corset. Hermione knew from that instant she didn't like her already. "You really don't have any chance of leaving. And we're not in Hogsmeade anymore, my dear." she snickered condescendingly, Hermione's eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Surely they weren't that far from her home, were they?
Riddle said nothing whilst the other men gathered around the table chuckled. How far were they?
"Oh my poor, poor mudblood..." the woman finally finished, positively gloating, "I don't think you can go back.
"You, my sweet filthy-blooded simpleton, are in no Hogsmeade.
"You, quite frankly, are in the Underworld itself."