Chapter Text
A/N: Here is your voluntary author's note. I don't particularly feel like saying or giving away much right now, because the enjoyment of reading would be lost then. There are probably some mistakes. I don't have a beta, but I proofread many times. Shoot me a message if you have any questions, and I'll try to answer it as soon as possible. Rated T for now, just in case. Will be rated M later on. This is a slow-burn Tomione story. Take it or leave it. Honestly, does anyone really read the author's note? You're here to read fanfiction, so let's get to it.
Disclaimer: Here is your obligatory disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter.
It was almost the end. Both sides could sense it. The only certainty is that there would be no victory in this, no matter which side won.
A loud crack sounded through the air as centuries old rubble fell to the ground. Hermione threw herself forward ungracefully to avoid the flying debris. She spared not a single moment looking back as Ron helped her up. They made a quick inventory of each other, and then carried on up the staircase. There was yelling and crying and cursing and crashing and carnage everywhere. And blood. There was also blood.
For once, Hermione was having a difficult time focusing. It was too much.
Ron slipped his hand into hers, sensing her stress. His eyes looked worried, but he gave a soft, lopsided grin that she adored and said, "Ready?"
"Yes. Sorry. Of course. Let's go."
They continued up the staircase, hand in hand, with only one goal in mind: The Chamber of Secrets.
The Chamber was eerie, to say the least. Hermione had been petrified when Harry and Ron came down here, and she was almost glad that she had been. She found it highly improbable that the thirteen-year-old version of herself would willingly slide down a pipe to challenge a basilisk.
Speaking of basilisks, Ron and Hermione were staring at the skeletal remains of one right now. How fortuitous.
Ron walked over to the skeleton and pulled a fang out with a sickening squelch. He walked back to Hermione, who was fishing out Hufflepuff's cup from her purse.
"You do it," Ron said.
She gasped and tried to push it away and said, "I can't."
"Yes, you can," he said as he gently handed her the fang. She nervously grasped it in her palm as Ron carefully laid the cup on the stone floor in front of her. Hermione wasn't sure if she was shaking because of the horcrux in front of her, because of the deadly basilisk fang in her hand, or because of the way Ron was looking at her. Adrenaline was a funny thing.
Hermione knelt with Ron, both hovering over the cup. He gave her one last look that gave her the strength she needed. She brought the fang up above her and slammed it down on the cup as hard as she could.
There was a white flash of light and the sound of brass being dragged across the floor and into the water. Cylinders of water shot up violently around them. Ron and Hermione were backing away in shock and fear, but couldn't look away from the sight in front of them: the shape of his anguished face was in the water. What sounded like a howl came from the water before it crashed down on them.
They shared a frantic kiss and a smile, knowing that they destroyed another horcrux and that they might not survive to see the next sunrise.
As they were leaving the Chamber, Hermione stepped on uneven ground and would have lost her footing if Ron hadn't been holding her hand. The object she stepped on looked unusual, so she bent down to pick it up.
"What is it?"
Hermione turned it around in her fingers and squinted. It bore a faint hum of magic. She said, "I'm not sure. It looks like some sort of ring or piece of metal. It's covered in muck and it's dark in here, so I can't see it properly."
"I'd leave anything I found in here right where it is, if you ask me," Ron shuddered in reply.
Hermione completely ignored Ron and slipped the bit of metal into her pocket. It's the humming that ultimately convinced her.
"Don't be silly, Ronald. It's not as if it's another horcrux. Whatever it is, it has magical properties that I'd like to study after all this. That means if we plan on surviving this, we need to get back."
She slipped her hand into Ron's and gave it a squeeze. This seemed to bolster his spirits and forget the previous conversation.
"Right you are. Let's go."
She smiled as she slid the fang into her pocket.
"Harry Potter…is dead!"
People gasped and cried out. The only thing holding Hermione up from her heartache was her unsteady hand gripping on a nearby fallen column. She knew it would happen, but seeing it was so much harder than she thought it'd be. Perhaps an hour wasn't enough time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing your best friend dead at your feet.
Hermione went rigid with a vile feeling. She liked to think herself incapable of hate, but right now it was coursing through her veins. Her eyes leveled on the vile creature speaking in the clearing. She clearly hadn't been listening. Equilibrium took time to calibrate, after all.
Her hand slowly slipped into her pocket and she began carefully fishing for the basilisk fang. It wasn't over yet. Her eyes flicked from Voldemort to the snake. It was stupidly right in front of him. He was irrationally arrogant. All she needed was an opening – a distraction. The entire world would stand a chance once the snake was gone. Hermione swallowed. The entire world, not just the wizarding world, was unknowingly hanging on this moment. A moment that would change the world – for the better, or for the worse.
How was she going to get the snake separated from its master? Hermione's fingers slid over the cool, smooth surface of the fang in her pocket and slowly began to pull it out. Only she realized that it wasn't the fang. It was the muck-covered hunk of metal she'd found earlier. The dried, crumbled pieces of mud in her pocket was enough to tell her that what she was holding was some sort of bulky ring.
She had a vague awareness of Draco Malfoy being hugged awkwardly by Voldemort. Only a monster wouldn't know how to share a proper hug. Her finger brushed across a nub on the ring. Her eyes narrowed on the vile abomination in front of her. What could possibly make a man turn so evil? The inquisitive nature in her wanted to understand, but it was difficult to fathom.
Hermione's finger continued to press against the side of the ring as she watched Voldemort and his snake in patient anticipation. She felt her face crumple and eyes close briefly as she watched Neville slowly limp forward. No. Nothing was making any sense. Her fingers felt a click.
Her eyes opened in surprise and found his eyes locked on hers. Her belly filled with cold dread and bile.
The last two thing she saw before the world spun out of control was the unmistakable hint of shock in his eyes, and Harry breaking into a sprint after dropping from Hagrid's arms onto the ground.
The moment had passed.
Rainy days made for dismal days around here. Not like there was much to do outdoors in the area, but being forced to stay indoors and expected to socialize with such ordinary people on a Saturday seemed positively barbaric. It wasn't fair.
An old A-model Ford made a turn and drove by, crushing a discarded tin can under its tire. Tom's lips quirked up slightly at the thought of the can being Billy Stubbs' hand instead. Maybe a foot. He wasn't fussy, honestly. Tom was growing tired of Billy's disrespect.
At least my mum didn't die after gettin' kicked outta the circus! Bet that's why you're so… abnormal!
Tom's fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill, and he shook in anger. Billy needed to pay, and any type of pain was an acceptable form of currency. Billy did have that idiotic rodent that he was particularly fond of…
The front door of the orphanage slammed open and there was quite the commotion. Tom quickly pulled himself away from the window and behind a bricked corner, trying to avoid being seen. He wasn't keen on getting a lashing today. He peeked his head around the corner in time to see Mrs. Cole rushing to pick a Bible up off the wooden bench in the entrance hall.
"Set her right here, Edward."
Tom's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the groundskeeper carrying a young, soaking wet girl in his arms.
"Right," Edward grunted in reply before carefully lying her down on the bench. Mrs. Cole looked over the unconscious girl.
"She appears to be alive and uninjured," Edward stated.
"Yes. Poor dear probably got lost in this weather and took a tumble. I'll have to alert the authorities immediately. Edward, be a dear and go fetch her some linens before she freezes to death," Mrs. Cole said and turned to walk away, but changed her mind and continued speaking, "Oh, and could you please tell Martha to put the tea on? I expect the authorities will be arriving soon, and I'm sure it'll help soothe the girl once she gets her bearings."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll see to that right now," Edward said. Mrs. Cole went down the corridor that lead to her office across the hall, and Edward made his way toward the kitchens. Tom sucked in a breath and pressed himself as tight as he could into the corner, closing his eyes, and willing himself to remain unseen. He swore that his thundering heartbeat matched Edward's oafish footsteps. His footsteps had come and gone.
Tom cautiously opened one eye to see Edward lumbering down the hall toward the kitchen. He let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and then peered back down toward the entrance hall at the girl. He knew one of them would be back in a matter of minutes, and wasting time wasn't something that Tom normally did.
The first thing he noticed about the girl in front of him was her clothing. It was so odd. She was wearing some sort of gaudy, salmon colored tunic a monk would wear. What kind of girl would wear a tunic that could be pulled over her head, honestly? It looked to be several sizes too large, too. Tom's eyes narrowed in confusion. And what kind of girl wore denim?
Tom crouched down to look closer at her face. She looked to be around his age, give or take. Brown hair. Fair skin. Freckles. Plain features. Tom huffed out his nose. Utterly ordinary. He bet her name was Mary, Helen, or something else equally dull.
He was getting ready to stand back up and walk to his room when she stirred slightly. He tilted his head to the side. She was grasping something in her hand like her life depended on it. Tom licked his lips. It was a ring, and it was peeking out enough for him to make out its brassy shine.
He wanted it.
So, he took it.
Tom's head snapped up when he heard the muffled voices echoing down the hall. He stuffed the trinket in his coat pocket, picked up the Bible that Mrs. Cole had shoved underneath the bench, and casually made his way back down toward his room.
Tom opened the Bible and pretended to read. He even slowed his stride to make it more believable as Edward passed by him, carrying fresh linens. They shared brief eye contact, an acknowledged nod, and went their separate ways.
The corner of Tom's mouth flinched upward slightly, then his eyes wandered back to the open pages in his hands.
Jeremiah 2:26 - As the thief is ashamed when he is found, so is the house of Israel ashamed; they, their kings, their princes, and their priests, and their prophets .
Tom slammed the Bible closed and sneered.
The ring bore no weight in his pocket, and wasn't that how guilt was measured? Didn't one need to feel guilt to feel shame? Tom knew he was twisting the verse in his favor, but he honestly couldn't be bothered to care.
The ring hummed quietly in agreement.
AN: If anyone is interested in checking them out, I have drawn some scenes out of my story and posted them to my LiveJournal. (Username: neptune_babe) I also like to add photographs I've found online to add to the story. I'm a very visual person, so I thought it was a cool idea. I plan on doing at least one piece of artwork per chapter. It's usually nothing fancy – just some quick charcoal sketches, colored pencil drawings, and sometimes I will do digital artwork if inspiration sinks its fangs into my back. I'll let you know at the end of each chapter if I've done any artwork. The next two chapters are pretty much done - I just want to tweak them a bit more. Anyway, thanks for reading.