Chapter Text
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Or maybe it was. She didn't know anymore and quite frankly, she was tired of pretending she did. Yes, she was a know-it-all bookworm. That meant she was allowed to be stuck-up and beyond intelligent in school, regarding academics. The title implied that she had devoured her school work and knew more than anyone could hope she would learn, especially at her age, and had done it because it came naturally. Which it had, of course. She was practically a genius. Academically.
She was not, however, a walking encyclopedia on all things that had to do with absolutely anything and everything one could possibly have to know about every little thing in both the Muggle world and the Wizarding one. To know all that would be simply ridiculous, and very burdensome. Not even Albus Dumbledore knew everything, though many would attest that he certainly came quite close. Hermione Granger was nowhere near unlocking the knowledge of the universe; she hadn't even graduated yet!
So why she had foolishly allowed the people she trusted most to convince her that she was the most brilliant person that they had ever known, and that she simply had to accept the mission placed upon her because if she could not do it than nobody could, she simply could not fathom. She knew that she did not know everything. She knew the mission was suicidal at best. She knew it would take more than sheer brains and wit to succeed and live to tell about it.
She knew. And she had still accepted. Call it Gryffindor pride. Or pure stupidity. She considered them the same.
She had done what they asked, though. She had followed through with the mission, down to the very last resort that was only to be used in case of emergencies. She had done it. Despite any doubts she might have had, any lingering fears or worries; she had done it.
And now here she sat, staring blankly out the window of her room at Shell Cottage, not exactly hearing the hushed voices just outside her door nor quite seeing the gently crashing waves of the sea on the terribly sunny day that was just beyond her window.
'Sun,' she thought idly. 'I wonder if it's sunny where he is.'
And then she stood abruptly, picked up the chair she had been sitting on, and smashed it desperately against her window, the shards of glass falling like snow around her. Her door flew open, and five or six people she hazily recognized rushed in, wands ready. When they saw her, there was a moment when nobody dared moved, terrified of the reaction the girl might have, and bewildered by the sight that was presented to them.
Hermione stood in the light of the window, a chair leg in each hand that hung limply by her sides, the rest of the chair in a broken heap at her feet, covered in glass shards. She was still in the clothes she had returned in; a white blouse with its sleeves folded up to her elbows was over a dramatically long grey skirt. She wore no shoes, even though she stood in a pile of glass dust, and her legs were cut and bleeding, though it was unclear if that happened before or after she arrived, as she’d appeared directly into the room and shut the door. Her hair had grown out over the last few years, becoming increasingly less frizzy, but today it seemed particularly flat and lifeless as it hung limply around her pale face that seemed entirely too unfocused and fuzzy, as if she were struggling to see the people before her. And there was a long cut along her left cheek, drawing a line from her eyebrow to her chin, still dripping blood slowly, droplets staining the clear glass around her.
However, what startled everybody the most was the Slytherin necktie that hung loosely around her neck and the unmistakable badge pinned over her heart that clearly read Head Boy, in the dreaded colors of green and silver. The goal, of course, had been to integrate but… surely…
It was Harry, of course, who took the first hesitant step towards the frightened girl, words of comfort falling from his lips in an attempt to soothe his best friend. "Hermione? Hermione, it's all right. You're back now. You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you here."
Instead of the understanding he had expected, however, he saw a flash of fury in his best friend's eyes before he was suddenly ducking a flying chair leg, taken aback completely by the reaction as he halted in his steps.
"I was happy. I was happy. I was happy! Safe. And happy. But no, you don't believe in being happy. Not at all. God dammit! Happy!" She screeched , anger rolling off her in waves and taking the members in the room by surprise. A glance went about the room, echoing the same thought. Was she talking to them, or did she see them as someone else?
"I understand, Hermione. It must be hard to do something so painful. I understand if things might have seemed more real than they should have. However, you are back now. You must open your eyes and see what you are really looking at and not what your mind tells you it sees," Professor Lupin explained gently but firmly to the enraged youth, hoping perhaps her logical mind would extract the reason from his words and come back to them.
Everyone waited with bated breath for the girl's response. For a moment, it almost seemed as if Hermione had come back to them as she considered their words, but the moment passed.
"Get OUT!"
They had all barely made it out of the room before the second leg of the chair crashed into the wall. Listening for a minute at the door, Harry frowned as he heard Hermione collapse on the bed and he just made out the sound of her muffled sobbing as he turned and followed the rest of the group downstairs, knowing that in the state she was in, it was unwise to try and comfort her.
Your fingertips across my skin
The palm trees swaying in the wind
Images
Hermione sobbed into her pillow, trying hard to rid herself of the memories flooding her mind. She didn't want to remember them, but it seemed they wanted her to remember the pain and torture they caused, and that she inadvertently caused as well.
"Stop," she moaned into her pillow. The memories only swirled faster and faster, making her dizzy and giving her a headache which pulsed to the beat of the music in her head.
"Stop!" She ordered, though it too came out as a moan.
"Stop that."
"I'm not doing anything."
Hermione turned and gave her company a glare. He knew very well what he was doing and he also knew that she was very much aware of it. Unfortunately, she also knew that he didn't give any sort of damn that it was bothering her, which is why for the last ten minutes she had been hopelessly trying to ignore his presence. However, he was not exactly someone easy to ignore. He knew that.
"You know very well what you're doing. And it's giving me the chills, so I would appreciate entirely if you would cut it out," she snapped, taking a minuscule step to the right so his fingers would stop tracing her palm. She would never have known before meeting him that the center of her hand was so sensitive, but he discovered it almost immediately, and made use of the little known fact whenever he could.
The Slytherin only gave her an innocent smile, the smirk hidden in his dark eyes. Rolling hers, she turned away, hoping that someone might come over and rescue her from this vile creature by asking her to dance. Having been new that year, she had felt awkward accepting a date with someone she knew so little about in an era she did not understand. Now, however, she was rather regretting turning down the last boy who had asked her, a handsome sixth year Ravenclaw. Then she would have at least had someone to run to in order to hide from her persistent shadow.
To be honest, the Halloween Ball was turning out to be quite fun, despite her lack of a date and her pesky follower. She had danced with both Potter and Weasley, and had even let Malfoy persuade her into a dance. She was quite taken by Black, and had danced with him twice, though he did have a date and she knew he was quite interested in her. Isla and Rubin had taken her to the floor during one of the more rowdy songs, though that said very little. Mary-Ellen had convinced her to dance once more even though she had sworn she would not dance another dance. And even when she was not dancing, merely watching everybody else while sipping her butterbeer was fascinating.
Until, of course, the Head Boy had decided to grace her with his presence.
"Interesting theme this year, don't you think? The palm trees are a nice touch, but I could do without the sand. Carved coconuts instead of pumpkins was certainly a brilliant idea as well," he said passively, and regardless of the fact she had known him for just over two months, she could not discern if he was telling the truth or merely trying to put her in a content mood for the sake of easy conversation.
"Yes, well, dancing underneath the sun on Halloween is a new experience," she responded lightly. He had asked for something new.
A peculiar smile lifted the corner of his lips. "Yes… Though, you really cannot consider standing here, downing your third butterbeer, dancing."
She scowled, noting the not-so-delicate sarcasm that he never seemed to be without. It really infuriated her sometimes. It wasn't her fault nobody had come to ask her to dance in the last half an hour. She had told her friends she was done dancing, but when did that ever really mean anything? After a butterbeer and some pumpkin pasties, she was ready again. But she, alas, had no partner and was thus resigned to standing on the sidelines.
"Dance with me, Granger."
Hermione nearly choked on her butterbeer, looking up at the Head Boy in complete bafflement. Was he serious? "Dance? With you? Us? Out there?"
An amused grin settled on his lips as he turned his eyes from the line of dancing couples to look down at her. She was staring up at him in fear, certainly concerned for his health and her safety. He merely shrugged and held out a hand, obviously not accepting 'no' as an answer, as he hadn't really asked so much as demanded in the first place.
Still mystified as to what entirely was going on, Hermione placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her the floor, not even registering the gentle circles his thumb was making in the palm of her hand, nor the fact that aside from the music, the whole room had gone deathly silent. The only thought on her mind was the warmth that his hand radiated, even through the fabric of her dress, and how incredibly small her hand was compared to her.
And so Hermione Granger danced with Tom Riddle.
You sang me Spanish lullabies
The sweetest sadness in your eyes
Clever Trick
"Slytherins do not sing."
Hermione peered up at him through a curtain of bangs, her eyes heavy with sleep. She could not understand why there were two of him, or why she could not focus on either one. She only knew that she was ridiculously cold and her head pained her so much, it felt as if something were drilling into it. Still, she managed to voice her question again, however weak her voice was.
"Just one. I'll probably be asleep before you finish, and I don't think I'll remember it come the morning. Just one," she pleaded.
Tom scowled at her, irritated by her begging. His mysteriously secretive eyes turned away from hers to stare intensely at the wall across from her bed in the Hospital Wing, shadows dancing across his pale skin from the darkness of the room. The soft moonlight highlighted his slender frame, illuminating the silvers in his uniform and giving him an eerie glow. But even in her sickly state, she saw past his gloomy and chilling appearance, for even as he frowned at her request, his warm hand held hers tenderly, his thumb tracing her palm.
And he had snuck in here to see her, after all.
After a few moments of tense silence, he finally glanced back at her, his anger dissipating. Seeing her in such a state was rather disconcerting; he was used to the strong-willed, stubborn, confident girl, and this weak and barely comprehensible creature was not the same. He was quickly discovering that he did not like seeing her like this.
With a barely audible sigh, one which he highly doubted she even heard, he reluctantly acknowledged the fact that perhaps this girl was more than just a worthy competitor to him. He had, after all, deigned to stay until she had fallen asleep, no matter how long (and it was taking rather long despite how sleepy she seemed) it took.
"That's just your fever speaking. Go to sleep," he ordered quietly.
Hermione offered him a weary smile, wishing to protest though her eyes closed involuntarily. She was pretty tired, after all. Had she been doing something that required a lot of energy? She could not remember. She welcomed the darkness, however, as she faded off into a deep, dreamless sleep. She didn't even hear the faint humming of an old Wizarding lullaby coming from somewhere to her right, the very thing she had been hopelessly begging for.
Tom watched her breathing even out as she drifted off, a serene expression settling on her face. Letting go of her hand, his duty now fulfilled, he stood from the uncomfortable chair beside her bed. Casting a final, cursory gaze over the sleeping girl, he left the Hospital Wing, the remnants of an old tune in his head and a foreign, almost melancholic feeling settling around him.