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“Where’s Harry? What have you done with him?”
The office was empty at this time of night, but she’d known he would be there. Tom Riddle always stayed late, always put in the extra effort. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when Hermione had admired him for it. She’d admired him for a lot of things.
Tom hummed, relaxing back into his computer chair. “It’s better this way, don’t you think? It’s so much more fun when it’s just the two of us.”
“Leave Harry out of this. He doesn’t know anything.”
It was true. She had been the one who suspected something wasn’t quite right about Riddle. She had been the one who suggest mob ties, who had pushed Harry to reopen the Gaunt case. And now Harry was missing. Gone. It was all her fault.
Tom sighed. “I didn’t want to involve him, Hermione. But you gave me no choice.”
If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he sounded apologetic. As if he wasn’t looking for an excuse to get Scotland Yard’s best rookie detective out of the way.
“Potter really should learn the value—” Tom stood gracefully and prowled towards her, fingers dragging across the top of his desk “—of minding his own business.”
“He doesn’t know anything, I swear.” The words spilled from her mouth, but she knew it was hopeless. Tom was decisive. Whatever he’d done to Harry, he’d see it through. But she wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if she didn’t at least try. “It’s not too late. I can make him think it was Malfoy. Please.
“Tell me—” Tom was close now, close enough that she could smell the lingering traces of his citrus-y aftershave, his voice barely above a whisper “—what you would give me to spare him. Tell me what he’s worth to you.”
She didn’t have to think. This was for Harry. Harry who had been her best friend since they were eleven. Harry who had told everyone exactly where they could shove it when they made fun of her for being a know-it-all. Harry who had helped bridge the gap between her and Ron after their breakup. Harry who had been there when early-onset Alzheimer’s started eroding her mom’s memories to the point where she sometimes forgot she had a daughter.
“Anything.”
Tom’s fingers brushed along her cheek, just a faint touch, but it was enough to make her skin crawl. How many times had she wished he would touch her? How many times had she forced herself not to stare at his hands during the conference meetings? But not like this. Not when she knew those hands had killed people, had wrapped around throats just like hers and squeezed.
“Anything is such a dangerous word,” he said, voice soft. His fingers continued to trail across her skin, tracing her jawline, down the side of her neck. She was sure he could feel her pulse thundering against his touch. “Are you sure you mean it?”
“I—”
“Would you kill for me, Hermione? Let’s say…oh, I don’t know, Dumbledore?”
He paused, waiting for her to answer. Kill someone? For Harry, she would do anything, yes, but she didn’t even know how to go about killing someone. And certainly not someone as well-protected as the police commissioner. Why would he think I could do that for him? And why can’t he do it himself?
“Ah. So not anything.” She’d been silent too long. Tom’s lips curled into a mocking grin. “Poor Potter—”
“I said what I said, Riddle,” she snapped. If he was bothered that she’d returned to using his last name, he didn’t show it. Dumbledore is imperfect. He’s no innocent. If this is what it costs me to save Harry, it will still have been worth it. I’ll figure it out.
He wet his lips, eyes gleaming, hungry, as his hand paused on her neck. He began to trace small circles right over her pulse-point, just a hint of pressure to remind her of what he could do.
“You never cease to surprise me, Hermione. So righteous, but only when it suits you. And so much violence lurking beneath the surface. The things you could do.”
“You had better be sure that’s what you want, because you only get one—”
“No.” His grip tightened around her throat, all pretense of tenderness gone. She gasped, but no air would come. “You will give me whatever I want, whenever I want, for as long as I want. Or, I suppose, until you decide precious Harry’s life isn’t worth it.”
Which will never happen, went unspoken between them. Tom could ask for anything. Murder, stealing, blackmail. Hell, he could even ask her to kill the bloody Prime Minister. She would still choose Harry, and they both knew it.
“But you needn’t worry too much. Right now, at least.” He released his hold on her but didn’t stop touching. His hand dragged across her shoulder, fingers tapping at her collarbone. “The only thing I want is you.”