Chapter 10
Dinner continued on for a little while longer, but nothing of particular importance occurred. Hermione tried to analyse each of the suspects to see if any of them were behaving abnormally, but everything was as usual.
Blaise was constantly chattering and eating away, with Ron tailing behind him and trying to keep up. It had particularly vexed her when the greedy pair ate the last of the macaroons, which Hermione had been eyeing since first sitting down at the table, hardly being able to wait for when she finished her main course and could move onto dessert. She would have to be quicker next time.
Draco rolled his eyes more time than Hermione could count and generally disagreed with everything being said at all times, so there was nothing new there either. Other than the fact that he kept looking at her every now and then, probably to mentally judge her appearance, but she tried not to let it affect her.
Viktor continued to mispronounce Hermione's name whilst asking her whether she was enjoying her food, whether she'd had a good day and complimenting her on her looks. He also discussed Quidditch with Ron and Draco, as well as with Susan and Luna who joined in the conversation. Hermione, on the other hand, automatically stopped listening when that topic of conversation came about.
Susan seemed to have plenty to converse about with Ron when he wasn't stuffing his face, which intrigued Hermione. She also occasionally spoke to Tom, although he said little back to her.
Luna spoke predominantly to Hermione for the majority of the evening, save a few short interactions with Viktor and a few replies to conversations between the whole table or remarks spoken directly to her.
It was all in all a very ordinary dinner.
The wine had helped too. After her second goblet Hermione felt much more at ease with her surroundings. After her third, she started to become a little distracted, the thought of a murder investigation and being held hostage on a remote island slipping out of her mind. She was very much a lightweight, but it was to be expected for someone who rarely ever had time to drink.
Tom was the very first to leave the table. He departed in a very abrupt manner, leaving the others slightly confused and Hermione undeniably concerned.
After draining the last of the wine, the rest of them followed suit, half of them yawning and stretching out their arms. It had been a very long day for all of them.
"Bagsy toilet first," shouted Blaise, pushing past the people in front of him and rushing up the stairs.
"In your bloody dreams, Zabini," said Ron, immediately speeding up to race against Blaise. "I've been needing it for way longer."
The two tussled and shoved their way up the stairs. It appeared very much unsafe to follow on after them.
"I might just use the loo on this floor," said Hermione, shaking her head at the two wizards that were on the verge of both falling down the stairs.
Luna and the others nearby her said goodnight to her and Hermione left the room in search of the toilet.
As she ventured down the corridor, she heard some footsteps following behind her. She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and spun around, her hand immediately reaching for her wand.
It was Draco Malfoy who slowly raised his hands in a mocking surrender.
"Oh, it's you," said Hermione distastefully, not quite letting go of her wand just yet. "Why are you following me?"
"Blessing you with my presence, of course."
Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed.
"If that's your idea of a blessing, I'm not particularly in the mood for it," Hermione retorted, letting go of her wand. "But if you could point out the toilet to me and be on your way that would be greatly appreciated."
"Oh, Granger, I would in any case be most honoured to 'point out the toilet' to you like the concierge you believe me to be, but unfortunately I am unaware of its location myself," drawled Draco with his usual aristocratic sneer.
Hermione glared at him.
"You are utterly useless."
Even Draco's laugh was a drawl. Hermione found the way in which he seemed entirely dissatisfied, unamused and almost bored by everything thoroughly irritating.
"How terribly kind of you. What is an aristocrat, after all, if not a huge waste of space?"
"You're drunk," she commented, narrowing her eyes.
"As are you."
"Not as much as you are." Her tone was all annoyance.
"No?"
"Why else are you following me?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Because believe it or not, Granger, I don't particularly fancy using the toilet after Blaise and the Weasel. I am quite certain the putrid stench would render me unconscious."
"Weakling," she muttered.
"Oh? Is that so?" he asked in amusement. "Care to punch me in the face to prove it once again?"
"That is a very tempting proposition, Malfoy, but it would be rather low of me to punch an inferior at this age."
"An inferior," he chuckled. "Careful, Granger, you're starting to sound awfully like myself. Must be all this time we've been spending together."
Hermione decided to ignore the comment, even though she had plenty of rebuttals ready in her head. She wasn't going to fall for his bait.
"Well I actually need the loo, so if you don't mind, I'll just go look for it, thanks," she snapped, beginning to move away from him.
"You're welcome," he mocked, following her along the corridor.
Hermione stopped to glare at him.
"Insufferable," she muttered.
A door appeared on their left and Hermione tried to push it open but it was locked.
"Too bad, Granger."
A few steps later, there was another door on their right which was also locked.
"This is painful to watch."
Then came a third door, by which point Hermione had lost some hope. However, she pushed the door open to successfully find none other than a bathroom.
"Bingo," she exclaimed triumphantly and charged straight in.
"Congratulations," muttered Draco sarcastically, following in behind her.
Hermione was completely taken aback.
"Malfoy, what the hell are you doing in here? Get out and wait your turn," she cried. "
"There's two sinks in this bathroom, Granger. I'm sure we can share," he said with a very evidently false smile.
"Well what if I need to -"
"I'll be gone by then."
Hermione thought for a second, before giving in with a huff. She really was far too easily persuaded.
"Fine."
Draco wandlessly summoned his toiletries, moving over to one of the sinks as he squeezed out some of the toothpaste onto his toothbrush whilst Hermione did the same with her one from her beaded bag. They both began brushing almost simultaneously as well.
Now that they were brushing their teeth, they couldn't speak to one another, and so the speed of their brushing quickly became their manner of competition. Looking at one another with squinting eyes through the mirror, they were each intent on being the fastest tooth brusher.
Hermione suddenly felt her mouth grow too full of toothpaste and had to spit a little out before continuing to brush.
"Cheater," mumbled Draco through the froth of his toothpaste.
After this little incident, Hermione was determined not to be the first to give up, even if she scratched off all the enamel off her teeth. Nothing would stop her from winning.
Every time she quickened her pace, or changed the direction of her brushing, Draco was there to match or even outmatch her. When he did, his eyes gleamed with triumph.
Eventually, it was Draco who surrendered first, much to Hermione's relief as she was just about to stop herself. Served the haughty blond git right.
"Ha. Knew I would win," sneered Hermione, indulging in her victory.
"Only because you cheated halfway through," replied Draco with a deep scowl, spitting out the remaining toothpaste into the sink and dabbing his face with a towel.
"Sounds like something a sore loser would say."
"Care for another round of Densaugeo?"
"With what wand, Malfoy?"
Draco clutched his hands to his chest.
"Ouch, Granger. You really know how to hit it where it hurts."
Hermione blew him a mocking kiss and Draco recoiled back, pulling a revolted face. Hermione chuckled.
"I think I may have over-brushed my teeth," noted Draco, leaning on the sink to look at his teeth in the mirror. They were covered in blood. He spat the blood out into the sink and washed it away.
"And you still lost."
"Only because you bloody cheated," he muttered, washing the rest of the blood out of his mouth. "Looks like I'll have to skip the floss."
"And the mouthwash," added Hermione.
"Yeah," he quickly mumbled.
She stood there and watched him through the mirror.
"So I did leave a scar after all," she mumbled, spotting the tiny, inconspicuous scar that Tom had mentioned to her.
"Pardon?"
"Oh," she blurted out, not having even realised she had spoken those words aloud. "Nothing."
They remained in silence for a few moments. The only sound was of their breathing. It was out of sync by less than a beat.
"Well, I'm off then," he said, packing up his things and making his way to the door.
"Wait, Malfoy-"
He immediately turned around. "What do you want?"
She wasn't too sure why she asked the next question. It just slipped out of her.
"Are you alright?"
Draco narrowed his eyes at her, clearly thinking he wasn't understanding something.
"Of course I'm alright, Granger. It was a bit of blood. Not like I'd lost my whole arm or anything." He said the last sentence with a scoff.
"No, I don't mean that. Well, that too. I mean generally." She wondered whether it was the alcohol or something else that was causing her to lose her coherence.
He folded his arms and leaned against the door.
"Since when do you-" he began, but paused and cleared his throat before starting again. "I'm fine," he said quickly.
"Good," she replied, not knowing what else to say. She reached into her bag, her hand landing on her roll of floss. But then she removed it. "I'm done too, actually."
She wasn't sure exactly why she did it. She supposed she just didn't really fancy walking through that dark house all alone.
"Excellent," said Draco, opening the door and holding it for Hermione. She thanked him cordially.
They walked up the stairs without speaking to one another. Hermione felt herself wobble slightly as she ascended the steps. She forced herself to concentrate on not falling. She could really do with saving herself the embarrassment.
She had made up to the very last step with no major complications. Well, that was easy enou-
And then of course, she stumbled backwards. Talk about becoming complacent.
Draco's hands immediately shot out to catch her, stabilising her by the waist. Hermione felt her whole body shiver at the touch of his hands, skin separated only by the thin satin of her dress.
"Watch your step, Granger," he spoke into her ear with a low voice.
Hermione could barely speak.
"Thank you." Her voice was small and muted.
They continued on down the corridor and stopped by room 103.
"I can walk you to your room," he offered, but Hermione shook her head.
"No, it's alright. I'm only two doors down."
Draco nodded, paused and then finally opened the door to his room.
"Goodnight, Granger."
"Goodnight, Malfoy."
He shut the door behind him and Hermione walked the small distance to her own room and practically flung herself inside it.
Riddle was no where to be seen, which worried Hermione. Where was he and what was keeping him so long?
Hermione changed into her pyjamas and hung up Susan's dress on the handle of her wardrobe, ready to return to her at the earliest opportunity the next day. She steamed it to remove any creases with the hot air charm and sprayed it with a little perfume.
Satisfied with the dress' condition, Hermione crawled into bed with nothing to do but allow her mind to deeply submerge itself in the subaqueous world of overthinking. She flicked her wand and the main light turned off while her bedside table lamp turned on.
Once she was down under, it was very difficult for her to get herself back out. It was like drowning, but nowhere near as peaceful. It was more like being drowned. There was a very distinct difference between the two.
She sat there, her back upright against her pillow, completely still and processed every single piece of information from that day.
It was in that very moment that she realised just how much information there was to analyse.
From Justin being found murdered in his room, to the investigation of the crime scene, to the printing of the photographs, the checking of the wands, her lunch with Blaise and Luna, her analysis of the Butterbeer cork, her wall of photographs, discovering the frozen time on the watch as well as its make, getting ready with Susan, being escorted to dinner by Malfoy, dinner itself and now finally being accosted in the hallway by Malfoy once again.
She pulled out a pad of parchment and a quill from the very bottom of her bag and began to take notes, something she ought to have started doing earlier. It was foolish of her to think she could reliably contain all this information only in her memory. She could not risk the possibility of forgetting something, albeit unlikely for Hermione Granger to be capable of such a thing.
Quite some time had passed and Hermione had scribbled her way through at least twelve pages of parchment in very small handwriting.
All of a sudden, the door creaked open.
Hermione slammed her pad of parchment shut and pushed it down into the deep depths of her beaded bag, reaching for her wand in the process.
Was the murderer coming for her? Would she be coming face to face with them, their true identity being finally revealed to her?
"My sincerest apologies," said Tom as he pushed the door fully open and saw Hermione sitting upright in her bed. "I assumed you would be sleeping. I would have knocked otherwise."
Hermione let out a sigh of relief, letting go of her wand and placing her bag on her bedside table. She moved herself so she was sitting on the edge of her bed.
"I was up thinking."
Tom let out a short laugh. "I should have known as much."
"How was the autopsy?" asked Hermione. "Have the results come through yet?"
"No, those will take at least another day."
"A whole day!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Yes, and that is after having been sped up with magic."
He placed his briefcase down on the floor by the armchair.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for it," said Hermione solemnly.
"Miss Granger, do you forget me telling you that you apologise far too much?"
Hermione shook her head. Her expression was completely serious.
"No, this deserves an apology. You asked me and I said I'd be there for it. And then I didn't help and consequently I shifted all the time and burden onto you."
"You were doing equally essential work for this investigation, Miss Granger. I am anxious for you to inform me of what you discovered."
Hermione began to run him through her discoveries. Tom listened while he undressed and pulled on his green tartan pyjama bottoms. Hermione looked away for that short duration of time, even though the light in the room was low and she could only just see him. Once he was done, she saw him slip something crinkly into his pocket.
In spite of how shocking much of the information was, Tom's countenance remained perfectly composed, at least from what Hermione could see. He appeared to be curious and somewhat impressed, but not shocked in any manner.
"Is that all?" he asked, not rudely, but out of clarification.
"Yes."
"Then I believe we are ready to begin questioning tomorrow," he said gravely.
"I suppose so," she replied, already dreading it. Her expression then fell more serious. "You know, in a weird way I'm relieved that I didn't discover any more clues. I don't think that I could have handled any more shocks to the system today."
Tom assessed her discretely.
"I am glad that you are feeling better since this morning."
Hermione shook her head slowly.
"Honestly, I don't know if I am," she confessed with a voice that was just above a whisper. "I just think I'm hiding it better right now."
Tom walked over closer to her, but stopped himself far away enough from her bed.
"Talk to me about it."
"You don't have to-"
"Talk to me about it," he repeated.
Hermione inhaled deeply, scrunching her face as she prepared to release the torrent she had previously kept sealed like a dam.
"Do you seriously think I can do this? Solve this murder, I mean. I've known the victim and all the suspects involved for years. Unlike you, I can't be an impartial, unbiased detective. Heck, I'm no detective at all if I can't even discover a new piece of evidence without breaking down."
All this she said whilst looking down at her hands. After pausing for a second and inhaling deeply, she carried on. She looked at him this time.
"I'm no more innocent than any of the people in these rooms either side of me. I have no right to be leading this investigation. And the worst part is that they don't resent me for it. If they were putting up a fight, maybe it would be easier to deal with. Maybe I wouldn't feel so bad about it all."
Tom was quiet for a few moments.
"Continue, Miss Granger. I do not believe you are quite finished."
"You're right," she agreed. "I have a lot more to say, or rant, even. You don't have to listen."
"I'll listen."
It was a perfectly natural response but it took her by surprise nonetheless. She was very used to being spoken to, not knowing much about being listened to. Even less about being heard.
She took a few deep breaths, preparing herself to continue. She looked up at Tom, he nodded her to begin.
"The Battle of Hogwarts was only two and half years ago. When it was over, I thought that all the hardship in my life would end with it. But I don't know, Riddle, it's like I've been thrown into an ocean all of a sudden and I'm being drowned. Maybe every now and then, I'm pulled out and given a second to breath, just enough to keep me alive before my head is thrown back under the water again and it all starts over again. And I sink. Each time I sink a little lower. The lower I sink, the harder it is to pull me out."
She braced herself for the next part.
"Riddle, what if next time I sink too far to be pulled out?"
He listened carefully the entire time, remaining silent even a few moments after she had finished. He appeared to be deep in thought.
"I believe this is the only time I will tell you that you are mistaken, Miss Granger. You are not being drowned in an ocean. You are not sinking within it. If anything, you are the ocean itself."
Hermione's head shot up. Nobody had ever spoken to her like this before. It was entirely unbeknown to her.
"You reflect images of what you see before you, of what you have experienced. But look past the surface ripples; the water underneath is unmoved."
It was in this very moment that Hermione realised Riddle had not only listened to her, but he had also heard her.
"Why have the others trusted you with this role? Dive beneath the surface and see. Miss Granger, you are a home to others. You are a sanctuary. Do not question why people choose you."
Their eye contact was like a taut rope between them, balancing in perfect equilibrium. It didn't even feel like it could go slack. It was solid like a plank of wood.
"In another life, I would have liked to exist for myself as well as for other people," she whispered.
"I understand."
Tom's responses had entirely amazed Hermione. He did not once put himself into the equation. He did not say that he would do any of it for her. He saved her with his honesty, with his selflessness, and not with empty promises. She had heard enough of those in her time.
The way he spoke was a renaissance. He extracted that which was already within her, bubbling under the surface, just out of reach. He brought it to her fingertips.
After inhaling deeply, Hermione watched him pull out out a small paper bag from his pocket.
"I saw you watching these at dinner," he confessed. "I took three aside in case Mr Weasley and Mr Zabini finished them before you had the chance to try them."
He tossed the packet onto the bed and Hermione reached for it. She peered inside and saw three different coloured macaroons: pink, green and cream-coloured. Two were slightly crumbled, but Hermione hardly noticed.
In fact, she could hardly do anything but stare at the packet, and then look at Tom once again.
"You notice everything."
"No," he replied. "I notice the things that matter."
Hermione fiddled awkwardly with the brown paper packaging.
"Thank you."
Tom nodded in acknowledgment.
"Goodnight, Miss Granger," he said, turning to head back to the armchair.
"Wait," she said in a voice just louder than a whisper. The bag of macaroons dropped out of her hand and fell to the floor as she stood up on her feet.
"Yes?" he asked, looking back and raising an eyebrow.
"You don't have to go."
He paused, his mouth opened to say something but then shut again.
"Stay," she said softly. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."
He nodded cautiously.
"I will bring the arm chair over," he said, reaching for his wand.
She shook her head slowly, feeling her eyes watering, but not enough to be seen in that dim light.
"Please, Tom, I don't want to be alone," she confessed almost breathlessly, diffidently moving one step closer to him. "Not after everything. At least let me pretend I'm not alone tonight."
His eyes widened, hearing her use his first name, and slowly began to move towards her, closing the gap between them until they were only inches apart.
"I understand," he said in a low voice, looking down into Hermione's eyes, which were a head beneath his.
It was that eye contact - the kind that you felt yourself grow within, rather than feeling reduced by it. She could feel Tom's breath against her skin, and her own breath was landing against the base of his neck.
She wondered if he could hear her heartbeat from that proximity. She listened closely to find his, to see if they were aligned, if perhaps they shared the same heartbeat like they shared the same air.
"Tell me to leave if change your mind," he said, looking away to break the eye contact he was usually always so fond of. "I'll be gone in an instant."
"I won't change my mind," she asserted breathlessly.
They split apart, walking slowly to opposite sides of the bed.
Hermione pulled back the covers on her side, noticing the way that Tom was looking at her. She sat on the edge of the bed and swung her legs onto the mattress.
Tom followed cautiously, positioning himself on the very edge of the bed, as far away from Hermione as possible. He did not lift up the covers, lying down on top of them instead and stared up at the ceiling of the four poster bed.
Hermione lay on her side and looked at him. The light was low and hazy, but she could make out the sharp definitions of his face perfectly. They cut through the darkness like a knife.
"May I tell you something?" she asked.
Tom turned his head to face Hermione, resting it on the pillow, his cheek brushing the red satin just like Hermione's was. She wondered if he could feel her skin tingle through the vibrations of the fabric.
"You may."
His eye contact rendered her mobile. Not immobile, but mobile. He inhibited her in no way: he liberated her.
"Earlier, back when we were downstairs in the basement, you said that I could manage this all alone. That you were only taking hold of some of my burden. Do you remember?"
"I do."
"Well, I didn't answer you then, but I think I know what I would say now."
She paused.
"What would you say?" he asked, eyes wide and searching.
"I would say that I am so glad I'm not doing this alone. I'm always doing everything alone. I am so glad you're doing this with me, Tom."
His jaw twitched.
"You do not need me," he said quickly.
"No, but what an awful life it is to rely only on what is needed rather than what is wanted," she said.
Tom eyed her curiously.
"That is hardly a life at all."
"I know," she sighed. "I know all too well."
"Then change the rules, Miss Granger," he said. "Desire is often reciprocated."
Hermione felt her heart beat faster.
"In order to change the rules, I would have to break them first. I'm not sure if I have the courage."
"You do. You need only look beneath the surface," he replied, eyes still fixed on her. "Now sleep: I will detain you no longer. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
He tuned her bedside table lamp off and a wave of sleep washed over her, as if Tom's words had conjured it. But it was only a wave. Like ripples, they were superficial. Beneath, she was an endless vast of unexplored territory. She was not just a home to others, she was a home to herself.
That night, she dreamt of the sea.