Peremo

The gate before her was imposing, almost twice her height. It was wrought iron, flanked by high stone walls with thick vines growing over the bricks. Atop of the stone pillar that connected with the gate, was a dark, weathered gargoyle. Through the gate, she had view of a three-storied manor, Victorian style, just like the gate. It was dark, but she could still make out a beautiful garden, overgrown and lush.

It was intimidating, and despite her sense of urgency, Hermione wasn't immediately sure what to do. Should she knock on the gate? Send a patronus up to the manor? Maybe she could—

"State your business."

Her eyes snapped to the gargoyle.

Creepy.

She cleared her throat, "I'm here to see Av— sorry, Marvin," she corrected, and when the gargoyle didn't immediately speak again, she added, "My name's Hermione. He... he'll know who I am."

The gargoyle didn't move, didn't speak again. It didn't register her answer at all, and Hermione was left waiting awkwardly, shifting on the spot to try to get a better look at the manor.

It had a tower. A tower.

No wonder Tom had been so jealous of Avery, she would've been too.

"Enter," the gargoyle announced abruptly, making Hermione jump.

The gate opened itself, and she gave the gargoyle a nod. "Thank you," she told it, slipping through the gate before it could change its mind.

The manor at the end of the garden path was more intimidating from directly at the foot of its stairs. It screamed money, and its double doors could've given Hogwarts a run for its money, with beautiful, runic patterns carved into the wood.

They cracked open before she'd reached the top of the steps, and Avery's thin form slipped through. Though he was staring at her incredulously, seeing him rather than a stranger, safe and in one piece, made her shoulders drop in relief.

"...What are you doing here?"

Under other circumstances, she might've scolded him for his rudeness, but instead, she gave him a meek, "hello."

Avery just about closed the door behind him, keeping it slightly ajar. "How do you know where I live?"

She smiled sheepishly. She knew how it would look, like he had a stalker. "Um... the real estate records in the public library. I... might've had to confund the matron to get to them."

Avery laughed at that, but glanced around as if he were worried about being seen speaking with her.

"What are you doing here?" he pressed again. "Is this about your letter? I'm sorry, I meant to get back to you, really, but things have just been..."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm— is there somewhere we could talk?" she asked urgently, scanning around them.

Since leaving Hogwarts, she hadn't been able to shake the uncomfortable, itching feeling that Tom was right behind her, breathing down her neck, that he'd get to Avery first. And even now that she'd found him, they were stood exposed out the front of the manor. If Tom was on her trail, he'd be able to see them from the street, hear them, cast at them.

"Um." Avery scratched at his head. He looked like he quite wanted to say no, but instead, "yeah, uh... okay. Yeah, come in," he mumbled, opening the door for her.

Phew. She hurriedly slipped past him into the manor, through to a short entry hall. Inside, the building was equally as impressive as it'd been on the outside. The ceilings were high with intricate patterns sculptured in that framed the light-fittings. Candles lit the faces of worn portraits, and the lush rug in the entry way was a deep emerald with glistening, golden patterns woven in.

Stepping deeper into the manor, the hardwood floor groaned with their footsteps, and Avery paused at the foot of a wide, grand staircase.

"Maybe... up here would be best," he murmured, more to himself than to her, and he led the way up.

Hermione trailed after him to the first floor, taking him in as she went. His hair was swept back, and he though he wore a button up shirt and trousers, the material looked appealing to the touch, soft and comfortable.

She wondered if he'd managed to have a nice Christmas after she'd tampered with his memory. She hoped so.

Avery guided her down the first floor hall, and it was an effort to not be distracted by the manor itself. Upstairs was brighter, with more modern furnishings, and she could make out muffled voices—the other Avery's, presumably. But—oh—now that she was thinking of them, she couldn't help but wonder, was Sylvia there? Was that why he didn't seem to want to be seen speaking with her?

But if she was there, they didn't run into her, and Avery slowed toward the end of the hall. He opened a double set of doors and held them open to what looked like a reading room.

"Who's this?"

Hermione was a foot into the room when the voice rung out from back down the hall.

"A friend," Avery said dismissively over his shoulder.

The woman who'd spoken approached them and leaned herself on the nearest doorframe. She looked young, Hermione's own age, and was tall and slim—beautiful, undoubtedly—with long, sandy blonde hair.

The resemblance was uncanny. She must've been Avery's sister.

"A friend...?" she asked, with judgemental eyes and an upward inflection.

Avery sighed quietly. "This is Hermione," he introduced tightly. "Hermione, this is my dear sister, Clarissa."

"A pleasure," Hermione said, nodding politely.

But it wasn't reciprocated, and when Clarissa's eyes passed over her, Hermione felt a bit like a stain on a rug. "Hermione...?"

"None of your business," Avery snapped, and Clarissa snorted.

"Mother won't be happy you brought a half-blood in here," said Clarissa, connecting the dots for herself.

"What Mother doesn't know won't hurt her," Avery said harshly, "will it?"

Clarissa folded her arms neatly, turned her nose up. "Oh, please, I don't owe you a thi—"

"If you want to be like that, then shall I tell her about Eustice, hmm? Or how last summer when you were supposed to be on holiday with Jules, you were actually—"

She interrupted him with a scoff. "You're so annoying." With that, Clarissa rolled her eyes and pushed off the doorframe, and headed off back down the hall.

"I learned from the best!" Avery called after her before ushering Hermione properly into the reading room.

"Sorry," he said, closing the door behind him. "Don't mind her. She's not entirely thrilled about her upcoming nuptials and naturally, has decided to take it out on everyone else."

"It's all right, I did come unannounced," Hermione allowed, stepping back and choosing a spot over toward the window. She promptly drew her wand and placed a muffling charm over the room. "And I'm— I really am sorry to barge in on you like this," she blurted, "but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't urgent. It's going to sound really out of the blue, but... you see, I had to find you before Tom did. He's... I think he's going to try to... hurt you."

Avery blinked and Hermione tightened her arms around herself. "Sorry," she repeated. "Look, I-I know that you mightn't have much of a reason to trust me over him, and I know it's a lot to take in, but—"

Avery interrupted her with a nervous laugh, one that stretched into a slight groan, scratching at his stubble. "I don't think out of the two of us, I'm the one who needs to be worried," he muttered.

"Avery—"

He held a hand up. "Let me..." he said over her. "Look, I've been meaning to— what happened with you and Tom?" he pressed. "Did you tell him you know about Myrtle?"

Hermione could've laughed, and seeming to sense it coming, Avery went on, "I'm serious!" he insisted. "Did you tell him? And what about the basilisk? Do you know about that too? Because Tom thinks you do!"

Hermione shook her head. "That's... oh, Merlin," she murmured, sighing. "Avery... we've already had this conversation. We might've... on Christmas Eve, we caught up, you and I, and I... I might've removed the entire ordeal from your memory."

Avery raised his eyebrows at her, smiling as though he thought her joking. She didn't blame him. Now that she was saying it aloud, she really did sound a bit loopy.

"Don't you— didn't you think it strange to wake up on a train station bench with no recollection of how you got there?" she proposed to him. "Your night wasn't that big! Who do you think made you a makeshift pillow out of a scarf, hmm? It was tartan, wasn't it? Hand woven?"

His smile slowly started to drop. Good.

"That evening, when we caught up," she went on, "you asked me the very same things you've just asked. And then you also told me that Tom wants me dead, and you tried to help me when Mulciber— look, this would all be much simpler if you would allow me to show you my memory of the night," she offered.

Avery remained still, doing nothing at all for a good long moment before he finally laughed.

"I'm serious," she said.

He laughed a bit louder.

"Marvin!" she snapped. "Please. I know it's ridiculous, I know, but please could you just... humour me? Please? We mightn't have long."

"Sorry," he said, laughs trailing off. "Sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It's just..."

"I know. But I swear, it's the truth."

Avery's disbelief was plain, and so, Hermione stepped over and took his hand. His skin was rougher than hers, warm to the touch. It was nice.

"Just let me show you," she insisted. "That's all I'm asking. Then you can decide for yourself."

Avery looked down to watch their hands. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her fingers.

"Go on then, I guess," he sighed tiredly, giving a slight roll of his eyes. "Let me have it."

So, she did.

When it was done and Avery had seen all her memory had to offer, he broke back, blinking heavily as he returned fully to his own head. He rubbed at his temples, stepping backward to lower himself into the armchair.

He looked pained, and he murmured softly, "I wondered why I didn't hear back from Mulciber on Christmas..."

Hermione winced. The look on his face— it was like reliving that moment with him in the forest, and it was her fault. It was all her fault, but even though the guilt was a knife to her stomach and she wanted nothing more than to grovel, she also knew that if she didn't push through it, then there would be another person dead because of her. She couldn't let that happen.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know you were good friends."

"Well," whispered Avery, "he clearly didn't think that way."

They fell into a pause, and it was a harsh one. Hermione didn't know where they would stand now. Before she'd taken his memory, Avery had helped her, offered her refuge. But now that she'd confessed to killing his friend and removing his memory of it... yeah. It was a miracle he hadn't kicked her to the street already.

"I... I know it's a lot, and I know you probably don't care too much for what I have to say at the moment, but... that night, the night Mulciber..." Hermione wrung her hands together. "Well, you mentioned your family had an estate. One Tom wouldn't find."

Avery's eyes were on the fireplace, but he gave a slow nod.

"I think you should go there," she suggested. "Go as soon as you can, and don't tell anyone you're doing it. I hope to have the situation sorted in a week, but... I can't make any promises."

His head snapped up. "'Sorted'?" he parroted. "What does that mean, 'sorted'?"

"I made a deal with Tom," she explained, choosing her words carefully. She wouldn't again make the mistake of telling him too much. "I'll get him what he wants, and in return, he'll leave me be. I'll bargain for you too, and it'll be... sorted. But I need a bit of time before I can do that."

Avery scoffed. "Riddle doesn't bargain."

She gave a shrug. "It seems for the right price, he does."

"No," Avery disagreed. "He doesn't. He'll just wait until he gets whatever it is that he wants from you, and then he'll kill you."

"Well… that very well might be what he has in mind. But I need the time, not his truthfulness," she reasoned. "I have to try."

"No, you don't! Riddle isn't the sort to play games with, Hermione!"

"What else am I to do? Hide myself away for the rest of my life, let him go with free reign? If I don't try to stop him, no one else will, not until it's too late."

"Yes! Why does this have to be your fight?" Avery said. "Just let him go! Maybe... he can be reasonable, you know. Maybe if we just let this settle for a while, and then go see him together, apologise and explain the situation, he'll come around! This has all just been a misunderstanding."

"You don't believe that," she said, but looking at him, seeing the expression on his face, it was plainly clear—Avery did believe that. She sighed. "He tried to have us killed! I already tried to diffuse the situation, and it didn't work. He's tried to kill me multiple times now, and the only reason he hasn't come for you again, is because he's been so distracted by me that he hasn't gotten around to it yet! An apology isn't going settle this, he's not going to stop, and I'm not going to either," she insisted. "And in the process, I would prefer that you remain safe. All I'm asking for, is a week. Just lay low, stay hidden, for a week."

Avery put his head in his hands, shaking it slightly. "You haven't even told me where this all started, how you knew about Myrtle," he murmured. "And now you expect me to—what? Just trust you?"

"I'll tell you everything," she insisted. "I promise you, I will, just... not right now."

He scowled. "That's bullshit."

"We don’t have time—just a week. Please. What's a week? If you go, and then it turns out this has all been a big mix up, then you would have needlessly wasted a few days. But if I'm right, and you don't leave, and Tom does come for you, then it could cost you your life. What's worth more to you?"

Avery didn't say anything, and his jaw tightened. He slowly shifted to lean his head back, closing his eyes and swearing up at the ceiling. Then, he abruptly stood up. "This is ridiculous,” he said.

“I know.”

“This is— insane. Actually insane.”

“I know.”

Avery stared at her for a long moment before his shoulders finally dropped. “Fine. Fine," he eventually said, "I guess... I'll just grab some stuff for us. How much do you think we'll need?"

She didn't understand. "...what?"

"A week, that's it, right?" Avery said, "that shouldn't be too bad, let me just..."

"Avery?" Hermione asked, but Avery ignored her and before she could stop him, he dashed out of the reading room. Hermione was left a little bit stunned, and when he came back a few minutes later, he had a backpack in each hand.

"Okay, I've grabbed some clothes, some potions, some snacks, and some butterbeer. Do you think we'll need a broom? The house has bedding and kitchenware and all that, I think, but I can't remember if there's much entertainment there, so I thought I'd—"

"Avery."

"—bring some—what?"

"What are you doing?"

He blinked. "Packing some stuff. If we're going to lay low, we may as well make a time of it, eh?"

"No, but... you only need things for you."

"Don't be stupid," he scoffed. "We'll go together."

"Avery—"

"Where else are you going to go?" he challenged, raising his brows.

She didn't immediately have an answer. She knew what she'd be doing... but she hadn't yet planned where she'd be doing it. "I... never you mind. I'll figure it out."

But Avery easily dismissed her. "We'll go together," he decided.

"It's too dangerous," she protested. "I mean it! If something happened to you because of me, then..."

"If what you say is true, then I'm already in danger. We'll be safer together. Two wands are better than one," he said. "Besides. The family estate has a pool. Does wherever you were planning to go have a pool?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but... well. He had her there.

"Think of it as a New Year's trip," said Avery, smiling smugly. "This'll be great."

After sneaking out of the Avery manor and apparating from the gates, Hermione and Avery appeared before a large, weathered building. It was worn—far moreso than she'd been anticipating—and some of the bricks from the front wall were starting to crack and fall, while vines were growing over its front. The stairs leading up to it had been cracked by large tree roots, and the roof looked bowed.

"Hmm," Avery hummed from beside her as she released his arm. "It's a bit... shabbier than I remember."

"It's fine," Hermione assured him. "It's got a roof, a door, a fireplace. That's all we need, really."

Avery gave her a nod and led the way up. The stairs were a bit slippery in the snow, but Avery helped her up to the door. It took a bit of muscle to prying the front door open, but when Avery got it—

"Oh dear," Avery murmured from beside her.

"Um..." Hermione said warily. It certainly wasn't what she'd had in mind when he'd first mentioned the word 'estate'. It was dilapidated.

"I guess Mum thought the elves were better used elsewhere." Avery stepped into the house and plucked a spiderweb out of his hair. "We could always get a hotel room for the night? Come back in the morning?"

Hermione sighed. "No, it shouldn't take too much to make this room liveable," she said, gesturing to what she thought might've been a dining room. "We'll start here and sort out a bathroom, and then we can sort the others tomorrow."

If anything, she supposed that staying in a decrepit building gave them a better cover. It wouldn't be comfortable... but at least Tom wouldn't think to look for them there. She hoped.

Avery looked skeptical, but since it was already close to midnight, she quickly urged him to get to work.

Unsurprisingly, Avery wasn't very good with household charms.

'We were never taught any of this stuff!' He complained when she'd run out of patience and told him to just sit down and get out of her way.

It took about half an hour and a bit of sweat, but when she was done with the small main room, Hermione was rather chuffed with herself. It would need more work in the morning, but for the meanwhile, it would do. The walls didn't clean up too badly, and the hardwood floors polished really nicely. She'd transfigured them two beds with inviting pillows, and while she'd been working, Avery had gotten a healthy fire going in the fireplace and had transfigured some flowers. 'To brighten things up', he'd explained proudly.

It would be fine for the night, and in the morning, she could start working on the kitchen and bathroom. It'd be the perfect safe house in no time.

After finishing with the room preparations, Hermione transfigured her clothes into pyjamas, and clambered into her bed. She'd thought about setting them up for some privacy... but in truth, she didn't really want it. It all felt safer with Avery by her side.

Hermione sat up in her bed, muscles eagerly relaxing into the mattress, while Avery summoned himself a couple bottles of butterbeer, and after opening them, he sent one over to her.

Hermione happily accepted it and didn’t hesitate to take a sip, welcoming the warm flush of the alcohol.

"This isn't so bad," Avery said as he slipped into his own bed, leaning his head back and stretching a long arm along the headboard.

"It's really not," she agreed, wiggling her toes beneath the covers. The beds she'd transfigured herself really were quite comfortable, and in that posture, relaxed with his hair drawn back, Avery made for a pleasant sight.

"Ah, and with no students, no staff, no sisters, no Tom— we'll have a better time here than we ever did at home or at Hogwarts, you'll see."

Hermione laughed at that. At the current rate of things, he wasn't wrong. She told him as much, and then added, "it's hard not to feel like a right coward though. He quite literally chased me out of there, and I ran."

"It's better than the alternative. And hey, it brought us together," said Avery, grinning widely. "And I'm glad you got out of there when you did. When the group of us met on Christmas Eve, Tom spoke about you. Said you were a problem, but wouldn't be after New Year's."

Hermione snorted. That sounded about right.

She took a swig of her butterbeer, and thought back to that evening after Tom's botched poisoning when he'd invited her to Slughorn's New Year's party. If what Avery said was true, then her initial instinct had been right—the original plan, to try again at killing her, had been scheduled for New Year's. Tom's birthday.

He must've really hated her.

But then, she couldn't help but think, that if he'd already had a plan formed, then why had he—ah. She supposed he'd simply been taken off guard. Tom hadn't expected to find her out by herself and vulnerable in Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve, and so, changed his plans accordingly. Mulciber must've been a spare of the moment decision.

It reminded her of... ugh. Herself. How many times had she changed her approach on the fly? How many times now had she reconsidered and altered her course based on Tom's actions?

He was an opportunist, just like her.

"I wonder how he'd have done it," she mumbled, unable to withhold the curiosity. "Whether it would've worked..."

Avery gave her a shrug. "Not worth thinking about. We're here, we’re together, and you're safe, that's all that matters now." His smile, warmly lit from the firelight, was soothing, and Hermione—damn it—felt herself welling up.

He should hate her. Why didn't he?

She took a mouthful of her butterbeer to distract herself, and, oblivious to how close Hermione was getting to the brink, Avery went on saying, "and as to how, he didn't say. Tom's never been the sort to share explicit details, but he did say he was going to do it at the same time as Dumbledore."

The warm and fluffy feeling in her stomach was rudely squashed, and she snorted up her beer, sending some of it down into her airway. "...w-what?"

"Dumbledore," Avery repeated, laughing at her struggling for breath.

Hermione coughed a few times to clear her airway properly. "No— sorry. The whole sentence? Say again?"

"Sorry— I said he was going to try to off Dumbledore at the same time as you," he said, shrugging. "At least, that's the impression he gave. He's had it out for the old man for years."

Oh. Hermione took a deep breath, testing that her lungs were properly clear. Oh. Tom wasn't just aiming for her, and—

She closed her eyes. Fuck. It made sense. If he was aiming for Dumbledore, then that must've been why he'd been so enraged to hear that Dumbledore had been alive in her time.

Which meant that she'd all but told him to his face that he would fail, without even realising it! And then—bloody hell—she went and told him the timeline had diverged! Which meant, that even with the knowledge that her Dumbledore had lived well into his hundreds, Tom might still decide to try his hand anyway.

Shit, shit, shit.

"And he— he definitely didn't say how?" she pressed, sitting up straighter.

"Nope." Avery frowned lightly and took a long swig. "But it would've been in a way that could take out multiple people at once. He stressed that it had to be the same time."

Hermione gave a slow nod. That also made sense, because at the time, Tom had thought she was with Dumbledore. Killing one of them, would've alerted the other... and yet, despite himself, he'd still chosen to risk it with Mulciber.

He must've really hated her.

"Bugger," Hermione uttered, taking another large mouthful as she tried to do the mental math and put the pieces together.

She'd sworn up and down in the forest to Tom that she wasn't with Dumbledore. Which meant that now, more likely than not, without her in the way, he'd think he had a free run at him.

Maybe he hadn't followed her, had let her leave the castle, not necessarily because he wanted the locket... but because he wanted Dumbledore all to himself.

Hermione leaned her forehead on her hand. She tried to think logically.

There were three nights left before New Year's. She'd wasted a day of her agreed upon week tracking Avery down, and if she now had to fast forward to killing Tom before New Year's, then that really didn't leave her with much time.

She'd never planned a murder before. She'd been counting on using every moment of the time she'd bought, but now...

Fuck.

Avery—bless him—was a snorer. It didn't take long after their conversation died down for him to drift off, and now, the sound of his snorts echoed around in their shoebox of a room. Hermione actually didn't mind it. After their conversation, she hadn't been able to sleep anyway, and it was a good indication that she'd have some privacy.

Free from his prying eyes, Hermione tugged her sleeve up, inspecting her throbbing wounds by the light of the fire.

She winced. The letters were just as inflamed as they'd been the previous day, and when she applied another layer of balm to it, she had to bite her mouth closed to stop herself from waking Avery.

It took a moment, but—ah. A quiet moan slipped free as the balm kicked in and the pain started to subside. Much better.

Like her mudblood scars, she knew that in all likelihood, they wouldn't ever fade away. But, she thought wistfully, once they had settled a bit more and Tom was gone for good, she could conceal them. While she didn't like the scars Bellatrix had given her, there was something... proud about them. She'd been given them in a time of war, had gotten them to protect her friends. They were a badge of honour.

But these new ones from Tom? Just thinking about them and what he'd put her through made her nauseous. There was no pride in his brand, nothing but shame.

Hermione sighed—hiding the scars would be a task for another day—and tugged her sleeve back down.

A particularly loud snore drew her attention back over to Avery. His head was craned back on his pillow, mouth hanging open. She smiled fondly, and before forcing herself back to the task at hand.

She drew her bag over, and rummaged through it until she found Tom's diary, and placed it on her bed.

She angled it toward the firelight and stared down at it. Since finding it, she'd been itching to properly inspect it. Ginny had told her all about it, as had Harry. Ginny had spoken of diary-Tom's charm, how he'd been a friend, one with all of the patience in the world, while Harry had gone on about how diary-Tom had drawn him in. What would it try with her?

Though she'd spent her fair share of time wearing Tom's locket years ago, back in her own time, she'd never really had the opportunity to really experience soul magic, to test it, to see what it could do. The ring had been lethal, so she hadn't been able to work with it, but the diary, she knew, wouldn't be as volatile. And now that it was in front of her and she had a little bit of time while Avery slept... she couldn't help but be a little curious. It was only natural.

Hermione ran her fingers over it, and it was striking, in that it seemed to be just a diary. The locket had had an energy about it, a weight to it, and the ring had been all but screaming with magic. But this... as she stroked its cover and flicked its pages... nothing. Just a diary.

It was a nice one though. The leather cover felt smooth and soft on her fingers, and the pages were in perfect condition. Just like the locket, the cup, and the diadem, she was certain it must've been impervious to damage. An effect of the soul it harboured.

It was bizarre to think about. She had a part of Tom's soul in her hands.

Realising she was still stroking its cover, Hermione abruptly stopped. It seemed oddly... intimate.

She put it back down onto the bed and, knowing all too well that she shouldn't, Hermione opened the diary to a blank page. She then took out a quill from her bag before hesitantly pressing its nib into the parchment.

She just wanted to see how it worked, just for a moment.

Hello, she wrote.

The ink of her untidy scrawl sat there, fresh on the page. It took a few seconds, but then, just as Harry had described, it began to fade as if seeping into the book until it entirely disappeared.

Remarkable.

Hello there.

At the first sign of Tom's hand—that familiar, elegant scrawl—Hermione shoved the diary away from her as though it might burn her.

There. She'd seen it. That was enough. She shouldn't have even tried it to begin with—

Might I ask who I'm speaking with?

Huh. The diary was pushy, just like the Tom she knew. But of course it was, she supposed. It was his soul; it was the Tom she knew.

Biting her lip, Hermione ignored the voice in her head that knew better and picked her quill back up, pulled the diary back over.

She'd come this far, and Avery sounded deeply asleep. She had a bit of time. She might as well make the most of it, and she’d destroy it as soon as she was done.

It couldn't hurt.

My name is Hermione, she scrawled.

Hello Hermione. My name is Tom.

How did you come about my diary?

I found it.

There was an extended pause.

Thank you for finding me. My owner would surely appreciate it if you returned me to him.

An interesting thing for the diary to write, she thought, asking to be returned to his owner. Did the part of Tom that lived in the diary want to be close to the rest of him? Was it sentient enough for that? Or was it just self-preservation? Better to be back in the hands of the rest of its soul than a stranger?

I will, she ended up writing. It was far easier to lie in ink. But I wanted to ask you a question or two first, if that's all right.

You may ask me whatever you wish.

If nothing else, at least diary-Tom was accommodating.

Could you tell me how you were made?

There was another pause then, a long one. She almost started to think he wouldn't answer her.

I cannot.

You said, whatever I wish.

You are welcome to ask whatever you wish.

But I made no promises as to whether I would answer your questions.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at it.

Your wording implied you would answer.

Another extended pause.

I cannot give you an answer to that particular question, because I don't have one. I don't know how I was made.

Hermione flicked her quill several times, the splashed flecks of ink seeping into the page.

I don't believe you, she scribbled.

I have no reason to lie to you.

Yes you do, she thought irritably, feeling the beginnings of the very same frustration she often felt when speaking with Tom himself.

I know you're part of him, she wrote. No point beating around the bush, not, when this would be her only interaction with the diary. Best to skip the small talk. Part of his soul.

Another long pause. It was so long, that Hermione almost gave up on waiting, and put her quill down—

How did you come about my diary? Tom's elegant hand repeated.

Hermione found herself smiling. She thought she could just about hear the words as if Tom had truly uttered them. He'd be so furious that his voice would be cold, wouldn't it, the way it'd been when he'd caught her in the forest. His eyes would be bright, jaw tight, and he would be poised to strike.

She could picture him perfectly and her stomach tangled at the thought.

Let's just say that your owner and I have some unfinished business, she scribbled, her smile becoming smug. Now if you'd like to remain intact, I'd advise you answer my questions.

All of them.

After her words vanished into the parchment, a black dot appeared. As if one was holding the tip of a quill onto it, but was keeping it motionless. It remained there, distinct, and unmissable, as if he were thinking—

There was a loud cough from Avery's side of the room, and his snores quietened.

Not wanting to be caught, Hermione snapped the diary closed and tucked it back into her bag, quickly laying her body back down on the bed.

Slowly, Avery's breathing returned to a rhythmic pattern, and Hermione turned in her bed, tossing up whether to head outside to destroy the diary. But…

After hearing of Tom's plans for Dumbledore, Hermione suddenly wasn't opposed to letting the diary linger with the knowledge that she knew what it was, letting it fear for its life. The diary’s suffering was Tom’s suffering, and it might’ve been a bit sadistic of her, but the thought of Tom suffering was exceedingly appealing…

She'd destroy it tomorrow, she decided. Let the diary quiver in its metaphorical boots.

What was the harm? She had three more nights.

Plenty of time.