Peremo

"Have you completely lost your mind?!" Avery turned around to snap.

"Keep still," Hermione hissed, mending the gashes on Avery's back scratch by scratch. "And... it's not as if I have much of a choice."

"Yes, you do!" Avery said, popping another of his chocolates into his mouth. "You've got loads of them!"

"Stop it."

"Do you need me to list them for you? Because I'll do it, get me a quill!"

"Avery."

"No," he said, pausing to wince as she extracted a long splinter from his neck that he'd gotten when he'd collided with the pantry door. "Going back to Hogwarts is the worst idea I've ever heard, and I'm putting my foot down. I won't let you."

She sighed. She was just about done now. Just a few gashes left.

"It's not up to you," she told him. "I'm going, tonight, and that's final. I need to do this."

Avery paused for a moment, chewing his chocolate quietly as he let her work, but then he said decidedly, "well then, I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"'It's not up to you'," he said in what she assumed was supposed to be an impression of her.

"This isn't a joke," she hissed.

"I know it's not, and that's precisely why I'm not letting you trot on off to your death all alone."

Hermione ignored him. "I think we're... all done," she said when she finished with the last of his scratches, promptly handing him his shirt back.

He took it from her, but instead of putting it on, he turned the dining chair around so he was facing where she was seated on the kitchen table. He stared judgmentally.

"What?" she snapped, before she told him firmly, "you're staying here. That's it. I need you to stay here."

"I'm not just going to sit by and twiddle my thumbs while you—"

"If something happens to me, then I need you to be safe!" she said, raising her voice. "Here," she fished through her bag and handed him a notebook, one that she'd been steadily filling ever since they'd left the Avery's manor together. "I've written everything down for you, everything you could possibly need to know."

Avery didn't take it. "I don't want your notebook; I want us to stay together."

"Don't you understand? If I don't... if I don't make it, then I need to be sure there's someone else left who knows of what's to come. It was supposed to be Dumbledore, but now, it's looks like it's just going to have to be you."

Avery blinked. "No. No—"

"Don't misinterpret me, but you weren't my first choice for the job either," she said, huffing. "When the war begins—and at this stage, it's looking more and more likely that it's a when, not an if—there are families who will fight back, but they need someone to bring them together. In my time, Dumbledore was the one to rally them, and together, they were called the Order of the Phoenix. But now, without Dumbledore, and if I don't make it either... it'll have to be up to you."

Avery gaped at her. "Absolutely not, I'm not rallying anybody, Hermione—"

"The Prewetts, Potters, Longbottoms, Weasleys. Those four families, you can count on, I've written them all down in the book. And then, over all others, there's one person you absolutely must recruit. He will say no when you ask him, he will want to put his head down and stay out of it, but you can't let him," said Hermione. "Aberforth Dumbledore."

"A... another Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Abe, from the Hog's Head," she said. "He's Professor Dumbledore's brother."

"Abe?"

"Yes. He may not be the same calibre of leader as Professor Dumbledore, but I just can't think of anyone better suited to fill his place. Eventually, years down the line, an auror called Mad-Eye Moody will be the one leadership falls to, but to bridge the gap between now and then—Aberforth. To get him onside, you'll need to tell him that Tom killed his brother. Hopefully, that on its own will be enough to sway him, but if it's not, your last option will be to guilt him into it by insisting to him it's what his sister would want. Got it?"

"No," Avery said, taking her hand. "I don't have any of it! Hermione, please, can't we just... run away? We can keep hiding, there's plenty of places we could go, and we could rally your Order of the whatsit together. Or—or we could go to the Ministry, give them your book, let them handle it."

"The Ministry wouldn't know how to handle a wet fish," she mumbled, staring down at their hands.

"Just... don't go," he said. "Stay here."

"I have to."

"Hermione—"

"I can't let go now, not when I've gotten so close," she insisted. "I've already given up my life for this. What's a little bit more?"

He tugged on her hand. "You can make a new one. With me."

She wanted nothing more than to say yes. The prospect of what would happen should she chase after Tom was terrifying, more so than anything else she'd ever done, and deep down, she longed to give up, to disappear with Avery, to hide far, far away, somewhere she'd never have to think about Tom again, but...

She shook her head. She couldn't. As long as Tom was still out there, she wouldn't be able to live with herself. Too much depended on her, too many lives counted on her.

Hermione leaned forward, rested her forehead against Avery's. He felt sturdy, safe. Tempting. "I have to do this," she whispered.

She heard him sigh through his nose, and then he reached up, a hand at the base of her neck, and pulled her toward him, pressing his lips against hers.

His lips were warm and soft, timid and undemanding, nothing at all like Tom's. And while it wasn't more than a drawn-out peck, it was also...

"Sorry," Avery murmured, smiling sheepishly when he pulled back. "I just... I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if I didn't take the chance."

A lump was rapidly forming in the base of her throat, growing bigger by the second, and her eyes threatened to well over. "Don't be sorry," she told him.

He shrugged, looking a little bit awkward, and the action was so endearing that she reached for his face and pulled him back to kiss him again.

It was deeper the second time. Less polite, more desperate. Avery let her pull him closer, and when his tongue passed over hers, he tasted like the chocolates he'd been eating.

She tried to put as much as she could into it, to tell him without words how scared she was, how much she wanted him, how much she wanted to say yes.

But it was only a fairy-tale, and all too soon, she pulled away. "Don't worry. I'll be fine, and I'll... see you soon," she said, equally as much for her own benefit as it was for his. She reached out and put her hand on his chest, her palm flat over his heart. "You be safe. Please, be safe."

Avery smiled sadly. "I always am."

Late that evening at Hogwarts, and all was quiet.

It'd been eight-thirty when she'd parted from Avery at the muggle hotel, and for the few students and the hand full of professors who were spending their New Years at Hogwarts, dinner would've wrapped up and curfew would be just about to come into effect.

She was accompanied on her walk by the panicked thrumming of her heart, but aside from that, it was lonely, and the only other soul she met out on the grounds as she passed through them was Kettleburn. He was out in the greenhouses, locking them up for the night, and though she was disillusioned and he didn't notice her presence, she waved as she trudged through the snow all the same.

Seeing a familiar face, even at a distance, was comforting, but upon reaching the castle itself and finding its corridors deserted, the comfort quickly dissipated. Hogwarts had always been frightening at night, and what she'd come to do made it more intimidating still.

Merlin, what was she doing? Maybe Avery was right, maybe she was crazy. But she just didn't know what else to do. She'd come so close—so tantalisingly close—to getting rid of Tom for good, that she just couldn't give up now.

It was a long shot, she knew. If she was right and Tom had checked on his horcruxes, he'd probably be off trying to track her and Avery down, he wouldn't just be sitting around Hogwarts. But she knew he'd come back eventually, and so her plan was to wait him out. If she could just get back to his rooms, she could ambush him when he finally showed his face.

It was a simple plan, a 'what-would-Harry-do?' sort of plan, not even remotely close to being as well thought out as she would've liked, but with so little time under her sleeve... it was all she had.

She just couldn't think of how else to find him any sooner, not if she wanted to retain some element of surprise, and if there was one thing she absolutely couldn't have happen, it was Tom making another horcrux before she killed him. If Dumbledore truly was dead, then he had another murder under his belt. She could imagine the importance of Dumbledore's death to Tom, and guessed that if there was one murder he would've wanted to use for a horcrux more than any other, it'd be Dumbledore's. And though that meant he must've had all he needed... based on everything she knew about him, she was all but certain he'd still save it for when he had one of the founder's objects.

The locket and the cup—she wasn't worried about those. But the diadem, she was less confident about. In her own time, Harry and Dumbledore had thought he'd turned it into a horcrux after the locket and cup. Presumably, that meant he hadn't tracked it down yet, and therefore, even with Tom becoming aware that she'd destroyed his ring and stolen his diary, she might still have a good window in which to kill him.

At least... that's what she told herself.

Hermione weaved up through the castle, a light headache forming as she turned her predicament over and over, and as she passed the first floor, she thought she heard some dull thudding from the staircase below her. In in the dimly lit corridor, she didn't see anyone, but still, not wanting to chance someone running into her, she quickened her pace.

The third-floor corridors leading toward Tom's chambers were close to pitch black, only dimly lit by small flames flickering in their wall-mounted lanterns. The movement of the light had the shadows cast by the statues moving too, and it gave her the hair-raising sensation of being watched.

She ignored it, squeezing the hilt of her wand as she hurried along. Just a little further.

With quiet footsteps, she turned the corner by the end of the corridor and finally laid eyes upon the portrait to Tom's chamber—

But there was someone already there.

Hermione mouthed a silent curse, and narrowed her eyes at Cygnus, who was leaning against the wall next to Tom's portrait, the definition of relaxed. What in hell was he doing there?

Could... could Tom have been in there? Was Cygnus waiting out in the corridor for him?

Hermione crept up to one of the sculptures by the corner and stood behind it, watching Cygnus as she waited. She crinkled her nose. He looked as smug as ever, not at all bothered by the darkness of the corridor, and he was dressed like he'd just come from a formal dinner, his hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive-looking dress robes.

He looked ready for a long stay, and not seeing another option, Hermione waited, watching as he waited, and...

Nothing happened.

She stood there until she had to sit from the ache of her feet, and while Cygnus started to alternate between pacing back and forth and leaning against the wall, it became frustratingly clear; he wasn't going anywhere.

Fucking hell. She'd been plonked there long enough that it didn't seem likely that Tom was in there, which meant, what was he waiting for?

It must've long passed curfew, and so she briefly considered the possibility that Tom had quite intentionally put Cygnus there, had recruited him to join his Knights and had tasked him with being on watch. She quickly dismissed it though; even if Tom had recruited him and had anticipated her coming to the castle, she didn't think it mattered. There was only one of him. She could handle Cygnus.

And so, pressured by her nagging sense of urgency, Hermione made up her mind. She was just going to have to risk it and try to flush him out.

She ducked back behind the corner and dropped her disillusionment charm before taking a deep breath and stepping back out.

Cygnus' eyebrows raised as he saw her.

"Oh. Evening, Miss," he drawled.

Hermione's lips thinned at his tone. "Hello there, Cygnus," she grumbled tightly.

"Haven't seen you in a few days," he remarked.

"Yes, unfortunately it couldn't have been longer," she said, folding her arms. "You do realise it's past curfew?"

Cygnus laughed, but there wasn't humour in it. "Funny. You know, Miss," he drawled, ignoring her comment about curfew, "I was just saying to Petyr how strange it was, wasn't I, Pete? That you suddenly just seemed to up and disappear?"

Hermione followed Cygnus' eyes and turned back in the direction from which she'd come, and sure enough, Petyr Dolohov, a renowned fifth-year menace, was there, camouflaged by the darkness a way down the corridor.

"Yeah, you were," he said, voice echoing through the darkness.

"And you know," Cygnus went on, "I think you might've been there too, Al."

On Petyr's right, Aloysius Nott stepped out from the shadows, and moments after, another second-year, Joseph Rowle appeared on his other side.

Hermione turned back to Cygnus, and from the other end of the corridor, two of the Fawley's, Marshall and Leonard, a sixth- and second year, had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

The smile Cygnus had been wearing on his fat little face had somehow grown smugger, and now, seeing them all together, Hermione was abruptly reminded of what Dumbledore had said only weeks ago when he'd caught her in the entrance hall.

I am becoming increasingly aware that... a group, of sorts, seems to have formed, consisting of students in Slytherin house who are here for the break.

Well, shit.

Hermione cleared her throat, her grip tightening around her wand. "Well. While it's been lovely seeing you all, it's getting late. I don't think any of you are strangers to the consequence of being out after curfew, so I think it would be best if you boys headed back off to your dormitory."

"Nah," Cygnus said, unbothered as he closed in on her, "I don't reckon we will. Not now our night's about to get interesting."

Hermione caught the movement of Cygnus' hand in his pocket, and that was all she needed. At once, she threw up a shield charm, and Cygnus' incoming curse disintegrated into it right at the last moment.

The others were spurred on by Cygnus, and the corridor was illuminated by the light of the onslaught of curses. Even though they were only students, not only was she seriously outnumbered, but she was surrounded, too. Duelling six opponents simultaneously was one thing, but duelling them from all angles with no cover, in the dark, posed a whole different challenge, students or not.

Taking out Rowle and Leonard, the younger of the students, was easy enough, but Cygnus had years' worth of experience as one of the school's most efficient bullies. He cast above his level, and Marshall, Nott and Dolohov weren't much worse.

And so, it really wasn't surprising that after Hermione had managed to hit Dolohov with a stunner to the thigh and Nott with a forceful incarcerus, a hard pressure she never saw coming collided with her back.

At its impact, Hermione felt her wand slip through her fingers, and she was falling, and then all she saw was black.

When Hermione woke, her wrists were burning.

Forcing her stiff neck to move, she glanced downwards to find herself tied to a hard chair, her hands behind its back, and she was... huh. Where was she? She didn't recognise her surroundings, but the room she was in was dark and the windows were letting in an eerie green light, so she assumed she must've been somewhere underneath the lake.

There was an abrupt movement in her peripheral vision, and seeing who it was, Hermione, twice in one evening, found herself relieved to see Cygnus.

"Cygnus?"

Thank Merlin it was just him. Her instinctive guess had been that she'd been brought to the chamber. But if she'd been brought to wherever she was and was still being held by Cygnus, then that must've meant she was still in the castle itself. Tom would never have given students access to the chamber.

"Where... are we?" she asked him.

Cygnus scowled at her. "Shut it, Miss."

Hermione blinked at the coldness of his tone. "Excuse me?"

He toyed with his wand, taking a slow step. "Bet all those detentions aren't so funny now, are they?" he sneered.

She scowled at him. That little bastard. She never should've bothered with keeping Bellatrix's timeline intact, should've smothered him when she had the chance.

Hermione clawed at her restraints and a bit of desperation seeped into her voice. "Cygnus. Let me— let me go. If you value your place in this school, then you will let me go—"

"Nah," he said nonchalantly, crossing his arms, "I don't think I will. You see, the Professor wants to see you. We're under strict instruction that should we run into you, we're to keep you here until he gets back."

Hermione swallowed loudly.

Until he gets back. Until he gets back.

She assumed that meant, until he gets back from his own attempts of finding her. For him to have tasked students to keep watch for him suggested he'd anticipated being gone for an extended period of time.

But that then had her wondering whether Cygnus truly knew what he was doing. He'd been under the impression that she and Tom were shagging, hadn't he, so maybe he didn't quite grasp the severity of her situation...

"Cygnus," Hermione insisted, her voice giving away her growing panic. "This is— I don't know what he's told you, but this is a matter of life and death, so if you could please—"

"Oh, don't worry, Miss, I know," he said. "But you see, I'll be in his favour after this. Then my family will be good and set for when it happens."

Fuck. "For... when it happens?"

"For when we regain our rightful place, muggles underfoot. For when we free our people from the muddied influence of your kind."

Oh. Oh, that sadistic, fucking little monster. "He-he's using you, Cygnus," she told him, changing her angle. "He doesn't care about the purity of your blood, he couldn't care less! He's a half-blood himself, his father was a muggle—"

"Getting a bit sick of the sound of your voice, if I'm honest," Cygnus sneered. "He said not to harm you... but I think he wouldn't mind if I just..."

Cygnus raised his wand, aiming it right between her eyes.

"No. No, Cygnus, no, please—"

Another flash of red, and Hermione was returned to darkness.

The next time she woke, it was to the feel of a rough hand harshly clasping her jaw, shaking her awake.

Her entire body ached; her neck throbbed with the characteristic stiffness of being stuck at an awkward angle for a long amount of time, and she had barely any feeling left in her arse.

But her sore muscles quickly became the least of her worries, because when she cracked her eyes open, her heart stopped. The rough hand had been Tom's, and he was right there, crouched before her, his deep brown eyes staring back at her.

"Didn't harm a hair on her head," Cygnus was saying from behind her as Tom released her jaw. "But I'd be more than happy to, if you'd like."

Hermione barely heard Cygnus. It was hard to notice anything other than Tom, the way he tilted his head as he considered her, and while Hermione dared to not so much as blink, she couldn't help but notice his appearance. He looked far less put together than he usually did; wrinkled shirt, hair messed as though he'd been repeatedly running his hands through it, dark, heavy circles under his reddened eyes as if he hadn't slept.

"That won't be necessary," he eventually murmured before he stood, finally stepping back from her.

Hermione drew a sharp breath only when he looked away and gave her muscles a good flex. The ropes binding her to the chair were tight, and though she could feel the knots around her hands, could physically hold them with her fingers, she somehow couldn't get a good grip on them. They must've been magically put in place.

The room was a bit lighter than it'd been the first time she woke, light enough that she could make out that she was in a classroom. But the light coming in was still tinged green, so she deduced she must've been in the lower wing of the dungeons.

Fuck. That was telling in itself. Tying her up and holding her there, right there, in a classroom, was bold. Without Dumbledore at Hogwarts, Tom probably thought himself untouchable.

But then—she supposed he probably was.

And now that the room was lighter, that must've meant it was day... and that it was Tom's birthday. Hermione struggled at her bindings again at that realisation, but it was useless. She was good and stuck.

It looked like she was set to meet her death on his birthday after all, and she'd gone and walked right into it.

Just like Harry had.

"Go fetch the boy," she heard Tom say to Cygnus.

Hermione snapped her head up in their direction. The boy. The boy. Her heart ached, threatened to burst out of her throat, because there was only one boy he could possibly mean. And so, after she heard the sounds of Cygnus leaving, and Tom had stepped back into her line of sight, she gave him the roundest eyes she was capable of.

"Tom," she tried, voice as soft and helpless as she could muster, "Tom, please. Edward has nothing to do with—"

He raised a hand to quiet her.

Sensing that it would be a bad idea to push him while she was alone with him, wandless and bound to a chair, she obediently snapped her mouth shut.

And Tom— well, he didn't really do anything. He took his time crossing the room and leaned his long form on the front desk, not looking at her, waiting patiently. He seemed deep in thought, his fingers thrumming quietly on the surface of the desk, but... hmm. He didn't seem overtly angry. Maybe she could...

"Tom." She gave her bindings another tug. "Please, I thought we were in a good place. I thought we were finally past this. Please."

Tom still didn't look at her, but she heard his quiet exhale and he moved to reach into his pocket. He pulled out a wand—Oh. She recognised it in an instant, it was her wand, and he held it down by his lap between both hands, inspecting it, his fingertips tracing over the grooves in the wood.

"Where is it?" he asked abruptly, still looking down at her wand as he stroked it, in a tired tone that was only a hint above a whisper.

Even with no context, Hermione knew what he meant. There could only be one thing. He'd seen a piece of his ring, and by now, he knew it had been destroyed. That only left the diary.

But she wasn't about to go admitting that she knew about it, so she said, "where is what?"

Finally, he moved, turning his head to meet her eyes, and in an abrupt action, he snapped her wand clean in two.

Hermione stared in horror as he tossed the pieces down toward her feet, whimpering as they clattered on the stone.

No, no, nonono, she'd rather he'd broken her arm. Hell, she'd rather he'd taken her arm completely off. Because without her wand, without her magic, how was she supposed to—

A muffled thumping started from out in the corridor beyond the classroom door, one that sounded like a struggle. Hermione couldn't crane her neck that far, couldn't see the door, but the struggle quickly became louder, and then it almost sounded like a faint voice...

"—fessor!" As the voice grew louder, she recognised it as Cygnus', calling out from out in the corridor behind her. "Sir, I need your h—"

A flash of red filled the room from behind her, and then it went abruptly quiet.

Tom glanced over her, over to the door, straightening as his eyebrows picked up in interest.

There was a long stretch of quiet... and abruptly, there was a hollow crash behind her, and fragments of the door were scattering around the room around her.

Hermione tensed, unable to properly see what had happened, but when a green curse shot through the room from behind her and collided with the front wall, only narrowly missing Tom, she did her best to duck behind the chair she was tied to.

Before her, Tom moved quickly, drawing other chairs and desks from around the room upward to intercept the onslaught of incoming curses. Between them, he sent his own curses back, filling the room with red light, and Hermione shrank down as small as she could make herself to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

There were loud footsteps from behind her, and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone throw themselves to the ground to avoid one of Tom's stunners. It was Avery.

Oh, for the love of—

Hermione screeched as Avery abruptly threw a spell in her direction and the chair she was on collapsed beneath her. She landed firmly on her tailbone, but—aha!—with the chair in pieces, she was able to shimmy her legs and her hands free from it. They were still bound together, but at least she was free of the chair.

She rolled herself over to see what was going on just in time to see Avery being hit by one of the chairs Tom had levitated, throwing him back onto the ground.

"What has she told you to earn such blind devotion?!" Tom called across the room while Avery struggled back to his feet. "Has she told you she's a mudblood?"

"Do you ever stop talking?!" Avery lobbed another green curse at Tom, one that was stopped by an intercepting table.

Tom laughed. "Did she tell you she sucked me off in the infirmary?" he grinned, the white of his teeth showing. He was enjoying himself. "Or—what about yesterday when I fucked her in your bed?"

Tom was so obviously taunting him, so clearly saying whatever he could to distract him, but—fuck—despite the obviousness of what he was doing, Avery still fumbled. He lost focus, taking only an extra second to look in her direction, to meet her eyes, and—

"No!" Hermione yelled, just as Tom's next spell collided with Avery's chest, and the classroom abruptly fell quiet.

Hermione whined as she thrashed at her bindings, tugging to free her hands and legs with all she had, and yet it was still no use. Cygnus' ropes held firm, and Tom took his time crossing the room to reach Avery, slow, measured steps.

She continued to struggle while Tom bent down and slowly started dragging Avery over by his arms, pulling him carelessly through the wreckage of the furniture, over to where she was stuck laying on her side, stopping when he had Avery lined up beside her.

A sob escaped her. Avery had a fresh scrape along his jaw, but aside from that, with his hair fallen loose around his face, he looked peaceful, like he were sleeping.

It was supposed to be her, only her, fucking stupid, stupid Avery.

"Now," Tom said, panting lightly, as he crouched down by Avery's head. The smile he gave her didn't at all meet his eyes. "Shall we see if you've found your voice yet?"