Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Blasted plot bunnies. Just a note - although this centers around Hermione and Tom, they're not going to become a couple. At least in this story, anyway.
Much thanks to Christine and Crys for not only rocking my socks, but being such great people and friends. *hugs* Don't know what I would do without you two - you're such an inspiration. This is dedicated to you both.
And as always, thanks to Jennifer for not only bearing with me, but for betaing this on such short notice (you can blame me for that), and giving me her feedback and advice on lots of things.
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Chapter Four: Unreal Reality
- - -
As quickly as the clear look was in her eyes, it was replaced by the glassy look that had dominated them before.
He sucked in his breath. The warm brown eyes that lit up with happiness were now cold and inexpressive. It was as if she had been possessed or replaced by someone who wasn't herself - someone who pretended to be her, but never could and would be her.
He knew he had to get out of there now - she certainly wasn't giving him a pleasant look then. And right now was clearly not the best time to let Tom know that he was here. On a rescue mission to save Hermione, at that. Now was definitely not the best time to let Tom onto anything. If Hermione told him that Harry was there - well, he just had to take that chance.
So after giving her a beseeching look in vain, he snuck away - hoping all the while that he wouldn't be found. Taking advantage of there being a window in the room, he bent the metal bars with a softly whispered "Solfius" under his breath and a wave of his wand - and slipped away, in a flash of cloak and dark unseen agility.
She only gazed blankly at the place where he had been - and slowly jerked back to life, getting out of the room. Her master was calling her.
- - -
Maybe it had been just a wishful illusion of his that he had conjured up in hopes that Hermione was, in fact, not being controlled, Harry mused later, observing her cell window from where he stood behind a tree nearby. A horrific thing he couldn't - and wouldn't - allow himself to believe.
He laughed bitterly. Now all he could was wait again - wait for the right time to strike with a clash and a bang through Tom's seemingly impenetrable shield. Everything that he had hoped to not be true was indeed true. And what did he have to show for it? A wishful, naïve illusion that taunted him to no end and an incessant will to get Hermione out of that hell - and out of there soon. And he couldn't waste any time.
He smiled sardonically. No point in bidding his time any longer - he would strike. And he would strike soon - and bring everything of Tom down. If he waited any longer, everything would fall to pieces, his precious plan ruined.
That is, if he had a plan. He had a rough one sketched in his mind, but it was too early and messy to tell whether it would work or not. He didn't know whether it would - and even if he wanted to test it, he didn't want to put her in danger. No way would he ever put his best friend in danger. He just wouldn't - and could not - take that risk.
He only hoped that when or if a better plan came along and he thought of a less sketchy one, that he would rescue her from this mess. And from him. He scowled at that thought and continued to watch her barred window. Any sign of life that she showed, even if it was the robotic person she was now, he would be eternally grateful for - a sign that she was alive, he would undoubtedly give his life for her - to know that.
He sighed wistfully. Thinking about it now, he realized with a painful jolt of shock that this had only been an illusion of his. Maybe he hadn't been seeing things - only seeing them in his mind, and wishing for them to happen. Much like he had hoped that she would be the same - that she wasn't under Voldemort's control.
But no, that hadn't happened. And when would he learn? Wishful dreams and blind hopes of his would never come true. They never had - so why would this time be any different?
"Honestly, when will you ever learn?" He heard her voice in his brain say. He smiled slightly at that - if she saw him like this now, without a doubt, that was how she would react.
Then a frown came over his face. A pulsing in his veins told him to go and whisk her away, like the "Prince Charming" he was. Her rescuer, he hid an ironic smile. She was his savior, and he was her rescuer. Somehow that fitted perfectly - they fitted perfectly, in a way that no one could ever imitate or do.
Some Prince Charming he made now. Ruffled black haired, green-eyed, skinny boy who had not a clue what to do. And how to go about it. The perfect picture of the Most Unlikely Prince Charming. He couldn't help but snort at that. Here he was, standing and making jokes, when he could have been getting Hermione away from Tom's clutches.
Tom and Voldemort may be the same person, he mused, but they were two separate beings. Harry didn't dare to call His Royal Evilness a human, because in reality he wasn't, and never would be. In the past, he had been nothing but a snake - slithering, lurking, quiet, waiting for the right time to strike, and strike hard with everything he had. And although they appeared to be strong, Harry knew they were both vulnerable, underneath that solid mask of foreboding and calm malice.
Much like he was doing now, Harry exhaled. There was no use wasting time anymore - it was precious, slipping away from him every second, like sand dropping down in the hourglass.
He resolved to do it now, while it was nearing twilight. Carefully he made her way back to her window, muttered "Solfius" under his breath, and darted inside, looking around while he did so.
She wasn't there.
Oddly he was relieved at this discovery. That gave him time to prepare for his confrontation with Tom - and what a confrontation it would be, he smiled grimly.
What a confrontation it was going to be.
- - -
Tom rested comfortably in his chambers, Hermione sitting nearby him, ever waiting patiently with a steaming teapot filled with - what else? - tea, and an occasional grape whenever he needed it.
Now he had her in his clutches; she being the unsuspecting prey. He grinned evilly, eyes gleaming with an indefinable malice.
She couldn't help but notice this. "What are you grinning about?" She asked in a detached voice.
"Nothing, dear Hermione. Nothing you have to worry about." He patted her head, and smiled comfortingly at her. "Trust me on this."
She took his word for it and fell silent, massaging his ankles gently now and an unreadable expression on her face. Somehow, she felt that she shouldn't trust him, but she couldn't help it; she just did. He was so nice and kind with her - why would he be someone she shouldn't trust? That was her overactive conscience nagging, probably. And he didn't take advantage of her, unlike some people she knew - or at least, she had thought she knew. She scowled at that.
He saw her scowl and bit back a grin from stretching across his face. "What are you scowling for, Hermione?"
"Oh, nothing." She was careful not to let him know of her problems; after all, hers were petty. His problems always came first, never hers. "Trust me, Tom." She smiled serenely. "It's worth none of your worry."
"If you say so," he grinned, and sat back, enjoying the jolts of pain her hands gave him, and in his conquering of her. At last.
Now she had surrendered completely to him, unknowing, and even better, Potter couldn't do anything about it, seeing that his sweet minx was under his control and no one else's. And she would listen to him only, and no one else.
Tom sipped some wine and ate a grape offered to him by Hermione, a smirk of satisfaction plastered on his face. And it wouldn't be wiped off anytime soon.
He had to almost pity the poor boy. Almost.
As if he would pity Potter, hah! Not in this lifetime.
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