Even the Stars Can Be Moved

Hermione had not been to one of the scheduled Hogsmeade weekends in her time at the Hogwarts of the 1940's. Soon, the year would turn. It was quite strange to watch people celebrate the passing of a year that had already passed, decades ago. And that was why she never went to the Hogsmeade weekends. Going to Hogsmeade at all gave her the sense that everything she was seeing had already happened. Everything, down to The Hog's head and the Shrieking Shack, were the same. Except that the Shrieking Shack didn't shriek. And she couldn't help but remember that this was where it came from, that last battle at Hogswart. But she had to go to the Hogsmeade Weekend. Because Bently Brown was going to Hogsmeade.

Hermione had spent the previous night going through this and last year's yearbooks to find the boy's picture. He had, apparently, missed this year's photos. She found him in the yearbook from the year before last. Small, brown haired, brown eyed, and a Gryffindor. Lavender Brown's grandfather. Lavender Brown, who had last been seen fighting back to back with Parvati Patil. Wistfully, Hermione had flipped through the pages until she was at W. There was a Weasley there, Bilius, who had given Ron his awful middle name. He looked a bit like a fat, young Arthur. He must have been Ron's great uncle. And then she had gone and cried herself to sleep. She hadn't realized the next day was a Hogsmeade weekend.

So she found herself embarking on a carriage with, of all people, Professor O'Bleeke, having no idea what she thought she was going to do with Bentley Brown. Professor O'Bleeke hadn't administered his own classes for months now. Hermione knew he was researching a charm for the time machine, to work in tandem with the Ob Dolg spell. He refused to work with her, and had actually found a trail that led to the solution. So her help was, for once, unnecessary. He seemed friendly enough on the ride to Hogsmeade. He was quite happy with himself, knowing the outline of the charm although he hadn't worked out the particular mechanisms of it. "Won't be long now," he said, hands clasped together. No, thought Hermione. It wouldn't. The completion of the Time machine was months away. And it would be completed. It had been completed when she went to it, after all. "Didn't need your help after all," O'Bleeke was saying now. Hermione rolled her eyes. O'Bleeke failed to notice. Soon enough, they were in Hogsmeade. Snow had started to fall. How often had she come into a snow-filled Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron?

She knew that Bentley had gotten into the third carriage, and looked for him once she left her own. She found him soon enough, chatting happily away with two of his second-year friends. He couldn't possibly know about it yet. Hermione remembered the rock from her dreams. She had an uncomfortable feeling that she had been unconsciously Imperiusing Malfoy, beyond the primitive Imperius she had during sleep. Which was highly interesting on an academic level, but made her feel guiltier than usual about that permanent Imperius.

She kept her distance behind the three boys, looking into shop windows and feigning interest in the ground, as they headed in a determined way for the candy shop. That was when she noticed Tom was in Hogsmeade. He'd gotten here without the carriages. Hermione quickly put some people between her and him, wondering worriedly if he knew any of the secret passageways. Then she realized he probably knew them all. Merlin, she had used the secret passageways on more than one occasion to make an excursion to the Forest. She gave an uncomfortable shiver at that, and watched the boys disappear into the shop. Tom didn't seem headed in that direction, and so she ducked into the shop She stopped just inside the door. Exactly the same. Her mouth watered at the pang of familiar scents.

Well, it certainly wouldn't be wrong to buy a few fizzing whizbees and chocolate frogs. She would definitely avoid any lemondrops, feeling permanently cured of the taste. She walked by Bently and his friends, who were lingering in front of a section reserved for Quidditch related candies. She had just enough for three of each, and after lingering by the register, decided it would be best if she left the premises. She stopped outside the door, where there was an intricate Christmas tree she pretended to admire. This would be the best place to see if she could Legilimens a few stray thoughts from Bentley without his noticing. After a few muttered incantations, she saw nothing more that proper frivolous Hogsmeade thoughts, although she immediately sensed his connection to Malfoy.

Hermione straightened and walked down the snow covered streets. She couldn't take the rock. That was as good as announcing she'd done something to Malfoy. She wondered how hexable the rock was. If only she could just take care of the veins. She saw the Three Broomsticks at the end of the street, and headed over to have a Butterbeer over a book, a fascinating history of Arithmantic nomenclature. She looked up from her toes and saw a man in front of her who she immediately recognized, though from where it took a moment to place. Then it came to her. The head in the fire. Monsieur Knauss. He was looking right at her.

Her heart gave a great thump and she stopped in her tracks. Monsieur Knauss did not stop. He was headed right for her. At this, her heart seemed to stop. Something was very wrong. She turned right back around the other way, with Monsieur Knauss trailing right after her. Her quick walk broke quickly into a run, as she turned a corner and darted inside the bookshop. She stopped, watched Monsieur Knauss walk by the window and then past the shop. She was going to have to get back to Hogwarts. The carriages were out of the question. They didn't run out of schedule and they were conspicuous as anything. The secret passageways immediately occurred as the best option. Tom had only just arrived in Hogsmeade. There should be no danger of running into him there.

There was the entrance in Zonko's, and the one in the Shrieking Shack. Going back towards the town center seemed like a bad idea with Knauss at large. There was a lot of open space on the way to the Shrieking Shack, though. Hermione took a deep breath and exited the bookstore. The Shrieking Shack was the best option. Hermione looked about for Monsieur Knauss, saw him nowhere, and darted across the street as quickly as she dared. She took one of the narrower streets towards the clearing where the Shrieking Shack was. After a few turns she made out the long, solitary path towards the shack. There was seemingly no one about. Hermione hesitated, then put on her invisibility cloak.

"Hold it right there, Potter."

She turned back, knowing before she saw him that it was Tom.

"Pretty suspicious behavior, putting on an invisibility cloak. One might think you're up to something contrary to the rules."

She let the hood fall and parted the cloak. "What do you want?"

Tom looked coldly down at her. "I wanted my diary back." He drew a little black book out from his cloak. "But I got my wish."

"You got into my dormitories," Hermione whispered, blood draining from her face. She had to get out of here, and she had to get away from Tom. Regroup. Everything was ruined. She'd have to do something now, and face him with wands, which she dearly wanted to avoid. And meanwhile some threatening French man was out there looking for her.

"Funny how it was there, isn't it? My diary?"

Hermione put the cloak back on, and drew the hood over to cover her face. "We'll have to continue this discussion like so," she said.

He didn't break his gaze from her, and strode over until he had the cloak in his hands. He ripped it away from her, exposing her.

"You idiot!" Hermione hissed. "Give it back!"

"No," said Tom.

"You don't understand," she continued.

"I think I do."

"There are people after me."

"You've been Imperiusing Malfoy."

"And you're a bloody one to talk!" Hermione spat.

Tom looked at her incredulously. Then he gave a short bark of a laugh. Hermione eyed him warily, and before he said another thing Hermione noticed five figures emerging from the forest. Two middle-aged men, a slick-haired man in a suit, a tall man in a striking blue coat, and Monsieur Knauss. It took Hermione a moment to notice a squat woman lurking in the shadows of the forest. Tom turned, slowly, away from her to face them, drawing his wand as he did so. They already had their wands drawn, and let off a hex the moment they saw it. Tom blocked it, but barely. Hermione drew her own wand.

"Get out of here," she told Tom. "This has nothing to do with you."

A hex hit her, but her shielding charm took care of it. What did Monsieur Knauss want with her? Knowing that he had some connection to that skirmish in Alsace, Hermione could imagine it was nothing good.

"If you think I'm leaving at this critical juncture," Tom was saying, "you're positively mad."

"We're surrounded by--six fully trained wizards and who knows how more. What could you possibly have to gain?"

Tom raised his eyebrows a bit and pointed his wand. "Practice, if nothing else." And then he muttered "Tenebro" and a golden light extended from his wand to one of the middle-aged men, twining around him so quickly that the man dropped his wand in surprise. With that, the rest of them let off four spells at once.

"Scutio," whispered Hermione, and again the bubble shielding charm descended over them. A certain silence accompanied them under the dome of the spell.

"You know, I think this may not be the best solution to being surrounded," said Tom. "What with our ensuing inability to move."

"It's a field tactic, for dense confrontations."

"Six wizards do not a dense confrontation make."

"Yes, well, don't worry. I've got a plan."

"You seem to have those a lot."

Hexes were sporadically bouncing off the dome of the spell. Hermione supposed she had cast it exceptionally well. The shield was opaque rather than its usual transparent shade, and she could barely feel the attacks on the shield. "When I say, head for the Shrieking Shack."

"The What-ing Shack?"

"Oh. Never mind." This day was not going well. "Just head for it before me. You haven't got the permanent shielding charm on you; I do. Ready?"

Tom grinned. "Always."

Hermione finited the shield the moment a volley of fresh hexes hit it. They had just a moment. Not even that, as Monsieur Knauss had been waiting for exactly such a moment as this. His lips didn't move, but somehow she sensed that he was ready. As quickly as she could, she let off a disarming spell that blew Knauss to his feet, though not before his spell hit her. Luckily, her shielding charm took care of it. Tom was already halfway to the shack. As he reached the door, he turned to her and let off a deflection spell behind her. That awful, squat-looking woman had sent of an ugly purplish bit of light. Hermione remembered the effects of that particular spell rather well from her time in the Department of Mysteries. Then Tom extended his hand and pulled her into the shack after him. A spell hit the door after them, singing it slightly at the bottom.

"Wards," Tom whispered, and Hermione nodded.

He was doing something to the perimeter of the shack. A basic ward. Unsatisfied, Hermione muttered an incantation and braided her spell with Tom's. A flick of his eyes her way was his only acknowledgement.

The spells completed, Hermione and Tom stood before the wall. "No telling what wards they know how to get past," he said. "This one was used to protect the walls of Byzantium." He coaxed the tip of his wand into a complicated whorl.

"Reprarum," Hermione guessed, and he nodded. "Xua Fa," she muttered, and directed her own wand across the four corners of the shack.

"That's the one they've got on the Great Wall of China, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, feeling rather pleased with herself. She'd only read about it, and didn't know if she'd be able to cast it. After all, she only knew the theoretical underpinnings of the Chinese system of magic.

"Grantium."

"Not the strongest ward, but it's so obscure it will take them a year to figure out what ward it is," Hermione commented.

"I'm surprised you know of it, actually."

"Upantio's even more obscure," she replied, while casting that spell under the heels of Tom's spell.

"Right, because it was developed by that bizarre Muggleborn sect of Christians."

"Exactly."

"Didindlius," Tom incanted.

"That I haven't heard of."

"You're not the only one with a penchant for developing spells."

"Oh, you came up with your own ward?"

"Yes, for--" he paused. "Well, you never know."

Hermione knew immediately it was for Grawp's cave. She said nothing of it, looking around her. The Shrieking Shack's interior bore next to no resemblance to what Hermione remembered. There was no strewn, half-eaten furniture. It was clean and empty.

It occurred to Hermione that she was stuck in here with Tom.

It seemed to occur to Tom too. "This seems to work out rather well for me," he said, clasping his hands together.

"And rather poorly for me," said Hermione. "How annoying."

Tom folded his arms and turned to her, his eyebrows raised. "Annoying? Oh, so it's terribly annoying that I've discovered that you've got a permanent Imperius on Pendrake Malfoy, is it?"

"Yes," said Hermione, forcing her voice to remain steady. It was hard to stay calm with Tom when he looked at you so directly. "Just as it's annoying that in doing so I discovered your own Imperius."

"Is that how it happened? And why on earth would you, Dumbledore's little heroine and Hogwarts staff member, find it necessary to put an Imperius on a student?"

It was even harder to find an answer to his questions under those direct glares of his. She sighed. "I suppose you'll have to figure it out on your own."

"Perhaps I should ask Professor Dumbledore's help."

Her heart quailed for a moment before she realized it was an empty threat. "Go ahead. I'm sure he'll be interested in your own Imperius."

She saw his features narrow in anger. It was the first time she saw actual anger on his face. Somehow it was less frightening that she would have thought. Perhaps because it was still the anger of an eighteen-year old boy. Then he stepped forward, and this had the effect that the anger on his features didn't. He had his hand clamped around her wrist before she knew it. "Do you really want to encourage me to resort to other methods?"

She bit her lip, looking down at her wrist and Tom's long white hand around it. "We can wait here for help, or we can spend the rest of our time here debating."

"Let's debate," Tom replied, nearly snarling. "You've acted from the very beginning as though you're on some moral high ground and I'm a criminal. You're no longer on moral high ground."

"I'm on comparatively high ground," Hermione protested, doubting it even as she said it. She extricated her wrist from his grasp.

Tom laughed. "Oh, right. Because you were battling Grindelwald's forces in France? In Alsace, in particular? Do tell me more about that, because I know for a fact that you weren't there."

Hermione could think of nothing in reply to this. She took a step back from Tom, the space of the Shrieking Shack seeming suddenly too close.

"But you came to Hogwarts that night covered in someone's blood." Tom stepped towards her. "You have killed." Another step and he was altogether too close. "I can see it in your eyes."

"I can reply to that."

His eyes narrowed more. "I'll bet you can, being on close terms with Aragog and all."

Her heart began to quicken. This was going too far. It had been mutually assured destruction until now. They both had all their little missiles lined up. Now they were letting them off.

He could see that he had her, she knew it. He was practically sneering as he spoke. "And there is, of course, the rather obvious question standing right outside. What do all those people want with you?"

"I've no more idea than you," she said.

"Bollocks."

She folded her arms. She was going to have to think, very quickly. Tom knew entirely too much. And she knew better than to think she could try anything with him. He'd surely block all mental magic. Feigning calm, she pointed her wand at her feet and transfigured a stray screw into a comfortable sofa. She sat on it, crossing her legs. "So long as we're here, there's no reason for me to be uncomfortable."

"I think there's quite a lot of reasons for you to be uncomfortable."

"When have I started caring for your opinion?" she muttered. Think. Monsieur Knauss had been talking to Dumbledore, had been to Alsace. He must be interested in her because of Alsace. If so, it would be for a few reasons. Either because he thought she was someone who had been there, or because she hadn't been there.

When she looked up, she found Tom sitting in a rather imposing and far too fitting dark chair. She couldn't help rolling her eyes. Think. Only one person knew she hadn't been there. Dumbledore. And, as he had just admitted, Tom.

"How exactly do you know for a fact that I wasn't in Alsace?" said Hermione slowly. She looked up at him. "And what does it have to do with Monsieur Knauss?"

"You admit it," Tom breathed.

"I don't doubt you know it already. What I'm interested in, is what you did to Monsieur Knauss."

"Did to him?"

Hermione glared at him. "Yes. I'm quite sure you did something to him." It occurred to her that now, when so much information had been lost, it might be necessary to use a gambit. Ron had told her all about gambits. "I know more about you that you yourself know, Tom. You may not like my judgment of you, but it is the correct judgment. My actions, in context, are towards a very different end than yours."

"What do you know of me?" He asked, looking for a moment as though he didn't take her seriously. "Yes, a good question. And, furthermore, do you know any more of my context than you do of yours?"

"A good question, Mr. Riddle," she said, beginning to seethe. "I know the context of your actions better than you do yourself."

His features turned blank for a moment. He made to grab her arm again, but she darted away from the sofa. "What are you talking about?" he burst out furiously. "What are you hiding? What do you want with me?"

"What does Monsieur Knauss want?" she practically screamed back at him. And thought, viciously, "Legilimens."

And she had her answer. Tom looked astonished.

"You used Legilimency," she said.

"And you!" Tom shouted, all composure recovered. "You just did the very same thing to me." He started to walk towards her again. "Do you think I'll be able to do the same to you?"

"Fine, then," she said, drawing her wand in a furor. "Let's discard the pleasantries." She leveled her wand against him. "Let's see if you think you can get off a spell before my own hits you. Furthermore," she said, drawing a stoppered bottle out from a pocket in her robes, "I can stay up for two weeks on this, and I have the nerve to do it." She held his eye steadily for maybe the first time, because for the first time she felt fully prepared against him. "Watch this." She sent off a dispersimplantation spell, sending the liquid from the bottle directly into her blood stream. It was a spell discovered in the thirteenth century in the Ottoman Empire, allowing its wizarding faction to refrain from disease and exceptional aging. She explained the spell to Tom. "I am prepared to defend myself."

"Are you really?" Tom didn't draw his wand, and didn't look particularly intimidated. "To Dippet? To the school? To anyone who bothers to check into the supposed facts of your history? To me, after we leave this shack?"

Hermione was tempted to obliviate or confund him for a moment. She was amazed at the new person this white anger made her. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, just don't try anything."

Tom smiled placatingly and leaned against a sofa. "Are you even French? You do sound so English."

"Practice," she said through gritted teeth.

Tom merely gave her an appraising look. "I didn't know you killed," said Tom. "Not until I saw the look in your eyes when I said it." He hesitated. "But I know you wouldn't kill me. What you don't seem to realize is, nor would I."

For a moment the room felt like a jungle. She felt her cheeks flush and her hair prickle in response to it. "Warming spell," she said."You got past my shielding charm."

"And I got a spell off before one of yours hit me."

"Yes, furthermore," she echoed, feeling a bit woozy from the sudden onset and departure of heat. "And you wonder why I don't trust you."

"I never asked you to. But do notice that I did not choose to use Legilimency."

"How'd you do it?"

"What?"

"The shielding charm. How'd you get past it? I'm assuming you endeavored to." She paused. "I might be expecting a bit much of you, though."

"I listened to your heartbeat."

"Oh."

"The spell goes in time to it."

"Right."

"Of course, the spell itself must have a really quick impact time, to squeeze into that little moment in time."

"You've really thought this out."

"I do like a challenge."

"Will you stop?" Hermione finally said.

"Why?" he asked. "I thought you had the nerves for this."

"You," Hermione growled, propelled towards him in the thick of a sudden flash of anger like she'd never felt, "are a horrible boy, who can do nothing but make everything... turn to shit, whether it is already or no--" dimly, she realized she had a fistful of Tom's cloak, and another hand was around his throat, but the rush of adrenaline kept her from caring.

Tom's face was still calm, even if his eyes were fixed on her like he was trying to pin her. "Oh, you were picking daisies the night you came here, were you, Potter? You've killed. You've used Imperius and Legilimency against others. We've established that. You're no better than I."

The muscles in her fingers seemed to disappear and Tom extricated himself from her grasp.

"And just what is it you're trying to accomplish here, Miss Potter? Make everyone love puppy dogs as much as you? It certainly isn't that pathetic excuse of apprenticeship, if for no other reason than that you clearly are better suited to Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The adrenaline rush had passed, taking with it all her blood and energy and courage. She sank a bit in her stance, and Tom caught her by the wrists. "And what does it have to do with me, Mione?" His eyes wouldn't let go of hers, and she couldn't manage to make hers let go either. She tried to make herself breathe. She couldn't lose it now. This was a vital moment. "What do you want with me?" He waited, staring at her, and for an interminable moment she thought she was lost, thought she would fall to her knees and give everything up, and he was so close, too close, and then... Then, he was closer. "I wasn't playing, Mione. I know you've had it in for me, and still--" he broke off. The left corner of his mouth twitched, breath hot against her mouth. For his mouth was near her mouth, and then Hermione knew she was lost.

"I don't," she whispered, and as she said it, her lips brushed against his, and his mouth closed over hers, and she didn't back away, didn't resist, let him press his mouth against hers and breathed into it. Her eyes closed and she felt his warm breath in return, and she leaned against him even though she knew she shouldn't. And then he had his hands wrapped in her hair, inclining her against him more, harder. She let her mouth open more, outlining his more exactly, and he pressed his lips so they slipped against hers, and she sighed against him, suspended her body against his, everything suspended.

"Mione," he mumbled into her mouth, and his tongue slipped into hers and she met it, pressing against him harder, uncaring. Though she knew she should care. But she was lost, gone. And it was lovely. She drew her lips closer again, while his drew apart, and drew them together again, catching her lower lip in his teeth and suckling it. Her knees buckled, she fell, and he fell with her, then caught her. Stray fingers brushed against her cheek, leaving ticklish tendrils of electric warmth in their wake. They traveled down her neck, traced her collar bone, and settled at the depression in its center. She brought her hand to her face, tracing the pattern and resting against his own hand. He drew apart from her for a moment, and she opened her eyes on their hands, one over the other, so human, so much a thing that had been repeated over and over.

And then her gaze drifted upwards. She saw his face, his cheeks slanting sharply down towards his eyes, which was dark, and then his mouth, which was burning, and she remembered exactly who she was kissing. "Stop. Please. Stop."

"Can't go through with whatever it is if you like me, is that it?" he rasped.

"No!" she protested, her words strangled, nearly a scream. She regained her legging. "I can't--you're--you're--" She didn't go on. She couldn't go on with him looking at her like that, his eyes hooded and unblinking. He smiled and brought her close and kissed her again, lips pressed softly against hers. She knew it was him, it was Voldemort, it was the Dark Lord, who had killed, who hated muggleborns, who was muggleborn, who was a boy, who was frustratingly intelligent and duplicitous but not evil yet, nothing next to what he would become. And whatever had broken inside her wasn't up to mending yet. She was tired, and alone, and scared, and close to failure, and she couldn't stop kissing Tom. Every time she opened her eyes and saw his face a wave went through her, and once his curling hair fell to her forehead and tickled it. He kissed like he was hungry, like he hadn't eaten for a long time. And she fed him.