Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Wishing Well

My Kingdom for a Wand

by andafaith 0 reviews

Deathly Hallows AU. Even with her extensive research, Hermione still cannot figure out how to destroy horcruxes. Maybe a certain wishing well will help her...

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Fantasy - Characters: Hermione,Tom Riddle - Warnings: [!!!] [V] [?] - Published: 2014-11-30 - 1413 words

Author's Note: Hello again! Thank you to everyone for reading, following, and reviewing! This fic is going to be in both Tom and Hermione's points of view for fullness, but it's largely in Hermione's POV. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer [written by my punny boyfriend and placed here under the threat of something abhorrent]: Of course I own Harry Potter. (JK, but I'm Rowling with it).

Real Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own and I am making no money off of writing this. No copyright infringement is intended whatsoever. Divitiacus is a real ancient druid who existed in the time of Julius Caesar and, thus, is not really owned by me either.

The Wishing Well
My Kingdom For A Wand


The girl – his captor – was destroying his plans. Tom Riddle fingered the ring that rested at his knuckle and stared resentfully at his surroundings.

She took his wand from him and, even though he wasn't completely powerless, he wasn't about to go setting fire to the – tent? – around him to try and escape. He glared down at the leash that was perpetually attached to his ankle. He had tried everything to get it off after she left, willing as much magic as he could muster into the task. He ended up singeing his trousers and burning the hair off his leg in the process.

Pacing around the small kitchen provided to him, he eyed the cleaver on the chopping block. He could… but he wouldn't. There were other means of escaping. Only if he were left without another choice would he resort to that. His mysterious kidnapper was bound to make a mistake soon enough. She seemed impulsive, but also quite clever. It was nearly as if she had known him – how that was possible, he did not understand. He had never met her in his entire life; if he did, he would have definitely remembered someone with a rat's nest of hair like hers.

Regrettably, from the little time he had spent with her, he could gauge that she wouldn't be easy to manipulate. She was strong, reckless, and determined and would possibly be a Gryffindor if she attended Hogwarts, but she had a few Slytherin traits that he could pick out. Her spell weaving and the cavalier way in which she approached the forbidden wishing well betrayed those traits. She wasn't too bad at casting Guinevere's Curse – otherwise known as the 'containment leash' once employed by Morgana during the time of Merlin – though he could tell that she was a novice at best. She was not familiar with the intricacies of the Dark Arts; however, regardless, her leash was irritatingly effective.

He couldn't escape. Not without his wand or chopping off a limb.

He was surprised, however, by her mercy. She did not harm him in any way, though he had not allowed her the same decency, and she had even left him a few books to read to pass the time while she was gone.

But, perhaps the books were her way of trying to distract him away from thinking of plans of escape? No, that was giving her too much credit. He had read all of them from cover to cover anyway, save for one, which was a work of Muggle fiction, Historiettes, Contes et Fabliaux, translated from French.

Of all of the fictional things she could have left for him, she left him the work of de Sade. Perhaps she was trying to send him a message – I know you more than you think?

He could only be thankful that it wasn't Jane Austen.

Tom fell back into the hideous, tattered chair and absorbed himself in the book, discerning it. She had to be halfblood at least. No pureblood would leave him this book, even if Marquis de Sade could have been a secret wizard. During those troubled times of the Inquisition, it was unwise to flaunt your magical heritage. Those with magic were burnt up, tortured, and hanged left and right with their bowels strewn out from their ceremonially-sliced bellies. Muggles were vicious beasts. Better to be viewed as a libertine than a wizard.

A smirk pulled at Tom's lips and then disappeared quickly, his thoughts focusing back on his predicament. He had to figure out his captor's motives and his mind ran over everything he had witnessed.

She had waltzed into the Riddle mansion during the worst possible time. Did she have wards on the mansion that would alert her if any danger had fallen upon the Riddle family? From his relative's remarks, he was sure that they despised magic and feared it. Why would they employ a witch to come to their aid? It didn't make any sense.
Was that why she had captured him? Because he killed the Riddles? It was the only motive he could think of in that scenario.

Now that he considered it, she had put up a very good fight. He replayed that portion in his mind, assessing. And then there was the forbidden wishing well, the extra goat carcass, and the locket. She also seemed familiar with the ancient druid – Divitiacus? – she had spoken to in the burial chamber. He wished he could have heard the druid's side of the conversation. He only had what she said to go on.

Initially, her wish was to send him back… But back to where? To the Riddle mansion? Maybe she simply wanted to escape him and run away and sending him back to the Riddle mansion was her way of putting distance between them? What a frivolous wish to ask an ancient druid with the ultimate powers to grant any wish. Yet, he couldn't blame her if that were the case; perhaps she was more cowardly than he previously gathered.

No… he needed to know more about her. She was eighteen – possibly halfblood. He knew that much. This was quite the conundrum. Nevertheless, she had Slytherin's locket, which she claimed to have gotten from Borgin and Burkes – blatant lie.

He wondered - did she speak parseltongue? If so, she could've potentially been a distant relative of the Gaunts. She could have had wards there that would alert her of danger – after all, Morfin Gaunt was an absolute dolt with magic. Did she come to protect him when she was alerted that Tom broke into his hovel? But then she would have had to find him at the Riddle mansion… How would she know that he was there?

Well, Morfin could've told her the memory Tom planted into his mind and, if so, was she at the Riddle mansion to clean up the crime scene?

Sighing, Tom closed the book in front of him. Nothing made absolute sense.

And Wool's… He swore he had apparated them in front of Wool's. Oddly enough, it was the first place that came to mind when he grabbed hold of the locket, with the intention of breaking the chain and fleeing. However, while the place he had seen mere hours ago bared a resemblance to the orphanage, it wasn't the same place that he had snuck out of yesterday. Even the buildings that surrounded it were different.

Was he losing his touch?

If he was, and truly did miss his mark, it was the girl's fault. She apparated them all over the place repeatedly, deliberately making him – and herself – ill from over-apparation. It must have negatively affected his skill, causing them to land somewhere he had not originally intended.

That theory didn't sit well with him though. He was very precise.

Destination. Deliberation. Determination.

He had never gotten it wrong before.

But, he had yet to rule out hallucinations; those were a side-effect of over-apparation as well.

Tom Riddle sighed and stood up from his chair, dropping Historiettes, Contes et Fabliaux onto the plush surface, before going to see what the witch left him to eat in the tiny kitchen. As much as he preferred to think on an empty stomach, it wasn't getting him anywhere.

And, as much as he loathed to admit it, he simply did not have enough information in order to deduce the girl's motives and reasoning.

He needed to figure out a way to get his wand back. Then, he could really get to the bottom of this conundrum.

With a devious curve of his lips, Tom bit into a ripe green pear, his mind formulating a plan.


Author's Note: Thank you for reading!
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