Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Wishing Well
Tea for Two and Two for Tea
0 reviewsDeathly Hallows AU. Even with her extensive research, Hermione still cannot figure out how to destroy horcruxes. Maybe a certain wishing well will help her...
0Unrated
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone! You've all been so kind. Here's another update – I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize, historical druids and Asda included. I'm also making no money off this and no copyright infringement is intended.
The Wishing Well
Tea For Two And Two For Tea
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Cautiously, Hermione approached the tent after closing the wards behind her. She had no idea what she was bound to find when she pulled up the tent-flap, but she had a feeling that it was best to be on guard.
It took her over a day and a half to get a nighttime watch post again and, being a bit paranoid, she had cast an illusion of herself outside the tent where Harry and Ron were staying. It wouldn't do for them to wake up in the middle of the night and find her gone; however, if they tried to talk to her illusion, the jig would be up. She had yet to figure out how to make illusions talk. The book she consulted divulged very little on that subject.
Sadly, thanks to her paranoia in keeping Harry and Ron satisfied that she was constantly around, she hadn't had much time to crack open the book Divitiacus had so graciously given her. She would get to it though, definitely. It was the only solution.
Hesitating, Hermione lifted her wards and protections on the tent flap and pulled it aside, brandishing her wand firmly. When she was satisfied that she was in no immediate danger, her eyes narrowed as she glanced around the magical tent. Where was he?
The silvery leash loosely trailed along the room, but Riddle was nowhere in sight. Was he hiding from her?
With a frustrated sigh, she yanked on the leash, hearing a loud crash come from behind the bathroom door. And then an angry growl as the door burst open, revealing a much displeased Tom Riddle, holding onto the waistband of his trousers with his shirt haphazardly thrown on over his shoulders. His hair was damp and droplets of water beaded onto the collar of his shirt.
Bad idea. This wasn't good.
"I was in the shower," Riddle gritted out, stalking toward her after buttoning up his trousers. She could feel the magical energy radiating off of him in furious waves and the lounge chair next to her burst into flame.
He was probably trying to aim at her but, without a channel for his magic, missed. Hermione flicked her wand and Riddle dropped to the floor, incarcerated by invisible magical ropes.
"Not this again." Riddle sneered. "Where are you taking me now? Another secluded fleapit of yours?"
Another flick of her wand put the fire out and repaired the lounge chair. "Nowhere, in fact. And I apologize for disturbing your shower," Hermione started, staring at him with a stern expression, "but there's no need for you to attack me for it."
She levitated him to the chair, remaining vigilant. Just because he was bound didn't mean he couldn't set anything else on fire. It wasn't as if she could completely take away his magic – just his wand, which was currently in a locked box in her beaded bag that she left behind in case Harry and Ron needed to make a quick getaway without her. Her replicated beaded bag was in her pocket.
"I was hoping that we could, at least, speak civilly without having to resort to this," Hermione continued, not daring to sit on anything – it was a potential fire hazard with him around. She took out her replicated beaded bag and accio'd items, setting them onto the counter. "I even brought you some more food and tea. I wasn't sure what kind you liked so I got a few different types."
"If you're trying to induce Stockholm Syndrome, I'll warn you now; it won't work on me," Riddle drawled, his eyes surveying the selection of groceries she was unpacking with mistrust.
She scoffed, waving her wand toward him as if she were wagging her finger. "Just because I am trying to be nice does not mean that I have ulterior motives!"
Regarding her suspiciously, Riddle's eyes trailed over her and his brow rose. "Why aren't you wearing the locket?"
Because it was Harry's turn.
"I thought it would be prudent if I left it at home," she replied, going back to unpacking the food she had guiltily stolen from Asda earlier this evening. She had gotten things that were 40's-appropriate and charmed the labels off of them to make sure he couldn't discern that he was in the future from the food.
Amidst levitating the tea into the cupboard, she nearly jumped at the sudden sound of hissing coming from Riddle. Parseltongue. She recognized it from hearing Harry speak it rarely over the years.
What was he playing at?
Hermione glanced at him confusedly, clutching her wand. Was he trying to summon all of the snakes in the area to come and attack her? Could he even do that?
"Interesting," she heard Riddle mutter.
Her lips pursed. "What's interesting?"
"Oh, nothing," he said, looking as if the butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Are you a halfblood by any chance?"
Keeping on her toes about the possibility of snakes bursting into the tent, Hermione dithered. He wanted to know her blood status; so he was trying to figure her out – place her in some twisted category – was that it?
She shrugged. "Sure, why not?" she said evasively, straightening out the tea with a twist of her wand while keeping watch on Riddle out of the corner of her eye.
Part of her panicked at the blatant look of irritation that marred his expression, but the other part wanted to recklessly laugh in triumph. He obviously wasn't fond of ambiguous answers.
"You couldn't possibly be a Mudblood. What school did you go to?"
Hogwarts.
Hermione blinked. "You're very inquisitive for a captive," she dryly remarked, observing him.
Riddle seemed amused by this. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm in no position to ask questions?"
"Perhaps," she said, avoiding his direct gaze. "Why the curiosity?"
He surprisingly deigned to grace her with a straight answer. "You have my locket."
Of course it was about the locket – all of it must have been; from blood status to parseltongue. He was always about the locket from the moment he had seen it on her. She wanted to roll her eyes.
"Finders keepers."
"So you found it, did you?" Riddle asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.
Damnit.
"Yes, at Borgin and Burkes. Found it and bought it," Hermione recovered, though she knew he didn't believe her.
"Liar."
She wanted nothing more than to slap that smug expression off of his face. How degrading. He was the one tied up and leashed and yet he had the upper hand in the questioning! Brilliant, just brilliant.
"Why do you have such an interest in that locket anyway?" Hermione asked, knowing full well why, but she wanted to shift the conversation to her advantage.
"Are you deliberately playing dumb?" Riddle paused, repositioning himself within his bindings. "You didn't seem so surprised when I started speaking parseltongue."
"You're not the first parselmouth I've met," she said, hoping to play on his insecurities and point out that he really wasn't as one-of-a-kind as he thought.
"Regardless," he replied softly, "I think you can deduce from that why I would be interested in the locket."
"Family heirloom, is it?" Hermione vindictively returned, thinking quickly. "Too bad for you that someone pawned it off, or it wouldn't be in my possession."
Riddle's jaw set and his eyes narrowed. "You're determined to stick with your Borgin and Burkes story."
"Yes."
They reached a strange sort of impasse, staring at each other determinedly. The air in the room felt palpably heavy and Hermione waited for him to say another word – or possibly set another piece of furniture on fire from the way he was looking at her.
Letting out the long breath she was holding when he didn't appear to want to say anything else, she grabbed a box of tea from the cupboard and dug out the kettle. Tea tended to 'solve' a lot of things in life, though it was doubtful that it was going to do much for this situation. As the water started to boil, she noticed that Riddle seemed lost in thought, his eyes unfocused as he gazed at her.
As much as Hermione enjoyed the reprieve from his incessant questioning and assessment of her, she broke the silence between them by asking, "What kind of tea do you like?"
"I've no preference," he said, averting his gaze to the wall in front of him.
Did that mean that she went out and pilfered six different types of tea for nothing? She was actually hoping that it would get him to warm up a little – a small, nice gesture – but that was obviously a huge misjudgment.
"Oh, come on. Everyone has a type of tea they're fond of."
His brows rose in a manner that clearly said, 'you're honestly questioning me about something as trivial as tea?'
"Earl Grey it is then." This time she did roll her eyes. "Cream or sugar?"
"Neither," he replied curtly.
At least he seemed a lot calmer than before, but she wasn't certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing. With a short wave of her wand, she unbound one of his arms and levitated a cup of tea into his hand.
"Why are you even bothering?" Riddle asked, warily sniffing at the tea, which tested her patience a little. He had watched her make it. It wasn't like it was easy to slip potions into drinks unnoticed in the tent's tiny kitchen.
"What do you mean?" She tried to keep her tone neutral.
"I'm your prisoner. If Stockholm Syndrome isn't your aim, why are you bothering to pretend to be nice?"
He finally took a sip from his cup and Hermione seated herself onto the counter, her wand still firmly in her grasp. She noticed, in the bottom of her vision, that one of his trouser legs was singed quite badly. He must have tried to get the leash off at some point and failed – ha!
"It's not like there's a rulebook on keeping prisoners that says you can't be nice to them," she retorted, "even if they haven't returned the courtesy."
She wasn't going to forget that he used the Cruciatus Curse on her and that he was fully capable of murder. And wandless magic, even if it was unstable. It was still very dangerous.
"Do you do this sort of thing often?" Riddle asked, looking down at his teacup with a slight frown of distaste. He probably didn't like his tea over-steeped, like she did.
"I can't say that I do."
"So why me?" His gaze was sharp when he looked up at her
Hermione shrugged, not able to come up with a proper lie for that. It was better to not tell him reasons why she acted in the manner she did anyway.
"You want something from me," Riddle assumed when she didn't answer him. "Yes?"
Did she? Actually, she wasn't certain if she did.
Having him there, in this time, had the possibility of being useful. She had considered that over the past day and a half since she had captured him. He knew about horcruxes and would possibly provide insight on the hiding spots for his horcruxes. Though, it was unlikely that he would ever give her any information on those subjects. She had yet to figure out a round-about way of discussing it without letting on about what she really wanted to know.
Regardless, at the rate they were going, it was doubtful that she would even get a chance to discuss anything with him.
"Maybe," Hermione answered conclusively, sipping delicately at her tea.
Riddle's calculative smirk was unexpected. "Then we both have something that the other wants."
Great. She knew exactly where this was going.
"If you give me the locket, we may be able to make a trade," he continued over his cup of tea, putting on that sickeningly charming act that she wouldn't fall for for even a second.
Yet… it was tempting. The trade itself was nothing she would ever consider doing. It wasn't an option. And he would probably want the locket up-front, knowing him. He was simply trying to manipulate her. Well, there was no harm in returning the favour, was there?
"I doubt that what I want is something you'd consider a fair trade for the locket." She paused momentarily, draining the last bit of tea from her cup. "But I'll think about it."
Riddle was staring at her questioningly as she got down from the counter and grabbed her beaded bag. "What is it that you want?" he asked, definitely curious.
"I said that I'd think about it."
She actually had a lot to think about in general, including The Traveller's Secrets, which she should have started on already. It was going to take a long time to get through and, from what she had read about time-turners and time travel in the past, it was no easy feat to create something that would send Riddle back to where he came from.
Pausing before she reached the door, Hermione turned back and released him from the invisible ropes before exiting the tent. The only reason she had come in the first place was deliver food and to make sure he didn't escape somehow. Any conversation was auxiliary. Well, truly, any conversation with him was dangerous.
He was of the past, she was of the future, and she couldn't let anything slip.
It was bad enough that she had to deal with Lord Voldemort's horcruxes and the war. Adding this on top of it was starting to give her a headache. She figured that her time alone for the rest of the night was best spent on cracking open that book. Even if Tom Riddle was potentially useful, the safest thing that she could do was send him back.
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Author's Note: Thank you for reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize, historical druids and Asda included. I'm also making no money off this and no copyright infringement is intended.
The Wishing Well
Tea For Two And Two For Tea
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Cautiously, Hermione approached the tent after closing the wards behind her. She had no idea what she was bound to find when she pulled up the tent-flap, but she had a feeling that it was best to be on guard.
It took her over a day and a half to get a nighttime watch post again and, being a bit paranoid, she had cast an illusion of herself outside the tent where Harry and Ron were staying. It wouldn't do for them to wake up in the middle of the night and find her gone; however, if they tried to talk to her illusion, the jig would be up. She had yet to figure out how to make illusions talk. The book she consulted divulged very little on that subject.
Sadly, thanks to her paranoia in keeping Harry and Ron satisfied that she was constantly around, she hadn't had much time to crack open the book Divitiacus had so graciously given her. She would get to it though, definitely. It was the only solution.
Hesitating, Hermione lifted her wards and protections on the tent flap and pulled it aside, brandishing her wand firmly. When she was satisfied that she was in no immediate danger, her eyes narrowed as she glanced around the magical tent. Where was he?
The silvery leash loosely trailed along the room, but Riddle was nowhere in sight. Was he hiding from her?
With a frustrated sigh, she yanked on the leash, hearing a loud crash come from behind the bathroom door. And then an angry growl as the door burst open, revealing a much displeased Tom Riddle, holding onto the waistband of his trousers with his shirt haphazardly thrown on over his shoulders. His hair was damp and droplets of water beaded onto the collar of his shirt.
Bad idea. This wasn't good.
"I was in the shower," Riddle gritted out, stalking toward her after buttoning up his trousers. She could feel the magical energy radiating off of him in furious waves and the lounge chair next to her burst into flame.
He was probably trying to aim at her but, without a channel for his magic, missed. Hermione flicked her wand and Riddle dropped to the floor, incarcerated by invisible magical ropes.
"Not this again." Riddle sneered. "Where are you taking me now? Another secluded fleapit of yours?"
Another flick of her wand put the fire out and repaired the lounge chair. "Nowhere, in fact. And I apologize for disturbing your shower," Hermione started, staring at him with a stern expression, "but there's no need for you to attack me for it."
She levitated him to the chair, remaining vigilant. Just because he was bound didn't mean he couldn't set anything else on fire. It wasn't as if she could completely take away his magic – just his wand, which was currently in a locked box in her beaded bag that she left behind in case Harry and Ron needed to make a quick getaway without her. Her replicated beaded bag was in her pocket.
"I was hoping that we could, at least, speak civilly without having to resort to this," Hermione continued, not daring to sit on anything – it was a potential fire hazard with him around. She took out her replicated beaded bag and accio'd items, setting them onto the counter. "I even brought you some more food and tea. I wasn't sure what kind you liked so I got a few different types."
"If you're trying to induce Stockholm Syndrome, I'll warn you now; it won't work on me," Riddle drawled, his eyes surveying the selection of groceries she was unpacking with mistrust.
She scoffed, waving her wand toward him as if she were wagging her finger. "Just because I am trying to be nice does not mean that I have ulterior motives!"
Regarding her suspiciously, Riddle's eyes trailed over her and his brow rose. "Why aren't you wearing the locket?"
Because it was Harry's turn.
"I thought it would be prudent if I left it at home," she replied, going back to unpacking the food she had guiltily stolen from Asda earlier this evening. She had gotten things that were 40's-appropriate and charmed the labels off of them to make sure he couldn't discern that he was in the future from the food.
Amidst levitating the tea into the cupboard, she nearly jumped at the sudden sound of hissing coming from Riddle. Parseltongue. She recognized it from hearing Harry speak it rarely over the years.
What was he playing at?
Hermione glanced at him confusedly, clutching her wand. Was he trying to summon all of the snakes in the area to come and attack her? Could he even do that?
"Interesting," she heard Riddle mutter.
Her lips pursed. "What's interesting?"
"Oh, nothing," he said, looking as if the butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Are you a halfblood by any chance?"
Keeping on her toes about the possibility of snakes bursting into the tent, Hermione dithered. He wanted to know her blood status; so he was trying to figure her out – place her in some twisted category – was that it?
She shrugged. "Sure, why not?" she said evasively, straightening out the tea with a twist of her wand while keeping watch on Riddle out of the corner of her eye.
Part of her panicked at the blatant look of irritation that marred his expression, but the other part wanted to recklessly laugh in triumph. He obviously wasn't fond of ambiguous answers.
"You couldn't possibly be a Mudblood. What school did you go to?"
Hogwarts.
Hermione blinked. "You're very inquisitive for a captive," she dryly remarked, observing him.
Riddle seemed amused by this. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm in no position to ask questions?"
"Perhaps," she said, avoiding his direct gaze. "Why the curiosity?"
He surprisingly deigned to grace her with a straight answer. "You have my locket."
Of course it was about the locket – all of it must have been; from blood status to parseltongue. He was always about the locket from the moment he had seen it on her. She wanted to roll her eyes.
"Finders keepers."
"So you found it, did you?" Riddle asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.
Damnit.
"Yes, at Borgin and Burkes. Found it and bought it," Hermione recovered, though she knew he didn't believe her.
"Liar."
She wanted nothing more than to slap that smug expression off of his face. How degrading. He was the one tied up and leashed and yet he had the upper hand in the questioning! Brilliant, just brilliant.
"Why do you have such an interest in that locket anyway?" Hermione asked, knowing full well why, but she wanted to shift the conversation to her advantage.
"Are you deliberately playing dumb?" Riddle paused, repositioning himself within his bindings. "You didn't seem so surprised when I started speaking parseltongue."
"You're not the first parselmouth I've met," she said, hoping to play on his insecurities and point out that he really wasn't as one-of-a-kind as he thought.
"Regardless," he replied softly, "I think you can deduce from that why I would be interested in the locket."
"Family heirloom, is it?" Hermione vindictively returned, thinking quickly. "Too bad for you that someone pawned it off, or it wouldn't be in my possession."
Riddle's jaw set and his eyes narrowed. "You're determined to stick with your Borgin and Burkes story."
"Yes."
They reached a strange sort of impasse, staring at each other determinedly. The air in the room felt palpably heavy and Hermione waited for him to say another word – or possibly set another piece of furniture on fire from the way he was looking at her.
Letting out the long breath she was holding when he didn't appear to want to say anything else, she grabbed a box of tea from the cupboard and dug out the kettle. Tea tended to 'solve' a lot of things in life, though it was doubtful that it was going to do much for this situation. As the water started to boil, she noticed that Riddle seemed lost in thought, his eyes unfocused as he gazed at her.
As much as Hermione enjoyed the reprieve from his incessant questioning and assessment of her, she broke the silence between them by asking, "What kind of tea do you like?"
"I've no preference," he said, averting his gaze to the wall in front of him.
Did that mean that she went out and pilfered six different types of tea for nothing? She was actually hoping that it would get him to warm up a little – a small, nice gesture – but that was obviously a huge misjudgment.
"Oh, come on. Everyone has a type of tea they're fond of."
His brows rose in a manner that clearly said, 'you're honestly questioning me about something as trivial as tea?'
"Earl Grey it is then." This time she did roll her eyes. "Cream or sugar?"
"Neither," he replied curtly.
At least he seemed a lot calmer than before, but she wasn't certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing. With a short wave of her wand, she unbound one of his arms and levitated a cup of tea into his hand.
"Why are you even bothering?" Riddle asked, warily sniffing at the tea, which tested her patience a little. He had watched her make it. It wasn't like it was easy to slip potions into drinks unnoticed in the tent's tiny kitchen.
"What do you mean?" She tried to keep her tone neutral.
"I'm your prisoner. If Stockholm Syndrome isn't your aim, why are you bothering to pretend to be nice?"
He finally took a sip from his cup and Hermione seated herself onto the counter, her wand still firmly in her grasp. She noticed, in the bottom of her vision, that one of his trouser legs was singed quite badly. He must have tried to get the leash off at some point and failed – ha!
"It's not like there's a rulebook on keeping prisoners that says you can't be nice to them," she retorted, "even if they haven't returned the courtesy."
She wasn't going to forget that he used the Cruciatus Curse on her and that he was fully capable of murder. And wandless magic, even if it was unstable. It was still very dangerous.
"Do you do this sort of thing often?" Riddle asked, looking down at his teacup with a slight frown of distaste. He probably didn't like his tea over-steeped, like she did.
"I can't say that I do."
"So why me?" His gaze was sharp when he looked up at her
Hermione shrugged, not able to come up with a proper lie for that. It was better to not tell him reasons why she acted in the manner she did anyway.
"You want something from me," Riddle assumed when she didn't answer him. "Yes?"
Did she? Actually, she wasn't certain if she did.
Having him there, in this time, had the possibility of being useful. She had considered that over the past day and a half since she had captured him. He knew about horcruxes and would possibly provide insight on the hiding spots for his horcruxes. Though, it was unlikely that he would ever give her any information on those subjects. She had yet to figure out a round-about way of discussing it without letting on about what she really wanted to know.
Regardless, at the rate they were going, it was doubtful that she would even get a chance to discuss anything with him.
"Maybe," Hermione answered conclusively, sipping delicately at her tea.
Riddle's calculative smirk was unexpected. "Then we both have something that the other wants."
Great. She knew exactly where this was going.
"If you give me the locket, we may be able to make a trade," he continued over his cup of tea, putting on that sickeningly charming act that she wouldn't fall for for even a second.
Yet… it was tempting. The trade itself was nothing she would ever consider doing. It wasn't an option. And he would probably want the locket up-front, knowing him. He was simply trying to manipulate her. Well, there was no harm in returning the favour, was there?
"I doubt that what I want is something you'd consider a fair trade for the locket." She paused momentarily, draining the last bit of tea from her cup. "But I'll think about it."
Riddle was staring at her questioningly as she got down from the counter and grabbed her beaded bag. "What is it that you want?" he asked, definitely curious.
"I said that I'd think about it."
She actually had a lot to think about in general, including The Traveller's Secrets, which she should have started on already. It was going to take a long time to get through and, from what she had read about time-turners and time travel in the past, it was no easy feat to create something that would send Riddle back to where he came from.
Pausing before she reached the door, Hermione turned back and released him from the invisible ropes before exiting the tent. The only reason she had come in the first place was deliver food and to make sure he didn't escape somehow. Any conversation was auxiliary. Well, truly, any conversation with him was dangerous.
He was of the past, she was of the future, and she couldn't let anything slip.
It was bad enough that she had to deal with Lord Voldemort's horcruxes and the war. Adding this on top of it was starting to give her a headache. She figured that her time alone for the rest of the night was best spent on cracking open that book. Even if Tom Riddle was potentially useful, the safest thing that she could do was send him back.
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Author's Note: Thank you for reading!
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