Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Schism

Hermione stomped her way down Knockturn Alley, bypassing hags and vampires, brushing past werewolves, shoving aside shady wizards with no regard for her safety or her direction, because she was seeing red.

How dare he do this to her?

It couldn't be true. Not after Paris...

She passed by Noggin & Bonce (shrunken heads), Cobb & Webb's (a dark arts shop), The Coffin House (for necromancers), Postage's Cauldrons, Trackleshank's Locksmith, Shyverwretch's Venoms and Poison, and the Spiny Serpent. She'd forgotten that Borgin and Burkes was located at the opposite end of Knockturn Alley. Tom's flat was at the very front of the alleyway, so she never had to venture far into its depths.

The further she got, the creepier the place felt. She passed a shop that sold bones, and another that sold bats and skins. She passed by Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, The Starry Prophesier (a rubbish, farcical medium's practice), and then finally, The White Wyvern, a disreputable pub where even the aurors dared not to look too deeply.

Finally, she stood before the entrance to Borgin and Burkes. She hadn't been here since she, Ron, and Harry had followed Draco there in sixth year. Its windows were filled with enchanted items and antiques, and the same skeleton that had appeared in its window in the future was there now. Not much had changed. She gazed up at the sign, which read "Borgin & Burkes, Established 1803, Licensed Auctioneers."

She wasted no time in opening the door and stepping into the dimly lit shop. A raven which sat in the window crowed at her arrival. Hermione looked around and saw no one in the shop. It was still rather early, so Tom could be in the back doing inventory.

Her hackles rose by simply being in the shop. It reminded her of Draco and Lucius, and the vanishing cabinet that had led Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

Tom's death eaters.

It was Voldemort who'd sent Draco to kill Dumbledore; he'd sent a young boy on a suicide mission.

There were masks hung on the walls. Hermione could feel the dark magic leaching from them. In one section of the shop, there were crystal balls, ouija boards, scrying mirrors, and other divining paraphernalia. In a glass display, there were bones of all sorts. The kind that were only used in rituals of dark magic.

Hermione swallowed as she imagined Tom arranging them in the case.

There were poisonous candles, ingredients for dangerous draughts and potions, cursed articles of clothing and jewelry, a hangman's rope, and a strange glass eye that followed Hermione as she walked through the shop.

She'd just about seen enough and was about to call out for him when Tom walked through a back door behind the shop desk.

When he saw her, he froze.

Their eyes locked.

Hermione glared at Tom, her anger seething through the coldness of her gaze.

He blinked twice, but otherwise, his face was a blank mask. "I told you I would write to you on the parchment, Hermione."

The nerve .

She took a step forward, her anger pulling her toward him. "What did you do, Tom?"

He took a deep breath. "Hermione..."

" Where is my editor?"

He held out a hand as if to calm her. "Can we talk about this tonight? I'm at work right now."

"No."

He exhaled. "Hermione..."

"You fucked with my work, so I'm going to fuck with yours."