(no subject)

[young_tmriddle]

Tom sits at a table for a change, finally catching up on the weekend edition of The Daily Prophet. The cover features the Quidditch World Cup; Tom skimmed the coverage quickly for the contents within.

He never was a fan of the sport. He's not really a fan of the The Daily Prophet, either, preferring the New York Wizarding Times, but one's lifelong habits are hard to break.

He's wearing his usual dark suitrobes, and a scotch is at hand. It's been a long day, he's tired, and the news is- well. It's rarely ever good, is it? Even in these days of relative quiet. He's pleased, as he often is, to have the Underside to call home.

OOC: Any threads will be after the one with Hermione. Dun dun duuuun

Oh, and also? Not plot-locked at all! Reactions welcome!

Comments

[evercleverest]

It's the sight of The Daily Prophet at all that first catches her attention.

It's been a while since she's seen any wizards from her world here, she knows. Not that she keeps track or anything, but she's been Bound and she's been here a lot more than she ever has in the past.

She doesn't want to be rude and stare, but she's trying to read the date on the paper. It doesn't look like one from her time, anyway. The news is far too ... upbeat.

[young_tmriddle]

Tom doesn't notice any staring. He's engrossed in the paper.

That Skeeter woman certainly seems to be spewing more lies. In his day, newspapers reported facts and not scandal.

[evercleverest]

Stirring her drink absent-mindedly, she has half a mind to approach the mysterious wizard or witch behind the paper.

She even straightens a little, clearing her throat.

She's been missing home, despite all of its troubles, for a little while now. She's certainly been missing Harry and Ron.

[young_tmriddle]

Tom's read enough of the paper as he can stand. Truly, he thinks he ought to be done with it altogether, but it's a connection he hasn't quite let go of yet.

He lowers it and then folds it in a huff, a frown on his face. He really hates The Daily Prophet. Bloody miserable excuse for a paper.

[evercleverest]

She doesn't mean to jump, honest.

But as soon as the paper comes down and she sees his face (recognizing it at once; she's seen old papers, she's read up on her history - she's Hermione Granger, after all) her heart begins to race, her blood runs cold like ice and she lets out a fearful, somewhat undignified squeak.


Oh, where's her wand? Where's her bloody -

[young_tmriddle]

Tom is deep in thought about the deteriorating qualities of a once proud newspaper. He's canceling his subscription. It's time to be done with it for good.

It's happenstance that when he stands and begins walking in Hermione's general direction, he's glowering.

He does tend to do that.

[evercleverest]

Found it.


And just in time, too. He is nearly at her table when she gets to her feet as well, wand out and pointed straight at Tom.

She swallows. She's also aware her hands are shaking.

She never thought she would ever do this alone, and with a version of the villain she knows so well who, quite obviously, comes from before the slit-eyed, snake-nostril, deathly pale skin era.

Still.

That doesn't change anything. Some things simply do not - cannot - change.

(Hadn't Dumbledore tried? Hadn't they all tried to understand the hows and the whys?)



She takes a breath, then in a clear voice, cries out, "Stupefy!"

[young_tmriddle]

It has been a long time since the early days of being verbally attacked - or physically - by people from the Wizarding world who knew his face, but did not know him.

He is not expecting the curse.

When he crumples to the ground, he doesn't even have time to wonder what hit him.

Tom Riddle is out like a light, sprawled on the floor of Milliways.

[evercleverest]

As if all the strength and composure she'd collected has simply switched off and left her body, she crumples to her knees. Her wand lands before she does, clattering on the floor next to her.

She lets out a shaky breath and a whimper. She isn't even aware that she's crying until droplets of salty water make dark spots on her robes.


Her spell won't kill him - of course it won't - but ... she's never known how to really use any of the Unforgivable Curses. Knowing the words and the way they work is one thing, but really knowing those curses is another matter entirely. And she isn't even sure what she would do if she could.

This has never been her battle to fight; she simply wanted to help Harry. But she was faced with the opportunity to stop Voldemort for him, so she took it. She took it ... and only made it half-way there.

She glances at the now unconscious body of Tom Marvolo Riddle Who Would Soon Be Lord Voldemort - the Darkest Wizard their world has ever known, the murderer of her best friend's parents, the leader of so many murderers - and wonders what on earth she's going to do now.

"H-help," she croaks.

[stewart-baxter.livejournal.com]

The floorboard bristles with tiny cloth heads, like dandelions from a poorly maintained lawn.

One of them sinks tiny cloth fangs into Tom's legs, seeking to helpfully drain any infected blood. (Finger puppets are not very good at diagnosing human ailments.)

The others turn their faces toward Hermione, black button eyes glinting.

[cutting_edgex23]

The question of whether it is Hermione's croaking 'help' or Tom toppling over like a sack of potatoes that catches X's attention is moot.

She leaves her position near the front door, darting around chairs, tables, and patrons as she makes her way over to the girl.

And the fallen man.

At least there is no smell of blood in the air.

snikt

"What did you do."

Threat assessment is difficult when magic or advanced technology is involved.

Maybe it is nanobots.

[aj_crawley]

It's amazing, the things you trip over when you're not paying attention. Crowley's just come in from the back door, brushing soil and sunny streaks of pollen from his hands - and nearly bumps into the kneeling Hermione before he hears her strangled plea.


That said - nobody's ever accused Crowley of being slow off the mark.


"What," he snaps quickly, crouching down by Tom's head. "What happened."

[anthy-rosebride.livejournal.com]

The sheep is unimpressed.

It chews ominously on the leg of a chair, and eyes Tom's left arm speculatively. It appears to be more soft and yielding than wood.

[stillbecoming]

.

[pirate_jack]

Maybe it's the thud of Tom falling that gets his attention, or maybe it's the girl collapsing beside him.

Jack glances up from his rum and eyes them both speculatively.

"That's interesting."

[mamaplays2win]

This is totally bizarre. And way, way more engrossing than the alien soap opera Sam had been watching on the TV.

"What'd you do, kid?" she asks, delighted, in the way where she is halfway across the bar and no one involved can actually hear her question.

She props one sneaker up on her table, then the other, and she takes a ferocious bite out of a fried chicken wing, her gaze rapt.

[young_tmriddle]

Once Tom comes back to consciousness, he sits on a chair, a scowl on his face, and his head in his hands. Being stupefied makes your head bloody well hurt.

He will have no trouble canceling his subscription to The Daily Prophet now.

[stewart-baxter.livejournal.com]

A tiny cloth face pokes into his field of vision, its button eyes glossy with love and concern and a deep appreciation for the green light and snake scale taste of Tom's blood.

[young_tmriddle]

"GAH!"

Tom's reaction is... not what it would be on another evening. Another evening when he hasn't been ambushed and cursed.

[stewart-baxter.livejournal.com]

His reaction startles the half-ring of finger puppets hatchlings around him; they jerk in startled unison, and melt back into shadows and crevices.

Except the one by his face. That one dives down his shirt collar.

[young_tmriddle]

He barely refrains from thwapping the one that goes down his collar.

Oh. That night wasn't an Atlantean-induced nightmare after all.

Fabulous.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

"--Oh, my."

Says the recently appeared fairy, gravely.

(If rolling one's eyes may be counted grave.)

"Have they returned, then?"

[young_tmriddle]

He sighs. Heavily.

"I... suppose. I'd hoped they were figments of my imagination."

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck looks to the shadows suspiciously and gives a hiss.

(Did he imagine those scuttling noises?)

"Perhaps you have fallen under some manner of curse," he suggests cheerfully.

[young_tmriddle]

Tom snorts. "I fell under a curse, all right. A witch from my old world bloody well Stupefied me. Knocked me out cold. Then I had to answer questions when I didn't do a damned thing but walk through the bar. Laura is rather too thorough in her security duties."

In the past, he was never hauled into the Security office after someone from the Wizarding world overreacted.

The hatchlings are not the worst thing that happened tonight.

...Although there is one in his shirt. Damn it.