Hermione had decided to take the risk and live off campus for one reason: she could not stand another year being the roommate of Lavender Brown.
She had tried - for two years! - to make it work, but she just couldn't stand it anymore. Hogwarts had a policy not to switch dorm mates unless absolutely necessary due to a belief that conflict resolution should be handled internally, lest unnecessary meddling discourage the development of social skills.
Or so she had been told. Truthfully, she had been scolded like a needy child just for asking.
Lavender, on the other hand, had not been reprimanded for staying up all night chattering away on her phone, flooding the dorm with the smothering stench of acetone and nail polish, or for blasting repetitive pop music even as her roommate was so obviously studying.
Consequently, Hermione began looking into off campus living arrangements as soon as finals were over. Though she had considered joining a sorority, she ultimately decided that she wasn't that desperate yet. Unfortunately, even working full time over the summer wouldn't allow her enough to get her own apartment. She had crunched the math every way she could - even if she put all her earnings into savings and stayed with her parents over the summer, continued to work as much as possible during the school year, and went with the cheapest single flat she could find, she'd be out shortly after first semester. That brought her to her final option: risking it with another roommate.
It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
When Professor Dumbledore mentioned that an old friend of his was renting to some other students, Hermione had been hesitant. Not because of a mistrust in her professor, but because it seemed too good to be true.
It was a house only a short walk from campus, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms, in perfectly suitable condition, housing only three occupants at the moment. The remaining bedroom would be purely hers, already offering more privacy than her current living situation. The best part, however, was that they were looking for someone to maintain the quiet atmosphere of the home.
After everything she'd been through, the prospect of 'quiet' made her almost giddy.
Dumbledore had promised to put in a good word for her, but ultimately, the choice was up to the landlord, who left it up to the house.
Still, Hermione was optimistic. If what they wanted was someone who wouldn't disturb the peace, they couldn't get much better than her.
Even more than optimistic, she was hopeful. After two years of avoiding her dorm at almost all costs, she couldn't think of anything better than just quiet.
Peaceful, productive, quiet.
Tom slammed his fist against the table. "Can you lot shut the fuck up for ten minutes so we can figure this out? I don't want to have to pick up the slack, again, when rent is due and we still haven't found a replacement."
Bellatrix did not bother to look up from her phone. "You know you don't have to do that. I can just call my dad crying and tell him I need money for rent. He'll probably cover for the next six months before he even starts to question it."
"No," Tom countered irritably, "you can't."
"Oh, I totally can, though. I am really good at fake crying. In fact, if need be I can probably cover all our rent through graduation."
"No, you can't." Tom reached over, plucking her phone from her hands. "I don't care if your dad would buy us a whole new house-"
"He would, if I asked pitifully enough." Bella immediately reached over to grab her phone back. Tom slid the offending device into his pocket.
"I'm not accepting it, so it's irrelevant."
Dramatically dropping her head, Bellatrix let out a exaggerated groan. "But why? Do we really have to do this again? Really? It's so boring."
"Yes. We do. If you want to beg your dad until he buys you your own house, go ahead, but I'm not betting whether or not I'm homeless on how dependable you may be feeling at any given moment."
Bella looked up with a mischievous glint in her eyes, then stood up from her chair. Striding over to Tom, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she leaned in. "Oh, Tommy," she pouted, "you wound me. I'll have you know I'm very dependable."
He cringed, pushing her arms off. "Hardly. Now can we please get back to the task at hand?"
"Of course," Bella said, reaching her hand down. While Tom jolted at the bold intrusion, she swiftly stole her phone from his trouser pocket and sat back down.
Colin, who up until this point had been tinkering with his camera and making misplaced pop culture references, finally spoke up with something relevant to the current discussion. "Yeah," he said, "I think I'm ready."
"Certainly took you long enough" Tom grumbled, opening the folder of applicants. He looked up just as Colin turned the camera on. "Colin, I swear to god-"
"Happy Vlogmas in July!"
"We are not doing this right now."
Tom's interjection fell on deaf ears. Colin didn't even turn to look, merely pointing over his shoulder as he continued talking to the camera.
"As you can see, Tom is even grumpier than usual. Bella seems unusually manic today, but let's not go there just yet. This time, you're gonna be tagging along-"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tom groaned, "Why do I even bother asking for other people's opinions?"
"Because you know that otherwise we can revolt?" Bellatrix supplied.
Colin continued as though they had never said anything, "-while we decide who our new roommate will be. As usual, all names will be censored so that I don't get #SuedForDefamationOfCharacter #NotAgain"
Tom noted that at least he was only recording, the alternative being live streaming, which meant that the footage could be "accidentally" deleted or corrupted before posting.
"Fine," he huffed, "let's just get this over with." Pulling out the folder containing the applicants, he then removed the first page and slid it into the center of the table. "Severus Snape - chemistry major. I know him, and while I wouldn't describe him as pleasant, he shouldn't cause any problems."
"I don't want to share my bathroom with a boy," Bella immediately interjected.
"You did just fine with Abraxas."
"That's different," Bella sniffed. "He's my cousin."
"And gay," Colin supplied.
Bellatrix nodded emphatically. "Exactly. He never made my bathroom smell like-" she scrunched her nose in distaste, gesturing to the two males in front of her. "-like that. Uck."
"I really don't think that'll be a problem with Severus," said Tom. "Truthfully, I don't think he showers that frequently to begin with."
Bella frowned for only a second before her expression noticeably brightened. "Wait, this is the greasy guy you get your spliff from, yeah? Snivellus. You know, one of my cousins tied him to a flagpole a few years back. Did he promise you a discount if you let him get away from Potter?"
Yes, to all of that, but regardless, the extent of their relationship began and ended with business. Tom felt no need to gossip about the unfortunate state of the man's personal life. He nearly told her just that before remembering the camera was still on, at which point he flipped the paper over and pulled out the next application.
"I don't see how that's currently relevant." Clearing his throat, he gave Bella a pointed glare while inclining his head towards the camera, to which her only response was a wicked grin and a mouthing of the word, 'oops.'
At least it was only recording, not streaming.
Colin grabbed the discarded paper, scrunched it into a ball, and then tossed across the room. "Case closed. Greasy weirdo is out of the running."
Tom rolled his eyes, but truthfully he was somewhat thankful. At the very least, he could tell Severus he tried. "Thank you, Colin. Surely, throwing it in the bin wouldn't have been sufficient." He pulled out the next application. "Luna Lovegood. Journalism major." He briefly hesitated, frowning, before adding, "she also mentioned that she studies," he paused again, bitterly testing the word on his tongue, "cryptozoology, which is ...odd, given that if that is a real thing, it is not a major offered at Hogwarts."
"Oh," Colin interjected immediately, "it's real. It's the study of cryptids."
"Of what?" asked Bella.
"Cryptids," he repeated. "You know, animals where people aren't sure if they're real. Bigfoot, the chupacabra, wrackspurts."
Tom shook his head. "Bigfoot and the chupacabra aren't real, Colin. I'm not entirely sure what a 'wrackspurt' is, but I'm confident in saying they probably don't exist."
"Wrackspurts are little creatures that crawl in your ear and-"
Tom didn't let him finish. "Thanks for clearing that up. I am now certain that those don't exist either."
Bella, seemingly bored of the conversation(with which Tom could relate, given that he himself was not thrilled by subject matter either), reached out and pulled the page closer to herself. Giving it a curious glance, she noted, "it says here she writes for the Quibbler."
"I noticed," Tom replied. "Didn't think much of it, though. If she's able to make rent, I really don't care how she makes her money."
Bella scoffed. "Might wanna rethink that one, dear."
Pushing back against his chair, he gave her a wary glance. "Why? What's wrong with the Quibbler? Isn't it just another paper?"
"It's like The Daily Mash, except they're serious," Colin replied offhandedly.
Tom held firm to his reasoning that how other people got their money was not his business.
Still, he internally countered, why risk it? If she was really this much of a bother, he didn't want to concern himself with it. They already had one journalism major in the house, and Colin was a handful to deal with all on his own.
Tom took the paper from Bella and slid it over to Colin, who promptly balled it up and tossed it. He shot the camera a beaming smile when the paper actually made it into the bin this time.
"Why are we doing this?" Bella abruptly asked as Tom pulled out the next - and last - paper, thinking to himself that maybe they shouldn't have thrown away the other applications when they only had three to begin with.
"Because Brax moved out three months ago, and we still need someone to take his place?"
"No - well, yes - I mean why are we bothering to look through these? Hogwarts is huge; It's not like we actually know these people, and we're not conducting interviews."
It was a valid point, Tom thought, but he still argued, "we should at least know that whoever we pick can cover their rent."
"But does it really matter? If they pay for first and last month up front, like I did, why do I care about how they get their money? You know better than anyone that resumes are just a formality. It's not like your job selling knick knacks is dependable - then again, I suppose it doesn't really have to be, not for you - and Colin depends entirely on ad revenue and sponsorships."
While Colin demonstratively gestured to the Chudley Cannons logo on his jumper, Tom gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white.
"They're antiques," he spat.
"Fancy knick knacks."
While Tom continued to explain all the rare books he had access to, all the old pieces of art and bits of technology that had been lost through the ages, and Bellatrix baited him with snide comments and sarcastic quips, Colin moved the camera down in front of him. Resting his head against his palm, he began a candid and not at all pre rehearsed monologue.
"You know, I think my favorite thing about being here is how much it reminds me of home." He continued talking as though the two people behind the camera had not descended into an intense screaming match. "But now, instead of my mum screaming, 'Colin, get your elbows off the table, you're ruining dinner again!' or 'put that camera away! The internet doesn't need to watch your brother vomit!' it's Tom telling Bellatrix to lay off the poppers while she asks him all about his very sad childhood."
"Can you go even a single day without throwing a tantrum?"
"Dunno, why don't you check your diary? I'm sure you'd have written about it if I had."
"And it's funny, really," he continued, "because when I first came to Hogwarts, I was so worried that I wouldn't fit in. I'm not from around here, and I'm really not the best at making friends - believe it or not - but everyone here has been just so nice, you wouldn't believe it."
" -call me an orphan one more time and I swear to-"
"Or you'll what? Hit me over the head with a vintage Merlin figurine? Tell Roddy I told you all about his wittle deformity? Go ahead! He gets off on it! You'll be doing me a favor."
Colin gazed into the camera, a blissful expression claiming his face. "I only wish Dennis were here."
"You know why I have to ask for your input? Because the last time I didn't, you got pissy and put out a cigarette in someone's hair. And then had the nerve to ask why she left."
"Pansy was a cunt and you damn well know it! Also, she used my conditioner. She deserved it."
Colin's face visibly brightened as he remembered, "and don't forget - next week, I've partnered up with Weasley & Weasley to conduct an experiment using their classic dung bombs, filmed entirely using their new spycam technology. Can't say much more without ruining the surprise, but remember to check back next Wednesday. It's gonna be wicked."
"Fine, forget that I even asked! I'll just give Mister Grindelwald a call and tell him that this 'Hermione Granger' can move in whenever. And if you don't like it, that's your problem."
"Fine."
"Fine."
The sound of glass shattering was the last thing heard before the camera shut off.
Hermione pulled the key that Mister Grindelwald had given her from her pocket, feeling a small sense of accomplishment at having been the one chosen.
Knocking twice on the door to announce her arrival, she stuck the key in the lock and turned, having been told there was no need to wait for permission to be let into what was now her own house and that someone would be waiting around to give her a tour.
She took a deep breath. She opened the door. She pushed her outrageously heavy suitcase up through the archway.
"Miss Granger?"
Immediately, she straightened up, suitcase falling to the ground with an embarrassingly audible bang. "Yes," she smiled tightly, looking up towards the source of the voice, "that would be me."
A man descended the last few steps of the staircase on the opposite end of the room. With the first glance she didn't notice any remarkable details, but she picked up right away that he was quite tall, with neat black hair and moving with what she would describe as slightly intimidating certainty.
Taking only two strides to reach her, he extended a hand. "Tom Riddle," he offered, giving her a subtle once over.
On the second, closer, glance, she noticed he was attractive. Almost exceedingly so.
She realized a second too late to go unnoticed that he was still waiting for her to take his hand. If her timing hadn't been enough to call attention to her awkwardness, the way she suddenly sprang up to accept it was - she could tell by the way the corner of his lips quirked.
"Hermione Granger," she said, averting her gaze and hoping it would persuade the blood that had risen to her face to flow back to her body. "Sorry, I'm usually more attentive. I was just, uh, distracted." She gestured to the room. "I never saw any pictures of this room online, so I was just a bit curious."
"I'm sure." The amusement in his tone was just evident enough to give the distinct feeling he was mocking her.
She raised a hand to fidget with the lengths of her hair, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.
"If you're that eager to start the tour," he said, that same hint of humor having not left him, "we can start whenever you're ready. I was thinking it might be easiest to start right away, and bring your bag upstairs when we get there. You can unpack as soon as we're finished. That way we won't have to worry about disrupting our evenings for what could easily be accomplished by just taking a few moments straight away."
That put her more at ease. No disruptions - quiet.
She smiled. "I'd like that, thank you."
The first thing he showed her was the two doors on the opposite end of the room.
"One's a coat closet. The other is a toilet. Please be sure you are using the correct one."
Hermione, certain she'd have no problems with that, was only mildly concerned that he felt the need to clarify that she be sure to use the proper one. She hoped it was just a joke, but after living in a dorm for two years she wasn't entirely sure.
"There really aren't that many rules," Tom said, continuing their tour through the dining room, into the kitchen of the home, "don't bother other people-"
He was cut off by the sound of another voice.
"Unless, of course, you're bored," a woman with long, curly black hair stepped through the opposite entrance. Bellatrix, Hermione guessed. She had been told there were three other people living here - Tom Riddle, Colin Creevey, and Bellatrix Black.
"Don't listen to Bellatrix," Tom continued without missing a beat. "Don't leave anything you don't want touched in communal spaces. And yes, that includes the bathroom you share with Bella."
He paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully at Bellatrix before diverting his attention back to Hermione. "Don't even leave your toothbrush in there unless you're comfortable with it being contaminated," he finally said.
At the word 'toothbrush,' Hermione immediately thought of her dentist parents, and the expensive electric toothbrush they had insisted she use to avoid harming her gums. At the word 'contaminated,' her thoughts took a turn for the impure.
Suppressing a shudder, she briskly nodded.
Tom's lips twitched into an amused smirk. "Lovely, isn't she?"
"Of course I am, dove." Bellatrix pushed off the wall, stepping forward to introduce herself to the newest occupant of the house. "Hermione, right?"
Hermione nodded.
"Well, Hermione, I'll tell you what: You and I are going to be the very best of friends. We're going to have just oodles of fun, of which Tommy dearest is invited to partake in none of." She tossed a glare over her shoulder at the offending male before turning back. Reaching out, she wrapped a lock of Hermione's hair around her hand.
Taken completely off guard, Hermione froze.
"You know, somehow I think I'll survive," Tom drawled.
"Keep thinking that." Turning her attention back to Hermione's hair, Bellatrix looked up with bright eyes. "You know, I grew up with two sisters. But they never let me play with their hair. And theirs wasn't half as fun as yours."
Hermione, who considered her hair one of the few insecurities she felt about her appearance, contemplated explaining that she wasn't letting anything. Unfortunately for her, the forwardness of the other woman was uniquely intimidating. Finding herself too unnerved to do more than just stand there, rigid and trying not to stammer, she cast a pleading look in Tom's direction.
Thankfully, he obliged.
A throat cleared behind them. "Bella," said Tom, tone distinctly lacking in warmth, "Keep your hands to yourself."
Rolling her eyes, Bellatrix dropped the lock of hair. She raised her hands in a show of innocence, much like someone would prove they weren't armed.
"Anyways," Tom continued as he made his way over to the refrigerator, "house rules: don't bother other people, don't listen to Bella, don't leave things you don't want touched in communal spaces. Food is an exception - you have one drawer in the refrigerator, and one in the freezer, that is yours exclusively." He opened first the fridge, pointing to her designated drawer before shutting it and doing the same to the freezer. "As well as one cabinet," he pointed to a cabinet above the stove, which Bella then walked over to and demonstratively opened. He gave her a nod before continuing, "we all contribute to basic groceries - that's not optional, and no, we don't care if you're vegan or organic or allergic or whatever else, you'll contribute like the rest of us or you will find elsewhere to live - but if there's something you want that is just yours, keep it in your own space. Otherwise, it's fair game."
"Alcohol," Bella chimed in, "is not included on our shopping list, so you'll have to buy that yourself."
"Correct," he said, bringing the attention back to himself once more, "we will not fund any underlying addiction you may have, nor will we supply refreshments for any parties you may decide to host. Which, should you decide to host them, do ask first - you're not the only one with a busy schedule. We the house reserve the right to tell you no."
Hermione nodded, not seeing any problems thus far.
"To expand on the first rule: you may drink wherever you want, but you may only vomit in the toilet or your own room. If you're sick on either the carpet or the walls, you either clean it up yourself or pay for the bill to have someone else do it."
She blinked before hesitantly asking, "has this been a recurring problem? I was under the impression that living here would be quieter than living in the dorms or a sorority."
Bella snickered from where she sat, cross legged across the counter.
His face flashed with a look of irritation before he concealed it, answering the question with an amicable tone. "It is," he said, "and having the rules clearly established helps keep it that way."
Hermione nodded. That was fair. Logical, she supposed.
"Excellent," he said, leaning back against the counter. "Think you can remember all that?"
"Don't disturb others. Don't leave private possessions out in the open, food included. Contribute to household essential groceries. Ask before hosting social events. No public vomiting."
She nearly added 'dismiss anything said by Bellatrix,' but that wasn't a real rule - probably - and regardless, the girl was right there. While Tom may have earned the ability to be able to make fun of her, Hermione was certain that she herself had not.
That amused grin appeared back on his face again, and it occurred to her that he may have followed her train of thought. He cocked a brow towards Bella, but didn't comment on it.
"Perfect. Come, I'll show you to your room. I can take your trunk for you, if you'd like."
"Oh, you don't have to," Hermione said, lifting a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of her neck. "I've got all my books in there, so it's quite heavy. I'd hate to make you lug it up the stairs."
Tom appeared to be chewing the inside of his cheek, literally biting back a laugh. "All the more reason a lady shouldn't have to carry it then, wouldn't you say?"
She felt heat rise to her cheeks and she just knew she was blushing into an unflattering shade of scarlet.
Bella snorted. "Well aren't you just delightful."
Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Tom had already begun carrying her bag up the stairs.
The bookcase the room came with didn't hold all of the books she had brought with her, but she wasn't too surprised by that(frankly, it would have been more surprising if it had fit all her textbooks, old favorites, and the books she was currently reading), and she couldn't find it in herself to be unhappy. The bed that was provided was a size larger than the mattress in her dorm, but she wouldn't call that a problem even if did mean she'd have to go out and get new sheets sometime tomorrow. For now, Hermione felt content. Happy.
Half her books may have been in a cardboard box in the back of her closet, and she may have been sleeping on a bare mattress with just a blanket rolled around her, but this wasn't her childhood bedroom and it wasn't a shared dorm. It felt comfortable. It felt quiet. It felt like hers.
The floor outside her door creaked, and she heard the distinctive sound of a doorknob being jingled. She sat up onto her elbows just as the door opened.
Her mouth gaped as Bellatrix, carrying her phone in one hand and a pillow in the other, walked straight up to the end of her bed and crawled up onto the mattress. She sat cross legged with her elbow propped up on her knee, chin resting in her hand.
"Hi."
Hermione shut her mouth, scowled, blinked, and then hesitantly replied, "err… hello?"
"How are you?"
"Quite tired. It is nighttime and I have work in the morning."
It seemed Bellatrix was either incapable or completely uninterested in taking a hint. "You work at Ollivander's, right? That shit little bookshop, in between the ice cream place and the pet shop that sells those ugly cats?"
"Yes." With as much subtlety as she could, Hermione pulled her phone from her nightstand and pulled up Tom's number.
Why is Bellatrix in my room?
Though it was dark, Hermione could see Bellatrix grin through the minimal amount off moonlight that had illuminated the room. "Are you texting Tom?" She asked, crawling closer to try and get a look.
Hermione shoved her phone into the pocket of her sleep shorts. "No."
It vibrated a moment later. Bellatrix let out a shrill cackle. "Oh, you are an abysmal liar, dove. Don't worry, we can work on that."
Pulling her phone out again, Hermione checked the message while tilting the screen in the opposite direction of Bellatrix's prying eyes.
Did you leave it unlocked?
She bristled, typing back,
Was I not supposed to?
"He thinks you're pretty, you know."
"What?" Hermione squawked, whipping her head up.
The amusement was evident in Bellatrix's tone. "Tom. He thinks you're pretty. Actually, what he said was 'amusing,' but I know what he meant."
Eyes narrowing, Hermione coolly replied, "how nice of him. Unfortunately, I'm not interested."
"I never said you were. I never said he was, either, for that matter. He thinks I'm pretty too, and yet he still finds me insufferable."
"That's …nice," Hermione said, unable to tell what exactly the point of this conversation was supposed to be.
Only if you wanted privacy.
She's curious. And bored.
Give her one night to annoy you, and this probably won't happen again.
Or just lock your door next time
She scowled at her phone.
Do you lock YOUR door at night? Or am I the only one expected to potentially compromise my safety in the name of privacy? Locking your door at night is a safety hazard. What if there's a fire while I'm sleeping?
"So what's Tommy saying?"
"Nothing," Hermione answered briskly, annoyed.
It's only considered a hazard because it makes it harder for people to reach you. Allow me to assure you, in the event of a fire, none of us will come for you.
If you're that concerned, get a fire alarm.
And yes, I lock my door.
"So, you are talking to him?"
"No." At the resounding snort of disbelief, Hermione amended her answer. "A little bit. Not really. He's not being particularly helpful."
"Doesn't surprise me." Bellatrix pulled her pillow up, dramatically leaning back into it as she let out a sigh. "He rarely is, you know. But he always comes through when you need him."
"Good to know." In the uncomfortable tension, Hermione shifted further to the edge of the bed. She knew she really should just say 'please get out of my room,' but despite tasting the words on the tip of her tongue, they wouldn't come.
"How long have you all lived here?" She asked instead, cringing even as she said it. She never had been any good at making small talk.
"About a year and a half," Bella replied. "Tom and I moved in first. My dorm mate, Alice - you might know her. Complete bitch, funny ears, and she's dating that guy Frank, yeah? - kept whining to McGonagall about how she wanted a new roommate, and I could not take any more of those boring conflict resolution sessions they kept pushing. All the 'if you put snakes in her bed one more time you will be expelled' chatter was making me antsy. And Tom, well, he doesn't really do well with sharing his space, so we decided to find a place."
Hermione felt like this story was lacking a few important details, and found the causal demeanor Bellatrix held to be unnerving rather than reassuring. "So, you and Tom, then. You're…?" She hesitantly trailed off, keeping her hand on her phone just in case the question somehow came off as offensive.
Bellatrix scoffed. "I love him, with every fibre of my being, down to the deepest depths of my soul, and I despise him just as equally. But I suppose you could say I don't have any strong feelings for him either way."
"...oh."
"Indeed."
It was quiet again. Though Hermione had more than a few questions, she felt it probably best not to ask them.
Luckily, Bella resumed talking. "Anyways, so at first it was just the two of us, Rosier, and Greengrass. About six months after we moved in, Rosier's mum -was it his mum? I think it was - doesn't matter, she died, he left to go home and dig a grave or something. Colin was working on a project that Tom was helping him out with, and since he didn't much fancy the dorm situation either, Tommy told him he could stay here. He never left, so for a while that was that. But then Greengrass went and got married. She moved out, Parkinson moved in. I didn't like Parkinson, so I made her leave and then Brax took her - now your - room. But he graduated in May."
"You've had a lot of roommates," Hermione said.
Bella hummed an affirmative before abruptly changing the topic with, "why aren't there sheets on your bed?"
"Because I thought the bed was going to be a single, not a double." While Hermione was, on a certain level, aware that she was sounding a bit too shrill for her own liking, she couldn't help it. It was late at night, she had to be up in the morning, and this was her room. Her patience was wearing thin. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take a shower," she huffed.
She told herself she'd shower tonight so she could sleep in a bit in the morning, and it would balance out. If it didn't, she'd grab coffee on her lunch break.
And tomorrow night, she'd lock her door.
When she came back, the bedroom was thankfully vacant and a pair of emerald green silk sheets were on her bed.
She appreciated the kind gesture, but she still locked her door.
The following evening saw Hermione come home from work tired, sore, and noticeably disheveled. Mr Ollivander had her in the back doing inventory, alone, while he held a group of teenagers hostage at the checkout line with a lecture about the intricacies of storing old books. She wouldn't consider herself weak by any means, but the boxes she had been lifting and sorting all day were heavy. Her arms hurt. Her back hurt. She was very much in need of a hot shower.
But first: food.
After dropping her bag in her room and changing into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she made her way into the kitchen. At first, she had been a bit peeved at how much was being asked of her for groceries, but as she opened the fridge and found it fully stocked with enough healthy, fresh ingredients to make almost anything she pleased, she quickly changed her tune.
She smiled. No more frozen pizza, and she had been meaning to learn to cook.
But not tonight, because tonight she was tired. Tonight, she grabbed a few eggs and a couple pieces of bread, because that's what she knew how to cook without risking a house for or food poisoning.
Once her eggs and toast had been adequately cooked, she threw them onto a plate, grabbed some silverware, and entered the dining room.
She nearly choked on the first bite of her food when all of the sudden the front door flung open and screaming ensued.
"Tom!" A short, mousy haired looking boy burst through the door. "Tom I need help! Now, please!" He bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, frantically looking around, before finally muttering, "fucking hell - Tom! Tom I know you're home!" And racing up the stairs.
She got up, following the sound of the noise until a moment later the boy returned, dragging Tom behind him as they began descending the staircase.
"-and I got into the driveway as fast as I could, I damn near crashed, but I left baby in the car and I'm too scared to go get her because what if it touches me? What if it crawls onto me and then bites my face? What if I'm allergic and my face falls off? I can't handle that. My mum'll kill me for ruining the family Christmas card the third year in a row, and what if my face never comes back?"
Tom, who appeared to have just woken up if his state of dress were anything to go by, let out an exaggerated sigh. "I'll grab your camera, but I'm not going to crawl around and look for the spider. You'll just have to see if it's gone tomorrow."
The mousy looking boy whined. "But what if it-"
Feeling now was as good a time as any to interject, Hermione stepped forward. "Excuse me."
Just as she was about to ask what was going on, Tom cut her off, leveling a glare at the other boy. "She's right here and yet you woke me up?"
The other boy looked at her with a surprised blink before turning back to face Tom's scowl. "I did not know she was there and even if I had, I would not have approached her because you told me not to talk to strangers unless I can do it without being annoying."
"I have also told you not to talk to me if you can't do it without being annoying-"
"Tom," Hermione cut in, "can you please explain what's going on?"
At the sound of his name being called, he looked back to Hermione. "Yeah, just give me a sec." He shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath before straightening back up and looking politely between them. It was blatantly obvious he worked customer service - probably a cashier, or maybe a waiter.
"Hermione," he said calmly, with a tight lipped smile, "this is Colin. I apologize for being unable to introduce you yesterday, but he was preoccupied and didn't get home until quite late."
Colin. Hermione remembered Mister Grindelwald, and later Bellatrix, mentioning him, and felt a bit silly that she hadn't connected the dots on her own.
He looked at her brightly. "Hi."
Hermione looked briefly between the two boys in front of her before replying, "hello. Pleasure to meet you."
Tom clapped a hand over Colin's shoulder, saying, "glad we got that sorted. Since you've already woken me up, I'm going to go grab your camera."
He didn't bother to put on shoes, stepping out the door in socked feet and pyjamas as Colin chased after him yelling, "be gentle with her! You can't just go tossing her about!"
The door shut behind them. Hermione blinked. She made her way back to the table, where her food was still appropriately warm.
A moment later, the door opened again. Colin came in, eyes glued to the camera in his hands. "Do you think the spider venom is going to damage the plastic?" He asked.
"No," Tom answered, walking in only a step behind him. "Because that wasn't a venomous spider, and the likelihood that it would bite plastic is exceedingly slim."
"Oh. That's good." Colin leaned back against the door, tinkering with the camera lens. "I was right, though. That thing was bigger than my hand."
At that moment, Tom looked up. Making eye contact with Hermione, he shook his head, mouthing the word ' no.'
When Hermione choked on her food, he shot her a mischievous grin. "Let's go, Colin," he ordered, grabbing the other boy by the scruff of his shirt and pulling him towards the stairs. "I think we've disturbed Miss Granger enough for one day."
She pulled out her phone and pretended to check her messages, allowing her errant curls to fall forward and obscure the blush on her cheeks.
At least now it was quiet. She could truthfully say that.
Hermione settled into life at the house very quickly. Despite introductions going less smoothly than she had desired, she found that her fellow residents more often than not chose to stick to themselves, primarily within their own designated rooms.
Of course, occasionally, she'd run into them. Either she'd find Colin while he was filming(if she had started watching his channel, she made a point not to mention it), she'd run into someone while coming and going from work(Tom often seemed to be getting home just as she was leaving, which she thought was unusually odd because Borgin and Burkes wasn't open overnights. Still, she didn't ask), or she'd hear Bella bringing Rodolphus home(despite the former, intentionally ambiguous answer, Tom and Bella were not together - the two hours of screaming and crying that always ensued before Lestrange finally left were proof enough of that).
Still, it was quiet. Not the complete silence she had been hoping for, but vastly improved from the chaos of her former dorm.
She still slept with her door locked, but she had also picked up a smoke alarm so it felt like more of a non issue.
About a month after she moved in, Hermione came home from a rough week at work wanting nothing more than simply to enjoy her weekend in peace. She had been harassed by customers, scolded by her boss for spending too long looking at the books she was stocking, and the cherry on top was that she had slammed her finger in the door on her way home.
Opening the kitchen freezer, she grabbed an ice pack and held it to her injured extremity. It stung and throbbed, but after just another moment it felt better. Pulling the ice pack away after a few minutes, she let out a soft sigh of relief. No blood, and it didn't look bruised either. It might be a bit sore for a day, but that wasn't a big deal.
She rinsed and dried the ice pack before putting it back in the freezer. As she straightened up, she noticed there was a batch of brownies neatly piled onto a plate that was left on the counter.
It wasn't unusual for Colin to bring home pizza or to get takeout that he shared, or for Bella to cook enough of a meal for the entire house and leave leftovers for anyone who wanted them. Hermione was grateful for that - she learned quickly that she liked the idea of knowing how to cook significantly more than she actually enjoyed cooking.
She thought nothing of it as she grabbed three - they were cut rather small, she justified - and brought them back to her room.
Bellatrix had no problem waltzing into Colin's room unannounced - unlike certain other parties, he had no problem leaving his door unlocked.
"I'm not an idiot," he had once said when asked about it, "I know you know how to pick locks."
Not that she ever said anything, but in her opinion he was smarter than both Granger and Tom even if he wasn't winning any scholarships.
The door opened. The floor creaked under her bare feet. He was sitting at his computer, headphones in, back to the door.
He jumped when she wound his hair through her fingers and pulled, holding his head back against her with one hand while she leaned forward and draped herself over his shoulder.
Looking up at her, he smiled. "Hi."
She smiled back. "Hello. Do you remember what I told you about eating special brownies?"
He nodded, hair straining even harder against her grip. "That I'm not allowed to eat them unsupervised because I have no impulse control."
"Good," she cooed. "Then would you mind telling me why there's twenty-one at the moment when there were twenty-four this afternoon?"
He blinked. "Dunno. Did you ask Tom?"
Her grip tightened. He winced. "Baby, what have I told you about lying to me?"
"That I shouldn't do it because it'll just make you angry, but I'm not lying! And, if there was only three missing, you know damn well it could not have been me because I can't eat only three brownies. I don't have the self restraint. You know it too, you just said so."
Bella abruptly let go of his hair, apologetically smoothing it down. She pressed a kiss to his forehead. He made a squeaky little noise that sounded much like the chirp of a cat. "You're right, baby. Mummy's sorry."
He turned back to his computer, uncaring of how she was still draped over him. "Colin is sorry, too."
"You have nothing to be sorry about," she snapped, "stop talking on script and pay attention to me."
As he moved to put his headphones back in his ears, she ripped them out. Her eyes narrowed. "Well if you didn't eat them, who did? Tom doesn't like brownies - or so he says. I think he just likes to look superior to the rest of us - but even if he did, he knows better than to take three."
Colin shrugged. "If it's not you, not me, and not Tom, then that just leaves Granger, right? Why don't you ask her?"
Bella tensed, internally cursing her own forgetfulness.
In her defense, it was quite easy to forget Granger was there - the girl was so quiet she was practically a nonentity - but regardless, she was certain this was not going to end well. Not at all.
Obviously, it was an accident. She was still quite certain that Granger, who had at one point mentioned she wouldn't even take painkillers, would not find this funny.
Straightening up, she put Colin's headphones back in his ears before patting the top of his head and leaving.
She walked down the hall until she reached Granger's door, then knocked gently.
The distinct click of a lock was heard. The door opened a moment later, revealing a rather nervous looking Granger. She cleared her throat before hesitantly asking, "Do you need something?"
Bella tested the words on her tongue before carefully saying, "I was just wondering if you had any of the brownies I left out."
Granger's eye widened. She blushed. If she hadn't had her answer before, that was proof of guilt enough.
Bella internally swore - she really had been holding out hope that it had been Tom.
"Only a couple!" Granger immediately argued, stammering, "they were on the counter, and they didn't look like they were for anything, so I just assumed-"
Of course, Bella understood. It was an honest mistake, the fault more arguably being her own.
"Oh, it's alright, dove," she said gently. "I was just asking. No harm done. But erm, could you just come check on something with me quick?"
Granger looked wary, but she finally grabbed a cardigan to cover her bare shoulders and stepped out into the hallway.
Bella led her over to Tom's door, where she knocked against the wood. First, she tapped gently, like she had for Granger. When Tom didn't answer, she began pounding incessantly.
He finally opened the door, giving her a stern look. "What?" He demanded.
At first, she wasn't sure what to say. Tom had a tendency to be a teensy bit irrational when he was nervous. Or angry. And it didn't help that Granger was standing there looking helpless and concerned.
Best to spit it out, she decided.
"I accidentally drugged our roommate."
Tom's jaw tensed. Granger went white with a look of abject horror.
Tom had quickly ushered them both into his room. While Bella stood near the door, looking disturbingly unbothered by this, Hermione had sat down against the bed as soon as Tom had cleared it off - he had an awful lot of plastic bags. In another situation, she'd likely have asked what they were for. At the moment, she was less interested in his personal life than she was in making sure she didn't start crying.
At first, a hysterical laugh caught in her throat. She thought that maybe this was just a joke, that Colin would pop out with his camera and she would be so angry but that in the end it would all be fine. As Bellatrix explained the situation to a decidedly unamused Tom, it became very clear that that wasn't the case.
Hermione bit her lip. She looked at the floor and fiddled with her hands. She thought back to all those anti substance abuse campaigns she had in school, and was more than a little peeved that none of them had prepared her for this - there was so much information on how to avoid drugs, but nothing on what to do after you've already taken them. And now what? Should she go to the police? A hospital? Maybe, probably, but it's not like she could drive herself there. What if she started hallucinating?
She looked up at Tom, because surely Bellatrix seemed to think he'd know what to do.
He was glaring back and forth between her - as though he had any right to be angry with her - and Bellatrix, before he finally let out an exasperated groan. "You know," he said, turning to Hermione, "'don't eat mysterious brownies' is about as basic as 'don't take pills from unmarked bottles.' Frankly, this is your own fault."
She gasped, absolutely appalled that he could even think she had some responsibility in this. "It is not!" She shrieked, "And those are not even remotely the same thing!"
"They kind of are, dove," Bellatrix said.
Hermione clenched her fists at her sides. "I ate the pizza Colin brought home last week, too. And for that matter, so did you two. Was that something I should have questioned as well?"
"Clearly not," Tom drawled, "given that it was in a box so you know where it came from, and we were all eating it too, so you know it's not poisoned. That's hardly mysterious, I'd say. But brownies are the most cliche edible, Granger. And it's not like Bella has been shy about her lack of sobriety."
"Brownies are a perfectly normal dessert choice!" She snapped, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. "For heaven's sake, my parents used to bring some home from their PTA meetings-"
Bellatrix snorted. "Bet they had fun, yeah?"
Hermione gave her the coldest glare she had in her arsenal. "The point I'm trying to make is that they're not an inherently drug related food, and that I wasn't in the wrong for assuming otherwise."
"Sure, dovey, and the point I'm trying to make is that your parents were probably-"
Tom cleared his throat. "Bella, I think that's enough."
At first, Hermione was grateful for the interruption, but then she looked at him - at the way his lips quirked, the way cheek clearly dented from being bit, the way his breath came in shallow little huffs - and lost the sentiment rather quickly. She had been drugged, and he was laughing at her.
'Arse,' she internally cursed, 'I should've just stuck with Lavender.'
"Well excuse me,' she sniffed, "but I'm not from somewhere where it's considered routine to drug other people's food." She pulled her legs up and tucked them against her chest.
"Well, they were supposed to be for me and my cousins, and probably Colin if he asked nicely."
"What happened to 'anything on the counter is fair game'?"
"Still in effect," Bella drawled, seeming more bored by the second as she lost her opportunity to mock her victim, "which is why I'm not mad that I'll have to make another batch."
"You will not be making another batch," Tom immediately objected.
Hermione found the dismissive huff of protest that served as a response from Bellatrix to be rather disconcerting, but for the time being she did not comment on it.
"So," she paused, stammering as she looked between Tom and Bella, "ehm, what are we going to do?"
Pulling out the chair from his desk, he sat down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You said you took three, right?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, nearly cringing at the guilty admission in her own voice. "Only because they were small, though."
"Believe it or not, I'm not judging your portion control."
"Right," Hermione mumbled. "Of course."
From across the room, Bellatrix snickered. Both Tom and Hermione ignored her.
He sighed before saying, "Well, the first thing you need to do is calm down. I'm sure your frantic little mind is working itself into a tizzy over the prospect of having a valid reason to be offended, but you're fine. This is truthfully not as big a deal and you think it is."
She bristled, but resisted the urge to correct him.
"I suggest," he continued calmly, "that you drink some water and then take a nap. Try and sleep it off. Best case scenario, you sleep through the night and feel perfectly normal in the morning."
"And the worst case scenario?" Hermione asked, frowning as she shifted in her seat.
"Psychosis related accidents," he answered blandly.
She felt like she was going to vomit. "Please take me to a hospital," she squeaked.
"No," Tom and Bella immediately answered, leaving no room for uncertainty.
"Don't be ridiculous; you don't need a hospital." Tom finally looked up. "Granger, this type of stuff really does happen all the time. Most likely, you'll just feel really giggly for a few hours and eat a whole box of biscuits. You really are going to be fine."
Though Hermione thought he seemed far too unbothered by this, she would have been lying if she said his demeanor wasn't somewhat reassuring. He seemed sure of his assessment. That was better than the alternative.
Her teeth once again found her lip, worrying the flesh as she tried to think the situation through. Her hands sought her phone, finding relief in realizing it was in her pocket. At the very least, she had that. She could still call for help if she needed to, even if she didn't trust herself - or, more accurately, the brownies - enough to drive.
'Psychosis related accidents' - she thought of dramatized movie scenes, blurred in smoke and mesmerizing displays of pattern and color. She thought of all ways she had read of people accidentally offing themselves.
Seconds away from tasting blood, Hermione forced her jaw to cease chewing her lip. She looked up at Tom, abruptly asking, "Will you stay with me?"
He looked offended by the question.
"You said the worst case scenario is 'psychosis related accidents,'" she argued, feeling the need to explain herself, "surely that means you can't just leave me alone? What if I-"
"Don't go there, dove," Bellatrix interjected, cutting her off. "You don't want to contemplate the great What If's at the moment. You're just going to work yourself up."
That was not at all reassuring, Hermione thought, but was probably accurate nonetheless.
"I suppose you do have a point," Tom finally relented. He leaned back in his chair. "Bella, call Brax. Tell him you're babysitting tonight."
Bellatrix made a very unusual noise - something between a whine and a groan - and dramatically threw her head back against the door.
At the same time, Hermione jolted straight up. She did not trust Bellatrix at all, definitely not enough for this. Nor did she enjoy being spoken of like a child, but that was the lesser priority at the moment. "No!" She shrieked.
Tom glared coldly at Bellatrix, but redirected his attention towards Hermione's outburst. "You want me to do it? No offense, but I have other plans for the night."
"What I really want is a doctor!" She snapped, pushing herself up off the bed. Since she was the only one taking this seriously, she felt justified in leaving. "And if you're not willing to help me, I may as well go find one!"
Bellatrix sidestepped away from the door, which Hermione eagerly pushed through. She pulled her phone from her pocket - maybe Ginny was around and could give her a ride.
"Granger, wait."
It was more the hand on her shoulder than the sound of her name that caused her to turn around.
"I'm sorry," Tom said, giving her a soft smile. "That was insensitive of me. You're right. I suppose I didn't understand how serious this could be. But you need to understand, I am trying to help you. A hospital won't do anything. THC overdoses aren't fatal, just unpleasant."
She had the distinct feeling that was not true, but she also didn't know enough about recreational substances to dispute it.
He kept talking.
"You asked me to stay with you, right? Why don't we throw some pillows and blankets in front of the telly in the living room, and I'll tell Colin and Bella to pick some movies. The four of us can have a quiet night in. You have my word that if anything goes wrong, I will personally take you to the hospital. Okay?"
It didn't sound okay. Hermione hadn't even enjoyed sleepovers(that is what he was proposing, even if he didn't outright say so) when she had been young enough to like them - she hardly thought she'd like it now, not when she didn't enjoy the present company, and not when she knew it was only happening because she had been drugged.
"You have my word," he said, one hand rubbing reassuringly into her shoulder while the other pulled her phone straight from her hands. His sincere expression never wavered. His eyes never left her own. "I promise I'll watch over you."
Against her better judgement, she nodded.
Author's Note: this is shamelessly self indulgent. Because sometimes I write things for me. This will only have two chapters. Part two will be up eventually.