Handling a Dark-Lord Wannabe
Chapter 4: Hermione Has a Bad Day
Hermione was feeling bloodthirsty. She'd spent at least ten seconds trying to determine whether or not that was an over-exaggeration, but no. There really was no other word for it. Relishing in the full fury of her emotions, she realized that any inclinations she'd had towards murdering Tom the week previous was mere child's play in comparison.
And the reasons for these feelings? Well, there were a few.
Firstly, she had woken up to find that someone had felt it necessary to cover her newly attained wardrobe in some disgusting coagulating mixture of wet dirt and blood. The amount of blood was unfortunate- the lumps looked like clots, and Hermione lost herself for a few moments in a flashback of the war, watching the blood gurgle out of a little Hufflepuff in shock. Then came the remnants of anxiety, creating an edge she recognized as the start of a panic attack... Hermione forced herself to breathe evenly as she directing all of that unspoken tension towards anger.
The reference was obvious, but all Hermione could think looking at the ruined clothes was, fucking really? Why?
Perhaps she had been overestimating her success rallying the Gryffindors behind her.
She summoned a house elf and requested aid, but she wasn't expecting much. Perhaps the black robes could be salvaged, but her white nightgown? The white button down shirts that were a requisite part of her uniform? She had enough experience with blood to know that the substance was staining.
Where had they even gotten it? Was it real? Did she really want to know?
She decided that yes, in fact, she did. If only to adequately ascertain the depths to their depravity, and to gain a clue in locating the perpetrator. To that end, Hermione made sure to collect a sample before the mess disappeared. She would figure out what to do with that later- she knew at least three potions off the top of her head that could help her determine the contents.
Obviously unsettled, Hermione forced herself to stop and think rationally. Luckily, she had set out her school uniform last night in preparation for her early morning ablutions, so she would have something to wear. She remembered her formulated response to bullying while she was getting ready, and stayed true to form upon exiting. Heading into the common room, Hermione liked to think that she was the very image of sophisticated grace, with that charming sparkle of cool insouciance.
In reality, she probably just looked apathetic, but a girl can dream. She remembered hearing somewhere that presentation was half of any success, and what was presentation but nicely packaged confidence?
Of course, it was somewhat difficult to keep said confidence in the midst of derogatory giggles, but Hermione didn't waste her time feeling embarrassed and isolated. She used the experience as an opportunity to see who were acting like tittering idiots, and added them to a mental list of possible perpetrators/accomplices.
Striding across the room, Hermione realized she was emulating Severus Snape to some extent, and decided to enact a full reproduction. Goddamn, sweeping through the door with obvious disregard felt good. No wonder the man did it all the time.
Her second reason for the sudden depression in her mood caught her as she was just reaching the Main Hall.
"Miss Granger! What a pleasant coincidence! I have been meaning to speak with you!"
No sane man would sound so cheery this early in the morning.
Tired grumblings aside, Hermione had been expecting to hear from the man ever since she let loose in the common room the fact that she was from the future, and gave the Deputy Headmaster a cautious smile. "Good morning Professor Dumbledore. What can I do for you?"
"Perhaps this conversation would be more appropriate in my office?"
And with that, Hermione missed her opportunity to eat breakfast.
It was not the conversation she had been expecting. And she was surprised by how sufficient she had gotten at understanding everything he didn't say.
"So, Miss Granger, you have been here for several weeks. I am sure that has given you enough time to gauge the level of difficulty in your classes." In other words, I suspect now is the opportune time for you to drop your ambitious act and take on a more manageable workload, and I am giving you the chance to do so without damaging your pride.
"I understand that you were attempting a large course load in your timeline, but I am sure you are now aware that our standard of excellence is unmatched." Our classes are more difficult, with the slight insinuation that they were dumbed down in your timeline to accommodate for the underwhelming scholastic achievement of participating females.
"If you are simply looking to fill your time, I can direct you to several female student groups and organizations that practice things such as home economics and interior decorating." Even if you were capable, your interest in subjects such as Arithmancy and Ancient Runes will not serve your future. Here are more constructive and socially appropriate avenues with which to spend your time.
"I have heard about your recent success decorating Horace's recent party, and I am sure their group would be delighted to include you." You must already be interested in the subject to have participated in the planning of a social event. So dropping your classes wouldn't really be a knock on your pride, because you could celebrate your recent accomplishments with like-minded peers.
Hermione stopped him before he could continue. "I'm afraid I do not understand, Professor. What prompted this visit? Do you have a reason to believe I am performing inadequately in my classes?"
The Deputy Headmaster gave her a long look. "It has come to my attention that you recently told some of your classmates that you were from the future." There it was. "As Head of Gryffindor I have been able to quell the rumors to some extent, but… I am rather concerned about your mental health."
What?
"This is clearly an indication of hysteria influenced delirium brought on by undue mental stress. So I brought you in here in the hopes that reducing your work load would help you manage your stress and prevent such… episodes from occurring in the future."
Hermione was not stupid. This tangent simply meant, I am displeased that you did not listen to my earlier warnings, so I am holding leverage of something important over you in order to control your future behavior.
Son of a bitch.
But Hermione would make this work for her. She refused to act as one of his pawns.
"I had never considered that Professor. I was actually under the impression that any episodes I have suffered from were as a result of boredom, rather than stress. After all, idle hands are the devil's playthings. Perhaps, as my Head of House, you would be willing to show me a list of all of the extracurricular activities currently offered at the school? I admit to being rather partial towards dueling, but I am not afraid to try new things. Is there a club catered towards potions experimentation?"
Dumbledore's eyes flashed with annoyance, and then his face was full of false consolation. "I'm afraid that our only dueling club is for men only…"
"Why?"
"Miss Granger, I understand that circumstances may be hard for you to accept, but you are still expected to maintain a level of decorum. Dueling is not a sport considered appropriate for women to participate in, as you would well know if you had bothered to do any research about the subject."
Solid burn. Of course she had, but let it be known that Albus Percival Something Something Something Dumbledore is a presumptuous ass.
"I see. So how are women supposed to be able to protect themselves in wartime? If my abilities were the only thing standing between the death of my child and a threat like Grindenwald, why would I not do my utmost to become proficient?"
Dumbledore's smile was empty. "That is why we employ Aurors. To protect us from the threats posed by dark wizards."
"If Aurors were enough protection, then there wouldn't be a threat. But some dark wizards are more difficult to contain."
Dumbledore stared at her in quiet disbelief. "You believe that participating in a dueling club will give you the skills necessary to protect yourself against the strongest dark wizards alive? You certainly put a lot into the idea. I am not sure whether to be flattered that you think our curriculum that strong, or concerned that I actually need to get your head examined."
Hermione pursed her lips. Of course he would twist her words and ignore the unstated implications. "I would just like the opportunity to know how to protect myself." She had an idea. "There is a dueling competition coming up soon, right? If I place, would you consider it? If only to put my time and talent to better use."
The Deputy Headmaster frowned. "I will consider broaching the subject with the Headmaster. In the meantime, your workload?"
Hermione straightened, feeling bitter. "Perhaps if I can demonstrate the ability to handle my current workload until the end of the semester without any further problems, we can consider me capable of dealing with the stress?" In other words, a probation period, in which she agreed not to mention anything about the future. The fact that he manipulated her into suggesting it made her want to grind her teeth, remembered lectures from her parents aside.
"I suppose that is a compromise I can agree on." As if he didn't have all of the cards. Arsehole.
He led her to the door. "I believe you have Herbology next? You better hurry. I would hate to hear reports of a decline in your performance due to tardiness." In other words, I am not feeling magnanimous enough to give you a pass after taking up your entire breakfast and passing period. Run, bitch, run.
The fucker.
Hermione ended up being late to Herbology, even after she arrived panting and sweating, and had to stay after class to listen to a lecture about the importance of time management. She saw Tom give her an overstated look of false concern, and the indignation almost made her vibrate from frustration.
But lunch was coming, and she would have the opportunity to cool down and binge on something sweet. Just one more class. She could practically imagine the loaded table, and decided that she might actually kill someone for a brownie.
It was not to be. Headmaster Dippet stopped her just as she was about to sit down, "Miss Granger! I hear you have something to discuss with me. Something about the dueling competition?"
The very first thing that popped into her head was, 'You've got to be fucking kidding me. Now?'
She mentally cursed every deity she could remember because this was not a conversation she could skip out of if she intended to get what she wanted. She reached longingly for one of the chocolate desserts before grimly accepting her fate.
So she nodded, and the Headmaster led her up the many staircases that led to his office.
Thus, reason number three for her building aggravation.
"So I heard you wanted to join the dueling club?"
"That's right, sir. The Deputy Headmaster mentioned that Hogwarts is not only renowned for its scholastic excellence, but also for the extracurricular opportunities available to students hoping to network and hone their skills. I am interested in other clubs as well, of course, but I have always enjoyed a good duel." It couldn't hurt to flatter the man through the institution's reputation, right?
"You are aware that it is not co-ed? After all, the club exists as a constructive way for some of the young men participating to let off some steam, and it would not be fair to require them to make any allowances."
Hermione smiled genially. "I understand perfectly. Which is why I suggested to Professor Dumbledore the possibility of engaging in a trial run. I could participate in the upcoming dueling competition, which would serve as an indicator of my proficiency. In the event that I place, would you consider allowing me the right to join?"
Headmaster Dippet gave her a measuring glance. "This is less about my allowance, and more about their surefire rejection of your membership application. You can use the competition as an opportunity to change their minds, of course, but please do not continue this nagging in the event that they turn you away."
And there was the misogyny. She almost missed it. Nagging? Fucking really? It's not as if she personally badgered him for his time. If anything, he commandeered hers.
Biting back an automatic insult, Hermione nodded. "Might I ask who in the group is responsible for accepting applications?"
"Why, the president of course."
Hermione felt a wash of dread run through her, and mentally admonished herself for feeling so paranoid. "And who might that be?"
The headmaster smiled, but it did not look like a nice smile. "The head boy, Tom Riddle."
Of fucking course it would be him. She should have trusted her instincts.
Hermione smiled blandly in return, simmering from the injustice. "It appears, then, that I need to make a good impression."
After Hermione participated in a cathartic exercise picturing the many ways she could break Riddle's bones using objects immediately in her vicinity, she was able to control her breathing.
Hermione's first inclination was to go to the library and finally research whatever was happening between the head boy and herself. She had already waited too long, and there was too much at stake between them. Logic told her that she needed to be the one to uncover the circumstances first, because if he did, he would surely use it as leverage over her.
Once she had decided on a course of action, she was anxiously eager to carry it out, but Hermione had two electives to sit through first. And she wasn't feeling particularly patient. Her Arithmancy professor looked at her oddly after she failed to raise her hand for the third time that class period, but Hermione ignored her.
Tom leaned forward on his desk from behind her, and whispered, "Have you given up already?"
Why was he always there?
Hermione ignored him too, feeling some strange mixture of anger and edgy anxiety, and bolted from the room as soon as the period ended.
It didn't take her long to locate the books she thought might be helpful. The Magic of Instant Connections, Unspoken Pacts and Other Magic: Holding People Together, A Detailed Enquiry into Magical Bonds, Accidental or Intentional: The Realities of Bonding, a dubious looking Magical Reciprocity, and a couple of other relevant looking texts. The fact that half of these books had pictures on the cover demonstrating a couple embraced in apparent rapture did nothing to calm her nerves, but she pushed forward regardless.
Apparently her apprehension was merited. The smallest remnants of her optimism that had somehow survived her day thus far shriveled as she continued to read. Let it be known that the adage 'Don't judge a book by its cover' is shit, as the reading material was just as inane as she feared.
"Did you feel that certain spark with a special someone? Are you eager to discovery whether or not this could indicate something deeper? Turn to page 48 and answer a small questionnaire in order to determine whether or not you've found something magical."
"Mr. and Mrs. Rogers met over forty years ago, and are still madly in love. Interested researchers have visited the couple to determine whether or not the longevity of this connection could be contributed to the presence of a soulmate bond. When no such bond was found, interested parties began to dissect the wording in their marriage vows, attempting to determine whether magic has interceded and ensured a lasting connection…"
"There are five primary accelerating factors that characterize the possibility of instant connection. Vulnerability, physical proximity, resonance, similarity, and environment. Shared experiences and physical distances create a sense of community that can serve as a source of similarity, which in turn creates a sense of inclusion that can help to foster intimacy. Likewise, paying attention…"
It was psychological drabble that attempted to understand the reason behind the formation of social relationships using a reductionist model that included needless buzzwords and didn't actually impart any new information. Of course people with shared interests attract. Hardly a revelation.
Then she finally found… something.
"Magical compatibility and its consequences has been of great interest to witches and wizards for centuries. Varying research methodologies have been adapted in order to ascertain the strength of said compatibility, but the larger magical community has raised concerns over the validity of such studies due to issues with accuracy and reciprocity. Furthermore, it is difficult to determine when, exactly, magical compatibility is at play rather than interference from magical compulsions such as vows, bonds, and pacts.
There are, however, a couple of key characteristics typically found in the magically compatible that are generally agreed upon by all interested parties. The individuals involved must demonstrate a high degree of magical aptitude, which in the untrained is often times demonstrated with the presence of large raw magical reserves. They must also have established a magical connection, which can entail anything from starting a vow or sharing blood, to performing joint casting exercises.
It is noted that high degrees of magical compatibility have various consequences. The individuals involved are more inclined to experience other forms of compatibility in the form of emotional and physical connection. Bonded individuals with this compatibility typically demonstrate a higher level of empathy and are thus unusually protective and possessive of each other. And finally, they have established the possibility of sharing wands.
Anyone interested in learning more should refer to Caster's recent publication…"
She was interrupted by a grating voice close to her ear. "Miss Granger, I see that you have no less than eight books off the shelves. I will remind you, once again, that according to school policy your limit is four. Please do not make me repeat myself, or I may be forced to revoke your library privileges."
Merlin forbid she have more than four books, because it's not as if she is at all capable of putting them away after she is done with them… Her recrimination was all the worse because Hermione had spotted Tom last week with at least twelve texts, and the librarian had smiled.
Smiled! Where was the justice in that?
Bloody harpy. And now that her concerns have been addressed to some extent (although she would need to continue her research at a later time), she felt free to roll in the growing fury building in her chest. She flicked her wand in a defiant manner and watched the librarian purse her lips as all of the texts returned neatly to their place on the shelves.
The older woman turned her nose up at her and left, muttering something about, "Absolutely no care for the integrity of the binding…"
What did she do to warrant such discrimination? Hermione felt like she had been walking around all day with some kind of target on her back that everyone could see but her.
So what happened next really should not have surprised her. Like the heavens would show her mercy… Although they did present a ready target with which to channel today's culmination of homicidal tendencies.
Tom's cronies decided to casually crowd her table. While she was somewhat reassured that they wouldn't be able to get away with any kind of physical harassment, they seemed to feel confident enough to give the verbal variety a try, and threw themselves into the chairs across from hers.
Hermione had lost all of her patience by mid-morning, and addressed them as she saw fit. Which is to say with feral sarcasm. "Tommy's boys! What a pleasant surprise! What are you here for?"
They all narrowed their eyes at her in affront.
Avery was the first to recovery, and leaned his chest against the table in front of her in an attempt to crowd her. Which was a surprise.
"You were the one to put snakes in the boy's dormitory, weren't you?" His eyes shifted between both of hers frenetically, and he positioned himself above her as if standing ready to catch any suspicious behavior.
Hermione's brow raised. "Someone put snakes in the boys dormitory?"
Avery snarled. "Don't play dumb, I know it was you. After all, you demonstrated that replicating charm in class so perfectly…"
"Replicating snakes? Sounds like fun."
"Fun? They were fucking poisonous."
They weren't, actually, Hermione wasn't that stupid. Although she was hardly about to correct him.
"I see. Do you have any proof of my supposed culpability?"
"I just said…"
"Circumstantial at best, and delusional suspicion at worse. Did you manage to cast a tracing spell?"
His eyes narrowed. "Worried?"
Hermione scoffed, irritation mounting. "Exasperated. Apparently you have no idea how to successfully implicate someone. What kind of Slytherin are you?"
Avery's cheeks were turning red with anger. "What the fuck would you know…"
"Like an icky first year. I can't imagine you are treated with any respect…"
Her cut her off, practically shouting. "You don't know anything!"
At her look of aggravated skepticism, Avery calmed and sneered, "I wonder what your screams would sound like if I hit you with a Cruciatus." His suggestion (because she really couldn't call this cute attempt a threat) came across as almost lewd, highlighted by the movement of his fingers that came close to touching her collarbone. Once he noticed she was paying attention to the action, he drew them back with an overly disgusted look on his face, as if even touching her clothing was beyond consideration.
Hermione was not impressed. The over-exaggeration just seemed so… childish. Really? What exactly was she supposed to be feeling right now? Intimidated? Ashamed? Overcome with self-hatred? 'Well if Avery doesn't want to touch me, surely my life is over'… So fucking ridiculous.
"I wonder what your screams would sound like through a crushed windpipe." Hermione made a point to look directly at the man's Adam's apple, and then back into his eyes.
They were not to be outdone.
Abby spoke up from beside her. "I wonder what your eyes would look like after the killing curse. The same muddy brown color of your blood? Or would they darken?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes in anger and exasperation at the insult, and decided to be as disgusting as possible. "I wonder how your eyeball would feel if I burst the mess in my fist after clawing it out of your head with my fingernails. Hm Abby? Do you think the liquid would look bloody or watery oozing down my arm? Would it be warm?"
There was a visceral response to that description in nearly all of the young men around her, their faces scrunched for a moment in disgust.
Someone made another attempt, but Hermione cut them off with a sharp retort. "Please, your lack of creativity is almost painful. Although I have to ask. Who decided that the Unforgiveables were to be the staple of your repertoire as you all attempt to emulate wannabe Dark wizards? Where is your ingenuity? Your ambition? I thought you were Slytherins."
It was at this point, of course, that Tom felt the need to interject himself in their conversation, stepping into her peripheral on her right. "Really, Granger? You feel you have some kind of authority on dark curses?"
Hermione felt a nerve of tension pinch the edge of her shoulders, and attempted nonchalance. Now was not the time for involuntary weakness. Now was the time for moxie. Regardless of the suspicions held between them. "The Unforgiveables are boring, Riddle. And predictable. Just like your lackeys."
To her surprise, Tom grinned good-naturally. "Well, it is hard to find good help these days. Although I am curious. According to your undoubtedly high expectations, what would be an appropriate way to kill someone?"
He asks as if he had not just witnessed her homicidal impulses the week before.
And reminded Hermione of the fact that she was still feeling rather angry. Throwing away her apprehension, she decided to continue as she had been, embracing the true hallmark of entertainment indicative of her generation; shock value. "Have you heard of Lingchi? The ancient Chinese torture method where slivers of flesh are slowly shaved off bit by bit and cuts made so as to extend the torture as long as possible? Starting with the limbs, of course, which gradually led to amputation. Most died of blood loss before the torso and head could really be explored, but I imagine magic could help with that. Or salt, if I was feeling particularly inclined to embrace my Mudblood heritage." She turned to look at Avery pointedly as she finished. The man looked disgusted.
Tom made a noise that brought her attention back to him. His gaze was considering. "That seems rather sadistic for a Gryffindor."
Hermione's smile was sharp, well aware that Gryffindors were just as capable of harm. But decided to play along. "You caught me on an off-day. I'm afraid all of my sugary noble sentiments of mercy and compassion were used up by Tuesday."
"Tuesday?" he asked curiously, his head tilted, obviously trying to remember if there was anything important about that particular day.
Hermione just nodded. "Tuesday. My housemates decided to throw a House party without inviting me. I was devastated, and decided to start living my life for revenge."
His lips twitched in amusement, and Hermione inwardly smirked. Apparently her assets could possibly include a sense of humor. Take that Lilac White.
And then Hermione remembered she shouldn't fucking care.
"I see." He nonchalantly waltzed up next to her, and slide gracefully into the chair beside hers. Hermione was disgusted to notice that his impeccably coiled hair did this conventionally sexy swish thing from the momentum, before falling perfectly back in place. Damn that man.
And now that she was taking note, as he continued to speak Hermione became uncomfortably aware of his almost unnaturally straight white teeth, demonstrating, once again, an unparalleled standard of hygiene. Which should not be so attractive…
She stopped herself.
Hermione. Doll. You know I think we've got it going on, but stop looking at his fucking mouth. Pay attention.
"So I heard the most interesting rumor about you the other day. Something about you traveling backwards fifty years in time?"
Neither confirm nor deny. Not if she wanted to continue taking nine classes. Fucking Dumbledore. "I like to stir the pot."
Tom snorted. "That I have definitely noticed."
Just state Dumbledore's facts. As unpleasant as they may be. Hermione let out a dramatic sigh. "I have recently been informed that I suffer from hysteria. Apparently, in my delirium caused by undue stress, I made accusations generally considered to be impossible. I apologize if you have been misled."
Tom's eyebrow raised. "Hysteria," he stated dryly.
"Apparently."
"And how often do these… episodes occur?"
How often does she mention or act on information of the future? "All the time, I imagine." After all, she is a product of her times.
"Is sarcasm, then, somehow indicative of your over-excitability?"
She gave him a dead-pan expression. "Can't you tell? I'm fit to burst."
There was that slightly amused twitch in his lips again. Ha!
Tom paused for several moments, and then frowned, the movement pulling at all of his features. "You spoke to Dumbledore."
Smart boy. Hermione blinked as she considered whether or not Tom and Dumbledore had experienced a similar conversation in the past. "I can neither confirm nor deny participating in said recent hypothetical meeting with our esteemed Deputy Headmaster." She may have sneered a bit towards the end. She couldn't help it. It had been one of those days.
"What did he threaten you with?"
Hermione turned more fully towards Tom with a raised brow. What a loaded question. Like she would actually respond.
Tom smirked, picking up on the challenge. "It's hardly a secret, Granger, considering your ambitions."
She blinked.
Tom's eyes narrowed, and she suspected that he was second-guessing himself. Then, apparently, he felt the need to change the trajectory of their conversation. "Let's just assume, for argument's sake, that you are from the future. Would you like to talk about the meaning behind your flower arrangements?"
Hermione could sense that things might get a bit messy, and cleared her mind of any potentially implicative thoughts. Her plan was to evade and misdirect.
"Was it the orange or purple that offended you?"
He gave her a look.
"Because I can empathize. I personally find orange rather distasteful. Should a color be so blatant? Although I suppose yellow isn't much better."
Tom sneered in exasperation. "Don't play dumb."
Hermione's eyes flashed in response to his impatience. "I am only following your example. Why else would you ask these kind of questions in the library?"
"I assumed you wouldn't willingly follow me somewhere more private. And that you would be less circumspect about discussing it, based on that dramatic display in your Common Room. Was I wrong?"
Evade and misdirect. She bat her eyelashes theatrically. "You want me alone? Sugar, you only had to ask."
His eyes narrowed and he couldn't stop a grimace. Brat. "I know what you are playing at."
"Do you?"
"I just want to know how much you know."
"And after that you will walk away like we never had this conversation?"
"Potentially."
Hermione snorted in disbelief.
"You picked immortality for a reason."
"Did I?"
He leaned closer, and his voice became a harsh whisper. "I can make you talk."
Hermione didn't have the patience to cower. So she reciprocated, leaning forward so close she could smell his breath. She whispered coyly. "Can you?"
Tom snarled.
"Be careful, Tom. After all we are in public. By your own design." Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and Hermione smiled slyly. She pulled back from him casually. "Better wave at your girlfriend before she thinks you are ignoring her. She might feel the need to spread rumors about our dastardly affair."
Tom frowned in confusion. "Who?"
"Lilac? Or was that date a one-off?"
His eyebrow raised. "Interested?"
"In the abuse I will undoubtedly have to suffer because of your romantic entanglements? Absolutely."
Tom smirked. "Are they still bullying you? Poor Hermione."
Hermione huffed tiredly and ran a hand through her hair. "It's better that way. So when I finally enact my revenge, I won't have to waste time on shit feelings like compassion and regret."
Avery finally felt it necessary to intrude, ready to jump at the admission. "Have a lot of experience with revenge plots, do you?"
Hermione smirked, and impulsively decided to share. What's the harm if they already thought she was crazy? "I once led a professor into a forest hoping she would be run through by centaurs, crushed by a giant, or eaten by acromantulas. Or if I had any luck, all three. Because she was using dark magic on my friends. Does that count?"
Tom looked skeptical. "You tried to kill a Professor, Granger? You?"
Hermione leaned forward and delivered this next bit in a conspiratorial whisper. "My first offense was as a first-year. I set my Potion's professor on fire during a Quidditch game."
Tom was still frowning, eyes narrowed as he tried to deduce whether or not she was lying. Abby spoke up then, having obviously decided that she was full of shit. "Really. And exactly how many of your professors have you attacked?"
Hermione's eyes furrowed as she lifted her hand and started counting down her fingers. Well, Severus Snape, obviously. Remus Lupin, while the man was still a werewolf. Umbridge. Would the Carrow siblings count? Why not.
So five. But then she considered how many Harry had attacked, just out of curiosity. Quirrel, Lockhart, Lupin, Barty Crouch Jr., Umbridge, Snape, the Carrows. Which makes eight. Wow, they really took defiance against authority figures to whole new level, didn't they?
"Only five," she finally admitted, frowning.
Avery snorted. "Only five?"
Hermione pouted. "There were circumstances."
Tom interjected, sounding impatient. "I'm sure. So tell me Granger. Are these snippets of the future, or is this an example of your hysteria?"
Considering she defined her hysteria as sharing snippets of her future… "I'm definitely having an episode."
"I saw them in your head, Granger."
Shit, she had forgotten he was a Legilimens... Evade and misdirect. "Were you reading my mind? Naughty boy. It just so happens that I have a vivid imagination."
Tom looked frustrated enough to pull his hair out, which gave Hermione a sense of unmitigated glee. She stopped herself from giggling manically, but apparently the mirth was apparent on her face. As a result, his features were cutting and his whisper was harsh. "I can take you where they can't find you, and make you scream until you are willing to tell me everything."
Hermione smiled coyly, deliberately misinterpreting his words. "Promise?"
There was that edge again, that impulsive, passionate, chaotic side of his personality that seemed to exude brashness and killing intent. For one moment it was almost overwhelming, and then….
And then his face cleared and he looked up at her with a calculating gaze, as if he had discovered a game-changer, and Hermione tensed with wariness.
He reached behind him and grabbed his book bag. Opened it, and withdrew a napkin. Her first thought was that it was some kind of dark magical artifact, but as he parted the napkin like a blossoming flower, Hermione stared in surprise. It was a scrumptious looking chocolate confectionery. Her mouth instantly watered.
"You missed breakfast and lunch today, didn't you?"
Here, then, was the devil and all of his temptations. And by all that is holy, Hermione considered selling her soul. It smelled delicious and looked like it might taste divine- the perfect cake frosting ratio, with a dark chocolate garish, and a cake that appeared to be moist and fucking spongy…. She didn't notice she was subconsciously scooting forward in her chair until she saw Tom's eye flash.
He moved the cake away from her, and Hermione was pretty sure she growled.
"So this is how this works. I give you the cake and promise not to tell Dumbledore about the frequency of these… episodes, and you tell me what I want to know."
Hermione paused. And tilted her head, considering. "Would he believe you? I understand that you are not his favorite person."
"How would you know that?"
"By paying attention? After all, he never calls on you in Transfiguration, which always struck me as rather odd. He calls on other Slytherins."
Tom grimaced. "Granger. Please just know that if I wanted to make problems for you, I could."
"I'm sure, but that wouldn't really make me inclined to aid you in any way, would it?"
"Are you going to accept the deal or not?"
Hermione pursed her lips, and considered her situation. The way she saw it, she had two options. One: deny him now, and wait for him to back her into a corner and torture her later. Two: agree to meet somewhere more private, willingly, which would give her just a bit of power in the exchange (although would require submitting to him to some extent. Was the cake worth it?).
Apparently it was. "We have an accord, if you agree to meet at a later date, privately, so we can discuss your concerns."
Tom raised a brow. "You won't run?"
Hermione gave him an affronted look. "I am a woman of my word."
His features still exuded suspicion, but he pushed the napkins towards her anyways. Hermione grinned.
As she indulged herself, she felt happy enough to be positively chatty. "So how did you discover my weakness?"
Tom snorted as he made to stand up. "By paying attention. You looked positively besotted at lunchtime."
Hermione just hummed happily.
Tom looked at her for a moment. "Who knew you would be so easy to please?"
Hermione snorted. "Not all of us are high maintenance, Riddle."
He scoffed. "I'm sure. I will contact you tomorrow about a meeting time and place. Auf Wiederschauen."
Hermione gave him an absentminded half-wave, until she saw the librarian zero in on the chocolate from across the room. She made some kind of mad dash in her direction, expression fierce. Hermione scooped her prize up defensively, grabbed her bag, and jogged out of the room. She passed the Head Boy laughing, and continued to sprint down the hall.
She didn't realize until later in the evening that all of her earlier feelings of anger and bitterness had completely disappeared in Tom's presence. Which assuredly didn't bode well. And in regards to what she had learned in the library…. She wondered how she would keep her head.
Well at least she had a dueling competition to look forward to. She just needs to find the resources to practice. Perhaps Charles Potter would be willing to lend her a hand?
To be continued…