Author's Note: I kept writing while inspiration had struck. A quick note on Riddle.
I'm not trying to make him some Muggleborn loving, change of heart character. Nor am I trying to make him immature.
But I think if I was stuck within a 200 yard radius of someone, over the several months I might start to at least tolerate their presence. And I would certainly find mischievous ways to entertain myself.
I 'unno. Maybe I'm getting far too Mary Sue in this. Tell me if I am, I'll fix it, I promise! Complete edit, I swear!
I also like to say that I was never 100% clear on when the Death Eaters were started, but it was my impression that they were officially named that and created as such after his Hogwarts years. Feel free to correct me on that.
Disclaimer: Who took the cookie from the Harry Potter jar? Who me? Yes. Yes, it was me. I don't own it though.
Act VI
In which, Hermione Granger is terribly daft
‡
"You absolutely bloody daft, reckless wench! Not only did you specifically ignore my warnings about following proper dosing procedure with your pain potion, you managed to create a revolutionary new side effect. Shall I put a label on the vial next time, may bloody well strengthen the bloody ghosts of bloody teenage dark lords?"
It had only taken twenty minutes of fast paced, razor sharp conversation between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger to figure out what had happened, after a smirking Riddle had, in his arrogance, let slip a few clues about a particular potion.
After all, the damage was done.
Hermione was stone faced as Severus railed at her.
Riddle's ghost was quietly smug as the potions professor bellowed, the sound echoing around the greenhouse.
Hermione could not recall a time she'd seen Snape run so fast.
Riddle's ghost could not recall a time in his short stint as a tag a long that the surly professor had shown so much true emotion.
"I cannot find the words to express how insolently stupid you are! There is nothing in the English vocabulary that can encompass how much this hinders our progress on any of your problems, or how terrifyingly mind-bogglingly absurd your actions have been!"
"Would fuckbiscuits work?"
"I AM IN NO MOOD GRANGER."
‡
To say Hermione was haggard and half insane after a week would be a vast understatement.
"Do you need some time, Hermione, from teaching? I can fill in for you for a short portion of time, after the first two weeks of school have passed."
Hermione turned exhausted eyes to McGonagall.
"I'll consider it, Minerva. Let's see how those two weeks go, first."
‡
The other professors would not stop casting worried glances at her during the meals leading up to start of term.
Severus would not give her any potions, for fear of potential effects on her already psychotic situation.
As such, she was not sleeping except for perhaps thirty minutes a night, and maybe dozing at her desk in her private research study adjoining her private rooms. The pain was nigh unbearable and made her horribly boorish.
Neville had made the mistake of remarking on the similarities of Snape and Hermione lately, and found himself at the end of two wands.
Minerva was acting like a mother hen.
"And I swear on Merlin's flaccid dick, if you do not stop levitating my shite around my study I'll begin the experimental stage of my research hypothesis regarding you right this very minute, you dick faced, shit-eating undead mongrel," Hermione snarled without looking up from her furious scrawling.
Oh, she'd actually said her last bit of her complaints aloud.
Her rather expensive, first edition of Terrible Transfigurations and Transmogrifications kept zooming around her study, anyway.
She bunched her hands up in her hair and let out a short scream of frustration, ink dripping from her quill-still in hand- into the rats' nest of her hair. If it was bushy to begin with…
Let's just say that exhaustion, paranoia and irrational mood swings from potion withdrawals did not improve upon the frizzy mass.
"Really, Mudblood, you're so short tempered these days."
Hermione was far too busy muttering 'fuck' under her breath over and over to dignify that with a response.
Riddle wafted over towards her desk, staring at her research papers.
"Why, that will never work," he remarked.
Hermione grit her teeth, and as such, her words came out as an almost masculine growl.
"And why, pray tell, is that?"
"It would require you to be dead or dying. Nothing in your equations or theorem suggests that you're extricating dead energy from living energy."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you being so helpful?"
A translucent grin stretched across his face, giving him an almost manic look.
"Because there's no way for dead energy to be compatible with living energy within a spell. I've been reading over your research as you've done it, and you see it, too. You simply can't, just like the magic that I've got now can only work on inanimate objects. You just cannot address the two energies in a single spell, ritual, or otherwise."
Hermione's face twisted into an ugly howl of fury.
"REDUCTO!"
Her wand had been pointing at Riddle, who disappeared as the first syllable left her lips. Because if intent was the foundation of spellcasting, than if anyone had a chance at getting a good ol' reducto to work on a ghost, it was Hermione Granger at that moment. Malicious intent had put her face into a rictus of agony and fury as the spell went through nothing and hit the wall opposite, sending shards of stone and splinters of wood flying into her private chambers.
Hermione sat in her chair, her face red and irate, breathing heavily. Riddle faded into view slowly, hovering just beside her.
"Go on and say it," she spat, "Stupid Mudblood."
Riddle glanced down at her, then back at the massive hole in the wall.
"I am willing to admit that there are some Mudblood's who are entirely too smart for their own good, and may make at least somewhat competent witches."
Hermione's eye twitched.
"That was rather silly, though, Granger."
With the dust still floating in the air and landing in the disheveled mess of her hair, and sitting in her chair facing a pile of rubble, Hermione began to howl with laughter.
‡
"Lord Vagina."
"I shall fling a rock at your head with a rather intricate, high velocity levitation spell I found in one of your books, Mudblood."
"I apologize," she sneered, without sounding apologetic at all.
"What is it you want?"
"Why did you tell us about what you were doing?"
Riddle was silent, and staring thoughtfully at the arithmantic equation regarding a research theorem of hers on the blackboard in her newly repaired study. They'd been arguing venomously for three days over the subject.
It had nothing to do with severing Riddle from her magic.
She left Severus to the idle, hopeful research. She was beginning to think his near death experience a decade ago had muddled with his senses when it came to that which could not be altered. It had given him something silly called hope.
After several minutes, the ghost finally spoke.
"I delight in knowing that I can feed off of your magic at any time that you are vulnerable, and you can do nothing about it."
She did not speak to him for two weeks.
‡
The students were going to put her into a private, padded room in St. Mungo's with their questions regarding the ghost.
And Riddle himself was going to make sure she was wearing a straitjacket while she was in there, for she was certain if she let herself start pulling out her hair and gouging out her eyes, she would never stop.
The brand new first years liked to ask questions.
Riddle liked to answer those questions inappropriately.
Hermione stood slowly before her class, and each click of her cane sounded very finite. Sharp staccato. Danger and doom pervaded that sound.
"Pay no mind to this daft ghost. The first one of you ingrates to ask him another question from this point forward will have a week's worth of detention."
The students looked petulant, so she had to amend that.
"With Professor Snape."
After all, she was still mad at him for not allowing her any more pain potions.
The students were curiously docile that afternoon.
‡
"Severus, have you read the Prophet this morning?"
Severus snorted into his porridge and cast a lengthy stare at Hermione that spoke volumes about his feelings on the Daily Prophet.
"Oh, I know, you ill-tempered swot-"
"-ill-tempered swot? Granger-"
Hermione continued on as if he had not interrupted.
"-but they're reporting Death Eater attacks on Muggleborns after all this time. The vermin are starting to crawl from the woodwork again. If this article is to be believed, they left a message about blah blah blah, blood purity, blah blah blah, returning their organization to its former glory, blah blah blah, further fear mongering."
Severus finished swallowing his bite of porridge and set his spoon back into the bowl.
"I've no doubt that the aurors shall have no problem rounding up whatever stragglers have evaded capture to recruit yet more daft bints."
"Yes, I imagine Harry and his hero complex are already arming the cavalry."
"What exactly is attacking Muggleborns?"
"Death Eaters."
"Come again?"
"Death Eaters."
"I mean, Granger, what is a Death Eater?"
The ghost had appeared directly to her right, and appeared as if he were sitting on a chair, when in fact, he was sitting on thin air.
Hermione stared at him for the space of several moments, before she began to laugh uproariously. So loudly, in fact, that the students nervously looked up at the Head Table. Professors Granger had been putting Snape's record as most vile, ill-tempered teacher to the test at the beginning of this school year, so her wild laughter struck fear in the hearts of the innocent children. Only the firsties assumed that this was her general demeanor. The rest of the school body wondered what on earth could have soured the strict, but usually fair teacher's disposition. Needless to say, withdrawal hadn't been at the top of their list.
"I forget how young this part of your soul is sometimes. Death Eaters are members of the cult that you started," Hermione responded, and her face began to darken and show animosity towards Riddle. "They're the vermin that you trained to be the spawn of Hades himself, and we're slowly eradicating them like the filth that they are."
She smiled cruelly as Riddle's face began to show signs of agitation.
‡
Tom Riddle was warded from the classroom after a few rather prejudiced comments. Apparently, his Mudblood could ignore them being directed at her, but would spit out enchantments and wards barring spirits from the classroom faster than she could scandalize the students by saying 'Tisiphone's tattered tits' to save the precious little snowflake's from hearing it. He was currently working on dismantling the wards, but she was rather clever in how she layered them.
Two stragglers were apparently coming in several minutes late, their footsteps loud as they sluggishly made their way to Granger's classroom.
Riddle vaguely directed his attention to them, only half focusing, as he needed to put most of his attention into getting into the classroom if he was going to aggravate Granger after lunch. Their conversation slowly came within earshot.
"… can't believe Snape's giving us detention for an accident. Here's hoping Professor Granger doesn't blow her top off."
"G'luck with that, mate. The bint's got something up her arse these days, absolutely insufferable she is."
Riddle gave them all of his attention.
"Snape's probably rubbing off on her, y'know?"
Sly adolescent winks were terribly garish and galling, Riddle discovered.
And then, when the ghost's eyes narrowed at the pair, both of them seemed to trip on thin air and fall face first into the closed, locked door with a heavy thud.
The spirit heard Granger curse briefly in the classroom, and then unintelligible mutterings in an apologetic tone, more than likely for the curse.
Ha.