I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
- Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
The Defence class on Monday afternoon was unusual in that Professor Merrythought had gathered all of the seventh year together in a sizeable (and largely unused) hall that Hermione had never before had reason to enter. She'd known from Hogwarts, A History and from the Map that it was there but as far as she knew it was, like many rooms in the enormous castle, left empty. There were no chairs or desks in the room, and its only furnishings were some ancient-looking tapestries adorning the walls and an colossal fireplace, which sadly did not contain a roaring fire. October had arrived, bringing with it the damp chill of Autumn, and Hermione wished there was a fire to brighten and warm the room.
"Today we will begin the annual Inter-House Duelling Championship for the Seventh Year," the Professor began, without raising her voice. She didn't need to, however: every student was focused with an unusual amount of attention on the Professor's words. Hermione glanced around and saw no surprise on the others' faces. This was not a tradition that had continued into her time, but it seemed that everyone else was expecting it.
"To maintain the safety of students, the Headmaster has requested that everyone read carefully and agree to the rules. You will find a copy of these in your left hand. Please take a few moments to absorb them. Anyone in defiance of these rules will be disqualified."
Hermione hadn't noticed the parchment appear in her hand and took a moment to appreciate such subtle spell-work before reading. The rules were hardly comprehensive:
All spells used must be legal.
All battles must be umpired and must not continue outside the designated duelling arena.
Any Unforgiveable spells will result in immediate expulsion and will be reported to the Ministry.
Any permanent damage intentionally caused to a combatant will result in immediate expulsion and will be reported to the Ministry.
All dark Curses are banned from the competition.
All duels must be fought in compliance with the International Duelling Regulations and the Hogwarts School Rules.
That was all. Hermione could think of almost a hundred very damaging spells that would still comply with this list. It was ridiculous - and potentially extremely dangerous.
"When was the last time someone died doing this?" she asked Ancha quietly.
"Ages ago - the teachers step in if they need to, but someone gets seriously hurt pretty much every year..."
Hermione supposed that there was still quite a lot of the health-and-safety-conscious Muggle inside her because this competition seemed almost as absurdly and gratuitously dangerous as the Triwizard Tournament.
But then she remembered Umbridge's words: As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions... Who do you think is waiting out there?
Perhaps the competition was a good idea after all, even if the people that would one day be waiting out there were currently in this very room. The chill in the room suddenly had nothing on the chill in her bones.
"If you do not wish to take part in the competition you may leave now and I will assign some theory work instead. However, before you go know this. The most terrifying threat of modern times may now be languishing in a prison but you are all wizards and witches. Every day of your lives you will encounter people with the means to harm you and all those you hold dear," Professor Merrythought said gravely."You may one day meet someone who will wish to act on this. In five years time or in fifty perhaps another witch - or wizard - will decide to take a course of violent action. Perhaps some madman will break into your home. Perhaps it will come from someone you know and love or perhaps a stranger on the street. But one day - I promise - one day you will be grateful for the hard lessons we have learnt in these classes. When that attack comes - and it always does - you will have a choice to defend yourself. That choice can be made today. Now, does anyone wish to leave?"
No one left the room. The Professor continued.
"Each house will have a champion who will go through to fight against the champions from the other three houses. The first round will be extensive: you will fight every other member of your house and you will be assigned points. Then the four students with the highest points will fight again and a champion will be chosen. The four champions will fight each other and the two best will duel again for the trophy, one hundred house points and everlasting glory." She cracked a smile at the last and there were a few chuckles.
This was going to take ages, Hermione thought. The first round alone would take weeks.
"You may not watch the internal House duelling unless it is your house. These will be overseen by your Head of House, the Headmaster, and myself and will take place every evening this week. We will begin tonight with the Gryffindors. Now, the draw."
Four velvet bags in the house colours appeared hovering in front over her and she waved her wand at the red one. Small pieces of parchment floated out and paired up in a long list in the air. The Gryffindors pushed forward and for a moment Hermione almost went with them, before remembering that her name would come from a blue bag in this time.
She scanned the hall curiously as they waited. There were still so many faces she couldn't put a name to but then again there were at least double the amount of students than there had been in her time. Tom Riddle was leaning against the wall at the bag, excitement barely contained in his face.
That face. It would be responsible for so much pain and yet it was so appallingly beautiful. She had pretended not to notice, even to herself, but even she couldn't deny it any more. His beauty was like a slap in the face, a mask for all the evil within. He looked up and caught her eye, sending one of those awful smiles at her before pushing off the wall and walking towards her.
"I hope I get to duel you, Dearborn. I'd like to see what you're made of."
She wasn't sure if she was imagining the innuendo in his voice but as his eyes traveled down her body she knew she wasn't.
"I wouldn't look forward to it too much," she said at last. "You might be surprised." He would probably beat her in a duel even now, before he reached his true power, but she had experience on her side and experience was an even better teacher than Albus Dumbledore. She wondered if Tom Riddle had ever actually fought anyone or if he preferred his murders cold-blooded.
It was impossible to correlate that thought with the way he was looking at her, sending something dancing in her stomach so she pushed it away.
"I don't doubt it," he murmured. "You always surprise me."
She turned back to the front of the classroom, not trusting herself to speak anymore and felt odd, unexpected tears pricking at her eyes.
"I'm going to win this competition," he said, standing beside her. "Will you cheer for me from the sidelines?"
What was he doing? What did he want?
"You can sit on the side and cheer for me," she snapped and he laughed. She saw a few heads turn in their direction, but everyone else was talking too and the Gryffindors were making an awful lot of noise.
"I've never heard you laugh before. You must be feeling very confident."
He didn't reply, and when she glanced up at him he was frowning down at her.
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The duelling contest was all anyone could talk about for the next few days. Apparently three Gryffindors had spend the night in the hospital wing, and two Hufflepuffs the next. Hermione wasn't particularly looking forward to that evening, when she would duel at least two of her housemates. The duels weren't expected to last very long at this stage and if there was an obvious imbalance of talent the teachers stopped them and assigned a winner.
Ancha had told her that the final last year had gone on for nearly an hour, as though it were very impressive. In Hermione's opinion that wasn't very practical: if you were going to fight someone you beat them as quickly as possible in case one of their friends (or fellow Death Eaters) was coming along.
Still, as she ate her lunch she reflected that she had something to be grateful to Riddle for. From the gossip and chat around the table and common room it sounded like her training as Harry's best friend had set her up to be streets ahead of the others.
But still... her old insecurities crept up and she felt a bit nervous even in the knowledge that she was over-qualified several times over for this stupid competition.
And - really - what good could come of doing well? Of being House Champion or even winning? All that would do would be attract notice, something she was supposed to be avoiding. Not that she seemed to be doing a good job of it, she reflected, catching Tom's eye.
He was looking at her with that hint of bemusement. She looked away first, and then wished she hadn't.
.
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Insecurity warred with her competitive spirit and in turn with her practical nature as she sat though her afternoon lessons and by supper she still hadn't decided whether to push herself or not.
"Nervous?" Marcus asked, dropping into the seat next to her. He was accompanied by Hector Keate and Gordon McDonald, two of the other boys in their year.
"A bit," she admitted. She was more nervous of revealing herself than anything else, she realised. Why would a sheltered girl from the middle of nowhere, Wales, know all she knew about duelling?
And yet the thought of losing... of his smirk if she lost. She glanced up at Professor Dumbledore and came to a decision. She would ask his advice on the matter and if he thought it didn't matter if she pushed herself then she would, and if he advised her to do well, but not too well she would try and conduct herself with grace and at least choose someone good to lose to.
And maybe she was just underestimating her fellow students, because it was perfectly possible someone would just beat her after all.
She caught the Transfiguration teacher's gaze and nodded to the doors and stood to leave. She didn't have long before she was due up in the hall, less than an hour. They took different routes to his office and when she arrived he was already there.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt your supper Albus but I've been fretting all afternoon about this stupid competition," she began and he held up a hand.
"No matter, Hermione. I am always glad to offer you advice. Please sit."
"Thank you. I'm just so worried because I want to do well in this contest but I don't think it exactly fits my persona if people see what I can really do. I know that sounds arrogant, but I'm just more experienced! None of them have probably ever seriously fought anyone before." She was losing her grammar, she realised, and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I suppose what I'm asking is, do you think it would be a bad idea to fight properly or do you think I should try not to be noticed too much?"
To her surprise, he chuckled.
"My dear girl, I don't think you understand. People will always notice you, but their memories are not very long. You must stop holding back or you will live a very unhappy life. Just let go, and do your best. You cannot hide forever, Hermione and if you are to stay here you must learn to really live here. If there are any inconvenient questions you can say will all honesty I have been training you in and leave it at that. I don't think you've come all this way just to be another ordinary witch."
She nodded, those silly tears pricking again. She didn't want to be ordinary, but she didn't want to let anyone in either and yet... she was so achingly lonely.
"How can I let anyone in when I am pretending to be someone I'm not? When I can never tell anyone my secrets? Not even you?"
"The burden you carry will never grow lighter, Hermione. It is only with love and friendship that these burdens become easier to bear. I do admire how well you have adapted to being here, and how well you play your part. But perhaps you should stop worrying so much about what Hermione Dearborn should or should not do and remember that not everyone is as clever and curious as you are. There are people trying to be your friends, I suggest that you let them. Now good luck this evening. I expect very great things from you. And remember - never lose sight of your surroundings and sometimes the best way is the simplest."
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The hall looked very different when Hermione entered it, a few minutes late. There were raised benches around the edge and bright lights hovering over the central space, which now had a long platform in place. Suits of armour stood in each corner, and there was a long table in front of the (now lit) fireplace where the Professors sat with, she was relieved to note, Madam Mahoney, the nurse.
Hermione felt a thrill of excitement and for the first time thought that it might actually be rather fun. There was a large board behind them with a list of what she assumed were their names although it was too far for her to read.
She slipped onto the bench next to Claire and whispered, "What did I miss?"
"Nothing yet, she's just about to do the draw to see who's up first. Where were you?"
"Went to the loo. Bit nervous. How are you feeling?"
But their conversation was ended by Professor Merrythought standing up. The blue bag floated towards her and Hermione saw that the others were still floating, in the corner, but encased in a shield of purplish light. Presumably to prevent any tampering of the draw, not that it mattered at this stage because they'd have to fight everyone anyway.
The names rose into the air and the Professor called out, "We will begin with Sophia Selwyn and Gordon McDonald. Everyone else remain in your seats."
Hermione watched the other duels with great interest, assessing the general level. There were some impressive moments (and she was quite pleased that both Sophia and Ancha won their first duels) until it was her turn.
At last it was her turn, and she was up against a boy she didn't know very well, a quiet brown haired boy who she thought might be the house Seeker. His name was Francis Romley.
"On three," the Professor reminded them and they bowed, before walking to opposite ends of the platform. "One... two... three."
He dodged her first stunner, so she sent a tripping jinx after it before throwing up a shield. Duelling wasn't like a battle really, more a dancing exchange of magic.
It was over quite quickly though, he was held back by a lack of prowess in non-verbal casting and she sat down, pleased.
"Well done! That was really fast!" Claire commented, standing as her name was called.
Two duels later brought the first serious injury: a slicing hex put paid (temporarily) to an ear and Madam Mahoney rather crossly bustled over. As it wasn't dark magic the damage would be easily undone, but the unfortunate boy was taken to the Hospital Wing for the evening nonetheless.
With Madam Mahoney off the premises, Hermione wondered what would happen with the next injury.
She didn't expect to cause it: her flock of attacking birds had distracted her opponent, Hector Keate, enough that the unusually strong Diffindo she sent afterwards - intended for his robes as further distraction - cut through his leg quite badly.
He too was hurried off to the Hospital Wing after Professor Merrythought had healed it sufficiently for the bleeding to lessen. Another flick of her wand cleaned the blood.
.
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At last, Professor Merrythought called an end to proceedings for the night. After Hector's injury the fights had become nastier and another two people had been sufficiently injured to have been sent to the Hospital Wing. They had managed to get through half the duels, though, and Hermione, Sophia and Marcus were the only people who had won all of theirs. By some luck of the draw they hadn't faced each other yet.
Sophia was very good - sharp and quick and imaginative and perfectly willing to throw some pretty mean hexes. Marcus was probably better technically, he was fast and had a wide variety of spells but Hermione wasn't sure if he really enjoyed it enough.
She had though. She had recovered pretty quickly from her duel with Hector and, deciding to avoid anything bloody, had dispatched her opponents with a variety of alternatives. It had been quite easy really, after all those Death Eaters.
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As soon as they were back in Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione ran up to her room and found her biggest bar of Honeydukes chocolate. She felt terrible about poor Hector Keate, who seemed to be a very nice boy. The whole year, tired and maybe a bit shocked, had been quiet as they walked back to the Tower but Hermione had caught a few odd looks and even Claire had been cooler towards her. She wrote a note apologising to Hector and wishing him to get well soon and slipped back out of the tower as quietly as possible.
It was past curfew and approaching Midnight, and she knew if she were caught even Dumbledore wouldn't be able to avoid a detention for her so she cast the strongest Disillusionment Charm she could and, wishing she had the Map and the Cloak, crept off to the Hospital Wing.
She made it to the Hospital Wing and paused outside, listening carefully. To her surprise there were voices inside and she recognised the Headmaster's first as he was speaking.
"Thank you for bringing him here, Tom. It was very good of you."
"Just doing my duty Sir."
"I thought the bullying in Slytherin seemed a bit better this year?"
"It has, but he is a Muggleborn you know. I've tried but..."
"Not much to be done about that issue is there, eh? Off to bed with you, and take ten points for Slytherin."
"Thank you Sir."
Ten points? He'd probably sent the poor boy there himself, she thought in a rage, as she stepped back into the alcove under the stairs. Riddle strode past, taking the stairs two at a time and she held her breath. He looked surprisingly angry for someone who'd just been rewarded for probable wrong-doing and she wondered why. Moments later he was gone and she sighed in relief, but stayed hidden as Dippet bid goodnight to Madam Mahoney and left.
She waited for twenty minutes after the sounds of tidying and fussing around the patients' beds faded and then slipped in quietly. Hector was sleeping so she left the chocolate by his bed and returned to the Tower.
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By the next morning everyone seemed to have recovered from watching their friends get sent to the Hospital Wing - after all hurts here were easily fixed - and when Hermione sat down at breakfast she was relieved to be welcomed with smiles from Ancha and Claire.
"What did you think of the contest?" Ancha asked as she passed Hermione the platter of croissants.
"It was surprisingly bloodthirsty but it was quite fun. Everyone did really well!"
"You did really well. I wouldn't have guessed, no offence." Sophia sat down opposite, smirking. "Looks like I've got competition."
Hermione laughed. "Yes, well I'm not looking forward to taking you on I have to say."
She glanced over to the Slytherin table and found Tom Riddle looking at her. Again.
"I think he does like you, you know," Claire said, following her gaze. "I don't know why you think he doesn't. Everyone noticed when he came to talk to you in Defence yesterday."
"Yes, what did he say Hermione?" Ancha queried, dimpling slightly.
"Oh just that he hoped he got to duel me. Not exactly romantic. He's just fed up that I'm beating him in Arithmancy. I don't know why, he's still the best at everything else."
Sophia didn't look convinced.
"You know who else likes you? Marcus. If you're interested in Tom you should probably make that clear..." she murmured, too quietly for the others to hear.
"I am not interested in Riddle. It's just academic competitiveness."
Mercifully, Marcus sat down with, Hermione was very pleased to see, a fully recovered Hector Keate. She didn't know what to say to him, but it was unecessary.
"Thanks for the chocolate, Dearborn. I can't believe I got sent to the Hospital Wing by a girl..."
Everyone laughed, except Sophia.
"You haven't faced me yet Keate. I bet I can send you right back."
"You're on," he replied, and leant over to shake her hand. "The loser has to buy lunch in Hogsmeade."
They were flirting, Hermione realised with amusement.
Sophia rolled her eyes and replied, "You wish. I'm a taken woman, you know that."
"Everyone knows that," Marcus joked. "Give the boy a chance, Sophia. You can't honestly prefer that prat..."
"Abraxas is not a prat and I love him very much. Go and try to charm some other poor girl Hector. I heard Violet Darslworth is single..."
They all laughed, although Hermione didn't get the joke. Claire looked upset behind her laughter but Hermione didn't dwell on that. Abraxas. The name rang a bell but she wasn't sure why.
"I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Sophia, so apparently not everyone knows," she said and smiled at Marcus.
"She's been going steady with Abraxas Malfoy for two years," Ancha chimed in, sounding proud.
Abraxas Malfoy. Oh my god. No wonder her grey eyes looked familiar - could she be Draco's grandmother?
"I don't think I've met him...?" she said, playing her part.
"He left last year, but you'll meet him at the Quidditch this weekend. Are you going to be able to play Hector?" Sophia asked.
"Yeah yeah I'm fine now, Dearborn didn't do that much damage," he replied. "Diffindo, Dearborn? Really? Imagine if it had been my head?"
"It's not my fault you stepped into it - I was aiming for your cloak as a distraction," Hermione replied.
But he just smiled at her.
Friends, Hermione thought. Maybe Dumbledore had a point. And at Hogwarts, sending someone to the Hospital Wing was a surefire way of making a friend or a lifelong enemy.
.
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"I heard that you sent some poor boy to the Hospital Wing last night, Dearborn. Ought I be concerned?" Riddle murmured, dropping his books onto the desk next to hers.
"Oh get lost Riddle," she muttered back, not in the mood for his teasing. He is a Muggleborn, you know. I've tried but... Lying snake.
"Clearly I should be," he replied and then he grinned at her. She hated him so much in that moment as her stupid traitorous heart gave a little leap.
"Looking forward to obliterating your House tonight I see. You're unusually... chirpy," Hermione snapped.
"Very much. They could all do with a good lesson... However, I think I'll save my best spells for when I meet you."
She wasn't sure if it was a promise, a joke, or a threat.
"Likewise. I think I'll let you get nice and complacent before I thrash you." Gods, she was turning into Harry.
"Not very sneaky to tell me your plans, is it?" Riddle smirked.
"Not very Slytherin to tell me yours, is it?" she mocked.
His smile rose up again and she fought to control her blush, but he didn't reply.
If she wasn't completely mistaken he had started flirting with her. It was extremely confusing. She was absolutely sure he wasn't capable of genuine romantic interest in her, which probably meant that he wanted something and had attempted to get it and was trying another way.
But then, that stupid girlish voice in her head, the one that had liked Lockhart and before that, though she'd never confess to Ron, Harry, suggested that maybe - just maybe - he was interested. After all, why would he not be? She was new and clever and much prettier than she had been... and he didn't know she was Muggleborn.
Or she'd slipped up and given something away, given him cause to be suspicious. However, if that was the case surely he'd have her on the wrong end of his wand, trying to torture the information out of her rather than smiling at her, showing off those stupid perfect teeth that would have her parents in raptures.
She paid an unusually small amount of attention to the Ancient Runes class, reliving every moment that she could remember to see if she had made any mistakes. She couldn't think of anything - in fact, in retrospect she thought she had dealt with the situation with remarkable composure. If Harry had been here - or worse, Ron - in her stead she didn't think either of them would have lasted a week without trying to curse or kill Riddle.
And instead she had, what, befriended him? Had some chummy library sessions and somehow ended up sitting next to him more often than not in class?
How admirable.
"Dearborn, please explain the various effects a mistranslation of Odin's spell might have caused," Professor Thorsson said, interrupting her meandering mind.
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If nothing else, the contest saved Hermione from a reasonable amount of boredom. It gave her a new reason to pay attention in lessons, to head off to the Library in her free moments, and for that she was grateful. Planning combinations of spells, tricks, distractions, and practicing moves alone in her room took her mind off all her numerous and assorted problems.
She really wanted to win. She didn't know why, maybe because it was the only chance she'd ever have to outdo Voldemort in combat, or maybe just because she really was an insufferable know-it-all but she really wanted to. Maybe it was just because now that Harry wasn't there she could let herself shine in Defence, never her most natural strength, instead of worrying about how he could improve or what he needed to learn.
Still, there was time enough when she was trying to sleep or eat to wonder about the new information she had gained: Sophia was practically engaged to Abraxas Malfoy. And to fret about the Head Boy's bizzare treatment of her. The only times she couldn't avoid speaking to him were in their little Potions Lab and yet she found herself easily responding to him when he did talk to her.
.
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Her beautiful barn owl, much ignored, dropped a letter onto Hermione's plate and the proceeded to land on the jug of pumpkin juice and eye up her bacon. It was a thick scroll and Hermione recognised Cerdic's writing with pleasure.
"Oh all right, help yourself," she muttered to Pevensie (named for the children of Narnia in a fit of unusual whimsey). "Now go to my room or the owlery, I don't mind - I'm going to be ages writing a reply and you must be tired."
The bird hooted softly at her and took off. Hermione admired his flight for a moment and then settled down to open her letter. It was strange really - although the relationship was false and although Dumbledore had thrust it upon him, Cerdic seemed to have fully accepted her into his life, and at times Hermione wasn't sure if it was just that playing the role tickled his theatrical flair and sense of humour but he wrote to her once a week or so. The fatherly tone of this particular letter was of no exception.
My dear girl,
Very good to hear from you. I'm glad that you're settling in better now - Albus said you're doing very well, so that's all for the good. Not much to report here, but I've sent you the first draft of my Seven Metals experiment as requested. When you're done with it pass it on to your godfather. The castle is getting rather temperamental and very damp down at the lower levels, I ought to have the contractors in to have a look at it. And a new family have moved into the village - more Muggles so be careful with your magic. I went for a walk the other day, up on the mountains and got lost. Ended up sleeping in a haybarn, gave the farmer quite a fright in the morning. Funny thing is, I wasn't that far away, just caught up in day dreams I suppose.
You mentioned an interest in alchemy in your letter, which is rather exciting. We'll talk more about that in person but for now I'm glad to see the apple hasn't fallen too far from the tree.
The only matters of interest I have are that my thrice dammed idiot brother wants to meet you, had a howler from him, apparently it's bad form to keep children secret or something. Anyway nothing to be done, we're going to visit them before Christmas... You can go back for Christmas if you like or stay in Wales. If any of your friends want to come and stay they are very welcome (but keep them out of my study!).
The other matter is quite droll really - a few of my old associates have picked up on your age and eligibility and have been getting back in touch for their sons I suppose. Inviting us to dinner and things. If you're husband hunting I've got plenty of choices for you now. Don't expect a bright little thing like you would be interested in any of those twits but there it is. Dumbledore is useless at passing on gossip, but even he hinted you might have met a young man. Horace on the other hand is excellent at it so all I'll say I look forward to meeting your friend - he sounds like a swot, which is a shame.
Let me know what you think of the paper - don't go correcting my grammar though. Don't know where you got all that from.
Much love,
Cerdic
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What on earth? Even he hinted you might have met a young man? For God's sake. She stood up from the table, seething and marched out of the hall ignoring the two pairs of eyes, one brown and one so dark it was impossible to guess the actual colour that followed her from the room.
"Albus, can I have a word?" she asked, putting her heard around his door.
"Hermione, what a pleasant surprise. Come on in."
"I got an interesting letter from Cerdic today, in which he mentioned that you had hinted that I might have a 'young man'." She felt unutterably stupid, now that she was here but... "I was just wondering who exactly that was supposed to be as I haven't had any hint of it."
He twinkled at her.
"I merely suggested that you had captured the imagination of more than one of our Seventh Years..."
"I have done no such thing!"
"Hermione, forgive me if I have caused offence but I fail to see the harm in such a statement. Is this a particularly sensitive topic?"
Yes because everyone's accusing me of fancying the boy who's going to try and kill me and everyone I love one day and I'm not entirely sure how to handle that situation.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm overreacting. Just... bit confused with how to deal with the aspect of romance should it occur."
"May I be frank with you, Hermione?"
"Yes, I suppose - of course."
"I don't believe there is any chance of us finding a way to ah, return you. Nothing in my research thus far hints at the possibility. We have fifty years to find the other thing but time will not slow down as it draws us closer, and in doing so it is pulling you farther away from where you still wish to be. Make yourself a life here as best you can. As I said on Tuesday - there are many people who wish to be your friend. And one of those people in particular would benefit from a friend such as yourself. I don't believe he has ever had a true friend before."
"Are you talking about Tom Riddle?" she asked, in disbelief.
"Indeed. Tom has had a troubled time, I fear, and he is a troubled boy... but in his interactions with you I see a spark of hope. Just... if there were anything suspicious or strange, with any of my students, you would bring it to me would you not?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
Dumbledore wanted her to be friends with Riddle.
And Dumbledore wanted to spy on Riddle.
Riddle Riddle Riddle. Was she never to be free of him? Wasn't it enough that he had dominated her and her friends' lives for seven years? Dominated her dreams and thoughts every time she wore that stupid locket for months? And he took up more than his fair share of her thoughts and dreams here too, flickering between Tom and Voldemort in her dreams, laughing as he tortured her for her secrets, whispering dark, sensual words in her ear.
"Of course I would, Professor. Unless it was something I know you don't know about until later in which case I wouldn't be able to mention it now or even hint at it, right?"
That was a huge glaring hint as far as she was concerned, but he just smiled and nodded.
I don't believe he has ever had a true friend before. It was heartbreaking and her traitorously compassionate heart responded against the rational mind that said she clearly hadn't/wouldn't made/make (they ought to have invented a tense that expressed a past action that hadn't happened yet, she thought crossly) any difference as he still went on to be a murdering psychopath -
already was.
Already was.
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A/N: I don't really like to explain my writing too much, but a few people protested that Hermione was being an idiot and justifying Riddle's actions in the last chapter. If you go back and look again I think you'll find that I am not saying that. Hermione has a very compassionate streak - and a very vindictive one - and I don't think being aware that someone has been treated very badly and has had an awful life is the same as justifying it.
That being said, when we want something that we know we should not want we work very hard and very subtly to justify having it to ourselves.
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Many thanks indeed to the wonderful tellmesomethingnew for her beta work. Any mistakes are my own, probably in blithe dismissal of her suggestions.
She also happened to be my 100th reviewer, for which I have written a Tomione two-shot (half-written) so keep an eye out for that, coming very soon.
Thank you to those who have review so far - I try and reply to everyone but if I've missed you be sure to mention it in another ;) and thank you to all the anonymous reviews, your words go unthanked but not unnoticed.
And let me know what you thought! Reviews are, as always, a treat and keep me writing (I'm up to chapter thirteen). Constructive criticism is always welcomed.
Much love,
A
