Strangeness and Charm
By: Consume
A/N: Again, I'd like to address the slow updates. The reason I update so slow is because it gives me time to write other chapters father on than chapter 13, I really would not like to be drowning in angry reviews, by the time the story becomes officially mine. The snarky reviews, about the slow updates and how it isn't my story are beyond annoying. I know it is not my story and I've already bolded the important A/N's, it simply is not my fault when those responsible fail to read simple text. I changed added much more than I changed in this chapter, I don't know if you all will notice it. I'm also jumping around a lot so multiple chapters are either close to complete, or half way complete –if they're halfway, I already know how the chapter will end. The chapter title is a song by Lorde. Sorry, if this site is messing up my formatting, ever since the update it's been really strange. Also, I've realized that is really strict when it comes to rating and content. So, any future scenes will stay under the M rating, and I will not attempt to bypass them. Of course, any really descriptive scenes that I choose to write will be uploaded elsewhere.
Thank you to the 430+ reviewers, even though it's not my story quite yet, the encouragement is just that…encouraging.
Chapter Nine: Glory and Gore
Following Hermione's return to the castle and the start of the new term, Hermione and Tom fell back into their routine of studying in silence, duelling, improving spells, and rushing through a series of homework assignments that would take other first years triple the amount of time it took the two of them to complete. The extra time allowed for further progress of their ever-expanding knowledge of magic.
Outside of the Room of Requirement, Hermione's journals were proving to be invaluable.
The class is trying to turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Professor McGonagall implied that it would be on the exam, Hermione wrote during Transfiguration class. She brushed the feather-end of her quill against her cheek as she waited patiently for a response.
She did not have to wait long. Although the fifteenth of January was a Wednesday for her, Tom was enjoying a Sunday in 1939.
What an easy task. I assume you are the only one to have completed it?
Hermione could practically see his amused smirk in her mind as she wrote her response. The closest anyone else has managed to get so far was a Ravenclaw giving his mouse a square shape.
She glanced up from the journal when she heard Professor McGonagall screaming. Training her eyes onto her favourite professor, she was not at all surprised to see her anger was directed at Seamus Finnigan. The boy had somehow managed to accidentally blow up his mouse in a botched attempt to turn it into a snuffbox. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were wailing because remnants of Seamus' mouse had ended up in their hair and on their uniforms.
Hermione shook her head at her housemates' foolishness, but was unable to resist describing the event to Tom.
On February 14, 1992, Draco Malfoy learned that Hermione Granger was different.
After dinner that evening, he had decided to test out his newly learned Leg-Locker Curse on unsuspecting Gryffindors in the library. He had already managed to successfully curse Neville Longbottom, who had bunny-hopped away after an exchange of insults. Draco's sharp-tongue had left the boy near tears. Even without his devoted goons Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle at his back, Draco felt powerful that night – unstoppable, even.
So when he spotted mudblood Granger browsing the bookshelf in the Transfiguration section of the library, he could not have stopped himself even if he had wanted to.
He wanted to put her in her place. She thought she was so much better because she was smart. Brightest witch of her age, the professors called her. She's so intelligent, I wish I could be like her, the Ravenclaws gushed in admiration. Even Professor Snape, who loathed anyone not of the Slytherin house, grudgingly respected the girl as she proved her ability again and again.
However, Draco Malfoy had been raised as most pure-blooded children were: to believe that mudbloods were worse than dirt. Mudbloods were impure. They were anomalies, beasts! They tainted the world with their existence. They were beneath those who were pure-blooded, and therefore they were beneath him.
If that were the case, an inner-voice nagged, why did he feel as though he were the one beneath Hermione Granger? Why did he strive to be better than her, if he was supposed to be naturally better due to his blood status?
The thoughts caused him a great deal of inner turmoil. He felt himself challenging the beliefs that had been ingrained in him since a young age. Had his father lied to him? Or worse, had his father been wrong?
Eleven-year old Draco Malfoy did not know what to think about that last one. He did not want to think about the possibility. So, on February 14, 1992, he acted instead of thinking.
"Locomotor Mortis," Draco whispered with glee, watching as the spell shot toward the unsuspecting girl.
However, it turned out that she was not as unsuspecting as he had expected. His curse smashed into a barrier. It crackled, fizzed, and then disappeared in an angry hiss.
Draco's eyes widened as the girl turned to face him with a blank expression. Her brown eyes looked positively arctic in the dim-lighting of the library, and Draco found himself suppressing a shiver.
He clutched his wand nervously, waiting for her to retaliate. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he waited, and waited, and finally realized that she was not going to hex him into oblivion. The realization brought him little-to-no comfort, and he remained unable to relax.
"I am going to pretend that you did not just do that," Hermione stated, finally breaking the silence with a clipped tone. "However, you are not going to try that again. Not on me and not on anyone else."
Draco nodded his head mutely before he suddenly realized what he was doing. After taking a second to compose himself, he bravely – and even in his own mind, foolishly – sneered, "You think I'm going to listen to a mudblood like you?"
Her expression turned dark, and Draco knew it was not due to the room's lighting.
"You're not going to call me that anymore, either."
"Or what?" Draco found himself taunting in an attempt to mask how disconcerted she made him feel. He felt as though he was possessed, and he was sure the next word he uttered had been the result of the Imperius Curse. "Mudblood."
He regretted the action before the word even finished passing through his lips, but that night was about acting, not thinking.
A flock of dark birds – crows, his mind registered – appeared out of thin air. They flew in an angry circle for a moment as though waiting for a command. The command was a spell, which was masked by Draco's terrified shriek as the birds flew at him. Beaks and talons clawed, pierced, pinched, tore, and scratched at his skin and clothes.
When the grouchy librarian Irma Pince finally did arrive to investigate the noise, she told a petrified Draco Malfoy that he was disrupting the library and he had to leave. The birds – the only evidence of the attack beside his appearance, which the librarian caustically ignored – had disappeared. Hermione had returned to browsing the bookshelf, but he felt her eyes trailing his movements as he left the library in shock.
She was not like other Gryffindors who would have been caught by a professor and ultimately given a detention, Draco realized. Nor was she was like other first years, as no first year should have been capable of doing what she had just done. He was terrified to contemplate what she might be like in a year or two from then. He didn't even want to think about what she might become after she left the school. But he knew better now.
Hermione Granger was different.
"You're a bit late," Tom commented as Hermione entered the room with a weighty book bag.
"Draco Malfoy tried to curse me in the library," the girl explained as though she was describing the weather.
"What did he try to use?" Tom asked, emphasizing the word with a smirk.
"Locomotor Mortis."
"The Leg-Locker Curse? How juvenile," Tom scoffed. "Please tell me you used the Conjunctivitis Curse on him."
Hermione cringed, recalling the painful curse that Tom had used on her in their most recent duel. Her eyes had swelled nastily, blinding her and securing a victory for Tom.
"Avis and Oppugno, actually," Hermione commented.
"You use that combination too much. If you keep doing that, you'll become predictable."
Hermione laughed, "You know better than anyone that I'm anything but predictable."
Tom gave her a wry smile.
"But I suppose you are right. I'm just not comfortable using those really dark spells that you seem so acquainted with," Hermione explained.
"Just because they're dark doesn't mean they're evil," Tom commented.
Hermione knew Tom was right, but countered, "They tempt the users to use them for evil purposes."
"And that's why simple-minded people become dark wizards."
"So you think an intelligent wizard – or witch," Hermione purposely tacked on the last bit with a smile, "would not become evil if they used dark magic?"
Tom nodded his head. "Anyone else would understand that true power rests in complete knowledge."
"But any person, no matter how light, cannot help but be swallowed by the dark arts. It is inevitable. I've read of it before –light wizards or witches who become tempted by dark magic, and they foolishly believe that they can keep their souls intact and delude themselves into believing they are simply researching."
Tom acknowledged her words before saying, "Dark magic is an addictive force, but it can be controlled along with light spells. A person cannot rely solely on just dark spells, or just light spells. They need to rely on a combination of both."
Hermione stared at Tom long and hard, and he stared back with equal intensity, until a needed blink interrupted them both. "I suppose that does make sense."
"Of course it does," Tom stated matter-of-factly.
"I guess even the most basic house-hold, light spells can carry out damage when performed a certain way…" Hermione muttered to herself not realising that Tom was also listening. A gruesome image of the Accio used to summon a beating heart from a human chest, popped into her mind.
"Magic…I suppose, is all about intent," Hermione finished.
"I agree," Tom said with a devilish smile.
"What's your opinion on the Trifecta, then?" Hermione asked referring to all three of the Unforgivable curses.
"Knowledge is power," the Slytherin boy quoted.
The following week, Gryffindor played Hufflepuff in Quidditch and won.
"See, Harry!" Neville clapped the bespectacled boy on the back at dinner that night. "You're a great Seeker! You won that match in no time at all. If Slytherin hadn't cheated, and someone hadn't been tampering with your broom, Gryffindor would have won last time."
Harry did look comforted by his friend's words, but only slightly.
Hermione had not bothered to attend the match, but had instead read a book about Curses that Tom had suggested. Ever since their discussion a week before, Hermione had been more open to studying the Dark Arts. Although she liked to sum up her willingness to do so as Tom being a very convincing fellow, she couldn't deny that it was also due to her personal curiosity concerning the subject that led her to study dark magic.
"You should have heard what that snarky git Malfoy was saying," a black-eyed Ron Weasley muttered as he reached for another helping of spaghetti. "I got him good too, at least."
Glancing over at the Slytherin table, Hermione could see that Draco didn't look any worse for wear than his usual pristine self. When Draco caught her staring at him, his eyes widened in shock. He immediately lowered his gaze back to his plate.
Hermione frowned at his behaviour, but thought it was better that he needlessly fear her than think he could get away with attempting to curse, hex, or jinx her in the future.
She directed her attention back to Harry Potter. His condition had only worsened since November. He slept on his textbooks and homework in the common room every night in a desperate yet vain attempt to catch up with the school work. While Neville tried his best to help out his two friends, he was only able to aid them in matters related to Herbology. Ron had just given up completely. He turned in poorly somewhat-completed homework assignments and rarely managed to accomplish any task aside from showing up to class.
She had also noticed that Harry had developed a bad case of paranoia, as he was constantly looking over his shoulder. He seemed to think the Potions Master had it out for him.
Hermione was almost tempted to tell Harry that Snape was the one who had saved him during his first Quidditch match, but decided against it. First, he would never believe her and she did not have any evidence. Second, it was not her business.
And she had no intention of making it her business.
In early April, Hermione suggested they start working on nonverbal spells.
"I know it isn't something we're supposed to learn until sixth year, but it'd certainly be useful to get a head start," Hermione explained. She always thought it was useful to be ahead.
Tom was looking forward to their new challenge. He had wanted to learn nonverbal spells for quite some time as well, but he had several side projects that occupied his time. If he wasn't learning new spells for their weekly duels, he was reading books about immortality. Much like how Hermione had worked on the journal in her spare time as a secret gift for him, he worked on finding the secret to immortality as a secret gift for her. At some point, finding immortality had become just as much about sharing it with Hermione as it was in finding it for himself.
"I assume you've been doing some research?" Tom asked. He already knew the answer.
"Well, yes," Hermione replied, blushing. He really knew her too well. "I found out that there's no real way of learning how to do it, you just need to practice it until you can do it. You picture yourself saying the spell, but you don't say it."
Tom nodded his head. It sounded easier than he assumed it would be.
"Shall we practice, then?" Tom asked.
"Okay," Hermione said. "Let's try something easy."
She withdrew two quills from her bag, placing one in front of Tom and the other in front of herself.
"Try to levitate the quill," Hermione instructed. She then went about trying to do exactly that.
It was quite difficult. At first, he could only get the quill to hover an inch or two off the ground, but two hours of deep concentration later, it was floating several feet above his head.
Hermione glanced at the quill, feeling both impressed and jealous. Her quill could only hover a foot above the ground. However, she knew she shouldn't have felt too discouraged as Tom was naturally the faster learner.
"How about you try a book now?" Hermione suggested.
Tom successfully levitated the book on his first try.
Hermione was unable to contain a frustrated huff.
"Don't be angry," Tom chided with a grin. "It's easy after you get the hang of it."
She frowned at his words, bringing her attention back to the quill.
Tom moved onto trying to use the disillusionment charm on the journal.
"Finally!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly less than an hour later. Tom glanced at the quill floating high in the air above their heads.
Hermione, in order to make the spell non-verbally, had stopped trying to think of it as a "swish-and-flick" method. To successfully preform the magic non-verbally, she had to want her magic to perform, and guide it into performing. She should have remembered her words from earlier.
Magic was about intent.
Tom wondered if she would hug him out of excitement. They hadn't hugged since the one time in December, and he was eagerly wishing they would. He didn't know how to go about initiating one, so he was waiting for her to do so.
Disappointed when she didn't, Tom frowned at the book that had yet to give into his efforts to turn it invisible. His progress had only merited a less-than-satisfactory shimmery transparency.
"Good job," Tom commented.
"Thank you," Hermione replied with a smile. She was always happy when others admired and praised her abilities and accomplishments. Tom thought it was an endearing quality.
He wished she would just hug him already.
"You're working on a nonverbal disillusionment charm?" Hermione inquired.
"Evidently," Tom replied dryly as he glared at the book.
"That's a large jump from Wingardium Leviosa, but it looks like you're making a good deal of progress for such a complex spell," Hermione admired.
He could imagine his progress would be amplified if she hugged him.
"I think I'll try Avis next," she mused aloud, not wanting to start too small when Tom had so impressively chosen a difficult spell to practice.
Tom thought about nonverbally Imperio-ing her to hug him, but then decided that wouldn't work well. First, he'd have to learn how to nonverbally Imperio. Second, the controlled hug probably wouldn't have felt the same as Hermione hugging him of her own free will.
Hermione had produced one bright yellow canary with a nonverbal Avis by the time Tom finally made up his mind.
"Hermione, can we hug?" He asked, knowing it must have sounded incredibly random and likely preposterous. However, he knew if he hadn't asked, he would have stewed in his thoughts for a very long time and likely wouldn't have gotten any sleep that night as a result.
The witch looked at him in an odd manner before her cheeks flushed a radiant pink.
"It's okay if you don't want to," Tom said, trying to refocus himself back to his task. "Just forget about it."
He was surprised by her next words. "No, it's okay. I don't mind. I was just surprised."
"You must think I'm crazy," Tom said with a strained laugh. Internally, he was cursing his stupidity, and Hermione's hugs. No matter how unexpectedly marvellous her hugs were.
She didn't think he was crazy. She had thought about their hug throughout the entire winter break, and the thought had only been amplified after returning to the castle. It surprised her that he had enjoyed it, although she should have guessed that since he had asked for a second hug after their first one.
"I do not think you are crazy, Tom," Hermione commented.
"I would think I was crazy."
"You aren't crazy," she repeated. She closed the distance and embraced him.
"See," Hermione stated as she felt Tom's arms wrap around her body, "certainly not crazy."
Tom smiled into her bushy hair.
Hermione made sure to hug Tom at least once a day from that moment on because, although she wouldn't admit it, she liked hugging Tom too.