Before heading to bed that night, Tom checked his face in the mirror after brushing his teeth. It had been one hell of a slap(quite impressive, truly), but it hadn't left a mark. As he stayed in Hermione's office, watching her read, he periodically brought his hand up to his cheek. Retracing where her palm had collided with his skin, he still felt the phantom sting of her hand print long after it had truly faded.
Remembering the experience brought on a particularly odd sense of satisfaction, as well as a desire to see if he could repeat(or manipulate) the results with further experimentation.
Trying not to give it anymore thought(if he kept thinking about it, he'd never get any rest), he had shut off the bathroom lights, closed that door(having a private bathroom was a luxury he already appreciated), crawled into his bed, and attempted to sleep.
After some time of trying to sleep with moderate success, he was rather rudely disturbed by the sounding of a knock. Having no idea what time it was, he lit his wand and checked his watch.
Just past one in the morning. He groaned.
The one thing he did not appreciate about the Head dorms was that there was no secret password to get into the small common room he shared with the Head Girl. His private room was protected, but the common room "needed to be accessible to any students who may need assistance." Or so Dippet had told him.
This meant a few things.
The first being that the Head Girl(Caroline Fawley, Hufflepuff. Individually, she was minimally annoying) could invite all her (significantly more annoying)friends to hang out in the common room, ensuring he would never want to spend time there, not even for a morning cup of coffee or to check his essays before class. He could, of course, invite his own friends, but the likelihood of him doing so was slim. He liked the Slytherin Common Room just fine, thank you.
The second, more inconvenient part of having his bedroom accessible was that he was just that: accessible. Should there be any late night emergencies or lost first years, stupid personal quarrels between housemates, or anything else that the teachers didn't want to deal with that still needed to be handled, it fell on him to do so. Since Caroline had a rather unpleasant demeanor at even the best of times, it was clear that this would be his issue to deal with.
Hearing the knock against his door, he assumed that something had somehow already gone wrong, and he was being called upon to manage it.
Bloody hell, was everyone really that incompetent? They couldn't have done this before he had gone to bed? They couldn't have asked the Head Girl instead and just ignored her shrewish voice and hostile gaze?
Unhappy about being approached in this state, but he also unwilling to change into his school robes just to answer a door, he irritably began running a hand through his still slightly damp hair and crossed the room to make his way over to the door. Thankfully, he had learned to function with minimal sleep.
When he opened it, it wasn't a student coming to bother him for help.
It was Hermione.
She, he noted, was also in her sleep clothes(which for whatever reason appeared to be men's, not women's), though she had haphazardly thrown a robe over herself, and her hair was also damp and had been pulled into a plait going down her back. She also looked rather out of sorts - cheeks flushed, chest rapidly rising and falling, fingers twitching slightly, as if something had put her on edge and she thought she might be forced into immediate action.
Maybe it really was an emergency.
"Hi."
Or maybe not.
Leaning against the door frame, he arched a brow. "You came all the way across the castle, after midnight, in your pyjamas, to tell me that?"
"No, it's just polite. I need your help."
Well this was just lovely. He wondered if she knew that there was no polite way to wake someone up in the middle of the night, especially not if you plan to immediately ask for assistance.
He was sure she did -It was among the most basic of social skills- which is precisely what made it great. It was irritating to be woken up, yes, but he knew she wouldn't be here, asking him, if she didn't need something that only he could provide and that couldn't wait until morning.
"Do you really?" He asked in turn, cheeky smirk already forming.
Looking at his smirk, at his utter delight at her need to ask for help, for his help specifically, her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared just slightly. Obviously she did not find this as fun as he did.
"Well technically all I need is your mouth. It's rather unfortunate for us all that it happens to be attached to the rest of your idiot body."
There were about a billion responses he had to that, some of which were questions, some of which were comments on her odd phrasing, and about three of which would be considered appropriate.
In the end he went with, "Oh, my mouth? Is that really all you need? You should have just said so. I'd have been happy to help you, Professor, but now that you've gone and insulted me I'm not so sure I want to anymore."
For the next few minutes, they merely bickered. Nothing but petty, sarcastic quips back and forth for no real reason other than his insistent defiance and her refusal to simply beg for his assistance. Though when her voice began to raise, it occurred to him that he'd rather not wake up the Head Girl, who would undoubtedly interrupt, and yielded for the sake of peace.
As they began walking back to her quarters, she explained what all this was about. Apparently she needed a parselmouth, and he was the only one she could conveniently access since the trait was primarily known to exist within Slytherin's bloodline and not much elsewhere(though there were a select few known exceptions).
The story as she told it, was that she had been sleeping when her monstrosity of a cat dragged in a live, and now heavily injured, snake, perhaps to give to her as some kind of gift. It was rather impressive, in his mind, that this animal managed not only to escape her room and office(supposedly it had learned how to open doors, though not unlock them), but then gone down several flights of stairs, outside, found and captured a snake(small and harmless, by Hermione's standards but still significant in its relation to an average house cat), and then dragged the still living -and now hissing and biting- snake back up to where it promptly deposited it on its mother's bed.
Smart animal, though it seemed to have miscalculated the reaction it would be given. Hermione did not deny that she shrieked loud enough to break windows, had she had any. If she had kept portraits(which she didn't), they'd have likely run to the other ends of the castle to report a murder.
To him, this all sounded hilarious and he regretted that he was not there to witness it.
Her gut reaction was to stun the thing, apparently. Why only stun it, he did not understand. It would have been far more practical to simply kill it(it was injured, after all. Put it out of its misery.) but apparently she had some bizarre moral objections to that.
So her remaining options were to vanish it(effectively the same as killing it), leave it to die on her bedroom floor, leave it to die somewhere other than her bedroom floor, or, god forbid, attempt to heal it.
That's where he came in. Supposedly, after stunning it, she shoved it into an old shoebox, and then cast an extended sleeping charm on it while she wasted valuable medical supplies to heal its injuries. But since it was a snake, not a human, and she had no previous education in veterinary medicine, she had no idea what she was doing and could have caused even more damage without realizing it.
(Really, killing it would have been kinder.)
So now she wanted him to talk to it, to see if she had, in fact, irreparably harmed the poor creature, or if there was anything else that could be done to help it. He refrained from asking what she would do if she really had made it worse, because with how nervous and guilty she seemed about it, he thought she might actually start crying should he suggest she might have to kill it anyways. Or he would, because if she really did feel that bad there's no way she could effectively cast a killing curse.
He would have no such issue.
And she must really have felt bad, because she was even offering to pay him for this(an offer he firmly refused), rather than just award house points or extra credit. Had she been another teacher, he'd have assumed it was out of pity with him being an orphan, but she had never pitied him.
There was a conversation they had had in his fourth year that suddenly pulled to the front of his mind.
"Do you often confuse pity and admiration, Tom?"
No, he was certain she did not pity him.
When they reached her office, the door(meaning bookcase concealing an entrance) to her bedroom was already open. If the cat was able to easily get in, he assumed it was probably opened by the removal of a certain book from the shelf. Unless she wanted her cat to start knocking all her books over(which is likely how this problem began in the first place), she probably should do something about that. It occurred to him to wonder if the method of accessing the room could be changed while a person was still in there(to something less simple than simply moving a book, something like parseltongue), thus creating an inescapable chamber.
Maybe he'd look into it later.
As soon as they got close, he heard the serpentine hissing and the sound of a box scraping across the stone floor(the snake clearly was not happy about having been locked away), but for the time being, he ignored it.
"Do all the professors rooms look like this?" He asked as he glanced around her bedroom, noting how similar it looked to his own.
The colors were different, as she had no house colors reflected throughout the furniture and linens, but other than that it looked quite similar to the furnishings provided in the Heads dorms. The wooden bed frame was a deep brown, not black, and her sheets appeared to be a lilac flannel rather than an emerald silk, but the styling and structure mirrored his own with astonishing similarity.
"Why would I know what the other professors' rooms look like?" She asked, tone a bit clipped for his liking but not unusual for her. "I've never been in them, nor they in mine."
He made a noncommittal noise as he continued glancing around, though her answer had definitely earned his approval.
To his right was a large dresser, and out of curiosity he reached out and began to open one of the drawers. He barely saw more than a flash of black fabric before she reached over and slammed it shut right in front of his face.
"That's not what I asked for your help with." She sounded rather stern, but her flustered and slightly blushed expression made her seem much less authoritative.
He was nearly positive he just found out where his darling professor kept her knickers.
Despite not having actually seen any knickers, he gave her a glance over entirely lacking in subtlety and smirked. "Sorry."
While she looked only slightly blushed before, the red now deepened as it spread over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. If her reaction was that telling, he was now positive he knew what was in that drawer. He expected her to scold him, if not for digging around in her things then for apologizing when he didn't mean it, but she didn't. She merely cleared her throat and gestured over to the snake in the box, tactlessly telling him to get on with it.
She had been smart enough to not only lock her cat away in her bathroom, but to cast a sticking charm to the lid of the box after she closed it, preventing the serpent from simply pushing the lid away and slithering out. The snake seemed to have noticed as well, given that he repeatedly heard the words "cage," "lion," (likely referring to the cat which brought it here) "bite," "escape," "kill," and what he could only describe as serpentine equivalents of vulgarities.
When he leaned down and asked if it could hear him, it went silent for a moment. Then, a moment later, one word.
"Yes."
He told the snake it had been injured, and that a healer(not lying if you apply the term loosely enough) shoved it into a box while she attempted to tend to its wounds, thus saving its life. While the animal was still quite grumpy after that, it no longer seemed as aggressive or openly hostile. Rather, it seemed to be pouting. It was still adamant it didn't want to be handled, however.
Understandable.
Next, he convinced it to stay calm while he opened the box and examined for any obvious signs of illness or injury, caused either by its attack or by Hermione's ridiculous attempt at snake healing. Visually, there was nothing noteworthy, so he asked it if it was in pain anywhere. Again, nothing.
It seemed that her attempt was ridiculous only in concept, because as far as he could tell the execution of it went fine.
When he offered to carry it outside, it became somewhat hostile, immediately insisting that it did not want to be touched and that it would bite anyone who tried, "snake speaker or not." Rather than inconvenience himself with that(he could just cast an extended sleeping charm on it, but why bother?), he offered an alternative: directions out of the castle, which it could follow on its own.
It agreed that was a much better idea.
He told Hermione to stay back, and to stay quiet, because the snake was still a bit irrationally upset with her. The most affirmation he got until the snake had slithered out of the room was a nod and a little squeak.
For someone afraid of snakes, she definitely seemed overly committed to the idea of healing it.
When it had finally left, she let out a clear sigh of relief. You'd almost think she hadn't seen a basilisk in the flesh less than a year ago, but to be fair, the basilisk was not thrown into her bed and didn't attempt to bite her. "Thank you," she said, turning her attention away from the door and back to him. "He's fine, then? Not hurt or anything?"
From where he was still knelt down against the floor, he could somewhat see under her bed. A small beaded bag had been shoved underneath, rather than put in a nightstand or dresser drawer, he noticed. Feeling no need to comment on it, he got up, nearly scoffing at her question. "Need I remind you that it tried to bite you?"
"Well, no, but that was hardly his fault. He was just being defensive. One would think you would understand that. I thought you liked snakes."
He did like snakes, but he did not extend kindness or sympathy to things that tried to kill him. This whole "empathy" thing was going to get her killed.
"I like them a lot less when they're biting you."
"But not when they're biting you?"
"Snakes don't bite me. Ever."
She didn't seem to have a response to that, instead just leaning back against the wall. "I can still pay you, if you want. I know you said no, but it's a rare and valuable skill. I don't want to take advantage of you."
Yes, it was, but that hardly meant it was marketable, or that she was somehow taking advantage of him by asking him to translate just this once.
"No," he replied immediately. "You're a friend, right?"
His wording was very much intentional. Friends(by her standards - she had lectured him before about how he used the term too loosely) were supposed to help each other, take care of each other, trust each other. If she agreed to this, then it was a verbal confirmation of loyalty.
Almost imperceptibly, she seemed to flinch. It as so subtle he wasn't sure if he should pay it any mind, but then she smiled. "Right." There was the deal, sealed. "But I still don't want to take advantage of you."
Rather than dignify that with a response, he just rolled his eyes. Of the two of them, he shouldn't be the one she was worried about being taken advantage of. He was more than capable of looking out for himself.
She changed the subject. "What did Dumbledore tell you? A few days ago, I mean."
It wasn't a few days ago, it was two, though he didn't feel the need to correct her. Was this some sort of test, now that they had come to verbally agreed upon terms of their relationship? "I already told you."
She scoffed. "And I knew you were lying."
"Not lying," he corrected, "selectively withholding information." While he could have proclaimed his innocence, he found it more important to correct her assumption that he had lied to her. Out of everyone he had ever met, she was the only one he didn't feel overly inclined to lie to and she really needed to appreciate that.
"And what information would that be?"
"Nothing of importance."
"And that's why you're hiding it from me? Because it's not important?"
With the way she was looking at him, he couldn't tell if she seemed more suspicious or amused. A small smile played on her lips, but her eyes looked too sharp and too fixated on him for him to believe it was entirely genuine. The way the fingers of her left hand tapped restlessly across her thigh was further testament to her impatience.
This was definitely a test, he was sure of it. He cleared his throat, not particularly enjoying the scrutiny he was under. He liked it when she looked at him, not visually dissected him. "Something… happened over the summer," he settled on, realizing a moment too late that his pause was likely suspicious, too telling. So he quickly tried to reassure her. "He wanted to talk to me about it. Truly, it was noth-"
"What did you do?"
"I was just saying it was nothing. Why do you always think I did something?"
"Because you always do. Not to mention, if it had truly been nothing, you'd have been talking about it with your Head of House, not Dumbledore."
While the second part was true, she exaggerated the first bit. He didn't always do something. Not a significant something, anyways.
"I used magic over the summer," he finally said. There. An explanation.
"You're an adult. It's not like that's illegal."
He didn't even mean to say the next thing he did, and he was certain it was unwise to say so, but he blamed it on a brief lapse in self restraint caused by excessive interrogation. "No, but using it in the direction of a muggle's person typically is considered frowned upon."
Her hand left her thigh and ran itself down over her face with a soft groan. "I can't say I didn't expect this, but what did you do, exactly? And why did you allow yourself to get caught?"
Well now she was just making him sound negligent. Quite rude of her. Not very friendly at all.
"I didn't 'allow' myself to get caught. It's hardly my fault that Dumbledore recruited muggles to spy on me! Which you could have warned me about, by the way."
"What are you talking about?"
"Mrs Cole saw me use magic to heal a kid, which I only did because she didn't restock the muggle medical supplies, and wrote to tell Dumbledore all about it."
This was Mrs Cole's fault, and Dumbledore's fault. Maybe even hers for not telling him about the spies, if she knew about them(though she probably didn't). Not his.
Suddenly, her hand dropped like dead weight from where it had previously been rubbing her temple, and she was no longer leaning against the wall but standing straight, gaze hardened in his direction. "You did what?"
He wasn't sure if he should glare at her or roll his eyes. Not to mention, of everything he did over the summer, this was probably the least morally questionable. "I told the little moron to close her eyes! It's not like I just took out a wand in front of her! She didn't even know what happened. It was only because Mrs Cole was bloody spying on me that anyone saw. I'm not stupid enough to make such careless mistakes, so spare me the lecture."
He said the last bit with a sneer, practically spitting the words. It's not like he was careless or stupid, and he didn't appreciate being talked to like this was something he had done wrong.
She shook her head in an exasperated motion. "That's not what I'm getting at at all. I just - you're really telling me that you did something nice, for a muggle, with no ulterior motive?"
It occurred to him that he may have misinterpreted her previous reaction.
Not sure how else to respond, he shrugged. It's not like he expected her to believe anything, given how she always seemed to think he was lying. Hopefully that would change now. "She was already hurt and I wanted to try out the healing spells you showed us last term."
"And Dumbledore had a problem with this?"
He pursed his lips, feeling suddenly reminded of why he hadn't told her about it when she asked the first time. "No, actually. He didn't. Not that he revealed, anyways. I thought he might try to expel me, because technically it was illegal, but he didn't."
Out of reflex, his hand moved to his robe pocket and ran his fingers over the wood of his wand. When he looked up, he saw her looking at him with furrowed brows and a bit lip, her feelings about this seeming to mimic his own: apprehension. "What did he do? He obviously didn't give you detention or put you on any sort of academic probation, because I'd have heard about it."
"No, he didn't. He gave thirty points to Slytherin -which, mind you, he's never done before- and told me that sometimes breaking the law is necessary to do what's right. It was rather uncomfortable, to say the least."
Suddenly, her face paled dramatically and her eyes widened. She had the visual expression of someone who had just been slapped and hadn't yet figured it out. Then, slowly, as though she were suddenly understanding, the color returned to her face and her hands balled into fists. The rise and fall of her chest was too steady, too even, to the point he could tell she was trying to keep it controlled. To anyone else, it may have seemed subtle. Barely noticeable. But to him, it was a blaring alarm.
"Tom, I know you don't really take it well when people tell you to do things, but please listen, if only just this once. Don't let yourself think that his sudden approval of you means you have him wrapped around your finger like the rest of the staff. If anything, you only have further reason to be wary of him."
"...Why?"
"Because being cautious is a rational reaction to suspicious behavior?" Despite her overall defensive demeanor, the corner of her lips quirked just slightly, as though his question had amused her.
"Why is it suspicious? You really think it's that unlikely he changed his mind about me?" It shouldn't be, by the standards of a reasonable person. Since he had come to Hogwarts, Tom had done his best to seem utterly inconspicuous. Now that he had been caught healing a poor, innocent little muggle girl, he should be considered a certified Nice Boy. To the rest of the staff(lovely Professor Granger and her unreasonable paranoia excluded), he was.
But he knew she was right. This was Dumbledore, and Dumbledore had had it out for him since before they had even met and Mrs Cole had poisoned his perception of him. The question was more how she knew, because clearly there was something she wasn't telling him.
To be fair, there was always something she wasn't telling him, but he was planning on rectifying that by utilizing their now clearly defined and verbally agreed upon friendship.
"Shouldn't you be getting back to bed?" She said suddenly, no subtlety to her attempt at changing the subject.
"Need I remind you that you're the one who woke me up?"
"No. But you have class tomorrow and you can't just stay out all night. Thank you, for your help, but you really need to be off to bed now."
Deciding not to argue(she wouldn't care that the Head Boy and Girl didn't have curfew, nor did he want a lecture on the effects of sleep deprivation, and he wasn't certain that pulling the 'but we're friends' card would work this early, or that it wouldn't possibly backfire), but still thoroughly annoyed with her, he rolled his eyes.
Just as he began turning to leave, he felt her hand grasping his own. "Tom, wait." Immediately, he stopped, gripping her hand tighter within his own, previous irritation quickly forgotten.
This was something they had never done before. Hand holding was supposed to be rather intimate, wasn't it? The childish, innocent kind of intimate, but intimate nonetheless. Close. Trusting.
And she had initiated it.
He didn't verbally reply, instead waiting for her to speak first, but he held eye contact as he gave her hand a soft, but reassuring grip. Her fingers twitched, perhaps only now realizing what she had done, but he didn't let go.
By the looks of it, her choice to grab him had been impulsive. Not really wanting to leave anyways, he didn't mind. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, likely trying to decide what to say, before finally deciding on, "Please be careful."
She didn't specify why he needed to be careful, but he knew what she meant.
"I'm always careful."
"You know, somehow I don't find that very reassuring."
In another situation, he may had been offended at her insinuation he lacked self preservation - it's not like he ended up in Slytherin for nothing. But now, he found her insistence on protecting him to be somewhat endearing.
The secret keeping was a problem he would need to address later, he decided, because now wasn't an opportune moment.
"I'll be careful," he said instead, deciding that a rephrasing of his former answer might be better received.
She nodded before squeezing his hand lightly in confirmation and then letting go.
Having charmed his wand to go off in the morning, he only got about three more hours of sleep before the light and buzzing of his alarm woke him up. Though he could have slept in, he saw no reason to. Waking up early meant that no one was around to bother him throughout breakfast, allowing him to either finish homework or do additional reading. Sleep was something he could catch up on over the summer, but his time within Hogwarts was both valuable and limited.
Hermione wasn't at breakfast. No matter how tired she was or how little sleep she got, she still had always followed a schedule and woke up at the same time each day, not unlike himself. Having taken the time to memorize that schedule, he knew she should be awake by now.
It was also somewhat disconcerting to realize that Dumbledore wasn't there either. While he hadn't taken to genuinely spying on the man(that was reserved exclusively for Hermione Granger, as she was the only one intriguing enough to warrant such attention), his absence was still notable. Usually, those two were the only professors who got up as soon as breakfast was served. This morning, the staff table was empty and he was among the less than half dozen students in the entire school who were currently scattered throughout the Great Hall.
When he had finished eating and neither had arrived, he decided to go looking for Hermione. Since he had learned her schedule, it had been a comfort to always know where are was and what she was doing - not knowing now seemed to bring on a surprisingly strong sense of unease. He noted that feeling with clinical detachment, deciding not to question it further. Wanting to know where a person who belonged to you was at all times was rational, after all. It was merely the physiological response that was interesting.
First, he checked her office, thinking that maybe she just overslept. After repeatedly knocking against the bookcase hiding the entrance to her room, and finding that her cat had already been fed by her desk, he deduced that she hadn't simply overslept.
Feeling disconcerted about her seeming disappearance, he decided to keep looking. When he used a modified 'point me' charm that brought him in front of Dumbledore's office, he definitely felt justified in his increasing concern. Upon hearing distorted, but familiar, voices, he cast a disillusionment charm and placed himself by the door so he could listen.
The first thing he heard clearly he recognized as coming from Hermione, confirming that she was in there.
"I know I came to you for help. And I know I'm not in much of a position to be making demands for that reason alone, but I don't care. You're not my professor anymore and I'm not going to hold my tongue on this. I'm telling you now: leave him alone. I don't care what you think you might see in him. I know what you're doing, and unless you attempt to involve him, I won't interfere."
Tom was suddenly wishing he had gotten here earlier, because this was obviously an extremely important conversation and he had none of the necessary context to understand it.
Hermione never went to Hogwarts. He had checked all the school records. And, even if she had changed her name, she was young. Someone here would have recognized her. Assuming she was talking to Dumbledore(this was his office), how could he have been her professor?
Besides that, what could he(of all people) be planning that was important enough that Hermione would feel the need to threaten to interfere?
"It truly is lovely to see a woman full of such vindication, but unfortunately I'm not entirely sure what it is you're accusing me of."
That voice confirmed it was Dumbledore she was talking to.
The next thing he heard was a scoff, and then, "please do not insult my intelligence. I know this probably looks like a goldmine to you - a talented, vulnerable young person eager to prove himself. But, for everyone's sake, I'm hoping you're not idealistic enough to let that blind you. Tom Riddle is not going to be your next Newt Scamander.
"He's not going to follow your orders, or follow whatever vague clues you just conveniently decide to drop in his lap. You're going to leave him alone. Whatever it is you're planning, I'm telling you now: stop it."
More important information without context. And, more frustrating yet, it involved him. He was certain he was not hearing things, that he definitely heard Hermione say his name. Why she would compare him to an author of a book about magical creatures was unknown and…. Odd. Writing a book was not something he had any desire to do, and regardless he could tell that wasn't really what all this was about.
There was also a certain sense of anger he felt at the betrayal that she'd talk about him to Dumbledore, but for now he ignored it. Perhaps she had a reason that could justify it. Unlikely, but he wasn't willing to crucify her without knowing for sure.
So he kept listening.
"Your dedication to the protection of others is admirable, and your suspicions not unfounded, but I ask that you not let your resentment towards me prevent you from thinking rationally. Knowing everything I know, do you really think I would think it wise to send him? Do you truly believe that I would even expect him to follow orders, should I give him any?"
A beat of silence was shared between the two of them, but the tension was palpable. He almost smirked at how condescending Dumbledore was being. Apparently that was not a tone he reserved exclusively for students.
"I don't know" she finally said, voice sounding cold and stiff compared to its earlier righteousness. "I think it would be both unwise and immoral of you to do so. But I also don't think that means you wouldn't do it."
"Hermione, I truly am sorry for what you have been through, and for what happened to your friend, but-"
"Don't." She all but hissed the word, spitting it as though it were laced with venom. He had never heard that type of anger in her tone before, not even towards himself(and he had gotten rather excellent at making her angry). He had seen her scream and cry, but this lacked the typically outward expression associated with rage. It sounded deliberately strained, like she was holding back as much as she could.
"But you should not allow that to make you blind," Dumbledore said, finishing him former sentence. "I merely wish to reassure you that I have no ill intentions towards him, and no plans to proceed as you seem to fear I would."
He still had no idea what they were talking about, though to say he was now dying to know wouldn't be too much of an understatement.
"Then I suppose we have nothing else to say."
"For now, it seems. Have a lovely day, Hermione. I appreciate you stopping by for tea."
The next thing he heard were footsteps, and he scrambled away from the door as quickly as possible while still being conscious of the noise he made.
It wouldn't do to blow his cover now.
The door opened, and out walked a thoroughly rattled looking Professor Granger, her hair seeming to practically spark as her magic attempted to contain itself. He stayed pressed against the wall, doing his best to not even breathe(not unlike the way he often found her, he noted, though she of course had no reason to be hiding. He could not currently say the same for himself).
Still, somehow she knew, turning to look directly at him with an incredulous expression. He wasn't even visible right now, so she really shouldn't have known he was there, but obviously she did. He still said nothing, half hoping that if he were quiet and still enough, she'd convince herself she was imagining his presence.
With a glance through the halls(which must have been clear, judging by what she did next), she pulled out her wand, and pointed it directly at him. Seeing her wand, he pulled his own, fully ready to erect a shield if necessary, when suddenly he felt a warm sensation drip down his head as the disillusionment charm faded.
"How did you-"
"I've been your teacher for the last five years. I know you well enough to know, first of all, that you would do something like this and that nothing I say will deter you, and second, what your magical signature feels like. We can talk about what you thought you heard later. For now, you need to get ready for class."
He lifted himself up off the floor with as much dignity and grace as he could muster, somewhat embarrassed about having just been caught eavesdropping but refusing to demonstrate that embarrassment. It was not a particularly flattering light to be seen in, but he wouldn't let himself seem like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Mentally, he decided to check the restricted section for spying charms, if only so that this incident would never be repeated again.
She raised a brow, almost like she were daring him to respond.
If she expected him to self-flagellate for him, she was going to be disappointed. Instead, he just nodded. While he was dying to know what that had been about, it might not be terrible to have a few hours to think over his questions before he saw her next…
And to write all of what he heard down in his diary, fearing the worst was that she decided to obliviate him when his back was turned.
Transfiguration was supposed to be his first class of the day, but after what he heard, he decided to skip it.
Skipping classes -even Dumbledore's- was not something Tom liked to make a habit of doing. Every class was an opportunity to gain something, even if it was only house points or social status, and by skipping he lost not only the opportunity to learn, but the appearance of a spotless reputation.
Sacrifices must be made for a reason, he decided. Skipping one class would hardly affect him(Dumbledore never liked him anyways), and forgetting what he heard was definitely the greater of the two evils. He'd tell Madam Pomfrey he was feeling unwell(headache makes a great short term excuse), and no one would question the Head Boy.
Slughorn's class, however, he refused to miss. Potions was his second favorite class, not because it was interesting, but because he could very easily multitask. Slughorn awarded him points left and right with little to no effort on his part, and since making a potion was more about following directions than concentration, he could spend the class contemplating other things and still get full credit.
This year, Slughorn was starting off with a unit about poisons and antidotes. He stood at the front of the class in front of a large table display of potions and began to explain and describe the properties of each one.
How to kill a person was something Tom was more than a little familiar with, so while the rest of the class cringed and gasped at the dramatized descriptions of various potions, he sat quietly and occasionally answered any questions Slughorn had asked while coincidentally staring directly at him.
Despite being in Slytherin, the man seemed to have no sense of subtlety.
When he reached the very end of the table, down to the last potion, he placed his hand on the lid of the final cauldron, pausing to speak before opening it.
"This here might just be the most dangerous potion in this room. Do we have any guesses on what it may be?"
No hands raised. He had already shown several poisons that can kill you a thousand times over with just a single drop - What could be more dangerous than death? Nothing, obviously. This was all just a theatrical attempt to display wisdom.
Slughorn chuckled. "No guesses? Well, perhaps you're in need of a hint. Here we go," he said, only now uncovering the cauldron.
The entire class began to lean forward, as though being pulled by some invisible magnet, towards the pearlescent steam of the potion. One breath was all it took - Tom thought he might actually be sick.
Not because it smelled bad, no, not at all. Quite the opposite. It was precisely the alluring, siren's call-like nature of the potion that made him want to hurl and flee the room. The overbearing, damn near overpowering, scent of parchment, leather bound books, and vanilla noted soap filled the room in a way he desperately forced himself to view as nauseating, not pleasant. He forced himself as far back into his chair as possible, making himself focus on how he felt his bones begin to grind against the wood, keeping his person as physically far away from the fumes as he could without getting up and running out.
It occurred to him that maybe he should have skipped the entire day of classes. It's not like he had DADA today anyways.
Love potions in general(though especially Amortentia) were a subject he was a bit touchy about - understandably so, given that that potion was the entire reason he was conceived in the first place.
"Any guesses now?" Slughorn was expectantly looking at him again. This time, he refused to answer. With as much defiance as he could conveniently demonstrate, he kept his jaw locked. Part of him was afraid to even open his mouth while that potion was uncovered, lest he somehow accidentally ingest any through inhalation alone.
A flicker of disappointment crossed over Slughorn's face, but he recovered quickly. "Quite alright, quite alright. Perhaps it's for the best that you've no exposure to this before."
He closed the lid, once again covering the potion and staunching the noxious fumes.
With a deep, controlled breath, Tom noted that the scent was gone, along with the smothering, claustrophobic feeling that accompanied it. Much better.
"That, was Amortentia," Slughorn continued, as though anyone needed an explanation. "The most powerful love potion in the world. Though it won't directly kill or maim you, it's destructive capabilities are truly unmatched."
Tom raised his hand. Slughorn excitedly waved over to him around in exaggerated manner, prompting him to speak. "Can you explain that, sir? The destructive capabilities."
While he understood calling it a poison(it did strip someone of their ability to think freely, not unlike an Imperius curse), he would hardly call that destructive. A person affected could just wait until the potion wore off, and then leave of their own free will just fine, completely unharmed until their abandoned son comes back sixteen years later and kills them.
Hardly more destructive than say, A Draught of Living Death, or any other slow acting poison.
Slughorn smiled at him, a cheeky, somewhat mischievous glint looking out of place in his eyes. "Why, you wouldn't happen to be a romantic, would you boy?"
Throughout the room, girls began to giggle to each other in hushed little whispers, no doubt about how they thought it was so sweet and just plain charming. They would likely have not had a similar reaction had they known he wanted to weaponize the concept.
In a polite, mock bashful gesture, he slightly lowered his head and allowed some of his hair to fall into his face. If he wanted to really play it up, he'd try to make himself blush, but for now that wasn't necessary. To the surprise of no one, Slughorn and the girls seemed to love the act.
Idiots.
As he looked up again, Slughorn gave him a conspiratorial wink. "To answer your question, the exact nature of this potion is to cause powerful infatuation, or obsession. Unlike other magic that can alter a person's free will, this is unique in that it doesn't actually affect their will, only their motives. It doesn't force one to do anything, it causes a sickness that makes them want to, only making it all the more dangerous."
That made sense, actually. The Imperius Curse can be fought. Threats of death and torture can be ignored. A strong will can't be so easily broken. He recalled a conversation he had had with Hermione a few years ago.
"Pain and suffering can drive someone mad, but if their will is still intact, you get no results. You'll get nothing out of it. It's more effective, not to mention less repulsive, to just convince them to tell you themselves."
While he had always considered the idea of using love potions a distinct brand of repulsive, he had been thinking of them as magical date rape drugs. It had never occurred to him that they may have other uses.
Perhaps a trip to the library was in order.
"Now of course, these potions cannot manufacture true love, but the danger it possesses is near limitless nonetheless."
As Slughorn finished, he looked over expectantly.
"Thank you, Professor. That was very insightful."
Lunch, he decided, would be best spent in the library that afternoon. Some things were more important than food. After potions he had been feeling particularly eager to look into the subject more, thinking that maybe love potions could be altered to be a more effective form of mind control. While looking for his answer, he scanned through several sections.
First, the potions part of the restricted section, where he found a book dedicated to mind altering substances(most of which could be used recreationally, hence the book's placement in the restricted section). Next, the magical and muggle sections about brain science(or, in muggle terms, psychology). Lastly, and somewhat reluctantly, the history section.
History had never been his favorite subject, and it had little to do with Possessor Binn's droning voice and less than engaging teaching methods. It was just a boring subject, though, by his own standards, necessary. Taking the class ensured he wouldn't miss any important cultural references, and scanning through the books now allowed him to make sure Slughorn hadn't been exaggerating the damage caused by lovesick morons. If he could find credible examples of people throughout history doing remarkable acts in the name of love, he would know he wasn't following a dead end.
Throughout all history and literature, there were famous depictions of couples and romanticized tales about what they did in the name of love. Very rarely was what they did remarkable, and very often was it stupid.
Romeo and Juliet, for example, committed suicide so they could die together even if they couldn't live together. Why anyone would think that was a viable solution to their problem was a level of stupidity he was happy to say was beyond his comprehension.
Hermione had mentioned that she had thought about it, he remembered. Though based on the way she had said it, he wasn't sure if she had actually meant it or if it had been more of an expression. If it were an expression, a metaphor, it was a rather morbid choice.
Not that it mattered. For one thing, fate had given her to him for a reason. She couldn't just off herself to prevent that - the very idea was nearly unthinkable. Their meeting was inevitable, destined to be. For another thing, she hadn't actually done it even if she had thought about it. The thought itself was almost painfully idiotic, but he wouldn't fault her for not doing it(given the sheer number of thoughts that went through that woman's head daily, some of them were bound to be stupid). That alone made her better than the Shakespearean idiots that had become synonymous with romance.
He skimmed through, looking for anything noteworthy, when suddenly his eyes stopped on a single word in the page.
Hermione
Of course it would be her name, of all things, that he noticed. Nearly rolling his eyes at the cliche of it all, he read the context. Hermione, daughter of Helen of Troy. Helen went down in history as the most beautiful woman in the world. The story was famous, of course. A thousand ships launched in her name. A city destroyed.
Of course it would be her name, though it's place in the story was insignificant at best(it was her mother who the war was started over, after all, not her), that would lead him here.
Checking the face of his watch, he noted the time. He had divination starting in just under fifteen minutes. While he considered leaving the book behind(even just reading it made him feel ridiculous), he shoved it in his bag with the rest of them and headed off to class.