A/N: It's a little late, for which I apologise, but that's mostly because I've been updating an old old fic this week. For any of the Whovians here (and I know there are some) Desert Storm is up and running again. And there's a one shot called 'At Eternity's Gate'. But enough shameless self advertisement. Thank you for the reviews of the last chapter, we've crossed the 200 mark! I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think! =]
A Safe Place to Hide.
by Flaignhan.
"You'll be staying at the Ministry this evening," Dippet said, hands clasped together. "There's a hospitality wing for occasions such as this. You'll be well looked after."
"What time is the ceremony, Professor?" Hermione asked, fiddling with her sleeve. Now that she was actually ready to depart, and realised that the next time she set foot in Hogwarts she would have an Order of Merlin, she was feeling very, very sick.
"Eleven o'clock," Dippet replied. "Make sure you're up and ready on time. Professor Dumbledore will come to collect you at half past ten."
"Excellent," Tom said, smirking slightly. "Thank you, Professor."
"Into the fire you go," Dippet said. "Unless there are any further questions?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Very good. I shall see you tomorrow morning. Good luck." He beamed at them, his brown eyes sparkling in a way that almost reminded Hermione of Professor Dumbledore.
"After you," Tom said, gesturing towards the fireplace.
Hermione held her travelling bag close to her chest, threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped into the crackling emerald flames.
"Merlin's beard..." Tom said, as the red robed Ministry worker showed Hermione her room.
It was a bit more upmarket than the Leaky Cauldron, that was for sure. Every single surface, every single fabric, every single piece of furniture and every single ornament oozed opulence into the air. The air inside her room felt thicker, in a nice way, in the sort of way that melted chocolate was thicker than water and much, much more satisfying.
"If you need anything, Miss, you can just right the bell," the wizard pointed towards a large brass bell hanging next to the bed. "Dinner will be served at seven in the dining hall at the end of the corridor."
"Thank you," Hermione said, trying to keep the grin on her face under control. Tom raised his eyebrows at her, before the door was shut and he was led away to his own room.
Hermione placed her travelling bag carefully on the desk - another gift from Professor Dippet, Tom had one too - and walked slowly around the edge of the room, trying to commit every single detail to memory. She would only have two nights here, but she wanted to remember it for the rest of her life. She had been impressed with Ravenclaw tower, but this room, this huge room that looked like it was an old Hollywood film set, made the charm of Ravenclaw tower pale in comparison.
The child within her could keep quiet no longer, and she ran towards the gigantic four poster bed and belly flopped onto it, burying her face in the sweet smelling silk bedspread. The mattress felt like it was made of cotton wool, and part of her wanted to skip out on the ceremony and stay in bed until the Ministry forcibly removed her.
There was a quiet knock at the door and Hermione sat up, flattening her hair down in an effort to look sophisticated.
"Yes?"
The door opened. Tom slipped into the room and shut it behind him with a quiet snap.
"Pretty good, isn't it?" he said.
"Is your room the same?"
"Yes," he meandered through the chaise longues, thin legged end tables and large marble statues until he reached the bed, and sat down next to Hermione. "These are the rooms where Ministers of other countries stay," he told her. "Imagine living here. I'm going to live here one day."
"I'm sure the novelty would wear off soon enough," Hermione said. "There's only so much joy a giant bed and a bowl of fresh fruit can bring you."
Tom merely raised an eyebrow. Hermione's cheeks reddened.
"You know that wasn't what I meant," she said, slapping him on the arm.
Tom smirked. "This time tomorrow we'll be drinking champagne with the most powerful people in the world," he said, and he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "While everyone else will be holed up in their common rooms revising for their exams...life is sweet, don't you think?"
"I should be revising for my exams," Hermione argued, frowning at him. "And so should you."
"We don't need good exams results. We could get Ts on everything and not one single person would care. We'd have any job we wanted...and wherever we worked they'd have to put 'Order of Merlin, Second Class' on our name plaques. We're not just ordinary anymore...though I don't really suppose I ever was just ordinary."
"Extraordinarily arrogant, perhaps. But ordinary in all other aspects."
Tom sat up and gave her a dark look.
"I'm more extraordinary than you know."
Hermione said nothing. She knew just how 'extraordinary' he was, and she didn't much like the idea of explaining how she knew.
"I feel like we ought to have dressed up," Hermione whispered, hoping the red robed wizard standing guard by the dining hall door couldn't hear her.
"Never mind," Tom said, pausing to take a sip of his wine. "Just eat."
Hermione didn't like being at the centre of a cavernous room, much less while she was eating at a table laden with fine silverware, goblets of expensive wine, and piles upon piles of delicately prepared and presented food. It was like she and Tom were in a palace, with only the servants as silent, ever watching company. It made her feel uneasy, and when their table was cleared for the last time, relief swept over her, knowing that the ordeal was almost at an end. If she couldn't handle dinner with Tom, she had no idea how she was supposed to get through a fully fledged ceremonial banquet the following evening. Dumbledore would be the centre of attention though, and that was absolutely fine by her. She imagined that Tom wouldn't be so happy about that, but that was his problem.
She had only had the one goblet of wine, but she could feel the effects as she walked slowly, and with a slight wobble back to her room.
"Don't forget," Tom said. "Half past ten. Set your alarm."
"Yeah, yeah," Hermione waved a dismissive hand towards him and he disappeared into his room. She wondered, with a hint of bitterness, why her room had to be at the very end of the corridor. Her head felt fuzzy, and the lights were glaring, causing her to squint at the door numbers until she found her room.
She didn't bother getting undressed, she didn't bother setting her alarm either, she just collapsed face first onto the bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep instantly.
"I knew this would happen."
She groaned into her pillow, and lashed out at the person who was shaking her roughly.
"Get up."
Hermione rolled over and opened her eyes. Tom was standing there, in a dark green dressing gown with matching slippers.
She giggled.
"What?" he demanded.
Lord Voldemort in a dressing gown. That's what.
"Nothing," she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes, hoping that her arm was shielding her smile from view.
"We need to be ready in an hour and you're not even up," he said huffily. "I will not have this ceremony delayed because you didn't fix your hair on time."
Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed herself up from the bed, still feeling a little bit shaky on her feet.
"Are you hungover?" Tom asked incredulously.
"No," Hermione said, grabbing onto the back of a chaise longue to steady herself. "What on earth makes you think that?"
"You're hungover on one glass of wine. Merlin. Do us all a favour and stay away from the champagne tonight, all right? The last thing we need is you vomiting over the Minister."
Hermione sneered at him, but had no comeback. "Get out, I need a shower."
"I thought I might stay and watch," he smirked, his dark eyes sparkling with glee.
"It'll be the last thing you ever see if you do," Hermione growled. "Now out!"
Tom sighed loudly and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Hermione locked it, before heading into the bathroom.
As soon as she saw the bath, she knew it would be a huge mistake to get in it. The tub was deep, with clawed feet and shining silver taps. The porcelain was almost blindingly white, as was everything in the room, but the sun was streaming in through the window, light bouncing off of the bath and straight into Hermione's sensitive eyes.
She would not have a bath. If she had a bath, she would never get out, and Tom would be very cross with her.
"Are you ready yet?"
The bathroom door burst open and Hermione shrieked.
"It's quarter past ten! What are you doing still in the bath?"
"Get out!"
"Get dressed," Tom growled. He stalked away and returned moments later, with Hermione's travelling bag. He threw it into the bathroom. "Now." He slammed the door behind him and Hermione could hear him pacing about in the main suite.
"You know Tom, it rather sounds like you're nervous," she called, as she climbed out of the bath, wrapping her towel around her. It was soft and fluffy and warm and she wanted to snuggle up in it until the end of time. There were so many things in this hospitality wing that she wanted to experience until the end of time, and she thought that perhaps Tom had the right idea, wanting to live here. It certainly wouldn't be a bad life.
"You know Hermione," he called back, "It sounds rather like you're going to die a very slow and very painful death if you're not ready in the next eight minutes!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and quickly got dressed. She used her wand to dry her hair, and then pinned it up in the way that Maggie had spent the entire week teaching her.
"It's ten thirty-two," Tom said darkly when she emerged. "Hurry up."
"Professor Dumbledore isn't here yet," Hermione said casually, although the nerves were building and building in her stomach.
"Yes, well it's not my problem if the old codger misses his own award ceremony."
"Oh I have no intention of missing it, Tom."
Tom whipped around, and it was Hermione's turn to smirk. Professor Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, dressed in a set of elaborate sapphire coloured robes, complete with intricate gold stitching.
"I...I'm sorry Professor," Tom said, and Hermione thought that for once his embarrassment was genuine.
"Not to worry, not to worry," Dumbledore said kindly. "I find that stress often brings out the offensive remarks that one harbours deep within their souls," he smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling. He looked older than Hermione remembered, and she now began to see the young Dumbledore as the same person as the one from her own time. She had thought of them as separate people until now, but young Dumbledore and old Dumbledore had merged to simply become Dumbledore. There was a heaviness to his expression that Hermione associated with her headmaster, rather than her Transfiguration professor, but the duel with Grindelwald had been a milestone in his life. It had been the beginning of old age.
"Not to worry though Tom, we have far more important things to be concerning ourselves with today. I hear there's a rather large party about to take place downstairs, and we are, as it were, the guests of honour."
"Yes sir," Tom said sheepishly.
"I must say you both look wonderful, and so grown up! I see my students so often in school robes that I always tend to think of them as children...but enough about the workings of an old man's mind, let us depart."
"I still feel sick," Hermione said.
"Well it's over now," Tom said quietly.
"No it isn't," she replied. "It's only just beginning. Why do we have to be up here? Do they think people want to watch us eat? Do they think we want people to watch us eat?"
"Stop panicking, you'll just end up embarrassing yourself," Tom hissed.
Had she not been seated at a table on a raised platform, in full view of two hundred senior political figures, journalists, and important (otherwise known as rich) citizens, Hermione would have buried her head in her hands.
The Minister for Magic, who was sitting on Tom's left at the centre of the table, tapped his fork against his goblet lightly, and the quiet hum of conversation ceased in the banquet room. He stood up, though he was so short it barely made any difference at all.
"Before we begin, a toast is in order, I believe," he picked up his goblet and everyone else in the room followed suit. Tom dug Hermione in the ribs with his elbow and she took a hold of her goblet.
"The Ministry awards acts of bravery with a medal and a banquet, but never have we seen bravery such as this. First, from two young students of Hogwarts, who were determined to get their peers to safety, who used magical skill that wizards far beyond their age and expertise would have stumbled over when faced with such an enemy. Second, we have the pleasure of playing host to the man who one the greatest duel our world will ever see. Never has our world been so indebted to three people. I feel that these acts, these astonishing acts of courage cannot be rewarded in this life or the next, no matter how many medals and banquets we provide. So I would like to take this opportunity to raise our glasses, and offer our endless support to our heroes. Should they ever need anything at all, be it a glass of pumpkin juice or a place to stay, they need only ask, and the Ministry will see that it is provided in an instant."
There was a general murmur of agreement and Hermione felt the blush rise in her cheeks. How had she ended up being so lavishly rewarded for ten minutes of duelling, when Harry had been mocked, victimised, and punished for all his work against Voldemort? How could life be so very dreadfully unfair?
"Now, let us drink to Miss Hermione Grey, Mr Tom Riddle, and finally, to Professor Albus Dumbledore," the Minister said this with a warm relish, and then drank deeply from his goblet, the other guests at the banquet mirroring his actions. Hermione took a careful sip of her wine, not wanting to drink too much too soon. She had been quite tipsy on just the one glass yesterday, but this banquet was set to last for hours, and there was a party to follow. There wasn't a single drop of pumpkin juice or water in sight, and it was as though the Ministry wanted to get her drunk.
"I told you to stay away from the champagne," Tom slurred, gripping the bannister and hauling himself up the stairs.
"You're drunk," Hermione giggled. "I never thought I'd see you drunk." She giggled again, though she wasn't sure why - she didn't find it that funny.
"I'm not drunk," he argued. "I'm just..."
Hermione fell against the door of her suite, and fiddled with the handle until it unlocked and she fell forwards throwing her arms around a gleaming white marble statue in an attempt to stay upright. Tom shut the door behind him and stumbled over to the bed.
"What are you doing?" Hermione whined. "This is my room. Yours is down the corridor." She too managed to make it to the bed and flopped onto it, her dress robes rustling. She caught sight of herself in the mirror for the first time that day. She had had no time to check before she had left for the ceremony, and had trusted Dumbledore's comments to mean that she didn't look a complete mess.
For once, she thought she looked rather pretty. Granted a few locks of hair had fallen out of her do in the later hours of the day, but the dress still looked as fresh and beautiful as it had when she had shown it to Amelia, Grace and Maggie in Ravenclaw tower. She had never worn much red before, which was ironic, considering the house she had originally been placed in, but the deep scarlet of the dress didn't drain the colour from her face as she thought it might, but instead complimented it. It was a tight but comfortable fit, every inch of it tailored to her body shape, every stitch specifically designed to make her look great.
She turned around and saw Tom sleepily fumbling with the knot in his bow tie.
"Your room is down the corridor," she said again, and kicked off her shoes a little more carelessly than she had actually intended.
"Too far," Tom murmured. "I'll sleep here."
"You'll do no such thing!" Hermione retorted, trying to sound angry. Her drooping eyelids were making it harder and harder to seem threatening and she pushed her pillow into a comfortable shape, before laying down on her side, and watching Tom. His eyelids were closed, his breathing steady, and she thought he had perhaps already fallen asleep.
Hermione was on the brink of slumber herself, when he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her.
"You looked really nice today," he said quietly, reaching out a hand so his fingers could play with the frilly sleeve of her dress.
Hermione let out a small breath of amusement, and neither of them said another word.