Chapter 11
Hermione could hear the screams through the telephone. Anyone walking into the room might have thought her parents were arguing quite savagely with the person on the other line, but the truth was that wizards and witches simply had no notion of how to use a telephone. In fact, they had no interest in any Muggle technological advancements. They were so befuddled by the contraption that they kept screaming every other word into Cora and Henry's unsuspecting ears.
"Could you please lower your voice? I don't imagine this information requires that much shouting –"
"I AM QUITE SORRY, MADAM, BUT WE ARE NOT ACCUSTOMED TO THESE OBTRUSIVE MACHINES! WE PREFER OWLS, WHICH YOU WILL FIND, ARE MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE AND DISCREET!"
At first, these exchanges were tinged with humour. Hermione caught Tom snickering more than once, and she had to stifle her own laughter a few times. But gradually, her poor parents lost their patience and started screaming back at the Ministry employees.
Crawfoot had given the Grangers the number for the Ministry's Muggle Relations Department and they had been very conscientious callers ever since they discovered what their children were.
All throughout summer, they consulted with various Ministry employees on subjects that ranged from magical schooling to capital punishment and its equivalent in the wizarding world. They were extremely anxious to know the minutia of this elaborate system which had existed and thrived right under their noses.
Undoubtedly, the numerous phone calls were also their way of silently protesting against their children's secrecy.
The most saddening revelation that Hermione experienced when she returned home was the fact that her mother and father could no longer act as her confidantes. Of course, ever since Tom had become her de facto sibling, honesty had been tantamount to compromise. She had lied to them about Tom many times, but that was just her stepbrother. She had always felt she could unburden her heart to her mum and dad about things that really mattered.
No longer.
Despite their many inquiries, Hermione knew better than to tell Henry and Cora about the Cabinet, about Johnny, about the bath tub, about the Blacks. These were dark things, terrible things, disgusting things, things that held no rhyme or reason. They would only sicken and repulse an unprepared audience. The story she told her mum and dad was a story of omission. A charming, if slightly maudlin tale of two children lost in a magical world that resembled a quaint bazaar.
She sensed that they did not believe her, not entirely. Nor did they believe Tom's blithe corroboration of events. But they were careful not to prod any further into their fatuous tale. What the Grangers feared more than anything else was loss of unity, loss of stability.
Hermione wished she could dispel their doubts on that account, but they had suffered a terrible shock when she and Tom had run away. From now on, they would always wonder what they'd done wrong. They would always check the front door twice, and bolt the windows shut. They would creep up in the middle of the night to watch their children sleep.
Magic had erected a wall between her and her parents. It was barely tangible, like a film of ice over a frozen pond, but it was there. And the only other person on her side of the wall, her new and terrifying confidante was Tom. There was no one else in the world she could talk to about baby Johnny. No one else she could ask, as they walked home on the last days of school, "Where do you think he is now?"
Tom hated these questions, and she hated asking them, but the other side of the wall meant solidarity, no matter how artificial.
In an ironic turn of events she could have never predicted, her family had become more, not less normal; the children lived in their separate world, the parents lived in theirs. Wasn't that how it was supposed to be?
"Have either of you done any magic today?" was Henry's jolly question every time he and Cora returned home from the dentist's. It was meant to trivialize the frightening idea of the supernatural and poke fun at its presence in their household. But the worry lines around their eyes never quite disappeared and their efforts to sound cheerful were all the more wooden and labored.
The children invariably answered no, whether they had done any magic or not. It was torture to sit in a stuffy office all day, looking at people's teeth, all the while worrying your children may have accidentally set the house on fire.
In that respect, Henry and Cora were almost looking forward to the compulsory magical schooling which - the Ministry had guaranteed - would teach their offspring how to master their 'abilities'. The Grangers had formed some idea of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although they had asked to be sent pamphlets and brochures, the Ministry of Magic had been rather stingy. All they could ascertain was that it was a 'prestigious school' of 'elite professors', which was guided by a strict curriculum that was accredited by a special Committee of some sort. Henry thought it all sounded quite 'wonky', but they took some comfort in the fact that the whole venture was only supposed to last seven years. When Tom and Hermione left magical school, they would be ripe for Oxford.
But what to do about their missing education? The Grangers were determined not to be stumped. Tom might enrol in a good preparatory school and Hermione might follow a smart ladies' seminar. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that they might join normal society after their eccentric tutoring. Perhaps Hermione would marry directly and never go to university, but she would lead a good life. Their children were so gifted, after all. They would enjoy the best of both worlds.
And yet, they were hardly ready when the Hogwarts acceptance letters arrived in early August. A barn owl delivered two neat white squares on their doorstep.
Cora was almost loath to bring them inside the house, but she did, with a smile on her face.
"Hermione! Tom! There's something here for you!"
The festivities began that evening. All the children could talk about was the letters. Even Tom, to Cora's surprise, was out of bounds. He was usually too polite and reserved to swing his arms about excitedly. But both he and his sister had forgotten how to behave.
"It says here that Headmaster Armando Dippet is part of an International Confederacy of Wizards!"
"He's Chief Warlock too! What do you think that means?"
"And Albus Dumbledore – what a funny name – he's Deputy Headmaster, look this is his signature!"
"Oh, it says here we can buy gloves made out of dragon hide!"
"And a pointy hat for day wear? That sounds rather ridiculous, don't you think?"
"But we've got all these books! There must be so many more! What do you think Transfiguration stands for?"
"We're getting a cauldron!"
"And a telescope! Do you think they mean a Muggle telescope or a magical one?"
"Of course we're supposed to get a magical one, don't be daft!"
"What about pets? It says here you can bring a toad. Yuck. That would suit you fine!"
"I'd much rather get an owl. What's the point of a slimy toad anyway?"
"Look! First Years are not allowed their own broomstick. What do you think that means?"
"Well, they won't have us sweep the floors, I imagine!"
"I hope they don't expect us to fly them, like in children's books!"
"It's got to be a lot more intelligent than that!"
"How many robes are you getting? I don't think three's enough!"
"Six ought to do it!"
They went on in this fashion for a long time, occasionally picking up a fight over who got more pairs of dragon-hide gloves, but generally agreeing that Hogwarts sounded 'spectacular'. It was the most friendly the Grangers had ever seen their children.
They should have been happy, even relieved. But they sat together awake at night and wondered, in hushed tones, whether it hadn't all been a mistake, from the very beginning. They loved Tom dearly. He was a sweet, good child, the little boy they'd always wanted. But hadn't he brought this magic into the house? If Hermione was magical, shouldn't she have inherited this 'gift' from her parents? And if Cora and Henry were as ordinary as could be, didn't that mean their little girl had caught this microbe from her brother?
Of course, they never did more than whisper. It wasn't Tom's fault he was a special child. They resolved to love him more for it.
But they blamed themselves for the curse of magic.
Diagon Alley was not much different than Sherwood Alley, Tom discovered with equal parts pleasure, equal parts disappointment.
He had expected to be swept up into the wonder of it all a second time around, but he'd already been exposed to much more impressive shops and buildings in his previous escapade. Hermione, too, despite her buoyant disposition, was hardly in awe. Nothing could really bowl them over after the Ministry of Magic.
Their parents, however, were simply dumbfounded. Everywhere they looked, they found new reason to unhinge their jaws. The only respite from this menagerie of bizarre and whimsy was Gringotts Bank, a solid institution they could finally recognize as civilized. But even here, everything was awry. Cora shouted bloody murder at the sight of the Goblins in charge of the Bank. Hermione and Tom had received ample warning from Crawfoot that such creatures were no fairy tale. But it was another affair for their parents.
"Why would they let those creatures in charge of people's savings?"
"I suppose they're very good at it," Hermione offered patiently.
"It's quite farfetched!"
Tom amused himself wondering how his mother might react to a house elf.
"And how should we make sense of these Galleons and Sickles?" Henry demanded, counting the golden coins with chagrin. His father had nearly choked when one of the Goblins had explained that wizards owned vaults stocked with gold. It seemed almost perverse that in Britain's dwindling economy this should be an everyday occurrence in the magical world.
The shopping for school supplies went no better. To the amusement of witches and wizards around them, Hermione and Tom were forced to leave their parents behind from time to time in order to purchase everything they needed.
"We'll be waiting for you at this… lovely ice cream parlour while you do your shopping," Cora had proposed out of despair. But their choice of venue turned out to be less than lovely.
"Why would anyone want to eat lizard-flavored ice-cream?! It's enough to turn one's stomach. I'm quite sure I contracted a bug," Henry bemoaned, looking slightly purple, as they left Florean Fortescue's with half-melted scones.
The saving grace of the outing was finally acquiring their wands at Ollivander's. It had been uppermost on Tom's mind ever since he learned what they could do.
His wand measured thirteen inches and a half, which was an impressive length for a wand. Even the batty man running the shop could confirm that. It also boasted a phoenix feather core. Another rare and precious feature. In contrast, his sister's wand was a measly ten inches and three quarters. Her core was something called dragon heartstring. It sounded positively medieval. Even his wood was superior; yew could not compare to plain vine wood.
All in all, he was moderately satisfied with the outcome of their trip. Even if Henry and Cora looked worse for wear. In fact, his parents' misery made it all the more delightful.
He really hoped he might introduce his mother to a house elf one day.
Hermione pulled each of the heavy textbooks in her lap and held them close to her chest. They smelled like freshly baked bread. The pages were a creamy yellow, like melting butter on toast. The leather binding was smooth and crisp to the touch, like those delicious tartines her mother made for breakfast. It was a marvellous sensory experience. She felt hungry for books.
She and Tom had purchased all the compulsory editions that the elderly witch at Flourish & Blotts had recommended, but they had also bought two more enticing reads; Hogwarts, A History and The Goblin Wars, A Gruesome Account.
She was so excited to read them all she could hardly breathe.
Tom stopped by her open door with a superior look on his face. "I'm starting with Hogwarts, A History. It's supposed to be quite difficult. You?"
Hermione arched her eyebrows. "The same, of course."
He nodded his head absently and ambled to his room at the other end of the hall. But she did not hear his door click shut as usual. And after a while, she heard the rustle of pages. Tom had settled down to read and he hadn't closed his door.
She opened Hogwarts, A History and perused the first lines. Right from the start, she was thrown into stark confusion.
"Godric Gryffindor! That can't be a real name!"
"Rowena Ravenclaw sounds just as bad," the reply came from Tom's room.
Hermione gasped quietly. Were they really going to exchange impressions?
"At least her pet is an eagle," she said, hesitantly. "I'm not very fond of lions. Even if there's a spell to tame them, I don't see the point."
"That's not her pet," he argued. "That's her House Crest. But I agree about the lions."
"What's all this business with Houses anyway? Why must we choose one? Oh, did you reach Hufflepuff? It sounds like some new species of hippopotamus."
"More like a hippopotamus wearing a floral dress," was Tom's sardonic reply. She snickered under her breath, and she heard him chuckle too.
She found herself enjoying their little game; it was nice, talking to each other across the corridor. Hogwarts, A History was fascinating, but rather dry. Having a reading companion was turning out to be quite pleasant.
"Salazar Slytherin could talk to snakes," Tom remarked at one point. Hermione's ears pricked up.
"I haven't reached that part yet…oh, here it is. So, I suppose, one of them did have a pet."
"I can talk to snakes," was Tom's more quiet reply.
Hermione chewed on her lip. Yes, how could she forget? "Does that mean you're bound for Slytherin? Because I can't talk to any animal that I know of."
"Slytherin House is by far the best choice. And I seem to be destined for it." His voice dripped with pride.
She rolled her eyes. "I prefer Ravenclaw, but I hope that doesn't mean I have to communicate with eagles."
"Slytherin is still the most accomplished," he insisted with a note of disturbance in his voice. "It's got Ravenclaw's intelligence, but with all the cunning and ambition lacking from that House."
"Not everyone is after cunning and ambition. Some people just want to learn for the sake of learning," she replied tartly. "In fact, that's the only way to do it."
Tom ignored her. "Gryffindor seems to be the worst. At least Hufflepuffs are loyal."
"But they're brave and determined."
"So?" he echoed disdainfully.
"So, ambition and determination are not all that different."
He scoffed in disbelief. "You're a fool if you think they're the same."
"Most of these Houses overlap, you know," she replied coolly. "Take Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. You'd have to be dedicated and hard-working, like a Hufflepuff, to learn as much as a Ravenclaw."
"You're not making much sense."
Hermione huffed. She got up and stalked towards Tom's room, her own copy of Hogwarts, A History in hand to prove him wrong.
But the sight that greeted her when she reached his open door stopped her dead in her tracks.
"You're reading them all at once?" she cried out in anguish.
He was lying down on his stomach, surrounded by several of his books. His chin was resting in his palm and he was leafing through the textbooks undisturbed. Hogwarts, A History was lying on top of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
Her cheeks flushed an unattractive maroon. She had thought, however briefly, that they were on equal footing, that they were reading companions.
"Not all of them, silly. Just four at a time. Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts," he replied nonchalantly, clearly tickled by her dismay.
"Don't tell me you're still on about Hogwarts, A History," he added innocently.
Hermione balled her hands into fists and took a step closer. One of her shoes trod on the corner of his Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
"Watch out," he muttered, pushing her leg away.
She stumbled back, her eyes falling on the upside-down text in front of her. She had to crane her neck at a painful angle in order to decipher the words. Her eyes watered from the effort. But she persisted in this futile exercise for another minute or two. Perhaps she was just very angry. But there was no reason to let him get the better of her. She could just make the short walk back to her room and begin reading all her textbooks too. And yet, she remained in the doorway, watching him silently. She did not know why she did it. She supposed she derived a sick sort of pleasure from feeling humiliated. It was like taking a bitter pill, but not swallowing it down completely. She watched him read.
"Don't you have something better to do?" he asked, when it was clear she wasn't leaving. "You'll want to catch up."
Hermione peeled away at the wallpaper around his door frame. She had liked reading together, but he had ruined that, like always.
"I'm not rushing. I'll finish Hogwarts, A History tonight," she replied.
"By then, I'll have read more."
Hermione scratched at his wallpaper more vigorously. Why was it impossible for him to be nice? Why did she still expect him to?
"Maybe. But you're not going to remember much," she said, matter-of-factly.
Tom looked up then, his fingers curling around the leather binding of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
"I've already learned plenty –"
She folded her arms. "Maybe, but you're only reading fast because you want to beat me. And that's stupid. You're not going to remember anything."
She could see the way his jaw locked underneath the skin, as if someone had pulled an invisible mechanism behind his ear. There was something innately fascinating about the way a boy's face became distorted.
"I couldn't care less what you think," he said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and pulling the sleeves up.
Oh, really? She was convinced she was right about this. Tom was only doing this to spite her.
She would've liked to return to her room and continue her leisurely reading of Hogwarts, A History. But she couldn't do it. She had to prove him wrong.
Why do you want that so badly?
She hardly knew. When she was around him, she could not make heads or tails of her behaviour. But if she turned away now, she would lose the match, and that would make her miserable. So she sat down on the floor, leaned her back against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest.
Tom puffed out a derisive little laugh. "Fine. Sit there like a dolt."
He bent his head down to his books and decided to ignore her. Several minutes passed in perfect silence. Tom read, eyes shifting quickly from one book to the next, stopping here and there to run his finger over a particular passage that had captured his attention. Hermione sat and watched.
After a while, no passage captured his attention any longer. He was only running his finger down the page for something to do. The letters had dissolved into a great brown soup. His sister's fixed gaze bore little holes in his cavity. He could feel the gaps growing wider. He forced himself to listen to the voice reading inside his head.
Beads of sweat were pooling on his forehead, making his hair stand up on its roots. One drop fell on his copy of A History of Magic. He turned the page with a rapid, angry motion and stretched his neck. His shoulder blades popped with an unpleasant sound. He'd sat in the same position for too long and his limbs were bloodless.
Finally, he could stand it no longer. He broke away from his barricade of books.
Rising precipitately, Tom almost stepped on her as he left the room. She heard him spit out the words like peach pits.
"Stay here and rot for all I care."
The bathroom door slammed against its hinges. Her mum called up from downstairs.
"Everything all right, darlings?"
But Cora did not press the issue when no one answered.
Hermione heard Tom turn the lock, and she heard the gurgling of water. She could see him, in her mind's eye, pushing up the faucet, bringing his lips to the cold stream.
She raised her eyes and surveyed his empty room. She had never taken a proper look at it before. She had made it her business never to step inside it, and it wasn't as if Tom had ever offered. The room revealed nothing too ominous, at first glance.
His old school uniform hung neatly over a chair. His schoolbooks were stacked orderly on his shelves, along with his miniature ships and locomotives, courtesy of Henry. A box of toy soldiers lay at the foot of the desk, gathering dust. The recent Hogwarts shopping was spread out on his quilt, cluttering the bed in an almost deliberate fashion. It was an average boy's room. Tidy, but not too tidy. Personal, but not to an exaggerate degree.
Hermione felt, sitting there, that no one really lived in this room. Tom had crafted a life in here, but it was someone else's life. A stranger's.
She contemplated this rather depressing thought, until her gaze fell upon a familiar blue patch sticking out of a drawer.
She stood up and shuffled closer to take a better look.
Was it a handkerchief? An old tie?
Her lips parted when she realized it was neither.
It was her ribbon. The dirty blue ribbon, the one her mother had washed so many times it had gone faint.
She remembered that day in the park, almost a lifetime ago. She'd worn it like a diadem around her hair. Then Tom had told her to give it to his mate, George. She had never thought she would see it again. But he had got it back. It wasn't hard to imagine how. Those boys were more lackeys than friends.
Still, why would he keep it?
When she heard the bathroom door unlock, she scurried up instinctively, knowing her time was up. She ran back to her room, closing the door behind her.
Her own copy of Hogwarts, A History lay open at the same page. She sat down on her bed, and touched the page gingerly. She wondered if Tom had left the ribbon there by accident. She wondered if there were any other…
No.
Why would he take her possessions and keep them as souvenirs? It must have not been her ribbon, after all.
She gripped the spine of her book to her chest. She had some reading to do.
The noise was deafening. She had never been somewhere so crowded. And there were so many children on the platform she almost took a step back into her mother's skirts.
You're not a little baby anymore, she chided herself.
But she was feeling rather anxious. This was a new beginning, a chance to make actual friends and not end up bullied by someone like Elspeth Reginald. First impressions were crucial. Especially since she was Muggleborn. She'd read enough of A History of Magic to understand that there was a strong hierarchy in the wizarding world and it didn't favour people like her.
Hermione was determined to give everyone a chance. While Violetta and Cygnus Black had seemed perfectly terrible in her opinion, it stood to reason that not all Purebloods were arrogant and heartless. Wizards might have preconceived notions about her, but she would try to change their mind and make them see that a Muggleborn girl could be a good witch, and a good friend too.
It all depended on the House she chose. She would do very well in Ravenclaw. Rowena had been supportive of Muggleborns, or at least, she had not agreed with Salazar's plans of keeping them away from Hogwarts. The Slytherin House seemed the most averse to those whose parents and their parents' parents had not been magical. She almost pitied Tom, since it was certain he would end up in Slytherin and everyone there would know his last name was Granger. But then again, her brother was capable of making friends and enemies alike. She had seen enough of his cruelty not to worry too much for his sake.
Instead, she kept her eyes sharp for the people wearing blue and bronze ties. Those were the ones she was supposed to befriend first.
It was hard to make sense of it, though. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters (her father had already disparaged the "ridiculous" designation) was a melting pot of laughing faces and moving bodies.
"My, there are so many boys mingling with so many girls," her mother remarked disapprovingly. "I do hope there are separate accommodations at Hogwarts. I'd hate for you to be exposed to such things, darling."
Hermione flushed scarlet. She hadn't told her mother and father about the Common Rooms. She'd read that the dormitories were a separate affair, but that boys and girls could mingle freely downstairs. This was no Clapton Girls' Academy. If someone from her street ever found out about it, the Grangers would be labelled as unorthodox.
She wondered what it would be like to have a friend that was a boy. Tom did not count. He was never going to be her friend.
He wasn't even going to help her carry her trunk into one of the compartments.
As soon as they'd boarded the train, he'd gone off with his luggage in a different direction. He didn't even stand by the windows to wave Cora and Henry goodbye. Hermione could hardly tear herself away. She wouldn't see them until December. She buried her face in her handkerchief, to prevent from crying. She was a big girl now. She was going away for school. But it would be an adventure. She would make the best of it.
"Be safe, my dears! And be good! Write to us, the both of you!" her mother called out before the mist swallowed her up and the train moved forward.
As trains went, this one felt like an ordinary Muggle one, for which Hermione was positively grateful. She'd liked the Knight Bus fine, but she wouldn't want to repeat the experience. Her stomach was in knots already, there was no need to make it worse.
The trouble now was to find a Ravenclaw compartment. She was too shy to follow other First-Years around, despite the fact that they were probably just as petrified as she was. It seemed wiser to set up camp with her future House and acquaint herself with the First-Years after the Sorting. That was another terrifying ordeal. She wanted to ask the older Ravenclaw students about it, but she was afraid they'd laugh. After all, it was just an old hat, if Hogwarts, A History was to be believed.
She dragged her trunk aimlessly down the corridor. She was grateful now she hadn't got a pet after all. Carrying an owl cage would have been murder.
Tom must be lording it up with the Slytherins by now.
She was certain her brother had found his fellow comrades. She'd read about dozens of Pureblood families who had been sorted in Slytherin. There were bound to be some Blacks there too. She hoped Tom wouldn't betray – well, she hoped he wouldn't be so thick as to forget that the Blacks had treated them badly.
"Oh, no!"
She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts about Sorting and Houses that she had almost reached the end of the carriage without finding a compartment.
She decided she'd stop trying to find the Ravenclaws and just settle for any seat. Desperate not to be left out, she barged into the closest compartment she could find.
"Excuse me, is there room for one more?" she asked, out of breath.
There was plenty of room.
There was only one person sitting at the window. A boy.
Her mother's voice instantly chimed in her head. It's not proper to be alone with a strange young man unless your father and I are in the same room or have approved of him.
She mumbled an apology as she was about to step out, when she noticed that his tie was blue and bronze.
He's a Ravenclaw!
This was her chance and it had been delivered on a silver platter. She couldn't resist.
"Be my guest," he said, non-committally. His features were regular, but there was something about the pronounced arch of his nose that made him look familiar, although she could swear she had never seen him in her life. He didn't sound particularly friendly, but that was all right. It was her job to convince him she was worth befriending, after all.
"How did you manage to get a compartment all for yourself, if you don't mind me asking?" she asked, struggling to fit her trunk in the luggage rack.
"I didn't. The Hufflepuff sitting with me left to find the food trolley."
"Oh. Sorry. The food trolley? I didn't know there was one. There was no mention of it in Hogwarts, A History. Have you read that book? Of course you have, you're not a First-Year. You must know everything about Hogwarts," she babbled inconsequentially as she tightened the straps on her trunk.
The boy looked at her queerly. "Everything? I don't even think Dippet knows everything about Hogwarts."
"That's the Headmaster. I hear he was in Ravenclaw when he was a student, like you," she said, gesturing to his tie. She hoped she was being complimentary in her remark.
He examined her with the same quizzical expression. "Right. Well, I don't plan on being Headmaster any time soon."
Hermione flushed. "You never know."
"I think I do," he said, after a pause. "I wouldn't like to run a school. Would you?"
"I wouldn't pass up the chance if someone offered," she replied, settling down in her seat and brushing the folds of her skirt.
She was getting rather antsy, sitting there by herself with a strange boy. Her mother's face kept popping up in her head, like a sensible warning against impropriety. But she had done worse things in the past, hadn't she?
"When will your Hufflepuff friend be back?"
"She's not my friend. We know each other. She couldn't find a seat, like you."
Hermione frowned. The Ravenclaw boy wasn't exactly morose, but he wasn't the life of the party either. Still, there was a quiet reserve about him that she liked. It was almost…dignified.
"Oh, I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Hermione," she offered gamely. The 'Granger' could wait until the Sorting ceremony.
The boy followed her cue and answered with a simple, "Alphard."
"Alphard." She tasted the name on her tongue. "That's – hang on, that's a star, isn't it?"
His face suddenly brightened. He wasn't smiling by any stretch of the imagination, but his eyes were livelier, as if a ray of sunshine had fallen across his face. A look outside the window, however, only showed grey drizzle.
"Yes, it's the brightest star in the Hydra constellation."
"Right, of course, that's the water snake!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you a fan of Astronomy? You're going to like the Astronomy Tower then."
"I – I don't know, I've just read about stars, that's all," she answered shyly.
"You will like looking at them," he supplied, and this time, there may have been a hint of a smile.
She was about to say something nice in return when the compartment door flew open and the missing Hufflepuff appeared out of thin air.
"Oh, hullo. I don't think I know you. You're a First-Year?"
She was round of face and ginger of hair. She had very pretty blue eyes too. But more importantly she was an older girl, which relieved Hermione's conscience quite a bit.
She extended her hand in the girl's direction.
"Madeline Prewett," the Hufflepuff said plainly. "Everyone calls me Maddy but I don't like it."
"Oh, I don't have a nickname. My mother sometimes calls me 'Mione."
Madeline smiled. "So…Mione stands for?"
"Oh, Hermione! Sorry! I should have started with that," she babbled, shaking her head at her own malaise.
"It's all right, I'm not going to bite," Madeline appeased her with another warm smile. "Though, mind you, keep away from the Slytherins. They like to play all sorts of pranks on First-Years. Nasty pranks too. Gryffindors are much nicer, although they like to test your patience too. Hufflepuffs are the most decent lot, and I'm not just saying that."
Hermione laughed. She already liked Madeline. Alphard was not too bad either. Her first two friends, perhaps? No, it was too soon to tell. But if the Hat decided Ravenclaw wasn't for her, she was going to make sure she chose Hufflepuff second.
"I do envy the fact that your Common Room is so close to the Kitchens," Hermione offered, eager to show her know-how.
Madeline frowned. "How –"
"She's read Hogwarts, A History," Alphard informed her neutrally.
"Oh, Merlin! I dread to open that dusty codger, but I suppose it's good to know what you're up against."
Hermione wondered if she had just committed a faux-pas. Was Hogwarts, A History not fashionable with her future classmates?
She was about to ask them to recommend a better book on the subject, when Madeline got up again.
"Right, I came here to get more sickles. The food trolley is robbing us blind! Do you want me to fetch you anything, Hermione?"
"Oh, no, thank you, you're very kind."
Of course, only later she realized she should have said yes. She should have offered to follow the girl outside.
She was sitting alone with a boy again.
"Bad weather we're having," she mumbled, looking out the window.
"Looks like it. So, which House are you considering?"
Hermione was nonplussed. She'd thought she'd made it obvious. "Yours, of course!"
Alphard looked taken aback.
"Oh, not because you're there! What I mean is – naturally, I picked this House before I met you."
Hermione wished the ground could swallow her up. Perhaps it showed on her face, because Alphard kindly chose not to follow that line of inquiry.
"I believe you. It's a good choice, as far as choices go. But the old hat is rather tetchy sometimes, so be careful."
"Be careful?" she echoed with concern.
"Make your choice very clear, don't falter. It will badger you if you're not sure. I – well, I know what I'm talking about."
Hermione frowned, bemused. What did he mean by that? Had there been a problem with his sorting?
She was about to ask him, when the compartment door flew open a second time.
"Madeline, you've come back –" But it wasn't Madeline. It was her brother.
Hermione's face turned an alarming shade of white. She had almost forgotten about him.
"Tom."
"There you are."
He leaned against the doors with natural ease, almost as if he owned the place. She'd always envied his body's perfect symmetry. His hands were buried in his pocket. He had already put on his school robes and they looked unfairly good on him. Not in an obvious way, perhaps. Someone who didn't know her brother might even say he appeared gauche and unkempt, because the robes stood loose on his wiry frame. But the more you watched him, the more you realized every inch of him was perfectly attuned to his surroundings and even his disorder was only an afterthought of his elegance. She felt sour. Her own robes would look modest and plain.
"How did you find me? I thought you were …" She was going to say with the Slytherins, but for some reason she didn't want Alphard to know her brother was a shoe-in for that particular House.
"It wasn't hard to spot the bushy hair," he offered with his usual dose of candour, but he wasn't looking at her or her hair. He was staring directly at Alphard.
It lasted only a flash, and perhaps the Ravenclaw did not even notice, but Hermione caught it instantly. She'd seen it before, the scalding white light in his eyes. When she had made his snake fly and he had chased her up the stairs and he had put his hands around her neck –
It was gone before the memory could unfold.
"I hope my sister hasn't been bothering you. She can be quite a chatterbox," he spoke with a poised smile, the good boy smile she'd seen so many times.
"No, she's all right –"
"Oh, new company?" Madeline spoke behind him. She had returned with an armful of candies and chocolates. "Who wants some goodies?"
Tom looked affronted by the amount of sweets the girl had purchased, but he nonetheless affably offered to carry them all into the compartment.
Madeline was startled for a moment. Hermione could guess why. Tom Riddle was a bit of a shock at first glance. The girl tried to hide a blush, but her ginger complexion betrayed her.
"Please join us, why don't you?" she entreated Tom, brushing the locks out of her face nervously.
"Oh, no, I'm afraid I have to get back to my seat. I just wanted to check on my sister. See if she's all right." His tone was cloyingly sweet and affectionate, but his eyes were still scrutinizing the festive food with distaste.
"Aw, that's so thoughtful!" Madeline fawned, popping something that looked eerily like a chocolate frog into her mouth. "I wish I had an older brother."
"We're the same age actually," Hermione chimed in rather stupidly. She was actually a few months older, not that it mattered.
"I'll see you when we get off, Sis," he intoned softly and turned around on his heels.
Hermione gulped, watching him go. He always called her that when he was angry. She wondered if anyone else had noticed. Alphard was looking out the window, lost in his own thoughts.
"He calls you 'Sis', that's lovely!" Madeline cried, extending her a box of "Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans". Hermione wondered if these beans were as queer as Florean Fortescue's ice creams.
"That's Tom for you," she said, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.
"Ah, I'll keep an eye on him. Hope you don't mind me saying so, Hermione, but I hope he ends up in Hufflepuff."
Hermione chuckled. Fat chance of that happening. "He's all yours, Madeline."
The water's spray was ice cold on her cheek and the wind was howling in her ears. She was huddled in a boat with other First-Years, shivering under her thin robes. Hermione had been excited about the traditional boat ride on the lake. It had sounded like something out of The Faerie Queene when she'd read about it in the (not so very popular, after all) Hogwarts, A History. But the real thing was less than magical. The gamekeeper, a burly man called 'Ogg', who smelled like cheese and sported a bald patch on his head, was sitting in the front boat, guiding them along the water with his wand. She wished he'd make the boats go faster. Her toes were frostbitten by now.
But the rest of her complaints vanished into thin air when the clouds parted and the moon shone on the castle that was to be her home.
It looked like a fortress in the sky, framed as it was by the soft chains of mist rising from the water. She had never seen anything so beautiful. A thousand lights, a thousand turrets, a thousand dreams.
She could barely move her arms and legs as she stumbled out of the boat onto the pebbly shore. Her nose was runny and her breath came out in a fog, but she was here! She'd arrived at Hogwarts!
She didn't bother to look for Tom until most of the First-Years were crammed into the Entrance Hall. She'd read descriptions of the castle, but no book could do them justice. It was like standing on the threshold of an old legend, something from Sir Gawain and The Green Knight. There were torches on the wall and portraits up above and the people inside of them were moving!
"Welcome all of you to Hogwarts."
Her attention was drawn to the tall wizard standing at the foot of the giant marble staircase leading up into the castle. He was wearing a pointy hat and half-moon spectacles. A rather eccentric apparition, but the warmth in his voice put her at ease. The man seemed to know what he was doing.
"As you will pass through the doors on your right, you will enter the Great Hall where a lavish banquet awaits you to celebrate the beginning of the school year. But, before you can enjoy the food and drink, you must pass your first test by choosing the House that will be your home for the next seven years. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The Sorting Hat will tempt you and you must answer its call. All of these Houses have given us outstanding wizards and witches, brilliant minds, formidable characters. Will you join them? The Sorting Ceremony is nothing to fear, and yet, everything depends upon it. Choose wisely and listen to your hearts."
Hermione knitted her eyebrows in confusion. It seemed everyone held farfetched notions about the Sorting Hat. The Sorting Hat will tempt you? Listen to your hearts? Yet the wizard's words had a strange, compelling effect upon her senses. It felt like he was speaking in riddles, and the closer she listened, the less she understood. She'd never heard a teacher talk like this before.
The spell was broken when he went on in a more formal fashion about the school rules and the House Cup, all things she'd read religiously in Hogwarts, A History.
It was at this point she started looking for her brother. It took a while to spot him, but she found him standing next to one of the stone braziers. He was talking to a pair of boys that looked destined for Slytherin as well, to judge from their nefarious expressions. She realized she wasn't the only one watching him. Several girls and boys were gawking at Tom, although trying to hide it. She could sympathize. In a sea of eleven-year olds, he was an older presence, a disturbance, even if he was only a child.
The double doors on the right opened and they were ushered into the Great Hall.
"Hermione Granger!"
"You're all right, you're all right," she muttered unconvincingly, as she detached herself from the bee-line which had formed behind her and walked up to the weathered stool. The giant Sorting Hat scowled and simpered at her approach.
She raised the brim with shaking hands and slipped it over her head, plopping herself down like a convict awaiting her sentence.
"Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw…" she started whispering urgently.
"Pah! Another busybody who thinks she knows best!" a snarl suddenly boomed in her ears.
Hermione froze in shock. She'd read that the Sorting Hat's deliberations could only be heard by its wearers, but she hadn't expected quite such a strong baritone.
"Baritone? Aren't you a little bit presumptuous, dear? Very well, let's try that mind of yours."
I think I'm well suited for Ravenclaw, she thought meekly, awaiting the Hat's judgement.
"Believe it or not, I heard you the first three times," he retorted with biting irony.
Hermione decided to stare at the Ravenclaw table instead, as if that would help the matter along.
"You're a sly thing, aren't you? Stubborn and wilful, always trying to have your way."
Hermione flinched. She couldn't believe her ears. That's not true! I always listen to my parents! I do my chores and my school work and I'm very good -
"Are you always very good, or only sometimes? Your parents were awfully worried when you ran away."
That - that was Tom's idea!
"You almost set those mean boys on fire. You wanted to burn them."
Yes, but – stop prying into my memories, please! They attacked first! And Tom did much worse than me.
"Ah, memories. Precious things to have. But you want to deprive your parents of theirs."
Hermione's ears pricked with scalding shame. Hang on, that's not fair! Tom and I were just talking nonsense…we were on the Knight Bus and…we were scared!
"Dread is a funny thing, my dear. We often want to be afraid. What happened in that bathtub with your dear brother…"
Hermione put her palms over her eyes. No, no, no, no, that's not who I am. I swear, I'm nothing like that!
The Hat grunted wearily, as if it was tired of her repeated rebuttals.
"There is potential for brilliance in the workings of your mind. You show a passion for learning. You are brave and outspoken, and you feel every injustice deeply. I can even vouch that you are kind…but you are most cautious to show it. And ambition has driven its teeth deep inside of you. So I ask, child, what is truly in your heart? What is the nature of your soul?"
Hermione squirmed under his scrutiny. She tried not to think, not to breathe.
"It is your brother," it spoke finally. "You dread to be like him. You dread that you already are."
She bit the inside of her cheek until she felt the tang of blood.
Please. I never want to be like him. He's vicious and cruel. He's done so many hurtful things.
"But he's a part of you, isn't he?"
He can't – he can't be.
She tried to think of ways Tom was different, things that clearly set them apart.
I can't talk to snakes. He can. He can make them listen. I'm not like him.
"Perhaps. But you can make him listen. You can tame the boy who tames the snakes."
Hermione's lips parted in surprise. What do you mean?
"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat hollered, to her horror.
Tom felt a startling burst of pride as he watched Hermione drag her feet towards the Slytherin table. She might have showed a bit more enthusiasm, since she had proven worthy of the best House at Hogwarts. His sister could be a real simpleton when she chose to. In time, she would learn the value of her sorting. It might be an inconvenience to have her around all the time, she might embarrass him…Still, he would certainly enjoy exerting some much needed control over her. She was rather wild when left to her own devices. He had a first-hand experience with that...
"Tom Riddle Granger!"
That was another thing. He hoped to drop the boorish 'Granger' in the following weeks and be known simply as Tom Riddle. A challenge, no doubt, but one he could certainly overcome.
He walked up to the battered old Hat. He liked that such a small thing could withhold so much power, but he didn't relish putting the dirty rag on his head.
"Let's see!" the Hat rumbled in his ears. "A proud and convinced Slytherin!"
Why yes, it's good of you to have noticed, he thought smugly.
"The other Granger was mightily convinced too. She got an earful from me. Now it's your turn. Let's pick your mind, shall we?"
Tom didn't like the impish scratch of its voice, but he settled comfortably on the stool and waited to hear the Slytherin verdict.
"Yes, yes, the brilliant boy who can talk to snakes. Your sister told me all about you."
Leave her out of this, Tom demanded crossly. What had that little minx said about him anyway?
"Ooh, you two are a pair. I would say I've hit upon a soft spot. But she isn't your soft spot, is she?"
No, Tom gritted. Get on with it, please.
"What a cautious little girl she was, while you quickly fell for the Ministry's charms. A head full of dreams, a heart full of hope."
What are you…that's got nothing to do with it…we were there for a hearing. It was a serious matter.
"Yes, you took it very seriously. You called your sister a coward when she wouldn't speak up for herself. You wanted to stand up and show them who you truly are."
The Blacks were being horrid. I had to do something.
"Yes, you felt compelled to act fast, to be bold and reckless. You didn't even hold on to the gold ropes, even when you were warned."
That's nonsense! I'm not reckless! That was just an elevator!
"Jumping through back-alleys, navigating the underbelly of the big city…carrying your sister on a grand adventure…"
We were running away! I was being cautious!
"Caution?" the Hat echoed humorously. "That, my boy, was thrown out the window when you decided to put the baby inside the Cabinet."
I was only curious. I never meant to –
"Yes, you never meant, because you did not think. You did not think about the future. It was the present that mattered. Your sister had to spin a good story to get you out of trouble."
Tom's hands were shaking with rage. You don't know anything about me and her.
"Perhaps. Perhaps you are the brilliant boy who can talk to snakes. But what is the nature of your soul? What is the secret of your heart?"
Tom felt fear for the first time since he'd sat down.
"Ah, how did you put it to your sister on that cold night in the abandoned sheepfold? People only love the cameo you made of yourself. But you want to be loved for who you are."
No. Shut up. That was just - that was nothing. I was ill, I was…
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat hollered, to his horror.
A/N:
Yes. I just did that. I sorted Tom Riddle into Gryffindor. *hides* I hope I've built a convincing argument as to why, in this version, and thanks to his sister, Tom now belongs in a different House. I think future chapters will convince you as well. Don't worry, he's still creepy Tom Riddle (with a twist). But hey, Gryffindors can be pretty terrifying, as we shall see.
So, finally at Hogwarts! I know I'm excited!
A couple of things; the blue ribbon mentioned in this chapter also appeared in Chapter 4, for anyone wishing to refresh their memory. As for all the moments the Sorting Hat brought up, you'll find them scattered about in previous chapters.
*exhales*
This was a beast of a chapter and it really sucked me dry, although I loved writing it. If I've gotten some things wrong canonically, please don't be too mad. Sometimes I like to mix things up, and sometimes I'm just not very professional. But I want to thank you all for the overwhelming number of reviews. I'm always shocked and eternally grateful that this story has made it this far and with so much support. I'm a bit (or more) knackered at the moment, so I haven't gotten to answering all the reviews yet, but I am humbled by your comments and am in love with all of you in a creepy Merope Gaunt kind of way.
To the anonymous reviewers that leave so many lovely comments, you rock my socks off, and I want to answer each and every one of you, but it's gotten a bit impractical because you're so many. Please don't be discouraged to review, though! I love hearing from you! I promise next installment I'll be a bit more organized on that front. See you next time!