Thanks to those of you that have stuck with me! I love you all.
This is the last chapter that I have written for now. Hopefully the muse will continue to strike me and chapter 15 will be up next week, but I've got a lot going on for the holidays, so it might be two weeks before I post again. Sorry.
oooo
When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. -Maya Angelou
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. –Vladimir Nabokov
God is cruel. Sometimes he makes you live. –Stephen King
A strange game
Where the only winning move is to engage
Who are, who are we to
Who are, who are we to
Who are, who are we to stay away?
- "No Guilt In Pleasure" by MSMR
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Monday, February 12, 2001
Bolivia
"Oh honestly, Malfoy, would that be such a bad thing?"
Draco shrugs. "I don't know, Granger – exposing our world to muggles might turn out just fine. We might all get along, and everything will work out, and we'll all ride off into the sunset together."
"Or," Harry counters, slashing away foliage with his wand as they wander through the Bolivian jungle, "they might flip their lid and drop an atomic bomb on London and every other place known to house wizarding communities."
Hermione scoffs. "Come on, Harry."
He raises his eyebrow. "Remember, muggles raised me. I didn't have a very good experience. I know they aren't all like the Dursleys, but…" Unspoken words ring out loud after he finishes: A lot of them are like your parents were, kind and accepting and so thirsty for any kind of knowledge that they would tolerate almost anything just to see whatever they could of the world. But he doesn't say it out loud, because he knows mentioning her parents will upset her.
"Human nature is something to both rejoice in and fear," Draco says, so much wiser now that he's been through hell; he is no longer the snotty, prejudiced brat he used to be, back when the world was softer and kinder. The war has hardened him along with the rest of them, and his maturity no longer surprises her. "Doesn't matter if we're wizardkind or muggle, Granger – we're dangerous creatures. Especially when it comes to mass terror. Individuals alone are capable of heinous deeds, but it's when you get into the mob mentality that things get really dangerous. When it comes to the Statute of Secrecy it's not necessarily about what's right – it's about what's safe."
"Like the movie Men In Black, Hermione – the one that came out a couple of years ago that we went to see in the muggle theater?" Harry says.
"Yeah, I remember," she says with a fond smile. "Funny."
"Agent K mentions that every day there's something that threatens the earth – and the only thing that keeps people safe and happy is that they aren't aware of it," her bespectacled friend continues. "That rings true. Ignorance really is bliss – maybe not on an individual level, but when it comes to thousands and millions and billions of people, sometimes it's best just to keep them unaware."
Hermione stops, and they both stop with her, and she looks between the two of them. "I know that the two of you have been sort-of friends for a while now, but I don't think I've ever seen you agree on anything this readily. It's…weird."
Draco sneers at her, and Harry scowls. "We're not friends, Hermione, and it's just common sense."
She grins. "Riiiight. Sure. Not friends – got it." She sniggers to herself as they both roll their eyes and glare at each other, and she shakes her head in amusement and moves forward.
Suddenly, Hermione hits a magical ward of some sort, and the shock is so electrifying that she is blown backwards several feet, and it feels like her entire body has just been thrust into a giant wall outlet, and she lands hard on the thick vegetation that lines the forest floor. Her heart stops.
"HERMIONE!"
That is all she hears before things go black.
She drifts into darkness, but all of a sudden there is a warm, soft light, and a hand grasps her own, and she feels the sweet breath of her beloved on her cheek as he says her name.
"Hermione."
When she opens her eyes, Ron crouches over her, and Ginny and Hermione's parents stand behind him, looking down on her with gentle smiles. Hermione smiles up at them in return, feeling peaceful, so excited that she is here with them, in this quiet, warm place, and –
Before she can say anything, they are fading from her vision. Ron's fingers slip through hers, and she reaches for them again, but he is already fading away. He smiles at her. "See you later, 'Mione."
"No," she murmurs. "No, Ron, no no no no NO!"
She gasps for breath, blinking rapidly as the harsh sunlight of the tropics glares down at her through the thick foliage. She coughs, heaving in a lungful of air. Gentle hands stroke her hairline; another pair holds her waist. Draco and Harry are there, and Draco is breathing hard, pink in the face, and Harry looks like he's been crying.
"I saw them," she says, her voice hoarse. "I saw them. I…I saw Ron. I saw Ginny, and my parents –"
"You were dead, Hermione," Draco says through gritted teeth. He looks furious. "Your heart actually stopped. Are you fucking stupid? Potter's the one wearing the ward protective armor – that's why he's supposed to go first! Goddamn it, Granger!"
She laughs breathlessly, unfazed by his anger, still reeling from the disbelief. "I saw them, Harry," she says again. "They were all there. They were all real. We…touched hands."
Draco is swearing still, muttering to himself and looking like a nutter, but Harry just stares at her, his gaze peaceful. "I always knew," he says quietly. "After I saw Dumbledore at King's Cross when I died in the Dark Forest during the Battle of Hogwarts, I knew." A tear falls from his eye. "I can't wait to see them again."
She lies there for a while, her chest hurting from the abuse of CPR after multiple Renervates didn't do the trick, and Harry strokes her hair. Eventually Draco just sits down on a large root, staring at his boots, looking sullen.
Later Harry tells her about how Draco had thrown himself down upon her prone body, immediately searching for a heartbeat and, upon finding none, trying desperately to Renervate her before beginning CPR. He had ended up fracturing part of her sternum and one rib – he had pounded away at her lifeless body for nearly four minutes.
Sometimes Hermione cannot help but wish he'd been unsuccessful.
oooo
Draco definitely wouldn't be up for running with her, so Hermione rose before dawn, dressed comfortably and headed out to the lake, zipping up her jacket to fight off the chill. She stopped by the kitchens for a little bit of toast and raw beef, first, shoving them in her backpack, and then commenced her jog.
The perimeter of the Black Lake was about five miles around, and she was finished in about forty-five minutes. It was just after seven when she reached a part of the lake that was lined with rocks, and she sat down upon them, looking down over the edge of the short cliff to the surface of the lake ten feet below. From here she could see the sandy shore where Rowle and Macnair had attacked her yesterday, abutted by trees; she watched it in her peripheral vision, just in case.
She continued to peer into the surface of the water as she broke out the toast she'd snatched from the kitchens, and smiled with nostalgia as she saw a big, luminescent eye suddenly loom up beneath the surface, surrounded by slick, smooth burgundy skin.
"Nice to know you still have your taste for toast in this timeline, too," she muttered, taking a bite of the buttery bread and then dangling the rest of the slice over the edge of the rock.
A great tentacle as thick as a man's body rose up from the water, sprinkling her with moisture. She giggled as, with great care, the giant squid used the very end of his tentacle, tapered down to the width of her arm, to pluck the piece of toast from her hand. Another tentacle came up as the first one traveled down to pop the bread into his beak-like mouth, and she tickled the spaces between his suckers, giggling as he shuddered in what might be construed as laughter. Grinning, she gave him her second piece, and he immediately brought up a third tentacle for another slice.
"Come now, Godric, I only have three pieces. You ought to pace yourself," she teased.
"So you've named him, have you?"
She screamed and whirled, drawing her wand and hurling out a fireball that had Conan Avery falling to the ground to avoid its path.
She clapped her hands over her mouth.
"Oh Merlin, Avery, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, scrambling over to him as he returned to his standing position. "Did I hurt you?"
She was somewhat surprised to feel that her concern was real. After their interaction yesterday, Hermione had become oddly fond of the younger wizard. She went over to where he stood, taking him by the arms and scanning his body for burns.
He looked unfazed, if not a bit amused. "I'm fine, Granger, though if I'd been half a second later in dodging I'd be in the hospital wing with third-degree burns. Now I know never to sneak up on you again. Next time I'll announce my presence from a safer distance."
She deflated, feeling sheepish. "I apologize. What are you doing out here so early?"
"Well, I thought you might like some company on your run, but it looks like you already finished up."
She raised her eyebrows. "You run?"
He shrugged. "No, but Riddle thought it might be a good idea to try to get you to warm up to me. He seems to underestimate just how transparent we all are to you. I don't think he's got the full grasp on just how perceptive you are in regards to other people. But, I figured it would be a good chance to get started on the Legilimency lessons without incurring his suspicion."
She smiled. "Good thinking. I'm glad he suggested it; I was wondering what sort of excuse we would have to come up with to fool him – now I don't have to worry about it anymore."
She went back over to the edge of the rocky cliff, shooing the Giant Squid away as he rooted through her pack, bypassing the little sack of raw meat in favor of finding more toast. She pushed his tentacle away and got the last piece of toast for him, placing it gently on one of his suckers.
"That's all I have this morning, Godric; I'll bring you some more tomorrow, all right?" She rubbed the smooth red skin of his tentacle one more time and then he retreated back to the depths of the lake with his prize.
She turned back to Conan. "I didn't know the Squid was that friendly," he said. "I knew he was harmless, but I didn't know he was so domestic."
Hermione wanted to say that he really wasn't harmless; that before he'd been killed by Voldemort she'd seen him snatch several werewolves and Death Eaters and squeeze them to death, thrashing them against the surface of the water until their bodies were little more than mangled skins – like lemons that had been squeezed of all their juice, only the peels and some of the pulp left – but she didn't mention it.
"Well, I learned he likes toast," she said nonchalantly. "I brought some out for me to munch on after my run, and there he was, looking expectant, so I thought I'd share. And I thought Godric was a fitting name, given his color." She picked up her bag. "Here, come with me."
Wordlessly, he followed her into the woods. They walked for a moment before coming to a stop.
"You know, the Forbidden Forest is named that for a reason," he said, raising one eyebrow. "And yet you waltz right on in as if there's nothing to be afraid of – as if there aren't countless monsters just waiting for the right opportunity."
She snorted. "Most of the things that live in this forest live deep in the forest, and are nocturnal. Really the only threats I have to worry about in the daylight are centaurs, trolls, any bad-tempered hippogriffs and the acromantula that escaped after it killed that student two years ago. Assuming it stuck around. Their natural environment is in the tropics, namely Southeast Asia, so it might not have stayed. Too cold." She knew very well that Aragog had stayed, and that Hagrid would start as the assistant Groundskeeper in the spring under Valentine Ogg, and that in a handful of years, in 1967, he would bring Mosag in as a mate for his beloved acromantula and they would start a colony together. But she wouldn't mention that, either.
He hummed, whether in agreement or skepticism.
"Besides," she said, shrugging. "I learned long ago that following the rules to a T can be rather counterproductive. And it's more fun to bend them a bit," she finished with a grin.
He smirked. "So what exactly are we doing here?" he said, gesturing to the clearing they were in.
She smiled and pulled out the little bag of beef. "You'll see," she said. "Give it a minute – sometimes thestrals are a bit shy."
"You mentioned those yesterday, but I can't remember having studied them in COMC," he said with a frown. "What are they?"
"The reason they aren't often spoken about – and why they aren't a part of the Hogwarts curriculum, apparently – is because they aren't seen by most. Only those who have seen death can see them. To everyone else, they're invisible. What do you think moves the carriages up to the school from the train every year?"
"Magic," he answered, shrugging. "I just thought they moved on their own."
"Look," she said, pointing at a space in between two trees.
He peered through the trees. "Oh."
A huge mare, one of the ones she'd seen yesterday – recognizable by the long scar that slashed across her withers – approached them, leading a young foal behind her; a little braver than yesterday because now she recognized Hermione. The foal was the same little filly that had so bravely drawn near to Riddle yesterday afternoon.
"They love raw meat of any kind," Hermione said, pulling out the bag.
"Do they let you touch them?" Conan asked, watching on with curiosity.
Hermione walked up to the mare, holding out a piece of meat that the leathery beast swiftly gobbled up. She patted the thestral on the neck, once again marveling at its size. It was definitely one of the biggest ones she'd seen, standing probably at just over twenty hands.
"They're gentle beasts, despite their sinister appearance," she said softly. "They get a bad rep as bearers of bad luck because they are associated with death; because people fear death."
"Most people fear death," Conan said, grabbing a piece of meat from the bag and letting the little foal take it from his palm.
"That's because they don't know what comes after," Hermione said. "I do. It's nothing to fear – rather something to be anticipated, I think."
More thestrals appeared through the trees, and Avery froze as the young stallion with the punctured wing came up behind him and gummed the fabric of the neckline of his shirt. He reached back to pat it on the nose, and then handed it some beef.
"How do you know? I mean, how do you know for sure?" he asked, frowning.
She smiled wistfully, closing her eyes, letting a thestral snuffle at her open palm, slick with the juices of the raw beef. "I had an experience a couple of years ago," she answered. "I ran into a nasty combination of wards, and was electrocuted." She turned to look at him. "My heart stopped beating for three minutes and thirty-six seconds."
"You died," he verified, blatant interest shining in his eyes.
"I died," she confirmed, nodding. "And I saw…" She takes a shuddering breath. "Oblivion. Peace. Warmth, and light, and there were people there – friends and family that I'd lost." She sighed, absently fiddling with the chain around her neck. "When my friends resuscitated me, I wanted nothing more than to have been able to stay. I was even angry with them for a bit, before I realized how stupid and ungrateful I was being." She caught his eyes. "Try reading my mind, and I'll show you what I saw. I'll withdraw my Occlumency shields for this first time, and project the memory so you can find it easily, just so you can get the feel of it."
"Okay," he said, following her lead as she sat down on a group of roots, scattering the rest of the meat around on the ground for the thestrals to gobble up. He sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of the forest, looking up at her with those unnervingly blank eyes. "So I just…cast the spell?"
"You know the incantation," she said, nodding. "You'll want to start out using your wand – it takes a couple of years of practice to get to where you can do it wandlessly and nonverbally." She cracked her neck. "Make sure you maintain eye contact. And remember: reading the mind is not like reading the pages of a book. You typically aren't going to find someone's thoughts just etched into the brain where you can reach in and pluck them out at will. The mind is intricate and multifaceted and a confusing, jumbled mess for beginning Legilimens. So even though I will try to make it easy for you this first time, and will endeavor to lead you through the parts of my memories I want you to focus in on, don't be disappointed if you get lost or overwhelmed. That's normal."
He nodded, looking determined. "All right. Are you ready?"
"I'm always ready," Hermione said with a wink. "Go for it."
He inhaled deeply, staring into her eyes. "Legilimens."
She twitched uncomfortably as his consciousness pushed into her open mind, and she struggled not to immediately throw her walls up or go on the offensive, as she'd been trained. Instead she took a deep breath and relaxed, trying to create a path in her mind for him to follow.
Though Conan Avery was generally a calm, steady sort, and the tendrils of his psyche reflected this, he still deviated from the path and ended up jerking around in a tight, dark space, trapped between the memory she wanted him to see and the shield she'd put up around the rest of her mind. When he began to panic, her Occlumency shields pushed forward to nudge him out of her brain.
Avery wiped sweat from his brow, and his hands were shaking. "That was…I…"
"That was a good start," she said encouragingly. "You started out steady and confident. Your first mistake was to panic when you got derailed. If you panic, you can end up trapped. The best thing you can do in a situation like that is to try to stay calm and pull back." She inclined her head towards him. "Try again."
He did. She shuddered as the crude, unpracticed strands of his intellect surged into her unprotected mind again, and this time he moved slower and was more focused on staying on the path she laid out for him. He found the memory, and fell into it.
She did not let him see the first part of the memory, where they had been talking and walking through the Amazonian jungle; the memory started when she'd struck the ward, and the sound of Harry screaming her name, and then her experience in the darkness with Ron and the rest of her fallen friends and family.
When he got to the part where she'd woken up, Hermione guided Conan out of her brain and back into his own.
He leaned back on his elbows. Sweat trickled down his temples. "This is harder than Occlumency."
She shrugged. "Occlumency is more natural for most people. It just involves protecting your own mind, while Legilimency puts you in enemy territory."
"Like an army defending a stronghold against a siege, versus an army doing the attacking," he said.
"Exactly," she said, nodding, smiling at the comparison. Clever. "Naturally, it takes less energy to learn to defend a secure position than it does to invade unfamiliar turf."
"And yet, you said yesterday morning that while your Occlumency skills are decent, you are far better at Legilimency," Avery said, watching her with muted blue eyes. "Your Gryffindor nature, perhaps? Brave, daring, prone to a bit of recklessness?"
Her lips curved up in a genuine smirk. It seemed Conan Avery was more than worth her time. He was sharper than most people gave him credit for, and that was extremely useful. He did not draw attention to himself like she did. While he was certainly not ugly – in fact, his face had a rather pleasing quality about it that she couldn't quite put her finger on – he was not eye-catching like Draco and her. And while he was skilled magically, he was not extraordinary. He was not particularly athletic, though he was lean, and he was not particularly social, either. Avery was extraordinary at two things, that she could see: Occlumency, and being unnoticeable. He was sharp as a tack, and she found him to be rather likeable, despite his lack of affect.
"Perhaps," she answered quietly. "Sometimes I struggle with patience. I learned to use Legilimency not only as my offense, but as my defense as well. I found that I didn't have the patience or the strength to uphold my Occlumency walls – especially under torture – so I started using Legilimency to catch my enemies off guard. I stumbled upon it quite by accident."
"How?" Conan asked curiously, picking up a stick and dragging it through the dirt. A thestral walked by, catching its wing on the top of his head by accident, and he grunted and put a hand up to his forehead, rubbing at the shallow scratch that had appeared up against his hairline.
"I had already started to learn Occlumency from one of my professors, but he was killed before we could finish our training. His godson – my friend Draco, who you met last night – endeavored to continue his teachings," she mused, smiling when she thought of Draco's exasperation when trying to teach her anything. "It was hell for him. I'm a know-it-all by nature, and, for the first time since potions class in school, he was better at something than I was, and we got under each other's skin constantly. One day we were in lessons, and he got in my head, and I had just had a fight with my h…" She cleared her throat. "I'd just had a fight with my friend. And I was so angry that I just shoved him right back out of my head…and just kept going. And I realized that most people, when they're trying to get into your head, are so busy attacking that they forget to defend. So I honed this technique until I could perform it flawlessly. And it's served me extremely well over the years." She stared at Conan, looking him right in the eye. "I'm telling you this in confidence, so you can better understand the mind magics." She paused. "If I find that you have repeated this information to anyone other than myself or Draco, I'll be very displeased."
Avery's eye twitched. "I…understand."
"Good," she said quietly; coldly. "If you ever need any clarification on what might happen to you if you do betray my confidence, I'll be happy to remind you of what happened to two of my enemies yesterday morning, in case you've forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten," he replied smoothly. No uneasiness showed in his eyes – only cold reality. "You obviously have no compunctions about killing people. I know this. Most of the other students haven't caught on yet."
Hermione shrugged, scraping at the dirt with her fingers; the feeling of the cool, damp earth underneath her fingernails was comforting, grounding. "Most of them won't catch on. War is an ugly, senseless thing, Avery. It warps people." She looked back up at her unlikely companion. "Do you fear me, Conan?"
Conan shrugged. "Yes, and no."
"How so?"
"Well," he said, looking skyward, "I fear you in the same way I fear Riddle: you're powerful, and you've killed before and have no qualms about using deadly force. However, and correct me if I'm wrong – you don't operate with malicious intent. That's what makes you different. Riddle is driven by power and greed and darkness. You seem to have a great concern for your friend, Mallery, and though I can tell that being popular isn't exactly natural for you, you seem to care for your new friends here, even if you don't really relate to them. So my thought is that as long as I remain on your good side, and don't pose a threat to the people you care about, then I'm safe."
Hermione stood, and offered him her hand. With a split second's hesitation, he took it, and allowed her to help pull him to his feet. "I'm no saint," she said quietly, dabbing at the scrape on his head with the sleeve of her shirt. "But I'm not so far gone that I use people mindlessly for my own gains, with no thought or care to how I might hurt them. You're safe with me, Avery, as long as I can be safe with you. But I don't trust you, despite having shared some things with you, and I probably never fully will – and I definitely don't trust Riddle. If you ever feel like you are caught between a rock and a hard place with the two of us, you must tell me, and you must figure out who's side you want to be on. I won't be angry if it isn't mine. I just like to know."
He squinted at her. "Do you intend to make him your enemy?" he asked. "I do not think that would be wise."
"It's not my intention, no – if I can stay on good terms with Riddle, I will," she said, not entirely honestly. A big part of her still wanted to kill him – and she was seriously considering it, especially since she was in an alternate timeline and didn't have to worry about any sort of complicated paradoxes that might throw her for a loop. Still, she didn't know what the world would look like without Voldemort, and wasn't so sure she wanted to find out.
Better the enemy you know…
"However, I'm not one of his pawns," she continued, narrowing her eyes. "I am not in the habit of being used. I intrigue him now, because he's not used to being challenged by anything or anyone. But I suspect that it'll get old really quickly, and the novelty will wear off, and then things might get a little strained. I'm prepared for any eventuality, Avery. And I understand you've known Tom for six years. You've known me for just over twenty-four hours. I am under no delusions that we're friends, and that, if pressured, you wouldn't stand by him."
Conan cocked his head. "Tom Riddle doesn't own me, Granger. He likes to think he does – and he has…leverage…over me. And I like him. He's powerful, and innovative, and he's someone that could change the wizarding world forever."
"The question is, will he change it for the better?" Hermione asked, beginning to walk back towards the lake. "Blood prejudice might seem like it makes some sense now, but it is insidious and destructive and it leads only to bloodshed. Tell me, Conan, would you like to be in a war?"
Conan shook his head. "I don't think so."
"You don't think so?" she asked with a scoff. "Here," she said, stopping in between two big trees and taking him by the shoulders. He flinched at her touch, but did not pull away. "Let me show you something. Go on – try it again. The same as last time; I'll guide you."
Conan looked slightly reluctant, but pulled out his wand, looked in her eyes, and whispered, "Legilimens." He was instantly transported to one of her more violent memories.
Colors whirl around them, and then go still. Hermione has brought him to the streets of wizarding Kathmandu, and she makes him watch as Evan Rosier, Cassius Warrington and a Chinese Death Eater sympathizer, someone Hermione has come to know as Jin, round the corner, headed straight for her and her team.
Lesley Toddington and Matthew Kettletoft, two Hufflepuffs from the year above her in school, are the first to die. Lesley is hit by the Entrail-Expelling curse, and her midsection is ripped open violently, much of her blood hitting Hermione's face, neck and chest. The girl falls to the ground, screaming in death, and Hermione slips on all the blood while trying to wipe it from her eyes. She is lucky – her slip has kept her from getting blown apart by Warrington's Confringo, which hits Kettletoft, blowing him into a thousand fiery pieces instantaneously. Hermione scrabbles for her wand, hissing as a slicing hex from Jin skims the back of her thigh.
"You missed, you bastard!" she shouts, grabbing a hold of her wand and firing off the first three spells that come to mind – Avada Kedavra, Expulso and Sanguinulcus. The third one finds its mark, and Jin drops to his knees, his wand skittering away from him as his blood begins to heat. She grins in satisfaction as Warrington and Rosier both duck behind a building as she turns her aim to them – Rosier sends an Expulso back, and she blocks it while scrambling to her feet, sending his spell careening into the front of a bookstore, where a group of innocent bystanders stand huddled together, terrified. They scream and duck as the front door explodes.
Suddenly Cho Chang and Terrence Higgs are there at her side and she senses Draco's magical aura nearby as well, and Rosier and Warrington are vanishing with a crack as more of her people arrive. Jin lies writhing on the ground, in the throes of a very painful death. His skin is flushed bright purplish-red, and he is screaming the scream of the tortured. She ignores him, and turns her attention to Lesley, who is still alive.
The girl's breath is shallow and unsteady, and when Hermione crouches down and lifts her wand to try to heal her as best she can, Lesley reaches up and puts a hand on her wrist.
"Don't, Hermione," she croaks, blood dribbling past her lips. "Just let me go."
Hermione holds Lesley's hand as the dying girl stares up at the bright sunny sky and the light fades from her green eyes. She draws her last breath, and goes still.
Hermione feels Terrence pull her up from where she has been kneeling in the blood and entrails of her friend. "Come on, Granger," he says, his voice as quiet and steady as always. "We need to get out of here. They'll be back with reinforcements."
Hermione sighs, and they turn on the spot, apparating away back to their camp outside the city.
Conan pulled out of her mind and stumbled backwards, wincing as he hit a tree. He was breathing heavily.
"Good job," Hermione said with a tight smile. "That was well executed. Did you enjoy the memory?"
Conan's eyes narrowed. "Is that a trick question?"
"Not at all, Conan," she said, cracking her knuckles. "I'm simply trying to get you to understand what being in a war means." She cocks her head. "I know you don't necessarily buy into all the blood mania, and that you follow Tom because you admire him and he has something to hold over your head, but that is what your future will look like in a few years if Tom has his way. Could you point your wand at a muggleborn first-year and strike them down in cold blood?"
Conan peered at her curiously. "I could, but I don't want to. Seems senseless. Tom wouldn't do anything like that."
She gave him a disparaging smile. "Perhaps not. But things have a way of escalating very quickly, and soon enough it is out of your hands. Tell me, would your friend Dolohov hesitate to kill a muggleborn first year? Don't lie," she added, her voice turning harsh.
Avery swallowed. "No, he wouldn't."
"And Rosier?"
Conan shook his head, looking somewhat dejected. "Probably not."
"Tom is a charismatic, powerful man," she said quietly. "Soon enough, if he has his way, he'll gather more followers to him and begin to do Merlin knows what with wizarding society." She tucked her hand into the crook of Conan's elbow, forcing him into the role of escort as they resumed their journey back up to the school. "A leader is often bound by his supporters' whims. Tom might run the show, but he'll need to keep his followers happy. Besides, it doesn't matter how charismatic someone is – there is no such thing as peaceful apartheid. Eventually the oppressed get tired of being oppressed, and rise up. And beating them back down usually requires the use of violence. That's how a war gets really ugly. So perhaps Tom wishes for a nice segregated society where wizardkind rules, and the purebloods are at the top of the ladder. But even if he succeeds in making it that way by peaceful means, it won't stay that way, and he'll have to break the peace to keep his fragile system in place."
"Are you ever going to tell me how you know so much about Tom Riddle?" Avery asked wearily.
She shrugged. "I listen to and observe the people around me very, very carefully," she answered. "I've spent a lifetime immersed in conflict, most of it revolving around prejudice and politics. Compared to the complexities of the Chinese wizarding world, Hogwarts is like an open book." She paused and leaned down to pull her sock up in the back where it had ridden down. She hated these old fashioned tennis shoes. "Besides, my survival for the past several years has hinged upon me being able to make snap judgments. And my gut rarely leads me wrong. I might not have the whole story with Riddle, but it's not that hard to figure out the bulk of it."
Avery was silent, simply walked arm in arm with her up to the school. When they arrived, most students were still in bed. It was a Saturday, after all, and just after eight. The Fat Friar nodded at them as he floated past, and Professor Burke looked at them with an inscrutable expression as he stalked down the hallway towards Great Hall.
"Join me for breakfast?" Hermione asked, patting Avery on the arm.
He shrugged. "I've never sat with someone from a different house before. Gryffindor table or Slytherin?"
She grinned. "Your classmates are far less forgiving than mine, so I don't want to put you in a situation where they might torture you mercilessly for sitting at the lions' table."
Conan smirked. "Slytherin it is then. Which is probably where you should have ended up in the first place – but I suppose the sorting hat knows what it's doing better than me."
Hermione let go of his arm to flounce down the steps, going to sit at the end of the Slytherin table closest to the doors. There weren't many students in the hall yet, but those that did populate the tables stared at her in disbelief.
Conan sat down across from her. "Am I going to become a celebrity now simply because I've been seen associating with you?" he asked with a smirk. Hermione supposed it was as close to being teased by him she might ever get.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."
"He's right, you know," a sleepy voice said from behind her. She turned. Thoros Nott swung his leg over the bench and plopped down next to her. He was dressed for the day in slacks and a forest green sweater that made his blue-green eyes seem especially penetrating. His robes were charcoal grey to match his pants, and he left them hanging open casually. He was the picture of stylish elegance, and Hermione hated him just a little for being so put together. She remembered Theodore's father from her time. He was a prejudiced, bitter old man that was horrible to his only son. Not at all like the pleasant, handsome fellow that was currently sitting next to her, buttering his toast and smelling like vetiver.
"Right about what?" she asked, scowling.
"You're a bit famous now, you know?" Nott said, looking at her sideways. "The arrival of you and your friend is the most interesting thing that's happened here at Hogwarts in two years. People are bored. You're a break in the routine. There's even talk at the Ministry about you two."
Hermione groaned and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. "I just want to live in peace," she moaned.
"Yes, but peace is so boring," came a voice from across the table. Rosier sat next to Avery, slinging a meaty arm around the slimmer boy's shoulders. Avery quickly threw it off, his eyes glinting coolly. His dislike for his older housemate was palpable, which was odd, considering how little emotion Conan ever showed, whether positive or negative.
"Spoken like someone who's never been at the wrong end of someone else's wand," she sneered, curling her lip in disdain. "Has it been nice, tucked away in your little castle, safe and sound and able to sleep in a nice soft bed at night, Rosier? Don't talk to me about boring," she continued, scowling darkly down at her eggs. "Boredom is delightful. Totally underrated."
Rosier stared at her sullenly, but did not respond. Nott piped up in his place. "You have a valid point, Granger…but don't tell me you don't miss the action at all."
Hermione shrugged. "Sure. Fine. I'm a bit of an adrenaline whore," she said, and smirked internally as the three boys all flinched at her "unladylike" language. "Only because I'm used to it. But I don't miss being at war. I miss Christmas, and actual meals, and bathing regularly. These are things that are worth missing, that I can finally settle back into now that I'm here. I miss my friends and family that have died. But I don't miss being tortured under the Cruciatus, and I don't miss throwing the killing curse around like candy, and I don't miss watching my friends explode into little tiny pieces which I then have to clean out of my hair at the end of the day."
Her nostrils flared as they all stared at her with varying expressions, ranging from unease (Nott) to bland interest (Avery) to thinly veiled disgust and irritation (Rosier).
She deflated. "Sorry," she mumbled, stabbing a piece of sausage with her fork meanly. "I'm still feeling a bit high strung from yesterday morning. I apologize for my…affect."
Nott cleared his throat. "That's…all right. Perhaps we deserved to have some of our own ignorance thrust back at us."
"Wise words, Thoros. Perhaps you'll all be less careless about what you say from now on – and whom you say it around."
Hermione had to bodily force herself not to freeze in her seat as Tom Riddle came and sat down on her other side. She brought the mutilated piece of sausage up to her mouth and ate it, swallowing and dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. "Good morning, Tom," she said cheerily. "Sleep well?"
He hummed. "Very. And yourself?" God. His voice was like…wine, and chocolate, and silk and honey and poison.
She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling hot as she realized that the outside of his right thigh was within an inch of her left one. "Like a baby," she replied lightly.
Edmond Lestrange sat across from Tom and wrinkled his nose. "You know, my sister-in-law just had her first child three months ago – a son, Rodolphus. Babies don't always sleep all that well. They wake up at the most inopportune times and hardly ever sleep through the night."
Hermione's lips quirked, even as her hand twitched at hearing Rodolphus' name. "Hence why I used the analogy as a descriptor for my own nightly experience, Lestrange."
"Oh." Edmond flushed. "Er, makes sense, then."
She felt rather than heard Tom's deprecating chuckle. "Well done, Edmond."
The slight brunette scowled. To put him at ease, she sent him a subtle wink from across the table. She was trying to infiltrate the Knights of Walpurgis, wasn't she? Get some of them on her side, cultivate them as allies? She'd started with Avery – Edmond and Nott were next, and then maybe Mulciber.
She'd leave Rosier and Dolohov right where they were. She didn't want to touch either of them with a ten-foot pole.
"So, Hogsmeade," she said conversationally. "Is it every Saturday that we're allowed to go?"
"Only if you have signed permission from parents," Tom said, his eyes flashing in annoyance. It reminded her that only last year did the school start allowing him to go to Hogsmeade because of his prefect status.
She hummed. "And what about those of us that don't have parents?" she asked.
His eyebrow rose. "They don't get to go. Of course, you and Mallery might be an exception, because of your…unusual circumstances," he answered. "You'll have to ask Professor Dumbledore. As the Deputy Headmaster, he's in charge of Hogsmeade trips."
"What happened to your parents?" Rosier asked abruptly, chewing a mouthful of eggs.
She cocked her head to the side, staring at him, feeling the anger swell in her heart. "They were murdered," she said coldly, feeling her blood heat and pound through her veins. "I'd really prefer not to talk about it."
Rosier just stared at her, unfazed. "Are you a Mudblood then? Granger isn't a wizarding name."
She grinned humorlessly. "A half-blood," she answered. "My father was one of those filthy muggles you blood purists seem to hate so much. As for my name…" She shrugged. "I'm aware there aren't many people in the school that are muggleborn or that have muggle names, but surely I'm not the only one, am I?" She turned to Tom. "What do you think, Riddle?"
She saw the ferocious anger burn in his eyes, and she smirked cruelly.
"You're right, of course," he said silkily, his voice low and dangerous. "There are a handful of people here that are in possession of muggle surnames. It's…unfortunate, but forgivable."
"Unless you're a Mudblood," Rosier blurted out.
Tom jerked his head imperceptibly to the side, looking at Rosier with narrowed eyes. "Come now, Gavin. Let's not be so crude in front of our guest." He smiled tightly at Hermione, his eyes looking especially black when they were shielded from the streaming morning sunlight that came through the windows at his back. "It's apparent that she doesn't hold to certain beliefs, and that is to be respected."
Hermione snorted. "Sorry to disappoint, but I just don't think eradication of billions of people is a good solution for much of anything, dirty blood or not."
"Who said anything about eradication?" Tom said, frowning.
Hermione cocked her head. "Sorry, perhaps I've just become cynical over time. I've spent the last few years of my life watching people get killed because of their blood status, or lack thereof, and it gets a bit old, if I'm being honest." She turned and met Rosier's mean blue eyes. "Ignorance and bigotry are two things that I find nearly intolerable." She stood from her seat and cracked her knuckles. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an appointment." She looked at Conan and winked. "Tomorrow morning then, Conan?"
He bowed his head in acquiescence. "I'll be there."
She smiled at him, and fixed the rest of them with a cool smirk. "You all have a good day in Hogsmeade. Give my regards to Dolohov and Mulciber, when they join you." She fixed Tom with a shark-like grin, feeling grim satisfaction as the skin around his eyes tightened. "Especially Mulciber."
She smiled to herself as she turned and walked off, ignoring the many sets of eyes that followed her. When she reached the foyer and turned left to follow the first floor corridor, she paused as she heard footsteps come up behind her.
She was not expecting the forcefulness behind Tom's grip as he grabbed her by the forearm and swung her around to face him. She inhaled sharply as his short fingernails dug into the tender skin of her arm where she'd rolled her sleeves up to eat. She glared up into his face. His eyes were full of cold, terrifying fury.
"What do you know about my parentage?" he demanded harshly, pulling her into a shadowy alcove.
She stared, her rage mounting. "Unhand me," she said, her voice tightly controlled. "Now."
The tone of her voice must have resonated with him, and, with brief hesitation, he released his grip on her arm. He still stood close. Far too close for comfort. He smelled like…black pepper and sandalwood, and his breath was hot on her face and smelled like the bergamot from his Earl Grey tea.
"Tell me what you know."
She laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back a step. He moved back from her, albeit reluctantly. "I know that Riddle isn't a wizarding name," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his. She watched him closely, her heart thudding in her chest. It was not fear – it was excitement.
She had not been kidding about being something of an adrenaline junkie. She did not miss war, but she missed the rush of action.
"And?" he said tightly, his eyes narrowed.
"And like I said yesterday, you should be really careful with that glass house of yours, Tom," she replied, cocking her head. "I'm not going to out you in front of your peers – though I'm sure the smarter ones of the bunch realize that you're a half-blood and just willfully ignore it. They can recognize power when they see it, and if you've already let them in on the little secret of your mother's heritage…"
He slammed her against the wall by her shoulders, and she grunted in pain and shock before throwing her head back against the wall and laughing.
"Dumbledore told you," he said, his eyes narrowed.
His hands were delightfully large and long-fingered, and they were warm and firm against her shoulders. She grabbed his wrists, and Fawkes' magic flared to life with her anger, making her hands glow red-orange and burning Tom's pale skin. He hissed in pain and pulled back from her, rubbing his wrists.
"Dumbledore doesn't trust me," she said incredulously, feeling her hair crackle with her magic. "And the feeling is quite mutual, I can assure you. I know things because I pay attention, Riddle, and you wouldn't believe the sorts of things you can find out when you pay attention. As I said yesterday, I'm not going to go around spouting your secrets. I have no reason to. However, I don't appreciate your little goons making nasty comments about my heritage just because they were unfortunate enough to be born from inbreeding and raised by delusional families who think that blood actually matters," she scoffed. "I doubt you would appreciate it if you were on the receiving end of their narrow-mindedness, either. I mean honestly, Tom, how do you stand it?" she asked, throwing her hands up in the air in genuine exasperation; genuine, because this man, however hateful, was too fucking smart for this shit. "The utter stupidity of it?"
Tom's jaw clenched tightly, and he was still rubbing at his wrists, glaring at her. "The utter stupidity of what?"
"Come now, Tom," she said with a cool smile, "you're much too brilliant to truly hold on to the ideal that excessive, fanatical inbreeding alone intrinsically begets power. I mean, look at me," she continued, gesturing to herself. "My father was a muggle, albeit a brilliant one, my mother a painfully average witch, and yet I can intellectually outwit and magically out-perform most everybody in this school, with a handful of exceptions. Then look at the Gaunt family. If your mother had ended up fancying her brother instead of the local muggle lord with the pretty face, and they'd had a child together, you wouldn't be as you are now. You'd be little more than a squib, physically misshapen and magically unimpressive, and you know it. Being a pureblood means little more than being an inbred, bigoted, magically impotent excuse for a wizard. I'm glad I'm not one. I'm glad you aren't either, because you'd be so much less interesting."
"You know nothing about anything," he hissed, bringing his face down to hover over hers. "Don't talk like you know anything about me."
"I know all sorts of things about you, Tom Riddle," she said, her tone one of dark promise. Oh, the things she could do to ruin his life. If only he knew. "I won't get into them now, because like I said earlier, I have an appointment. I would encourage you to try to get your little minions to be a bit more restrained in their conversation, lest they end up making fools out of themselves again; and I rather think you should try to avoid the subject, considering that you might want to keep their noses out of your family business, hm?"
She reached up and patted his shoulder, smirking mischievously. His fists were clenched down by his sides, and he looked at her through a thick film of black hatred. Red sparked in his eyes, gone in a flash.
"And Tom?" she said softly as she pulled her hand back and stepped away from him.
"Yes, Hermione?" he asked, glaring at her.
She ran her fingers over the quickly bruising skin of her forearm. "If you ever manhandle me like that again without my permission, I will flay the skin from your bones." She wiped her hot, sweaty palms against her pants and smiled at him. "Have a good day."
She ducked out of the alcove they'd ended up in, rounded the corner, ducked underneath a tapestry that hid a secret passageway, cast a spell that rendered the heavy fabric see-through from her side, and watched in satisfaction as Riddle strode around the corner and stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowed when he couldn't spot her.
"I know you're here, Hermione," he said through gritted teeth. "We will continue this conversation later." He paused, and his voice quieted. "And I would be very careful about whose toes you care to tread upon, little lioness. Very careful."
Hermione felt a cold shiver of both fear and anticipation travel down her spine. He turned on his heel and strolled away, whistling an eerie tune. She watched as his long, lean form disappeared around the corner from which they came, no doubt going back to finish his breakfast. She shuddered. Bastard.
She held the cards, though. She had the upper hand, for the moment at least. How long that would last, she didn't know, but for now, if gave her some comfort. She could ruin Tom Riddle at any time. She could kill him and destroy his horcruxes.
So why hadn't she already? What was holding her back? He deserved to die.
Sighing, she retrieved her bag from the inside of her bra and enlarged it, and then pulled out the invisibility cloak. Swinging it around her shoulders, she stepped out from behind the tapestry and immediately set off for Dumbledore's office.
oooo
Dumbledore's office door was wide open, and she divested herself of her cloak and stuffed it back in the bag before entering. Dumbledore turned at the sound.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, grimacing. She rubbed at the quickly forming hand-shaped bruise on her forearm; with little crescent moon nail indents to match. "I got…sidetracked."
He smiled at her. "No worries. We still have plenty of time."
"So where are we going?" she asked him.
He looked thoughtful. "Well, I suppose we'll have to leave campus for something like this. I don't want to risk anyone seeing, and I don't want to damage anything."
"How about the Room of Requirement?"
Dumbledore looked at her. "You know about the Come-and-Go Room?"
She grinned at him. "Like I've said before, Albus, there isn't a whole lot I don't know."
He shook his head and sighed. "I hope that doesn't come back to bite you. Or me, for that matter."
She bowed her head, feeling properly chastised. "Me too."
"Shall we?" he suggested. She nodded, and they set off for the seventh floor with quick strides. Remarkably, they only passed two students and Apollyon Pringle, the caretaker, a tall string-bean of a man with greasy black hair tied back into a ponytail who looked rather like Snape and Filch had managed to have a child together. He sneered at her and nodded respectfully at Dumbledore as he passed them in the halls.
Soon enough, they were at the little used part of the seventh floor, and she strode back and forth three times, watching with fondness as the familiar door appeared. She smiled, her heart fluttering with the ache of nostalgia.
Dumbledore observed her – ever watchful, with those suspicious, twinkling blue eyes – and followed her in when she opened the door. "I've only had the privilege of accessing the Room of Requirement one time, two years ago," Dumbledore murmured. "I desperately needed a lavatory, and imagine my surprise when one just appeared beside me. After I left, though, I could never figure out how to get it back."
"A friend of mine learned about it from a house-elf that we knew rather well," she said. "The Room is a fickle thing. It's always worked for me, but I've known it to refuse people before. Plus, you have to ask it in the right way, by walking back and forth three times and asking for what you want."
"Curious," Dumbledore replied.
"You know, it just occurred to me," Hermione said conversationally, looking around in awe. They were in an outdoor stadium of some sort. The Room had really outdone itself this time. "You could be bringing me in here to kill me. No one would ever find my body."
Dumbledore looked at her and chuckled. "I was thinking the exact same thing regarding you, my dear Hermione," he said, peering at her curiously from over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "It saddens me that we cannot trust each other. Speaking of trust," he continued, stepping forward into the grassy arena and looking around in wonder, "you lied to me under veritaserum."
Hermione shrugged. "I didn't think it would be wise to reveal Malfoy's true familial name. I'm still not sure I like you knowing. But that was still when I wasn't sure how my actions here would affect the future that I came from. Now that I know that the future I came from is on a completely different dimension, I don't have the same worries."
"Still, not many people can lie under veritaserum and get away with it," he said, sitting down in a chair the Room had just provided for him. Hermione felt one pop up behind her, too, and sat, mirroring him.
"Most of us learned," Hermione said, shrugging. "You could never know if you might be captured, and it was too dangerous to have everything fall apart because of a potion. We developed the skill. It's basically just Occlumency."
The professor nodded. "Wise," he said, his voice serious. "Were you lying about anything else?"
Hermione frowned. "You asked me if I wished to harm anyone in Hogwarts." She looked up to the sky, watching as a wispy cloud floated past. "I'm still trying to decide if I want to kill Tom Riddle or not."
"What's stopping you?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward in his chair. "I don't condone murder as a cause of action, mind you, but I am curious."
Hermione slumped. Under his penetrating stare she felt like a child again. "He's…gotten under my skin. And it isn't fair to kill someone for something that an alternate timeline version of himself did. That seems a bit…backwards. Besides, if this truly is a parallel dimension, then this Tom Riddle could be different than the one I knew in my world. Something as small as a single synapse in the brain that could be connected where it wasn't before. I can't kill him knowing that he might turn out to be relatively harmless, or even important to the future of the wizarding world in a positive way."
"Do you think that this version of Tom Riddle is harmless?" Albus asked, cocking his head to the side.
She scoffed, a smile tugging at her lips, thinking of his two horcruxes and the way he'd loomed over her threateningly just a few minutes ago. "I know he's not. Still. Hypothetically."
Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head. "I will pretend to remain disinterested because you asked me to stay out of your way, but just know that I am seething inside, Hermione. Please, tread carefully with Tom. You may know him fairly well in 2002, but I know him pretty well right now. He is not someone to be trifled with. I am also worried that his eyes have started to seek you out when he enters a room, and that is concerning for a whole host of reasons. I fear he is trying to add you to his collection."
"Much like you are trying to collect me, Albus?" she asked quietly. He did not respond. "Don't worry. I'm muggleborn, remember?" she said, her voice heavy with realism. "My heritage is quite literally carved into the skin of my arm. Just because it's been charmed not to be noticed doesn't mean that I don't still know it's there. I can feel it," she said, rubbing at the raised scar on the inside of her arm. "I will never forget where I come from, Professor, and being part of a group that literally despises my kind isn't high up on my to-do list, all right? I am going to try to tear up their little gang a bit, yes, and I might be forced to spend more time with them than I would care too – but I will never be one of them. My blood won't allow it, and neither will Draco."
He bowed his head in acquiescence. "Very well. I'll drop the subject – for now, at least. Shall we get started?"
She cleared her throat. "Sure. I'm a bit nervous. What exactly are you going to have me doing?"
"As you know, phoenixes have many powers," he said. "Can you name them?"
Hermione immediately settled into her eager student mind, pleased to be able to answer a question. "They can bear extremely heavy loads in flight, able to carry several grown men if needed. Their tears have extraordinary healing powers – although they are not given freely, only to those who the phoenix itself genuinely cares for. It's why they aren't used in potions, as phoenixes only shed tears in dire situations for those that are important to them." She tucked a piece of loose hair back into her ponytail. "They have magical song, known to give courage to those pure of heart and strike fear into evildoers. They occasionally cough up 'phoenix flint', which when worn are said to bring warmth to those in cold, high places. Their feathers are extraordinarily powerful, of course, particularly the tail feathers, being used in wands. They can vanish and reappear at will, bypassing most wards like house-elves can, though no one knows exactly how far they can travel in this manner, as very few people have ever been privy to it."
"I think it's safe to say they can travel however far they'd like, Hermione," Dumbledore said, amused. "Think to your current situation."
Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead, feeling ridiculous. "Of course. Silly me."
"What else?" he asked.
"They are immune to the stare of the basilisk," she said uncomfortably, looking for any signs that Dumbledore might suspect that there was one such creature lurking in the bowels of the school. He did not even twitch. Of course, for all of his brilliance, he had not thought of the possibility of a basilisk until the bare-bones truth had been thrust quite literally under his nose in the form of a venom-stained diary. She had been the one to figure out what manner of creature resided in the Chamber of Secrets. "They can be hit with the killing curse and survive, and, of course, most notably, they catch fire and then rise anew from the ashes, which allows them to live for hundreds of years."
"Thousands!" Dumbledore corrected, looking eager. "Thousands of years, Miss Granger. Do you know how to tell a phoenix's age?"
She shook her head.
"The blue feathers on the underside of their tails, hidden unless they are in flight – every one feather represents a hundred burning days," he said excitedly, leaning forward in his chair. "Do you know how often a phoenix dies and is reborn?"
"Every three years?" she ventured, unsure. "Unless hit with the killing curse."
"Correct, Hermione," he said, pleased. "Do you know how many blue tail feathers Fawkes possesses?"
Hermione shook her head. "Please, tell me."
His eyes twinkled. "Four."
"Four!" she exclaimed animatedly. "That puts him at over twelve hundred years old! That's incredible!"
Dumbledore nodded his head in agreement. "Yes. Fawkes is one of the oldest living creatures on the planet, perhaps only outdone by other members of his kin."
Hermione scowled. "Don't forget about the kraken," she said darkly, feeling her left eyelid twitch as it always did when she thought of particularly terrifying memories. Hermione was not afraid of much anymore, but damn if the fucking kraken hadn't struck the deepest, most septic sort of fear into her heart.
Dumbledore stared at her. "The kraken? I beg your pardon?"
Hermione crossed her arms and jiggled her leg. "Oh yes. It's very much alive, and very, very large. I wouldn't recommend diving off the coast of Iceland."
"You must be pulling my leg," Albus said, looking bemused.
Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm not at all kidding. Draco's lucky he didn't scar. That thing got a tentacle around him, and I thought for sure I'd lost him. It was awful. One of the scariest experiences of my life. But we didn't lose anyone that day, so I don't count it among my worst memories."
"Fascinating," he said softly, staring at her. "What did it look like?"
"Like you might expect," she said, shrugging. "Over a hundred feet long; twelve tentacles, not eight; rows of razor sharp teeth; four eyes, two on each side of the head. A nasty blackish-brown color, and slimy." She let out a shaky breath. "It's been around in legend for hundreds of years, and the thing was positively prehistoric. There's no way that it hasn't been around since the dinosaurs."
"I feel like I must report this to someone," the older wizard breathed. "It needs to be researched."
"I understand that feeling, Albus, I really do," Hermione said, grimacing. "You'd be hard-pressed to find a more avid academic. However, I strongly recommend leaving that thing right where it is. I disturbed its rest quite by accident, and I can imagine how pissed it might be if someone were to actually go looking for it. Our wands had limited effect. Eventually we were able to get to a point where we could apparate away, but the boat went down. Also, who knows if it's there now, in this time? It could be vacationing in Bermuda."
Albus looked rather crestfallen. "Very funny, Miss Granger."
She grinned and held her hands out in supplication. "You are more than welcome to drop a hint to someone, if you feel so inclined. However, if it were someone you would rather live to a ripe old age, then I would tell them to proceed knowing that they will probably die a terrible death. If Draco and I, and our friend Neville, didn't have the instincts we had – if we were just average wizards without a care in the world – we never would have made it. However, we were just quick enough to be able to escape, and we were damned lucky at that."
He sighed and pulled off his glasses to polish them with the sleeve of his robes – lurid yellow, today, much to her eyes' displeasure. "I will…keep such knowledge to myself. For now. I make no promises."
Hermione smiled. "Best not to make promises you aren't sure you can keep," she said teasingly. "Now, shall we return to the task at hand? I apologize for distracting you."
Dumbledore scoffed. "Sometimes, dear girl, distractions are worth the interruption they cause. A kraken! Who would have thought?" He cleared his throat. "But let us return to business. We were discussing phoenixes, and their regenerative properties."
"Professor," she said, stroking the back of her burned hand through the gauze, forcing herself to take the pain, "if phoenixes can survive the killing curse and still regenerate and be born again, does that apply for all deaths? Say one was to hit an airplane. You know, one of those bombers used in the muggle war. If one died that way, or was hit with like a Confringo or something – would the effect be the same? Would it burst into flame only to return whole again, or would it actually die for good?"
Dumbledore twirled the end of his beard around his hand, reaching forward with the other one and lifting her left hand from where it irritated the damaged skin of her right. She let him place it gently down on the arm of the chair where it could do no more harm, and felt fondness in her heart for the frustratingly enigmatic, manipulative yet kind-hearted man she'd grown up admiring.
"That is a question I'm afraid I don't know the answer to, Hermione," he replied, looking far more serious than he had a moment ago. "I've never heard of any such cases. Phoenixes are so rarely domesticated, that I'm afraid the only exposure I've ever really had to them is through Fawkes and what little literature I can find on them."
"How did you find out about how old they get?" Hermione asked curiously.
"A vampire friend of mine has studied phoenixes in her spare time for very many years. She's catalogued such things. She just celebrated his 407th birthday," he answered, clucking his tongue in amazement. "Quite impressive, really."
"Who better to do a long-term study than someone who doesn't age?" Hermione asked, shrugging. "Convenient. So, where should we start?"
"First, I should like to just test out the song theory, if you don't mind," he said.
Hermione glared at him. "I don't sing, professor. I can hum, if you like, and maybe whistle, but I don't sing. I have few musical talents, if you can even call them that to begin with. I can't even play a recorder."
"Just humor me this one time, Hermione," he encouraged. "I promise you I won't laugh if it's as dreadful as you say."
She flushed and fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt. All – all right. Okay." She took a deep breath.
"Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you
"Why do stars fall down fr –"
"All right, all right, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, wincing and holding his hands up. "I think it's safe to say that Fawkes did not change that particular scope of your abilities. You have a lovely speaking voice, but that is, I should say, where it ends. Shall we move on?"
Hermione slumped in defeat, still flushed in embarrassment. "Yes, please."
"Now, you said earlier that you sometimes feel physically hot," Dumbledore continued. "Have you noticed a particular affinity for fire magic?"
Hermione shrugged. "I've always been good with fire. My first wandless, nonverbal spell was – well, I'll show you." She lifted her right hand and rotated her wrist, ignoring the pain from her burnt skin. Three bluebell flames sprung to life around her chair, and she smiled. "I used to put one of these in a jar and use it to study under the covers of my four-poster here at school," she said wistfully. "My husband liked them best."
Dumbledore stiffened in his chair, and Hermione realized her slip of the tongue too late.
"I didn't realize you had been married, Hermione," Dumbledore said, looking sad. Sad, because he likely could guess Ron's fate.
"I…" She swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest and her face flushed. "I haven't told anyone here about it. Please don't – please don't say anything."
He held up a hand to stop her. "I will never tell another soul something that you say to me in confidence, Hermione." He paused. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Hermione shook her head, her throat tight. "No. No. I didn't mean to mention it. I'm usually more careful. I…don't like to talk about him. Not usually."
"I understand." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Are you still feeling up to continuing this session, or would you rather us stop for today and continue tomorrow?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, tomorrow would be good, if that's all right. I'd like to see Draco, and then I have some shopping to get done in Hogsmeade."
"Ah," he said, clapping his hands. "You are going to Slughorn's party on Thursday night, I take it?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, I'd almost forgotten – and I confess I need a gown. These things are typically formal in this time, yes?"
"Yes. This is the first Slug Club event of the year, so it will be black tie. There will be visitors from outside the school," he said, "and I would encourage you to make some contacts, if you can."
Hermione nodded. "All right," she said, her voice feeling hoarse. God, she hated it when she was derailed because of Ron's memory. It made her feel like she'd been hit by the Knight Bus.
"Also, I have gotten permission for you and Draco to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow afternoon to purchase him a new wand. I'm well aware that, despite his lack of consciousness most of the time, he is quite anxious to be able to use his magic again."
She smiled at him. "Oh, Professor, Draco can do quite a bit of magic without a wand. He is far from helpless. However, I can understand his impatience. I'm grateful that you thought of it – I'd forgotten, to be honest."
"You can use the floo in the Headmaster's office to get to the Leaky Cauldron," Dumbledore said, standing from his chair. "I suspect that apparition might not be so kind to Mister Malf – excuse me, Mister Mallery's, body. But I'd like to meet with you again tomorrow morning, same time, to continue our session. Is that agreeable?"
"Very much so," Hermione said, feeling humbled by the attention. "Thank you, Albus."
He chuckled. "Go get yourself a dress, Hermione. If Mister Mallery is awake, perhaps you can convince Madam Soranus to let him accompany you to the village."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's dreadful to shop with, but I admit I have a hard time doing it without him. He's certainly not afraid to tell me what he thinks, and he has impeccable taste of course, being a Malfoy and all – you should have met his mother. What a piece of work."
"I imagine I will meet his mother, Miss Granger, in about twenty years," he said, his eyes sparkling with a shared secret humor. "Go on," he said, ushering her out the door of the Room of Requirement and into the hallway outside. "You have much work to do. And remember, if you don't find a dress today, you can always step out of Ollivander's for a moment tomorrow afternoon and peruse Diagon Alley. I won't tell if you won't."
Hermione smiled. "Good day, Professor."
"Good day, Hermione. Enjoy your time in Hogsmeade," he replied, parting with her at the stairs when she made to go back to her dorm to bathe and change. He gave her one last wink, and then with a flourish of garish yellow robes he was gone. Hermione chuckled to herself. Even with all of his faults, she did love her old headmaster.
Sighing, she approached the Gryffindor common room, looking forward to the prospect of bathing. She had some shopping to do.
oooo
An hour later, she was standing on a raised platform in the middle of a formalwear store that boasted a wide variety of both men's and women's dress robes. She scowled at Draco, who sat peacefully in a wheelchair wearing a shit-eating grin. He knew how much she hated shopping.
She'd finally chosen a dress, a Gryffindor red, floor length number with three-quarter sleeves, a boat neck and an open back. It was simple but elegant, and flattered her thin frame. The elderly witch who was currently altering the gown to fit her had not once commented on the array of scars that the dress failed to cover, and Hermione was grateful for her restraint. She was getting a bit tired of people continuing to point them out.
The door chime rung out, and Hermione turned to look at the newcomer. It was Raven Flynn.
"Hello Granger," the girl said with a nod. "Shopping for Slughorn's party?"
Hermione made a face. "Yes. You?"
Raven grinned. "Fortunately today I'm just picking up a dress I ordered last week. I'm not a huge fan of shopping, but I would be crucified by the other girls of high society if I were seen wearing robes I'd worn last year. You know how it is," she finished, rolling her eyes.
Hermione chuckled, holding her dress up on one side as the old shopkeeper went to the back to grab Raven's gown. It was black. "I do indeed. Raven, have you met Draco?"
The dark-haired girl looked over to where Draco sat in his chair. He stood – a little shakily, but he managed – and took her hand to shake it. "Hello."
The Slytherin smiled at him. "Nice to meet you, Draco. How are you feeling today?"
He shrugged, and sat back down heavily. "Well enough to be out and about, but a bit tired. It's an improvement from yesterday. Hopefully in the next few days I'll continue to build up some strength."
"I hope you do," Raven said. "You won't want to miss Slughorn's party. I've no doubt that old Sluggy will issue an invitation to you come Monday. You and Hermione here have become the talk of the town, so to speak."
Draco leaned his head back against the wheelchair. "Delightful." His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Raven laughed. "It can be fun," she said shrugging. "There are all sorts of interesting people from outside of school that show up for the first party of the year." She turned to Hermione. "Would the two of you like to join me for a butterbeer down at the Three Broomsticks after you're finished here?"
Hermione nodded. "Of course. We'd love the company."
"I'll meet you there at one o'clock?" she said, handing the shopkeeper a handful of galleons in exchange for the dress. "I've got one more errand to run, and then I'll go grab a seat at the Three Broomsticks while you finish up here."
"Sounds good, we'll see you in a few minutes," Hermione returned.
Raven wiggled her fingers at them and swept elegantly out of the store.
"Pretty," Draco muttered, following her departing form through the window as she walked briskly down the street. "She's the partner in Potions you told me about?"
Hermione nodded in confirmation, when something drew her eye out the window and across the street.
Tom Riddle had seen her through the window, and was staring at her with narrowed eyes. He wore a pitch-black jacket and an equally black cloak, and with his black hair and pale skin and dark eyes he looked like some sort of dark angel – or an angelic demon. She hated herself for the way her heartbeat doubled, and Fawkes' odd interest in the diabolical Head Boy swelled within her chest, warming her.
She lifted her hand and waved at him teasingly, smirking. He scowled, and then continued on his way, glancing back in her direction one more time before rounding a corner and disappearing from her sight.
Draco watched their brief interaction and grimaced. He waited until the seamstress went into the back room for a moment before he spoke. "I don't like it, Hermione. This…weird camaraderie between you two. Please be careful."
Hermione shrugged. She'd put a glamour charm on her bruised arm so that Draco wouldn't see it and do something drastic; she ran her hand over the spot where a purplish-blue handprint had started to darken. "I will be careful."
"You're reckless," Draco murmured, looking at her with his entrancing mercurial eyes. "You didn't used to be. Ever since Ro –"
"Don't finished that sentence, Draco," she said heatedly. "Just drop the subject."
Draco sighed. "Fine. I'll drop it for today, but we will talk about this sooner rather than later, Hermione." He looked at the spot where Tom had disappeared. "I know your plan to try to alter the future, but I fear you are about to get sucked into something that you won't be able to get out of."
Hermione did not respond, merely went to the back of the store and shucked the dress, putting her normal clothes back on. When she came back out, she paid the elderly woman for the dress and told her she'd be back to pick it up before she went back up to the castle for the evening. The quiet woman merely nodded and banished it to the storeroom.
Hermione took Draco's wheelchair by the handles and they exited the store and turned towards the Three Broomsticks. Neither spoke another word about Tom Riddle for the rest of the day.
But he still weighed heavy in her mind; much like an unwanted shadow prowling around the edges of her psyche, a sinister, lurking presence that promised nothing but assured misery and dark, illicit thrills.
Still, she was not afraid.
oooo
I really couldn't resist interjecting the kraken in there somewhere. Stupid and random, I know, but I won't apologize for it.
A snippet from the next chapter:
She looked up to Tom. "Thanks for being the bait," she teased, grinning. The white shine of her teeth and the appearance of the dimple on her cheek and the flash of her bright eyes were like a sucker punch to the gut.
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Giraffe :)