Author's Note:
In case anyone is wondering, I would like to point out that I laid the Hogwarts' House tables for meals and other related business in the following order: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin.
Why? Well, obviously, the Gryffindors and Slytherins are going to anchor both ends, as the more distance between them, the better. Placing Ravenclaw and Slytherin next to each other when the academically ambitious kids are mostly split between those two Houses? Not a good idea. Gryffindor is certainly more laid-back academically compared to the previous two, so putting Ravenclaw and Gryffindor side-by-side is pretty safe as they don't have that as many points of contention. All that remains now is Hufflepuff. Ever the peacekeeper, their spot is now to buffer Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
'-
14 Lunchtime Socialisations and Advanced Potions
An insight to the pureblood perspective. The Slytherins socialise and we meet one Orion Black. A glimpse into Advanced Potions and into Hermione's thoughts.
'-
Hermione found it rather satisfying that her back-and-forth with Lakshmi seemed to have either confounded some of the overly-inquisitive people on the Ravenclaw table into a confused silence, or at the very least, prompt them to stop talking as if she wasn't there to hear it. Of course, she hadn't considered the sheer insulation of one seventh-year that seemed to be the queen of her little clique.
"But really, I thought she'd have better sense for…you know, someone with her unfortunate background. I know I would." She said it to her little group of personal echoes, who nodded and parroted her opinion back and generally agreed with her.
"Who's that?" Hermione asked under her breath.
"Stephanie Selwyn, sixth year," Eugenie said. Hermione thought she could see the blonde's knuckles whitening when she gripped her knife too tightly.
"I mean, there's leaving yourself open to opportunities and there's offering yourself up desperately, you know?" The witch was pretty, but somehow shrewish-looking. Her voice wasn't subdued enough to be ignored and just at the right pitch to be grating. "She would be ruining both of their futures that way and it's such a shame for Riddle if she did that, isn't it?"
"She has delusions of grandeur—she believes her little pocket of sycophants is actually the entire Ravenclaw sixth and fifth years." Lakshmi said with an affronted huff.
"Someone needs to tell Riddle he's making a mistake. The perfect wife to support him to the top is certainly a pureblood witch, and he can join her family." Stephanie went on to a chorus of nods. A few Ravenclaw wizards was either rolling their eyes or putting on a most exasperated look. This included that Ravenclaw that was in Hermione's Advanced Transfiguration whose name escaped her right now. It started with S. Sid? Shawn? Siddiq?
Hermione was patting Eugenie's hand. "I'm sure I can find something to shock her beyond talking some time. I'm fine, really, no need to worry about me."
"But Stephanie isn't exactly wrong, Hermione," the blonde softly said.
She turned to her friend curiously. "What do you mean by not wrong?"
"Her idea of any possible permanent ties between you and Riddle as a mésalliance." She pronounced the last word the French way. Lakshmi continued for her when she fell into silence once more while passing some pudding to both of her dormmates.
"Neither of you, after all, have the family to back up his hypothetical career in politics. His path would be a hundred times faster with the right witch at his side."
"Why do you think he'd enter politics?" Hermione's question was more curious than serious.
Lakshmi waved it away with a sniff. "Please. He's the rising star of Slytherin. What else is he going to be, a shopkeeper?"
Hermione snorted at the irony. She wondered what Lakshmi would think if she knew that Tom Riddle did end up as a shopkeeper once, in the future she knew.
"On the other hand, I think she's severely underestimating your capabilities as well as Riddle's. No one who hasn't been walking with their hands over their ears and yelling loudly would miss that he's managed to spin himself some influence in Slytherin." Lakshmi finished. "Of course, describing Dear Stephanie as anything other than ignorant is wishful thinking. But if you should know, she might be ignorant, but she's not the worst out there. She still wishes to give you helpful advice to you and Riddle's advantage, in case you didn't notice. Most pureblood who hadn't been paying attention to the two of you would even agree with her conclusion."
"That you shouldn't marry each other." Eugenie helpfully clarified.
"I find it extremely bizarre that the student body finds that deciding on my marriage is the most important issue they need to decide on. And on the first day I join it too," came Hermione's dry reply.
"Welcome to what it means to be the idle rich, Hermione," was Lakshmi's bemused reply, "and the reality that pureblood alliance-making starts early."
"As fascinating as it seems to find that I have my own Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I still don't understand why they need to interfere so much and why I should even care."
Lakshmi's amber eyes narrowed as she lowered her voice.
"Well, perhaps you should care, Hermione, if you wish to make your way through the British wizarding world. Reputation is the foundation for connections and social progression. Without it, your post-Hogwarts life would be exceedingly difficult, to say the least. Or, it would be embarrassingly plebeian."
Eugenie's brows furrowed. "Who's this de Bourgh person?"
The tension between them was broken as Hermione bemoaned the lack of that can people understand her literary references. Lakshmi's chuckle was good-natured.
All of a sudden, she missed Harry.
At the very least, Harry been an unexpectedly avid reader too (he even read Dickens, to her surprise, and had gone a few chapters into War and Peace even as he sheepishly insisted that he was just really, really bored at the time). He knew her references and was known to unconsciously slip a few of his own, to Ron's chagrin and Draco's disbelief. Being without access to television during the summer meant Harry had actually gone through the local library collection at a startling speed. He was merely less obsessed than Hermione when it came to school work.
Her other dormmate's voice was almost kind as she spoke up to Eugenie.
"I'll lend you my copy of Pride and Prejudice, dear."
'-
Orion Black was neat as a pin except for his hair, whose thick waves can only be half-tamed had made at least one witch swoon and declare it as either Byronic or Heathcliff-like. He had his father's aptitude for politics and was a near-identical clone of Arcturus in cold calculation that most forget he was still a fourth-year. His grey eyes were dispassionate when they met Tom Riddle's.
"Good afternoon, Tom."
"Good afternoon, Orion," he greeted back with polite ease and nodded to the rest of Orion's entourage. "Gentlemen."
An assorted murmur of "Good afternoon, Tom," rose from around him. A few may be grudging, but the rest has the good sense not to. The prefect took the seat right across the Slytherin fourth-year. He did not blink as Fintan Gambol and Humbert Jape scrambled to move aside (and elbow people to their respective left and right to 'move and make space, you slow berks') to give him room to sit down. He barely even noted that the fourth-year muscles of Orion Black were taller than him already.
"I had thought you weren't going to come to lunch at all."
"I had to settle some of my affairs first." He said as an empty plate appeared where he was sitting. The house elfs were certainly diligent. Gambol and Jape passed him plates of food without needing him to ask, sometimes their solicitousness was only prompted by the slightest of glances. If only Abraxas could be so discerning with his choice of minions, Tom thought.
"I see that you have been escorting an interesting lady." Orion observed.
"I'll be the first to say that the rumours can never do justice to her intelligence or capability."
The two student exchanged glances that seemed to convey more than several lines at once before they continued to focus on their food. It was a contrast to the hubbub that was currently rising and falling somewhere in the vicinity of the Ravenclaw table, presumably around the end where most of the fifth-years were clustered at.
"I'm sure we'd like to know about her capabilities." Someone muttered.
Gambol and Jape froze. Flavius Flint and Brock Bulstrode who sat to Orion's sides kept their calm better. It was expected of people with the smarts to be his right-hand and left-hand, but there was no mistaking the slight tension in their frames. The Black heir's look towards Tom eloquently conveyed 'do you see the fools I have to work with?' Tom allowed a smile to slowly spread across his face as he tried to recall the name of the lantern-jawed idiot of a fourth-year.
"Do you, Knatchbull?" He asked. "Would you really like to know?"
Iago Knatchbull sullenly looked up to his right. Fintan Gambol was quietly pulling himself back so that he was not between Tom Riddle and his target.
"Well, if she was brassy enough to prance around in daylight like that with you, it makes sense that she has the skills to be proud of, if you know what I mean."
A few low laughter broke out spontaneously before they were stifled. But the smirks and knowing glances some of the boys were exchanging were clues enough. Tom Riddle found himself growing colder at the sheer gall they were displaying. His anger had been explosive when he was younger, but as he'd learned since then, emotional outbursts gets you nowhere when you're a no-name nobody's child. A well-planned and well-executed vengeance, however, is a most satisfactory dish.
Best served chilled, naturally.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Knatchbull." Tom pleasantly replied as he met the other student's gaze. Iago lowered his voice.
"Well, you know. She certainly has a lithe-looking figure, eh? Pretty too."
If Gambol leaned back any further, he'd fall off his seat. Orion was enjoying this afternoon's show from the way he lifted his glass to Flavius' direction to get him to refill it without taking his eyes from Iago or Tom.
"What would you know of that, Mr. Knatchbull?"
"Some Gryffs saw her when she's out with the veela on the grounds—"
Knatchbull started choking at this point, his hands desperately grabbing his neck, trying to loosen an invisible knot that was not even there in the first place. His nails scratched his skin in his desperation and red lines marked the surface. Everyone could see the whites of his eyes as they roll up.
"Would someone please help the poor man. It would seem that his bad habit of chewing and talking at once has gotten to him." Tom remarked, ever the concerned citizen.
Fintan Gambol took that as his cue to move closer to the other wizard's side (as he was the one right next to Knatchbull anyway) and slap his back repeatedly. One would note that there seemed to be more force used than necessary even as his face turned a shade of puce.
"Harder, Fintan," Orion added, scarily cheerful. "It never hurts to do your best to make sure that the bone is out."
Knatchbull received several more blows to his back, including a few from the student sitting at his other side that took the initiative to assist Fintan in his efforts. One noticeably harsh cough later and Knatchbull managed to dislodge a wishbone from his throat onto his plate, its sides red with blood. The poor prat's throat was probably a bit raw right now.
Tom smiled. "Well, gentlemen, we can all see that talking while eating is not a wise idea to indulge in. Sometimes it's safer to say nothing at all."
Several heads ducked and stayed that way as others quieted down. Gambol had returned to his meal with considerably more relief than before.
"Let us hope that the lesson is learned already without us having to witness more accidents," Orion concluded. "Perhaps I should get Humbert to run to the infirmary for some potion to soothe the throat in case there are other accidents. It's never a bad idea to be prepared."
"Merlin knows one never goes broke by overestimating stupidity," Bulstrode scoffed from his left. For all his square jaw and big-boned look, he was not just a mere bruiser. The wizard plays a mean chess.
Orion's gaze met Tom's.
"Yes," the Black heir said with undisguised amusement. "you have a point, Brock."
"And discretion might have avoided a lot of fuss entirely." Flint commented.
"Do you have something to say, Flavius?" Tom asked, his tone mild. Flavius paled.
"I, no. I wouldn't presume, Tom," he said, though from the way Tom's eyebrows rose up, he clearly doubted that. "It's just…people talk, you know?"
"I'm sure Lucretia can talk to her," Orion said before Flavius tripped on his tongue over one trivial thing or another and someone had another dinner table accident.
"I would never think to dictate your sister's social life." Tom replied.
"Not at all," Orion said easily. "We're friends, aren't we? I'm sure she'd understand friendly concern."
Flavius poured the Black heir his drink just as the glass began to empty. Humbert did the same for Tom from his right. The rise and fall of the conversational noises around the Ravenclaw table seemed slightly louder than usual, but no one around them commented on it.
"Now that your schedule returns to its usual form, I take it that the study groups are resumed, then?" Orion asked.
"Of course," Tom answered. Orion nodded in understanding.
"I'll make the arrangements for the fourth-years. Flavius, find us a place as usual."
Flavius paused as he did whatever it was that he needed to do to memorise that before resuming his eating.
"Now, my father sent me another long letter about the Minister, and I think I missed half of the horse-trading in Wizengamot that he was trying to describe. For all the length of his letters, he tends to forget to write the background in. Does he expect me to pluck the details about the people straight from his mind? Do I look like a seer to you?" Orion said with some exasperation. He looked every inch the fourth year this time with his look of annoyance. Tom's expression was one of bemusement.
"One of these days, I need to write back saying exactly that." He murmured.
"Spencer-Moon is up to his usual tricks again, is he?" Tom asked, referring to the Minister for Magic.
"One of the reforms. Hell if I know about what project he has going, though." Orion shook his head. "What I manage to get still sounds ridiculous. General civil service examination? There is nothing they can generalise between the ministry that can use magic and the ones that can't!"
"There are more innovations that he wished to transfer from the muggle civil service, then?" The fifth-year asked.
"You'd have a better idea of that than I do. Do you have the time to help with suggestions for some sort of counter-proposal, for whatever it is that they're quibbling about this time?" The Black heir finally asked.
"Of course, I can. We are friends, after all." Tom's smile showed as much teeth as a wolf's fanged grin.
"Much obliged, Tom."
Orion's smile would fit well on a jackal.
'-
Hermione had expected Slughorn's class to at least be relaxing. Since he was overly excited by her potential, it was not difficult to guess that he might be excessively flattering, but he would not be as obstructive as Snape had been for Harry, or even as annoyingly vague as Dumbledore's little interview after transfigurations class. He'd certainly call her to answer several questions and demonstrate her extensive knowledge on potions.
She had arrived late (she wasn't going to rush through her lunch and get an indigestion—now, she thought that no class is worth getting cramped stomach). Hermione made her explanations about being previously held up by Dumbledore for discussions—not that she had worried that he even minded. It was another plus of Slughorn's, she supposed, especially for someone who was a natural teacher's pet like her. The brunette witch had barely even lifted the hall pass in her hand when the potions master chuckled and assured her that it was completely unnecessary because he believed her.
Her eyebrows rose up. That was really accepting of him.
"Sir?"
"There's no need to stand on ceremony with me, Miss Curie, I understand what happened very well."
Really? She hadn't said anything else beyond she was held up talking.
"You are a talented witch, a credit to your parents and your previous school! It is simply a matter of course if Dumbledore wanted to see just how knowledgeable you are. it is only natural."
Hermione had felt increasingly uncomfortable as she stood in front of Slughorn's desk while he apparently paused his class to sing her praises. It was akin to the discomfort of having your parents being too liberal with your praise to your teacher when the whole class is listening in with all the fascination of watching a trainwreck. Her misfortune was such that she couldn't even send pleading glances to the teacher to just make it all stop.
Slughorn was the teacher and the one playing the parent role in one.
Tom, to his credit, somehow managed to find a natural pause in Slughorn's monologue. He had unobtrusively slid to her side and gently tugged on her bag. She'd relinquished it to him without even realising it. Merely moments after that, he managed to find the space to speak up.
"Professor Slughorn, I'm sure Hermione is eager to begin the class," he let that sink in, "as is everyone else."
"What? Oh! You're correct, Tom! Of course, of course. You may go back to your seat, Hermione! Now, where were we?"
Tom Riddle had placed her bag on the seat next to his. Of course. She rolled her eyes but went with it anyway. She was late to the class, and she certainly didn't have time to look around and scout for a convenient spot now. Not to mention all the stares (and probably a few glares) she could feel at the back of her head meant that any other place was guaranteed to be more awkward. She certainly wasn't looking forward to being gawked at through the class if she'd chosen to sit next to the wrong person.
Slughorn had, thankfully, stopped paying attention to her and returned to his lecture.
"Thanks for saving me a spot, but aren't you overdoing this?"
Tom was still staring forward, his attention to her the flicker of a side glance. He did not seem the slightest bit perturbed.
"What am I overdoing?"
"Your escorting me? I think this is reaching overprotective levels. The other students won't bite me, Tom, but they would notice your excessive care and wonder why."
"Let them wonder." He said.
"Tom—"
"It's not a problem at all," he assured. "I've taken care of it."
What exactly it was that he needed to take care of was something that pricked her curiosity. Since he was apparently aware of the attention he was drawing, she thought she'd warned him enough. Something about Lakshmi's warnings on rumours and reputations still unsettled her and made her think, but she decided that she could shelve it for after class.
Her prediction on being asked to answer Slughorn's more difficult questions were spot on. She answered smoothly, easily replying even as it resembled less of Slughorn questioning her and more of a back-and-forth between a master and an apprentice. This was especially true as the complexity of the topic increased. She'd corrected him at one point on the plants used, particularly when she knew there were two closely-related species of nightshade that are easily mistaken for one another.
(Why Neville wasn't good in potions when he was great in herbology was something she found inexplicable. In the end, she merely chalked it up to the failure that is Snape's pedagogy).
"While I'm sure this discussion on the different uses of the nightshade family is interesting, I'm sure we can get return to the different variations of the dreamless sleep potion, Professor?" Tom cut in.
Slughorn snapped his fingers. "Right. I knew I was forgetting something. Thank you, Tom. Hermione, another ten points to Ravenclaw!"
With that, the potion master was off once more to the front of the class and Hermione breathed her own sigh of relief. "Thanks. I almost forgot myself there."
"You're welcome."
Not long after that, Slughorn, in his unfathomable mystery, decided to have Hermione assist him in brewing his potion because he was sure something this standard would be no problem for her. It unfolded with the same sense of inexorable doom as a trainwreck.
"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, not quite sure about what she heard.
"We can brew the potion together," Slughorn replied cheerfully as he gestured to his cauldron in front of the class. "Based on your accomplishment, I'm sure it would be a great example for everyone else in class!"
The Ravenclaw witch could feel the eyes of almost everyone in the room turning to her yet again. Some, she was sure was glaring daggers or giving her a frosty reception. She was used to being a teacher's pet, but this is something else altogether! She could already hear some people muttering what could be so special about her. Did Slughorn even realise that singling her out like this was only going to isolate her from the class and make it harder for her to approach her classmates?
"B-but Professor, I don't think I'm anywhere near your level," the brunette began.
"Nonsense! I know the standards for OWLs around Europe, and a little Dreamless Sleep would be no trouble for you at all."
Damn.
She was wondering what else she could say when Tom raised his hand next to her.
"I'm sorry, Professor, I think what Hermione meant to say was that she would be nervous to brew in front of the class, with you. You're not an ordinary potioneer either, Professor, as your profile in last month's The Quarterly Potioneer's Review shows. I'm sure even Hermione would like to be able to learn from you first and see how you work your magic with the cauldron firsthand before she would even consider herself well-prepared to work with you." Tom said all this smoothly, with a calm and even tone.
"You will not rob her of such an opportunity, would you, Professor?"
His smile was the right balance of respectful and friendly.
Slughorn chuffed at such blatant appreciation of his talents, but more importantly to Hermione, he actually backed down.
"Ah, you're right, my dear boy. How good of you to remind me!"
Tom's reply was only a polite nod.
"Yes, yes. I cannot possibly take the opportunity to learn away from you. I'm sorry if I was too rushed in my enthusiasm," Slughorn beamed at Hermione. She managed an awkward smile back.
"It's alright, Professor."
He nodded and turned back to the rest of the class. "Very well, we will start with…"
Hermione deflated the moment she no longer could feel the eyes of the entire class fixed upon her like floodlights on a stage. Tom only gave her a side-glance and an amused smile.
They'd both returned to their potion preparation as Slughorn started describing the process in front of the class. Tom had conveniently taken and weighed all the required ingredients before she arrived at class, and now she was reaping the fruits of his diligence and efficiency. They had split the preparation process between the two of them, and soon each of them was busy with their own chopping, cutting and shredding.
"I bet you could take over the world and manage it well," she said conversationally, still wide-eyed and mildly shocked after being battered with Slughorn's excessive exuberance and good will all this time.
Hermione had noticed his good mood from the first time she sat beside him and it had not abated in the least. She could not figure out its cause, though, and it vexed her slightly. She considered it a personal failing to lose track of his motivations.
"Really? What makes you say that?" He asked.
"Hmmm. Let me think about it for a moment."
It was not hard to note the echo of a smile on his face, not for someone who'd talked to him often and was familiar enough with his quirks. She had all those days of being stuck in the infirmary with him being a constant visitor after all, talking about the materials of the advanced classes—yes, she knew she was a swot. Hermione had made her peace with her peculiarities and stopped feeling bothered about them. Of course, if she was a swot, it meant he was just as bad because she hadn't managed to bore him.
"Where do I begin? There's your silver tongue. It's in the way I've seen you defuse various situations with ease. I envy your ability to maintain the peace or move people with no one the wiser about what you've just did. If I could do what you can…" she mused.
Her last sentences surprised him. Oh, he did not even pause in his movements, dropping one ingredients after another to their cauldron without stutter. There was a slight shift in his movement, though—as if he'd been focused before and was now more routine, done by rote because his mind was elsewhere.
"Why?" He started, before shaking his hand in dissatisfaction, grasping for words that he couldn't find. "That is…I don't understand."
Her lips quirked at one corner. "Well, I don't understand you either, so we're even."
She knew it was petty, but it was hard not to feel a little gleeful about his frustration. His potential for destruction, his strangeness and persistence, had frustrated her often enough that she thought a bit of turnabout would be welcome.
"That's not exactly what I meant," he finally said. She was disappointed that he took a deep breath instead of outright huffing at her.
"Well, it's exactly what I meant, so I see no problem with it." Hermione replied.
He huffed. (Yes! She mentally tallied her victory).
Several more ingredients had gone into the cauldron, either of them taking turns stirring when they weren't chopping. They made for a pretty efficient team, Hermione had to admit that. None of their movements were redundant.
"You mentioned 'maintaining peace'," he spoke up again, apropos of nothing. "For one who said she'd seen me destroy the world, who'd said that you'd stop me from doing so…you use the word peace so easily in relation to me."
Hermione stopped in her movements, only now realising what had baffled him. She picked up her activity again, because the potion certainly wasn't going to make itself. She ran through her memories as she went on to weigh and crush some seeds with the available mortar and pestle.
Tom had been in the infirmary once when Dippet was also visiting Hermione. Dippet was worried about the prospect of facing further assassins, possibly sent to eliminate Hermione and perhaps even now scouting in Hogsmeade. The headmaster insisted that they certainly must start improving Hogwarts defences—perhaps linking the old Hogwarts moat to the lake would be most ideal? Before he could start looking for workmen to renovate, Tom started to quote one Hogwarts: A History factoid. He informed them that old moat had been disused precisely as the Hogwarts became unplottable and the anti-apparation wards went up. A previous headmaster had considered it redundant already, Tom said.
In the end, he managed to talk Dippet down from his nerves. (And probably saved Hogwarts who knows how much from unnecessary repairs).
Hell, even Maggie Edelstein found it hard to dislike him as he bore the brunt of her questioning (inquisition, more like) with good humour and the old British stubbornness—to Hermione, it rather seemed as if he was setting a challenge to himself to surpass, that he could 'play normal' for a long while. Maggie had grudgingly admitted that he does seem to care about Hermione and he wasn't a coward about it. ("Well, at least he has character. He's not someone who's going to bore you or just give-up midway because it's too hard," Maggie finally said).
The Slytherin prefect had a light touch with Eugenie that the blonde wasn't completely awkward in his presence; he knew how to give her space and yet not completely ignore her. Then, there was the unexpected way he'd managed to set two of her dormmates on her. He managed to get them to keep watch over his interest (her), at practically no cost to him, and still make it look like he was such a caring person instead of being the interfering lummox that Hermione thought he was (and still did, she merely tolerated it right now).
Tom Riddle was a diplomat through and through.
"But it's true all the same," she stated again, with even less doubt than before. "You do have a talent for it."
His disbelief was palpable. Hermione raised a hand to stop his possible reply and continued.
"One of the things I've lost in the war is my ability to lie to myself. Oh, I still do; everyone thinks very well of themselves regardless of truth, for one, but I can safely say that mine is no longer as large as most people's." Hermione shrugged with a cynical sense of self-deprecation, lips quirking up.
"You get to…see things in war." She drifted off for a moment.
They were both off at their own sides, busy with their own work, but she knew he was still listening.
"After that, you either accept the initial pain of learning to live with it or it would eat you from the inside. Of course, you can also go with denial, but I find that it constrains the growth of the self too much that I don't like it—because that's what denial is, you know?"
"You force yourself to stay still at one point in time, damn all the experiences you've gone through."
(She and Ron had always been great together during the war. He had a head for tactics and ended up quite good at strategy while Hermione had the logistics in hand and was no slouch on the strategic level either. Then again, one can easily argue that she meshed just as well with Harry—her planning for his improvisation, her mastery of hard facts to his ability to inspire and lead. Yet as peace rolled in and came around, her career and Ron's only pulled them away from each other.)
"It's like…those middle-aged women who wore thick powder and rouges as if it could bind their vanished youth to them. To live a fake existence… To live as a version of yourself that no longer exists, to be a ghost of yourself. That's just sad, you know? I know I don't want to ever end up like that. Better to continue to fight in battles and even die in one."
She was rambling again, was aware that she was rambling. Yet he didn't interfere even once. He was a stranger to her battles, personal or otherwise, and she knew he would not judge. It was so easy to release some of the old bitterness she didn't even know she still held.
"Do you think being suicidal is better?" He asked.
Hermione was about to give him an exasperated look when she noticed the quirk of his lips. He was teasing her. She gave him a flat, jaded look instead and returned her attention to her cutting board.
"No. I think that to continue the fight is better. Even in times of peace, there's always something that needs to be done. Don't let the past drag you down. Just…be in the present. See the present."
The brunette witch was lost in her own thoughts for a while there.
(Ron enjoyed watching or playing quidditch and Hermione still wanted to bring books to the field. Reading was her go-to activity on Saturday night. Their activities didn't match much either. She and Ron tried hard to find a common ground, to maintain the ties that bound the relationship.
At one point, she was able to step back and admit that she and Ron didn't have that much in common for a life together. To continue to force it was to consign them both to misery. Yet it was still the beginning of the end, even if it was neither of their faults).
"So… Not being able to lie to myself much—it's one of the few losses I don't regret." Hermione said.
She raised her head and observed him quietly, from the patrician line of his nose, the Grecian curl of his black hair to his lips that she'd found diverted her too easily. (Hormones. It's all just hormones).
This was him in the present—her present too, now. Slytherin prefect, excellent student. Still more human than monster. Hermione is alive instead of dead, and she considered that to be all she needed to fight for the future one more time. Tom felt her attention and looked up; she wondered when his dark blue eyes no longer seem so unreadable or cold. His focus and curiosity were obvious to her.
"You're saying that I will destroy your world and I have a talent for peace. It's quite the contradiction that you're making."
Hermione shrugged, unconcerned. The world, she had found, does not always like to fall into the neat little boxes and categories she made for it. And it was fine now even if it used to drive her nuts before.
She'd accepted that.
"We are all walking contradictions, Tom. That, I think, is the greatest advantage of being alive."
Hermione could see his lips pressing into a thin line. Evidently, he was not quite satisfied with her answer and irritated with the awareness that she had nothing else to say. She smiled without doubt or reservation, enjoying the feeling of petty triumph from confounding him yet again.
'-
.
.
.
End Notes:
Some perceptive canon devotees may realise that the spell Anapneo exists in canon, from the Greek word αναπνέω which meant "I breathe", that is specifically designed to clear blocked airways. Yes, I'm aware of the spell's existence, no need to remind me. Why no one who knew it even thought of using it on the unfortunate idiot that is Iago Knatchbull in this chapter, is something I'll let your observation on the scene inform you.
So, we've just seen Orion Black, younger brother to Lucretia and betrothed of Walburga, and he's a canon character (Sirius's canon father, if you want to know). Like Lucretia, I didn't make up his age. He's either in third or fourth year, and I thought, why the heck not fourth year? It would only help if he's of a closer age to most of the cast.
'-
Additional Notes:
(EDIT: Yes, yes, I know I've just recently edited this and this wasn't here the first time I published this chapter. Don't mind me, I just realised why Hermione's last phrase sounded so familiar in my head. It was an unconscious attribution. Thought I might as well clarify here now that I remember).
"We are all walking contradictions, Tom. That, I think, is the greatest advantage of being alive.": Hermione's final phrase is an unconscious echo (an inexact quote) of the title of e. e. cummings' poem, "The Great Advantage of Being Alive." Hermione certainly wasn't thinking of anything romantic when she said this.
'-