A week had passed since Charlotte met with Professor Slughorn (she was no closer to making her mind up about her future career) and it was Valeria's turn today. They were sitting at lunch when Valeria suddenly laughed, staring at something behind Charlotte. "Look at that."

Charlotte turned to see the very tall, very broad Rubeus Hagrid scurrying—if such a word could be used to describe the movement of a half-giant—out of the Great Hall, practically leaving a trail of food, as several chicken legs fell from his patched overcoat. He wore it over his school robes likely for the specific purpose of pocketing large amounts of food; what the food was for, they could not surmise.

"I wonder what he thinks he's doing," Valeria said. "Anyway, he could use some bigger pockets, maybe with undetectable extension charms on them. Too bad that's not legal. A whole avenue of clothing modification I can never pursue," she sighed.

"Technically it's allowed if sanctioned by the Ministry." Tom scooted down the bench to join them, next to Charlotte.

"Oh yes, just who I want to work for—the non-existent Ministry Department of Fashion. Instead I could charm school trunks for a living. What a dream." Tom didn't seem to mind her sarcasm. He had taken a drink of pumpkin juice, blocking much of his face from view. A vaguely amused smile was on his lips when he lowered the goblet. Valeria, much to Charlotte's relief—and Tom's too, she imagined—had become accustomed to the presence of her former crush, and didn't behave too differently for it. Her only embarrassing behavior was directly towards them as a couple, but Charlotte had come to find it endearing, while Tom tolerated it at least.

"Do you know anything about that boy?" Tom asked, looking to Valeria. He said boy with some hesitation; Hagrid was only half-human after all. "Have you heard the rumors about him?" Of course Tom knew that she was one to be aware of this sort of talk.

"He's a younger student and a Gryffindor, so I haven't heard that much…" she shrugged. "But I mean everyone knows that he has a penchant for creatures of a, well, of an unusual variety."

"The kinds that normal people find repulsive, frightening, and dangerous," Tom nodded.

"Yes, yes, and yes," replied Valeria. "Ugh." She squirmed in mimicry of a shudder at the thought of the beasts.

"I heard he was raising werewolf cubs under his bed. Who knows what else he might have. I imagine he's feeding something he's got locked up someplace." Tom didn't hide the disdain he clearly felt for Hagrid. Charlotte wanted to ask him about it, but Valeria was already answering him.

"Who told you about the werewolf cubs?" she asked with skepticism.

"I just overheard it; I don't know who said it."

"Well whoever it was, they were making a joke out of somebody. Werewolves don't have cubs; that's not how it works," she replied smugly.

"No, they can." She frowned as Tom unhesitatingly reduced her confidence. "It's uncommon, but if, during a full moon, a male and a female werewolf mate while transformed, they could produce offspring that don't turn back into humans."

"Well I'm sorry I don't have our Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook memorized." He had sounded rather like a talking textbook. "But I'd like to see you enchant a gown the way I did at Christmas." Valeria raised her chin the same way she was trying to elevate her pride.

"I might be able to, but I'll let that be your talent." Valeria had looked away sharply when he didn't immediately concede to her, so she didn't see what Charlotte saw—the unfriendly look on his face, even as he allowed Valeria her victory. She wanted to confront him about it, but not in front of Valeria, when it might hurt her. She made a mental note to bring it up later. She could ask him about Rubeus Hagrid too. These things she put off talking about did seem to be piling up…

Valeria had turned back to them with a smile, then began on a different subject.

"One thing I'm not sure about is whether I want to try to go to L'institution Lavallière, you know, the fashion school, what with Paris being in the trouble it's in right now, I'm not sure I want to be there."

"Well the German Occupation can't last forever…" This was the best Charlotte could offer; thinking about her native country made her almost despondent.

"And I won't live forever," said Valeria in frustration. Tom sat up straighter; his hand made a fist and went up in front of his mouth so he could lean on it, at t the same time turning slightly away from them. "I'm not too keen on simply waiting it out, but I don't see what choice I have…" Valeria said, to herself at this point, because Charlotte was preoccupied with Tom.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked him, merely in a curious way, not unkindly.

Charlotte uneasiness grew as the pause before he spoke lengthened. "Nothing," he eventually answered. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing is wrong at all." Indeed, he did have a look like that was true. He looked pleased about something. A bit deviously pleased. It reminded her of that time with Lestrange—something else she wanted to talk to him about.

"Can we go to the room later, to talk?" she asked him quietly. "It's the only place we can really be alone."

He thought for a moment before nodding. They agreed on a time that evening, before the fifth year curfew at nine o'clock.

...

Tom was waiting by the door, as he usually was, when Charlotte arrived on that corridor of the seventh floor. The door was small, and yet imposing. It looked like a creation of Slytherin himself. On top of narrow ridges that crossed the door diagonally, four snakes made up a simple design, yet the carvings were so detailed—that was what gave it its magnificence. Tom reached for the handle, which stuck out from the head of the snake that curved around the arch of the door, and when Charlotte steped into the room, she felt a faint disappointment, although she didn't know why. Everything looked the same as it had every other time. Tom shut the door behind them and came to stand in front of her.

"So. You wanted to talk?" He asked as though he didn't quite believe her motives. More than "not quite", in fact; it seemed he expected her to have something else in mind. He came closer to her, putting one hand on her waist.

"Yes," she answered with determination. "There are several things I want to get off my chest."

He smirked and it made her realize she had, without meaning to, just given him an opportunity to try to draw out their desire further; she had a very good idea of what he would say next.

"There are," he glanced down, "at least a couple things I'd like to get off your chest too." His free hand seemed to float down, over her breast, barely touching, until it was on her waist evenly with the other. One kiss, she decided. She pressed her lips to his briefly, kissing him until she felt a button come open on her blouse, which she found, as she looked down, to be the third one; the top two had been undone without her noticing, thanks to magic. Looking down at her cleavage, she moved her hand from where it rested on Tom's chest to cover her own. He lowered his face towards hers. "It's not as if I haven't seen it before," he said, caressing her, giving the side of her blouse a small tug, revealing more of her skin.

She stepped back, out of his reach. "Of course." She turned away from him and began fastening the buttons. "It's that that isn't why we're here." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Anyway, that's not why I'm here. So it's not why you're here." She turned back while she was doing up the last button.

He came towards her and stood very close, leaving only about a palm's breadth between them. "How can you tell me why I'm here?" Every word was spoken with force. The way he could speak so slowly gave him the time to infuse each part with— was it scorn?

"Because if I say no, then it's not happening." She had tried to muster force equal to what Tom had spoken with; she didn't think she succeeded, but she certainly meant what she said.

Without realizing it, she had closed the gap between them. "But what if you're sending mixed messages," he said, putting his hand on her upper arm, alerting her to the fact that she had put her arms around him, both hands now resting on his back. Most everything about her present position implied that she wanted to hold him close. It must have been habit. Or impulse.

She undid all of her unconscious movements, pulling away and taking several steps back. "There." She pointed off to the side behind him at a couch. "Go sit over there."

He stared at her, then at the couch, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse, although she couldn't understand why he wouldn't simply do as she said. He looked back at her with a smile and gestured towards the seat. "After you." She treated him to the same stubbornness, not immediately moving, then sighing as she went over to sit. He followed her, and would have sat right beside her, touching her in some way, if she hadn't have stopped him.

"There's plenty of room," she motioned to the other end of the sofa, "Over there." Again, he didn't move. He was leaning over her slightly, with his hand on the back of the sofa supporting him; he was studying her. She turned her face away from him. "It's not a conversation I feel we can have while tangled in each other's arms." While she spoke, she looked puzzledly at his hand, noticing how tense it was, the paleness around his knuckles showing his grip was tighter than it needed to be. Finally, he stood up and moved to sit where she had told him to.

"So. What did you want to talk about?"

"A few different things. I've always missed the chance to say anything, until I arranged this. They're things that concern me, a little bit, about you…"

He leaned towards her and reached out, but only took her hand. "Charlotte, I don't mean to do anything that makes you uncomfortable," he said with a degree of sincerity that permeated her heart.

In that case, however, she wondered how he would describe what transpired since they got to the room, but said, "Good. Then listen." She considered making him let go of her hand, but that seemed unnecessary and besides, it felt nice. "Today, just before I asked if we could talk, I got the sense that you harbor some dislike for Val."

"Am I ever rude to her?"

"No, not exactly rude."

"Right. I'm always polite, at the very least. In fact, if anyone was rude today, it was her."

"Sometimes that's how she talks; it isn't the same as rudeness," Charlotte quickly defended her friend.

"Well, do I have to like her just because she's your friend?" She couldn't simply say yes to that. "You told me I couldn't make demands about who you should, or should not, be friends with. Likewise, you can't dictate that I must be friends with Valeria." He was making sense, but she still wasn't satisfied. She was searching for what she wanted to say to get her point across, when he said, "But if I ever do anything like that again with regard to Valeria, please tell me."

"Certainly." She smiled. That was reasonable of him.

"What about… other people?" While bringing up Lestrange would likely get the same response as their conversation about Valeria, she could still ask about Rubeus.

"Other people?"

"You didn't at all hide the fact that you don't think very highly of Rubeus Hagrid."

He snorted. "That's true. But do you like him?"

"I don't think I dislike him."

"You feel fine about the fact that he takes in dangerous magical creatures and brings them into the castle? Do you feel safe knowing that?"

"I haven't heard much about that, and there haven't been any—" She had been about to say attacks, but that definitely wasn't true. "…any attacks that he's been blamed or punished for…" She now wondered if the half-giant could have anything to do with the mysterious petrifications.

Tom seemed to be distracted, thinking deeply about something. When he came out of his own thoughts and spoke, Charlotte couldn't follow why he was saying what he did. "Giants are brutes, literally. They're unintelligent. And their kind should not be mixed with magical blood."

The last part made a bit of sense, felt less non-sequitur. "So it's about some kind of purity?" She wasn't sure she fully agreed with this, but at least she understood his feelings.

"Yes."

Before he could say anything more, she interjected, "But he can't do anything about who, or what, he is. It isn't as if it's his fault."

"He's an abomination. Something that never should have happened. If I were to treat him like any other person, would people not get the wrong idea about that kind of creature? I have to despise him, and we all should, so we can stop the world from making a mistake like that again." There was logic in what he was saying, but she couldn't say she was convinced.

"You use some strong words." She felt that the way he had said abomination and despise would stick with her; it frightened her a little—and not the idea of Hagrid, but Tom's vehemence towards him and those like him.

"You never answered whether you felt safe, knowing he and whatever he lets in are in the castle. Do you?"

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't worry me."

"So that's it. You feel the same as I do."

"I wouldn't say that."

They sat in silence for a while, until Tom asked, "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

Charlotte nodded, still not breaking her silence. Tom was wonderful, but… how he had just spoken… It was just once though. Well, there had been other times when he had shown hints of this kind of thought. But he had never done anything to harm Hagrid, or anyone else…

He moved over on the couch near to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Is this okay?"

She smiled a little. "Yes," she said softly.

He brought his other arm around and gently pulled her towards him. "Are you alright? Please tell me," he whispered.

It was as though she forgot everything she had just been thinking and feeling about him, all of it replaced by the delightful sensation of his embrace. And his kindness in caring about how she felt. "Everything's fine." As she said it out loud, she was able to convince herself it was true. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

"If you say so."

"C'est vrai. That means 'it's true'."

"I'm glad," he said. She rested there, filling herself up with the comfort of being in his arms. Then he asked, "Do you want to stay here? It's already late. And we can just sleep, if that's what you want."

"Just to sleep would be nice for a change. Not that I don't enjoy when we… sleep less, but—"

"I get it." They sat there a little while longer before going to bed.

Once again, Tom lay awake while Charlotte slept beside him. At least this time he didn't have images of sex chasing away his sanity. Or maybe he did wish he had some lascivious memories to distract from the invasion of personal space he felt with Charlotte in the bed he was trying to sleep in. He found it hard to ignore her presence; he would rather have been alone.

Yet even though that was an uncomfortable feeling, if he thought about it it wasn't as unwelcome as feeling pleased that Charlotte was there with him. He had almost felt something like that when they, before going to bed, had been—he made a face—cuddling. It was truly an awful word. She had been cuddling; he had not, not really. Still, there had been an odd peacefulness he felt, and he suspected it might have had something to do with Charlotte, although he hoped he was wrong. But mostly, as he sat there, he had been thinking about something else.

Charlotte had given him an idea. No—Charlotte had said something, which made him think of an idea that he probably would have come up with anyway… Rubeus Hagrid and his strange creatures could viably take the blame for the attacks Tom had been responsible for. He had been able to tell Charlotte was thinking about this when they talked about him. It had leapt out to Tom as a brilliant opportunity, if necessary, but he quickly realized he didn't want to let anyone else be blamed for it. Blame implied something negative, but to Tom, there was still glory in it. He wanted to be recognized for his capability to do something like that. No one else should have the credit, let alone a less-than-human half-breed.

He went over all that again, and then thought about the rest of that evening's events. The conversation with Charlotte had gone well enough for not having gone according to plan. He hadn't known what to expect when she asked if they could talk, and alone. Part of him had been concerned she had somehow remembered about the garden, or wanted to talk about that stupid idea of hers, to somehow use muggle 'innovation' to improve the wizarding world—as if the muggles had anything to offer them.

She had resisted him at every attempt, and he hadn't been able to prevent them from having the conversation, so he had had to rely on quick thinking and careful wording to deal with her concerns. For the most part, she arrived at the conclusions that he wanted her to and she was so easy to manipulate. He wasn't quite sure why, but he supposed it must be because he was so good at manipulating and getting what he wanted. He convinced himself he hadn't failed that day, because it had worked out in the end. But Charlotte had been so defiant. And she had even commanded him, telling him where to sit. It had taken a great deal of effort to contain his rage in those minutes.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

Author's Note:

So somehow this ended up being the longest chapter yet?

I hate writing all these mean things about Hagrid, but I mean it's Voldemort, so what else am I going to do? EDIT: forgot to mention that the werewolf cubs (what's with the word "cubs" in this context?) are from a line in CoS, when Harry meets the Diary Tom Riddle. According to Rowling, in some interview, Hagrid never actually did this, Riddle just made it up to slander him; it isn't specified when he made it up, so I went ahead and used it here.

L'institution Lavallière is my idea, with the name suggestion from Bubblea because I asked her to help me come up with something and she did—thanks!