Chapter Twenty Four: Contraceptive Conveyence
Friday, October 16th, 1943
Great Hall
When she woke up the next morning, after luckily managing to avoid all other Gryffindors except for Brigitte, Hermione stretched for a moment, and then prepared herself for the duel horrors coming her way. First, was the horror of pretending that she liked Riddle, of letting him touch her, of smiling at him, at playing the girl friend. Second, was the sure to be deadly retaliation of the Tarts. For a moment, it was hard to figure which was worse, but then she rememberd the feel of Riddle's lips on her body and shuddered.
What Hermione wast not prepared for, was how nearly the entire school was convinced that she had attacked Audrey Malfoy and Estelle Black. The few remaining who thought she was innocent of this crime instead just thought she was snogging Tom Riddle.
It had been one of the portraits, or perhaps multiple portraits, that had flit around the castle spreading the delicious gossip to other portraits, who told others, who told the students…it had spread so thoroughly by breakfast that when Hermione walked into the Great Hall, yawning, thinking moodily of Blaise again, she was completely unprepared for the waves of hostility directed her way.
The entire hall went silent, and then whispers started up, whispers of her easy behavior, of her murderous instinct, of how she had hurt Audrey Malfoy and Estelle Black because they were prettier, smarter, because they had challenged her, that she had placed Riddle under a spell, a love potion, who else would want her, bushy headed bitch, stuck up—Hermione was shaking again, her fists clenched, and she reached the Gryffindor table, expecting at least, salvation here.
Everyone looked away from her. Everyone. Except, Evelyn Sanders and Brigitte, who were sitting at the end of the table, a distance away from their housemates.
"'Ermione! Over here!" Brigitte called.
Hermione glanced over at Marlene, disbelief in her eyes, at boisterous Wyatt Corsington, at Moody, but they all resolutely ignored her. It hurt her. It hurt her more than she ever would have guessed. Suddenly, she understood, as the insults and threats rose around her, as she walked to the last two people who would speak to her, how Harry must have felt second year, when everyone had thought that he was the heir of Slytherin.
She slid, gratefully into the seat beside Evelyn, turning her back to the other tables, knowing it was foolish to do so but unable to look at all the hostility. Her hands trembled as she reached for a piece of toast. It was all she could eat at the moment, if indeed she could eat at all. One more day, she told herself, one more day and then you can hide in the dorm over the weekend, and everyone will calm down by then. She forced herself to bring the toast to her mouth.
"Thank you," she said quietly, to Evelyn and Brigitte on either side of her, "thank you."
"People are stupid," Evelyn told her firmly, lifting her own heavily buttered toast, "of course you didn't hurt those girls."
"I wasn't snogging Riddle, either," Hermione couldn't stop herself from saying.
Evelyn and Brigitte raised their eyebrows at her.
"I wasn't!" she insisted, "I got lost, is all."
"He told everyone you were snogging," Evelyn pointed out.
"He—he what?" Hermione said shrilly.
"No 'e did not," Brigitte corrected, frowning slightly at Evelyn, "'e told Professor Dippet. 'E asked zem to no tell. But ze, ze—" she made a frustrated gesture.
"Portraits," Evelyn supplied calmly.
"Yes, ze por-trats," Brigitte said, "told. 'E was trying to be…gentleman."
Hermione thought quickly. She could tell the truth, she could admit no one knew where she was, that she had wandered aimlessly, the weird new girl, in an unoccupied section of the castle, where two gravely wounded girls had shown up, or she could say she was waiting to snog Riddle. It was a surprisingly difficult choice.
"Well," she sighed, "all right. I was—"
"GRANGER!" someone bellowed from behind her, and Hermione jumped so violently her toast fell from her hand to the floor.
It was Igneus Malfoy. He looked quite deranged, his hair lank and oily, purple shadows under his eyes so dark they were almost black, robes wrinkled and smelly, cheeks hollow and sallow. Behind him, stood Patrick Black, Ethelinda Higgs, and the Malfoy twins.
"What did you do, you bitch?" he hissed, leaning into her face.
Hermione stared, gape mouthed, at Igneus, remembering Draco, but even Draco had never looked at her with such hatred, such fury.
"What did you do with Audrey?" he said louder, "What did you do?" and he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
"Leave her alone!" Evelyn shouted, as chaos erupted, the teachers hurrying their way, students standing on chairs and tables to see better.
"What did you do?" Igneus screamed again, Hermione's teeth rattling in her head.
With a loud bang, Evelyn blasted Igneus away from Hermione, her wand drawn. Ethelinda Higgs fired a hex back at her, and Brigitte screamed a shield charm. Hermione, incensed, drew her own wand. This was too much. A red haze of fury fell over her vision, her mind going blank. She had endured too much, and now she snapped. She leapt to her feet, her wand already firing jinx after hex after charm, and before the teachers could even reach them, the Slytherin Snob Squad was down on the ground, along with Igneus Malfoy.
"Miss Granger!" screamed Professor Flitwick, "Fifty points from Gryffindor!"
"It wasn't her fault!" Evelyn yelled, "They attacked her!"
Hermione felt her blood pumping out of control, a curious ringing in her ears. Fifty dead Slytherins on stakes. Ron dying. Dumbledore. The Weasleys. Lavender. Ginny. Dead. Dead. So many dead, and she had risked everything to fix it, to help these people, and this is what she got.
She looked up slowly from the unconscious Malfoys, Higgs, and Black on the ground and saw the shock on everyone's faces, the horror, the confirmation of what she could do, of how she must have been the one to attack Estelle and Audrey. On her left, stood Riddle. She met his eyes, and there was a hunger there, a fire that she felt, that she understood. That, more than anything else, sobered her out of her deadly rage.
"She was attacked!" Evelyn screamed again, and behind her, the Gryffindors were nodding, her so-called friends Marion and Marlene looking at her anxiously, like they cared about her or something. Liars.
"So she was," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, "Filius, I hardly see why she has to be punished."
"Professor," Hermione whispered, "may I be excused from classes today? I'm not feeling at all well," and she looked it, all color gone from her face, a sweaty, clammy look to her skin.
Dumbledore peered at her closely. "Yes, Miss Granger, I believe that would be all right. Miss Harper," and Hermione was startled to see Belinda Harper behind Riddle, she was so tiny she hadn't noticed, but they had both come to her aid, wands out, "please see Miss Granger to the hospital wing."
"Yes, Professor," she said sweetly, taking Hermione's hand.
As she passed Riddle, he met her eyes again, his eyes almost black. Dear God, it looked like…it looked like…more sweat dripped…it looked like Riddle wanted to throw her on the ground, and rip off her clothes, and-Hermione gave a small noise of distress.
"It's okay, Hermione dear," Belinda said sweetly, holding her hand, steering her out of the hall, "everyone will know soon you are innocent. Igneus will apologize to you soon enough. So will the rest."
"I didn't-I didn't do anything," Hermione whispered, tears stinging her eyes.
"I know, dear," Belinda said, "How could you?" she half dragged Hermione up the stairs, through the hallways, and into the hospital wing. "Madam Pomfrey!" she called loudly. The witch in question was bending over two beds in the corner.
"Hermione, come on dear," Belinda said, dragging her over.
Hermione stopped, digging in her heels when she realized who had to be in the beds. Belinda, tiny as she was, dragged her anyway.
"Madam, Hermione here is feeling very ill, can you—" she stopped talking, looking down at the blank faces of Audrey Malfoy and Estelle Black.
Suddenly, both girl's empty eyes rolled to where Belinda and Hermione stood. And they both began shaking.
"What in the world!" Madam Pomfrey breathed, excited at this reaction by her charges.
Hermione felt equally bewildered. Belinda stared at the girls coolly. No one noticed.
"Just lie down over there for a moment, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said, not sparing her a glance. "I'll be with you shortly."
Hermione allowed herself to be lead meekly to a bed by Belinda, who kept making soothing noises the whole time. Overwhelmed, confused, sick, Hermione threw up, weakly, into a bucket, and began crying.
"There there, Hermione," Belinda said, patting her back, "let it all out." Her narrowed eyes never left the shaking forms of Estelle Black and Audrey Malfoy.
"Good work, Evelyn," Tom Riddle whispered from behind a section on seventeenth century Muggle history, "I'm very proud of you."
Evelyn glowed. "Thank you T—My Lord."
"She will be very greatful to you now," Riddle murmured, his eyes on the ceiling, his legs carelessly crossed at the ankle as he leaned againt the heavy bookshelf.
"Yes," Evelyn said eagerly, "she'll tell me everything." She paused a moment, when it was clear Riddle was not going to say anything else. "Do you-do you think she did do it, Tom?" she asked, voice hushed. Riddle did not correct her slip.
"No idea," he said casually, "it's possible. Did you see her spellwork in there?" There was a strange undertone in his voice, something that made Evelyn feel jealousy rising in her again. She had seen the look on Riddle's face after Granger had dueled five highly skilled witches and wizards, ones who had grown up with dark magick, into the dust. She had seen the hunger. She had seen—Evelyn swallowed, making a face, but admitted it to herself. She had seen lust in his eyes. Lust for Granger. And her fucking terrible hair.
"Yes," she said, trying for admiration, instead of unbearable jealousy, "yes, she was very impressive."
"Very," Riddle murmured, his eyes still upwards, his tongue slowly licking his lower lip.
"But do you think she did attack Audrey and Estelle?" Evelyn asked again.
"Maybe," he said, "we know it wasn't us, don't we?"
"Yes," Evelyn agreed, "it wasn't. But—but it—it wasn't her," she admitted quietly.
Riddle's gaze snapped back to her.
"What do you mean, Evelyn?" he asked, voice quiet.
"It—I can't say—" she whispered, "there was a—" and suddenly she felt like she was choking, and she couldn't get a word out.
"Oh," Riddle said, "a hex. Say no more Evelyn," and he smirked, indicating how he knew she literally couldn't, "I understand. It wasn't Granger."
"Are you going to visit her?" Evelyn asked tentatively, "she seemed rather ill."
"Well," Riddle said, his eyes cold, "it's what a good boyfriend would do, isn't it?"
Sunday, October 18th, 1943
Hospital Wing
Hermione lay in the hospital wing, her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. She had been in there three nights now, three nights in which Madam Pomfrey could find nothing wrong with her, but in which Hermione continued to vomit off and on. After the third incident of Hermione emptying the contents of her stomach, Madam Pomfrey had quietly, very quietly, although at this point no one else was in the hospital wing besides them and the two vacant girls, asked if it was possible that Hermione was pregnant. Hermione had hotly denied it, her face a horrible tomato red, before she remembered, with a flash of horror, the night with Blaise. And then she had frozen. She was sure, quite sure that they had been safe, but maybe…Madam Pomfrey had looked at her kindly, no judgment in her gaze, and had run the test on her. "Nothing, Miss Granger," she said, patting her on the leg. "You're fine."
"Oh," Hermione had whispered, "good."
"No need to be embarrassed, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, "he's a very charming boy. Very handsome."
"He is," Hermione agreed, more tears in her eyes, before she realized Pomfrey was talking about Riddle, and not Blaise. She had puked again.
Three days of hiding in the hospital wing, no one allowed to visit the three of them, although Pomfrey had told her archly that Riddle had tried, many times, while she placed a bouquet of flowers next to her with a wink. Hermione resisted the urge to throw them in the trash and puke on them.
Three days, and she could see no way out of this horrible predicament. Now everyone would be convinced that she had hurt Estelle and Audrey, she had been such a fool. Everyone would be convinced she and Riddle were shagging if they had seen that look on his face. Everything was ruined. At least she had been able to keep up with her homework.
Something touched her leg, and Hermione opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out. A figure loomed up from the floor, silhouetted against the moonlight from the windows, a figure with long hair. Hermione tried to scream again.
"Shhh!" the figure said harshly, "Quiet, Granger!"
A beam of moonlight hit the girl's face.
"Estelle?" Hermione whispered, astonished, sitting up.
Estelle Black sat down at the foot of Hermione's bed with a sigh.
"What happened, Granger?"
"You-you disappeared, you and Audrey. Everyone thought you were dead. And then you—you showed up a few days ago. But both of you were—something was wrong. And everyone thought I did it," she couldn't help adding.
"You?" Estelle said, snorting. "You? Of course it wasn't you! It was—" and she choked on her own tongue.
"Who?" Hermione demanded, and Estelle shook her head harder, holding her throat, clearly unable to tell her. "Who is it, Estelle? Who—"
Abruptly, Hermione woke up. She whipped her head around, but Estelle and Audrey were still motionless, vacant, in their beds.
Hermione got up, and walked over to Estelle Black, who reacted not at all to her presence. But somehow, Hermione knew she had not had an ordinary dream.
"Who, Estelle?" she whispered again, "who did this to you?"
"Igneus," Riddle said cautiously, approaching the motionless, smelly figure in the library, whose greasy head was resting in his hands, a parchment on the table in front of him in the library.
"What do you want?" Igneus snapped, turning on him. "Come to try to tell me how your half-blood girlfriend is innocent of torturing Audrey?"
Riddle paused, taking note of the slur against Hermione's parentage. "I shouldn't have to convince you, Igneus, on something you know is true."
"I don't know a goddamn thing," Igneus snarled, and Riddle saw, with a start, that he was staring again at the paper that stated Gilderoy Lockhart L.V.?
"No," Riddle said, pulling out his wand silently when Igneus turned his back on him, "no, you really don't." And he cast a wordless spell on the Head Boy.
Monday, October 17th, 1943
Library, 7:05 PM
Hermione sat in the library, head buried in her books, scrabbling frantically on her parchment. She had had a horrible day, a day she thought only Harry Potter could fully understand. She had been abused, spat upon, taunted, and ignored in every class she had, every meal she ate. The only people who had given her an ounce of positive attention had been Riddle, Belinda Harper, Evelyn, and Brigitte. And one of those people she hated. It was funny, how much this had bothered her on Friday, and how it bothered her now much less. It bothered her less, and caused her not to pay attention at all, for once in her academic career, because all she could think about was her encounter with Estelle. She had never believed in Divination, never, but she knew, with every fiber of her being, that it had truly been Estelle in her dream. And she owed it to the girl to find out what had happened.
"Dream Premonitions?" Riddle whispered from behind her shoulder, and Hermione jumped mightily. "I didn't take you for a Divination fan, Hermione."
"Oh," she said, finding herself alone with Riddle since their encounter in hallway, "hello, Riddle."
"Riddle, is it?" he said, eyebrows raised. "I thought we'd been over this, Miss Granger. Are you really calling your boyfriend by his last name?"
"Habit," she told him with a weak smile, "and perhaps I like to annoy you."
Riddle smiled, a lopsided smile that did something to Hermione's stomach, something she couldn't understand. He sat next to her swiftly, leaning in.
"I wouldn't want to get on your bad side, Hermione," he whispered, "not after that little incident in the Great Hall."
"Oh," Hermione said flatly, "that."
"Yes," Riddle said, leaning closer, "that. I've never seen spellwork like that, Hermione, where did you learn to—"
"Tom!" shrieked Jane Landy, founder of Tom's Tarts, and potentially shrillest member. "Tom, what are you doing?"
Hermione realized that Riddle was practically nuzzling her he was so close, and he was breathing rather heavily, his hand near her leg under the table.
"Do you mind?" Hermione said coldly, "we're studying here." And she slammed Dream Premonitions shut, expelling a puff of dust.
"Studying," Riddle murmured, and suddenly, she felt his hand sneak its way onto her bare leg under the table.
Hermione gasped, shocked at Riddle's forward behavior, when he had seemed so prim and easily scandalized in the past. That's because, a little voice whispered internally, it's working. You're getting to him. He's acting more like he really is around you.
Riddle's hand slowly stroked her skin, above her knee, and Hermione felt herself break out in goosebumps. Riddle's lopsided smile grew, and she knew he was misinterpreting her physical reactions to him again. His hand travelled upward, and Hermione didn't dare push him away with Jane Landy witnessing their interaction, didn't dare reveal to Tom's most vindictive Tart where his hand currently was. And Riddle, blast him, knew it. His hand moved upward, upward, and Hermione sucked in a breath, shocked. Frozen. He pulled at her skirt, bunching it up on her leg, revealing more space for his hand to travel, his fingers to dance across, and Hermione trembled, she couldn't help it, even though she knew what Riddle thought it meant.
"Studying!" Jane Landy shrieked, "don't lie to me, Tom, how could you—" Madam Pince was upon her in an instant, dragging her out by the ear, hissing at her for disrupting the sanctity of the library, and all the while Riddle's hand was so scandalously high on her thigh, stroking the inner thigh, moving close, much too close, to her center—
"What are you doing, Riddle?" Hermione hissed, shoving his hand away. "You might have lied for me, but don't think that lets you—"
"Sorry," Riddle said, eyes widening at her innocently, "I thought, from your reactions, that you wanted me to—"
"I haven't even kissed you," Hermione said, outraged, "what kind of girl do you think I am?"
"Well," Riddle said, licking his lips, "we can rectify that."
Hermione pushed him away, so hard he almost fell off his chair.
"Control yourself!" she snarled in a whisper, "just because you get-you get-just because you saw me hexing people, and that seems to—to—well, you know, doesn't mean you can just maul me in public!"
"Sorry," Riddle repeated, not looking sorry at all, a sly smile playing on his face. "I thought you might be happy that I took care of your little problem for you, that's all."
"What problem?" Hermione said, harassed, moving futher away from him, dragging her books to her like armour.
"Your problem with Igneus," Riddle shrugged, "I took care of it."
"What do you mean?" Hermione said.
"Nothing," Riddle said, "nothing to worry about. Just know that I take care of people I care about." And he leaned forward, giving her a swift, chaste kiss on the cheek, before standing up.
Hermione bit her tongue so she wouldn't snap at him about how he didn't care about anybody.
"And Hermione," Riddle said, turning around to her as he backed away, "I'm thinking Shakespeare for our costumes, in honor of your name. What do you think?"
And he turned around and left her there, her skirt hiked up very high, her skin flushed and confused.