Chapter Thirty-Five: The Broom of Gryffindor
Phobos sat with his shaved head in his hands, listening to the increasingly hysterical shrieks of his mother and Aunt Stella coming from Uncle Fortis's sitting room, the Aurors sent to get statements about his brother's abduction looking harassed as half his family swooned and the other half bellowed and threatened them.
"Mr. Malfoy?" someone asked from in front of him.
Phobos looked up. It was the young female Auror with short, curly hair. She had a kind look to her.
"Yes?" he said, voice hoarse. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he'd been crying. He was past that sort of shame. The lion on his head shook its mane.
"I'm Auror Jennings," she said, squatting down to meet his eyes. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
"Go ahead," Phobos croaked. "But I've already told them, I was knocked out, and then I was under the table with a head injury. I didn't see a thing."
"And why were you under the table?" Jennings asked him, and instead of sounding like she though he had been a coward like the rest of them had sounded, she seemed understanding.
"Tansy dragged me under there," Phobos said, rubbing his scalp.
"And Tansy is…?"
"My Uncle's house elf," Phobos said.
"Do you know why she would have done that, instead of helping her own masters?" Jennings asked kindly.
Phobos hesitated. "I'd prefer you not mention this to my Uncle," he said. "I don't want her to get punished, and if he doesn't know she helped me first…"
"Of course," Jennings said.
"Well, I've always been a bit nicer to her than the others," Phobos said. That was the understatement of the decade. Jennings seemed to understand this without him saying anything else.
"I was bleeding and my head was injured, so she helped," he said.
"Very brave of her," Jennings said.
"Yeah," Phobos said, looking away. He hadn't even thought of that. Perhaps the little creatures weren't so irritating after all.
"May I ask why you have that on your head?" Jennings asked him unexpectedly.
"I'm dating a Gryffindor," Phobos said stiffly.
Jennings stared at him, clearing expecting more.
"I'm in Slytherin," Phobos prompted. Jennings continued to stare. In the background, Uncle Fortis threw a golden plate at another Auror's head.
Phobos sighed and looked upwards.
"What house were you in, Auror Jennings?" he asked.
"Ravenclaw," she said, raising an eyebrow, "although I'm not sure why—"
"I figured," Phobos said, "if you were in Gryffindor or Slytherin you would understand."
"Well, as I wasn't, perhaps you can-"
"It was a prank by a housemate," Phobos lied, "for crossing ah…enemy lines. That sort of thing."
Jennings looked dubious at the truth of this statement, but moved on. "Do you know of any enemies your brother might have?"
"No," Phobos said immediately, but then he hesitated. "Well, I mean…we're...he's…not overly popular. At school." It was strangely painful to admit this out loud.
"It was Grindelwald, fools!" Uncle Liberus screamed in the background, "He took my daughter, and now he's taken my nephew! We've told you that's who it was! Why you're such fools you can't understand—"
"It's a war on purebloods!" Aunt Stella screamed, "My nephew and niece! Hunted down like—"
"So you think it could perhaps have been a classmate?" Jennings asked, delicately ignoring his family losing control in the background.
"No, of course not," Phobos scoffed, rubbing at his eyes, "how could it possibly have—" he stopped. No. It couldn't have been him. He was overestimating him, greatly.
"Possibly have…?" Jennings gently prompted.
Phobos stared past her head. But was he overestimating Riddle? After all, he had been running an extremely dubious secret group for who knows how long, hexing his classmates so thoroughly they couldn't remember his true identity, conducting an extremely elaborate mind torment of Hermione—Granger, that is, Granger.
"Mr. Malfoy?" Jennings said, "Could it have been a classmate? You seem to have had some sort of epiphany."
In the background, his mother sobbed on the couch, and Uncle Fortis was finally stunned by an Auror, slumping next to the unconscious form of Igneus, who had been sedated by the Aurors roughly thirty seconds after their arrival when they saw the state of him. Uncle Liberus and Aunt Clara screamed in outrage, pulling out their own wands. It was at this extremely dramatic moment that Tansy came running into the drawing room.
"Master! Master Fortis! Master Abraxas! Mistress Stella!" she squeaked.
"Not now Tansy, you useless bloody elf!" Abraxas roared, and Jennings looked at Phobos with an expression that indicated she instantly understood why Tansy had saved him above her rightful masters.
"But masters, mistresses, Tansy is—"
"You were told to be quiet, stupid elf!" Lucretia screamed.
"But please, Tansy is—"
Tansy gave a shudder, and stopped herself mid sentence, and then ran headlong into the wall with a loud bang. The Aurors exclaimed in horror.
"Tansy!" Phobos bellowed, standing, "stop that immediately! What is it you have to say?"
"Thank you Master Phobos," Tansy squeaked, cross eyed, a red mark forming on her forehead. "Tansy is answering the door just now, and outside is—"
The drawing door opened with a squeak.
"Hullo, what's all this then?" Dougal said, walking in with his top hat tilted becomingly.
You're right. I've never had a real friend.
Hermione held the last parchment from Riddle over the fire in the common room, Philippe and Christoph twittering nervously at her about Riddle.
"'Ermione, 'e said e would…ah..'ex our…what was it, Christoph?" Philippe asked.
"Our..ahh…private…theengs.." Christoph said, clearly deeply embarrassed at saying these obviously sanitized threats to her.
Hermione looked at the parchment as the light from the flames flickered over the inky words. She couldn't make her hand let go. The other parchments burned merrily in the fire. She had no idea why she had covered Riddle's tracks for him like that. Most of the words he had written were more than a bit incriminating if anyone else had read them. But then again, she had no idea what she was doing at all anymore. It was quite possible she was losing her mind.
"'Ermione?" Philippe said tentatively.
Reflexively, Hermione's hand half crumpled the parchment so only "I've never" was visible, and without thinking, she shoved the note in her pocket.
"Don't worry about it boys," Hermione said briskly, standing up, her still pink eyes contradicting her confidence. "He won't do a thing to you, not if I can help it. Just let the fat lady deal with it. She'll enjoy that. Don't answer any more."
"Thanks, 'Ermione," Christoph said, looking deeply relieved.
"You're welcome," Hermione said absently, her hand still clutching the parchment in her pocket.
There were a few minutes of silence that became increasingly awkward as it was clear to both Christoph and Philippe that Hermione had no intention of explaining a single thing to either of them as she stared unblinkingly into the fire. They exchanged glances, and silently had a battle as to who would say it. After a furious round of wand, cauldron, owl, Philippe lost and grimacing, he turned to the older Gryffindor girl.
"'Ermione?" he said.
"Yes, Philippe?" Hermione said, not looking at him. "I promise you don't have to worry about that little—that—well, anything from him anyway. I'll sort him out, I assure you."
"No, no eetz just…" Philippe looked helplessly at Christoph, who made urgent "go on" gestures to him. "Do you…want to…borrow scarf?"
It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly.
Hermione blinked, coming back to the present.
It took her longer than it should have, but she turned to the horribly blushing French boys, instinctively clutching at her neck. They both looked away from her, their faces almost purple.
"Yes, that would be lovely, Philippe," Hermione said finally. The boy smiled tentatively at her and unwound his scarf from his own neck, and handed it to her, warm and smelling like twelve year old boy. "That's…very thoughtful of you, Philippe," she said, tying the scarf firmly around the Riddle shaped marks on her neck.
The boys both smiled at her, still looking awkward.
"Now," Hermione said grimly, "any advice about how I shut up the rest of the castle before the others come back? Starting with Peeves, maybe?"
Christoph and Philippe exchanged another hopeless look.
"Polyjuice?" Christoph suggested meekly.
"Much of Obliviate?" Philippe said.
"That bad?" Hermione groaned.
"Veery bad," Philippe said bluntly. "Just…keep scarf on, 'Ermione. We won't say a sound." Christoph nodded fast.
"A word," Hermione said, smiling wryly, "you won't say a word. Very generous of you, boys. I'm afraid you will be the only ones."
"Maybee not Preengle?" Philippe said, completely unhelpfully.
"Maybee," Christoph said, shooting Philippe a sharp look. "Maybee not Preengle."
Hermione dropped her head into her hands and groaned.
"Did you hear what Hermione Granger did over the holidays?" a third year Ravenclaw girl said to a group of Hufflepuffs.
"Can you believe how disgracefully your Miss Granger behaved, Sir Nicholas?" the Fat Friar said to Nearly Headless Nick as a swarm of fourth years walked by, and came to a halt, ears perked, as the ghosts conversed.
"She looked for him for hours," a sly witch's portrait said to her neighbor as Jane Landy walked by, and then stopped abruptly. "Hours and hours, that's what Violet said, and then they disappeared together, up on the Astronomy tower—"
"I heard it was the dungeons," Isabelle Martin, prominent member of Tom's Tarts said to Brock Miller, who looked horrified. "And they came out buttoning up their shirts—"
"No, no!" Christoph said desperately to Wyatt Corsington and his friends, all of whom were red faced, "no, 'Ermione did not-eez all lies, all lies—"
"…and then she told me she knew the Contraceptive charm well, quite well, and she laughed," Evelyn Sanders said to the other six year Gryffindor girls, "and she told me where she learned it, too, girls! Well you know Tom. He's so clever…"
"That's not what happened, I'm sure," Hortense Lockhart said, scandalized, to the other third year Ravenclaws, "why, Hermione would never—"
"Belinda, I heard your boyfriend cheated on you with an ugly half-blood," Cheri Mulcibur said with a laugh, "how embarrassing! As if lowering yourself to some poor orphan half-blood wasn't bad enough, to have him treat you like you're some sort of desperate floozy—"
"Phobos," Sergon Avery said a strange smile on his face, "I've heard the most awful things about your girlfriend."
Oh Granger,
What a danger,
To the boys in silver and green,
Off in the woods,
She gives up the goods,
Faster than you've ever seen.
Sometimes it's in the snow,
Other times by the lake,
Her favorite's the dungeons,
But only if you are a snake—
"Belinda," Lord Voldemort said, sitting on a desk in a dusty classroom in a dark corner of the third floor, "what exactly did you use on those girls?"
"My lord?" Belinda asked, confused. It was distracting how tightly the shirt pulled on him when he was leaning back on his hands like that. She wondered if he had missed her while she was gone. If he had thought of her, perhaps even thought of her and—she shivered at the naughtiness of the thought—touched himself while thinking of her. She had only been back five minutes and already she had lost all the sense she had gained over the holidays about Lord Voldemort.
"What's the spell you used on the Black and Malfoy girls?" Riddle asked.
Belinda startled out of her contemplation of the perfection of Tom Riddle's body.
"I—I don't understand, my lord," she said finally.
"When you kidnapped the girls, and transported them to Grindelwald, what is it that you used?" Riddle asked every word clear and slow.
Belinda gaped at him.
"But-but you already know," Belinda finally said, "I told you all about it months ago."
"Oh, I know," Riddle said casually, flicking a dark strand of hair out of his eyes, Belinda shuddering the tiniest bit with longing, "but we're pretending."
"I—I really don't understand, my lord," Belinda said, baffled.
"I'm confronting you on your evil treachery," Riddle drawled, looking bored, "and you're quaking with fear at my anger. Now you're telling me the truth of your double dealings with Grindelwald, and giving me the spell to wake up those girls."
"But you already have it, my lord, it's a potion." Belinda said, "Or did you forget it? Has that Granger girl rotted your brain that much?"
Riddle sat there, looking at her, eyebrows raised expectantly, as if she were a total fool for not comprehending.
"Oh," Belinda said suddenly, stomach sinking, "Oh. I get it. You told her." Her voice was flat.
"Yes," Riddle said, flicking back his hair again, "it was a terrible shock, you know. I trusted you so much."
"So you're waking them up because she asked nicely, are you?" Belinda demanded, her pale cheeks flushing with color. Damn him. Damn him.
"In a way," Riddle said.
"And what, exactly, am I going to do when you wake them up and they know what I did?" Belinda demanded, her cheeks turning redder. "Go to Azkaban?"
"Of course not," Riddle said. "You really think I'm not going to Obliviate them the second I've awoken them?"
"And what if someone breaks through that, what then, Riddle?" Belinda demanded.
"Riddle?" Her lord said, eyes flashing, "Riddle, Belinda?"
"You let her call you that," she said mutinously.
"For now, I do," Lord Voldemort said, carelessly. "And no one is breaking through a spell of mine, Belinda, rest assured."
"But what if—"
"And if you're worried about old Gellert," Riddle cut her off, "I think it's about time you left him, isn't it Belinda?"
"I—of course, my lord, whatever you want," Belinda said, "but I thought you needed me to—"
"Now I need you to tell me how to fix those girls," Riddle said, "I'll get it out of you under extreme duress, of course, but you'll tell me, after I nobly make a huge effort to save those poor innocent souls from your vile machinations." He snickered.
"And how are you going to stop Granger from telling anyone that it was me?" Belinda demanded. "Oblivius Mutus again?"
"Of course not," Riddle said, "that would defeat the whole purpose. How else would she know of my extreme loyalty to her? How else would she know of my noble effort? How else would she trust me?" He pushed back the unruly lock for a third time and laughed. "No, I've got another way. Don't worry about it, Belinda. You know I reward my followers."
"So it's all about her again, is it?" Belinda said, enraged and embarrassed. She would never learn with this boy, would she?
"We'll have to stop this charade of us dating," Riddle said, seemingly oblivious to her humiliation. "It won't do."
"It won't do?" Belinda hissed.
"No, not at all," Riddle mused, "if you like, you can slap me in the Great Hall and call me a cheating cad. Maybe in the common room, whatever you prefer."
"And why would I call you that?" Belinda said. "Cheri Mulcibur told me some drivel about you and Granger, but it was so obvious she was lying to make me upset because she's jealous, does she think I've forgotten how she hid a picture of you under her pillow and kissed it every night third year—"
"I'm afraid I've been a very bad boy while you were gone, Belinda," Riddle interrupted carelessly, as if her feelings didn't matter in the slightest. "I have been up to all sorts of things with Hermione, and I'm sorry to say, there were many witnesses."
There was a shocked silence that went on and on.
"What did you do?" Belinda finally said, face white, her red hair contrasting sharply with the corpse like pallor of her skin. It couldn't be true. Cheri Mulcibur couldn't have been right. She couldn't have."What did you do with her?"
"Really, save this for our dramatic breakup," Riddle told her, "unless this is a trial run?"
"Trial run?" Belinda said, her voice rising alarmingly, "trial—you complete-you bloody devil, Riddle, you—" she launched herself forward, and attempted to hit him in the face. Riddle caught her small fists easily, laughing.
"This is very dramatic of you, Belinda," he said. "Did you forget it was all an act, between us?" Belinda struggled, trying to twist her hands out of his grip to claw at his perfect handsome face. "Come now," he said easily, and dragged her closer to him, his dangling legs surrounding hers, "stop this. We can still carry on in private, is that what you're upset about?"
Belinda struggled harder, so angry her face was as red now as her hair.
"How can you think I would want to—?"
"Please, Belinda, stop this feigned outrage," Riddle said, his teeth gleaming in a condescending smile, his eyes empty, "we both know you'd take it any way you can get it from me."
Belinda shrieked an incoherent noise of humiliation and rage, unheard by anyone through Riddle's thorough warding.
"I wouldn't—I wouldn't—" she screamed, "don't you dare-"
Voldemort laughed a high pitched laugh.
"Oh yes, yes you would," he said, laughing harder. "If I took my clothes off, right now, you would throw yourself so fast at me it would be like you Apparated."
Belinda saw red. She had never been so angry in her entire life.
"Now remember," Voldemort said, "we're having a terrible fight about what an evil little traitor you are. Not a debate about how much you want me. There's no need to argue that. We both know how badly you—"
Belinda tore one hand free and punched Tom Riddle right in his gorgeous face with a loud crunch of bone.
"Hello, Hermione."
Hermione turned around, her heart doing strange lurching motions in her chest. She had been hovering awkwardly near the doors leading outside the castle for over an hour, contemplating greeting her friends (and, if she was being honest, her fake boyfriend) as they arrived off the train, but she had bailed at the last moment, running away in the most un-Gryffindorish manner possible, and had hidden in the kitchens with the delighted Kreegan and Ralmy, who apparently had actually baked cookies for Riddle to give her and who had been rather worried about her.
She had hidden there for quite some time, sure that Riddle would come looking for her, jumpy and nervous as she played with Philippe's scarf. Riddle, true to his word, had made it so that she couldn't remove the marks on her neck, but she would be damned if she would allow herself to get bullied this way into talking to him again. It was when she was sure it was so late that no one could possibly be looking for her still that she had ventured outside the kitchen, the house elves adoringly pressing more pastries upon her. Assuming this had been her first mistake. Her second, not wiping the minds of every student, ghost, and portrait left at Hogwarts over the holiday break with her.
"Oh! Hello Phobos," Hermione said, trying not to sound like she was nervous at all and failing miserably.
Her "boyfriend" stared at her, leaning against the corridor wall, his hair slowly growing back over that ludicrous lion that seemed to be currently wiggling its tongue at her. His expression was entirely unreadable, but Hermione suddenly heard his voice saying "lust" again, and felt the memory of his lips on hers.
"Have you been waiting here long? Why…why didn't you just come in to the kitchens? I showed you how," Hermione said.
"I was waiting to see how long you would hide from me," Phobos said, voice emotionless.
"Hiding? Why would I be hiding?" Hermione laughed, slightly high pitched.
"Oh, I don't know, doll," Phobos punctuated this pet name with a sneer, his face finally doing something, and the something it was doing was quite alarming, "you tell me."
Hermione's hand almost went to Philippe's scarf around her neck but she stopped herself in time. Phobos's eyes darted after the movement of her hand, and his eyes hardened.
"How was your holiday, sweet, doting girlfriend?" he said. "If you care, which I sincerely doubt, mine was awful."
Hermione opened her mouth in indignation but Phobos continued.
"First, I had to defend your honor to my whole extended family. Then, my brother got kidnapped by Grindelwald's followers—"
"What?" Hermione gasped.
"—and then he was mysteriously returned not six hours later, untouched except for the gaping hole in his mind about where he'd been. Then we spent the rest of the night getting interrogated by Aurors, who seemed to think we had faked the whole incident."
"But what—"
"And then," Phobos said, his voice rising slightly, "as if I hadn't had enough of a bloody mess to deal with, my father proved himself even more of a coldhearted arse than previously known and decided it was more important to lecture me on a half-blood Gryffindor girlfriend then check on my brother's health."
"Is Dougal—"
"He also," Phobos said, still louder, "noticed what had happened on my head and asked me, and I quote directly here Hermione, 'if I had lost all sense of myself as a man over shagging some filthy Gryffindor.'"
Hermione gasped again, face flooding with color.
"Yes I was horrified as well," Phobos said, "I wasn't even aware that my father knew that word. But you know the worst part, Granger?"
A part of Hermione realized that he had switched to her last name again, and her alarm grew.
"I—what was the worst—"
"I defended you!" Phobos hissed, and the next words came out in a forced rush as his neck and face grew redder, "I stuck my neck out and shouted at my father and told him you were worth it that you were better than most girls and that I—" he cut himself off abruptly, looking away and breathing hard through his nostrils.
Hermione felt frozen in place. Had Phobos Malfoy almost just told her-
"And then after all that," Phobos said, looking back at her again, "I come back here, and find out that you—" he suddenly lurched off the wall, closed the gap between them, and yanked hard on the scarf around her neck. Hermione had tied it so tightly that it didn't come off, but it moved upwards roughly, and she couldn't help the noise of pain that escaped her, nor the skin that was shown to Phobos.
Phobos stared at the marks on her neck in silence, and Hermione had the wild, insane urge to kiss him. She had no idea where this crazy thought had come from. She had never been attracted to a Malfoy in her life, and she had never intended to start. Perhaps it was that anyone looked preferable to Riddle.
"Do I have to do Libere Loqui again?" Phobos said, lips pressed together tightly.
There was a single moment that would shame Hermione later where she considered lying to Phobos, pretending that Riddle had hexed her again, but her guilty conscience surged.
"No," she said quietly. "He didn't do it again."
"So you just let him—" Phobos broke off, dropping the scarf and sucking in air through his nose again, looking away from her but not stepping away, his brows drawn and his face angry.
"I wouldn't say—let—I mean, he kind of—"
"What?" Phobos demanded, looking back at her, his pale eyes looking betrayed, "he kind of what?"
"We're not even really dating, you know," Hermione blurted, adding, unhelpfully, "us, I mean."
There was a horrible silent pause and Phobos's face went empty again.
"I suppose we're not," he said, "You're right. You can certainly be Riddle's whore; it doesn't mean a thing to me."
Hermione reeled as if she'd been slapped. She'd been called the Whore of Gryffindor more times than she could count now, but it stung more than she would've guessed coming from Phobos.
"He attacked me," Hermione hissed. "Right after you left, you can ask Dumbledore, he saw, I hit him, I bit him, he—"
Phobos grabbed her arm roughly, leaning even closer to her, his eyes darting over her face.
"He attacked you?" he asked, voice low. "He—what did he—did he hurt you, why didn't you turn him in to Dippet, why-"
"I told you, my mission…" Hermione trailed off, and at the look of mingled anger and confusion on Phobos's face she felt sickened with herself. She was such a liar. She was hardly better than Riddle.
"But did he…I mean are you…"
"I'm fine," Hermione said hastily, "he just wanted to…leave a mark, I suppose, to annoy you, but he didn't—"
For a moment, she thought Phobos believed her. He looked at the very least like he desperately wanted to. Hermione even felt a shameful surge of relief until—
"So why did you look for him all day Saturday?" Phobos demanded.
Hermione opened her mouth, closed it. Phobos clenched his jaw at her continued silence.
"Right. I thought so. We're done here."
"Phobos, I—"
"Have a nice life with Riddle wiping your memory over and over again whenever you make him mad," Phobos sneered. "I'm done caring about you."
Hermione felt such a peculiar mix of emotions at his words she almost felt like she was going to vomit.
"Look," Hermione tried again, and Phobos opened his mouth furiously to cut her off again, "don't interrupt me, Malfoy! I have to do things I don't want to do. I have something I'm trying to accomplish here. Things aren't what they seem."
"Oh I think they are," Phobos said, "I think you've fallen for his stupid act and face like every other girl at this—"
"How could I have possibly fallen for his act?" Hermione asked, "Surely you haven't forgotten what he did to me?"
"Well then that's even more twisted, Granger," Phobos said, "If you want him knowing what he is."
"I don't want him!" Hermione shouted, the words echoing in the corridor.
"Don't you?" Phobos said, "You have a funny way of showing it." And he walked away from her.
Phobos fumed the entire walk back to the Slytherin dorms, his hands clenching and unclenching, and a totally unpureblood urge to punch the wall running through his veins. The wall, or preferably, Tom Riddle's face. He kept seeing the marks on Hermio-Granger's neck, he kept seeing the guilty look on her face, kept hearing the things Riddle's little followers had gleefully told him earlier, things that, in all fairness, were probably exaggerations they had concocted to anger him more. There had been a ring of truthfulness through Her-Granger's lies, when she had mentioned that Riddle had somehow forced her. He almost believed it. But it made no sense, none at all that she had then gone on to look for him like a besotted idiot. He couldn't believe he had spent twenty minutes shouting at his father, and been shouted at even worse in return, for defending Granger. He had never felt like a bigger fool in his life. This was what you got, for getting in with Gryffindors and Mudbloods and blood traitors and half-bloods, this was what you deserved. Tom Riddle's face swam in his vision and his fists clenched harder. If he thought about it, really thought about it, everything that had gone wrong in his life the past few months could be traced back to Riddle.
Phobos stormed into the common room, waited to be mocked some more for being cuckolded, and instead, was meet with the sight of Tom Riddle bleeding heavily out of his nose in a chair, his head tilted back with a rag held to his nostrils. Sergon Avery and Thaddeus Nott were flitting about him, wringing their hands like old women, but Ethelinda and Dougal were laughing loudly, Cheri Mulcibur and some of the other pureblooded snobs pointing as well.
"What in Salazar's name…" Phobos said, bewildered, not realizing he was speaking out loud.
"Oh, Phobos," Adrasteia Fawley murmured sympathetically from next to him, "How terrible what that Granger slag did to you. We all thought you'd lost your mind, going for a Gryffindor half-blood like that, but she clearly tricked you."
"Yes," Phobos said automatically, watching as Riddle attempted to mop up the blood on his shirt, "yes, she tricked me."
"You and poor Belinda both," Adrasteia said, and Phobos turned to look at her, seeing if she was taking the Mickey, but she looked genuinely perturbed.
"Belinda?" Phobos said blankly.
"Yes, both of you taken in by lying half-bloods," Adrasteia said, "everyone's convinced they brewed up a love potion together. Have you been feeling strange? More moments of euphoria than usual?"
Phobos almost laughed. He doubted he'd had a single moment of euphoria in his entire life.
Adrasteia looked at him, her large blue eyes were rather lovely, but unfortunately, as was the rule with purebloods, you either got crazy or ugly, and as she seemed sane, she was stuck with a horsy face that had been in the Fawley female line for ages, no matter which new pure blood they added to the family. Phobos grimaced.
"What's this about Belinda, now?" he said, looking back at stupid Riddle and his stupid rapidly bruising face.
"Why, she was tricked by Riddle too," Adrasteia said, "and she found out he was carrying on with that Granger girl behind her back the whole time."
Phobos felt an internal wrench although he knew "the whole time" was a lie.
"At least she got some revenge," Adrasteia said, nodding at Riddle.
"She did that?" Phobos asked.
"Yes, but now," Adrasteia lowered her voice, "now she's crying in our dorm. Don't tell anyone though, it's embarrassing for her."
"Not just for her," Phobos heard himself saying out loud.
"Oh no, Phobos," Adrasteia said hastily, "no one's thinking any worse of you."
Phobos squinted at her suspiciously. She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
"Your mother found out I was available and told you to try to marry me, didn't she," Phobos said wearily.
Adrasteia turned red, and opened her mouth to lie.
"I don't have as much money as Igneus, you should try him instead," Phobos heard himself saying, and he walked away from her, reminded once again why a half-blood Gryffindor had seemed appealing in the first place. If she was interested in Riddle, she quite clearly was not interested in status or money.
Phobos walked by Riddle, and they made eye contact. He wondered how much more contentious the dorm would be. At least his bed was clear on the other side of the room. And he had spent the break researching some surefire defensive spells to ward his bed with.
"Have fun with my leftovers, Riddle," Phobos sneered loudly, and half the common room overheard, and laughed.
Riddle smiled at him oddly, and Phobos felt a shiver go down his spine. Perhaps he would sleep with his wand in hand tonight.
Hermione walked through the Fat Lady, who had winked at her and peculiarly, told her she understood completely, even if the others didn't, before swinging open to admit her. Hermione froze. Half the Gryffindor upperclassmen were in the common room, and, quite clearly based on their sudden silence, had been gossiping about her. Christoph and Philippe looked over at her in desperation.
"'Ermione!" Christoph said loudly, "tell them you are 'ave not—"
"Granger, you need to get a grip," Wyatt Corsington said loudly.
A few people nodded at this, and Hermione spun around from where she had been pushing through the ominously silent crowd to get to the girls dorms.
"Excuse me?" she said, indignant.
"You're bringing shame on all of Gryffindor," another boy whose name she didn't know said.
"I-what?"
"You'll spread your legs for anything in Slytherin," another boy spat, and more than a few people gasped.
"Hey now mate," Wyatt said, "that's not on, you don't need to—"
"It's true," a seventh year girl said, "everyone knows you've been whoring yourself out to—"
"Oi!" Richard Potter said loudly, "all of you keep your traps shut, this isn't—"
"I'm sick of hearing the Slytherins laugh at us," another girl said, "one of those horrible Averys asked me the other day if all Gryffindor girls were so easy."
Hermione sputtered.
"I don't know what it's like where you come from, Granger," said another boy, "but here at Hogwarts, here in Gryffindor, we don't just make our way through a whole house—"
"You're all going too far now," Wyatt said, shooting a guilty look at Hermione's face and attempting to calm the group.
"No no," said another girl with a plait, "she needs to hear this. We're all sick and tired of how-"
"All of you shut your leeps about 'Ermione!" Philippe said shrilly, one of the only underclassmen in the room.
"That eez enough!" Christoph agreed.
"I know in France you're used to this sort of thing," the girl who had made the comment about Gryffindor girls being easy said, "but here at Hogwarts, we have standards in how we behave."
One of the other French transfers spoke rapidly in angry French, and Christoph and Philippe nodded.
"I understood that!" one of the other girls said loudly, "that was quite rude you know, quite—"
"This is all Granger's fault," the boy who had made the horribly crass comment about her spreading her legs said even louder, "I heard Riddle got her pregnant, and that she tried to pass it off as Malfoy's baby."
The entire room gasped.
"Oh, for the love of—" Hermione started to say.
"That is enough, all of you!" Richard Potter shouted. "Go to bed, this isn't the Gryffindor way, where is your sense of chivalry?"
"Where is her sense of chivalry?" the plaited girl said. "What kind of girl goes about with two boys at once?"
For one wild moment Hermione almost shouted out the truth, that it was worse than they thought, it was three Slytherin boys, almost all at once, and that she didn't even like Slytherins, not really, but she bit her tongue until she drew blood, her hand clenching her wand in her robes.
"Two Slytherins," one of Wyatt Corsington's friends said, "even worse. What's wrong with Gryffindor boys, eh Granger?"
"There's nothing wrong with Tom!" a blonde girl said in a high pitched voice.
"Yes you should all stop insulting Tom!" another girl said, her voice also high pitched.
"We don't need input from Tom's Tarts," one of the boys said with an eye roll.
Hermione could not believe what was happening. Nothing this hostile, including the time Rita Skeeter had published an article about her being involved in a Harry Potter Viktor Krum love triangle, had ever been directed at her. And, hilariously, she was doing this to save the entire wizarding world from Lord Voldemort.
"I don't know why any of you are under the delusion that I care about what you think," Hermione said. She thought she would be angrier, but everything had taken on the dreamy quality of unreality.
"You should!" one of the vocal boys said, "You're disgracing us all, you're disgracing yourself, what would your mother—"
But now things had gone too far.
"Don't you dare talk about my mother!" Hermione yelled at the top of her lungs, a boiling rage filling her all at once. The closest Gryffindors to her recoiled away from her. "My mother loved me more than anything, and she was murdered!" her throat actually hurt from how hard she was screaming, and Hermione felt a burning in her eyeballs, but she refused, absolutely refused to cry before this unsympathetic mob of judgmental, baying jackasses.
"Hermione—" Wyatt Corsington tried to say, looking stricken, and Christoph and Philippe attempted to elbow their way through the much taller crowd to her.
"Shut up!" Hermione screamed, and more of the Gryffindors backed away from her, eyeing her wand, which she hadn't even realized she'd drawn. "What I do with my life is none of your business, none!"
The Fat Lady swung open again, and through the portrait stumbled Brigitte, Marion, and Marlene, all of them sweaty and out of breath.
"Oh Hermione dear, there you are," Marlene panted, "we've been looking absolutely everywhere for you darling, just—"
She stopped, and all three girls froze as they saw the strange tableau in front of them.
"What is this?" Marion snapped. "Richard Potter, why are you allowing this to happen, what kind of prefect—"
"I had nothing to do with this, Hinsley," Potter said indignantly.
Hermione turned once more to the door in front of her, pushing her way bodily past people now who yelped with irritation when she shoved them brutally.
"Get away from me, get away!" Hermione yelled, and she heard the murmurs of the Gryffindors rising, whispered snatches calling her a nutter, a whore, the broom of Gryffindor…
"It's bicycle, you complete and utter numskulls!" Hermione howled, finally losing her temper completely, "I'm the school bicycle, get it right!"
And she tore open the door, running upstairs faster than she ever had.
Her teeth were chattering as if she had gone into shock, her hands trembling. She had to leave. She had to escape. She should take the carnelian ring, activate the stones of time, disappear, leave these ungrateful bloody bastards behind forever, never see stupid bloody Tom Riddle again, never hear herself treated worse than even Draco Malfoy had ever talked to her. She had to see Harry again. She had to see her father. She had to see Remus, and Hagrid, and Blaise, and Katie Bell, and-
"Hermione!" she heard Marlene yell after her up the stairs, and Hermione tore into the dorm, empty except for one snoring girl, and grabbed a broomstick leaning against the wall.
"Hermione!" Marion screamed, and she ignored her, ignored them all, and pushed open the window, the frigid air swirling inside, and clambered out onto the sill awkwardly.
"'Ermione, no!" Brigitte said frantically, as the girls began opening the door, "where are you—"
Hermione jumped out the window onto the broom and sped upwards into the night sky, her teeth chattering more violently than ever, and flew away.
"Someone needs to go after her!" Marion shouted to the common room at large, face red. "And you should all feel ashamed of yourselves, driving her to—"
"Did you even hear what she did, Hinsley?" the plaited girl demanded.
"I—no," Marion said, shooting a helpless look at Brigitte and Marlene, "but I hardly see why that—"
"She's two-timing Phobos Malfoy with Tom Riddle!" one of Wyatt Corsington's friends shouted eagerly.
"Both of them at once!" a girl said, nodding.
Marion looked shocked. "That's—I'm sure that's not—"
"Everyone saw it," Alastor Moody said gruffly, looking upset, "everyone who stayed over the holidays."
"No, eetz not true!" Christoph said, "We stay, not you, and we did not see eet!"
"Did not 'appen!" Philippe also lied loyally.
"Give it up boys," Richard Potter said, not unkindly, "admirable of you to try to spare her, but everyone else, even the ghosts and portraits—"
"Lies!" Philippe insisted.
"Well," Evelyn Sanders said timidly, "that's not quite true. Tom told me—" she hesitated, stopped. Everyone fell silent as she bit her lip and looked down.
"Well?" Wyatt demanded. "Riddle told you—"
"He told me they were still…involved," Evelyn sighed, "and they…they were playing a joke on Phobos together. You know. To get back at the Slytherin Snob Squad for how they treated them."
At this convincingly told lie, both Philippe and Christoph looked shocked as well.
"Lies!" Brigitte said, and she looked angry. "You are a liar, Evelyn Sanderz!" And she stormed out of Gryffindor tower, looking for help, Marion following her, also outraged.
After the portrait slammed shut behind her, everyone looked to Evelyn again.
"Why would they be so cruel, Evelyn?" Marlene said, voice hushed.
"Well," Evelyn began, and she took a deep breath.
Hermione flew and flew, slowly freezing to the broom, her mind ablaze. She had to leave and get away from these people who all hated her. She had to see people she cared about. She had to—she sighed, stopped midair, and turned around, squinting back at the tiny castle in the distance. She had to go back and save the world from Voldemort. She had to stop being such a whiny baby. She hovered in midair, indecisive, and then turned back again, flying away from Hogwarts once more.
The first time she heard it, she was sure it was the wind playing tricks on her, and kept going.
"Hermione! Hermione Granger!" the voice shouted out again, closer to her this time. Hermione glanced over her shoulder, and coming up fast behind her was a girl on a broom.
"Who is it?" Hermione shouted back, and then she started flying away again. "Just leave me alone! I'm done with all of you." She attempted to make a dramatic getaway once more, but she had not taken the time to notice that the broom she had stolen was the latest model… in 1881.
The girl zoomed up next to her and grabbed her broom, slowing them both down.
"Get off!" Hermione hissed, "Get off of—" she looked over and she stopped. "Dorcas Meadows?" she asked disbelievingly. "What on Earth are you—?"
"I was practicing for our next match," Dorcas said, yanking harder on Hermione's broom so they both slowed to a complete halt.
"At this time of night?" Hermione demanded. It must be after midnight by now, and near freezing.
"Well," Dorcas said, her Ravenclaw Quidditch robes bright blue in the moonlight, "I might've snuck out."
Hermione shook her head in confusion at this madness.
"But what in Rowena's name are you doing flying around, Hermione?" Dorcas asked, looking concerned. "I saw someone fly out of Gryffindor tower and I followed, but I never thought it would be you."
"Surprised the broom of Gryffindor can fly her own broom too?" Hermione asked dully.
Dorcas frowned.
"Isn't the phrase commonly 'bicycle'?" she asked.
"Yes!" Hermione half yelled, "Thank you!"
"But, Hermione, why were you—"
Hermione rubbed at her face roughly. She would not cry. She would not.
"I don't think you want to be seen talking to me, Dorcas," she said, "or you'll be a pariah like me by tomorrow."
"Why are you a pariah?" Dorcas frowned harder.
"You haven't heard?" Hermione said, looking away, "you must be the only one. I'm conducting a ghastly affair with both Tom Riddle and Phobos Malfoy."
"So?" Dorcas said, looking bewildered.
"I—you aren't—"" Hermione looked at the Ravenclaw girl, her own look of confusion mirroring Dorcas's. "You're not—"
"Look," Dorcas said, "what you do with your personal life is none of my business, nor should it be anyone else's. You're a good Ancient Runes partner. I don't really care about the other stuff."
"Thank you," Hermione said, her voice thick with tears, and turned away, surreptitiously wiping at her face.
"I've shared almost all my classes with Tom Riddle for years," Dorcas said grimly, "Tom's Tarts come after me at least once a year, spreading lies about me. You don't have to tell me if it's true or not, I don't care."
"They surrounded me," Hermione heard herself whimpering pathetically, "a hundred Gryffindors. And they said really horrible things to me."
"Well that's on them, not you," Dorcas said, "that makes them look bad."
"Why are you being so nice?" Hermione asked, "you barely even know me." She wiped at her eyes again.
"Do I have to have a reason for being nice now?" Dorcas asked, and she smiled.
"No," Hermione said and she smiled, rather watery, but still a smile.
"The best thing you can do is go back there and show everyone how much you don't care about what they say," Dorcas advised, "and how much better than them you are."
"You're awfully wise," Hermione said.
"Well," Dorcas said, "I am in Ravenclaw, after all. Just tell me one thing, Hermione."
"Yes?" Hermione asked.
"So are you picking Phobos or Tom?" Dorcas asked slyly, "Or are you going to do what I would, and keep them both on the go?"
"Look here," Phobos said angrily, "I was just getting to sleep, and if we're caught out here after hours—"
"Stop whingeing Phobos Malfoy," Marion said severely, as they whispered in the first floor classroom, "this is important. Hermione's done a runner—"
"Why should I care what that little bitch—?"
Hortense gasped.
"Phobos!" she said, hands clutched to her face, "that's horrible, how can you talk about Hermione—"
"She is!" Phobos hissed, "She's a lying, cheating, bi—"
"So eetz true?" Brigitte asked hesitantly. "Not just a…story?"
"I saw the marks myself," Phobos said heatedly, "all over her neck, she didn't deny it, she let Riddle—"
"Are you sure she wasn't under the Oblivius Mutus again?" Marion demanded.
"She said she wasn't," Phobos said.
"But you didn't actually cast the counter jinx on her?" Marion asked. "Phobos Malfoy, you imbecile, of course she would say that, wouldn't she, if it had been cast on her—"
"She wouldn't even remember the spell," Phobos said, voice rising, "you said she didn't, last time."
"I suppose that's true," Marion said after a pause, sounding irritated. "But I'm finding this very hard to believe, Phobos, very hard—"
"She admitted it!" Phobos repeated, incensed, "and my god, you should have seen her neck, Hinsley! God knows what the rest of her body looks like after she let Riddle—"
Hortense gasped and clutched at her face more.
"Shhh!" Brigitte said, looking at Hortense, "she eez child, Phobos!"
"I'm not a—" Hortense began indignantly.
"So you don't care that Hermione could be kidnapped or freeze to death or fly herself right into a tree or something, Phobos Malfoy?" Marion demanded. "Just because she bruised your ego?"
"My ego?" Phobos hissed.
"Or did you actually have feelings for her?" Marion said, looking slightly surprised.
"Of course not," Phobos lied after a brief hesitation.
Marion raised her right eyebrow.
"I don't!" Phobos insisted, cheeks going slightly pink, "and in any case, I don't see why you're worried about her, Marion! She can take care of herself. She's a big girl. She'll come back if she wants to."
"I suppose," Marion said.
"I just cannot believe…" Brigitte said, looking crestfallen at Hermione's behavior.
"Yeah well," Phobos said, looking angry all over again, "believe it. She's gagging for Riddle, just like everyone else."
Hortense gasped again.
"Oh would you give it a rest, Lockhart?" Phobos said, turning to her, "you can't be such a delicate flower—"
"You just reminded me Phobos!" Hortense said excitedly, "with gagging! I figured out how to wake up Audrey and Estelle, and it's a truly disgusting potion, really awful stuff, we'll be lucky if they can drink it without—"
"What?!" Phobos shouted, "why didn't you say something earlier?"
The door to the classroom opened, and they all flinched at their impending detentions.
Someone walked inside, the light catching their face.
"Oh hello," Tom Riddle said, "don't let me interrupt."
They all gaped at him, and if Riddle found the odd assortment of people he'd found, one snotty pureblood Slytherin, one uptight Gryffindor prefect, one French transfer student, and a tiny Ravenclaw, he didn't show it.
"What—what are you doing here, Riddle?" Marion said finally, voice faint.
"I thought it was strange you came knocking on the Slytherin common room door for Phobos Malfoy, Marion," he said, teeth gleaming in a smile, "so I'm afraid I followed."
"Get out of here," Phobos hissed. His lion waggled its rear tauntingly at Riddle.
"But I'm part of your group now," Riddle said easily, smile growing, "Hermione didn't tell you?" the affectionate, casual way he said her name raised Phobos's hackles to the point where he foolishly forgot his fear of Riddle.
"We don't care what your whore thinks, Riddle," he snarled, "she's not a part of this anymore, either."
"Now wait a minute," Marion said, frowning.
"She did betray Phobos," Hortense said, looking sad.
Riddle smiled wider.
"Oh, so you're not her friends anymore?" he asked, pretending confusion. "Just because we…ah…"
"Shut your mouth," Phobos said, "no one cares what you two did."
"Oh, really?" Riddle asked. "But I could tell you so many stories, Phobos. Like the time in the secret passageway, when we were completing our Ancient Runes assignment."
Phobos went cold, his stomach sick. Granger hadn't been under the hex then.
"Or that time, in the library, with Dorcas and Brock there," Riddle continued. Phobos's guts twisted.
"Or that other time in the library," Riddle said, smiling again, "or that other, other time in the library. Or—"
"You're a pig, Riddle," Marion hissed.
"I could tell you stories too, Riddle," Phobos said, and he heard himself viciously lying, but he couldn't seem to stop. Riddle's smile dropped instantly. "Like that time in the dungeons. Or that time—"
"You're both disgusting," Marion snarled, as Hortense turned whiter and whiter.
Phobos knew if he had been alone with Riddle, he would've already been hexed in eight different ways. As it was, it was clear he was still considering it, even with their witnesses.
"You're a bloody liar," Riddle said coldly, and all of them gasped at everyone's favorite humble orphan turning into…this. Phobos, who knew him better than most, still had to bite his tongue from making a noise of shock.
"Am I?" Phobos asked, smiling without his eyes.
"Both of you stop this right now," Marion said, "Hermione is not here to defend herself, and this—"
"Yes where is my darling Hermione?" Riddle asked, tearing his gaze away from Phobos. "We have some good news to tell you."
For a single, horrible second, Phobos was sure Riddle was about to say he had gotten Granger pregnant. From the look on Marion and Brigitte's faces, he realized he wasn't the only one.
"She did a runner," Marion said abruptly. "About half of Gryffindor cornered her and decided to say horrible things about you two to her."
Phobos felt a twinge of guilt that he ignored. Riddle had the gall to look concerned.
"But where did she go?" he asked.
"She jumped out of our dorm window on a sixty year old broom and flew off," Marion said.
"What?" Phobos and Riddle said together, and then looked at each other in disgust.
"She stole Lysandra Manning's antique broom and leapt out a window," Marion said, as if her first comment had been unclear.
"Why does Lysandra Manning have an antique broom?" Phobos asked just as Riddle asked.
"Why did you let her jump out the window?"
"We hardly let her, Tom," Marion said severely, "but I'm sick of how you're treating her, both of you, this whole school, it's disgusting, she's a nice person."
Phobos snorted, rolling his eyes.
"She is," Marion insisted, "and I'm not listening to you two fight over her any more," she added, glaring at both boys.
"He can have her," Phobos sneered.
"I already have," Riddle lied vulgarly and Phobos made a gagging noise.
"Why are you 'ere?" Brigitte demanded.
Riddle looked taken aback.
"I told you, we have an announcement to make. I thought she'd be with you, but I suppose I'll just have to—"
"What are you going to name it?" Phobos snarled, "Tom Riddle Jr.?"
For some reason, this caused Riddle to go white, and then red, and then he clenched his fists as if he was going to hit Phobos. After a period where it was clear he was gathering himself enough where he wouldn't try to physically attack him, Riddle spoke again.
"I know how to do the Contraceptive charm. If you don't want to know what happened to your friends, Phobos, I don't have to tell you."
"What do you mean?" Phobos asked against his will.
"Well, Hermione finally told me what you all have been researching, of course," Riddle said, "I only wish she had told me sooner." They all stared at him. Riddle looked around at them all in irritation at their continued silence. "About Audrey and Estelle," he prompted.
"What?" all four of them chorused.
"She told you?" Phobos asked in disbelief.
"Of course she did," Riddle said, "she knew I would figure it out, and I did."
"Your modesty is astounding, Riddle," Marion said.
He ignored her and continued.
"She told you to 'look to the prefects,' right? Well that's because it was Belinda," Riddle said.
They all gasped again.
"Your girlfriend?" Hortense squeaked.
"Former," Riddle said shortly, "now that she's betrayed us all and joined with Grindelwald."
"Grindelwald?" they all echoed.
"Yes, I'm afraid she's joined with him," Riddle said, looking mournful.
"But how do you know?" Phobos asked, eyes narrowed.
"Igneus received a letter from Grindelwald about his sister," Riddle said, "taunting him. So we know it was him that did it. But when Hermione showed me how Estelle told you to look to the prefects, I remembered how we'd seen her patrolling that night, remember Marion?"
Marion, who had been frowning as well, went pale as a ghost at these words.
"I—of course," she said, voice hushed, "she was supposed to switch with—"
"Dorcas," Riddle finished, "and patrol. But Dorcas told us that she didn't need Belinda to patrol, and that they hadn't switched."
"That's right," Marion frowned, "but we ran into both of them while we were patrolling anyway."
"Yes," Riddle agreed, "and Dorcas was with Finley Martin, but Belinda—"
"Was alone," Marion finished, her voice barely audible.
Phobos looked at Riddle closely. Something seemed wrong about this, and he knew Riddle was a liar. But if Marion agreed…
"Is that why she broke your nose?" Phobos asked Riddle.
Riddle had managed to fix most of the damage to his face, but there was still a slight bruise to the left of his nose that remained from earlier.
"Yes, I'm afraid that's why," Riddle said sadly, "I confronted her about it and she became violent."
"What?" Hortense said, shocked. Belinda was, after all, rather tiny.
"I just can't believe it," Marion said.
Brigitte and Hortense shook their heads in disbelief as well.
"I can," Phobos said shortly, "everyone in Slytherin knows what she's really like, even if the rest of you don't."
"She was very angry," Riddle said, "because I took this from her." And he reached in his robes and pulled out a vial filled with a yellowish potion.
"Is that—?"
"What is—?"
"The antidote for the curse the girls are under," Riddle said triumphantly. "All they have to do is drink it, and they'll—"
"Dammit, Tom!" Hortense shrieked suddenly, and they all jumped. "Do you know how long I spent figuring that out over Christmas?!"
"Miss Granger, I'm sure you understand why you have detention for the rest of the week," Dumbledore said, looking at her carefully.
Hermione sat slumped in the chair in front of his desk, her hair damp and tangled even more than usual from the evening's chill, her face splotchy and red. It had been very hard indeed to return to Gryffindor tower and receive her punishment from the other sixth year girls. They had surrounded her and Lysandra Manning screamed at her for stealing a priceless heirloom. The shouts had become so loud that one of the third year Gryffindors had gotten Dumbledore, and here she was, half the house jeering at her as she followed the solemn, auburn haired professor to his office.
"Yes sir," Hermione muttered.
"And I will have to take fifty points from Gryffindor for your abhorrent behavior."
"Yes sir," Hermione repeated dutifully, and then, almost as if she couldn't help herself, she added "but is anyone else going to get punished for how they treated me?"
"And what, exactly, happened?" Dumbledore asked, coolly polite.
"They cornered me and accused me of cheating on Phobos Malfoy with—" Dumbledore started at her, and she began to wilt, "with…"
"Should they be punished for speaking the truth, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked. "If you recall, I was a witness—"
"Yes I recall," Hermione snapped, looking away. "but they said really awful things, Professor, really terrible…" she trailed off at the unsympathetic look on his face.
"Who were the culprits, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked.
Hermione sat, stumped.
"Well one had a braid," she muttered. "And…some of the boys…"
"So you don't know who?" Dumbledore prompted when it became clear she wasn't going to continue.
"No," Hermione mumbled.
"Well then, how can me—"
"Fine!" Hermione said, leaping to her feet, "I get it. I'm leaving now, it's very late. What time is my first detention with you, sir?"
Dumbledore studied her. "Tomorrow at seven, Miss Granger."
"Fine," Hermione repeated, turning to leave, her fists clenched.
"I didn't say you could leave, Miss Granger."
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Hermione schooled her face to blankness and turned back to the head of Gryffindor.
"Yes, sir?" she said through stiff lips.
Dumbledore was looking at her without even a hint of twinkle in his eyes. They stared at each other coldly. And finally, Dumbledore leaned forward and said the very last thing she expected.
"I think it's past time, Miss Granger, that we discussed your relationship with Grindelwald. Don't you?"
"Miss Harper," Armando Dippet said sadly, Professor Bowers standing stiffly in the corner, her mouth a harsh, unmoving line, "I'm afraid we've heard something terrible."
"Yes, Headmaster?" Belinda said, widening her eyes so that she looked as pretty and innocent as a porcelain doll. It was one of her most effective tricks that she employed quite often. "Something hasn't happened to my parents, has it?"
"No, not that, my dear," Dippet said, still more sadly.
The door opened behind Belinda, and she turned. Two Aurors came into the room, a young woman with short curly hair and a middle aged man with a tragic mustache.
"Hello, Miss Harper," the woman said, "I'm Auror Jennings, and this is Auror Williams."
Belinda turned back to Dippet, her heart racing.
"What's this all about, Headmaster?" she asked breathlessly.
"We have some questions to ask you," Auror Williams said brusquely.
"About your association with Gellert Grindelwald," Auror Jennings said, "and your assignment to attack Audrey Malfoy and Estelle Black."
A/N: Thank you to all of your reviews and support! It really gives me motivation to keep writing and editing. One of my reviewers had a great question that I will share the answer with to you all. Yes, Marion Hinsley = Augusta Longbottom. When I started writing this story (it was so so long ago) we didn't know her first name in canon, so I made one up. It's one of the many things that's sadly AU in this story unless I really rewrite it, like Professor Bowers and Blaise's characterization.
Also, and this is not a drill...you guys I met Christian Coulson aka Tom Riddle a few weeks ago! It was amazing and he's still super cute. Send me a review or private message if you want more details! :)