Author's Note:

This chapter is actually written when I was a couple of chapters ahead...and my sister said at one point that she didn't understand Tom's motivations. I do my best to not use his perspective unless necessary, but I suppose this is necessary (or I'm not a good enough writer to be able to manage it without his direct viewpoint yet). So, I went back and wrote this.

On a personal note, my stomach decided to disagree with me vehemently sometime earlier this week. It rebelled and got the intestines and colon in on the case as well. I'm non-functional and can barely get out of the house for around three days. Thanks for anyone who'd reviewed so far. Again, odds are any reviews are going to get replied a bit late. Sorry peeps.

'-

37 The Dark Side of the Moon

In which we follow Tom's perspective for a while. Friday afternoon at the library, eavesdropping. Tom meets the Wizarding Society for Better Governance again. A conversation between three purebloods of the Sacred 28. Tom experiments and sends the result to Hermione.

'-

The Hogwarts library is not actually as quiet as people think.

Oh, talking loudly is not advised between the bookshelves, that is true. The individual study tables also value quietness. Yet for the corner area cordoned off from the rest as the group study tables, discussion was a regular feature. Even arguments were not uncommon. After all, the advanced classes are noticeably smaller than usual ones. Sooner or later, people in them would end up partnered with someone from a different house and doing homework in the common room becomes a less plausible action.

This is where the library's common study group area come in.

The area was bounded by a rather subtle noise-reduction ward, carved on the stone floor (not that many was aware of it, as it was mostly covered by the carpet). A step away from the area and the noise went down as if the distance was five times that. Two steps away, and the noise sounded as far off as if the area was twenty-five steps away.

Technically, there was no need for the Advanced Potions study group to meet there, as the Slytherin members (which was most of them) could easily gather in their own common room. Yet Tom had chosen the library. Since everyone was mostly relying on him to help get them through the class, no one took the risk of annoying him by disagreeing. So, the library it is.

To most people, it would seem that he was working on his own homework when he wasn't tutoring them. Yet when he returned to his seat at the head of the table and spread his parchment, what he was doing was actually sharpening his hearing slightly and focused on one of the other tables.

One of the other tables held the Potions Class study group; it had Caspar Zabini and Auguste Murat.

"Did you truly decide to call on Curie?" Caspar asked after they'd gone over the particulars of a potions recipe.

"I didn't know that Hogwarts' grapevine is as efficient as Beauxbatons." Auguste's reply sounded amused.

"Apart from death and the destruction of a house, no other personal news travel as fast as anything pertaining to courtship. This is especially true when you declare it in a place as public as your House table at dinner."

There was a momentary pause, and the mumblings from his own table became more noticeable. Tom carefully made himself focus back on the other table and tune the Slytherins out again.

"She was in Advanced Arithmancy class with me. I remember this one problem that took me two pages to finish—oh, I'm sorry, you use the imperial measure, don't you? Thirty inches of parchment, then. Mind you, I've seen people finish it using twice as much space."

"Now, Hermione? I saw her turn in six lines. It was correct too, of course."

Caspar took his conclusion with an even tone. "She is a genius of an arithmancer, then."

Auguste chuckled. "Please, Zabini. If my family, a mere stranger on these lands, already have our own connections in St. Mungo's, I'm sure the Zabinis are far better served than I am. Even if someone pushed that article about her on the Daily Prophet, you know as well as I do that Madame Álava is far too ornery to allow anyone to buy her favour. Hermione's abilities are no exaggeration. If she were to step out of Hogwarts today, she would be in an apprenticeship with Esmeralda Álava the next."

"To say that she's a mere arithmancer is to damn her with faint praise." The Ravenclaw concluded.

"And thus, you consider her a worthy contender to the title of Mrs. Murat?"

"Really, we've just become friends," the French wizard's answer was too light, too innocent for anyone who can think to accept it at face value. "But who knows what the future might bring? In any case, she's truly a wonderful friend to have."

"Just friends, you say?" Caspar's voice was soft, almost hard to catch.

"Yes."

"Then, you wouldn't mind if I ask to call upon her myself?"

"Ah, then you do consider her a worthy candidate for Mrs. Zabini yourself. You're a sly one, Zabini, asking me about my impressions when it turned out that you have your own agenda." Auguste's tone was still jovial, the very picture of friendliness.

"Well, if you say no, I'd withdraw out of respect our friendship."

"Not at all. I've given Evariste the freedom to follow his own heart. It would be unfair for me to ask you otherwise, as I do not value your friendship any less."

A pause.

"You are truly the epitome of generosity, then, to invite competitors so readily." Caspar observed.

"None at all. I'm already in the same House. I believe I have undue advantage. Besides, it is not me you'd have to worry at all, no? Your strongest rival is a wizard of noticeable standing in your own House, Tom Riddle. What would the Slytherins say of you putting yourself as his rival?"

"I hear that Riddle's rivals do not have a history of a smooth and easy life," for a fleeting moment, there was an impression of dark amusement in Auguste's tone. "You are a braver man than I thought."

"Ah, I'm afraid boldness and courage is not really a becoming trait on me." Caspar replied.

"Really? How do you explain your current plan, then?"

"It is my family's policy not to interfere in anyone else's ascent or descent in power. I have no quarrel with Tom and I will not bar his way."

"Yet you plan on being very good acquaintance with Hermione." Murat astutely noted.

"It is as you say, a friendship with her will be very enlightening that one must be ignorant to wilfully let the opportunity pass. Besides, I am still a gentleman, Murat. In the end, it all comes down to the lady's wishes, isn't it? Whatever her choice will be, I'll respect it."

"And if her choice is you?"

There was more than a moment's stillness.

"Then it's a good thing that the Zabinis' ancestral home is actually in Lombardy and not Britain, isn't it? To repair to the old country, to remove myself entirely from Britain's politics is still a plausible option for me."

"Which is not a bad idea to do if you've just recently married and wished to settle down."

"While that possibility may also exist," Caspar said, "who among us know precisely what the future brings? I don't make a habit of excessively imagining things too distant from the present, Murat."

There was a light warning in his tone.

"Very well, then. I'll refrain from speculating."

"Thank you."

Tom casually plucked his quill from where it was sticking up from the parchment, turned it into a steel quill with several movements of his hand and threw it back at the parchment. It transformed back into a normal quill once it was embedded on the parchment and the table. He picked it up again and repeated it. There was a line of such holes on the top of his parchment. Abraxas was looking at him worriedly.

"Um, Tom? Are you…busy?"

"What is it, Abraxas?" His voice was still even and unaffected.

"My essay's done, but—"

"It's alright. Pass it to me." He passed his (now steel) quill to his left hand and stretched his right, palm up, towards the blond. The other Slytherin dutifully handed his essay over.

"You know, you don't have to do this now…" Abraxas began.

"What's with the sudden concern?"

"Gallus hasn't written anything for fear of putting his hands on the table. Your…quill, has struck farther than many expected more than once."

Tom scanned the surface of the table and noticed more than one new holes. "Robbe was about to filch Rufus' ink again. Tybalt should also know better than to try copying someone else's work for his essay. It wasn't you, Gallus."

Tybalt was to Gallus' left.

Gallus Rosier, seated at Tom's left, was still pale. He even had a tinge of green on his face. The wizard pointed to the hole what was practically next to his wrist—if he had laid them on the table just now. A whisper to the left and Tom would have stabbed a vein open.

"Ah, that one." Tom nodded with realisation. He knew when he made that shot. It was when Caspar asked Murat.

Then, you wouldn't mind if I ask to call upon her myself?

"Um, what about that one?" Abraxas prompted.

"My apologies, Gallus, my hand slipped." He replied cheerfully.

Both Gallus and Abraxas stared at him, both at varying degrees of disbelief. The difference between them being that the blond was still stuck at trying to understand what happened while Gallus had made his exit plan and was now executing it. He pushed his chair back and stood up. "It's alright, Tom, but you wouldn't mind if I change places with Pierce, do you?"

Pierce Parkinson. Not exactly the most engaging conversationalist, but Tom wasn't exactly in a chatty mood either.

"Not at all, Gallus."

"Thanks."

'-

Tom had leaned back on his seat and started reading Abraxas' essay, and as such he missed the Malfoy's heir expression. It was not often that Abraxas regretted having the high position of being Tom Riddle's right hand, but as Gallus walked away, he sent a longing glance at his friend's retreating back.

"That was wandless magic." Brutus Mulciber murmured from next to him. Abraxas shook his head.

"No, it wasn't."

"He changed the quill without drawing a wand, Abraxas."

"That's what you think. Now, where was Tom's wand?"

"Sheathed by his waist?" The blond stared at his companion in with scepticism. "No? Oh, I got this. It's in the wand holster at the arm, right?"

"Yes. Now, you see how he still moved his arm before the quill changes?"

"Ooh, yes. There's lots of arm movements."

"Those are really similar to the wand movements required for the transfiguration," Abraxas pointed out. Add the fact that his wand was right at his arm, it was obvious that he still moved it, albeit a bit subtler than before. "He casted it silently, sure, but it's not exactly wandless."

Brutus stared at him from three seconds.

"So, he still needs the movements…" he started. Abraxas nodded encouragingly. "But it's still wandless because he's not holding his wand."

The blond wizard groaned. "Merlin, he didn't have to hold it to still use his wand!"

"So…he could use his wand even if he left it at the table? But that's still wandless if he's not holding it, isn't it?" Brutus asked.

He gave an anguished moan and simply gave up. Tom had started throwing his (steel) quill yet again and it was not making him feel any better.

What sort of minister would stop being at his king's side? Even if he was probably risking his fingers right now, as Tom was in one of his mysterious moods that also happened to be rather hazardous to the people around him, it just wasn't done for him to move away. The fact that Tom was still smiling simply worried the Malfoy heir more—Abraxas noticed that Tom wasn't always aware that something had vexed him.

Acceptance is the first key to facing the problem, he thought. He didn't think saying that would go over well with Tom, though. Maybe Tom was just too used to keeping his steadfast persona as their leader because he didn't want to worry them. Maybe the Knights should give him more time to himself so he can relax? That didn't sound like such a bad idea to Abraxas.

He wished that Melchior didn't have to insist that he had his Advanced Charm study group to go to today. He'd have felt less alone or baffled.

'-

If the library's common group study area was known to all and accessed by students from all years, the upper-years group study room were furnished less like a school and more like the common room of an exclusive gentleman's club (minus the lingering scent of smoke or the puff of pipes or cigarettes).

The floor was richly carpeted that no one's steps made a sound. The patterned vines were the finest work of Persian wizards and witches and they gently swayed and shifted with every step taken over them, as if the walker was truly stepping over a bed of flowers or plants. Still life oil paintings of fruits and flowers hung on the walls, the stalks sometimes swaying to an unseen breeze or the occasional fruit on a table or picnic spread rolled a little, but other than that, it was peaceful. The windows faced Hogwarts' farther side—the Forbidden Forest.

What differentiated it from the library's main group study area was that it was only accessible by fifth-years and above (studious four years might gain access early if they were given the required permit by a Hogwarts professor). There were also the bookshelves placed at regular intervals on the wall, filled with identical books. Unlike the library in general, the books here cannot be brought out of the area—if they did, they'd only show up as books with blank pages and blank covers. Yet if the people at the nearest table had agreed on a topic to study, each bookshelf will automatically be filled with copies of books in the library that fit one of the topics chosen. No need to scour the bookshelves manually. It was all very convenient.

This is why it's not a surprise to know that the tables have a waiting list by the hour. A booking system is in place—the ledger by the front door recorded who reserved which table and for how long (two slots were the maximum, with the length of each slot being one hour). Usually, you have to reserve ahead by at least two days to get a table.

(It explained why Tom's impromptu location change for the Advanced Potions group made them end up in the library's general group study area—they hadn't the time to book a table properly.)

Some groups convened so regularly that they've made a habit of vigilantly preserving their table at the same time and for the same day(s). Like this table that Tom was currently approaching.

"Tom! It's good to see you here." Oswin said.

The usually staid seventh-year was exuberant in his greeting that he was practically gushing. It was no surprise; it wasn't as if Tom had the habit of visiting the Wizarding Society for Better Governance—or the Aspiring Career Bureaucrats, as he marked them in his head.

"Oswin, Emma. Ah, Mordred is not with you right now?" It was noteworthy since he was too used to seeing Montmorency with the two of them that his absence was noted.

"Advanced Charm practice. His study group was determined to read Flitwick's list of recommended spells and see how many they can master in a week." Emma explained. Her dark hair was neatly kept in a braid, always as neat as a pin, and she was never without her glasses.

Tom nodded. He'd just remembered that it was the same as Melchior's study group. This was the main reason why the Nott heir didn't join them to do his Advanced Potions essay earlier.

"What brings you here?" Emma asked. She missed Oswin's slight wince at her frank question.

"I thought I'd just check on your progress with the suggestions for the Ministry." Tom took a seat to Oswin's left—the one that was usually Mordred's. It placed him right across Emma. "The one about figuring out the best suggestions for civilians when they're confronted with a muggle shooter? And then turning that series of best actions into a drill?"

"My father and some of his cousins certainly consider it as a good idea. It takes time to spread it through the ranks, though, and solicit feedback as well as listen to what doubts remain" he noted. "The idea of training Aurors in muggle weaponry went down surprisingly well among the Aurors. The Minister certainly looks favourably on any Ministry cooperation with the muggles, so we'll have no worries on getting the needed support to push that through."

"Curie's suggestions on how to best avoid damage from muggle weapons is certainly good feedback to provide to the DMLE." Emma added.

"It would have been more useful once we can actually test it against real weapons." Another voice added with a tad more interest than expected.

It was a witch with a Hufflepuff tie. He was sure she wasn't among the Aspiring Career Bureaucrats there before, because he would have remembered—Amelia Bones was the female Hufflepuff prefect from fifth year and younger sister to Daedalus Bones. Compared to her more laid-back older brother, she had a more focused air around her, a stronger drive towards some purpose.

"Ah, fancy meeting you here, Bones." Tom greeted.

"Riddle," she nodded briskly. "I don't have much interest in the Ministry in general, but I hear that there's some suggestions for law enforcement too."

"We were broadening our interests," Emma replied.

Her single glance at Tom as she said this easily gave clue to anyone paying close attention as to where the source of adjustments on their interests came from. Bones had additional questions on that front and some other Ravenclaw—Thompson Ackers, started answering, as they've gone over it before. Tom simply kept his silence and that simple act allowed him to slowly drift into the background once more.

Which was what he'd intended in the first place, because one table away behind him were two seventh-years. Torquil Travers of Slytherin and Sidney Selwyn from Ravenclaw, cousin to the Selwyn heiress. They'd been talking about the eligible females near their age. The ones from the older, more archaic pureblooded families have been talked about and finished quickly—their families knew each other's well as they moved in more-or-less the same circles that there was not much mystery to be had. The one from the more relaxed old families or those from foreign wizarding families were another matter.

("Amelia Bones?"
"From the way she cuts through useless chatter, you know she has a slow-burn fire inside."
"Yes, fascinating, but she's too strong for myself." Selwyn answered. "If you're a rather placid wizard, she'd have run all over you."
"No, Sidney, that would've been Augusta Delagardie. Amelia seems like someone who would just cut loose the relationship."
"How about Chakravarty?" The Ravenclaw asked.
"I'm tempted," Travers mused. "Just watching her walk is…"
"Yes, quite distracting," Selwyn agreed readily. "But? I'm sensing that you have second thoughts, Torquil."
"But I'm worried about the possible competition—I haven't really done a proper check. For someone as attractive as her with an excellent, if foreign, pedigree, that's practically a requirement. I'd rather not step on any too-powerful toes, you know?")

It was not long before their topic turned to one of Tom's interest. This time, one Tancred Macmillan, Hufflepuff sixth-year, had joined them and a chorus of polite greetings went up as the other wizard found a seat with them.

"Did you read Daily Prophet's feature on Wednesday?" Selwyn threw out a general question.

"The more appropriate question would be, who didn't?" Tancred said rhetorically.

Selwyn gave a vague hum. "A rather talented witch, isn't she? It's too bad that I know my uncle would prefer me to marry advantageously if I want to have the best odds at being chosen to be his heir."

"Ah, the Welsh Selwyns still has no sons." Travers remembered.

"I thought that shouldn't matter?" Tancred asked straight out. "It's not as if the estate is entailed away, or if the inheritance has to go down strictly through the male line."

Selwyn didn't seem to mind the probing questions about his family.

"Yes. And as we're one of the truly old families almost rivalling the Blacks in terms of age. There's no such thing as the line automatically shifting to the nearest male relative or entailment. It's all up to the discretion of the current lord or lady."

"Pendleton's line is still older."

Selwyn snorted. "Pendleton? His father succumbed to battle madness—wasn't he one of the wizards who helped bring the old man in St. Mungo's mental ward?"

"There are many brilliant wizards and witches in his line too." Tancred replied.

"And there are just as many as those that were stark raving mad. No thank you, I'll just stick with my family. Fortunately for Pendleton, that's probably as good an excuse as any to keep marrying out." Selwyn answered with a sigh. "Anyway, the current Lord Selwyn still hasn't chosen his heir. I was just lucky that dear Stephanie's a rather frivolous young lady. Otherwise, he'd have chosen her to continue the line."

"And where would you be if that was the case?" Travers noted with open glee.

"I'd rather not consider that, thank you. Thank goodness my family's not like the Starkeys."

"Intelligent witches everywhere?" Torquil Travers made a sharp observation.

"Yes. What's a poor male cousin to do in that case?"

"Enter a profession." Travers mockingly replied. The quiet that followed showed how uncomfortable the idea was to Selwyn.

"Come on, it's not that bad," Tancred added.

"Oh, you're a Hufflepuff. You're used to the idea of hard work." Travers said.

"While you would rather be an outright leech and useless layabout," Tancred replied just as jovially, which earned him some mutterings from Travers. Just because he was a Hufflepuff did not mean people should make the mistake of thinking him as mostly harmless.

"Anyway, that takes me out from even being able to consider Hermione Curie. What about either of you? Torquil? Macmillan?" Selwyn asked.

There was the long pause of weighted consideration. In the quiet, the discussion on the table about just how relevant knowing muggle weaponry would be for wizards and witches were going on in full swing. Amelia Bones was vehement in preparing for all possibilities. Tom listened long enough to keep up with the discussion's thread before he focused back on the conversation two tables down behind him.

"Too bad she's a halfblood," Travers noted. "My pater's not keen on diluting the blood either."

Tancred was muttering something about 'this old hogwash again.'

"Macmillan, this old hogwash is what many of the current paterfamilias and materfamilias are holding on to. Not exactly going out of style soon, is it?" Selwyn pointedly asked. "Anyway, isn't Curie a muggleborn?"

Travers scoffed. "Anyone that talented couldn't have been a mere muggleborn. She'd have some of the old families' blood in her line somewhere. It would just take some investigation to dig out."

A loud snort followed that. It was most probably Tancred again.

"So, you're not even going to try to see if you could match, Torquil?" Selwyn asked.

"It is what it is." His answer was brusque.

"Well, I think Curie would be happy that you've voluntarily cut yourself out. It's not as if she'd be interested in dead wood like you, Travers." Tancred continued with the same annoying cheer. "What did I hear about that summer home that was due to be repaired five years ago? Not exactly flush in funds, are you?"

"Please, she'd be lucky to have married into the Sacred 28," Travers sharply replied.

"Or she doesn't even need to think about it when she can easily join Les Lys Dorés—" The Hufflepuff was interrupted by sounds of exclamation from the other two wizards. He waited for them to express their incredulity for another moment before continuing with the same degree of aplomb. "Yes, you heard that right—The Gilded Lilies. You missed out what happened in Advanced Defence today."

"What happened in Advanced Defence?" Travers' impatience was obvious in his voice. The man would never make a good politician.

"Ah, I remember that you were only taking it this year than last year." Selwyn noted.

"Yes, and that turned out to be one of the best choices I could make."

"Macmillan," Travers interrupted.

"Well, I saw the altercation from a distance, so I certainly did not hear anything for certain. Yet I did ask Julia about what went on—that's Goldstein, Ravenclaw prefect from my year, in case you don't know—we share the same Advanced Arithmancy class. Julia is apparently already rather close to Curie and she'd been in closer proximity to the event than I was when it happened."

"And?"

"Evariste de Breteuil and Auguste Murat nearly came to a duel over Curie. It was fortunate that Murat was level-headed as he managed to head it off. It certainly had something to do with how Murat had already asked to call on Curie when Evariste hasn't had the opportunity to do so while he had even stronger interest."

"How did it end?" Selwyn's tone was morbidly curious.

"It would seem that Murat actually urged Evariste to go forth with his intention. His opinion was, 'may the best wizard win.'"

"You just have to tell us that now, don't you?" Selwyn asked in a peeved tone. "Just when I've thought that I probably shouldn't if I don't want to jeopardise my current good standing with my uncle, you bring us this interesting news. Now, my infernal curiosity is acting up and I can't help but wonder what she's like and wish to get to know her!"

His complaint and his foppish appearance (hair was not meant to hold that much brilliantine, in Tom's opinion), and Selwyn simply rubbed Tom Riddle the wrong way.

"You could just befriend her," the Slytherin among them answered, though he didn't sound as if he even believed his own opinion.

"Well, would it really matter in the end? You do know that Riddle has been unusually close, don't you? I hear that most of their insane class schedules match. She might not even choose either of the French wizards." Tancred replied. He seemed oddly determined to lift their moods, considering that he was the one who brought it down in the first place. Perhaps it was merely an odd Hufflepuff quirk of staunchly supporting his friends.

"Riddle's ambitious alright," Travers commented.

It was actually a rather anodyne opinion to give on a fellow House member, especially since ambition was a rather widespread affliction in Slytherin. It was rather like remarking on the prevalence of dysentery in a medieval army camp—it goes without saying.

"Yes, but Riddle's still a bit of a gamble, isn't it?" Selwyn asked. "I might not be the most sensitive chap, but I do talk to Stephanie, as well as the other ladies from our circle. I'm speaking about the more reasonable among them, with average pureblood families as opposed to really old and strong ones that could take the risk of an unknown as a son-in-law. Yet as interested as they are, they wouldn't dare to commit until he has truly shown his worth. That's still until after graduation, see how Riddle's career develops."

"I mean, let's think about it. On paper, he's still an orphan of untraced parentage. On the other hand, we have Auguste Murat, son of France's current Minister of Magic—"

"In exile," Travers cut in.

The Ravenclaw seventh-year waved it away. "Technicalities, gentlemen. Mere technicalities that will be corrected once the war is over. We have Murat, who can easily be a Minister in France sooner or later, and from an established family too, even if not so old. Then, we have Evariste de Breteuil, who can trace his lineage farther back than France can boast of being a unified kingdom. Now, Hermione Curie is a witch par excellence, but if she truly wanted to be able to have power, actual power, she'd have to marry well."

"Obviously that would be to the heirs of an established family. Whether it is one on the continent or in Britain, it doesn't really matter."

There was a quiet moment as the three of them digested that.

"I feel sorry for Riddle, honestly. Yet if put that way, it's not really a competition, is it?" Selwyn said. The fact that none of the others refuted him spoke of the cold truth in his insight.

The silence continued for a while before Travers' voice broke it, still with a slight disbelief.

"She can't be all that, can she? To have drawn such attention?"

"What I can safely say, is that Madame Álava does not give praise lightly. If she thinks Curie is a solid and dependable beginner healer, then her healing skills are really that good for anyone not yet in Healer Academy." Tancred added. "And she's taken ten OWLs with Outstanding results at the end of her fourth year."

"Ten. Outstanding. OWLs. Now, you tell me if that's a mere exaggeration of her skills." The Hufflepuff finished with a flourish.

"I wonder how her bedside manner is like," Travers slightly vacant tone implied that his thoughts had gone beyond just considering bedside manners.

"Merlin, Torquil, I thought you'd just said that your pater wasn't keen on you 'diluting your blood'!" Exasperation was clear in Selwyn's voice.

"It doesn't mean I wouldn't be having some regrets. Or are you saying that you've never really thought of approaching Chakravarty, regardless of the number of people from old families that you'd suddenly find yourself rivals to? Or that Delacour witch?" The Slytherin replied defensively.

Tom pulled himself back to the discussion, abruptly losing interest in the further chatter of the three upper-years from the Sacred 28 families. The discussion of the Aspiring Ministry Bureaucrats, on the other hand, seemed to be going back to an issue they're tread over before.

"Why are we taking issue with the Statute of Secrecy yet again?" Tom finally asked.

"It would be a concern if we're to get muggles to train Aurors in their weapons." It was another Ravenclaw who spoke up.

"The muggle Prime Minister and his staff knows about the wizarding world and they had no magical family members, do they?" Tom replied. "I'm sure someone on their end can find some discreet members of their law enforcement. It's not as if we can't settle a loose end ourselves if the person proved to be untrustworthy. There's also no need to practise on an actual magical location—they can find some neutral ground to use temporarily."

"B-But-but, the Statute—"

"If you'd rather rigorously enforce the Statute over the survival of the wizarding world, please, be my guest." This time, he did not bother holding back his pointed retort. It might be why more than one person was taken aback (of course, none of them were Slytherins). Bones was not one of them as she looked vindicated instead.

"Thank you, Riddle. I've been trying to say that all this time." Amelia Bones said as she stopped gritting her teeth.

"Good luck to you, then, Amelia. If you're all still about to go in circles for a while, then I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave for now. Ladies, Gentlemen." With a sharp nod in a general direction, Tom stood up and walked away. He could hear the previous Ravenclaw asking someone else on the table.

"Have you ever seen Riddle that impatient?"

Amelia scoffed loudly. "Please. He only had to listen. I had to defend a perfectly reasonable proposition all this time. What do you think I'm feeling right now?"

'-

Keep a rough and uncut diamond as it is, and the ignorant cannot see it beyond a piece of rock. Cut it most brilliantly and suddenly you have to arm yourself as everyone covets it.

Tom did not expect the purebloods prattling about their inane social life would ever be relevant enough to irritate him. He knew Hermione and they didn't. He was fully aware that their blather scarcely mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Yet knowing did not alleviate his testiness much.

All that she'd seen in his future never caused her to fear him—a reaction that almost no other wizards or witches would make. Oh, as someone who'd grown to command some combination of respect and fear, he'd found it rather vexing at the beginning. Yet her blunt honesty granted him a front row seat to the strangeness that is Hermione Curie—most people could not even begin to guess about the kinds of thoughts she had.

Oddly enough, her point of view also gave him insights to how other people think. As weirdly wonderful her mind was, she could also be surprisingly, annoyingly normal at other times. Witness her insistence on being good. Still, there was no artifice in the way she lit up when he could discuss whatever arcane topic had caught her interest this time. Her smile was genuine when he listened to the strangest of her ideas and was actually able to follow her reasoning about them.

Considering how knowing his hidden side hasn't scared her away yet, it was not hard to say that she saw him as a close friend. She had no qualms with getting involved in his projects.

Usually, he would not be satisfied with only having that tie between him and a useful acquaintance—and Hermione was oh-so-very useful. He'd seen firsthand her knowledge of things she's learned, as well as those she'd seen and remember from a smattering of futures. By his reckoning, he could easily sacrifice two of his better followers to gain her and still come out ahead. Of all the strings that you can use to easily pull other people with, friendship is the most nebulous. It has uncertain boundaries and benefits, subject to sudden emotional turns and strange fancies. As an avowedly good person, Hermione was still more reliable than most.

But that was no reason for him to be lax.

It started as a whim. Hermione was an attractive witch—he was not blind. One kiss became several, especially since it was yet another way to bind her to him. The fact that it was certainly pleasant was a convenient bonus.

On the other hand, he had enough self-awareness to notice after a while that he was rationalising. He was not listing out reasons, benefits and drawbacks, and then choose the best option. No.

He had not reasoned out that desire was another way he could keep her close. Frankly, it occurred to him because he was also drawn to her. As much as he wanted to know the events she'd seen in the future, to plumb the depths of her knowledge or the fall that she'd helped him avoid, he also wanted to touch her vibrant curls rich with magic and explore her tantalising curves. Had he succeeded in binding her tighter than he'd unknowingly entangled himself with her? It would not do if she had the greater leverage over him.

It was…it was all rather inconvenient.

He observed other witches to see whether they brought the same reaction in him—they did not. It was hard to be interested to know them further when he could easily guess their hopes and fears. The boundaries of their little lives were clear to him. It would be child's play to twist one young woman or the other to his whim, simply by giving them what they desire deep inside themselves. All he had to do was find those unexpected wants that everyone had and yet not many had the courage to admit, unknowingly providing people like him with an easy backdoor. He could have them, but then what? There was no excitement in having a doll, even if it was a living, beautiful one. His initial conjecture was unfortunately right. His interest was not merely a matter of hormones.

His changeable thoughts and excess energy lead him to wander up to the Room of Requirement. There was a possible potential that had been on the back of his mind ever since he saw Hermione shifted her knock-out gas easily between gas and liquid forms. (He wouldn't tell her of how it crossed his mind. She was never going to shut up about the virtues of muggle education or science otherwise, even if he knew she was right).

If he could not sit still and finish his essays in peace, he might as well experiment.

'-

She had almost finished her dessert when her fellow Ravenclaw asked her a question.

"Hermione, what's that hovering over your shoulder?"

The brunette witch turned to where Julia was pointing. She stared at the white puff and reached out. It had no solidity, felt just like damp air and was a little cool. Eugenie made a soft cooing sound.

"It's…a little cloud." Her voice was soft, amazed.

"How the hell did anyone managed it?" Lakshmi asked no one in particular, while Eugenie had leaned across the dark-haired witch to try poking at the cloud as well.

It didn't take Hermione long to turn to the Slytherin table, trying to find a familiar head of dark hair. He'd stood up the moment their gazes met and walked out of the hall. She knew an implied invitation when she saw one, especially as she scanned in the air above him. It was not instantly obvious, as it had floated at higher than one-story height, but she found it. A pale and fluffy cumulus floated, subtly floating down to pass the doors, before disappearing with Tom.

She really couldn't help but follow.

"What should I do with the little cloud?" Julia asked.

"Whatever you want!" Hermione replied as she stood up without a concern. She and Tom were on different tables, anyway. Not many people would realise that they went out together.

"Oooh, can I have it, then? Please?" Eugenie's excitement was palpable.

"Sure, Eugenie. It's going to disappear sooner or later anyway if you don't put the effort to maintain it at this temperature and air pressure—I mean, this height above sea level."

"Oh," Julia sounded almost disappointed.

As Hermione walked away, she thought she saw Julia also poking and prodding the cloud curiously along with the blonde prefect. An exasperated Lakshmi had given up and just exchanged her seat with Eugenie rather than have the blonde drape herself over her lap in her zeal to reach the cloud.

'-

"You made a cloud. You did, right? That's a real cloud and not an illusion?"

Hermione was practically vibrating on her feet. If she hadn't been marching straight to the Room of Requirements, she might even be bouncing up and down slightly. The interior of the Room currently looked like a Roman bathhouse, pool included. It was only the presence of the cloud above the waters that was irregular. Truthfully, it took more work than was visible to maintain it outside of the Room, where he could set the precise atmospheric conditions to sustain its existence.

Tom watched her with amusement.

"Yes, I did, and yes, that's a real cloud."

She squealed. He didn't know that her voice could reach those frequencies. As she'd practically leapt and threw her arms around him, he certainly wasn't complaining now. Of course, he also stole a kiss or three (why wouldn't he? Her curves were right against him and she was very willing.)

"How did you make it?" Hermione asked as she drew away with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

The witch was not the slightest bit distracted from her quest to follow her curiosity, brown eyes completely focused on him. Not even the fact that he was unbuttoning her shirt yet again pulled her away. His right hand was untucking it as subtly as possible from her skirt.

"It was your rapid use of Vapora to create your knock-out gas, and then Condensa to liquify and bottle it that inspired me."

"But I didn't make a cloud." She breathed out.

"And yet what is a cloud but the results of evaporation and condensation?" He asked, as if what he did was truly that simple. (It wasn't, but a magician always acts as if his miracles are effortless).

Hermione kissed him intensely, out of her own volition. It was sweeter now and stronger than wine, because he knew no one else had managed to win her favour as much as he had. She was not a flighty socialite easily won with trifles, nor was she a love-struck girl who'd swoon at sweet-nothings and borrowed verses. His fingers skimmed the skin of her waist, soft and warm with life, revelled in the way she clung to his shoulder and kept them close.

"You have got to show me how you did that." She said. He quirked an eyebrow.

"Do I?"

"Tom!"

"So pushy. That's not exactly a persuasive request, is it?" He rested his nose at the crook of her neck, inhaling the light scent of roses and something that was simply her.

"I'll have you know that I can be very persuasive," she replied primly. The fact that she made it sound professional instead of seductive was something that struck him as distinctly Hermione. It amused him.

Tom found his mouth curving up at the edges in anticipation.

'-

.

.

.

End Notes:

Some Notes on Wizarding Culture: On the inheritance of estates through daughters in the absence of sons (what these days are known as male preference primogeniture, for example see: House of Windsor/Saxe-Coburg-Gotha), see the wizarding culture notes I put for Ch 33, just at the end of Starkey's mini bio. In short, I don't believe that the oldest wizarding families would always use agnatic primogeniture when they're not even a Norman house (or something even more recent than that). Refer also to notes at the end of Ch 16 on the better position of witches in WW compared to non-magical woman in UK at that time.

'-

Additional Notes: (characters are listed in the order of their last names)

Tancred Macmillan (OC): Sixth-year Hufflepuff. Shares Advanced Potion, Advanced Charms and Advanced DADA with Hermione. Technically, he must exist in some form in canon as Ernest Macmillan's forefather. If 'Ernest' means serious, then 'Tancred' is an Old Norman name meaning 'thought and counsel'. Just thought I'd keep to the same naming theme established by the existing canon Macmillan family members. He is a cousin to Lucretia and Orion Black on their mother's side (their mother is a Macmillan). Obviously, his family is a member of the Sacred 28. It's a good reason as to why he's reasonably well-connected to other people outside his House.

Caspar Zabini (OC): Fifth-year Slytherin. Shares Advanced Transfigurations and Advanced Charms with Tom. 'Caspar' is the Latin variant of 'Jasper', which meant 'treasurer' in Persian. It's one of the names traditionally assigned to one of the Magi, the three kings that were said to have visited the newborn Jesus. He's more of the observer in the shadows than anything. The Zabinis are a prominently neutral family—like the Greengrasses. The English Zabinis are still in contact and very closely related with the Lombardian ones. These would be the Zabinis of the Under Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia of the Kingdom of Italy.

Being rather closely located to Germany makes them treat the muggle war and Grindelwald's dalliance with muggle Germany very seriously. Hence their rigorous preference for neutrality.

I can hear some eyebrows being raised over Under Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia. In case anyone misses the note from Ch. 15, I'll say this again here: national/state boundaries in the muggle world might not precisely match that of the wizarding world.

Torquil Travers is going to pop up again. I'll drop his mini-bio at his next appearance.

'-