Chapter Thirty-Six: Ron Weasley's Sandwich Assaults
By the next morning all of Hogwarts seemed to know that Belinda Harper had been arrested for the kidnapping of Audrey Malfoy and Estelle Black. Hermione supposed she should've been grateful to Belinda for being stupid enough to get caught the night before and taking some of the heat off of her own indiscretions, but it seemed that Hogwarts students had it in them to delight in two scandals at once. Marion and Brigitte, the only two Gryffindors aside from Christoph and Philippe still on civil speaking terms with her, had dragged her to breakfast, (almost quite literally) where no less than six howlers exploded in front of her, along with eleven hexes, four curses, seven jinxes, and forty-seven verbal insults that were thrown at her while she attempted to eat. It didn't help that someone had heard she had been in Dumbledore's office, and somehow known that he had accused her of colluding with Grindelwald, and some other clever conspiracy theorist had spun a tale so convincing of Hermione and Belinda being evil, Grindelwald following, Riddle torturing partners in crime that almost all of the school had been convinced that it was true. When her cutlery attempted to murder her again, the fork she'd been attempting to eat eggs with flying directly into her hair, tangling into it, she'd known it was time to give up and flee.
When Hermione tried to escape the Great hall with a shred of dignity intact, Peeves had swooped in and led a group of students in a rousing chorus of Granger the Danger and she had turned furiously to hit him with Riddle's spell that he had taught her, her guard was finally lowered and a trip jinx grabbed her ankle, sending her sprawling to the floor, pink hippo patterned knickers visible. Hermione had given up and run out of the hall, laughter ringing in her ears. Riddle of course had escaped this mess unscathed by not showing up for breakfast, which had only heightened the drama.
Hermione rushed out of the Great Hall, wiping pie out of her hair, scratching at the rash of boils on her neck, her shoes completely gone. She ran into someone headlong and reeled, almost falling over.
"Watch where you're—" they both started to say, and then Hermione looked up.
"You look like hell, Granger," Estelle Black sniffed.
"What—what are you—" Hermione sputtered, eyes bugging out of her head.
Estelle tossed her shiny auburn hair, which of course still looked perfect even after a two month coma, and sniffed. "Your boyfriend came by with your friends and woke me up. Funny that you weren't there."
"Phobos?" Hermione gasped.
"He was there," Estelle said, "but I meant boyfriend number two, Hermione."
"Riddle?"
"He showed up with your little band of do-gooders and Phobos, and they poured a vial of antidote down our throats."
"They—what?"
"And then they woke up Madam Pomfrey and she checked to make sure I was alright."
"Are you al—?"
"And then, Riddle cast a counter jinx on me and I told everyone what had happened. All about what Belinda had done."
"But where did he get a counter—"
"Pomfrey made us go to Dippet, and he called in the Aurors and my family to hear what happened as well."
Hermione gaped at her, unable to speak.
"The funny thing is," Estelle said, "the whole time I kept thinking, where is Granger? Why isn't she here? Why did they wake me up without her?"
"I didn't know," Hermione said blankly, "I was being interrogated by Dumbledore in his office. He seems to think I'm a spy of Grindelwald. I had no idea they did all this. I had no idea they had a potion, or a counter jinx."
"I gathered that by your startled cow expression right now," Estelle said, and she made a noise of irritation and then started siphoning pie out of Hermione's hair. "I'm gone for two months and look at the state of you, Granger."
Hermione stared at the scowling Slytherin girl who had never spoken a kind word to her in person, and then she laughed. She lunged forward, grabbing Estelle in a hug. She immediately stiffened.
"Ugh, Granger, get off!"
"Oh, right," Hermione said as Estelle frantically pushed at her. "You don't want my filthy Mudblood germs."
"No I don't want your nasty pie and boil germs!" Estelle said, her hands patting over her auburn hair furiously. "I told you I decided I don't care about that stuff with you!" She grabbed a glop of pie and threw it on the floor in disgust. "You're practically the only one who didn't give up, and the Blacks don't forget who they owe."
"Is that right?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Estelle sniffed, tapping her wand on Hermione's rash and clearing her skin. "Even if you are a Gryffindor with terrible hair and everyone hates you in the school. I've decided to overlook all that out of my generous nature and be your friend anyway."
Hermione's face broke into the first genuine grin she'd had in weeks.
"Well you're practically the only one," she said, "Everyone else thinks I'm a murderous harlot."
"That just adds to your appeal," Estelle said looking Hermione over critically, "bonus, really—Granger where are your shoes?"
Tom Riddle sat in Albus Dumbledore's office, back straight, hands clasped firmly together in his lap, prefect badge agleam, not a strand of hair out of place, a politely curious expression on his face.
"Tom," Dumbledore said, "I suppose you know why you're here."
Riddle sat in internal, raging silence. Outwardly, he politely raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid not, sir," he said.
"No?" Dumbledore said, his eyes peering into what felt like his soul.
"No," Riddle lied, "I'm sure I don't have the slightest idea, sir."
"It's about Miss Granger and Miss Harper," Dumbledore said finally.
"I'm afraid I'm not comfortable discussing my personal life with you sir," Riddle said, feigning ignorance. He dug his nails into his palms to keep himself from leaping over Dumbledore's desk and attacking him.
"It is not that, Tom," Dumbledore said, pushing a candy dish at him, "It is about their associations."
"Associations?" Riddle asked, plucking a candy with his long fingers and popping it in his mouth.
"Associations with Grindelwald," Dumbledore said finally, watching Riddle very closely.
Riddle quite convincingly choked on his candy.
"With—with Grindelwald, sir? Surely there must be a mistake?"
"You seemed to know Miss Harper had attacked Miss Malfoy and Miss Black," Dumbledore said, "who else did you think she was working for?"
"Oh, but Professor," Riddle said, lying through his teeth, "I didn't know that she was working for Grindelwald. She confessed to me when she came back from the holidays that she had done something to Audrey and Estelle. I pressed her for more details, and she became angry, very angry. I got the antidote off of her, but she punched me in the face," he pointed to the small bruise still near his nose, "and told everyone I was a cheater and a liar."
"And then?" Dumbledore prompted, face neutral.
"Well, then I told Audrey's cousin, Phobos," Riddle said, "and we got together the rest of our group."
"Your group, Mr. Riddle?"
"We had formed a kind of a club, to try to help Audrey and Estelle. The two of us went to get the girls, to tell them the good news, and they told us that Hermione had flown out of the window. Although we were concerned, we realized the bigger problem was getting the girls to wake up, so we went to the hospital wing."
"At twelve-thirty at night?" Dumbledore pressed.
"I'm sorry we broke curfew, sir, but I had only just gotten the antidote off of Belinda. I had no idea, sir, none at all that she worked for Grindelwald. I thought it was a prank gone wrong." Riddle's gaze dropped to his lap. "I feel terrible that I ever trusted her. I have such problems, trusting people, because of my—my—"
"Your childhood," Dumbledore supplied.
"Yes, sir," Riddle whispered. He tried, quite intensely, to muster up a tear. His eyes remained bone dry. He really had to work on that.
"And Miss Granger?" Dumbledore prompted.
"Yes, sir?"
"When did you become aware of her ties to Grindelwald?"
"I wasn't aware she had any ties to Grindelwald," Riddle lied.
"She did not confide in you, perhaps, that she is working with Grindelwald, here at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked.
"No," Riddle said, the first honest comment out of his mouth. She hadn't. Not that he hadn't tried to get her to tell him. Truth be told, he was rather astonished that Dumbledore had figured out what he'd suspected months ago.
They stared at each other for awhile. Finally, Riddle put out his hand and grabbed another candy. It crunched between his teeth loudly in the silence.
"You don't find it odd, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said finally, "that a young girl with extraordinary magical talent and no family, transfers to a school in her sixth year with a back story that is, to be frank, rather suspicious?"
"No," Riddle lied again, crunching down.
"And your sudden interest in her, Tom, had nothing to do with either of those things?"
"Not at all," Riddle said, innocent as a lamb. "Is that all, sir? I'm afraid I will be late for Arithmancy if I stay much longer."
"No Tom, that will be all," Dumbledore sighed, finally looking away. "But you will tell me, Tom, if you do find out that she's been working with Grindelwald?"
"You will be the first person I tell," Riddle said, a miracle that a lightning bolt didn't strike him down while he spoke.
"Yes, I'm sure I will be," Dumbledore said mildly, the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his voice.
As she had hoped, both Auror Jennings and Auror Williams had severely underestimated her, even with the information of what she had done in their minds. That was okay. Belinda was very used to being underestimated. It gave her so many opportunities. They were transferring her to Azkaban for holding before her trial by broom, per ministry regulations for minors, but they had neglected to call for more Aurors to assist. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two, was Auror Williams looking at her quivering lip and teary eyes and loosening the restraints around her wrists. Mistake number three, was assuming that she was a low ranking peon in Grindelwald's ranks.
A bolt of lightning cracked through the beautiful, cloudless blue sky, and both Aurors looked about, confused.
"What in blazes—" Auror Williams started to say, and then the cracks of Apparition rang out all around them, and Auror Williams was hit square in the face with a stunning spell.
Belinda had to give the woman credit. She didn't flinch or scream when her partner fell off of his broom, plummeting to his eventual death. Instead she grabbed Belinda midair and attempted to Apparate them out of there. Before she could finish making the correct wand movement, Grindelwald himself blasted her wand out of her hand. Belinda turned and elbowed Jennings hard in the face, blood pouring out of the Auror's mouth.
With a small cry, the young Auror attempted to wheel her broom around and escape.
"Belinda, my dear," Grindelwald said, "would you like to do the honors?"
"I would love to, Uncle," she said sweetly, and she hit Jennings with a Crucio in the back. The Auror screamed, spasmed, and fell off of her broom in slow motion.
"Where did you get that, Hermione?" Riddle whispered from the desk behind her, tugging lightly on the scarf around her neck. Professor Vector continued on in their Arithmancy lesson. Everyone had finally stopped staring between the two of them and Phobos after Professor Vector reprimanded them sharply, but it seemed Riddle was not happy letting sleeping dogs lie.
"None of your business," Hermione hissed, yanking the ends of her scarf away from Riddle's long pale fingers. She attempted to pay attention again.
"If you say so, Hermione," Riddle said, his voice very close to her ear, "but I know I've got yours here." And to her dismay, she saw him pull her scarf out of his robes from the corner of her eye. "Do you still think I should wear it?"
Hermione pressed her lips together and ignored Riddle, taking neat, detailed notes.
There was a very light tickling against her neck. Riddle was rubbing his quill—the quill, in fact, that Hermione had given him for his birthday-against her.
"Stop it," Hermione hissed, "you're acting like a five year old in desperate need of attention."
"I don't like being ignored, Hermione," Riddle said, voice holding a note of something ominous. "I thought you knew this."
"I'm trying to pay attention!"
"Miss Granger! Mr. Riddle!" Professor Vector said, exasperated, "I expected more maturity from the two of you!"
Hermione froze. Everyone had turned to look at them. Riddle's quill was still poised against her neck, and even worse, her scarf was still out and resting on his desk.
Someone fake sneezed "floozy" loudly from the other side of the room, and Phobos Malfoy glanced at Hermione with deep scorn.
"Sorry Professor," Riddle said penitently.
"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, lowering her eyes.
Then sounded a false cough insult, this time a loud "Harlot!' and another student began humming the chorus to Granger the Danger under their breath.
Professor Vector returned to her lesson after a pursed lipped nod at their apologies, and Hermione kept her eyes firmly on her notes, even when Riddle started lightly flicking his quill on her cheek.
"I got rid of Belinda for you, Hermione," Riddle said, voice so quiet it was barely audible, even half an inch from her ear, "my most loyal follower. I turned her in, just to make you happy. I told her I wouldn't, but I did."
Hermione paused in her writing, her face burning. Her eyes darted from side to side, but no one was looking anymore. She resumed her notes.
"I wiped Gertrude Cumming's memory," Riddle added, "it's not my fault everyone else talked."
The quill was removed, and Riddle leaned even closer, his lips so near her ear she could feel his breath when he spoke.
"I set you free from Phobos Malfoy. Now you don't have to pretend to like his little rodent face just to make me jealous."
Hermione started chewing the inside of her cheek. She hadn't thought she was being quite that obvious with the Phobos ploy, but that had been foolish of her.
"I lied to Dumbledore for you," Riddle hissed, now sounding angry, "I told him you're not a spy for Grindelwald. And in return, your gratitude is all I—"
Hermione dropped her own quill in shock, and it rolled off her desk onto the floor.
"Stop adding essence of lavender, Granger," Estelle Black said, slapping her hand, "you've added twice the amount we need already."
Around them, their classmates were talking loudly. Professor Bowers had assigned them another potion to work on in pairs, and the class was taking advantage of this opportunity to gossip relentlessly whenever Bowers was near another pair.
Riddle kept glancing back at her from his spot next to Thaddeus Nott, but Phobos was resolutely ignoring her.
"What is wrong with you?" Estelle asked impatiently as Hermione almost added dragonfly wings instead of fly wings and she had to slap her hand away from their cauldron again.
"Oh nothing," Hermione said sarcastically, as one of the Slytherin boys made an obscene hand gesture at her and winked, "what could be wrong?"
"Who cares what Horatio Edwards thinks?" Estelle said contemptuously, and she gave said boy such a withering look of contempt that he turned hastily back to his potion.
"It's not just him," Hermione said, as Estelle slapped her hand away from their cauldron again, "and it's not just—"
As her attention had not been on him in at least thirteen minutes, Riddle took matters into his own hands at this juncture and casually wound Hermione's scarf around his neck.
"Why is Tom Riddle wearing a Gryffindor scarf?" Estelle cut her off mid sentence, looking at him, disgusted.
The girls at the table next to them, two Gryffindors and a Slytherin began humming Granger the Danger loudly.
Hermione stared resolutely at their cauldron, seeing nothing. She would not give him the satisfaction of glaring at him. She would not. She would not.
"Has everyone lost their mind since I've been gone?" Estelle asked as Bowers chastised Phobos for not paying attention to his potion and leaving all the work to Dougal, for heavens sake.
"Who knew you were holding the entire school together?" Hermione said through clenched teeth. And the scarf did look good on him, the stupid arse. Of course it did.
"You would think," Estelle said loudly, looking down her beautiful pureblood nose at the girls next to them so effectively they stopped humming and turned away, "that Belinda Harper being a kidnapping, lying, evil cow would be more interesting to them then who you are or are not snogging, but I suppose I expected too much from our moronic peers."
"And I expected too much of you, Estelle Black," sneered Ethelinda Higgs as she passed their table. "Look at you, associating with half-bloods. Does your brother know about this? Are all of the Blacks so easily swayed to being blood traitors?"
"Easily swayed?" Estelle sneered back, "I wouldn't call it easy, Ethelinda, how many times Granger here visited me in the hospital wing. I wouldn't call it easy how many hours she spent researching a way to wake me up. You visited me what, once? For five minutes? Just to keep up appearances for my brother, of course. Just to make sure the engagement would still be on, obviously."
Ethelinda recoiled very slightly. "How did you—"
"I was aware of my surroundings when I was in that coma," Estelle said, and the tables around them were going silent at this Slytherin Snob Squad argument, "and I know who cared and who didn't. And if you think it was easy for me to like Granger here—"
Hermione giggled, a little madly, not quite helping her cause for sanity.
Estelle shot her a very quick, very filthy look before noticing the rest of the class was turned to them, even Professor Bowers.
"—but I do like her," Estelle said, quite loudly, "She's the only one in this school who tried to help me and Audrey. And the way you lot have been treating her," she glared imperiously around the room; a Black princess all the way, "is abominable. She had nothing to do with the attack on me; don't you think I would know better than you? You should all be ashamed—"
"Great Godric!" the Gryffindor boy who had accused Hermione of spreading her legs exclaimed, "Granger is so good she's seducing Slytherin girls now!"
Estelle dropped her handful of fish eyes in shock, turning their potion into a horrid shade of vomit green that began smoking copiously.
As the class began snickering and giggling, some hums of Granger the Danger starting up, Hermione looked up directly at said boy and snarled
"You wish. Think about that at night in bed, do you?"
Half the class inhaled loudly, and a quarter of those who hadn't dropped whatever they were holding.
In the loudest silence Hermione had ever heard that followed, one pureblood Slytherin girl's innocent whisper of "but what does she mean, Sally?" carried across the dungeon.
Tom Riddle started laughing.
Sycophantically, Thaddeus Nott, Avery, Parkinson, and Mulcibur joined in. Brigitte giggled, and Marion's mouth twitched infinitesimally, which Hermione took as a tiny victory.
"That is enough!" Professor Bowers exploded. "Ten points from Slytherin for being disruptive!" It was a sign of the madness that had just happened that no one knew who the ten points had come from. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for obscene language!" This, too, was a mystery as to if it was directed at Hermione, the unknown boy, or both. "I will have order in my classroom!" She continued, voice rising scarily, "All of you return to your potions and be silent! Not one word out of any of you this entire lesson remaining! Not one!" Everyone was cowering at this point, as the Professor's wrath rose. She stormed over to Estelle and Hermione's cauldron, which was now fogging up the room with its green smoke, "Evanesco! That will be zero marks for today, girls. Try to remain focused on your studies in future."
Estelle opened her mouth to furiously argue, it was, after all, her first day back after being in a horrible black magic induced coma, and she in fact, had not even had to come back today at all, but she had insisted on coming to class, but she thought better of it after looking closer at Bower's face.
Hermione did not think better of it.
"Fine," she said, "can we leave then? Since we won't be doing anything else this hour?"
"Detention, Miss Granger," Bowers said coldly, "for one week, starting tonight."
"I can't," Hermione said, "I have detention with Dumbledore for a week starting tonight."
"Professor Dumbledore," Bowers corrected harshly, and behind her back, Hermione saw Riddle looking at her, that disturbing gleam in his eyes again, probably because she had insulted Dumbledore, Hermione thought uncharitably. "Then you will just serve it next week, Miss Granger. And five more points for your attitude."
"Fine," Hermione said, and when she was about to ask if Bowers would please answer her question about whether they could leave or not Estelle pinched her harshly and she finally shut up.
As soon as the bell signaled the end of class, Hermione ran from the potions classroom so fast it was as if she had Apparated. She heard multiple people calling her name, even more people singing Granger the Danger, but she soon sped off and put the noise behind her, taking half hidden staircases two steps at a time. Her stomach was grumbling loudly, but she knew the Great Hall only held torment, and she also knew that Riddle, based on his clingy and childish behavior, would be sure to hunt her down in the kitchens if she didn't show up for lunch. That really left her no choice at the moment. Hermione paced back and forth, then back again, and the door to the room of requirement opened.
She went aside, not sure what to expect. She hadn't understood herself in so long, not since Ron and her mother had died, that every time she went to the room it showed her something different. This time, it was orange. Brilliantly orange. Claustrophobically orange.
"Oh," Hermione said out loud in a tiny, pained voice.
Across from her, seven witches and wizards waved wildly from the posters on the walls. The double C's on their garish orange robes beamed proudly at her.
Overhead, the faint sound of a ghoul dropping a pipe echoed.
"Oh," Hermione said, even quieter, and she sat on Ron's bed, too numb to cry. "If only you were here too," she said finally, and she curled up on her side, staring at the picture of the Weasleys in Egypt clipped next to his bed.
Estelle Black scowled at the white faced Aurors in front of her as her stomach growled loudly.
"Did you really have to do this during lunch?" she demanded.
On either side of her, her parents glowered.
"Our daughter is not speaking to you," Mr. Black said, "not until our personal solicitor comes here." He crossed his arms, and Professor Dippet wrung his hands helplessly in the background
"Mr. Black, Mrs. Black, Miss Black," said an older man with wiry hair, "I understand your concern, but two of our best have been murdered and Belinda Harper is missing. Your daughter is the only one who—"
"You lost Belinda Harper?" Estelle said, leaning forward, her eyes round and scared. "You—what do you mean you—"
"She has escaped custody," the Auror said again stiffly, "and we need to know any information, any at all, that you might have about her ties with Grindelwald."
Estelle opened her mouth but her father cut her off.
"As my daughter has already told you," he said, "when she awakened yesterday, and you interrogated her then, she has absolutely no memory of her sojourn with Grindelwald. All that she remembers is that Belinda Harper—"
"Then how does she know she was with Grindelwald?" the second Auror pounced, youngish man with a nose so enormous it was a wonder he could see around it, "how does she know that Miss Malfoy is irreparably harmed? How does—"
"I just do," Estelle snapped irritably, ignoring her father's gesture for her to be silent, "I just know. I can't explain it. But all I remember is that Belinda Harper attacked us in the castle and took us to Grindelwald and we were tortured."
"You have no memory of his plans?" a curly haired Auror demanded, "no idea of who his other followers—"
"I have already said our daughter is not—"
"I would have told you!" Estelle said angrily, "do you think I would want to help him after what he did to me? My memory has been tampered with."
"Will you take Veritaserum to verify your story?" the Auror with the truly enormous nose demanded. Estelle stared at it in fascination.
"How dare you!" Mrs. Black screeched, jumping to her feet, "doubting my daughter's word!"
Mr. Black stood as well, shaking in outrage. "You will be hearing from our solicitor," he hissed.
"Father, mother, please," Estelle said, rolling her eyes, "I have nothing to hide. I would take it if it meant you would leave me alone."
And it seemed that that was all she had to say to get the Aurors to believe her.
"If you've lost your memory," the older Auror said, "perhaps you would be willing to have a team attempt to restore your—"
"No!" All three Blacks burst out, Estelle now jumping to her feet as well.
"Do you not know anything about dark magicks?!" Mr. Black bellowed, his handsome face contorting, "you nincompoops! No wonder you can't beat Grindelwald! You could destroy my daughter's mind!"
"Come along, Estelle," Mrs. Black snapped, "we are taking you home."
"But mother," Estelle said, now alarmed, "you can't—"
"I have already given my permission for a week sojourn," Headmaster Dippet said suddenly in his reedy voice, "to relax and restore, Miss Black."
"But—"
"Come along, Estelle," Mr. Black said forcefully, and he dragged her out of the room as she protested even louder than the Aurors.
Hermione had taken roughly three dozen steps away from the Room of Requirement when she saw them ahead of her.
"Oh for the love of—" Her stomach growled.
"Miss Granger," said an Auror, her childishly curly hair bouncing with her strides, "we have a few questions for you."
"I'm supposed to be in Ancient Runes in five minutes," Hermione said sourly, and her stomach growled again.
"This will only take a little while," the Auror said, and her partner, a man with an atrocious nose to rival even Snape nodded and attempted a pleasant smile. He failed.
In the awkward silence where Hermione attempted to gauge whether she could get away with fleeing the scene and not end up arrested, and both Aurors tried to look friendly and didn't succeed, her stomach roared its loudest protest yet.
"We have sandwiches," Snape Junior said.
"Oh very well," Hermione sighed.
"Miss Granger, we apologize for the inconvenience," the older man who had been waiting with Dippet said to her, and he at least sounded legitimately kind.
Hermione violently bit off a mouthful of chicken sandwich so large Ronald Weasley would have been proud. Her cheeks bugled grotesquely, and Snape Junior and Shirley Temple, as she had taken to calling them in her mind, recoiled slightly.
"Miss Black has stated that you were instrumental in her awakening, but many of your peers say you had a hand in her abduction," he continued, watching her closely.
Hermione shrugged. She tore off another chunk. Snape Junior's nose twitched.
"You have no alibi for the nights they disappeared and reappeared," he pressed on.
"Ah foh ah id," Hermione said revoltingly.
"What?" the main Auror asked her politely; Shirley Temple grimaced.
Hermione swallowed the sandwich mush in her mouth and repeated herself.
"I thought I did."
"Snogging!" the portrait with the ear trumped burst out triumphantly.
"Exactly," Hermione nodded, and crammed another half sandwich in her mouth.
Snape Junior's eyes followed the death of the sandwich in Hermione's mouth in horrified fascination.
"I'm afraid we have heard your name so many times," the older Auror said gently, "that we have cause to give you Veritaserum."
Hermione choked, and swallowed painfully, tears of agony in her eyes.
"Now really, Oswald," Professor Dippet said, "the poor girl, tragically an orphan…" he trailed off awkwardly, as the Aurors looked at him pityingly for his naiveté.
"No," Hermione said calmly, her heart racing inside.
"No?" Auror Oswald said, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm afraid that's not for you to decide," Snape Junior said, his enormous nose blocking out the sun.
"Well, I'm afraid, due to the adoption of the Official Wizard Confederation of Reasonable Behavior to Other Wizards in 1845 that it is for me to decide," Hermione said.
There was a slight pause.
"Article six, line two?" she prompted.
Shirley Temple looked grimly at Snape Junior.
"And how do you know about that?" Oswald asked slowly.
"I thought you said no one paid attention in History of Magic," faux Snape hissed at Shirley Temple in an undertone that nevertheless carried.
"I read," Hermione said in a dignified voice, before she slaughtered the last half of her sandwich.
"Miss Granger," Oswald said, looking like his temper was finally rising, "this would go a lot easier for you, if you just let us—"
"Here's the deal you little trollop," Snape Junior said, his impression of Snape Senior spot on, if only he knew it, "we will get a court order from the Wizengamot, make no mistake about that, and when we do we're coming right back here and shoving that Veritaserum right down—"
Some of the portraits yelled in outrage, and Professor Dippet fanned his red face.
"Edgewald!" Oswald snapped, and Hermione giggled.
"Edgewald and Oswald?" she laughed, "is that a joke? Are you Annwald or something?" she asked Shirley Temple, whose ridiculous curls wobbled in outage at her flip attitude.
"Listen here you little brat," she snarled, "two of our colleagues just died, and you—"
"Irrelevant!" the ear trumpeted wizard, who seemed to have taken a great liking to Hermione boomed. "You have no evidence! None!"
"You are harassing this poor child!" Dilys Derwent yelled even louder, outraged.
"The ministry would never have behaved this way in my day!" a third wizard roared, his finger wagging.
"Yes," Professor Dippet said, who seemed to have gotten his courage up with the portrait's backing, "yes that is enough. Miss Granger is quite right. You must have a Wizengamot issued order to give someone Veritaserum, and you must have an airtight reason for asking in the first place, which you do not."
Hermione looked at him so gratefully that he straightened up, heartened, and continued.
"All you have is the gossip of some jealous teenagers, and that is very poor evidence indeed," Dippet said, as the Aurors glared at him. He shrank back a little, until the portraits behind him burst into applause, and Phineas Nigellus laughed, and then he sat up straight again.
"I don't know what kind of school you're running here Armando," Oswald said furiously, "but make no mistake, we're coming back with that order, and we'll hold her down if we have to."
"I see you've dropped good cop bad cop," Hermione muttered, and she almost took a sip of the pumpkin juice before her before she paused, and eyed the Aurors suspiciously. She put the goblet back down with a clunk.
"I don't know what that means," Faux Snape said coldly, "but we'll be back, Miss Granger."
Hermione bit her lip before she made an untimely and terrible Terminator joke that no one would understand anyway.
Another giggle burst out against her will despite her efforts.
The Aurors looked like they would've struck her if Dippet had not been there, but finally they left, glaring at her all the way.
As the door shut behind them, Hermione sagged in her chair, all bravado gone. She felt rather ill and clammy, and Professor Dippet looked at her sympathetically.
"Miss Granger," he said gently, "why don't you stay in here for the rest of your Ancient Runes hour and relax? We can talk about…ah...Quidditch? Ponies? What is it that interests you young ladies these days?"
Hermione almost cruelly replied "sex" just to see how quickly she could get Dippet to faint. Instead, she said to perhaps her only adult ally—
"Let's talk Olivier instead, Professor."
Dippet's eyes, as she had intended, lit up with glee.
"Oh, you watch Muggle movies as well, Miss Granger? I have tried and tried to get your fellow students to watch them, but do they listen?"
"I loved him in Rebecca," Hermione smiled.
Dippet, she was quite sure, was about to die of ecstasy.
"But, Miss Granger," he whispered, eyes misting, "Have you seen him on stage?"
Ancient Runes had passed and Care of Magical Creatures was halfway over before Dippet remembered that she was supposed to be actually attending classes, and Hermione had shown up in the midst of Kettleburn's lesson on Acromantulas while most everyone looked at her with hostility.
"Sorry I'm late Professor," Hermione said, "I was in the headmaster's office and—"
"Quite alright, my dear," Kettleburn said, waving a hand, "now Miss Higgs, will you come here and help me demonstrate how the pincers activate on this one? Don't be shy, it's a baby, only two feet across—"
Hermione stood next to Brigitte, her mind a million miles away, turning over and over again the meeting with the Aurors, what it meant, why had they—
"Say, Granger," Wyatt Corsington hissed from behind her.
Hermione turned and gave him a cold look. She wasn't likely to forget that he, like almost everyone else, had been part of the mob that had confronted her.
"Heard about Belinda Harper and Estelle?"
Hermione's stomach dropped, and she looked around, but didn't see the auburn haired Slytherin anywhere.
"No," she said reluctantly.
"Miss Higgs, grasp the pincers tightly! Tightly Miss Higgs, or you—oh no, back away, back away—"
"Estelle's gone bonkers, off to St Mungos," Corsington said with relish, leaning closer to her.
Wearily, Hermione wondered if his excitement was from gossip or the fact that as she was allegedly so easy, that perhaps he was now hoping to get a piece of her action as well.
"Not true," Brigitte said with a frown, "she iz…'ome. With 'er familee."
"Well that's not what I heard," Corsington said, frowning as well.
"—everyone back off now, nothing to fear nothing to—aghh!"
Pincers clicked madly in the background.
"Anyway," Wyatt continued, "Belinda Harper's done a runner; she's killed two Aurors and flew off with Grindelwald on unicorns!"
"On….unicorns…?" Hermione asked skeptically.
"Just tie that tourniquet more tightly Mr. Moody, I'll be fine, I'll be fine, it's just a small scratch—"
"But you're bleeding everywhere, Professor!"
"We should get you to the hospital wing!"
"Unicorns," Wyatt pressed eagerly, even closer now. "And…hold on, is Tom Riddle wearing your scarf, Granger?"
"What?" Hermione said blankly, her mind racing out of control. So this was what the Aurors had been referring to. Her blood ran cold. From her experience with a Wizengamot at war, she now had less surety that her civil rights would be upheld.
"Riddle, he's wearing your scarf, isn't he? Really, can you tell me what you see in him, Granger, Gryffindor lads are so much better at—?"
"Oh, are you?" Phobos Malfoy drawled next to them, and Hermione turned at once, Corsington still breathing down her neck, Riddle glaring at all three of them with her scarf still jauntily tied round his neck.
"Cagey little fellow, isn't he class? Mr. Nott, Miss Smith, perhaps you can try feeding him some flies, I have some dipped in fudge right here—"
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Wyatt asked hostility in every ounce of his being.
Phobos's prancing lion danced on his hind legs on his scalp, undermining his threatening sneer.
"Nothing," Phobos said, "you're not attempting to do anything with something I want." And his eyes bored into Hermione, cold grey just like Draco's.
Wyatt looked confused for a moment as he attempted to puzzle this out.
"Not all the flies, now, look how he attacks them! What vigor, what—drop them, Miss Smith! Drop them!"
Wyatt finally figured it out and laughed meanly.
"Not like she wants it from you either, Malfoy,"
"I'm standing right here," Hermione said.
Both boys ignored her.
"Oh she definitely does," Phobos said coldly, "and that's just eating you up, isn't it Corsington?"
"Toss him the rats next, Mr. Nott! Hurry, before he turns on—"
Wyatt stood up tall, clenching his hands.
"She threw you over for Riddle, Malfoy, get over it. And she'll throw over Riddle next, you wait."
"I am right here," Hermione repeated, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Riddle struggling to get through the crowd of her classmates who were frantically crammed together, as far away from the Acromantula as they could get.
"For you?" Phobos scoffed.
"Of course for me," Corsington snarled, "I'll show her how it's really done, a real man, none of you Slytherins and your limp coc—"
Before Wyatt Corsington could finish this intensely crude sentence, Phobos Malfoy punched him in the face, breaking his nose with a crack. There had been a lot of broken noses lately.
Brigitte screamed, and everyone turned and watched, including the Acromantula, as the jockish Wyatt Corsington launched himself at the significantly smaller posh Slytherin and they wrestled on the ground, grunting and hitting.
"Dear dear," Tom Riddle said from next to her, as everyone else stood with their mouths agape. "What have you done to the poor boys, Hermione?"
She closed her mouth with effort.
"Oh you know me," she said, "all those illegal love potions."
Riddle smiled at her, but his eyes were empty.
"Is that what you've done to me then, Hermione? It would explain a lot."
"You don't love me," Hermione said, outraged, as the rest of the class started cheering and taking bets on the winner, Professor Kettleburn hobbling over as fast as he could. The Acromantula's pincers clicked gleefully.
"Then what?" Riddle hissed back, his smile dropping instantly, as the cheers rose and for once, not a single person paid attention to them. "What have you done to me? What is this that I'm feeling?"
Hermione paused to admire the form in which Phobos had just kicked Corsington in the ribs.
"You tell me," she said, now genuinely curious about something other than what the Aurors were going to do to her.
Riddle's hand closed with surprising strength on her arm, wrenching her slightly so she was forced to look at him.
"I can't stop thinking about you," Riddle said, staring at her intensely, and from any other boy this might have been a romantic sentiment. From Tom Riddle, of course, it was delivered with loathing, an enraged hiss of an accusation, a slight shake of her arm.
"What, at night in your bed?" Hermione said with an attempt at a contemptuous laugh, a toss of her terrible, terrible hair.
She was trying to get him to laugh like he had earlier, to let her go, perhaps a pink blush to arise in his cheeks like it had before. It backfired horribly.
"Yes," Riddle ground out, "at night in my bed."
Hermione froze.
"At night," Riddle repeated unnecessarily, as this moment was forever burned in Hermione's memory, "in the morning, in the bath, in class, in the common room, while I'm eating—"
"Boys! Boys! Stop this right now! I'm going to get Professor Dippet if you don't—"
"Sod off, Malfoy!"
"Go stick your head in a toilet, Corsington!"
"You're lying," Hermione said flatly.
"I wish to Salazar I was," Riddle said, hatred emanating from him at last, his kind façade obliterated.
Hermione scoffed.
"You've done something to me, you just admitted it!" Riddle said, shaking her again a tiny bit, not enough for anyone to notice.
"I was joking, you twit!" Hermione said, attempting to twist her arm away.
"It's the only explanation," Riddle insisted.
"You stupid boy, it's called hormones," Hermione said, not believing that this was happening. Her brain refused to process this. If he had said it sweetly, or seductively, or pretended confused innocence, she would have thought he was making the whole thing up. But his anger was far more convincing.
"I touched you and now—" she cut herself off swiftly, darting a look around.
"No one's paying attention," Riddle said through grit teeth as indeed, the class enthusiastically egged on Malfoy or Wyatt, depending on the house. "And I'm above that sort of thing, Hermione."
Hermione laughed.
"Oh, are you? Then what, exactly, happened in that corridor before Efferguard found us?"
Riddle breathed out through his nose, his grip loosening somewhat, and some of the rage in his eyes was, clearly reluctantly, replaced by lust.
"A mistake," he said.
"Well at least we agree on that," Hermione retorted.
"Oh no no no," Riddle whispered, "we don't agree on that. I know how much you desire me, Hermione. You enjoyed doing it."
Hermione laughed harder.
"I believe you are in love with yourself, Riddle," she said. "Maybe you made a love potion, dropped your hair in it, and then drank it?"
"Funny," Riddle said, "you're so droll, Hermione." Never had a boy look so unamused in the history of the world.
"I haven't done anything to you so get over it," Hermione repeated, "I'm sorry your penis is confusing you."
And this time she got her blush.
"You are obscene," Riddle said.
"Go kiss an ashwinder, Malfoy!"
"Why would I want to kiss your mother, Corsington!"
"Make up your mind," Hermione said, voice clipped with irritation. What a terrible day. She kept thinking she had her worst days in this time period and no, there was a new low the next day.
"About what?" Riddle asked, his color still high.
"I'm sick of your waffling," Hermione said, looking him full on in his beautifully sinister face. "Either you want me or you don't. You like being around me or you don't. You trust me or you don't. You lie to me or you tell me the truth. You enjoy me being a 'scandalous girl' or you squawk like a virgin sacrifice if I make the slightest filthy comment."
The color burned so brightly in Riddle's cheeks at that last bon mot that Hermione paused, tilting her head in consideration. She opened her mouth, about to ask Riddle for confirmation on her theory about his sexual history, and reconsidered.
"Pick one," Hermione said again, voice strong, "or leave me alone. I'm sick of your games."
"Don't you tell me what to do," Riddle said coldly.
"Don't tell me what to do," Hermione said, voice getting more heated as Riddle's got icier.
"I'll do what I like," Riddle said.
"And I'll do what I like," Hermione said. In a distant part of her mind, she realized that if they were overheard they sounded like a pair of squabbling three year olds.
Riddle paused, and his eyes danced over her face, his eyebrows narrowing.
"There will come a time," he said, voice very, very quiet, "that you will need me. You will need me to help you, and you will come to me, and then you will tell me the truth about you. And then, with your revelations, I will find the contempt for you that you deserve and be able to remove you from my thoughts forever. Or," he paused, and she swore the pupils of his eyes looked vaguely red, but perhaps it was the sun bouncing off her scarf around his neck, "or I will find out the truth, and then I will make you mine. Forever."
"What?" Hermione said, aghast. She laughed nervously.
"You heard me," Riddle said, his voice almost inaudible. "So you better hope, Miss Granger, that you don't need my help for anything."
"Pass me a rag, Granger," Phobos said irritably.
"Get it yourself, Malfoy," Corsington snarled.
"Both of you shut up," Sergon Avery said.
Hermione sighed, looking at the ceiling in Dumbledore's office for patience.
She was currently polishing award after yet another award that Dumbledore had won for being perfect and brilliant and whatever, with three incredibly irritating boys at her side. Corsington was knocking down cobwebs with a broom, Malfoy was trying to clean the windows, and Avery was scrubbing the floor. Dumbledore, after giving them their assignments with rather a sadistic gleam in his eye, had left and now she was stuck with three of the last people she wanted to be stuck with in this school, two of whom kept trying to look down her shirt. Phobos was resolutely not looking at her at all, but clenching his pasty jaw whenever she was within three feet of him.
"What are you even doing here, Avery?" Phobos demanded, and when he turned around to glare at him his eyes accidentally locked with Hermione's before he looked away again, his nostrils flaring.
"I'm serving detention," Avery sneered, as he tore his gaze away from Hermione's legs for half a second.
"Oh, really?" Phobos said scornfully, "I hadn't noticed."
"Well then why did you—"
"What did you do to get detention lunk head?" Phobos asked.
Hermione vigorously scrubbed Dumbledore's Best in Show Dog groomer plaque, determinedly ignoring every one of the morons in the room, her brain replaying the disturbing and bizarre conversation she'd had with Riddle, kicking herself for not trying harder to press her advantage when he had shown weakness, for not swallowing her pride and pretending to love him back.
"Oh, ah…that." Avery said, and for some reason, he sounded nervous. He even more suspiciously glanced quickly at Hermione and then away.
Wyatt stopped smacking the ceiling with his broom and turned to look at him as well.
"Well, I ah…hit Jane Landy with Furnunculus. She screamed so loud when the boils began popping that Dumbledore ran out of his office and gave me detention."
"What he means," Hermione said shortly, setting down the plaque with a thunk and picking up a second place trophy for Best Interpretive Original Dance, "is that Riddle put him up to getting detention so he could have his minions do some of his stalking for him."
Avery turned red in a way that distinctly stated that Hermione's deduction was right.
"That's just pathetic," Corsington snorted.
"I cannot believe I am agreeing with you," Phobos said, looking revolted.
"Tom is just concerned," Avery said stiffly, his eyes still darting now and again to the skin between Hermione's knee socks and her skirt, the whole two inches of under knee flesh, "about you being stuck with these two after that display today."
"I'm not an animal," Phobos said coldly, "I can't speak for Corsington here, but—"
"You punched me, you ponce!" Corsington said in outrage.
"You were making an extremely vulgar comment," Phobos said haughtily.
At this point, Hermione managed to successfully tune out their sniping for some time, as her mind jumped from Riddle to Belinda Harper to Grindelwald to time traveling to Estelle Black to Aurors, to Veritaserum, to Riddle—
"I think that will be enough for tonight," Dumbledore said genially, and Hermione jumped, halfway through polishing a rotating bowling pin engraved with The Bashfully Brawling Bowlers of '21, Avery staring, where he apparently had been for some time, judging by his glazed expression, at her arse.
"Finally," Phobos groused, dropping his rag and cracking his neck.
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose.
"I shall see the three of you tomorrow," he said, "Mr. Avery, I hope you have learned your lesson, and will not be back again."
"That makes two of us," Hermione muttered, tugging on her skirt.
Avery tore his slack face from Hermione with difficulty and said "Oh, definitely, Professor," in a horribly sickening voice.
The four of them trailed out of Dumbledore's office, his eyes boring into the back of Hermione's head as she followed Phobos's dancing lion head, which was now rhythmically thrusting its little lion behind at her from the back of his skull.
Corsington and Avery both awkwardly lingered in the hallway.
Hermione took a deep breath. There was nothing for it.
"Phobos," she said, and he stopped mid stride, not turning around, "I need to speak to you."
"No," he said shortly, and started walking again. Hermione saw the exact moment he registered the glee on Wyatt and Avery's faces, before he spun around to face her. "Fine. What do you want?"
Hermione looked pointedly at the other two boys, who stared dumbly back at her, unmoving.
"Not here," Hermione said.
Phobos nodded curtly, and walked further away from Dumbledore's office. Behind her, Hermione heard the other two boy's footfalls. She turned back and said "Alone, if you please boys."
"I'm not leaving you alone with-"
"Tom said—"
"Go away!" Hermione said, pulling out her wand threateningly, and they both looked anxious, hesitated, but left.
"Good thing everyone thinks you're a mass murderer, Granger, so you can threaten effectively," Phobos drawled from behind her.
"You know I'm not," he said, and she couldn't believe she actually felt hurt right now.
"I don't know a damn thing about you," Phobos said, and the coldness in his eyes was gone, rage in its place. "You've made that clear."
"You know more about me than almost anyone else in this ti—" she stopped.
"This what?" Phobos asked suspiciously.
"In this time of my life," Hermione finished lamely. Phobos's brows contracted but he didn't question her further.
"Lucky me," he sneered instead.
"Look I don't know why you are acting like this!" Hermione said, frustrated, "it's not like we were really dating, you know!"
"Yes, you said that earlier," Phobos said, looking even angrier, "I got the owl, Granger."
"Well then why are you acting like you're jealous?" Hermione demanded.
Phobos stared at her for ten full seconds of disbelief.
"Are you making a joke right now?" he asked.
"Of course I'm not!" Hermione said, hands on hips.
"You're a stupid girl, you know that?" Phobos said forcefully, "You've read a million books, but you're so stupid."
"How dare you—mmmph!"
Phobos Malfoy had pressed her against the wall, his hands on her shoulders, and was giving her a very different kiss than he had before. When Hermione gasped, his tongue snaked into her mouth, his hands round her waist and pulled her to him. He pulled away slowly, his lips wet, Hermione's eyes huge.
"I am jealous," he said between his gasping breaths, "you daft girl."
And he walked away from her, Hermione's trembling hands going to her wet lips, her rounded brown eyes following his retreating figure, her legs shaking.
Thirty seconds later, she regained her legs and her voice, and ran after him shouting "wait Malfoy, I had something to ask you, wait!" but he was gone.
It wasn't until later, when she was sightlessly staring at her canopy, Crookshanks laying on her stomach, that she realized she had kissed him back.
Author's Note: Thank you all for your support! I always cherish your reviews, I really mean that.