Diagon Alley is bustling with witches and wizards from all over the country making their last-minute purchases before the holiday season begins, after which the alley will overflow with even more customers. Shop wares have spilled out onto the cobblestone streets, and smoke is wafting from the chimneys of specialty restaurants. Pedlars hawk their goods at passersby, hoping to make a reasonable profit from the unexpected rush of visitors.
The students of Hogwarts are on a short break, almost like a holiday, except that an accidental explosion in one of the potions room had produced a smoke so toxic and consuming that it had forced the evacuation of all the residents of the castle. Within a week's time, the spell cleaning committee will clear up the smoke, after which the students and other occupants of the castle can return from their break. However, a week's worth of days off is still a week's worth of homework. All students are expected to keep up with the course outside the school, no matter the circumstances. Some classes in particular have even requested the addition of extra materials needed for their work. Which is why most of Hogwarts have gathered in Diagon Alley since the break—to buy "classwork supplies", but also to socialise before they are back in their school routine again.
"Ron, you need this equipment for Transfiguration, otherwise professor McGonagall will be furious," Hermione implores, picking up a small clay pot and a handful of wax candles. She places them into his bag. She knows she frets over him often, and sometimes too much, but it's because she cares for him as a friend. Thankfully however, gone are the days when she harboured an embarrassing crush on Ron. He makes much better company as a friend, albeit he was still prone to ticking her off, in both intentional and unintentional ways.
"Honestly Hermione she's mental, how does she expect us to memorise all those spells in less than a week?" Ron looks at her and Harry with indignation, the latter who nods back. "Also, if it's a break we might s'well enjoy it, I don't want to waste all my time in a supply shop."
"It's not difficult if you just keep trying, and a week is more than enough to remember everything." Hermione turns over a pocket-size book on folklore spells, reading the publication date before adding it to her bag. "And besides, once we've bought all our supplies we can hang out properly—I mean, we're already doing that, aren't we?"
"Yeah, and we'll help each other out with the spells, it won't be so difficult then," Harry adds in, placing the clay pot and candles into his own bag, along with a pack of wizarding cards.
"Hermione, if your definition of "hanging out" includes waltzing around in this sort of place—" Ron exclaims, waving his arms around, "—then you really need to reconsider your idea of 'fun'."
She shoots him a glare, at which Harry intervenes before there's a scuffle in the shop. "It's okay, this isn't bad, and like you've said, we'll always have time to spare once we finish buying everything on our list. It's not much we have to get, anyway."
Ron turns his attention to the front of the shop. "Finally, Ginny's here," he announces as Ginny waves at them from the door. Harry flusters, his hand absentmindedly messing up the back of his already messy hair.
"That's great, I'll be off with her now to buy some bitter root extract, and expect to see you both in an hour's time," Hermione says, going through the check-out counter as Ginny comes over to the trio. "Also, try buying all your equipment before we meet again, that way we won't have to hang out in supply shops." She looks pointedly at Ron, who laughs back.
"Sure, and we'll be at Florean Fortescue's in the meantime, did you know they've got a new flavour?" Harry asks, and looks over at Ron with a grin, "it's called 'salted caramel with pistachio.'"
"Then what are we still doing here?" Ron almost runs out the shop, with Harry in tow, who passes a quick smile to Ginny as they leave.
Ginny and Hermione enter Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, and browse the sections on glass phials and jars filled with an assortment of organic ingredients.
"You know what everyone's saying? That the explosion at Hogwarts wasn't an accident," says Ginny, tapping her finger on a jar filled with roving newt eyeballs.
"Oh? Well, I guess people always need new excuses for rumours. I doubt the explosion was on purpose," Hermione replies, reading the titled shelves. It was true though, she thought, because for many students, Hogwarts won't be the same without any whispers in the corridors or giggles behind hands during class.
"That's possible, although when you think about it, it's awfully convenient for them to just send us off on a break like this. And it's not like Dumbledore couldn't've cleared all the smoke up on his own." Ginny twirls a dandelion root in her hand, then places it back on the table in front of them.
"Maybe, but even then, our presence would look suspicious, wouldn't it? I think Dumbledore sent us away for our own protection," she considers carefully. Ginny's theory did make sense on some level, because it was easier to hush up the situation by sending everyone away, and therefore prevent further interrogation by the Ministry.
"Or for someone's protection. Whoever it was that caused the 'accident'."
Well, that made sense too.
"Probably."
They move onto the latest exaggerations in the Daily Prophet, complained about the absurdity of Rita Skeeter, and joked about how funny it would be to turn her into a beetle and trap her into one of the shop's jars. They also discussed the ongoings of school life at Hogwarts and its politics.
"—their entertainment was pathetic, I ought to let my father know before he invites them over our place."
"And just look who it is, our favourite ferret has decided to make his grand entrance," Ginny declares with false merriment.
Hermione chuckles, looking towards Malfoy with his Twilfitt and Tatting brand shoes clicking on the wooden floor. She stops however when she notices the tall, familiar dark-haired figure beside him.
"Blimey, Tom's with him, too. He's an okay fellow though, I'd say."
An 'okay fellow?' Not bloody well likely.
"He's absolutely not, Ginny. How can someone be "okay" if they hang around Malfoy? Shows me that they're just as much of a prejudiced blood purist. And anyway, I think it's best we leave—"
"So soon?—"
"—yes, like, right now."
Ginny looks at her curiously. "But you haven't even bought the bitter root extract."
"Doesn't matter, I'll get it later."
Making sure that the ferret and his dear friend were away from the door, and out of their line of sight, Hermione shoulders Ginny along. They make their way from the side of the shop, pushing past the customers until they are at the cramped entrance. Ginny looks at her again, but otherwise doesn't say anything. Out in the alley, a pedlar offers them a roasted corn on the cob, and Ginny passes over a few coins, taking one in her hand. They stroll down the alley, stepping aside to let a gaggle of children run past, before they reach a vendor selling colourful hourglasses, crystal balls and other strange ornaments.
"Say, Hermione, why exactly don't you like Tom?" Ginny asks, and takes a bite into her corn. Hermione notes that she makes the same face as Ron when biting into food.
"I don't like Riddle because he's an arrogant, narcissistic twat," she replies brusquely, moving her shopping bag to the crook of her other arm. "He's such a nuisance, Ginny, and you won't believe the stuff he's said to me."
Ginny gives a noncommittal hum, and continues to eat her corn while looking over the objects displayed on the cart. Hermione sifts through the wares and holds up a time-turner necklace replica, watching the centrepiece spin.
"I'm so flattered to be called an 'arrogant twat', Granger."
Hermione freezes, her fingers still on the chain.
"Your most kindest of compliments have made my day." His words are followed by Draco's familiar, taunting laugh. Two hissing snakes had left their den to follow them out here, how lovely.
But she can't let Riddle see that he has affected her. It doesn't matter if he hears everything she says, including if it's about him—and especially if it's about him—because she's not afraid. And she's not one to disguise her apathy for him. In her earshot, she hears Ginny stifle a laugh. That's another issue she needs to sort out later.
Back straight and chin held high, Hermione turns around.
"I'm honoured that you appreciate my compliments, Riddle. I have some more if you'd like to hear." She hopes that her words are laced with just the right amount of sharpness. Make it look she's completely unfazed and nice, just like him. And she is not, under such circumstances, to be distracted by his stupid face and the outrageously well-fitting, tailored robes, except, except—He's wearing cufflinks, for Merlin's sake. Silver-studded cufflinks.
"Perhaps next time," he replies curtly, before turning towards Ginny. For a fraction of a second, his eyes had hardened and there was a twitch in his jaw, before his genial expression was back in place. Got you, she thought with triumph.
"Good afternoon, Ginny. I hope your day is going well?" He continues with a motioning gesture, and there's a dull glint on his left hand—a black stone ring, she notes. Just how many trinkets has he accumulated? His Patronus is probably a Niffler, she sums up.
"Hello Tom, yes our day is going well, thanks. We were just buying some supplies for school and looking around," Ginny responds in a good-natured manner, and Hermione wishes she can apparate them out of here already.
The last thing she wants is for Ginny to become buddies with Riddle. Malfoy however, isn't hiding his boredom and indifference standing next to him, and thankfully doesn't accost either of them.
"As are we. Professor Flitwick recommended I buy another copy of The Standard Book of Spells for Charms. It's the latest edition, and they're stocking them for the coming months."
Ginny doesn't give a toss about the 'latest version' of a Charms textbook, just who is he trying to kid? But of course, this was all a part of his image. That doesn't mean his revelation isn't important. She will most definitely grab hold of the new copy when possible.
"I think Flourish and Blotts have new copies of the text, I saw some when I passed the shop before. There's going to be a visitor there today, too," Ginny replies.
"I've heard the same, perhaps we make our way to the shop together, then?"
Arm hidden behind her shopping bag, she pinches Ginny on the arm. No, not under any circumstance. Ginny pinches her back, almost eliciting a yelp from her that she covers with a cough.
"Sure! I need a new diary and papyrus parchment, as well."
Oh she's going to strike Ginny with her own Bat-Bogey Hex after this—
"Excellent, let's leave now."
—And push Riddle off a cliff.
Starting at the doorstep, there is a large crowd inside Flourish and Blotts. They make their way through, hurrying to reach the front, where even more people—or fans, in this case—are congregated. Tom almost steps on a plump, middle-aged witch's foot on his way, while Draco swears after a younger boy knocks past and trips him. Granger and the Weasley girl are behind them until then, before they break off to stand in the opposite direction, closer to the front of the shop where columns of tomes have been stacked up.
As they wait, the store manager announces that the special guest will make his appearance soon. There's a flurry of excitement amongst the crowd which—Tom notices now—is composed mostly of women and giggling schoolgirls. There are still quite a few wizards milling about, too, however. The manager makes another announcement.
"To all witches and wizards, to all the supportive fans, Flourish and Blotts present to you—Gilderoy Lockhart!"
The crowd shrieks and clap hands, and the manager has to push back a young woman trying to run up the stairs as Lockhart makes his way down.
Tom and Draco scoff at the same time. There are many things they don't have in common, yet there are just a few that they do. And one being the unanimous agreement that Gilderoy Lockhart is a ludicrous, smarmy, dandy.
Said 'dandy' in question is dressed in an exuberant suit with flowy robes. The peach and lime-yellow colours are almost garish. Lockhart smiles back at the crowd, but his mouth is stretched too thin and his teeth are aligned too straight. Revolting, Tom thinks.
Lockhart talks through his introduction which was, as the rest of him, showy and over-the-top. And possibly phoney, too (defeated the Bandon Banshee? This imbecilic man? As if). Though how the dolt has managed to evade any investigation into his claims so far is beyond him. But even more baffling right now is the utter adoration he's receiving from the mostly-female crowd. They are such fools to believe him, the whole lot of them.
Lockhart talks of yet another extravagant, most likely fake claim, followed by one of his gross, teethy smiles, and the ignorant crowd sighs.
And then without meaning to, and for no purpose at all, his eyes land on Granger.
Granger.
Smiling, cooing, simpering—
And—What is he looking at? Is this really her or has she been replaced with a Polyjuice substitute?
Hands clasped in eagerness and eyes never leaving the front—
For Lockhart? Bloody Lockhart? The slimy, sycophantic idiot whose fake talk is obvious to even the most oblivious dunderhead.
But her, the spitfire witch—
Who has never, to his notice, shown such a blatant act of—what? An act of what?—Optimism—is that the correct terminology?—
"I want to leave, Riddle, else I'm going to lose my damn mind listening to this clot for another minute," Draco grumbles, shifting on his spot and cracking his knuckles.
He looks away from Granger. "We will, soon."
Lockhart is at his desk now, waving around a comical peacock feathered quill. The crowd disperses and a group gathers around him, while the manager tries to control the feverous fans and barks out at them to form a queue. Right at the front is Granger, followed by Ginny. They place their books on the desk, and the despicable man sweeps his blonde, coiffed hair away from his forehead, before setting his palms on the desk and listening to the girls intently. They are all smiles and laughs.
Tom calculates that the reason he's just slightly irked by Granger's response towards Lockhart is because he expected better from her. He expected better from someone who holds intelligence and competence in high regards, of which Lockhart is neither. They have no personal connection, either, unlike the one she shares with her friends. What does she see in this foolish 'wizard'?—if he's even worthy enough to be called that. And if it has anything to do with his—'looks', which are quite frankly atrocious—then he has to conclude that Granger is the most shallow witch, ever.
He knows what effects his own physical appearance has upon others. He knows how she doesn't respond to said physical appearances. Why then, is Lockhart any different?
He wants to—throttle him.
"Let's go now," Draco says, looking disdainfully at a witch who had toppled over in the queue.
Tom nods, and they start to make their way out until he sees Granger and Ginny walking to the door. Ginny notices them and waves over at him, at which her temperamental friend turns and glowers at her. Of course, forever displeased with him.
"Hey Tom, we're meeting up with Harry and Ron at Florean Fortescue's, want to join us?" She beams, looking at him expectantly as they walk out.
He'd rather not. Because if he goes with them it will probably raise suspicion on laughable and unfounded claims, and Draco wouldn't agree, anyway. Right now he just wants to clear his mind. "Perhaps next time, I need to buy a couple of more things and then we must take our leave."
"That's fair, we have to do the same, actually, and were supposed to except that—" Ginny makes a show of turning to look at Granger, "Hermione here just got a bit too…distracted by Mr Lockhart, so we're already a little late." There's something suggestive in the way the redhead looks at him, and then at Granger.
And so he keeps his face composed, and answers with a pleasant smile. Because none of this matters to him. Granger doesn't matter to him. And he sure as Merlin doesn't need anyone else to assume otherwise.
Looking at Ginny and Draco and everywhere else except him, Granger sniffs, "Ginny, Mr Lockhart is a compassionate, accomplished wizard who is lucky to have made fortune as a best-selling author, it was only important for us to be present with him today."
Her revelation—which, as though it weren't obvious enough through her actions, causes something to shift inside of him. And before he can think, before he can even process, he speaks out.
"He's also a fake, did you know that, Granger? He's a grotesque, smarmy fake. And you're a fool if you believe a single word of what he says." His hands are by his sides now, the metal of the Gaunt heirloom warm on his finger.
"He's quite unlike like you, Riddle, and it's funny that you're lecturing me about who's fake—"
"—And you're choosing to defend a fraud."
"He's not a fraud! Just because you—I think you're jealous, yes, you're jealous of his success and achievement, and you're jealous because you can never reach that level of perfection." Her arms are crossed, and she's staring at him directly, so ready to challenge him further.
And challenged he is. He will see to it that she understands just how preposterous her assumptions about Lockhart are.
"You really think that, do you? You actually think I care about that git's fake success, fake career, and lying publications?"
"I think you do, and that's why you're accosting me right now."
"I'm accosting you because I thought just a little bit higher of you."
"Is that what this is about? You—thinking 'high' of me?" She gives a sarcastic laugh, and the little curl tucked behind her ear springs out as she drops her bag to the floor. "Oh this is just the greatest joke in wizarding history."
He needs to stay calm and he needs to stay in control because he doesn't care but she needs to understand—
"You supporting Lockhart is the biggest joke right now."
"You know what, Riddle? You know what's actually the real joke at this moment?" She pauses, placing a hand on her hip, and sneers at him."Your entire life."
Right, so she really wants to go there, does she? He won't stop then, either. He won't be merciful.
"Just like your hair, I suppose. Untameable, unpleasant, and horrid to look at."
She sputters, her face contorted in rage. "You leave my hair out of this!"
"You leave my life out of this!"
"Then you!—Leave me, then!"
He's close to her, too close, but when had they gotten so—close? Because he can almost count every individual lash framing her eyes. But she's being so bloody infuriating and so damn difficult, and he does not care enough or at all to put up with this.
"No, you leave."
It came out as just above a whisper. He hadn't meant for it to sound like that.
But her face changes, and she has that expression, the same one she had back in the library when he stole the book from her and said her name. Shall he say her name again? What will it do to her? But maybe not this time, especially now that she looks furious again.
And so their altercation continues, and insults are thrown left and right under every manner of the sun.
She does leave in the end, but not of free will, anyway. Not when her wand was drawn—his wand was drawn, too, he can remember vaguely—it seemed that was the last straw for everyone. Ginny had to drag her away, pulling her by her robes with a hand behind her neck, preventing her from trying to look back at him.
He recalls Draco dragging him away, too, although it was completely unnecessary when he thinks about it now. He has a lot more self resolve, he could've left on his own. It's not like he was going to go running after her.
Regardless, he will think about his actions later.
Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle, quarrelling in the middle of Dragon Alley, was a sight which will never be forgotten by both Draco and Ginny. Neither of them had intervened throughout the duration of it, and neither of them had made a single utterance towards the two.
Instead, some time during the row, their eyes had met. It was the kind of look you exchange with a stranger when you both witness an awkward situation at your hosts' party but don't know how to react. No matter their hostilities, no matter their rivalries on personal and quidditch levels, there was a semblance of understanding—however small, passed between them.
Until it made Draco realise who exactly the hosts in question were, and exactly what implications were being laid out.
He looked back at Tom, horrified.
"You've got to be bloody kidding me."
Ginny just smirked.
This got a bit long, didn't mean for it to!
Dear readers, how am I going so far, especially with their characterisations? Please write me your feedback on this chapter! What did you like, what was your favourite scene/line? Let me know!
'Guest' I will definitely be including the scene with Crookshanks in another chapter, thank you so much for the suggestion!
Thank you to the two guest readers and blacksbear for reviewing my story :)
