Author's note: Second years can go to Hogsmeade in this fic, because in my opinion that is more fitting with the approach to safety at Hogwarts School of Ways to Kill Children.
"Eurgh – pineapple. Hermione, what flavour Acid Pops did you get?" Philip asked, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth and retching.
"Pineapple is delicious!" Hermione said. "I got raspberry, we can –"
The compartment door slammed open, making them all jump. "Listen up you – oh."
Hermione turned from Philip to where the shouting voice was coming from. It was Tom and his Malfoy friend.
"Hello Hermione," he said, sounding surprised. Hermione grinned.
"Tom!" she said happily. "Hi – AHH!" She screamed as her eyes fell on the gleaming pin on his robes. Tom looked down at where she was pointing.
"Ah – yes –"
"You got prefect!" she exclaimed. Tom's friend threw his hands up and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.
"Oh, Tom, congratulations!" Hermione said fervently, standing up to talk to him properly. "I knew you would get it! Well, you're the best student in your year, so of course you would –"
"Oh, you knew, did you Hermione?" Tom said, turning to Malfoy and poking him in the ribs. "Hear that, Abraxas?"
"Yes, Tom," the boy called Abraxas Malfoy said, visibly grinding his teeth. They bickered for a moment and then he stared past Tom to glare at her.
"Good job, Granger," he spat. "I didn't think it possible, but you've somehow managed to make his head swell even bigger."
Tom, though, was smiling from ear to ear, so Hermione didn't think she had to worry too much about his annoyed friend.
"You'll have patrols now…and you can be out after curfew, right? That's so cool, Tom," she said, feeling quite jealous of the extra fifteen minutes that could be squeezed out of the library if you didn't have to leave at 9:45pm to reach the Slytherin quarters before curfew.
"Yes. In fact, I can make life singularly difficult for each and every one of you," Tom said, sneering at the compartment of Ravenclaws. Philip went as white as a ghost, and Barnabus also visibly gulped. Behind Hermione, though, Cynthia scoffed and snapped her charms textbook shut.
"Don't worry, Riddle," she said, sneering right back at Tom. "No one here picks on Hermione. You should go tell the other Slytherin second year girls, though."
CYNTHIA, Hermione screamed internally, feeling the heat rise to her face as Abraxas continued complaining to Tom. She stared at her meaningfully, but Cynthia merely gave her a wide-eyed 'What?' look back, as though she hadn't just badly embarrassed Hermione in front of the only person in Slytherin who was sometimes nice to her.
"Who are you?" Tom asked loudly.
Now you've done it, Hermione thought, looking at the unimpressed looks on both Tom and Cynthia's faces. She clapped a hand on Cynthia's shoulder and tried her best to channel former Prime Minister Chamberlain.
"Tom, this is Cynthia Clearwater - she's my best friend in Ravenclaw. She got the top spot in Charms last year." Hermione tried to smile, but she could feel her lips stretch joylessly over her teeth and knew it probably looked more like a grimace. While she was glad she had something positive to say about Cynthia to divert Tom's anger away from her, the disappointment of coming second on the end of year Charms test still stung a bit.
But now Tom was looking at her, with the same unhappy glare that made her wilt a lot more than Cynthia had. "Why didn't you get first in Charms?" he asked bluntly.
Hermione tried to swallow, feeling the failure block up her throat. Luckily, Cynthia finally remembered she was supposed to be Hermione's friend, and came to the rescue.
"Hermione got second. And she came top in about half the other subjects," Cynthia said. But then something even worse happened; the annoyed anger in Tom's face suddenly turned to disappointment.
"You can do better than that," he said, staring directly at Hermione, and she felt her soul leave her body for a moment under the crushing feeling of not being good enough. Her voice returned a moment later, after her hearing did; the situation was deteriorating rapidly, with Cynthia and Tom now snipping at each other.
"I'll try harder," she somehow managed to say, and a few moments later the compartment door was opening and closing again, and Tom and his friend were gone.
"Ugh, honestly - he's such a dick, Hermione," Cynthia said, opening her charms book again.
"Are you insane?" Philip asked weakly. "Why are you picking a fight with someone who goes around slicing up other students?"
"I don't call people Mud – bad names. And I'm Hermione's friend," Cynthia said. "He's not going to stab me."
Hermione sat back down next to Cynthia, blinking as the sensation returned to her arms and legs. "I feel ill," she announced to the compartment.
"Why? You and Riddle were the ones making everyone else feel sick," Cynthia said, flicking through the pages to find her place. "Oh Tom, I can't believe the top student in your year was made prefect!"
"Shut up, Cynthia," Hermione snapped, nausea quickly replaced with a firm irritability. "You don't know what it's like in Slytherin. There's never been a prefect without confirmed magical heritage before."
"Well, now there is. Congratulations in advance on getting prefect in three years," Cynthia replied sarcastically.
Hermione scoffed. "There's no way I'd get it ahead of Margaret Nott," she said bitterly.
"So you have one half-way decent student to compete with," Barnabus said, rolling his eyes. "I don't think it's fair that each house gets two. Some people have a way easier time than others."
"I can't believe either of you care," Cynthia said, looking between them doubtfully. "Aside from putting it on programme applications, what's it good for?"
"Maybe Rosemary and Hazel would shove off if I could give them detention," Hermione said wistfully.
"Like big brother isn't doing that for you right now," Cynthia sneered. "Even if Bridget was a prefect, I doubt she would give anyone detention for me."
Hermione felt her face grow hot again. "He's not my big brother," she muttered. Cynthia shrugged.
"Well, your muggle-born comrade, then. Bet you five strawberry Acid Pops he's put them in detention before the end of the month."
Hermione stood up, unable to take it anymore. "I'm going to find Elsie," she huffed, shoving her raspberry Acid Pops towards Philip and taking his pineapple lollypops from him.
"She was with the other Puffs, looking after some first years near the front of the train," Philip said as Hermione left.
"Oh god – Hermione, I lost them immediately –" Elsie said, face awash with anguish on the Hogsmeade train platform. Hermione shrugged casually.
"It's ok, I think the prefects are meant to help the first years anyway," she replied. But Elsie looked so aghast Hermione gave in. "Fine – I'll go this way, you go that way. Send them towards that end of the platform?" she suggested. Elsie grabbed Hermione's hands happily.
"Thank you, Hermione!" she said, and she let go and disappeared into the crowd. Hermione sighed and started looking for the youngest, most lost-looking students on the busy train platform.
"Come on, you," she said, poking a boy with no house colours who was swimming in robes too big for him. "Come this way. First years!" she called out; another small girl's head popped out, and Hermione gestured for her to join them. "Are you – yes, you are. Come this way!" she said, leading them towards the end of the platform.
"Hermione! We're over here," Elsie called out, heading towards her with three kids hanging onto her robes. Hermione waved towards he,r and turned back to the children following her, just in time to see a kid lose his wand.
"Are you – hey, you already dropped your wand –" Hermione scolded, bending down to pick up one boy's wand which had fallen out of his robe pocket. "Here, hold onto this. It's important."
"It is?" one girl asked. "I already lost mine on the train."
"Merlin's sake," Hermione grumbled. "You must be muggle-born – you should take better care of your things. Elsie, can you go ask them to hold the train and have a look – I'll wait here and –"
"This all of them?" Tom's voice asked; Hermione turned around and saw he was surveying the group of first years she and Elsie had gathered.
Hermione didn't actually know if this was all the first years, but Tom did hate uncertain answers. "Oh – yes," she lied. "Some of them are a bit hopeless," she said quietly to him, watching the boy whose wand she had rescued drop it again. "One's lost their wand already."
"Not like you, eh, Hermione?" Tom said, smiling at her. "Good of you to round them up."
How much embarrassment could one person feel in a single day, Hermione wondered? She tried to tell him she was just helping out Elsie, but the icy Gryffindor Beater who had been appointed as the new Head Girl arrived. She interrupted Hermione's blustering explanation and lead all of the first years towards the docks.
Tom turned on the charm for her immediately, and Hermione remembered something her friend Mo had told her; something that happened after the final quidditch game last school year, in the Gryffindor common room.
"Do you like her?" she asked him. She watched Minerva McGonagall lead about fifty eleven year olds to the docks, thinking of the captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team and her long, beautiful ponytail of shiny black hair. "It's just, um, my friend Mo is in Gryffindor, and he says she's -"
"Mo?" Tom asked, looking at Hermione with the gravest offence written all over his face. "Can the children of Gryffindor not even spare a second syllable these days?"
She explained it was a nickname, and Tom told her how much he hated them. A very dangerous idea struck Hermione, too tempting to let pass by.
"To," she said nervously, looking somewhere above and to the side of Tom's head.
"Herm," he replied immediately. The relief he had gone along with her joke felt like downing an entire bottle of cola in one go. She felt light headed as they headed to the carriages, until he asked something that brought her sharply back down to the much more difficult earth.
"You seem awfully keen on this prefect business," Tom said, and all the drama from the train came back to her. Hermione stared at the ground and thought unkind things about Margaret Nott, who had not been completely heinous towards Hermione, and did not deserve to have a dormmate think murderous things about her.
"I wish I could be prefect," she said quietly, feeling morose with self-loathing. Tom bent down, closer to her head.
"What?" he asked, frowning slightly. Great, now she had to say it again.
"I – I wish I could be a prefect, when I'm in fifth year," she repeated, forcing herself to say it louder. "But I know – I'm a Muggleborn, it's impossible."
Tom had plausible deniability about his lack of magical heritage, because he didn't know who either of his parents were. But everyone knew Hermione's parents were muggles. Besides, her grades were nowhere near as good as Tom's, nor was she half as charming as he was.
The unstated rules could perhaps be twisted for Tom, who was amazing. But Hermione was just a good student. It wouldn't be enough for Slytherin, not when Margaret also got reasonable marks and had pureblood heritage going back hundreds of years.
"Hmm," Tom audibly thought, and Hermione braced herself for him to say something cutting. But, she realised, maybe it would help to hear it from him. It wouldn't do to spend the next three years hoping for something that would never happen –
"Yes, it would be great if you were made a prefect," he said absently. Hermione blinked. That was not what she had been expecting him to say. She looked up at Tom; he was staring into the night sky, looking very far away. All impressive and pretty, with his good looks and prefect badge.
She kind of - hated it.
Hermione shook her head as he said something about it not being impossible. Somehow it hurt worse than if he had sneered she should just give up. She didn't like feeling this jealous.
"I don't want to – get my hopes up," she told him, trying to force herself to let go of this unlikely dream. "I shouldn't get any ideas –"
"What did I just say?" Tom asked, sounding very annoyed. "Are you so unambitious you'll give up before you even try?"
She stared at him, horrified. "No!" Hermione replied, before she could think of what she was saying. But she really didn't want Tom to think she was a quitter, and it overrode her attempts to try and let go of a painful possibility that she might make prefect one day.
"I…I will try, Tom!" she promised him. If Tom didn't think it was impossible, maybe there really was a chance? Cynthia seemed to think so too, she recalled. "I'll try my hardest!"
It was like when he first told her off, after her terrible first week in Hogwarts where Hermione managed to put her foot in it at almost every turn. Tom started bossily telling her what she should be doing to try and make prefect, even as his friend Abraxas stared at her like she should make herself scarce.
Every class she had to aim for first in, now – she had tried to do her best in each class in first year, before Tom told her Herbology and Defence weren't worth it. But no matter – Hermione was determined to try even harder this year. Maybe it would be easier, now that she had a year of magical education behind her – the knowledge gap between her and the students from magical households was shrinking.
Hermione ignored Abraxas' glares during the Sorting Ceremony, as students she assumed were muggle-born were sorted into Slytherin. Who cared what he thought, or anyone of the other blood purists, for that matter? She would show them.
Professor Merrythought smiled as Hermione wrote down the extra reading she suggested. "What's spurred on this new interest in Defence, Hermione?" she asked. "I got the impression it wasn't your favourite subject."
Hermione tried not to wince, remembering all the times the Professor caught her doing Transfig instead of Defence reading in class last year. "Oh…I'm trying to be more applied in my study this year," Hermione said, shoving the list in her bag. "I intend to try as hard as I can in every subject."
"Well, the Evans and Müller texts on counter-jinxes are good extension reading, once you finish the assigned chapter," the Professor said. "Some interesting ideas you can apply for the Tripping Hexes test we'll be doing this Friday."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, leaving the classroom –
- and walking straight into Rosemary and Hazel's shoving hands.
"Hey!" Hermione said.
"Rotten swot," Rosemary sneered. "All that studying isn't going to help you, you know. You're a Mudblood pig, you and that snide prefect."
"Isn't going to help me what?" Hermione asked, missing that it had been a distraction, that Hazel's wand had been moving in complicated ways for several seconds.
Cynthia was wide-eyed and quiet, for once, when Hermione stiffly sat at the Ravenclaw table the next morning for breakfast.
Barnabus was less inclined to sensitivity. "So?" he asked, slicing up sausages. "How much of you did they transfigure into a pig?"
"Barny!" Cynthia hissed, whacking him with her newspaper.
"Everyone knows, then?" Hermione asked, staring at her empty plate. Curious, how livid anger made one lose their entire appetite.
"The whole school," Barnabus said, clicking sympathetically. Of course. Nothing ever stayed secret in this gossipy little hellhole.
"At least Madam Dubois fixed it right away," Cynthia said quietly. "You look totally fine now."
Hermione stared at her. "Like I would have left the hospital wing with a pig snout?" she asked, making Barnabus snort into his food.
"Well, they got detention for it," Cynthia said bracingly. "And you're all better now. No harm done."
"All better?" Hermione asked. "Everyone knows I got half-transfigured into a pig!"
"Honestly, I didn't know Hazel had it in her," Cynthia said, sounding impressed. "Human transfiguration – that's fifth year work, at least."
"Well, it's easy to do advanced work when you have a family who can teach you!" Hermione hissed. "No – Cynthia, I'm getting her back. Her and Rosemary."
"What are you going to do?" Cynthia asked, folding the corners of the Daily Prophet up.
Hermione pursed her lips. "Well. I'm not sure yet. But it's going to be good. Way better than some half-assed transfiguration and blood purity rubbish."
"I await with bated breath," Cynthia said sarcastically, standing up. "Come on. Time for Charms."
Hermione knew there was one person in this school who would understand her desire to stab Rosemary and Hazel several times in their sleep. Not only that, he would also have helpful advice on how to go about doing it.
"Tom?" she said quietly. He didn't look up from his parchment; there were stacks and stacks of textbooks on his usual table in the library. "Tom?"
"What," he said. Hermione wasn't certain he was really listening; his eyes had not moved from his scroll. Use of the Imperius Curse in the 1911 Wildcat Gargoyle Strike: a Defensive Analysis, the top of it read.
"How do you get back at someone?" she asked quickly.
He started writing on his scroll, looking between it and one of the many books he had open. "Get an Abraxas," he said quietly. "Someone good with gossip…ask them what their deepest wish or fear is."
Hermione thought of Barnabus and Cynthia. "Ok," she said.
"You'd be surprised how often people leave their inner most secrets plainly lying around to be exploited," Tom said absently, quill scratching away. "It's fucking stupid."
Hermione blinked. She wasn't sure she had heard Tom swear before. Hermione whispered a thank you she wasn't sure he really heard, and headed back to her table.
What did Rosemary and Hazel want or fear? Well, they surely wanted Hermione to get out of their dorm, house, school and population. As for fear…Hermione wasn't sure what scared either of them.
She opened 'Medicinal Herbology – 4th edition' and started skim reading for the essay. If she got as much homework done tonight as she could, tomorrow could be devoted to making a plan. Once she had asked Cynthia and Barny what they knew about Rosemary and Hazel's secrets.
"What do you know about Rosemary and Hazel's hopes and fears?" Hermione posed to Cynthia in the northern courtyard the next morning, as they hung out in the autumn sun during the break between History of Magic and Potions.
"Really sinking your teeth into this revenge mission, aren't you?" Cynthia remarked, looking at Hermione out of the corner of her eye. "Hazel's over there. Why don't you take a look for yourself?"
Hermione followed Cynthia's nod towards where Hazel was sitting with Margaret. "They're just talking," Hermione said after a moment. "How am I supposed to figure out from this what she wants and fears?"
"You're so impatient," Cynthia chided, her gaze following something behind Hermione. "Also, don't talk so loud about your intentions. Wait…one…minute."
And Hermione saw it – something in Hazel's gaze flickered and followed as someone entered the courtyard, running across it with the other Gryffindor boys. Hermione gasped and grabbed Cynthia's arm.
"Really?" she asked. "Mo?"
Cynthia nodded triumphantly. "I noticed on the train platform," she said, deservedly showing off a bit.
"But he might be muggle-born!" Hermione exclaimed. "Mo doesn't know who his father is, and his mum's a muggle."
"That just makes it easier to lie to herself," Cynthia said. "Plus – it's a crush, Hermione. They don't make sense, you can't help how you feel."
"Right," Hermione said, watching Mo tackle one of his friends off a bench. "Does he know?"
"That Hazel likes him?" Cynthia asked. "No. And if you want to tell him, I would like a favour in return, please, because it's my information."
Sometimes Hermione thought Cynthia should really have been in Slytherin, rather than her. "Did you have something in mind?" Hermione asked.
Cynthia looked up, thinking. "Is it true Riddle can get exams ahead of test dates?"
"No," Hermione replied. "And that would be cheating."
"I suppose you're right," Cynthia said, crossing her arms. "Well, I'll let you know when I come up with something, then."
"Ew!" Mo said when Hermione told him, walking back to the castle from the first quidditch match of the year. "Gross. Wait, why would Hazel even like me? I'm a Muggleborn."
"Shhh! It's a secret. And the heart wants what the heart wants, Mo," Hermione replied, hushing Mo and looking around to be sure Hazel wasn't about. "But listen. I was thinking, we could use this to get back at them about their anti-Muggleborn hate."
Mo's eyes narrowed. "Them?" he asked.
"Hazel and Rosemary," she said, whispering her plan in his ear. Mo looked suitably impressed.
"You can do that?" he asked.
"Of course I can," Hermione said. Well, she was confident in magic's ability to transform her into Rosemary's doppelgänger. "It might take a bit of time," she admitted. "In the mean time, just treat Hazel like you always do."
"I don't know if I've ever spoken to her before in my life," Mo said.
"That'll be easy, then," Hermione replied.
"Do we really have to kiss?" he asked, looking at Hermione sceptically. "No offence, Hermione, but that'd be weird."
"I know," she agreed sombrely. "But I think that's the only way to convince Hazel that Rosemary's stolen the guy she likes."
"How does this get back at them though, about being bigots?" Mo asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration.
"We need to break the dream team up, Mo," Hermione said. "They gang up on Muggleborns, it's much harder to fight back when it's two against one. You know, there's more Muggleborns in Slytherin this year…they're having a really hard time, people like Rosemary and Hazel bully them really badly."
Appealing to Mo's true Gryffindor heart tipped it. "If you're sure," he said. "I guess I can do it."
"I really think it'll help, Mo," she said. "Thank you!"
"Professor Dumbledore?"
The Transfig Professor beamed at Hermione. "Excellent work as always, Miss Granger." Hermione looked at her squeaking sugar mouse, which was getting granulated sugar all over her desk as it scurried around.
"Oh – thank you, sir," she said. "I was wondering – I'm looking into human transfiguration. Have we covered enough theory in class yet that I could try it?"
The Professor merely regarded her for a moment. "Not yet, Miss Granger," he eventually said. "But how about you stay behind after class a moment, and we can discuss."
"Is this about the pig thing?" Elsie whispered, trying to stop her mouse from escaping.
"Sort of," Hermione replied, thinking of disguises and complex revenge. "Come on, I can help you with the spell."
The Professor waited until the other students had all filtered out before turning to Hermione after class finished. "I hear you had a nasty encounter with human transfiguration recently," he said.
"Oh – yes," Hermione said, staring at a random corner of the classroom. "That's not why I was asking about it, though."
"I see. What interested you about it, then?" Professor Dumbledore asked, leaning against his desk and watching Hermione carefully. She understood a little why Tom seemed to hate him so much – the Professor's concept of personal space was a bit close.
"I just think the idea is fascinating," she said. It wasn't really a lie; she was very interested in impersonating Rosemary as convincingly as possible. "To be able to change your appearance and characteristics with magic – that sounds amazing." Hermione looked at the Professor, channeling all her experience pleading with Dad when she found a new book she wanted to buy. "You're certain there's no way I could attempt this yet?"
"Not safely, Miss Granger," he said gently, and Hermione sighed. "I…understand the appeal, of wanting to change parts of ourselves. But we must always remember – we can't change what's inside us, or our hearts, no matter what kind of magic we might do on the surface. That's why it is always important to be proud of who we are."
"Er," Hermione said. She wasn't sure why this discussion had taken such a philosophical turn. "Ok, Professor."
He smiled at her again. "You know – I've been meaning to ask. You did very well to take first place on the end of year Transfiguration test, Miss Granger, very well indeed."
Hermione felt her cheeks grow heated. "Oh – thank you, Professor," she said. "I really love Transfiguration."
"So I can see!" he said. "How would you like to start third year content?"
Hermione's mouth fell open. "R-really, Professor?" she asked.
"Oh, yes," he said, steepling his fingers together. "I think you've more than demonstrated an aptitude and passion for the subject. If you're interested, of course. It would help you reach a base level of knowledge for human transfiguration within two years, rather than three, if that's what you're interested in."
"I – yes, definitely!" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh – no, I'd really like to, Professor."
"Wonderful," he said, walking around his desk and pulling out two textbooks from inside it. "Start with chapter 1 in the Williamson text, and chapter 3 in the Yamamoto book. I'll let Professor Beery know we'll need a Shrivelfig Bush."
"Ah, herbological transfig," Hermione said. "That will be a challenge."
"One I'm sure you're up for," Professor Dumbledore replied. Hermione shoved the books in her bag and left the classroom.
With human transfiguration a rather closed door, Hermione thought there was nothing else for it. If she wanted to impersonate Rosemary to get both her and Hazel back for their horrible stunt and bigoted attitudes, she would need to get her hands on some Polyjuice Potion.
Hermione checked with Tom, to be sure. He seemed a lot more alert today than two weeks ago, when she first asked him how she might go about getting revenge against Rosemary and Hazel. Or he was surprised, at least, to learn there was a plot afoot.
"Have you had any luck with the librarian's wards?" she asked him, after looking around to make sure Madam Fischer wasn't lurking nearby. "I know the book I need is in the Restricted Section…"
But Tom said she didn't need to nick it. He wandered off and returned a few minutes later, 'Moste Potente Potions' by Phineas Bourne in hand.
"Tom!" she exclaimed, shocked. Hermione felt her heart race as she took the textbook from him, flicking through the it and seeing the truly gruesome illustrations of the potions and the effects they caused within.
"Copy down the instructions, I need to return it," he said, returning to his history textbook.
"But how -? You have access to the Restricted Section?" she asked. "You can take any book you want?" The possibilities, if she could waltz into the Restricted Section whenever she wanted. Tom explained he was doing so many extra assignments that Madam Fischer had given up; he now had free reign with the key while he was in the library.
That key could unlock magical secrets so incredible that Hermione could scarcely imagine them. She wanted to hold it one day, too. "How do you get special assignments?" she asked Tom.
"You impress your professors," he said, his eyes locked back on 'Legislative and other responses to Urg the Unclean's Campaigns'. "Which you're already doing, aren't you?"
Hermione nodded. "Trying to," she said, thinking of Dumbledore and Merrythought. Tom turned from his book again, an unimpressed frown on his face.
"Trying?" he said disapprovingly. Hermione squared her shoulders.
"I'm doing third year content in Transfig, now," she replied. "I'm going to work on Slughorn next."
Tom nodded, his disappointed expression fading, and Hermione felt her shoulders relax a little. "Well done," he said. "One professor in hand. Several more to go."
He was right that one wasn't good enough. But at least Tom hadn't stared right into her soul and told her she was a disappointment, like on the train – Hermione sometimes still felt like she was recovering from how bad that had felt.
"Anyway," she said. "Thank you, Tom - I'll copy this now."
She went back to her table, carefully transcribing the instructions for Polyjuice Potion. The boomslang skin was going to need stealing, there was nothing else for it. Everything else she could probably wrangle from her own supplies and from other students.
"God, Hermione," Cynthia groaned when she whispered to her at breakfast about her elaborate plan to break into Slughorn's potions ingredient cupboard. "For someone so smart, you can be quite thick sometimes."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, feeling confused and offended.
"Didn't you want to do extra content in Potions anyway?" Cynthia asked, pouring a silly amount of milk into her coffee and stirring it in. "Just tell Slughorn you want to try making a Polyjuice Potion, as a special project or something."
Hermione gasped. "Cynthia!" she said, her fork clattering out of her hand. "That's a brilliant idea!"
Her best friend merely rolled her eyes. "Well, it might not work. But isn't it worth a shot?"
"That is quite a challenge, Hermione!" Professor Slughorn said genially, after she and Cynthia waited after class to ask him. "But you did take first place in Potions last year! And Cynthia, you also did very well, my dear –"
"Thank you, Professor," Cynthia said, smiling politely and not like she was a devious manipulator. "We'd both love to work on it, if you'll have us."
"Why not?" Slughorn said. "Let's say…10am this Saturday, shall we?"
They walked out of the potions classroom together, Hermione feeling light headed from how deftly Cynthia had twisted the Professor in her hands. "That was easy," Cynthia said simply.
"You really should have been in Slytherin," Hermione said. "I suppose you want another favour for this?"
"I leave the snake pit to you," Cynthia replied. "And – no. The assignment is reward enough. I wouldn't have gotten an extra credit Potions opportunity without your grades, so - it seems fair."
Hermione threw her arms around her. "You're the best, Cynthia," she said, and Cynthia gave her a real smile, Hermione could tell – not the fake one she plastered on for teachers.
"Hmm," Hermione hummed, staring at her Notebook of Revenge and thinking hard. She couldn't get around it – the best way to ensure Rosemary was out of the way when Hermione borrowed her form was if she was laid up in bed sick. Hermione wasn't sure the best way to make that happen, though. Some sort of Sneezing Solution, or Sleeping Draught, maybe?
The trick would be getting something into Rosemary before the day started, which would keep her incapacitated all day.
Hermione looked around the library. A familiar stack of books, scrolls and a satchel was at Tom's desk, but he was nowhere to be seen. She stood up and wandered towards the Restricted Section, but it was locked. Where is he?
Eventually, she found him where they first visited in the library together – hunched over the Daily Prophet records.
"I was looking for you," she said, approaching the newspaper cabinet. "Didn't think you'd be here. I haven't seen you in the archives for a while."
"I'm sure when you are in fifth year, you will realise it can be somewhat busy," Tom said, with all the warmth of a blizzard. "Leave me alone, I only have thirty minutes to try and find my useless fucking father today, I don't have time to talk to you."
He had seemed very stressed this year. Hermione could see it - in the enormous stacks of books and scrolls on his favourite table in the library, in the bags under his eyes. Fifth year was tough on everyone, even if you were Tom Riddle, it seemed.
She leaned over to see what he was looking at. In the R section of Births and Deaths from the 1850s, there was an announcement for a Josef Rollder – husband, quidditch player, brother who had passed away at the good age of 163. "Alternative spellings for Riddle?" she asked him, but Tom didn't say anything.
"You have checked 'Marvolo', right?" she asked. It was a far more uncommon name than Riddle, and it seemed to Hermione like it would be easier to check than his surname. But Tom interrupted her when she tried to explain her reasoning.
"It's a maternal name," he sneered, like that was obviously unhelpful.
"But how do you know your mother isn't your mag-"
Tom pointed his wand at her. "Silencio," he cast.
Hermione felt her mouth fall open in outrage and silenced protests, but Tom did not even look up. The nerve!
She stalked over to the Charms section of the library to try and find the counter-charm, but even after finding it thirty minutes later, came across the obvious barrier that she couldn't do non-verbal magic yet. Tom, meanwhile, continued to steadily ignore her, even as she glowered at him as hard as she could in his peripheral vision.
Eventually she had to give up and go to bed still Silenced, almost as mad as she was when Rosemary and Hazel had attacked her. Cynthia was right, she thought savagely, as sleep evaded her. Tom was such a dick sometimes. She was just trying to help him!
"Um – oh, thank god," she said tentatively the next morning. The charm had finally worn off overnight.
"Shut up, pig," Rosemary groaned, still half asleep. Hermione threw her a look of pure loathing. Soon, you nasty witch, she thought mutinously. And after that, maybe she could figure out how she was going to get Tom back.
It was hard work trying to get revenge, Hermione was quickly realising. The things to avenge were stacking up more quickly than the revenge plans could be executed.
But in the mean time, the Polyjuice Potion was almost ready, and Hermione still needed to figure out the best way to take Rosemary out for eight hours. She couldn't very well ask Professor Slughorn, or it would be really obvious if Rosemary was tested and it was found someone had snuck her a Sleeping Draught.
No, Hermione thought, as she played with her favourite time-waster Fireball Charm and mulled it over. She would have to swallow her pride. There was, unfortunately, only one person she could trust to ask about the final step in her elaborate plan to take down both Rosemary and Hazel.
She stood up, took a deep breath, and walked over to Tom's table in the library. It was stacked even higher today, with piles and piles of books on transfiguration.
"Are you interruptible today?" she asked, as polite as she could through gritted teeth. Tom glanced at her.
"Not really," he replied sullenly, looking over her shoulder. "What are you doing over there?"
She turned to look, and realised he was referring to the different Fireball Charms she had been casting as she pondered, multi-coloured flames flickering in various glass jars on her table. "Oh – charms practice," she half-lied. It wouldn't do to tell Tom she was wasting time in the library deciding whether there was literally anyone else aside from him of whom she could ask this question. "But – all right," she said, trying to approach this situation like Cynthia would. "What if I do one of your prefect jobs? And you answer my question?"
He reached across his table and shoved a scroll into her hands. "Can you do this for me?" he asked.
Hermione opened it. CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY SCHOOL LEAVE CONFIRMATION – please confirm with students in your house by Friday 4 December 1943 if leaving for the Yuletide break, list below.
That was simple enough. "Yes – consider it done," she said, rolling the scroll back up.
Tom nodded, a strange, pained expression suddenly on his face. "Fine – what's the question?" he asked, groaning. He leaned back in his chair and put his fingers to his temples, his eyes shut as though he had a headache.
Hermione suddenly felt bad for him. The stacks and stacks of books at his table had only grown larger all year. It must be hard to be a prefect, sit O.W.L.s, and take a bunch of additional special assignments. Hermione had been so busy this term she could barely think, and she only had a single revenge plot and extra Transfig to worry about.
No time to think about it now, though – the window of opportunity for her question was briefly open. She shoved 'Intermediate Potioneering' under his nose, pointing to the one sentence she wanted Tom's opinion on.
"It says here if you add twice the lavender and a powerful wormwood, you can make a stronger draught," she said. "Do you know if they mean potency, or duration?"
"Both," he said. "Lavender goes to the strength, and wormwood the length of sleep."
She confirmed she could add stronger wormwood alone to the mix to achieve a greater length of a slumber that would not permanently incapacitate Rosemary, and took the book away. "Thanks. I'll leave you –"
"Is it going well?" he asked suddenly. Hermione looked back at him; Tom was looking at her expectantly. There was a glint in his eye; it was the most lively she had seen him since the train ride to Hogwarts in September.
She snapped the potions book shut and nodded. "Why do you think I'm researching Sleeping Draughts?" she suggested. A ghost of a smile twitched on his face, and Hermione was pleased that her hard work had cheered him up for a moment.
"Rosemary! Wake up," Hazel whined, shaking her friend who was quite dead to the world in her bed.
"There's a flu bug going around," Hermione said, packing her bag carefully so as not to break the flask of acquired Polyjuice Potion in there. "She might be sick. Maybe let her rest."
Hazel threw Hermione a nasty look. "I wasn't talking to you," she said, but she left Rosemary alone, flouncing out of the dorm to go to breakfast.
"Sorry," Hermione muttered, in case Margaret was bothering to listen while she hogged the mirror. She looked over her shoulder as she passed Rosemary's bed before leaving, casting a quick Diffindo to cut a hair from Rosemary's head.
"So I need you to make sure Hazel sees," Hermione whispered to Cynthia and Elsie in the courtyard at morning break. "Ok? We'll be in the northern courtyard after dinner."
"You just want us to remark loudly on how Mo and Rosemary are snogging?" Cynthia asked, looking amused.
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Hermione?" Elsie asked anxiously. Hermione waved her hand impatiently; she knew Elsie would have doubts, that was why she hadn't told her about the plan until today.
"It is, Elsie. And yes, I suppose so, Cynthia," Hermione said. "I don't know, you're good at manipulating people – just make something up."
"What a ringing endorsement," Cynthia said sullenly, looking at Elsie. "All right. I'll think of something."
"Mo!" she hissed, running towards him and craning her neck around to see if Cynthia and Elsie were in place. He looked at her, stunned.
"God, it really does look like Rosemary," he said. "Polyjuice Potion is something else."
"It tasted disgusting," Hermione said. "And the transformation hurt too, I almost fainted. Hold on, I stole Rosemary's lip gloss, it's in here somewhere…"
"This is so weird," Mo said. "I don't know, Her-"
"You can't back out now!" she hissed, smearing Rosemary's gloss on. "My god, Mo, this was months of planning! Think of the Muggleborn first years in Slytherin."
"How is this going to help them ag-"
"Shit, that's the signal!" Hermione said, as Elsie waved frantically from the passageway. "Ok, I haven't kissed anyone before, sorry - I'm probably bad at it."
She pressed her's – Rosemary's – disguised lips to Mo's, a death grip on his wrist in case he tried to run away.
He pulled away briefly. "This lip gloss is terrible," he whispered.
"Of course it is, it's Rosemary's!" she hissed. "Make it look believable, Mo, for God's sake –"
"Ugh," he grumbled, leaning in to kiss her again. It was a truly strange, clinical experience compared to what a kiss should be, Hermione had to believe, otherwise no one would do this on purpose –
A few long seconds later, there was the shriek Hermione was waiting for, and she gleefully turned around into Hazel's open-handed slap.
"Ya salaam!" Mo exclaimed as Hermione fell to the ground, clutching her stinging face. "Her – I mean, Rosemary –"
"You bitch!" Hazel screamed, momentarily frozen with anger. Hermione sprung into action, pulling her wand from her pocket.
"Impedimenta!" Hermione cast, wanting to get a head start before grabbing her bag and legging it. Margaret was at the other end of the courtyard, looking shocked and angry.
"Rosemary!" she said loudly. "What the hell -"
"Petrificus totalus!" Hermione cast, pushing past Margaret's Petrified form. "Fuck, fuck –"
The library was closest – she needed either a place to hide, or a Disillusioning Charm, or maybe both. She ran as fast as she could up the stairs, skidding into the library with shouting and footsteps behind her –
And thank the lord, Tom was there, like he always was, buried in homework and looking thoroughly despondent about it. A look of revulsion she'd never seen before spread across his face as Hermione careened towards him.
"Eurgh, go aw-"
"It's me, Tom – please, Disillusion me!"
"Wh – oh!" Recognition popped in his face, and he pointed his wand at her. "Caecus maxima."
Something like the sensation of a cold shower rinsed all over her body, and she dived under his table as angry whispers and thudding footsteps approached. Hermione was too afraid to breathe as Hazel's non-regulation fancy shoes stomped past.
"How long does the charm last?" she dared to whisper, after Hazel's shoes disappeared into one of the rows of books.
"Ages. Shut up," Tom said quietly.
They must have tracked her to the library, because Margaret also stalked past several minutes later, whispering about what a betraying, blood traitor, boy thief Rosemary was. Did everyone in Hermione's dorm like Mo or something? It was kind of funny, because Hermione was the only one who was friends with him. If only they weren't so uptight about blood purity, he would probably be friends with them too, she thought, watching Margaret stomp around angrily from under Tom's desk…
Eventually, it had been fifteen minutes since either Hazel or Margaret stomped past, and she thought it might be safe to escape. Hermione crawled out from under Tom's table and stood up next to it.
"Thanks. Can you lift the charm?" she asked quietly. He aimed his wand at her and she watched as hands that were half her's, half Rosemary's appeared back into view.
"God, that nose is unfortunate," Tom said, staring at Hermione's face with both disgust and interest. "Well, then?"
She nodded, looking around to be sure the other Slytherin girls had left – but they were nowhere to be seen. "I think it worked. But I'll have to find out from the others later to be sure." Poor Mo – she probably owed him fifty Acid Pops for this drama. Hopefully he hadn't been slapped, too…
"What did you do?" Tom asked. Hermione felt a smile crawl up her face.
"Rosemary and Hazel are the worst, in my dorm," she explained. "Hazel likes my friend Mo. He was going to tell her no, but I had a better idea."
She remembered Mo's complaints about Rosemary's heinous lip gloss, and wiped her mouth – eurgh, it was so sticky, now, congealed after facing the elements and Hazel's hands. She would have to wash her face. "Anyway - if that worked, the dream team should be proper split up, now…" she said, trailing off. Margaret had somehow gotten involved too, somehow, which wasn't Hermione's intention. Though given she was bitching about blood traitors as she tried to track down Rosemary in the library, maybe she deserved to have her heart broken and friendships ruined too.
"Or, they'll have other things to worry about, besides attacking me," she added, looking at Tom. His face was strangely blank.
"Holy shit," he said. "Churchill would want you for the SOE."
Hermione felt her the blood rush to her face, and shook her head quickly. "Oh, no – I hope the war's still not going on when I finish Hogwarts," she said, trying to change the subject. Her plan was less femme fatale than bullying a friend into swallowing a disgusting amount of cherry lip gloss – she didn't want to have to explain it any further, Tom would think it so childish and stupid. Maybe it was; though if it busted up Rosemary and Hazel, and Hermione didn't have to deal with them two-on-one again, it would have been a success. "Do you think it will be?"
Tom looked away, staring at his never-ending stack of books. "It was a joke," he said, his voice somewhat strained. "Wizards don't fight in muggle wars. Anyway – the point was – inspired work, Hermione." He looked back at her, eyebrows raised. "I'm impressed."
She grinned at him happily. "Really?" Hermione asked. Tom had never said he was impressed by her before, no matter how hard she worked. The memory of his disappointment on the Hogwarts Express was completely washed away. "Oh – it's all thanks to you, Tom, I couldn't have done it by myself –"
"I think you might have found a way," he said, tilting his head, and Hermione found she had to look away, because her face suddenly felt like it was on fire. "But – yes, I did help you, didn't I? You owe me several favours, you know."
He and Cynthia were peas in a pod. But Tom had been a great help throughout the development of this plan, from inception to execution, it was true. "Yes!" Hermione said, nodding firmly. "Just let me know." She readjusted her bag over her shoulder.
"Ok, I need to go start this essay for Transfig," she groaned, remembering Dumbledore's telling them about the deadline in class this afternoon, while Hermione watched the clock nervously and hoped Rosemary's Sleeping Draught was still holding. "It's due tomorrow but I've been so busy with – this, that I haven't even started it yet…"
"Yes. Well, I'm sure you can do it," Tom said kindly. Hermione grinned at him once more and then ran off to her regular table, wondering if she could power through the essay before curfew. It was – nice, when Tom was in a good mood. It made her feel slightly less nervous about the emotional grenade she had thrown into the Slytherin girls' dormitory. If it had all turned to custard, hopefully he would have an idea on how she could try to recover from it…
But she needn't have worried. The dorm was pleasantly silent and divided for months following what Hermione called the Mo Incident. Margaret and Hazel did not believe any of Rosemary's protestations that she hadn't kissed Mo because she had been stuck in bed sick all day. Cynthia cackled so loudly at breakfast the next day that Philip shushed her three times as she described how Hazel's face went scarlet red, and how Mo released a humiliated Margaret from her Full-Body Bind Curse as slowly as he dared.
"They'll hear you!" he hissed, looking over at the Slytherin table where Margaret, Hazel and Rosemary all sat apart from each other, stony-faced and silent.
"No they won't," Cynthia said confidently. "They're too busy wallowing to notice me. Oh – Riddle's looking, Hermione -"
She turned around to see Tom give her a Meaningful Look, his gaze then falling on Rosemary, who was glumly pouring sugar into her coffee.
"He knows about it?" Cynthia asked.
"He helped me do it," Hermione said.
"Oh, to have a prefect help you get back at your dorm mates," Cynthia joked. "See, Philip, he doesn't just stab everyone in his way. Sometimes he helps people steal identities and destroy friendships."
"I can get whatever I want from Honeydukes?" Mo asked again, as he, Hermione and Cynthia approached the sweet shop for the December Hogsmeade visit.
"Well, I can't buy the whole shop out," Hermione said warily, watching Mo's gleaming eyes with some hesitation. "But, yes. As a thank you for helping me out."
"And the first years, right?" Mo said. Hermione nodded quickly, elbowing Cynthia who was snorting into her scarf very obviously.
"Do you want an Acid Pop, Cynthia?" Hermione asked. That might shut her up.
"Yes," she said. "I need to buy Christmas presents for Bridget and my parents, too."
"Can we go to Scrivenshaft's after this?" Hermione asked. "I can't get my parents sweets for Christmas, they'd go mad."
"Oh…the teeth thing, right?" Cynthia recalled, as Mo started loading up boxes of chocolates.
"I'm not buying your Christmas presents for you, Mo!" Hermione said. "Good grief. You have a three Galleon limit."
"It's for my brother, Hermione!" Mo said. "Are you not going to support the troops?"
"Ugh," Hermione said, feeling guilty. "Fine, I'll buy him some chocolate. But other than that – three Galleons."
Mo grinned. "I'm going to tell him there's a going rate for my kisses," he said.
"How was it?" Cynthia asked, fiddling with some Sugar Quills. "The smooching, I mean."
"Well, I'm here buying apology sweets, aren't I?" Hermione grumbled. "I assume it must be better with someone you really want to kiss."
"And without all that cherry lip stick stuff," Mo said, shuddering.
"Cherry, huh?" Cynthia asked, smirking at Hermione.
"Don't blame me, that's Rosemary's idea of a good time," Hermione said. "Cherry Acid Pops are probably ruined for all of us, now."
"I'm sure your parents will be glad," Cynthia said, as Mo dumped several boxes of chocolate and Acid Pops on the counter to be rung up. "They do literally burn holes in your mouth."
They hurried over to Scrivenshaft's, and Hermione dawdled buying fancy notebooks.
"Come on, Hermione, just pick two," Cynthia said. "I want to go get a Butterbeer."
"…ok," Hermione said. She'd been mulling over whether to get Tom anything for Christmas as well. If Mo was emptying her wallet for helping with her plan, and Cynthia and Elsie had secret muggle sweets wrapped under Hermione's bed to be handed over on the Hogwarts Express, Tom probably deserved a Christmas gift too, for helping to pull the Mo Incident off. But Hermione wasn't sure what he liked. Or if he liked anything.
Maybe she could do another prefect task for him, she wondered, paying for two fancy notebooks for Mum and Dad and braving the weather to head to the Three Broomsticks with Cynthia and Mo. That was about the only thing he seemed to – appreciate, if not like, she thought…
It wasn't really a gift though. Not like the presents she would exchange with Mum and Dad –
Hermione gasped, the idea striking her like lightning.
"What?" Cynthia asked, looking around with some alarm. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Hermione said. "I just need to go to the library after this drink."
Hermione threw her mittens onto the top of the newspaper records cabinet, where they lay untouched for several hours as the Saturday afternoon faded into evening. There was no Marvolo in the Daily Prophet Births or Deaths section, nor the Hogwarts yearbooks. But Hermione was determined. There was obviously something going on for Tom to ignore the most unique of his names when searching for his magical link. Hermione didn't know what it was, but she was determined to take a good look for a Marvolo. She had a sneaking suspicion Tom hadn't done so at all.
It was almost curfew when the name leapt out at her, as she trawled through recent Wizengamot trial records, of all things. A Marvolo Gaunt had done all matter of unsensible things in 1925 – attacking the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, attempting to assault a witch, resisting arrest.
Hermione scrawled the case details down in her new notebook, trying to remember something sticking in her mind. Gaunt…she had read that name somewhere before, she was sure of it…
It was the middle of the night when she suddenly woke up, the link made in her head.
"Ilvermorny!" she shrieked.
"Eh?" Hazel mumbled.
"Shut up, Granger," Margaret slurred, rolling over. But Hermione lit her wand tip and wrote down the memory before she went back to sleep. And the next day, when she found and re-read 'International Education' by Frederick Smirling in the library, there was the reference. Isolt Steward née Sayre, who founded Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in North America; who was related to Slytherin; whose parents were murdered by her blood supremacist aunt Gormlaith Gaunt.
God, Tom would be so happy to find out he was descended from Slytherin. Hermione bit her lip as she continued reading about Isolt Sayre:
Sayre was born in the namesake for her great educational achievement – Ilvermorny Cottage, in the Coomloughra valley of County Kerry, Ireland -
"Irish," she said to herself. That made so much sense – Hermione thought of Tom's pale skin and dark hair – the eyelashes –
Hermione snapped the book shut. This was personal, though – it wasn't her journey to go on, it was Tom's. She had found the link – she had found so much about his ancestry that he would love, she was certain – she shouldn't pry any further. It was for him to find out, not her.
She hurried over to a table, pulling a new scroll of parchment out of her bag along with her research notebook. She'd never written Tom a letter before. How did one begin a letter of such enormous importance?
Dear Tom, she started. I think I've found it. Then she remembered he hated uncertainty, and to be honest, Hermione had never felt more certain in her life that she had found the answer he was looking for. She crossed out /I think/, and started copying down her evidence.
The scroll sat in her bag for the last week of classes before the break, burning a hole in her subconscious as Hermione wondered when would be best to give it to him. There were so many parties on that Tom was hardly in the library, which was when she would normally speak with him. Eventually, the train was leaving in a few hours, and Hermione had no choice but to try and pull him aside after breakfast. She watched as he walked with Abraxas towards the main doors to the castle, and the moment the Malfoy heir and he had parted ways, she leapt into action.
"Tom!" she whispered as loudly as she could, glancing around to see if any other Slytherins were about – it wasn't really the done thing for her to speak collegially with housemates in common areas. Tom turned around, frowning at her. Hermione jerked her head vaguely to the side of the entrance atrium, thinking it might be less conspicuous to speak with him quickly by the wall rather than the wide open space.
"I – I have something for you," she said, holding the scroll out for him to take. Hermione realised he didn't have his robes, unlike everyone else who was getting ready to brave the elements to get to Hogsmeade train station. "You're staying here for Christmas?" she asked.
"I always stay for Christmas," he said, and she felt her heart thump nervously as he unfurled the scroll immediately – oh no, she wasn't sure she wanted to be here when he read it.
"Besides, I'm up to my neck in assignments," he said, trailing off as he started to read it, eyes darting back and forth rapidly. Oh god - but it would be rude to walk away now –
"Oh, I hope you can get through them!" she said quickly, reaching for any small talk topic she could. "I'm going home, apparently the air raids aren't too frequent recently, so my parents want me to –"
"Hermione," he interrupted. Something about him had frozen up. "What is this?"
Is he angry? she thought desperately, but before she could say anything, Tom grabbed her wrist and yanked her into a nearby classroom. His hand was freezing and vice-like on her wrist; she had no choice but to run along behind him as he pulled her into the room and slammed the door behind them.
"Where did you find this?" he asked, letting go of her and pointing the scroll at her accusingly – oh no, he was angry, or upset, or something. She had never heard him sound so – demanding, or authoritative; it made her want to curl up and avoid him. It was huge news, she supposed. It made sense he could have an - emotional response to it, even if Tom wasn't typically as emotive as others.
Hermione tried to focus on the question at hand. "Um – in the Wizengamot records?" she said, though her voice wavered and it came out more like a question. "Um – look, I know it's personal, so I didn't pry too much, but – well, I was worried you were – stuck on the wrong track."
It felt terrifying to tell Tom she thought he had made a mistake, but she kept on, trying to be brave. "And you didn't want to talk about it, so I just – I looked into it a little bit for you."
His glare was too strong; she looked at the floor. "I was – I was trying to be helpful," she said, hating how quiet her voice had become. "Sorry if –"
"No – don't be sorry," he interrupted. She looked up; he was running a hand through his hair, staring at her scroll like he was seeing for the first time. "This is incredible, Hermione."
Oh. Well, that was a much more positive reaction. Maybe he had just needed a moment to process.
"The Gaunts…" he said, a look of distraction in his eyes. "I've read about them, somewhere."
"Oh, I found a little bit about them," she said, walking over to him and pointing to the paragraph she was referring to. "They're related to Salazar Slytherin!"
She thought he would like that, but something in Tom's face was unnerving as he grinned. "Of course they are," he said, over and over. "An ancient, pureblood family – oh, I sometimes thought I would never find it – but of course I'm not a filthy Mudblood! Of course I'm related to Slytherin – oh, it all makes sense – yes!" He laughed; Hermione had never heard Tom laugh before, and she decided he needed more practice. Something about it was – uncomfortable.
And the slur did not escape her notice. "Um," she said, trying to decide what to say. "Right. Well, er…I'm glad it was, uh, was a good Christmas present?" Hermione said, though it came out like the question it was. She was realising she had just slammed the door on her only potential muggle-born ally in Slytherin house. Hermione hadn't really thought about that before she decided she would look into Tom's maternal family history. She had just been driven by a sneaking suspicion there was something there to find, and a desire to go get it. And then, once she had found it, Hermione could only think of how very happy Tom would be, when he was so rarely pleased with anything.
She looked at the scroll, an unpleasant feeling of possible regret growing. It – it hadn't been a mistake, to tell him this, right? Tom wasn't going to turn on her like the rest of Slytherin house now, was he? They had helped each other out for two years, now – that wouldn't change just because Tom now knew he had magical heritage, would it?
Tom looked at her, his expression very serious. "Hermione," he said; the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "This is the best Christmas present I've ever received."
It was a very kind thing to say, though Hermione wondered how many good presents there were to be had, growing up in an orphanage. Tom's gaze slid out of focus for a moment. "Shit. I don't have anything to give you," he said, sounding regretful.
"Oh – no need," she said quickly, shaking her head and hands. That hadn't been her intention in giving a gift at all. This was supposed to be a thank you for his help in getting Rosemary and Hazel out of her hair; it just so also happened to be Christmas. "You've helped me so much Tom, so –"
"Absolutely not," he snapped, opening his satchel and digging around in it for something. Her breath caught in her throat – surely he hadn't gotten her a gift, too -?
He looked between his bag and her, eyes narrowed for a moment as he obviously considered something. Then, Tom pulled out a jar with a tiny, burning branch in it, and held it out for her. Why was he carrying around a fire charm in his bag?
"Gubraithian fire," he said, and Hermione felt her mouth fall open in shock. She took it from him, staring intently as he needlessly explained what it meant.
"I know what Gubraithian fire is," she told him, closely inspecting the tiny stick in the jar. It was the deepest black, clearly burning for a long time, much longer than a stick in a normal fire. The whole magic was a tiny, warm stasis of entropy, flickering in strange ways that normal fire didn't do. It was beautiful, powerful magic.
"Well, it's yours," Tom said, as though he hadn't just handed over something so precious you could not buy it in any magical shop. "You should get going, if you're getting the train back to London."
Oh shoot, the train! "Ah – oh, yes," she said, opening her bag and putting the flask inside it as carefully as she could, though she assumed it had an Unbreakable Charm on it given how dangerous Gubraithian fire was. Tom was already at the classroom door; she ran after him, slowing down as she reached the main doors of Hogwarts.
"Um – I hope you have a good Christmas, Tom!" she said. Hermione felt bad she was leaving, now that she knew Tom stayed at school every Christmas. But he looked unconcerned; in fact, she had rarely seen Tom so happy. He had the same glint in his eye as when he first tore Rosemary to shreds, outside the Charms classroom in her first year.
"I will," he said, striding off in the direction of the library. Hermione supposed he would be busy all break now in between assignments, looking up the Gaunts.
Her mouth twisted into a painful smile. It was just – something about it was hideously lonely, even if Tom was happy and hated spending time with other people. It wasn't right to be alone at Christmas.
She decided on the spot, standing before the doors of the castle. Next Christmas, she would stay too.
"Ooh, thank you, Hermione!" Elsie squealed, as Hermione pulled the toffee gifts out of her bag for Elsie and Cynthia on the Hogwarts Express.
"It's – warm?" Cynthia said, poking the normally hard substance through the cellophane.
"Oh," Hermione said – her gifts had been underneath her new bottle of everlasting fire in her bag. She bit her lip, unsure for a moment whether to share the amazing gift she had received – but Elsie and Cynthia could be trusted to keep a secret. "Do you want to see what Tom got me for Christmas?" she asked them.
"Oh, yes!" Elsie said happily.
"I'm surprised he exchanges gifts," Cynthia drawled. Hermione shot her a Cynthia look; a mix of reproach and shock that she had to use quite often with Cynthia's sharp tongue. She pulled the flask out of her bag and placed it on the compartment table.
"Oh," Elsie said, obviously not recognising it. "I guess that's why Cynthia's sweets were warm?" she said politely, looking to Cynthia. But her Charms rival understood; Cynthia's eyes were wide with awe.
"No way," she said in a low voice.
"What?" Elsie asked.
"It's – it is?" Cynthia asked. Hermione nodded.
"Everlasting fire," she confirmed.
"That's amazing," Cynthia said, sitting back in her seat. "Wait, what did you get him? You are going to have to buy the entirety of Honeydukes, to get him something as good as this."
"Um – it's a secret," Hermione said. "But it was good, it's ok."
"A secret?" Cynthia repeated, looking worried. She was thinking of Hastings, Hermione could tell, bleeding out in the showers. She shook her head.
"It wasn't anything bad. It was just – personal," she tried to explain vaguely.
Cynthia's eyebrows rose under her fringe. "Personal?" she said. Hermione kicked her under the table.
"Get your mind out of the gutter," Hermione muttered.
"I didn't say anything," Cynthia said, eyebrows still in orbit. Elsie made a noise, and Hermione and Cynthia looked to her.
"Um - I think, um, I heard Riddle might be - dating Peggy Corbyn?" Elsie said tentatively, looking between Cynthia and Hermione. "She's in fifth year too. In Gryffindor."
Hermione remembered the dazzling smile Tom had shot an unimpressed Minerva McGonagall on the Hogsmeade train platform in September. "Oh. I think he might like Gryffindors," she said thoughtfully. At least he was onto one who was interested in men rather than women, now.
Neither Cynthia nor Elsie said anything. Hermione looked between them, and their expressions were strange; Elsie looked wide-eyed and almost nervous, Cynthia's jaw was set like she had a stomach ache.
"What?" Hermione asked. They both shook their heads at the same time.
"No, it's –"
"Nothing –"
They both started talking about the other gifts they were hoping to get for Christmas, and then Mo showed up with a bunch of loud friends and a pack of Exploding Snap. Hermione put Tom's flask back in her bag. Maybe everyone was just tired, or worried, or something. Hermione felt a little nervous herself, heading back to central London, even if there hadn't been any major bombing recently.
But even if people seemed a little on edge, it was still a fun train ride back to the city. By the time they pulled into King's Cross, they were all missing parts of their eyebrows from the cards exploding in their faces so many times, and Hermione's ribs ached from laughing so much.
The first calendar year she had spent at Hogwarts was coming to a close, and especially now that Rosemary and Hazel were subdued, she thought overall - it had been a really wonderful time. 1943 twinkled in the ether.
Author's note: the word count on this omg. I'm sorry, pacing continues to be a challenge for this author x_x
I hope it still counts as fluffy slice of life if I put Hermione through it, but in an ironic way lolol. Here comes puberty, like an unstoppable freight train~