So when you meet your end,
Your journey just began.
Cast not your eyes downward.
For no fate knows what you'll become.
He was floating.
Suspended weightlessly in an intangible space.
It felt a little different from flying. He felt no wind buff through his hair or kiss his cheeks. Instead, he felt a sense of the gentlest caresses.
It was dark as well. As if he was plunged down to the deepest depths of the ocean where the sun couldn't reach.
Except there was light in front of his eyes.
A show of brilliance that defied the darkness around him.
Before him was a stream of light. Large and unending.
It was made of tiny glittering specks, like fireflies flying closely together in the summer night.
Stardust.
Moving in a single direction, following an invisible stream.
If he looked closely, he could see each dot of light as something more.
A beautiful spread, followed by gentle flaps of motion.
There were no distinguishing features that set one apart from the other. Nothing but a uniform of small bodies made of pure light.
Their motions differed from the flapping of birdwings.
It reminded him more of a school of migrating manta rays.
Or a group of butterflies.
Yes.
Before him was a kaleidoscope of colors swallowed in luminous brilliance.
He couldn't move, couldn't hear, couldn't feel.
Yet he was strangely unbothered.
He could only watch as the kaleidoscope flutters on.
While he remains exactly where he was.
A single fluttering stray rippled the calm stillness of the void's black water.
Tom rouses from his sleep feeling a heavy weight atop his chest.
Eyelids snapped open, revealing brown eyes flecked with gold stars.
Jolted awake from her dreamless sleep by an excruciating pain, Hermione's first instinct was to scream. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest in panic like the thundering of a thousand hoofbeats. Even when she stumbled and fell from her bed when she pulled her bedside drawer for a Sote, all she felt was the burn across her back.
"The basement!" she shouted; her mind conjured a perfect picture of the alchemist's laboratory for a split second before it fogged once more from the pain. But it was enough for the marble-sized artifact to act to her bidding.
When she dropped it, the Sote shattered like glass into a million particles of brilliance before it followed an imaginary circular trail, showing the familiar stone floor framed by light like a picture frame. Hermione let herself fall into the portal with a dull thud.
"HECTOR!" she cried in desperate plea as her arms wrapped around herself in a bid to fight against the overwhelming sensation.
The first to notice was the Sigbin that manifested from the shadows, woken from her slumber in the jar that was the equivalent of a doghouse the second it sensed the foreign magic that appeared in her master's coveted laboratory.
Hermione barely heard the hurried barks and scrambling sandals against stone, or the panicked cries of her name. She couldn't sense anything else but pain.
It was horrible. As if someone held a branding iron, the tip glowing white from smoldering heat, and pressed it onto her skin to trace patterns across her back. From the base of her neck to the end of her spine, from one end of her shoulder blade to the other, from one hip to another; it left her back a trail of fire.
If she were to compare, it was similar to when Bellatrix carved the derogatory term on her arm with her cursed blade, if not hotter, more burning.
Hermione didn't know how long time had passed. At one point, she fell unconscious, the burning pain tempered by a wash of calm as soon as it came. When she opened her eyes, she saw the light fractured by water.
Water always calmed her.
When she moved, water fell from her hair and face. Belatedly, she realized she had been submerged in a tub filled with water.
The burning on her back was now nonexistent. As if it never were.
"Oh, thank the stars you're finally awake," a voice breathed out, overwhelmed with relief after a long suspense.
"Hector…" Hermione said weakly, turning to the man who stood from the chair beside the tub to grab a towel.
"Come now, child, it's over. Time to dry yourself," Hector offered his hand. His expression was a strong calm but his eyes were uncensored with his worry.
She accepted his hand and the sound of water echoed in the brightly lit bathroom. The clothes she wore to bed clung to her like a second skin.
Despite the tribulation she had just gone through, the brunette found herself steady on her feet. Her strength returned to her even though she felt slightly lightheaded.
Then a large towel was draped around her shoulders in respect to her modesty followed by a smaller one atop her head. She blinked when she felt the weight move across her wet locks, adding fuel to her growing guilt. Briefly, she was reminded of how her own mother dried her hair after a bath, followed by her father combing it before bed as a child.
"I've left you a change of clothes there," Hector pointed at a set of neatly folded robes resting on the nearest countertop, "I'll be just outside. Holler if you need anything else, alright? Mia, watch her for me. Make sure she doesn't slip and hit her head."
The magical dog-like creature, who kept watch over her as long as her master, barked at his command.
Hermione could only let out a small 'thank you' before the alchemist, who shared her family name, closed the door behind him with a soft click after staring at her for another moment.
She first went to the mirror atop the sink. Apart from that and the droplets of water still clinging onto her person, she looked as fine as she could ever be on a peaceful day. Her eyes weren't even swollen from her previous tears. It was as if she hadn't just undergone one of the most painful experiences done onto man. An experience that reminded her of her own torture in her previous life.
Her eyes fell on her arm where the word 'Mudblood' was supposed to be etched there and found none. When she took off her wet clothes and expected a litany of scars of varying sizes, proof of her survival against numerous lethality, she still found none.
Her body was unmarred. Free from any blemish that would've garnered her pity and disgust. As if her body was remade anew, except for the opalescent lines branding her back.
Mind now clearer, she stepped out of the bathroom dry and wearing a unisex robe that fit her size just right, with Mia in tow. With the dog as an escort, she was led to a table where Hector was waiting with tea already prepared.
The silence between them was telling, relieved with her return to wakefulness, but still tense from questions yet asked.
She readily accepted the tea offered to her, and welcomed its warmth down her throat. The liquid free from any calming draught or the like. Both knew it was unneeded.
It wasn't the first time this happened, after all.
Eventually, the guilt proved too much for her to bear and Hermione raised her head to the alchemist who had been as equally silent all this time. She spied him still wearing his pajamas beneath his large thin robe.
Hermione started by clearing her throat, "I'm sorry for suddenly barging into your home like this, Hector…"
"Damn right, you should!" he snapped, voice laced with worry despite the bite in his tone, "Waking me up at three in the morning, writhing and screaming on my floor, were you trying to kill me?!"
Still, her gaze lowered. She never wanted to enforce this responsibility onto anyone. If possible, she wouldn't let anyone else know this secret of hers, this… affliction that plagued her that she has yet to understand.
"I'm sorry," were the words she could only say given the situation.
Hector rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. Despite his seemingly harsh tone, he was genuinely beside himself with worry. Though he never admitted it aloud, he respected the witch and eventually saw her, and her son, as his own. Neither bothered to do a blood test simply because neither cared for it. They started as scholarly associates, after all, or even business partners. Only time blurred that line to something more friendly, more familial. Especially since he doesn't have anyone to call his family anymore. Sharing their names may have added fuel to that, but deep inside, he saw Hermione as a niece, if not a daughter he never had.
"Hermione," he started after taking measured breaths. Bluntly, he addressed the elephant in the room, "This is worse than the last time."
Unconsciously, Hermione chewed on her lower lip.
The first time it happened, she only felt a dull throb beating down her nape to the tip of her spine. She thought nothing of it at first. Chalking it up as fatigue from rearing her three-year-old son after the events of last night. It had been bearable, but when she had bathed later, the throbbing lessened to a calming degree it lulled her to sleep. It was a wonder she hadn't drowned in her tub then.
The second time felt like razor sharp claws were scratching, or whips searing lines across her back. Hector had been there, after she sought out his refuge after what happened in Buenos Aires. It made her hiss and grit her teeth but it was still bearable somewhat. Still, she asked him if she could borrow his bathroom, and when the cold shower wasn't enough, she filled his tub and submerged herself face down in its waters. He thought her mad back then.
This time, however, was the first time that made her cry.
At least Hector knew what to do this time. Even though neither understood why water was the balm for the pain.
It wasn't as if they could test it anyway. Neither knew when or what triggered such attacks. Though Hermione does have a theory.
They do, however, knew that it was related to the mystery of her back.
"I think we should take a look at your back," Hector suggested to which she readily agreed.
Exposing her bare back had become natural, procedural even. She trusted him implicitly, and the older Granger only cared to satiate his scholarly hunger.
The second she felt the robe pool just above her bum, she heard an audible gasp.
"Hector? What is it?"
She looked over her shoulder only to see him flapping his lips like a fish, "It's… bigger."
"What?" brows furrowed. When she asked if she could see it, Hector snapped from his shock and fetched an identical pair of mirrors. He levitated one in front of her while with the other, in front of her back. Her own eyes widened at the sight.
Of all the observations they made, the only change that ever happened were the increase in number, branches, and length of the lines. In the beginning, they were about the size of a yarn, or the thickest crochet thread. Now, they grew half an inch larger in width, making it easier to see the opalescent colors swirling within. They did not glow, nor did they shine. It was as if parts of her skin were cut out and replaced by them. In a way, they reminded her of mirrors, or even stained glass. However, when she tried touching the nearest one her fingertips could reach, by her hips, she instead felt skin and not the smooth surface she expected.
It truly boggled her.
"What does this mean?" she said aloud, still staring at the colors that contrasted her fair skin as she held the front of her robe over her chest.
"Actually," Hector answered, "I had an epiphany. All this time I thought that what you had was a curse mark. If you remembered, we had discussed about this since- well, you aren't exactly shy of delving into the dark arts."
Hermione broke her gaze from the mirror to look back at the alchemist, prompting him to continue.
"But just the other day, I was taking stock of my inventory and that's when I noticed it. The marks on your back- they resemble that of insect wings. Insect wings! Look here-"
Voice now mixed with excitement, he hurriedly dashed towards one of the long tables in his laboratory. Hermione had redressed herself by the time he gave her three books, already opened to a bookmarked page. They were all encyclopedias about insects, one of them was even a muggle entomology book. Yet the opened pages all displayed winged species- butterflies, dragonflies, moths, billywigs, glumbumbles, and moonflies. Specifically, the page showed a drawing of them with their wings spread with arrows labeling parts of their bodies.
Hector continued, pointing at the venations of a billywig's wing, "See? At the beginning, there's hardly a resemblance. Initially, we even theorized them to be tree roots growing out of a seed, or even branches. Now, however, I'm starting to believe otherwise. This may sound presumptuous of me, but I would like to start looking into tattoos."
Her eyes were wide with realization. Her mind recalled a picture of her back and she had to concede that Hector was right. The patterns on her back, now fuller than the measly lines from years ago, truly resembled that of insect wings.
But why?
"Are you saying… that what I have is a living tattoo? Like Manallo Māhoe's?"
Manallo was another close associate of hers. She had met the wizard and his family during their stay in Samoa. As with other cultures, Polynesian magic-folk have their own brand and practice of magic. Specifically, tattooing. Like their muggle counterparts, tattoos were a tradition, a rite of passage even. For both men and women, the process was supposed to be painful, and if one cannot go through with it till the end, they are deemed as cowards- which might as well label them as outcasts. They do not care about blood origins. If in Europe, a child can officially be called a witch or wizard once they obtained their wand, to the people of the Pacific, a child will only be accepted in their magical community if they have a complete tattoo.
For these tattoos were supposed to symbolize stories, mark them as a warrior, proof of honoring their ancestors, and harness spiritual power. Called Tatau, the patterns weren't chosen by the receivers, but by the masters themselves. Masters who trained for years in the art of magical tattooing. This tradition was especially treasured by the Pacific magic-folk. The only difference was that the tattoos of these magic-folk are magical itself. In a sense that the tattoos actually move across their skin. Waves push and pull; spearheads move in circular patterns; and they chose magical creatures to invoke power from.
Manallo, specifically, had an Aniani. Literally translating to mirror, it's a magical creature that looked like manta rays with two, barbed, whip-like tails and two pairs of fins. Its skin is especially unique in that it reflects light with its surroundings like a mirror, thus making them appear invisible underwater. They are supposed to symbolize wisdom and graceful power. Her son would especially be fascinated whenever Manallo's tattoo would 'swim' across his arms, uncovered by the sleeves of his clothes.
"Not exactly," Hector answered, "It is certainly… living, for lack of a better word, but I don't quite believe that it's a tattoo either. For now, I believe that what you have is more symbolic than it is branding."
"They're the venations of insect wings…"
"Yes, but what specific insect it could be, I have yet to know. It might take a while as I wouldn't know if it's from a magical creature or regular animal."
"I know an ento-magizoologist," she suggested, "You can contact them and… tell them it's a project for a new potion you're making?"
"Yes, I suppose that would work. Still…" he rubbed the growing beard on his chin, "are you sure you don't want me to call a healer?"
"No healers, Hector," she answered quickly, "I'm fine."
Hector didn't bother hiding his look of disbelief. Worse, he didn't say anything more as he crossed his arms over his chest. It only made Hermione rub the nape of her neck at his pointed stare. She understood his silent message. Neither really knew much about what was going on with her. Her only answer was resurrection, but she had kept that to herself as the last time she broached the topic, Hector was very adamant in his belief that resurrection is an impossible feat. She didn't attempt talking about it again since she was sure what happened to her was resurrection… right? What else could've brought her back when she had clearly died before? It couldn't be reincarnation either because she was not reborn as a babe, but as a full adult.
There is a difference.
So the only logical answer could be resurrection.
Voldemort did the same, after all, didn't he? Using a complex spell. Harry had asked her about it, when they dissected the events that happened on the night of his return. Though, whatever magic used on herself was far better since Hermione regained the image of her original body whereas Voldemort could only achieve such a monstrous, nose-less, form. The only difference was that she seemed to have been sent back in time.
But… if she considered what happened to her just a few hours ago… perhaps her resurrection wasn't as perfect as she first thought.
"Alright, Hector, you win," she sighed in defeat, "But I want it to be Healer Sofija."
Hector was more than agreeable to her condition and immediately grabbed for one of her special parchments for her to write before she could change her mind.
They were in the middle of discussing his latest liquid gold procedure, they had also moved upstairs to a proper sitting room, when Mia rose to her sleeping position at Hector's feet and began barking before they heard the knock on the front door.
"Madam! My lady!" Healer Sofija exclaimed, her face brightening the moment she saw the brunette. Hector trailed just behind her from when he fetched her from his door.
Hermione tried to ignore the honorifics as she returned the older witch's hug. The witch was a talented healer respected in her field until she was bitten by a werewolf. A prime example of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She tried hiding it at first, but it was extremely difficult to keep such a malady a secret for so long. Needless to say, no witch or wizard wanted to be treated by a werewolf and she became a social pariah overnight. Her contributions in the medical field were the only reason her healing license wasn't revoked, but they might as well have when no hospital wanted to hire her because of her affliction.
Ironically, the werewolf that bit her was also the same person who saved her when she had fallen into depression. Incapable of hating the person who turned her, knowing she was partially at fault for being in that situation herself. By the time Hermione found their pack, Sofija had resumed healing people. Albeit her patients were mostly fellow werewolves, treating their injuries after they turned. None of them had the means to procure the ingredients for the wolfsbane potion even though she was confident of brewing it herself.
Until Hermione arrived with her much improved potion.
Now, she had set up her own private practice with preference to her fellow werewolves. Successful, and no longer in fear of being discovered. Married to the man who had turned her into a werewolf, and with a daughter that was free from the affliction they suffered from. A miracle, indeed.
"I came as soon as I received your letter," the other witch said hurriedly, "You hardly summon any of us and I feared something terrible happened because you requested me as a healer and-"
"Sofija, please," she cajoled, smiling a bit, "Just breathe, please. All is well."
The healer did as she was told and breathed in and out deeply. Her frantic state now calmed as she looked at Hermione from head to toe. "How can I be of service, my lady?"
"I would just like you to give me a thorough check-up, Sofija. Is that alright?"
"Of course! It would be no problem at all!"
For the next few minutes, Hermione just sat there on her chair as she let the older witch catch diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell at her. Some of which she didn't even know, including spells to determine specific rare maladies. Although Hermione had trained herself in healing spells, she did not have the extensive training a healer had, nor did she have the time to. And as confident as she was in her abilities, it was best to have another examine her. Just like it wasn't advisable for doctors to self-diagnose, or so her parents said.
Meanwhile, Hector made himself comfortable sipping his own tea as he watched the procedure. They trusted Healer Sofija to keep his location secret. Plus, it was best that he at least knew a healer to turn to or call on in case of emergencies.
"I found not a single thing out of sorts, my lady," Sofija concluded, "I say you're even the perfect description of ideal health."
Hermione blinked numerously at that. Her lips parted slightly, "Thank you, Sofija."
When she turned to Hector, the alchemist was just silent but his eyes had that familiar observing sheen to it.
"Well, that's good to hear," Hector said, setting down his cup.
"Yes, but uhmm…" Sofija asked reluctantly, "Is it alright if I ask why you wanted a checkup so suddenly? O-Of course, if you don't want to answer that's perfectly fine, my lady! I did not mean to pry."
Hermione smiled comfortingly at her. It felt a bit weird being addressed as such especially since the other witch was a few years older than her. Unfortunately, she couldn't confess the truth to the witch. As trustworthy as she was, it's more than enough that Hector already knew about her situation.
"Something just came up, Sofija, and Hector convinced me it was best to have myself checked. It's nothing serious, I promise. I'm sorry if I worried you."
Sofija did not look like she believed her, but she nodded otherwise.
"Also, I would like to ask you to please keep this a secret. I wouldn't want to trouble anyone else with this," Hermione added. Sofija wasn't the only one who was… indebted to her, and she didn't even want to imagine how they would react if they found out that she requested a sudden check-up, and think the worst that she was afflicted with some sort of disease.
"Of course! Fortunately, I was alone in my clinic office when I received your letter. This is easily something I could do for you, Lady V-"
"Don't," Hermione shot her a sharp glare, making the healer clamp her mouth shut instantly.
Hector, however, let out an amused chuckle, "I don't understand why you always shoot them down for that. I say it's a great name! Very appropriate too, isn't that right, Sofija?"
The other witch nodded vigorously at that before looking down to where a small brooch was pinned secretly in her inner robe.
A brooch of a wolf's head with a broken chain between its jaws.
The brunette groaned exasperatedly, "I can handle being called 'Madam' and 'Lady' but that moniker is just too much."
"Do excuse your lady, Sofija," Hector turned to the other witch, "This child still doesn't comprehend the gift she had bestowed to you werewolves."
"It's a shame, really, Sir Hector, but I really hope she will soon," Sofija answered, "She hardly asks us for anything so it is difficult for us to show our appreciation."
"Can you please stop talking as if I'm not here?" Hermione shot them a deadpanned look, which only made the other witch giggle and the alchemist chuckle, "Nevertheless, I would like to thank you again for coming in such a short notice, Sofija."
"Please think nothing of it. If I may be honest, I would be happier if you call upon me often. It's been a while since I last saw you."
"Yes, well… I've been busy…" Hermione trailed, and at that moment, she finally felt the weight sitting on her finger. She stared down at her silver ring and appreciated the image of her beloved World Serpent (she had yet to test it for any secrets but she would be lying if she said she didn't appreciate the workmanship into the design), before taking a deep breath and meeting the gazes of her audience again, "Well, since I'm here, I might as well tell you-"
She raised her left hand and let the light bounce off the silver.
"-I just got married-"
While Sofija gasped loudly in shock, Hector was grinning broadly. He had seen the ring, but given the situation, did not think it was appropriate to mention it then.
"-with Alduin's father. His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."
.
Hermione rubbed a hand over her face when she reappeared at the apparition point in the plaza. In her painful haze, she was only able to grab a single Sote so she couldn't directly return to the Den. And as convenient apparition was, there's a limit to how far one can go even with her capabilities. Thankfully, Hector lent her his portkey that brought her to King's Cross. From there, she apparated to the plaza in front of her flat building.
Ironically, explaining her marriage to the two tired her more than the ordeal she went through that morning. Although one of them was enjoying her fluster more than the other, given that Hector already had context of what was going on. For Sofija, she had to leave out the parts that the marriage was more of a business deal than one of love.
Part of her deal with Tom was the story they fabricated would not be compromised. She may get away with other people in keeping silent, but for her close associates who knew she was an unmarried single mother the first time they met, she would have to convince them to go along with the story that she had a husband all this time. Fortunately, witches accompanying their children to places without their husbands was a more common sight than wizards with their child. Banking on the belief that men should be more focused on work.
She would have to bear recounting the tale of how she was reunited with Tom and how their love rekindled despite the years apart. How he hadn't known he had gotten her pregnant before they went their separate ways, and how he proposed to her for Alduin's sake… which wasn't exactly a lie but she didn't like how it painted Tom as an honorable man who embraced the responsibility of being a husband and father.
Fortunately, her blunder and reluctance in telling the story were mistaken as embarrassment so it was easier for Sofija to believe. It also helped that there were some truths to the story so it reinforced the lie. Thankfully, all of her close associates adored her son so she expected the others would also play along for his sake.
Damnit, she really hoped this wouldn't snowball into something troublesome.
She really needed to get Riddle's ring as soon as possible.
"Good morning, Hermione."
She shrieked, nearly jumping before whipping around to glare at her 'husband', who had a very smug smirk on that infuriatingly handsome face of his.
"You need to stop this bad habit of sneaking up on people," she growled.
Nonplussed, Tom shrugged and raised his hand, drawing her attention to the object being offered to her.
Her brown eyes widened in genuine surprise.
Flowers. A bouquet of flowers. Tom Riddle… Voldemort… was giving her a bouquet of purple flowers.
She couldn't be more relieved that Harry and the others couldn't see her at this very moment.
"Err…"
Her brain seemed to have short-circuited.
"Very eloquent, my dear," Tom said, looking even more pleased.
She broke her gaze from the, admittedly, beautifully arranged set to glare at him. Unfortunately for her, in the middle of the plaza, Riddle's public display of affection had garnered them an audience. She spied, from the corner of her eyes, a couple of young witches giggling behind their hands and fans, and some older folks shaking their heads at them.
The heat that welled up in her cheeks initially from annoyance, now became one of embarrassment.
It didn't help that the wizard before her was clearly enjoying this moment either.
Groaning, Hermione accepted the bouquet, albeit reluctantly.
"Let's just go," she said defeatedly before turning on her heel leading towards the Den. Tom gladly followed suit.
She glanced down at the bouquet in her arms. In the language of flowers, (because apparently, reading flowers was supposed to be something a witch should also know about, according to Mrs. Reicher) a purple-dominant arrangement meant success and even royalty. She wasn't sure if the success on their deal he was trying to convey was supposed to be sarcastic, but it did make her wonder if Tom knew something so seemingly mundane as the language of flowers.
"You're here early," she couldn't help commenting.
"We had an arrangement," he said simply, dark eyes turning to her from the corner of his eye, "and I could say the same to you. Disapparating from who-knows-where so early in the morning."
Of course, he saw that.
Hermione's brow twitched, "There was an emergency."
"Ahh, I take it all is well now then?"
"Yes," she said with finality, refusing to give him an opportunity to dig anymore information out of her.
Fortunately, they arrived back in front of her flat door, and Hermione felt her shoulders relax. They may be married now but because Tom wasn't her blood, the security on her door would still work on him.
The rite they used, as pretty as the vows were, did not bind them so literally. Because the rite's ultimate purpose was to unite two people, they would be married by magic itself. Hence, the unnecessary need for an officiator. And because they were married by magic, no law ever made by man will have any sway about their union of hearts. Even if someone from high standing were to complain, neither they nor anyone would be able to do anything about it. Not even the Minister for Magic themselves. For no one can go against something magic itself had approved.
In return, both husband and wife are forbidden to have any sort of separation equivalent to a divorce.
Perhaps that was why Tom had to take a moment to think about the sort of rite she wanted. Technically, he'd be binding himself to one person for as long as the other lived until their natural death. And at this time, Tom was nearly deathless while Hermione… well, she could say she's in the same boat.
That was part of the reason purebloods did their damnedest to hide this rite into obscurity. Another was its enforced vows that went against the traditions of what they deemed a proper relationship between the husband and wife should have.
She should've known that one of the core traits of a Slytherin is that they would use any means to achieve what they want.
Hermione opened the door only to be met by a wave of notes. Past the foyer, in the sitting room where a piano was propped to the side, Alduin was playing. Hermione instantly recognized it as one of his favorites. And just like all the times they played, immersed in his zone of symphonic harmony, her son's magic answered in turn. A beautiful crescent moon hung above his head along with clouds floating in a nonexistent breeze. The small dots for stars twinkled in time with his notes, making them appear as if they were dancing as a shooting star or two flew around him. Below his feet was a circle of darkness that would ripple every time his feet made the slightest movement.
Like calm waters mirroring the night sky.
When the song ended, the magic manifested also faded away.
"Oh, good morning," he greeted with a smile as his eyes shifted between his parents, and the bouquet in his mother's arms.
"Good morning to you too, Al," Hermione greeted back. Any annoyance or fatigue she felt instantly washed away at the sight of her son. Especially since he was still wearing his pyjamas, and his hair was all frizzy and untamed.
So cute.
"A good morning it is, Alduin," Tom said a second later, "That was a beautiful song. I did not know you could play."
While they were just standing by as their son played, Hermione was granted the sight of Tom's genuine surprise. Or as surprised as his controlled expression could show, with his eyebrows raising just a tad and his lips parting just enough from the seams. Still, a surprise nonetheless, and Hermione could only feel pride knowing the Dark Lord didn't expect his son to have such musical talent.
"Mother taught me," he said proudly, swinging his legs and grinning broadly, "It's one of our favorite past times together. Do you know how to play, Mr. Riddle?"
"I can't say I do, Alduin. Music isn't exactly a pursuit I deem worthwhile."
Instead of being offended, Alduin's eyes widened, "Really? I think you would do well to pick up an instrument. Might I suggest a cello? I strongly believe you would be especially proficient at it."
"Thank you for the suggestion," he said politely, obviously uninterested. But that only resulted a small laugh from the boy, who tried to keep it by biting his lip, "Nevertheless, it's good to know you achieved mastery in something you were taught. But tell me, do you often play while in your pyjamas?"
"No…" his smile fell, "I woke up and mother wasn't here so I thought of playing a bit to pass the time."
"I'm so sorry, Alduin," she interjected immediately, "I had to attend to an emergency and didn't have time to tell you."
Her son didn't respond immediately. There was a muted expression on his face as he looked between his parents. Eventually, he smiled back at her reassuringly, "It's alright, mother. You're back now."
"Yes, and you should wash up and change now. Tom is-" she cut herself short, turning to the tall man beside her, who looked back at her from the corner of his eye, "He's going to take us somewhere after breakfast."
"Oh, alright," Alduin obeyed readily, but just as he leapt down from his chair, he turned towards the older ravenhead, "May I ask where will we be going, Mr. Riddle?"
"You'll know when we get there," Tom answered, "and shouldn't you address me properly from now on, son?"
Alduin blinked. They had sat him down before the ceremony about what was going on, and much to their relief, Alduin was more agreeable than they expected. Besides some choice questions, Alduin only shrugged, said: "As long as my mother agrees.", and smiled.
"Of course. Err… uhmm… papa?"
One second both father and son had looks of practiced politeness and the next, their expressions twisted as if they had bitten off a lemon.
A very, very sour lemon.
Even Hermione couldn't help her mouth from hanging open in shock, from hearing the word from her son's lips, before she had to hold back her laughter from the faces they made. Never had she ever seen her son look so… disturbed and close to gagging. And that was telling because he didn't even blink when he ate worms, scorpions, and other bugs while they were in Asia and proudly claimed it as part of his exotic experience.
As for Tom… well… she really had to commend his ironclad control. Still, if the pinched expression on his face told her anything, she'd have thought a troll had shat on his favorite book and chucked it to the depths of the Black Lake.
"Just…" Tom breathed deeply, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, "Just 'Father' is fine, Alduin…"
"Agreed," Alduin acquiesced instantly. His tongue had lolled out as if he had tasted something really awful.
Hermione tried to disguise her laughter behind a cough but she couldn't control the smile that stretched her lips. To be fair, she certainly never expected such a comical interaction like this.
"Well, go on now, Al," she prompted.
"Yes, mother," he headed to his room with hurried steps, but before he opened the door, he turned his head back towards them. "Ah, by the way, father?"
Hermione and Tom blinked up at him.
"Roses are mother's favorite flowers," he looked pointedly at the bouquet before meeting his father's eyes.
Tom's eyebrow rose.
Hermione's mouth hung open in disbelief. All mirth now gone from her face.
"Both the wild and cultivated variety-"
"Hold on a minute, Al-"
"-the redder the better."
"What are you-"
"She wouldn't mind if there-"
"Alduin-!"
"-are still thorns on the stem either," he finished with a toothy grin and just like that, zipped inside his room in a flash. Leaving his mother and father standing there, mouth agape and smirking smugly, respectively.
"How helpful, that son of mine," Tom had the nerve to gloat and in response to her irritation, her magic sparked and her blue flames ate the bouquet in her hands until they were nothing more than ash.
Her husband however, didn't look the least bit affected and even tutted condescendingly, "How petty you are, wife."
Now she wished she didn't burn the stupid flowers just so she could throw it back to his face.
"Answers?" Tom asked, reclining back on his seat with his jaw resting on his fist as he stared at her across the table. Alduin had excused himself to the loo so they had enough time to discuss more about private matters.
The restaurant they were currently having dinner in boasted about their tables being charmed by privacy spells. Still, Tom casted his own set of spells with none of the employees or other diners the wiser.
Except her.
They had agreed that being seen eating out together would help enforce their image as a family. Who knew whose eyes would be around to see them, after all. Especially if it was someone who knew Tom; word travels faster in the grapevine of gossiping purebloods than the Daily Prophet.
"There's something I need to do- research," she supplied vaguely, her gaze falling to the glass of water she was cradling between her hands, "Questions I need answers to, and I need time and resources for it."
As agreed per their contract, they were supposed to confess the purpose of their marriage. For Tom, it was to show that he had a family of his own as expected of a respectable wizard his age. While people can turn a blind eye to purebloods, especially those in prestigious families, it would certainly be odd if someone of Tom's age had yet to marry with child.
It was an answer she readily accepted. She knew better that Tom didn't propose this arrangement out of pure intentions. If he had, she would've likely denied him even if she knew she needed him close.
Perhaps it was his preconceived notion that she knew something about him- the real him- that made him more honest. Though part of her worried, she would honestly prefer this than whatever bullshit he dishes out to other people.
As for Hermione, she gave him the pretense of research. As someone who valued magic and wanting to unravel all of its secrets despite having already seen into its abyss, this sort of goal wouldn't be far-fetched for someone like her. For all the dark lord before her knew, the purpose of her constant travels was to learn more about magic, but caring for Alduin at the same time had given her limitations. Marriage would help blur that handicap on the notion that she would have someone else to look after her son.
Not that it was exactly a lie. She really needed to research to solve her own mystery, and with Hector not knowing her full truth, his help would eventually hit a dead end and she would have to take over. Not that she would let Tom steal her son away from her under her nose.
Furthermore, having married parents would shelter her son from anymore unwanted remarks and discrimination.
Yes, the reasonings were sound.
That would be more than enough to disguise their true goals.
Fortunately, they didn't need to share more than that.
"And what exactly does this research entail?"
She met his eyes this time, "Have you ever heard of the Throat of the World?"
A beat of silence, and then a bark of laughter.
Hermione felt her eye twitch in irritation at his blatant mockery, but she managed to rein in her control and let him laugh.
"That was good," he said as he finished, his smile showed a perfect set of teeth her parents would swoon over, "I'm almost sorry to tell you that you're chasing a fantasy."
"It's true," she grounded. She never liked it when people made fun of her knowledge, "I have proof."
"Please, do share your findings," he gestured with his other hand.
Stubbornly, the brunette crossed her arms over her chest, "If you're born and bred here in Europe, you should've received education from Hogwarts, haven't you?"
Tom's smile faltered. He answered after a beat, "Yes."
"Which house were you in? The school was supposed to be divided by four, right?"
Of course, she already knew the answer, but asking these questions would deliver the context behind her answer and with the way the mirth was slowly fading from his eyes, she most certainly captured his attention.
"Slytherin."
She nodded before smugly answering, "Well, did you know that your founder- Salazar Slytherin, had supposedly reached the Throat of the World himself?"
That's it. Any form of mockery was instantly replaced by a glimmer of intrigue and disbelief. Unconsciously, Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat as Tom gave her his undivided attention. His elbows rested on the seat of his chair, and his legs uncrossed as he leaned forward in clear interest.
His eyes were so dark.
So… so dark.
Like it could swallow all light in its abyss.
"Explain," was his singular answer, and she did not miss the command behind it.
"There is a passage in a book- a book that featured all known wizarding schools- that claimed to be Slytherin's final words meant for the future students of his house, before he left Hogwarts."
"A book meant for commercialized publication," Tom scoffed, "Whoever the author was could've easily written and claimed it as the original words of the founder. Was there even a citation? Or a footnote?"
"No, but-"
"Then you're a fool to believe such tripe," he remarked, sounding very irate and even… disappointed? At her?
"Of course I didn't easily believe it!" Hermione defended, her voice rising, "Still, information about the four founders of Hogwarts is valuable, and I thought verifying the claims would be something worthwhile. If it was truly fabricated, the author should be tried for their fraudulence."
She recalled the time in her second year under Gilderoy Lockhart's tutelage. Books were more than objects containing knowledge for Hermione. They were her first friends, her source of joy, her treasure. So when she found out the book she had was authored by a cowardly fraud… needless to say that was the first time she ever felt betrayed, and had hated authors like Lockhart with a burning passion ever since.
"But on the chance that they were true, well…" she contested, "how come the last words of such an esteemed founder never graced the pages of the school's official history book- Hogwarts, A History?"
She got his attention again. This time, there was even a wrinkle between his brows.
Hermione took that cue to continue, "So I contacted the author. He didn't have the original source but after much… persuasion, I was able to track it down."
She sent a silent apology in her head. She wasn't the one who literally found the original source, after all, but one of the werewolf packs stationed in America, who were more than eager to treat her request as a mission.
As if she'll ever reveal to Voldemort that she has werewolves in her deck of cards so early in the game.
Her face looked absolutely proud while Tom's hands balled into fists. His conflict was evident the longer he stared at her confidence. Here was a stranger who knew something about his ancestor he didn't know of.
As Slytherin's heir, excluding Alduin, he should have the right to that information.
"You didn't…"
"It was written in a letter. Inside an envelope with a broken wax seal of the Slytherin family, addressed specifically to Rowena Ravenclaw, and sitting prettily in one of my glass cabinets at home as we speak."
To be fair, she was just as shocked to find out it was true.
The fact that she wasn't the only one who reached the Throat of the World.
"Is this… a muggle village?" Alduin asked.
"Yes," was Tom's only answer before turning on his heel and started walking up a cobblestone road towards a hill.
The mood between the three had sobered during breakfast. That did not save her from sulking a bit though.
How could Alduin just reveal that to him?
Granted it was harmless information, but she couldn't help feeling slightly betrayed by his action. Was it because she laughed at their reactions? But she couldn't help it! She doesn't really care about Tom's but she's never seen such a face on her adorable son before. At least, Alduin had been content with his petty revenge (against his own mother!) as he happily ate away his pancakes. He also made up for it by offering her one of his own. Which she accepted by taking a piece because she couldn't help herself.
After breakfast, Tom took out a single tarot card from the inner pocket of his robe. The Hanged Man.
It was a portkey.
"1743."
Hermione halted in her step when she heard her son read the numbers embossed on the bronze plaque on the brick wall surrounding the manor just past the wrought-iron gates.
She had her suspicions the moment she saw the quaint muggle village. Then at one point, she felt a small shudder run down her spine. Of which she instantly recognized as having passed through a ward.
A very complex and multi-layered ward at that.
If she hadn't been on guard, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to feel it.
Then she saw the brick wall and black gate, nearly overtaken by moss and crawling vines. Lastly, there was the mansion sitting at the hilltop. A once grand piece of magi-architecture left colorless and in ruin. Even from afar she could see broken windows and parts of the roofs open. The tiles weathered and carried off by previous storms. Its surrounding yard didn't fare any better. What were once trimmed hedges had overgrown into unrecognizable shapes and had crawled their way up the mansion's walls all the way up to the tallest peak.
"Once, this place was called the Riddle Manor," Tom explained to Alduin, who went up by his side to get a closer look at the abandoned house.
Hermione shot him a look from behind. He was supposed to be showing them their new home today. Surely, he didn't seriously decide that they would stay here? Here, where he killed his grandparents… his father… his own family…
The place of his first murder.
She opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself just in time. Was it really wise to say something? Hadn't she said enough? Of all the information she knew about him, revealing that this was the place he conducted his first kill was one of the top things she shouldn't reveal. Even without a contract that obliged them to share part of their possessions and occupation, exposing a secret as worse as murder would likely put herself and her son at risk. Marriage and contract be damned.
'She could just say that this isn't an appropriate place to live in.'
Yes, that would work.
But before she could circle around Tom, he had picked up a stone by his feet, drew his arm back, and threw it at the mansion's nearest window.
The sound of glass shattering was loud, it jolted both Hermione and Alduin in their place.
"What the bloody hell was that for?!" Hermione shrieked.
Tom had only given her a quick glance before turning to their son, who were just as surprised at his action. He fell down on one knee in front of him, making sure to meet Alduin's equally dark eyes.
"I had been considering what you told me since we last spoke, Alduin," he began, "and I do believe you're right."
While Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously at him, Alduin's head cocked to the side curiously like a cat, "Right about what, father?"
Pleased by his proper use of address, he let the corners of his lips lift ever so slightly. Tom met the brunette witch's eyes for a moment before turning back to his son, "About how new beginnings cannot come from nothing. To destroy is necessary, for only then will something bigger, and better can be forged from the broken remains."
By this time, the boy's eyes widened and his face had split in recognition, "For rot festers between the cracks, and consume the beauty of what once was."
Tom nodded before turning his head towards the dilapidated mansion. His expression was dark as if wishing it be in a worse state than it already was, "This house is an example of that, Alduin. Only decay had allowed to keep it standing. Its history is not for the books to keep. No sunlight could ever pass through its windows, and not even ghosts would want to haunt its walls. Now, Alduin, don't you think we should put it out of its misery?"
He picked up another stone at his feet, and with his other hand, directed Alduin's wrist so he would receive it instead.
Tom continued, "After all, what comes after the beginning of an end…"
"Is the end of a beginning," Alduin finished.
He gripped the stone in his small hand, big enough to fit his palm. His father had risen back up to stand, and let him stew in his thoughts. But it wasn't long for Alduin to take a pitcher's stance, mimicking a baseball player, and threw the stone at the window next to the one Tom threw at. The entire property once more echoed with the loud shatter of breaking glass.
In the following moments, Alduin was running around, picking up any stone he could get his hands on and hurled them at the old Riddle Mansion. Smiling and laughing with the innocent joy of a child with a new toy.
Then, Tom had taken out his wand. Without uttering a single syllable, he motioned his wand and per his command- the stones Alduin threw were reinforced with his own magic. The stones crashed, not only through glass windows, but through brick and cement as well. Along with renewed speed and durability, they tore through everything in their path.
But Tom was not satisfied to end it there.
With a wider movement of his arms, he recalled the stones Alduin threw back out to the yard. Only to let it charge at the mansion again.
This continued on for a while. Alduin kept picking up stones and his father would imbue them with his magic. The stones circled out, then in, out, and then in again. He turned them into a barrage reminiscent of artillery fire.
All the while Hermione just stood there in shocked silence.
Her mind was absolutely baffled by what was going on. Centered around the fact that Tom Riddle had willingly, instigated even, the destruction of Riddle Manor.
Which she didn't understand at all.
Didn't Voldemort allow the continued care of the manor? In her previous life, before his return, he had even used the manor as a hideout. Harry had said so, in the visions because of his link with the Dark Lord, the mansion, though abandoned, was kept intact and not so… broken.
They never knew the reason why. And considering that he had let a muggle caretaker watch over it, meant he never took legal action to claim it as his own.
But just a few minutes ago, they freely walked through the property, and the mansion before her was left for time to decay and ruin naturally. Additionally, the ward she felt couldn't possibly be set up recently.
Here, Tom Riddle had claimed his father's property, set up a ward to keep anyone from trespassing, and left it to ruin.
Only to return and invite his son to destroy it together with him.
Hermione snapped from her thoughts when she spotted Tom take a step closer to her. A considerable space still left between them, but close enough for her to hear him say, "Miðgarðsormr, the World Serpent, also known as Jörmungandr- the huge monster; in alchemy, Greece, and Egypt, it is known as the Ouroboros."
Her brows furrowed together as she kept her eye on him, unsure where he's coming from. His eyes broke from watching Alduin running around the mansion only to meet hers.
"The great snake that slumbers at the very bottom of the ocean. Waiting for the day it wakes to deliver the earth its due demise… Were you aware that the name you gave him meant 'World Eater'?"
Her mouth suddenly felt dry, before her shoulders tensed in defense.
"Is that a complaint?"
"Not at all. I think it is… unique," he tilted his head to the side inquisitively, "I'm just curious. What is it about that snake that you would center even your own son's education about it? Not to mention, after seeing your abode, make you obsess over it."
Heat crept up her cheeks at that. It wasn't the first time someone pointed out her obsession. It even came to the point her associates would inform her about any product they found, whether they be magical artefacts or simple decorative pieces, with the ouroboros motif.
Oh she couldn't imagine the kind of faces her old friends would make if they ever see her willingly spend thousands of galleons and gold about a snake. Or dragon.
"Well, I have no obligation to explain that to you," she crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly before glaring, "But if you must know- that serpent is something very dear to me. So I will not stand if I hear you speak ill of it."
"Oh not to worry. You won't hear a single word from me against the Serpentes," he smirked in amusement, "Or did you forget that I am a parselmouth like our dear son?"
"Well isn't that wonderful," she grumbled sarcastically. Her face turned back towards the mansion still receiving a continued barrage of magically enhanced stones. "What is even the point of this? I've not the slightest clue why you even brought us here."
"It is what it is," he answered, "If you like, you can take it as a gift."
"Gift?"
"Of my appreciation for your core principle and letting Alduin act upon it. I'm sure you, of all people, would appreciate this," Tom paused for a few heartbeats, "This place belonged to my father."
That… never had she expected he would ever confess that…
Not to her.
Not so soon.
The sound of stone crashing against stone and joyous laughter were muted in her ears at that moment. Part of her was instantly suspicious of his confession. What was his goal for telling her this? But if she was really honest with herself, she was just incredibly shocked.
"What was he like?" she found herself asking before she realized what she even just said.
His answer came faster than she expected, "He's not anyone worth remembering."
She wasn't sure where she had courage to ask another, "How long did you live here?"
"I never did."
She was aware that certain changes were imminent, expected it even, the moment she realized she was not in her proper time. Even more so when Tom Riddle still existed.
She didn't think it mattered. Whatever changes in the past brought by her and her son's existence did not matter if it meant achieving her goal. If it granted her reward.
Now faced with the reality of these variables, it was only a matter of time before she learned whether these changes would help her or not.
A moment of silence passed over them before their attentions were taken by their son making his way towards them.
"That was fun!" he said cheerily between pants, wiping the sweat that gathered on his forehead from running around, "But at this rate, I don't think we'll be able to finish anytime soon."
Sadly, the mansion was a lot bigger than it looked.
Hermione hummed as she motioned for Alduin. Using her own handkerchief, even though he had one of his own, she wiped away the sweat and dirt from his hands and face. It made him grumble slightly but otherwise let his mother coddle him; completely unashamed under his father's gaze.
He had an expression neither of them could make out of.
By the time the witch finished, she had taken out her wand from its secret holster. She glanced at Tom for a moment before arching her free hand above her. One by one, balls of blue fire hovered above her like a group of will-o-wisps. When she pointed her wand at the mansion like a general commanding her army to charge, the azure flames snapped towards every stone the wizard charmed, making them even more lethal. And because these were no ordinary fire, the flames would instantly attach to any surface it touched.
The family of three watched in fascination as blue flames crawled all over every inch of the mansion. Be it wood or stone, the magical fire didn't care until it covered every inch of the mansion. All the while the stones continued its barrage, still enveloped in fire.
Hermione smiled in satisfaction, Alduin let out a noise of amazement, and Tom scoffed.
When she snapped her gaze at him, he had taken two steps forward and raised his wand arm once more. First, a full circle, then a slicing diagonal motion, and finally a jab.
Lightning shot forth from the tip of his wand in a continuous stream. Twitching jaggedly in the air yet staying true to its target. It tore through the house, sending bits and debris flying as he moved his wand across in a slow stroke.
He had already destroyed a quarter of the mansion when another stream of magic joined his in his demolition. A fiery tornado of white and blue, spinning and coiling around itself, began eating through the other half of the house.
Elemental magic. Spells that could manipulate fire, water, earth, and wind, are considered one of the most basic forms of magic to learn, but also the most difficult to master.
Some would view it as cooperation, a show of support between husband and wife in their shared goal. While others would also see it as a match. A competition between powerful individuals who treasured magic above all else. Even more than the people who were born with it.
Amidst their display of magical might, any semblance of hostility they harbored for the other temporarily set aside, they failed to notice a certain raven-haired boy staring at them with an inscrutable expression from behind.
His dark eyes morphed into slits with the brilliance of galaxies.
.
"Can we do this again the next time we move?" was Alduin's cheery question after the complete destruction of Riddle Manor. The magical stream of lightning and tornado of fire finished into an explosion that only left pillars of smoke billowing in the wind.
Then they went off for lunch as per Alduin's insistence.
For once, Hermione felt exhausted. Not from the magical display from earlier but from the mental gymnastics her mind has to go through since this morning.
Too many facts and speculations had rattled her mind.
One was her apparent condition. Why insect wings of all things? It would've been easier if it were some sort of archaic runes from time forgotten. She wouldn't mind if it had a form of an animal either. Insect wings were commonly used for potion making. Some even used them for collection's sake. But apart from those, she honestly didn't know what other purpose there could be. Hopefully Hector would be able to determine the species of insect the venations look similar to. At least she would have a lead.
Second, Salazar Slytherin had reached the Throat of the World. She honestly did not know what to make of that discovery. Even she herself thought it was just some dreamer's fantasy, or a prank to send the desperate on a wild goose chase.
But she had also reached the Throat of the World too, hadn't she?
Did that mean Slytherin had also met the Cosmic Audience? Did he also ask for a reward? Or made a deal? …no. The Cosmic Audience said she was the only one who didn't accept a gift. Of all the four founders, Salazar Slytherin was the closest to his name's motif for his house. As opposed to Gryffindor's lion, Ravenclaw's eagle, and Hufflepuff's badger. She has her own specific reason for obsessing over the World Serpent imagery. But what about Salazar? It was thanks to him that snakes were considered an iconic symbol in the wizarding world. Even the only inheritable language in the world only allows one to talk to snakes.
At least this revelation was enough to avert Tom's attention. That her research pursuits were something worthwhile. The only problem now was to determine what kind of material to use to fake her supposed search. Because even though she knew the Throat of the World existed, she neither can nor was she willing to reveal it to anyone else.
Lastly, she was yet to get over the fact of what she had just witnessed in Riddle Manor. Certainly, she did not miss the symbolism behind the action. To think he would also use her core philosophy to exact his actions.
An action she honestly couldn't object lest she be called a hypocrite.
Then there was the question 'Why'. Of course, she did not completely believe him when he said he simply appreciated her belief. Surely, he had something else up his sleeve.
He had his son destroy his father's house only to build his new home over it.
"You will be introduced to the magi-architect and engineer tomorrow," Tom announced before wiping his mouth with his napkin.
"May I ask, why didn't you just choose a house already built?" Alduin asked as he sliced through his third steak.
"Your mother and I had an agreement that we have equal say on certain matters especially if it involved you, and one of them is our place of residence. Which I'm sure she would like to make a few changes of her own," he gave her a pointed look across the table to which she only nodded in return. This way, she would be sure that she and her son wouldn't enter enemy territory completely unaware. Not to mention she wanted to provide a safe and comfortable place for her son even if she had no intention of making their arrangement a permanent thing. And she would ensure she would have a place to install the Den in the new house.
"Oh. That's fair," her son hummed, "But wouldn't it be inconvenient to wait for magical house to be built? I read that construction would take at least ten months to two years. If it's as big as a mansion, that is."
"Not to worry, Alduin. I have no patience to wait for that long either. I'm sure the person I hired could be persuaded to speed up the work."
Hemione tried not give him a dry look at that.
Then the younger ravenhead beamed, "Then is it alright if I join you during the meeting? I would really like to see what the house would look like."
Tom stared after him as he took his time drinking from his glass, but it was Hermione who answered before he could utter a single word.
"Of course, it's fine, Al," she smiled, "I'm sure you would like to see how your new room will be. That much is fine, right Tom?"
"I suppose. You might as well see to your study room as well. Though you won't be able to use much of it once you enter Hogwarts."
The whole world seemed to have stilled at that moment. Like someone had dropped a glass and everyone in the room fell into dreadful silence.
Alduin stopped eating.
"What?"
Tom, however, just continued as if nothing happened, "There's still a year left. Once you turn eleven, you will receive your Hogwarts admission letter at least two months before September 1st. So make sure to make full use of your new study room until then."
"And if I don't?"
It was at that moment when all three became fully aware of the tension in the room. There was another look on Alduin's face. One that she had certainly never seen before. But unlike earlier, this one didn't compel her to laugh at all.
Tom met his son's equally narrowed eyes, "Didn't you say so yourself that you're a proud scholar for magic?
"May I speak freely, sir?"
There was a moment of silence.
"You may."
"I'm sorry. You seemed to have misunderstood my words. I meant- what if I don't want to go to school because, say… I think it is a waste of my time?"
Tom's sharp intake of breath was audible.
"Boy, I think it is you who doesn't understand this opportunity given to you. Hogwarts is a very respectable institution for education. Many esteemed wizards and witches for nearly the last ten centuries attended that school. Why, one of the four founders is even-"
"Hog-wash to that I say!" Alduin cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation, "Why would I even need to go to school if I can learn everything right here- from you two! Schools have restrictions, and I would most likely just be bored from the curriculum. I mean I've already been carving runes into stones since I was six, and I've even already ridden on the back of a Kelpie!"
Tom's fist fell hard on the table, making the utensils clatter in their place but that didn't deter the boy the least bit.
"Watch your tongue! You have some nerve insulting the name of Hogwarts-!"
"And that's another thing! Of all the magical schools in the world, why would I have to go to Hogwarts of all places?!"
"Why not?!"
"Well for one, it's just some dingy old castle found in the Scottish Highlands posing as a ruin. And were the founders drunk when they named the school, or did they just have no creativity? Hog-warts?! It's a stupid name!"
"Alduin!" Hermione admonished. Too shocked for the last few minutes hearing the words come out of her son to even say a single word.
She just couldn't believe it.
She loved Hogwarts. It was her second home. It was a place of wonder, that made her fall in love with magic and made her proud of being a witch.
Even though she could never enter walk through its halls again, or even say she studied at such a proud establishment. For all the good and bad that happened, she would still proudly say that her time in Hogwarts were one of the best years she ever had.
But to hear her son, her beloved boy, didn't feel the same way…
"Well too bad because whether you like it or not, you will be attending Hogwarts next year and you will be getting on the Hogwarts Express even if it means dragging you by force!"
"Well, I would rather paint the entire ceiling of the Sistine Chapel!"
Oof that didn't go as planned. Now before you lovely readers me, there's are valid reasons why Alduin had such a violent reaction about going to school. It'll be explained in the next chapter but for now, does anyone have a guess? Do you think Tom will do something to convince Alduin to go to school? Will Hermione side with Alduin or will she side with Tom this time?
But anyway, to those who have been curious about the matter with Alduin and Hogwarts, we're finally broaching the subject! Thank you for your patience!
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Does anyone have a guess to what kind of insect wings Hermione has on her back? If you're a reader from South America or Asia, you might have an easier guess what sort of insect it is.
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*The piano piece Alduin played was "Mirror Night – Deemo".
**I don't know Hermione's canonical favorite flower but her actress, Emma Watson, said roses were her favorite so I just went with that.
***Those familiar with Skyrim may be familiar with the 'Throat of the World' but to those who don't, don't worry I'm just mostly borrowing the term from the game.
****There really isn't a complete address for Riddle Manor so I just use the number 7. Too bad 7 is a prime number so I just went with 1 and 7, and 4 + 3 = 7. You all know how much Tom loves that number.
Thank you so much for everyone who still stick by and welcome to all the new readers! I love and read all your comments and know that you are all greatly appreciated.
Take care everybody! And STAY AWESOME!
Ciao~!