AN: Merry Christmas everyone! Thank you for all the reviews and faves. Go Tomione! Xxxx
Hermione had no idea what she'd been thinking last night Stunning Tom Riddle – the epitome of evil! – out of the common room, but she was still snickering over it during breakfast in the Great Hall.
"What could you possibly be giggling about this early in the morning?" Riddle asked when he arrived, taking his seat beside her.
Hermione stopped laughing and took a bite of toast. Quietly, so that only he could hear her, she said, "You're not sore, are you? I didn't mean to hurt you last night."
He glared at her.
Bursting into laughter, Hermione hid her red face in her hands and tried to control her snorting. The Slytherins around them stared at her in shock. Granger was laughing at Tom Riddle and…he was letting her? Abraxas looked lost.
Riddle rolled his eyes. "Now I see why you need so much sleep, your sanity obviously depends on it," he muttered, pouring two cups of orange juice and sliding one to her. "Here, choke on this."
She looked up, cheeks pink but giggles subsided, and accepted the orange juice with a little chuckle. His lip was curled in a poorly-concealed smile, she noted, as he speared his scrambled eggs.
Meredith and Fabia entered then, but instead of sitting on the opposite side of the table as they usually did they headed toward Elphy, who was pretending to have forgotten the homework for Charms and asking Riddle about it. Hermione stiffened, all traces of humor gone now, and watched Meredith closely out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't forgotten the girl's threat. What was she up to now? Another Mudblood joke?
Meredith gave Elphy a meaningful look and, with a frown, the girl shifted down a seat. Fabia sat on the other side of her and Meredith took her place next to Riddle. Elphy watched them with sharp eyes.
"Tom," Meredith began, turning to him. "Remember how I told you my birthday was coming up soon?"
Hermione – and all the other Slytherins at the table – listened closely for his reply, but he didn't answer, merely glancing at Meredith disinterestedly as if to say, Now I do. Your point?
"Well, you won't believe what my grandmother got for me as an early Christmas present," she continued braggingly. "It's some sort of an heirloom and I think it belonged to one of the Founder's, although I can't remember which… Well, no matter, it's worth a fortune anyway. Here, have a look, everyone."
She pulled out a simple red leather case and all the students at the table – Hermione included – leaned in for a better look as she tapped the little gold lock. Riddle's expression was unchanging…until Meredith opened it.
Hermione was the only one who noticed the swift play of emotions on his face, as everyone else was staring at the gold locket bundled in black silk Meredith had revealed, but she saw him and she knew. That wasn't just any rich girl locket Meredith had been given. No, it was Salazar Slytherin's Locket, the very one that had been passed down generation after generation through the Gaunt family until Merope Gaunt had sold it on the streets of London for money. The one that would eventually become one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
Hermione felt fear run through her, cold and piercing as a sword forged out of ice, at the flash of rage and poisonous envy on Riddle's face. It wasn't fear for herself though, it was fear for Meredith.
Meredith glanced up from the beautiful locket to see Riddle's reaction, but was disappointed. He looked unimpressed as ever. "It's solid gold and embedded with diamond and emeralds," she added and several Slytherins "oohed" and "ahed" at that. Meredith shrugged, as if the billion-dollar heirloom were nothing. "What do you think of this old rock, Tom?"
Wrong question to ask, Smith, Hermione thought.
"It belonged to Salazar Slytherin," Riddle said softly and immediately all the clamor and excited murmurs at the table hushed to hear him. "It's priceless." He glanced at her. "Impressive."
Meredith smiled hugely and shut the case with a tap of her wand, packing it away in her schoolbag. "I think I'll wear it to Sluggy's fall soiree on Wednesday," she said and Fabia started to pepper her with questions on her dress and what make up she was going to wear. Riddle turned away, eyes cast down and brimming with a million thoughts Hermione wished she could tap into.
When Hermione and Riddle entered Potions Slughorn called her to his desk, while Riddle continued to their table. Hermione approached the beaming professor cautiously. What was he grinning about this time?
"Hello Professor," she said politely. "Did you need something?"
"Yes, Miss Granger," Slughorn said, ever happily. "I would like to invite you to join a little society I run-" Oh no, Hermione thought with dread. Not again! "-and it's strictly for the most intelligent wizards and witches Hogwarts has to offer. No no, there isn't any extra work required, my dear. We simply meet once or twice a week to chat. We're like family really and it's a wonderful way to establish connections with renowned wizards, which will certainly help you move up in the world after graduating Hogwarts…"
As he rambled, Hermione gazing bemusedly at his racing walrus mustache which wiggled up and down with every syllable that passed his lips like a flopping half-dead fish. She tried to formulate a kind way to reject him in her mind, but that plan went down the drain at the next thing he said.
"In fact, I am hosting a soiree Friday night," Slughorn babbled. "Dress is formal, but I really would love to see you there mingling with your classmates. I know how hard it is to be a new student in such a large school."
Hermione thought of Meredith. Meredith, who had been nothing but cruel and downright nasty to her since the first day she arrived, but who had the Slytherin locket and was in danger of Riddle's wrath. She was going to Slughorn's soiree and although Hermione hated her she couldn't let the girl have a chance to be alone with Riddle, who was part of the Slug Club too and could easily corner her there. But, if Hermione were at the soiree, she could easily keep an eye on both of them…
Why couldn't she be more selfish, like Draco Malfoy?
"I would love to come," Hermione said, flashing a winning smile at Slughorn, who clapped his hands delightedly.
"Wonderful, wonderful!" he exclaimed. "I look forward to seeing you there, Miss Granger."
Five minutes into the period Hermione was paying close attention to Slughorn's description of the top five most deadly poisons and taking intricate notes when Riddle spoke. "So I take it I'll be seeing you at the soiree Friday night?" he murmured.
"Wha… Do you have bat ears or something?"
"I am skilled at all things, Hermione, including the five senses," Riddle replied smoothly.
"And big-headedness."
His jaw twitched, just barely, but she saw it. "Hatred is just a more concentrated form of jealousy, you know," he said, a little bitingly. "Do you envy me, darling?"
"Hm…yes, I think you may be onto something," she said, pretending to think deeply, and tapped her lip with the feathery end of her quill. "Ah yes! I envy your ability to take notes without any writing utensils." She gave him a pointed look and resumed her note-taking.
"Silly Hermione," Riddle said, lip curling in amusement. "I don't need notes. I hear it once and know it forever."
"Lucky you," Hermione grumbled.
He smirked. "So you're admitting that I am good at something?"
"Yes, I give you an Outstanding in the Annoying Art of Pestering Me."
"How clever of you."
"Merci."
"Ah, so you are French," Riddle said, eyeing her with a piqued brow. "I had begun to wonder."
"I recall you calling my accent 'subtle.'"
"Yes," he said, leaning forward with that look on his face. The one that meant she was about to be interrogated, that he was onto her, that she needed to be more careful about what she said. She tensed. "Explain that. You are from France, your family was fighting Grindelwald in Germany, and yet…" he trailed.
"I was born here," Hermione said dismissively, eyes on her scroll so he couldn't read her lies. "Mum and Dad liked to travel a lot though, so we moved to France, but they later relocated to Germany to fight Grindelwald. I stayed in France and lived with my grandparents, but was at Beauxbatons most of the time."
When he didn't reply Hermione glanced up at him. Did he know she was lying? She'd thought it was a pretty good cover story, but he was the real master of manipulation… "How can you speak so easily of your family's deaths?" Riddle surprised her by asking, stopping her paranoid thoughts. He looked uncharacteristically confused.
Hermione paused. Quietly, she asked, "How can you?"
Riddle turned away to face the front of the classroom, where Slughorn was getting off-subject again and blabbering about some ex-student turned aristocrat. "I am an orphan," he replied drily. "I got used to death a long time ago."
Hermione smiled ironically. Funny, so did I.
After an uneventful Herbology during which Regulus gave Hermione a friendly nod and Augusta lamented the idiocy of studying plants she and Augusta started toward their next class, as was per usual now. Minerva joined them shortly after, juggling a giant stack of books.
"Here, let me help," Hermione said and flicked her wand at the toppling tower, which rearranged itself into a perfect pile and floated alongside Minerva merrily.
"Thanks," Minerva said tightly, for she hadn't quite forgiven Hermione for bailing on her at the Quidditch match.
"No problem."
The awkward silence was broken by Augusta, whose blue eyes went wide and puppy-like when Professor Chanté suddenly strode down the corridor. Minerva looked equally affected as the professor shot all three girls a boyish smile, flicking the blue quill stuck behind his ear absent-mindedly, and stopped before them. "Hello, ladies," he greeted and his eyes fell on Hermione, who was struggling to read the title on one of Minerva's fatter texts. "Hermione, have you been practicing your dueling skills?"
Hermione's head snapped around to face him and, eyes comically wide, she stammered, "I was supposed to?" She scrambled through her bulging schoolbag, searching for her planner. "I mean, I don't remember you assigning any homework yesterday…"
"No, no!" he laughed, inducing less than discreet sighs from Minerva and Augusta. Hermione pulled her hands out of her bag, looking relieved. "We're going to have a little dueling lesson today, that's all."
"Are you French?" Augusta blurted out then blushed. "I mean, uh, sometimes I think I hear this accent when you're teaching. I was just wondering if-"
"Augusta, shut it," Minerva hissed, not so stealthily jabbing the Head Girl in the waist.
"What? He has an accent!"
Professor Chanté looked bewildered, but amused. "Belgian, Miss Longbottom. I'm from Wallonia. You are French, are you not, Hermione? What part of France are you from?"
"Um, Nice," Hermione said, startled.
"Ah, the beaches there are lovely in the summer," he said approvingly and then checked his watch. "Well, I must be going, ladies. I have a class of antsy fourth-years in two minutes." He caught Hermione's eye again and winked at her. "Practice those hexes, alright, Hermione?"
He walked away, whistling merrily, and Augusta performed a fake swoon once he was a few feet away, landing on Minerva, who shoved her off with an exasperated huff. "He's the only cool professor Hogwarts has seen in the last century," Augusta sighed, watching him walk away with half-lidded eyes. "You will be mine, Professor Chanté," she stage-whispered, pretending to reach after him.
"I wonder what his first name is," Minerva murmured thoughtfully.
"He looks like a Charles," Augusta said and cocked her head. "Or maybe a Garret. What are some Belgian names?"
"Christof? Alard?" Minerva guessed.
"And I thought Augusta was the only boy-crazy one," Hermione tutted.
Minerva scoffed. "Oh, poppycock! Go to class, Miss Granger, before we can taint your almighty prudiness," Augusta teased.
Hermione rolled her eyes and entered Transfiguration, taking her seat at the front. Soon after Riddle strode in, Abraxas and Dolohov at his side, and nodded at her with a little smirk that made Hermione feel strangely…buzzy. Like she was back on the Astronomy Tower inhaling the scent of cedar and smoke, or under the bleachers at the Quidditch Pitch when Riddle had been so close to her – and she'd been far too close to liking it. She shook off the feeling.
Riddle's two cronies, seeing his acknowledgement, followed suit and dipped their heads in her general direction; except when Abraxas did it he tossed his pale blonde hair back and winked at her.
Hex Abraxas into oblivion, Hermione scribbled on the corner of her planner, so she wouldn't forget, and snapped it shut just as Dumbledore began his lesson. They were studying methods of transfiguring various parts of the human body, it was one of the most challenging arts in Transfiguration, comparable to Animagi in difficulty, and the goal of today's lesson was to change at least one facial feature.
After a brief lecture Dumbledore released the class to try the newest spell, Morphus. Hayley Abott, beside Hermione, looked frustrated as she repeated the spell again and again – with the incorrect pronunciation. Hermione looked across the room of floating mirrors and red-faced students at Riddle, who looked for all the world like Narcissus gazing into his reflection. She watched, helplessly transfixed, as his bow mouth said the incantation and the young Dark Lord's lovely features shifted from striking angles and symmetry into Abraxas' face. A second later Riddle swished his wand and Abraxas' square jaw and blue eyes conformed back to his aristocratic features.
Hermione turned back to the mirror bobbing mid-air in front of her and found her narrowed brown eyes gazing back at her steamily. He'd gotten it on the first try! The spell Dumbledore had said normally took weeks to even trigger a reaction from had been perfected by Riddle in a matter of seconds. Figures.
Hermione cleared her throat, concentrating, and pointed her wand at her nose. "Morphus!" Oh no, that wasn't right. She'd stressed the "or" instead of "phus." Sitting up straighter, she tried again but with little success.
The image of Voldemort abruptly came to her mind, his ghostly image paired with high-pitched, cold laughter, and anger sparked through her. How could a murderer be better at spell-casting than she was? The world didn't make sense.
"Morphus," Hermione cast again, with more vehemence, and the tip of her nose shifted upward slightly. She gritted her teeth, glaring into her reflection, and her heart beat faster. The faint scent of cedar and smoke drifted over her as she clenched her wand. "I said…Morphus!"
The spell jetted out of her wand, shooting into her skin, and all at once her features altered. Her skin grew white and chalky, her eyes turned ruby red, and her nostrils lengthened, shrinking into slits...
"Miss Abott, try sitting up straighter and picturing your target eyebrows clearly in your mind. Now, wave to the right, left, up, down, up, and say the incantation, please," Dumbledore said pleasantly from right beside Hermione.
Shit! Hermione waved her wand and dissolved the spell a split-second before Dumbledore turned to her. Immediately, her skin lost its pearly parlor and her eyes stopped flaring brilliant red. She barely suppressed a relieved sigh as Dumbledore smiled kindly at her.
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted, while Hayley Abott struggled to imitate his graceful wand movements from behind. "Have you mastered any particular facial features yet?" he asked, unaware that she'd transformed entirely just a second ago.
"Um…yes, I think so," Hermione said, trying to hide the quiver in her voice, and turned back to her reflection - which was thankfully serpentine-free, but still a little pale. Her mind was racing. What had just happened? Did she really just master that spell? Had she actually started to transform into Voldemort just because she'd thought of him a split-second before casting it? How had she even done that? She'd always been a fast learner, but never that fast. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to regain control of herself. Do not think of Voldemort, she thought firmly before raising her wand to her temple. Dumbledore smiled at her encouragingly.
"Morphus!" she cast.
Students around them watched, impressed, as Hermione's curly hair straightened and turned light blonde, followed soon after by the darkening of her skin tone. Hermione felt the spell slip from her slightly but pushed at it harder, and her button nose slowly curved into a sharp hook. She gritted her teeth as her eyes changed from brown to green, and freckles dotted her cheeks.
The illusion flickered for a split-second and Hermione's real face reappeared, looking frustrated. Oh, come on! she thought. WORK.
Just like that, the blonde hair, green eyes, freckles and hooked nose returned in full-force, but unlike on her first try the image held firmly in place. It didn't look like a wavering illusion at all. She looked…real.
Wow.
"Excellent work, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, sounding as surprised as she felt. His auburn brows were furrowed slightly. "Very impressive… Have you ever cast this spell before today?"
"No," Hermione said and let the blonde girl's face vanish to be replaced by her own confused one. "I mean…Transfiguration was not a core subject at Beauxbatons," she added carefully.
"Well, you must simply be gifted," Dumbledore said, smiling at her with a calculating glint in his blue eyes that Hermione had never seen before…directed at her, at least. "Ten points to you, Miss Granger." He shot her one last thoughtful look before moving away to help the next student, who had accidentally turned his hair into blue tentacles and was cursing at his wand.
Hermione sat down, ignoring the curious stares around her, and gazed at her wand. Me, gifted? No, that wasn't right. Tom Riddle was gifted. He didn't need notes, ridiculous study habits, extra lessons from the Headmaster, or anything of that nature. It was like Riddle had told her: once he heard it, he knew it.
But Hermione wasn't like that. She repeated things to know them, did triple homework to be at the top of her class, and used every ounce of free time she had to better herself. She was not effortless, nor talented; she worked hard to be brilliant. Something was wrong here.
Not that she was complaining about it.
"Hey Hermione," Hayley Abott said, pulling her from her thoughts and sending her a hesitant smile when she looked at her. "Could you give me a few pointers on that spell? I can't even lengthen a nose hair."
Hermione smiled at that. "Yeah, sure." She picked up her wand and slowly demonstrated the proper movements. "Just move your wand like this. See, it's all in the elbow…"
When class was over Hermione was heading out the door discussing last week's Quidditch match with Hayley when Dumbledore suddenly said, "Miss Granger, could I speak to you for a moment?"
Hermione turned around, surprised, and met Dumbledore's warm twinkling eyes with a frown. "Am I in trouble?" she asked cautiously.
"No, not at all, Miss Granger," he chuckled, moving to the middle of the classroom where Fawkes was perched on his stand, and started to feed him.
Hermione waved goodbye to Hayley, who gave her a friendly smile before leaving the classroom, and made her way over to Dumbledore. Dumbledore was – no matter what time period she was in – exceptionally bright. Was he suspicious of her? Did he see her features turn into those of a snake? Did he know what year she was really from?
"How are you feeling today?" Dumbledore surprised her by asking.
"Me?" she said stupidly and then reprimanded herself. Who else could he be talking to? The chalkboard? "Oh, I'm alright…"
He nodded, feeding Fawkes another tough piece of dragon hide, and glanced at her sideways. "Not tired?"
Hermione blinked. Tired?
Dumbledore smiled. "Students lead very busy lives," he elaborated, "juggling their classes, homework, extracurricular activities…friends. It's very easy to overexert yourself." He tilted his head at her and she noticed how penetrating his blue eyes suddenly seemed. They were certainly sharper than they'd been a moment before and she was vividly reminded that Dumbledore was a skilled Leglimens. She averted her eyes. "It's also very easy to make the wrong kind of friends," he added.
Hermione looked up at that. "What do you mean, professor?" she asked, bemused.
Dumbledore glanced down at his folded hands and smiled sadly. "Surely you know, Miss Granger, that not everyone is what they seem. I see you have befriended Mr. Riddle and I'm glad to see that you are so at home here in Hogwarts. However," he paused, considering his next words carefully, "it's easy to get lost in the…beauty…of the castle. The illusion."
"I'm sorry, professor," Hermione said uncertainly. "Are you saying the castle isn't safe?"
"Two years ago, a terrible event occurred here and a student was killed because of it," Dumbledore began, but paused at the glint of understanding that passed through Hermione's eyes. "You've heard this story before?" he asked.
"Oh, well – er – a friend mentioned it in passing," Hermione mumbled, embarrassed for not having controlled her emotions better. She hadn't practiced in quite some time admittedly. "Someone opened the Chamber of Secrets, right?" she said, as if unsure.
"Yes…someone." Dumbledore glanced at her meaningfully before continuing. "Evidently, Miss Granger, Hogwarts has not always been safe. She, like any other, has her secrets."
"Ah." Hermione nodded, as if she understood the encoded message he was giving her…except she didn't.
"I just want you to be careful," Dumbledore added.
"About the friends I make and…the castle?"
"Exactly!" he confirmed, beaming at her as if she'd finally figured out the answer to a very long, complex equation. "Now, I don't want you to be late for your next class, Miss Granger," he said with finality. "I will be seeing you tomorrow."
"Oh shoot!" Hermione exclaimed, glancing at her watch. She had exactly two minutes until the bell rang and if she was caught in the halls without a reason Gregovitch would probably dock points and give her detention just because he didn't like any human being other than himself. "Er, yes, I better get going. Thank you, professor, for the…talk." I think? "See you tomorrow."
"By the by, Miss Granger," Dumbledore added, just as she was about to hurry out the door. She paused, looking back at him expectantly. "The library is a wonderful source of knowledge, but it is easier to read books in the daylight, don't you think?"
Hermione stared at him, understanding visibly dawning on her, and blushed bright red. Dumbledore winked at her. "One minute and thirty seconds," he reminded her and she cursed again, hastening out of the Transfiguration classroom. Dumbledore was laughing as she left.
Hermione went to the library. She arrived late, but no one noticed fortunately, and she made herself comfortable at a table in the very back where she dropped her schoolbag on the seat beside her and sank into a chair herself. She sighed, burying her face in her hands. How could she be so stupid?
Dumbledore, somehow, knew she'd been at the library with Riddle last night and he thought they were friends! She snorted. As if. She'd never make friends with her archenemy, with someone so evil and morally deformed. Sure, he'd made her laugh a few times, but that didn't mean anything, not in the long run… Dumbledore was right. Appearances were deceiving and she couldn't let Tom Riddle's beautiful outlook cloud her judgment. She had to be careful, sneakier than he, and stay a step ahead.
Speaking of steps.
Step three, she supposed, was complete, but the books had been destroyed with nasty side effects she still wasn't entirely sure about. Half of the Forbidden Forest was still poisoned with that smoke – the book essences, Riddle had said – and no one was allowed to go anywhere near it. Hermione had to figure out a way to get rid of it, but first she needed to learn more.
Hermione spent the rest of the period scavenging the most ancient, untouched parts of the library. She came across hundreds of books on books, but not on their essences…until she happened upon one tome in particular, titled 'Ancient Volumes & Relatable Practices.'
Hmmm, that sounded about right. She pulled the huge text out and dragged it over to her table, bunkering down and flipping through the contents for a good chapter. Her sharp eyes flicked across the pages quickly and in seconds she had found the passage she wanted: 'Books [of magical matter] contain energy called essence, which is composed of the general matter of the specific text. Through essence the books acts according to its subject." Hermione was surprised. She'd never wondered why books in the Wizard World could wail or snap their pages like hungry jaws (much like 'the Monster Book of Monsters' Hagrid had assigned in third year, now that she thought of it) and perhaps that was even why Voldemort had chosen a diary for a Horcrux.
Hermione leaned in to read more, but was dismayed to find the passage ended there. In fact, that was the only information on essences in the entire book. 'Through essence the book acts according to its subject.' Was the author talking about Light and Dark magic? What happened when the essences were released? Had it ever happened before?
She didn't know, but she needed to find out quickly, and before the timeline could be permanently damaged by her fluke.
Hermione was about to go get more books, but the bell rang just then, and the few students around her zipped their bags shut and hurried out of the library before Professor Wiber could hex them for not putting away their books. Hermione reluctantly sent her own texts flying back into place with a flick of her wand and trudged out of the library. Research would have to wait.
In Arithmancy Abraxas smirked at Hermione as he walked by her to his desk and shot her indiscernible looks all through class, to which she responded with steely glares. Ancient Runes passed quickly after that and Professor Manson assigned a two-foot long essay (although Hermione was already planning to write a three-foot long one) and Riddle talked to Dolohov the entire period – unfortunately, he was too far away for her to eavesdrop on, atlhough she was sure whatever he was talking about had something to do with Meredith. A prickle of fear shot down her spine at the reminder. According to Dumbledore, Riddle had gotten Slytherin's locket from Hepzibah Smith, Meredith's grandmother, so what had changed to bring it to him sooner? Why was time so delicate?
Hermione was walking to DADA when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around, but no one was there. Huh?
"Over here."
Hermione turned again to find Regulus Black grinning at her. She blinked, surprised. "Oh hi, Regulus," she said. "Um, did you forget the homework for Herbology?"
"Nah." He fell into step beside her, curly black hair bouncing with his every jaunty step. "I just wanted to talk to you."
"Oh."
"How's it going?"
"Good, I guess."
He nodded. "That's good."
There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence and Hermione broke it by bluntly saying, "Regulus, who put you up to this?"
He looked flabbergasted. "Uh, what d'you mean?"
"I mean," she said coolly, "why are you really here? Some Slytherin put you up to this, right? 'Go pretend to be friends with that pathetic new girl and then levitate your lunch onto her head tomorrow'." She stared at him accusingly.
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Oy, you're as bad as Tom."
"I'm nothing like him!" Hermione said with surprising vehemence. Regulus stepped back, hands held up in surrender.
"Sorry, it's just you're incredibly smart, a little sneaky, and…really paranoid," he muttered, grinning when she glared at him. "You can't deny the facts, Hermione."
"They're not facts," she said petulantly. "Those are just inferences."
"I rest my case! You are a total know-it-all," Regulus said triumphantly.
"I've been told," Hermione said drily, but she was smiling. Hesitantly, she added, "So I take it nobody actually put you up to this?"
"Nah, like I said, I just wanted to talk to you," Regulus said. He felt bad for lying to her, but what he'd said was half-true, wasn't it? No one had put him up to talking to her. Voldemort's specific orders were to…simply keep an eye on her.
"Well, this is my stop," Hermione said, pulling him out of his thoughts and coming to a halt outside of the DADA classroom. "See you in Herbology."
He nodded. "See you."
Hermione entered the classroom and paused on the threshold. What was going on? The room had been cleared of all desks and the chalkboard was wiped clear of writing except for the words 'Dueling! Pick a partner.' Crap! She'd forgotten all about Professor Chanté's dueling lesson! If she'd known, she would have come sooner.
The bell rang and Hermione spotted Minerva in the cluster of excited students huddled at the end of the classroom and hurried toward her. Squeezing into the crowd of bodies beside the hawk-eyed girl, she said, "Hey Minny. Do you want to partner up?"
"I can't, I've already been paired with Parkinson," Minerva growled and shot her a beady glare that vividly reminded Hermione of her future-self. She wilted a little under the force of it. "Why didn't you get here earlier? Now I have to work with this-" Minerva jerked her thumb at the girl next to her, who was currently making goo-goo eyes at Professor Chanté. "-empty-headed bimbo!"
Hermione smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I got delayed. Regulus Black talked to me on the way here."
"He asked you out!" Minerva gasped, shocked, and successively attracting the attention of several students around them.
"No, of course not!"Hermione said exasperatedly. Couldn't a girl in the 1940s talk to a guy without any implication of romance? On second thought, that probably wasn't so common in this era. Hermione shook it off. "We were just talking," she said firmly.
Minerva looked suspicious. "I thought you didn't talk to any of those Slytherins."
"Well, they are in my house, so it's not as if I can really avoid them," Hermione said uncomfortably. "Besides, Regulus isn't all bad."
"Hm."
Hermione was saved from responding by Professor Chanté, who shot a few dozen red sparks at the ceiling and clapped his hands for attention. Beside her Minerva, who had seemed to completely have forgotten about Regulus, sighed. "He's so handsome." Hermione hummed in agreement, but she was hardly listening. Professor Chanté had begun.
"Welcome to Dueling everyone!" he began with a charming smile that scrunched the edges of his sea-blue eyes. "If you've read the board then you know you should all be sectioned off in groups of two by now. Now, listen closely! Your partner – for today's class –" He paused for effect. "-is your enemy."
The class burst into giggles and eager murmurs at this. Professor Chanté shouted over them, saying, "Now, I know some of you aren't very familiar with defensive spells, but do your best to use what we've learned here in class to protect yourself from your opponent. I'll walk around to help anyone who needs it. Questions?"
He looked around expectantly. No one spoke.
"Alright, get to it!" He jettisoned another round of sparks at the ceiling and the students shrieked in delight, scrambling into rows and assembling themselves. Hermione watched as Minerva faced off Parkinson, casting a few well-aimed Reductos, and searched for Riddle in the confusing throe. She found his lithe form at the very back, effortlessly deflecting Nicholas Edgecomb's jinxes, and watched as he entertained the fight for another minute or two before losing interest and knocking Edgecomb flat on his back with a lazy flick of his wand. Professor Chanté hurried over, helping a very woozy Edgecomb to his feet and congratulating Riddle.
"He really is too good for you, you know," an unpleasantly familiar voice said from behind Hermione.
Yes, that unpleasant voice.
"Good to see you too, Meredith," Hermione said sarcastically.
"I'm just warning you, Tom is way out of your league and he'll lose interest in you soon enough…once he gets what he wants." Meredith winked.
Hermione's eye twitched and she itched to grab her wand but restrained herself. In a tight voice, she replied, "I thought I was 'the French whore.' Haven't I already given him what he wants according to your little rumors?"
"Exactly!" Meredith exclaimed, putting her arm around Hermione's shoulder and squeezing it warmly as if they were good friends. "That's what I don't get. He's already shagged you, so what else could he want?"
"Meredith, shut the fuck up."
Meredith stared at her, shocked, before she threw her head back and laughed so loudly she drew the attention of the entire class. Professor Chanté, Hermione realized as she looked around at the curious faces, was gone and must have left with Edgecomb to take him to the infirmary.
"Ooh, French girl has some fire in her," Meredith sang, although there was an edge of steel in her brown eyes. "Your – ahem – clients must like that."
There were some guffaws at that from the crowd of spectators that had formed around them and Hermione clutched her wand tighter. It was taking all of her control to restrain herself from hexing Meredith into the next dimension. Just wait until Professor Chanté gets back, she told herself, but catching Minerva's angrily slitted eyes, Hermione knew she might not be able to.
"Come on, Mudblood. I told you you had it coming," Meredith goaded, shoving Hermione hard in the shoulder and making her stumble back. She smiled slyly. "I challenge you to a duel."
Suddenly, Professor Chanté strode back in and the students around them scattered, hurrying back to their positions and resuming their own duels. Professor Chanté's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he went back to surveying the pairs. Meredith, who apparently wasn't finished, shoved Hermione again.
"Well, Mudblood?" she said impatiently. "Everyone else is paired up. You've got to duel me!"
Hermione realized with dread that Meredith was right. Professor Chanté would notice if they were the only two students not dueling and if there was anything Hermione hated as much as prejudice idiots it was a bad grade. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Fine."
Meredith grinned. "Excellent." They stepped away from each other until the proper amount of space stood between them and bowed, although Meredith's was more of a half-hearted bob. She straightened, raising her wand, and without any sort of warning shot a Stinging Hex at Hermione.
Hermione jumped out of the way, missing the spell by inches, and glared at her. "You couldn't warn me?" she shouted and Meredith shrugged.
"Why would I tell my enemy I'm going to attack them?" she scoffed. "That isn't anyway to-"
"Locomotor Mortis!" Hermione cried and Meredith's legs snapped together as the spell hit its target. Meredith floundered for a minute before casting a quick counter charm and responding with a sloppy "Reducto!"
Hermione cast a yellow-blue shield out of habit, although she didn't need to in the face of Meredith's awful aim, and grinned at Meredith tauntingly. "Is that all you've got, Smith?"
Meredith's face reddened. "Reducto!" she shouted again, but her spell bounced harmlessly off of Hermione's shield. Hermione yawned into her hand theatrically and students already finished with their duels laughed, watching the girls' face off excitedly. Meredith's complexion turned even darker with anger.
"Incendio!" she screeched.
Hermione was so surprised by the spell that her shield flickered for an instant and Meredith's magic rushed through, setting the edge of her robes on fire. Students gasped around them and Professor Chanté rushed over to help. However, Meredith's triumphant grin quickly melted away when Hermione swept up the burning flames with the tip of her wand and threw them back at her, shouting, "Circlus!"
The hot flames raced toward Meredith, who screamed and threw her arms over her head in fear as they formed a blazing circle of fire around her. They weren't higher than a foot and she could have easily hopped over them if Hermione hadn't spurred them on.
But she did.
Hermione's heart beat faster and that strangely exhilarating rush of adrenaline coursed through her body, strengthening her magic and churning it into the spell. The flames in response rose higher than ever in a deadly rush of flames that soared upward, nearly touching the ceiling, and heat from the fire warmed Hermione's face. Meredith screamed from inside the blistering ring.
"Finite Incantutum," Hermione cast and the flames dissolved in a hiss of smoke, revealing a shuddering Meredith inside it.
The class stared at her.
Professor Chanté's mouth was hanging open.
Slowly, the rush of dueling wore off and Hermione swallowed. She'd really done it this time, hadn't she?
"WOOHOO! Go Hermione!" Minerva suddenly shouted, breaking the silence, and the rest of the students broke into cheers a second after.
Hermione's cheeks warmed and relief washed through her. She'd thought she had ruined it all: the task, her cover, everything, but...judging by the class's reaction things were far from over. She grinned.
"Fantastique! I didn't know you had it in you, Miss Granger," Professor Chanté said thrillingly, coming forward. "I thought you didn't take Defense at Beauxbatons!"
"Well, I – um – practiced a lot outside of class," Hermione explained.
He beamed at her.
The bell rang and students walked out, clapping her on the back and giving her high-fives as they passed. Hermione felt warm all over. She was embarrassed, but also…thrilled. Was this how Harry felt when he was training Dumbledore's Army?
"Flippendo!"
Hermione shrieked as she was thrown off her feet and propelled into a row of desks jammed together at the edge of room, landing in a clumsy heap on top of them. Her hip smashed into a wooden edge and she hissed, flipping over to face a heaving Meredith. "What the hell was that, Meredith?" she demanded, outraged.
"Compensation," Meredith sneered, brushing back her haywire black hair and the sweat off her face with shaky fingers, "for embarrassing me like that in front of everyone!"
"Miss Smith, you've just earned a week of detention and lost your house fifteen points," Professor Chanté interjected suddenly, casting an Expelliarmus and catching Meredith's wand mid-air. Meredith gasped and sent him a withering glare. "Apologize to Miss Granger for your immature behavior, please."
Swallowing, Meredith turned to Hermione. Venom entrenching her voice, which was sweet as three-year old syrup, she hissed, "I apologize...Miss Granger." She spun back around to face Professor Chanté, ignoring the remainder of the class that had stayed behind to watch the show, and crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her hip. "Can I have my wand back now?"
"No, come back for it at eight o' clock when your detention begins," Professor Chanté said coldly and pointed at the door. "Please leave, Miss Smith."
"You've got to be kidding me. It was just a bloody joke!"
"Shall I extend your detention to two weeks?"
Meredith emitted a little scream, huffed, and whirled around, rushing out of the classroom in a streak of whipping black hair and stylishly-cut robes. Professor Chanté dismissed the rest of the students, asking Hermione to stay behind.
"I'm sorry about Miss Smith's behavior, Hermione," he said once everyone was gone, glancing at the door Meredith had just stormed out of warily. "Are you alright? You took a pretty hard fall."
"I'm fine," Hermione said, embarrassed. "Thank you for – er – intervening."
"Miss Smith will leave you alone in my class from now on," he said firmly. "So, at least for this period, you don't have to worry about her."
Hermione grinned. "Thanks." Augusta was right. He was cool.
Professor Chanté flicked the blue quill behind his ear, a sign he was thinking hard about something, and his blue eyes were surprisingly eager when they met hers again. "Hermione, I think you would be a great asset to the Dueling Club," he said suddenly, startling her.
"Oh…I don't know," Hermione said, thinking hard for a good excuse. "I don't really have a lot of extra time what with studying and Professor Slughorn's club."
"Oh, you joined the Slug Club?" he said, disappointed, and chuckled at her shocked expression. "Oh, I know all about your little nicknames," he said, tapping his quill knowingly. "What do they call Professor Rubens? Professor Rubenesque? It's not even clever, really. I wonder if I have a nickname…"
"I wouldn't know, but Augusta and Minerva were trying to guess your first name earlier."
"Oh really?" he said, amused. "Well, if it really interests them it is Lucas."
"Oh, it does," Hermione affirmed. "They're your number one fans." Augusta and Minerva are going to kill me when they find out, she thought with an internal snicker.
Professor Chanté smiled his boyish smile. "Hermione, you really are very skilled at dueling, you know. If you won't join dueling club, would you consider private lessons for extra credit? I could see you being an excellent Auror in the future."
"Oh, um, maybe," Hermione said cautiously. Extra credit did sound very appealing, now that he mentioned it…
"Keep it in mind," Professor Chanté said, squeezing her shoulder and pulling back after a minute.
"Yeah, I'll – um – think about it."
He beamed at her.
"Well, I have to go so I'll see you tomorrow, professor," she said, backing away toward the door.
"Lucas," Professor Chanté corrected with a playful wink that probably would have knocked Minerva and Augusta flat on their backs.
Hermione, however, just stared at him blankly.
"Well, off to the Great Hall with you, Hermione," Professor Chanté said, a little awkwardly. "I wouldn't want to keep you from dinner."
"Yes, professor," Hermione replied automatically, though a tinge confusedly.
She left the DADA classroom with a hasty goodbye. Outside, the hall was filled with students meandering about now that classes were over, and she let out a loud sigh. She'd definitely had better days, although dueling Meredith and beating her in one go had been one of the finer points of time-travelling back to 1943.
Hermione was distracted from her thoughts by a streak of black, which shot past her feet and nearly tripped her on its way to the girl's toilet. Hermione stared after it, shocked. It was that mangy black cat! Was it someone's pet…or was it someone? The last time she had seen it had been on the Quidditch Pitch, on her way to meet Riddle, but the thought of Voldemort transforming into a cat alone was laughable. Minerva wasn't an Animagus yet either, since she was not registered (and Hermione knew no version of McGonagall would deliberately break the rules), so it couldn't be her.
Oh whatever, Hermione thought and resumed her walk to the Great Hall.
It was just a black cat, really. What was she fussing about?
AN: Is it just a black cat? What about those essences? What's Tom thinking? Is Professor Chanté's name really Lucas? (Just kiddin', of course it is.) Are you going to review? Did you like it? Will I ever stop asking questions? *deep breath* Anyway... Thanks for reading!