When Hermione woke up in an unfamiliar bed, the headache that hit her brain like a two-by-four almost made her scream out loud. Like a burned vampire, she flinched away from the sunlight streaming in through the wide open windows all around her, and stared in confusion as the Hospital Wing settled into focus. For a moment, she wondered exactly what she was doing back in Hogwarts…and how she'd gotten there…
Then the events of yesterday came flooding back.
From what she could remember, she and Dumbledore had gone to the Hospital Wing after they had left his office. Dumbledore had explained to the nurse in private that Hermione required a particularly potent Sleeping Draught. The nurse had seemed reluctant to administer such a strong potion to a student without parental permission at first, but eventually agreed given her...unique circumstances.
By unique circumstances, she meant her dead family, who Dumbledore and Hermione both knew didn't really exist.
The last thing Hermione remembered before falling headlong into an unencumbered sleep was Dumbledore's reassuring smile as she laid back on her cot, followed by a syrup as sweet as honey gliding down her throat and into her belly to carry her into blankets of endless darkness.
Now, however, her head seemed to be full of nothing but horrible pain. She groaned and laid back down on the pillow she had detached too quickly from with a wince.
"Slow down there, deary," said a warm voice nearby. Something cold was pressed to her forehead. Hermione reopened her eyes to find a cold compress blotting her skin tenderly, and standing a little ways from the enchanted compress was the Hogwarts nurse.
The nurse donned a pair of spotless white robes and a large wimple-styled hat with a red cross on it. "You've been out for days," she said when she caught her gaze. The nurse magicked a glass of pumpkin juice out of thin air and shoved it at her. "You don't want to move around too quickly like that," she went on, "you'll get sick. I've seen it many times before."
Hermione, who had been about to take a sip of her pumpkin juice, jerked back and stared up at the nurse in shock. "Days?" she echoed.
"Yep. You went out like a light when I gave you the Sleeping Draught to knock out that nasty insomnia of yours." The nurse clucked sympathetically. "But you should be all caught up and ready for the new term now-"
"New term! What day is it?" Hermione sat up again, crying out when her head painfully protested. The nurse sighed and pushed her firmly back down onto a small hill of pillows. "Now I told you not to move for a while," she scolded with a scowl. "Goodness gracious, it's no wonder your sleeping habits are all out of whack, you don't even know how to wake up properly-" Hermione cut her off.
"I'm sorry, miss, but would you tell me what day it is please?" she said as politely as possible, although what she really wanted to do was grab the nurse by the shoulders and shake her until she stopped telling her to lie down, and answered her questions already. The nurse rolled her eyes in exasperation, but said, "It's the third of January, deary. I'm sorry to say you missed the New Year celebrations, which were quite a spot of fun if I do say so myself…"
The nurse kept talking, but Hermione was no longer paying attention. Her thoughts were elsewhere, racing in a panic. January third? she thought incredulously. That meant she had been sleeping for ten days. Ten days! No wonder she felt so terrible. That, and-
"Nurse Elizabeth," she said suddenly, interrupting the nurse's detailed recollection of the Hogwarts New Year's Eve party somewhat rudely. "Did I behave – er – strangely at all while I was here?" At Nurse Elizabeth's questioning look, she amended, "I mean, did I sleep alright? Normal and all?"
"Well-" Here, the nurse got a strange look on her face, and bent over suddenly to examine Hermione's face very suspiciously. "You did exhibit some odd symptoms, come to think of it. Professor Dumbledore didn't seemed overly concerned by your behavior, but I was. I recognize the effects of withdrawal when I see it, yes I do, young girl. There was a time when I was a little rebel too. Yes, yes, but those days are behind me now… Now tell me the truth, deary – have you been experimenting with any magical herbs or potions from Knockturn Alley?"
"What? No," Hermione said, but the nurse only "mmhmed" and looked as if she didn't believe her. "Seriously, I've never done drugs," she protested. The nurse proceeded to look more skeptical, which angered Hermione all the more. Without warning, a wave of seething black suddenly rushed through her head and – without thinking at all – she reached out and grabbed Nurse Elizabeth's arm tightly.
Staring deeply into the nurse's wide eyes, she let her magic swell within her, reaching out to the vast store of Founder's magic in Hogwarts as she commanded, "You need to tell me what I did while I was asleep."
For a moment, Nurse Elizabeth simply stared at her. Then, she scowled and stood up, snatching her arm back from Hermione with an indignant huff. "Why, I never-! Miss Granger, I am deducting ten points from Slytherin on account of your highly improper and downright bizarre behavior. You're lucky I don't do worse," she said threateningly, much to Hermione's shock. "But I am taking into account the fact you are clearly disoriented. Still, you had best keep your hands off of teachers without permission again. Highly inappropriate. And drink your pumpkin juice!" she barked.
With a final harrumph, the nurse stomped off, yanking the sterile-white curtains around Hermione's cot shut behind her. Hermione stared at the swaying curtains in shock.
It…it hadn't worked.
Why hadn't it worked?
She stared at her hands, which were not tingling with the aftereffects of the powerful Hogwarts Founder's magic, but utterly normal. A frown curled her lips. What did she do wrong?
She thought deeply for a few minutes – and suddenly she understood.
In a conversation with Dumbledore (in what felt like a long, long time ago, but was in strange reality a long time in the future) he had warned her prior to any of their agreements for her to go to the past that the Founder's magic could not be used alongside Dark magic. The Founder's magic was pure, and simply repelled by the Dark Arts, therefore incompatible with it.
It seemed to her the combination of her and Tom's magic – and Tom's use of magic was undeniably aimed at dark purposes – as well as the addition of the essences had finally taken their toll on her link with the powerful Founder's magic. In fact, it had cut off her access to it completely.
But how could that be? Hadn't the bond between her and Tom broken? She hadn't seen or heard from him in days; she had fasted off of the deadly nicotine that was Tom Riddle's magic. She closed her eyes and felt inside her for that invisible chain that bound her and him together, and it did not take long for her to find it. Or what was left of it…
Because while it was less than before, yes, it was still undeniably...there.
Hermione sat up – this time her head spun much less nauseatingly – and her heart was tied up with nerves. She kicked back the blankets, leaning forward into the empty space of her curtained section of the Hospital Wing, and she whispered, tentatively, "Cat?"
A moment passed, then another, and still nothing happened.
Her heart sank. Had the vicious bond with Tom robbed her of everything?
At that moment, however, she heard a strange noise from underneath the cot. Leaning down to peek under the hippogriff-printed sheets, she saw two glowing green eyeballs staring back at her. Cat sneezed a second time.
"Cat!" she whisper-cried, relief shooting through her, and quickly sat back up when he ran out with a hiss toward her face. Cat was temperamental, much like Crookshanks had been – no, was – no, would be. She shook her head, she despised paradoxes.
January third. That left only three more days until everyone returned to Hogwarts. Three days to prepare for his return.
"What am I going to do?" she asked out loud, rubbing her still-pounding temples. Being extremely unhelpful, Cat arched his back and yawned: the feline version of a shrug. She frowned at him.
Three days... Hermione did not know whether to feel afraid of Tom's incoming wrath, or the backlash his presence would inevitably have on her work to break the bond between them when they saw each other come Monday. What would seeing him again do to all her progress? Would the bond snap back into place without a cinch, or would only physical and magical contact do that? How was she going to avoid him? What if she didn't even want to?
She wondered what Nurse Elizabeth meant by odd symptoms and withdrawal.
Part of her didn't want to know. Another part of her brain was finding it hard to focus at all with so much anxiety clouding her sleep-addled brain. I need fresh air.
She swung her legs over the edge of the cot, got to her feet with less difficulty than expected, and tried to make her rumpled robes look presentable. Her hair no doubt resembled the tentacles of the Giant Squid in the Black Lake, but as she had no desire to look into a mirror after not having showered in a week, she left it, slipped into her shoes, and snuck out of the Hospital Wing when Nurse Elizabeth had stepped out to refill a potion.
Outside, the corridors were empty. As Hermione walked around the halls, it struck her how gigantic Hogwarts seemed without hundreds of bodies filling it. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet, accompanied by nothing but the background chatter of the portraits on the walls, who murmured to each other in undertones as she passed them by. Cat slinked after her silently.
"Where should we go?" she asked, knowing fully well that the portraits were shooting her odd looks she passed. They could not see Cat, who had caught up with her by now, and flicked his long bottlebrush tail with flair in answer to her question. He hopped off the moving staircase and took a left. Hermione followed him reluctantly.
Cat led her down many winding halls, in which they only encountered a few other boys and girls that had also deigned to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, until finally trailing into the girl's lavatory. It did not escape Hermione's notice that her familiar had selected the bathroom Moaning Myrtle died in a few years earlier. Myrtle's death was the freshest in the castle, and it more than likely called to him. Like dead meat to vultures, she thought.
Cat's sudden hiss distracted her. Looking over, Hermione saw Cat vanish mere seconds before the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw, otherwise known as the Grey Lady, floated into the bathroom.
"I heard you had awakened," said Helena. The ethereal ghost hovered a few inches above the ground, her moonlight silver hair braided in a single rope that ended at her ankles and swayed, along with the old-fashioned gown she always wore, in a phantom breeze.
"Hi," Hermione said. Her greeting felt rather anticlimactic compared to the suspense Helena seemed to eternally – ha ha – carry with her.
"Good morrow, Hermione Granger." Helena inclined her head politely. "Where has your wizard beau gone?" she questioned, looking around them as if Tom Riddle might be hiding in one of the stalls, and would suddenly pop out with a mighty BOO! "I sense you are weaker without his presence," she added. This last part was said with a disapproving frown.
Hermione shrugged. "The wizard beau is a beau no longer," she replied. She realized she was touching the runes on her wrist under her sleeve when Helena stared at her hand curiously, and hastily stopped, clearing her throat. "We're over, I mean," she said in clarification. "It didn't work out."
"How mystifying," Helena murmured. Misty white eyes blinked at Hermione heavily, and the ghost dragged herself forward, as if the air itself was a burden on her withered soul. She came close enough to put a nip in the air around them. "I had thought you two were a strong match," she said skeptically. "After all, you must admit you are more powerful with Tom Riddle, and he with you. You must-"
"I must nothing." Hermione's interruption was caustic enough to give Helena pause. Scowling, she said peevishly, "I don't want him anymore."
Hermione glared at Helena expectantly, and the ghost gazed back at her for a long moment, ruminating. At last, she said softly, "Do not cut me short, girl. I am centuries older and wiser than you are." She floated closer, close enough to cover Hermione's skin with a sheen of goosebumps. To send a wicked chill dancing down her spine. "If you will do so well to remember," she breathed, in a brittle exhale of fog that covered Hermione's face as ice covered the winter night, "you swore me a favor. Or have you forgotten?"
Shaking her head, Hermione swallowed. "I haven't forgotten."
The door to the bathroom opened. Helena looked up, brief surprise flashing across her transparent features before she turned on her heel and exited out of the same wall she had entered through in a brisk swirl of swishing skirts. Hermione spun around at the sound of a familiar voice.
"Hello, Mudblood."
Meredith Smith, ex-popular Slytherin and her sort-of foe, smiled at her surprised face. "Talking to yourself already?" she said with faux pity. "I heard you were in the Hospital Wing suffering, on the very brink of insanity, but I didn't dare get my hopes up until I had seen you'd gone off the deep end for myself." She chuckled. "Lucky for me, you seem to wear 'mad' well."
Hermione scowled. "Leave me alone, Smith." Why had Cat dragged her in here? First, she was accosted by a Hogwarts ghost, and now this. Behind Meredith's back, she glared daggers at the innocent-faced cat, who had reappeared the instant Helena left, and was licking his nethers nonchalantly.
"'Leave me alone,'" Meredith mocked in a baby voice that was supposed to be Hermione's. Absently, she rolled her wand in between her fingers, dropping her voice back to its normal tenor. "Can't we leave the immature, arch-nemesis business behind us?" she asked. "It's so…" She shuddered delicately. "...last year."
Last year, Hermione was tempted to point out, was three days ago. But she chose not to mention this. "I'm not the one who insulted you the second you walked in," she snapped.
"Don't be touchy, Granger." Strolling over to the mirrors, Meredith produced a pearl-embroidered toiletry bag to begin the perfecting of her already flawless makeup. Who exactly she was dressing up for, Hermione didn't know, since all of the Slytherins except the two of them had left for holiday, and Meredith never associated with students outside of her house. "What I said earlier," the gorgeous witch added between reapplications of mascara, "was a force of habit."
It took a minute for that statement to take full effect.
Hermione's head swung around with a puzzled expression. Wait a second. Was Meredith apologizing? To her? She frowned. Maybe she was still asleep. Or maybe she had messed up again when she tried to put the girl's scrambled brains back to rights two weeks ago…
"I haven't gone batshit, so stop looking at me like that," Meredith said waspishly, correctly interpreting Hermione's stunned silence, and glaring at her in the reflection of the enormous vanity. Hermione would have glared right back, if not for the fact she accidentally looked past Meredith's reflection and caught sight of her own in that instant.
Except...the girl in the mirror couldn't be her. Could it?
Regardless of the answer to that question, the ready comeback on her lips dissolved as she took in the stranger's face staring back at her in surprise. Sickly blue and greenish bruises clouded her skin where it wasn't covered by clothes, and dark circles shadowed her eyes, which were bloodshot. She did not remember a time when her cheekbones had ever jutted out so sharply. Even at her worst times, she had never looked like this.
Staring at herself, Hermione thought it was no wonder Nurse Elizabeth thought she was on drugs.
"Uh-huh," said Meredith, as if in agreement with every one of her thoughts. "You're a train wreck."
Hermione shook her head. She either couldn't believe she agreed with Meredith, or that Meredith was actually right. "I look like a hag," she said numbly.
"A hag that has been run over by the aforementioned train, yes." Meredith surveyed her as if she was a particularly interesting insect, and Hermione certainly felt like one next to the glamorously beautiful witch standing across from her. She looked away from her own ravaged face, burning with shame.
"It's like we've switched places, ya know?"
Hermione's hand clenched, itching to grab the wand in her pocket. But she reigned the temptation in. "How so?" she said tightly. She looked up and met Meredith's dark brown eyes - which were no doubt hiding the delighted laughter behind them - with a stony face, waiting for her impending verbal slaughter. She probably deserved it. It was no secret Meredith hated Hermione for stealing her house fame back in the beginning of the school year; for embarrassing her during a duel in DADA class, and especially for cursing her to be an all but total zombie for two months.
Most of these things were unintentional, but Meredith didn't know that.
"You know how," Meredith snarled. "Before today, I was the girl who looked like shit and acted like I had a social handicap." She studied Hermione, licking her lips with an undefinable expression. "Now it's you. Obviously."
Hermione's answering smile was pinched. "Obviously."
Meredith's jaw clicked with tension, she pushed herself off the sinks and walked up to one of the tall stained glass windows lining the walls, hands folded behind her back. "Listen Granger," she began. "I meant what I said before about leaving the rivalry thing behind us. My friends turned their backs on me when Tom dumped me, and now they shall turn their backs on you once they realize what's happened. Oh come now, Granger, I'm not blind; clearly you and Tom aren't together anymore. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come back from your little lovers' getaway alone, now would you?"
"Tom didn't break up with me," Hermione growled. This fact, petty as it might be, seemed to be the most important to get right. Meredith laughed outright.
"Why is that?" she said, unconvinced. "Last time I saw you two, you were all but bound at the hip. Seems to me like you can't admit you got drop-kicked out of the Garden of Eden."
Hermione blinked. Bound at the hip? The Garden of Eden? Meredith was closer to the truth than she knew, except that Hermione had just barely escaped all of those things. Her outward appearance was proof of that. She didn't say any of that though.
She shook her head. "You wouldn't believe me, even if I was dumb enough to believe you want to be friends."
"Who said anything about being friends? I prefer alliances, they're less messy." At Hermione's unchanging expression of disbelief, Meredith rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Fine. Believe what you want. But hear this, I have no reason to pick a bone with you, Granger," she said coolly. "Not anymore."
"And why is that?" Hermione asked, her voice rent with sarcasm.
A meaningful laugh escaped Meredith, she stowed her wand in her pocket and strolled over until they were face-to-face – or face-to-midriff, considering Meredith was six inches taller than Hermione and towered over her like some sort of menacing giraffe. "Let's just say being all but a prisoner in my own body, abandoned by all of my friends, and engaged to my cousin has given me a slight change of perspective," she said coldly. Her eyes rolled over Hermione from head-to-toe, and her expression shifted ever so slightly.
"Besides," she added in a lower voice, "whatever the hell Tom Riddle did to you seems to be punishment enough."
The first day of Hogwarts after Christmas break felt like the first day of the past all over again.
By the first day of the past, Hermione was referring to the first time she stepped foot in 1943. She had been battle-weary, paranoid, and exhausted. Not to mention, she hadn't had a friend in the world to go to for comfort or help. She was alone with one sole objective: to play with time, and foil Lord Voldemort's grand plans at Pure world domination - indirectly, of course.
Hardly anything had changed since then - except she had epically failed at the latter part.
Hermione sat in her usual place in the Great Hall. The emerald and silver banner of Slytherin hung above her, which still gave her a strange, foreign feeling, and Meredith sat not far down the table. The table itself was laden with golden plates, polished cutlery, and fat empty goblets inlaid with precious stones.
Her stomach growled, but she didn't feel very hungry. Underneath her feet, she knew the house elves she had once dedicated an entire school year to in efforts to win their freedom - or convince them that freedom was something they wanted - were zipping back and forth across the Hogwarts kitchens as they prepared the feast that was to come.
She still felt indignant over the house elves' modern slavery – because that is what it was – but this was a mere passing note of anger in the wailing symphony that had been eating at her emotions for the past three days. Her boyfriend – or whatever Tom had been to her – had betrayed her, after all, and she was still berating herself for falling for his seduction. Her hands clenched around the napkin in her lap, slowly tearing it to pieces. Imagining it was him instead.
The cold and wicked did not love. How did she ever believe otherwise?
Soon, the Hall was filled to the brim again. Among the faces that trickled into the Great Hall were Minerva McGonagall's, her stiff and future Transfigurations teacher, and her best friend (and Hermione's ex-friend, which she seemed to have a lot of here) Augusta Longbottom.
She also saw the Slytherins, who like all the other students greeted each other warmly with bear hugs and beaming smiles. Laughter, stories of holiday parties and crazy uncles who had drank too much egg nog on Christmas Eve, and anticipation for the feast filled the air. But strangely enough – and in spite of the fact Hogwarts was the fullest it had been in two weeks – Hermione felt extremely alone.
Across the table, Meredith caught her eye. The witches held gazes for a tense moment before both looking away.
The older Slytherins settled at their normal end of the table, sitting down around her with cheerful greetings and the like. They did not yet know she had abandoned their leader.
Technically, the so-called Slytherin leader should have been the Head of House, Horace Slughorn, who at the moment was on his feet on the raised floor of the staff table, and merrily clinking champagne glasses with the Herbology teacher. But anyone with two eyes knew who the true alpha of the house of snakes was, and he had coincidentally just walked into the room.
Unlike her, Hermione immediately noticed, Tom did not seem…affected.
His black eyes were clear and dark as a moonless night, his pale skin free of any mysterious bruising. By the looks of it, he also seemed to have been getting plenty of sleep (she, on the contrary, hadn't had a full night of sleep ever since Nurse Elizabeth took her off of the Sleeping Draught). Then again, she consoled herself, it was always possible he had magicked himself to look so healthy and perfect. She certainly would have used the aid of a few potions to smooth her rough appearance if she'd had the time to brew them – or if Nurse Elizabeth hadn't refused to give any to her.
Not for the first time, she cursed the loss of the persuasive Founder's magic.
"Hermione!"
Blinking, Hermione looked up, and just in time to see Elphaba Wictz lunging past Abraxas Malfoy, who watched indignantly as Elphy made a beeline to Hermione and threw her arms around her with clear glee. "I missed you so much!" she gushed, laughing. "The holiday was simply dreadful without all your smart fribble!"
"Uh, you mean quibble?" said Hermione, laughing too. How could she have forgotten about Elphy? She hugged the girl back, feeling immense relief replace the anxiety she hadn't even known had been holed up like a hostage inside her. "I missed you, too," she mumbled into the strawberry-scented pale blonde hair swathing her face. Elphy pulled back – and her face twisted with horror.
"Don't," Hermione said firmly, before Elphy could utter a syllable. "I already know."
"But…but… Salazar." Elphy looked as though she had just been informed that one of her loved ones had died in a tragic automobile accident. Her fingers hovered over Hermione's cheek, almost touching it. "What happened to your face?" she whispered in a low voice.
"Long story."
Elphy shook her head and dragged her eyes away from the scary mirage of Hermione's appearance, clearing her throat. "Well, at least you're nowhere near trollish," she said matter-of-factly. Hermione snorted out a laugh and Elphy joined her gladly.
"So," she said, changing the subject. "How was your holiday? Did you like the gift I got you?" This last part was said with a meaningful wink, and Hermione stared back at her in confusion. Gift? Her eyes widened when she remembered. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, Elphy," she said with a sudden burst of understanding. "I forgot about that completely."
"Forgot? But how?" Elphy repeated, fiendish smile fading. She seemed perplexed. "Didn't you take it with you on the train?"
"Yes, but- I, um- I forgot it at Tom's." Hermione mumbled this last part very quickly, glancing at the wizard in question, and Elphy followed her gaze with a frown. Tom sat between Regulus Black and Antonin Dolohov, and all three of them were discussing something with great intensity - or Tom was discussing, and the other two were taking turns nodding attentively. Hermione's eyes narrowed. What were they talking about?
Elphy glanced at Tom, then back at her suspicious face, and understanding filled her lovely features.
"Oh no, you don't mean…" she began, but was unable to finish. At that moment, Headmaster Dippet stood and ceased all conversation when he clapped his hands for attention.
The Hall fell silent - or mostly silent - as Dippet began an incredibly dull speech, and it was not until about halfway into his monologue that the Headmaster secured genuine interest. "As well as the continuation of the ban on the Forbidden Forest," he read off the ever-so-slowly unwinding scroll floating midair before him. "The Quidditch season will continue to be delayed until further investigation-" Dippet stopped, wincing at the instant roar of protest that erupted from more than half the students. "-Until further investigation of the murders that have taken place on Hogwarts in these past few troubling months, which brings me to Hogwarts next change."
Again he paused, while the rest of the room waited for his next words with much muttering and trepidation. Hermione glanced at the staff table and realized Dumbledore was watching the corner of the stage intently, where a figure in a dark brown cloak rose and now purposefully glided to the podium to stand next to the headmaster. Her stomach dropped when with abrupt dread, she realized who was here and what was happening, for Dumbledore had warned her before…
"Students of Hogwarts," Dippet began. "It is with great honor and pleasure I introduce you all to our brand-new visitor, Mrs Alliah Shacklebolt." Hermione felt a shock go through her at the name Shacklebolt. The headmaster continued, "She is here with us to ensure the safety of Hogwarts, and to investigate the disappearance of our dearly departed Professor Lucas Chanté."
Numb. Numb was the only word to describe how Hermione felt in that moment, as the ruins left in her world collapsed, and her eyes automatically left Dippet's face to find Tom staring up at the headmaster with equal, unflinching attention. His hand, lying on the table, had twisted into a taut fist, she noticed.
Dippet lowered his wand from his gullet and leaned over to murmur something to Alliah Shacklebolt, and the Hall buzzed even more. After a moment, Alliah Shacklebolt nodded and moved forward, shaking back her hood to reveal a brilliantly orange sari. Alliah raised her wand as if to call everyone to silence.
To Hermione's surprise, everyone listened.
Alliah pointed her wand at her neck, and when she spoke, her voice boomed with the unmatched command of the Voice Amplification Spell. "Thank you for your warm introduction, Headmaster Dippet," she began, and her presence, it was instantly clear, was a sharp contrast against Dippet's, who by comparison seemed feeble and snivelly. Alliah, on the other hand, had a strangely calming effect on them all. Her dark, hooded eyes gazed out of her sculpted brown face at them with self-possessed confidence.
"I feel a bit of background information is due on my part, since I will be here with all of you for quite a while," Alliah continued, slowly but not uncaptivatingly. "For many years, I have worked diligently in the Department of Mysteries, until a greater calling shifted my purpose, and I found myself working as an Auror, hunting Dark wizards and witches." Again, her unnerving eyes swept over all of them purposefully. "All to protect good wizard folk, such as yourselves."
"But." Unlike Dippet's pauses, which seemed to lose attention, when Alliah stopped for effect, she seemed to draw the focus of the Hall in toward her. Hermione found herself leaning in toward the witch without realizing it. Alliah said, "It seems that not all of your friends here are good wizard folk. Someone among you here has acted…selfishly."
At this, the silence in the Hall was deafening.
"When I find the witch or wizard that has committed this unspeakable crime that took place on your school grounds three weeks ago, I promise you..." Alliah's bottomless eyes, somehow, seemed to hold the hundreds of stares fixated intently on her at once, and they burned ferociously. Hermione saw with surprise that the woman's irises even gleamed deep orange. Was she an Animagus perhaps? Would she be in a tiger or lion form when she found Hermione and Tom out? Would they see it coming? How the hell were they going to escape this?
Alliah bowed her head, finishing, "The Ministry will be merciless."
On that final foreboding note, she slid back into her corner of the stage, and Dippet stood from his ornately-carved head chair to happily announce the commencement of the feast.
Almost instantaneously, the plates and goblets filled, and everyone else in the Hall appeared to forget completely the eerie menace of Alliah Shacklebolt's final words as they dug in. Hermione's heart pounded in her ears. She found her hunger had evaporated quite completely.
She stared at the rapidly disappearing dish of ravioli before her, fingers frozen around her butter knife. When she did finally chance a glance several seats down the Slytherin table, it was to find someone else had also abruptly lost their appetite.
Beside her, Elphy said viciously, "I hope they find Chanté's horrible murderer and- and hang them." She stabbed her chicken with her fork. "Or worse." Expectantly, she looked at Hermione, who found herself nodding slowly in agreement.
"Yeah," she repeated in a soft voice. "Or worse."
As if he sensed her gaze on him, Tom finally looked away from Alliah Shacklebolt, who had her back turned and was nodding intently at something Dumbledore had said, and he met her eyes. The bruises on her face, which had faded to an ugly purple, seemed to hurt under his dark eyes. She looked away quickly, back down at her empty plate, and mindlessly started to pile food onto it.
Elphy talked rapidly with Rosy and Fabia, they spoke of vacation and engagements and future plans. Hermione felt farther away from their lighthearted worlds than ever.
The bond - or what was left of it - seemed to give a twitch.
AN: Thanks for reading, lovelies. Please review.
Kisses,ImmortalObsession