"Dying is a Delicate Moment"
A fanfic by Agara
"Kill me. Kill me if you ever loved me."
And he kills her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT : DON'T TRUST THAT WOMAN
Song : Don't Trust That Woman by James Quick
03.12.1944
"I have already told you, Grace," Tom huffed.
Hermione wasn't facing him. She was nonchalantly buttoning her shirt then tucking it inside her skirt.
"You cannot sign your name on the letters anymore !" he finished. Hermione finally turned around. Tom was standing a few feet away, buckling his belt. He must have felt her gaze on him because he suddenly rose his head and looked at her. Hermione cocked her head and slowly approached him. She liked the fact that his eyes had not left hers since he had looked up. As she stood in front of him, she gently reached for his tie and draped it around his shoulders. Hermione let her fingers linger on him before she began tying it. She was focused on the matter at hand but still couldn't help but feel a little bit distracted by him. Simply him.
Once the tie secured around his neck, Hermione took a step back. "Come on," she softly said, "we're going to be late."
"We already are," Tom replied as he put a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Without another word, they both left the room and began walking down the corridors. They were practically empty, except for a few one-years running towards their next class. Hermione snickered as Tom couldn't resist reprimanding them.
"Shall I add hypocrite to your list of flaws ?"
"Because you keep a list ?" Tom rose an eyebrow.
"Don't you ?"
Tom simply smiled at that but didn't reply. They finally reached the DADA room, knocked, and entered. The other students had already sat down.
"Please excuse us Professor Aldritch, we were with professor Slughorn," Tom lied. Hermione knew Atticus wouldn't push any further. The professor just nodded, silently allowing them to take a seat.
As usual, Hermione went to Belone's side whereas Tom sat with the lads, next to Isodor.
She knew Belone was looking at her, she could feel her intense gaze on the side of her face. Hermione didn't look back, not willing to start a conversation she didn't want to have. Without further ado, the professor began his class.
"Two weeks ago, I'd asked you to write a 45-inch essay on the unforgivable curses." Aldritch pushed himself off the desk he was leaning against and began walking around the class. "I hope you all managed to produce some high-quality work, I'll do my best to give them back to you as soon as possible."
All students fetched their essays from their bags. Hermione looked at hers, at the perfect writing, at the mountains of words laid upon her eyes. She had not known how to start it at first, not that the subject was too difficult for her to write about. She simply hadn't known how to broach the topic, how to put into words something she had experienced without letting it show.
"Miss Hortense ?" Professor Aldritch's voice brought her back from her thoughts. Hermione realised that he was standing right next to her, patiently waiting to gather her dissertation. With a polite smile on her face, Hermione handed it to him and waited for the class to start again.
04.12.1944 :
He couldn't take his eyes away from the newspaper. There, right before his eyes, was the inventory Tom had been dreaded for. He remembered the night on the bleachers, Grace's outburst, the fear in her eyes at the news. He remembered how he had tried to reassure her, to calm her down, despite his own worry.
"Riddle ?"
He re-read the article, just like he had been doing for the last five minutes. The Daily Prophet had published this morning two inventories : the one made by Borgin himself and the one by Hamely's insurance. The contrast between the two could have been laughable if they hadn't been involved.
"Tom ? Are you even listening ?"
Hamely's list was succinct, a dozen items at best. He knew for sure they only took two : the book on necromancy and the artefact. The fucking exploding artefact.
"Tom !"
His head snapped towards the voice and he looked at Grace. She had her eyebrows furrowed. She knew. Of course, she knew. She had read it, too.
Tom then looked around and finally realised they were in the middle of a meeting. The seven gazes of the lads stuck on him, all wondering what was happening.
"Something troublesome ?" Abraxas asked him. Tom quickly glanced at Grace, before looking back at Malfoy. He was ready to lie, to tell the lads that it was not of their concerns, that it was nothing. But Isodor quickly stood from his chair and snatched the newspapers away from his hands.
"It is nothing," Tom still said even though he kept an eye on Isodor reading, and the few lads peeking over his shoulder.
Tom heard the sound of the lighter and looked as Grace lit one up. She seemed calm yet he knew she was far from it. Her grip on the cigarette was tighter than usual, her lips were pursed around its butt, and her eyes were glued on him. Was she also trying to figure out how to lie about this to the lads ? Was she also aware they couldn't let them know everything they had done ? She surely was, she was just like him and those two questions had been on his mind for minutes now.
"Why were you obsessing over this ?" Isodor asked, his finger pointing towards the article. Thorus, from the other side of the table, grabbed the newspaper and began reading it out loud.
"B&B : breaking and entering ending in a manslaughter : Hamely's insurance finally reveals its own inventory," Nott said. As he finished reading the headline, he looked at Grace, yet she kept staring at Tom.
The lads were lost, muttering between themselves. Grace was smoking her cigarette at an alarming pace. Tom wanted to tell her it was nothing, that he would take care of this. But they would both know this was a lie.
"Does it concern us ?" Milton wondered out loud as he took hold of the newspaper.
"How could it ?" Edgard shrugged, too busy rolling a cigarette to really care about what was happening.
Tom was aware Thorus was still looking at Grace, almost as if he was trying to figure something out. "Why aren't you saying anything ?" Nott asked her, but the question got lost in the middle of the conversation. Then, Edmund tore the article from Milton's hands.
"Wait…" The seventh-year almost whispered. His eyes were frantically skimming through its entirety before they finally landed on something. "Malord," Rosier said more to himself than the others, "Malord, why does it sound familiar ?"
"It is nothing," Tom calmly stated.
Then, Rosier looked at Tom, eyes wide, slowly realising what it all meant. "Tell me it isn't what I think it is."
The silence knocked everyone out. The only sound was the lighter Grace was using to light another one. Tom didn't speak, Rosier either. They just looked at each other. Rosier let himself fall in his chair, the weight of what he had just understood crushing him, then put his head in his hands.
If the silence was deafening a second ago, the chaos that followed was even worse. Every lad began pressing Tom about what was going on, about what Rosier was on about. He didn't say a thing, he just looked at Grace. She had her right elbow on the table and her finished cigarette between her fingers. She was slightly shaking her head, plausibly in disbelief in front of the out-of-control situation. Her entire attitude was screaming "I told you this would happen !".
And then, in the middle of the chaos, the only thing Tom discerned was Edmund finally raising his head and looking at him. "What the fuck have you done again, Tom ?"
"It does not concern you," Tom snarled.
"Doesn't it ?" Edmund almost shouted.
Edmund Rosier had never been one for doubting Tom. He had always had the utmost faith in the Headboy's plans, but right now, as he looked at him, Tom couldn't only see the beginning of doubt.
"You have nothing to worry about," Tom tried to dismiss the whole subject.
"I'm the one who used it ! I'm the one who used this artifact !"
"What the fuck is going on !" Abraxas ordered.
"It's on the list !" Rosier yelled, "the Malord artefact, the one I used to bomb in May, is on the fucking list !"
At the words, Tom leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tom knew the lads figured out how they were all linked to this.
"And you think it doesn't concern us ?" Isodor barked.
"I said-"
"Who did you send to steal it ?" Abraxas pressed.
"Can we trust him ?" Milton added.
All the boys began asking questions about the supposed burglar he had hired to steal the bomb, but one question stood out. "Why are you so worried ?" Thorus asked. Tom looked at him but found out Nott wasn't looking back at him, but at Grace. Her eyes quickly diverted from Nott to look at him. It only took a second yet it was enough for Thorus to realise what it meant. He abruptly stood up and the movement gathered the attention of everyone.
"Of course we can trust them," Nott mirthlessly laughed. "The thieves are right in front of us."
At first, the lads became instantly relaxed. They didn't have to worry about a third party betraying them. But then, they understood what it also meant. They were deeper in the situation than first expected.
"We're not worried about the thievery anymore, right ?" Milton spoke up.
"No Milton, we're not worried about the thievery," Nott calmly replied, "we're worried about the murder that comes with it."
Tom looked at her. She looked back. There, it was out.
04.12.1944 :
Hermione had left the meeting. After witnessing the chaos, she decided it was enough. Tom could be the one dealing with it. She wasn't sure if she was feeling more reassured now that the lads were aware or on the contrary, feeling more stressed.
She was picking at her food, not feeling hungry. She looked at the wives sitting next to her, all chirpily chatting about the newest gossip in Hogwarts. Hermione couldn't care less. She didn't know how much time passed before the girls stood up, gathered their belongings, and waited for her to follow them out of the Great Hall.
Hermione's mind was still rushing with what had happened earlier this morning with the lads. She turned right, her feet walking on their own, towards their charm class when she felt someone grabbing her by the arm.
"Where are you going ?" Galatis smiled. "You know the right aisle is closed, they're putting up the new paintings."
Of course, Hermione knew. She had lengthily exchanged with Nicholas Flamel about those. It had hurt at first when she had received his letter informing her of the gracious donation by the Parkinsons. It was giving her hope, and she couldn't afford to have any right now.
Hermione had obsessed so much over the painting two years ago and had spent nights talking to each painting individually. And for what in the end ? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She wouldn't do it again. She wouldn't let herself rely on hope. She couldn't.
OoOoOo
04.12.1944 :
The silence was nice with Tom. It wasn't uncomfortable or awkward. It felt serene, peaceful, and warm. He was leaning against the guardrail, his head bent back towards the night sky. Hermione looked at him, at the shadows the moon cast on his face, at the grey mist escaping his lips as he smoked.
Hermione was sitting on the bleachers right in front of him, her arms encircling her knees to keep the warmth. December 1944 had begun hardly cold, the snow had already covered a large part of Scotland. But Hermione didn't mind. She had come to enjoy the snow recently.
Finally, Tom looked back at her. He had this glint in his eyes, this tenderness and it warmed her more than any fire ever could. He dropped the cigarette, stomped on it with his right foot to put it out, and walked towards her. He slowly crouched to be at eye-level with her and tenderly pressed his hands against her cheeks.
"Are you alright ?" He whispered.
"Simply tired," she offered him a small smile.
"Are you sure ?"
Hermione just leaned against his touch, closed her eyes, and let herself bask in the smell of him. She felt Tom putting one of his hands and the back of her head and gently welcoming her into an embrace. She found herself pressed against his chest, able to feel his calm heartbeat.
"I am going to take care of it," he pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. "I promise you."
OoOoOo
06.12.1944 :
"That's it ?" Nathaniel asked her in disbelief.
"Yes," she laughed. "That's it. Not that hard, right ?"
Young nodded, looking in amazement at the potions textbook. Hermione felt proud in front of her students. Nathaniel had gotten better at potions in only a matter of weeks. He started writing his essay, without her help for once. Hermione looked at him as he studied but rapidly her gaze tore away from the Gryffindor to look around the room.
The library was always packed at this time of the day. It was right after their last class and most of the students still felt in the mood to keep working. Most of the pupils were in fifth-year or above. Hermione then spotted Belone at one of the tables, at the back of the room. She sent her a small smile which was gladly returned.
"By the way," Nathaniel said, "have you had time to look at my last essay ?"
Hermione frowned, not fully remembering what he was talking about. Then, she recalled their last conversation.
"Oh yeah, right !"
Hermione picked her bag from the floor and began skimming through it to find the said essay. She concluded that it wasn't here. After a few seconds of wondering where it could be, Hermione knew exactly where it was, on her bedside table.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. She looked back at Young with apologetic eyes. "I'm so sorry Nathaniel, I must have forgotten it in my dorm. If you want, I can go fetch it !" She quickly offered.
"No, it-"
"No, no, I was supposed to give it back to you today and I fucking forgot it ! I'm sorry ! It's my fault, I-"
Hermione was cut off by Young gently putting his hand on hers.
"Hey," he smiled, "it's alright. No rush."
"I'm sorry," she apologized one last time. Nathaniel frowned at this.
"Is everything alright ?"
"Yes !" She obviously lied.
He just looked at her, apparently trying to find a way to call her out on her bullshit, but in the end, he didn't.
"You'd tell me if tutoring me was messing with your schedule, right ?"
"It is not the case, Nathaniel. I assure you."
She looked at him and he smiled, gently pressing her hand one last time.
OoOoOo
06.12.1944 :
They all knew Tom would be late. He had passed by Avery earlier and had explained to him he needed to talk to Slughorn. Still, the lads and Hermione were all on time.
The boys were talking among themselves and as for Hermione, she was silently looking at them. She was getting quite impatient. After all, Tom didn't wait for them when they were late. Why should they ?
"So," she said. The chatter between the lads directly stopped and they all looked at her. She put her hands flat on the table and scooched to the front of her chair, her head held high and her back straight. "Where are we on the trial ?" She asked them.
They stayed silent, not quite sure if they ought to reply. Most of them were looking at her, not fully understanding how they should react. Edgard was the only one seemingly not interested in what was happening. He was playing with a quill, casually leaning in his chair. Hermione looked at him for a few seconds, looked at his posture. Edgard Lestrange had always had this laziness, this lack of care and at this precise instant, it got on Hermione's nerves.
In the end, Thorus finally spoke up. "We ga-"
"We should wait for Tom," Dolohov cut him off in a stone-cold voice. He was looking directly at her as if he was defying her.
"We don't know how late he's going to be," Hermione replied diplomatically, "there's nothing wrong in starting without him. He will catch up." None of them replied.
"Where are we on the inventory ?" Rosier asked. From the looks the other lads bore, Hermione knew this question had been on the back of their minds for some time now. Yet, it made her almost smile. This question, this simple interaction, was only proof that they were willingly letting her take the lead.
"We will tell you once we have more information," Hermione simply replied, glad to see Edmund nodding.
"So, where are we on this trial ?"
Dolohov's hands, visible on the table, closed into tight fists and he clenched his jaw. It seemed as if he was trying to calm himself down. He had this glint of anger in his eyes, one Hermione had been seeing more and more recently.
"We handed all the papers to Zabini," Thorus resumed. "They will give the jury enough proof," he smiled.
"As they should," Avery chipped in.
"Everything is ready for when it will begin," Milton added.
Hermione nodded at the information being presented to her. Everything seemed to happen as planned. So, it didn't even surprise her when the next sentence came out of her naturally.
"Abraxas, see with Lovegood where the press is on the subject. We need to anticipate the public opinion's on this," she ordered. "Plus, gather the list of journalists that will be present at the trial. We need to know exactly who will be there."
The blond looked up at this. He silently watched her and Hermione knew what he wanted to say out loud : "are you sure of what you're doing ?"
Of course you are, Grace.
"Fine," Abraxas opted to say.
Avery then came up about their intels from the ministry. He talked about what his father had told him, which made Milton do the same. Lately, Milton had had the annoying habit of always trying to outbid every intel some other lads may have. Sometimes it was useful, some others it wasn't.
"What about Rookwood ?" Hermione asked.
06.12.1944 :
Tom was looking at his watch, then the door, then back to his watch. He was waiting for Slughorn to finish his last class. Finally, some students began walking out of the room and Tom stretched his head to look for the professor. The latter was sitting at his desk bidding his students goodbye.
Can't he go any quicker ? I am already late.
Once the last one was out, Tom firmly knocked on the wooden door and entered.
"Good afternoon, Professor," he greeted him.
"Tom !" Slughorn smiled, "what a pleasant surprise to see you. How can I help you ?"
Tom fully entered the room and settled right in front of him. He didn't ask him right away, he began with small talk, something he knew Slughorn immensely enjoyed. Yet, he still had one eye riveted on his watch.
After five minutes of the most recent gossip, Slughorn reiterated his question.
"As you know, Professor," Tom began, "Antonin is getting married next week."
"Oh yes ! I've heard about that. Let me tell you that I have been quite surprised to learn about it. It is quite unusual to do a wedding in December."
"The Dolohovs were really eager for this wedding to happen," Tom smiled.
"Who is he getting married to again ?"
"Rookwood's daughter."
Slughorn's face at the news was the expected reaction. No good family, in their right state of mind, would marry their only heir to a rumoured sterile girl. Yet, the professor didn't push further on the rationale behind this decision.
"Oh, right," Slughorn said, "I hope they will have a beautiful ceremony."
"I am sure they would." Tom slowly approached the professor's desk. "But you see, Antonin is quite nervous about this big commitment, as anyone should be. And I was wondering if we could do something to take his mind off of it."
"What a great friend you are, Tom. Do you have something in mind ?"
"Actually, yes, I do and I need your help with it."
OoOoOo
06.12.1944 :
"What about Rookwood ?" He heard Grace say as he pushed the door open. Tom frowned at The eight people present in the room all turned towards him. Tom took his time to reach his chair and sit in it. The lads looked quite uncomfortable as for Grace, she was just looking at him, waiting for him to say something.
"Please continue," he said and just like this, the meeting resumed.
Tom was conflicted about what he had just witnessed. On the one hand, those were his meetings, his lads. He was supposed to be the one leading, to be the center of the attention. But on the other hand, how she had looked when he had entered, her hands flat on the table, her back straight, presiding over this meeting. What a sight it was.
So, he let her have it. Only this time.
By the end of the meeting, they finally broached the subject of the new recruits. As asked, Milton and Antonin had joined the cards club. They had succeeded in talking to some potential recruits, but nothing further.
"Is that it ?" Grace asked Dolohov, in disbelief. "You just talked to them ? About cards ? After almost a month ?" Antonin didn't reply, he just looked at her, anger visible in his dark eyes. "Alright," Grace resumed, "you'll come up with a list of new recruits by the next meeting, background check, political opinion, family members, all that crap."
"I don't answer to you," Dolohov scoffed.
The atmosphere around the room suddenly became more intense. Tom just leaned back into his chair, almost enjoying the small fight happening before him. Dolohov then looked at him, obviously expecting Tom to reprimand Grace, or at least take his side.
"What ?" Tom asked him.
"Aren't you going to say something ?" Antonin frowned.
"What do you want me to say ? She is right. You two ought to move faster on the new recruits. So, by the next meeting, you will have the background check, political opinion, family members, all that crap. Understood, Dolohov ?"
The boy held his gaze for another second, before nodding.
06.12.1944 :
Hermione could see Abraxas was angry. She could see it from the way he was standing, from his arms crossed upon his chest, from the way he overly exhaled from time to time. Hermione almost smiled at the sight.
They had this ritual, this unspoken ritual. Well, none of them would call it this, they never even acknowledged it was real, or that they were waiting for the other. Every Tuesday, right after their 6PM class, the both of them would gather next to the greenhouses, to share a cigarette. Then, they would go their separate way.
As Hermione approached Malfoy, she felt the need to apologise for her lateness, but that would break the rule of never acknowledging this little ritual.
She settled right next to him. They didn't talk. Hermione now wondered if Abraxas was simply pissed because she was late or because of something else. She opened her mouth a couple of times before finally speaking up.
"It wasn't planned," she said. "He wasn't supposed to be there. He saw us, he went mad, he was about to call the Aurors. It wasn't planned."
Abraxas finally looked at her in disbelief. He didn't reply right away. He let her speak some more.
"We had no other choice," she added, "it was necessary."
As the words got out of her mouth, she couldn't help but remember Tom's words from that night. He might not have said those exact same words, but in the end, they meant the same.
"Do you think I care ?" He scoffed, "do you really think I care that you killed someone ?"
Hermione frowned at this. She didn't know exactly what she was expecting of him, but this sure wasn't it.
"We're past that, Grace," he kept going. "You could kill the entire ministry for all I care if in the end, we get what we want."
She knew who the lads were, she had not forgotten who they would turn out to be. But, in this timeline, they were still boys, barely of legal age, and yet, they were already all murderers, herself included.
"Then why are you mad ?" Hermione asked him.
"I'm not mad," Abraxas honestly replied, "I just don't understand. Why would you keep that away from us ? That's what I don't get."
"It was Tom's idea," Hermione tried to defend herself.
"Tom's idea or Tom's order ?" Abraxas snickered.
Hermione was taken aback by this last sentence. Abraxas was looking at her, with malice in his eyes. "You're playing the big girl, taking the lead in a meeting, ordering us around, but Grace, you're just like us, following Tom's order. Maybe you're above us, but you're still below him."
She turned entirely towards him. She seized him up and down. She couldn't help but feel anger rising in her guts. She couldn't help but have her ego hurt by the blond's words. He was gloating, almost laughing as he smoked his cigarette. Hermione snatched it from his grip and threw it on the ground.
"Is that what you think ?" She asked. "Is that what you all think ? That Tom is letting me play around ?"
Abraxas almost enjoyed seeing her this angry, he had hit a nerve and he knew it.
"You're so far from the truth," she sneered, "you can't even fathom what is really happening, Malfoy."
"Pray tell me then," he taunted her, "what is the truth ?"
"You should keep in mind that without me, you wouldn't be here," she spoke between her teeth. Abraxas didn't need further explanation as to what "here" was referencing. He knew. "He wouldn't be here. Tom, your almighty Tom, wouldn't even be at Hogwarts. He would be rotting in a jail cell." Instinctively, she was leaning towards him and from the look on Abraxas' face, Hermione knew she must have looked menacing. "While you run every little detail by Tom, he runs his by me. And me ? I don't need anyone's approval, Mister Oswald being the only proof you need of that." A small smile grew on her lips, she didn't know exactly where all of this anger and need to prove herself came from, but she enjoyed it.
"And while you all vowed yourself to Tom, he vowed himself back to me."
At this, Hermione rolled up her sleeve and showed Malfoy the silvery scar underneath it. He could recognize it from miles away, he bore the exact same one. Abraxas finally detached his eyes from it to look at her. They were wide, almost panicked.
"What did you ask of him ?" He mumbled.
06.12.1944 :
There were the sounds of their shoes on the fresh snow and the voice of Isodor singing a lascivious song, his arm wrapped around Dolohov's shoulders. The streets were not packed but still lively. From afar, Tom finally saw the bar. Edmund lightly shoved him in the ribs, apparently excited to spend the evening at the Three Broomsticks.
"Can't believe old Slug let you do this," Thorus snickered as he took a last swing of their bottle before handing it back to Tom.
The latter took one too and felt the effect of alcohol on him. They were all feeling a small buzz, Milton had successfully snatched a bottle of alcohol for them to drink before going out. From what Tom could see so far, every lad seemed to enjoy the night. Well, all the lads except the guest of honour. Antonin had not spoken more than ten words since they had left the castle. Even if Isodor was trying to cheer him up, Dolohov's mood had not changed.
When they entered the bar, they all walked towards a large table at the back of the room. Without even waiting, Edmund rose and went to order eight firewhiskey at the counter. Rosier came back, a tray of drinks in hand, and handed them to every lad.
He then rose his glass : "Well lads, let's raise our drink to the groom to be !"
"At least this bird will know what she's doing," Abraxas mocked. Isodor almost choked on his drink at this last remark meanwhile Dolohov muttered a "fuck off" under his breath.
"Cheer up !" Malfoy said. "Next round's on me."
Dolohov followed the blond with his eyes as he walked towards the bar. Tom kept looking at him, his head slightly cocked to the side. He knew Dolohov wasn't excited about his upcoming wedding, he knew Antonin wouldn't have done this if not for the cause. But in the end, he had pledged to do so.
Abraxas appeared behind Dolohov. He had a blinding grin as he put a large bottle of firewhiskey on the table. Edgard took hold of the bottle and read the tag. He let out a long whistle of astonishment, "what a beauty," he declared, "70 years of age."
Then, as if he had just bought the bottle himself, he showed it to the others.
"You know I always do things properly," Abraxas bragged as he sat down. "Well Lestrange, pour us the drinks, we don't have all night, we need to trashed."
Lestrange simply laughed at that and obeyed. Once more, they rose their glasses and drank them in one go. Without a second of waiting, someone filled them up.
"Oy ! I haven't told you about my date with Isobel last night," Edmund began. This brought a large groan from the assembly.
"Every week you tell us the same story but with a different bird," Milton mocked.
"I'm not even sure these stories actually happen," Isodor laughed.
Edmund shoved Isodor at this, making some of the glasses spill on the table. Tom looked at the scene before his eyes, he followed the golden liquid flowing on the wood, he watched as dozens of galleons were wasted and no one cared. The lads were just laughing it off, topping the spilled glass, with no care in the world.
This simple scene brought Tom back to this reality, where the boys in front of him were so rich that they didn't even care about wasting prohibitively expensive alcohol. Once more, Tom couldn't help but think about the words Grace told him during the summer. Actually, they had been on loop in his mind since she had let them out. She had told him he was no one, that he had no name and no money. Out of those three statements, she was wrong about one.
He may not have money. He may have fucked up the only title he ever had. But she couldn't have been more wrong when she had told him he was no one.
Tom cleared his throat. It was a small sound, barely audible above the chatter and the music. Yet, every lad turned towards him. For a fraction of a second, Tom just looked at them, forcing himself not to smile.
"I am with Milton on this one," he finally said, "you do have a tendency to exaggerate."
There was a small silence, but then Isodor clapped him on the shoulder and bragged about Tom being on his side. Yes, he bragged, like a child getting a parent's approval.
Yes, Grace had been wrong that day. Tom was someone. Maybe not for everyone for now, but it was only coming. One day, everyone would cheer it, his name. The others began teasing Rosier before the latter finished his drink and scooched forward in his chair.
"You do seem to have a lot to say about my relationships, Tom. But what about yours ?" Edmund snickered.
"I never kiss and tell" Tom laughed, accepting Edmund's comeback.
"What about fucking then ?" Dolohov spoke up.
They all laughed at that. Even Tom. He lit up a cigarette and finished his drink. As soon as he put it down, Thorus poured him another one.
"What about it, Dolohov," Tom smirked, "do you need advice on the subject ?"
On his left, Milton choked on his drink whereas, right in front of him, Abraxas roared with laughter.
"From you and your so-called relationship with Grace ?" Antonin huffed, "I'd be better left to my own devices."
Thorus burst out laughing, putting an arm around the other's boy shoulders. "Finally Antonin is back with us ! You were quite silent back there. Glad to have you back."
Tom didn't reply anything. He, too, liked the fact Dolohov finally participated in his own bachelor party. Yet, he couldn't help the small anger bubbling inside of his guts. In the end, he put on a fake smile and rose his glass towards the other boy. This was Nott's cue to refill everyone's drink.
"So ?" Dolohov asked.
"So what, Antonin ?" Tom replied.
"Do tell us more about your so-called relationship with Grace."
"Do you really want to know every dirty little detail about my relationship with Grace ?" He mocked.
"No Tom," Dolohov put both of his elbows on the table and looked Tom right in the eyes, "I want to know how you can be fucki-"
Dolohov was interrupted by Zabini. The tall boy was standing right behind Abraxas, a bright smile on his face. He was wearing a dark burgundy suit, perfectly tailored and matching his skin tone. He had one hand in his pocket and the other one on Doholov's shoulder. He looked so much older than he really was in this instant.
"Good evening gentlemen," he greeted them. "Hope I didn't miss out on anything."
Thorus welcomed him to the table but the other lad politely refused. "I'm sorry, but I cannot stay. I'm awaited somewhere."
Pax finally looked at Tom. "I have what you asked for."
Tom had not chosen this night for Dolohov's bachelor party for nothing. He had never been known for his altruism and Antonin's upcoming wedding had not been on his mind. Actually, he couldn't care less about throwing him a party. The only reason Tom was sitting around this table, in this bar, was for what Pax was about to deliver him.
At the dark boy's sentence, Tom smiled.
The trial hadn't begun, Tuft's trial. Of course, they couldn't attend it once it began. This was why Zabini was standing in front of them, ready to deliver what had been asked of him. If any of them could witness the trial, the only way they could follow what happened would be through memories. For that, they would first need a pensieve and then the memories.
Pax fetched through his inside pocket and pulled out a small object, papercraft wrapped around it. Zabini put it on the table and slid it towards Tom, who caught it. The latter took it in hand and turned it around his hand. He briefly wondered what its real size was for he had never seen one before. Tom nodded at Pax as a thank you and secured the artifact inside his pocket.
"Would you like a drink ?" Riddle offered.
"No thank you," Pax replied, "have a nice night."
He turned around to leave the bar, but he stopped in his tracks. He turned back towards the bunch of them before leaning towards Antonin. He pulled out a small vial from his pocket and put it loudly on the table right in front of him.
"I almost forgot," Pax laughed, "here's a little wedding gift." He straightened his back and re-buttoned his vest. "Enjoy your evening lads," he then turned towards Dolohov and added, "enjoy married life."
The eight of them watched him leave before their eyes went back to the small vial he had put down on the table. Tom snatched it and brought it close to inspect it. He could see fog dancing inside the blue vial.
"What is that ?" Abraxas asked.
"Rush," Thorus explained. "Pricey shit but will make you enjoy your night."
"Is that a drug ?" Milton mumbled.
"Try and you will see," Tom said as he handed the vial to the small boy.
Milton seemed almost scared yet he grabbed the vial. He briefly looked around him and saw every lad intently looking at him. After a few seconds of hesitation, Mulciber finally uncorked it. Tom expected the fog to escape from it, yet none of this happened. Milton brought it to his nose, plugged one nostril, and inhaled with the other.
Milton fell back into his chair, his head sliding backward, his mouth dropped open. Then, he looked right ahead, Tom swore he saw smog inside his eyes for a second. Milton looked around him, at his hands, at his drink, and finally smiled. He looked more alive than he ever had.
This reaction only brought curiosity and eagerness from the others. Abraxas quickly snatched the vial and mirrored him. There, the exact same reaction. The Rush was handed to him.
Tom approached the phial towards his nose, and as the others did before him, he inhaled.
Just like its name, it came to him as a rush, something crashing his brain, something he couldn't have expected, a small buzz in his head. He felt light on his skin, warming him. He felt power coursing through his veins, limitless. Tom didn't even notice that someone grabbed the phial away from him. No, he didn't, because he couldn't care less. Everything was so much brighter now, so much lighter. He couldn't focus on one single thought, everything was so fast in his mind, so precise, so overwhelming.
Even if it came to him as a rush, it stayed. Tom could still feel it, silently. He still felt this steam under his skin, fuelling him with something he never knew he needed.
The phial was small but the rush seemed bottomless. They kept drinking their priceless alcohol and snorting it. They kept talking about girls and boys, actually, Thorus had never been this talkative in his life. They couldn't stop.
But every thirty minutes, the Rush came crashing down. It wasn't hurtful physically, it was so much more. They felt distraught, unable to carry on without this bit of speed through their veins. So the only solution to this problem was only to take some more.
At one point, the bartender came and asked them to leave. None of them realised it was this late and that the bar was closing. They stood up, snatched the last bottle they just bought and the phial.
Finally, they all walked out of the bar. Once Tom stepped foot outside, everything seemed so slow compared to what was happening inside his mind. Everything seemed so cold compared to the warmth coursing through his veins.
Tom turned around and looked at the lads. He frowned at the sight. Was he like them ? Was he that wasted ? That slow ? That awkward in his movement ? After all, the combination of alcohol and drugs couldn't have been the best mix.
Do I look like them ?
Tom couldn't help but observe them. They were giggling, stumbling in the streets, laughing at every opportunity. But then, something shifted. Dolohov opened his mouth and let out a bitter truth. "I don't want to marry her." He sounded like a child, he also almost looked like one. His eyes were scared, his mouth turned down in a frown, and he looked so small in this instant.
Everyone stopped in their tracks and just laughed it off. But he insisted like it wasn't just a joke.
"I can't marry this girl," Dolohov kept going. "I don't know her, I never even met her. What if I can never like her ?"
It felt raw and Tom had never seen him this way, this vulnerable. Tom also saw the looks the lads gave him, this empathy in their eyes as they all knew what he was talking about. Tom's eyes drifted from one lad to the other before finally settling on Antonin. He needed to stop that, to snap him out of this, to snap them out of this.
"This is just a means to an end," Tom declared, slowly approaching him and putting both of his hands on the side of Antonin's head, "you do not need to like her, you do not even need to know her, you just need to marry her."
Dolohov pushed him away, almost disgusted by his touch. "Fuck you !" he almost yelled as he pulled away from Tom's grip. He had this rage in his eyes, this bitterness. He was livid, ready to burst. "How dare you say that to me ? You have no idea what I'm going through, and you probably never will because you've got Grace," his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "The perfect girl, coming out of nowhere, giving you everything you need. How odd is that ? How fucking odd is that ? She's too perfect, can't you see that ?"
Dolohov turned towards the others, expecting some kind of support, yet they all stayed silent.
"Are you blind or are you just thinking with your cock ?" Antonin shouted. "She appeared out of fucking nowhere, she slithered her way through our ranks and you never, not once, doubted her. Yet, there are so many signs that she's not trustworthy !"
They were all expecting him to keep going, even Tom. He was looking at Dolohov in disbelief. He finally spoke up, he had said things in the past about Grace, he had shown his animosity, yet he had never been this clear about his feelings towards her. It wasn't just hatred, it was more than that. It was pure distrust.
"She's too perfect," Dolohov said, "not only in her way or her looks but in her very move. She's too bright, she knows too much for someone who stopped school in the middle of her fourth year. She even mastered the symptoms of PTSD. Haven't you seen her ? Trembling at every loud noise but still looking around to see if we've noticed ?" Dolohov fake-laughed. "In apparition classes, have you seen her ? I have never seen anyone fail that graciously, that perfectly. What about France ? When was the last time she talked about it ? About her family ? About her so-dead friends ? And the pastries," he mocked, "she spent fucking hours talking about those pastries, calisson d'aix, but at Woodcroft's birthday party she said she hated them. What about those, then ? Isn't it enough for you to fucking open your eyes ?"
Tom lightly shook his head and let out a laugh. It began slowly before turning into a loud laugh, one that he was unable to keep for himself.
"Pastries ?" Tom snorted. "Is that your final argument ? Fucking pastries ?"
"That's the only thing you got from what I've just said ?" Antonin asked in disbelief. He took a few steps towards Tom, his eyes not once leaving his. "Can't you see ? She can't be trusted ! There's still time to stop. I know she's done things for the cause, I know she has helped us get there, but I know she will stab us in the back, sooner or later."
Antonin then looked around, trying to find support from the others but was met with none. The lads were simply looking at him, not willing to talk on the subject or just not agreeing with his words.
"She'll fucking t-" Dolohov began.
"Stop that !" Edgard cut him off, "just fucking stop !"
Antonin turned towards him, shock was written on his face.
"Everything's finally going great !" Lestrange screamed, "we have a plan, a good one, everything's is going perfectly, even their fucking relation is going well," he added as he pointed towards Tom, "we're going to fucking reach the top Antonin, with Grace whether you like it or not, so shut the fuck up !"
Antonin opened his mouth to snap back but Tom couldn't let this conversation carry on. This conversation made no sense to him. He knew she would never betray him, she had vowed not to.
"Lads, lads, lads," he said in a calm voice, "let's not dwell on that. Antonin is just a little bit stressed about his upcoming wedding, is he not ?"
"You know what, Tom ?" Dolohov said in defeat, "don't be surprised when the day will come, when she will betray you, the cause, all of us."
"She won't," Abraxas chipped in.
Tom looked at him. Malfoy was slightly swaying on his feet, a bottle of firewhiskey in his right hand and a cigarette in the other.
"She can't, actually," Abraxas corrected himself.
Tom wasn't sure what he was on about and by the look on the other's face, he knew the others didn't understand either.
"Tell them Tom, come on, tell them !" The boy kept going, "tell them she vowed herself to you as we all did."
A small silence settled, everyone seemed shocked.
"Oh no, wait," Abraxas laughed, "you can't because it would imply you telling us you vowed yourself back to her, right ?"
Tom didn't know at this moment if the lads didn't dare ask him questions about what had been said or if they didn't talk because they didn't believe it. In the end, there was a deafening silence, all eyes riveted on him, on his left arm, covered by his coat.
Abraxas had just dropped a bomb and Tom was simply waiting for the aftermath to come crashing him.
"So she wasn't lying," Malfoy said, "by the look on your face right now Tom, I know she was telling me the truth. So now, answer this question : what did you vow ?"
"It does not concern you," Tom replied in a stone-cold voice.
"Like the inventory didn't concern us ?"
"Exactly."
OoOoOo
06.12.1944 :
The walk back to the castle had never been this long, the silence was heavier by the second. Finally, they all reached the common room. Once the door opened, the lads flew to the dorm.
Grace was sitting on one of the couches and rose her head as she saw everyone stepping in. She must have felt the weird atmosphere as none of the lads looked at her or even said a word.
Tom finally walked towards her, sat on the couch, and stared at the fire.
"Do you have it ?" she asked in a soft voice.
"I do."
"Did you have a pleasant night ?"
Tom then looked at her, at the tenderness in her eyes.
"I did," he lied. Grace smiled.
He kept looking at her for a few more seconds before getting back to watching the fire.
She would never betray me, right ?
08.12.1944 :
Tom's mouth was on Hermione's neck, pressing hot kisses down her throat. She had her head bent backward, her eyes shut and mouth slightly opened. His hands were delicately mapping her entire back, sometimes his nail lightly scratching her skin. At times, she couldn't help but gasp in pleasure.
He had put her on the windowsill, her back pressed against the cold window, Tom between her legs, pressing against her. Hermione's hands began fumbling with his buttons until his shirt fell on the floor, next to hers.
Tom put both of his hands on her legs and pressed his thumbs on her inner thighs, gradually climbing up to reach her knickers. Hermione let out a moan mixed with a laugh and she felt Tom's lips turning into a smile against her skin.
Blindly, Hermione's hands reached for his trousers and they found its zip. Without even hesitating, Hermione pulled it down and let her hand inside his pants. She basked in the little puff of hair she felt coming from Tom's mouth at the contact, she smiled and firmly grabbed him.
Suddenly, the door opened. Hermione's hand stopped and she felt Tom tensing against her. How could they have forgotten where they were ? And more importantly why they were here.
Tom turned around, half-dressed, and used his body to hide Hermione's from the lads coming into the room.
"What the fuck ?!" Isodor laughed. "Having some fun, uh ?"
"Fuck off !" Tom yelled. "Out ! All of you !"
The lads obeyed without being able to hide their laughter, Edmund even giving a thumbs-up as they left the room.
Once they were alone in the room, Hermione's head fell against Tom's back, feeling mortified.
"Can we obliviate them ?" She mumbled against his skin.
Tom just laughed. He laughed hard and it made Hermione join him. He finally turned back around, pressing a small kiss at the crown of her head.
"Let's get dressed," he whispered, "we have a meeting to attend."
OoOoOo
12.12.1944 :
Belone gently shoved Hermione in the ribs to make her realise the class was over. Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and looked around. The students were putting their belongings away, chatting altogether over the sound of the thunderstorm in the back. Hermione stood up, grabbed her bag from the floor, and went to head out of the room.
"Miss Hortense ?" She heard from behind. She turned around and saw professor Aldritch a few meters away, watching her expectantly. "Could you stay please ? I'd like to have a word with you," he added.
Hermione nodded. She briefly looked at Belone and saw the girl already leaving the room alongside the other wives. Then, Hermione saw Tom, watching her as he was cleaning out his desk. They shared a small look, only a couple of seconds yet it was all they needed. He followed Abraxas out of the room and finally, she was alone with the professor.
Hermione turned to face him. Atticus was leaning against his desk, both hands flat on the wood next to his hips. He had his head cocked to the side as he looked at her.
"Is it regarding my essay ?" She simply asked.
The professor pushed himself from the desk and went to stand behind it. Finally, he sat down and welcomed her to take a chair and join him. She didn't, she simply stood still.
"I was expecting something different from you, considering everything you've been through obviously. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for what you've given me in this essay, Grace," he simply said.
"What were you expecting, then ?"
They looked at each other in silence. They both knew. Hermione had given him an essay about unforgivables, and considering Grace's past the professor must have been expecting something different, another point of view. But what Hermione had delivered was beyond that, beyond simply different.
"Out of all the essays I have read, I've never once been confronted with your approach," he said in a calm voice, not once his eyes leaving hers, "I've read about the horrendous consequences on one's soul, I've read about the atrocity on someone's mind, the barbarity of the action. Not once, Grace, have I read about the collateral beauty in using the unforgivable curses."
Hermione didn't move, tried not to react in any way. She simply kept looking at him, stoically.
"And the most surprising thing of all," Aldrich continued, "was that it came from you."
"How is that surprising professor ?" Hermione asked. "How is that surprising that the only student here who's experienced unforgivables has a different opinion on them ? A real one ? Not based on books ? How is that surprising that I gave you something different ? Something real even though it doesn't seem to match your opinion ? How is that surprising professor ?"
Hermione took a step forward until she reached the desk. "Please do not think I disagree with what happens to one's soul after using them, I know the atrocity, the horrendous consequences. I know all of those, yet sometimes what else is there to do other than to look for the beauty in the horror ?"
OoOoOo
13.12.1944 :
They were all walking down the corridors, to join their common room as they all had a free period. Hermione could hear some lads talking about the upcoming Quidditch game, some other about their last potion essay.
The corridors were packed, and Hermione found herself zigzagging through the crowd. She felt Tom's hand grazing the small of her back, unconsciously guiding her through it. Then, she heard a laugh. Her head snapped towards the sound and she saw Dolohov, head bent backward.
Abruptly, he turned around and Hermione almost shivered at the sight. Dolohov looked so overconfident. He usually was this arrogant, but today, at this instant it was so much more. It was in the way he held himself, in the overloud laugh he had, and it was in his eyes. They were slightly bloodshot but so focused.
It became even more obvious that something was off when Antonin went to join them in the middle of the corridors. He had a bright smile and put one hand around Milton's shoulders. He began to talk, at an incredible speed. Hermione noticed his hands too, the way they lightly shook.
Discreetly, she looked at Tom, to see if he had noticed something different too. But he wasn't looking at her, he was intently watching Dolohov, he was looking into his eyes as if he was searching for something.
OoOoOo
17.12.1944 :
They had won. They had won the trial.
Hermione had been surprised to learn that big trials, like Tuft's one, were taking place in one single day. In the muggle world, trials as such were taking place over months, sometimes years. But right now, on this cold wintery evening, they had just learnt that Tuft had lost her trial for corruption and forgery.
Hermione was sitting at her usual chair, right next to Tom and she could hear the lads around her cheering at the news.
Something else that had surprised Hermione was the non-use of veritaserum during trials as important as this one. The wizarding community had created a potion, making everyone unable to lie while under it, yet they never used it. Of course, Hermione was glad they didn't. They wouldn't be in this situation if they had.
All of a sudden, Tom stood up. The room became quiet and everyone looked at the Headboy. He had this cocky grin plastered on his face, the one that looked so good on him. He briefly cleared his throat before speaking up.
"We have been waiting for this moment for quite some time now," he said, "let me first congratulate all of you. We would not have succeeded tonight without everything you have done. But we shall remain cautious, we do not know yet how everything went down."
Still, the lads began clapping even though it was shy. Tom let them and from where Hermione was sitting, it almost seemed like he was reveling in the applause. He fetched something from his inside pocket and once he had it secured tightly around his fist, he brandished it in front of the eight others. The lads began cheering at the sight and Hermione even joined in the applause.
There, right in Tom's hand, was the only thing they needed tonight. Inside the small vial, dancing around the glass were the memories of what had happened earlier that day at the court hall.
Just after class, Isodor had been ordered by Tom to go to Hogsmeade and meet Zabini there. As planned, Pax gave him Septimus Malfoy's memories which they would now use with the pensieve the latter had given Tom during Antonin's bachelor party.
Tom had put down the memories on the table and had begun unpacking the pensieve. Hermione looked at him as he delicately unwrapped the paper. Finally, it was there, shrunken by Pax's spell.
Tom gently put the small pensieve in the middle of the table and took out his wand. In one small flick of it, the pensieve began enlarging, until it took almost the entire width of the table. Tom then dropped the memories inside of it and they all watched as the black mist began floating.
With a small sign of the hand, Tom invited the lads to dive into it. They all did.
Hermione didn't, she just kept looking at him. Finally, he met her gaze. They stared and shared a smile before joining the others.
It was Hermione's first time in a pensieve, it felt weird at first. It felt like she was underwater for half a second like she wouldn't be able to breathe if she tried. But in the end, she opened her eyes and found herself in the middle of the courtroom. She remembered it, from her other seventh-year when she was polyjuiced into Mafalda Hopkins.
It looked strange from where Hermione was now standing, in the public stands. She looked around her, she first saw Lovegood Senior, alongside the other journalists. Then, she saw Tuft's family, her son, and daughter-in-law, anxiously watching the jury. Finally, Hermione looked in front of her.
Wilhelmina Tuft was sitting in the middle of the large room, right next to her lawyer, her eyes stuck on Yaxley, presiding over the Wizengamot. Behind him, all in black, were all the members. Hermione recognized all of them. Of course, she recognized them. She had spent months back in September learning their voting pattern, their political tendencies, and most importantly, she manipulated them.
Then, the silence settled in the room. Balthazar Zabini had just entered it. He was wearing long black robes. His posture was almost majestic, his chin was high, his eyes focused on the entire Wizengamot. He had this little thing in his stature, something ethereal as if he was the one presiding the entire room.
As the Head of the Law Enforcement Department, he had been the one in charge of the investigation. And naturally, he was the prosecutor during this trial. He silently greeted the members of the Wizengamot with a sign of the head, before looking at Tuft and doing the same.
"Everyone be seated please," Yaxley's voice resonated in the room. Right next to Hermione, the journalists lowered their cameras and diligently sat back down. "We are gathered today following the accusation of corruption and forgery against Prime Minister Tuft."
Hermione finally really looked at Tuft. She looked almost small in the big chair, underneath the gaze of everyone. Her hair was tied up, it made her look older than she really was. It also seemed like she had lost weight in the last few weeks. Maybe she had. Yet, Tuft's back was straight, her head was still high, as she should.
Tuft had done nothing wrong, she had been fairly elected, she had tried to change things. Hermione could even say Tuft had tried to change things for the better. Tuft was a good woman, empathetic, proud, intelligent with her own mind. And that was the problem.
"After Prime Minister Tuft's announcement for the creation of the new department, the department of Transitional Relations and Social Groups Cohesion," Yaxley summed up, "the Wizengamot had been surprised to learn it had not been consulted for the financing. As written in the constitution, every department's financing should first go through the Wizengamot for approval, which the Prime Minister failed to do."
Yaxley's voice was grave, imposing. He didn't need any enhancing charm to make his voice resonate inside the room. Hermione's eyes left the Chief Warlock to look at Tom, right by her side. He was intently listening, his eyes were scanning the entire room, analysing every move, every twitch anyone could have, everything. He was like a hawk, nothing could escape him.
As Hermione looked at him, she almost forgot what was happening. Rapidly, she focused back on what Yaxley was saying.
"Following this breach of procedure," he kept going, "the Wizengamot had asked for the books. After further investigation on the financing, some transactions stood out and led to some questioning on the lawfulness of those operations," Yaxley declared. "We are today gathered to look at the evidence on the subject and to determine Prime Minister Tuft's involvement in the matter."
This was how it began. The accusation began. Zabini turned towards the room and began his speech. His rhetoric was immaculate, his voice was strong, steady, sharp. He was meandering around the room, letting his cloak float behind him at every step he took.
After a small introduction of his defense strategy, he called his first witness to the bar, then a second and a third. It began slowly, the testimonies were not accusatory enough to make a jury convinced. But Hermione knew this was only a strategy.
It was when Zabini called the only person Hermione was eager to listen to, Tywin Goyle. Mister Goyle had taken Gideon's Barboter job at Gringotts board after the dreadful attack the latter had suffered earlier in the year. As Mister Barboter wasn't able to testify following his internment at St Mungos, it came as legitimate for the people present in the room to ask Tywin Goyle to take his place during the trial.
Mister Goyle was a chubby man, his face always seemed to be red and his lips were always contracted into a sneer but he was described as a brilliant man by everyone. He was even respected by everyone. Hermione remembered the Daily Prophet's headline right after his nomination as a board member. The article had been full of praise, almost putting him on a pedestal.
Little did everyone know that Tywin Goyle and Balthazar Zabini were thick as thieves, their wives were best friends, and their sons, Pax and Elias, were close.
Tywin arrived at the bar and loudly sat down, making the wooden chair crack.
"Mister Goyle, could you please confirm that you are the head of the board at Gringotts," Zabini started.
"I am."
Zabini went to the back of the room for a few seconds and came back to the bar, a pile of paper in his hands. He put it down in front of Mister Goyle and took a step back.
"Evidence number 13," Zabini explained to the Chief Warlock, "Gringotts' accounts papers, retrieved on the 16th of August 1944."
Yaxley nodded and let the prosecutor continue.
"Mister Goyle, could you please tell us what those papers are referencing ?" Balthazar asked.
Tywin put on his glasses and rapidly skimmed through them.
"Those are transfers made to the current government, signed by Gideon Barboter in November 1943," he replied.
"Could you please tell us who made those transfers ?"
"I may not be able to tell you exactly who made those payments," Goyle explained, "however, the account numbers from which the transfers were made indicate the countries they came from."
"Could you state the countries ?"
"There is France, Germany, Bulgaria, and Austria."
Zabini turned towards the Wizengamot and let the words sink in. He put both of his hands behind his back and tried to hide a small smile drawing on his lips.
"Isn't it odd ?" He rhetorically asked the assembly, "the four countries the payments came from coincide with the four locations Gellert Grindelwald is known to reside."
At this, Tuft's lawyer rose from his seat, slammed his hands on the table before him.
"Speculation !" He roared. Zabini turned towards the latter and this time let himself smile. He put both his hands in the air, in surrender.
"Withdrawn," he cheekily replied.
This quick moment brought the full attention of everyone. Right next to Hermione, the journalists were almost fighting to get the best picture. Hermione quickly glanced at Tom, on her left, and saw him already looking back. But what struck Hermione was the look he had on his face. He was glowing. She imagined she looked the same.
What was happening, before their eyes, was exquisite. They knew everything that was about to happen, every word of it. They were the ones who gave the papers to Zabini. Hell, they even were the ones who forged them. Hermione quickly glanced at Isodor. He had been a key element in this. The weeks Barboter had spent under his curses hadn't only been for the bombing of St Mungos. Barboter had signed, under the imperius curse, those papers. Technically, they were half legitimate, the signature was real, the transfers weren't though.
This was where Hermione realised how perfect everything they did was. Everything was perfectly planned, nothing was done by chance, by accident.
Zabini kept accusing Tuft for what seemed like hours. Hermione watched as the Prime Minister began shrinking in her chair under those false accusations. Hermione looked at everyone in the Wizengamot, how they seemed to perceive the trial. Her eyes landed on Dumbledore, on his piercing eyes behind his half-circular glasses, not looking at the defendant, but at the back of the room.
She then looked at the lads, all focused on what was happening. Then, she looked back at Tom. His eyebrows were put into a frown, an expression Hermione hadn't been expecting. Tom was looking at Dumbledore too as if he was trying to discern something.
At one point, Tuft was called to the bar. She denied every accusation. Other members of governments, friends, family members were also called, testifying for her moral character.
Yet, after hours of trial, after hours of deliberation from the Wizengamot, she was found guilty. On top of being removed from office, Wilhelmina Tuft was placed under house arrest. Hermione watched as the Aurors escorted her out of the room.
Everyone in the room began standing up, chatting between themselves. Hermione felt Tom taking her hand and they walked down the stairs. They arrived in the middle of the room. They saw dozens of people shaking Zabini's hands, congratulating him for the good work he had done. At the praise he received, Hermione almost believed Tom was squeezing her hands harder. They heard talks about who could replace Tuft now that she had been removed, about the amazing job Zabini Senior had done in the past weeks to gather the evidence and the incredible performance he had given today at the trial.
Tom and Hermione zigzagged through the crowd until Tom stopped her in the middle. Hermione looked at him and saw that he had his head slightly bent backward and his eyes closed. She briefly wondered what he was doing before finally realising what it was. Tom was basking in the praises, they were in the middle of conversations, from everywhere came the acclaims, the compliments. Tom was closing his eyes and imagining those were directly directed to him.
However, the memory began to shift, the room became blurrier and Hermione knew what it meant. Septimus Malfoy was simply getting out of the room. In a fraction of a second the lads, Tom, and herself found themselves in the corridor leading to the courtroom. People were gathered in small groups and talking. It was of no interest to them, so they all jumped out of the memory.
And just like that, they were back in the room, on the fifth floor. No one talked, no one moved. They were all lost in thought, all thinking back to what they had just witnessed.
Then, Isodor began clapping. Loudly. Hermione was startled at first but smiled as she saw the others joining in. The expression they all bore, it was sumptuous. The lads then shared embraces, clapping each other on the shoulders, laughing together. At one point, they all turned towards Tom and congratulated him.
Hermione witnessed Tom, once again, basking in the praises. Yet, this time, he had his eyes open and directed at her. Finally, he offered her his hand, silently inviting her to share his ovation.
17.12.1944 :
Everyone was leaving the room. Tom slowly approached Abraxas and put a hand on his shoulder, silently asking him to stay behind. Once the last lad had left the room, Tom began to speak.
"Do you have the list of journalists who attended the trial ?"
"I do," Abraxas answered. "I already checked it with Grace."
Abraxas put his bag on the wooden table and fetched a piece of parchment out of it. He handed it to Tom. The latter grabbed it and scanned the list.
"Is everything alright, Tom ?"
"Yes, I just thought," Tom mumbled before clearing his throat and retrieving his usual position of confidence. "You know me," he fake-smiled, "always double-checking to make sure everything went perfectly."
"Don't think too much about it,"Malfoy declared, "we pulled it off, Tom. We did it."
"You are right, we sure did."
OoOoOo
20.12.1944 :
Helena had just finished a story about Slughorn, about his first-ever Christmas dinner. Tom listened carefully to everything she had to say. They had met sometimes since that night in late October. Helena sometimes joined him on his rounds. They walked around the castle during those times, chatting and even sometimes laughing. Tom was slowly building confidence, earning her trust.
"How do you know so much about everyone ?" Tom asked her. Helena kept looking ahead of her, yet Tom discerned the smallest smile at the corner of her mouth.
"Ghosts are almost forgotten across those walls, just like the paintings are. Yet, we remain. This is how we know so much. People tend to neglect us, to think they are alone, but they are not."
They walked for a few more meters before she opened her mouth once more.
"Miss Grace talks to us, to the paintings, too. She's one of the few."
Tom almost stopped in his tracks at the name.
"She had a peculiar focused on paintings," Helena kept rambling, "even the ones in the kitchen, in the room of requirement, and I believe she even-"
"I am sorry," Tom cut her off, almost feeling guilty for not letting her finish her sentence.
Helena looked at him and they both arrived at a stop. From the expression she had, Tom knew she was feeling a little offended by his interruption.
"The room of requirement ?" Tom asked. Helena frowned, not fully understanding his question. "I do not believe I have ever heard about such a room," he continued.
"Haven't you ?" Helena seemed quite surprised. "After all, Miss Grace had spent quite some time in this room in the last few years."
They went back to walking, and Helena began talking about Slughorn once more. Tom sometimes nodded his head, feigned to listen to what she was saying. Yet, his mind was miles away from their current conversation.
What is this room ? What is inside ? And, why is Grace hiding it from me ?
OoOoOo
21.12.1944 :
Tom was lounging in his bed, his eyes riveted on the green canopy, his mind deep in thoughts. For the last days, he had been replaying the trial in his head, what had been said, what had been done, the reaction from the journalists, the members of the Wizengamot. Everything.
Around him, the dorm was quite noisy. Most of the boys were playing cards directly on the floor. Others, such as Edgard, were trying to work on their different homework.
"No one wants to do my transfiguration presentation for some galleons ?" Lestrange asked.
"You couldn't afford me," Abraxas snickered.
"I'm almost considering polyjuicing a sixth-year into doing it for me."
The others laughed at this. But for Tom, something clicked in his mind. For the past few days, he had had this overwhelming thought that he had missed something during the trial, something small yet important. And there, in one simple sentence, given by a lazy Egdard Lestrange, the solution came to Tom.
He jumped out of bed, underneath the interrogating gazes of the other boys, and without saying a word, flew out of the room. Tom rapidly joined the common room, found it empty, and turned back on his heels to reach the girls' dorm. One perk of being Headboy was that the restricted charms the stairs had, didn't work on him. Tom took them two by two until he reached the door and began pounding on it.
A few seconds later, Belone opened it, already in her nightclothes. As she opened it, her eyes widened and she briefly looked behind her. Tom knew what she was thinking about so he stopped her right away.
"Not now Belone," he abruptly said, "I need to see Grace."
The girl simply nodded and closed the door. Tom patiently waited, his mind rushing with what he had just found out, almost cursing himself for not having figured it out sooner. Finally, Grace got out of her dorm. She had this puzzling look on her face. Tom took her by the hand and they both rushed out of the common room.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on ?" Grace finally asked him, panic evident in her voice.
"The memories," Tom just replied. "I need to see something."
"What are you talking about ?"
Tom stopped and he briefly looked around them to make sure no one was around. But then, he looked up and saw the paintings. He couldn't talk here. Tom guided her towards the closest classroom and shut the door behind him.
"The trial's memories," he began, "something was off."
"What do you mean ?"
Tom began pacing around the room, feeling frantic.
"It felt off at the time," Tom explained. "Dumbledore, he was off during the trial. He was quiet. He had never been one to be quiet. He was not focused on the trial, he had his eyes stuck on something in the back. He had this expression on his face, he-"
"Tom," Grace cut him off, "slow down. I don't understand."
"Something happened during the trial and we missed it," Tom resumed. "We were too focused on the hearing, on Tuft, on Zabini, that we missed it."
Grace stayed silent for a while. Tom looked at her and he saw she was recalling every single detail of the trial to find out what he was talking about. After a little while, she looked back at him.
"We sent the pensieve back," she said.
"Yes, but there is another one in this castle."
"Dippet's."
Tom began making up a plan in his mind. He could set up a meeting with the Headmaster, ask for one lad to interrupt it and make Dippet leave the room. This could give him enough time to use the pensieve, find what he was looking for and get out. Or he could ta-
He couldn't finish his thoughts that Grace had already taken him by the hand and dragged him out of the room. He knew he ought to ask her questions, about what she was doing, about what she was thinking about but then, she smiled. She was looking at him upon her right shoulder, her right hand still tightly closed around his left. And she smiled, one that reached her eyes, and Tom couldn't help but feel.
They arrived in front of the Griffin and Tom frowned.
"Who won the British-Irish Quidditch League this month ?" Grace asked.
"What ?"
"Who won the British-Irish Quidditch League this month ?" She asked again.
"We do not have time for this, Grace."
"Just answer the question, Tom. Who won the British-Irish Quidditch League this month ?"
"Tutshill Tornados," he replied without even thinking. This was what spending more time than wanted with Quidditch players did.
He couldn't detach his eyes from hers, from her entire face, from her smile, from her.
He heard it, the loud noise coming from the griffin. Slowly, he turned his head to the right and saw the entrance to Dippet's office.
His eyes went back to Grace, feeling amazed by her brightness. But this feeling quickly turned into something else. How could she be so bright ? How could someone be so bright ? Have the answers to everything ? Tom never had the time to fully ask the question before having her hand him the solution.
She was perfect. She was too perfect.
Authors' note : Hello, remember us ? we're not dead, we just thought we had published the last chapter in September. Big mistake this one, it was July.. we thought we only had 3 months delay, not five... well, things happen.
next chapter ends in 9, do you know what it means ?
we need to tell you that we struggle a bit finding time to write ddm lately. we do have a life outside (shocking right ?) but then considering the current sanitary conditions (in Europe especially), we might not have a life in a few weeks, so we're going to enjoy it while we can. In other words, see you in five months ! (joking !) (unless..)
love you. hope you're all safe.