Chapter 10: Hermione Attends a Competition
Hermione stood in front of the mirror, eyebrows furrowed in vexation, as she tried to determine how to make her appearance look more intimidating. She put her hands on her hips, and noted how the stance made her look… severe in some way, sassy, but it was hardly fearsome.
Her full lips turned down in an involuntary pout, and she bit her bottom lip absentmindedly as she contemplated her appearance.
This expression was somehow even worse! She looked assailable, and impressionable, and the complete opposite of intimidating… she let out a frustrated huff.
Admittedly, she did not have a lot to work with. Most of her features were plain, except for her large brown eyes, which gave her an unfortunate baby doe look. And the light freckles dotting the bridge of her small nose added to that image, that… cute girl next door facsimile that Hermione had never really cared about before she decided she wanted to start amassing power.
But she cared now. She looked like a girl that no one would take seriously, which was a serious detriment considering her future ambitions.
She needed a sharper image. Unfortunately, the only two models for female empowerment that popped into her head was alternatively the femme fatale or the biker chick. A woman who used sexuality as a weapon in order to control the men around her, which generally entailed advertising her attributes provocatively. Or a woman that attempted to adopt male characteristics that would make her seem authoritative or powerful in association.
And to be honest, neither was actually taken seriously.
This was a more insidious demonstration of sexism that had continued to persist in her time, lingering despite the way that the phrase gender equality was touted around as if everything was suddenly hunky-dory now that people were talking about it. Ignoring the obvious limitations of singular initiatives addressing blatant discriminatory comments or obvious restrictions in academic or occupational opportunities.
Women are not typically associated with power or authority, in any context, and those that succeed in politics are considered more the exception than the rule. And Hermione knew that this was not any better in Wizarding society. Any magic containing a strong feminine or maternal influence was actively denigrated, from the hedge magic of lore to cooking and housekeeping spells today. It was terribly unfortunate.
But Hermione was determined, more than ever after Miss Meadow's confession, to enact change, whether the Wizarding World wanted it or not. So… she apparently needed to conduct additional fashion research to investigate what the 'bad girl' from the 1940s look like.
The face Hermione made in the mirror at that thought made her look like she had just tasted something bitter and repugnant. It was not a good look for her. She stopped to think, before her impulse to run to the library carried her away.
Or… she could not.
Because fuck pointless societal pressures pushing 'conventional' fashion and etiquette, wanting her to look and act like a carbon copy of acceptability, which in reality followed rules that were arbitrarily determined and fucking controlled women. Fuck anything that dictated what she should do, or how she should feel. Fuck The Ladies' Book of Etiquette and Propriety, For Beginners.
This wasn't about fitting it, after all, trying to look like every other simpering 'young lady' she has had the displeasure of meeting. This wasn't about adopting the clothing style of some kind of niche subculture she didn't belong to, which was just another cultural institution telling her how to behave. This wasn't about acting rebellious, either, purposely dressing unconventionally in order to prove a point (which, ironically, sometimes became conventional as antiestablishment ideals gained popularity).
This should be about her. Hermione should dress however she wanted. Wear whatever made her feel empowered, and everyone else would just have to deal. Inevitably, some of her choices would reflect convention, because that is what she knew. But the point was that these decisions would be made solely for her own approval.
This went against her initial inclination to look objectively physically imposing, but to be honest, a clothing style change was hardly going to dissuade the bigotry stemming from her gender and lack of magical heritage. As graduation loomed, it became time to accept the limitations of her reality. Spiteful, and filled with familiar resentment, Hermione decided to give them a metaphorical two-finger salute by focusing exclusively on her own desires.
Hermione started with make-up, fairly ripping Lilac's stolen cosmetics bag open with malicious glee. While she had made a point not to react to Tom's casual description of the girl's fucking nipples, Hermione was still bothered by it. By the fact that he had seen the pretentious girl naked. It's not like she was jealous- she hardly had a claim towards Tom's future romantic endeavors. It just… bothered her, disappointed her, to know his standards were so superficial.
And really, Lilac White?
She was clearly a basic bitch.
Hermione started with eyeliner (extending the line past the corner of her upper lid to make her look less like a baby deer imitating a raccoon), evaluated the effect, and shot herself an enthusiastic thumbs up in the mirror. It certainly helped to assuage the lack of severity in her eyes. She then tried three different colors of eyeshadow, and determined them all to be too much. Unfortunately, removal was not an easy process; a smudge of brown lingered at the creases in the corner, but her eyelids were already sore from all the rubbing, so she left it. Foundation was too cakey, most of the lipstick colors were bright and obnoxious…
Orange? Who the fuck owns orange lipstick? And why couldn't that color leave her alone?
See, this is why she didn't typically bother. Unless you know what you're doing, make-up is liable to turn you into a harlot or a clown. Cue more anxious rubbing, muttered curses as the mascara got in her fucking eye after she tried to pick out clumps with her too-short nails, and other random, frustrated gestures as Hermione was forcibly reminded that she lacked any real artistic talent. At least she knew enough to stay away from the fucking sparkles.
Because nothing screamed serious political leader to-be like having bedazzled eyelids in jewel colors.
Her end result was minimalist, as she had removed most of what she had attempted, but she was still pleased with herself for even trying.
Her hair received a cursory glance, but Hermione didn't have the time or energy to instigate that impending struggle. The conditioner she was currently using controlled the frizz and made it look less like a brunette bush, which she counted as a victory.
Clothing next. For this she would have to transfigure what she already owned, but her Transfiguration skills were more than up to the task.
Hermione desperately wanted pants.
Her pragmaticism won out while she was designing the cut and material. After all, she needed something that would facilitate movement so she could duel unhindered. The pants were thus a loose fitted linen for comfort, durability, and mobility, high waisted with a belt so they were secured and adjustable, and cut above her ankle so she wouldn't have to worry about tripping. Another moment of consideration, and Hermione flicked the pants black, easily the most intimidating color.
Her top was sleeveless and red, the second most intimidating color. Hermione made a point to ensure that all of the scars she had received from the war were on display; the edge of Dolohov's curse peaking out from under her shirt, the cursed knife marks on her arms and neck, the pale sunburst scars from the Cruciatus right under her shoulder blades, and the waxy drops on her hands from her exposure to Basilisk venom.
After considering footwear for a solid minute, Hermione settled on black ballet flats that wrapped twice around her ankles, and kicked off the uncomfortable heels with delight. The footwear mandated by Hogwarts' Code of Conduct was not incredibly high, particularly by modern standards, but walking up and down staircases for hours in two inch heeled Oxfords was still miserable.
Looking herself over, Hermione felt confident, and easily the most comfortable since her unwanted arrival in this time period. Pleased, she left the bathroom and headed for the courtyard where she knew dueling contestants were passing time before the competition.
Her arrival was met with speculative glances. Hermione ignored them and immediately pinpointed Hogwart's Head Boy casually draped over a stone ledge twirling his wand, surrounded by his sycophants. She tried not to preen when she noticed Tom's eyes darken with interest when he found her in the crowd, but it was difficult. His eyes lingered on her scars, which she was proud of surviving. Those same scars were met with disgust and distaste by several of the other young men in the courtyard, but Hermione told herself that their opinion hardly mattered.
Nothing about her appearance was meant for them.
Her thought process was unexpectedly derailed when Hermione noticed another female in the clearing some feet away, noticeably nervous and very alone. The girl was dressed in a demure sweater and skirt, her auburn brown hair made up with neatly pinned curls, and her large glasses perched awkwardly on her small nose. Hermione quickly made her way over there, strangely excited to see another girl, hoping against hope that she was there as a contestant.
She was. Hermione's smile grew more pleased the longer she stood there, as the girl introduced herself as Penny Bray, a seventh year Hufflepuff, and started to quietly ramble about her desire to compete. The girl was somehow both shy and eager, and unbelievably sweet. "You've actually inspired me," the girl stated cheerfully. "I've always enjoyed dueling with my brothers, but the Professors here are pretty discouraging about stuff like that. You have been so brave, though, to continue your studies and demand participation! So, I thought I might try too."
"I'm so glad to hear that," Hermione told Penny, smiling in approval. "And I am very happy to see other young women take part! I firmly believe that a woman can do anything a man can do, and it has honestly been rather frustrating to be continually stymied by those in authority."
The girl nodded like she didn't entirely agree, but was very much in the habit of nodding. "Do you have any dueling experience?"
"Oh, yes. I was actually a member of the dueling club in the last school I attended. It was very constructive." And entertaining.
Penny gasped softly in surprise, her well-trimmed eyebrows rising slightly. "How progressive! Were you the only girl to attend?"
Hermione grinned. "Not at all. There were plenty of girls there."
"No! Really? Oh, but you came from the future, right? Does it really change so drastically over just a few decades?"
Hermione nodded enthusiastically, and continued chatting with the soft-spoken girl. She quickly discovered that Penny's older brother (and clearly her idol) was a curse-breaker, so she spent a lot of her free time studying ancient runes because of the shared interest. This led to a deep appreciation for linguistics in general, and thus she was currently attempting to learn five languages simultaneously. Hermione did her best to show her admiration, genuinely impressed.
It was nice, Hermione found. She had never really established any close female relationships. She just seemed to connect better with boys, perhaps due to her complete lack of interest in shopping and gossip. But chatting amiably with a girl about academics, despite her obvious bashfulness, was a pleasant departure from all of her other recent female interaction.
They were eventually cornered by some of the less savory of their peers, who had taken an interest in their conversation. Rookwood and Avery sauntered over to them and were eventually joined by a couple of other boys from Ravenclaw. They casually crowded the girls into the stone corner, clearly attempting to use their larger physiques as an intimidation tactic.
Hermione sighed loudly in exasperation at their posturing. She had anticipated some sort of altercation before the match. She was pleasantly surprised to have an ally, however.
"Well, look what we have here," Avery started with a nasty grin. "It seems you two little birdies are lost."
Hermione shot him back an irritated sneer, not appreciating the comparison. "Clearly. After all, the likelihood of you being a contestant is nill." She turned to Rookwood. "Where are the participants for the contest meeting again?"
Avery's expression hardened. "You should leave now," he turned to look straight at Penny, perhaps realizing that she would be the more easily intimidated of the two. "Both of you. Before things turn nasty. Don't pretend like you could possibly compete against us."
One of the Ravenclaw boys nodded. "That's right. Save yourself the embarrassment and leave before someone gets hurt."
Hermione was about to respond with a witty insult when something very unexpected happened. It was like some sort of hidden switch took place right before her eyes. One moment Penny was the epitome of bashfulness, hiding her small mouth behind a hand dwarfed by the large sleeves of her sweater, blushing lightly. And then after being addressed, she suddenly stormed forward with emotion, and Hermione could practically see fire glowing behind the girl's hazel eyes as Penny shrieked out loudly, "What was that?! Are you threatening us?"
The boys stood in stunned surprise as the petite girl forcibly shoved herself into their personal space, driving them to back up. One brat grabbed his wand, but Penny just screeched at the boy indignantly, nabbed the magical piece of wood and chucked it over his shoulder. "What the fuck Bray!" the boy shouted in disdain.
"That's what I want to say! What the fuck Andrew!" Penny paused long enough to physically shove the boy in front of her, causing the boy to fly backwards. "What gives you the right to come over here and try to intimidate us like this!"
"Merlin, no need to fucking manhandle us!" The boy made the mistake of grabbing the girl's arms and vigorously pushing back.
Penny shot forward in rage, "Oh, so you can use your bodies to hurt and bully us but we can't do the same? I'll show you fucking 'man' 'handle'." She proceeded the enthusiastically drive her knee into the boy's crotch, her expression settled into a savage snarl. The unfortunate Ravenclaw slid to the floor, whimpering and clutched his genitals.
Needless to say, Hermione was very impressed.
"You're girls," Rookwood stated with a drawl, his expression purposely casual, although Hermione noted with amusement the way he shot the injured boy a long look and slowly backed away from the enraged female.
Penny was clearly not intimidated by seventh year Slytherins. She marched right up to him, practically breathing on him, as she stated loudly, "Well, congratulations, you can point out the fucking obvious. Your point?"
Rookwood gazed down at her spitefully. "You're weak in comparison. And I don't have the energy or inclination to put up with your emotional hysterics when you realize that men are better duelists the hard way."
Penny threw herself further into his space, obviously wanting to turn the altercation physical, but the Slytherin teenager nimbly stepped aside. She changed tactics, and verbally attacked him instead, her volume level still excessive and her gestures greatly exaggerated. "'Emotional hysterics'? Your arsehole must be jealous of your mouth from all the shit it just spewed."
"Honestly, we're doing you both a favor," the sole unaccosted Ravenclaw bit out, his expression frustrated. "But you are both acting like fucking bitches."
Penny charged after hearing his insult, letting out a loud noise of aggression eerily close to a battle cry as she stormed forward. Hermione barely saved the stupid boy by catching the back of Penny's sweater and reeling her backwards. While Hermione found this entire exchange wildly entertaining, she didn't want to risk their participation in the dueling contest. "Then leave. We clearly have no interest in your 'guidance'."
And they did, grumbling derogatory names in some poor attempt to salvage their pride. Avery, particularly sensitive, shot out one last parting remark. "I almost envy your inability to realize when you've been bested. That blind optimism. But I suppose it's easier for people like you."
Hermione rolled her eyes at the insinuation. "And I absolutely envy everyone you have never met." And then she led Penny in the opposite direction.
Several feet away, and it was clear that Penny was incredibly embarrassed about her behavior, as she quickly regressed into her former persona. The blush was back, her sleeves were hiding her face again, and she was stammering apologies. "I'm so sorry, that doesn't usually happen, I didn't mean to get so angry…"
Hermione tried to wave her concerns aside. "Please, don't let it bother you. Avery has certainly inspired homicidal rage in me before as well. These things just happen."
"But- but I hit them! And kneed Andrew. Oh, how awful. I just couldn't help it…"
Hermione grabbed the girl by her shoulders, and shot her a confident smile. "Honestly, Penny, what you just did was amazing. Those boys need to realize that they can't get whatever they want just by bullying other people into submission. You helped with that. And think about it like this, now they might actually take your duels with them seriously."
The girl smiled sheepishly, "Oh Merlin, I hope so."
Hermione's first opponent in the dueling contest was a Gryffindor with a regrettably forgettable name. She took her time considering the tall boy in front of her, noting his eager footsteps, his relieved expression, and understood that she was being actively underestimated. The poor boy thought he was getting off easy facing a girl.
Hermione couldn't stop the smirk, and was amused to see that her confidence didn't seem to discourage him.
She toyed with him for a bit, careful not to overextend herself or show her hand. Most of her potential opponents clearly expected her to be easy prey, and she wasn't immediately inclined to dissuade this belief. So she played it up a bit… kept to elementary type jinxes, and dodged curses rather than throw up complicated shield charms. She waited for him to trip himself up, overextending his body with unnecessary movement that left his entire torso exposed, before taking him out with a well-placed Expelliarmus. The spell had enough power to throw the boy on his back on the wet dew, as Hermione paid a silent homage to the first real demonstration of dueling skill she had ever witnessed.
She ignored the way the crowd seated in the stands above her broke out in loud guffaws and entertained titters, and calmly made her way towards where the other contestants were seated.
Penny was next, and Hermione carefully watched as the nervous girl tottered forward onto the short, green grass of the pitch unsteadily. She was clearly anxious, blushing wildly and taking small, hesitant steps. She faced a sixth year Slytherin, something Selywn, and they exchanged words. And once again, Hermione witnessed this demure girl turn into some kind of bloodthirsty demon. Idly, her mind was quickly reminded of a quote by Edgar Allen Poe. "The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame."
The comparison proved apt. The girl turned out to be a ferocious and competent dueler. The sorry sap barely had the opportunity to save face, much less demonstrate any kind of competency. The duel was over in less than a minute, and the little fucker ended the match bleeding in at least three different places (that Hermione could see from across the field).
Then Penny flushed red in embarrassment, the adrenaline from her match settling, and shot Hermione a concerned glance. Hermione made sure to send her a reassuring smile and two big thumbs up in approval. After all, bloodshed should be encouraged. These old-fashioned girls were far too squeamish, from what little Hermione had witnessed. Best to get that nasty inhibition out of the way now.
A half an hour passed, and the only boy to fully grab her attention was Riddle. He confidentially strolled onto the field, bowed elegantly, took several steps… and then demonstrated his superior reflexes and expansive knowledge of spellwork as he almost immediately knocked his opponent out. It was surprisingly anticlimactic, considering Tom's propensity for the theatrics… but perhaps he was biding his time for a more thorough demonstration of power later in the competition?
Hermione had another match, but it was almost identical to her first. Simplistic spells that kept the pimply teen occupied until she found an easy opening to take him out. Then the next few matches were perfectly predictable, and bored, Hermione felt her mind wander. That was, until her mental musings were interrupted by Avery's poor attempt at shit-talking from behind.
"Still feeling confident, Mudblood?"
Hermione didn't bother turning around. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"
"Tch. You're nothing special. There's no way you stand a chance at even placing in this competition."
"And why is that?"
He released another loud noise punctuating his disdain, sounding closer than before. "Because your jinxes were pathetic. Even a first-year would have been able to counter-act them."
Hermione let out a deep sigh, thoroughly exasperated, and didn't bother to respond. He was nothing but a waste of energy. Instead she noted how brilliantly blue the sky was and how warm the sun felt on top of her curls, as the school enjoyed one of Scotland's last warm and sunny afternoons this late in the autumn season.
He clearly took her silence as a sign of capitulation. "Ready to admit that you are in over your head?"
Hermione finally turned to face him, not at all surprised to find his body crowding just behind her. What was it with these boys and their inability to respect personal space? "Come on, Avery. You're not pretty enough to be this stupid."
He grimaced in affront. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Am I crummy at spell work? Do I seem to struggle in any of our shared classes?"
It was clearly a rhetorical question, but let it be known that this batch of Slytherins were eager to state the obvious. "No?"
"Then what makes you think I'd be any less capable in a duel?"
His eyes narrowed, and his teeth clenched in annoyance. "Dueling in real life is different."
"Sure is."
"And you wouldn't know any better."
"Of course not."
Hermione thought her tone made the sarcasm more than readily apparent, but then Avery asked with disbelief, "So you agree?"
"I guess you'll find out."
His expression was confused and peeved. Hermione had already begun to actively ignore him, watching Penny quietly converse with another one of the Hufflepuff boys near the back of the group. Avery clearly noticed her lack of attention, and took in a deep inhale, likely preparing to make another asinine comment.
And then the gods felt fit to answer her unasked prayers. "Next match: Avery vs Stephenson!"
Hermione turned back to watch Avery stomp off in the direction of his next match, and then she noticed the amused Head Boy standing a few feet away. He had clearly heard and enjoyed their conversation on some level, if the gleam in his eyes and smirk on his lips was anything to go by. Hermione made to move over to him, tempted to draw him into conversation, but then her attention caught on a tall boy standing a few feet from them. It was his expression as he watched her. Scrutinizing his long face, Hermione realized he was more than nervous- he was afraid. Of her.
Seventh year Slytherin by the name Parkinson, if memory served. A boy she had sent flying into the castle walls when he and his motley crew made the mistake of trying to ambush her in the dungeons. He was practically shaking in his boots.
Something about that thought sent delicious shivers running up and down her spine, and before she knew it, she was sidling up to the poor boy's side. She couldn't help it. Needing to poke at the feeling… and needing to investigate what exactly inspired this fear, she stalked closer and addressed the boy, her tone the perfect blend of sweet and sarcastic, "Hello love! Excited for your match?"
His fear grew more pronounced now that she was standing next to him. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head, and he had started to sweat profusely. He stuttered out a response. "Sh-Sure."
Hermione faked a pout, and circled him slightly. "Come on, Parkinson, lying is not nice. You don't really want to be here, do you?"
The sorry fucker looked towards Tom in alarm, before whipping back around to face her. "Sure, I do."
Tom approached them both with a strange look on his face, but Hermione ignored him for now, getting closer to the boy. "Come on now," she practically cooed. "You can be honest. You're afraid. You saw your friends come back from their duels bleeding and injured… and remembered that your poor little body is just as fragile."
"I…I…"
"Although that isn't quite right. You don't seem afraid of dueling in general… rather, you seem frightened of me. Now tell me, why is that? How have you wronged me, to deserve such an exaggerated reaction?" Hermione reached forward, and let the nail on her pointer finger trail down the boy's cheek lightly, moving on instinct.
She was mildly impressed with herself when he barely managed to stutter out, "I didn't mean to-" before Tom closed the last few feet and clasped a strong hand around the boy's shoulder. Perhaps there was hope for her future as an intimidator yet.
"Come on, Granger. Leave the poor boy alone."
Hermione just shot the infuriating Head Boy a considering glance. "So, you're involved," she simply stated, blinking dispassionately at him.
He looked at her calmly. "And you're overly suspicious."
"I don't think I am. At least, not for someone like you. A boy with the propensity to stick his fingers in far too many pies."
Tom's lips twitched. "Well, that's just a matter of opinion. I would argue that I don't have my fingers in enough pies."
Hermione couldn't stop from rolling her eyes. Apparently, he was in the mood to be obtuse. "Is someone dead?" she asked Parkinson bluntly, but quietly. No need to draw unnecessary attention.
Tom's eyes narrowed at the question, just as Parkinson forcefully shook his head back and forth in an exaggerated no.
Hermione nodded, still contemplating the situation. "Well, that's something. Is the victim permanently traumatized?"
A confused look as Parkinson had to think about it, followed by a clearly tight squeeze by Riddle, which prompted the boy to mumble, "No! Not at all!"
It didn't take long to connect the dots. After all, there was only one person in the castle that she was even relatively close to. One person that had recently overheard some potentially sensitive information about their dear Head Boy. One person that had recently spilled his sudden proclivity for pain. Instead of addressing Riddle, Hermione gracefully came to the quivering boy's other side and trailed her hand lightly across his shoulder before grabbing the back of the boy's neck. No real threat… a crushed larynx could only happen from the softer side, but it was enough to assert some control and brush her pinky against Tom's hand that was still grasping Parkinson's shoulder. The small contact sent another shiver down her spine, anticipation and magic rushing. She leaned closer and cooed softly. "Parkinson, darling. Did you and your friends kidnap Elijah and torture him a bit?"
The boy's eyes were large as galleons as he looked at her, his skin an unnatural white. The poor sod looked like death warmed up. It was clearly an affirmation.
Tom's hand moved from the boy's shoulder to settled on top of her own, still pressing firmly into the boy's neck. The additional contact made something in her breath catch, the warmth and magic of his skin somehow both comforting and arousing. "Hermione, darling," Tom whispered to her, inching closer. "Surely this is the kind of thing best discussed at another time?" He looked around, and then back at her, as if convinced she had somehow forgotten they were in public.
Pft. Hardly. This wouldn't have been a power move unless she had an audience. Feeling a strange mixture of peeved, powerful, and playful, Hermione gave them both a wicked grin. "Oh, there's no need. I have a feeling that any attempt to… negotiate my displeasure or assert that I can fucking take care of myself and my friends without your interference-" Hermione paused, wanting that thought to settle, "will be ignored. Rather I intend to demonstrate my competency as we duel. Maybe then you will learn to back the fuck off, or at the very least, communicate with me whenever you decide to play the hero or the villain."
Riddle's eyebrow raised, and his expression was difficult to decipher. "I can be both?" He moved those last few inches, until their shoulders touched.
Hermione shot him a long look. Wondering at the staged incomprehension, and all of the physical contact. Hermione knew the boy was objectively intelligent enough to comprehend moral relativism, so perhaps he was hinting at something else. She shot him a small mischievous smile, outrageously batted her eyelashes, and took a chance. "Elijah may have let it slip that you were concerned he was going to betray me. It was very sweet of you to ensure his silence on my behalf."
Tom's lips came together in a pout as he very nearly whined, "I clearly told the boy that our interests were hardly mutually exclusive."
Something about his pout just did it for her, despite how calculating his eyes became as he realized she had purposely orchestrated this exchange just to send a message. Her smile widened, outside of her control, staring at his lips. "Loyalty," she murmured into the space between them, and felt Tom's hand squeeze her own in accord, acknowledging their shared oath.
The moment was broken when Avery fairly limped past them, a vicious scowl on his face as he ambled away. Tom lightly commented on the boy's defeat. "Hardly surprising."
Hermione nodded and murmured with a bit more bite, "He clearly has not been burdened by an overabundance of education. Or any sort of athleticism."
Tom scoffed in amusement. "Remember, we all have access to the same reading material. Most are just too stupid and imprudent to take advantage."
"Their loss."
He smirked again. "Indeed."
Hermione's attention was dragged away as she heard her name called out as a contestant in the next match. She leaned closer to the two boys, until she was literally breathing down Parkinson's neck. "Good luck boys. And I hope you realize I only say that out of politeness. I will crush you."
Just as Parkinson tensed underneath her grip, Tom's hand squeezed hers again as his expression became intense and almost hungry. Hermione got lost in it for a moment, before she tore herself away and made her way across the long expanse of grass towards her opponent. She felt strangely unsettled, but trust a Malfoy to insult her well enough to capture her attention.
As soon as she was in earshot he drawled, "Hello Mudblood. Actually trying to look pretty for once? Maybe you think if we finally realize you're a girl we'll go easier on you."
The bit about finally realizing she's a girl stung, as she couldn't help but recall Ron the Cockwomble during her fourth year. She fought not to take the bait, but Malfoy clearly smelled blood. "So, who are you dressing up for? Couldn't be Walker, that fuckin' ponce isn't participating." His expression turned maliciously commiserating. "Is it Riddle? Oh, you poor thing, he clearly isn't going to give you the time of day. I'm sure you have your…. uses, but you are hardly the ideal woman. By any stretch of the imagination."
Hermione scowled, and did her best to ignore her insecurities. To forget all the little pep talks she gave herself as a child for not being pretty enough, the frustration she felt at being so easily discarded as an adult because her waist wasn't half the size of her chest, and her thighs were a bit jiggly, and her fucking hair refused to be restrained. Fuckers like Malfoy did not get to decide her self-worth. "Keep compensating, Malfoy. All the insults in the world are not going to make your todger any bigger."
His expression turned that particular brand of cocky self-assurance that told Hermione his recent sexual partners had greatly exaggerated his sexual prowess. Probably hoping to stroke his ego and his prick into submission, already planning for future nuptials. "Plenty of ladies have enjoyed my… expertise."
Good lord, he considered himself an expert. At 17?
He kept talking, his tone a pretentious drawl. "And I'm sorry, Granger, I had no idea you were interested. But you'll never be able to experience the privilege. After all, I have standards." He drew out that last word, clearly insinuating that his standards were high and that she didn't reach them.
Hermione's response was spiteful, fed up with the conversation. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to be impressed that you act like a dog with two dicks?"
The look he gave her as he nodded his head, the smallest bow he could manage to truly demonstrate his utter contempt for her, was venomous. "I'd call you a cunt, but you clearly lack any warmth and depth." The petty, barbed insult was shot just as they turned away from each other and marched three paces.
Hermione was livid, needless to say. Some part of her appreciated the fact that Malfoy had clearly upped his put-down game beyond 'filthy mudblood', but it was difficult to acknowledge around the sudden burn of her anger. He was a fucking pillock and she was going to hurt him.
At the count of three, they snapped back to face each other, spells already shooting from their wands. Later on, when Hermione was calm enough to appreciate things like Malfoy's creativity, she could acknowledge that he was by far a better dueler than her previous opponents. But she was no longer inclined to play nice. No longer inclined to diminish her own ability. She wanted to make him bleed.
Non-verbal shield charms scattered around her left Hermione the freedom to more strategically aim her spells. A stinging hex here, a furnunculus charm there, a cutting hex over there… and every time he gasped in pain, she felt something settle in the wild, angry, shrieking part of her chest. He made the mistake of summoning a snake, but rather than dwell in past memories Hermione flicked her wrist in affront and watched as the snake went up in flames.
His eyes got wide after that, but she hardly cared to pay attention. She turned the ground to ice, and flung him around on the frozen earth with a well placed Accio aimed at his socks. She summoned ink ropes that kept tugging on his wrists, sabotaging the accuracy of all his spells. She summoned birds, casting aside the familiar canaries for a murder of crows, and sent them in a frenzy around the Malfoy heir's carefully maintained locks of hair.
The boy surrendered the match after that, his body a congealing mixture of coagulating blood and bird feces, and the spiteful part of her heart relished in the victory.
Tom addressed her when she made her way back into the dwindling number of remaining contestants. "That was vicious," he casually remarked, eyeing her in interest.
"He deserved it."
She could tell he wanted to say more, but then Tom and Penny were both called onto the field, and Hermione watched the two walk out into the grass with avid interest.
Tom said something to the girl once they were across from each other, but based on the girl's deepening blush, it wasn't insulting or derogatory. Likely a charming platitude, or a remark on her success, if Hermione was gauging the hue of red right. Smart boy. He had clearly been paying attention.
Then they bowed, paced, and spun to face one another.
Penny was a much different dueler when she wasn't consumed by rage. She was more strategic, and managed to incorporate warding runes into actual combat (Hermione was fascinated at the mere possibility). She was also a lot more reactive and less assertive, which wasn't a very effective strategy against Tom, who quickly overwhelmed the girl in spells. The shielding wards helped significantly, as casting through them was no longer as simple as overpowering a magical shield, but it didn't take Tom long to figure out a work around, casting spells that equally effected Penny's entire environment.
The girl's eyes bogged as she took in the small tsunami of water heading her way, which managed to successfully knock her a considerable number of feet backwards, outside of the protection of her wards. Then Tom simply summoned Penny's wand, signaling the end of the match.
Hermione could tell looking at Tom's expression that he felt a grudging sort of respect for the girl. Hermione did as well. And she tried her best to redirect her thoughts, celebrating the girl's achievements as opposed to feeling jealous and threatened that another girl with skill was in her midst. Hermione wasn't quite sure if it was biology or social conditioning that prompted her to feel so vulnerable and insecure, but she refused to sabotage her attachment to the girl just because her attraction to Riddle was unresolved.
On that note, she was quick to send the girl a consolatory smile, and another thumbs up, trying to express her pride in the girl. The waterlogged Hufflepuff was clearly appreciative at the show of support. Penny's smile was luminous as her wet and shaking body was wrapped in a towel and she was led away from the pitch.
Tom made his way over to stand beside her, noting her interaction with the other girl with interest. "So…" he asserted softly. "Malfoy?"
"He's a tosser."
"I see. And that somehow warranted almost getting his eyes pecked out by crows?"
Hermione shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to get into it with him. Getting angry with Malfoy for disparaging her lack of attraction felt too much like admitting to weakness, which is not something she felt comfortable doing in front of Riddle.
"Do I need to talk about it with him later?"
Hermione's head snapped to face his at that. "Don't you dare. This is none of your concern."
"My fingers are already very much in your pie, Hermione," he felt it necessary to remind her. And if that didn't inspire a rather filthy image of him fingering her quim in the library. His pretty, flawless, pianist hands curled just right as she grabbed the table in front of her tightly. Teeth tightly pressed on her bottom lip to prevent any sound from escaping.
It was clear, based on his expression, that Riddle had just witnessed her sudden, involuntary fantasy, and Hermione felt oddly resentful as she forcibly pushed those thoughts from her mind (along with any regrettable demonstration of embarrassment). "You do not own me," she asserted into the space between them, as evenly as possible.
"I never said I did," he stated, his tone oddly thick.
"Then please respect my need for space."
"Hmmm. Is this because he called you a cunt?" Riddle clearly ignored her point, and Hermione huffed at his poor attempt to divert the conversation.
"I'm serious Riddle."
"Or is this because he insinuated that I didn't want to fuck you?"
Hermione's teeth ground in frustration. The git had obviously already retrieved the details of the exchange, whether from her head or Malfoy's, and was just trying to fuck with her. She tried her best to suppress all of her emotion- her frustration, her mortification, her insecurities, her interest in his question. She looked away and proclaimed, "Not everything is about you, you know."
Once again, he clearly ignored her comment. "Because I will. Gladly. Fuck you, that is."
"Oh goodness, really?"
His tone was admonishing. "Do you really need to be sarcastic right now?"
"As opposed to what? Miffed because you're clearly taking the piss on me?"
There was silence for several beats that Hermione refused to respond to. And then she didn't have to, because she was called up for her next duel.
She honestly couldn't remember the details. It was one more bloody boy who acted like a dick and expected her to roll over for him. She tried to use the match as a way to expel all of her frustration at Riddle, but the Ravenclaw buckled only a couple minutes in, clearly overwhelmed.
It made it worse, somehow. The promise of release, only to drown in disappointment. She made her way back to the contestants, and Tom wasted little time cozying up next to her, and Hermione was once again grinding her teeth.
"You're surprisingly insecure," he stated lightly, as if he was commenting on the weather.
She refused to respond.
"I honestly thought you lacked the self-awareness to properly care. But then it turns out you do."
Hermione bit back on a sarcastic remark, not wanting to engage. She barely noticed when the skin on her bottom lip broke open and her mouth suddenly tasted like metal.
"What I don't understand is this. If there's something you don't like about yourself, why don't you try to change it? You clearly made an effort to seem more attractive today. But you could have been doing that for your entire adolescence."
It was too much, and Hermione already wasn't an exceptionally patient person. She spun to face him and sneered up into his regrettably handsome face. "Riddle? Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I honestly don't give two fucks about becoming attractive enough that boys like you or Malfoy will want to fuck me. Because I am intelligent enough to understand that just because you're willing to stick your prick into me doesn't mean you value or respect me.
What bothers me is how often I have to prove that I am more than just a hole to be filled. What gets me is how often people try to curtail my sense of self-worth because I'm not attractive enough for them. What fucking troubles me is how hard I have to try to feel confident in myself, simply because I already fail to meet people's standards. And you're asking me to, what, somehow compensate for this lack of value by smearing colored wax or oils all over my face? I don't understand how something so artificial can somehow be more important than intelligence or ingenuity or creativity or cunning, but that seems to be the way of things."
She leaned in even closer in her fury. "I am not insecure because I'm worried that you don't want to fuck me. I am insecure because I am human, and I want to have worth. I want people to like me for me, but if my adolescence has proven anything, it is that I am too pedantic, too critical, too serious, too plain, too ambitious, and too academic to appeal to my peers. Which somehow makes me fucking disposable. So yes, forgive me if being forced to acknowledge that fact makes me pissy and anxious."
A moment of silence passed and Hermione wondered what he saw looking into her eyes. If he could witness the memories that whizzed through her mind, of countless dismissals and rejections she had received over the years because she wasn't enough.
She also wondered if he somehow picked up the real reason why she spent ten minutes that morning struggling with a mascara wand. This wasn't about becoming attractive- she wanted to look worthy of respect. Somehow, infuriatingly, Hermione didn't quite know how to differentiate between the two, and it was so… frustrating to think about.
He was still close, his gaze intense as it took in her face. After barely a minute it felt like too much, so she stepped away from him, still stewing. Riddle gave her an inscrutable look, just as he was called up for another round.
Hermione was curious to see that this next match was not cordial by any means. It was as if the Head Boy had somehow picked up her frustration. Unaware that the emotion was contagious, she watched as he ruthlessly took his opponent to barely coherent pieces. It was the graceful sort of savagery seen in a predator, and it made Hermione wonder what she had looked like during her last match. Probably not half as graceful.
It came to no surprise to either of them that they were the last students left standing. Unable to resolve their argument, Hermione could feel the negative emotions bubble and rot inside her. The resentment and frustration and anger were always there now, but there was also confusion, shame, and unhappiness.
They stood across from each other on the pitch, and Hermione tried not to shake. Tried to resist the strong urge to grab her middle and physically hold herself together.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione did her best to throw away the pressing melancholy, knowing that the lethargy would not help her now. Instead, she thought about Malfoy's insults and how irritated she was at her own insecurity, and attempted to capitalize on her anger and pride, which brought clarity and sweet promises of control. Her wand snapped out on three almost subconsciously, and before she knew it, Riddle was responding. She did her best to funnel that frustration, aching to stretch the emotion. She cast more complicated spells nonverbally, she threw herself around the pitch to conserve magical energy, she even managed to create her own defensive rune sequence into the ground to give her another layer of protection, inspired by Penny's last duel.
And Riddle took everything she threw at him. Her curses were blocked, her conjured fire was redirected, her black, ink ropes disintegrated into the air. Her lion illusion was shattered, just in time to block her Confringo. And his own attacks were savage, chains that attempted to pin her ankles and wrists, a deep purple curse that gave Hermione momentary flashbacks of her encounter with Doholov in the Department of Mysteries, and bright, pulsing lights that attempted to blind her.
His lips were curled into a familiar grimace, his stance was sure, his wand movements snapped, and his magic was powerful. It made something in Hermione keen. Not in deference, or silly infatuation. It called on the equally savage part of her psyche, the terrible, angry, vindictive part of her that wanted to rip the world to shreds. It recognized kin, and was more than eager to come out to play.
A feral smile stretched her lips as she shifted her center of gravity, and attacked.
It was brilliant. She was forced to block, and shield, and dodge, and creatively retaliate. And she didn't have to hold anything back- hexes, jinxes, and curses innovatively linked with simpler charms to add effect. She could be as ruthless as she wanted to be, as frustrated as she wanted, without needing to worry that she would somehow hurt him.
One of his spells managed to catch her arm, and then pain and adrenaline exploded from the clear break in her forearm. Something in Riddle's eyes flickered, and he startled to a stop mid-cast. Rather than call it quits, though, Hermione simply murmured, "Brackium Emendo." She harshly bit back the impulse to scream as the bones realigned and the skin healed, and then she cast a Slugulus Eructo while his guard was down.
Riddle was quick to block it, and then his lips stretched in a corresponding smile, mean and vicious and excited.
The duel commenced.
Unfortunately for either opponent, they failed to remember that they had an audience, so caught up in enjoying attempting to one-up the other. They failed to remember that there were various members of in the school's faculty who had plenty of cause to scrutinize the nature of spells coming from their wands. And Hermione failed to remember that no one there expected a woman to win.
So the next time she tripped up even slightly, as the ground was literally pulled out from under her and she fell on her hands and knees, it would come to no surprise to Mr. Third-Party Observer that certain members of the faculty jumped at the chance to end the duel, however prematurely. She was already in the process of casting magic from the ground when Dumbledore grabbed her shoulder, pushed her further into the ground, and forcefully snatched her wand.
Some part of Hermione was in shock as she struggled to understand that they were intervening in the competition. This clearly went against the rules posted by the British Wizard Dueling Association. It went against traditions adopted by the annual Dunstable Dueling Championship, which was intended to be the model for the school competition. This wasn't fair. She hadn't surrendered, she hadn't been disarmed, and she clearly wasn't incapacitated.
She blinked in confusion as adults flooded the field, forcibly shuffled her further and further off the pitch, just as they declared Tom Marvolo Riddle the winner in the 843rd annual Hogwards Wizarding Championship and the lucky recipient of 100 galleons. She tried to say something, but then Miss Meadows was there, her hands in a flutter about the audacity of her outfit, and she really ought to return to the castle and change into something more acceptable. And then a nearby mediwitch was tutting over her 'ill-conceived display of recklessness, why on Earth would she be daft enough to attempt healing magic in the middle of a duel?'.
"Is it not allowed?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.
The mediwitch tripped up for a second, but quickly recovered. Apparently, technically it was allowed, but 'those rules apply to adult wizards that have completed their education, not teenage witches who have received no supplementary training to ensure that she wouldn't accidentally injure herself'.
"But I didn't," she defended herself. Her forearm was fine. But apparently she still needed to visit the Hospital Wing. 'Just because you read the spell in a book doesn't mean you know how to perform it'.
Wasn't that the entire purpose of spell-books?
Hermione felt oddly bereft. She expected to be angry at Dumbledore's intervention, resentful at Meadow's sexism, upset that Hogwarts staff clearly had so little faith in her, despite that demonstration… but instead all she could feel was disappointment.
Hermione walked into the Great Hall, feeling oddly subdued. She sat at a familiar place at the Gryffindor table, and mindlessly piled food onto a plate. She looked up and saw Charles Potter staring at her from the other side of the table, but he didn't say anything, so neither did she.
Her brooding was interrupted by the press of a warm body at her side as someone sat down next to her. Penny took her time carefully picking through vegetables in a clear attempt to grab only the broccoli. When she noticed Hermione's stare, the shy girl gave Hermione a brilliant smile. "Hey Hermione. Good morning."
"Penny," Hermione stated in confusion.
The moment of calm serenity was interrupted by a loud exclamation from behind. "Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing, Penny! I'm Hermione's token Hufflepuff friend!" Elijah plopped down on Hermione other side, his handsome face twisted into a scowl as he regarded the bespectacled girl.
Said girl's demon switch was activated with the boy's aggression. Her body straightened, and her teeth were displayed in affront. "No reason she can't have more than one fucking friend, Elijah."
"Yeah, but…" the boy pouted as he regarded the two girls.
"But what? You want to fight?!"
Elijah looked at the petite girl with wide eyes. "What? No!"
Penny leaned towards the boy with a menacing scowl. "You were the one who came over here and started talking shit. Come here. I'll show you why I shouldn't be underestimated."
Elijah's hands went up high in surrender. "Jesus fuck, Penny. Like I would underestimate you after how you dueled in the competition."
Penny gave him a sniff worthy of a patrician. "Good."
Elijah ran an exasperated hand through his longish golden hair. "Seriously, what the fuck. You've been so sweet for seven years. What the fuck happened?"
The girl appeared to have calmed. Still she seemed to have the gumption to ask, "When have you ever paid attention to me?"
Elijah hummed in consideration, conceding her point.
"How are you lot louder and more obnoxious than Gryffindors?" Potter spoke up from across them at the table, frowning tiredly around a cup of coffee.
And then both Hufflepuffs, affronted, felt the need to cuss the poor boy out.
Hermione sighed, and looked absentmindedly across the hall. Tired and depressed as she was, it took several long moments for her to realize that Tom was actively trying to get her attention. She blinked at him, at first trying to understand his body language, and then trying to decide if it was even worth getting out of her chair.
"Lover boy calling?" Elijah teased.
Penny's eyes turned towards her at the moniker, narrowed in confusion. "Lover boy? You're seeing someone?"
The boy let out a large yawn that turned into an easy grin. "Well, yeah. Riddle's sweet on her. He already agreed to let me cater at their wedding."
That was enough to snap Hermione out of her daze. "I'm sorry, what?"
Elijah's smile turned mocking. "Now don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Riddle and I have it all sorted out."
Hermione could feel her lips slip into a sneer as she registered how fucking condescending he sounded. "Is that so?"
"Mmhmm, that's right. So why don't you run along and find out what your other half wants?"
Hermione glare intensified, and the brownie he gently placed in her palm as a peace offering was the only thing that saved him from being eviscerated. He was clearly baiting her to spur her into action, but she didn't want to be proactive right now. She didn't have the energy. "I don't want to," she stated, feeling somehow childish in her obstinacy.
"You have to get it over with eventually."
Hermione looked back at her plate despondently. She had barely eaten anything. To be fair, the butter and jam turned her toast soggy. "It wasn't fair."
Elijah shrugged. "Life isn't fair."
"I wanted it to be fair."
"Of course you did. But it wasn't. And it wasn't his fault that things ended the way they did."
Hermione sighed, burrowing her head underneath her arms. She spoke in a muffled voice to the table. "I understand that. But it just… I worked hard for this. I had plans. But it seems that no matter how hard I try, nothing is going to change. It's just so… frustrating. That my effort means nothing because of things outside of my control."
"I know how you feel," Tom's voice resounded above her, and Hermione's head shot up. She turned to see the Head Boy standing directly behind her, as well-groomed and put-together as ever. She wasn't nearly as resentful as usual at the sight, though. She could pick up the tired lines under his eyes, and the tension in his fingers.
"Riddle," she greeted him blandly, fighting the urge to engage in any nervous tics.
"Hermione," he stated in amusement. "I just wanted to give you something," he added, drawing a letter from the inside of his robes. He held it out to her.
Hermione went to grab it, but Riddle snatched her wrist before she could get a solid grip and slowly but firmly brought her hand up to his face. Then he turned towards the forearm he had broken the day before and placed a gentle kiss there. His lips lingered as his eyes bore into hers, and the feel of his warm breath on her arm made shivers of surprise and anticipation shoot up her spine. She could no longer breath.
The moment seemed to stretch.
Then, tucking the letter into her fingers, he released her, and Hermione's arm snapped back to her side. She took a harsh breath as she watched the boy impart an enigmatic smile and saunter out of the Great Hall.
Elijah made to grab the letter, but Hermione smacked his hand.
"My letter."
Elijah pouted again. "I just want to know what it says."
Hermione felt the odd urge to stick her tongue out at him, but suppressed it. Instead, she carefully opened the letter and read the contents. By the time she got to the end, she had no idea how she was supposed to be feeling.
"What does it say?" Penny asked quietly from her left.
Hermione looked at her, still feeling dazed. "I've been invited to join the Dueling Club."
Elijah snorted. "Of course they should invite you. You fucking dominated in the competition. They would be fools to dismiss you."
Elijah, of course, did not understand the politics behind her participation. He didn't know about the many ways that she had been forced to barter for her inclusion. And he didn't realize that, for Riddle, this letter was significantly more complicated than a simple invitation; it served as a request to join him in his political aspirations, it was an effort to demonstrate that he was capable of compromise, and it was a symbol of confirmation and validation of her achievements. Validation of her worth outside of any sexual context.
Hermione smiled.