Chapter 12: Hermione Breaks Bad
The footsteps behind her were loud, echoing throughout the otherwise unoccupied corridor. Hermione stopped, frowning as she clutched her library books close to her chest. No noise. She took a few experimental steps, and again the sharp clack of cheap, overtreated leather resonated from polished stone. The sound was sharper; they had unwittingly stepped closer, which meant her stalker was probably a man, one with long legs that produced an equally long stride.
Hermione already had a suspect in mind. Recently a Ravenclaw boy had decided that he was rather enamored with her. Exasperated with the quality of writing in her class, their Astronomy Professor had assigned mandatory peer review for their last written assignment, and Hermione had not been kind to her randomly assigned partner.
Who knew that extremely captious criticism smeared in copious red ink could be the grounds for romance?
Fortunately for her, her would-be-admirer felt great responsibility towards embodying his societally defined gender role as 'the pursuer'. Thank goodness she was currently living in a society that easily excused regular harassment as 'wooing', because how else were women supposed to know a man was truly interested? Persistence seemed to be the name of the game, regardless of her own wants or desires, and…
Fuck it, she was too annoyed to employ sarcasm, even in her own head. Contrary to popular opinion, this boy (this measly, pompous nitwit) was not romantic. He was not particularly unattractive (brown hair cut in a no-nonsense manner and thin, rectangular glasses barely detracted from bright hazel eyes and a strong, square chin), but his complete lack of consideration for her space, so consumed with his own aggressive pursuit, was irritating, off-putting, and all-around unpleasant.
Apparently, wooing in the 1940s did not allow women the luxury of boundaries. This boy, this Humphrey, felt it acceptable to mail her mildly explicit 'love letters' at the breakfast table. Where every other morning heavy, slanted penmanship informed Hermione that her pedanticism was deemed, 'supremely attractive, of the sexual nature', or that he found 'pleasure in the odd moment alone by imagining her reciting his favorite thesaurus'.
Merlin's sagging titties, she did not need that mental image.
This Humphrey felt it acceptable to interject himself in her life even after her many blatant rejections, regularly inviting himself to sit with her in class, at the library, on the grounds. Which ultimately led to a poorly executed intervention by Tom, who thought that forcing his underlings to follow her around between classes would somehow 'protect' her. Naturally, this accomplished nothing except as a terrible insult to her pride, and to create friction between her and his boys.
This Humphrey also felt it appropriate to stalk her around the castle at all hours of the day.
Which brought her back to her current situation. Frustrated, Hermione spun backwards and saw that split second moment of panic in the boy's eyes as he took in her aggressive stance and had to choose between leaving or confronting her. Unfortunately for them both, the boy was rather stupid given his irritating ability to recite course material verbatim, and decided that Hermione aggressively holding her hips was somehow encouragement. He walked up to her with an obvious swagger.
"Hermione! What serendipitous odds have placed us on this side of the castle, both perfectly alone?"
"Humphrey."
"And, might I just say how lovely you look out of uniform? You certainly don't have to say Lumos to turn me on," the irritating cretin had the gall to draw out those last three words as he gave her body a lascivious glance.
She snarled, impatient in her irritation. "Stop. Look at my face. And listen. I'm not sure how many times I need to repeat myself, but leave me the fuck alone. I'm not interested. Capesh?"
His grin widened, and Hermione was genuinely at a loss as his weedy voice asserted, "I know it is in the habit of young ladies to pretend to be disinterested so as not to seem desperate or needy. And I have to say, I do so love this little game of ours."
She felt like Elizabeth Bennett desperately trying to dissuade her dense, priggish cousin. Fed up, Hermione marched away from him, attempting to make a beeline for the nearest bathroom where she should have at least a modicum of privacy. He felt it appropriate to follow at her heel.
Thank fucking Merlin for Tom.
He appeared out of nowhere, casually sauntering around a corner. Even without the bit of parchment of their Hogwarts map peaking surreptitiously from his schoolbag, Hermione could tell the intervention was planned, and tried not to look too grateful as she hurried closer. "Tom! Just the fellow I was hoping to see. Perhaps now that you are finished with the Prefect Meeting, we can finally get some work done on our Arithmancy project?"
His dancing eyes and widening smirk were incredibly amused. Until Humphrey once again felt the need to demonstrate his complete lack of precocity by throwing himself into the space between them. The Ravenclaw frowned at the Head Boy, fingered the obnoxious plaid bow tie wrapped snug inside the neck of his collared shirt, and then arrogantly stated, "Actually, Hermione, I'm not sure I find it appropriate for you to spend time alone with Riddle unchaperoned. Please allow me to accompany you. To keep you and your reputation safe, you understand."
Her anger felt like literal fire as indignation swept through her body. The presumption was just… Hermione found herself ranting against the boy, unable to stop herself. "Humphrey, do not dare to assume that you have any right to control my behavior in any way. Do not dare to assume that I consider you a person for whom I would trust any part of myself, including my future, my body, or my reputation-"
He wasn't looking at her.
Or fucking listening.
He was smirking at Tom. And as soon as she stopped to take a breath, he slyly interjected, "You hear that, Riddle? That's the sound of passion." Then the idiotic boy thought to take a step closer to Hermione while saying, "Well, sweeting? Interested in using that passion more constructively? I may not be an Animagus, but I'm an animal in bed."
His wink made her incredibly uncomfortable.
Tom was angry enough that his body had stilled as his eyes darkened. Hermione watched in surprise as his frown slid into an ugly sneer as he looked the boy up and down in a dismissive manner. "You certainly have the intelligence of an animal, so I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise to learn it is so easy for you to devolve into following your baser instincts."
Humphrey gave Tom a nasty smile. "My class standing would suggest otherwise."
Tom scoffed, and then sauntered forward with the grace of a prowling predator. "Fifteenth is hardly a demonstration of brilliance. And please remember to whom you are speaking. The first and second in our class, with scores far ahead of anyone else at this school."
The Ravenclaw was obviously greatly displeased to be reminded of such. He shrugged with forced nonchalance, but his left eye was distinctly twitching. "Well, I heard from my uncle at the Ministry that you were both blacklisted from securing a Ministry job. And you should be quite aware, considering your unnecessarily high exam scores, that the Ministry of Magic holds a majority of the job opportunities in Wizarding Britain. So good luck finding viable employment, Riddle."
Humphrey's expression did a complete 180 as he turned to face Hermione. "But no worries, Hermione my sweet. I have already been offered a position in the Department of Magical Transportation. I should be financially secure enough for us to have up to three children, should you manage our holdings with appropriate frugality. Furthermore, considering your obvious mental acumen, the investment in our offspring will pay forward and help us secure a wealthy retirement."
And who said a Ravenclaw couldn't be romantic.
"I have no interest in becoming a housewife," Hermione stated assertively.
Humphrey had the temerity to scoff in her face. "Don't be ridiculous. This is your responsibility, your duty as a woman, to mind the children and look after the household."
"I fully intend to have my own career, Humphrey."
His frown deepened, and his eyes slowly slid from Hermione to Tom. "I see. Well, I am sure this is something we can discuss at another time." A time without the Head Boy present went unsaid. And then Humphrey, in another spectacular display of obtuseness, looked back over at Hermione and shot her that terribly creepy wink. "I hope you're looking forward to your next morning letter. I've made an effort not to be too explicit, not wanting to seem crass, but… my uncle made it clear that you must be a particularly dense woman to be unable to pick up and reciprocate my romantic overtures. I hope you enjoy."
And then the infuriating boy flounced away.
Hermione somehow felt both incensed and flabbergasted. "I'm the dense one? He's the one that doesn't seem to understand the word no. Which my two-year-old cousin led me to believe is a relatively simple concept."
Tom shook his head casually enough, but Hermione could see the remnants of tension that tightened his jaw and the tendons in his fists. "Merely a case of selective hearing, Hermione. His ego seems to be filtering his reality and making him delusional. As if he could possibly be worthy of you." The Head Boy scoffed again in disbelief, and then turned to look at her. Hermione could see how dark his eyes still were and wondered, if she were to employ Legilimency, whether he would be preoccupied fantasizing about murdering the dense boy in horrific ways.
"Would you like to see?"
He had obviously read her thoughts. Did she want to see? Some part of her brain thought to wave a flag, trying to get her attention, worried that this would be a step too far… but her curiosity was too strong. A chance to secure even a glimpse inside his mind? "Please."
Tom's face shone with something close to triumph. Then he grabbed her elbow and pulled her behind a nearby tapestry, where Hermione was surprised to find a roomy alcove. He let the fabric fall and lit a scone on the wall. The small, contained fire barely illuminated their surroundings, but it was bright enough that Hermione could see the mischievous turn on his lips. "Do you know the incantation?"
Of course she did. She gripped her wand tightly in her left hand and ignored the anticipatory flutters turning her stomach as she stared into his dark eyes. "Legilimens."
At first it was like wading through water. There was nothing but dark and struggle. It was only her own deeply rooted obstinacy that forced her to keep pushing, trying to find Tom- the moment she concentrated on what she was looking for, he appeared as his dapper self, wearing a school uniform as he circled a tied-up Humphrey. The room was dark, completely surrounded in cobbled stone, and damp in a way that few places in the castle were. Hermione asked the question before she had the opportunity to censor herself, and realized too late it was a thought, unimpeded. "You want to torture him in the Chamber of Secrets?"
She had been once before, and the line of statues, the slick moisture that clung to rock, and the dark water in pools close to their feet were impossible to forget.
Suddenly he was standing before her, his face close, his voice resonating from everywhere and nowhere. "You've been here before?"
Hermione did her best to keep her thoughts contained, to settle her attention on the Tom in front of her, who seemed oddly flighty, unstable, manic in a way he wasn't in person. She did her best to ensure that her tone was lightly accusing. Playful, even. Nothing else. "Your basilisk petrified me."
"I should hope so, if you were caught wandering in his chamber."
Should she let him assume wrongly? But her oath, promising honesty, magically pushed the following words out before she could help herself. "Actually, it petrified me as I was leaving the library."
His eyebrow raised, "The library?"
"Your horcrux possessed the Weasley girl, and let the Basilisk loose in the castle." She sniffed with false irritation, trying to keep the exchange casual, casual, casual… "I missed three months worth of curriculum, I'll hope you know."
He let out a loud laugh. "As if you weren't already studying ahead. Did you lose your class standing?"
Another sniff. "Of course not."
He laughed again, for longer this time, and the very air seemed to warm around her. It took a moment for Hermione to realized that she could feel his amusement within the confines of this imagined torture session. It forced her to reevaluate what she felt before… Something anticipatory, something curious, swirling slickly florescent like oil over something dark, deep, and soul-consuming.
"So, when did you visit my chamber?"
She didn't know how to explain this while staying casual, so she just let it out. "I may have been visiting your dead Basilisk… so I could destroy one of your horcruxes."
If Hermione had not already been inside of his head, she is sure she would have missed it. Considering how skilled he was at prevaricating visible emotions. As it was, inside his head, that immediate shot of anger, the potent fear, the distrust and suspicion seemed to ooze out of the very walls surrounding her. The air was heavy with his feelings, and growing thicker, intent to suffocate. "And you never thought to mention that to me before now? That you were personally responsible for murdering a piece of my soul?"
His tone was just as casual as hers, but the torrent of his emotions continued to swirl. It seemed to pull at something deep inside her, intent on filling her with terror. Hermione's pride fought back, and the strength of her will was reflected in her biting response. "Do you think me the kind of person to step aside when my life is being threatened? The sort to let others do my fighting for me? Do I strike you as weak, cowardly, feeble-minded?"
That stopped the torrent. The maelstrom of negative intent quickly settled into something quieter, but still restlessly contemplative. "No, I suppose not." He wandered over, the physical form within this fantasy a bit blurry now, but his eyes were bright and piercing. "Why tell me now?"
He was mentally bracing himself for disappointment, betrayal, hurt, and there was something so human about it that Hermione's compassion stilled her own emotional conflict. "I made an oath to be honest with you, remember?"
This seemed to be the correct response. Everything stilled, Tom's form became discernable, and once again a tied-up Humphrey became the room's focus. There were still elements of fear that clung and lingered like the moisture saturating the surrounding rock, but there was also tenuous hope, and a surprisingly strong sense of security that Hermione had no way of exploring. And the longer she stood there and stared, patiently waiting for him to continue, the more potent that feeling became.
Tom eventually swept up to her and led her to the middle of the room with a congenial smile, once more the theatrical performer eager to share the secrets of his own ingenious. "Consider this my attempt at constructive criticism," Tom reassured her lightly, "Your own homicidal fantasies are quite good, innovative and meticulous for the most part, but you rarely personally give yourself the power over their lives. Instead you let an outside agent handle the actual killing, a plant or a poison for example, which does the job well enough but puts their death outside of your control."
Hermione felt a metaphysical eyebrow raise in question. "And I need to be in control?"
Tom scoffed good-naturally. "Why else would you kill?"
It didn't take long for Hermione to find a suitable answer. "The logical removal of individuals that threaten the sanctity of human life?"
Tom's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "So you believe in capital punishment?"
Hermione shrugged. "It's a better reason for killing than as an unhealthy coping mechanism used to poorly assuage your insecurities."
He easily ignored the personal criticism. "So you think criminals inherently have less worth as people than law abiding citizens? That is very interesting, coming from the perspective of someone who I suspect has committed her fair share of crimes. Do you deserve to die?"
Hermione shrugged again, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "Perhaps I do."
Tom's growing smile distinctly reflected an amused Cheshire cat playing with its meal. "Now you're simply being contrary. Be honest. You do not think of yourself as worthy of death."
She did not like where he was going with this, but felt a responsibility to be honest now that he had directly asked. It didn't take long to find an answer- everything she had ever done had always felt so necessary, all for the greater good. "No, I don't think I deserve to die."
"So, what makes you better than the people currently rotting away in Azkaban?"
Hermione could feel the frown on her face deepening the more the irritating boy in front of her smiled. It was an annoying dichotomy. "The intentions behind my crimes were more noble. I was attempting to overthrow your attempt at establishing a genocidal totalitarian dictatorship, which was in general leading our society towards more horrific acts of human rights abuse."
"Ah. So you were under the delusion that you were protecting the greater good. The sanctity of the commons." The way he said that was sarcastic, but his smile was still sharply amused. "And this is somehow more important than your victims, very real people, who were hurt in pursuit of it?"
"They deserved it! They were evil, terrible people, actively attempting to murder children!"
He shook his head lightly. "You are rationalizing your actions. It wasn't wrong to hurt them, to kill them, because they deserved it, right? They did something against you, and retribution is easy to justify."
Tom was unfortunately correct, in a way. Her actions against Marietta, Rita, Umbridge, those were all acts of personal retribution that may have victimized them to some extent. And Hermione had definitely killed several masked men during the Final Battle because she felt, the feeling deep and instinctual, that their very existence threatened her own. She did not feel sorry for her actions, though.
"Hermione, I am simply trying to point out the ridiculous irony in all of this. For you see, the men and women currently fighting alongside Grindelwald attempting to spark a revolution? These pureblooded scions who seek to instigate their own uprising? They all adamantly believe that their own actions are necessary, for their greater good. Because they see you and your kind as an obstacle towards maintaining a peaceful, prosperous society. And they justify the casualties they leave behind just as readily as you do."
She didn't say anything for several long moments. Hermione supposed that she could see where Tom was coming from, but the only thing his argument had confirmed for her was that perhaps she ought to be in jail. It certainly wasn't fair to discriminate others for behaviors she herself practiced, while pardoning herself in a false sense of self-righteousness.
He seemed to be leading this discussion in a different direction though. "Why can Aurors legally be allowed to kill while regular citizens cannot? Why can Unspeakables, individuals prone towards dangerous experimentation, be allowed to practice Blood Magic indiscriminately while farmers cannot? Why is Occulmency considered 'dark', while a spell that opens veins considered 'light'? The only conclusion we can make is that our society has no truly objective moral standards, and understand that what rules do exist are there so that the government can control certain segments of the population. Which means that these laws and regulations are largely arbitrary and therefore can be largely ignored."
Hermione felt herself arguing before she had planned out a comprehensive verbal attack. "If everyone did this it would lead to anarchy. These rules are in place to keep the peace and properly facilitate conflict."
His smile slid into something more condescending. "That is the great fear they sell to keep people in line, isn't it? Without us, there would be chaos. Without us, there would be death, destruction, loss. It feels like you have too much at stake. But make no mistake, these rules are in place to control your behavior. To facilitate the ease of your exploitation."
He hummed lightly, a soft tune as he leaned in closer. "I want you to consider this. You saw how few of my soldiers were actually incarcerated. How many marked members were released after the incident with the scarred infant because they were allotted legal loopholes with which to escape judgment. Consider who the law protects, and who it doesn't. How those in power keep their power and suppress competition and those they deem inferior. And then I want you to consider whether anything in our legal system can be considered just."
"That doesn't make killing okay." The words came out in a rush, the response automatic, instinctual. Her sense of self-preservation finally appeared, grasping tenaciously at ideals that would protect her life. I don't want to die.
He wasn't looking at her. "But you already told me that it was? With your little speech about capital punishment." There was a pause. Hermione fought the dread trickling through her limbs, turning them leaden, as she considered Tom's careful manipulations. She wondered if he could somehow sense her emotions inside his head, if he had just as much access as she did.
"Just remember, Hermione, moral absolutism is a myth. There are no absolutes, because our society has already excused every type of crime there is."
"But what about my morals?"
She wanted to be good, didn't she?
He turned to her suddenly, his face unbearably close. "You've already excused every type of crime too, you're just worried about so readily dismissing it because you think it might make you unworthy somehow. That's another lie they try to sell. That committing crimes makes you less than. Unworthy of freedom, unworthy of a job, unworthy of a family. Unworthy of love. But does this mean anything, if the very system that decides what constitutes a crime is corrupt?"
His argument finally made something within her brain click into place, and she responded in a stupor. The dread had leaked away, leaving a strange emptiness in its wake. "No."
He leaned forward that last inch, pressing his lips strongly into hers for several long seconds in triumph before he leaned back to look at her. "That's my girl."
Hermione spent the next half an hour in a haze. Tom was more excitable than usual in his mind, his emotions more flippant, but lingering underneath everything was a strong impression of her. Of his approval in her recent behavior, his attachment to her position in his life, his pride in her personality traits and her accomplishments. It was a heady feeling spurred by random kisses that continued to magically generate tingling, even inside his mind. It cast the events of Humphrey's torture under a blanket of whimsy, as the boy's nasally screams and panicked pleas gained a quality of unreality Hermione wondered at. Even the rivets of blood appeared more like paint, an aesthetic touch highlighting the boy's eyes and his strong chin, which made his desperation somehow beautiful and poignant rather than horrifying.
Hermione was barely aware of her reentry into the real world. The transition happened smoothly, and Hermione realized it was because Tom's lips had attached to hers in the real world too. This kiss was softer than any they had shared, a lingering heat. And Hermione could feel against her lips that even after an hour, Tom was still smiling.
In that moment she didn't have the strength of mind to question her own passivity.
It shouldn't have surprised her the next morning when Tom invited himself to sit next to her at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, but it did. Her Hufflepuff friends were preoccupied that morning at a monthly House meeting, and Charles Potter was the sort to keep to himself. He merely shot her a raised eyebrow from across the table, and went back to thoroughly buttering his toast. Tom didn't bother with words, pouring himself a strong cup of tea and filling his plate in a preoccupied manner.
Uninterested in investing herself in drama this early in the morning, Hermione decided to read, unbothered with them all. Tom eventually pushed another cup of tea and a plate of toast in her direction, and she began taking absentminded nibbles between page turns.
The mystery behind his decision to join her was swiftly resolved when owls swept into the Great Hall to deliver the morning mail and Tom immediately became more alert. He grabbed Humphrey's letter off the school owl's foot with surprising alacrity and tore into the envelope. Hermione watched with some amusement as his frown deepened dramatically and leaned over to read.
"My Dearest Hermione,
How fortunate I am to have such a woman.
Your feisty nature ignites a passion that spurs a fire in my loins. Your meticulous adherence to the rules of grammar fans that flame into an inferno, as your pedanticism and bookish diligence make you the single point of beautiful order in my otherwise chaotic world. But these compliments alone do not give your luscious body the attention it so desperately deserves.
Your sweet face, with the eyes of a curious doe peeking through reminds me of your innocence. Your breasts, a sizeable handful I long to squeeze, reminds me of your femininity. Your long, untamable hair flows like the back of an unbroken stallion, which reminds me that you are unbroken. How I long to ride you, to grip those strands and rid you of your innocence. How I long to tame you.
I have written you a short poem to demonstrate my ardor more explicitly. I hope this will help clear up any misunderstandings we may have had, as I am quite uninterested in friendship.
I'm your Mars
You are my Venus
You are my vagina
I am your penis
Forever yours,
Humphrey"
Hermione let out a short laugh. That was certainly explicit. "Is it terrible of me to feel glad that I'm not alone in experiencing… whatever this is?"
Tom was not quite as amused. "It's rubbish," he stated clearly.
"Obviously," Hermione agreed as she took a drink of tea and looked back down at her book lamentably. Now was the not the time to bury her head in Lenore Reynold's fascinating discourse on Wizarding Britain's history of trade. Not when Hermione was thoroughly familiar with all the ways Tom wanted to kill the disenchanting boy. "How can I say no and force him to take that response more seriously?"
Tom wasn't looking at her. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
Hermione sighed. She certainly couldn't allow that. Her goal was to detract from his homicidal behavior, not encourage him to engage in it more. And considering how ardently Hogwarts staff were monitoring their behavior, as well as Tom's propensity towards theatrical, grand displays, she would have to be the one to handle this if they wanted to keep a low profile. "I am sure you can, but I don't think you should have to. Humphrey is my mess, let me clean it up."
And then suddenly he was looking at her, evaluating, his eyes piercing in their intensity. "You have until the end of the week," he eventually announced, still frowning.
The part of Hermione that did not like being told what to do wanted to fight back. Who was he to issue ultimatums? This was supposed to be a partnership, they should decide these things together. But another part of Hermione, the one slowly forming an attachment, the one intimately familiar with both his insecurities and his though processes, recognized that giving her the reigns was progress. He was still trusting her with the opportunity to handle things, even if he didn't pontificate on the reasons why and did so while issuing commands to compensate for his difficulty in surrendering control. "I'll see what I can do."
It was simply a question of how.
Hermione calmly pushed against the restraints strapping her tightly to the chair, casually testing their strength. She was wrapped practically from head to toe, with zero give, which reminded her oddly of those patients featured at the asylums for the criminally insane. She felt amusement bubble up inside considering the absurdity as she turned her head as much as she could and checked out a terrified looking Humphrey similarly swaddled.
So much for giving her a week. Her amusement rapidly slid towards irritation, and she gave the boys surrounding her a long look. Thankfully, she still had control over her eyebrows, which she employed to their full effect. One eyebrow clearly lifted to communicate everything she was feeling, mostly exasperation and disdain.
"Was all of this really necessary?"
After all, she had agreed to sit in the chair willingly enough.
Avery took a wary step towards her, looking as if she were a feral animal preparing to rip through her bindings with her teeth. "We all saw your performance at the dueling competition, and we know the rumors currently circulating the school." He nodded to himself in a self-assured manner, "It's better to be safe than sorry."
She nodded slowly, visibly accommodating their underwhelming demonstration of intelligence. "I suppose that explains the restraints. Somewhat. But why am I here?"
She could rationalize Humphrey's inclusion well enough, but why was she strapped to a chair?
When her question was met with silence, Hermione gave it an educated guess. "Are you all still disgruntled that Tom forced you to follow me around the castle? Because I did not ask for that, at all. And I don't think it's fair that I should have to feel the brunt of your frustration. Isn't that what the Hebetudinous Humphrey is for? To act as your cathartic, screaming meat sack?"
Still nothing, although half of the boys wore deep frowns, obvious perplexed.
Perhaps that was too many words for their dimwitted brains to handle without getting distracted. Brevity would probably be best.
"Why am I here?" she repeated with bite.
Hermione heard him before he saw him, a teenager's attempt at a gruff clearing of throat that doubled as a demand for attention, which pitched unfortunately squeaky. The boys parted reverently, despite the indignity of the noise, and Malfoy strode in with a saunter. Hermione's eyes quickly found the scars her conjured crows had created, poorly scabbed over in various points on his head and neck, and couldn't drudge up one iota of sympathy.
"Abby," she intoned as dispassionately as she could. His eyebrow twitched at the moniker, but Hermione did not give herself the luxury to smirk. This was clearly serious business, and she needed to respect it as such. Although she was rather hungry, so perhaps she should speed things along a bit. "What is this, an intervention?"
Malfoy's response came out in his stereotypical drawl. "We are concerned about your involvement in Tom's life."
Godric's gregarious gonads, it was an intervention.
Hermione couldn't help but gripe towards the heavens in exasperation. "Why me?"
Malfoy apparently mistook himself as the subject of her query. "He seems to put value in your opinion, and considering your obvious inferiority, that is simply unacceptable."
Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes in response, quickly losing patience. "I see. So am I to assume you brought me here to- and pardon my potentially liberal interpretation of your intentions- threaten and bully me into thinking you're somehow frightening, and that I need to stay away from your wannabe Dark Lord or else?"
He frowned at her, clearly taken aback. But in a valiant show of comradery, Rockwood came and offered a supportive shoulder grab from behind, which Malfoy shook off with an affrontive sniff. Still, the exchange seemed to bolster his esteem. "Your little play at nonchalance can only last so long. Eventually you'll realize how serious we actually are. Rosier?"
Avery visibly pouted, but Malfoy dismissed him with an eye roll. Hermione then watched as a pimply dark-haired boy, his hair a poor imitation of Riddle's own flawlessly styled curls, moseyed up to her with an exaggerated gait. The boys offered their support with the quintessential masculine head nod, their expressions severe and reassuring, as Rosier brandished his wand from his sleeve theatrically.
"Crucio!"
Hermione maintained her unimpressed stare for the duration of his spell, which ended quickly once he stopped smirking and realized how ineffective it was. Hermione herself felt pain roughly equivalent of her monthlies, and ignored it with the time-honored forbearance of her matrilineal line.
"Rosier!" Malfoy sounded both embarrassed and scandalized, and Hermione made a commitment with herself right then and there that she would remain passive no matter how painful it got just to continue seeing that expression on his face.
Rosier's face scrunched up in confusion as he looked at her and then blankly back at his wand. Malfoy sighed dramatically as he approached the boy. He took ahold of the brunette's broad shoulders and directed the both of them towards her. "Rosier, I want you to look at her. Look at her and remember all the reasons why we despise her. She's a Mudblood, filthy, disgusting vermin that runs the risk of polluting our lines with magical weakness and stupidity, polluting our very culture with her dangerous muggle ideologies. She seeks to uproot tradition. The laws protecting old magic, the kind responsible for maintaining our family wards and the abundancy of our crops? Gone. That betrothal agreement you have with the pretty Abbott? Gone."
The boy, Rosier, groaned with dismay and Hermione felt the need to interject.
"Actually, I don't give one fuck about who any of you intend to marry…"
Malfoy interrupted, with all the fervor of an evangelizing prophet, "You see! What kind of uncouth depravity spews from her mouth?"
Hermione couldn't help but snort, and then she continued her objection just to deprive Malfoy the opportunity to hear himself speak. "And if you're referring to political regulations against blood magic, you should know that those laws were actually first suggested under the Minister Maximilian Crowdy because pureblood extremists at the time were idiotic enough to attempt a political coup after turning their buried ancestors into inferi…"
"Lies!"
"And rectified by Minister Hortensia Milliphutt, a pureblood who, let's be honest, arbitrarily passed regulations just to feel important…"
She paused, expecting a rebuke from Malfoy, but the boy seemed to be nodding in agreement, that beautiful affronted/scandalized expression back on his face.
Odd.
She continued. "It should be noted that a muggleborn has never held political office to this date, so you can assuredly blame any recent changes in legislation on the more moderate pureblooded members within the Wizengamot. So stop villainizing my people."
Rosier turned back towards Malfoy with a frown. "You know, Abraxas, she has a point-"
Malfoy took a step closer to other Slytherin boy and got in his face. "The enemy is sly and deceitful, Rosier, you must stand firm in your beliefs."
Hermione objected. "I'm listing facts! Written, well-documented, verifiable facts!"
"She's duplicitous! Carefully ignoring the fact that muggleborns have been marrying into more powerful families for decades, no doubt whispering into their ears and convincing them to turn against the cause-"
"And that's another thing! How am I both intelligent enough to slyly attempt to manipulate you all but somehow stupid enough to produce dim-witted children?"
The boys all turned towards Malfoy awaiting his response.
There was a long, implicative pause.
"Crucio!"
This bout hurt significantly more than the previous round, and Hermione rationalized that Malfoy's hatred for her must be personal, rather than based on vague racist ideologies. It took effort to maintain her nonchalance, as incredible pain wracked through her body, but Hermione was incredibly strong willed. She grinded her teeth and ignored the mental admonishments in her head that sounded a great deal like her parents as she maintained her stare.
She also ignored Humphrey's background whimpering, these little annoying whines he produced despite the fact that the brat had yet to be actually tortured.
There was no confusion among the boys this time. They could clearly see the way the tremors produced uncontrollable twitches as her limbs and torso jolted against the restraints. They watched her expression carefully, waiting to see the spreading agony on her face, to hear her screams, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Fuck that.
Malfoy ended the spell with a frown after some time and took a step closer to her, carefully examining her face.
Of course she couldn't resist the urge to be a smart-arse, once again exercising her complete lack of self-preservation instincts. She did her best to employ Miss Meadow's terrible, falsely cloying baby voice. "What an invigorating tickle, Abby. I can tell you gave 110 percent." She shot him a nasty grin and her voice deepened. "Unfortunately I imagine Tom's standards are rather higher than what you just demonstrated."
His face scrunched up in anger as several of the boys stifled amused, malicious smiles. "What do you know about-"
Hermione interrupted him, looking past him to the group of boys standing in a semicircle around her. "What specifically are you lot concerned about? That Tom's ideologies will change? His methods? It's clear that you plan to take advantage of his power and charisma in order to forward your own agenda, but what threat do I present?"
Oddly, it was Avery's voice that sought to clarify the issue. "The problem is that you are not stupid. You're not weak, or impressionable, or easy to control-"
"Avery!" Malfoy's scandalized tone returned, much to Hermione's delight.
The boy in question shrugged. "She probably already suspects."
She hadn't, actually, but her brain was swiftly putting things together for her. "I'm too proud to be coerced into accepting marginalization, too old to be easily brainwashed, too removed from everything and everyone to be easily blackmailed. A muggleborn witch from the future with no previous ties or allegiances. You don't hold any of the cards."
Her grin transformed into something darkly triumphant. "I do."
Hermione suspected they had a grossly exaggerated impression of her magical power, if they were so ready to dismiss magical coercion as an option. Or perhaps this demonstration she had unknowingly performed with their attempts at the Cruciatus Curse had dismissed the option for them. Well, she would need to encourage their delusion for as long as possible.
And then she realized something else. An angle she had never considered before. "Have you all been grooming Tom for this position? A powerful, highly visible leader to take charge of changing the country's political agenda. Public enough that he could be scrapped if this enterprise was unsuccessful and you would all get off relatively scot-free."
Hermione wasn't accusing them of being evil geniuses, of course. She was sure there were limitations to their manipulations. Nor was she suggesting that Tom was some poor, misguided lamb who couldn't be held accountable for the very real crimes he had already committed. But… she had always wondered. Tom must have been treated as an outsider (filthy vermin, the echo of Malfoy's words whispered in her brain) for most of his academic career. According to Harry, he didn't discover his Slytherin heritage until fifth year, so had no way of proving he wasn't muggleborn before that point. So then, why was he now embracing this familiar, hateful rhetoric of blood purity unless Tom's peers had made it the price of their admission in his social group?
Speaking of, why were these pureblooded scions, as a whole a lot of self-entitled pricks with egos the size of small countries (who were conditioned to think they were top dog), so ready to debase themselves in front of Tom? Someone they must have considered naturally inferior despite his competence, given his blood status and lack of familial connections?
And why did Tom eventually mark his followers with a magical tattoo that was impossible to remove (putting his assets in danger by risking easy detection by the authorities) if not to brand them so they couldn't slither away? Perhaps Tom had already realized their ploy, and both sides were attempting to trap the other?
"See? I told you she would pick it up."
Malfoy hissed in irritation. "Only because you spoon-fed her our rationalization. Fucking idiot."
"I don't know why you're so worried, she's still tied up, completely at our mercy…"
Hermione, having gotten all the information she needed, figured this would be an excellent time to prove the contrary. Her wandless magic was becoming easier and easier to use with every attempt. This time she only needed to give it a delicate nudge and an invisible blade caused all of the bandages to neatly tear and fall away from her body. She sat up with languid ease and casually stretched before standing. Then it was a simple matter of summoning her wand back from the underwhelming Lestrange, pocketing said wand, and all was right with the world.
"Well, this has been fun. Thanks for the entertainment, boys. I'll see you around."
"Wait!" Malfoy physically threw himself between her and the door and raised his wand with a glower that fell lamentably short of menacing. "We're not done here."
Hermione snorted. "No, I really think we are. I can't be intimidated into thinking you're threatening. I also have no inclination currently of staying away from Riddle. So this whole intervention is currently rather moot. Instead, you are simply wasting my time." A flick of her fingers, and Malfoy's wand shot towards her. She snatched it from the air, and tossed it carelessly behind her. And it was absolutely worth this little demonstration of power to see the utterly gobsmacked expression on his face.
Hermione started walking towards the door.
"Please, wait!"
Hermione stopped at the sound of Humphrey's desperate plea and slowly turned towards him.
"Take me with you!"
It felt so good to walk towards his strapped body, knowing he was completely at her mercy. Two weeks of blatant harassment and a complete disregard towards her opinions and her personal space had not endeared him towards her in the slightest, and it was glorious to take back some of this control.
"Why should I?" Hermione's tone was playfully spiteful.
"After all of the attention I've given you? All of those written letters and personal visits? Without any sort of affection in return? You owe me, Granger. You owe me a rescue, and you owe me a relationship."
That was the wrong thing to say. She closed the space between them and snarled into the boy's face. "I don't owe you shite. Did I ask for any of that? No. In fact, it all happened despite my many attempts to ask you to stay the fuck away from me."
The bespectacled boy frowned at her. His tone was more bemused than anything. "You were playing with me."
Hermione shook her head. "No. You were harassing me."
The frown deepened. "Thestral shite. You were playing with me!"
Thoroughly exasperated, Hermione twirled and faced Tommie's boys, who were watching the exchange with obvious interest. "Who here can explain to me why he couldn't take my rejection of him seriously?"
Once again, it was Avery to the rescue, and Hermione wondered why this belligerent boy was suddenly so forth-coming (and dare she say helpful). Tom's influence, perhaps? Still, Avery's brow was furrowed and he frowned as he answered. "You are not currently in a betrothal contract with anyone, and according to our society it would be seen as extremely foolish to turn down a match, as old as you are. He assumed you were a smart bird, so your rejection couldn't possibly be real."
All because she wasn't currently betrothed? For fuck's sake.
Irritation mounting, she pointed her wand at Humphrey. It was clear what needed to be done. "Obliviate." Given her previous experience with memory charms, it was simple to erase this entire encounter. She didn't waste any time as the boy began to blink blearily at her. "Imperio."
She ignored the rush of power tingling pleasantly in her body as she narrated her instructions. "You no longer have any interest in pursuing me. I am an unsuitable match, and you have decided to find a different girl to woo." But she couldn't stop there, now that she had the opportunity she did. "You will listen to women and respect their opinion. If they ask for space, you give them space. If they reject you and ask you to leave them alone, you will do as they say. Now you will head back to your dormitories and remember nothing about this exchange."
Hermione cut him free from his bindings, and they all watched as the boy stumbled out of the room. She then turned towards the rest of them. She stalled for several long moments as she took in their apprehensive glances and sweaty palms as she tried to put herself in the right frame of mind. It was clear what needed to happen here, too. Hermione's original intention to dazzle them all with her dueling prowess had obviously backfired if they felt the need to personally restrain her. She would need to up the ante to more clearly communicate her desire for their fearful capitulation, as they seemed incapable of simple respect.
So Hermione spent a minute actively remembering everything she disliked about the Malfoys, and attempted to stew in that anger and negativity.
"Crucio."
Abraxas fell to the floor, screaming in agony. The dark pleasure of the spell and a shot of spiteful glee at getting retribution swiftly swept through her body, but she did not allow herself revel in the feelings. This wasn't about her pleasure. This was about his pain. This was about establishing control.
She waited until he had started to cry, the mucus in his nose running pathetically down his tie, before she stopped the spell. And she glared at them all. "The next person to Crucio me will face far worse. Mark my words."
Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, attempting to settle the conflicting emotions roiling inside her. Control. She needed control. She played off her current struggle by waggling her fingers at the boys as she bounced out of the door. "Toodle-loo Gentlemen!"
As satisfying as it felt to simply flounce away, she knew there was a lot to consider. Perhaps she could casually interrogate Tom the next time they found themselves sharing alone time, if simply to discern whether or not he was aware of his housemate's manipulations. Hermione had to admit that she would be rather disappointed in the boy if he proved to be ignorant.
And Hermione could admit, in the quiet of her mind, that she needed to take a deep look at her recent actions and how they fit in with her perception of herself. It was somewhat terrifying, to feel pieces of her identity slipping, to understand that new feelings and identifiers were wiggling into their place. But this introspection needed to be done. She currently felt like a Picasso painting; the main features of herself were still discernable in jagged, broken pieces, but they were pieced together loosely, abstractly, in an order that felt instinctively wrong.
There was no way she could confidently tackle her future unless she could understand the recent changes and piece herself back together.
The realization hit so hard it was almost a physical blow.
Hermione sat there in the Hospital Wing bed, the scratchy, uncomfortable sheets bunched around her waist, the tome heavy in her heavily bandaged hands, her eyes wide… as she watched fucking Miss Meadows grab the tray of requisite potions brewed by Professor Slughorn from Rockwood's indifferent fingers. Then the despicable cow surreptitiously glanced around and popped into the warded cupboard already fingering several burnt orange potions.
This particular orange potion, the color bright and shimmery in its potency, could only have been used in the healing of Professor Merrythought (as the only occupant in the Wing currently suffering from a serious malady). The same Professor that was supposed to have improved from her illness two months ago, but whose health instead was rapidly deteriorating. The same Professor to have recently announced her retirement due to 'health-related reasons'.
That fucking bitch was poisoning her Professor.
Hermione's mind whirled.
She needed to get a sample of the tampered potion.
She needed to act harmless, unnoticeable, too wrapped up in her reading to have noted anything suspicious- quick, girl, look down, flip a page… good.
She needed to contact Tom. This was too far. Repeatedly poisoning a respected member of staff simply to play Professor, wrapped up in some pathetic power-trip of authority over adolescents, children… and that was aside from all of her other less admirable qualities. Something needed to be done.
"Hey Hermione!"
Elijah Walker's voice echoed along the walls of the Wing, and Hermione looked up to see the Matron swoop down from her office in order to shush the exuberant young man. He played it off with a charming smile and made his way over to her bedside. Then he gave her bandaged hands, still partially hidden beneath the old text, a hard look. "Are you seriously reading right now? And using your hands, when the healers specifically told you not to lift a finger, literally? I heard the potion that exploded during the accident was highly corrosive. You should probably listen."
Hermione shrugged. It was hardly the first time her hands had been subject to such treatment. As long as the pain was manageable, she wasn't too concerned. Besides, she was using magic to turn the actual pages. "Listen, Elijah, I need a favor. Any chance you could go get Tom?"
The boy pouted. "I'm here for less than a minute, and already you're sending me away like a fucking errand boy. Fine. No chocolate for you."
He turned on his heel in a dramatic gesture that had Hermione rolling her eyes in exasperation. She sighed. "It's not like that, I swear."
He sniffed. "Sure it isn't. Like the two of you don't already spend almost all of your time together. And here I was hoping you could carve out just a tid bit for myself… just a tiny bit of your day, a few minutes to chat, to catch up and offer delicious samples before I board the train and depart for the holidays, where I won't see you for several long weeks… but I see how it is."
He really didn't, but he had already expressed a desire for plausible deniability, so explaining the details wasn't an option. She could only soothe his stilted ego and inwardly bitch about how everyone in her life had an annoying tendency towards melodrama. Except Penny. Thank the gods in all their capricious mercy that she had a friend like Penny. "No, come back, please. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like I don't appreciate having you for a friend."
It was like a switch. The boy brightened, visibly, his smile wide as he spun and bounded forward in excitement. "That's right, I should be appreciated. The good lord only knows what levels of crazy you are both going to drag me down into, so the least you can do is put up with me in the meantime. Now. Try a truffle. And tell me how your recent batch of letters went."
Bugger. The look in his eyes was intense, making it obvious he had caught on to her previous attempts to act nonchalant.
His grin became just a tad wicked. "That's right, I've realized you're full of shite. As if Hermione Granger wouldn't be thorough enough the write everyone in the Ministry in the first go. I take it none of them were interested?"
She shook her head and dug her bandaged hand out from under the book in order to accept her a truffle. She thought as she chewed, savoring the hint of caramel and crushed pistachio, before stating, "Most aren't interested because of my gender or blood status, and the rest are being warned off by Dumbledore. It's infuriating."
"So, what are the two of you planning to do?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "I wasn't lying when I said we had planned to send more letters. We're still waiting for one in particular."
"But it's been almost three weeks? Shouldn't it have arrived by now?"
Hermione shook her head, unsure how to explain that the recipient was currently waging war against much of Eastern Europe. "He's an… enterprising individual, with much to keep him busy. I'm not too concerned."
"I see. Well, that doesn't sound suspicious at all…"
"Plausible deniability," she reminded him, waving her hand to magically vanish the bits of chocolate that clung to the fabric of her bandages. "Perhaps next time you could freeze the chocolate so it wouldn't be quite so quick to melt as I attempt to eat it?"
He rolled his eyes. "Of course I fucking froze it, but then I had to lug them all the way across the castle to get here. And I'm not sure if you're aware, but there are no handy spells ready to chill chocolate to the perfect eating temperature."
She wouldn't know, having very little interest in culinary pursuits. Still. "Perhaps you could create your own spell? You're a seventh year, you should have taken courses by now that laid out the groundwork for spell creation. If I were you, I would read a couple of books in the library about it and start fiddling around to find a spell that does exactly what you want. Maintaining the proper temperature of food before you serve it is incredibly important, both for health safety reasons and to maintain the integrity of your presentation. I think it's worth the research."
Elijah snorted, loudly, although the look in his eyes was thoughtful. "As if you would be able to restrain yourself to only two. But sure, that sounds like a quality suggestion. Fuck it. We'll see if I have the stuff for spell creation."
The tone in his last statement was filled with a kind of self-deprecation that was rare for the cocky, exuberant boy in front of her. It made her frown, as she considered whether this self-doubt originated in the castle somewhere, perhaps bullying or negative treatment for being a muggleborn. The fuckers. "Elijah? You have already proven yourself to be creative, resourceful, perseverant, and you have a credible work ethic. There is no reason why you shouldn't succeed."
He sniffed absentmindedly and avoided looking in her direction. It was hard to see exactly how her words affected him, especially as Elijah shot off, "You set the standards for success high, but aye aye captain."
His response of purposely flippant, and obviously evasive, but Hermione let it be for now. He eventually came to sit down in a chair by her bed and offered her another chocolate. This one carried the faint whiff of orange and cloves, and Hermione was intrigued.
"So. Do you know who else is staying for the holidays besides you and Riddle?"
Hermione shrugged as she popped the chocolate in her mouth. She had only been here for half a year; hardly a long enough time to know everyone in the castle and their holiday plans. "No idea. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, you know. I'm just curious about what kind of shenanigans you two are going to get up to while I'm gone." He paused to send her a piercing look. "You two haven't shagged yet, right?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "None of your business."
Elijah nodded assuredly as if she had given him a firm answer. "Good. Keep the ninny waiting. A healthy sense of anticipation can help if the sex is bad."
Hermione's eyes shot towards his as her brows furrowed. What? "Why would the sex be bad?"
He had the temerity to laugh at her. "Don't be daft, most sex is bad."
Her frown deepened. "It is not."
"Alright, fine. Most sex is mediocre." The look he sent her was teasing and cocky. "I'm just helping you manage your expectations."
Now that he had introduced the topic, she had a hard time not overanalyzing it. She was so attracted to the man that it was ridiculous. Far more attracted than she had ever been to the Ginger-Ex-Best-Friend-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, Hermione could finally admit to herself. So then, "Why would the sex be bad?"
Elijah frowned thoughtfully while gazing out into the Hospital Wing, his finger rubbing attractively at a piece of blonde stubble on his chin. And Hermione couldn't help but imagine what sex with Elijah might be like, just for a moment. Fun, ridiculous. He was pretty enough. But he lacked the intensity she craved, those stormy and surprisingly expressive eyes that demonstrated a breadth of humanity that she thought Riddle previously incapable. She wanted those glimpses of good humor, the intellectual quips, even those infuriating little self-satisfied quirks in his lips, a surprisingly subdued expression of pride when he had managed to breach his impossible standards…
Fuck.
Mother bleeding bloody fuckity cock fuck.
If she wanted the boy for his body, she would be fixated on his gorgeously well-behaved hair. Or his perfect smile. Or maybe his height, his gracefully tapered fingers, his surprisingly soft and thankfully dry lips… she should not want more. She should not appreciate more. But she clearly did, which was indicative of… feelings. And not the angry, spiteful, embittered kind.
Elijah interrupted her inner musings, his tone more contemplative than teasing now. "I worry that your inexperience will get in the way of his… hm. Preferences? Sexual proclivities? He is… somewhat sadistic. And I'm not sure you're masochistic enough to enjoy that."
Only somewhat? If only he knew. But she shook her head. "You assume he would be the same in a sexual context? With me specifically?"
The boy shrugged. "I guess I wouldn't know for sure. I'm just worried, I suppose."
She bit off a laugh, but the huff of disbelief echoed. "I can't believe this level of doubt is coming from the same guy already planning our nuptials… why does this matter to you? Or rather, why is this any of your business?"
He shrugged. "You two are clearly fucking attached. Like I said, I just want to help you manage your expectations. As a friend who will likely experience the fallout of your disappointment."
She wanted to laugh bitterly. Disappointment. As if she had been thinking, nay fantasizing about having sex with Tom enough to have expectations. Little did he know she had purposely done everything she could to avoid thinking about it, well in the habit now of avoiding her attraction. Fingers in pies notwithstanding.
"She's right, this is none of your business," a carefully measured voice called out from behind the privacy curtain, before a certain Head Boy made a dramatic entrance through the fabric. Because of course he overheard this conversation. Because the gods or deities, whomever they may be, were capricious with their mercy, and she must clearly be a source of continuous amusement.
Said Head Boy took his time helping himself to a piece of chocolate before settling comfortably on the edge of her hospital bed, clearly ignoring the open chair sitting just feet away. He stopped to look in her eyes and his expression was wicked. "But just for the record, the sex will be excellent."
Hermione grumbled and reached for another piece of chocolate, clearly avoiding his intense stare and trying to convince herself that her cheeks were not reddening in embarrassment.
Of course, Tom couldn't let it go, clearly enjoying the topic. He turned his attention to Elijah, who was frowning at the two of them. "You suspect I'm a selfish lover?"
Elijah merely raised a brow and blinked, strangely quiet.
"Or perhaps you identified me as your ideal sexual partner, because you are clearly a masochist, and did not see a fellow in your brave, Gryffindor friend? Which make your motivations rather suspect…"
The way he said Gryffindor was clearly mocking, but Hermione didn't let it bother her. What did bother her was the manner in which he was playing with her friend. "Stop it, Tom. It's fine, Elijah was just looking out for me by forcing me to think about things I've been purposely avoiding."
"Like sex with me?" He was clearly amused. "You haven't been pining for it after our last kiss?"
She was definitely blushing now. Fuck. "No, I've had other things on my mind. If you can believe it."
"Like what?" Oh, and there was that intrigue swirling in his eyes, his expectations clearly high…
Her eyes shot to Elijah, who merely got to his feet and gave them both an unimpressed look. "Fucking yes, I can pick up on cues, I'm clearly no longer wanted. But, just for the record, I'm not trying to sabotage your relationship to get my jollies off, or whatever ridiculous thing you were insinuating. Hermione is clearly more sensitive and breakable than she would like to admit, and I just want to ensure you are not going to hurt her terribly. You clearly have some interest in her, but you're easily bored when it comes to girls, I've seen it. Don't fuck her over, Riddle."
He gave Hermione one last meaningful look before he stomped away, and Hermione felt guilty enough to call out. "Happy Holidays Elijah! I'll owl you!"
The blonde boy gave a little wave from behind and swept from the Hospital Wing.
Hermione immediately turned towards the Head Boy, frowning. "Tom, please don't badger my friends. I like them. I want to give them a reason to stick around."
Tom shrugged nonchalantly, before reaching over for the small container of chocolates that Elijah had left behind. Then he scooted backwards on the bed until their sides were comfortably pressed together against the pillows and let out a sigh of contentment. "Hermione, trust me to have a better understanding than you of what dark secrets and hidden desires he has swirling around inside his head."
She reached for a chocolate, but he gently pushed her bandaged hand away and attempted to feed her the confectionary. She allowed it with a frown. "Not everyone is primarily driven by their dark secrets or hidden desires. Some people lock them away purposely so they will be less likely to act on them."
"Like you?"
His tone was flippant, but Hermione could see the interest simmering. "Like me," she admitted firmly. "But do you blame me? Considering my past interactions with your future self?"
He hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose not. It's essentially self-preservation in this context," he stated lightly, licking a chocolate-covered finger. He turned to her, his expression heavier. "Except you couldn't stay away. Couldn't stop instigating arguments in the classroom and intriguing me with your clever, sarcastic quips."
"I am a Gryffindor," she reminded him smartly, attempting to reach for another chocolate. Once again she was denied, and she pouted for as long as it took for him to feed her another piece. A stubborn strand of her hair trailed into her mouth alongside the truffle, and he pulled it out with a frown. It clung to his finger, and he unwound the strand carefully as he responded.
"Brazen and bold, absolutely, but you're smarter and more studious than that lot. Don't lump yourself in with them."
She snorted, watching him struggle with her hair. "I am more than the stereotypes of my House."
He rolled his eyes, his finger successfully detangled. "Obviously."
That small gleam of self-satisfaction in his eyes dimmed when he realized her hair had somehow gotten caught in the button of his shirt cuff. He gave the errant curls a huff and shot her a look. "Is your hair always so… expansive?"
She raised an eyebrow at him, and felt amusement bubble up from inside. It was oddly satisfying to share the struggle of her hair with someone else. "Practically imperialist. It attempts to take over everything it touches. It's annoying, right?"
Tom shrugged. "You just need to learn to properly manage it." Then she watched with bemusement as he detangled the strand in his shirt, set the chocolates aside, and nudged her so she was facing the far wall. Then she felt rather than saw him gather her hair in his hands, neatly parting the mess of curls into three neat piles. Then she felt a series of pulls that could only be indicative of him pulling her hair into a tight plait. It reminded her of her mum, when she used to plait her hair as a little girl, and a residual kind of warmth blossomed in her chest. She wanted to immediately question him, curious and desperate for distraction (it was far too warm) but he had started to quietly narrate as he manipulated the brown strands.
"My hair used to be difficult to manage as well. It didn't stay straight, like the other children, the ends persisted in curving every which way. It used to thoroughly annoy Mrs. Cole and the other attendees… and no matter how many times they cut it, it always grew back far too quickly for their liking. Unnaturally so." He ran a hand down her scalp and neck, catching any stray strands. "I learned to work with it, rather than against it. So I let the edges curl, and just organize the curls purposefully enough that it seems styled."
Her lips curled into a smile unbidden. "So you do shape your kiss curl."
He laughed, the sound pleasantly filling the space behind her. "I suppose I do. I've gotten rather efficient at it by now, though, so it hardly takes the time you were previously insinuating."
He pulled at her shoulder just so, and she turned back around. Seeing his easy smile, she couldn't resist asking the question burning on her lips. The moment felt too intimidate, and in light of her newly realized feelings… the tension needed to break. "Where did you learn to braid hair?"
His smile became a smirk as he turned to pick back up the chocolate. "It's hardly a difficult concept."
"That is hardly an answer."
"Isn't it, though?"
She supposed that prevaricating was technically a response. Hermione frowned up at him as she considered why he was evading the question. And then her gaze shot past him when she saw Miss Meadows creep out of the storage room. The large woman shot them both a quick glance, her expression extremely disapproving, but it appeared the older woman's instinct prompting her to remain inconspicuous overrode her desire to come interrupt their interlude. She swept past with a judgmental tut and exited the Hospital Wing.
Hermione's eyes shot towards Tom as the shock and sense of urgency from her earlier realization once again swept through her body. "Tom." She reached out for one of his hands, forgetting momentarily her bandages as well as his discomfort with casual physical contact as she attempted to communicate her sincerity, needing him to trust her. He allowed it with curious eyes. "Do you think you can sneak into the storage room unnoticed and retrieve one of Professor Merrythought's orange healing potions?"
He frowned, curiosity bleeding into confusion. Why, she easily read on his face. Convince me.
She leaned in closer to whisper, her breath mingling with his. "I believe Miss Meadows has been tampering with the Professor's health potions. I've seen her behaving suspiciously, and I want to check for myself. Please, Tom. Because if I'm right… this cannot stand."
Hermione wasn't sure what he read in her expression, but he was suddenly grinning as he leaned over to kiss her cheek and then shot up from the bed. "Of course, love, don't worry your pretty head. I'll be just a moment."
Then she watched with mild astonishment as Tom sauntered across the room, nonchalantly locked the school's healer in her office, and neatly displaced a couple of wards before sweeping into the storage room. He was gone for scarcely a minute before he came back out, reestablished the wards, removed the charm on the office door, and came back to her.
He casually rejoined her on the bed, his eyes practically dancing. "So… what happens if we find proof of tampering?"
"Then she needs to leave."
His eyes met hers. "How permanently?"
And Hermione finally understood the reason for his excitement. He suspected that they were about to plot out a premeditated murder. And Hermione stopped to consider whether this is what she'd intended as well, as soon as the shock of the situation earlier and her utter distaste of the despicable woman had a chance to settle. There was no question that their substitute Professor was an interfering, racist, judgmental sycophant, but did that warrant death? By their hands, no less?
Tom seemed to pick up on her hesitation, but he didn't seem upset or disappointed. In fact, the smirk blossomed as he casually inspected his neatly trimmed fingernails. He continued to speak after several long moments, his tone implicative. "Because I have it on strong authority that this is not the first time our darling substitute has committed murder in order to further her ambitions."
Hermione's eyes shot to his, feeling oddly distressed. "You already knew?"
He shook his head minutely. "Not about this. But I asked Abraxas to look into her history, and apparently several of her previous coworkers, particularly those up for promotion, all suffered various maladies and ended up hospital bound. Several did not survive. The Aurors failed to find any conclusive evidence, however, that would have led towards an indictment."
And Hermione pondered for a moment the people Meadows displaced. Potentially good people, who were working at the Ministry attempting to make the world a better place. And what did they get for it?
What did any of them get for trying to do the right thing? Or rather, trying to do good the right way. Hermione easily remembered the Great Hall filled with corpses. She remembered crowds of wrongfully imprisoned children, confused and dirty and emaciated, released without even an apology by the government that incarcerated them. She remembered how horrified she felt when Miss Meadows casually insinuated that countless young Muggleborns had their magic bound quite against their will, which more often than not could cause severe mental and physical illness. And these people, the ones currently in power, did not give one fuck, unable to actualize humanity beyond an exact reflection of themselves.
And suddenly, unbidden, that bitter, festering rot of disappointment, disillusionment, anger, and spite that she had been attempting to restrain and contain these last several months bubbled over and started to boil underneath her skin. It scalded away her fear and burned through those rigid moral lines she had created for herself, wanting to feel like a good person. Wanting to feel like she was worth having life and experiencing love. It all felt so arbitrary now, those rules. Tom was right. Were they really protecting people? Or were they allowing those with power an acceptable means to fuck people over?
It was not fair that people like Miss Meadows, people who ardently supported the suppression of others for superficial reasons, all in the pursuit of selfishness and power, were allowed to so casually take lives. It was not fair that good, upstanding citizens were penalized by the very order they served because arseholes with connections, money and solicitors were able to bend the rules to suit their preferences. She could distantly remember where this resentment had started; reading a copy of the Daily Prophet detailing the laughably short sentences former Death Eaters were convicted of while she sat in the shambles that was the Great Hall, splotches of blood still staining the stone underneath her seat.
Tom's words from a week ago resonated in her head. "Consider who the law protects, and who it doesn't. How those in power keep their power and suppress competition and those they deem inferior. And then I want you to consider whether anything in our legal system can be considered just."
Perhaps there was no right way. Perhaps the right way was a lie propagated in a sorry attempt to control her behavior. Hermione had to sacrifice her childhood and loving parents in order to fix the problems of the wizarding world because their institutions were unable to do it themselves, drowning in corruption and fear. She had to commit countless crimes; robbery, larceny, kidnapping, torture, assault, premeditated murder, all with the intention of fixing the world and making things right… she had surrendered her past, her future, her fucking soul. Surely this would hardly be any different? Ignoring laws that were inherently corrupt and only protected the pure.
Considering this all felt different now. When Tom had stated all of this inside his mind, her brain had silently rebelled. It had quieted, the gears and levees refusing to turn because there was a logic in his words that Hermione did not want to admit to. His vision of the world was too nihilistic for her liking; she had wanted to dismiss it out of hand. But realizing this all for herself felt different. It felt powerful. Like she was taking back control. Like those fragmented pieces of what made her Hermione were finally coming together to form an image she could accept and respect.
It was finally time for Hermione to appreciate those pieces of herself she had done her best to minimize. The prideful sense of superiority. The ruthlessness. Incorporated within this new cynical viewpoint, she felt it coalescing with her intelligence and ambition and drive into something that felt hardened into an inertia that was cool, impervious, unrelenting.
"Let's kill the bitch," she announced, as a familiar, steely shot of conviction straightened her spine and sharpened her gaze.
Tom grinned.
A/N: Hi all! I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! Please let me know if my various scenes were relatively cohesive? I tried to center it along the obvious theme of Hermione's deteriorating morals, but perhaps the transitions were too abrupt.
Also, please let me know if Hermione's rationale seems logical? If it makes sense to you, isn't too meandering, etc? I feel like this is something really important that Hermione has been heading towards for awhile, and the story can't really progress the way I want it to (taking revenge on Miss Meadows and Dumbledore, collaborating with Grindelwald) until Hermione realizes that she's more like Tom than she realized. I attempted to do this in a rational way, because Hermione and Tom are both cerebral enough as characters to be introspective and consider moral philosophy. But I worry I either bogged it down with too many internal considerations, or perhaps ham-fisted my attempt to make the change in Hermione seem realistic.
Also! I sourced Humphrey's poem from here: for-women/the-7-worst-love-poems-of-all-time
I'm not brilliant enough to be that terrible yet hilarious. :)
Thank you all so much for reading!