A/N: Thanks for your patience and all the wonderful reviews I received on the last chapter (and the past few)! Glad to see you all are digging the direction the story is heading. As you can tell, my posts are definitely more frequent. I am really enjoying keeping up with this story and plan to keep doing so. So hopefully life won't throw me any curve balls and I can continue posting at least weekly. Anywho, this chapter was odd. It was intended to be immensely short, but I just came up with some ideas as I wrote and ran with them. Hope you all enjoy!
The next chapter will probably be another two-parter (or at least a series of chapters updated in quick succession) because it continues the Halloween Ball. Can't wait to write it and make it live. I am looking forward to Christmastime at Hogwarts already!
But I hope you guys enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its awesomness. All of it belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I am just a devoted fan who likes to throw in a few things here and there for fun.
Riddle observed the town for a few moments, face impassive and arms crossed. Hermione had begun to learn the impassiveness his face held often signaled that the heir of Slytherin was in deep thought or calculating. She tried not to study him too hard, lest he began asking questions about her own thoughts. After a few moments of playing with the fringes on her scarf, she turned and began walking back to the rocks, leaving Riddle to himself.
"So who are you truly, Miss Sivad? There's no need to keep lying," Riddle said simply, leaning against a tree, still looking at the small town nestled between rolling hills.
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked as she turned on the spot to look back at him, feigning ignorance. "What are you talking about?"
"You say that you attended Beauxbatons until your fifth year, yet you are not French. You also claim that your family was wealthy and your funds ran dry, but your clothing and material things are clearly secondhand and do not reflect a lifestyle of wealth. If your father's home foreclosed, what became of the effects inside? Heirlooms, trinkets, furniture, are they still yours? Or—as I suspect—did they never exist at all?" Riddle inquired as he paced back and forth, his eyes steady on her, like a predator stalking his prey.
"Have you never heard of the floo network? We lived near London and I had special permission to use floo powder to enter and leave the school through our headmistress' fire place. As for my clothing, I had to sell most of my expensive pieces when money became low, and besides, I was never one for extravagance anyway. I am not sure what happened to the things inside. I would hope they were stored away for me, but I wouldn't count on it; my father made shady dealings and I wouldn't doubt that after his death others came to "claim" what he had." Hermione lied expertly, her arms crossed and face scrunched slightly.
Riddle pondered her answers momentarily, but by the look on his face, it was evident he didn't believe her for a second. She gnawed at the inside of her bottom lip in nervousness.
"And you never once thought to inquire about what was rightfully yours with those things being the only memories you have of your parents? Highly illogical," he stated plainly as he continued to pick her apart, piece by piece. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for a response. Hermione swallowed heavily.
"The memories I have of them aren't limited to material things," Hermione replied curtly.
"Are they not? Then what is connected to the chain that you always have around your neck, tucked away?" Riddle questioned. "You're front is wearing thin, Miss Sivad." He held a slight musical tone to his voice in his efforts to taunt her. It was working.
"And what about you, Tom, are you really what they say you are?" Hermione spat. He stepped closer and peered down upon her.
He was still much taller than her, but without the cloak he was usually hidden under at Hogwarts he seemed a lot less monstrous. He had broad shoulders and stood with perfect posture. The impeccably clean vest which harbored a Slytherin crest and the button-up combination he wore was well-fitted and showed off his lean, but firm physique. He was always well put together, but she couldn't help but notice a small fraying near the bottom of the vest. His clothes were spotless, but to a keen eye it was clear that they were well worn-in. Come to think of it, she had never seen him in anything other than school-issued clothing.
"And what is it that they say I am?" Riddle's mouth was curved downward, his eyes dangerous and boring into her. Hermione quickly brought herself back to reality and tried to stand straight-backed and fearless, but her mouth became dry.. What was she going to say? That some believe he is their lord and ruler, and others a fiendish Slytherin who could speak to basilisks and is capable of killing? These truths had yet to even surface, let alone hold water. She formed together the best answer she could.
"That you are Slytherin's figurehead and you hold more influence than most think," Hermione admitted. It was a lesser confession, a minute observation, but a lie wouldn't work here. Riddle continued to stare down at her before cocking his head to the side.
"And what is the extent of the influence that you believe I hold?" Riddle asked, seeming very intent on her answer. Hermione waited for a moment, looking into his yes for as long as she could before casting her glance sideways and off into the forest, unable to hold his gaze.
"I am not quite sure yet," Hermione admitted. It was true that she knew of what he would become, but not of what he was currently or where he stood in affluence.
"I believe that is the most honesty you've given thus far. Let me ask you this, do your little friends know that you are a fraud?" Riddle asked rather harshly.
"Do your friends know that you are?" Hermione countered, her lips thin. Riddle studied her for a moment before smirking, letting out a curt laugh, then turning around to continue walking back. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. That was close—too close. Even though it was clear Riddle didn't believe her, it was a good thing she was able to shake him off, at least for now.
They walked in an uneasy silence—or at least for Hermione—until they heard faint voices carrying throughout the trees, signaling they were close to the rocks once more.
"What will your answer be?" Riddle broke the silence.
"To what?" Hermione asked as she carefully ducked under a low branch.
"Abraxas. He will ask you to the masquerade. What will you tell him?" Riddle asked as he trekked up the hill, not appearing to be winded in the slightest. Hermione, on the other hand, had to steady her breathing from the intense hike.
"Does it matter?" She responded.
"Yes," Riddle said plainly, but by the look on his face, there was a reasoning behind it that was unknown to her.
"Why does it matter, then?" Hermione inquired, but she was only met with silence.
"What will you tell him?" Riddle asked once again.
"I'll tell him what I may, and you'll just have to wait and see for yourself," Hermione replied curtly. "Why does it matter to you anyway?"
"It doesn't," Riddle responded. The tone of which he held when he spoke sent chills down her spine. She felt as though there was something lying underneath his words, holding an imperativeness that she would only understand with time.
Suddenly they heard voices carrying over wind in the form of arguing and shouting. Hermione's brows furrowed as she looked back at Riddle, who seemed far less concerned than she. Hermione began racing up the hillside, trudging through thick piles of fallen leaves, with a feeling of dread gripping her chest.
Finally the barren trees and bramble cleared as she arrived back at the rocks. Immediately she saw two Slytherin boys—one being Hadrian Black—holding back Abraxas who was thrashing about wildly, the corner of his mouth slightly bloodied. Opposite of Abraxas stood Christopher. The Goldstein twin was alone and harboring his own injury in the form of a bloody nose. Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock and she withdrew her wand quickly from the pocket of her skirt.
"What's going on here?" Hermione demanded of them. The other Slytherins that had once been present were no longer among the group.
"Why don't you ask him," Hadrian spat in Christopher's direction as he continued to hold back Abraxas who was slowing his thrashings.
"Christopher, what happened?" Hermione asked, holding her wand in hand down by her side, ready to act on a moment's notice if necessary.
"It's fine, Hermione. Don't bother getting involved. It's nothing," Christopher said thin-lipped.
"Fine? What do you mean by fine? Both of you are bleeding!" Hermione shouted.
"Everything was fine until he began eavesdropping and snooping around with the intent of causing trouble," Abraxas said as he spat blood onto the ground. Seeming to have calmed for the most part, Hadrian and the other Slytherin boy let go of him.
"Christopher isn't a troublemaker, Abraxas. It's just a misunderstanding, right, Christopher?" Hermione turned to him, hoping to shed light on the situation.
"No, Abraxas is correct mostly. I was looking for you, and in the process of my searching, I overheard Malfoy and Black discussing some things I found to be less than savory, although I meant no harm," Christopher spoke, casting a cold glare in the direction of Abraxas and Hadrian.
"Gossip isn't worth causing unnecessary feuds, Chris," Hermione chided.
"So you're siding with him then?" Christopher retorted.
"I am not siding with anybody!" Hermione replied in frustration.
"It's time to grow up, Goldstein. Your better half can't be your keeper forever," Abraxas interjected.
"Well, if that's the case then I am sure Hermione would love to know what it was that you and Hadrian were discussing," he said lowly. Hermione turned to Abraxas and Hadrian.
"What was it that you two were discussing?" she asked, crossing her arms and standing up straighter, waiting for an answer to the tomfoolery that had caused the ordeal.
"Something that wasn't any of Goldstein's business," Hadrian said as he shot Christopher a glare.
"They were discussing your arse, naturally," Christopher revealed. "You would think someone as astute as Malfoy would hold someone like you in higher regards than a simple fancy in passing. I expected as much of Black, however."
Abraxas' face contorted into something foul as Hadrian frowned heavily at the Ravenclaw boy. Hermione's mouth was agape at the audacity of such a statement. Not even in her time had such blatant words been spoken, or desired for one to hear. She cared very little about what opinions Abraxas held about her backside, but despite it making her feel slightly self-conscious she found herself more frustrated at Christopher for speaking the words aloud and singling her out.
"Are you really going to believe him, Hermione?" Abraxas asked, almost pleading. The four boys stood, staring at Hermione, waiting.
"I don't care what the truth is and what isn't. Christopher, it is not your job to be my retriever, I was on my way back, in fact, and nor is it your place to listen in on someone's conversations. As for you, Abraxas, I expect more of a gentleman and would hope that you will come to treat all women with the same standards of respect and honor as they would ask of you," Hermione said, feeling like a chastising parent rather than a friend among peers. Not only did she feel like a shiny trinket, drawing unnecessary attention, but she felt uncomfortable and embarrassed at having to address such a situation. She knew how boys could be, and she was fine with allowing their personal opinions to be left in the shadows, but having to face a disagreement on the terms of her backside was not only unsavory, but disappointing as well—especially coming from two people she held in high regard.
The boys stood quietly, glancing back and forth at each other.
"And clean yourselves up, you're both a mess," Hermione said awkwardly as she left to go find Aviela.
As Hermione left, Riddle entered the clearing through the trees and looked from Abraxas to Christopher, observing what he had already heard both by word of mouth and through legilimency.
"Abraxas, do as she said and clean yourself up," Riddle said coldly to the Malfoy heir before turning to Christopher with a shrewd glare. "And you, if you're going to be part of the Knights, you better decide whose side you're on, lest I have to make that decision for you. We speak no more of this. Go."
Christopher nodded stiffly and left the rocks in the opposite direction of Abraxas, Hadrian, and the other Slytherin boy. Riddle stood alone for a moment, pondering. The Sivad girl was more trouble than what she was worth—unless Abraxas was correct. If he was, then she could serve as a promising asset to their endeavors, if not, then she would have to be dealt with—permanently.
Hermione walked back into the streets of Hogsmeade. The momentary solitude was a breath of fresh air to her. From Riddle's oppressive nature to needless embarrassment, it was a welcoming feeling to be along to herself. The streets had less foot-traffic than at midday, but as the sun sank ever lower, more and more students begun drifting back to the castle, bellies full of sweets and arms toting bags of various goodies and clothing items for the masquerade.
Hermione saw Minerva and Aviela standing outside a shop looking rather exhausted. Hermione waved and caught Minerva's eye who, in response, quickly turned and tapped Aviela on the shoulder and pointed in her direction. Aviela rolled her eyes and let out a sigh as the pair jogged toward Hermione.
"Where have you been? The shops have nearly been picked clean," Aviela lamented.
"Sorry, I took a walk in the forest for a bit and became sidetracked. Did you two find your costumes?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, we managed, though Aviela nearly choked someone over a spool of lace to decorate with," Minerva laughed exasperatedly.
"I did not! But had I done so, she would have deserved it…" Aviela pouted. "Right! We need to find you a costume, Hermione."
"Curfew for students is only an hour and a half away, so we better hurry," Minerva commented.
"Right, let's go," Hermione said as she followed the two girls into the shop that they had stood beside previously.
Upon walking in it was clear that the shop was not nearly as nice as Galadres' and more of a thrift store than anything. She couldn't blame the two girls for picking such a store; with her budget it would have to suffice. Hermione made eye contact with the elderly clerk standing behind the wooden counter and smiled. The woman had her hair up in a loose bun and a floral dress with a cloth apron tied around her lumpy waist. She had an open book resting on the counter and a moving picture of a lovely, freckled girl hanging on the wall behind her. The woman smiled at them warmly. Aviela led the way to the numerous racks of dresses off into the far left corner of the musty-smelling store.
The girls began picking through the pieces thoroughly. Hermione shuffled through the hanging clothes apathetically; none of the dresses appeared to be formal on her end. Aviela had a few tossed over her arm and Minerva added one to the pile.
"Well, you could at least try them on, right?" Aviela tugged on Hermione's hand and pulled her toward the dressing room near the back. She shoved the dresses into Hermione's arms and stood waiting.
"You want me to model them for you?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"Well, of course! If I don't see you in them how can I fix up the dress you choose and help you with your mask for the ball? Now go on," Aviela urged her while Minerva continued to pick through the racks.
"If you say so," Hermione huffed as she stepped in and pulled the heavy curtain to the dressing room together.
Hermione cycled through each dress available and then some, ranging from puffy-sleeved and too-tight bodice, to cap-sleeved and bell shaped. None of the dresses seemed to reflect her own personal tastes, neither were their awkward styles reparable by basic charms and sewing, according to Aviela. Hermione knew that there was a seamstress in Hogsmeade who custom made dresses, but even if she could afford the woman's services, she doubted her calendar would be free with the masquerade only a week away.
"Alright, one last dress," Minerva said as she brought one over and slid it to Hermione through the curtain. Hermione pulled it on. The material was itchy and the diamond pattern looked awkward, creating the visage of a deck of cards on her torso. Hermione stepped out, instantly regretting her wait to shop.
"Well, it could be worse," Aviela cringed, "I'm sorry, Hermione."
"It could be. It's alright," Hermione sighed.
"You know, I am sure I have a dress you could borrow. I could try to alter it and make it more formal," Aviela tried to think of possibilities for Hermione. It was almost time for the students' curfew.
"It's okay, Aviela, really. I don't have to go," Hermione stated. It was of little importance for her to attend, but she couldn't deny that part of her wanted to go either.
"But you have to," Minerva pleaded. "We'll think of something, I promise."
"Minerva's right. We'll come up with something," Aviela assured her.
"Thanks," Hermione smiled at them, feeling guilty for troubling them when they should be concerned for their own costumes. She stepped back behind the curtain and changed out of the dress quickly, putting on her old clothes.
"We tried," Hermione offered as they began walking toward the exit.
"True, but don't give up," Aviela said in an attempt to relieve her as she pulled on the handle of the door.
"Wait! Girls!" The old woman called out from behind the clerk's counter off to the side. The trio turned around to see the woman bustling from around the side of the counter over to them.
"Hello, my name is Sue. I couldn't help but overhear you girls talking about a ball you're attending. I assume you are enrolled at Hogwarts, yes?"
They all nodded.
"I also couldn't help but notice that you are leaving empty handed, my dear," Sue addressed Hermione. "And curfew is almost here, no less. What are you going to do for the ball?"
"I'm not sure, but I'll come up with something," Hermione smiled. The woman pondered her for a moment, before smiling back and holding up a finger as to say "one moment." The girls looked back and forth at one another in curiosity. The woman walked behind the counter and into a back room sectioned-off by the same material as the dressing room curtain.
A minute or so later the woman returned with a long, pristine white box and a cubed brown one stacked on top of it.
"You know, I had a daughter once. She was so beautiful and vibrant. She loved to sit outside and read while drinking chamomile tea on sunny fall afternoons—much like one we had today. She was everything a mother could want," Sue said wistfully. "She died when she was twenty. A mean man had caught her in a back alley late one night when she was alone… It was a fatal incident I feel I could've prevented, but I have come to terms with her death and have accepted that it was something beyond my control.
"Even though I've forgiven myself and have had time to mourn, I have struggled to rid myself of her possessions," the elderly woman sniffed and blinked by tears as she sat the brown box on the ground and opened up the top to the white one.
"This was her favorite dress she wore to formal gatherings. I am growing old and there is little left I can do with my time to make a difference, but I hope that with this I can do a bit of good and honor Meredith's memory as well. I would like for you to have this. You remind me so much of her," Sue smiled sadly, her eyes shining.
Inside was a midnight blue gown with black lace inter-woven in the blue bodice, creating a feather-like pattern. The woman pulled the gown out and held it aloft. The dress had a single strap with a piece of silken, sheer material draping from the strap and down the back, adding to the elegance. The bodice appeared to be very structured while the bottom half, which was made up of a layer of silk material underneath a sheered overlay, flared out seamlessly in a gentle a-line shape. It was the most beautiful dress Hermione had ever seen.
"Are you sure you wish to part with it?" Hermione asked, admiring the gown's beauty.
"Absolutely," Sue grinned.
"How much do you want for it? I don't have a lot, but—"
"Free of charge, love. There's a pair of shoes in the other box along with some extra materials just in case you need them. You may have to charm the shoes to fit, but I believe the dress will fit like a glove." Sue folded the gown neatly and sat it back in the white paper-lined box. She secured the lid and stacked the brown box on top of it once more before handing it to Hermione.
"I don't know what to say, but thank you so much," Hermione said, exasperated. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do?"
"When you attend your ball, just please remember my Meredith and have a wonderful time in her honor," Sue requested as she grabbed Hermione's free hand, grasping it with fervor and smiling.
"Thank you, Sue, I definitely will," Hermione promised as she squeezed the woman's wrinkled hand back. They both looked over to the moving picture on the wall.
"She is lovely," Hermione commented as Sue let go of her hand.
"She was, my dear, she was," the woman agreed. "Now, off you go! You don't want to be late and have to deal with that old bat, Dippet. He can get a little grumpy at times, I would know, I went to Hogwarts with him!" Sue chuckled as she ushered the girls out of the door and into the cool, evening air.
"Thanks again, Ms. Sue," Aviela said.
"Yeah, thanks," Minerva called out.
"You girls behave!" The woman laughed, watching them walk away. Her youth had passed and so had her daughter, but seeing the light in eyes of the three girls and the warmth in their hearts made her feel young again.
Sue watched them walk until they disappeared at the end of the cobbled street before she walked back inside, locked the shop's door, and flipped the 'open' sign to 'closed.' It had been many years since she had used divination or received an intuitive feeling. After Meredith's death-something she never did foresee and thus couldn't prevent-she had allowed guilt and grief to consumer her, putting a stopper on her natural abilities. However, upon looking at the curly-headed girl that had entered her shop, she felt an unmistakable feeling stirring within her: the sight she had lost long ago. She had never seen this Hermione before girl in her life, nor was she sure that she ever would again, but because of her, Sue was able to feel that familiar warmth and power humming in her bones. Something she hadn't felt since Meredith left, and something she long missed.
Sue pulled her only daughter's picture off the wall. The black and white photo depicted a laughing, freckled girl who gleefully waved at the magical camera that had once been focused upon her youthful face. Sue smiled sadly, tracing her finger across the clean, wooden frame. Her finger roamed off the edge of the picture and froze. Sue's eyes became clouded fixated on the wall in front of her.
"Hermione Granger is special, Meredith. She is good and clever, just like you were," the woman spoke aloud in a trance-like state, "please be with her, my love, for she knows not of what demons await her at the door. She knows not of what death and destruction Tom Marvolo Riddle has planned."
The woman then gasped and reached for her chest slightly before falling to the floor, writhing. Her body spasmed on the floor before becoming stilling. Sue lay lifeless and crumpled among a sea of glass on the old, wooden floor. The picture frame had shattered, and inside, Meredith was still.
A/N: Creepy Riddle, Hermione's arse, and dying old ladies. This chapter was odd indeed. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it!
Feel free to message me with any questions or comments or leave a review with your opinions, thoughts, how you feel so far, questions, or comments!
I always respond!
Also, I love reading what my readers think-not to mention it boosts my writing morale (hint, hint).
Here's your own personal invite; I'll see you guys at the ball very soon.
Constant Vigilance!
-VS