Besides, Dorian, don't deceive yourself. Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play - I tell you, Dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend.
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
There are some insensitive opinions and wilful misreadings of history here. Views within are not shared by the author.
Hermione would never admit it but she had taken Xenophilius Lovegood's criticism of her to heart more than she had ever let on:
You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded. She'd never forgotten those words.
He'd been proven right by her treatment of the Hallows myth - so predictable Dumbledore had relied on it - and ever since she had attempted to keep her mind open, to embrace alternative views, to learn not just to prove that she was intelligent but for the sake of genuine learning.
Naturally she hadn't anticipated that this endeavour would stand her in good stead for her trip to another time, or for arguing with future Dark Lords. It had allowed her to handle being sent back fifty-five years with composure instead of protesting that it was impossible and being unable to cope.
It was, incidentally, the reason she could be sent back at all. So much of magic worked on belief and if she hadn't believed it were possible, it wouldn't have worked. Fortunately for Hermione, this was not a lesson she'd yet learnt and so she was still able to cope.
However, a reason she'd been considered limited was her abilities to compartmentalise and rationalise and it was these that truly stood her in good stead in the past.
It was also the reason she was sitting having a real conversation with Tom Riddle. She was tired and confused and there was no other excuse for her actions, so she wasn't bothering to make one.
Sometimes, it was easier not to think.
They were sat by the cauldron, long after Potions had ended. They ought to have been at lunch, it was nearly over and yet neither of them had moved.
"What do you want to do when you leave Hogwarts?" he'd asked.
"Change the world of course," she'd replied, eventually and he'd laughed, surprised.
"Ambitious."
"Not really. What about you? I'm told you are the most brilliant student to come to Hogwarts this century - oh don't pretend to look bashful, it doesn't suit you - so you could do anything... but you never really discuss current affairs so I can't imagine you having much interest in politics. Anyway, of course you wouldn't want to join the Ministry because you probably see that's it's a farcical institution, corrupt to its bones and full of paper-pushers, not to mention you'd hate being junior anything. I expect you'd be a wonderful academic, but there isn't a University. I can't see you working for anyone, really. So, what then?"
She was curious, to tell the truth, curious about how he'd acted in the thirty years before he rose to power, curious about how he'd built his small power base here and then vanished for so long before returning as someone else, curious as to how early his madness and lust for power had set in.
"I want to teach," he replied simply.
She wasn't surprised at the answer, but she was surprised because she didn't think he was lying.
"Well that's awfully worthy. Don't you think you'd get fed up with how stupid most people are?"
"Yes, but I'd be in a position to find those that weren't..."
"You could team up with Professor Slughorn and have joint parties for your special favourites," she quipped.
He scowled at her, but nodded. "No, but Slughorn's got the right idea, he just isn't clever enough to push it to its natural conclusion. Teachers are in a position of extraordinary power in the Magical World. Every talented wizard - or witch I suppose - will pass through their class at some point, before they have ideas of their own. For seven years they will exert influence over every member of our society. All they need to be is a guide... someone the students respect, someone who pushes them, makes them feel... special."
"So you'd be, what, manipulating young students to your own ends?"
"Well of course; I am a Slytherin."
And he was, he was the Slytherin in fact. The last one. She cocked her head.
"And what kind of ideas are you going to be planting in their heads? What is it that you're after? I can't fault the method, it's very clever, but I still don't see the end-game."
"I want to discover the very outer limits of magic and then break through them, of course. I too wish to change the world. What else would I want?"
"Happiness, love, friendship, a fulfilled and complete life, money, academic success - lots of things. Some people would say power, which is what you really mean, but that doesn't really appeal to me, I don't see the point in chasing it."
"That is a blatant lie, Dearborn. Imagine all the things you would change when you decide it's time to start changing the world. Envision a list. Now, think of the first thing on that list, the most pressing, and tell me - how would you go about bringing this change?"
She thought, hard. There were so many things she wanted to change about the Wizarding World she wasn't sure where she would start. Ignoring him, she picked up a pen.
Hermione Dearborn's List of All the Things She Will Change About the Wizarding World.
1. The way Muggleborns are exiled until they are 11. Why are their parents not informed earlier? The idea of magic should be introduced earlier, preventing fear and isolation. A liaison should be assigned.
2. The treatment of sentient magical beasts.
3. The bizarrely rigid separation between the Houses. Too many alike people spending too much time together is a clear recipe for disaster. The houses should be randomly assigned and there should be an academic organisation behind the classes. Streamed, not housed.
4. The lack of common sense, logic, and critical thinking skills taught to Wizards and Witches needs immediate reformation.
5. As does the lack of teaching with regards Maths, Literature, and Languages.
6. And Muggle studies, which needs to be both enforced and completely renovated. The current syllabus is shameful.
7. The economy: one bank? Are you serious? This has to stop. There must be trade.
8. Equally, with the amount of people working for the Ministry versus the amount otherwise employed, I predict a forthcoming economic crisis that will leave wizards indebted to the goblins. This doesn't seem like a very good idea. I have met them, they aren't very merciful.
9. Magical theory is entirely untaught, which is frankly ridiculous. I propose that this is an attempt to subdue and control a powerful population. I propose that those studies currently considered radical that test the very boundaries of magic be more carefully considered. In this way the population at large and the government will be more informed when those free thinking imaginative radicals, such as Grindlewald and LV, attempt to come to power.
10. There appears to be no recognisable democracy. Perhaps if there was, the Ministry would be more effective and considerate.
11. The current reliance on nepotism and favouritism will be removed from all laws and new ones will be imposed to prevent such occurences. The rather novel idea of a meritocracy will be introduced.
12. There will be a stronger focus on physical education. Many wizards rely on potions and charms to ensure health and improved physical appearance. In addition, there will be a health check on the foods offered at Hogwarts.
He was sitting impatiently and she stopped.
"Alright," she said eventually. "I agree, I'd need to be in a position of power to bring about change. But power is better exerted behind the scenes, so I see why being a Professor here would be amenable to your aim."
"Let me see your list."
"No! I'm not giving you ideas, you can make your own list." She vanished the parchment and then, to lighten the mood again, she continued "I bet I can guess what it will start with: number one, every wizard and witch will bow down to me, Tom Riddle, the Greatest Sorcerer in the World. Two, all houses except Slytherin will be disbanded. Three, I will be named Head Boy of the whole of Wizarding Britain - fear me..."
She collapsed into laughter, because it was easier to joke with him than to think about what his list really contained. One: exterminate all Muggleborn filth from the Wizarding World, two: seize absolute power, three: never die...
"You are a ludicrous creature, Hermione." He had never used her first name before, never, but it tripped off his tongue like the most natural thing in the world. A disturbing, baffling thing that made her stomach flip and sounded like the taste of chocolate. She hated him for it, and she hated herself for sitting there chatting to him as though she didn't know what he was, but he was just so much more interesting than anyone else in the school and really, what did she have left to lose?
And she was so damned curious.
He continued, "If you want the power to change the world, you have to give people a cause they already support to get behind. Look at that Hitler fellow in Germany; he took his little party from nothing to absolute power because people in his country don't like Jews. Ingenious really."
She couldn't laugh any more and stared at him in horror.
"What? Did you just praise Adolf Hitler's methods?"
They didn't know yet, she reminded herself. The war wasn't ever over: they didn't know the scale of his crimes against humanity. He didn't know.
He shrugged. "It's unpleasant but you can't deny it's been very effective. I'm surprised you know about it."
"Do you think he's going to be successful then? Last I heard he was losing."
"Well, whatever he's doing now is irrelevant. I'm only interested in how he gained power. He was legitimately voted in, you know."
"Yes," she replied, ironically. "I do know a little of the history."
So this was why. He hadn't taken Grindlewald as his inspiration, but Hitler - and she supposed in a twisted and awful way it made sense: before the War, Hitler had probably seemed an admirable figure. Even British politicians had been torn over him, she knew. He'd ostensibly raised his country from a terrible depression, and he had gained power - initially - through legal means.
It was brilliant but, god, knowing what she knew, what he had become, it was so cold.
"So what you're saying, let me get this straight, is that you would sacrifice a whole race of people to gain power because the end, I suppose, in your eyes justifies the means?"
"I would do whatever was necessary. If you look back at all of history, the greatest and most admired figures took their place through what you might consider unpleasant means. Take Napoleon, for example. He used the propaganda of the French Revolution to seize power himself. He became Emperor right after the French had decided to get rid of their King. As the nation was perishing I was born. Thirty thousand Frenchmen were vomited on to our shores, drowning the throne of liberty in waves of blood. Such was the odious sight which was the first to strike me... He's remembered for his military genius more than his political, but it seems to me that he spent the better part of his career in the military building a power base from which to take over himself. He espoused the popular Republican ideals in order to gain enough following and then seized his moment and overthrew it to establish a military dictatorship, which was accepted by popular vote."
His understanding of history was imperfect but the barest bones of the point were possibly correct. She wasn't sure what to say.
"Yes, that's all very well but Napoleon ended up a prisoner!"
"Even the British politicians supported him. People liked him, they wanted him back - you know when they thought he'd escaped again, London actually celebrated. But as I said, I'm only interested in how he gained that power."
She hadn't known that. To tell the truth she knew very little about him - aside from his establishment of the Napoleonic Code, which was something she had admired.
"Napoleon is probably a better idol than Hitler, I'll give you that," she replied. "Hitler, to my eyes, is a complete madman. He may not have started that way but absolute power has corrupted him. And besides, I cannot support the idea of sacrificing a whole race just to put yourself ahead. I don't see how you can admire them both, Napoleon emancipated the Jews, Hitler condemns them."
"I don't particularly care about religion or ideologies aside from their use as a way to gain a power base."
And yet you would kill them - us - anyway. Somehow it was worse that he didn't care himself. His abstracted view of the world, a view without any room for empathy or the value of human life was chilling. His mind was undeniably brilliant, but it was brilliant like a fractured mirror, all marvellous facets and rainbows, but, ultimately, also something that was broken.*
"A lot of people dislike Muggleborns, would you throw them to the wolves in order to gain power?" She knew he would, but she wondered if he would admit it. She also knew that she was treading very dangerous ground indeed. Something in her wanted to push him to reveal himself, because she was fed up with his facade of perfection and she wanted to see the rawness underneath.
"Hypothetically, it would be a sensible course of action."
"Hypothetically."
They stared at each other and she knew they'd hit a stalemate because neither one of them could continue without exposing too much of themselves. His eyes were so dark they appeared black in any light and in the dingy light of the dungeon the shadows falling over his face hid any expression. He could almost have been carved from ivory and obsidian, but for the pale pink fulness of his beautiful mouth, twisted down at the ends.
"Well, I think that's pretty disgusting," she said at last.
He looked disappointed. In her. As though she had failed to live up to something in his eyes. Well that was absolutely fine by her, she didn't need his approval for his vile ideas. He had got her thinking though...
"Why do people dislike Muggleborns so much? I don't really understand. My father never gave two hoots about that sort of thing, so I wasn't brought up to it." She said this with remarkable composure, an off-hand question.
"They are brought up to it, it is the accepted version of the truth. They are told that Muggleborns threaten the very existence of the Wizarding World. They bring radical ideas, they don't understand the traditions... they have always considered been lesser. They have a rigid morality that doesn't fit here - Victorian prudishness if you like. Indeed, they are often unsuccessful magically or can't cope here. Their very existence does threaten the secrecy of our world - and they are amazingly destructive. If they knew about us they'd hate us, fear us, kill us all - or enslave us to do their will. There's so many of them. Salazar Slytherin didn't think they should even be allowed in Hogwarts but unfortunately he was overridden."
This was said with some venom, and as his face twisted she finally caught a glimpse of Voldemort beneath the beautiful surface. He'd manoeuvred from general to personal and there he was, filled with irrational hatred and believing in a creed he didn't know he really believed in. He had started to buy into his own propaganda already.
"But even if you yourself aren't actually a Muggleborn, I don't see what different it makes if your upbringing was a Muggle one. Why are you not included in this threat?"
"I am the exception that proves the rule," he replied simply, with a slight shrug.
He really believed that, she could see, and she had had enough of this conversation.
"You're a strange mixture of hypocrisies Tom Riddle. You damn Muggles and Muggleborns as lesser, and yet you admire at least two Muggles for their political methods. You say people believe because they are brought up to believe and you say you don't care about ideology but this particular one seems to be something you do believe in." She packed up her books and stood up, but paused by the door before adding, "And I don't think you're someone I'd ever want in a position of power."
She had never taken more pleasure from knowing that one day she would help destroy him and everything he stood for.
.
.
After the argument, if it were that, Hermione decided to avoid him as best she could. She had to stop the pendulum that swung between enjoying his company and remembering who he was, a pendulum that left her confused and filled with self-hatred and feeling terribly alone.
But after the beginnings of camaraderie, she needed an excuse to avoid him, especially since he'd started using that slightly flirtatious manner with her. Whatever he wanted, whatever had caused his unusual interest in her, he wasn't getting it that way or any other but she could no longer pretend to be totally unaffected. The silly, insecure eleven year old in her had hated disappointing him even as her more self-possessed and confident twenty year old self was glad not to be associated with such individualistic drivel and revelled in the knowledge that she would personally ensure his destruction.
She didn't care how awful his life had been - it was never an excuse. However, the scientific aspect of her mind couldn't help turning over the realisation she had had in Transfiguration, and something pricked at her to keep it to hand because there was something important there, something she had read. Something in the way his mind had developed...
The excuse presented itself sooner than she had anticipated and she took it, even though the ramifications of her actions could be crueler than she could imagine.
"Hermione, are you coming to watch the match on Saturday?" Marcus asked her on Friday afternoon, slipping onto the desk next to her in Charms.
"Oh, I hadn't really thought about it. Why?"
"Well," his cheeks turned a little dusky, "I'm one of the Chasers, you know, and well, I'd really like it. If you did come."
She smiled at him, and knowing it was monstrously wrong of her, said, "In the case of course I will come."
It was monstrously wrong because if it became more than going to watch a Quidditch match, and if he did fall for her she would be stealing away his chances for a family. That was so presumptuous to even think... and yet, she didn't belong here - whatever Dumbledore said - and the very thought of growing old with someone before she had even been born made her stomach roil. She pushed the thought away.
And after all, she told herself, they were very young and even if things were different in the Wizarding World it didn't mean he had anything serious in mind. She could enjoy his company; it wasn't wrong to not want to be alone. And Ron - Ron was very far away. She wouldn't think about Ron.
They were learning about Protean Charms, so Hermione let herself switch off. It was hardly something she needed to revise; she'd been unusually brilliant at them as a fifth year, four years ago. The view from the Charms classroom was a pleasant one and as it was one of the most popular NEWT classes they were still divided by house, so there was no Riddle here, just the harmless Hufflepuffs and so she was safe. They had spent most of the week revising Non-Verbal spells, much to Hermione's irritation (she didn't want her particular advantage in the duels lost) but for some reason many students found them very difficult... it was a continual source of bafflement that even apparently clever people found such simple things so hard to master.
Hermione wondered why that was: it was becoming harder and harder for her to actually verbalise very familiar spells - it felt like an intrusion, as though she were a maestro violinist handed a toy guitar. Magic made more sense without the verbal restrictions placed upon it, when it became about will and imagination, like the magic they created before they were handed a wand and told to learn control.
Words are binds, she thought, and then scrawled it on her book because it was an important thought and -
"This is impossible," Ancha groaned from the other side of Marcus, interrupting her thoughts. "I wish he'd shut up and let us go for the afternoon. Doesn't he know we've got a match tomorrow?"
Professor Cunningham, however, did not seem to be aware that it was Friday afternoon and even after Hermione had linked her five signs to all read the same (horribly basic to her eyes) and earned twelve points for Ravenclaw, he made her sit and pretend to read the next chapter in the textbook (a textbook she could probably rewrite from memory) while the others tried.
Marcus got it next - Charms was his best class, he had the creativity and imagination for it combined with admirably precise wand work. This gave him the opportunity to talk to Hermione one on one, a opportunity he'd never really made use of before. She had the odd feeling that she intimidated him, because he was much more relaxed around other people.
"How come you're so fast at everything?" he asked, distracting her from the novel she had spelled to resemble the pages of the textbook she practically knew by heart (if Ron had seen she'd never have heard the end of it - can't believe you're reading in class, Hermione, what would McGonagall say? his voice teased in her head and it was hard not to smile or weep). She pushed him out.
"I've just done it before, almost everything. I'm not exceptionally talented or anything, I'm just older and and I learnt most of this stuff ages ago. I only came to Hogwarts this year because Professor Dumbledore thought I ought to do my NEWTs and you know, socialise a bit. My father doesn't really think about that sort of thing..."
"How old are you? I mean, gosh, that was awfully rude, I'm sorry." She could see the light smattering of freckles, his almost girlish eyelashes tangling as he bashfully dropped his eyes.
She laughed at him; he was quite old-fashioned. "I'm twenty actually." Fortunately his manners prevented him expressing his surprise verbally but his eyes flashed back up, widening.
"Your life sounds very interesting. I heard that you had been educated at home." If only I could tell you how interesting it's really been, what a relief that would be.
"My life sounds anything but interesting, I lived in Wales in the middle of nowhere with just my father and a house-elf and then I came to Hogwarts."
"No, it's like a fairytale!" he protested.
"Hopefully without the gritty moral ending. Anyway it wasn't, and I'm here now. But I know all about my life so it's very boring for me. I don't know anything about yours though. Where are you from?" she asked, realising she knew very little about him other than that there was a sweetness there and that his eyes were warm and comforting.
"Somerset. We've got a house in London as well but I spent most of the time in Somerset. My family's lived there for centuries."
"Somerset is very beautiful, I hear. Do you have siblings?"
"Yeah, there's four of us, quite unusual these days. I'm the youngest though. My oldest brother Augustus is a curse-breaker and Quintus is... estranged. He's a lawyer though. My sister Maxima is married to Richard Abbott. They're all alright but I'm much younger, bit of an afterthought really."
Brothers working, sister married. Right. God forbid she worked while she was married.
She wondered what he meant by 'these days' - the Weasleys had had seven children. That was quite unusual, though, and she tucked it to the back of her mind to contemplate later. And an estranged brother? That was interesting.
As he described his family, his happy childhood and kind parents, the beautiful manor in Somerset, Hermione wondered what would become of his family by her time. She had never heard the name Blishwick, but for an entry on the Black Family Tree and the odd mention in the trees of family histories she had poured through looking for R.A.B.. Perhaps they were just unremarkable, or perhaps she had just never encountered them because their interests lay in different fields.
.
.
Saturday dawned cool and windy, with thick dark clouds overhead. Gryffindor had demolished Hufflepuff in their first match and so were naturally leading in the Quidditch Cup, but they were still behind Slytherin and Ravenclaw in the House Championship. Nonetheless Ravenclaw needed a big win against Slytherin to take the lead in either rankings. Hermione dressed carefully - school robes were expected at the match, but she pulled on her thick, dark blue winter cloak and Ravenclaw scarf as well. She had woken late, after an unusually restful night and had to hurry to make it to breakfast.
The team were sat huddled together, looking nervous, but Marcus looked over as she arrived and smiled at her. Seeing where he was looking Ancha, also a chaser, waved nervously at her, brown curls pulled back in a ponytail.
"What are the Slytherin team like?" she asked Claire, helping herself to some porridge.
"Nasty. Winky Crockett, the Captain, is terrifying. She sitting over there, looks a bit like a troll..."
"Crikey, wouldn't want to bump into her without my wand." The girl looked like Millicent Bulstrode and Marcus Flint combined, and about as charming.
"She's a beater, and then there's their best Chaser, Neil Lament. He's alright, fouls a lot but nothing like as nasty. The one to really watch out for is Canopus Lestrange - he's the other Beater and he's twice as bad as Winky. Alphard Black, over there, he's the Seeker. He's alright actually, pretty nice for a Slytherin. Then there's Hamish Craggy, he's the Keeper - don't know anything about him, he's new. Fifth year maybe. The other Chasers aren't here yet - Penelope Greengrass and Finnbar King."
"I've met Greengrass - wouldn't have picked her out as a Quidditch player." The willowy blonde girl was in most of Hermione's classes, except Arithmancy.
Claire laughed. "No, well she's actually quite good but yeah I know what you mean. She's a snooty cow. I'd watch out for her actually, she's pretty keen on Riddle and there are a few rumours about you two..."
Of course there were. Just what she needed.
"Right. Noted. I don't suppose the fact that the rumours are entirely baseless will matter?"
"No, I don't think they will. He took her to the Yule Dance last year so..."
"Do you think we're going to win?" Better focus on Quidditch, she'd already had quite enough hearing about Riddle for one day.
"Hope so, we've got a really good team this year but the weather's awful and you never know with Slytherin... Gryffindor have got the best team skill-wise but they tend to lose their heads and their Captain, Septimus Weasley, he's not the best tactician."
Ron's grandfather... Hermione tried not to think about it.
"Where's Sophia?"
"Meeting Abraxas I think. He's coming to watch, but they always have tremendous rows when Slytherin play Ravenclaw. He was their best player - Keeper before Craggy. He was extraordinary actually, to be fair. I've never seen a better Keeper. You'll like him, he's great. Marcus teases her but we all like Abraxas."
Hermione eyed the Ravenclaw team: Ancha, Marcus, Francis Romley, and Hector Keate were sitting with three other students not in their year. One of them looked slightly familiar.
"Who's that girl with the short hair?"
"Rolanda Hooch, she's absolutely amazing, already signed up to play for the Harpies when she leaves. She's our third Chaser with Hector and William Bell, he's the brown haired boy next to Hooch, they're the Beaters. And that's the Keeper, Angus Matlock."
.
Just as Hermione was finishing her porridge, there was a slight commotion at the Slytherin table. She looked up and saw a tall, extremely handsome man with shoulder length pale blond hair shaking hands with some of the students. Sophia was standing behind him, but even without that marker Hermione would have guessed exactly who it was. Abraxas Malfoy was more like Lucius than Draco, taller, broader shouldered, without the pointedness of Draco's features. He was laughing, teeth gleaming even at a distance.
She watched openly as Riddle stood and stiffly shook his hand. There seemed to be no love lost there, a flicker of loathing tempered by grudging mutual respect. It was interesting.
For some reason, she'd imagined that all the members of Slytherin House had been in thrall to Riddle but it seemed that that hadn't always been the case.
"Well that was friendly," she commented quietly to Claire.
"Mmm, look don't mention anything - it's not widely known - but Abraxas and his friends bullied Riddle quite badly when he arrived. That changed in our fourth year but Slytherins are what they are. Sophia told me. It was when they found out he wasn't a Mudblood after all. They thought he'd been lying."
Claire's - who wasn't even a Pureblood - casual use of the horrible slur shocked Hermione into silence and she excused herself from breakfast, pretending she had left something in the Tower.
"I'll save you a seat!" Claire was oblivious to her distress - thank Merlin - and Hermione nodded her thanks and hurried out.
It was when they found out he wasn't a Mudblood. Mudbloodmudbloodmudblood...
It took some time to compose herself.
.
Abraxas was a bit, well, a bit dazzling, although Hermione was loathe to admit it and had been predisposed to dislike him. He was good humoured, charming, and he radiated that patrician confidence that only came with a life where nothing had ever, could imaginably ever, go wrong. He was rich and spoilt and almost uncomfortably secure in everything about him - his looks, his brains, his like-ability. And if that wasn't unfair enough, he was also extremely bright.
They were sitting waiting for the match to begin as the players warmed up, and he was entertaining them with stories of the travels he had been on since he'd left Hogwarts the year before. He was like an eighteenth century aristocrat after a Grand Tour, an educated man of leisure with enough steel underneath for the political career he would one day embark on.
"And then, if you can believe it, the Count's wife came out after him in nothing but her bloomers..." Hermione dutifully joined in the laughter, although she didn't see what was so funny about your friend seducing your host's wife and he flashed them a wicked smile. "Well we had to move on pretty sharpish after that of course, so I thought I'd come home and see the Olds for a few weeks before going to South America."
The olds, she presumed, were his parents.
"Where are you going in South America?" Hermione asked, interested. There were a lot of very important magical sites there, and she hoped that one day she would be able to go too.
"Everywhere! One of my Burke cousins - not Ancha's side - is coming with me and we're going to spend two months in the Amazon with a tribe of wizards. It's actually fascinating how differently they treat magic, they have special magic for hunting and all sorts so it should be jolly interesting, and then Patagonia and then we're porkeying up to the north and going down from Venezuela through Colombia, Peru - Macchu Picchu obviously, so funny how the Muggles see it, Bolivia. We've got some land out in Chile so I've got to spend some time there as well. We grow a lot of potions ingredients, very fertile country, and a vineyard."
"Sounds glorious."
She wondered if he would be amused or offended to find that many Muggles took a similar trip in her day.
He glanced up at Sophia and despite their relatively restrained relationship, Hermione caught a glimpse of real feeling in his eyes. She couldn't help liking him, and wondered what would change this man enough that his offspring would be so full of hatred.
At last, it was time for the match and they settled down quietly to watch.
The game was nasty and Winky Crockett seemed to be doing her very best to get through all seven hundred possible fouls singlehandedly, and managed to get away with most of them. Hermione was surprised the teams hadn't come to blows, but Ravenclaw were leading (thanks, in part, to being awarded so many penalty shots).
"This is ridiculous, she can't do that with an inexperienced Keeper!" Abraxas muttered angrily.
"Well I don't think she should do that anyway, it's hardly an honourable tactic," Sophia snapped back.
"It worked perfectly well when I was Keeper, and after all winning is winning."
"Only for a Slytherin, I think it's shameful." This was, Hermione felt, a little hypocritical, as Sophia had a streak of moral flexibility a mile wide when it came to beating her compatriots in class but she wasn't going to get involved.
"Oh thank Salazar, Black's seen the snitch."
Alphard Black had entered into a particularly daring dive given the ghastly conditions but didn't seem to be too worried about his own safety, something he probably regretted when Hector's bludger hit his broom and sent him ricocheting off course. The moment was lost and the snitch had vanished again.
"Blast." It was clear that Abraxas liked to vocalise his emotions while watching sport.
"Come ON Ancha," Sophia and Claire screamed in unison as their friend put the Quaffle through the hoops again.
"Craggers is going to get it later if he doesn't pick up," Abraxas hissed.
The Ravenclaw chasers were exceptionally good, playing with far more teamwork and absolutely smashing their Slytherin counterparts. Still, if Black got the snitch - and by all accounts he was much the better seeker - the game was lost.
After a particularly horrific and unpunished example of blurting, Slytherin regained the Quaffle and then the game was suddenly at an end because, against the odds, it appeared that Francis Romley had caught the snitch. Abraxas moaned in desolation as Hermione, Sophia, and Claire stood up to cheer.
"That's the first time we've beaten Slytherin in four years," Claire said, hugging Hermione. Gryffindor had lost so rarely, mainly because of the absurd and pointless but inherent bias towards the Seeker in the game's design, that Hermione couldn't imagine what it felt like to lose continually for four years. Horrid, probably. "I feel sorry for their Keeper though, he's in for a tough night."
"I can't believe I came all this way to watch them lose."
"Oh and I suppose seeing me was just a side effect?"
As they were walking onto the pitch to congratulate the team, leaving Sophia and Abraxas to argue it out, and hopefully make up somewhere very private, Marcus swooped down and jumped off his broom, looking elated.
"Party in the Common Room?" he said to Claire, who gave a mischievous nod and congratulated him, before going to find Ancha.
"What did you think?" he asked Hermione.
"I thought you were excellent, well done."
He took her hand and pulled her towards the team. It felt nice. Not amazing or anything, but nice, so she let him keep it there for a while.
.
.
The party was in full swing (after quite a lot of Butterbeers, and Firewhiskey & Toadas) when someone turned the wireless on to a jazz channel and people started dancing. Rock music fortunately hadn't happened yet, because wizard rock was absolutely dreadful, but it appeared that Muggle jazz was quite acceptable - as long as no one mentioned that it was Muggle - and it was on a Wizarding radio station.
"Dance with me?" the boy with the warm brown eyes asked Hermione and she said yes because it felt nice and it had been so long since she'd felt anyone's arms around her. Marcus kept her in his arms as the songs changed and she relaxed slowly into them. Sometimes it was easier to do what was simple and the alcohol had numbed some of the pain she kept shuttered away.
I'll be seeing you, Billie Holliday began to croon out of the wireless, and the mood in the room changed. It was almost unbearable because she wouldn't be and all the familiar places had been made unfamiliar and everyone was gone, and so when Marcus pressed his lips against hers she didn't pull away. It was a fleeting kiss, chaste and proper, and terribly terribly sweet.
"I really like you, Hermione Dearborn," he whispered in her ear.
They were in a corner now, hidden from casual glances by the shadows cast from the bookshelves, and he guided her to sit by him on a sofa, gently stroking her face.
"You look so sad sometimes. I've never seen anyone look as sad as you do. I want to make it go away, make you smile. You've got such a beautiful smile."
She gave him one, because it was working, but she felt deeply conflicted.
"You're very sweet," she said at last.
"I'm not that sweet. It's just easy to be sweet to someone so amazing."
"Well, I bet you say that to all the girls."
"No, just you. Look, I know it's none of my business but I've got to ask before I make a complete fool of myself. Is there anything between you and Riddle? Only... I see how he looks at you and he, well, he's Tom Riddle."
"There is nothing now, and there never will be, anything between me and that boy."
And so he kissed her again, and it was lovely, and then she went to bed and thought about everything she had lost.
.
.
*a complete rip off of the way Terry Prachett described Mister Teatime's mind in The Hogfather. It was too perfect not to use for Tom but apologies for stealing nonetheless.
The Slytherin Team captain is canonical, as is Neil Lament. And yeah, I did take the time to look it up.
Do you hate me?! Let me know! Last chapter got a fantastic response so thank you all so much. It means the world to me. I hope this one does even better!
Did you like Abraxas? More of him laterlater.
Love
A
Anons: Special thanks to gleeislove who always reviews but I can't reply, so thanks for your loyalty and kind words. Also to PaperRose who just gets it, great review, thank you. And to Shay and all the guest reviewers. You're all wonderful.
