Most of the members of the convent were old-fashioned Satanists, like their parents and grandparents before them. They'd been brought up to it, and weren't, when you got right down to it, particularly evil. Human beings mostly aren't. They just get carried away by new ideas, like dressing up in jackboots and shooting people, or dressing up in white sheets and lynching people, or dressing up in tie-dye jeans and playing guitars at people. Offer people a new creed with a costume and their hearts and minds will follow. Anyway, being brought up as a Satanist tended to take the edge off it. It was something you did on Saturday nights.
And the rest of the time you simply got on with life as best you could, just like everyone else.
― Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch
It was one of those strange coincidences that made Hermione wake early and go for a walk, even though dawn had barely broken and even the birds were still quiet. She had been finding it easier to sleep in, but whether from the alcohol or the emotional confusion she awoke to the blue-grey light of the night turning to dawn, with a thrumming headache that said no, you shall not return to slumber and so she got up, dressed and quietly slipped outside. Sunday mornings in Hogwarts were one of the few times the castle remained quiet; breakfast was served later and even the Ravenclaws didn't go to the library until after lunch, so it was still hours before she'd have to see another soul.
The door to the castle was still locked, and so Hermione took the passageway that lead down to the lake instead, one most people didn't bother with because they didn't know about it or didn't know it didn't just lead to the Boathouse. Percival Pratt, whose portrait concealed the entrance, was especially annoyed to be woken at such an hour, although he was usually more accommodating. She apologised and he eventually swung open, and she was free. From the Boathouse it was possible to take a small path across the bottom of the cliff and it was at the end of this path, at the far side of the lake where it lapped at the edges of the forest that Hermione paused to enjoy what seemed to be the sun rising behind the cloud bank, creating a rather dramatic scene.
Quiet voices whispered towards her, brought by the east wind and she shrank back against the cliff-face, disillusioning herself.
With some horror she recognised the Slytherin Keeper, still in his Quidditch gear, pale and bruised and limping, head bowed, walking behind a gang of Slytherin Seventh Years. To her surprise, Riddle was not amongst them, but his henchmen Avery and Lestrange were, and the entire Quidditch Team. It looked like they had been out all night, and if she was not much mistaken they had been deep in the forest.
"...better next time, won't you Craggy?"
"Stupid Half Blood, you'll be lucky to get a second chance. Did you enjoy your night in the forest?"
They were closer now and she could hear them quite clearly. Had they left him alone in the forest as a punishment? That was beyond cruel... They were less that twenty yards away now, right beside the lake.
"You've brought shame and dishonour to our House and our noble Founder. Now, get in the lake."
"Wait, tie his hands and feet first."
"Incarcerous."
She watched, frozen in horror for a moment as they pushed the boy, bound entirely in ropes into the lake not thirty feet from where she stood. She couldn't bear it and removed the charm. Stay calm, she told herself and began to walk towards them.
"Lovely morning isn't it?" she commented and found herself and the end of eleven wands.
"What are you doing here Dearborn?" Greengrass snarled, and too late Hermione remembered Claire's warning. This one definitely had it in for her.
"Well I was trying to go for a walk, but you've rather spoilt the view. I think that boy is drowning by the way, so I should get him out before the lot of you end up in Azkaban."
Alphard Black turned first, to his credit, and levitated the poor boy onto the shore. Hermione flicked a drying charm at him before he caught hypothermia and stood her ground.
"Get back to the castle, all of you. I'll take him to the Hospital Wing." It was somewhere between her Prefect voice and a voice learned from Harry, confidence in the face of danger, taunting the enemy no matter how dire the situation.
"He's not going to the Hospital Wing, do you think we're stupid?"
"I won't tell on you, I don't care what sort of sick punishments you inflict amongst yourselves. Although my Godfather might..."
"What are you talking about?" Crockett hissed.
"Professor Dumbledore, he's my godfather. So I really wouldn't do that if I were you, Lestrange." Hermione disarmed him casually and twirled his wand in her hand.
"We could just obliviate her?"
"Do you want to try it? Let Tom deal with her." Avery apparently wasn't as stupid as the others and lowered his wand. "If you tell, it will only make things worse for him."
"I can imagine. Now get lost you pathetic losers. And mind you do tell Tom, I don't imagine he'll be very pleased you were caught. There are enough of you to wake the dead." She threw Lestrange back his wand to make it perfectly clear that she wasn't scared of them, and in a way she wasn't really. What could they possibly do that she hadn't already experienced? Even Lestrange couldn't yet be as talented and dangerous as his future daughter-in-law. She had so little left to lose, even her illusions about pain. It wasn't bravery so much as cynicism and experience.
Crockett spat at her but turned to go and the others followed, all but Avery who was watching her assessingly.
"Looks like you were sorted into the wrong House. Make sure you don't say anything or it'll go badly for your boyfriend..."
They'd been unwilling to curse her, and Hermione didn't understand why, but was immensely grateful. She might be a capable duellist these days but not against eleven of them. In the end, after a warming charm and some mild healing, Craggy refused the Hospital Wing and Hermione let him go, aware that the Nurse might recognise the signs of Cruciatus as she herself had, and there was no Potion that could remedy that or the questions that would follow.
It was a horrible start to the day, that drove all thoughts of Marcus's kisses and her dreams of accusatory blue eyes out of her mind and left her with two predominant questions: why hadn't they attacked her, and why was Riddle, who was supposed to be the ringleader in all things hateful, not there?
And then a third less pressing question occurred: how had Avery known about Marcus? Good observational skills? There was no way he could possibly have known what had occurred the night before, so perhaps he was just speculating.
She wasn't sure why she had promised not to tell anyone, although she certainly did intend to keep it to herself; it was deeply out of character. Hermione Granger would have gone straight to Dumbledore. Her coolness in the situation had impressed herself but it was also cause for concern: was she becoming so cold that she could out-slytherin the Slytherins, that she could act like that when someone was in danger? Was she becoming less of a Gryffindor? She hadn't even particularly cared about the threat to Marcus, and although she wished it were her motivation for letting them get away with it she didn't think it was. It was more complicated than that.
The Sorting Hat's words came back to her, A time traveller I see... and so very clever, but what's this? An ex-Gryffindor? You don't belong there any more I see that, although you are very brave... Perhaps... yes, I think you would do very well in Slytherin. Very cunning and vengeful, I see. And with all those secrets it might be the best place for you, and you're so ambitious...
You don't belong there any more.
She needed some chocolate. Craggy hadn't even thanked her, just muttered that he was fine and left. He was a big burly Scots boy and she was sure he would be fine, but god help her she hated that house. What kind of sick, fucked up society was contained within the dungeons that tortured someone for playing badly in a Quidditch game? She remembered seeing the caretaker dragging a Second Year girl off to face her detention in the dungeons, Claire's casual use of the word Mudblood the day before, the prefect on the train who'd been so defensive about her blood-status and who sat apart from her year at dinner, and began to see that there was a canker in this society that ran deeper that she had ever imagined.
A canker that she had to ignore, for now.
One day, she vowed silently to herself, staring up at the castle, one day it's going to be a very different world. This one is going to burn up in a fire of hate and then I will use the ashes to help a new order come to pass. I swear it.
She might not be able to change the past, but she could definitely change the future. Suddenly her conversation with Tom Riddle took on a different light because even she hadn't realised that she had meant every damn word.
.
She was sitting curled up on her sofa with a mug of hot chocolate (a guilty pleasure because for some reason Jingo had answered her call and brought her breakfast and, afterwards, hot chocolate because she said The young miss is looking pale) feeling a bit shocked that she'd been so reckless when someone knocked on her door. No one ever knocked on her door, so it caused a moment of consternation. When she opened it, she was surprised to find Marcus. He was bold, she'd give him that.
"I'm so sorry to intrude, but you weren't at breakfast and I wanted to talk to you."
"You're not intruding, come in."
Her room seemed to be exempt from the spells that banned boys from girls rooms, probably because it was used for overnight guests occasionally and she waved him towards the armchair before sitting back down on her sofa.
"You room is... incredible. I had no idea you lived up here but Sophia explained you didn't live with them. Wow."
"Nepotism works wonders. I was so unused to people that they allowed me this secret privilege. I don't always sleep very well. Marcus, I don't mind you knowing but I'd rather it didn't get out."
"Of course. How are you feeling?"
"Fine thanks, although I woke up very early and couldn't get back to sleep so a bit tired but otherwise fine." She smiled suddenly. "How's your hangover?"
He blushed a bit, looking bashful. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Last night I was very forward, and I have come to apologise."
If she hadn't learnt to control her face her jaw would have dropped. That wasn't what she had been expecting and she didn't have an appropriate response.
"I want to assure you that I meant every word I said. I'm really keen on you Hermione, and I would like to, you, well, that is to say I would like to see more of you."
"I'd like to see where this goes," her mouth said while her mind was still trying to catch up. And that was that. How did people date here? They were locked up in the castle, and she couldn't see Marcus persuading her to slope off to the Astronomy Tower. And wasn't that what she really wanted from him? Physical comfort? She didn't want to go to Hogsmeade with him and have him carry her books to class and sit next to her at meals, she wanted him to come and kiss her and make her forget.
He gave her a big, boyish smile and she noticed that he had rather adorable dimples and excellent teeth.
"Come and see this," she said, his excitement infectious, and lead him out onto the balcony - more of a balustrade really, that wrapped around the turret.
And this time, with the wind in her hair and dizzy from the height, she kissed him, and he didn't taste of fire whiskey and his arms felt warm around her.
.
.
As tactics to avoid Tom Riddle, Hermione had to admit that confronting the entire Slytherin Quidditch Team and assorted extras hadn't been her wisest move. She sat with her back to the Slytherin table at lunch, suddenly aware that she had always automatically sat where she could keep an eye on him, and hoping it was just an unconscious move because you didn't want to have your enemy at your back, and she could feel his eyes boring into her. He was being less subtle about watching her than usual, because when she glanced around (pretending to be tossing her hair off her face, a trick that wouldn't have fooled a First Year) he dropped his eyes. Normally he didn't bother and was rarely looking at her, just in her general direction, or past whomever he was deigning to speak to, or similar tactics. Marcus had held her hand underneath the table until it made eating too awkward, and Sophia's smirk in their direction clearly stated that no one was fooled
"You two look chirpy," she commented.
"Lay off them, Sophia," Claire said, clearly feeling it was too early to tease, and it was, because Hermione couldn't shake a sense of wrongness in what she was doing. Like she was acting in a part she didn't belong in, inhabiting someone else's body.
Are you a Hermione Dearborn or a Hermione Granger? You find some bullies and their victim by the lake. Do you
a) Threaten to tell a teacher. (Answer: You are Hermione Granger before fifth year)
b) Rush in and confront them with your friends, making a big scene, but miraculously get away with it, leading to a friendship with the victim that you have selflessly saved. (Answer: You are Hermione Granger at any given point in her friendship with Harry and Ron)
c) Slyly confront them, with a few sensible threats, but promise to keep quiet if they leave him alone for now. Afterall, it's not really any of your business. (Answer: You are Hermione Dearborn)
d) Leave them to it. (Answer: You are neither)
She was going mad. Schizophrenic. Split personality disorder. Something that could explain hearing quizzes about your own personality in your head.
.
.
Sure enough, Riddle found her after lunch, when she was on her way to Professor Dumbledore's office for a lesson.
"Can I have a word?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked into an empty classroom.
"Sure, not like I have anywhere to be," she muttered, but followed him in, curious. Like the fly to the spider, she thought. Oh yes Harry, I thought nothing of following the most dangerous wizard of modern times into a deserted classroom. No, I don't know why. No, I don't think it was that stupid.
Completely barmy. Mental. She focused on the present.
"About this morning," he said, raking his hand through his hair just like Harry did sometimes and now that she was really looking at him she saw that he looked tired and surprisingly stressed. "I just wanted to let you know that internal action has been taken for my housemates' stupidity."
He looked at her expectantly, as though expecting praise.
"As Head Boy, I really think you ought to be reporting them. They should be expelled." Her tone was arctic and he looked surprised.
"It doesn't work that way, unfortunately. However, rest assured the matter has been dealt with."
If he thought he was going to get away with that sort of managerial bullshit... she was furious, but kept calm.
"What did you do, subject them all to the same form of torture they inflicted on that boy? I bet you were just angry they were caught, weren't you Riddle?" That hit home and she knew she was right.
"Slytherin has always had its own traditions when it comes to failure, it isn't my place to interfere in that."
"Actually, it's exactly your place. What I saw this morning was disgraceful and I'm really disappointed in you, I thought you had better control over them than that. Or did you approve it? You say jump and they say how high, right? That's how it's supposed to work." She was losing it, revealing too much of what she knew about his relations with the house behind the perfect Head Boy mask, but why hadn't he been there.
He said nothing, and she turned away in disgust.
"I don't approve of such mindless antics, Hermione. I don't see the point in getting so worked up over a sport. However, all members of the team are aware of the consequences if they fail to perform well and that's outside of my field of control." He was lying, he had to be.
"Why didn't they attack me? There were eleven of them and no witnesses."
His eyes seemed to harden for a moment.
"They have been instructed not to," he said stiffly.
"Instructed?"
"It is one thing to deal with matters internally, quite another to attack members of other houses." He was covering something up, she could almost taste the lie.
"You're lying. I don't know what you're lying about but they didn't seem to mind sending that Gryffindor to the Hospital Wing last week, and I know it was them so don't tell me he fell down the stairs as though I were as stupid as Dippet."
He motioned with his hand and the door flew shut, and suddenly she was facing a very different Tom Riddle. He dropped his mask and let his anger show and it was terrifying, even though she knew she'd been pushing him to it, pushing him to expose himself.
"Why are you so interfering? Just like your damned Godfather. Why did you come here? Everything was - I told them not to touch you because I find you... interesting. I don't care about Craggy or fifth year Gryffindors as long as no one gets caught. Now are you going to tell anyone or not?"
She turned towards the door and raised her wand to open it, but he grabbed her wrist over her robes and pulled her closer, taking her wand with his other hand.
"Are you going to tell anyone?"
"Get your hands off me, immediately."
"I said, are you going to tell anyone?" he hissed.
"No I'm bloody not, I said I wouldn't and I won't. I don't care what your pathetic lackeys get up to. Now let me go."
"I don't want to let you go, Dearborn. I want -" he stopped and stared into her eyes for a moment and she was caught for a moment in their darkness, before dropping her arm. "It doesn't matter. Here." He held her wand out and and she took it, fingers shaking, and he left the room without another word. The door slammed shut again behind her.
One day, she thought. One day.
.
"They haven't invented a spell that our Hermione can't do."- Rubeus Hagrid.
.
Her lesson with Dumbledore was particularly gruelling; he was pushing her mastery of fire spells beyond anything she had imagined possible. The level of control he expected was intense but it was also satisfying to finally have something to really challenge her magically. Casting simultaneous spells and maintaining control over the result was beyond most wizards and she was struggling. There were five fires burning in the room, all different spells and she had to keep them all under her command. The sweat was beading on her forehead when she extinguished them, panting.
"You have to believe in yourself, Hermione. Magic runs on belief, it is limited by the limits our imagination puts on it. You are doing exceptionally well and learning very fast. You can do this. Again."
And again, and again. Fires to consume, fires to distract, fire to warm, fire to kill. They danced, straining her control, unwilling to submit to her mastery.
Eventually, when she was near exhaustion, he allowed her to end and put her wand away. She'd kept it up for nearly half an hour, making her flames obey her will - taking on shapes, moving, combining and separating, never allowed to damage the classroom.
"Excellent. Excellent. Well done. Have a seat." He conjured a glass for her and poured some water from the pitcher on his desk.
She grinned, revelling in the feeling of accomplishment. She was getting there, she was improving, she was being challenged. She was almost happy, red faced and sweating, but satisfied.
"How are you, more generally?" he asked, when she had drunk deeply of the water.
She considered the question carefully. How was she, really?
"I'm alright. It's been a strange week."
"I heard you did rather well in the duelling contest. I will be helping to oversee the next rounds, Professor Dippet has finally concluded - as he does each year - that we need more staff in the room to assist with all the injuries." His tone was a touch sardonic and she smirked.
"It's a very badly organised contest, if you don't mind me saying so. I mean - the idea is good and it's great that we get to practice, but surely after it's been running for two hundred years they'd have worked out that it would be a good idea to have a medical station in the room and a temporary Nurse assissting?"
"Quite so, and yet..."
She laughed.
"Actually there was something I wanted to talk to you about... I've been a bit shocked at the general treatment of Muggleborns, even by perfectly nice people. It seems, I don't know, socially acceptable somehow to exclude them and look down on them. Am I reading that correctly?"
"You have a very unusual mind, Hermione. You see more than others and you think things through. But yes, you are correct, although it is not just at Hogwarts. It was partly for this reason that I worked so hard to give you a pedigree, so that your life here would be smoother. You have, I think, enough problems without that coming into question."
"I just... I hate it. I hate that even those people I am coming to consider friends have this built in prejudice for absolutely no reason. I don't even understand it. Last week I saw a little boy, probably a first year, crying in the corridor and not even the Prefects bothered to help him because he was a Muggleborn. I don't understand. And there are so few in the school, when I'm from the proportion isn't so skewed. And it is really unacceptable to call someone a Mudblood for most people. I thought it wouldn't be as bad here because, well because of some things that are going to happen but it's worse."
"Interesting. I can't comment on that, naturally, but I'm glad to hear it. Even I, in my youth, considered Muggleborns and Muggles as... lesser. It is a very ingrained part of society."
"I've been using my unconventional upbringing as an excuse not to be involved, but every time I have to bite my tongue or leave the room because I know I shouldn't cause a scene, I know it's not the time for that fight but... it's so hard. And I feel like a fake because they wouldn't like me if they knew I was a Granger rather than a Dearborn."
She felt tears welling in her eyes, and embarrassed, stood and stared out of the window.
"You have many burdens to bear. I am sorry that this is one of them, but I do advise you to keep your own council on the matter for now. Do not feel guilty that your real background would invite prejudice from those who would be your friend. That is their failing, not yours. However, it is a dangerous thing to be seen to openly embrace Muggle culture. The fear is very deeply rooted, and it is from fear that the hatred and mistrust spring. A fear that is not wholly unjust - secrecy is paramount for the survival of our world - but that is not to say that it is right that those children born with the gift of magic should suffer for it. If you must make your views on the subject known, or attempt to influence people's opinions I suggest you are very subtle about it. Change is a slow thing, Hermione. Now, on a brighter note I hear that Professor Slughorn is particularly delighted with your and Tom's work this term."
"Yes, well, it's quite an easy potion as long as you get the timings right."
"Something so many people fail to recognise. Timing. Quite so."
The importance of timing. He was giving her a message. There will come a time... Choose your time wisely. Time.
"What if you're right and I can never go home?" she asked, pressing her face against the glass. It was dark outside, and the forest spread menacingly in the distance, the lake gleaming darkly beside it.
"Then you must make the best of it. There is nothing else."
"I just... I'm going to be old. When I see my friends and family again. I'll be, what, seventy-five. Seventy-five! Half a lifetime lost to a past, to secrecy..."
"Ageing isn't such a terrible thing, Hermione. And you are very powerful, I expect you will live to a great age."
"I'll still be old enough to be my mother's mother the next time I see her though."
He was silent, because what was there to say?
"I... just - I miss them. It comes and goes, and I try not to but I do. I miss them all so much sometimes I can hardly bear it. I don't want to sleep in case I dream about them, but when I wake up it's like losing them all over again. And they're so angry sometimes, not my parents, I always dream about them crying. I know it's not your fault I'm here and I know that I have to be, I understand that. But it is... unbearable. Sometimes. And the rest of the time I shutter it away and don't think about it all and then I just don't really feel anything."
"Love makes us very strong, but it also causes us such pain. Don't lose your love for those you have left behind, but don't shut yourself away from the possibilities of a life here. It would be a terrible waste of such a warm heart."
"I'm trying. I really am. But I don't feel like anyone sees me for who I really am. Like I'm just playing a part. Acting, always acting. And if I act for long enough, mightn't it become the truth? In fifty five years maybe I'll have forgotten their faces. I can feel myself changing already."
"We forget many things in time, but your love for your parents will never leave you."
But what about her friends? Sometimes she would panic because she had forgotten their faces and then an image would rise, a photograph, a memory, and she would relax again.
"Is there any progress on how I will get here?"
"I am focusing my research on the best clue we have, the colour - Octarine." He said the word with some reverence. "There is precious little information on it, and I may have to take a trip at Christmas."
The memory of the experience gave her a surprising warmth.
"The colour of magic. The true colour of magic. It was wonderful wasn't it?"
"Indeed it was, an extraordinary privilege to witness such a thing. And to know that we created it... yes. It was wonderful."
"I could come with you, on the trip. I want to help."
"The time will come for your involvement, Hermione, but for now I would rather that you concentrate on your studies, at least until we have more to go on. Besides, I believe you have some family commitments at that time. Cerdic's brother is a fine man, although he has a quick temper and a rash disposition. His son was in Gryffindor... young Caradoc. He would have been Head Boy but he got into rather too much trouble with the young ladies, a little too popular I believe, and was always sneaking off to Hogsmeade to go to the pub with his friends. I liked him very much. He must have left... five years ago? Perhaps six."
Her family, except...
"I'm an impostor. They're not my family."
"Cerdic is delighted with you, I haven't seen him so willing to be sociable in many years. You are very good for him, Hermione. The benefits of the arrangement are not solely for you, which is why I chose him. In accepting you into his life, he has remembered something he had lost. Sometimes you can choose your family."
"He has been astoundingly kind," she admitted. "Sometimes it's as though he forgets that I'm not really his daughter."
"Perhaps he has decided that you are, despite how you arrived in such a position."
"He barely knows me. You don't learn to love a child in two months."
"Give him a little more credit than that, Hermione, and yourself. I didn't say he loved you, I said that he had accepted you as his child. Love will come, perhaps, or not, but either way, you are his family now. He is a very lonely man even if he doesn't realise that. A very lonely man who once enjoyed the company of women - as friends, as lovers, as colleagues. You have brought him back to life. He has even agreed to attend Professor Slughorn's Christmas Party."
"Crikey. I didn't know that. Has he really?"
"Indeed. I know you feel that you have been foisted upon him, but he confided in me that after his visit in the summer his work had picked up again, and that he was back in contact with several old friends. And it was Cerdic who wrote to his family to invite them, despite what he will say. He wants to show you off, I believe. He once loved a young woman, she was a little like you in fact, but she died in a terrible accident and he retreated into himself and now, it seems, he is coming back out."
She felt a lot better after her conversation with Dumbledore. Her feelings towards her fellow students might be ambiguous, but there were at least two people in the Wizarding World who knew her for what she really was and liked her, respected her even, and that was... comforting.
.
.
Less comforting, when she had time to analyse it, were the implications from her conversation with Riddle. Quite the opposite of comforting, in fact. Really rather disturbing.
He had instructed the Slytherins not to harm her. Just in general. Because he hadn't been there to call them off and couldn't possibly have foresee that morning, so it was a general and obviously quite specific instruction.
He wanted something he wasn't willing to vocalise. Something that was confusing him enough to lose his cool and drop his facade.
He trusted her, enough not to coerce or control her.
He wanted something.
He thought she was interesting. Interesting was not a positive way for him to feel about her, and was exactly the opposite of her original intention. Interesting meant paying close attention.
And for a boy with an unhealthy propensity for obsession and for finding information others couldn't interesting was, frankly, an absolutely terrifying prospect.
Eh, voila -
What did you think? Thank you to all who reviewed.
