A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.
― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects
At breakfast on Friday morning, Hermione slipped into the seat Sophia had saved for her.
"Any updates?" she asked the blonde, tucking into a bowl of porridge.
"Yes actually. It appears Avery and some others made... comments regarding you beating him in the duel."
"Seriously? That's why he's upset? That's ridiculous," she hissed impatiently.
"Yes, well it's hardly customary for your girlfriend to be so much better than you at everything." Sophia replied with a shrug, pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Men..." Hermione muttered. She looked up at the Slytherin table and saw that Tom Riddle was smirking over at Marcus, Lestrange muttering quietly to him. She would have to deal with this, and although it was stupid and pathetic that Marcus would be so affected, she supposed it was also sort of understandable. "I thought he liked me because I was clever."
"Well he does, in theory, Hermione. But really if you were going to lose to one of us it would have been cleverer to pick him."
Hermione met Sophia's eyes and saw the girl smiling faintly. She hadn't been fooled then. Damn.
"He was quite upset, Hermione," Claire said quietly across the table. "And he's jealous of Riddle as well. You should probably have noticed that already."
"Why on earth is he jealous of Riddle?" she asked, stomach clenching.
"Any fool could tell you that... the one boy in this school who rivals, even surpasses you, who happens to be ridiculously handsome. Of course he's jealous," Sophia said, very matter of fact, as she neatly cut up her bacon.
Hermione threw her spoon into her bowl so that it made a dramatic clanging sound and stood up and walked over to Marcus's chair. Channelling Lavender as best she could, she hissed, "How could you?"
"Hermione - what - I -"
Quite proud of the tears forming in her eyes, she said in a stage whisper, "You let me win. I thought you respected me! Unacceptable!" And then she turned on her heel and flounced out of the Hall.
She went to collect her books from the Tower, looking forward to one of the few lessons that didn't bore her, and waited for Sophia, the only other one who took Arithmancy, in the Common Room.
"That was quite a performance," the blonde girl commented, amused, as the walked together.
"It was quite fun actually," Hermione confessed. And if that was all it took to soothe her new probably-a-boyfriend's ego then fine. In a way, it was quite nice to have such basic problems to deal with for once. Ron had always been too busy being jealous of Harry to worry too much about her and besides, he hadn't cared about doing well in class... She pushed him to the back of her mind. She had to learn to let go.
"You're quite the sly one aren't you?"
"Speak for yourself," Hermione teased. "What happened after I left?"
"Marcus protested a bit and then left. I think most people actually believed you, amazingly enough. He did seem quite reluctant to fight you yesterday."
"Yes well, he's a twit then. I don't need to be coddled just because he likes kissing me." Hermione blushed a bit at what she'd let slip. "I didn't realise he was your cousin," she said, referring to how Sophia had addressed him the night before.
"His mother is my mother's elder sister. Rosiers. We grew up together. He is a twit, but he does seem to like you. I always thought he would end up with Claire, she's been waiting long enough but then you came along and all the boys - well, you know how they are with something new. Especially new and pretty and clever. You caused a bit of a stir on the first night I must say."
That was a bit of a complicated sentence really, and Hermione took a moment to sort through the information.
"Claire? I hadn't realised..." She felt terrible but quite flattered - she hadn't accounted for such a reaction, had forgotten how tiresome it was to live with the same people for seven years, how extraordinarily exciting a new face was after all of that.
"These things happen. Claire is nice enough but she's a bit... weak. Still, I'm sure when you inevitably realise that Marcus isn't the person you find fascinating she'll be there to console him."
Hermione paused, grateful that the corridor they were in was empty and turned to face Sophia. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"Don't get all defensive with me, Hermione. I've got more brains than most of these idiots and I don't think Marcus is the person you spend all day thinking about. I don't know what's going on with you and Riddle, and I'm not going to get involved, but I hope my cousin isn't too hurt when it inevitably occurs to him that you're falling for someone else. Someone who, I might add, seems to be a perfect match for you in every way. You're no saint and you're definitely hiding something, and he's, well, he's definitely complicated, but you fit together somehow."
You're no saint and you're definitely hiding something. For the first time in a long time Hermione felt real fear slide down her back.
She kept her face expressionless, and snapped, "Not this again. I don't want Riddle for Merlin's sake! I've had it up to here with people insinuating and assuming -"
"Lie to me if you want. You'll work it out eventually. Now come on, we're going to be late," Sophia replied calmly and added, "I do like you, Hermione and I'll let you keep your secrets, but you're a fool to think Tom isn't obsessed with them and with you."
.
The Polyjuice Potion was finished at last, the last lacewing flies added and it sat finished and perfect looking (if revolting). Slughorn would be delighted.
"Want to try it, Longbottom?" Tom asked casually. He looked very satisfied, she thought, and couldn't deny the sense of accomplishment she felt.
"Rather you than me, I've heard it's disgusting."
"Run and fetch Professor Slughorn then," he ordered (politely of course) and then turned to face Hermione. He gave her one of those rare smiles that hit his eyes.
"I can't say I'm surprised, but it looks perfect."
She nodded in agreement, unable to help herself returning his smile.
"Fancy going to lunch as Tom Riddle?" he offered and she snorted. It was quite tempting, actually.
"Merlin only knows what sort of havoc you'd wreak in my body if we swapped identities - I think I'll pass."
She kept her eyes on the potion as much as she could, just in case he wanted to steal some for his own nefarious ends, until Slughorn came in, trailed by Longbottom to examine it. She really wanted to take some herself - it was so useful - but he was paying far too much attention.
"Well I daresay there's no real need to test yours," he said with a big wink. "Still, better have a look. Tom, a hair please m'boy?"
Tom pulled one of the jet black hairs from his head without a wince, and held it out.
"Excellent, excellent. Now no need to be swapping robes so I'll just give this to you Longbottom. You'll need to describe everything that happens so Tom can record it. Miss Dearborn, come and observe."
Slugborn ladled out some of the potion into a beaker, and handed it to her. She proffered it to Tom who dropped the hair in, a bit reluctantly. Hermione peered at the potion, which had changed to a dark velvety green. She had expected worse, truth be told. It looked much nicer than Bellatrix.
"You look really tasty, Riddle. Like old curtains. Go on then Longbottom," Hermione said and gave the beaker a swirl and handed it to him. It didn't smell too bad actually.
His transformation was rapid, and didn't seem to be too painful which indicated a high quality brew. She watched as he grew, muscular body leaning down, sandy hair turning to jet, cheekbones sharpening... Watching the change didn't prepare her for the oddity of having two Tom Riddle's in the room.
"What did it taste like?" she asked, curiously.
"Sort of foresty? Like pine maybe. Not very pleasant, sorry Tom," Longbottom-Tom grinned and seeing Tom's face light up like that made Hermione's heart clench. It was an easy-going expression that would never cross the real Riddle's face.
"Well done, well done. A very nice potion. Record how long till it wears off, it should be an hour with that dosage, and then you're free to clear up. I'll take your cauldron through now though, no sense in leaving such a potentially mischievous potion lying around is there?" Slughorn chuckled and shuffled out with the cauldron. She suspected it would be packaged up and sold as part of his apothecary, which definitely wasn't allowed, but ultimately didn't matter.
Watching Tom Riddle crack jokes, allow his emotions to run rampant across his face, sigh in boredom, and laugh unrestrainedly was completely surreal for Hermione and she could see Riddle's complete fascination watching his doppelgänger as well. His dark eyes gleaming with amusement, his smile so glorious... It was terribly sad - his beauty released in such a way was mind blowing and once again Hermione felt a surge of anger at the terrible wrongness of his upbringing. What could he have been?
Still, those were thoughts better not thought and what was done was done.
At last though, the potion wore off and Algie Longbottom stood as himself again, wincing in pain. She'd tidied the room while they were speaking (neither of the boys had helped, as usual) so it was ready to go back to its previous existence as a store room.
"Well, that's that then," she said.
"Thanks for everything. See you at lunch!" and Longbottom was gone. She turned to Riddle, who'd gone quiet.
"See you later Riddle. I'm off."
"Stay a moment?" he asked, but it sounded more like an order. His face was blank, giving nothing away. Shuttered and so like himself.
She paused and considered it. He's obsessed with your secrets. Bad idea. "Sorry, I've got to meet Marcus for lunch. I'm already late."
"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked, as she reached the door and she froze.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her back to him.
"The first time we ever met, you were afraid of me. Last week, I pulled you into a classroom and you weren't surprised but you were scared. Why? I have done nothing to inspire fear in you."
He sounded awkward rather than conniving, but that didn't mean he felt awkward. She considered her reply as she turned around.
"I am not afraid of you. I just don't believe in your perfect Head Boy act, that's all. You made me jump on the train because I'm not used to people! I grew up in a lonely castle with an elf and my father for company. I can't believe you even remember that."
"Well I don't believe in your fairytale, so where does that leave us?"
"In a mutual agreement to leave each other alone? I don't like you, you don't like me. Let's just move on."
But that wasn't what Dumbledore wanted was it? Hermione felt torn in two, between running away from this lonely, dark eyed man who exuded wrongness and going to him and trying to show him that there was more to life than power. She couldn't fix him - didn't - so the endeavour would be worthless, and yet she suddenly wanted to very badly.
"I like conversing with you," he said after a moment. "I would like to continue that. You are quite stimulating to discuss academic matters with." His voice was clipped and almost expressionless but there was something beneath it, something in the tension in his face that sent a shiver down her spine. He almost sounded... needy. And good lord, that was the most uncomfortable thought she'd ever had.
I do like you, Hermione and I'll let you keep your secrets, but you're a fool to think Tom isn't obsessed with them and with you... Was Sophia right?
"I just don't think it's a good idea, Riddle. Look, I've got to go. Sorry." Her heart was racing. She should never have let him in at all, however fun he was to talk to, and however gutting it was to lose the one person her age who'd ever challenged her intellectually.
"I don't accept that. There's something about you that intrigues me, Dearborn, and I am going to find out what it is."
And then he pushed past her and was gone, striding up the corridor without a backward glance. He'd sounded furious underneath his controlled icy tone and she started to wonder if she really should be afraid of him on a personal level, in this life as Hermione Dearborn. Would she always be a target for Voldemort? And, if so, why hadn't he attacked her already? Was her proximity to Dumbledore keeping her safe? And why did he have to be so ambiguous. Something intriguing. What on earth?
.
.
Tom was in a foul mood. The conversation had not gone as planned. He'd intended to begin to seduce her secrets out of her, and he hadn't been able to. He had always been able to turn on the charm but she did something to him, made him act like an idiot. She made him feel like the awkward orphan boy he had worked so hard to leave behind.
And he didn't quite understand why, but there was something about Hermione Dearborn that confused him so much, made him so angry it had him hurling curses at a wall. It was pathetic and there he was in Slytherin's Chamber, alone, blowing off steam. It was a risk to come here after the unfortunate outcome of his experiments in fifth year, but he hadn't been able to resist today. The Chamber always calmed him, reminding him that he was special - a monument to the power he had inherited, a power he meant to surpass.
He'd tortured all her little friends and even tried reading their minds and they knew nothing about her of any use. He'd had to be careful to obliviate them without them noticing they'd lost time and in a way he was really proud of the work he'd done there. No one even suspected, even that floozy Ancha, who he'd actually pretended to be helping up after she'd fallen and hurt her head and she'd just thanked him profusely and gone on her way. The others hadn't even remembered his presence in the vicinity, and it had worked gloriously well except that they didn't know anything.
And they were all so amazingly stupid - everyone was so stupid. They hadn't wondered about her, or seen anything weird about her situation.
He tried to imagine what it was like to live in their little minds. It must be so boring. They walked around like mindless ants, never noticing half the things that went on, accepting the limitations of anything they were given or told. They never tried to push the boundaries, never tried to think or see or say anything new. They were born with the extraordinary gift of magic and they did nothing special with it, just wandered through life interested in all the unimportant matters, like their pathetic love lives, without ever really thinking or seeing.
Except her. That Salazar-damned girl with her quick mind and her impeccable spell-work, unafraid to be challenged, unafraid to challenge. Most of the time. She was different and he didn't know why, but she was fascinating, and yet she was still pretending to be ordinary. Running around with that complete sap...
He blasted a column and felt some slight satisfaction as it came crumbling down, only to be rebuilt with a flick of his wand. He was extraordinary. He was so much more powerful than anyone in the castle, except - maybe - that fool Dumbledore. The high ceiling of the Chamber's ante-hall, the statue that lead to so many secrets, secrets that only he would ever be privy to.
What did it matter if the Dearborn girl didn't make sense to him? She was altogether... too much of everything and it was frustrating. She wasn't an ant. He didn't know what she was. He blasted a whole row of columns and thrilled in the godlike power he had to destroy and recreate in moments.
"My Lord?"
"Avery. You are late."
The boy dropped to his knees, head bowed in submission, accepting the curse that hit him. Avery was boring, boring, boring but at least the way his screams echoed around the Chamber were not boring. It was, Tom reflected, acoustically a wonderful place for torture. He wondered what Hermione Dearborn sounded like when she screamed. He wished he could risk finding out; surely even she would spill everything under torture - everyone did in the end - but she was too close to Dumbledore and he was convinced the old man was a Legilimens. Probably more adept than he himself at present, loathe as he was to admit that even privately. Although he had Dumbledore to thank for discovering that it was even possible. His stupid trick with the things hidden in wardrobe all those years ago had set his mind thinking and he'd realised that the man must have read his mind. Hatred for Dumbledore freshened the Cruciatus and Avery's screams hit a new pitch.
He lifted the curse, feeling quite a bit better.
"What have you got to report?"
"My Lord. The Halloween party, as you requested..."
.
.
Lunch with Marcus was more enjoyable than Hermione had anticipated. He'd written to her on the parchment she'd given to him during whatever he had (she ought to know but didn't) while she was in Arithmancy that morning, saying,
I've been a prat. Pick you up at the top of the dungeon stairs for lunch after your Potions lesson?
The message had sent a smile singing across her face, surprising herself.
See you there. Finally going to be done with the bloody potion!
And there he'd been, sitting on the stairs waiting for her, smiling when he saw her with those soft, warm eyes, brown curls swept into a side-parting, the light smattering of freckles making her want to count them. He'd taken her bag and kissed her cheek and it she had revelled in the wonderful normalcy of it. She had never had a proper school romance, where you could sit obnoxiously gooey at meals together and be walked to classes and read together in the Common Room and find hidden places to snog.
"And then he took my broom away for a whole month! It was horrible, stop laughing!" he said, but he was grinning too, after recounting a story of trying to fly a toy broomstick to his cousin's house aged eight and ending up falling in a pond on their estate instead.
"My brother told me it would be fine, how was I supposed to know they ran out of power that quickly?" he protested when she didn't stop laughing. "Come on, I don't want pudding, do you?"
"No, but I need to get my books for this afternoon from the Tower and then go to the Library. Walk me?" Walk me? She was turning into such a little girlfriend, it was completely ludicrous. Very in-character, a snide voice commented in the back of her head, but she ignored it, and accepted his hand in hers.
"Of course, but let's skip the library?"
They ended up kissing - shy, tentative kisses - on her sofa instead, and even she, queen of all bookworms, thought it was a bit of an upgrade. And if he quietened her worries about Riddle, well that was just an advantage.
.
.
Guilt was a hard emotion to push away. It crept up on her at night, when she lay alone in her little tower room, fighting sleep because she was too scared to dream, but desperate to get away from the loneliness that seeped into the very marrow of her bones and made her soul ache. Loneliness and guilt and a growing sense of abandonment because dammit why was it always her that got the thankless job, that made the unknown sacrifices.
Guilt because Ron's face was fading and Harry's wasn't and it had barely been three months. Guilt because half of her knew that she was playing at being a normal girl dating a normal boy, because Marcus said and did all the right things, all the silly girly things she'd secretly wished Ron would do but he didn't fill that other need, the need that made her blush because it wasn't logical. And guilt because she was starting to wonder if she had ever really been in love with the red-headed boy, because in retrospect it had always been Harry first for her, a love that went beyond familial or romantic. She would have died for him and gladly, if she'd needed to and that was a truth. And if he had wanted her and not Ginny she would have said yes and she had never known, never realised. She'd been a fool. They had grown together in that tent and sometimes she'd wondered... but there had been so much else at stake and she had felt like her path had been written for her, maybe written by someone who didn't understand her truly because now she was beginning to think she would have been miserable
And guilt because Tom reminded her of Harry, sometimes. She hadn't realised until that day, and it made her sick to her stomach, sick with longing and sick with loneliness and she would have given anything to be back in that miserable tent because even the seemingly endless hunt for the Horcruxes had been simpler than this new and strange life, a life she walked through as a another person and had to wonder how much of Hermione Granger had been defined by other people's images of her.
It felt like she was in mourning for the person she had been, and eventually she cried herself to sleep as the dawn light broke over Hogwarts.
.
Sorry it's been so long... Thank you for the really lovely reviews. Especially to WhenasInSilks whose review prompted me to get on and post this chapter.
