Previously: Riddle plants a tracking device, in the form of a ring, on Hermione. Colin obtains a box and overhears a suspicious conversation between Hagrid and Headmaster Rugen. Beeper experiences a class with Riddle. Riddle discovers Beeper. First dueling club meeting takes place. Slughorn gets severely injured. Riddle instructs Hermione to meet him to discuss a proposition. Hermione and Colin find secret map of Hogwarts, awakening a silent evil in the process.
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Chapter 10: Chocolate Revelations
The heavy, fruity fragrance of a wine wrapped around Hermione and filled her nostrils with its intoxicating bouquet. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the aromatically tempting fragrance of the midnight elixir that gushed from the faculty fountain to her left. As a magically induced breeze ruffled the hem of her Picasso-inspired blue robes, her eyes fluttered open.
Standing in the center of the staff lounge and clutching a pearly white fabric, she absently wondered if it was possible to get inebriated from the scent of wine alone. Bewilderment did not even begin to cover the surprise she felt at Tom Riddle's proposition. Silence pervaded for a long moment as Hermione came to grips with his request and Riddle preceded to continue the work he started before Hermione's interruption.
"You're pimping me out?!" Hermione finally spoke, her voice an odd mixture of disgust, shock, and inappropriate amusement. She looked at the silky dress Riddle casually tossed at her on her entrance into the room. It was beautiful.
"Pardon?" Riddle looked up at her, his features skewed in irritation at being distracted from a parchment he had been rapidly scribbling notes onto.
Tearing her eyes away from the soft, dainty garb, her uncertain gaze met his cold one. "When you said preposition, I didn't think it would include giving me a dress and ordering me to accompany Captain Hastings to a potions gala at the Ministry building." Hermione was positively baffled at his request. "I'm not some…some harlot to ply my wears."
At her last statement, the mood shifted and his glacial look melted slightly. Taking a sip from his glass of red wine, he observed her, looking amused at her discomfort, "You misunderstood. Any plowing will be done by me alone."
Still confused, the innuendo slipped by Hermione completely. Instead, she furrowed her brows to make sense of the Dark Lord's demand. "But … Captain Hastings?"
"Would not be included in our passionate tryst."
"I don't—" Hermione halted, her breath hitching as she took in his suggestive words. "You're incorrigible."
"Am I?" He paused, his eyes locking with hers. "I have other business to attend to, so I'll be brief. Suffice to say I am well aware of your talents."
Startled, Hermione looked at him curiously. Was he speaking of her so-called "Divination skills"? She frowned, knowing he had shown no interest in obtaining predictions from her before.
Curious, she voiced her thoughts in a firm question. "I do apologize, but which of my talents are you referring to that require me to dress like some Pygmy Puff?"
Leaning back in the chair, Riddle studied her momentarily. "A simple job really, but one that requires non-detection. You shall give me Auror Hastings's wand and keep him occupied until I return with said wand."
Hermione narrowed her gazed at him and flung the dress she held onto the table top in front of him. "I'm not a thief and I will not participate in something so vile—something that would lead to a man's ruin. You'll have to find someone else."
Tilting his head speculatively, his lips curled into a smirk. "Indeed? Those are truly wondrous words from someone who has lied and deceived so many…. I wouldn't believe you the type to shy away from so-called 'vile acts'. After all, there are many who would deem your actions toward the house-elf reprehensible."
Hermione's jaw nearly dropped. He was comparing freeing house-elves to possibly incriminating a wizard for some foul deed. "They are incomparable. My actions serve to benefit others, including the house-elf, while you seek to better only yourself."
Riddle raised a brow at her words. "What delightfully twisted logic. Yet I am not nearly as selfish as you make me out to be. I plan to bring about change… affect the lives of others. All of which, I'm certain, will benefit at least several individuals other then myself."
"What do you plan on doing with Captain Hastings's wand?" Hermione asked, attempting to shift the conversation back and rid the chills she experienced with his words.
"Nothing as pleasant and nefarious as you are envisioning. Nothing unforgivable." He grinned at his own pun.
The curly haired witch scowled. To be part of any of his schemes would be like agreeing to the destruction of the wizarding world, working against herself and future battles.
"I don't care. I refuse."
Standing abruptly at her words, the chair behind the young Dark Lord wobbled precariously. His face was inexpressive as he prowled towards her, his crisp black robes billowing as he approached. Hermione unconsciously took a step back. He stopped within an arm's length from her. His words were quiet, tinged with a threatening undertone.
"No? I'm afraid you're in no position to refuse my generous business deal."
Hermione faltered at his words. Complacence had briefly overtaken her, a danger with a man as deadly and mercurial as he.
Gathering her courage, she spoke, "Business? Doesn't that involve an exchange of sorts?"
His green eyes twinkled maliciously, making her feel she was about to regret her words. "My dear, I thought it clear. You allow me to rule you… and in exchange our co-existence would be that much more pleasant."
"As tempting as your offer of slavery sounds, I, unfortunately, have to decline." Hermione turned to leave and escape whatever madness he had planned. She had taken no more than a step, when she found herself pinned up against him, her back pressed against his hard chest. His left hand held her waist against him, while his right tilted her head. He poised her like a vampire's victim. His lips precariously close to her neck. She could smell the sweet wine he had been drinking as his hot breath coiled around her, gently caressing the bare skin it found.
"Temptation," he whispered, his voice husky, his hand like a ghost's stroking the curves of her waist, before reaching further down and resting casually against her thigh. "Is that what you desire? Something to consume you, making you burn in eager anticipation to be fulfilled, clouding all reason and judgment, until you're crying out… no… begging for relief." Hermione shivered against him. She disliked the way he blurred and confused lines, leaving her unable to tell what was real. She could feel him against her, his lips forming a smile at her action.
Grasping her left hand with his right, she was suddenly propelled around by Riddle's strong, impatient arm. Enfolded in his tight embrace, her eyes met his. He gave her a look of studious concentration. Noting her discomfort, he gave a satisfied smirk. "Temptation is a dangerous thing; who knows what timely secrets can be revealed?"
Hermione was cold. Her skin was suddenly a lizard's skin. Her stomach filled with blood turned to rust. Her mouth tasted of night damps. He knew. From all his words, his conversations, it was certain. Despite her careful plans, he knew. Just when she thought she was safe, she reached the bottom again. "No."
"Yes." He stepped away from her and flicked his wrist. The dress she so casually discarded earlier appeared in his hands. "Now, are we in agreement?"
Hermione hedged, desperately seeking a way to make him give up his plot. "How will we enter this party? As far as I'm aware you're not a member of the Apothecary Guild or part of the security detail. The wait staff perhaps?"
Riddle gave a bark of laughter. "You underestimate me, dear. A member of the Apothecary Guild generously donated his tickets since he had unfortunately become indisposed."
The look on Riddle's face told Hermione that it was far from an unfortunate incidence. She wondered who it was when her breath caught. "You stole his tickets."
"Pardon?" Riddle looked at her inquiringly.
"Professor Slughorn... Horace… you knew he was going… that's why ….oh, Merlin… all for the tickets?" Hermione felt ill as she pictured the broken body of her former Potions professor.
"Shush." Riddle brushed his free hand through her curly hair, in a mock attempt to soothe her, before lifting her hands and placing the gown in them. "Not all…Anyway, I consider it more a donation to a worthy cause."
Swallowing, she pressed the voluminous material against her chest, in a futile attempt to create a barrier between them. "What about your other associates?" Seeing him lift a brow in question, she clarified, "Surely you could take one of them instead."
Taking in her attempt at separating them, his voice became soft and assured, rolling over that fragile barrier. "I choose the individual most suited for the job." Seeing her open her mouth, he raised his hand for silence. "So argumentative and curious." His tone turned sharp. "I believe we've exhausted this topic. Tomorrow night at eight p.m. Now, not a word about this," he said as he laid an index finger against her lips. He gazed deeply upon her before abruptly withdrawing. Snapping his fingers, the various pieces of parchment that had been sprawled upon the staff table collected themselves into a small bundle. Grabbing the bundle, he fit it into his robe pocket.
Looking at her once more, he noted her tense form and teasingly queried, "What? No more words for me, Miss Greenhorn?"
Hermione glared at him, "Words are inadequate to express my feelings. May I say merely that one day I hope to repay you in full measure."
He grinned, tipping his head toward her. "I await the day." Then, with a flourish of black, he disappeared through the doors.
Squaring her drooping shoulders, she realized she had no choice but to play his game—a game she was determined for him to lose.
.oOo.
A decaying hand dipped its fingers in the waters of the reflecting pool holding Hermione's furious gaze, blurring her image. "No, you won't let him win……will you, little witch?" His voice was harsh. "With a little help, he'll soon taste the tangy flavor of death."
"And how do you hope to accomplish that, dear brother?" A voice of broken chimes whispered into the living corpse's ear. "I highly doubt our new keeper will let us out to play."
The decrepit figure rose from his sitting position, straightening his hunched form. The mist swirled about him like a milk-white sea. He leveled his gaze on the willowy female in front of him. "We'll just have to sway her now, won't we?"
"Yes, because we were so successful in swaying all those that held the castle's secrets before," the woman stated sarcastically as she proceeded to lay herself down on the stone shelf that jutted from the rocky wall. Bending her elbow, she perched her head on the palm of her hand. She looked at the figure thoughtfully before drawing her lips into a crooked grin. "Though I must admit you drove the last headmaster, Dippet, to grand distraction."
"Ah yes, he was delightful to play with. The girl even more. We can finally claim our revenge on those that imprisoned us. Burning their souls, stripping their will, until they are nothing more than inanimate playthings that bow to our pleasure." The lipless mouth salivated at the various evils that could be evoked onto their jailers.
Long ebony hair rippled around the frail feminine figure as she shook her head. Looking at her brother, she sought to calm his excitation with realism. "Grand ideas indeed. Unfortunate that these dreams will remain only that."
Yet, the daunting figure's smile grew even wider. "But that is where you are mistaken, dear sister. She holds something of ours."
Feminine eyes grew even larger as they absorbed the statement's implications. If what her brother was saying was true, the object could enable them to utilize some of their powers. "Power by proxy."
He nodded. "A little bit."
Sitting straight up, she leaned her body toward his more dominant one. "What do you plan?"
He pondered briefly. Many plans needed to be arranged if they were to become free. But first, terror had to be inspired. He was certain that the curly haired witch would seek to destroy its source, falling captive in the process. His skin stretched tightly, revealing a row of white, impeccable teeth, contrasting terribly with the decay from the rest of his person. Looking up toward the ceiling, he remained grinning as an idea took root. "A descending plague should suit nicely."
Soon a symphony of laughter sounded. Sharp and grating, it beat upon the walls like fists.
.oOo.
Hermione listened the young boy sympathetically as he finished his dramatic tale of woe. As he looked expectantly upon her, she smiled gently. "Don't worry about what Lawrence has to say. I'm sure he also has some phobia of some wizarding sweet, like …chocolate frogs. And then you'll get to be the brave one."
Ichabod Cobblepot looked at her skeptically. Many students seemed to agree that Miss Greenhorn was perhaps the coolest teacher in Hogwarts since her modern and futuristic way of looking at things made her extremely easy to speak to. But more often than not, that same viewpoint left students confused.
The young Gryffindor nodded his head politely before replying. "Thanks for your encouragement, Miss G. But honestly, who's afraid of chocolate frogs?"
Watching Ichabod join his friends at the Gryffindor table, Hermione sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before making her way to the faculty table. Students always seemed to expect a prediction from her with normal advice flying past them. Settling herself in a chair next to Professor Kettleburn and an empty seat, she took a sip of peppermint tea before unrolling the ancient map Colin and she discovered yesterday.
"What are you doing?" Colin's voice queried mildly as he plopped down into the chair beside Hermione. Tugging his tie loose, he glanced briefly at Hermione before picking up the plate in front of him and piling it with steaming rolls.
Hermione looked up and frowned. "Studying the layout of the map."
She glanced back at the open parchment in front of her. It was different than the Marauder's map and more extensive in several aspects. Intricate webs of secret passageways and hidden chambers decorated the parchment. Intrigued and slightly frightened, Hermione realized that everything the Grey Lady had told her about could be found on the map. She noted that there were various shiftings of tunnels and walls in the castle. Scrolling through the various levels of the castle, she placed a finger on an unusual shaped object moving just outside the Potions room. Suddenly, a little floating bubble appeared above it identifying the object as a creature, the infamous Umgubular Slashkilter. Hermione blinked. She realized she would have to apologize to Luna again. The blonde tried to explain them to her once, but at that time, Hermione simply brushed it off as another imaginary creature.
"Is that wise?" Colin asked grabbing a knife while pulling a tub of butter closer.
Turning her head, she saw Kettleburn deep in conversation with Herbert Beery. "I charmed it to represent an astronomical chart for everyone else that chances to look upon it." She paused, realizing she would have to find a way to keep it from Riddle's clutches. She was well aware that he sought Hogwarts secrets. And here she had them all in the palm of her hand. He would be thrilled and she refused to give him the satisfaction. In her eyes, for Riddle to get his hands on it would lay all to waste, redefining tragedy as a whole with a magnitude that could not be measured.
"Mm-hmm…well I have a bit of news for you…" As Colin plowed on, Hermione's attention drifted back to the map. A cavern in the parchment's corner caught her attention. More precisely the name of the cavern caught her attention. Twinkle's Tomb. Gasping, she pulled the map closer, trying to identify its whereabouts, when a low black mist covered the map, making everything on it impossible to read. Frantically, she shook the parchment, dispersing the fog. Glancing at the area again, she rubbed her eyes. The room had disappeared from the map.
A clearing of a throat jarred her from her musings. Peering up from the map, her face took on a sheepish look as she realized Colin had finished speaking and was looking at her expectantly. She grimaced.
"Oh Colin. I'm so sorry. I've been a bit distracted."
He shook his head, a faint flush coloring his cheeks like the sunward side of peaches as he realized she had no clue what he had been talking about.
"It's all right." He busied himself with tearing a roll open, his thumbs pressing through the crust and releasing the fragrance of fresh baked sourdough. He then proceeded to spread honey and butter over the ragged edges. "For any particular reason?" He paused. "Besides the obvious I mean."
The smell of breakfast made Hermione's stomach clench, and she leaned back. "Besides Riddle, you mean." She glanced around the Great Hall; it appeared Riddle was absent from the feast.
He looked up at her, serious. "What's he done now?" He pressed the halves of the roll together. Dripping with butter and honey, they stuck together.
She bit her tongue for a moment trying to formulate her response. Then, shaking her head, she decided there was no easy way to say it. Casting a Muffliato around them, she turned to face Colin.
"Riddle blackmailed me into stealing Auror Hastings's wand at the Ministry Gala tonight."
Looking at Colin expectantly, she awaited his rants. Instead, he calmly tore a piece from his roll and tucked it into his mouth. A grin broke out onto his face after he smiled.
"That's ace!" Setting the rest of the bread down, he poured some tea for himself.
Whatever reaction Hermione anticipated, it definitely was not this one. Raising an eyebrow, she asked slightly uncertainly, "It is?"
"Well not the Auror Hastings part, because bloody hell, Hermione. He tried to send me to an Auror boot camp to assess my 'investigative' skills. But… well… the rest is pretty tip-top."
"Really?" While Colin wasn't prone to outbursts like Ron was, she was still surprised by his cheerful demeanor. She looked at Colin in puzzlement. "Any particular reason why?"
She pushed her plate away, losing her appetite significantly from all the stress. She pulled her teacup closer instead, cradling the warmth in her hands, while waiting in anticipation for Colin's response.
"I'm going out with Minerva tonight."
Cup poised in mid-sip, Hermione choked.
"What? When? How?" she asked, turning to look down the long table in Minerva McGonagall's direction, who sat quietly chatting with Rugen. She gazed at the Transfiguration teacher for a moment before directing her surprised look at Colin, causing his face to heat.
He willed the heat down. "Tonight," he answered before teasing Hermione. "See what happens when you don't pay attention." About to start on his second roll, he paused, noticing Hermione's lack of appetite.
"You need to eat, you know." He pushed his own plate toward her. "Take some."
Caving in, she took bread he had buttered already and spread it with honey, holding it in her fingers, unable to raise it to her lips.
"I'm sorry. How did this all come about?" she queried while dabbing a finger in honey and licking it off. The sweetness sickened her.
He ran his fingers through the raw, ruddy gold highlights of his hair. "Well, we got to talking about our love of Potions the other day and—"
He paused on seeing Hermione raise her brows incredulously. Huffing, he started again. "Alright, we got into an argument about my ruddy hate of Potions when she pointed out certain things that challenged my ideas....We ended up making a bet. Anyway to make a long story short, I'm going to the Ministry's Gala tonight as Minerva's date. That's why I was so excited; we can double. Me and Minerva and then you and Voldemort. Bloody hell, that statement sounds off."
Hermione snorted, "First off, I'm not going with Riddle. I'm going with Hastings. Second, that explained nothing. Now come on... give. What was the bet?"
Colin was saved from answering when a loud grating laughter filled the room. The temperature briefly dropping to a bone-chilling cold before warming up again. The key that was attached to the map emitted an eerie glow.
"What was that?" Professor Kettleborn queried beside them. The commotion was coming from the Gryffindor table where the students were screaming and clamoring on top of one another to get out of the Great Hall.
Surveying the scene closely, her thoughts took on a terrible slowness, thick and clear as the honey still cloying her tongue. It was impossible. She closed her eyes. Opening them, the image remained the same—thousands of Chocolate Frogs poured from fifth year Gryffindor, Lawrence Bovine's bag. No one from the faculty table moved, gawking at the strange occurrence.
Tabetha Taylor, a third year, was hysterical. "The wizarding plague has come. It will destroy us all. The beginning of the end. The apocalypse." She grabbed a first year Hufflepuff by his tie. "Spread the word. We—are—doomed."
The first year attempted to edge away from the dramatic girl, when the doors to the Great Hall burst open, sending her and several other students tumbling to the floor. Hagrid stood at the doorway, huffing and puffing while his wild eyes glanced frantically around the room.
Catching his breath, his voice boomed over the commotion, "I heard the hubbub." He panted. "I brough' help." Bounding after him was Fluffy. The dog's three heads intimidated the students, who proceeded to crawl back into the frog-infested Great Hall.
Tabetha shrieked even louder. "It's the Gateskeeper with his Hound of Hell, sent to collect our souls—" Her ranting was cut short when a chocolate frog lodged itself in her mouth. Hands waving wildly, she was soon covered by the chocolatey amphibians.
Tabetha's rants and Fluffy's appearance rattled more students, who were shoving each other to escape through another exit. Hermione realized they had to do something soon lest the students trample themselves. Where did the frogs come from?
Amid the chaos, Ichabod Cobblepot ran up to Hermione, "This is me… isn't it … this is what you were talking about. I'm the student whose supposed to lead the school to victory against the menace of the Chocolate Frog." He puffed his chest out bravely.
Hermione shook her head, lines of concern folding on her brows. "Ichabod, I was talking about being brave and facing your fears and not—"
Ichabod nodded enthusiastically, cutting Hermione off. "And not running away from them."
She sighed. Of all the times to have a revelation. Hopefully he was not thinking of doing anything drastic. "Well, yes… but it was in regards to Lawrence—"
"Lawrence's fear of Chocolate Frogs. Miss G, you were right! That's why I know it's my time!" he exclaimed wildly, grabbing hold of Hermione's hands briefly and gripping them so tight she winced.
She looking at him with a slight frown, not liking how this conversation was headed. "Your time?"
The Gryffindor looked at her grimly before tipping his head toward her. "I won't let this school down." He then turned and wove his way through the chaos.
"Ichabod, wait—"
As the students ran screaming from the destructive Chocolate Frogs, Ichabod Cobblepot leaped onto the Gryffindor table, waving his wand like a sword.
Hermione groaned, "I have a really bad feeling about this. Come on, Colin." What to do? The frogs were like an unstoppable army. She looked at Colin, who shrugged helplessly.
"Maybe we can instruct everyone to grab a bunch of frogs and eat them?" Colin suggested lamely.
"Perhaps we can alter their consistency," a deep voice behind her spoke up. Wheeling around, she saw it was Professor Beery.
"Don't you dare!" chimed the voice of Professor Kettleburn. He paused. "At least until I'm a good distance away. I'm not about to endanger my one good arm."
Herbert Beery let out an irritated puff of air. Brushing off a Chocolate Frog that had landed on his shoulder, he looked at Kettleburn and scowled. "There you go again. Why do you keep assuming something bad will happen?"
Kettleburn lifted his hand-carved cane, on which rested several chocolate amphibians, and prodded Beery's arm, punctuating his every word. "Because. It. Always. Does."
While the two argued, Hermione and Colin set about freezing the frogs, which would solidify mid jump, occasionally shattering into a hundred chocolaty pieces. Yet, for every frog destroyed two more appeared in its place.
"It doesn't seem to be working," Minerva McGonagall exclaimed worriedly as several frogs she had hexed continued their flopping motion. Her brown hair, which was unraveling from its tidy bun, was streaked with bits of dark chocolate. Seeing a ruckus involving several students, she rushed to the opposite end of the Great Hall, rescuing two students buried under an avalanche of frogs.
In the meantime, Hermione slowly made her way toward Ichabod, whose black robe had taken a brownish hue due to the various resting chocolate confections. He contorted his body in odd directions while waving his wand and Transfiguring the wizarding sweets. Hermione halted when a frog Ichabod just Transfigured fluttered in front of her face. It let out a large croak before extending its sloppy tongue and giving her cheek a chocolate-filled lick. Making a face, she blasted the frog into a gooey mess before crying out, "Ichabod… stop!"
"Huh?" The young boy looked up. "Oh hi, Miss G!"
Flicking her wand in several directions, Hermione cleared the space around her. Her speech was interspersed with the sound of sugary confections meeting their bitter end. "What—" Thump. "—are you—" Thwack. Thwack. "—doing?" Thud.
"Oh, this?" the Gryffindor queried as he Transfigured his latest victim into a half bat, half frog hybrid. "Well, I figured I could create some chocolate birds to eat the frogs."
Hermione paused, his idea sounded logical in an odd way. Then, shaking her head, she tried to sway him from his ill-thought plan. "But Ichabod…they're….OFF!" Hermione shouted as she swatted one of the flying amphibians that had landed on the top her head.
"I know they're a little off, but Professor McGonagall says that practice makes perfect and that I'll eventually get the hang of my amphibian to mammal Transfigurations," Ichabod stated proudly as he managed to create something that resembled a bird, albeit wingless.
"Great idea, Ichabod!" the voice of Todd Toadstool chimed, who currently Transfigured one of the frogs into a rather large chocolate boa constrictor. Yet, instead of swallowing the frogs in its proximity it began to hunt one of the Gryffindor boys, Oscar Beecher. Tripping him, the snake soon wrapped its body around the boy.
"Toadstool! You'll pay for this!" Oscar shouted before rising and hopping toward the Slytherin student in fury, the snake bouncing with him.
Hermione felt as though her head would soon split in two. Her mind was slogging through a sea of mud, or more precisely, chocolate. Shapeless thoughts and feelings hurtling past her as she stood staring at the chaos. What to do? What would her instructor, Mr. Y, tell her?
Contain the source.
Scarcely processing the words, she parted a path through the river of frogs, seeking for Lawrence's bag that had been churning out the frogs earlier. "Colin! Colin! Over here! I need your help."
"A bit busy here, Her—oomph!" Colin replied as a frog landed in his mouth. Hermione did a double take in his direction. Chocolate Frog dangling from his lips, he was currently grasping Fluffy's fur, attempting to control the panicky animal as they ran through a crowd of flying frogs.
"My, my—what an interesting array of events," a familiar voice drawled.
Hermione rotated her head in Riddle's direction. He leaned casually against the closed doors of the Great Hall, his hand outstretched in a lazy motion as frogs bounced off the clear shield he created. His dark green robes pristine, he appeared entertained with the pandemonium. A faint blush, like a reflection of a rose in a mirror of silver, came to Hermione's cheeks as she glanced from Riddle back to the battling crowd.
"It's quite creative," Riddle observed. He rolled his eyes on spotting a Slytherin student being attacked by several flying frogs. Maintaining his shield with one hand, he withdrew his wand from his robes with the other and with a quick flick, the frogs disintegrated, the chocolate powder residue lightly dusting the student's features.
Batting away a frog that attempted burrowing itself down the front of her blouse, Hermione glanced at him curiously. "Pardon?"
He swept his arm around in indication of the melee occurring around them. "Your attempts at avoiding our arrangement."
"You think I—" Hermione began answering querulously.
"Who else would have the motive? In addition, the magic required to create this is surprisingly too advanced for the current talent of this school." To stress his point, he flicked his head in Ichabod's direction who was currently being smothered by the chocolate boa constrictor.
"Oh my goodness, Ichabod!" Swishing her wand clockwise, she unraveled the snake from the boy who had taken a cyanotic hue. Then, levitating the large reptile away from the students, she roasted the creature, sending scattered drops of chocolate rain flying over a mostly student-less Hufflepuff table.
"You're mad!" Hermione cried, turning her attention back to Riddle and his unfounded accusation. Lifting her wand again, she aimed it at a three foot frog that had been about to leap onto Riddle, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
He lifted his brow in surprise. Then, shifting his position from the door, he strode casually past her toward the dais that held the faculty table, ignoring the cries of help from several Gryffindor students who were battling several particularly vicious fanged frogs.
"Not at all. I'm enjoying myself quite thoroughly."
Hermione made a face.
Seeing her expression he halted his steps and turned his body toward her, "Besides, am I to suspect Filius is behind this hand of dark magic?"
Glancing around, Hermione spotted the short professor being pulled by his ankles from a mountain of chocolate by the Ancient Ruins professor, Bathsheda Babbling.
"Dark magic?" Hermione questioned.
Riddle's lips twisted in a dark grin. "Did you think this good? Ah, but that's right …all you do is beneficial to others. Forgive me. How should I refer to your special brand of destruction?"
Hermione glowered at him. "You're one to talk. I'm certain your daily motto is 'a Crucio a day, keeps your followers at bay.'" Frustrated with the conversation, she directed her wand toward the vampiric frogs, who hissed fiercely before meeting their doom in a gooey explosion.
Riddle rubbed his chin contemplatively while twirling his wand. "A wonderful thought. A terrible motto. I much prefer good manners. Such as 'never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.'"
"Yes, you're the epitome of good manners," Hermione said sarcastically. "Threats, blackmail—" She paused. Switching the subject, she continued, "And as flattered as I am that you think this is my doing, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, I—"
He interrupted her tirade, his eyes flickering with something unknown, his tone deceptively casual, "Are you quite through?" Seeing Hermione gaze at him silently, he continued lazily, "May I suggest taking five steps to your right."
Taken aback by the odd statement, her eyes wandered vaguely about the room. "Why?"
"Think of it as a test in trust," Riddle replied.
Hermione raised her brows. Placing her hands on her hips, she planted her feet firmly on the stone floor. "I'm not a possession to command."
Riddle's eyes turned black. "Insufferable witch," he murmured, lowering his shield as he quickly strode toward her and grabbed her arm.
Hermione fought against his possessive grip. "Let go of me," she demanded.
His eyes burned into hers and roughly spoke but one word, "Never." Hoisting her body over his shoulder in one fluid movement, he hauled her away. Suddenly, a loud snap could be heard as a chandelier filled with countless winged frogs came crashing down on the spot Hermione stood moments before.
Lifting her head, Hermione stared at the spot in shock, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. She felt herself slowly sliding down Riddle's body as he lowered her to the ground, his hold on her still tight. Tilting her head up from his chest, she tried to meet his gaze. His jaw was tightly clenched.
"Enough."
Riddle lifted his right hand, murmuring something underneath his breath. A strong wind could be felt filling the Great Hall, swirling around the couple, their robes billowing as they clung to each other viciously. The mountains of Chocolate Frogs were lifted from their temporary residence and decimated brutally. The source of the infestation gathered up by the twisting wind, twirling faster and faster as a black smoke poured from the bag.
BOOM!
Lawrence's bag, the source, exploded, showering the castle's inhabitants with its content.
The hall was quiet, except for the squelching of boots on the sticky floor.
Hermione's breathing was heavy and chocolate smudged her face. She looked at Riddle in amazement, chocolate dripping from his elegant features. "I – thank you." she whispered.
For the first time in all their encounters, Riddle seemed distinctly uncomfortable. "Not at all," he said brusquely, releasing her as if burned. "We had an agreement. It wouldn't do for something to happen to you before then."
"An agreement," Hermione echoed numbly.
"He—Mirage—are you okay?" panted Colin worriedly, running up to the two professors.
Hermione blinked. Riddle looked at her, his face unscrutinable. "I see, of course," she said stiffly, her hands clenched to whiteness. Gritting her teeth, she drew her shoulders back and bit off a breath. Not turning to survey the room, she stalked from the hall.
.oOo.
The strong scent of chocolate wafted through the doors of the bustling Great Hall. Despite dedicated attempts to rid the hall of the aroma's source, the sticky concoction clung tightly to the walls. Yet the inhabitants persisted in their endeavor to scrub the stonewalls clean of the chocolate residue. All except three individuals that sat huddled at a table whispering amongst themselves, the wide brims of their black fedora hats nearly touching. They emitted an air of an organized crime syndicate with their finely tailored suits and sharp manners. They were outcasts among their fellow house elves, not only because of the clothes they chose to wear, but also due to their eccentric and scheming ways. Ways that were developed from their years of work with Albeez Capone, a wizarding crime lord, who used the elves as goodwill ambassadors, in hopes of luring attention from his more nefarious business ventures.
The smallest elf, Yogurt "Umbrella" Malloy, also known as Yum, was creating a schematic of Hogwarts on a parchment, when an elf-ly fist pounded on the table, annoying several magical crayons and causing them to fly away. Yogurt looked through the eyeholes of his too large hat at the irritated elf, Bugsy "The Boss" Mesquite. "This has gone on too long, see."
At the boss's words, a husky elf named Pliers "The Executioner" Barracuda looked confused. "But Boss, the meeting just started."
Bugsy growled, his hat sliding over his stern features. Grumbling, he flicked a corner of his hat upward and gestured at the dark sugary walls. "The frogs, Pliers, the frogs."
Yogurt glanced at the other elves busily attempting to make the castle walls pristine once more. He sighed, knowing this would not be the last of the turmoil that would rain down on them. The castle's rumblings had woken the Boss up last night, who wasted no time in waking the others. Barking out a slew of orders, he had sent Yogurt on reconnaissance. The conclusion of the investigation was somewhat frightful. Grabbing a purple crayon that had not yet been disturbed, Yogurt moved to finish his diagram while muttering to himself. "The castle's angry."
Picking up on Yogurt's soft words, Bugsy pounded his fist on the hardwood table once again, succeeding in emptying the table of any remaining utensils. "Rusty here is right."
Yogurt paused from his sketching and frowned at Bugsy's deliberate name swap. The Boss was always on his back to pick a tougher sounding name, often alternating between names in hopes of one sticking. They never did.
The head elf adjusted his blue and black tie, which was nearly as wide as his frame. "Since the Big D ain't here, it's up to us to do damage control."
Pliers briefly bowed his head at the mention of the injured Headmaster Dumbledore. He quickly snapped it back up at Bugsy's final words. "Why us, Boss?"
Bugsy rolled his eyes. "Because that's what we do, Pliers—that's what we were hired to do. Big D told us to clean castle and we will."
The other elf scratched his neck before risking a question. "I thought he said to clean the castle and that we would be in charge of the sweeping and dusting?"
Grabbing the burly elf's ear, the Boss tugged it closer toward himself. "Yes and that's what we'll do Pliers—we'll sweep the dirt under the rug, dust the doer, plug the leak—clean castle. Capice?" On concluding his brief speech, he released Pliers's large ear, causing it to snap back and strike the nearby Yogurt in the face, sending him tumbling off the table and leaving his shoes behind. Pliers nodded dumbly while rubbing his now sore ear. Bugsy looked satisfied. "Good."
In the meantime, Yogurt hoisted himself back onto the table, snatching up his fallen shoes. As he placed one of the shoes upon his feet, he spoke, "Someone holds the Castle's secrets."
Bugsy nodded thoughtfully, his fingers drumming against the table's surface. "Exactly, Tomahawk, and my Galleons are on Lady Mop. One of the naked elves said she's out to get rid of us. S.P.E.W, she calls it, Secret Promotion of Elf Warfare. Tried to recruit him as an inside man, he said. No question about it- she's a spy."
A squeaky voice interrupted, "I thought she made hats?"
The head elf glared over his shoulder at the source of the voice, a curious young elf, 4 years of age. His features softened at seeing who the young house elf attempting to eavesdrop was. "Dobby, aren't you supposed to go with the school governor today?"
The little elf blushed with pleasure at the fact that Bugsy finally remembered his name. He had been running errands for the group for the past year, much to the chagrin of his mother, who consistently told him to stay away from the weird elves. Seeing Bugsy waiting for an answer, he bawled out, "Dobby do nots want to go." Tears leaked from his large eyes.
Bugsy rubbed his chin contemplatively, "Too bad, I was looking forward to having an inside man in Malfoy Manor."
"Dobby wants to be an inside man." Dobby jumped excitedly, before pausing. "But Mummy says that's being a bad elf."
Bugsy stared at the tiny elf for a moment, an elf that looked much like he did in his youth. He sighed, "Look kid, that's something you'll have to figure out on your own. But my opinion, you'll never go wrong with being yourself." Bugsy cleared his throat. "Now that's my advice for the day. So shoo, go clean house." Dobby hopped up recognizing the dismissal, large smile on his face. As he scuttled away, he vowed to make Bugsy proud. Perhaps he would get a few neat hats like Bugsy's in the process.
"That was beautiful, boss." Pliers eyes were glistening. Yogurt nodded as he wiped a tear from his eye.
The boss slumped at seeing his overly emotional team. Pansies, the lot of them. At this rate he would get nothing done. Having enough, he barked to the group, "Back to business!"
Pliers raised his hand. Bugsy tilted his hat over his eyes in hopes the question would resolve itself. After a moment, he snuck a quick look out from under his hat. The elf's hand was still raised.
He sighed and straightened his fedora, "For your information, Pliers—the hat-making—purely cover."
"But Lord Bartholomew Eckerd Edward Patterson Ender Remington the Third vouches for her," Yogurt interjected after drying his eyes from the teary scene.
Bugsy rolled his eyes, brushing off a piece of lint from his suit. "Lord Bartholomew also vouches that Muggles go the moon; that Devlin Whitehorn, the clumsy first year, will open a broom company; and that Aberforth's goats at the Hogshead are really Angela's wizarding brothers."
"But—" Yogurt opened his mouth to defend the mischievous nargle that saved him from a rampaging purple chicken in Diagon Alley.
"Still don't believe me. Remember when he almost offed Pliers here at the Hog's Head." The boss gestured to heavily-built elf, who was munching on a Chocolate Frog leg he discovered on the table. "Right after you overheard the goods on Curly from Scar-Face and Professor Pretty-Boy's discussion, he started the bar fight."
"Mundungus Fletcher nearly sat on him," Yogurt argued.
The Boss glanced at Pliers who had zoned out of the conversation. He shook his head. "He bit the man's arse, broke a wizard's leg, then went on to break a dozen bottles of liquor, start a fire and a bar room brawl. It's lucky the fire only burnt Pliers' hat."
"Pliers wasn't wearing his hat when it caught on fire," Yogurt shot back.
Bugsy groused, he had no love for a nargle that put his fellow elves in jeopardy. "Fine, we'll verify the facts first."
"What about the hostage situation?" Pliers queried, having rejoined the conversation once more, eagerly anticipating a rescue operation. He licked some of the chocolaty remains from his fingers as he waited for a reply.
Bugsy bit his lip. He hated getting involved in hostage situations if he could help it. As of now, the nargle was perfectly healthy, playing with some shiny items the wizard tossed into the cage to keep him occupied. He looked at his team. "My sources say it's under control."
He ran his eyes over the rest of his team. Flicking his hat up again, he slid his hand toward Yogurt's workstation, pulling the parchment Yogurt had been working on out from under him. "So Hammer, what do we have here?" he mused.
His eyes scanned the layout. Shaking his head, he grabbed a quill from his suit he and began to make revisions. "This ain't gonna work." He stopped, frustrated. "I need a stiff drink. Tequila!"
A second later, another elf in a crisp suit popped in. "Yah, Bugsy?" asked the elf, also known as Tequila "The Narcoleptic" Tortellini. The elf had been thought to have died over a dozen times, only for it to turn out that he had fallen asleep. He was Bugsy's key spy.
"Chocolate milk and make it a triple. We're going to be here awhile." Tequila nodded and began to leave, when Bugsy stopped him. "Oh and before you go—how's the research going?"
"Stand still. Rugen's locked the cabinet," Tequila moaned frustratedly.
The Boss raised an eyebrow. "Since when has that stopped us?"
Sensing the head elf's intention, Tequila smirked, before disappearing, his voice echoing after him. "Never boss. Never."
.
A/N: A big thank you to all my reviewers: EJL, pstibbons, where's the nargle, flamelm, actionhero, as well as all those that have put the story on their favorites or on their updates list. Your comments and support lift my spirits and have made me work that much faster in getting this next part up.
Also another thank you to my incredible betas: SerpentinRed and Hajnalmadar- I can't say it enough-you're both amazing. :)
A/N2: I would love to hear from people on what they think of evil brother/sister duo or the elves.
