Thanks to:
NougatEvolution, Galavantian, ClaireReno, Jude, Lenore-TheCuteLittleDeadGirl8, M3dUSa, Laurie Jupiter, and Vinwin.
Speechwriter
Hermione sighed and started to recount the story. The room was intensely and uncomfortably quiet.
"I wanted to relax by the lake. My eyes were shut, I thought I felt my wand do something funny, so I opened my eyes and someone tried to step on my face. Onto my face. I rolled out of the way, stood up, and it was Araminta—"
"Wait, what about Araminta?" said a very puzzled Mina, who had just walked downstairs and found a silent common room listening to Hermione.
"Shush, Filemina," hissed Miranda with unexpected fervor, a venomous look in her eye. It was obvious she was no great admirer of Araminta either.
Hermione looked around. All eyes snapped back to her, and she sighed and continued. "Well, Araminta and two of her friends, this sort of pretty short blonde girl and this huge, ugly guy... they were there, and Araminta had taken my wand, and like an idiot I let her throw it."
She wasn't sure how to say the next part without overdramatizing it. "And then the boy started forcing my head underwater. Dunking it, that is. Half-drowning me. And Araminta was saying all this idiotic, irrational anti-Muggle stuff, and then they broke my nose and left."
She took a deep breath, casting a nervous glance at everyone. R.J., Godric and Mina looked positively murderous. Miranda looked stricken.
"Well, then I fixed my nose, went upstairs, cleaned myself up a little bit, you know, got everything off my face, took a bath, and I assumed everything was going to be okay."
"Everything is NOT okay!" said Mina loudly. "That girl has it coming, I swear -"
Miranda's lips tightened. "She can't just do things like that."
R.J. and Godric just exchanged glares, and then looked back to Hermione.
When R.J. spoke, everyone fell quiet again. "We're going to talk to someone about this. The head of that little gang of Araminta's, whether that's Malfoy or whoever. This has got to stop. She's got this harebrained idea that Muggleborn wizards need to be punished for being born, and it's dangerous. Come on, Godric, we need to find one of those Slytherins and—"
"No!" Hermione interrupted, terrified by the idea that they might possibly talk to Tom Riddle about her. That could not happen. No. Absolutely, positively not. "No," she repeated quietly, with a nervous smile. "Don't worry about it. It's in the past, and—well, I'm not worried about Araminta. She clearly isn't the brightest bulb in the box."
"The brightest what in the box?" Godric asked, confused.
"Never mind. I don't want to have to make a big deal out of this one time. Now that she's finished with her power trip, hopefully she'll just leave me alone. If it happens again... feel free to – I don't know, do something, but don't... not now. Please?"
She looked very tired in the firelight. R.J. sighed. "Okay, but if anything else like this happens, please don't try to cover it up," he said, his blue eyes worried.
Hermione smiled. "Got it."
Mina gave her a tight hug, then clapped her on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go get some dinner," she said briskly. "I'll try not to glare at Minty Mell too much."
Hermione spluttered at the preposterous nickname. She didn't really feel like eating much at all – a residual watery feeling was present in most of her body.
"Oh, actually, I'll catch up with you in a few minutes," Hermione said. "I have to change my robes."
"Right," said Godric. "We'll see you in the Great Hall, yeah?"
Hermione nodded and retreated up the steps to the dormitory, flinging herself on her bed in exhaustion. That was better handled than I anticipated, she thought, and changed into another set of robes, one of many that were hanging in the cupboard.
She picked up one of her books – The Quiescence of the Afterlife – and, tucking it into her pocket, bustled down the steps.
The Grand Staircase was moving rather more than usual. Hermione mistakenly got off on the second floor.
Oh well – she could use the small spiral staircase behind that one tapestry of Doris the Desperate. Hermione poked her face behind it and grinned. Hogwarts and its secret passages never failed her.
She stepped cautiously behind the tapestry and pulled it back into place behind her. There was a short tunnel before the staircase, and she could hear her footsteps echoing around her.
Then, as she stepped out of the round end of the tunnel into a circular staircase, a flurry of dark robe burst out of nowhere, dark robe and heavy breath. Before she could scream, there was a warm, dry hand firmly over her mouth and she was being backed into the tunnel. Her eyes found purchase on the face of Tom Riddle in horror. She made a muffled noise of alarm. What? Why is he here? Why is he why is he why is he
Her back met the curved stone wall. Riddle was so close that she was practically hyperventilating. No. Get off me. Get OFF me.
Her hand scrabbled in her pocket for her wand. Depulso! She drew her wand from her pocket and jabbed it right into Riddle's stomach. He flew back into the stone wall opposite her, obviously not having guessed that she might attempt to hex him – but quicker than she could think, his wand was in his hand, and with a disturbingly gentle wave, her arms were spread on either side of her, pinned to the wall. Stupid, to think I could get rid of Lord Voldemort with a child's spell!
And then he was close again, so close she could smell the smell of him, the sweet, haunting smell of him. He let out a long sigh as her breathing calmed. "Don't run, please, and don't hex me again," he continued, and with a lazy movement of the wand in his hand, she was unpinned from the wall. She stood, her eyes fixed on the only possible means of egress.
Hermione swallowed. Why did she have to run into Riddle when there was no one around to hear her hypothetical screams of pain? She couldn't get away – and he was obviously abandoning his angelic cover, seeing as he had accosted her like this. And that was another question – how had he known she would be here? She was only here because she had gotten off on the wrong floor, and there was no way he could have ensured that happening. Unless he had charmed the staircases, which was implausible at best—that was Founders magic, magic that had been in place for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years –
She took a deep breath and looked up into his face. His dark hair was out of its usual place, his nearly-black eyes deeper and calmer than ever. His tongue ran lightly over his lips, and Hermione felt a jolt of—something—attack her stomach, drying her mouth up like paper. Sin is always beautiful.
He surprised her by putting his wand back in his pocket. "Now," he said, his deadly quiet voice chasing shivers down Hermione's spine, "I just wanted to ask you a couple of things."
"What?" Hermione asked impatiently, as if this were just an annoying detour. You are innocent. You know nothing about Tom Riddle. You are composed.
Riddle smiled. That smile made Hermione's throat tighten. "First of all, why are you so terrified of me?"
"Terrified of you?" Hermione said, like it was a ridiculous notion that should not be entertained instead of the blatant truth.
"Yes."
Hermione shrugged, thinking quickly. "I—I'm easily intimidated."
"You don't seem like the type," he replied, moving a little closer to her. She pressed back against the wall.
"Why, because I'm stubborn and sarcastic?" she said softly, realizing that her legs were practically melting out from under her. There seemed to be an electrostatic shock in the small space between her and Riddle, making her unbelievably aware of his every movement. In the relative darkness of the tunnel, shadows took his handsome face and transformed it into something dark and terrifying.
"Exactly," he murmured, his dark eyes moving down her face. "So, why would I intimidate you?"
The slow burn of his voice took the ground out from under Hermione's rationality with astounding surety. Well, there was a very obvious answer to that question, one that he was very clearly entertaining with that physical presence he had. Arrogant bastard knows he's attractive—
Hermione's hazel eyes traveled to Riddle's chest, where the Slytherin crest dwelled, and back up to his face. Merlin, forgive me, she thought, but there's not another way to explain to him why I'm intimidated if it's not this.
"Well," she muttered, "you've probably figured that out yourself." Her eyes held contact with his, and her heart thudded so loudly that he could probably hear it.
His tall, slim figure leaned forward, eyes betraying a spark of – something. Hermione shrank back against the wall as if there were a way she could sink into it, but no such happy ability appeared. His right hand pressed itself against the stone to the right of her face, and with agonizing, excruciating slowness, Riddle leaned in and whispered in her left ear. What—the hell—is happening— She was trapped between his arm and his head, and as she turned her face just a little to the left, she could see the back of his head, the curve of his neck, the softness of his dark hair.
"Yes, I've figured something out," he whispered, and her skin crawled. She could swear to God she heard him smile, even as his breath brushed the side of her ear, even as the very edge of his pale face brushed against her cheek, so softly that it nearly hurt. Oh, dear Lord.
She never thought she could simultaneously feel so many starkly different feelings – absolute repulsion; utter terror; deep desire that should have been inadmissible.
He didn't pull away—which might have been good, because she might have fallen over. One of his long legs brushed against hers, sending spikes of feeling through her jumpy nerves, and he said, "Intimidation befits you."
Hermione swallowed and closed her eyes, wishing it would stop, wishing he would stop.
Her wish came true. All of a sudden, he was a few feet away again, and Hermione's eyes opened. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He was talking again, casually, as if nothing had happened at all, but she felt utterly freed with the buffer of several feet around her, like the air was cleaner now that he was over there instead of pressed up against her—
"Second of all, I wanted to ask why you didn't scream out for help this afternoon," he said smoothly.
Hermione's mind changed gears in a split second. What? Her face was that of shock, and suddenly anger was streaming through her veins – hot, insolent rage. "You – you saw that? You saw them doing that to me and you didn't do anything?"
He shrugged lazily. "I suppose it just didn't occur to me to betray my Housemates," he said. His eyes, once more, were completely unreadable. "Perhaps if I'd heard a cry for help, I would have helped."
"I thought I was alone, you dimwit!" shot back Hermione. It was stupid to imply that Voldemort would ever help anybody besides himself, but just to stand there and see someone nearly drown her...
"And you weren't going to tell anyone about it, either," Riddle continued musing, as if he were thinking aloud. "Yes, I saw you cleaning yourself up. Presumably went and took a bath afterwards, too, by the... smell of you. Why is that?"
"Why is what?" Hermione asked, anger flushing her face bright red.
"Why would you not want to tell your friends about being tortured nearly to the point of drowning?"
Hermione was visibly flustered, although she was practically telling the truth now, Merlin knew why. "I don't know! I just—I didn't see why I needed to tell them, and make them worry about something that didn't matter, that's all!"
Riddle inclined his head, smiling once again. "Exactly what I would have done."
Great. I'm like Voldemort.
"Just one more thing," he started, but Hermione held up a finger.
"No, no, you wait a second," she ordered with far more confidence than she actually had. "Why should I tell you anything about myself? All I know about you is that I found you sitting in the Restricted Section for, what, twelve hours, and now you've attacked me in a tunnel where no one could possibly see or hear us." Hermione paused, clenching her teeth and fists to keep the shaking out of her voice. "You didn't even help me when I could have drowned. Why should I say anything to you? Ever? Give me one reason. Just one."
Riddle shrugged. "Because you want to?"
Hermione's mouth quirked in amusement. "No. I really don't. You're wrong."
He opened his mouth, but she continued, "Wrong, Tom Marvolo Riddle. I don't want to answer any of your questions, and I certainly don't have to." Then a flash of dangerous anger sprang up in his eyes, and Hermione was instantly terrified again. "I'm leaving," she whispered, and before he could say anything further, she hurried out of the tunnel and down the steps.
She realized that she'd used his middle name as she fled. I'm dead. Perhaps more disturbing than his silent but understood we'll-meet-again was the knowledge that he could have stopped her from leaving, likely forever.
"Well, that was an awfully long changing session," commented Godric, shoveling food into his mouth as Hermione sat down.
"Just cleaned up a little, too," said Hermione primly, helping herself to potatoes. She noticed Riddle entering the Great Hall and stared pointedly at her plate.
"So! Dueling Club," Mina announced to the table at large. "Who's showing up? Albus, are you in? I know you like your fancy spellwork every once in a while."
Dumbledore smiled gently, running a hand through his auburn hair. "No, Mina, I think my dueling days are pretty much over. Thank you for thinking of me, though." And only as he returned to his book did Hermione realize with absolute horror that she was no longer in possession of her own book.
Shit!
How—she couldn't remember it falling out of her pocket, although when she thought back, she couldn't remember much besides the six-inches-away burning sensation of Tom Riddle's presence.
No, no, no. That book was important. That book was vital. And, most of all, that book could not be seen by anyone except her, especially by the Dark Lord, who might be curious about why she was reading about The Quiescence of the Afterlife. On top of randomly fleeing him at every opportunity. And knowing his middle name.
Her heart racing, she looked up and across the table to where the Slytherins sat. Riddle was, as usual, at the heart of their group, facing her.
His eyes met hers in an icy rush, and he very pointedly placed a small, dark book beside his plate, raising his eyebrows. There was a dispassionate note in his eyes. He was not happy at all that she had deserted his interrogation; Hermione could tell that much. She looked away and back at Godric, who was explaining some of the finer techniques he liked to use for various charms, and she attempted to listen, attempted to ignore the cold dread that was trickling down her back.
As she looked back at the Slytherin table, R.J. noticed where her gaze was straying. "You okay, Hermione?" he said, and suddenly, everyone else was quiet, too.
Miranda turned around to look at the Slytherins. "I'd like to curse the hair off Araminta," she muttered viciously.
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Whoa, hold on," she laughed nervously. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just -"
"Slytherins," Godric muttered, eating furiously, with furtive glances at the Slytherin table. "After my so-called best friend went all Muggle-hating psychotic, it just seems like everyone who gets Sorted into that house is out to get someone."
Hermione sighed. Of course—Salazar and Godric had used to be best friends. She wondered how that had ever worked, observing Godric's playful attitude and Salazar's sullen sliminess.
Her friends didn't even know that she had pretty much moved the Araminta issue from her mind completely in favor of the much bigger problem of Tom Riddle.
"They're all terrible," R.J. sighed. "Dark, the whole lot of them. Except maybe that Riddle guy – he's never seemed like a particularly bad sort." The name sounded like a bad dream dropping from R.J.'s lips. Oh, the irony—not a bad sort...? Please, please, PLEASE not this topic of conversation.
Godric frowned. "Actually, yeah, I've always sort of wondered why Riddle is even in Slytherin. He's sort of quiet... brilliant, though; Rowena and I have been wondering why he's not in Ravenclaw."
Mina shrugged, casting a look at Riddle. "You know, it's funny, about Riddle, but I feel like he's actually the head of that stupid little gang of Slytherins. It's just... the way they treat him. Maybe it's because he's the only one out of the whole lot that's not completely rotten."
Albus made a quiet noise that did not go unnoticed by Hermione. Of course – Albus Dumbledore was the only one who mistrusted Riddle from the start.
There was a contemplative silence for a second before Godric resumed bombastically reenacting a duel he claimed he had had with a troll. A mountain troll, perhaps...?
Hermione glanced at the Slytherins one last time. Riddle's eyes were on her, and even as she looked away, she could feel that they were still watching her, all the way until she left.
"Okay, so, what are the rules for Dueling Club?" Hermione asked Godric nervously as they walked back down to the Great Hall.
Godric shrugged. "I mean, there aren't many." This didn't reassure Hermione at all. "One: if someone gets challenged, someone else can accept the challenge for them and duel the challenger instead. Called cutting in. Two: if you get challenged to a duel and no one offers to cut in, you have to accept. Three: when you can't cast a spell anymore, the duel is considered over. Four: all wounds will be treated by Mungo and Jared up in the Infirmary. That's about it."
Hermione considered for a while. "So, essentially, by walking into the Great Hall, I'm agreeing to duel any nutter who happens to challenge me?"
Her friend nodded in response.
Hermione groaned. "Hold on, wait. Did you say Mungo? As in Mungo Bonham?"
"Yeah. Do you know him?"
Hermione shook her head. "It's just – well, he has the only famous wizard hospital in London – St. Mungo's, you know."
Godric laughed. "Oh, he's a saint? Lucky git."
"Who was the other one?" Hermione asked.
"Jared Pippin. He's big into potions, and for the last few years he's been experimenting a lot with healing potions. It's good stuff. Never seen anything like it," Godric said. "Oh, look, someone's already set up... that's strange..."
There weren't many people in the Great Hall yet—a few Ravenclaws, a single Hufflepuff, and a couple Slytherins. The House tables had been stacked against the walls. A raised rectangle of stone, about twenty feet long sat in the middle of the Great Hall, and it was around it that most of the people were clustered.
"We've got ten minutes or so," Godric said. "Mina and R.J. should be here soon."
Over the next ten minutes, the Great Hall filled up slowly, until there were about fifty people around the platform. Hermione was glad to see that Araminta and her two friends were absent. "Hermione!" Mina said, approaching her and Godric, R.J. in tow. "Planning to duel anyone?"
Hermione shrugged. "I mean, if someone really wants to duel me, I'm sure I won't disappoint."
This was a bit of an understatement. Hermione's magical talent had transformed into a whole other beast in the months that she had spent in Hogwarts attempting to repulse the Death Eaters. She had refused point-blank to dabble in the Dark Arts, but she had found a few books that outlined more…detailed hexes. She had used quite a few of them, too, in defense of her life. Offensive magic had started coming as easily to her as a simple Expelliarmus.
Godric grinned, and his keen green eyes fixed upon a Slytherin boy on the other side of the platform. "Oh, I can't wait to challenge Vaisey. He keeps levitating frogs into my dormitory."
Hermione's nose wrinkled in disgust. "So, who's in charge of all this?"
Mina laughed.
Godric said, "I am." He took out his wand, a simple blackthorn rod, and flicked it. The doors of the Great Hall slammed shut, the noise resounding powerfully off the curved stone walls. Everyone instantly fell as silent as if they had been charmed to do so.
"Dueling Club!" Gryffindor announced, leaping up onto the stone platform. "Anybody fancy the first duel tonight? Anyone?"
There was deathly silence. A grin spread across Godric's face. "In that case..." he said, "Vaisey, why don't you get on up here and show me what you can do?"
There was a loud cheer from the audience. They all backed away as Vaisey climbed up onto the platform, looking singularly uneasy. He had light brown hair and tanned skin, and his tall body held itself awkwardly, as if he had been injured recently.
Godric backed down to one end of the platform, looking confident and at ease. Vaisey stood at the other, taking out his spindly wand from his pocket and raising it slowly. Hermione watched with bated breath. I can't believe I'm about to see Godric Gryffindor duel.
And then, with a wave of Vaisey's wand, the duel began.
Hermione was captivated by the fury and power with which Godric dueled. It was all non-verbal, of course, but the results were magnificent to watch. First, a jet of purple sparks issued from Vaisey's wand, which were casually transformed by Godric into a deflating balloon. The Gryffindors laughed and cheered, and Godric gave his first attack, a complicated twist of the blackthorn wand that issued a blinding ray of blue light. Vaisey ducked and shot a curse across the ground at Godric, making the sturdy stone crack and char underneath it. Godric thrust his wand downwards at the curse, and it exploded into a shower of brilliantly white snow.
Godric raised his hand and jabbed his wand at the snow. It swelled into a colossal wave of black, fuzzy mist which rolled across the platform towards Vaisey. Vaisey waved his wand, but nothing happened. Hermione recognized a failed Protego and shook her head. She cringed as the mist engulfed Vaisey.
When it cleared, he lay on the ground, seemingly unconscious. It was over as quickly as it had begun. Godric's eyes made their way to his friends in the crowd and he flashed a cocky grin. The audience applauded, a cheer rising from the Gryffindors.
Godric hopped off the platform, cracking his knuckles. "Well, that was painfully easy," he commented. Hermione saw two of Vaisey's friends lifting his unconscious body off the platform and carrying him quickly out of the Great Hall.
Hermione gave Godric a reproachful stare. "Was that Infuscus hex really necessary?"
Godric looked a little surprised. "Well, don't we know our hexes," he laughed. "And yes, it was necessary. You'd think so, if you woke up with a bloody frog sitting on your mouth two days in a row."
Hermione cringed, and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, she heard her name being spoken. Mina elbowed her. "You just got challenged," she hissed.
Her head whipped around to the platform, where Tom Riddle was standing calmly, his arms crossed loosely and a lazy smile playing on his mouth.
R.J. frowned. "You want me to cut in?" he muttered. "Riddle's only ever dueled once, and it was damn scary."
Hermione shook her head. She wouldn't knowingly let any of her friends go up against Lord Voldemort, no matter what the consequences were for her. But, Merlin, at the same time…this was an absolutely terrible idea.
She felt her legs walk towards the platform, even though her every instinct begged her not to, pleaded with her to let anyone besides her do this—but before she knew it she was standing opposite Tom Riddle, his eyes boring into her, and both their wands were up, and there was a deathly hush.
Ligora! She flicked her wand, sending the simple binding hex at Riddle, wondering what he would do, and he didn't disappoint. Deflecting her hex before it had even gotten halfway to him, he wove his wand through the air, his face betraying no hint of emotion. Red fire flickered from his wand tip towards her. Hermione recognized quite a powerful curse and instantly conjured a counterjinx. Duro!
The red flames solidified into harmless stone and clattered to the ground. Vivifica! Hermione whirled her wand at the stone flames, and they sprang up into a marble lion, bounding across the platform towards Riddle. With a jab of his wand, the stone lion erupted into tiny fragments of rock which whizzed towards Hermione.
Protego –
Diakopta –
The curse spun towards Riddle as the stone fragments exploded into dust all around her. Riddle's face finally showed the slightest hint of concentration—his jaw muscles tightened as he reflected the cutting curse with a Subligo jinx, which tied her own curse to a far more powerful one. Hermione didn't even recognize the wand movement, and she flung herself to the floor. She could smell her hair burning slightly as the spell rocketed over her.
Leaping back to her feet, she flicked her wand, her hands shaking desperately. Perustero! A jet of green fire blasted from her wand, swelling into an inferno as it approached Riddle. She watched disbelievingly as he slowly waved his wand sucked the fire into his wand-tip.
Then the fire blasted itself out of his wand again, ten times more powerful, colored a deep gold. Hermione brought up her wand just in time to create a thick grey shield. The fire slammed into the shield, knocking Hermione back a couple steps, but she caught herself, disassembled the shield, and aimed her wand over her head at Riddle. Her next jinx had taken a while to learn, but maybe it could slip past his defense...
Stupefy! Exequora!
As Riddle warded off the first jet of red light, looking a little amused at the simple spell, the follow-up spell trailed behind the stunner and was sucked into Riddle's shield as well – and then it exploded, a tiny white pinpoint of light that erupted into bright yellow flames. Tom Riddle's face contorted into fury as he was flung to the ground, and he stood up with a snarl on his mouth.
Oh, God.
Voldemort stopped holding back. He started firing spells so quickly that Hermione barely had time to conjure any shield at all. It was a miracle that she found a way to dive out of the way of one black stream that looked particularly vicious. Her face met the stone floor with a rough thud, and she scrambled back to her feet and waved her wand desperately, sending a lavender disk of power spinning across the dueling area.
Riddle warded it off with a flick. It smashed into one of the House tables with a colossal bang. Riddle glanced back at it with half a grin on his face, lazily raising his wand to attention once more.
Hermione took in a deep breath. Like I practiced.
Flick. Dora auctus! Flick. Gea prolato! Flick. Iuguma! Her wand danced through the air, and it was as if she were watching from afar, not participating at all, but just watching a powerful witch draw upon reserves of strength. A fierce grin somehow worked its way onto her face. This was exhilarating.
Riddle was blocking her every move and countering, but neither of them was making much headway. However, he wasn't using the things he was famous for – Unforgivables, illegal curses, Dark Magic. Hermione supposed that it was hindering his ability to duel, or else she surely would have lost by now. Would have been dead by now. But the fact that she was still going reassured her.
Arigulum! She blocked a flailing length of ghostly chain. Concida!
A globe of white air spun around her body and spat itself at Riddle. He transformed it into a fiery phoenix with deep red eyes, which flew at her and harassed her, pecking at her eyes. Hermione yelled and waved her wand at the bird, causing it to erupt into flame and flutter down to the ground in thousands of tiny pieces of paper.
They were at an impasse. Riddle was frustrated by his inability to use Dark magic; Hermione was clearly outmatched, only barely managing to struggle her way through – but she stood tall and confident, as if nothing had fazed her at all.
The pair stood, reluctant to continue. Hermione was afraid that he would lose control and use Dark magic, and suddenly she would be on the ground, jerking in pain, and she would be refusing to tell him where Harry was hiding—
Memory crippled her.
"Tell me, you stupid girl," hissed the Dark Lord, and as his wand moved slightly closer, she was curling and stretching, screaming, screaming, screaming, as if every nerve in her body had been sliced open, her eyes so tightly shut it was painful, her fingernails scrabbling helplessly at the stone ground, tears leaking into a pool beneath her contorted face—
Her eyes squinted shut with the pain of the memory, a remembered shock... and then her wand jerked itself from her hand, just as her eyes were opening again.
After all that, defeated with an Expelliarmus.
Well, it's better than an Avada Kedavra.
Riddle scrutinized her even as he twirled her vine wand in a pale hand.
There was a long pause, and the audience burst into raucous applause. Riddle nodded once to her, his eyes inscrutable, and tossed her wand at her before turning away and walking back to his Slytherins.
Hermione retrieved her wand from the ground and tucked it into her pocket.
So much for staying unnoticed. As she stepped off the platform, she could feel countless stares on her. She looked at the ground, sticking her hands in her pockets and hunching down as if it would make people stop looking.
R.J., Godric, and Mina had nothing to say. The latter two were actually open-mouthed, and R.J.'s eyebrows were raised so high that they vanished under his black bangs.
Hermione watched the rest of the duels in silence.
It was only later, in the Common Room, that the others said anything about her duel. "Where on earth did you learn all that?" Mina asked.
"I enjoy reading," Hermione replied honestly. "I can always learn more, though."
R.J. let out a long, low whistle. "Can't imagine what else there is to learn."
Hermione looked at Godric. "I reckon you could teach me a few things."
Godric smiled back. "Reckon I could," he said cockily.
Mina rolled her eyes. "Merlin, this one. Don't encourage him."
Hermione chuckled, silently thanking her lucky stars that no one had asked why Riddle had challenged her. She wasn't sure if her lying would be advanced enough to handle it.
Unfortunately, between the book, the duel, and the middle name, Hermione was afraid that she had made herself far more interesting to Riddle than she could have imagined.