Hermione didn't know how, or why, but the next couple of days brought a bit of a shock. Rumors were circulating, as idiotic as rumors usually were, that she and Tom Riddle were somehow romantically involved. This, of course, yielded nasty looks from many, like the Marque sisters, who were jealous, and more from others like Godric who just disapproved.
She caught R.J. looking at her apologetically from down the table a couple of times, but he never seemed to muster up the courage to sit with her, Miranda, and Albus, who had completely separated themselves from the others. Hermione missed Mina, Godric and R.J. immensely, but she refused to let that show.
"You know," she had said to Albus and Miranda, "if you want to go and sit with them, you can. It doesn't matter to me."
Miranda shook her head. "They're being irrational, and I wouldn't like to let you sit all alone," she said, and went back to reading. Albus was stirring his tea absentmindedly with his wand, his kind blue eyes silently agreeing.
But now Hermione was afraid that she might have lost a hold on the friendship of her other three friends permanently, which was idiotic, because when Hermione thought back to their fight, she couldn't remember it being more than five minutes long. How had two months of friendship shattered in five minutes? All she knew was that now those stupid rumors were going around, Mina and Godric kept shooting vehement glances, and Hermione couldn't respond because of her own pride. After all, if they were going to be as childish as to believe the words of others without even asking her, then she didn't need them.
Of course, she did need them.
Hermione didn't know where the rumors had sprung from, but they were incredibly irritating. No one said anything to her face, but the burning glares she was getting from Araminta said it all – there were no friendly feelings between girls when it came to Tom Riddle. Even some Gryffindor girls seemed resentful, which downright stunned Hermione. Surely one single boy couldn't be the source of strife in a house that the boy wasn't even in?
Well, apparently, it could.
That night that Hermione had spent speaking with Riddle seemed like a faraway memory, although it had been just two days ago. Hermione hadn't really had the heart to go back to her studies, so she had tried to teach herself how to fly for the past couple days. She knew the basics, of course, but it was always good to know how to fly well, and it was one thing that she had never really gotten a grip on. She intended to try again that day, provided that there weren't any teams attempting to practice. Hufflepuff didn't have enough people to have a team, but Ravenclaw had started one just recently, and so they were practicing a lot.
It was nearing the end of November, and, as a result, Melia Trueblood had seen fit to cast a snowstorm overnight that smothered the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds in two feet of snow. Hermione thought that it was overkill – she had to take out her wand and melt her way all over the grounds, which was inconvenient. Also, Melia had made it below freezing so the snow would stick, which wasn't great for learning how to fly since it was absolutely frigid when one was clenching a broomstick's cold handle.
"So, I'm going to keep trying to fly today," Hermione said to Albus and Miranda.
"That sounds wonderful," said Dumbledore. "Miranda and I are baking this afternoon, so we should all have a terribly-made cake to eat at the end of the day. We'll be in the kitchen, if you want to come join us."
Hermione laughed. "Sounds lovely," she said. "I'll see you later." Miranda waved absentmindedly as Hermione left the Great Hall.
She huddled inside her robes, which were not quite adequate for the outside weather. Her wand stuck out of her sleeve, though her hand was inside, huddling for warmth. A funnel of steaming hot air attacked the snow which had caved back in on the path she had carved yesterday.
The walk to the Quidditch pitch was irritatingly long, but with a quick 'Impervius' on her clothes, she managed to remain relatively warm and dry. She sighed, a puff of white air in the clear sky, and took a Nimbus 2001 off the rack of brooms.
It was just hard to imagine, usually – a broom being able to fly through the air, like Muggles had always dreamed about, and it was partly that disbelief that made Hermione hesitant to fly.
She started with the usual "Up" command, and was pleased to see that her broom made its way steadily up into her palm. She supposed that it would never leap upwards like Harry's had once done, but she would be very satisfied with being a fairly-decent-level flier. That was all one really needed, after all.
A lump caught in her throat as she thought about the matches that Lee Jordan had commentated, how McGonagall had chided him so often for insulting the Slytherins. Ron sitting next to her and yelling for Harry, making loud, rude comments of his own. Swallowing the lump, she blamed it on the cold, and placed the broom tail-first on the ground, sticking one foot onto its stand and kicking off harder than usual.
The freezing air attacked Hermione as she rushed upward, placing her other foot unsteadily on the stand. The broom teetered a bit, and Hermione let out a small squeak, but urged her broom forward determinedly.
She slowed to a stop about fifty feet off the ground. Heights had never particularly bothered her, and her hands were tight on the broom, her wand in her pocket. There was no danger up here.
Hesitantly, Hermione leaned a little to the left. The sensitive broom started to move forwards again, turning to the left in a wide rotation. She sat back up and pointed the handle downwards, and the broom slid into a descent, a little steeper than Hermione had intended. She gripped the broom tighter instinctively, leaning down closer to the handle so she wouldn't fall, and the fall steepened into a swift dive, sending her barreling down through the air. Her eyes widened in shock again. Okay, Hermione Granger you have this under control, she thought, feeling exactly the opposite as the wind grappled at her eyes and yanked on her tangled brown hair.
She leaned away from the handle again, though her instincts cried for the opposite, and pulled up on the dark wood. A feeling of watery relief flooded her as the broom leveled out and stopped diving.
Navigating upwards again, Hermione's eyes wandered over the grounds. Over by the frozen lake were a few Hufflepuffs who looked like they were having a picnic on the ice, and by the Whomping Willow there were a couple of people who seemed to be stupidly baiting the tree. In the school, the Gryffindor common room window was brightly lit up a warm golden-yellow in the grey wintry sky. A few people were making their way over to Hogsmeade, and their laughter echoed up towards Hermione.
She could almost imagine that she was back where she belonged.
Striking the thought from her mind, Hermione leaned down on the broom, setting off at a comfortable pace towards the Forbidden Forest. She wondered what it would have been like if she, Harry and Ron had never gotten themselves into dangerous things involving Hagrid, wondered what it would have been like just to have been a normal student, who never did things she wasn't supposed to, never broke any rules, like she had originally planned upon arriving.
Would the Forbidden Forest even be dangerous anymore, if there weren't creatures like Centaurs there? Then again – those Thestrals that had risen into the night sky... although Thestrals weren't dangerous, if they weren't the only beasts in there...
How were the Thestrals there, even? There were a bunch of strange superstitions surrounding Thestrals, because of the 'death thing', as Hagrid had once said, but she didn't know that they could transcend death, or whatever it was that they were doing by existing in this world.
Hermione flew over the lake, looking down at the swirling patterns in the ice. She wondered what the Slytherin common room looked like when the lake was frozen and snowed over. After all, it was usually dimly greenish, due to the lake water – when that was frozen and had a coat of snow, did it just get opaque, and did it get dark down there? The only light would be the fires, then. That would be depressing, not to be able to see the stars...
She flew back towards the Quidditch pitch, intending to practice a few simple maneuvers – like a barrel roll. One could always use a handy barrel roll. But, as she flew over the stands, she saw a broom randomly floating in the air – What is that doing there? – and, twenty feet below it on the white ground, she realized that there was a figure on the pitch, unmoving, face-down, a thin trail of red leaking out from its face.
Oh, God.
Hermione navigated herself into a wobbly dive, getting to the ground as fast as she could. She ran to the person and crouched by him. He was dressed in Slytherin robes, and as Hermione attempted to turn him over to see his face, his hat fell off, unveiling a mop of shining blond hair. Malfoy! She gritted her teeth and pulled, and he flopped onto his back. Merlin, he was heavy.
He was unconscious, and his nose was broken. "Ennervate," said Hermione, whipping out her wand, and regretted it. He came back to life with a deafening yell of pain.
"Oh, Merlin," grunted Malfoy, his eyes rolling back in his head in agony. Hermione fixed his nose, and he wriggled a bit in surprise, reaching up with his left hand to touch it. Hermione's wand siphoned off the blood, and it was only then that he looked up at her.
"Granger?" he asked dimly, squinting in the sunlight.
She nodded. "I presume you fell?" she said, pointing up at his floating broom. He grunted a 'yes' in response, but as he attempted to sit up again, his face contorted in sudden pain. He reached for his wand, but even as he gripped it, he grimaced again, so he just dropped his arms by his sides and lay unmoving.
"Merlin, how many bones did you break?" Hermione said dryly.
"Lots," he moaned, holding out his right hand. Hermione tapped each finger with her wand, checking for fractures, and as she came to the thumb, he sucked in a sharp breath.
She shook her head. "Okay, hold on," she said, and tapped it again. He let out a strangled noise as the bone clicked audibly into place.
"You probably cracked a couple of ribs," muttered Hermione, surveying his torso. At least the skin hadn't broken – probably just a few simple fractures. Twenty feet wasn't a huge distance to fall; thank God it hadn't been fifty. Abraxas looked up at her with distrust on his face.
He opened his mouth, shut it again, and finally said, "Why are you helping me?"
"Because you're lying here in excruciating pain?" said Hermione, as if speaking to a complete idiot.
"Good reason," he mumbled, and brushed back his blond hair proudly. A Malfoy through and through, Hermione thought wryly.
It was odd to look directly at Abraxas Malfoy, because he looked strangely like Draco. The eyes were the exact same light shade of grey, the hair the exact white-blond hue. The face shape was the same – a smooth oval – but Draco's pointed features were absent. Abraxas had a blunt nose, thick eyebrows, and a mouth that was curved in a perpetual almost-smile, which was odd to see on a Malfoy. He was about the same height as Draco, but far broader in the shoulders, and his pale skin and blond hair were almost painful to look at in the wintry sun when coupled with the shimmer of the other world.
"Do you know how to fix cracked ribs?" Abraxas said through gritted teeth. Hermione blinked and came back to her senses. He probably was in quite a lot of pain.
"Sure."
He opened his black robes, and Hermione scooted up to sit by his chest. She started to unbutton his white shirt hesitantly, casting a glance back at his face. There was a slight blush on his cheeks, and he wasn't looking at her, but instead stubbornly staring into the sky. So, this was the man who had taught Lucius Malfoy how to hate, how to discriminate against those of 'lesser' blood. It was an extremely unappealing thought, and a rush of dislike ran through Hermione.
"Tell me when it hurts," she said softly, placing a hand at the bottom of his ribcage on the left and slowly applying pressure. About halfway up, he let out an animal groan. Hermione tapped the spot, thinking, Bracchus Novum. Something sealed up with a tiny hiss beneath his pale skin.
"I think there's one more on the other side," murmured Malfoy. Hermione slowly put her hand on the left side of his chest. God, this is uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable.
She started pressing down. "So, er, why are you out here without your team?" she asked. She almost expected a sneering retort, but was surprised when he gave her a civil answer.
"Oh, they should actually be here any second – I just came early because I'm the team captain, and I always like to get a jump on a good pr – ow." He drew in a breath through his teeth. "Yes, that's it, right there." Hermione tapped the spot with her wand, and the look of relief on his face was immensely satisfying to see. "I think that's everything," he said.
"I'm just going to press down really quick on both sides, just to make sure there's nothing else, okay?" she mumbled, blushing and wishing she would stop making this so awkward –
"Sure," he answered, and it looked like he was attempting to restrain a smirk, which, to his credit, was more than Draco had ever done. It was quiet outside, a hush cast everywhere by the snow, and Malfoy looked oddly peaceful as he shut his eyes and waited. Hermione sighed inwardly and placed both her small hands on his warm chest. Her light tan contrasted starkly with his paler skin – just like it used to be with Ron – and she lightly pushed, moving her hands methodically downwards.
"Abraxas, I thought you had standards," came a sneering voice, and Hermione snatched her hands off him as if he were a hot stove, whirling around to see who it was. It was the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team – Araminta Meliflua, her friend Barda, Herpo the Foul, Revelend Godelot, Briene Flint, Kenji Takahashi, and Andre Taylor. It was no surprise to Hermione that Araminta had said the words. Hermione just scowled in response, opening her mouth to defend herself, but before she could, Malfoy had done it for her.
"Oh, shut up, Araminta," he laughed, again surprising Hermione with his apparently easygoing nature. He sat up and started wringing out his robes, which were soaked with melted snow. "I fell off my broom and broke a couple of ribs." He pointed up at his Nimbus 2001, which was still hovering hopefully in the air.
"Lovely," said Araminta, and the Slytherin team approached him and Hermione. "So, Granger, what – is Tom not good enough for you? Going to go ahead and prey on poor Malfoy here?"
"It's like she didn't hear anything you just said," Hermione said to Abraxas.
"Well, I mean, it's your choice, Abraxas," continued Araminta casually, picking at a long nail, "but after you broke up with Erielle, I'd say this... thing is definitely a step down."
When did I get wrapped up in the world of Slytherin gossip? Hermione found herself wondering. "Look, I was just fixing your captain's ribs, unless you'd rather I just left him on the ground unconscious next time -"
"If the alternative is getting his naked chest touched by a dirty Mudblood, I'd reckon a little pain might be a good option," snapped Araminta, and Hermione fell silent, secretly hurt by the words. They oughtn't to have hurt, not after so long and so much, but the hate always found new places in her heart to wound. The rest of the Slytherin team, who had been laughing at Araminta's comments, got sort of quiet and shifted a bit uncomfortably, with the exception of maybe Barda.
"All right; you know what, I'm not even going to deal with this right now," sighed Hermione, getting to her feet. Out of her peripherals she saw Araminta drawing her wand, and quick as a flash she had drawn her own. With a simple flick of Hermione's wrist, Araminta's wand was ten feet away, on the ground. "No, you're not going to attack me while I'm not expecting anything," Hermione said, through gritted teeth. "Not like last time, you low-down cheat."
She surprised herself with her own venom. Riddle's words came back to her mind – very Slytherin of you – but she ignored them.
"What is she talking about?" Andre muttered to Takahashi, who shrugged. Hermione waved her wand, and both her and Malfoy's brooms rushed quietly towards her. She handed Malfoy his broom, and hung hers up, starting to trudge away, fuming. It was a wonder that anyone did anything nice for a Slytherin, if that was the type of thanks they were inevitably going to receive.
"Stay away from Tom, if you know what's good for you!" hissed Araminta after Hermione, and Hermione responded with a choice finger.
She walked to the lake and sat down, fuming for a while, not even knowing why she let them get to her in the first place. It doesn't matter! She kept telling herself that... but if it was going to hurt her, didn't it matter? If she could actually risk being tortured just for being who she was, didn't it end up mattering quite a bit, after all? Hermione slowly etched patterns in the ice with her wand.
"Knut for your thoughts?" said a smooth voice from behind her. Hermione dropped her wand and turned to see Tom Riddle looking down at her curiously. "You seem... agitated," he said.
He sat down next to her. Hermione turned back to the frozen lake. "Why haven't you told Araminta it's not true?" she muttered.
"What's not true?"
Hermione laughed shortly. "Oh, come on, don't tell me you haven't heard," she scoffed. "Apparently, you and I are romantically involved, though I don't know how that rumor got started."
He was quiet for a second. "Oh," he said.
"Anyway," Hermione sighed, "I was at the Quidditch pitch and Malfoy fell off his broom and broke some bones. I was fixing them, so his shirt was... well, you know, off, and of course that's the moment Araminta chooses to walk in."
"She tends to do things at the most inopportune of times," Riddle said, a dark smile at the edge of his voice. "One of her many charms."
Was that wry sarcasm, coming from Lord Voldemort? Hermione let out a slow breath. "I'm attempting not to let her idiocy irritate me," she muttered, "but it's proving difficult. Some people are just so... closed-minded."
Then she remembered she was talking to one such person, and she shut her mouth. "About what?" said Riddle.
"Well, you probably don't want to hear this, but my background," Hermione said.
Oh. That. Riddle sighed. It wasn't her fault that she had filthy blood any more than it was his fault that he was a half-blood, but it was a difficult aspect of her existence to get past, surely. When he spoke to her, he attempted to restrain his thoughts so that he solely thought in terms of 'wizard' and 'Muggle', so that she fell into the former category, but that, too, was proving difficult. Why should he have to accommodate Mudbloods, anyway? They were the ones who were infiltrating the system of witchcraft and wizardry, in any case, wreaking havoc on the line of purity that ought to have accompanied –
"I know you agree with her, anyway, so let's just not talk about that," Hermione mumbled, an oddly self-deprecating look on her face. "Why the urge to talk to me in broad daylight, by the way?"
"Oh. I thought we were past that stage, Granger," said Riddle, "unless you're embarrassed to be seen with me, in which case..." He trailed off, raising an eyebrow. It was strange, the way their relationship had progressed – he had been his usual, civil, polite self for far less time than usual, and then after he had already unleashed his most terrifying attack, he almost felt like he was fading back into that polite façade. Usually, there was a very straightforward timeline: if someone didn't know him, he was a perfect person; if they did know him, he was polite up until the very second he needed them to be under his control. Then he tortured them, they swore their allegiance, and he was Master for the rest of their days. This... jumping around the timeline with the girl wasn't normal, and Riddle wasn't sure he liked it, but whatever was necessary for... proceeding events...
"No, no, I don't care," Hermione said. She didn't want to wound his pride, after all, after this uneasy peace had settled between them.
Then, a voice came from behind them. It was deep and had a grin embedded in it. "Hey, you two," it said. Riddle glanced over his shoulder.
"Oh, hello, Abraxas," he said, his voice silky smooth.
"Malfoy," greeted Hermione with a nod. "What happened to practice?"
"General mutiny," Malfoy sighed. He flopped down on the snow on Hermione's other side. "Listen, Granger, sorry on Araminta's behalf," he told Hermione, looking up at her with a smile. "I'm sure she didn't – I mean, well, yeah, she probably meant it – but don't take it to heart. And thanks for fixing me up."
Hermione was pleasantly surprised by what he said. Lo and behold! A Slytherin who seemed like he was a genuinely okay sort of type? Without having to dig through layers of mystery, or anything? "No problem," she replied, smiling back at him.
Abraxas met Riddle's eye and immediately glanced away. Riddle was giving him a look – a look that clearly said to back away from the situation. But the Granger girl was already standing up and saying, "Well, I'm off to catch up with Albus and Miranda. Look, nice to meet you, Malfoy. And, Tom – well, I'll see you later, yeah?"
Abraxas waved, and Riddle gave a lazy nod as Granger turned back to the castle, a newfound spring in her step.
"Did I ask you to be present?" Riddle said slowly, long after Hermione had left, and Abraxas closed his eyes in dread.
"No, Master," he muttered. "I just thought it -"
"Then why were you present, hmm?" asked Riddle lazily.
"I just -"
Riddle held up a hand. "That was rhetorical," he sighed. "You had done such a good thing by falling off that damn broom of yours, but now that is undone. You may leave."
Malfoy got to his feet, brushing snow off his robes. Riddle had such a flair for the overdramatic – but he could get away with it, because he was so terrifying. The slim, dark boy had a mesmerizing presence that was impossible to resist. Malfoy was practically in awe of the Granger girl for having kept any semblance of sanity, actually...
Abraxas wondered what Riddle was doing with her, whether he had got the information he needed. Well, apparently not, because if he had he would have stopped associating with her by now, discarding her like so many others he had just tossed to the side – Araminta being one of them, although it had been easy to wring information out of her. Riddle hadn't even consulted Abraxas about that – it had just taken one dark smile, one slow kiss, and she was talking like there was no tomorrow.
Riddle and Araminta were so similar, though, and he and the Granger girl were absolutely nothing alike. She seemed... nice, Abraxas thought. She had helped him without question when he had fallen, anyway, which pointed to a lack of house prejudice, and she certainly had a nice smile.
Abraxas wondered if she even had an inkling of what the real Riddle was like, wondered if she had been shown a glimpse of what he was beneath that polite, demure exterior. If she hadn't... well, she was in for a storm, and everyone knew it. Godelot, Malfoy, Takahashi, Taylor, Vaisey, Herpo, even Salazar Slytherin, who refused to even associate with anyone except for Herpo – they all knew about Riddle, and they had all seen what his charms had done to other girls before.
Riddle was dangerous.
They had only met once in the last week – that was, Riddle and his followers – and Riddle hadn't quite seemed himself, actually. More absentminded than usual, though he always was away in his own world, which was half of the danger – waiting with bated breath for what was going to come next.
Malfoy didn't know what was wrong with Riddle. Surely, this last conquest, the Granger girl, couldn't be too terribly much of a challenge? So she was good at dueling; that had been apparent at Dueling Club. She may even have been able to resist his physical presence; she had seemed like a modest, plain, down-to-earth sort of girl. But he was Tom Riddle. It was strange that he would spend this much time attempting to crack any one person before just using Crucio to get it over with, but if he had used it, she definitely would have spoken already.
No, the Cruciatus Curse, from Riddle, was not something to be taken lightly, and every one of his followers knew that, from very personal experience.
Hermione smiled as she headed to the kitchens. She found herself not even caring who had seen her associating with Riddle and Malfoy. If they were the only people she could find to talk to... then so be it. It wasn't a reflection upon her character. And Malfoy had actually seemed like a nice sort of person.
What was going on with Riddle, though? Asking someone what was wrong was not menacing in the least. It was friendly. And Riddle didn't have friends, just people he used and people he needed.
Hermione pushed open the door to the kitchen and was distracted by the smell of smoke. She saw Miranda and Albus by one of the counters, each holding various cooking appliances.
"Hermione!" said Albus, a smile on his face. "We didn't expect to see you until later."
Miranda flicked a bit of flour onto Hermione. "How was flying?"
She considered for a second, then just decided to say, "Not too bad. And how is the, uh... the cake going?" She sniffed. The acrid smoky smell was definitely not imagined, and as Hermione cast a glance to the sink, she saw something twisted and charred.
Albus and Miranda exchanged glances. "Well, we told ourselves we wouldn't use magic to get it done, just for fun," Miranda said, "but I think if we don't use magic... bad things will continue to happen. Very bad."
Dumbledore chuckled, pushing his half-moon glasses up his long nose as he inspected the contents of the bowl he held. "Neither of us is really familiar with Muggle cooking. I mean, you can take a look, if you'd like. This is our third attempt."
Hermione eyed the congealed mass and suppressed a chuckle. Arthur Weasley had been a good example of the fact that wizards meddling in Muggle business resulted in just as many messes as the other way around. She recalled the eccentric, balding wizard fondly as she slowly added some water to the bowl, then another egg, and she quickly whipped the batter. "I'm no expert," she said, "but that looks a little better."
"You are a lifesaver," sighed Dumbledore happily, and Miranda clapped her hands excitedly, her brown hair covered in flour.
"It nearly looks edible! Thanks, Hermione; now we might not have to feed it to the Budgeon Eagles," said Miranda, and Hermione was reminded even more of Luna than usual.
"The... er... what?"
"The Budgeon Eagles," Miranda said sagely. "They're a not-so-mythical species of giant owl. I thought we used to have a pair, up in the Owlery... Although I'd guess we don't have any owls in this place..."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. She wanted to trust the words of Miranda Goshawk; she really did... but this was sounding terribly like something out of a Quibbler article. "Are you just pulling my leg?" she laughed.
"No, no," reassured Miranda. "They're completely legitimate."
Albus nodded in agreement, but flashed Hermione a quick wink when Miranda wasn't looking. Hermione grinned. "Find me a picture, and I'll believe you," she said, and looked around at the rest of the dishes on the counter, which were strewn far and wide. "This isn't just cakes, is it?"
Albus shook his head. "Some cupcakes, some muffins, a couple of pastries," he said. "We figured that if we tried as many recipes as possible, at least one had to turn out right."
Miranda waved her wand, and all the stray flour vanished. "We were going to try cookies next," she said. "Would you like to join in?"
"Yes," replied Hermione. The last time she had made cookies had been for a very happy Christmas – she could recall the recipe by heart. "And you don't need to look up a recipe, either," she added with a warm smile.
There was nothing better than baking cookies with true friends, Hermione mused, and although Araminta had made a black mark on the day, it didn't turn out so badly after all.
xXxXxXxXx
It was the day that Hermione would have left to go back home for winter holidays if this had been a real school term, but, of course, that was not an option. There were a lot more sad-looking faces around Hogwarts than usual, now that the so-called 'Holiday Season' had set in, and a lot of wistful memories seemed to be flooding everyone's minds.
The reason the day was of note was because Hermione went down to breakfast, sat down, and then was startled by a sudden clang. The general noise of the Great Hall died down quickly, and Hermione looked over to the source of the clatter – the Slytherin table. Abraxas Malfoy was standing there, his hands clasped, a melancholy look on his face. "We have some news," he said loudly, and his deep voice carried around the Great Hall, making it feel very empty. "Today, Salazar Slytherin left us. He moved on." He looked around the tables as he said, "That's all." Then he sat.
Different world. Same euphemisms. Left us. Moved on.
Hermione bit back memories of Mina telling Miranda to add certain euphemisms to her essay, and then she just felt terrible. What if tomorrow saw Mina moving on? God forbid – what if Albus moved on? Hermione couldn't imagine losing Dumbledore for the second time. She made a mental note to spend more time with him. In fact, she suddenly felt that spending every second with him still wouldn't be enough. Merlin!
The general clamor of breakfast had resumed, but Hermione still sat there, a stricken look on her face. "This happens every once in a while," said Albus gently, placing his hand reassuringly on hers. "Actually, it usually comes in small groups, and then none for a while... You'll get used to it."
"But what if that was you? What if it was R.J., or Mina, or Godric? What if that was me?" whispered Hermione. Panic flooded her stomach. Small groups? That meant that soon more people would be leaving... She wasn't ready to leave here. Not if it wasn't of her own volition. She still had so much to do, so much to say, so much to offer to the world. The most bizarre things popped into her mind – she hadn't ever been tipsy. She hadn't ever swum in the lake, unless you counted being unconscious in it. She hadn't even had sex, for goodness' sake, which was by far the least of her worries, but it was still something that people did on earth, and soon the opportunity would be gone and –
Hermione looked up. Albus placed his arm gently around her in a light hug, and she leaned towards him, wishing he were the wizened, sage Dumbledore, practiced in giving advice.
"Thanks, Albus," she said softly, her voice filled with misery.
He replied, "Things will happen as they happen. Just do what you can do, and no one can ask any more of you."
Well, that was exactly like something the Dumbledore she had known would say. Hermione smiled sadly. "I was rather distressed the first time someone moved, too," Miranda said quietly. "You learn to be happy for them. Wherever they are, they're probably doing what they hoped and dreamed."
That was a nice thing to think about – moving on just to do everything she had ever wanted. No more struggle. No more fighting.
"Thanks, you two," said Hermione, her voice regaining some strength. "I -"
She looked up and happened to see R.J.'s back disappearing through the door. "I'll see you later," she said, and hurried after R.J.
She only managed to catch up to him in the middle of the field outside. As she grabbed his shoulder, he turned around, and his eyes widened in surprise. He shook back his black hair.
"Hermione?" he said, his light tenor voice so familiar, yet so unfamiliar, after two weeks. Two whole weeks. So much could have happened between then and now. Hermione's heart buoyed unexpectedly – they had so much to talk about, as soon as she could just get these stupid words out –
"I'm so sorry," she said. "This whole thing has been so stupid and unnecessary and I just – I'm sorry." Her throat seized up in the cold, and she squinted her eyes against the glare of the snow.
R.J. didn't say anything for a second. Then he reached out and enfolded her in one of the tightest hugs she had ever experienced.
He smelled nice – like pine and fire. He whispered fiercely, "I've been such a child."
"Me too," she managed to squeeze out under the crush of his hug, and when he released her she sighed in relief. "Merlin, R.J., I'm so, so, sorry." Now that she had said it once, she felt like she could say it a million times. "I can't even remember what I was mad about."
"I remember," he said, his blue eyes wistful. "We didn't want to talk about our lives. But I was secretly just mad about Riddle."
"I knew it!" said Hermione, as everything rushed back. "I knew there was something you weren't telling me."
He shrugged shyly. "I was a bit jealous. But, I mean, that's dumb, right? Even if you're best friends with a slimy Slytherin, doesn't mean you can't be friends with me, too. I've been wanting to say I'm sorry for a while, but I'm not exactly upfront. You know."
They hugged again, a slower, gentler hug. It was so nice to be back in the company of someone Hermione knew she could trust – someone she never had to put up a guard against, someone she was never afraid of. "I've missed you and Godric and Mina so much," she said. "I can't believe myself."
"I can't believe you either," R.J. said, and she punched him. He chortled. "No, but I'm really glad you've decided to – well, I've known Mina for a very long time, and she won't ever apologize to someone if they don't do it first. It's a bit of a thing with her."
"I hadn't guessed."
R.J. smiled warmly. "I'm on my way to meet those two right now, actually – down by Hogsmeade. You want to come?"
"Yes," said Hermione firmly. She nearly couldn't believe it – she was standing a couple inches away from R.J. again, and they were walking together and talking as if nothing had ever happened, laughing and joking and doing things friends did. It had taken her long enough to get past that stupid pride, but she felt so relieved, felt an immense sense of satisfaction, felt as if she had finally remembered something she'd been trying to remember for a long time.
But when they stopped in front of Mina and Godric, who were sitting side-by-side on the bridge, Hermione froze for a second.
"I -"
Mina wasn't looking cold, exactly, but she was searching Hermione's face for something, and it was making Hermione uneasy. Godric was just not looking at her, instead looking at R.J., which was a lot easier to handle.
"I'm sorry. I've been dumb," sighed Hermione finally.
"Me too," muttered Mina. "Sorry, and all that." They met each other's eyes, and Hermione smiled hesitantly. A small grin slowly spread across Mina's face, and that familiar grey twinkle made its way into her eyes.
There was a short pause. "Well! Now that's over with," boomed Godric, "let's go and get some damned Butterbeer!" Mina socked him on the shoulder.
xXxXxXxXx
Malfoy screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Why am I constantly disappointed in you?" hissed Riddle, pressing his wand to Malfoy's temple and twisting it slightly, intensifying the hot pains that were blistering the bottom of Malfoy's feet. It was not the Cruciatus, but another distinctly Dark and unpleasant curse.
"I'm sorry," sobbed Malfoy, "I didn't – I didn't think -"
"No," growled Riddle in agreement. "No one except me ever thinks in this damn place!" He lifted the wand, and one of the blisters on the bottom of Abraxas' feet slowly burst. "Crucio," he whispered, in a deathly quiet voice, and when it was quiet... that was always the worst.
Six wordless followers watched in silent horror as Abraxas Malfoy thrashed on the ground of the dungeon, his yells deadened by the spell placed on the room.
"Who discovered that Salazar was not in his place this morning?" asked Riddle quietly, lifting his wand after what seemed like a year.
Malfoy's mouth was slightly open, and he seemed only to be able to emit incoherent noises of raw pain. Riddle clenched his jaw in frustration. If Granger had been able to talk after his most vicious Cruciatus, why could his most loyal followers not do the same? Ennervate. "Tell me."
Abraxas sat up, racked with involuntary shaking. "Taylor," he said unsteadily, and no one could blame him for spilling.
"Andre," sighed Riddle, as if a great mystery had been solved. "Why don't you come here?"
His eyes were completely unreadable. Andre Taylor made his way to stand across from Riddle, his dark skin seeming to glow a little in the torchlight. Malfoy stumbled back to a desk, where Takahashi conjured him a seat wordlessly and helped him sit. Herpo waved his black wand silently over Malfoy's feet, and the redness lessened, although the curse could not be removed completely without the help of the caster.
"So, Andre," said Riddle, "tell me. Was it your idea to make the announcement this morning?"
"No," said Andre, in a low, confident voice – just how Riddle liked it. No hesitation; no wasted time.
"Then whose was it?" Riddle asked, lifting Andre's chin with his wand so that he was looking directly into his eyes. Riddle was pleased to see the abject terror in the other boy's brown eyes.
"It was no one's idea specifically, as it is a custom," said Taylor smoothly, "but the first person to mention it was Vaisey."
Riddle dropped his wand from Taylor's face and turned away from him. Taylor walked back to join the ranks, his heart fluttering so fast – he had barely escaped, thank Merlin – that he couldn't even think straight –
And Riddle's eyes found purchase on the tall, gangly, awkward Eliot Vaisey. Vaisey, who was really pretty harmless. Vaisey, who really didn't know any better. Vaisey, who didn't quite yet understand what was to come.
"Eliot," said Riddle's low, shy voice. "Come here." Vaisey stumbled his way to the front of the room. "Do you understand why I am upset?" asked Riddle, with a strange gentleness in his tone.
"N-n-no, Master," stammered Vaisey, and each of the other boys prayed for him. Riddle hated it when there was any sort of delay, any stutter in a response to his questions –
But they were all surprised, because then Riddle turned to them and folded his hands in front of him. He was not wearing robes, just a black shirt, black pants, and black shoes, his light wand held loosely in his long-fingered grip, looking like the very Devil himself. "Well," he said, "it seems I have not been completely open with you, my loyal followers." As if he was ever open with them.
He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "There is a girl. Her name is Granger – Hermione Granger. She is a Gryffindor. I have worked very hard – extremely hard, in fact – to figure her out. She remains a mystery to me, but I am trying the only tactic I have left – attempting to... well, to befriend her." Riddle let out a half-chuckle. "A bit laughable, no?"
He eyed his followers. There was no reaction. Good. "In any case," he continued, "I had managed to get her other friends out of the equation, so that she would have no choice but to turn to me, and this Salazar Slytherin event has knocked her firmly back into their grip." His hands clenched around his wand, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. "I am treading on thin ice as it is, gentlemen," he said, his voice soft, and it was as if the very air was training its ears to hear what he had to say. "Abraxas and I – we are going to be close to the girl, and if anything happens to endanger that occurrence's full success... Well, if you get in the way, you may as well kiss every finger on your right hand goodbye, because I will never let anyone with the capacity to make such a grave mistake hold a wand again."
He looked around. His quiet voice had them all glued in place with discomfort and fear. Perfect. "I trust there are no questions," he said. It was not a question.
"You may leave. Vaisey, Taylor – I am so sorry for the misunderstanding."
By the end, his voice was practically a whisper.
"Abraxas... stay."
The classroom door shut after Takahashi, and Riddle went and knelt by Abraxas. He placed his wand to Malfoy's feet, and the blisters sealed over, rippling back into flawless white skin. "That was necessary," he said, as if he was reassuring himself. "I apologize, that you so constantly have to be the scapegoat in this situation, Abraxas."
Malfoy nodded. "I understand," he said tiredly, his voice rubbed to a croak from screaming. "But... when you said that we both would be close to the Granger girl...?"
"Yes," Riddle said, and he helped Malfoy out of the chair. "You can walk?"
"Yes; fine," said Malfoy.
"Well, the Granger girl did seem to take to you. You have a certain openness that endears you to people, I think, and if we together can make her feel more at ease than just me... then, by all means, help me," Riddle said smoothly.
"I live to help you," replied Abraxas, his eyes looking at the ground at Riddle's feet.
"I know," sighed Riddle, as if it were a great burden, and then he said, "Really, though, Abraxas – I do appreciate all that you do." And that was it. He turned on one shining heel and walked off.
Abraxas swallowed as Riddle left the room. That burning curse – he didn't know what it was, but it had been one of the more painful experiences of his life, and that was including some of the Cruciatus Curses to which he had been subjected. It was odd – somehow, the more Riddle used him as an example to the others, the closer Malfoy felt he was growing to Riddle. What he had just said, about appreciation – what was that? Riddle had never said anything like that to anyone, not as far as Malfoy knew. It was as if the Cruciatus Curse were a badge of honor, worn by only his closest followers – and the worst of it was that it instilled a bizarre sense of pride in Malfoy, though he had never wanted to do this, to be this, in the first place. Riddle's attentions were an unintentional addiction, and never had Malfoy felt more pity for himself – or for someone else: the girl. He didn't think that 'she's in trouble' even started to cover it.