Chapter Thirty-one: Graduation

"Are you ready for this, Hermione?" Tom asked as he checked his tie in the mirror at the end of his bed. Hermione had just donned her best dress, and the dress robes they were expected to wear for the ceremony were neatly in place, he saw through the glass. "You look good enough to eat."

Hermione chuckled. "Doesn't your tongue ever get sore, sex fiend?" she inquired sweetly.

"How can it when you taste so good?" he wanted to know.

"Come on, Tom, we're meant to be getting ready for one of the most important events in our lives," Hermione reminded him.

"This? This one isn't at all important," said Tom dismissively. "When we spend the first night together in our new flat, that will be important."

"You always say the sweetest things," Hermione told him as he turned to take her in his arms.

"I'm only speaking the truth," he informed her as he rained a few kisses on her forehead. "Now let's go graduate."

"Good idea," she agreed. "Otherwise you'll have me undressed again within the next five minutes."

"Ah, that sounds so tempting," he said with a chuckle. "Do you think they'd notice if we weren't there?"

"We're supposed to lead in the class, Tom," she reminded him. "And we've a speech to give, and you're supposed to receive your scholarship to the Potions College. I'm pretty sure they would notice."

"Right, right," he answered as he let go of her to avoid further temptation. "Let's go."

The pair of them headed for the Great Hall, where all the seventh years were expected to meet. Then, once they'd all arrived, Tom and Hermione would lead the procession out to the Quidditch pitch, where the ceremony was being held.

Hermione was quite excited to be graduation after all her years. At the same time, however, she was a nervous wreck. By mutual agreement, both Dippet and the Minister for Magic agreed that it would be in everyone's best interests not to write her diploma up with her real name. It would read "Hermione MacMillan" instead.

"Too bad it doesn't say Hermione Riddle," Tom whispered in her ear as they sat together after the ceremony was over.

Hermione blushed.

"Maybe the next piece of paper you get will," he continued playfully as he nibbled her ear. Several of the other students giggled, but Hermione noticed that Wallburga Black was not one of them. She was seated beside her cousin, whom she'd recently been betrothed to, but the two of them seemed about as interested in each other as oil and water.

"You think you're so great," she said snidely. "Head Girl, just waltz right in and steal Tom Riddle, the Head Boy, and now the two of you will get to blissfully move in together and get married and your life will be picture perfect. Just remember, Hermione, that neither one of you has any family to fall back on. You'll be living in poverty, slaving at some meaningless job, and as soon as you squeeze out a few babies you won't even be decently pretty anymore. Ha, that ought to show you!"

"Shut up, Wally," Tom told her.

"And you, Tom," she added. "You've always been best at everything, haven't you? But you let this girl slip right in and wrap you around her little finger, didn't you? It's completely disgusting. I hope the two of you enjoy your bed now that you've made it—"

"Of that you can be sure," Hermione interrupted her to say with a smirk. "And if I were you, I would quit while you're still able to move. Unless you want a repeat of the last performance."

"Oh!" she fumed, knowing Hermione had bested her again. But at least she didn't say another word to them after that.

"Wonderful ceremony, wonderful," said Dumbledore cheerfully as he shook hands with students on their way out. But when he finally got ahold of Tom and Hermione, he was swift to draw them aside.

"Sir, what are you doing?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Okay, you two, now that graduation is over, the real work is about to begin," he said. "Meet me at Big Ben on Friday next. I have another assignment for you."

"Are we at least to know what—or who—we are working on next?" Tom asked him.

"It's best if we speak of these matters only in private," Dumbledore answered. "One never knows where Gellert's spies may be, do they?"

"No, sir, I suppose not," he agreed. "But sir, Friday is the day Hermione and I move into our flat. Can it not wait?"

"Tom, surely you would not wish to put yourself ahead of the Greater Good?"

With a heavy sigh, he said, "No, I suppose not. We will be there."

"Very well, then," he answered, smiling cheerfully again as he shook each of their hands in turn. "We'll talk more later."

"Good night, sir," said Tom with just as plastic a smile as his. As soon as he was gone, he said to Hermione, "Remind me to hex that old bastard just as soon as we figure out what he's really up to, will you, my darling?"

"Oh, you know I will," she agreed, her smile plastered onto her face as well. "Let's get out of here before anybody else tries to ruin our day, shall we?"

"Most definitely," Tom agreed. "I've booked a room in Hogsmeade, just in case."

With a giggle, Hermione said, "That's the best news I've heard all day."