Good evening. Sorry it has taken me so long to post the next chapter. I was buried with essays and lab reports to grade and had a tenure committee meeting to get behind me. I've sent some PMs to reviews, but a few more thanks below:
LK Hogwarts Headgirl: glad you liked it. See what happens now...
Angry Paradox, more hints in this chapter. Hermione isn't going to start liking Tom anytime soon.
CynicalJinx, welcome aboard. Do let me know what you think of this chapter...glad you like it thus far.
Aricaa-chan, Tom is fun to write!
Gracie Heartford, he's not meant to be nice. Hermione is going to stay smart.
Ok, so work is pressing a bit. I've gotten some easing from work stress so hopefully I can stay healthy to see me through the end of the quarter and keep the posts a bit more frequent. Warning: this chapter is violent and may contain triggers for any who have experienced physical violence. Thanks to all for reading!
"Who is playing Seeker for the Gryffindors today?" Hermione asked the next day as she left lunch with Olivia and Phineas, her thoughts straying to Herecles Potter as they neared the common room.
"I'll bet it's George Hanteford. He's usually Keeper but they don't really have anyone else who has a hope of catching the Snitch."
"What exactly happened to Herecles Potter?" Hermione asked, letting herself into the common room after answering the riddle. "I saw him come into the infirmary, and he was in terrible shape."
"Word is that he was practicing with Bludgers by himself and he got knocked off his broom," Phineas said, following behind. "That doesn't sound like him, but then again, he had the bad sense to pick a fight with Malfoy a few weeks ago as well. Not the sort of thing a sensible chap does, if you see what I'm saying."
"So you don't think this had something to do with that? We all see how the Slytherins stick together," Hermione said. "And the Head Boy is a Slytherin…he might have covered it up."
Olivia's jaw dropped open and Phineas fidgeted.
"Aren't you dating him?" Olivia asked loudly, causing a titter to erupt from a group of third year Ravenclaws passing them on their way out.
"No, I am not dating him," Hermione said through gritted teeth as Phineas said, "I know Tom is protective of his Slytherins, but he's also very keen to enforce school rules. What on earth made you think something like that, Hermione?"
"I just noticed how the Slytherins are standoffish with everyone else, and they do have a habit of being a bit sneaky. Witness how Evan Rosier tricked Sylvia into giving up the fresher asphodel in Potions, or how Granthus Gibbon used a jellyfish jinx on Ananias in DADA although it wasn't technically on the list of spells we were supposed to be practicing," Hermione said.
"But we were supposed to be using Stinging jinxes," Phineas said reasonably, and Olivia pitched in, "They find the loopholes. That's not always a bad thing, Hermione."
"Forget it," Hermione said coolly. Olivia and Phineas exchanged a look that conveyed perfectly how much they thought of her suggestion. As an olive branch, Olivia touched Hermione's arm briefly and said, "Well, I had better get ready for the match! Should be exciting!"
Much happier with this turn of the conversation, Phineas nodded agreeably. "Yep! Frederick Bones has been looking really good in practices—I think we have this one in the bag!"
Hermione made a polite murmur of affirmation while inside, she seethed. Couldn't they see what a vile liar Tom Riddle was, him and his Slytherin cronies? Of course not. She knew what he was capable of. But this was the 1940s, when witches were more concerned with getting married and the jinxes that wound up sending most students to the infirmary were conjunctivitis and itching hexes. None of these teenagers could fathom what evil truly looked like, except for Tom's followers, who lapped it up like milk because it fed their prejudices. Grindelwald was far off, a nebulous thing their parents fretted about and they read about in the papers as if it were some adventure novel. Hermione's classmates were mostly oblivious to the implications of that kind of evil, and certainly never thought such a thing could happen here.
"Aren't you getting your scarf, Hermione?" Olivia asked her as Hermione stopped at the stairs to the girls' dorm, Phineas dashing off to the boys' dorm for his hat and scarf. "It should be a good match today, and Ravenclaw better win!"
"No, I think I'll go visit Herecles Potter in the infirmary," Hermione said. "I feel sorry for him, and his best friends will be on the pitch instead of visiting. Plus Madame Duvalle said I might need to take another potion for my head."
Olivia shrugged and said, "Okay, but you're missing a great game!"
After Olivia and Phineas returned with their gear, they all walked down the stairs together until Hermione split off toward the infirmary, Olivia and Phineas continuing outside. A disillusioned Evan Rosier paced behind her, slipping through the doors before they closed. As he watched Hermione speak to Madame Duvalle and then take a chair over to Herecles Potter's bed, he thought to himself that Tom Riddle would not like this at all when he reported to him…and he hoped it didn't mean a Cruciatus was coming his way.
"Hello," Hermione said as she sat down next to the boy's bed. His hair was jet black, like Harry's, but it was hard to pick out any resemblance other than possibly the nose.
"Hello," he said stiffly, wincing as he tried to sit up a bit. "I'm afraid we've not met."
"No, not yet. Hermione Girard."
"Herecles Potter," he said, holding out his hand which she shook gently. Herecles then tried to sit up, but couldn't quite manage a decent angle from the grimace of pain on his face.
"Here, let me help you," Hermione said, leaning over to push another pillow behind him as gently as she could manage. "You see, I was in here when you came in, and I thought I'd come back and see how you were doing."
"Oh?" His face relaxed as he settled back into the pillows with as little movement as possible. His eyes were a dark blue, and his expression was quizzical. "Why were you in here?"
"I had a bit of a problem with a hex cast by the Head Boy," Hermione said, glad that he had brought up the subject. She wanted to see how he reacted to mention of Tom Riddle.
"You should stay away from him," Herecles said darkly. "He's no good."
"We were practicing for DADA," Hermione said. The lie sounded stupid to her own ears, and she could tell that Herecles didn't believe it either from the skeptical look he gave her.
"Of course you were."
Hermione decided to pretend nonchalance, and continued, "Besides, isn't it all about the House rivalries? After all, Slytherin and Gryffindor are known to be arch rivals, and you are the Seeker for Gryffindor."
"Yeah, I should be playing now," Herecles said glumly. "I hope they win."
"I'm sure they will do marvelously," Hermione said.
"Maybe," he paused and studied her briefly. "Why aren't you watching the match? Not a Quidditch fan?" Herecles seemed genuinely interested, and not just making polite conversation, so Hermione decided to give him a bit of the truth.
"Well, I used to watch a lot of matches, but that was because two of my friends played. It is very exciting," Hermione said, "but I just thought you could use some company, since all of your House are probably at the match."
"Thank you," Herecles said sincerely, and Hermione was reminded of Harry for a brief, heart tugging moment. It caused an ache in her chest, and she looked away from the boy in front of her before it could show. "So why did you risk it then? Blowing off steam a bit, or really needing the practice?"
"I was practicing Quidditch as much as you were practicing hexes for DADA," Herecles muttered. "But I wouldn't say it to anyone else again."
"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, that ache in her chest not lessening to see how early Tom Riddle had begun causing pain to others.
"I'll live," Herecles said. "What classes are you in?"
Hermione told him, and they realized the reason they had not met was because Herecles was taking Divination and Charms instead of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. They passed a happy half hour chatting about Quidditch and the merits of each House, Herecles of course attempting to persuade Hermione that Gryffindor was the very best. Hermione did her best to defend the wise Ravenclaws. Eventually Madame Duvalle shooed Hermione away from his bed after she caused Herecles to break into pained laughter for the third time. Hermione let Madame Duvalle examine her, and Evan took the opportunity to slip out of the infirmary as Madame Hooch arrived with an injured Quidditch player.
As far as Tom Riddle was concerned, it was a happy coincidence that Hermione had not gone to the Quidditch match that afternoon. When Rosier had told him that Hermione had visited with Herecles Potter for more than half an hour, Tom had decided that this evening was an excellent time to have his little chat with Hermione Girard. Since half of her house was skipping the meal in favor of celebrating their victory in the Ravenclaw common room, it was an easy matter to invent an excuse to retrieve her. Politely answering the riddle of the knocker, Tom stepped through to the chaotic celebration of Ravenclaw house and pulled aside Geoffrey Douling, the seventh year prefect.
"Geoffrey, I've been sent with a message for Miss Girard from Madame Duvalle. Apparently there is a potion she forgot to take earlier today. Could you tell her that Madame Duvalle wants her in the infirmary now?"
Geoffrey nodded and Tom showed himself out, quite satisfied that Hermione would head toward the infirmary in short order.
"Hermione!"
Hermione turned from her bottle of Butterbeer to find Geoffrey Douling waiting.
"Yes?"
Geoffrey leaned in to be heard over the wizarding wireless. "Madame Duvalle needs you to come to the infirmary. She says you need a potion."
Hermione sighed. She had been afraid of that, since Madame Duvalle had been distracted by the injured Quidditch player.
"Do I need to go now?"
Geoffrey nodded and Hermione sighed. Handing her Butterbeer to Olivia, she said loudly, "Be back in a bit!"
Olivia nodded and Hermione started to head toward the door. A thought struck her and she grabbed Geoffrey's sleeve before he could move off. "I'm not sure I remember how to get to the infirmary! Can you take me?"
To give him his due, Geoffrey refrained from rolling his eyes, but Hermione could tell he found it inconvenient. Politeness compelled him to acquiesce, however, and with a "Come on then!" he headed out the portrait hole, Hermione behind. Grateful to have an escort, Hermione kept up with his quick pace. They were a floor away from the infirmary when she heard footsteps on the stairs behind them, accompanied by the voice she dreaded.
"I didn't expect you would be out of your House at this hour, Geoffrey," Tom said politely, easily catching up to them on the stairs.
"Miss Girard couldn't remember the way to the infirmary," Geoffrey said, and Tom turned his attention to Hermione.
"Well, that is a happy coincidence. I am headed there myself on an errand. I could show her the rest of the way."
"No, that's okay—" Hermione began but she was cut off by Geoffrey.
"Would you? That would be great, Tom." Without even waiting for Hermione's acknowledgement, the Ravenclaw prefect nodded his head curtly and turned back up the stairs as Tom Riddle easily fell in step beside her.
Hermione let her wand ease its way down her sleeve. She had not forgotten that Tom was still pissed about the hexing. It was with great relief, therefore, that Hermione entered the infirmary, Tom Riddle right behind.
"Madame Duvalle, I have those potions from Professor Slughorn for you, and Miss Girard is here about her headache potion."
Madame Duvalle came over and retrieved the potions from Tom, and eyed Hermione critically. "Yes, just one moment. Thank you Tom."
As soon as Madame Duvalle was out of earshot, Hermione said, "Thank you for your escort. I can find my own way back."
Tom merely looked at her innocently and said, "But I wouldn't want you to get lost, Miss Girard. I wouldn't want Geoffrey to accuse me of losing one of his housemates in the castle."
Madame Duvalle came back with a vial of potion and strict instructions. "Just before bed, Miss Girard, as you'll be sleepy indeed after this."
"Thank you Madame," Hermione said, wracking her brain for some reason, any reason, to have Madame Duvalle send Tom Riddle away. "Madame Duvalle, I know Tom wouldn't think to mention it, but he was having some difficulty with—"
Tom cut her off before she could say anything further, a wordless Silencio shutting off her vocal cords as effectively as a gag. "—with an allergic reaction to some improperly prepared bisulfate of aubis, but Professor Slughorn fixed me right up. It's how I came to have those potions for you. Thank you Madame—let's go Hermione. I'll escort you back to Ravenclaw Tower."
Hermione tried to cast a wordless Sticking charm on herself, but Tom blocked it as the matron moved off, and propelled her out the door.
"I think it's time you and I had that little chat, Hermione," Tom said, taking her arm firmly in hand, prepared for whatever else she might attempt to get away from him. He waited until they were on the fourth floor staircase to remove the silencing spell from Hermione, whose mouth had been moving non-stop in what were doubtless unpleasant pronouncements about his character.
"What did you do to Herecles Potter?" Hermione said, more a way to distract herself from the panic that was trying to override her brain as they moved swiftly up the stairs, Hermione walking faster than her normal pace to keep up with Tom Riddle's longer strides. The hallways were mostly empty, as these were prime socializing hours for those celebrating or bemoaning the match in their common rooms. Hermione considered where to best attempt to get away from him.
"Your impertinence knows no bounds," Tom muttered to himself, and Hermione again felt chilled.
"I'd be stupid to think that you or one of your lackeys didn't have something to do with him being back in the infirmary," Hermione responded, more scared by his unflappable calm than when he was irritated with her.
Tom stopped on the sixth floor landing and tilted his head as he looked at her. "I think I'm going to enjoy our little conversation this evening, Hermione."
Hermione attempted to wrest her arm away from him when he pulled her up the next staircase. She knew exactly where he was heading—the Room of Requirement.
"Let me go," Hermione said, attempting to use her wand now that they were close to the corridor and no one was around. She cast three jinxes in quick succession, but Tom was ready for her.
"I don't think so," Tom said, wordlessly and wandlessly removing her wand from her hand before she could block him. Hermione waited until he was walking in front of the opening before she tried a wandless and wordless stunning spell, throwing it and attempting to run. Quicker than she could see, Tom had his yew wand out and Stupefied her, letting her fall to the ground on her side, which bruised her shoulder and hip. She couldn't even yell in pain as she hit the stone floor, only saw his shoes resume opening the room and then coming toward her. Wordlessly he released the Stupefy, and Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek onto the floor as he watched her dispassionately.
"That was almost a Slytherin move, Hermione. I would applaud such a reaction toward anyone other than myself. Now get up, and face your punishment like the smart girl that I know you are."
Hermione knew that this was going to be worse than Bellatrix Lestrange. There was something in his expression that hinted at the Dark Lord he was becoming. She got up stiffly, feeling the pain in her shoulder and hip. She took a deep breath, forcing her mind to calm. Snape had always said she was very centered in her magic. Now she needed that skill. She calmly packed away her panic as Tom Riddle shuffled her quickly inside, the door vanishing behind them as they entered what looked like a barren room, torches along the wooden, paneled walls providing the only light.
"Now, Hermione, suppose you tell me more about your recent arrival here," Tom began, his wand dangling lazily from his fingers as he surveyed her.
"No," Hermione said, looking him straight in the eye before she looked away as he raised his wand.
"Crucio."
The word slipped so easily from his lips, almost a caress before the curse hit, causing her to instantly fall to her knees on the stone floor, then onto her face as she writhed with pain, her screams pulled from the depth of her throat. He held it for a full minute before he stopped, then walked over to her as she lay panting, trying to catch her breath and get over the fire racing along every nerve.
"Now, let's try that again. How did you come here?"
Such a pleasant voice for someone so cruel, Hermione thought, drawing in one more long breath before she quietly said, "No."
It did not surprise Tom that she was being stubborn. Hermione felt herself being jerked painfully to her feet, then she screamed in pain as he pinned her to the wall quickly with a small dagger, driving it easily through her already bruised shoulder.
"Do you recognize this dagger, Hermione?" Tom asked, stepping back and watching her try to raise her right hand to remove it, gasping in pain as she was unable to do so. Tears were falling freely from her face now, and Tom tilted his head to study her. "I found it in your body, exactly that way, the night you arrived. Now, why would that be? You can stop trying to remove it—it's magically keyed to me, and me alone. I know, because I've already played with it with my Knights—or lackeys, as you call them. Why would someone send you here with that dagger keyed specifically to me?"
He paused, watching the emotions play across her face. Pain, fear, anger, iron will…oh she is intriguing!
"I don't know," Hermione said through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the pain; the throbbing, burning pain now intensifying steadily in her shoulder and still throbbing throughout her body.
"As charming as it is to think that Gellert Grindelwald knows who I am, I hardly think that to be the case. Now, why were you sent here?"
His voice was still so pleasant, so well modulated, as if they were having a chat over a cup of tea and biscuits, and not over her spilling blood and body wracking with spasms from the Cruciatus curse. Hermione's mind was whirling, searching for a likely possibility, an excuse that would get her out of this torture chamber and away from Tom Riddle forever.
"I don't know! Maybe it reacts to strong magical power, not you specifically! Maybe it was meant for someone else to find!"
She was practically sobbing now, the blood oozing from around the blade and pooling on the floor. He might have nicked her subclavian artery, in which case she was going to be in serious trouble soon if he didn't stop.
"Hmmmm…that is a possibility, I grant you. It would be difficult to tell if Dumbledore could have removed it." He walked over and pulled it out with a quick backward motion, and Hermione could not help herself, she slid to the floor at his feet. "Nonetheless, you have been very recalcitrant, Hermione."
She could see the reflection of her pale face in his shoes. He crouched down and pushed her back against the wall with one hand, looking right into her eyes. "I don't think you'll be able to leave here until you show me what I want to see, Hermione," Tom said, pointing his wand and wordlessly casting the spell.
Hermione focused on her Occlumency shield. He will not see what he chooses in my mind! She remembered what Snape had said, centered herself deep within, her magic a bedrock buried beneath the ever tossing, opaque currents of her mind, pinning down all of her memories, her magical self. With an enormous amount of effort and energy, she pushed him out of her mind forcefully.
"NO!" she yelled at him, collapsing back to the floor as he sat back on his heels.
"Crucio," Tom said again cruelly, his wand flicking almost without thought as he considered her. After two minutes, when her hair was soaked with her own blood from her thrashing on the floor and she was almost incoherent, he tried Legilimency again, gripping her hair to pull her head up so he could see her eyes.
Hermione could feel herself growing cold, but she would. NOT. LET. HIM. SEE! "You'll have to kill me," she whispered, the unflinching steel in her trembling voice and the growing coldness of her eyes finally convincing him to stop. Tom wondered again about the note that was affixed to her, and he decided that he was missing a key piece of information. It wouldn't do to simply collect her blood and view the note later—he would have to do that now, in her presence. He supposed it wouldn't make any difference after the fact in any case.
"I'm going to retrieve another little item that you arrived with, Hermione," he said coolly, standing up and casting a Scourgify on himself before he left the room. It wouldn't do to be seen with blood on his robes out in the halls. He cast a glance back at her and saw that she possessed a very unhealthy pallor, her body still wracking slightly from the Cruciatus. Hmmmm…
Hermione saw his feet come over again, and she was lifted up to lean back against the wall, and Tom Riddle again crouched before her.
"Vulnera Sanentur," he said tonelessly, satisfied when the wound ceased its blood flow. "Wait here, Hermione. I'll be back in about fifteen minutes."
"As if…I…could…leave…" Hermione said through chattering teeth. Tom smiled.
"I knew you were clever."
Hermione thought about many things as she sat, or rather, leaned against the wooden wall in the Room of Requirement. She thought about when she had been sent back to this time, the agony of the spell as it hit her and the welcome she had given the black void of unconsciousness when it had finally claimed her. She could see it fading away here, the respite from Tom's curses enough for her mind to pull back from that blissful relief offered by unconsciousness.
The Cruciatus curse as cast by Voldemort himself was indescribable. Bellatrix Lestrange had a wicked curse, but Tom Riddle as a teenage boy topped her. She wondered how Severus Snape and other Death Eaters had tolerated Voldemort's wand when it was turned on them. Something must have kept them in service to him, because she could not imagine fear alone providing enough compulsion to do so.
She tried hard not to consider her current situation too much. If he killed her, he would have another death to explain, and as she was posing as a relative of Dumbledore's, he was highly unlikely to do so. He could not afford to have Dumbledore breathing down his back again, given how he had never used the Chamber of Secrets again after Dumbledore suspected him of opening it last year. It showed that Dumbledore had been quite clever indeed to have her pose as his relation. Tom Riddle would not dare to kill her outright.
Of course, this line of thought led her to the next logical conclusion. He would Obliviate her. He would have to do so. There was no way he could risk her going to Dumbledore with her memories of this evening. There had to be some way she could remind herself of what really happened. Suddenly the idea came to her. She slumped to the side, her hands scrabbling inefficiently for something sharp. She closed her eyes and thought hard, "I need a nail. This is the Room of Requirement. I need a nail, a sharp splinter of wood, something sharp."
She opened her eyes and saw something glinting on the floor a few feet away. Begging her muscles to cooperate, she dragged herself toward it slowly, painfully. She didn't know how long Tom had been gone, but she needed this, so desperately. It skittered closer to her on the floor, and her fingers convulsed around it. Oh well, what is a bit more blood? Hermione thought as she clumsily dropped the shard of glass in her lap, and pushed her sleeve up to reveal the scarred 'Mudblood' on her left forearm. Gripping the shard as best she could, Hermione scratched clumsily through the letters. She just needed it to be visible and irritated. She doubted Tom would use a different spell to heal her, and Vulnera Sanentur didn't work on minor injuries. She cried out once when the shard slipped in her grasp and she cut deeper than she'd intended on one of the 'o's, but she persisted, the shard slipping on the downward stroke of the second 'o' when she heard the door reforming. As it began to rasp open, she threw the shard as far as she could manage into the shadows, tugging her sleeve down as she cradled her wounded fingers in that sleeve of her robe. She prayed Tom wouldn't notice, could only hear him as he returned, her twisting around to get the shard resulting in her back being to the door.
"I do hope your being on the floor is not a result of an ill-advised attempt to leave," Tom said, levitating her back into place with his wand.
"I. Fell. Over." Hermione enunciated very clearly, the spasms somehow worse now that she was back in Tom's presence.
"Of course you did," Tom said, then took the folded slip of parchment from his pocket and dipped it into the pool of her blood on the floor. Hermione was half afraid, half fascinated as it soaked up the blood, the parchment remaining pristine for several seconds. Then, she saw handwriting start to appear. Hermione tried to read it, but Tom was quick and tilted it away from her, his brow furrowing as he read two words that scrawled across the folded square.
Tom was expecting something unusual, given the amount of effort that had gone into getting this note here, but as he watched his own name, in his own handwriting, flush into the parchment, he knew that Hermione Girard was far, far different from what he was expecting. He unfolded the note, keeping an eye on the girl. His heart was racing as his mind leapt along, making connections and piecing together how she arrived here. His hand betrayed a small tremor as more words bloomed across the page in his own handwriting.
Protect her.
More ink began to bloom lazily through, the words whispering in, the ink a faint, pale grey in contrast to the bold black above.
Claim her.
As soon as this appeared, a bold black arrow crossed through it, and above his hand wrote in Willing.
A last black line crossed through or underneath words that were still invisible below. Tom stared at the page for another minute, but no other words appeared.
Bloody buggering hell, Tom thought to himself. He raised his eyes to look at her again. Why would he send her back to himself? And from how far in the future? An almost euphoric rush flew through him as he realized that he would master time travel at some point, that this girl sitting before him had countless, priceless knowledge locked inside her brain. Her stubborn, hard to break into brain. The reason his future self specified "willing" was already obvious on one level: if he forced his way into her mind, he risked damaging her memories, and definitely would damage her. His eyes narrowed as his mind made the first pass through this dilemma. He would have to consider it all very carefully.
"What does it…say?" Hermione asked, gaining some control over her jaw. The longer he stared at the parchment, the more nervous she grew. She could see his name on the outside, and she was pretty clear now on who had cast that spell at the final battle. Her teeth chattered together as cold permeated her soul. Somehow, Lord Voldemort had managed to talk to his past self, and she was the means by which he had done so. She could almost hear the timeline being ripped to shreds.
"Something very, very interesting, dear Hermione," Tom said, fixing her with an unreadable look, his mind racing through and discarding possibilities.
Hermione felt sheer terror at the thought of what he could have said, how he could have instructed himself to avoid future mistakes. Then her mind turned to what he could have said about her, the 'dear' in Tom's address finally registering. She felt colder than she had ever felt in her life, the shock putting an enormous strain on her body on top of what it had already suffered.
"No more questions?" Tom tsked in a playful manner, his mind still dissecting the implications of the note in his hand. But that could wait—for now, he had to deal with dear Hermione.
"C-c-cold," Hermione said, her pale face finally registering again with Tom as she blinked her eyes heavily. He folded the parchment and put it back in his pocket, pushing her back against the wall and flicking his wand to undo the buttons of her blouse and robes. He shoved the fabric aside to get a good look at the wound, then aimed his wand at the large gash in her shoulder. "Vulnera Sanentur," he said, pushing as much magic into the spell as possible. He watched the flesh seam back together, some of the blood from the floor running back up and in as it closed.
Hermione felt the pain easing, easing in her shoulder, then heard Tom mumble something else, the jet of white lassoing around her body and lessening the fire, quenching it along her nerve endings. She felt very sleepy, but Tom's voice cut through the mental fog sharply.
"Drink this."
"No," Hermione said mulishly, and Tom grimaced, a flash of irritation passing over his face.
"It's a combination potion, blood replenisher and pain reducer. Drink it!"
"No," Hermione said, turning her head away.
Tom considered using the Imperius, but given her Occlumency skill he didn't doubt that it would do too much damage to force himself in. However, there was still the Obliviate…leaning back on his heels, he Scourgified her twice, then levitated her to her feet and Obliviated her with clinical precision.
"Hermione, I'm going to take you back to your room now. Before I leave you, you will swallow this potion and then go straight to bed, where you will go to sleep. You got dizzy returning from the infirmary and grazed your side on a statue. We didn't see anyone on the way back, and everyone in the common room was busy celebrating the match so you won't say good night. You won't speak to anyone on your way to bed. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Tom."
"Good girl. Let's get going."