Good evening. I know some of you were hoping for something from Tom's birthday in the story, but I don't think Tom and Hermione are at the sharing & caring stage yet. I doubt Tom publicized his birthday. A few of you are also hoping Hermione regains some sort of equal footing or power in the relationship. I've already said this to a few of you in PMs, but they have different strengths and they are each playing to their strengths. How Hermione will deal with Tom will have to come out as the story progresses-it's pretty obvious on one level how he intends to deal with her, but on the other hand, some of his motives are still obscure. There will be a balance that emerges between them, but where the fulcrum lies...ah, that is the question. So if you're hoping for Hermione to get her own back, be patient.
I will warn you that we will be moving consistently in the story now at a pace of weeks as opposed to day by day, so get ready for a change of pace. I believe their interplay is sufficiently established to allow this change. This chapter is longer because it seemed to all go together.
Relatela, glad you are still enjoying the moves forward. A few anonymous reviewers, thank you for commenting! Ovid will be in and out of the tale in the future. I do plan to finish this. I despise abandoned stories, especially with a set crew of dedicated readers & reviewers.
Enjoy!
February 2, 1975
"Professor Slughorn, how good of you to come." Eugenia Malfoy accepted the air kisses the potions master offered, a genial if somewhat guarded expression on his face.
"Professor," Abraxas offered, shaking his former teacher's hand easily. "I'm pleased to welcome you to my home."
"Delighted to accept the invitation, Abraxas, delighted," Slughorn replied, taking in the other assorted company. He seemed to be looking for someone in particular, and there was no mistaking the relief that crossed his face when he did not see him. Abraxas gestured toward the ballroom.
"Come, Horace. I'm sure there's a spot suitable for you—perhaps near the Minister."
The wedding of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black was indeed elegant, refined, and everything that reflected the upper echelons of wizarding society. Horace reflected to himself that his gift of the Fecundity potion would be more than sufficient as a gift.
"Lord knows the ingredients are rare enough!" he quipped to himself as he selected another canapé from the tray being proffered by a house elf as the lavish reception unfolded.
"Ah, you gave the Fecundity potion, I take it?"
Slughorn managed to swallow the canapé, although it was a near thing as he almost choked on it, and then darted a glance at his former student.
"Yes, I did. Seemed appropriate for the occasion, you know."
"Quite."
The word was clipped, polite, but Horace somehow felt compelled to continue talking before Tom…er, Voldemort could sway the conversation in a more dangerous direction.
"I hear you refused a position on the Wizengamot," he offered, taking a healthy swallow of his champagne and stealing a glance at the wizard as he did so. Whatever had caused Tom Riddle to go off the track was spectacular to have caused such effects. He resolutely ignored the twinges of a long suppressed conscience and waited for Tom to speak.
"I think we both know that would be insufficient for my talents and skills," Voldemort replied, swiveling his gaze to his former Potions professor. "I am disappointed that you haven't attended one of my little gatherings, Horace. I believe Evan invited you?"
"Well, I am terribly busy with my teaching commitments, as you know Tom…" he trailed off at the flash of anger on Tom's face, so he continued hastily, "Tell me, what should your *old* potions professor call you nowadays? I am really quite buried in that basement—difficult to keep up with what is going on outside of Hogwarts, don't you know."
A gleam entered Lord Voldemort's eyes, and Slughorn was profoundly grateful when the man grabbed a flute of champagne from a floating tray and took a sip, studying him openly. Finally, he spoke.
"Tell me, Horace, does Herbert Beery still teach Herbology? I confess, I have not paid much attention to Hogwarts. Unpleasant reminders of my last year do persist, don't they?"
Slughorn's mind turned uneasily. There was no question that the enmity between Tom and Albus had been well sown during that tempestuous spring, but so much time had passed since then…surely he wasn't still bitter about Hermione? Despite the risk, he decided to ask guardedly about the subject.
"Surely that's all water under the bridge now, is it not? It has been thirty years…"
Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously. "Tell me, Professor, would you find it appropriate to speak of events and persons of that year under any circumstances? Because I would be more than unhappy if I heard anyone speaking of them. ANYONE."
Horace swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I wouldn't dream of speaking of any of that. Practically able to vow on the subject, it's so far removed from my mind."
"What an excellent idea," Voldemort said smoothly, too smoothly. Too late, Horace realized that he'd been well played.
"If you insist…"
"Oh, but I do," Voldemort said, gesturing toward the hall. "Shall we adjourn to Abraxas' study? He is more than willing to be the bonder."
It was the end of the first week back before there was another Quidditch match. This time it was between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and Hermione resolved to attend in order to a) escape Tom, and b) support Herecles. Her housemates were aghast when she said she was going to cheer for Gryffindor, and insisted that such things just weren't done.
"Hermione, that just isn't on! Everyone knows you are a friend of Herecles Potter, but house unity must come before personal friendships," Phineas insisted, donning a rather ancient looking hat that happened to be in Ravenclaw colors.
"Phineas is right, Hermione. It wouldn't be proper at all to do that. People would draw all sorts of incorrect conclusions, not least of which would be that you're interested in him! I'd hate to think what Tom Riddle would make of that," Olivia said, winding her Ravenclaw scarf around her neck.
That would be an EXCELLENT incentive to do it, Hermione thought to herself, but at the same time she recognized that she would be setting Herecles up for another run-in with the Slytherins, and this time it would definitely be nastier given Tom's feelings. Ha, as if he HAS any feelings for anyone other than himself! she thought bitterly, but decided to placate her friends and protect Herecles in the process.
"Fine, I won't sit with Gryffindor—but I am cheering for Herecles personally. I don't care what other people make of it, he's a good friend."
Phineas and Olivia exchanged a look, but by this time they had known Hermione long enough to realize the futility of arguing with her when she got that mutinous expression on her face.
"Let's go then," Phineas said, and they trooped off, joining the streams of students all filling the Quidditch stadium to capacity. Everyone was interested in this game, seeing as how it had been so long since one had been held due to the foul weather before Christmas.
"This is going to be a great game!" Olivia said excitedly, and Hermione thought she was probably right. Even their dour prefect, Percival Wethering, was wearing as much in the house colors as he could. The first quarter passed easily, with each team scoring at a fair rate. Hermione caught one glimpse of Herecles as he and the Ravenclaw Seeker darted off after the Snitch, but it vanished again before either could catch it and the game continued. There was the usual carnage from Bludgers, and one of the Gryffindor Beaters had to be taken off due to a broken arm. Hermione could imagine the fuss Madame Duvalle would make, and found herself cheering when Ravenclaw passed Gryffindor again, raising the score to 70-60.
"Look, there's Professor Dumbledore!" Olivia shouted, pointing to the Transfiguration professor, who was wrapped in warm, if bright, yellow robes which contrasted with his auburn hair, standing and conversing with the headmaster while keeping one eye on the game.
"Thank Rowena he's back. I'm sick of boring lessons in Transfiguration," Phineas said—a rare complaint indeed from the mellow boy.
"I need to speak with him," Hermione said, determined to not be cowardly about telling him all that had transpired between herself and the Head Boy. She would find some way of doing so. True, she had been unable to even bring quill to parchment to broach the subject, but surely he would be persuaded to at least look in her mind!
"I'm sure he'll be happy to see you, Hermione. You are related to him, if only through second cousins," Olivia said offhandedly, her eyes looking for the Snitch. "Oh, I think I see it! And look, Herecles has spotted it too!"
Hermione craned her head and saw the telltale glint of the Snitch, and there was Herecles Potter, dashing after it, the reflected light from the snow throwing him into shadow. She could have been watching Harry at a game, his alacrity with a broom very reminiscent of her friend. The Ravenclaw Seeker had spotted it too, and was darting toward the Snitch. Herecles definitely had the edge, though, and Hermione yelled, "Go, Herecles!" causing a few of her classmates to stare at her. She ignored them, though, happy for a moment as she recalled how Harry had always felt when he won a game. She wanted that for her friend.
"What is happening?" Phineas said. He was the first to notice, but he wasn't the last. A collective gasp went up from the stadium as it became apparent that Herecles Potter was losing control of his broom, the steep dive he was in impossible to pull out of with the way his broom had started shivering and shaking.
"Give me those!" Hermione cried, snatching a pair of Omnioculars from a classmate and focusing on Herecles quickly. The broom seemed to be shredding itself, pieces of the handle splintering off and the whole tail falling apart.
"Someone help him!"
Hermione thrust the eyewear back to the girl who was angrily demanding them back, drawing her wand and trying to figure out what to cast.
"Hermione, look! Professor Dumbledore!"
Hermione's eyes flew to the Transfiguration professor, who had already drawn his own wand and was plying it with alacrity, an alarmed expression on the face of Headmaster Dippet beside him.
"His broom's falling apart!"
"No way he'll stay up like that—"
"Dumbledore is casting something, dunno if it'll save him—"
Hermione saw that Dumbledore was focused on keeping Herecles airborne, but it looked to be a losing battle. Professor Hooch was racing toward the Gryffindor on her broom, but she wouldn't get there in time if he fell. Hermione looked at what was below Herecles, running through the crowded stands with wordless repulsion charms to shove students out of her way. She had one shot if Dumbledore couldn't keep that broom together, and she was betting it wouldn't last much longer.
"Flexilis pila!" she cried, the spell darting out powerfully to hit the wooden stand just as Herecle's broom finally pulled apart and he tumbled fifty feet down, hitting the wooden tower and, unbelievably, bouncing back up as if it were a trampoline. He hadn't a chance to bounce again, Dumbledore and Hooch simultaneously catching him with dual Levicorpus spells, then bringing him down to the pitch floor. The stands erupted in cheers, and Hermione felt the pats and one armed hugs of students around her. Hufflepuffs, she thought, as Professor Dumbledore, who had conscripted a broom from a Ravenclaw beater, flew over and caught her eye.
"That was well done, Hermione. You spared Mr. Potter a very unhappy end to his Quidditch career."
"It was nothing, Professor. I wasn't the only one casting spells to save him."
Professor Dumbledore nodded curtly, and whisked off to see to his student. Hermione looked at the stands across, which happened to be packed with Slytherins. Not Tom, of course, he never came to games that didn't involve his House, but Hermione saw enough of his followers to know that he would be informed about what had happened. She raised her chin when Abraxas Malfoy caught her eye, one eyebrow raised mockingly, and then turned her attention back to the pitch. Herecles Potter was grinning like the fool he was, to celebrate such a brush with death! He saluted Hermione cheekily, causing another roar of approval from the Gryffindor section of the stands. Hermione felt her cheeks flush and was quite sure that Abraxas noted it. Damn.
Hermione was in the Ravenclaw common room that evening when she felt an uncomfortable sensation, like pins and needles. She gasped involuntarily and stood up, her papers slightly disarrayed by her haste.
"Are you okay Hermione?" Phineas asked, looking up from the Herbology paper he was working on. The atmosphere in Ravenclaw house had been subdued that afternoon after the Quidditch loss, and Hermione had not been able to speak to Dumbledore yet. Presumably he was dealing with his house's celebrations as well as the Beater with the broken arm and the investigations of the broom accident. Obviously, her time was up with Tom. She grimaced as the sensation intensified, then quickly explained her need to leave to Phineas.
"Yes, um, I just remembered, I have to send an owl. I had better go do that before curfew."
Phineas looked puzzled, but it was not an uncommon evening task so he thought nothing further of it. Hermione left the common room quickly, the sensation that was crawling through her blood very uncomfortable.
"Damn you Tom Riddle," she hissed under her breath, wondering where he would be. She headed down the tower stairs as fast as possible, electing to use the shortcut Professor Beery had shown her to save time. Room of Requirement? She paused, taking a few precious seconds to think. It was a blood bond. She should be able to work with that. Ignoring the sense of panic and itchiness that was trying to overtake her senses, Hermione drew her wand and improvised a variant of the "Point Me" charm. She felt it settle, then there was a definite tug. Up. She took the stairs two at a time, allowing the charm to guide her. She recognized the way, it was the Room of Requirement. Thankful that she was almost there, she passed three times before the door, then opened it and entered, her heart pounding.
"Ah, Hermione. How good of you join us."
Lord Voldemort stood at the center of a darkened room, torchlight along the walls providing intermittent shadows and light. His Knights were all kneeling obsequiously, but Tom's attention was firmly fixed on her. "Come."
Internally Hermione cursed him for putting her under such a leash, but right now she had to satisfy the bond before she could fully focus on keeping him out of her mind. She walked forward, aware that all of the boys' eyes were on her.
"Kneel." The command was soft, but Hermione was resistant still, and forcefully ignored the howling of her blood.
"No." She raised her chin defiantly, but Lord Voldemort was definitely not amused. His wand flicked once, and her knees hit the hard stone floor with a force that surely bruised.
"That's better. Now, Hermione, please explain to me your behavior at the Quidditch match today."
Hermione noticed that he wouldn't let her touch him yet. Bastard. "I saved a classmate's life."
"Indeed. A very particular classmate, pet. Why would you do such a thing?"
"Because it was the right thing to do," she said through clenched teeth. Her blood was on fire now, and he knew it, his eyes hooded but amused in the brief glance she allowed herself before continuing to stare at his knees.
"And you would have done such a thing for anyone, wouldn't you, Hermione?" he asked, gripping her chin firmly at last to force her to look up at him. Hermione closed her eyes as the blissful relief of his touch flowed through her, wanting to keep him out of her head.
"Yes, I would have."
Voldemort kept her chin in his hand, but his attention was clearly on his followers. "You see how accommodating Miss Girard is when she is asked nicely? And to come so obediently too. You are quite the nice prize, Hermione. Now, just one more thing—I want to see what happened today."
Hermione's eyes flew open, and without a word he was in her mind, easily blowing past the Occlumency walls she had only half-erected. She began to fight him, and he tightened his grip on her chin, as well as the force of magic he was pouring into her. He was twisting the blood bond to do it, and she fought back in the same manner. She felt the migraine beginning, but she limited him to only seeing today, the spell she cast, Herecles bouncing in the air, Dumbledore's compliment. When he pulled out she collapsed at his feet, her head shrieking with pain from the resistance she had given him.
"You see, my Knights? Even the most recalcitrant and worthy magical opponents will eventually fall to me. You may go, Hermione," he said, as if she were in any position to do so. He waited a beat and then said, "Oh, but of course. You really should stop fighting me, dear. It gains you nothing but further pain."
He turned to survey his Knights. "Gibbon. See Miss Girard back to her common room."
Hermione pulled her magic tightly into herself. She'd be damned if she'd allow herself to be escorted like a damn trophy.
"I can see myself out, Tom," she said, forcing herself to stand. To prove her point, she gave a mocking nod before she turned toward the door. One foot, then the other, that's the way.
She didn't hear Voldemort as he said, "That, gentlemen, is admirable conduct in the face of a lost battle."
Three days later Hermione was summoned from the common room by her head of house.
"Ah, Hermione. Just the student I wanted to speak with. Would you mind accompanying me to my office please?"
Hermione sent her book to her room and walked quietly with Professor Beery down the stairs and down the hall to the professor's office.
"What do you need, Professor?" she asked once they were seated in his office. It was the first time Hermione had actually seen the Herbology professor's office, and it was littered with small potted plants and leaf and seed prints which writhed inside their frames on the wall.
"Well, Hermione, I have to inform you of a change in your dormitory arrangements," Professor Beery began, and for a second Hermione felt the stirrings of panic, certain that Tom had somehow arranged for her to have a dorm room by herself.
"It has to do with your roommate Sophie Patrocine. Miss Patrocine has been withdrawn from the school for the remainder of the term, due to a betrothal contract. Thus, yourself and Miss Tynwyn will be deprived of your friend. I am sorry that her parents have chosen to withdraw her, but these things do happen."
Hermione released the breath she had been holding, realizing that Professor Beery was looking expectantly at her. "But Professor, surely it would be advantageous for her husband if Sophie finished her schooling."
Professor Beery sighed and sat back. "I realize that our House is populated with witches who possess an uncommon amount of brains, Hermione, but the fact is that most wizards are more interested in bloodlines and household charms work than they are in a highly educated wife. You know as well as I that this is not an uncommon happenstance during seventh year. At least we deal with it less in this House—no fewer than two Hufflepuffs and three Slytherins have been withdrawn for similar reasons."
Hermione knew it was pointless to argue. It was just another backward part of being out of time. She was so thankful that she had been born and raised at a time when things were more progressive for witches.
"May I ask, to whom is she now betrothed?"
Hermione didn't really expect Professor Beery to answer her, but she had forgotten how gossipy the professors were in this era. Student privacy was an unheard of concept, due to the small, insular nature of the wizarding world.
"Oh yes, I expect you know him. One of the Slytherins in your year—Abelard MacNair."
"Excuse me?" She was sure she had heard right, but Professor Beery nodded.
"Yes, not something anyone was expecting, but so many of these marriages are arranged between the parents. I'm sure they will get on well enough. Off with you now, and do let me know if you and Olivia have any problems adjusting, will you? I'm sure if you pair get lonely we could rearrange the sixth years."
"Thank you, sir. I'm sure that won't be necessary."
Inside she was putting together the pieces, and only one person could be responsible. There was little doubt that Tom Riddle had something to do with this, and she intended to find out exactly what he had done.
True to form, Tom was in the library, Abraxas Malfoy cloistered with him in quiet conversation.
"What did you have to do with Sophie's betrothal?" Hermione asked baldly as she approached them both. Abraxas leaned back from the table and shot a glance at Tom, who tilted his head imperceptibly, granting him permission to remain.
"Why would you think I had anything to do with that?" Tom asked, and Abraxas leaned back in his chair after another glance at Tom, convinced he was about to be entertained.
"None of them—" here Hermione darted a scornful look at Abraxas Malfoy, who merely raised an eyebrow at her, "—dare to so much as sneeze without your permission, so I doubt Abelard MacNair has consented to an engagement without your blessing," Hermione spat.
"Even if that were true, why would this concern you?" Tom asked rather pointedly, his tone remaining cool in that insufferable manner he had of dealing with petulance.
"You know perfectly well that the practice of withdrawing witches from school before they graduate is an archaic hangover from the Middle Ages, and it bears no practical fruit other than forcing her under someone's thumb that much sooner," she hissed.
Tom stood up easily, his robes flowing downward in a manner that was surely charmed. Hermione stood her ground, allowing him to step toe to toe, face to face. If she had dared to steal another look at Abraxas Malfoy, she would have seen how very entertained he was, but all of her attention was focused on Tom Riddle, her nemesis.
"Tell me, Abraxas, where is Eugenia residing now?" Tom asked, and Hermione could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he replied, "At the Manor, of course. Mother is ever so pleased to have her there to see to the wedding details."
Hermione could read something other than amusement at her expense lurking in Tom's eyes. It was a hint of malice, and she realized why Sophie in particular had been removed.
"You're punishing her, aren't you? For that incident in Knockturn Alley. And I suppose MacNair had something to do with the Quidditch incident?"
Her voice was low, but Tom heard her. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, and he ran his thumb down her cheek. "Now, I knew you would determine the correct outcome, Hermione. Really, you should have thought before you said anything. I'm disappointed."
"You're delighted to have the opportunity to demonstrate your hold over me to one of your best pets," Hermione whispered harshly, and Tom did smile at that.
"Yes, there is that. You are refreshingly direct in your methods of communicating with me, Hermione. Now, would you like to practice some of the hexes which Merrythought has set for our next DADA class?"
"I don't need tips from the likes of you," Hermione retorted, this time loud enough for Abraxas to hear.
"Tsk tsk. And here I thought you wanted to be the best, Hermione—besides me, of course."
Hermione ignored his taunt and turned on her heel to leave. As she walked away, she threw over her shoulder,
"Pride goes before a fall, Tom Riddle!" She had an owl to send to Professor Dumbledore.
"Yet another lesson from my crystal ball," Tom mused to himself, then turned back to Abraxas. "I believe you and Rosier have an appointment with me this evening. Do be sure to bring your owls."
Abraxas, realizing he'd been dismissed, gathered his parchment and books and left a pensive Dark Lord in the library. For himself, he had another interesting tale to relate to his personal diary.
"Miss Girard, rather early to be trimming the venomous tarantaculas, isn't it?"
Hermione looked up at her head of house briefly, seemed about to say something, then returned to her careful pruning. Professor Beery waited another minute, and finally Hermione said, "You mentioned that it had to be done, sir. It seemed like a good morning for it."
Given that Herbert had spent the better part of breakfast dancing between Albus' suspicions about the Head Boy and Horace's praise of him, he had little doubt what exactly had sent one of his favorite new students scurrying to the greenhouses early this morning.
"And you are correct, it is a good morning for it," Professor Beery began, catching Hermione's hand with the pruners before she could lop off a fruiting branch. "But I would prefer if you would tell me about what is troubling you instead of pruning off the fruiting bodies on the plants."
That seemed to grab her attention, and Hermione looked at the pruned pieces to verify that she hadn't actually cut off any yet. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she put down the pruners and stepped away from the bench.
"I don't know what to do," Hermione said quietly, turning toward the windows of the greenhouse and wrapping her arms around herself.
Herbert eyed the petite witch carefully and refrained from sighing visibly. This was the unspoken difficult part of the job of being a head of house. "Would you be referring to the Head Boy and the unfortunate event with Herecles Potter during the Quidditch match?"
"Look, Professor Dumbledore is right to be suspicious of Tom," Hermione began as she turned back to face the professor, but stopped out of frustration, then began afresh. "He's not exactly the nicest person, and in fact I have seen him be crueler than I have ever seen before. But he…"
Hermione stopped again, because she didn't want to say it out loud, didn't want to give voice to the treacherous thoughts that were battling with her common sense inside her head. He's terribly compelling, her inner voice whispered.
"He can be very charming, and he's extremely attentive to you—and you find those attentions heady, and pleasing."
Hermione's eyes flicked up to meet the professor's finally, and he was relieved by the stark honesty in them. "Yes, that is it precisely"
"There is nothing wrong with finding someone who is talented and intelligent attractive, Hermione." Professor Beery's tone was matter of fact, although he was repeating advice very similar to that he had given before Christmas to Albus. However, this time he was able to offer different advice, thankfully.
"But how I could tolerate, much less enjoy, his attentions, when I know he has this other, unbelievably evil side to him?" Hermione's voice quavered, and she turned briefly back to the window, ashamed of saying it out loud.
Professor Beery was quite certain that her appellations were the standard hormonal teenager descriptors that he heard at least twice weekly in his office once relationships started forming from the fourth year onward, and thus he paid no more than the usual heed he would give such vituperations. Nonetheless, the female students of Ravenclaw were perhaps just a tad more liable to overthink their personal affairs, and Hermione was perfectly suited to her house in this fashion. He began carefully, aware that his female students were far more emotionally invested in their school age relationships than many of their male peers.
"We do ourselves a great disservice when we attempt to distill our feelings into simple right and wrong. Part of the beauty of emotions is that they are full of all of the things that do not fit precisely into simple categories. I would caution you to apply a just weight when you are asking yourself how you could feel something for another human being. Regardless of aspects of others' characters which we might find repulsive, there is something highly admirable about finding things in them to respect and admire as well."
The professor's warm brown eyes were bounded by slightly raised eyebrows, and Hermione nodded to indicate she had heard him. But he didn't know the magnitude of Tom's future sins! She tried again to obliquely convey how deeply troubling she found her feelings for him.
"Sir, it's just that a leopard can't change its spots, can it? And to care for a leopard and not expect it to attack you—that would be foolish in the extreme."
The professor's gaze was momentarily clouded as he drew a comparison that was even now wrenching someone very close to him. "You are correct insofar as a wise person does not expect the leopard to be other than what it is. However, there is no shame in admitting that what the leopard does has a certain beauty of its own, even grace. To admire or appreciate that is no sin."
Hermione took a deep breath. Analogies were all very well, but this boy was going to become the worst Dark wizard known. "Professor, that doesn't mean that you try to mate with it. A wise person avoids the leopard."
Professor Beery chuckled slightly. "Yes, it is an imperfect analogy, I grant you. But let me ask you—is the leopard always preoccupied with the kill? Are there other times in its life when it focuses its attention on other things?"
A blush suffused Hermione's cheeks, and she turned back to the cool glass of the windows, tracing the frost patterns on the windowpane as a means of distracting herself from the professor's unwelcome insight. "If one doesn't wish to encourage the leopard's depradations, it would seem imprudent to encourage its survival, Professor."
Professor Beery sighed deeply. "Hermione, perhaps it is those very real and human other needs which are all that stands between some individuals and the creep of the unsavory; the Dark that would overcome them if they were left to their own natural inclinations. If you have found something worthwhile in Mr. Riddle, such things are to be encouraged, not smothered. Believe me, the consequences of attempting the latter can be far beyond what you fear from pursuing them."
Hermione turned back to him, suddenly annoyed by his pragmatic advice. "What would you know of it? You have no idea what he does, how he manipulates people to suit himself. He is a consummate actor for the audience, but in private he is something else altogether. You have no idea what he is like!"
Herbert Beery fervently wished that Albus would truly talk to this girl. The struggles she described were exactly what Albus was facing with Gellert. He felt oddly inadequate to the task, as if her struggles were deeper than the usual nonsense from one of his house finding the conniving and manipulative nature of a Slytherin to be wildly attractive. He brushed aside that errant thought, certain that Albus' suffering was influencing his reading of her teenage melodrama.
"I'm sure I don't. But I do know that you do yourself a grave disservice if you believe that ignoring your feelings will benefit you. Feelings have a terrible way of overwhelming us at the worst moment if we do not deal with them adequately. I do hope you will remember that before you find yourself hurting those you love unintentionally."
Hermione was thanking Merlin, Nimue, and all other famous witches and wizards for the wonders of headache potion the next morning as she made her way out of her Arithmancy class. She had studied the notes on time travel until late in the night, and they made scant little more sense than they had before she began.
"Hey!"
Hermione stopped in the hallway and turned, an easy smile on her face as Herecles Potter came bounding up to her. "I didn't have a chance yet to say thank you. Madame Duvalle says you spared me a trip to St. Mungo's at the very least!"
"I hardly think it was just me. Dumbledore and Hooch were both casting on you too. I just happened to get the bounce," Hermione said, but Herecles brushed that aside.
"You were the only student smart enough to react. Well done, and I say that as someone whose arse you saved."
"You're welcome. I would have done it for anyone," she admitted, and Herecles laughed.
"I figured. Nonetheless, I'd like to pay you back. Would you let me buy you lunch on the next Hogsmeade trip? There's a new tea shop opening, I could take you there."
"Ah, Mr. Potter. Aren't you going to be late for Divination?" Tom's voice was arctic, and the hand he slipped around Hermione's waist was purely possessive.
Hermione could see that Herecles was about to open his mouth and say something very unwise, so she leapt into the split second of silence. "Thank you, Herecles, but maybe you could just buy me a Butterbeer sometime and we'll call it good, okay?"
Both men recognized her ploy for what it was: an attempt to navigate an impassible breach. Nonetheless, Herecles had the grace to be a gentleman, and nodded his head. "I'd like that. See you around, Hermione."
"No, I don't think you will," Tom said as Herecles walked away, a deadly menace in his tone. "Now, let me accompany you to the library. This is your free period."
Hermione had planned to see Professor Dumbledore, but she knew better than to say that to Tom. She would have to try later, if she could get away from her bodyguards. Failing that, she would resort to sending another owl, and beg Dumbledore to set the appointment with her. She couldn't refuse an appointment from a professor, and Tom knew it.
Albus Dumbledore would not consider himself inclined toward a suspicious nature, but the older he got, the more his friends and acquaintances told him that he did possess one. Lately even Herbert had been on him about it, urging him to talk to Hermione Girard more. He had pointed out that Hermione was facing a difficult situation with Tom, and Albus was the best person to offer advice. After the wards of his office were disturbed during his absence, he was more inclined toward suspicion and less inclined toward trusting an unknown girl from the future. His eyes glanced toward the clock on the wall—nearly time for her appointment. He admitted that Herbert was correct, he might be required to step in and take more direct action. The pressure from other quarters was too great to wish to do so, however. He exhaled heavily—if he had that matter behind him, it would be far easier to focus on what Tom Riddle may be doing with Miss Girard. A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he smoothed out the creases in his forehead with conscious effort as he opened his office door.
"Ah, Hermione. Please, come in."
Hermione took a seat in Professor Dumbledore's office, hoping that she would be able to communicate what needed to be said.
"Professor, I requested to speak with you about Tom Riddle. I have infor—" Hermione's voice simply stopped working, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then began again. "I would like to request that you look in my mind. Please."
Professor Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Hermione, am I correct in understanding that you are requesting that I perform Legilimency on you?"
"Yes, Professor. It's extremely important that you do so," Hermione urged, and a worried expression crossed Dumbledore's face.
"This is a very dangerous thing you request, Miss Girard. Your mind is full of information that I dare not possess. I'm afraid I must be convinced that there is a very compelling reason for me to do so, otherwise I must decline." His face was grave, his tone serious, and Hermione leaned forward in her chair.
"Professor, please. I would not ask it of you if I did not know it to be a matter of dire importance. My…beau has been…more than amorous in his pursuits, Professor. Please. Let me show you!" Hermione was begging now, deathly afraid that he wouldn't do it, and she would be back on her own again. She was losing, and she needed help.
"Simply tell me, Miss Girard. Surely that would be best!" A bit of irritation had crept into his voice, and Albus Dumbledore regretted it. Whoever she was and whatever she might be up to, she didn't deserve his ire.
"I can't do that!" Hermione burst out, then stood suddenly and paced. "Don't you think I would if I could? That I would have put it in the note I sent requesting to see you?"
Professor Dumbledore's expression was troubled, but he acquiesced. The only reason he could think of which would prevent her speaking of it would be a curse, which would of itself be detectable.
"Hermione, would you permit me to test you for some type of curse? It would not hurt, but I would like to know what I am dealing with here." His tone was measured, but this whole discussion had thrown into glaring relief a problem which he had not thought of when she arrived. Even if he did pick up a Dark curse of some kind, it could have been in place when she arrived. Madame Duvalle would not have checked for such a thing beyond what required immediate healing, so any latent curses could have gone undetected.
"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," she said, glad that he finally understood what she was trying to say, but could not.
Dumbledore drew out his wand and cast a complicated series of spells, the purple glow telling him all he needed to know. He ceased casting and looked at Hermione frankly, a furrow in his brow. "You have a curse on you, my dear. Did you know this?"
"I suspected, Professor. I can't tell you—" Hermione was so relieved that he knew, that he was now finally on the same page and could do something to help her! Professor Dumbledore was clearly troubled by this news, and cut her off.
"Very well, Miss Girard, I understand. I will attempt to see what is causing you such distress. Please, sit down."
Her gratitude was written plainly on her face, and Dumbledore frowned internally. This was a very dangerous situation, and he was extremely wary of treading in to this girl's mind.
"Have you had any training in Occlumency, perchance?" Dumbledore asked, looking into her clear brown eyes.
"Yes." Her answer was confident, and this gave him pause, too. What on earth could call for a teenage girl to be taught Occlumency? He mentally fortified his own mental shields before he brought his wand up.
"Please try to put forward only your recent memories from your time here," he instructed. "Legilimens."
Hermione could feel him enter her mind, a gentle intrusion that was nothing like Tom's forceful entry. She had put forward all her recent memories of her time with Tom: the blood bond, the Legilimency attempts, his ability to disapparate within Hogwarts. However, she couldn't actually feel Professor Dumbledore reaching them. Every time he moved toward them, it was as if a gelatinous wall blurred them out, making them impossible to touch or hold onto.
For his part, Albus Dumbledore had never seen such a natural Occlumens. He could see the thread of her memories, but he could not grasp it, no matter how he chased them in the shifting, sticky miasma of her mind. He placed his hand on her shoulder at some point, and when she wriggled beneath it after another failed try to see what she wanted to show him, he withdrew, then sat back with one hip on his desk.
"Hermione," he called, and watched her come back into her conscious self. He studied her carefully, looking for any sign of artifice. He found none, which was comforting, because Hermione Girard represented quite possibly a very dangerous wrinkle in time. He hoped nothing would necessitate…but he was leaping ahead of himself.
"Professor, I was trying to show you—" she began, but he cut her off again with a wave of his hand.
"I am aware, Hermione. The curse on you is complex, and it is preventing you from showing me anything that would reveal who cast it upon you, or indeed if it has always been there since your arrival, or perhaps even before."
"I need your help," Hermione said, tears forming in her eyes. Damn Tom Riddle! How was he so skilled at mind magics already?
"Hermione, although you cannot tell me precisely what you are facing, I can offer you every assistance that Hogwarts can provide. For instance, I will give you an unrestricted pass to the Restricted section of the library. There are tomes there which might be useful, whatever you are seeking. And I promise you, I am working as much as I possibly can on the question of how to return you to your home. I do not want you here anymore than you wish to remain here, and I will continue to do my utmost to see you safely home."
Hermione willed back the tears that brimmed in her eyes, blinking steadily to force them into submission. "I understand, sir. It's just that…it is not easy to be here in the first place, and to add Tom Riddle on top of that!"
She broke off and Albus offered a handkerchief before he circled his desk again, offering a container of sweets. "Licorice screw?"
"No thank you," she said, sniffing.
"I am going to be traveling again in a few months' time on the subject of your travel. Unfortunately, my Christmas wanderings concerned a different matter. Hopefully, however, I will be able to bring home some good news about your return after my trip in the spring." He paused to take in her reaction to this news, but she didn't seem to be very heartened by it. He decided to take some of Herbert's advice and continued, "Hermione, you are an extremely bright and competent witch. Although I cannot help you directly, I can tell you that all of your professors are incredibly impressed by your talent and intelligence. You are resourceful and quick thinking. Whatever it is, I am certain that you can find a solution. Trust yourself and your instincts."
"Thank you, Professor," she said, brightening slightly, if with no little effort. "I appreciate your confidence in me."
"Do not fret, Hermione. Such cases as yours are not unheard of, and eventually time will get itself untangled. It is a certainty upon which you may rely."
This did perk Hermione up a bit. "Do you mean that certain events are fated? That regardless of time travel, the same fates will befall all involved?"
Dumbledore tilted his head back and closed his eyes briefly. "Not precisely. But time cannot abide a paradox. It will work to resolve it. Those who seek to tinker with time best do so in very small, subtle ways. It is possible to have that add up to a big change, of course, but it is very difficult to achieve. There is quite a bit of debate about whether such things require active management, as we have discussed previously. However, it is not unknown for terrible events to befall those who travel through time."
Hermione rather thought that might be a veiled threat, and some of that must have showed in her expression because Dumbledore was quick to reassure her.
"I would like to point out that only those who seek to change time in significant ways have reported such events. As I said to you previously, as long as you are respectful of the timeline, generally speaking it should be respectful of you, even though you are currently out of order, as it were."
This reassured Hermione greatly. "Thank you, sir. I am glad you have told me this. I would have hated to cause a new plague on humanity with a sneeze at the breakfast table."
Professor Dumbledore laughed heartily at this. "No, no, dear girl. You are not likely to cause a big change. Simply keep doing what you are doing, and apart from the question of Mr. Riddle's interest, I believe your presence here will go virtually unnoticed."
He did not mention the curse that was on her. Hopefully it was a problem that was as out of place as she was. As he watched her leave his office, Albus Dumbledore was quite certain he could not handle any more Dark dealings at present.