Notes: This chapter turns up the "ominous" dial to 11. It is also the final warning for anyone who doesn't want to read a dark and ruthless Tom.
To the guest reviewer who asked why Tom would go after Grindelwald instead of Dumbledore, part of it is the Elder Wand, part of it is that Grindelwald's reputation is already terrible in Britain (whereas Dumbledore's isn't), and the rest of it you'll find out. Not in this chapter, but you'll find out eventually.
Chapter Fourteen: A Conspiracy Exposed
Tom did not speak of his plan again, and he did not want to discuss it when Hermione privately brought it up the next day.
"There are things it's better that you don't know in advance," he said, gazing down at her.
She put her hands on her hips. "Don't condescend to me. I'm not going to turn you in and you should know that. I just don't want you to do something unnecessarily risky, which Dark magic inherently is."
"Hermione, exactly how do you suggest that I could beat the Elder Wand without using Dark magic? Perhaps catch Grindelwald while he's in the W.C. and steal it from him?"
"That's practically what Grindelwald did himself to get it," she muttered.
Tom raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? That's hilarious. He never—" He broke off. "So you don't even have to kill the previous owner."
"Absolutely not," she said eagerly, jumping at the chance to dissuade him from killing. "In the other timeline, Dumbledore dueled him for it and left him alive. And I'm sure he didn't use the Dark Arts."
Tom's face closed down. "As you pointed out yourself, I am eighteen years old. As much as I dislike Dumbledore, I'm not such a fool as to disparage the ability of someone on that account. He is a very experienced wizard with Light magic. But I have to use Dark. If I don't, he'll get the wand this time too. I don't have time to learn all his tricks before making my stand, and I intend to change the rules anyway." At that, he bent down and kissed Hermione lightly on top of her head. "I'll be perfectly fine."
She recognized that the discussion was at an end, but she still felt uneasy. Tom could die. He could actually die doing this. That would change the timeline, all right, but his death was no longer an acceptable way for that to happen.
They headed to the Great Hall for breakfast, his arm possessively around her waist, reminding anyone who cared to look that they were toge—
No, she thought as they entered through the doors, that he regards me as his. It was impossible to avoid that conclusion about their relationship. She could not decide if he meant the possessive as most people did, to refer to monogamy and special emotional closeness, or if he meant something… else. He did like to claim things for his own. It was an unpleasant consideration, and one about which she did not want to dwell too deeply.
He cares about me. That's what matters. He respects me and cares about me. She told herself that in her mind over and over.
During breakfast and morning classes, Tom kept a very close eye on Rosier and Lestrange. Hermione remembered that he had known they were involved with the Black faction, so it made sense to watch them, especially since he also knew that the girls were not knowingly or directly involved.
I really wish he would tell me more of what's going on, she thought in Transfiguration. Grindelwald's plans, Black's plans, who's an agent for whom, is there even an agent, what is he himself really up to with his private owl post and whatever else he does—he's trying to protect me and I get that, but I can protect myself pretty well. I just need to know more than he is telling me.
How to ask, though? Tom was not the sort of person she could wheedle information from, and she had never been particularly good at that anyway. She stifled a blush over the memory of her feeble attempt to quiz Borgin about Draco Malfoy's doings just before sixth year. No, after what the war year did to her, she could pass for a Slytherin, but not the subtle kind. Directness was her forte, and that was what she would have to use, somehow, to get Tom to open up.
At the end of class, Dumbledore caught her as she made to exit the classroom. Tom kept walking toward the threshold before realizing that she was not there. He stopped and hovered, watching the professor warily.
"Miss Green, if you would come by my office at four?"
"Of course," she said at once. Her pulse thudded. Now what?
Outside the classroom, Tom was fuming. "What does he want?" he snapped.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Don't take it out on me," she said. "I have no idea what he wants. I hope he isn't going to ask about my living situation. He shouldn't even know. You made them think I had just moved to a different room in the dormitories. I haven't been asked by Slughorn, though, so it doesn't make sense for Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore sticks his crooked nose in everything that isn't his business," Tom said venomously. "But no, if it's that, you're safe. You can't tell him. That, incidentally, is why I didn't want you to Keep your own Secret—so you couldn't reveal it if anyone asked."
Oh.
"Do tell me what he wants afterward," Tom continued.
"Tom, you know I will, but when are you going to start telling me things? A lot is going on that I just don't know about, and most of it involves me."
He stopped cold. A brief moment of anger surged over his countenance, followed immediately by a look of guilt. "I—you know, Hermione, you have a point," he said. His vocal tones were odd, sounding awkward and ill-practiced, as if he didn't use them much.
Hermione supposed that he probably didn't.
"Tell you what. I'll do better than that. I'll start showing you." He smiled at her.
For some reason that she could not explain, that smile appeared almost like a threat—but only for a moment.
Hermione took a pear drop from the candy dish and gazed across the desk at Dumbledore. He had become increasingly intimidating to her mind, somehow, although he looked the same and wore the same benevolent visage.
"Miss Green, are you still doing well? You had a good holiday?"
"Yes, Professor," she said. "It's honestly been wonderful to see the castle as it is supposed to be."
He looked oddly at her.
"You remember that I arrived covered in wounds, and that there had been a battle at the school."
"Ah yes. I do remember." He smiled. "I noticed that you and Mr. Riddle have become very close."
Heat crept up her cheeks. There was no point denying it. Tom had been flaunting their relationship to the whole school, and since he was the Head Boy and had been unattainable—and uninterested for years, apparently—people noticed.
"Yes, we have," she said firmly. "I did not expect that to happen—my first impression of him was negative, if you remember"—Dumbledore nodded—"but it did. He has been very good to me. It would have been wrong to hold him responsible for the things that happened in my original timeline that made me dislike him. He's a different person."
"I certainly believe in the power of redemption and personal choices," he acknowledged. "I have been worried about Mr. Riddle for years, as you know. He certainly seems to have expanded his horizon to include you, which is a good thing."
Dumbledore looked sad, which struck Hermione as odd, given what he had been talking about. "Professor?" she asked hesitantly.
"I'm sorry, Miss Green, but I have to do this."
Before Hermione could react, he leaned forward sharply, blue eyes boring fiercely into her own.
Her mind reeled. Fragments of memory flashed before her mind's eye, pulled to the forefront by an outside force rather than her own will.
You aren't seeing that, she thought suddenly, slamming the professor away from a particularly compromising memory of her and Tom.
More memories. Rosier, Lestrange, and Avery were nursing aches—no, Hermione thought, not that one either.
Dumbledore, however, seemed to be after something else entirely. He disregarded the memories of the past four months, his presence tossing them aside.
A memory of Grindelwald's handsome face and grey-gold hair appeared before her mind's eye. Dumbledore focused briefly on that image, not delving farther into the memory itself, before tossing it aside and continuing.
Finally the turmoil in her mind ceased, and a single memory played back in full. Hermione was covered in battle wounds, holding a Time-Turner. The call of a phoenix sounded, and Fawkes descended on her just as she spun the object.
Dumbledore's mental presence pulled away, leaving her disoriented. She stared at him in shock and distrust. She could not speak.
The professor was rubbing his forehead, grimacing, looking ashamed. "I am so sorry," he said. "It did happen the way you said. Fawkes did do it. I apologize."
"Professor, what—"
"I had to check," Dumbledore said heavily. "I understand why you did not tell me much about the world you came from, but I have become concerned…. If you were meant to change something, and you came from the scene of a battle, it has occurred to me that it could relate to Grindelwald. The idea, I am now ashamed to say, entered my head that he might have had you sent back to alter events relating to what I hope will be his downfall."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Oh, not you too!" She felt sick. Did everyone but Tom think she was working for Grindelwald?
"I'm so sorry," Dumbledore said again.
Hermione stood up, her eyes burning. Her emotions were a storm from having her memories sifted through and tossed about. "Professor Dumbledore, do you imagine that Grindelwald is an isolated problem, a fluke in time? Self-styled Dark Lords and rabble-rousers will continue to prey on the wizarding community until some major changes are made in the way we see the world." She stared at him. "I was not sent here with a mission—at least, not one that I know about. I wasn't sent here by a person."
"I know," Dumbledore said penitently. "Please forgive me. I thought it might be a matter of the security of this school. I should have listened to my original instincts about you, and not allowed doubts to fester, but these are dark times."
Hermione's angry sense of betrayal cooled a bit. "I understand," she said. "And it was only Legilimency. I've… been through worse from people who wanted to know something. I just wish—you could have just asked for the memory."
"Memories can be tampered with," he said quietly. "But you are right. I should have trusted you, and I'm sorry."
Hermione left the office still in a certain amount of emotional turmoil. She could see the reasoning behind what Dumbledore had done, and she had already ceased to think of him as "her" Dumbledore—but it still hurt that he would suspect her.
I suspect him, she thought uncomfortably. I suspect him in the kidnapping incident in Hogsmeade. She tried to place blame on Tom for that thought entering her mind, but she knew she could not. It had already intruded upon the edge of her mind almost as soon as Grindelwald's henchman brought her back to the village. Was it hypocritical of her to suspect her professor but to be upset at being suspected herself? Her sole piece of evidence was that he had put Tom on hall duty that day, which was unusual for him. That was no better than Dumbledore's own circumstantial evidence.
Or… was that her only evidence anymore? Dumbledore had focused briefly on her memory of Grindelwald, she recalled. He had considered that one before going on to find the time-travel memory, but he had not asked her about it. Was that because he already knew why she had that memory?
Hermione wanted nothing more at this moment than a mug of hot cocoa, a good book, and the warm flames of her private hearth in the Room of Requirement. Sighing, she rounded a corner to head for the stairs.
–And immediately heard voices, neither of which belonged to Tom or anyone else she didn't mind seeing her. She recognized them as Roland Lestrange and Vincent Rosier, and they were coming her way.
There were no doors in this part of the castle. Hermione quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself and hovered behind a pillar of an archway. The boys continued, their voices growing louder.
"Things are about to change," Lestrange said in a gloating tone.
They passed through the archway and continued. Rosier suddenly stopped. He gazed at the archway, frowning. Hermione held her breath. It's cast perfectly, she told herself. Perfectly. There isn't even a shadow. He can't see me.
Rosier turned back to Lestrange. "You had word, then?" he asked.
Lestrange grinned. "My father is working with the Blacks. They're about to get the blood-traitors Green and Riddle."
Hermione's heart thudded in dread. Tom would have to know about this. She was in a perfect position to spy for him, if only they would stay in this corridor and talk about this.
Rosier stiffened. "That's… a bold claim."
Lestrange frowned.
"I mean… it didn't work before. She got away."
"Got away from what?"
Rosier shifted. "Well, my father told me. Guess yours didn't. You can ask him."
Lestrange scowled. "I'll do that, then. You enjoy whatever secret you have, if you like that." His scowl changed to a leer. "Or you could just tell me after I tell you what's about to go down."
"Depends on what you have to say."
"You're awfully shirty, considering. I wouldn't sound so ungrateful to Pollux Black if I were you."
Rosier glared. "You aren't Pollux Black."
Lestrange grinned. "Oh, I get it." He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that's tough luck. But what with your sister's betrothal to the man's son and everything, it would look bad in this political climate. You have to know that."
What are they talking about? Hermione wondered.
Rosier seemed to be a bit lost as well, though he was trying diligently to hide it and find out what Lestrange was referring to. That was odd. Lestrange was speaking as someone who knew that his friend—or whatever they were—knew all about what he was discussing and there was no need for a reminder.
"Anyway," Lestrange said proudly, "this is Mr. Black's idea—Arcturus Black, you know." He spoke the name almost reverently. "And it'll work. I don't know about you, but I am sick of Riddle." He scowled. "Sadistic bastard. As if he has the right to—"
Rosier rubbed his arm. "Yeah."
Lestrange lowered his voice. "So Mr. Black and Pollux Black are going to get him. He thinks he's got an in at Magical Law Enforcement, because Slughorn likes him. Little does the Slug know that he's going down too. He shouldn't have thrown his lot in with Riddle and Green." He grinned again. "It'll probably even get Dumbledore. And I'll get Riddle's spot in the Department."
Hermione suddenly realized that this was what Lestrange was boasting about, and what Rosier couldn't have because of how it would look.
Rosier's face cleared too. For a brief moment, there was a flash of intense anger on his face, but fortunately for him, Lestrange did not notice.
Lestrange glanced around the hallway, his gaze passing over Hermione without stopping. She let out the breath she did not even realize she was holding.
"Pollux Black is going to file evidence against Green and Riddle," Lestrange said. His voice was almost a whisper.
"Real evidence?"
"No, but what difference does it make? It'll have the seal of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement on it."
"Does the Minister know?"
Lestrange scoffed. "Of course not. Nobody else in the Ministry knows. Honestly, did somebody Confund you? You're acting like you don't know anything."
Rosier's face hardened again.
"The point of it is to discredit Dumbledore—and Slughorn, for good measure. And to get rid of the blood-traitors. I confess I'll be thrilled to see Riddle get his, but the big picture is politics. Father doesn't like how Dumbledore has the ear of the Minister, but 'it's necessary because of the war,'" he quoted mockingly. "It won't be necessary if Dumbledore's little cousin and Slughorn's pet are accused of spying for the enemy."
Tom has to know about this, Hermione thought again. I have to tell him. This is really, really bad.
"So it's Mr. Black and Pollux Black," Rosier said, almost to himself. "And our fathers. And Malfoy knows?"
"Malfoy knows."
Rosier nodded. "Right, then. That is an important secret."
Lestrange looked smug. "And you know, Vince, after all the blood-traitors are discredited, it'll only be natural to get you a spot in Law Enforcement after all. Things will be different then. So… be patient," he finished patronizingly.
A final surge of anger flashed over Rosier and passed at once. He turned around and stared at the archway against which Hermione was slinking invisibly.
No. Not the archway. Hermione's heart stopped as he looked directly at her face. She sat as still as she could, not wanting to move, not wanting to risk even a ripple. He can't see me. He can't. He hasn't cast Homenum Revelio. He does not know I'm here.
Rosier turned away. "Let's go, then," he said gruffly.
The boys continued walking down the deserted corridor. Hermione let out her breath when they were finally out of sight and their footfalls were inaudible to her. Then she stood up and dashed for the seventh floor.
Once inside the Room of Requirement, she looked frantically around her living space. "Tom, are you here?" she called out.
No answer. She withdrew her wand and cast the revealer spell. Her wand did nothing. He was not here.
He must be in the common room or his dormitory, she thought. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes. Her muscles gradually relaxed. At last she felt able to get up, start the long walk to the dungeons, and find him.
When she entered the common room, she glanced around it quickly. There were several of the upperclassmen. There was Lestrange, she noticed with a shudder. He glanced up and leered evilly at her.
Rosier wasn't there. That… was weird. He had just been with Lestrange. Tom was not there either.
Hermione frowned. She did not want to draw attention to herself, and she really did not want to enter the boys' dormitory alone if she did not know whether he was really there. As nonchalantly as she could, she left the room and headed back into the hallway.
It would not do to wander the castle aimlessly until he turned up. Eventually he would come to the Room of Requirement. She realized she probably should have stayed there in the first place. With this many people plotting against her, it was dangerous for her to be in the castle alone.
She wanted something to eat first, though, and the kitchens were closer than the Room of Requirement. She headed in that direction.
"I'm sure it's just a foolish prank, Galatea," Slughorn's voice sounded through the dungeons. "Looked like a Confundus to me."
"It wasn't Dark," the other teacher agreed. Hermione recognized the voice of Professor Merrythought, the Defense teacher. "But I really think we need to consider addressing the discipline problem at this school—"
"They need to get it out of their systems," Slughorn said. "Even Muggle children have to. He'll be perfectly fine. Oh—my dear Miss Green!"
The professors had just rounded the corner and come face-to-face with Hermione.
"Professor," she said in acknowledgment.
"Rare to see you without Tom by your side," Slughorn remarked. "Take care; you don't want to lose him." He winked.
"I was looking for him," Hermione explained. "I don't suppose you have seen him?"
Both teachers shook their heads. "Might as well tell you," Slughorn murmured, "since he's in your House and all. We just found your classmate, Rosier—Vincent Rosier—stuffed into a closet, unconscious, and when we woke him up, he acted Confunded."
What the hell? Hermione thought. It hadn't been that long since she saw Rosier walking with Lestrange.
Her confusion must have shown on her face. "I'm sure it's just someone's idea of a prank," Slughorn said reassuringly.
"Undoubtedly," Hermione said. "Well—I hope he recovers soon. It was good to see you, both of you."
She continued her trek to the kitchens, thinking over the encounter. She hated to think it, but had Tom already found Rosier and done that to him? And if so, why not Lestrange too? Lestrange was the worse of the two, she thought, and yet he seemed to be perfectly himself.
After she had her snack, she headed back to the Room of Requirement and resolved to wait for Tom to show up. She walked past the empty wall, asking for her room, and opened the door when it appeared.
Tom was already there. He was seated in his armchair, gazing at the hearth with utter, unmitigated rage on his face. His features were distorted with anger.
"Tom?"
He got up, seething. "What did Dumbledore want?"
Hermione had almost forgot about that, considering the conspiracy to frame them that she had just discovered. "He… checked my memory to ensure that I really had time-traveled the way I told him. He thought Grindelwald might have sent me back."
Tom scoffed. "Pathetic. So he was satisfied, then?"
"Yes. That was all there was to it. Tom, what is the matter?"
"Hermione, I meant to explain some things to you, and I promise you I will… but not right at the moment."
"Sit down," she said, trying to calm him. If he was this worked up already—over what?—she dreaded telling him her most recent news. "I have something important to tell you, but you need to try to be calm," she said.
He strode around the room. "Hermione, I cannot be calm. I have been—God, I can't believe—" He broke off.
She stood across from him, gazing at his face.
The effect seemed to calm him a jot. "I owe you an apology, Hermione."
She was knocked off balance. What was he so upset about? "For what?" she asked.
"For letting things spiral out of control. It was one thing when it was just myself, but this has endangered you. It's already hurt you. I need to start fixing it. I… should never have let it go on this long." He drew close to her and enveloped her in his arms.
Hermione still had no idea what, specifically, he was perturbed about, but it seemed that it would have to come out in Tom's own time. She returned the embrace and kissed him on the cheek. He turned her head slightly and pressed his lips against hers.
They remained in the kiss until he finally broke it. He looked calmer and more collected, she noticed.
He smoothed his hair. "Hermione, I promise I will hear you out. We'll tell each other everything very soon. But I have to ask you not to leave this room until I return."
"Return?" she exclaimed. "Where are you going?"
He strode toward the door and grabbed his cloak. "To take care of unfinished business. I have postponed something for far too long." His voice seethed with anger and resolution.
With a parting look and a swish of robes, he left the Room of Requirement. Hermione collapsed on her usual armchair and stared ahead blankly.
What was that all about? The question screamed through her mind, but her thoughts gave her no answer.