Part IV

Tom and Nyx met in the Room of Requirement as often as their odd time difference would allow. The first meeting, he tested her knowledge of the second year curriculum. The next, third year. Then fourth.

"What have you done, checked out the textbooks in each subject for every year and read through them?" he asked when she managed the briefest silvery wisp of a patronus.

"Yes," she answered defensively, glaring at him.

His dark blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The hat wanted you in Ravenclaw?"

She nodded automatically. Reflexively.

Liar, he thought. "And yet you aren't broadcasting the true depth of your knowledge in order to get into more challenging classes?" he asked.

"No," she answered, bitterly. He wondered why her intellect was such a sore spot. "I get plenty made fun of for having top marks from my own age group."

Ah. Clever, but a bit timid. Defensive.

"The older students would find you adorable and amusing," he goaded. "They'd protect you."

"Until I started getting higher marks than them too," she muttered.

He smirked at her response and noticed that it made her uncomfortable. "Ravenclaw?" he asked again, his voice dripping with disbelief. She couldn't be farther from one of the batty birds. Not that he expected her Gryffindor housemates to pick up on such a thing.

Nyx crossed her arms over her chest with stubborn, slightly defiant set to her shoulders.

Willful little thing. "Cast it again," he ordered.

"You cast it," she snapped.

One of his brows twitched upward. Hit a nerve, did I? "Careful, Dove," he said, letting his teasing smirk level into something decidedly less playful.

He watched her tremble as a chill ran down her spine.

"I like you," he said. "Don't ruin it."

"Prat," she mumbled.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Cast it again."

On night four, which was just past the halfway point of the holiday break for Nyx, Tom grew concerned with her progress.

"Again."

She sighed, but did as she was told. A pathetic strand of silver sprang from her wand, the same wand wielded by the same tiny witch whose natural magical prowess was akin to his own, before it faded and died.

"Pick a different memory," he said

"I don't have any happier ones!" she shouted, her exasperation wrapped around her like an aura.

He'd have to break her of such dangerous Gryffindor-isms, but that was a lesson for another day. For the time being, he merely raised an eyebrow in warning and stared at her until she looked away, chastised. She was upset with herself, he knew, and thus he overlooked her slip. She'd been blessed with strong instincts, though he wasn't sure which of them benefited from that more. He hadn't needed to break her to make her comply. She knew who was in control without him ever having to show her.

"Again," he said.

After six more pathetic attempts, Nyx threw her wand across the room in a fit of anger. Tom flicked his and cast a silent levitation spell so hers wouldn't break before he eyed the teary, too clever second year before him.

"There has to be something," he said smoothly. He knew positive means of encouragement weren't his forte, but her problem stemmed from confidence, not competence. The crucios that would correct Abraxas Malfoy or Flynn Avery wouldn't motivate her, assuming she didn't run from him. Seeing as she'd run from her proper house, he could only assume her self-preservation knew few bounds.

"A first year has enough happy memories for the charm, but lacks the strength and skill to cast it," he told her instead. "Surely there's something pleasant enough in your life to fuel your patronus."

She glared at her feet, fists shaking, jaw clenched, and silent.

Tom resisted the urge to sigh. "Nyx. Look at me."

Her eyes flicked up without hesitation.

She was such a good listener, especially compared to most people he knew. It was so difficult to find the right balance of curiosity, competence, and compliance to fill his social circle with. He could teach her many things, as long as he could keep her loyalties in check, of course.

Tom quickly cast a silent, gentle legilimens. If she couldn't pick apart her own mind to cast a patronus, he'd do it for her.

He peeled through the intertwining layers of her thoughts, passing from one memory of muggle bullies to another, skimming through memories of the worthless assurances her muggle parents had tried to offer her. The other children were just jealous. Ignore them and they'll go away.

Tom knew from experience that they would do no such thing, and Nyx —Hermione— had learned the same hard lesson he'd had to learn as well.

He took care combing through the organized areas she filed her troubles into. Frustration here. Sadness there. Disappointment here. Contentment there. Eventually he stumbled across her brighter memories. There was hope surrounding the memory of the day she received her Hogwarts letter, and it made the memory glow bright, white gold. She'd thought the letter would be a new chance. A new start. A new school full of people that were, supposedly, just as odd as she was, a school full of people that hopefully wouldn't find as many faults with her as her muggle classmates had.

They did, of course. She was still too clever, too eager, too focused on pleasing the adults, too bored by the things other children her age enjoyed.

A school's a school, Dove, he thought to himself.

Tom skimmed a bit more, trying to find a brighter memory, one that wasn't tinged with the grey of disappointment, hopelessness, and despair. He nearly missed the tiny light buried amongst her more recent memories. It was wrapped in suspicion and worry, making the glow of it faint, but if those layers were peeled away, it would be plenty pure enough for a patronus.

When he dipped into the memory, the idea, he saw himself through her eyes: An intellectual better, someone who wasn't using her to boost their essay grades or constantly teasing her about her intelligence with more truth behind their jokes than anyone chose to acknowledge. She wanted to consider him a friend, but had convinced herself that he only saw her as a tool.

She wasn't wrong with that assessment, but her raw magical power wasn't the only thing that kept his attention. He'd grown oddly protective of the little fuzzball since their first night in the Room of Requirement. He made a mental note to teach her a few hair care charms at some point in the future.

With a thoughtful hum, he pulled back from her mind, but didn't fully withdraw. He wanted to keep an eye on how she processed her next task. She was still angrily staring into space when he refocused on the room.

"Try again, Dove," he said, flicking his wand so hers floated back into her hand. "Even if you think it's a false hope or desire, any idea can be strong enough to form a patronus. The spell isn't explicitly tied to memories."

Her defeated expression as she reclaimed her wand matched her memory of the night they first met in the Room —when she'd struggled with the spell— and her jaw set defiantly as she focused. The idea of them being friends moved to the forefront of her thoughts and morphed into a daydream where she'd already successfully cast a patronus. He was behind her, smirking but proud, and muttering a quiet 'Well done, Dove.'

A shimmering Royal Python burst from the tip of her wand before it began to writhe and dance in the air around them. Together they watched it circle first her, then him, before it vanished in a wisp of silver fog. Nyx could hardly suppress her excitement and relief, and Tom didn't bother hiding his genuinely proud smile.

"Well done, Dove," he said gently.

Before he cast a finite, he watched the idea she used for her patronus morph into a memory. The only notable differences between the two that he saw were the shape of her patronus and the sincerity in his expression.

A/N: Surprise bonus chapter because chapters 1 & 3 are the shortest chapters of the rewrite and have the least of the changes so far :) I felt like posting something with some more obvious changes/updates to the content.

~See you Tuesday