Part V

Nyx was pensive... Or worried, if the abuse her somewhat unfortunate teeth were delivering to her lower lip was anything to go by. Tom waited in silence. She'd talk without his prompting if he let her stew long enough.

"People are acting funny this year," she said a few moments later. He noted that she'd stayed hidden behind the massive tome she was pouring over.

"And this concerns you, how?" he asked, dotting an 'i' on his essay with unnecessary care. It was nearly finished, thankfully. Professor Merrythought was giving them some ridiculously pointless Defense theory assignments this term. He'd grown bored of them by the time Nyx had come around.

"Funny towards me," she clarified.

Tom suppressed a sigh, choosing to remain silent until she got on with whatever point she was hesitating to make.

"You don't think they know I wasn't sorted correctly, do you?" she muttered.

He blew on his parchment to help an unintentionally heavy spot of ink dry. "Ravenclaws treating you oddly?" he baited. "They're clever, but I wouldn't give them that much credit, Dove."

A glance to his left showed him that Nyx was suddenly very interested in the same paragraph she'd been staring at since she first spoke up.

"Or…" he said slowly, "are you trying to tell me that another house has taken notice that perhaps you don't belong where you are? Because if that's the case, then I'm quite impressed with school children of the future. Their predecessors' idiocy must not have been bosom-fed to them after all."

Tom pretended not to notice her uncomfortable shift beside him.

"I suppose," she said. If misery hadn't been dripping from the words, the cloud of it set around her shoulders would've given her away.

Tom was annoyed at himself for being so concerned with one thirteen year old. Surely she knew that, as a muggleborn, she wouldn't have lasted one night where she belonged.

"They'd have eaten you alive," he said as he cast a proper drying spell over his essay and cast another spell to warm his sealing wax.

"The Ravenclaws?" she asked.

He finished sealing his essay without a word, staring at her until she hid behind her book again.

"So this…Snape person," he said. "Awfully disagreeable sort of fellow, especially last year. But this year he treats you better and it's an issue?"

Nyx frowned at him and she unsuccessfully pushed a mass of curls out of her face. He resisted the urge to grab his wand, certain she'd get righteous and offended if he spelled her hair into submission for her. Eventually he'd have her complacent enough, taught well enough, that her hair would always be tamed by the will of one of their wands. It'd probably look nicer if nothing else.

She shrugged her shoulders. "He ignores me for the most part and still treats my housemates like flobberworm spawn," she explained. "But I'm no different than I was last year. He's just suddenly stopped being as nasty."

"I'm not following."

She huffed in frustration. "Nevermind."

"Certainly there must be more to it that I'm not understanding," he added conversationally, watching poorly concealed panic flicker through her irises.

He wanted to roll his eyes at her. Did she really think he didn't know?

Out of curiosity, he cast a silent legilimens. Her sorting would be on her mind, he was certain, making the memory easy to find. Surely she'd been a hatstall.

"Difficult…Very Difficult. Such a well-organized mind, powerful too…yes…and determined to excel in whatever crosses your path…"

"Not really," she said quickly. Tom had nearly forgotten that he'd baited her again. Her little lie would have passed by anyone else; her sorting was something she'd lied about often enough to pull off naturally. "I suppose I'm over thinking it," she said, but the excuse was weak.

"…brave, yes, and loyal too…but so driven…Salazar himself would be impressed..."

Please, don't put me in Slytherin…Please. I'm muggleborn.

"You don't really believe that," Tom said.

"You would change everything they know…they would come to make you their own…"

Not Slytherin. Anywhere but Slytherin, please.

"Yes I do."

"You're hardly aligned to be in any of the other houses, my dear…"

Please…

"Then I suppose it ought to be...GRYFFINDOR!"

His lips curled into a smirk as he withdrew from her mind. Hiding her in Gryffindor because she was brave enough to willingly to face the strain of being genuinely missorted over a much more serious threat. It was a form of bravery, he supposed. She'd picked the smarter battle and she knew that. She'd picked the route that protected herself. It seemed the old rag had trouble telling the difference between nerve and self preservation.

"No you don't, Dove."

"Only Dumbledore would hide a valuable stone in a school full of children," Tom snapped when Nyx had finished telling him about the adventure she and her friends had faced during their first year. "What was the fool trying to accomplish?"

Nyx —Hermione, he tried to remind himself — shrugged.

"Apparently he was rejected by some political group and was trying to prove his worth?" she told him. "'The Order of' something. They're a very private association, according to the article the Prophet ran after Quirrell was arrested. Forward thinkers. Ran by powerful people. They've started a bunch of philanthropic campaigns over the years."

Tom filed the name away for future use. He intended to live a very long life, meaning there was absolutely no reason he wouldn't survive until her time. And eventually their timelines would overlap. In the future he would have a soldier within Hogwarts' walls. A snake pretending to be a raven wearing a lion's skin.

"I'd like to go into politics," he said, "become Minister of Magic, maybe."

Her nose wrinkled. "I'd like to make a difference, I think, and do something important, but I doubt I'd like playing tedious political games with people."

"You could be an unorthodox society wife," he teased, picturing the image – an older version of her with tamed hair, a dangerous smile, and a lack of respect for social conformity.

In fifty years he'd find her again. In fifty years he'd help her marry some acceptably high standing schmuck who found her to be so precious and clever that she had the freedom do whatever suited her fancy. Someone with enough backbone and smarts to keep up with her, but not enough to try and change where Tom saw her fitting into his plans.

"I certainly won't be conforming to such primeval, patriarchal nonsense," she muttered. "I'll build success however I please, thanks."

Tom chuckled. "Ravenclaw."

Her lips twitched into a hesitant smile.

A/N: :3 Happy Tuesday!