Tom was engulfed by an overwhelming sense of confusion as he, Abraxas, and Flynn watched Hermione sprint all the way to an empty courtyard, crouch down behind a pillar, tuck her head against her knees, and tremble. He wasn't sure if it was anger or betrayal that catalyzed her tangible distress, but several moments later she sucked in a harsh breath that came out as a quiet sob.
"Why didn't you just hex him?" Tom muttered. "Weasley's nothing to you now, Dove. Why the tears?"
Flynn squinted over Tom's shoulder when his focus went back to the spell. "Is that frost?"
"Where? " Tom demanded.
But then they could see it clearly: A thin layer of white was crawling over the grass and stone around her, the changes too subtle, and her current bout of misery too potent, for her to take notice.
"No, no, no," Tom growled, reaching for one of his journals and a quill.
Ice continued to coat the courtyard, creating veins of white along the stone pathways and making blades of grass softly crackle and break.
Hermione shivered and looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy. Tom's pulse was thick in his ears as he watched her confusion turn to a muted sort of horror.
"We can't see it," Abraxas said. "It must be above her. She's too close to not be affected by its proximity."
"Where am I?" Tom hissed. His quill cracked between his fingers. "It snuck up on her. She isn't casting the charm. Where are we?!"
When Hermione made a feeble attempt to get away from the dementor that lingered somewhere above the confines of vigilio servo , someone out of sight in another direction called her surname. A fissure of relief went through Flynn and Abraxas, though Tom's rising fury still had them on edge.
A white panther leapt into the grass beside Hermione and hissed before it sprang upwards. The dementor's increased distance was signaled only by Hermione's change in poster—a tense, bedraggled sagging. Exhausted, but more alert.
A Slytherin boy, a fifth or sixth year at most, vaulted over one of the stone banisters and landed not far from Hermione.
"Oi, Granger! Come on!"
Hermione turned, her movements still slow and unsteady, but she was able to reach for the boy's outstretched hand. Tom heard him mutter a weightlessness charm before he roughly pulled her even farther from the threat.
"We've got to go. It'll bugger off once we're a bit farther away and wander back to its hoard," he told her, ushering her along as he re-cast his patronus to guard their backs.
Despite being back on her feet, Hermione was noticeably unsteady as the older boy dragged her along the corridor. Tom recognized their location as one of the many routes to a lesser-used stairwell that avoided the main staircase traffic if one was trying to get to or from the dungeons quickly. When they reached the stairs, the boy stopped her and crouched down on one knee.
"You're weak, Granger. This is faster. Climb on so I can get you to Severus."
She blinked at him for a beat longer than she would've normally, then frowned.
"Do I know you?" she asked.
"You do now," he countered. "Would you rather I paused for formalities and risk your soul being sucked out of your body by a creature literally born from darkness and anguish? Introductions might've been a tad frivolous at that point."
She acquiesced, stepping forward to wrap her arms around the boy's neck and shoulders. He hooked his hands under her legs and stood in the same fluid motion, then started to quickly make his way down the stairs.
"Don't fall asleep," the boy instructed. "Passing out after dementor exposure is common, but it makes the side effects worse."
"Al-right," she said slowly. "You're a prefect."
Tom was surprised she wasn't asking the boy a question, considering she seemed to not know him. And he hadn't noticed a prefect pin on the boy's robes.
"I am," he said. " Slytherin's fifth year prefect this year, at your service, Granger."
"And...you're helping me..." she continued.
The boy snorted. "I'll cut you some slack since you just got attacked by another dementor, even if it hadn't quite gotten close enough to start sucking face again—lucky for you, too; you'd be way worse off if it had. But you know as well as I do that you should be my housemate. Besides, prefects are supposed to help protect all students, not just the ones in their house."
"Oh," she said, as they reached the bottom landing and the boy began to navigate to where Tom knew the Slytherin Head's office was. "You're one of my knights."
The boy smirked and chuckled. "I won't be joining your ranks quite as thoroughly as my little cousin, but yes. I know who you are and my family is connected to your sponsor."
When they reached the door Tom found pleasantly absent of Slughorn's gaudy ornaments and decorations, the boy knocked twice.
"Thank you," Hermione said suddenly. "For helping me. I...didn't notice the threat in time."
"Don't mention it, Granger," he said. "Plus, if I hadn't, my grandfather would kill me. He's in competition with Malfoy's grandfather over who's the fondest of you."
"Who's-" she began to ask, but they were interrupted by the door opening.
"Come in, Mr. Avery."
Tom and Abraxas both glanced at Flynn, who blinked at the wall in disbelief. "He's not blond," he said. "Who let a brunette into the family!? Mother would have a conniption."
"Brought a friend of ours," the decidedly not-blond Avery announced as he walked into the room. "Dementor in one of the smaller southern courtyards. It got a bit too close for comfort."
The first thing Tom noticed was the disagreeable countenance of the man who perfectly fit Hermione's descriptions of her taciturn Potions instructor, Professor Snape. The wizard bore a rather unforgiving set to his brow, further marred by the frown overtaking his face when he processed the marginally alert but clearly unwell witch his prefect presented to him.
"He did want me to keep supplies on hand for students..." Snape murmured. Then, louder,"I'll inform the headmaster that they're wandering. Miss Granger, in an effort to deduce the exact detriment caused to your mental faculties, you are to answer a question."
There was another brief, just-too-long pause while she turned away from staring at the wall to face him and slowly bobbed her head.
"Yes, sir."
Snape stood unhurriedly, but his sweeping movements toward a cabinet in the back of the room did not completely disguise the anxious spark in his eyes. "Please list, in order, the ingredients to Polyjuice Potion, Miss Granger."
Hermione frowned. "...Fluxweed...Knotgrass...Lacewing flies...and Leaches...for the first bit."
Three potions floating behind him, Snape crossed the room and stopped in front of them. His expression was still pinched. "And the rest, Miss Granger?"
She squinted briefly, then said, "A horn of a bicorn...and boomslang skin. Then someone's hair."
"Well, it didn't break her brain," Avery quipped.
"I disagree entirely, Mr. Avery. Miss Granger is far from functioning at her usual capacity," said Snape. He instructed the boy to set her on her feet, which proved to be very unsteady, and helped her stay upright with one hand on her shoulder. " Nevermind that she followed my instructions to a T instead of over-answering the question by also informing me how to brew a potion I'm more than familiar with. How close did it get, Floren? Exactly ."
Avery shrugged. "It hadn't quite latched on, but it was doing that open-mouth inhale thing and the air around her was starting to swirl towards it. A few more seconds and she'd be much worse."
"She likely wasn't drawn in enough for it to pull up negative memories, then. How fortunate," Snape said. "…Now, Miss Granger, none of these potions are pleasant but you must take a few drops anyway, am I clear?"
Hermione quietly bobbed her head. Snape snapped his fingers, causing the corks and droppers from the potions he'd gathered to loosen.
"Two drops concentrated reviving draught," he murmured as he dribbled potion into her mouth. "Two drops concentrated basic invigoration draught, one drop each basic strength potion and wit-sharpening potion… surely that will do..."
Hermione accepted the droppers with no complaint, minus a few unhappy expressions, which earned her a nod of approval from her potions master.
"We will give those a few moments to take effect before we send you off, Miss Granger. Floren, if you would, help her to a seat."
Despite how little room there was in the office for her professor to walk, Tom was able to notice the billowing-robes effect Hermione mentioned in her description of the stern potions master. The man really did seem content to make himself look akin to a bat for some unknown reason. In what way could establishing such a heritage be useful to the Slytherin head?
"Well he seems cheerful," Abraxas muttered. "Slughorn can be annoying as piss, but Salazar help her with his successor."
Still, despite his abrasive manners, the cocktail of medicinals he administered to Hermione took effect somewhat quickly. A few minutes after Flynn's grandson helped her sit down, she shook her head with vigor and sucked in a breath.
" Blimey," she muttered. "That was dreadful…"
"Welcome back, Miss Granger," Snape said dryly. "Any lingering despair or unhappiness?"
Hermione shrugged. "I'm fourteen and taking more classes than my sponsor encouraged, sir, certainly some of it's my own."
Behind her, Avery stifled a chuckle. Her rightful head of house almost upturned the corners of his mouth into what could've been considered a smile. Amongst bats, perhaps.
"Very well. I would encourage you to return here if you notice any symptoms or discomfort. Even if you believe them to be a byproduct of other factors. The nastiest effects of dementors tend to hide and burrow within our daily frustrations."
"I'll be mindful, Professor."
Snape nodded once. "See to it that you are. Now, I believe you have an appointment on the seventh floor tonight?"
Hermione blinked in surprise, then nodded once—quickly. "Yes sir. I was planning to head that way before Ronald tried to pick a fight at lunch."
"You're aware of how to get back to the main staircases from here. No overexertion tonight, Miss Granger. And no hesitation if you begin to feel unwell."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you." She turned to Avery with a squint. "And thank you again. Floren, was it?"
Floren Avery grinned, belying his relation to Flynn with the expression alone, and inclined his head towards her. "Of course, Granger. Have fun meeting my grandfather."
Tom was pleased when she wrote to him about the dementor on her way upstairs. She saved him from having to choose between sneakily checking her over to avoid disclosing his new spell or revealing its existence to her. He was far from ashamed of his methods of keeping tabs on the future, but he was curious to learn how she behaved away from him—when she thought she was truly out of his sight. An interest he couldn't pursue if she knew he was performing the magical equivalent of looking over her shoulder.
When he learned how to fix her moods, or whenever he felt she needed to know about the spell, he'd tell her.
The potions in her system put a rarely seen pep in her step, reinforcing Tom's opinion of her recently subdued moods. She was almost as chipper and eager as she'd been as a second year after she realized how much he was willing to teach her. Almost. When she finally reached the seventh floor and joined them, he could still sense a lingering cloud of darkness around her. An echo of the dementor's presence, surely.
"Hullo," she said shyly, glancing briefly at the boys before steadfastly looking to Tom for direction.
He'd half expected her to introduce herself without waiting for him, given her mood. But he liked that she was letting him take the lead, even if it wasn't necessary.
"Hello, Dove," he said. He held out a hand and raised a brow. Boys or no boys, she needed her hug. Their presence was irrelevant to the ritualized affection, especially since it was performed entirely for her benefit.
Her cheeks were pink when she accepted his hand and let him pull her close. Her hair was down and expanded into a cloud of curls that she'd been pushing out of her face all day, reminding him that he had ribbons to charm as soon as possible.
"You're certain you feel alright?" he asked quietly. His cheek was resting above her ear and he disliked the feeling of the darkness radiating in her aura.
He felt her nod. "I'm okay."
He made a soft noise of disagreement as they pulled apart. "Combative practice will show us if you're truly back to rights or not."
"Professor Snape told me not to overdo it," she said. "But okay."
Tom snorted dryly. "One drill won't exert you. I just want to double-check your precision and power before I start planning other spells to teach you. Now come on. The idiots are eager to make your acquaintance."
The boys stood and Tom gave them a warning glare from his half step behind her.
"Nice to finally meet you," Flynn said with a smile. "Until recently we'd been wondering what was keeping so much of his attention since October."
Hermione's grin was shy and, they both thought, unexpectedly charming. "Sorry. I guess I did steal him, didn't I?"
"You can keep him if you'd like…" Abraxas retorted wryly. "It's a pleasure, Miss Granger."
Tom moved back to the couch to watch the three and was pleased when Hermione raised a brow.
"I don't think my time could handle Tom's attitude and your grandson's," she said. "Even if I'd probably be happier with Tom as a proper classmate...or less bored at any rate."
Tom hummed his quiet agreement, enjoying the thought of Hermione as a potions partner instead of the annoyances she was talking to. If only…
He could tell by Flynn's grin and Abraxas's smirk that they liked her in-person, too. She didn't cower because they were older or simper at them for their looks, like many of their peers did. Especially the younger ones. She held her own ground with the simple self-assuredness that, coupled with her magical power, initially secured Tom's interest as well.
He wondered if they could see the shine of brilliance in her eyes like he could. Or if they could taste the seemingly boundless magical capacity that lingered under her magical signature.
Probably not.
Tom let them chat a bit, just until her shoulders relaxed a touch, even if she was still far more tense than she had been with her friends. He waited until she reached the behavioral baseline he considered reserved for those she marked with familiarity. Well, his original consideration. Witnessing how she behaved with her companions earlier in the evening had disabused him of his original assumptions. Her polite self-restraint confused him given what he understood of her nature. She'd only just met Flynn's grandson, but in her brief conversation with the boy, she seemed just as comfortable as when she'd been studying with her friends. He couldn't figure out what about the Room of Requirement would cause her tension, unless of course she was simply afraid to displease him with her exuberance? That explanation didn't quite fit right in his mind, however. Like a puzzle piece that was technically the correct shape for where he wanted to place it except it didn't match the imagery of the surrounding pieces.
"Practice, Dove," he called gently, before he could think himself into a headache. "Let's get it done now, before your potions wear off."
He directed her to abandon her outer robes and roll up the sleeves of her sweater, on the unlikely off chance that her fiendfyre sparked or caught the material. Then he had the Room summon a training dummy for her to aim at.
"Ready?" he asked. "Try to focus on silent casting, but don't exert yourself with wandless. Tell me if you start to feel tired and we'll stop for tonight."
She nodded once, her brow furrowed in concentration, and Tom smiled. Aware of their audience, Tom started her off with first year spells. After the first five spells she could've cast in her sleep, she started throwing him confused glances.
"Humor me, Dove," he said softly. "Two more easy spells."
Her stunners were so potent he could feel the ripple of her magic in the air. Judging by the shudders and furrows of their brows, the boys felt it too.
"A patronus, if you would, Dove."
Her young basilisk, brilliant white and a subdued sort of playful, twisted through the air and around her person, making her laugh.
"Fiendfyre?" she guessed, excitement dancing in her eyes.
Tom chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Go ahead."
Her basilisk was still dancing when her fox took shape, blazing brightly. Tom thought he could even see hints of blue on the tips of its tail and ears. An extra shot of elation ran through him.
When she was older, stronger , would she be capable of casting a blue fiendfyre? He'd bet Malfoy's fortune that she would.
He glanced back at the boys, saw the shock on their faces, and started to laugh.
"Excellently done, Dove," he said. "Tired?"
"Only a little," she answered, returning his grin.
"Let's stop for now," he said. "We need to sort out your Divination conundrum before you head to bed anyway."
Her expression faltered. "You just had to remind me of that stupid class."
He patted her head as she passed him, jerking his hand away when she made to slap it and laughing again at her bravery.
"Oh, um," she faltered as she neared the couches. "Where…?"
Tom rounded his sofa and sat, noting that the boys were sharing the one she typically used. He moved a stack of his books to the coffee table and sent a silent levitating charm at her things.
"Assuming you don't want to sit with two gents you just met," Tom said dryly. "You can share with me tonight."
Tom noted that she clammed up for half a second before busying herself rifling through her bag and getting out her school things. That tiny hesitation bothered him, reminded him that she acted differently around other people she spent her time with than she did with him. Though not in a way he would consider a byproduct of them being on a higher tier than the rest of society.
He'd have to ponder it more later and use his new spell as often as possible. Collect more data. If he could find the root of her issue, he could fix it. And for that he'd call on empirical evidence. Though Tom doubted it was a problem he'd manage to conquer before his summer vacation.
Being marked as different was a boundary he'd learned to succeed within. But this new knowledge of her behavior difference wasn't something he reveled in. It made his stomach turn with unease and brought up the jagged edges of memories from other times he'd been marked as the odd one out. It reminded him of when he was small, when his magic was too wild to defend himself with on purpose, and older orphans paid him too much attention. It made long healed wounds itch under his skin, made once-broken bones ache, and faded scars burn.
He refused to let whatever unease brewed in her to manifest itself into their companionship. She had no business being associated with the darker memories in his mind. None whatsoever.
But then she set her bag on the floor and plopped onto the couch beside him with a huff. Despite charming her hair out of her face, pieces had broken free off her ponytail and she blew them out of her eyes as she opened her textbook with frustration. For a moment, her sitting with him felt as natural as her being on the other couch always had.
"Divination makes no sense," she proclaimed. " At all , but I want the Outstanding so here I am."
Tom scoffed and flicked his eyes at the boys, who were once again seated if not still shell-shocked. "She thinks I'll let her fail Divination . Dove, Flynn and I have already started working out how to help you without making it obvious."
She gave him the barest of smiles. "Thanks."
Tom rolled his eyes. "Slytherins take care of our own."
They started working on deciphering the basic messages behind her cards. Tom had her cast the spell she'd been taught, since she didn't know he'd already figured out it was different from the spell Professor Ashling had taught them in his third year.
After telling her the incantation for the spell he'd been taught in third year, Tom took note of the colors each card glowed with: the High Priestess was a soft purple, the Tower was golden yellow, and the Knight of Pentacles a deep, vibrant red.
It took every ounce of self control he owned not to start laughing. Of all the cards to show up as being affiliated with her love life, it had to be one of Professor Ashlings 'husband' cards. How hilariously ironic it was for Hermione to not only get such a card in her first tarot pull — as all of his female classmates had begged for back in third year — but also for her to wind up with a promise of love in her tarot during a week when everyone had been endlessly concerned with his personal life?
Tom could've choked on the thickness of the irony.
But to his surprise, neither Abraxas nor Flynn seemed to pick up on even a fraction of the humor in her cards. If anything, they looked concerned.
"Do neither of you find this as funny as I do?" he asked. "Do you not remember our first tarot lesson? And Professor Ashling's views on the court cards when they land in your love life?"
"What does it mean?" Hermione asked.
Flynn gave her something of a reassuring smile, though Tom was still confused as to why the boys seemed more worried than entertained. "Knight of Pentacles in a love reading can have just as many interpretations as any card," Flynn said gently. "However, our Divination professor believes that court cards appearing upright in a witch or wizard's love reading means their future spouse embodies the characteristics of the card shown. She also states that it typically means you've met the person who's right for you, or you will soon if you haven't."
Hermione's cheeks pinkened as she fixed a glare on Tom. "And of course you'd be laughing at me for it. Besides, this could all be rubbish anyway!"
"It could be," Abraxas agreed. "Still, maybe look up the qualities associated with the Knight of Pentacles later on, that way you'll know what to look out for, if you're interested in meeting your future husband, of course."
Hermione muttered frustrations and curses under her breath as she scribbled down notes for her essay. Tom sobered as he watched her steadfastly resume her work. He knew all too well how annoying getting pestered about your personal life could be when you had other priorities to worry about.
"You're going to have to lie, Dove," Tom told her. "By your standards, using this other spell is cheating. But you can just water down your interpretations accordingly so no one thinks you're suddenly a seer."
To his surprise and delight, she merely shrugged. "If Dumbledore is letting the course be taught improperly, I'd rather learn it how it was meant to be taught. I just need something to write these rubbish essays about."
Tom hummed his agreement, immensely pleased. "We'll make a proper Slytherin out of you yet, Dove."
She snickered for a moment. Then sobered with a soft smile. "Harry and I talked about switching houses today," she said. "We haven't decided anything for certain...but at the latest we'll go to our true house next year."
"The sooner the better," Tom muttered. "But I'm glad you're finally giving it due consideration, even if I think you should just abandon ship now."
"Pettigrew," she reminded him. "If Harry's really in danger this year, and me by association, then we don't want to bring that trouble with us."
Tom frowned at her. "Wouldn't you be the one in more danger than your friend? You're affiliated with me. I'm against Dumbledore. Didn't you say Pettigrew was secretly affiliated with Dumbledore's terrorist group?"
Hermione shrugged. "I don't think anyone is stupid enough to target me. You three seem to have more power than you let on, at least where the school is concerned."
Tom blinked at her, but her gaze stayed on the essay she was, presumably, bullshitting her way through. Surely by her time, Dumbledore would've learned to underestimate him less. Surely the target on her back as his sponsee was larger than that of a boy who had miraculously survived the assassination of his birth family.
But Tom didn't press to correct her. He pulled out one of his journals and wrote himself a note instead: Dove's 3rd year - Pettigrew likely targeting her instead of Potter. She thinks she's safe. Figure out what's actually going on.
A/N: Hi! So for those not following my social medias, I'm sorry this is later than planned lol. Chapter 50 and I have been fighting since before the last update, but I'm finally making forward progress again which is a relief.
Friendly reminder that I not only offer unhinged comedy on my socials, but I also occasionally post sneak peaks to other things I'm working on behind the scenes and once in a while I might even write a lil drabble that only really lives on my twitter. You never know.
at mulattokitten on twitter and at littlemulattokitten on tumblr, as always.
And hey! She finally met Abraxas and Flynn! Aaaannndd Flynn's Grandson... ;)
Also also, before I go. Even if you don't use or read on AO3, please make sure you guys go over there and check the tags once in a while okay? There's no way to really do content warnings over here or tag fics like I can on AO3. It's understood over there that I'm updating the tags as they become relevant, but with general archive warnings where needed, so everyone knows that there's going to be points in the story where it earns it's tags. That said, I'm saying this now because closer to chapter 50 we're going to start getting into parts of the story that touch on some darker and heavier themes. I'll do my best to label the beginnings of such chapters with general warnings when they're applicable.
Bye for now~ xoxoxo