December 1942
The ticking of the ancient clock in Rodolphus' study was the only sound echoing through the dimly lit room. Watching the intricately carved clock hands move forward once again, Hermione bit her lips.
She peered over to the woman sitting next to Rabastan, dark circles under her eyes prominent on her pale complexion. It was the first time Hermione had seen Rabastan's wife without her hair styled to perfection. Loreen looked surprisingly young without her usual updos, and Hermione realised that her cousin's mother was still only twenty-six years old.
She'd lived a sheltered life - happy with caring for her children and looking after the house for the rest of her days. Watching her adolescent niece take on two grown wizards, nearly dying in the process and then having to clean the bloodstains from her carpets was probably not what she'd imagined after marrying Rabastan.
Eventually becoming fed up with the uncomfortable silence, her uncle cleared his throat. "We can explain, love."
His wife shot him an icy glare, and he reached for her hands.
"Don't." Forcefully pulling away from her husband, Loreen's eyes wandered over the two other occupants of the room.
"I want the truth, Rabastan. We could've died yesterday!" Loreen dapped away the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks with a silken handkerchief.
Swallowing down the uncomfortable lump forming in her throat, Hermione averted her gaze and shifted closer to Rodolphus, who hadn't left her side since the previous night.
"I'm so sorry, love. If I'd known, we wouldn't have left." It was a hollow excuse.
Hermione could practically see Loreen's blood pressure rising at her husband's sorry attempt to console the woman.
"But you did. You did leave and don't think for a second I'll ever forgive you for endangering our son's life."
"You have every right to be angry with me. I promise to never let this happen again."
Hermione and her father watched the exchange between the couple silently, content with pretending not to be in the room.
"I want an explanation. From all of you."
Pulling on some invisible strings on her sleeves, Hermione waited for any of the two men to speak up. Rabastan turned to look at his older brother, who regarded him with a look of betrayal, but as the head of the family, she guessed it was his job to resolve this situation.
Scrunching his forehead, the older man wiped his brows and sat straighter. "We didn't move back here for the good food and nice scenery. Our home was ravaged by war. We were caught up right in the centre of the fighting just before we"- he paused for a second. "Left."
Hermione had to give it to him. He sounded genuine even to her ears.
"What about the rest of your family? They didn't even attend the wedding; I remember my mother telling me about that unwanted Lestrange girl she went to school with." Loreen might have been sheltered, but she wasn't stupid. Something that became increasingly clear to not only Hermione.
"You're talking about Leta Lestrange. I didn't know her. She died before Hermione was born."
Hermione's breath hitched. She didn't know much about the Lestranges in this time. The two brothers had gone to great lengths to conceal their true origins. The thought that there were, in fact, other members of their family still very much alive was daunting.
"There aren't many of us left. The few still alive are either supporting Grindelwald's cause or left the country as we did."
It wasn't much of a surprise to Hermione that the Lestranges seemed to have a thing for following power-hungry tyrants, and she figured that this was one of the main reasons for Ross's and Bagshot's visit last night.
"So that's why you never introduced me to anyone," Loreen whispered.
"I should've been more honest with you from the start, my love," Rabastan spoke, but Loreen just narrowed her eyes at him.
"You killed two men last night. Hermione didn't even hesitate to draw her wand. This- this isn't right!" Massaging her temples, the agitated woman leaned back into her seat.
"She was defending herself. Would you rather have us do nothing in the future?" Rodolphus asked with a raised voice.
"Brother!" Rabastan cut in.
"What? It's the truth."
"Defending yourself and killing a person are two completely different things." Loreen hissed, and Hermione felt her father tense up next to her.
"Why didn't you call the Aurors? Why did the house-elves vanish the bodies?" The questions shot like bullets from her trembling lips.
Hermione's stomach churned at the woman's accusing words. She hadn't killed in cold blood as the two Lestrange brothers had, but she'd had her fair share of deadly encounters.
As her father had stated already. What else was she supposed to do? Just like back during the war, someone had to step up if they wanted to live to see another day.
"Your son is safe, and the threat is gone. What more is there to think about?" Rodolphus remarked, with narrowed eyes.
Hermione figured that, in his mind, their actions were justified and Loreen's admittedly human reaction to the deaths of two people was something he couldn't relate to anymore. That happens if you spend half your life locked up in Azkaban and the other following orders of a madman.
Rodolphus regarded Loreen with a hard stare, but it seemed she wasn't ready to let this go just yet. "Rabastan, why aren't you saying anything? Do you agree with your brother?"
Feeling the atmosphere shift, Rabastan grimaced. "This matter is much more complicated than a simple yes or no answer, love."
"Oh, I think the question of murdering people is right or wrong should be pretty easy to answer, dear." Loreen snapped, fed up with Rabastan's unambiguous stance.
"You'd understand if you knew what we've been through!" No longer able to maintain his calm, Rabastan sprang up from his seat next to his wife, looking torn between telling her everything and running away.
"Enough. I've no interest in watching your quarrelling. Loreen, it's not your place to question Rabastan's actions. He protected you and your son, show a little respect."
Sensing that this could turn ugly very quickly, Hermione grabbed Rodolphus' hand.
"Rod- father, I'm still exhausted. Will you help me get back to my room?" Exploiting his unusual need to stay close to her, she watched, satisfied, as the man instantly shifted his focus back to his oh-so-frail daughter.
Her heart fluttered at his gentle hands on her own, as he helped her stand. She couldn't ascertain if it was due to the novelty of his tenderness or disbelief. Hermione could've easily stood up on her own by now. Her wound didn't even sting anymore. But something buried deep inside her, craved for the once unwanted care of her new father. Not that she'd ever let him know.
"This discussion is over. Rabastan, you can take care of the rest."
Squeezing his outstretched hand, Hermione let Rodolphus guide her towards the door.
"How can you just leave? I deserve a proper answer." Loreen called after them.
"Love, don't." Rabastan interrupted, but his wife continued.
"What kind of father allows his daughter to commit such heinous acts?"
Faltering in her steps, Hermione felt her heart skip a beat at the woman's words.
"You've ruined this child, will you two do the same to Edwin?"
Ruined? Thinking of her cousin's innocent smile, Hermione felt guilt washing over her. Was Edwin doomed to follow in his father's footsteps?
Rodolphus' grip on her hand tightened uncomfortably. "It's not my concern how Rabastan decides to raise his children." He had stayed remarkably calm during this entire ordeal.
"Enough, Loreen." This time it was her uncle chastising the seething woman.
The air turned frigid. It seemed even his devotion to Loreen had its limits. In this case, his brother. Hermione could understand where he was coming from. Spending thirteen years in prison together and being the last heirs of their once-great family forged an unbreakable bond.
The rapid decline of nearly every great wizarding family during the twentieth century had always fascinated Hermione. It felt surreal to live in a time when more Blacks than Weasleys were running around Hogwarts. Laughing and talking with people like Avery and Evan, whose family names were nothing but footnotes in the Ancestry Registry in her time. So much lost potential just because of two madmen hellbent on shaping the wizarding world after their twisted ideologies.
"Don't you dare. You have no right to criticise me over this."
His hand moved swiftly.
Time seemed to slow down, and before anyone could react, Loreen had already drawn her wand. "Impedimenta!" Her spell hit Rabastan just as his hand was about to connect with her face.
Speechless, Hermione watched the scene unfold in front of her.
"The audacity. To raise your hands against your wife. How dare you?"
The husband in question stood frozen as Loreen stepped away from the man, her wand casually disappearing up her sleeve again.
The room went quiet. Never in her life would Hermione have thought that this conversation would end with pretty Loreen immobilising her husband. She had the element of surprise on her side, none of the people in the room believed her capable of such a feat, but she was still dumbstruck.
While Hermione was still busy wrapping her head around what just happened, Rodolphus was already a step ahead of her and drew his wand.
"Leave him be. The spell will wear off in no time." Loreen glared at her father, daring him to free his brother. A heartbeat passed, and to her surprise, Rodolphus lowered his wand. "He shouldn't have underestimated you."
Loreen threw one last glare at her husband. "No, he really shouldn't have. I might not be as skilled as any of you three, but I'm for sure not a pushover."
She is amazing.
"This isn't over. I think Edwin and I will spend the weekend at my mother's." Wrapping her billowing robes tightly around her body, Loreen strode out of the room, the doors closing with a loud bang behind her.
"That was the most badass thing I've ever seen," Hermione muttered, still staring at the shut doors.
After a few seconds of silence, she heard Rabastan draw a deep breath and turned to see him slowly regain control over his body.
"Well, brother seems like you got yourself a proper Lestrange wife after all." Rodolphus drawled, his face seemingly torn between a scowl and a sarcastic grin.
"Oh, shut up, Rod."
"Aren't you going after her?" The older brother asked, earning himself a nasty glare.
"And start a blood feud between the Mulcibers and Lestranges? I think not. Her mother is a proper pain in the arse." Making his way towards the end of the room, the younger brother poured himself a glass of fire whiskey. "Once she's cooled off, I'll get her." Sucking in a breath at the burning liquid pouring down his throat, Rabastan wiped his forehead.
"Shouldn't have tried to assault her." Hermione quipped.
"-Definitely not," Rodolphus added.
"Oh, shut up, brat."
Her father pushed Hermione behind him, "Rabastan!"
"Forgive me. My wife just left me and took my son with her." The alcohol clearly already getting to him, Rabastan fell into the armchair next to the small bar.
"Morgana's tits quit being so dramatic. It takes two to start a fight."
Rolling his eyes at his younger brother's antics, Rodolphus carefully steered Hermione towards the doors.
"She had no right to talk to you like that, so next time maybe just use your wand instead of your fists."
"Not helping, brother!" Rabastan yelled after them while Hermione just shook her head.
"Can't we just all agree that striking witches is actually never okay and not repeat this in the future?"
Rodolphus let out a heavy sigh. "Hermione. We've had enough discussions about this."
Hermione scrunched up her face. "And I will stand by my point."
"That you undoubtedly will." Rodolphus regarded her with a, dare she say, fond smile. "Bella also would've cursed my brother to the nether realms and back if he had raised his wand at her."
The pair walked up the stairs to Hermione's bedroom, "Not everyone is like your late wife, Rodolphus." Turning around another corner, Hermione looked up at her father.
"You know - the older you get, the more I see her in you."
Hermione shuddered at the thought.
"I wonder if there was a Black squib somewhere down the line in your family. The similarities are uncanny."
"Merlin forbid, I don't want to have anything in common with Bellatrix Lestrange."
Finally arriving at her door, Rodolphus turned towards her. His eyes wandered over her burgundy robes before resting on her haphazardly arranged updo, her curls threatening to spill from her many bobby pins.
"It's the hair. Definitely the hair." Chuckling, he ruffled the disgruntled girl's locks, taking delight in watching the curls finally spill from the numerous enchantments that elf of hers always put on her head in the morning.
"Oh, come on!" Swatting his prying hands away from her face, Hermione tried to salvage her hairdo.
"Do you know how long it takes to get them to stay in place every day? Might as well just cut them if everyone always has their hands in them." Laughing at Rodolphus' shocked expression, Hermione stepped into her room.
"Don't you dare. It took five years to get them to an acceptable length for a proper witch." The man looked genuinely panicked, causing Hermione to giggle even louder.
"Then stop touching them!"
"All right, all right. No more ruining my precious daughter's hair, got it."
Satisfied, Hermione nodded.
Turning around to retire to his own rooms, Hermione quickly called after him. "Thanks again – for saving me yesterday."
The man faltered in his steps. "Anything for you."
"-Goodnight, father." She managed to choke out before hastily closing her doors.
"Goodnight, Hermione," Rodolphus whispered, unheard by the other house occupants...
February 1943
"Hermione, wait!"
Said girl turned around just in time to see her friend jogging towards her.
"What is it, Evan? I need to finish my assignment." Waiting for the boy to catch up to her, she continued her way down the corridor.
"We haven't seen each other in ages. Can't I be excited to see you?"
Before she could protest, the older boy had already snatched the books she was carrying from under her arms and slung his other free arm around her shoulders. Merlin, this boy is getting worse with age.
"I could've carried those myself, you know?"
"I do, but this always gives me the perfect excuse to walk you to class." Giving her shoulders a tight squeeze, the boy rewarded her with his most dashing smile.
Her breath hitched, and Hermione had to stop herself from blushing like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl. Those dimples are going to be the death of me.
Utterly aware of his effect on her, Evan had made it his life's mission to make Hermione uncomfortable. She couldn't deny that it'd felt nice to have someone constantly shower her with compliments, especially if it came from the admittedly most attractive boy in Slytherin. Well, technically, that title belonged to Tom, but his megalomaniac tendencies did put a damper on his overall person for her.
She understood how Tom had gotten accepted by even the most bigoted purebloods, his honeyed words and aptitude for magic attracting the noblest of houses like moths drawn to a flame.
"Would you do me the honour of being my date for this month's trip to Hogsmeade?"
"Absolutely not."
Not letting her rejection get to him, the boy let go of her, instead positioning himself in front of her, his back facing the chattering crowd around them. "Of course! Why settle for a date when you could be my girlfriend."
Rolling her eyes at the boy's dramatic antics, Hermione grabbed his arm just in time to keep him from bumping into another group of students.
"Watch where you're going, for Merlin's sake."
Keeping his eyes firmly glued on her, Evan sneakily moved his arm to grab her hand. Stubborn git.
"Oy Rosier, stop harassing your little girlfriend and at least try to act like you've got some ba"- Before Avery could finish his crude mockings, Abraxas hit the boy over the head with his Herbology Book.
"Nice one, Brax!" Evan cheered, dancing around Hermione, her hand still firmly in his, towards his friends. The sixth-year Slytherins made room for the two, and together, they made their way towards the library.
"Watching you two is worse than reading my sister's creepy romance novels." Avery scowled, disdain clearly written over his sharp face.
Hermione finally managed to wriggle her hand out from Evan's surprisingly firm grip.
"Believe me. I'd be forever grateful to you if you got him off my back." Pointing at the blond Slytherin still carrying her books, Hermione pursed her lips. "And while you're at it, teach him about this thing called personal space, would you?"
Laughing at the crestfallen look on Evan's handsome face, the rest of the boys pulled the other Slytherin backwards, clapping his back and tussling his perfectly coifed curls, much to Hermione's glee.
"Don't get all gloomy over this, Rosier. There is plenty of fish in the sea," Avery spoke, earning himself a rather nasty glare from the Rosier heir.
"Why settle for some random bird when you can have the most talented, beautiful witch in the school instead?"
"Merlin, give me whatever potion he's been drinking since his second year." Avery howled, clearly finding the idea of anyone fancying Hermione hilarious.
"You're just jealous that I'll get to marry a Lestrange while you'll end up with one of your Parkinson cousins."
Spluttering, Hermione nearly stumbled over her feet at his bold claim. "How did we go from first date to marriage in one conversation?"
Once again, Evan took her hand in his. "Give me a chance, Hermione. I'll serenade you every night and shower you with the most precious jewels."
The sad thing was that Hermione didn't think he was entirely joking.
"One date. That's it. After that, you'll leave me alone if I ask you to." Feeling like she'd just signed her soul over to the devil, she watched Evan's smile return in full force.
"Yes! Of course. Anything you say." He was practically bouncing, "you'll have me eventually."
"Urgh," Cringing, Hermione subtly pulled away from the beaming boy.
"Great, now we must listen to his gibbering every night until next Sunday." Avery glared at the embarrassed girl but was cut short by Abraxas.
"Oh, leave him be. He's been trying to get her to agree to a date for years."
"Pathetic." Pulling at the strap of his backpack, the older boy brushed past the rest of the group.
"Owl me when you two are finished with each other." Watching after Avery's retreating form, Hermione suddenly spotted Riddle in the crowd, and before her rational mind could stop her, she waved her hand.
"Tom! Over here." Internally asking herself if she was going crazy, she observed Riddle straightening his shoulders before turning towards her group.
"Riddle. Next week's meeting is still on, I presume?" Abraxas asked when they reached the other boy.
"Of course. Don't forget to bring your wand this time, Malfoy."
Remembering the evening the young Malfoy had lost his wand on the way to the meeting still made Hermione smile. Tom's incredulous face after he had told him that the scion of one of the noblest wizarding houses couldn't find his wand was just comedic gold.
"Hermione. I see Rosier finally got his wish?"
Since their agreement to put the Basilisk to sleep, Tom had been surprisingly civil towards everyone.
"If with that you mean me indulging his delusion that I might fall for him someday, then yes."
Their weekly meetings had undergone quite a transformation during the past months. With most of the founding members entering their fifth and sixth year, conversations had shifted from just discussing schoolwork and practising magic to political debates as well as their plans for after Hogwarts.
"I see," Tom answered, clearly not interested in continuing this conversation.
"Just a reminder that I'm still here. Hermione, you should be grateful that I still chose you after all the mean things you do to me all the time." Pushing himself between Riddle and herself, Evan regarded her with a mischievous grin.
"Feel free to move on. I'll get over the loss eventually." Merlin he's sixteen already. One year younger than me during the final battle. How did this all happen so fast?
"Oy! That was harsh." Evan sulked, but Hermione was long immune to his kicked-puppy look.
Despite his courteous behaviour towards herself, Hermione still remembered the nasty boy from before. Sometimes the old Evan still resurfaced, especially when hanging out with the rest of the Knights. He enjoyed taunting Muggleborns a little too much and cared a little too little for anything outside of their tightly knit circle.
"I'm sure you'll get over it."
Finally, the library came into view, and the group entered. "I have to look for some scrolls. I'll join you guys in a second."
While the boys headed towards their usual study corner, Hermione pulled out the short list she'd written in the morning. Let's see. They should be just down this aisle.
"Hermione?" Looking up from her crumpled paper, the girl in question turned around.
"Oh, hey, Minny...can I help you?" Even though they were still dormmates, they hadn't spoken with each other for a while.
"No, not really." Seemingly unsure how to proceed, Minerva looked down at her hands. "I"-
"We"- Stopping mid-word, the two witches waited for the other one to finish first.
"Sorry, I just wanted..." Hermione felt horribly awkward.
"Damn it, I feel awful. I'm so sorry. I know I don't deserve it, but I miss you so much."
Hermione's breath hitched.
"I've been acting so stupid, and then it felt like it was too late to make amends and"-
"Minny." Hermione interrupted the rambling girl. "It's all right. I forgive you." Feeling as if a significant weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Hermione opened her arms. Pulling the other girl closer, Minerva stifled a small sob, her slim hands fiercely curling into Hermione's dark robes.
"I'm so sorry. I should've listened to you in the first place."
Resting her head on Minerva's shoulder, Hermione nodded. "You really should've."
Her friend's muffled chuckle made Hermione feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Swallowing the tight knot forming in her throat, she remained still for a few more seconds before stepping out of their embrace.
"All good?" Minerva pulled Hermione's hands in her own.
"All good." The two of them smiled at each other.
"I still have to get those scrolls"- Unsure how to proceed, Hermione held up her list.
"Oh- yes, of course." Minny stuttered.
"Yes. Well, see you at dinner?" Hermione fiddled with the crumpled paper in her hands. She was happy, Minerva had come to her senses. She was.
"Yes, yes, of course. See you tonight." With that, her fellow Gryffindor hastily picked up the bag she'd dropped during their embrace and stepped around Hermione towards the exit.
"All right. See you there!" Hermione sniffed, her chest tightening at the sight of Minny's retreating back. "This is good," she muttered. "I'm happy to have her back." Convincing herself was harder than she'd expected...
April 1943
"You want me to believe that your aunt, dainty Loreen Mulciber, really hexed your uncle and then left him?"
"I'm telling you. It was amazing." Hermione looked towards Minerva and Charlus, the two still looking, seemingly unconvinced by her story.
The trio enjoyed the first days of spring outside the castle, sitting on the grassy hills near the great lake.
"Nah, I'm just not seeing it." Charlus continued,
"Come on. You've met her what – twice? How would you know what she can and cannot do?" Hermione argued while grabbing another sandwich from the tray the elves had prepared for them.
"I think she's telling the truth. I once read that the witches on the continent are much more temperamental." Minerva added,
"The Mulcibers are from Kent Minny." Charlus deadpanned as he, too, helped himself to another sandwich.
"The Lestranges aren't, though. And she married into the family."
"That doesn't even make sense."
Hermione watched her two bickering friends for a while, realising that this was the perfect opportunity to introduce the two to some modern values. She'd read a lot about American and European witches, having come to the depressing conclusion that they were much more liberated than their British counterparts. She blamed it on their ridiculous, antiquated class system that seems to transcend muggle and wizarding cultures.
"I'd prefer the term liberated, Minny. Witches are much more liberated elsewhere." Interrupting her two companions, Hermione folded her hands in her lap. "For example, the Americans had two female Ministers of Magic since the twenties."
"The Americans also banned marriages between muggles and wizards. Not very progressive at all if you ask me." Rolling her eyes at Charlus' comment, Hermione continued.
"These are two completely separate issues. I was talking about how bad witches' rights in this country are." Her words seemed to have struck a chord with Minerva.
"It's infuriating. Mother once told me that in the old families, it's even worse."
"Now you're just exaggerating. Hermione just told us that her aunt is staying with her family again. This would've been unheard of during our parents' time." Earning himself a nasty glare from Minerva, Charlus shrugged her off.
"I don't see what your problem is, Minny. You're just as entitled to vote for our Ministry officials as I am."
Minerva scoffed, "yes, but I wouldn't be allowed to run for any office myself."
"You could still work in the Ministry?" It didn't seem like Charlus was getting her point.
"It's not the same. You see, father might've named me primary heir, but the Ministry is still fighting his claim. They revoked the bill that got me those seats the second it was announced."
Rodolphus had informed her of the Ministry's actions over the Christmas holidays. He'd been angry beyond words after receiving the letter from the Wizengamot declaring Hermione's claim void with the birth of her cousin after abolishing the obscure law he was basing her own on. He and Rabastan had a few heated discussions over the matter, but in the end, Rodolphus promised her to fight the Ministry's order.
"Oh yes, I read all about it in the Prophet a while ago. Rumours are that your cousin will receive your previous title as heir." Charlus began, "I mean, if we're talking about fairness, it technically was unfair for you to take your cousin's titles in the first place."
"I'm the oldest and the only child of the current head of the house. Technically that gives me the most legitimate claim, doesn't it?"
Charlus only hesitated for a second, "We've talked about this before. I see your point, but I still think it's not okay that a wizard would also have to give up his rights in exchange."
"So, if you and Dorea only have daughters in the future, you'd be okay with them having no rights to your Potter fortunes and titles? You'd be willing to hand those over to some distant wizard cousin instead of your children?" Hermione asked, satisfied with the torn look on her friend's face.
"I"- Biting his lips, Charlus attempted to find the right words. "Honestly? You're right. I wouldn't. I've never really thought about this until now."
Now you're getting it. Hermione thought to herself.
"Merlin, this isn't right. I'd leave them with nothing."
Judging by his paling complexion, it seemed like he was taking the future of his imaginary daughters quite seriously all of a sudden.
"Do you see what we mean now? You will inherit a seat as well. You could change things for the better in the future." Hermione observed the boy. She wasn't sure how far she could take it with her Slytherin friends regarding this issue, but they weren't the only influential people she knew. Tom might agree with her, but this didn't mean they'd all follow through and surrender their precious monopoly on power to their wives, daughters and other witches.
"I really didn't want to go into politics, but now... I don't know Hermione. I'll definitely not stay silent on this, though."
Minerva and Hermione exchanged a small smile, happy that their friend agreed that things had to change at some point. It made her proud to belong to the generation that would change wizarding laws for the better. To be a driving force behind the movement of the sixties and seventies that gave witches the rights she'd taken for granted in the future...
June 1943
"Ancient Runes again?" Nearly knocking over her inkpot, Hermione muttered a small curse.
O.W.L.s were fast approaching, and despite this being her second attempt already, Hermione had spent the past weeks locked up in the library, determined to do even better than the first time.
"Tom, how often do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me!"
The tall Slytherin dared to quirk an eyebrow at her accusing glare.
"Your inability to notice me is not my fault, Hermione." Sitting down on the chair across from her, Tom pulled out his own coursework,
"Very funny. Could I take a look at your notes on this? My answer seems inconclusive." Pointing at his own Ancient Runes workbook, Hermione regarded him with a pleading look.
The curriculum for this subject varied vastly from her original one, making one of her favourite schools of magic that much more challenging for the young witch.
"If you show me your History of Magic texts."
The two readily exchanged notes before silently returning to their studies. The hours ticked by, and once the last student had left, Hermione closed her books.
"Already done? My, I wish I was that confident in my abilities."
After many hours of no talking, Riddle's deep voice cut like a knife through the comfortable silence. Scoffing at his petty teasing, Hermione continued to pack her things, determined to ignore the boy.
"But then, you're taking two O.W.L.s less than me, so your workload must be little to nothing."
That's it.
"Divination and Muggle Studies are not subjects worth pursuing. I'd rather spend my energy on useful topics."
Tom looked up from his texts. The dark shadows under his eyes nearly matched her own. Seeing the boy in such a comparatively dishevelled state felt strangely comforting.
"Careful, the bigoted upbringing you despise so much is shining through, Lestrange."
Hermione gasped at his accusation, "this has nothing to do with my upbringing. I don't see why I should bother learning about Muggle culture." Seeing as I grew up with it. Was left unspoken, and suddenly she realised how unfortunately worded her argument truly had been.
"No- I mean"-
Tom interrupted her ramblings, "Oh, I know exactly what you mean. Why bother studying the people who threaten our very existence? Absolutely pointless."
"Come on, you know that's not what I'm thinking."
"On the contrary, that's exactly what you're thinking, Hermione. Otherwise, why'd you still be friends with people like Malfoy and Rosier?"
Unable to think of a reasonable argument, Hermione closed her mouth again.
"If it makes you happy to continue this illusion of grandeur, be my guest, but someday this whole saviour of the Muggle-borns won't work anymore."
Clutching her books closer to her chest, Hermione was rendered speechless by Riddle's twisted words. How does he always manage to make me look like the most horrible person?
"Why do you always have to see the worst in people? Just because I believe some school subjects are less important than others doesn't make me a bad person. Just because I like to spend time with Abraxas and Evan doesn't make me a pure-blood supremacist."
Putting one hand on her hip, Hermione watched Tom calmly put his things back into his bag. Without sparing her so much as a glance, the boy walked past her, his shoulder gently brushing against hers.
"I wonder if you actually hear yourself talk. Tell me, why did you choose to join my Knights?" Coming to a halt a few feet behind her, Riddle waited for her answer.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione thought she could smell the faint remnants of the cologne he must've put on in the morning. "I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"
She heard him shuffle closer, his hands suddenly grabbing Hermione by her upper arms. "Didn't you?" His voice was much too close. "Then regard this as my offer to leave. No strings attached, just stop coming to the meetings."
Drawing in a sharp breath, Hermione turned around. Finding herself nearly pressed into his firm chest, she lifted her chin to look him in the eyes. "What are you doing right now, Tom?"
He was acting more than a little strange. His hands wandered down her arms. They found her own cold ones, causing her to tense up instantly.
"You desperately tell yourself you're different from them," he began. "Rosier, Malfoy, but deep down, you know they're right. You surround yourself with charity cases, taking some sick kind of pleasure from playing the benevolent muggle advocate."
Hermione felt her legs grow weak as Tom leaned down, his face mere inches away from her face. "But when the day turns to night, you drop the act, gallivanting around with the upper echelons of pure-blood society, Watching them terrorise Muggles and Muggle-borns from the sidelines." His eyes had taken on a feverish glint.
Hermione tried to pull away from him, but his grip only tightened.
"Let go of me."
But the boy just licked his lips, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on the back of her hands.
"We're both liars, Hermione Lestrange. And that's why you'll not leave me. I'm the only one who can keep up with your games."
His hands were suddenly in her hair. Pulling her closer, his lips ghosted over her cheek, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. "Don't worry. This will be our little secret. You'll be a great asset to me in the future."
Before she could comprehend what Tom had just said, he let go of her and swiftly made his way towards the library's exit. "See you later, Lestrange."
Hermione staggered a few steps back, her shoulders painfully colliding with one of the tall bookshelves behind her. Wincing at the sudden pain running down her spine, she sank towards the floor. What the hell?
Feeling the panic rising in her chest, she curled into herself, her knees pressed against her chest and her chin resting between her crossed arms. He's mad. Entirely and utterly unhinged. She'd thought that the boy had changed. It was so hard to differentiate between his perfectly crafted mask and whatever the real Tom was. He'd seemed so reasonable the past few months that she'd nearly forgotten that Voldemort had never been anything close to normal. He'd been a complete sociopath who manipulated people and only cared for his goals.
Hermione might be able to steer him away from his most manic tendencies, but this didn't mean that he was suddenly a functioning human being. He only saw the world from his perspective and judged people accordingly. He saw Hermione the way he did because, in his mind, that was how people functioned.
It doesn't matter what I tell him. Tom Riddle would always think he was in the right, so no matter how twisted his opinion on people might be, he'd never change it even if they told him so. He was always right, so if he thought Hermione was playing the same mind games as he did with people, that was it.
"Why must he be so difficult?" She whispered, contemplating how to use Tom's opinion of herself to her advantage. Would he agree to her proposals in the future more easily because he thought she was just as wicked as he probably presumed most of his future death eaters to be? Would he indulge her because, in his mind, every one of them was just as screwed up as himself?
This was getting far too complicated. Why can't he be a functioning human being? How do you handle someone like him properly? Hermione closed her eyes, the thought that she'd have to help this boy become the next Minister of Magic making her feel faint. Why can't anything ever be straightforward with Tom Riddle?
