1951
The next several days passed without significant event. Hermione had not ventured much outside her classroom or her rooms, deep in the dungeons, in the time since she had arrived. She supposed that Dumbledore would've liked to keep a closer eye on her but as a Slytherin and Potions Master, she was able to retreat to the cool and stony depths of the underground without little excuse.
She whiled away the time rereading copies of Numerology and Grammatica and Advanced Potionmaking. She had cleaned out the Hogwarts Library while she was a student – although beloved, there was little there of fascination now she had seen Malfoy's family library.
She had spent an undignified amount of time staring at the small black journal, preferring to keep it tucked into whatever book she was reading at the moment. It felt a little strange to leave it behind, so it was never far away. She had written in it yesterday as he had commanded, a small blotch of burgundy ink staining and disappearing into the parchment in her hesitation.
Everything is fine.
A few moments later a reply had surfaced, taciturn in its approval.
Good.
She'd thought about writing more but changed her mind at the last minute. It wasn't important.
Soon enough, it was September 1st, and the students had begun to arrive.
The Welcome Feast was a lively affair, students milling around and greeting students from other houses. Hermione sat staidly opposite the table emblazoned with green banners, a small silver snake pin at her breast.
She had been surprised when Professor Dumbledore had approached her this morning and asked her to become Head of Slytherin House. She knew Slughorn had been head, of course, but she'd assumed that another Professor would take over the position of responsibility. Tom's voice echoed in her head.
Maybe he even thinks he can collect you.
Did Dumbledore want her to influence the Slytherins? Keep them away from Tom Riddle? Questions buzzed around her heads like gnats. She fought to quieten them, to empty her mind.
She scanned the room, awash in glimmering candlelight. Soon the First Years would be here with Dumbledore. The sky of the enchanted ceiling was dark and clouded, the occasional drop of rain falling onto the students underneath. It felt like an omen.
Finally, the Headmaster and his students arrived. He wore robes of resplendent purple, a matching hat atop of his silver head. A crowd of thirty small eleven years olds crowded around the teachers' table. They looked worriedly at each other, unsure of what to expect.
"Good evening students." His voice reverberated across the worn flagstone. "Welcome back to Hogwarts. I trust your journey was pleasant. Before we commence with the Sorting of our new students, I must give you the term's notices. Firstly, that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to students who do not wish to die a very painful death."
A nervous titter went around the First Years, unsure if he was joking or not.
"Secondly, that Dark Magic is strictly prohibited at Hogwarts school. Any groups calling themselves the Knights of Walpurgis are henceforth to be disbanded." Hermione felt a cold rush of fear drip down her back. "Imitating Dark Wizards, whether seriously or not, is not tolerated at Hogwarts." Dumbledore looked astutely across his half-moon spectacles at the tables of students, his gaze particularly resting on her Slytherin table.
A rush of indignation cut through the fear at his assumption towards her students, before quickly being extinguished. She, Hermione, a Knight of Walpurgis and a Slytherin to boot, had no virtuous leg to stand on.
"And finally, we welcome our new staff to Hogwarts! First, Professor Granger, who will be taking over from Professor Slughorn as he retires as our new Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, and Mr Rossi, who will has replaced Madam Augery as Hogwarts Mediwizard."
Hermione barely heard the applause, eyes flickering once to the end of the table where Rossi sat. He caught her gaze, mousy hair spilling into his eyes and winked. She frowned at her silver goblet.
So, Tom's suspicions were indeed correct. Dumbledore was worried about his influence. She had not expected him to be so open about it. Her hands itched to open the diary hiding in her robe pocket and inform Tom.
What intrigued her more was this imitation, as Dumbledore had so pragmatically put it. Was Tom really recruiting at Hogwarts, or was this mere flattery and admiration from the students? To recruit mere children into the cause, her stomach roiled at the thought of it. Surely not. He was above that, above manipulating children for his own means.
She thought of his pale face, hidden behind dark curls. Pink bow lips. I love you.
He would. He indubitably would.
She flushed and silenced her mind at once. Occlumency shields or no, it was not good to think so loudly.
Once she was back in the safety of her windowless dormitory, only then did she feel safe to retrieve the diary from her back pocket. It felt strangely alive, almost like a living thing. She liked having it close to her, a dark mood overtaking her without it.
Hello.
Her quill scratched against the paper.
Darling. Came the languid reply. And then several seconds later, news?
Dumbledore has officially banned "The Knights of Walpurgis" from assembling at Hogwarts.
She wrote, her heart in her mouth.
Ah. I thought he might. Did he name me?
No, just "Dark Wizards."
She could imagine him tutting. A reply surfaced in glossy ink. Coward.
She stared at it for a long time. His handwriting was elegant, like him, smooth round letters stretching into a dignified flourish. It disappeared and a new message surfaced.
Hermione?
Her reply felt delicate, hesitant. Yes?
He took almost a full five minutes to respond. Hermione felt the weight of her tiredness from the day's activities surround her as she waited, swaddled in her moss-green duvet.
Be safe.
A strange feeling settled in her stomach. She rather got the impression that was not what he had originally intended on writing.
With this permeating her bones, she closed the book and settled back into bed. Classes would start tomorrow. She needed her rest, and a little less Tom Riddle.
Morning came, students filed two-by-two behind the others in the walk to the Great Hall, which was two floors directly above Hermione's classroom. She got lost twice. The staircases had gotten more hyperactive since she had been here as a student, and most of the portraits were unwilling to help at a glance at her Slytherin pin.
Long trestle tables held groups of students already. There was uniform, of course, but she noticed that most Slytherin students dressed in the same style – comfortable, but smart – loose cuts and fine fabrics. Almost all of the girls wore trousers, and she appreciated the androgyny of it all.
She sat at an empty seat, surprised when staff began to join her. She noticed with immediately concealed disgust that Rossi sat himself beside her. The table was laden with porridge, little ceramic bowls of brown sugar and molasses, buttered toast and tiny pots of marmalade, and huge samovars of breakfast tea. Simple, familiar, English fare.
"So, are we all really unappealing, or are you just a glutton for punishment?" Said Oscar, his voice wry. He sat beside her once more, and Hermione could just about make out his laundry-grass scent underneath the delicious smell of breakfast.
This in mind, she replied primly. "I don't know what you mean."
"This is the first time we've seen you at the breakfast table, we though you might've been eaten by the Giant Squid." Oscar practically beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
A black-haired woman laughed shortly at this and, not knowing how to respond, Hermione gave her an awkward smile across the table. Up close, Hermione could demarcate the number of freckles splashing across her nose and forehead. They made a dark contrast with her lily-white skin, as did the black velvet dress she wore. A long silver pendant rested in the center of her ribcage. Her eyes were grey, the colour of swirling storms across the horizon.
Hermione blinked. She had zoned out again, the girl had her hand reached across the table.
"May Twycross, Herbology." She said politely, her accent clearly Edinburgh Scottish. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Hermione took it, the first hand she had shaken today – and most likely not the last, she thought mournfully to herself.
"Hermione Granger." She replied, her tongue a loose dead weight in her mouth. "Also, Potions. Obviously." She gave an anxious laugh.
"This is my brother, Jasper." She said, pointing out the boy to her left. He was as tall as she was, but broader. They looked similar, but not identical. Though still blonde, Jasper had a short military-style haircut, and the beginnings of a stubbly moustache above his top lip. He grunted in greeting.
"Twins?" Hermione asked, regretting it immediately when Jasper rolled his eyes. May gave him a sharp elbow.
"No, Jasper is a year older than me, he's thirty-three." May smiled sweetly. It didn't quite reach her eyes. "But we get that a lot. Jasper teaches Care of Magical Creatures."
Oscar introduced himself next to the group, though he and Hermione were already acquainted. He had a relaxed, easy manner, and his accent was upper-class English, like hers. He had the air of someone who knew they were the most privileged in the room and was used to it.
Finally, it was the turn of the boy to the left of Hermione. Like she had initially diagnosed when he had sat beside her, he was short and slender – most likely only an inch above Hermione's own 5 feet outright. From this distance, Hermione could see the bobbling of his sweater vest, and pressmarks of his slacks. Despite his shy exterior, he spoke in a high, clear voice. He had the subtle Cornish liltings of a man raised in the south of England.
"My name's Ramesh Kumar. I'm twenty-nine, I teach Arithmancy."
At that they passed around their respective ages. Ramesh and Hermione were the youngest at the only ones in their twenties – Oscar was thirty-one, May thirty-two, and as she had mentioned earlier, Jasper was the oldest at thirty-three. He looked neither miffed nor reproached at this and continued chewing on his buttered toast.
"Curious, isn't it?" said May.
"What's curious?" Oscar replied, half-digested toast in his mouth.
"Well, I always thought Hogwarts Professors were quite old." Mary said, spreading marmalade onto hers. "We seem to be quite young in comparison. Jasper and I have only been here for two years."
"Move with the modern times, May." Said Jasper. "Young people are all the rage."
Hermione noticed with some dismay that there were no flagons of coffee nearby – only tea. Oscar had just finished pouring the group a portion each into little rose-patterned teacups.
"Milk or sugar, Miss Granger?" He said, a little mockingly, looking the very picture of an unfortunate butler or serving man.
Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't really like tea."
Oscar gave a mock-scandalised noise. "Blasphemy! What do you drink then?"
"Why, coffee of course." She sniffed. "It's the only acceptable beverage in the mornings." She admitted internally that she had rather gotten used to Riddle and Malfoy's luxurious tastes. They were never without at Malfoy Manor.
Oscar's scandalised noises increased, and Hermione resisted a frown of her own.
"Oh, you'll have to arrive a lot earlier than us if you want coffee – it's a scarce resource, and final-year students often commandeer the supply as soon as they get in." Said Mary, gesturing with her head towards a cluster of older-looking students. Sure enough, they had acquired a number of silvery flasks on their table.
Hermione suppressed a most undignified groan of annoyance. Her addiction was not intolerable, but it was certain to make her life a lot harder without it. Perhaps she should owl Malfoy. She rolled her eyes internally. Of course, she could not owl Malfoy, lest she risk discovery from Professor Dumbledore. Annoyance built and crumbled in her gut.
She grew distracted by the two boys on either side of her. Ramesh was spooning porridge into her bowl – Oscar sprinkling brown sugar into it.
"What in Salazar's name are you doing?" She said, feeling rather boxed in by the two of them.
"You look like the kind of person who doesn't feed themselves properly." Said Ramesh sweetly.
"We're just looking out for you." Added Oscar, as equally saccharine.
Hermione spluttered at the double-team. "And why would you do that? I don't even know either of you."
"Well, we're all such good friends who enjoy helping each other out." Oscar said wryly, a grin warming the corners of his mouth. "Relax, Professor."
"Well, I think that's quite enough." She said, a little cowed at their over-friendliness, prying her bowl of cooling porridge out of the hands of Oscar – who had poured small mountains of brown sugar and sultanas on top of the oats.
"Yes, I think so, class is just about to start." May said smoothly, rising from her chair. "I'll be off to the greenhouses. See you at dinner, all." Jasper and then Ramesh followed her, muttering about lesson plans and the like.
"So, what house were you placed in?" Hermione said, trying to fill the potent silence that had suddenly captured their bubble. She admitted to herself that she was curious, and Tom had told her to watch him.
"Hufflepuff." Oscar replied, his mouth curling a little. "I rather thought I'd be put in Gryffindor, though."
Hermione said nothing, a small smile playing at her lips. She gathered her things, breakfast untouched on the table. So, he was a foreigner. That was interesting.
"So, I'll see you at lunch?" He called across the hall. Several students turned their heads at the noise, curious. She cringed. He was so indecorous.
The bell rang, a chiming gong through the rabble. And so the school year began.
