After the school tours, the prefects had what would be the first of their monthly meetings. It took place in what was unofficially dubbed the Prefect Lounge. The furniture was mismatched but comfortable and there was a table with tea and snacks. Hermione was glad that she skipped her workout to serve her detention, especially since she had no idea how long this would go on for. She sat on the same couch as Hannah and Padma.
Shaylyn Ramsey sat next to another girl in the loveseat meant for Head Students.
"Thank you all for coming to the meeting today," said Shaylyn Ramsey. "We won't keep you here too long, I know you all want to get on with your weekend. I trust you all have your prefect bags? Lists with recommended items to keep in them? Walkie-talkies?"
Once that was confirmed, she moved on.
"You might notice that there are two Head Girls this year," she continued. "This is Kelsi Dalton."
Kelsi was tiny and wore a Breton style hat that Hermione desperately wanted for herself.
"Hi," she said. "Ravenclaw. And, go ahead and call me Head Boy. That's what my badge says."
"What? They couldn't find any boys for the job?" a fifth year boy called up.
"Apparently none of the boys in our year had what it took," said Shaylyn. "If any of you seventh years wanted this position, maybe you shouldn't have lorded your power over others so much."
A good number of them had the sense to look ashamed. Hermione didn't want to know and therefore did not ask for clarification. She did know the reason, but she wouldn't think about it.
"Moving on," said Shaylyn. "I know a few of you weren't expecting to be prefects, but considering the number of students pulled from school, we'll make do. If you have any questions, feel free to talk to us. Now, things are really scary right now, so… does anyone have any suggestions for how to distract the population?"
Hermione raised a hand.
"Yes, Nia?"
"I'm starting a Multicultural Club," she said. "If I'm not running it by myself, then we can have it twice a week."
"Nobody wants to join S.A.M.B. Granger," said Zacharias Smith.
"This isn't S.A.M.B. it's a Multicultural Club," she retorted. "Meaning we set aside time every week to learn about a culture outside of this little section of the world. It's a little lecture and then a fun activity. Making a new type of food, learning a new dance, arts and crafts. Something fun. Basis for hobbies. I think we should also look forward to a school dance."
"Yes, that was talked about last year," said Shaylyn. "Nothing came of it, but I'd like us to go for it this year. Perhaps before finals?"
"I think that would be good," said Kelsi. "Sixth Years don't have O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s so we'll put them in charge of the committee. Anyone outside of the prefects who wants to help will be able to."
"Parvati and Lavender will be all over that," said Padma.
"I like your club idea, Nia," said Shaylyn.
"Great. I'm putting up posters after the meeting today. There should already be a notice in the Hogwarts Gazette. For now, club meetings are on Tuesdays. Is it alright if I just have study hall monitoring for those days?"
"Sure. And for everyone else, if there is a problem with your schedule, we can rearrange some things."
"I think that's all we have to cover," said Kelsi. "The rules and their loopholes are in your packs and I think we should really focus on keeping everyone distracted. There's nothing we can do about what's going on out there, but we shouldn't be making ourselves sick with worry."
Hermione had a plan for a good distraction. The biggest distraction any teen would ever face. But first she had to make sure it worked out.
"No patrols tonight," said Shaylyn. "Teachers have it covered. Enjoy your weekend, we'll meet again at the end of the month."
"Oh, also, for academic based detentions, they're having mandatory study hall," said Kelsi. "So, you smarties out there will be assigned to help people with homework."
Hermione was sure she'd be signed up for those.
"Okay. Dismissed," said Shaylyn.
"Alright ladies," said Hermione, patting Hannah and Padma on the shoulders. "Come on down to my dorm, we're gonna have a spa day."
"Sounds fun," said Hannah.
The three of them went down to Hermione's dorm where Daphne was reading on her bed. They tried on clothes from Hermione's closet, mixing and matching for the hell of it. They did face masks and painted their nails and after dinner, they gathered again to see if they could get one of the VHS tapes Hermione brought along to work the same way the video recordings did.
"What if we ruin it?" asked Hannah.
"Eh, it's season one of Star Trek: the Next Generation," said Hermione. "I don't care if they get ruined. Second season onward is when it gets good."
They ended up writing a series of runes on painters tape and then slapping it onto the VHS, trying to get it to work. After half an hour, they got it right. Even keeping it on the tape worked just fine. No static on the mirror or anything.
"Space, the final frontier, these are the voyages of the starship: Enterprise."
Hermione smiled and rather than watch, she laid back on her bed with her feet propped up against the wall and traced the patterns in the ceiling. Someone had done a mosaic on it. She could picture her. A young Slytherin girl with red hair. Shy. Reserved. Talented. She collected seashells, sea glass, and pretty stones. Even things that had no value, she loved them because they were pretty. There had been a leak in the ceiling and when it had been fixed, the wizard had left behind a plaster-like surface. Smooth, dull, and ugly against the rest of the stone of the room. So she spent every weekend that year putting chips of her shells, stones, and sea glass into beautiful patterns so that she and her dearest friends could gaze at it. The girl had intended stars, but one saw flowers. Another only feelings. Every girl who had laid in this room saw something different. Those with the ability heard the mosaic. Tasted it. Loved it. Stone. Sea glass. Stone. Shell. Stone. Sea Glass. A bit had her blood on it. She hadn't even known what cut her.
Hermione stared at a yellow swoop made of sea glass, amber, and aventurine. It started to move and pulse the longer she stared at it until it seemed to stretch towards her like a formless hand until everything else faded away. The individual shapes blurred and darkened to a soft brown, green curling in around it until they took form. A country lane, tangled hedgerows, and a quintessential blue sky brilliant and cloudless. Hermione admired it, though she fanned herself. She didn't feel like herself. She looked down at herself. It seemed she was a short, plump man. Her coke-bottle glasses were heavy and threatened to slide off from the sweat that had been conjured by the warm day. Her frock coat was wool. Meant for winter and not a warm day like this, and her spats pinched her fat feet. The only relief to the heat was the striped bathing costume. She'd seen them in old pictures.
In a moment, she knew the name. Ogden. Gryffindor. Upstanding student. Trouble with homework. Pureblood, and thought wizards and muggles were best kept separate as much as possible, though he certainly didn't approve of causing them harm. They weren't inferior, just different.
Hermione, as Ogden, set off at a brisk walk down the lane. Somehow, despite her appearance, she still felt a ghost of herself. The weight of her splints on her hands and Slytherin's Locket in her hair. She glanced briefly at a wooden post that stood at a fork in the road, the left reading: Great Hangleton, 5 miles, the right saying: Little Hangleton, 1 mile.
Ogden had continued along the hedgerow lined lane. He didn't want to be on this errand and normally it wouldn't be necessary, but this particular family proved difficult to deal with and, well, his job sometimes required him doing the jobs no one else was prepared to do. The path curved and the hedgerows stopped, revealing a view of the entire valley, nestled between two steep hills, the only buildings of note was the church on the edge with the graveyard in neat rows beside it. Overlooking the village was a handsome manor house wasting precious farming space with a fresh lawn only decorated with paths and patches of foliage.
In order to avoid tripping, Ogden trotted down the steep slope. He was able to slow as the path curved to the right into another row of hedges. He'd been given very clear instructions. This space was not as kept at the main road. Here the path was more mud than dirt, the grass patchy and barely grown due to the higher and wilder hedgerows blocking most of the sunlight in an effort to join together. Nobody had even bothered to remove the stones, making the walk down the steady slope a bit more difficult and Ogden had been more likely to fall over being so front heavy. The trees here had seemed to stop being allowed water or nutrients. They were twisted and almost dead, throttled with parasitic vines, and growths until they opened up.
Ogden stopped and drew his wand, bracing himself. It could have almost been dusk for how dark and dreary this place felt. It almost seemed on purpose as if the inhabitants of this resident didn't want anyone to know they were there. The place barely looked kept at all with its mossy walls and half-there roof. The grimy windows were touched by huge bunches of stinging nettles. He was wondering if he had been given the wrong address and had simply stumbled across a disused gardener's house when one of the grimy windows was flung open, rattling against the wall. Had there not been so much moss, it would have surely shattered on impact. Smoke exited from the window, and unless a fire was having trouble finding a space to spread, somebody was cooking.
Steeling his nerves, Ogden cautiously moved towards it. Pausing once again to stare at a poor snake that had been nailed to the door. He briefly wondered if it had been alive when the action had taken place, but then told himself it had already been dead and stuck to that conclusion.
Before he could take another step, there had been a rustle and a crack, and a ragged man dropped from a tree in front of him, causing him to leap back onto his coat tails and stumble.
"You're not welcome."
The locket in Hermione's hair buzzed with the translation, but she could scarcely hear it over the hissing that Ogden had heard. Or perhaps the two of them had been distracted by the state of this man. He looked wild, like he had been left on a deserted island with nothing but a football for company. Or perhaps this man was what many geneticists had speculated as the Missing Link might look like. His limbs were slightly too long, as were his fingers. He had summer teeth and the ones left looked as if they were growing mold. His small, dark eyes looked in opposite directions, yet still carried a murderous and malicious glint in them. He was frightening to behold, and had she had any control over this man's limbs, Hermione would have blasted him clear onto the other side of the valley and run in the opposite direction.
Instead, she spoke in Ogden's voice, the words appearing, but certainly not the ones she would have said.
"Er— good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic—"
"You're not welcome," the man repeated.
"Er— I'm sorry— I don't understand you," said Ogden nervously.
Surely his knowledge would have been her knowledge. If she could hear and understand what was being said, why couldn't he? Or perhaps this dream was not as lucid as she thought it was.
The wild man advanced on Ogden, a dull, rusting knife in one hand and a wand in the other.
"Now look—" Ogden began, not seeing what Hermione did.
She was unable to protect them and had felt a blinding pain explode in her nose like the time Cedric made her laugh so hard she snorted milk. She clutched it with Ogden's hands to stifle, though in vain, a nasty yellow goo.
"Morfin!"
An elderly man burst out of the cottage, nearly knocking the door off its hinges. He was similar to Morfin, though a bit shorter and slightly more oddly proportioned with a bloated chest that indicated some underlying condition and a swayed back that gave him a very odd gait. His eyes could focus just fine and Ogden and Hermione looked up from their place on the ground while Morfin cackled with laughter at the sight. The older man looked less than amused. Odgen took the moment to stop the hex before he could be hit with another one.
"Ministry, is it?" said the older man.
"Correct!" Ogden replied angrily, dabbing his face with the tail of his coat, no doubt smearing a bit of dirt on his cheek, though it was more welcome than the pus. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"
Gaunt? As in Marvolo Gaunt? Hermione remembered the name from the book on heritage she had read her second year, just before she had been petrified. He had been a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. She was sure if he had known what would become of his descendants, he wouldn't have pushed Purebloodedness so much. She tuned back into the conversation as Marvolo hissed to Morfin.
"Get in the house. Don't argue."
Ogden's confusion at the hissing overpowered her own thoughts. Though the matter at hand would not be ignored and he, Ogden, wouldn't be chased away. Morfin shambled into the house, slamming the door behind himself, the poor snake swinging pathetically. For a family who claimed to love snakes, they sure treated them badly. Márcia would be horrified to see a snake just left to rot like that.
"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, mopping the last of the pus from his coat. "That was Morfin, wasn't it?"
"Ar, that was Morfin," said Marvolo indifferently. He turned aggressive. "Are you pure-blood?"
He was, but blood was hardly the most pressing thing at the moment, wasn't it? Did this man not care that his son was in trouble?
"That's neither here nor there," Ogden said coldly.
Marvolo peered into his face and muttered, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village."
Both Ogden and Hermione knew exactly what he had meant by that, but decided to make it about the hex Morfin had just used.
"I don't doubt it, if your son's been let loose on them. Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"
"Inside?" Marvolo repeated.
"Yes, Mr. Gaunt. I've already told you. I'm here about Morfin. We sent an owl—"
"I've no use for owls," said Marvolo dismissively. "I don't open letters."
"Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," Ogden replied snippily, already wishing this were done with. "I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning—"
"All right, all right, all right," bellowed Gaunt. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"
They made their way into the shack, entering right into the combination kitchen and living room. There was a crumbling fireplace, which was releasing thick smoke into the room from the fire that had been lit despite the warm day. Morfin sat beside it uncaring and crooning a threatening little song to the adder twisting around his fingers. The poor thing was too frightened to leave lest it follow the one that swung from the door. It took a lot to frighten a snake.
A scuffling noise drew Ogden's attention towards the open window. Donned in clothes that made her melt into the dirty stone wall was an unfortunate looking girl. Her round, plain face was washed and her lanky hair was combed, but her crossed eyes held such defeat that Ogden's heart twisted in sympathy for her. She said nothing and quickly turned back to the steaming pot she was stirring on the grimy iron stove. He had to wonder if the pots at her eye level had been left so burnt and tarnished so she wouldn't have to look at herself. Hermione thought they just didn't have enough clean water to properly scrub anything.
"M'daughter, Merope," said Marvolo in a tone that implied he wouldn't have introduced her at all if she hadn't been noticed.
"Good morning," said Ogden politely.
She did not answer, merely casting a frightened look at her father before turning back to her work. Or perhaps she was pretending to be busy so she wouldn't be disturbed.
"Well, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, "to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night."
A deafening clang rang out as Merope had dropped one of the pots. Thankfully, it hadn't been the one containing dinner or Hermione was sure there'd be an arrest for homicide as well.
"Pick it up!" Marvolo bellowed at her. "That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle, what's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"
Well, if she had been at Hogwarts then she certainly would have thought to. Hermione was absolutely certain that Marvolo was the last one to have even seen Hogwarts and even then she got the sense he hadn't stayed long.
"Mr. Gaunt, please!" said Ogden in a shocked voice as Merope flushed scarlet and lost her grip on the pot once more.
She drew her wand shakily from her pocket and muttered a hasty spell that caused the pot to skitter across the floor away from her and crack in two against the opposite wall.
Morfin laughed derisively while Marvolo screamed, "Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it!"
Ogden couldn't stand anymore of the abuse and mended the pot for her. This caused Marvolo to turn to him in rage but, thankfully, he thought the better of it and turned to jeer at his daughter. "Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs…"
Even Ogden wasn't so kind. Hermione would have whisked her away to the Girls' Home in a heartbeat, but Ogden preferred not to get involved in something he regarded as a family matter. Merope said nothing, merely returning to her corner and shrinking down as if the earth would swallow her up. Ogden wondered if this was all a ruse to make him forget his purpose here.
"Mr. Gaunt," he began again, "as I've said: the reason for my visit—"
"I heard you the first time!" snapped Marvolo. "And so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him— what about it, then?"
"Morfin has broken Wizarding law," said Ogden sternly.
"MOrfIn hAS BRoKEn WiZARdinG LaW," Marvolo mocked, making Morfin cackle. "He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson, that's illegal now, is it?"
"Yes," said Ogden matter-of-factly. "I'm afraid it is."
He pulled a scroll of parchment from the inside pocket of his frock coat and unrolled it to look at the official sentence written in green ink. Hermione couldn't really focus on it. It had all gone blurry as if it were merely there for show.
"What's that, then, his sentence?" said Marvolo, growing angry once more.
"It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing—"
"Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?"
Daft.
"I'm the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," said Ogden. Oh, he was really wishing he hadn't offered to take this one.
"And you think we're scum, do you?" screamed Marvolo, advancing on Ogden to stick a dirty yellow-nailed finger into his chest. "Scum who'll come running when the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know who you're talking to you filthy Mudblood, do you?"
"I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, bracing himself for a fight.
"That's right!" roared Marvolo and held up his disgusting hand to show off the ring adorning his middle finger. Unfortunately it was the only finger that didn't seem to have some sort of growth in order for the ring to fit. The band must have been gold at one point and the black stone had something carved into it. Hermione desperately wished she could grab his hand to stop it from waving. Not only because it smelled bad but so she could see the coat of arms better. "See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"
"I've really no idea," said Ogden and Hermione finally got a good look as it passed their nose. "It's quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt. Your son has committed—"
With a howl of rage, Marvolo ran toward his daughter as if to attack her. Instead, he dragged her toward Ogden (and Hermione) by a gold chain around her neck.
"See this?" he bellowed, shaking the locket while Merope gasped for breath.
It was the exact same locket Hermione wore in her hair. Now she wished she had gotten it professionally cleaned before wearing it around so much.
"I see it, I see it!" said Ogden hastily.
The dream went on. The only thing else of note was the passing of a Muggle by the name of Tom and Morfin revealing that Merope was sweet on him, which is probably what led him to cast magic on the poor man. This led to Marvolo attacking Merope and Ogden finally getting involved.
Hermione as Ogden was chased from the house. Her heart pounded as they ran up the road, the spats on their feet almost coming loose. They collided with a glossy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired man.
Hermione jolted awake, still hearing his and the girl's laughter in her ears. Daphne was bent over her looking concerned.
"Are you okay, Nia?" she asked. "I thought you were just thinking but when I really looked at you…"
"I'm fine," she said. "I think I fell asleep."
"Padma and Hannah went ahead and left so we wouldn't disturb you. We figured we could finish the show another time."
She sat up, feeling dizzy and her legs buzzed as the blood rushed back into them. She grabbed the fresh diary she had bought and wrote out her dream as much as she could remember. She paid special attention to drawing the ring. She wasn't the best artist, but it was a decent likeness. Beside it, she drew the coat of arms. A triangle with a circle inside and a line splitting it in half.
"Daphne, any idea what this mark means?" she asked, pointing to it.
Her friend looked at it and furrowed her brow.
"Mm… I feel like I've seen it before, but I couldn't tell you where. Why?"
"It just feels important."
"Having prophetic visions?"
"I dunno. What's the opposite of a prophetic vision?" she asked. "When you see what has already happened?"
Daphne shrugged. "You seem kinda pale. You sure you're feeling okay?"
"I mean, no, but I don't feel like I need to go to the hospital wing if that's what you mean." She looked at the clock. "I have a prefect round. I'd better get on that."
"Alright."
Hermione got up and pulled her sweatshirt and trainers on before going out. She wasn't serving with Draco again, but with Cho Chang of all people.
"Have you always been a prefect?" Hermione asked. "I feel like I should have known that."
"No. I was assigned when Miranda was pulled from school," said Cho. "She's staying with family in America now. It was either me or Marietta."
Hermione hummed. "Char—" She blinked and shook her head. "I'm sorry— Cho. I almost called you Charmian. Don't know where that came from."
Cho stopped dead and looked at her in wonder. "Cedric told you."
"Told me what?"
"No, he couldn't have. He didn't know." Cho gave her a suspicious look. "But how did you know?"
"What, is your name actually Charmian?" Hermione's laughter trailed off. "You're putting me on."
"No! I've always hated my name! Hagrid sneezed when my name was called and so I let everyone think my first name was Cho."
"Oh. Huh."
"Seriously, can you imagine growing up with the name Charmian Cho Chang? My family's last name was botched when my parents immigrated to Scotland and then they had to saddle me with that." She sighed. "My parents wanted me to have an English sounding name, but they referenced Shakespeare. Antony and Cleopatra."
"Well, Hermione is from A Winter's Tale," she replied. "But… yeah… kids are cruel, I can see how being saddled with that name would be hard. I like the name Charmian, though."
"You do?"
"Yeah. It's classy. Charming. You could go by Charm. A Witch Called Charm would make an interesting book title. But, of course, it's your name, you can go by whatever you like. Even change your name entirely."
"Like you?"
"Well… mine is a complex matter. My identity as Hermione is tied directly to when I first met Cedric."
"And now that he's… gone away, you don't want the reminder."
"Exactly. Besides, Herminia is a perfectly good name and I want people to use it for me. For loophole purposes. Hermione can't get away with wearing a purple suit to class, but Herminia can."
Cho laughed and looked pensive. "I dunno… I don't even like being called Cho much anyway, I just preferred it to Charmian. Char is cool…" She looked at Hermione. "You can call me Char. I can see if I prefer it. See if it'll take."
Hermione nodded and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Char."
Char smiled and accepted her handshake.
"Nia."
Hermione turned around.
"Hello, Harry. How was your lesson with Dumbledore?"
He hesitated and looked at Char.
"Er… I'll just go on ahead," she said, hurrying along.
"Okay, what did you learn?"