Friday came around. How does one 'dress sharp'? Hermione didn't know.
Well, to begin with, her hair needed to be tamed. That much was clear.
She stared into the mirror. The girl looking back at her was not very confident, her brown eyes full of doubt. Her hair was an unattractive mess of frizzy curls, she'd seen hags with better hair in textbooks. Her chin was pointy. She had a slight combative air, maybe due to the slight stubborn tilt to her jaw, which she had just noticed. What was the word people always used? 'Abrasive'.
"House-elves deserve to be able to choose how they should live their lives. Any sentient, intelligent creature should be allowed that much. And yet, they're bound to their masters to work without pay, without even so much as a thank you. They're clearly slaves! It's inhumane, it's cruel and I can't believe no one else sees this."
"I don't want to argue anymore, you're being abrasive."
She sighed. It was no use straightening her hair. That would take too long. Pursing her lips for a minute, she remembered a spell. After a few attempts, her hair became shinier and the curls became looser, bouncier.
The spell would wear off in six hours, but it was enough.
Right, that was hair out of the way. She guessed that the Hogwarts uniform would not count as part of the dress code. Although, it shouldn't really be that out of place, should it?
However, Hermione did not have any dresses. Her trunk was full of Muggle clothes. Jeans, t-shirts, a few hand-knitted jumpers and cardigans. And she had two pairs of shoes: her trainers and her school shoes. It's practical, at least, she thought.
She looked at the time. Seven thirty.
As she stood staring at herself in the mirror, Amelia Goode entered the dorm room.
"Oh! You should do that more often. It looks lovely." Amelia gestured to her hair.
Hermione thanked her but reminded her that it took too much time.
"What will you wear?"
"Erm… I don't know yet," she replied honestly.
"Do you want to borrow something of mine?"
It turned out Amelia had quite a few pretty dresses. "My step-mother is a seamstress in Diagon Alley. She sends dresses to me whenever she feels like it. I think she wants me to be more fashionable than I am."
In the end, she settled on a pale pink chiffon dress. The layers of chiffon almost seemed like the petals of a rose that began at her chest and undulated down her body. Her shoulders were bared, exposing a light smattering of tiny freckles.
Now, for shoes. She bit her lip, looking at her trainers, until suddenly she smacked herself in the head. "Am I witch or not, honestly!" Picking up her wand, she transformed her trainers into a pair of ballet flats.
"No heels?" Amelia asked, after gushing about the dress and her transfiguration skills.
Hermione hesitated. "I just know that I will take them off during the evening. It's inevitable."
Amelia laughed. "Hermione… you can put cushioning charms on the heels." She laughed even more as Hermione looked sheepish.
"You're absolutely right. Well. I guess, I can't argue any further. Even though I detest heels …"
"Here, let me give it a go," Amelia said. She took her own wand and transfigured the flats into a pair of silver heels. "There, try them."
They were, Hermione admitted, perfect. They fit perfectly and were very comfortable.
It was almost eight o'clock. Thanking Amelia, Hermione rushed down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. She could see people turning around in surprise (Hermione Granger, in a dress, going to a party? Unheard of!) but she hurried past; she was going to be late.
Hermione arrived fashionably late and took a moment to catch her breath before walking in. Slughorn had transformed his office into a small parlour. Green velvet hangings covered the stone walls and a small gold chandelier sparkled at the centre of an impossibly high ceiling. Slughorn's tastes were always … ornate. Food and refreshments were on the left, on little oriental tea tables. The parlour was decorated with souvenirs from various places around the world. A portrait from Verona. A Japanese silk screen. A Burmese gong. A pair of singing bowls from Tibet. There were quite a few curious artefacts in glass cabinets too, some were also clearly Dark.
Most of the students there were sixth and seventh year boys. They were all in almost identical black dress robes, hair neatly combed. She looked around, a little uncomfortable suddenly in her chiffon and her silver shoes (she lamented the fact that she had listened to Amelia). Over in one corner was a small crowd centred around a tall man with closely cropped black hair that looked vaguely familiar. Slughorn was shaking the man's hand vigorously. The Assistant Minister of Magic was talking to his daughter and a few other pupils. A noticeably smaller crowd but one couldn't expect a politician to keep up with a Quidditch star. What's his name, Hermione struggled to remember. Krum. Something Krum.
The evening progressed as Slughorn found Hermione after the speeches were made, introducing her to the other attendees. He found Riddle, who was surrounded by a group of seventh year Slytherins, pulling him out also to meet the Assistant Minister of Magic. Riddle appeared as polished as ever, his dark hair neat, his expression polite and courteous. When he saw Hermione, he didn't say anything at all. Not even a word of greeting. Hermione chose to ignore him and preferred to focus on the exquisite canapes instead. She allowed the others to ingratiate themselves with the Assistant Minister, whilst she conversed with the plate of vol-au-vents.
"If you weren't interested, perhaps you shouldn't have come." Riddle eyed the fourth vol-au-vent that was on its way to her mouth.
Hermione groaned. "You don't understand, Riddle. The vol-au-vents are so good." She shoved the plate towards him. "Try it."
He looked down in distaste. "Try it," she insisted, shaking the plate.
As she forced him to take one, if only to maintain appearances, she muttered lowly, in between delicious bites, "Assistant Minister, more like Assistant Manager. What has he done for the past three years? Hm?" Another bite. "Grindelwald's taking half of Europe and him and the Minister can't get it together."
Meanwhile, Riddle was chewing thoughtfully. He picked up another vol-au-vent. Hermione tried to take the plate back but he moved it out of reach.
"You're not wrong, of course. They have sort of sat on their laurels haven't they? But Grindelwald's ascension to power was inevitable-"
"Exactly!" Hermione murmured back, managing to wrench the plate from his grasp. "They've had years to prepare. Anti-muggle sentiment has been brewing for years. They had so much time to re-educate-"
"Muggles and muggle-borns are a threat to the existence of the magical world." He looked at her disdainfully as she ate the last remaining vol-au-vent.
She almost choked in disbelief. "Muggle-borns? Like me? Am I the one murdering tens of thousands of witches and wizards in Europe, or pureblooded Grindelwald? Don't be ridiculous, Riddle. It's got nothing to do with blood purity and everything to do with trying to seize power at any cost."
"You seem to be having a rather engaging conversation." Someone with a deep, pleasant voice spoke up next to them.
Hermione looked behind her, surprised. It was that Quidditch player. Krum. She only knew about him through James and Sirius. They had posters of international Quidditch players plastered over their dorm room, one of them was of this man; dark cropped hair, flying over a huge stadium, fist pumping the air – KRUM, it proclaimed.
"Tom Riddle, pleasure to meet you."
Hermione introduced herself also, noting the way Krum smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"We were just talking about the war," said Riddle.
"Ah. That fool, Grindelwald." Krum said darkly, to her surprise. "He was a Durmstrang student, did you know? He puts our name to shame."
There was a crumb from one of the vol-au-vents stuck on the corner of Riddle's mouth, Hermione realised. She gestured to her own mouth, motioning brushing away the crumb. Riddle flushed.
Krum kept talking. "The war isn't going very well for us, you know. Grindelwald is getting stronger. As soon as one city is re-captured, he takes it back again. I don't know how long France will last-"
He was interrupted by the sudden re-appearance of Slughorn, who gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "It won't do to talk about such things here, Viktor." Ah, that was his name, Hermione recalled. "Goodness, you two, I forgot you were fifth years. It's almost ten o'clock. Chop chop. Time for bed. If you get caught past curfew, let me know and I'll write you a note."
Hermione resisted the urge to take another vol-au-vent before she left with Riddle.
They walked out of the office, out of the noise and the smells, into the quiet corridors of the castle. The torches on the walls flickered warmly, casting shadows that danced on the stone. Both the Slytherin and Gryffindor dorms were on the other side of the courtyard, which was nicknamed the Professor's Square due to its proximity to the teaching offices.
They walked in silence through the courtyard. There was a distant howl which echoed so mournfully it made them both pause. Hermione looked up into the night sky. The moon was unusually large and full, sitting luminous behind grey wisps of clouds.
Riddle cleared his throat.
"You look … nice."
She paused. "And that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
He smiled, then, his eyes flashing. "Probably."
The night felt open, the dark expanse above them infinite. Their breath came out in white wisps in the cold air.
They suddenly heard bushes rustling nearby in the courtyard. A seventh year emerged, bright eyed, tie askew. She recognised him from the party. Following him was a girl who, when she saw them, hastily pulled down her skirt. In spite of themselves, they gave each other a long lingering kiss before they parted.
Hermione sighed. Honestly, there were plenty of rooms, plenty of dark corridors, who on earth would want to do it in a bush in the freezing cold?
"Must be out of their minds," she muttered. She stepped forward into the moonlight, tilting her head back to look at the stars.
There was a soft cough. She turned to see Riddle, an inscrutable look on his face.
"Yes?"
He gestured vaguely at the front of her dress. She looked down. The moonlight was shining through the layers of chiffon, rendering them almost translucent, the form of her breasts all the more clearly outlined in the cold.
Horrified, she flushed angrily and crossed her arms over her chest. And then suddenly, she felt him close the distance. A gloved hand under her chin, tilting her face up to his. Their eyes locked. Riddle's dark eyes seemed softer in the pale moonlight.
Slowly, he bent down towards her face until their noses were almost touching. His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked. With an air of curiosity, almost of experimentation, he leant in further and kissed her gently on the mouth.
His eyes remained open, and so did hers, the whole time. His lips were surprisingly soft, and warm.
Somewhere inside of her, something stirred.
She took two steps backwards, breaking the kiss.
"What," she said shakily, "was that." Her face was aflame with indignation.
He didn't say anything at first, as he straightened up. His dark eyes were unreadable.
"I wanted to try something," he finally said.
"Excuse me?" Hermione spluttered.
That had been her first kiss, she realised. At fifteen, that had been her first kiss ever. She touched her lips, feeling more at a loss.
"I wondered what it felt like."
"You've never kissed anyone before?"
He shrugged. "Girls aren't very interesting most of the time."
"Well," she huffed, "neither are you." Which was a blatant lie and she knew it. If she was really honest with herself, she found him more than interesting - he was a mystery. A frighteningly dark mystery, one where if she peered in too closely, she felt herself teetering on the precipice of a horrifyingly deep chasm.
Her cheeks still flushed, she turned on her heel and left Riddle alone in the moonlit courtyard.
End Note:
Well, there it is. I couldn't help myself.
The vol-au-vents are an homage to one of my favourite tomione stories ever written (it's actually a series of one-shots) by Flaignhan.
I have a collection of fluffy drabbles based on these two, if anyone is interested. They don't fit the story I'm telling here but I can't throw them away either.
I don't think I can update daily as I have done so far but I definitely feel that I want to see this story through.