The next evening found Hermione holed up in the room of requirement in what she had affectionately dubbed B.L.O.T. headquarters.
B.L.O.T: Breaking Lord Voldemort's Ominous Trajectory.
The room was dominated by towering oak bookshelves, bursting with a variety of tomes on all manner of topics. Luminous, floating orbs provided a soft, inviting light that danced off the spines of the leather-bound books, their titles embossed in glistening gold and silver.
At the center, a large mahogany desk was strewn with parchment and quills dipped in bottles of shimmering, colored ink. A plush, burgundy armchair stood invitingly by a roaring fireplace, perfect for cozy, immersive reading sessions.
She sat at the desk surrounded by a veritable disaster of parchment and open books. Furiously scribbling on one of the pieces, she was in full on plotting mode. Researching everything she could think of, from horcruxes to psychology to basilisks to everything in between.
Sighing as she punctuated the final sentence, Hermione rested her quill on the desk, her shoulders sagging with the weight of the thoughts consuming her. Her fingertips traced the edge of the parchment absentmindedly, her eyes fixated on the looping, elaborate script that was penned in her handwriting. Occlumency. The subject had been heavy on her mind all night and all throughout classes today.
Since she had not managed to sleep more than a few minutes all night without occluding, Hermione found herself constantly veering towards sleep, only to jerk awake, chilled to the bone by nightmares that lurked at the edge of her consciousness. The mental and physical effects of her defenses fracturing last night were still very much present. Not to mention the effects of this insane situation of top of all that.
As a result, she had pushed herself into the sanctuary of research and planning, immersing herself in the familiar rhythms of studying to distract from the demons that plagued her mind.
She found herself debating the feasibility of her plan to stop Tom. Given its very nature she undoubtably would be spending large swaths of time in Tom's presence. The mere idea sent her heart pounding, a nervous tremor creeping up her hands, even as she sat alone in the safe confines of her study. She couldn't help but wonder about how much worse the reaction would be when she was actually in his presence, not just imagining it.
She knew then, with certainty, that she had to rebuild her mental walls. However, a key lesson she learned was that she could not simply shove her trauma into the recesses of her mind. Her defenses needed to be refined, a failsafe system established to ensure no unexpected breakdowns. She also needed to ensure that Malfoy was oblivious to her occlusion; she had no desire to subject herself to another of his lectures.
Comfortably ensconced in her chair, Hermione closed her eyes, focusing her attention inwards. A slow inhalation, a steady exhalation; she started with her darkest memories of the war. Harry's death, the fall of her other friends, the terror of Malfoy Manor, the Snatchers, and the starving nights in the tent…
During her previous occluding attempts, she had tried to suppress all her memories associated with Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and the war. However, such a large portion of her memories has those things woven into them that it made the process impractical and her defenses unstable.
Occlumency typically facilitated the creation of an impenetrable mental barrier, separating the user from their memories and emotions. The memories remained accessible yet were detached emotionally. Hermione took this more traditional approach and tailored it to her unique needs.
With careful deliberation, she sifted through her past, selecting only the most traumatic memories to confine to the deepest recesses of her mind. Rather than merely placing them in mental crates like the previous time, she stored these memories behind a labyrinth of secured doors, intricate padlocks, and layers of fail-safe mechanisms. This design would help ensure that even if a part of her shield cracked under pressure, the remaining defenses would stand strong. Hopefully.
For the less troubling, yet still upsetting memories, she obscured them in a mental mist, dulling their sharp edges and muting their intensity. Each breath, each rhythmic pulsation of her mind, served to fortify her mental fortress, preparing her for the impending challenges.
Under the vast enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, Hermione stood momentarily on the threshold, her gaze swept across the room. Among the sea of black robes, she spotted the sandy blonde hair of Draco Malfoy and the unmistakable ginger hair of Ron Weasley, sitting a few seats down from where her dormmates were clustered.
As she approached, the chatter and clatter of dishes, the overall din of students basking in their evening reprieve seemed to fade away. "Hermione! Over here!" Melania's cheerfully shrill voice cut through the muted sounds, drawing her out of her contemplation. The girl was waving vigorously from the bench, her eyes glinting with excitement.
The past day had given Hermione a fresh perspective. Part of her late-night epiphany about stopping Tom - and the sobering realization of her likely permanent residency in this time - included the conscious decision to form deeper bonds. Really getting to know her roommates, she thought, would be a practical first step in cultivating these roots.
Taking a seat next to Elsie and across from Melania, Hermione gestured subtly at Ron and Draco. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief exchange of glances between the boys, before they moved to join her.
Once everyone was seated, introductions were made amidst a somewhat awkward silence that hung in the air, punctuated only by the soft clinking of cutlery and murmuring voices from other parts of the hall.
At last, Ron broke the tension. "So... how about those Cannons?" The absurdity of the remark given the tension-laden silence incited a collective burst of laughter, effectively dispelling the remaining awkwardness.
From that point, the conversation turned lively. Violetta, Melania, Draco and Ron dove into a spirited debate about Quidditch tactics and strategies, their voices rising and falling in their shared enthusiasm. Elsie, Calista, and Hermione, each less inclined towards the sport, exchanged wry glances and shared a smile. Together they sat, simply enjoying the camaraderie, swept along in the tide of conversation even as they listened from the sidelines.
After wrapping up their dinner, the Slytherin contingent made their usual way back to the sanctuary of their common room. Hermione, however, opted for a different route. The magnetic draw of the library was irresistible, especially with the prospect of unearthing more valuable resources for her B.L.O.T. plotting.
She was ascending one of the castle's moving staircases when she detected the soft patter of hurried footsteps echoing from behind her. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw Draco deftly weaving his way around faceless other students towards her. Upon reaching her, he fell comfortably into her stride, ascending the staircase together in a shared silence.
Once they landed on the upper floor, Draco subtly guided her by the elbow into an adjacent classroom. His touch was brief, light, enough to direct her without provoking alarm. With a soft click, he shut the door behind them, ensconcing them in the quiet room.
Turning to face Hermione, Draco fixed her with a penetrating gaze, his eyes seemingly probing for something hidden. A few intense seconds passed before whatever he sought became evident to him. A wave of relaxation visibly washed over him; his stance eased; his expression softened.
"You're not occluding," he stated in a simple yet resolute tone. "That's good."
A triumphant cheer resounded within Hermione's thoughts, dancing a mental jig at her success. However, she managed to maintain a calm exterior, giving a solemn nod of acknowledgement.
"After what happened last night," she confessed, "I've realized I don't want to repeat that experience."
Draco's features creased slightly into a grimace, a hint of shared understanding in his eyes. "I'm relieved to hear that," he admitted. "Trust me, the path of occlusion is a treacherous one. Anyway, my apologies for the detour. I just thought it better to discuss this away from prying eyes, especially Weasley's."
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In the muted silence of the library, Hermione sat alone at a wooden study table, her books strewn before her in a seemingly haphazard fashion. She stared intently at the page of the book open in front her, but she wasn't really absorbing any of it. Every time she managed to read more than a sentence or two, her eyes would start to stray towards the imposing library clock. Her appointment with Tom to work on their ancient runes project was fast approaching, and each tick of the clock hands only accentuated her apprehension.
Finally surrendering to the relentless march of time, Hermione let out a resigned sigh. No more delays. She gathered her books, parchment, and quills and tucked them into her bag. With one last look at the familiar library, she set off towards the ancient runes wing.
She opted to take a shortcut she knew, aware that her stalling in the library had stolen precious minutes. If she didn't hurry up she just might be late to her meeting. Or at least not as early as she preferred to always be. The thought of being late was a rare one for Hermione Granger, and she didn't care for it.
As she navigated through the obscure corridor, she found herself greeted by the sound of raucous laughter up ahead.
Three 7th year Gryffindors appeared before her, their laughter echoing through the corridor, and they started furiously whispering to one another, growing louder as they approached her.
Hermione didn't even think twice about the boys, the hardened warrior in her mind quickly and unconsciously labeled the boys in the red and gold trimmed robes as "Not a Threat".
It wasn't until the boys blocked her path that she really paid them much mind at all.
"Oh, what do we have here? A little snakie, all by herself," taunted McLaggen, his towering presence dominating the group. He was the tallest of the 3 boys, with curly blonde hair and small brown eyes.
McLaggen's friends chuckled nastily at his words, the mirth in their eyes not reaching their cold expressions. The scrawny dark haired one, whose name she didn't know, proposed, "Perhaps we should leave her stuck to a wall for her housemates to discover."
McLaggen smirked, brandishing his wand and casting a swift spell. "Incarcerous," he yelled, ropes flying towards her.
With practiced ease, Hermione's wand was in her hand, swatting away the ropes. She chuckled, "Is that really all you've got? I thought you were supposed to be 7th years," but inwardly, the situation stung. She was a stranger to this kind of Gryffindor-Slytherin hostility and the anger in the eyes of members of what was once her own house was a bitter pill to swallow.
The other two boys drew their wands and brandished them towards her. Together, all three retaliated with a volley of spells, but Hermione was a veteran of far worse. The instincts honed during the war flared to life as she deflected, dodged, and counter-attacked, swiftly incapacitating the three boys.
Taking a moment to appreciate her handiwork – three 7th year Gryffindors suspended four feet off the ground, stuck to a wall – she felt a rush of triumph. But then, the library clock echoed in her mind again. With a jolt, she realized she was late, or at least later than she usually was. Shaking off the last remnants of the encounter, Hermione picked up her pace, heading towards the ancient runes wing with renewed determination.
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Tom Riddle was meandering through the less trodden paths of the castle, making his way to the ancient runes wing. Lost in his thoughts of ancient runic alphabets, he was surprised when he stumbled on an interesting scene in front of him.
There, at the center of it all, was the Hurwit girl — the mysterious, bookish newcomer — cornered by a band of older Gryffindors. The scene held a perverse sort of charm, like a menacing play about to unfold. His day, thus far, had been under the thumb of a particularly stubborn and pervasive foul mood. The opportunity to witness the discomfort of another seemed like a delightful interlude, a piece of entertainment to brighten his day.
Swift as a shadow, he cast a disillusionment charm upon himself. The magic washed over him like cool water, blurring his edges, rendering him a spectre in the shadows. From this concealed vantage point, he settled in to watch the girl's imminent struggle.
Tom's eyes widened in surprise as the events took an unexpected turn. The small, scholarly girl he'd dismissed as inconsequential had just shown an entirely different side of herself. Standing against the larger, older boys, she was an enigma, a petite David in a daunting standoff with three Goliaths.
In an extraordinary demonstration of magic, she effortlessly defended herself, deflecting and countering their onslaught of spells with grace and speed.
Silently observing from his unseen vantage point, Riddle couldn't help but be impressed by the deftness of her spellwork and her obvious combat readiness. She was no mere academic, the way she moved, the precise execution of each spell; it spoke of exposure to real-world danger. It was something he recognized well.
Riddle's initial surprise gave way to a sharp intrigue. Here was a puzzle he hadn't anticipated, a depth he had not expected. The Gryffindor trio lay incapacitated, a testament to the Hurwit girl's surprising prowess. She had stolen the show, transforming it from a farce of a duel to a thrilling play of power.
With a few swift and skillful incantations, she had left them incapacitated, hanging ridiculously from the wall.
As she made her exit, striding away with her head held high, he caught a glimpse of her face. There was a calm, resolute expression there, a far cry from the panic he expected. But beneath the calm, he saw a brief flicker of... pain? Or was it regret? It was gone before he could interpret it further.
He'd initially dismissed her as a quiet, bookish transfer with a knack for advanced magic. Now, she appeared as an enigma, a puzzle begging to be solved. He decided he would enjoy the challenge.
As the sound of her footsteps echoed away into silence, he dismissed his disillusionment charm, stepped out from the shadows and moved towards the motionless Gryffindors. With an amused smirk on his face, he glanced up at the three boys before continuing on his way.
He was in less of a foul mood now; this night was turning out to be far more interesting than he had anticipated.