Author's Note:

To morpheusandmuse: Thank you for being the first reviewer! Also, I'm putting this here since I don't know how to reply to your review otherwise. Well, the two of them being highly suspicious of one another is one of the first ideas that prompted me to idly write this - I want to see them circle each other like two tigers gauging a new rival. Don't worry, Hermione is still the farthest thing from harmless.

'-

04 A Sorting to Sing to

Hermione wants to return to school a quickly as she can. The sorting, at last, as witnessed by the four Heads of Houses. Tom Riddle drops in.

'-

Hermione was beginning to have the unexpected regret that she was such a good student.

She remembered the outlines of her classes well once she'd read all the syllabi (it was among the rolls of parchment that Tom Riddle brought her, along with the text books). There wasn't much difference there, though she did notice that several magical advances had yet to make it to the Hogwarts curriculum. Yet all this only made it more apparent that she didn't even need to read through the books that Slughorn and gotten Tom Riddle to bring to her. The words were so familiar that she only needed to skim to refresh her memory. She went over all five of them lightly, quickly, with the ease of a young girl dancing over stepping stones to cross a river and she was done in no time.

Two days. She still slept a lot, because the potions did their work best that way, but even with the limited number of waking hours that she had, it still only took her two days to find the books stale.

"I need to know what my class assignments are, Nurse Edelstein."

The nurse stared at her in disbelief.

"I know, I need rest and all, but I am resting. I'm in my bed, see? The farthest I walk is to the loo, as you well know, and you've never stopped plying me with food from the kitchens to make sure I have enough energy to recover." Hermione sighed. "But if I'm going to sit around with nothing to do, I'll mope. You don't want to see me mope, do you? It's the most pathetic thing in the universe."

She gave Maggie her best, puppy-eyed look. The nurse poked her cheek with a huff, but didn't deny it.

"I swear, you are the most boring student that I know."

"Hey!" She pouted.

"How is your beau, anyway? Why aren't you telling me more about him? You should ask him to visit more often." Maggie tried a different tack.

Hermione tapped her chin with a careful consideration. "Why, if delivering six books makes him my beau, I should find a man who would lend me his library. Surely that means we should be married!"

The nurse threw her hands up in defeat.

"You are incorrigible."

"No, I am completely logical," Hermione said easily. "I am merely following the social implications you've set."

Maggie snorted. "With that cheekiness, I question whose social implications you've been following."

Hermione was unperturbed, her smile positively brimming with innocence.

"Well, if we're not trying to get me married off to the first man with a library, how do I go about finding what homework are given for my classes?" She asked.

Maggie Edelstein let out a long, exasperated sigh as she sat down on the chair next to Hermione's bed. It really was a bright morning, what with the sun shining brightly through the windows. If she had to be at Hogwarts again, she longed to be able to sit on the grass beside the lake, enjoying the sun and wind with a cosy book at hand.

"You just don't give up, do you?" Maggie muttered.

"Well, we can do this for another half an hour, if you want? You know, so you can try valiantly dissuading me from my bookworm ways?" The brunette said, easily.

"Try?" Her voice rose up in disbelief.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I know that you're not going to succeed, so I believe the operative word here is 'try'."

She was being evil, she knew. Hermione squashed down the teeny, tiny amount of guilt with a bite of her lip as she heard the frustrated grumbles coming out of the throat of Maggie Edelstein. But she couldn't help it. She'd always wished she could let loose, when she was younger, to not hold back all the quips she felt like saying because she was a prefect, and mature, and thus above all that. She knew now that she'd envied Draco when she was a student for being able to let his sharp tongue loose, even if she didn't envy his foolishness at all.

Well, she'd saved the wizarding world at least once. She was allowed her little indulgences now, surely?

"Oh, alright. But don't come crying to me if the professors start asking you to turn them in on time." The nurse finally said in defeat.

"I'm sure I can manage, Nurse Edelstein."

'-

"My dear girl, how has this happened?"

Hermione looked up, surprised to see a concerned Slughorn making his way through the rows of beds. The sun was low in the sky, its rays long in the infirmary. He did pause for a moment at the book shelf that Tom Riddle had transfigured from a bed with an interested look on his face before he shook it away and proceeded to make his way to the chair next to hers. She turned the chair into a comfortable couch, the sort that she remembered he'd kept at his office that he loved to sink into. He gave her a fond and admiring look for her spellcraft.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but what do you mean?"

"Madam Edelstein has informed me that you are eager to begin your studies…and then we ran into the issue of determining which homework you would get, based on the classes you follow. But we've only realised just now that there are no particular classes that you follow yet, because you're not even Sorted!"

She blinked. "Um, Nurse Edelstein contacted you? I thought this is the headmaster's responsibility?"

"She contacted me because I've asked her to keep me up to date on your condition, and that she shouldn't hesitate to contact me if there was anything that you need. Besides, the headmaster is busy enough with his office that I am always happy to assist him in any manner required." He beamed at her, all helpful productivity and she was struck with the oddest feeling of finding him endearing. Not that she'd doubt his social meddling would annoy her in some way, sooner or later, it was just…something she hadn't thought she'd feel about him.

Or perhaps she was more than a tad nostalgic for familiar old Hogwarts too.

"Ah, I see. So, I shall be… 'Sorted', soon?"

"Oh yes, I've brought the issue up today. He did say that perhaps we should wait until you recover, but when I pointed out that you would most likely stay even more behind in your classes if we don't even know which ones you were supposed to be in, well, that changed the situation." Slughorn said. "We will bring the Sorting Hat to the infirmary this evening, don't worry about it."

His beefy hand patted her shoulder with a delicacy most would not expect out of a man his size. That was foolish, of course, Hermione always knew—he could not have been a great Potion Master without finesse.

"Professor Slughorn? Thank you."

"It's no trouble at all!"

"If I don't end up in your House, Professor, then know that it's certainly would not be because of you. Even if I were to placed somewhere else, I'm always glad to know you."

Slughorn's grin was like a boy given a lollipop the size of his head, oddly enough it didn't look out of place in a wizard his age. He was buzzing with so much energy that he looked as if he would bounce around the room any time now. Hermione had to smother a grin. In a way, it was nice to interact with him. He was just so predictable that she didn't need to overthink her reaction.

"Me too, Hermione, me too. Never be afraid to look me up—the doors of my office are always open for you." He insisted.

'-

She could hear the infirmary door opening, the hushed voices of the visitor conversing with Nurse Edelstein. The nurse was trying to determine whether the person had any right to disturb Hermione. To this measure, she'd raised the screens around her bed again, though only behind her new bookshelf to remove her from the line of sight from the door. Maggie's zealousness no longer surprised her after the last time Headmaster Dippet came—he was absentminded enough to drop in after dinner, and Nurse Edelstein was livid with his intrusion into Hermione's sleeping schedule and firmly ushered him out.

It was entertaining to see the headmaster herded away by the shorter woman, and Hermione was holding back her giggles, but Maggie Edelstein on the warpath wasn't something you'd want to cross.

Hermione looked up when the footsteps seemed to approach her instead of going out again. A wizard stood before her, his coat respectable under his robes. His face was long, hair a pale dishwater blond and even for all its length, it was tied up neatly in a queue. Add his penchant for dark and sombre clothing actually gave her the impression that he would fit better as a clerk or lawyer at London or Manchester than a wizard.

His bright blue eyes, paler than Dumbledore's, changed that impression. It was as welcoming as his smile.

"Good evening, Miss Curie."

"Good evening, um, Professor."

He nodded, before taking a seat himself. "I'm Professor Orphne—Orpheus, Dexter, I teach Astronomy at Hogwarts and I'm also the Head of Ravenclaw House."

"Pleased to meet you, Professor."

"Likewise. I'm glad that you seem to be doing well."

Hermione's smile was rueful. "Well, it's still not as fast as I'd like."

"Recovery is rarely as fast as we like, Miss Curie. Most unfortunate, I know."

"True. Um, what brings you here, Professor?"

The approaching sunset washed the room in a warm glow. Unlike Slughorn, Professor Dexter was not a naturally exuberant man, and this was made clear as he chose his words carefully.

"I wish to welcome you to Hogwarts, though I'm aware that I'm far from the first professor to do so as to render it far from a necessity," he said with self-deprecation. "But as Head of Ravenclaw House, it would be remiss of me to fail to greet someone with such love of knowledge, such zeal for academia. After all, it is the great ideal of my House."

"There's no need to trouble yourself," Hermione started.

"Nonsense. And lose again to Dumbledore and Slughorn? I'm afraid you'll find that even us teachers can be a little competitive." His expression was one of slight embarrassment.

"I'm flattered by your interest, Professor."

"You should also join the duelling club, run by Galatea." He recommended, quite suddenly.

Hermione tried to figure out who Galatea was and remembered from the various syllabi that she'd been handed with that she was the DADA teacher.

"Professor Merrythought? Pardon me, but why?"

He paused, pale eyes observing her for a while before he seemed to come to a decision.

"Well, I'm sure for someone whose life is under the Aegis of Mars, you would not mind any and all assistance that you can get?" He asked. "We, at Hogwarts, promise to keep you safe while you're with us. It's the least we can do, and we sincerely wish for you to know that."

'-

Professor Dexter, it would seem, was still more British than Slughorn.

Even as their conversation moved on, it was clear that there was some other topic that he wished to address but had yet to do so. Yet he did not quite reach it even until the end, their time taken by many interesting walks through not only astronomy, but also charms and transfiguration. It was not hard to see why he was in Ravenclaw; his academic interest was such that she was certain he had a good grasp of the foundations of all magical branches. He seemed to be quite widely read on muggle books too, and it was relaxing in a homesick way, as Hermione was having flashbacks to her discussions with her father. Professor Dexter wished her well once more at the end and taken his leave. Yet it was only when she was eating her supper that the impression of his still having words unsaid crossed her mind.

He had not said a word about Ravenclaw House or even tried recommending it to her. That must've been the source of his awkward reluctance.

Frustratingly, he hadn't been too specific about whatever it was he'd read in the stars in relation to her. Other than the first statement about the 'Aegis of Mars', he didn't explain further, only that it's never fruitful to try to read details into it, because the portents were most effective in the broad brush.

In a way, it was helpful and unhelpful at once. Helpful because it confirmed that yes, her life was certainly tied to one war or the other, and even the stars know it. On the other hand, it was unhelpful as it really didn't give further information she can work with.

'-

Hermione had finished supper and Headmaster Dippet had arrived with his entourage so to speak.

"Is all this ceremony really necessary?"

It was Professor Dexter who asked that as he stood not far from one end of Hermione's bed. Headmaster Dippet was directing Professor Dumbledore to find a stool, and he did so by transfiguring a foot stool he'd found. The headmaster was carefully rearranging the Sorting Hat on the stool.

"Well, you came all the same," Slughorn said.

"If I hadn't, you would still be filling Miss Curie's head with the so-called virtues of Slytherin House." Dexter sounded resigned but determined.

"So-called?" He asked, in mock outrage.

"Personally, I prefer to call them 'follies' than 'virtues'," a woman whose curves could easily make her the representation of any earth goddess smiled at Hermione, ignoring Slughorn's protests. "Phyllida Spore, Herbology Professor and Head of Hufflepuff. I'm sorry dear. If the boys weren't so eager to one-up each other, all four of us could have met you at the same time and then you'd be left to rest afterwards, instead of having to bear their repeated visits and intrusions to your peaceful rest."

"It's alright, Professor Spore. The talks with the professors have been…illuminating." Hermione said, completely unwilling to get in the middle of the Head of Houses easy ribbing at each other.

"And completely in Slytherin and Gryffindor's favour, I'd wager." Professor Spore concluded.

"My dear Phyllida, I'm saddened that you'd believe I would try such underhanded tactics," Dumbledore said this, but his eyes were twinkling. Her reply was almost sweet. Almost.

"I know you won't, Albus. I'm sure you much preferred being ham-handed, after all."

There was a snort in the direction of Dexter. Yikes. Dippet seemed to fail to notice that anything unusual had been going on. He merely fake-coughed into his hand a few times to catch their attention, and when some semblance of order had been restored, he started speaking.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we gather here at the most Fortunate Occasion of the Sorting of a new Hogwarts student. Now, we all know that it is customary to sort our students as first-years when they first arrive at Hogwarts, but this certainly does not apply to the occasional transfer student that we have. Since these students are usually older, we have a slightly different protocol for this."

Dexter was very politely clearing his throat twice, thrice, probably trying to get Dippet to just move on. Dumbledore seemed content to stand at the edge for some reason, eyes bright as if he was privy to some great joke that no one else knew. Slughorn was bouncing on the balls of his feet, at least until Spore placed her hand on his arm to keep him still.

"…there is the tradition for the first-years to absorb the philosophies, the meanings of the houses in the form of the Sorting Hat's song. Unfortunately, this great tradition is not one that is always available to all transfer students, as not all of them were fortunate enough to be able to begin their schooling at the beginning of the academic year…"

"Oh, for goodness' sakes," Dexter muttered under his breath, but loud enough to her ears.

"Wait for it," Dumbledore said lightly.

"Why are we even here, by the way?" The blond professor asked with some confusion.

Dumbledore's answering smile was a little unsettling.

Spore was impatient enough to start tapping her foot, and she didn't bother to stop Slughorn from tapping his hand impatiently over his thigh.

"…but it has always been an important tradition! And we are proud of it, and we will do our best to shepherd each new member of our flock—"

"Who let him binge read King James Bible, again?" Spore hissed to Slughorn.

"—to the best of our ability, for they will not walk alone through the valley of the shadow of death—"

"That's absolutely the wrong context!" Dexter hissed, appalled. "Does he even know what he's saying? He's rambling!"

"Oh, I know." Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

Hermione had to look down and cover her face in her hands lest she burst into a sudden laughter.

"And so, to that purpose, we will begin the Sorting—"

"Thank Morgana," Spore muttered a bit too loudly.

"Finally." Dexter agreed.

"—by taking the responsibility for this tradition into our hands. Gentlemen, Lady, let us sing this year's Sorting Hat song! Albus has kindly transcribed it for us, and we can sing it together!"

Two sets of murderous glares were sent in Dumbledore's direction as he joyfully distributed the copies of the lyrics he'd written down—where he'd kept them so far, Hermione had no idea. Slughorn just seemed baffled. Dumbledore took his sudden position of chorale head with ease. His wand was held like a conductor's baton.

"Now, I'll take a middle voice so everyone can follow, just listen to it. One, two, one, two, three, four—"

Then, the singing started. Hermione's face must have been quite red, because she was determined to hold back any sign of laughter, something that wasn't helped by Dumbledore's eyes, madly twinkling in conspiracy or the surprisingly murderous look from someone as phlegmatic as Dexter. Spore's expression was already promising retribution. It didn't help that Dumbledore always stepped in when he felt that people weren't 'enthusiastic' enough, trying to get everyone to express more joy and school spirit.

And that was how Hermione was treated to a private viewing of the Sorting Hat song.

When the Sorting Hat was finally placed on her head, it was almost anticlimactic. The darkness was comfortable instead of worrying, and now she could feel what she supposed was the Hat wandering around the foyer of her mind. It did not feel like the intrusion of a person practising legilimency, because it barely had any will or destination of its own. It did not wish to root out secret; it was content standing on the porch, knocking on the door and asking you out to play.

It wanted a conversation, not an invasion.

Hullo,

Hi, Hermione said. I'm Hermione.

Ooh, we've met before, haven't we? You have the memories right here. What brings you back to Hogwarts, Miss Curie?

I don't know. Time, I supposed. She replied dryly.

Ah, a brave Gryffindor you'd been. So certain in your knowledge and determined in using them for your crusades. And you have a lot of crusades, don't you?

I wouldn't know all of that, Hermione muttered.

The holes in your memories, yes, I see them. They don't take away from who you are, though. You are still the person you had been, at the heart. Perhaps with less jadedness and tiredness that came with age and the weight of memories. In a way, it is a good thing for your current time, isn't it? A world of opportunities is open to you once more, no need to let the old regrets hold you down.

But I don't want to forget the people I know.

Maybe you don't need to remember what they used to be.

Eh?

They're coming around again, remember? And they don't need you to impose memories of people long past over their present self and current future.

Oh. I've…I've never thought about it that way. It could easily be a baggage, couldn't it? She mused.

It's alright. It's hard to see things that are too close to us, especially when they have profound sentimental value. Have you decided on a House?

Well.

You can be a Gryffindor again, but it will hinder your current efforts significantly.

Hermione frowned. Why?

Gryffindor is just as specific in its alignments as the Slytherins that they tend to turn away certain types of people too. Didn't you notice?

She shook her head trying to focus on the more pressing question. What current efforts? I don't even know there's something I'm doing here.

Oh, there is. You might not quite consciously decide upon it yet, but it has been brewing at the back of your mind now. It is not my place to tell, only to report on its existence.

That's not helpful, she groused.

The price of self-enlightenment is paid during the search. Its currency is the various self-doubt you have, the Hat graciously replied. Hermione sighed, ignoring the chatter that had started to pick up among the adults in the outside world.

You can flourish in Hufflepuff, the Hat offered.

But? I sense a 'but' coming.

But I feel that your journey will often be one you take alone, or at least only with a few people because the skill, the knowledge required is not slight. Yet they are too loyal to let you face the danger alone. You will worry too much about the people around you, though their friendship will be good for your heart.

It's down to Slytherin or Ravenclaw, then.

Yes. The other two Houses are conveniently more anti-social than Hufflepuff for your purposes. On the other hand, being in Slytherin places challenges to your socialisation efforts as being in Gryffindor does, slightly more so. This is especially true when you are not part of the Sacred 28.

Hermione huffed. Why don't you just give me Ravenclaw from the beginning, then?

Because you are not a first-year, Miss Hermione. Or are you saying that you do not find our conversation illuminating?

Hermione couldn't exactly say no there. It wasn't too bad at all.

Even if I have no specific memory, I still know that it's been a while since I had a fulfilling conversation.

Alright, it wasn't too bad. I think the teachers are worried, though.

Let them. They know that the rules state that there are no limits on the time I would take. It is my prerogative to enjoy the rare intelligent conversation when I have them.

She nodded. Alright. Thanks for giving me the rundown about the Hhouses situation right now.

You're welcome.

Hermione could almost feel the Hat giving her a mental nod in return, before it bellowed its final choice.

"RAVENCLAW!"

'-

She did not know how she managed to wake up in the morning this once, when the sky outside the window was still dark.

Usually, she was only awake around nine or ten, and she still needed a nap in the afternoon. All in all, she always ended up sleeping for around eighteen hours a day. This change was a welcome one; it gave her hints that her body was on the mend. She decided to have her breakfast early, surprising Nurse Edelstein with her activity when she arrived mid-breakfast.

"You are looking better. This is a good thing!"

"And I still have all those disgusting potions to drink."

The nurse's expression was sympathetic, but it didn't stop her from bringing Hermione the collection of potions that she needed to drink at nine. The brunette witch sighed and placed them in a line by the side table. She knew it was necessary. It didn't mean that she had to like it. Nurse Edelstein checked her bandages. Hermione was thrilled to find out that the one around her head was declared extraneous and had been removed completely. The ones around her arms had been reduced by a half too.

It was around the time where she knew most of Hogwarts were probably having their breakfast that there was a knock on the infirmary door. Nurse Edelstein sprung across the infirmary like a gazelle, on guard as usual.

She had expected Slughorn or Dumbledore (Dexter didn't strike her as someone that shameless to intrude on someone at breakfast). What she didn't expect was to hear Tom Riddle's voice conversing politely with Maggie. His steps were soon heard approaching her bed, and in no time at all she could see his presence fully as he passed the screen by her side.

"Good morning, Mr. Riddle."

"Good morning, Ms. Curie."

The etiquette of the era got to her a little, but she dutifully confirmed that yes, Tom Riddle has had breakfast and thus was not inconveniencing himself when he visited her. He seemed to have sensed how rote her few questions on that front were, as the left side of his smile was starting to curl upward.

"Not that I'm not glad to have you visit, considering that I'm bored out of my wits with nothing to do, but what brought you to my humble ward?"

At the mock-serious clearing of throat from halfway across the infirmary, Hermione grinned in the nurse's direction before turning back to Riddle.

"Oh, my apologies, Madam Edelstein's ward. I am also a mere guest here." The brunette clarified.

"Professor Slughorn voluntarily shared the results of your Sorting with me last night—congratulations on entering Ravenclaw, by the way. He also confirmed your official class placements last night. I have your extraordinarily packed schedule here with me."

"By 'voluntarily share', you mean he 'accosted you with much fanfare after you finished your prefect rounds', don't you? Then he gives you a bag of orders to do the next day without first asking whether you already have your own plans." She asked shrewdly as she accepted his documents, shelving them casually on the bookshelf next to her—there were still a lot of space there.

"I'm sure I have no idea about what you're talking about, Miss Curie," he demurred, all smiles, but the wicked glint in his dark blue eyes told her of something different.

She sighed.

"I know. I'm really glad for all the things he's done since I've arrived, but Professor Slughorn could be more than a little overwhelming. Look, if he's asking you to go around to all my classes, ask for all the homework, you don't have to do it, really. I'm sure I can ask Professor Dexter about it and he'll find a Ravenclaw student that share classes with me—and it's his responsibility anyway as my Head of House."

He might seem to be the perfect student, but it didn't mean he was one. The last thing Hermione wanted was for Tom Riddle to resent her for something as ridiculous as Slughorn's urge to mollycoddle her.

Tom Riddle gazed at her with those dark, placid eyes that she could not easily read.

"It really is no trouble at all, Miss Curie. If I can help you feel more at home at Hogwarts after everything you've been through, it would be my pleasure." He was all polite kindness.

Was he pretending still? Or was he speaking the truth for once? She felt like pulling her hair out, but it would achieve nothing. She did not care if it was Tom Riddle or just some other Hogwarts students she didn't know, she did not like forcing people to do things for her, to bind them with no choice. It was probably why the use of house elfs rankled her so much when she first heard about it, at least until she'd investigated further and found out about their odd symbiosis with wizards and witches.

Hermione pulled her covers aside, instead, pulling her legs down from the bed. It seemed to genuinely surprise the Slytherin prefect, who had moved in sync to her left side, too ready to support her if she tried to stand.

"Mr. Riddle, I know I'm peculiar, but I like to think it's my prerogative for managing not to die after all the crap I've faced in my life," she said casually. "I'd like to ask you to promise me one thing. If Slughorn is inconveniencing you in any way in my name or to my benefit, please be honest with me. I am not completely unable to relieve you from them."

Hermione calmly looked up at him, focusing only on his eyes and not his cheekbones or lips.

"I promise."

"That you'll tell me when Slughorn is inconveniencing you in my name," she insisted.

He chuckled. It was warm and reminded her too much of dark chocolate. Did he practise it in his room, or what? No one has a casual laughter that perfect.

"Yes. You are stubborn." He did not hide his curiosity as he said this, or his amusement.

"Well, it's always good to be specific," she said. "I'm more surprised that you agreed so easily. You look like you're too used to being the perfect prefect to admit that any discomfort affects you."

"You speak of some ideal that is not me. I'm not perfect," he replied, still with that perfect smile.

"Oh, of course you're not. I know that. You don't have any pity," Hermione said with ease, curls moving with the tilt of her head. She ignored the slightest flicker of the muscles of his jaw, something she wouldn't see if she hadn't been watching for it. "I'll be honest, now. I have a large weakness too. I'm usually a quite forgiving person until people start with the betrayals. I hate it when people go back on their promises and their given word, especially when it ends up with my friends and family getting hurt. Then? Then, I start taking inspirations from Greek tragedies and people start paying in the form of blood rain, for starters."

Hermione waited, then, to see what he'd take from her casual admittance of what she is (for she knew what she is, a better person would have turned Rita Skeeter to the Aurors. A better person would not execute a plan involving the hunt of centaurs with a smile on her face). She still would not let these sides of her stop her from fighting on the side of good, for trying to make the wizarding world a better place day-by-day.

As she'd said, she had grown up and the world wasn't such a simple place. Perhaps that was why she had felt that honestly talking to Tom Riddle was a normal thing to do.

He wasn't Voldemort yet. It had to mean something, right?

"You've given me such a terrible weakness," he commented, apparently deciding to see where she'd take this. "No pity, Miss Curie? 'The merciless' sounds like a title fit for a dictator."

"It doesn't have to be." She said, almost as surprised as he was by the answer.

"And I'm sure the damsel in distress would swoon at the idea of a rescue by 'Matt the Merciless' instead of being scared to death. Of course." He was still too polite to be sarcastic, but Hermione could read his disbelief easily.

"It could have easily turned into something like 'the Just' or 'the Fair'. Being without pity also means that you're not easily swayed by emotional appeals or people trying to manipulate your heartstrings."

Was he aware his mask was down? Because he looked incredulous. Yet for all his incredulity his attention was hyper-focused on her. If she'd thought his dark eyes were distracting before, now they were positively mesmerising. She had to look away to be able to speak easily.

"Almost every other human is like that, you know? It's in the high ninety percent range of the population. I know how important emotions are in human relationships and perhaps up to the village or district level, but when it comes for ordering society on a higher stage, it becomes a distinct weakness. The human mind stumbles at prioritizing the good of 10,000 people over 1,000. It's why a single tragic death in a newspaper can raise funds faster and to larger quantities than say, a story of a bad building code that affects three blocks and has allowed the quick spread of several diseases through the apartment complexes because of it. People's heart strings are not tugged by numbers, even when they represent the absolute scale of the tragedy."

"Yet isn't the last case far crueller since far more people suffered?" She asked back.

He was listening carefully, his curiosity clear. Perhaps she was merely a butterfly he was observing under his magnifying glass, but she didn't care. He was paying attention, and that was enough. She lost herself in her thoughts again as she spoke.

"What does it say about human empathy that it didn't decrease our numbness to the sufferings of the many? That it is too sensitive to the suffering of the few? Even worse, it is noticeable that our first reaction, our gut feeling is always to sympathise more with people who look like us and to care less of those who differ more."

"Is blind feeling, empathy, pity always such a good thing to lead our decisions with, then?"

The brunette only dared to glance back at him to check, but had to hurriedly look away again because now, he was staring at her like a man who'd seen a fairy princess ride at night. Enthralled and compelled, he suddenly decides that there is nothing worth looking at in the mortal world and single-mindedly seeks her even if it meant crossing half the world and more.

Hermione kept her voice determinedly cheerful.

"Well! Uh, I think I've gone on one of my rants again. I'll just have to warn you right now that I tend to do that—don't ask me about house elfs if you don't want to get occupied for at least an hour. And I think you have…classes? Yes. Classes. To go to. I hope I'm not holding you up or anything."

Hermione looked up, he had moved from her side to standing in front of her, folding a piece of paper in his hand. Origami? It looked like a simple flower. When he slipped it behind her left ear, she caught the fragrant scent of a damask rose, the single petal of vivid pink falling on her lap confirming it. She didn't even hear the spell being cast; he must have done it silently. The back of his thumb slid for a few seconds too long over her cheek and she stifled a shiver.

When she stared at him in annoyance (she was annoyed more at her own unsettled feeling than anything), his eyes were as fathomless as the wine-dark sea.

"Are you free to receive visitors this afternoon? Perhaps sometime around tea?" He asked. She didn't know how he could be entirely too normal about this.

"I…yes."

"I'll return with the specifics from your classes by then. I will be taking your advice and leave for classes for the time being. Goodbye, Miss Curie."

He took his leave by casually kissing the back of her hand. It was only the manners that Daphne and Draco helped drill into her that allowed her to come up with a smooth answer in time.

"Goodbye, Mr. Riddle."

'-

"So!" Nurse Edelstein had cheerfully returned from her morning routine of checking the inventory. Her hazel eyes widened the moment she saw Hermione.

"Don't say it!"

"I was only going to admire that beautiful rose you have in your hair." Maggie said, blinking innocently. "Where did you get it from?"

Hermione sighed. There really was no avoiding it. "Tom Riddle transfigured it from a paper flower."

The sounds that Maggie made was high enough in pitch to send dogs into hiding, and maybe bats would start bumping into things too if any of them happened to be around. The brunette witch winced.

"And you were so impressed with his skill that you decided to wear it on your hair?" The nurse asked.

Hermione didn't know whether telling her the truth that he placed it there himself would be worse or not, so she merely smiled awkwardly and said nothing.

"Aww, don't be shy. There's nothing wrong about appreciating a wizard's hard work, especially if the wizard has looks like that one."

Well, she'd always thought that appreciating a dark lord's hard work usually involved wearing her dragon leather long coat and refreshing a lot of offensive hexes in her mind. Not that she can say that to Nurse Edelstein.

"I think you'd have that beau all the same, Hermione." Maggie commented. Hermione made non-committal sounds from the back of her throat as she carefully pulled the blossom out of her hair. It was harder than putting it in, because another petal had fallen. "No, no! Let me. I think that direction is going to make it worse."

She sighed and let the nurse try to do her best disentangling it.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, do you have a spare small bottle? I think I'll cast a preservation charm and move it inside while I find a more permanent means of preserving it."

"Aww, you do care!"

She shrugged. "This is the first gift I've received since I came to Hogwarts, and I don't even have much stuff in the first place. I think that's an important enough milestone on its own to keep."

Hermione deliberately ignored the look of pity in the nurse's eyes. One simple trip later and the nurse handed her the small bottle. Preserving the rose and then moving it inside the bottle without going through the neck wasn't difficult.

"So, is he?"

"Is he what?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, don't be dense. Is he your beau?"

She scrunched her forehead in thought. "He's my…friend, I think."

"Well, that's a good first step to romance," Maggie concluded, ignoring any and all sounds of protests coming from Hermione's direction.

'-

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End Notes:

Don't mind Nurse Edelstein. Waiting in the Hogwarts infirmary is a boring job. She has to get her entertainment from somewhere.

'-

Additional trivia:

Orpheus Dexter (OC): Flitwick seemed a tad too new in this time period (if he's already teaching) to already be granted the title of Head of Ravenclaw, so I had to find someone else. His last name is a nod to JK Rowling's in-joke to the Astronomy professor's last name in the HP books (Sinistra is Latin for 'left', while Dextra or Dexter, to use the Anglicised version, is 'right'). His first name is also a nod to that (Aurora means 'dawn', while Orpheus is thought to have originated from Orphne*, meaning 'the darkness of the night').

*Technically, his name is actually Orphne, it's just that people keep mishearing it as Orpheus that the poor man doesn't bother to correct them anymore and even introduces himself as Orpheus.

Yes, I'm either OCD when it came to these things, or I have too much time on my hands. I can't decide.

'-

"The death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic." This is a quote usually misattributed to Josef Stalin. The one that is attributable to someone is from Kurt Tucholsky, a German journalist born at the end of the 19th century and died just before World War II. His quote is:

"Der Tod eines Menschen: das ist eine Katastrophe. Hunderttausend Tote: das ist eine Statistik!"

"The death of one man: that is a catastrophe. One hundred thousand deaths: that is a statistic!"

'-