09 The Lazy Days of Summer

Hermione is determined to enjoy her first day of freedom and the first days of autumn. In which we are introduced to Eugenie Delacour. A picnic with a friend or two. Tom explains things.

'-

"I can finally attend classes!"

Hermione had finally, finally been discharged from the infirmary. She was beginning to get the idea that she was a bad patient from all her fidgeting and constantly asking the nurse about how she was doing. She had declared at the eighth day that her urine had been clear of blood for three days now and surely it meant she could get out. Maggie threatened to tie her down on the bed if she doesn't get back there right now, and Hermione returned there to sulk.

It was also the height of weirdness to hear Tom Riddle fully agreeing with the Head Nurse when he visited her that day. ("I'll make sure she doesn't tire herself, Madam Edelstein.")

Then again, he probably just wanted to get back at her for unnerving him. He so disliked to be put off his poise.

The brunette stretched her arms to either side in relief, feeling the cool breeze on her skin. It was nice to feel the wind ruffling her hair, even if she did have a lot of hair to ruffle. The crisp scent of grasses, oak and willow hit her. Whatever happens, Hermione was determined that she was going to enjoy walking on the Hogwarts grounds first. Footsteps came up from behind her.

"I don't think the classes are that exciting," the beautiful blonde that now stood next to her commented. There was only the slightest trace of accent in her voice. Her scarf, like Hermione's, was banded with the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw. Somehow, the colours still managed to compliment her periwinkle blue dress.

"When you've been stuck in the infirmary for two weeks, Eugenie, you can tell me that classes are boring. Otherwise, you have no idea." Hermione insisted.

"I think it's the fresh air that you miss more," the other witch said.

"Not really. I know I've wanted to go to the Hogwarts library since the day I was awake, and I can easily spend a week there without going outdoors." Hermione said. Which was completely true.

"Bookworm," Eugenie said fondly.

"That, I am," Hermione replied carelessly. "And you care about what people say too much."

At the reddening of the blonde's cheeks, Hermione winced. She didn't want to be that nice, helpful girl that Hermione Granger was in her Hogwarts days, so nice that people keep expecting her to pick up their work too. She might not want to try so hard at being nice that she held back on so many things that she wanted to say, but she never wanted to be callous either.

"I mean, you're smart, you're beautiful and that makes people insecure. Add the fact that one of the guys those other girls like might actually prefer to look at you than them, and it's a textbook case of envy all over again." Hermione explained, turning back at the Ravenclaw prefect with an outstretched hand. "Come on, Eugenie. You're better than most of them, why worry about what they think of you? Let's go down and picnic by the lake!"

"Um,"

"I know you don't have classes. And look, I already have the picnic basket handy here!"

Hermione lifted the picnic basket from where she had placed it on the ground with a flourish. She could see that Eugenie was weakening and would succumb to the temptation. She might as well get the most out of today, because once class started, her focus on them might well be monomaniacal. She'd even taken the effort of asking the house elfs for the blonde's favourite foods, and to prepare them exactly for this outing.

"Let's just enjoy the last days of summer days lazing around." Hermione coaxed.

"Hermione, this is October, which means we're practically in autumn." The blonde witch corrected.

"Autumn, summer, who cares? It still feels like late summer and I'm certainly not going to miss out on the summer experience." The brunette said.

Her house mate was still staring at her doubtfully.

"I checked the temperatures. I think the Hogwarts grounds have some weird ward effects on them that helped them retain heat longer, or something similar to it, because it is still rather warm for autumn. Come on, Eugenie, I have your favourite foods." Hermione said as she wiggled the picnic basket and watched the other witch's resolve starting to succumb to the inevitability. The brunette witch was counting on it.

Wait for it, wait for it…

Her thoughts drifted as she waited.

It had been two weeks since she arrived at Hogwarts.

Tom Riddle came to visit almost every day in the infirmary, though she had no idea why he bothered to do it that often when Nurse Edelstein watched him with the suspicion of a bulldog whenever she happened to be around. Maggie was nearby often enough when he visited, and they generally ended up only talking about classes when the nurse was close enough to eavesdrop. He did not even let up when a suspicious Maggie occasionally took up his time to talk and 'get to know him'.

("You don't need to interrogate him, Maggie. I can take care of myself," Hermione huffed.
Maggie disagreed. "I very much need to. I need to know his intentions."
"We're just study partners!"
"My study partners never brought me flowers." The Nurse countered.
"Well, you've never spent two weeks hospitalised either, have you?")

On the fifth day of her confinement, Professor Dexter visited again and saw her working on a different homework with a different set of library books with her. When he asked her how she managed to get all those things, her simple answer of 'Tom, of course', made him mutter under his breath 'poaching from your neighbours now, Horace? Really?' and other, more unprintable curses from boils in unmentionable places to bunions (though Hermione took notes of his creativity) before he informed her that he will assign her a Ravenclaw prefect to help her acclimatise to Hogwarts.

Well, that, and because 'the Slytherins are shameless', but he didn't mean to say it out loud within her hearing.

This was how she was introduced by Professor Dexter to Eugenie Delacour the next day.

She was a member of the extensive Delacour clan (Hermione easily pronounced her name the French way). Her parents were vigilant enough of the tensions in the continent to have transferred her to Hogwarts by her third year. Her hair was the colour of flax falling straight down her back like a waterfall and her eyes the blue of forget-me-not blossoms. She moved like a fairy tale princess and smiles like one too. That slight, very slight shimmer of unreality around her told Hermione that she was probably also part-veela.

The Ravenclaw prefect visited Hermione every other day. The schedule of her visit never did coincide with Tom Riddle's except once (Eugenie tended to take her lunch with Hermione, most of the time Tom preferred to visit when classes were over). On that one day the conversation was more formal than usual.

(She guessed that Tom and Eugenie didn't really know each other very well other than for prefect business).

Other than that particular time, Hermione didn't have any problem talking to Eugenie and asking questions about the Ravenclaw Tower.

To be honest, Hermione didn't really care about how the blonde drew the eyes of most guys when they walk together (like now, as they walk arm-in-arm towards the edge of the lake, talking about stuff). She'd never thought of herself as a great beauty and thus suffer no disappointment on that front. Besides, it only meant that those guys have no mental fortitude.

Hermione snorted when she saw a Gryffindor boy fall into the lake when he saw Hermione and Eugenie bending over to spread picnic blankets on the ground.

"Hermione?"

"There's another fool around ten metres away behind you." Hermione said.

The boy swimming to the simple raft and his friends were toying with. The others were clearly laughing at him. When Eugenie turned around, he gave an overly enthusiastic wave that ended up elbowing another friend in the gut and send him into the waters. The blonde blushed while Hermione laughed.

"Well, at least they knew how to have fun," the brunette said pragmatically.

"But the poor boy…"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Eugenie, if the rest of his friends managed to stay on board while he fell over, then he was just the most careless of them. See, he's not the only one looking at you with interest. I do hope they don't end up toppling the raft, though. I can't imagine the caretaker would be pleased when they leave four sets of waterlogged trails into Hogwarts"

The Ravenclaw prefect quickly turned away from the boys' unsubtle fawning, her cheeks still coloured as she buried her face in her hands.

"This is all so embarrassing."

That surprised Hermione. She had no idea that there were shy veelas. With their beauty and glamour, she'd thought that they were mostly confident or aloof. "Uh, well, do you want to move?"

The blonde stared at Hermione with surprise.

"Move?" she squeaked. God, she's so adorable. How is she so adorable?

"You don't seem to be comfortable anymore. It's not much of a picnic if you can't relax, right?" Hermione said, patting her hand comfortingly. "Let's go somewhere there's no boys around."

"You don't mind?"

"You're my friend, Eugenie. Why would I mind?"

The brunette witch didn't think they were best friends yet, but somehow the smile that Eugenie gave her was blinding. It struck her then that like the old Hermione Granger, Eugenie Delacour was not one to make female friends easily, for entirely different reasons. Add her blonde hair and elf-like grace, and she reminded the time-stuck witch of Luna.

Hermione's smile was a touch nostalgic as she stood up and packed bowls and plates back into the basket.

"Come on, let's find a better spot."

Arm-in-arm once more, the two girls walked away, oblivious (or uncaring) about the disappointed boys on the raft over Hogwarts' lake.

Based on what Hermione knew, the blonde was probably going to be more comfortable with older gentlemen than those their age.

It was just a matter of effort, really. She knew from first-hand experience that Harry took the effort of building up his resistance to a veela's natural glamour, so it wasn't impossible nor was it too hard. Parts of it was something like meditating. Many ladies of veela descent were genuinely interested in him as he'd managed to not only speak with them normally, he could also keep prolonged eye contact. He did not somehow end up speaking to their breasts.

Most teenagers don't have that sort of strength of mind yet—add in the hormone bomb that was puberty, it was really hard for boys to keep their wits in the face of even a part-veela.

"Ooh, did you see that tree, Eugenie?"

"C'est magnifique," Eugenie murmured with a breathless sort of awe.

"Yes, I agree. We're definitely going to go there."

They spread the picnic blanket under a tree that was draped in with the fiery blooms of an uncommon, late-blooming honeysuckle. The fragrance drew Hermione in and Eugenie loved the beauty of the spot. It was not too far from the first of the Herbology greenhouses, which meant that they were quite far from anywhere else. At the very least, there would be no more foolish boys to unnerve the blonde witch.

Hermione unloaded the wealth of fruit dessert that summer brings, smiling as Eugenie's eyes also lit up at the sight of some of her favourites. These would be airy meringues with strawberry slices and light lemon cakes that melt in your mouth. They were crispy almond thins and fluffy raspberry-blackberry soufflé. Hermione was crazy for anything with oranges; there was the orange, rose and mint cake, there was the orange marmalade she spread liberally over slices of sourdough and orange pie. There was also the candied orange peel dipped in chocolate that Ravenclaw witches liberally snacked on. The orange blossoms that adorned the caps of the marmalade jars were refreshing in their fragrance.

She'd carefully unwound them from the caps, piling them to the side. They were too pretty and too sweet-smelling that she was loathe to discard them.

There were two chilled pitchers of drinks too; one was lemonade and the other was mint tea. She and Eugenie toasted each other about everything and nothing in particular as they simply soaked everything. The cool wind and the scent of the flowers and trees infused them with the feel of summer while the light buzz of insects called on the sunset that was still several hours away.

She wished she could take a picture of today and keep it forever. On that note, I wonder who owns a camera at Hogwarts these days? It was something to find out tomorrow.

It was upon this idyllic scene that Tom Riddle walked into.

He had walked in a straight line towards them, which told Hermione that he knew how to find them, his hair as impeccable as his suit and tie with his bag in hand. The thought creased her brows, as she was sure no one knew where they were—they themselves didn't even plan to be here. She could see Eugenie straightening up at the edge of her sight, a slight tension returning to her shoulders. At first Hermione thought she somehow feared Tom. Now, she'd figured out that the blonde was shy; Eugenie just hid her discomfort very well from other people most of the time.

"Good afternoon, Ladies."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Riddle."

"How did you find us?" Hermione asked.

She almost rolled her eyes at his raised eyebrow. "Yes, yes. Good afternoon to you too, Tom. It's just that we didn't tell anyone we're here and yet, here you are. Pardon me if I find that more interesting than just going over banal greetings."

"Locator spells have not been lost to the sea floor with Atlantis, Hermione."

Her lips curved up at his dry tone. "And I did my best to make myself directly unfindable because I was looking forward to a day of peace with a friend."

As if she hadn't expected any of the teachers to look for her (*cough*Slughorn*cough*).

He brought up several pieces of parchments with her handwriting on it. It was her library book requests. Hermione winced.

"Ah, locator spells operating on sympathetic principles. Yes, that is hard to avoid."

"If I were truly intruding on you, I will take my leave," he said with an understanding smile. "I would hate to get between friends."

It made Eugenie shake her head vigorously.

"No, no! Not at all. You're free to join us anytime."

His gaze moved towards Hermione. She rubbed her face. He was leaving the ball in her court, and she was aware that he would keep his word and leave if she said so. Because that was what Tom the Prefect would do.

"Well, if you were to start and tell us what exactly brought you here, maybe we can decide whether we need to run you off or not."

Eugenie was aghast. "Hermione!"

"It's just a joke, Eugenie. See? Tom's still as cool as a cucumber because he knows I don't hold back on what I'm thinking." She pointed out. True enough, Tom Riddle chose one point of the blanket closest to Hermione and right across Eugenie. He pulled a bottle out of his bag.

"Is that wine?" She asked.

Her friend shook her head. "No, the labels are different. That's…sparkling grape juice I believe."

"Well, today is a day of celebration, so I brought this," Tom said, opening it with a flick of his hand and offering it to the ladies. Hermione gladly tapped her wand to the side of her glass to clean it before raising her glass to try it out. The blonde witch followed a few moments later. "I was looking for you at the infirmary, but apparently you decided to discharge yourself earlier and left no information of where you were going."

He almost looked disapproving. Hermione shrugged without guilt.

"I was bored and you found me all the same, so what does it matter?"

For a split second, the annoyance in his blue eyes were clear before it disappeared again as if it was never there. The sparkling grape juice was excellent.

"Mmm, this is very good, Tom. I never thought juice could be this good." Hermione commented. He nodded, accepting the compliment with grace, before he turned to the other Ravenclaw.

"I'm glad it's to your taste. Miss Delacour, is it to your preference?"

"Oh, it's fine! It really is fine, just like Hermione says." Eugenie was drawing back to her shell slightly. Hermione felt like coaxing her out again, but really, why bother now? Tom Riddle was hell on her nerves, and she was pretty battle-hardened, she didn't want to know how it feels like for the blonde Ravenclaw.

"I'm glad," Tom smiled and Eugenie's cheeks coloured slightly. This was when Hermione thought she wanted to groan for a completely different reason.

"I almost forgot. Here, congratulations."

There was a tube that Tom had taken out of his bag and suddenly in front of Hermione's presence was a small white bouquet. It consisted mostly of lily-of-the-valley with jasmine thrown in. Underneath it was a box of Honeydukes' assorted chocolate truffles that made Hermione's mouth water just looking at it.

"Chocolates for a get-well celebration?" Hermione asked, askance. Wasn't this a tad too romantic?

"I heard Madam Edelstein complaining that you keep pilfering on the ones sent to her by her beau." Tom replied, his perfect smile was actually edging into a sly smirk. It was something she thought of as one of his real ones. "I thought I'd provide relief for the poor woman by delivering you a new target."

Oh. Now that was rather embarrassing. When did he even hear that, anyway? On the other hand, he had been visiting the infirmary rather often; he was unintimidated from any of what Nurse Edelstein would say her attempts at conversation and what Hermione would say interrogation.

He pulled it back slightly with nonchalance. "Or, if you'd rather not, well, I'm sure I'd earn her eternal gratitude with this box of chocolate to replace the one—"

"No! I mean, it's fine, I can take it." Hermione yelped, "thank you, Tom."

Her brain was already taunting her with pictures of the little treasures, resplendent in their individual seats. She was certain that he wasn't a poisoner, certainly not something so extravagant that can be easily traced to him. If he really wanted to kill her, he'd just Avada her in the forest and hide her body. She took the lily-of-the-valley bouquet and the box of chocolate truffles.

"You keep giving me gifts, though, and I haven't given you any." She commented.

Or, in Slytherin parlance, the balance-of-favours was tilting heavily in his direction, as Draco and Daphne had managed to impress the importance of that to her.

"It's really not necessary. I enjoy giving you gifts."

Hermione had to look up at those words, right to his dark blue eyes that seemed to be filled with laughter. Was he in his bullshitting mode or was he honest? She couldn't tell. Probably bullshitting, because there's Eugenie around to amaze, and Hermione didn't doubt that he enjoyed confusing the odd new student. To her consternation, the blonde Ravenclaw really did seem like she was taking it all in with eyes filled with admiration.

"Hmm, yes, but it's not really fair to you, though. How did you know I like jasmine?" Hermione asked.

He shook his head. "I don't, but you did say that you like fragrant flowers better than the showy ones that have no scent."

The brunette nodded. It was true. It was probably one of their conversations about Herbology that had them talking about flowers. She was probably ranting about how she hated plant domestication that was either grotesque (why do you need bottle-shaped fruits, why?) or stripped the plants of critical function that they needed to survive.

Like scent.

"What do you think, Miss Delacour? Do you consider it a sad thing for flowers to be of infinite colours but no scent?" Tom asked. He was doing better as a host than Hermione, drawing Eugenie into the conversation.

The blonde shook her head. "I also think that's sad. I would rather choose a simple wild rose."

Hermione remembered that part of her rant. When flowers are obsessively bred to be bigger and more colourful, with hundreds of petals, they start to lose their scent at some point. Yet certain species of insect pollinators are called to their respective flowers by their scent. Then, when such extreme breeding happened, the flowers can no longer breed without human interference.

"Hermione?" He asked.

"Wait a moment, I'm trying to come up with something."

Her eyes landed on the white sprigs of orange blossoms she'd saved, whose scent she loved. She could use one, she mused, tapping her wand over the thin branch, murmuring a few words. The white blossoms grew larger as she transformed them—Seville orange blossoms, she knew, were larger and smelled sweeter. Another tap made all the buds blossom. She also stood up for a moment to take a few bunches of honeysuckle before she sat down; all bright yellow blooms with splashes of claret. The resulting bouquet was barely larger than her palm, but she was thinking of making something more in line of the single damask rose he'd first given her. She took one of the black ribbons in her pocket she'd used to tie a scroll together and tied the flowers to one.

"Here."

She didn't know why he looked so surprised. Were girls not supposed to give flowers to boys? Urgh, the sexism in this era keeps throwing her off because she was never quite sure where they were going to pop up and trip her next. She'll just have to ask about it later and…do something to fix it somehow.

"It's just a token of my thanks for all you've done while I was tied to the bed. You really didn't have to get me all those books and you did, and the homework, and the everything else. It would've been a real torture if you and Eugenie hadn't been there and…" did she just threw Tom Riddle off his usual unaffected expression? In the presence of a third-party that would usually make him put his best performance up? Wow, she did. Why was he staring at her like that? What? Why was Eugenie growing redder and redder?

"This is just like the damask rose you gave me the first time, alright?" She asked, puzzled.

"Thank you."

His voice was oddly grave as he accepted the flowers, his gaze unwavering from hers. What surprised her was Eugenie suddenly standing up with an expression of a deer in the headlights.

"Oh dear! I almost forgot that I have a prefect meeting—a Ravenclaw prefect meeting! Yes, I'm late, very late, and I need to go now. Goodbye, Riddle, Hermione! I'll—I'll see you sometime later!" Eugenie stammered out.

It was very rushed and suspiciously high-pitched. Hermione had scarcely managed to give her own goodbyes before the girl had marched away. It was clear that if politeness had not been necessary, she might have thought of sprinting. It was hard not to gape. She recognised Tom's expression as the one he put on when he was presenting a front of perfect calmness and ease.

Which meant that something was wrong.

"What on earth is going on?" Hermione asked in frustration, to no one in particular.

With that, to her utmost surprise, Tom Riddle laughed.

'-

It was one of the weirdest things in the world. She never expected to hear him laugh—at least not with clear humour and unrestrained ease. It was something completely human and had the additional inconvenience of making her see him as someone she could truly be friends with. Not as a dark-lord-in-training, not someone who was potentially Voldemort, but just as Tom Riddle; wizard, orphan, a clever and cunning wizard who just happened to be one of the Slytherin prefects of Hogwarts. She wished he had an awkward or weird-sounding laughter.

Unfortunately, it was a beautiful sound.

"Riddle."

"Oh, so I'm back to Riddle now, am I?" He said, between chuckles as he drew a deep breath to settle himself.

"Well, you would be if you're not telling me why you're laughing at me." She wasn't pouting. She was frowning, with a severe expression. Yes. Yes, she is, though she didn't know why every time he saw her face, he was pulled into a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"I'm not laughing at you." His reply was firm and without doubt, and she knew he wasn't making an excuse. "It is merely everything else in my life that has become so unbelievable."

She frowned. "What is?"

"You asked me to promise you to always inform you if Slughorn is giving me requests to your benefit that inconveniences me. With the same good faith, I ask you for a small promise," he said.

"What is it?"

"Don't give orange blossoms and honeysuckles to anyone other than me, Hermione."

He was still smiling, and laughter was still near the surface of his voice, but she also knew that he was serious. It might be something in his eyes, unmoving as the night with only the slightest hint of starlight to lessen the darkness.

"On that note, perhaps I should ask you to promise not to give flowers to any other man." He corrected himself.

"Hey! That's overly broad! Not to mention that you are being too forward by assuming you have any say in how I might try to court other men—which, newsflash, you don't."

His lips curved upwards slightly.

"You're a menace, Hermione."

She paused. Was that fondness in his voice? Yes, it was. It was starting to weird her out as she accepted his offer to pour her more grape juice without thinking.

"I'm not. A menace, that is. I follow the rules in general and I fight evil, such as the wizards who follow Grindelwald, for example."

He cleared his throat. "And yet between the two of us, I am not the one who was recommending vigilantism."

She gave him the stink-eye. He was unperturbed.

"I don't. It's just that dark lords are an extreme exception."

"Now, shall we continue with the celebratory meal?" he asked. "It's unfortunate that Miss Delacour has other engagements to attend, but I'm sure we can make the best of this."

He observed the food spread in front of them with something close to obsession. Some sort of enlightenment seemed to have reached him as his eyebrows rise, but he didn't share the insight (if any) with Hermione.

"You do like orange, don't you?"

"Yes, and I did feel like celebrating, so I requested beforehand for the kitchen to prepare any dessert recipes they have that has orange in it, as well as anything that Eugenie likes. This ends up being closer to an indulgence of desserts than a proper meal."

"That's even better, then," he said with aplomb. There was a slice of the orange, rose and mint cake in his hand. "We have all of the sweetness and none of the plainness and boredom. We have the honeymoon phase instead of the entire ups and downs of marriage."

She frowned as she picked up the orange pie. Mmmm, pie.

"Why are we even talking about marriage?"

He smiled. It was one of his real smiles, the one with the potential to scare little old ladies into crossing the street when they gaze upon it and convince thugs to find a different mark and leave him alone. Unfortunately for her, it was also still devastatingly handsome, just infinitely more dangerous.

"Well, it is rather apt, isn't it, seeing as you've practically proposed to me."

Hermione choked on her pie crust.

'-

Tom Riddle had unceremoniously dumped the contents of one of his potion bottles on the ground, ignoring Hermione's surprise (not that she was capable of saying anything while she was trying to cough that pie crust out). He cleaned it with a good use of Aguamenti before drying it. After he enlarged it, he moved the small orange-blossom-and-honeysuckle bouquet she made inside it, presumably after casting some preservation charm on them and charmed the glass to be unbreakable.

He'd dropped the bottle, now larger, back into his bag while Hermione was busy drinking mint tea and soothing her throat.

"Marriage proposal?" She hissed.

"Now, now, don't say that you've regretted it already. Is your intention as fickle as the weather?" Tom Riddle, at this point, was definitely not being a mature prefect that is above rubbing salt on the wound when they were raw.

Hermione snorted. "Please. I didn't even mention marriage."

"Well, give me your promise about the flowers and I'll tell you."

"Tom," she warned.

"You can give me your promise, or I can just walk away." He casually said. "It's just flowers, really, Hermione."

His smile was too innocent to be true.

She sighed. It really wasn't something that important. She can afford to do it, really. Even before she was unexpectedly returned to Hogwarts again, when was the last time she gave any man flowers? Not even on Ron's birthday, not even on the date they first got together. There were no flowers on any other day they got together too, or Valentine.

That was…huh, that wasn't exactly a bright memory, was it?

"Alright, I promise." She finally said.

"And what exactly do you promise?"

"I won't give any other guys flowers except for you." Hermione conceded. "And never give anyone else the bouquet I just handed you."

He nodded. "Thank you. Now, if you were studying Victorian flower language—which I recommend that you do because most purebloods are fluent in it—"

"Get on with it, Tom." She murmured under her breath.

"—orange blossoms meant marriage, the fruitfulness of the marriage bed and related marital festivities."

Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"It's alright, I completely understand," Tom continued, glib. If she looked up now, he was probably smirking. "I have been reliable informed that I am irresistible. I place no blame on you for having succumbed to the temptation—"

That's it. She uprooted a bunch of grass from behind her, stepped to the side and threw it to his face before running off.

Tom should be up and chasing her, wand at hand any time soon. That was great, because when she was this pissed off, she was in the mood to beat someone down too. She ran in a zig-zag pattern, not really something comfortable to do, but she could manage it in burst. At one point, she ducked into a roll and turn back to cast one hex and two jinxes, her hair almost alive with the rising static as she drew magic to her.

He dodged (of course), but it gave her time to start chaining four spells at once, the first of which was even silent. Tom sent a percussive curse she did not even want to let hit a shield and Hermione ducked as he raised a shield against the rest of her attacks. He held the shield in front of him, it centre point seems to be his wand. She probably couldn't breach it, but he couldn't attack either.

Understanding what he was trying to do, she casted the same variation of the Protego Charm.

"Is this a duel?" He asked.

"It's a fight," Hermione corrected. "How long are we going to do this?"

"First blood?" Tom seemed a little too casual at agreeing to the opportunity to hack and slash at each other, but then again most of the veteran Aurors that Hermione knew were the same. They wouldn't turn down an excellent opportunity to sharpen their skills.

"Well, some of us have just been recently sick. I don't think I'd have the stamina for even ten minutes." She said.

To her surprise, he removed his shield and shook his head. And… Was that concern? Wow, that was real concern, she noted with surprise.

"You're right. We should go back."

"What?"

"You are not going to return to the infirmary on the same day that you leave it. Not on my watch." His voice was firm when he said this, his mien implacable. It was probably one of the few times when Tom the Prefect was the real Tom Riddle.

Hermione was glaring at him while he politely offered her his arm like a proper gentleman.

"But we're just starting."

"Miss Curie," he was just there, waiting. Hermione let out an explosive huff.

"Oh, alright. But promise me we'll do this some other time." She took his arm, feeling distinctly like playing a role in a period movie while she did so.

"Certainly."

They strolled back, arm-in-arm, and Hermione's curiosity reminded her that there were still things she hadn't found out about.

"What does honeysuckle mean, then?"

"Generous affection, devotion." She could hear the smirk in his voice. Hermione let out a pained sound from the back of her throat.

"I can't believe that!"

"You're welcome to check any reference you can find," he said, idly.

Surprisingly, Tom wasn't someone who tends to grip the arm of their date possessively that they were attached at the hip (she dated someone like that once—Hermione didn't let him get past the second date). His arm wasn't a limp and annoying dead weight either. He adjusted quickly to any changes in terrain, even holding her once when the ground was slippery and her damned mary-janes weren't giving her enough traction. As she'd almost fallen, he had to grip her waist to stop her from slipping. She could feel his shoulder warm and solid against her back, his breath light against her neck. He let go and moved back once he was sure she was steady on her feet, returning his arm back with hers without needing to be prompted.

That's it, I'm finding a nice, comfortable pair of boots sometime soon, Hermione thought, trying to ignore how warm her face seems to be or the way his arms felt around her.

She was all for following uniform regulations, but not if it was going to get her killed. Slipping while trying to cast a counter-hex sounded like one of those situations.

"What about lily-of-the-valley or jasmine?" Hermione asked to distract herself. The blanket was visible now on the other side of the picnic tree.

"Lily-of-the-valley is 'return to happiness' and jasmine is 'amiability'." She didn't imagine his smug tone as he explained.

"Oh, that is so not fair," she groused. "How did you happen to find sweet-scented flowers that are somehow also completely friend-appropriate flowers? I just like the way orange blossoms and honeysuckles smell!"

"Those who are prepared create their own luck."

Hermione harrumphed in dissatisfaction but didn't retort back. There was no doubt that the git was prepared. That was when Hermione remembered that Eugenie was right there when she gave Tom the flowers before she pulled her vanishing act. Well, it explained why the blonde witch's face was beet-red now, doesn't it?

"Dammit," Hermione cursed. "I've got to find Eugenie tonight and explain."

Tom was unconcerned. "If she was indeed assigned to assist you on Professor Dexter's behest, then I'm sure you're given the same dorm."

The witch chanced a look at his side profile. It reminded her of the outline of a Greek statue. He would not look out of place wearing a chiton on the Parthenon, or maybe, placed among some statues of philosophers. (Why the hell should she be thinking of her last holiday in Greece right now?)

"You don't seem to be worried." She said.

"Miss Delacour does not have the unsavoury habit of spreading rumours about her housemates."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. "Well, I get the feeling that she won't betray her friends. Yet isn't still possible that she'd say that she was worried that her friends were moving too fast in a relationship? That she wished to ask for advice about it from others? News still end up going out that way, and it can still feed the gossip network. That's still concerning, isn't it?"

He mused on it for about three seconds. "She would still not have said anything within the first day, as she is not extremely social. Really, Hermione, there is nothing for you to worry unduly about."

Tom had the gall to pat the hand she had slipped into his arm as if they were the dearest of friends. It would've been condescending if his smile did not have that fox-like hint to it. He knew exactly how much it was annoying her. That, in turn, made her more determined not to be baited.

The picnic tree stood amongst several others in the clump some distance away. The breeze ran its hands through her hair and the hint of honeysuckle in the air lifted her mood.

Hermione huffed yet again and stepped closer to him instead, his arm was now pressed against her. He stiffened for a moment before he relaxed again, letting her pin his arm between her own and her torso—he'd started it and she knew it meant that he wasn't going to be the one who'd back down. She gave herself a silent congratulation; he'd kept very precise distance between himself and any other person. It was not hard to guess from there that he was not a fan of casual bodily contact. Oddly enough, that meant it was one of the few ways that she knew she can disconcert him.

She'd resigned herself to address Eugenie's misunderstanding later.

"So, Eugenie might be weirded out but fine, then?"

"She might find it unsettling, yes, but nothing that will prompt her to be anything than discreet."

It was not hard to give credit to Tom's opinion, as he should know the various people here better than she did. He'd been in Hogwarts for years, after all. Besides, she couldn't really do anything about it until she was back at the Ravenclaw Tower. Hermione sighed and settled for getting back to the picnic blanket.

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End Notes:

Additional Trivia:

Eugenie Delacour (OC): Fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect, French transfer from Beauxbatons. Among the French transfers to Hogwarts, she is the first one, the one who had transferred earliest (her parents presumably sensitive to the tumult in the muggle war on the continent). A member of the extended, part-veela Delacour clan (many of which has a different last name as they married out). Her name is the female, French version of Greek name Ευγενιος (Eugenios) derived from the Greek word ευγενης (eugenes) meaning 'well-born'.

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