Author's Note:
It should be obvious by now that the time period involved necessitates many OCs or practically-OCs to be Hermione's Hogwarts' peers. If someone complains about it even after realising this story is set in the 1940s... well, I wash my hands off you. A bit of a calmer chapter before the next one (oh, and how the next one explodes).
Random note to readers: I recently checked the visitors to this story and there are people from at least three continents and more than a dozen countries. Wow. Never really expected that. I have to admit that I'm always curious when I get a visitor from a new country. How did people end up reading this story? What makes you stay/follow it? I'd be happy to hear the answer from anyone who doesn't mind telling me about it.
'-
10 To the Ravenclaw Tower
Hermione practices a little applied biology. Tom escorts Hermione back. Hermione is acclimating herself to the local customs. Lakshmi introduces herself and shows Hermione around. Hermione settles in.
'-
They were back to sitting on the picnic blanket again, and the honeysuckle vines gladly dropped its flowers into her hair every now and then. She didn't brush them off, only collected them together and figured out how to chain them into one. Wait, she was sure that Luna had told her about a more elegant solution to this before…
"Oh well," Hermione mused as she cast around for longer branch. "I suppose we can tidy all this up now and go back to the castle."
She didn't know why Tom was raising his eyebrow at her.
"Well, Eugenie's already gone back, and I'm sure you have other things to do. I haven't settled back at the Ravenclaw Tower either…"
"Perhaps you'd like to just enjoy the day for a while?" He finally asked.
Hermione was standing up again, wand in hand, cutting some of the younger twigs of the honeysuckle for her idea; strong enough to provide structure and yet flexible enough to be wound into a circle. Perfect. She looked back to see his eyes intent on her form. It wasn't the first time since they walked back—his gaze sometimes flickered to her entire self than stay on her face. No, it was not a leer (or anything in the neighbouring range of one). It was more clinical and it was systematic.
Tom was checking up on her.
"I'm fine." She insisted the moment she figured out what he was doing.
He met her gaze for three seconds and she was aware that he was politely holding back his disbelief.
"That's good to hear," he said. Wait, she hadn't expected that answer. "I'm afraid I'd like to rest for a while after the exertions we've gone through. You won't mind terribly if we delay our return for a while, would you?"
His smile was deceptively innocent.
For someone whose statement was obviously a load of crap, he was too calm. She had a feeling that he was prepared for her to either accept his request or to challenge it, but the unhurried way he'd started picking a lemon cake told her that he was prepared for either answer.
If she insisted on walking back right now, she had the suspicion that he'd call attention to her less-than-perfect health in a more embarrassing way than this polite fiction of his supposed tiredness. So, she resigned herself to keeping the détente.
Hermione huffed and settled back to weaving the twigs into a crown. Carefully making small diagonal slices to the bark with her wand past the cambium, she inserted the fallen buds carefully to each cut. She held them there, healed the cut with a spell of regeneration and then cast another spell of growth. The wound and the flower stem joined as if they had always been one. Neville taught her that one. It always helped his grafted branches to set in a day. The application, however, was pure Luna.
"What are you making?" He asked.
"A flower crown," Hermione answered. "Obviously."
A flower crown always makes you feel better on a bad day, Luna had told her once, right after she gifted Hermione with a crown of roses at lunch (how she got her hands on a rose plant during the day, when they were both working at the Ministry was the type of question she'd stopped asking around Luna). Her friend was on to something there, because it was pleasant to have the sweet fragrances follow you around all day. Luna charmed them to release their fragrance in waves and then hold back and merely collect them at other times, so we won't get desensitised to the scent, of course.
Of course.
It also made her feel better at that miserable day at the office, and she was an Unspeakable. On the degree of strangeness that they see at the office every day, a flower crown barely made anyone blink. The witches she met in the hallways actually complimented her on it and asked how she made it.
"You're not using a sticking charm for the flowers," he noted, curious.
"Well, that would be an ordinary flower crown. I'm going for an extraordinary one—a living flower crown, if you will. If I grafted all the loose flowers to one branch, all the elements would end up being one organism, one plant. It can live for days, no, weeks on a glass of water. Well, I'd add nutrients to the water to be sure, but that's trivial." She replied with a shrug. The highly interested look on his face told otherwise and she couldn't help a small grin.
"It really isn't that hard. Well, the exactly two spells required isn't. The important part is actually knowing how the dicots are structured—you need a plant that arrange their vascular network in a series of neat, concentric circles."
She went back to slicing just the right distance past the phloem, cambium and xylem. She checked the flower stems critically before sticking the flowers into the cuts and then muttering first the healing spell, and secondly, the regeneration spell.
"These vessels, these mini pipes that carry minerals from the roots upwards and the ones that carry nutrients generated by the leaves? In dicots, they're arranged in a series of concentric circles. The phloem vessels are at the outermost, the cambium lies in between and after that you have the xylem vessels. Once you know how they're arranged, you can join the corresponding vessels from any two branches, from any two plants, to become one."
She paused for a moment.
"Well, they have to be closely related, of course, you can't try it with magnolias and oranges, for one. But still, imagine the possibilities once you knew that! A master herbologist can theoretically create a bower the shape of gazebo made of entirely of rose plants and ensure that when it blooms, it blooms with a hundred type of roses."
The master herbologist that she knew here was certainly Neville, and the result was certainly not theoretical. He had made that for his wife. It was heart-stoppingly beautiful, though not as much as his look of utter adoration she could see in his face at the happiness in hers.
"It takes patience and effort, but unlike the muggle world, we certainly didn't need to wait for the plant to heal and recover. That's only a minute or so away in the hands of a master."
(Pity the gazebo didn't quite survive the Insurrection unscathed.)
Wait, what?
(It could still be regrown, though. It was only damaged, not dead. This is unlike what happened to—)
Shit. Not again. Hermione ignored the blanks with effort. Or how she had more than one memory of how the rose bower looked like. And blurred pictures of Neville standing with someone. The witch in them didn't seem to be the same one either. What on earth? I can't have two memories of the same time!
Her mouth, fortunately, was able to keep going and her pause was not too long to raise questions.
"In monocots, however, they're spread at random. That's why you won't ever be able to do it for monocots because they don't have it. No grafting for the banana or the coconut tree."
Hermione looked up from her continuous effort to graft all the flame-coloured honeysuckle flowers on one branch because he was being surprisingly quiet. She narrowed her eyes.
"You don't understand most of what I'm saying, do you?"
"Not all of it yet, but I'm sure you won't leave me hanging."
"Well, just ask about anything you wish me to clarify."
And off they went. She had to explain what monocots and dicots were ("unlike monocots, dicots are not monophyletic." "I'm sorry?" "Oh, never mind. I'm rambling towards excessive and unnecessary detail. Ignore that.") She munched as she worked, and before she even extended her hand at one food item or another, Tom was already there and offering it to her. He even made the sourdough sandwiches with marmalade.
Hermione had not considered the possibility that a conscientious Tom Riddle that was finely aware of her physical condition could be annoying, in a way. His manners had always been flawless and it was flattering to be the subject of so much care. Yet the intensity of his gaze was almost a physical caress over her skin—frankly, it was distracting. She'd never wished she was healthy as much as she did now. On the other hand, his singular attention on her magical grafting impressed her (most people would've given up and stopped asking for more details when they figured out just how extensive and technical her knowledge could be).
At one point, he picked up the remaining sprigs of orange blossoms she had set aside from the top of the marmalade jars.
"Add these in too?"
She gave him a suspicious look. "They're not even from the same family. Grafting them is beyond me."
He shook his head. "I wasn't speaking of attaching them to the honeysuckle, but to intertwine was a second layer to the crown."
"They're only short sprigs!"
He raised an eyebrow. "You can join them into one long vine with that regeneration charm, can't you?"
Tom was right, damn him. His mind certainly worked fast with the knowledge she'd just imparted. With careful application of said charm (don't overpower it, Hermione. Slowly and steady does it), she managed to make the orange sprigs grow and lengthen. She grafted them, joined them, into a single vine to expedite the growing process. Soon she had enough length to braid with the honeysuckle twine. Not enough blossoms, though.
She tried to recall that there was a spell to increase blossoms, it was just at the tip of her tongue.
"Multiflora? No, pretty sure it wasn't that. Flora maximus? No, not that. Urgh, I can't remember." Hermione complained.
Tom had taken the orange vine from her hand and stuck the cut end to the loose soil. He called aguamenti to water it and cast a spell she didn't recognise on the ground.
"Coalesco." Then, he pointed his wand at the vine.
"Florescentia."
As called, a profusion of white blossoms flowered all along the vine where previously they had only been young buds. Their fragrant scents filled the air.
"That's…not what I was thinking of, but it works. Wait, as far as I can remember, Florescentia only induces flowers to bloom on plants, not cuttings." She was excited and baffled at the same time.
"You've just told me that the difference between a cutting and a plant is that the first haven't regrown its roots." Tom answered her calmly as he pulled the vine's cut end from the ground. True enough, wispy, spidery roots have extended from that end, courtesy of the first spell he cast on it. "I merely applied that knowledge."
He applied it within a few minutes of knowing it, she realised. That took an insane level of insight.
He took the honeysuckle vine from her as she stared at him in surprise and entwined it with the orange branch filled with white blossoms in his hand. He worked with precise movements, careful enough not to dislodge the more delicate flowers in the process, more careful than Hermione would have been. He placed it back into her hands when he was done.
It was, indeed, a crown of flowers.
"Perhaps you'd like to change the type of orange blossoms?"
"Why?"
"You did say that you liked another type better because they were more fragrant."
Ah, the Seville orange blossoms she'd changed his orange blossoms into. Well, she could do that again. It wasn't that hard. To make the change permanent, though, takes more knowledge of plants than is obvious at first sight. She could do it, of course. The white flowers grew slightly bigger, their scent carrying slightly more zest. Hermione added that last charm Luna recommend, so the flowers would hold back their scent most of the time, releasing them only in waves. Then, she was done.
She'd made her own flower crown.
Tom searched his pockets and came out with an extra scroll ribbon of his own. He lengthened it and changed its colours to a metallic bronze and offered it to her. Hermione shrugged and accepted it.
Well, why not? She was a Ravenclaw, this time around. The more's the merrier. She wove it around the vines before tying the two ends together into a bow.
"Well, it looks perfect now." Tom commented.
He looked completely serious when he said that, to her surprise. She hadn't realised until she was comfortable in her own skin as an Unspeakable that she had envied Luna's ease in Hogwarts. They both attracted people who would gossip and belittle them for different reasons, but only Luna was completely content with who she was. Hermione has unconsciously wished she had everybody's approval, as ridiculous as that sounds when she said it out loud to herself years and years later.
Now? Now she wasn't going to ask for anyone's approval. Teenage peer pressure can go screw themselves.
"Why, thank you. I think I'm done with the crown." With that, Hermione picked her crown and placed it carefully on her head. It was a little lopsided at first, but it was hard to adjust it once it snagged on her hair. She sighed. She forgot her thick curls.
"Here, let me."
Before she knew it, he was already behind her and had released her hair from its single tie. After that he was…doing stuff with her hair. The occasional strokes as he released a knotted strand or several were weirdly soothing. Instead of retying her hair, he braided it. The crown did seem to sit securely once he was done.
"Right. Thanks."
She closed her eyes took a deep breath and was met with the scent of orange blossoms and honeysuckle. Perfect.
"Pass me the berry soufflé, Tom, and the mint tea too."
"Of course, Hermione."
A corner of his lips was twitching upwards in amusement, but Hermione ignored it because she knew he wasn't laughing at her.
It must have been more than ten minutes when not only her heartrate had gone down again, all the adrenaline in her system returned to a normal level. That was when the slight feeling of weakness in her legs became apparent, as was the passing dizziness. She felt the effects of the Rejuvenating Charm cast upon her in the form of a warm breeze. She tensed.
When she looked up, Tom had his wand out and his expression was unapologetic.
Well, she'd grudgingly admit that his reaction had been spot on. It didn't mean she was going to thank him for it. She could feel the static charge of magic building up along her nerves and the thunder hex that was at the tip of her tongue.
"I'd have to inform you not to do that when I'm tense, Riddle."
Her seriousness came across well with her tone and he replied in kind. "To do what?"
"Cast any spell on me without my knowledge. I'm liable to retaliate before I'm conscious of it and I would hate to count you among my collateral damage." Hermione replied with the harsh truth as she discreetly grounded the hilt of her wand into the ground—the excess magic was conveniently dissipated. She was not a child grown in a time of peace, her reflexes were not pretty to admit. There was a reason that whenever Harry or Ron embedded her in a frontline unit, she would always be working with others who'd survived at least two dark lords.
He took it in a stride as he smiled. "Ah, you'd miss me already, Hermione?"
"If I really have to inflict mortal harm on someone, I prefer the people to actually deserve it." The witch rolled her eyes. How did all that ego even fit inside his head?
"If you somehow managed to kill me that carelessly, I'd have well deserved it."
Hermione groaned. She should have known. How did she not guess that that would be his answer?
"You're a prick, Tom." She stated.
"And yet you prefer me this way."
That was…hmm, she couldn't even argue about it. Hermione closed her mouth again as she realised that, ignoring his amused look. She would rather chat with him, all annoyingly excessive confidence and belligerent intelligence that he didn't somehow hold back rather than chat with the nice, polite prefect he'd first been that was as interesting and readable as a blank wall. She didn't need anyone to be someone they weren't with her. It's not as if she was going to break with the first use of sarcasm.
After all, it gave her the perfect excuse to slice back with biting wit.
"I have been told on good authority that I have questionable tastes in men." Hermione replied.
Tom's surprised chuckle was just as real.
'-
Tom had insisted on carrying the picnic basket. She still couldn't decide whether it was convenient or vexing. His company was easy, though, and Hermione had only realised then that she would be bored if she'd gone back alone. Of course, she saw no reason to inform him of that little factoid. It was unnerving to note how easily he'd slipped himself into her routine.
As they walked the hallways of Hogwarts and Hermione saw more than one student turn their eyes in her direction. That was when she remembered that she was wearing her flower crown—she'd almost forgotten about it when the crown wasn't releasing its fragrance every few minutes because Tom had acted normally all the time. He truly did not think twice about it. Other students, it would seem, was a completely different issue.
"Wow, Hogwarts must have been very boring," Hermione said, making sure her voice carried.
"Why do you say that?" Tom asked, matching her volume.
"You'd think they'd never seen flowers before. I mean, flowers, Tom! What do you do to the students here? Lock everyone up indoors for months?"
Some students turned red when they realised they'd been staring. Others just upped their disdain, which Hermione ignored with ease. Of course, there were always the dense ones, but she'd written those off as a loss early on.
"Well, one has to admit that such an enchanting view is not commonly found here." She saw that he was smiling when he said this.
Hermione snorted, because the alternative would be to laugh. That would have been a good effort at a compliment if she didn't know that he was playing it up. Always charming, that Tom Riddle. She was not going to blush demurely or embarrassedly try to change the conversation.
"Please, Mr. Riddle, I'm sure you don't mean to say that. The ladies of Hogwarts would be heartbroken to hear it."
"They seem to be quite lively from where I'm standing. I'm sure they'll survive."
She followed his gaze and this time Hermione had to cover her mouth to stop the laughter. Several Gryffindor girls were positively livid at the sight of Tom Riddle carrying a picnic basket and her with a flower crown. Hermione couldn't help grinning just to rile them up—it wasn't her fault they were jumping, no, skydiving into conclusions.
"Oh Tom, you take me to the most interesting places. The local courting customs is absolutely fascinating. Do the ladies hunt in packs or do they hunt separately?" Hermione said this in an overly saccharine coo. She took distinct pleasure in hearing him suppress a bark of laughter and turned it into a series of unconvincing light coughs.
"Do their prey retain veto rights?" She asked again.
"I'm sure I have no idea what you are asking about, Hermione."
"Oh, I'm sure you do."
'-
She let Tom take the lead, which certainly wasn't a hard thing to do with the degree of consideration he was giving her. When they reached the bottom of Ravenclaw tower, what she hadn't expected was for there to be a student holding the door open. She was as beautiful as the evening, her large, kohl-rimmed eyes was liable to make any man's heart to stutter when she shoots them with her amber gaze. Her lustrous black hair hung to her waist, and her perfume was a subtle mix of jasmine and magnolias with a touch of Rose of Damascus.
"Hermione Curie, I presume." Her accent was the King's English, her expression was halfway from boredom. She didn't even seem to make any note of her crown of honeysuckle and orange blossom.
Hermione smiled. "Yes, and I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you."
That earned her a peal of laughter from the girl as Hermione's grin turned wider. Tom's even expression disguised his confusion quite well.
"I've heard that you're not unread; I'm glad to have actual proof of it. Mr. Riddle, it's good to see you too."
Tom politely stepped in. "If I may, Miss Chakravarty?"
"Please do, Mr. Riddle."
"Hermione Curie, this is Lakshmi Chakravarty, fifth year Ravenclaw. Miss Chakravarty, this is Hermione Curie, the transfer student that had been confined to the infirmary all this time due to unfortunate illness."
Hermione shook Lakshmi's hands. Her nails were painted coral and beautifully decorated with pictures of the tiniest flowers.
"It's nice to know you. I'm curious. I don't suppose you make it a habit of hanging around the doorway to the dorms on summer afternoons, do you?" Hermione asked, all innocence and wide eyes.
The fact that she was there to open the door for them when they arrive could hardly be a coincidence. Again, Hermione was sure she didn't broadcast her movements.
Lakshmi smiled. "You're not a milquetoast or a pushover either. Good, you'll need that here. Come on in, both of you. I haven't had this much fun in ages. I bet the other girls would love to get to know you, Curie."
The way she said it didn't make it sound as if it was something pleasant.
She opened the door wide for them and strolled in with all the ease of a panther in her den. Lakshmi sat on one of the single chairs available, one rather separated from the cluster of others, even. Her eyes adjusted a little to the brightness—all the sunlight shining down from the windows at all the tower's sides reminded Hermione that this was indeed the Rookery of the Ravens, while what little walls were there between the windows were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It was almost romantic.
This was when Hermione noticed that there were groups of girls in the common room. Ostensibly, they were studying. Of course, considering that she saw one group had a girl opening an arithmancy text book, another opened a potions book and yet another was of charms, she sincerely doubted that.
"Oh, who's this?"
Blond, busty and with not-quite a pleasant expression on her face and a lipstick too red for school, the student stood up and stared Hermione up and down. And found her wanting, she supposed. Lakshmi answered to the whole room.
"Everyone, this is Hermione Curie. She's the new fifth-year transfer student to our house. Hermione Curie, the Ravenclaw girls. The one closest to you is Olive Hornby."
"Have you been to Diagon Alley? We can show you where the best dressmakers are and they can tell you what's truly in fashion right now." The blonde—Olive—said sweetly. Young Hermione might have mistaken it for friendship. Now, she knew the insult to her fashion sense as it is. It's not as if it was unwarranted, as Hermione did pick a dress from among the infirmary's lost-and-found stack.
"It's certainly not forest chic," one of her cheap imitators said, which Hermione soundly ignored. She was only addressing Olive.
"Thank you for your offer, but I think…" Hermione allowed her words to trail away as she gave her own visible appraisal over what the blonde wore and clearly broadcasted in her expression that she found it lacking. "I think I'll stick to practically any other stores, even second-hand stores. My tastes don't run too…unique, unfortunately."
Hermione didn't miss the way the girl's eyes narrowed at her.
"But Olive is really the height of fashion," one of her stooges, oh, sorry, friends, chimed in to support her dear leader.
"Yes, quite avant-garde, isn't she?" Hermione smiled in a way that was both sweet and vicious. "Well, I don't tend to use my clothes as political statements, so I'm afraid I can't quite understand where she's from."
"Political statements?" A plainer girl asked.
That poor, poor girl, Hermione shook her head internally as she saw Olive and the other girls giving her various looks of warning. She just gave Hermione the opening she needed.
"Oh, you know, Fashion Statements against Good Taste and Dignity. I mean, good for you for having the courage to go boldly against the system! I'm just not that brave or experimental, I suppose. I'll stick to timeless elegance." She answered cheerfully.
That had Olive flaming red. Hermione made a show of turning around, as if she didn't really care enough about the cluster of girls to turn her back on them.
"Tom, thank you for escorting me, I'm sure I can find my way up the tower on my own."
"You're welcome, Hermione. Do watch your health; we've only just now allowed the pleasure of your company. It would be a shame if it were to be cut short again."
She didn't manage to completely push the exasperation out of her voice as she extended her hand to take the picnic basket from him. He handed it over after reapplying the lightweight charm to it.
"Yes, yes I will. Goodbye, Tom."
"Goodbye, Hermione."
He walked out and Hermione turned back to see the girls still standing there and staring at her. Right, Tom Riddle is the Perfect Prefect, Stellar Student and a gentleman. She almost forgot about his reputation. "If anyone is actually interested in talking to Tom, I'm sure he's at the Slytherin common room if you want to look for him. I, however, need to get to my dorms. I don't even know where they are yet."
Lakshmi Chakravarty stood up from her chair with the expression of the cat that had emptied a dozen of cages of canaries and was still promised a pet shop. She had been watching all this time and the remnants of complete enjoyment were still visible on her face.
"No worries, Curie. It's just up this way. We're sharing dorms, darling."
Hermione walked over to her, ignoring the other girls once more. She asked in a lower voice. "You sound much too happy for someone who gets yet another person to fight for bathroom in the morning. Why is that, Chakravarty?"
"Well, the Tower gets so boring sometimes. Your presence promises to liven things up and I've run out of easy ways to do so. And please, just call me Lakshmi."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Have you ever tried to 'liven things up' before?"
"Well, this one time, there were the snakes. They were non-venomous, really, it was a harmless bit of fun. There were many screaming and crying, but Lucretia made me promise not to do that again. And just when I managed to get her to laugh too!" She pouted, her plump lips begging to be kissed. It was a perfectly tender expression of slight melancholy. Hermione could easily envision her draped in jewels and rich fabrics where a desperate king would promise to build her the Taj Mahal if only he could get her to stop being sad.
"You're the kind of person who would burn the world down because they're bored, aren't you?" She asked suspiciously. It struck her that Lakshmi was a dangerous sort of beauty—the kind that can start wars.
Lakshmi laughed at that and patted her arm. "Nooo. Of course not. You're funny, Hermione. Why, how would I live in comfortable wealth if I burn the world down? Where would I get reliable domestic help? That's such a silly question."
"Right, sure. I'm sorry that your preference for the mental anguish of your housemates made me wonder whether you'd even mind burning the world down. I'm sure there's no relation to be had there." The brunette witch said with a roll of her eyes.
Their distance made her notice that it wasn't precisely perfume that Lakshmi was wearing, she just seemed to comb scented oils into her thick hair. It was as subtle as it was enthralling.
"Don't frown, Hermione, you'll add wrinkles too early. Now, there's also no need for sarcasm because I'm sure you're capable of doing much better than that."
"Why were you at the doorway?" Hermione asked.
"You're still on to that?" She looked askance at the brunette. "Why, I was waiting for you to arrive, of course. When I saw poor Eugenie rushing in, red-faced and without wanting to give any explanation to anyone, I knew I have to see you work your magic. So, I had one house elf to wait on the hallway and inform me if she saw you arriving. As such, my timing is perfect."
Hermione groaned. "Right. Eugenie. I still owe her an explanation."
Lakshmi's smile was mischievous. "Well, what did she see? Did you happen to be straddling and molesting Mr. Riddle in a mutually enjoyable manner when she came upon you? Was it a clothing optional activity?"
"Goodness, you're nuts." Hermione muttered into her hand.
"We're all mad here, Hermione. At least the interesting ones are."
It was hard to stay mad at her when it was clear that she was being so entertaining, not to mention that she read muggle books. This time, it was Lewis Carroll too—the witch had good taste.
"I was just giving him flowers as a thank you gift for helping me stay ahead of my classes. Eugenie happened to find my gift…excessive and misunderstands." She said. She didn't mind explaining because the other witch didn't strike her as someone who'd easily believe rumours.
Lakshmi pursed her lips to a moue of disappointment.
"That's boring." She declared, "My imagination is much better than reality."
"Well, if you've figured out how to live the lives of our fondest wishes, do tell me. I'll be first in line for that." Hermione's reply was drier than dust.
'-
There were velvet curtains of deep sapphire blue and five beds—the symmetry was maintained because the location of the entrance door took over the floor space for one more bed. Of course, they were four-poster beds fit for the noblest scions of great wizarding houses here. The entrance to the bathroom was discreetly tucked away to the side with the help of some folding screens to hide the entrance, while on the other side, the folding screens merely hide the linen closet. There was enough space for a chest at the bottom of each bed and the walk-in corner with the largest windows were lined with desks. Thick Persian carpets covered floor, richly patterned. And there were…paintings? Pastoral paintings (thank goodness, wizarding portrait annoyed her sometimes), but they were still quite beautiful. The brunette witch blinked several times at the view, as she was sure that her Gryffindor dorms weren't ever this richly furnished.
There was even enough space in the middle of the room for a tea table set with six chairs. Right. Definitely not the average dorm here.
"So, how is this room arranged?" Hermione asked.
"Eugenie is the bed closest to the door. Obviously, that's because she's the prefect. Always has to wake up earliest most of the time and end up latest. I'm the one that's the farthest from the window after that."
"Why would you choose that?"
"Because I don't like getting the sun in my eyes." She met Hermione's incredulous gaze with a shrug. "I'm not a morning person."
"You're not even a noon person, Lakshmi." Another voice added.
Hermione turned around to see another dark-haired beauty with waist-length hair, this one tall and elegant and moved with the bearing of a queen. It was a good thing that Hermione had really come to a point where she didn't care about her physical beauty (or possible lack thereof), because otherwise, she'd be a weepy, insecure mess on the floor.
"That, I am not," Lakshmi admitted with ease. "Back so soon, Lucretia?"
"Walburga is being unreasonable." Lucretia replied, turning her gaze to Hermione.
"Ah, Lucretia, this is Hermione Curie, our fifth-year transfer student. Hermione, this is Lucretia Black, seventh year and the unofficial head of our dorm."
She nodded her head regally. "I'm pleased to meet you, Hermione. You can call me Lucretia."
"I'm pleased to meet you too, Lucretia."
She could easily imagine that this was a dorm that not many female students would choose, because with Eugenie, Lakshmi and apparently Lucretia here, any random fourth person chosen to fill the spot would just look dowdy and plain compared to them. Also, Black? Lucretia Black? If she was in the same generation as Walburga, that would mean that she was Sirius' aunt.
"Also, hmm, the unofficial head of our dorm? How does that work?" Hermione asked.
"Technically, this is her dorm and we are all here on her sufferance," Lakshmi answered.
"Lakshmi, that's not true."
The other witch sniffed elegantly, giving Lucretia a half-lidded gaze. "Oh, it's absolutely true. This has been Lucretia's dorm since she came as a first-year, and it would be hers until her last year. Her father had been guaranteed that she'd have no roommates to clutter her life unless she so chooses. It's completely fine, darling, I have no idea why you try to play that down. You are the jewel of Hogwarts in your generation and you should own it."
"Well, the other girls of my year have been assigned their own dorms and they're afraid to move in when I asked them as a first-year." Lucretia explained.
"And then she has me, who has only moved to Britain a year or so before she enrolled at Hogwarts that when the dorm arrangements and rearrangements came to, the other girls were confused where to exile me to." The British Indian witch said this with her usual patina of boredom coating her words. One listening to hear might make the mistake that she had no personal attachment to the story.
"It was just a misfortune of numbers. There were twenty-one Ravenclaw girls at the beginning of your year. One person was always going to be the odd one out." Lucretia said. She was unexpectedly nicer than her pureblood princess persona would suggest.
"Well, I certainly didn't mistake the second and third years complaining that they'd had to take an odd-one-out first-year in."
"Their dorms were quite full already," Lucretia added.
"Then-third-year Lucretia kindly offered me a spot in her marvellously empty dorm, so I accepted." Lakshmi explained easily and even made a show of observing her fingernails. "Why would I even say no? Please."
"Some of the girls didn't give you an easy time about it."
"Well, you can't help with the stupid, not even in Ravenclaw" Lakshmi said pragmatically. "I've figured out early on that you weren't asking out of politeness and that you meant it. Anyway, I did promise to pay you back for the favour. Eugenie transferred in at our third-year and now we have you, Hermione. Other than our great lady here—"
"—Lakshmi, please—"
"—we are all exiles of various sorts. So, as Lucretia had taken you under her glossy black wing, make yourself at home."
Oddly enough, Hermione thought she just might.
"Thank you."
"It's no problem at all," Lucretia Black insisted.
"Now, you can choose between the two remaining beds over here…" Lakshmi directed her away from the bed at the door.
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Lucretia had other social engagements, and thus had to apologise for not being able to help Hermione settle in. The brunette witch assured her that it was completely fine, and besides, she had Lakshmi. Not that Hermione even had that much to begin with, even after she went with Professor Merrythought to get measured for uniforms yesterday afternoon. Those had just arrived today, along with a smattering of dresses Hermione had chosen out of a catalogue (with expressions of regret from the seamstress and tailors about possible fabric scarcity or shortage that was still nowhere near the levels she'd seen in non-magical WWII history books), basic school supplies and school books.
She had unpacked the picnic basket and remembered Tom's lily-of-the-valley bouquet and her box of chocolate truffles (Mmm, chocolate truffles). The bouquet had been unexpectedly preserved—Tom must have cast a stasis charm on it as he helped her pack. She resolved to think about what to do with the bouquet later. Maybe she'd ask for another small bottle for the infirmary and just keep a small part of it? Yes, that would work.
Now, Hermione had carefully eased the crown out of her hair after casting some unsticking charms. She laid some spare books to support it on her bedside table, and then placed the crown on top.
"You're not tossing that out?" Lakshmi asked.
"No! I put the effort to make sure this whole wreath consists of only two vines. Throwing it away defeats the whole purpose of ensuring that they're still alive." She said. She dipped the trailing ends of the crown that were the cut ends into a spare glass she'd picked up from the supplies closet in the bathroom, now filled with water. She added some minerals into the glass to be sure.
Lakshmi gave a theatrical sigh "You made it yourself? How tedious. I thought Riddle had made it for you, for sure. Foiled by the boring real world yet again!"
Hermione shrugged. "Well, he did help me with some charms when I was stuck to remember some of them. It had been a while, you see. But it's mostly my work."
She observed it critically, casting another sticking charm to make sure the glass wouldn't be knocked over. When she was satisfied, she dropped herself on her bed. The bed covers and linens on both unoccupied bed had been fresh, as the house elfs had been informed that she was discharged today.
The black-haired witch turned to her with gleaming amber eyes from her own bed. The expression really reminded Hermione of a cat on the prowl.
"You know, you should tell everyone that he did made it for you. Considering that he actually went on a picnic with you, I'm sure he doesn't mind. All the girls' jealousy would be such fun."
Hermione's warning look was a jaded one. She even made a point of fiddling with her wand.
"Do I look that naïve? They'll form into mobs to kill me. In their perspective, it would also be completely justified. Who is this new girl, anyway? Where did she come from? And now, apparently Tom Riddle just publicly proposed to her. It's got to be Amortentia."
Lakshmi pouted.
"Damn, you know British flower language? That is so not fun."
"Well, not for you it isn't. It's fun enough for me." She replied sardonically, absolutely not admitting that she wouldn't have the faintest clue about what the flowers mean if Tom hadn't told her.
Hermione reminded herself to find a book on it in the library quickly.
"Anyway, they won't kill you, Hermione. They're not that stupid. I imagine that it wouldn't really last that long, what with Riddle most probably clarifying things to keep public order. It's not going to be that bad" She said.
The brunette witch snorted. "You try that yourself if you want it so much."
"I'm afraid I'm not that brave," Lakshmi demurred from under lowered eyelids. It would have been bashful had Hermione not known that she wouldn't be afraid of something that pitiful.
"Stealing my words now, are you?"
"Well, I'm certainly not the one who wore a crown of orange blossoms and honeysuckle by Tom Riddle's side while crossing the whole school. Considering that this is you, I would also bet this month's allowance that you have an expression of sheer 'I don't give a damn' plastered on your face while you did that, which would give credence to the thought that, yes, you are that shameless to have stolen Tom Riddle from under the noses of the entire Hogwarts female populace." The other witch stated.
"At least that's how they see it. I'm sure you won't be surprised about the number of people like me who really don't give a damn—except maybe for pure schadenfreude."
"Oh, bloody buggering hell."
Hermione allowed herself the luxury of letting loose to curse. A lot. She ended up using up most of the vocabulary she picked up from Ron but rarely used because she had to set an example to the younger Aurors and Unspeakables (in the office, anyway). Well, there were no such concerns here.
Lakshmi didn't even blink, though her grin did grow wider.
"You provide the most interesting entertainment in years, Darling. You have my sincere gratitude."
"Do the students really have nothing else to do? Like, homework? Preparation for OWLS? NEWTS?" Hermione hissed. "Maybe trying to figure out how we'll all survive and win this bloody war? Grindelwald is still out there and he's certainly not just having tea with the King!"
The dark-haired witch blinked her thick eyelashes, curiously regarding Hermione. There was an almost apologetic cast to her mien.
"Dearest Hermione, do you really want me to answer that question?"
Hermione's answer came in the form of an extended, frustrated scream, muffled by the pillow that she buried her face into.
'-
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End Notes:
Lucretia Black is a canon character. She is exactly of the age described here, as is the rest of the Black family that Hermione is going to encounter sooner or later as she made her way across Hogwarts. If you were going to complain to me that this story has a surfeit of Blacks, the complaints are best addressed to J. K. Rowling, really, because she was the one who placed them in this time period. The endnote on Lakshmi is going to be in the next chapter that she shows up in, because this one is long enough as it is.
We don't see enough Herbology-related spells in book canon, so I made some up. They're genuine Latin words, by the way, and hopefully with the right declensions.
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List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:
Dicots: (Biology) a. k. a., dicotyledons, rarely, dicotyls. One of two groups that the clade of all flowering plants (Angiosperms) were formerly divided into. The name refers to one of the group's typical characteristic; the seed has two embryonic leaves. Unlike monocots, they can't be said monophyletic (which meant that it includes a common ancestor and everything descended from said ancestor), because one clade actually splits off from the rest of the dicots earlier than monocots split off.
It basically consists of the magnoliids (of which one of them is magnolias, obviously, but also avocado and nutmeg) and the eudicots (the 'true' dicots, or the ones usually thought of as dicots and form the bulk of the group), along with a few small groups leftover/unplaced in those two. Easiest examples? The order Rosales has fruit plants such as apples, apricots, peaches, plums, cherries, etc. Also, roses, strawberries, raspberries and blackberries. Yum. Easily my favourite plant order.
Monocots: (Biology) a. k. a., monocotyledons, rarely, monocotyls. One of two groups that the clade of all flowering plants (Angiosperms) were formerly divided into. The name refers to one of the group's typical characteristic; the seed has one embryonic leaf. Grasses are obviously here, which is why all the important food grains of humanity are here, as is sugarcane. This group also contains the various bananas, various palms (like the coconut tree), the orchids, lilies, tulips, daffodils, bluebells, various root herbs (ginger, turmeric & relatives), and many more.
Phloem: (Biology) the living tissue of a plant that transports the soluble organic compounds made during photosynthesis, in particular, the sugar sucrose, to parts of the plant where needed (Wikipedia). I see it as food transport from leaves, basically. Phloem is the innermost layer of the bark.
Xylem: (Biology) the tissue that transports water from the roots to everywhere else in the plant, sometimes transport other nutrients too. So, they're the water transport pipes.
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Additional Trivia:
"Hermione Curie, I presume." …
Hermione smiled. "Yes, and I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you.":
You know, the basic format of "XXXX, I presume," when confirming someone's identity the first time you met? The most famous quotation refers back to Henry Morton Stanley finding the lost Victorian explorer, anti-slavery activist and colonialist Dr. Livingstone, in the depths of the jungle of sub-Saharan Africa. The aforementioned Dr. Livingstone had lost contact to the outside world for six years, so it wasn't a surprise that people feared he was dead.
Hermione knew that and was able to give Dr. Livingstone's reply to Stanley's greeting.
The words are humorous because Dr. Livingstone was certainly the first Englishman Stanley met in miles (and there was only a tiny, tiny chance that he was someone else other than Livingstone). Stanley was just too awkward to hug him in relief that he said that. Livingstone's reply was obviously the humour of someone who'd been close to death too often (Livingstone was beset by various diseases in the last four years of his life). This is mostly sourced from Wikipedia (because my memory is not eidetic, obviously).
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