Author's Note:
This chapter is the first clue for everyone that I actually enjoy writing about Hogwarts classes. It channels my inner nerd. Remember when I said that I wrote this fanfic to relax? Yeah, this is me, relaxing. Expect to see more later (also, this is me saying that any complaints about how I should just skip the classes' content would be futile).
- To early readers of last chapter: There's a minor detail edit. I changed King's College to Trinity College (though both are colleges in Cambridge University, England), mainly because I misremembered Isaac Newton's almamater the first time around (that's what you get for editing past midnight, folks).
- To evening's shore (since you're not an FFNet user and I can't use the 'reply review' function): Another long review! Yesss! Thanks a lot! It warms the cockles of my black heart to hear that all the world's background details that I try to trickle carefully into the story makes a difference to you. I don't think I can write any differently (I'll always be a fantasy/science fiction writer at heart, hopefully a pro one day), but it's always nice to know that it makes a difference to the reader. Chapter 12 is also a rather pivotal chapter in the story as their friendship (frenemy-ship? tentative alliance?) slowly evolves, and you've managed to enumerate exactly why it's so. It's why I just sat down and rewrote it when I thought it no longer meshes well with the newer changes.
As for your future speculations...heh heh heh *insert evil magician's cackle here*. Tom never does anything for a simple reason or two, and that's as far as I can go without going to spoiler territory. And I'm always giddy when my sharp readers give me feedback or reads between the lines/all the clues, hints and groundwork I've spread throughout the previous chapters. It really does make it worth constructing the story layer by layer.
Also, good call on connecting with other writers who apparently wrote the same ship (I didn't even realise I was writing in a particular ship when I begun. It just...grows from the characters' motivation and interests, selfish or otherwise). I'll see what I can do.
'-
13 Advanced Transfigurations, Lunch, and a Spot of Scandal
Advanced Transfigurations. An after-class chat. Romulus Rowle's gargoyle is a great conversation starter (or killer, now that you think about it). Lakshmi and Hermione had a lot of fun with creative conversation. Lunch is not precisely uneventful.
'-
Transfiguration was…nice. It was probably because the class simply proceeded like a class.
Dumbledore had been a good orator, his speeches intense, and it translated well to his teaching in front of the class. As for his grasp of transfiguration, Hermione never had any doubt that it was excellent. The harder part of any of Hogwarts' advanced classes was in the depths of the theory that they have to start covering; it was no longer just about the practical side of magic.
With a teacher of such extreme talent, Hermione was quite excited that she hadn't missed the point where the lecture started to hit the spectrum of spells, from charm to true transfiguration. Oh, the extreme end of being able to transfigure lead into gold was more hypothetical than anything, but the middle of the spectrum was where wizards and witches can truly play.
"I ask you all this, is permanent transfiguration possible?"
Dumbledore's blue eyes glimmered in challenge. "Yes, Mr. Zabini? You seem to have something to share with us."
"It is not possible, as I'm sure we've all been warned to never transfigure something into food and eat it with the expectation that it will satiate us. At the very least, it would be harmless but still leave you hungry, while if you had picked a terrible object, you would be poisoned." Some progenitor of Blaise Zabini had answered.
"A solid beginning, five points to Slytherin."
Hermione ignored the girl with the green-and-silver tie not far from her that hissed under her breath. "five points, really? He should've gotten a ten!"
No, Hermione thought decisively to herself, really, he shouldn't. It was not the complete answer. She had raised her hand before she'd realised it. A glance to the table at her left showed Tom trying to hide a small grin at her excitement, but she ignored him. Dumbledore glanced around the entire classroom. He had noted her, gave her the slightest nod, but had drifted away to latch on to someone else.
She thought she'd seen that guy this morning in the Ravenclaw common room.
"Mr. Shafiq, you seem to have a question you dearly wish to ask. Go ahead."
"Professor, you said that Caspar made a solid beginning but far from enough. I can understand that, since there is the use of the Philosopher's Stone that is capable of doing that and he'd failed to mention it." Hermione didn't miss Zabini flinch at that realisation. Shafiq continued on. "Yet that's a mere addendum in transfiguration since it's the exception that proves the rule. You make it sound like he'd missed far more."
Dumbledore raised both of his eyebrows, to prompt the frustrated boy.
"What are we missing?" the Ravenclaw—Shafiq, Hermione tried to remember—finally asked.
Hermione's hand was still in the air. The professor was smiling one of his mysterious smiles again.
"Let's see, shall we? Miss Curie, I'm glad to see that you've finally recovered enough to join us." Dumbledore said.
"It's my pleasure, Professor. I was claustrophobic enough to miss class." She could feel the heads turning as the students finally received confirmation of who the mysterious new student was.
"I presume that you have something to add?"
The brunette witch nodded.
"I think you're being unfair to the others, Professor. You asked a leading question."
She could see the expressions of confusion rising around her. Tom had his smile, though it was distinctly more amused than before. Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to be filled with laughter too.
"Oh, I did, did I? Would you like to explain, then?"
"You asked us whether permanent transfiguration is possible. The definition is too confining and it causes people to close their mind the first time they hear it. It is better to first start with a different question."
Hermione thought she was better than the know-it-all she'd been. She wasn't just spouting lines she'd memorised from a book, for one, regardless of how many people could actually parse her answer. This time, she'd carefully lead the class from where they were thinking at to where she was. It would seem that Dumbledore could see what she was doing too, because there was a definite appreciation in his smile.
"And what would that question be?"
"Is it possible to use magic to affect permanent change in the world?"
Hermione took a careful breath, letting the question sink into the minds of her classmates. She could see Shafiq's and Zabini's expression already changing into a more contemplative one as she said that, though there were still no lack of confused ones. She glanced at Dumbledore before pausing her gaze somewhere at the bridge of his glasses.
"If I may continue, Professor?"
"Certainly. Take your time, Miss Curie."
"I'd like to start my argument by illustrating that there are spells that affect the world permanently. Consider Confringo, Flagrate or even Fiendfyre."
She ignored the single gasp that mentioning fiendfyre invoked.
"These spells explode and burn. Do they effect a permanent change on the world even after the caster stopped and walked away? Yes. Yes, they do. We can even extend our consideration to hexes, jinxes and curses. Does the victim's body change? Yes. And a finite does not always remove them."
"And yet they are not transfiguration spells, Miss Curie," Dumbledore said.
"But what are transfiguration spells but very specific ways of inducing change?" She asked back. "For example, if I am given four blocks of wood, I can change the first into ash, the second into coal, the third into soil and the fourth I can decay it slightly and grow mushrooms on them."
"These changes, these transfigurations would not change or revert back into a block of wood whether you'd wait for a year or a hundred and perhaps even more." Hermione said. "Would anyone say that the transfigurations are not permanent, now?"
Dumbledore seemed happy enough, but he picked Zabini again.
"Yes, Mr. Zabini?"
Zabini nodded to the transfiguration professor. "Yet ash is what we get from just burning wood straight away. The mushrooms and the decay is a natural progress. It's nothing like changing the block of wood into gold."
Dumbledore raised a hand to hold Hermione from jabbing a reply back at Zabini. She huffed and folded her arms as she continued to sit at her table.
"But Ms. Curie had made her point, Mr. Zabini. I asked, 'is permanent transfiguration possible?' She had just proven that it is."
"She still can't change wood into gold." He insisted.
Surprisingly to Hermione, Dumbledore turned to her and then moved his gaze a little further.
"Mr. Riddle, if you please. I see that you have something you wish to clarify."
"Thank you, Professor. I think the critical point is that you've never asked us whether all possible transfigurations can be permanent. You were only asking of whether a permanent transfiguration is even possible in the first place. Hermione has soundly demonstrated that yes, it's very possible." Tom stated.
"It is not necessary for her to prove that every single possible transfiguration can be made permanent, such as the wood-block-to-gold transfiguration."
Dumbledore nodded in understanding as he let the class digest that, walking his way back to the front of the class. Two girls turned their head sharply at Tom's direction, though Hermione had no idea what it was about. He'd made the perfect concluding remark. (She half-wished Dumbledore had called her so that she could be the one to do it, thought she supposed hers wouldn't be as pithy as his).
"Thank you very much, Mr. Riddle, Mr. Zabini, and especially to you, Ms. Curie. Another five points to Slytherin goes to Mr. Riddle and fifteen points for Ravenclaw."
He waved his hand and the blackboard was suddenly filled with his handwriting. It was clear that it had been written beforehand, and Dumbledore was only now removing the spell he'd applied to hide them.
"Permanent transfiguration is possible." He stated this firmly, his voice carrying weight across the entire transfigurations classroom.
Hermione couldn't help but preen at the pleasant feeling of being vindicated.
"As Miss Curie had shown, creating permanent change with magic is possible—otherwise, how does wizard duels end in death if magic is but an illusion? We can easily call up elemental powers in our hands. Now, permanent transfiguration is merely another step from that level, concerning more with fine control rather than brute force. How to do it is a different kettle of fish altogether. Keep in mind that naïve transfiguration is what you are all taught in early classes, because it is enough for most common purposes." He paused for a moment.
"In naïve transfiguration, to impose a new form onto an object, you imagine its new shape and keep that in mind as the words and wand movements of the spell bring it forth into the world. You don't need to know what the object's material is and how it relates to the material of the new form. Ignorance is not a handicap. Your will is absolute and you reject the original shape without so much as a by-your-leave. This imposition strains reality, of course, as all objects remember their essence, of what they truly are. The world remembers. Once your magic is no longer grasping the object firmly, nothing holds them back any more and they revert."
Many quills were hurriedly scratching lines across parchments. Tom made only the occasional note here and there. Hermione herself had changed her note-taking habits. She would just note down the primary ideas, along with the occasional detail. Then, she'd try to reconstruct the argument herself using textbooks as her sources later.
It made for a more comprehensive understanding.
"Now, permanent or real transfiguration manages to affect actual change by not ignoring the state of the world and the state of things. You have to understand the material you are working with and the material you wish to change it to. You have to know and understand the natural processes that can create such change, because this is what you're replicating. You have to know how many steps it would take to get there and coax it slowly, making sure that its entire being mutates every step of the way."
He sighed. "Impatience and rushing through it will only change the spell into naïve transfiguration once more, where you impose your will on reality regardless of its plausibility. The object will certainly revert back to its initial state after some time had passed."
Dumbledore paused and looked around each and every one of them carefully.
"Ladies and gentlemen, there is a good reason why the grounding theory of transfiguration is such a significant component of this class."
"Ignorance is a handicap here."
'-
"Miss Curie, can I speak with you for a moment?"
Hermione had already picked up her bag. Tom Riddle was at the door, his attention fixed on her. "Of course, Professor, I don't mind. I'll just tell Tom about it for a bit so he doesn't wait."
They walked to just outside the transfigurations classroom.
"Seems like Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk about some things with me. Maybe you should head off to lunch right now before you miss it."
"What's the matter?"
His tone was only slightly wondering, but Hermione had gotten used to reading the relative coldness of his eyes. This one was back to being rather chilly.
"I don't think it's anything important—it's probably just because I showed a very good understanding of lasting transfiguration. Really, there's nothing to worry about." She patted his arm without thinking and turned back to the class. She could still feel the weight of his concerned gaze on her. It was weird, but Hermione decided not to give it too much thought. Tom's hackles just seemed to be triggered by anything related to Dumbledore, as if they were two rival seekers moving in the same field, always keenly aware of the other's presence and what they were doing and always considering any approach as a threat.
(Yes, Ron, I understand and can use quidditch analogies too, the random thought/memory popped into her head).
The professor was rereading his notes on his table.
"Professor Dumbledore? You were saying?"
"Ah, Miss Curie, please, take a seat. I know that you've expressed your love of transfigurations, but the thoroughness of your understanding of basic principles still astounds me." Dumbledore said.
She took a seat in front of the teacher's desk.
"I'm glad that you think so too, but I have to admit that I have an unfair edge. When one grows up with an awareness and love of science, figuring out how the world works is merely the extension of that. The foundations required for true transfigurations? Well, physics and chemistry are actually even more detailed than natural philosophy."
Dumbledore's smile was one of genuine pride.
"You're not embarrassed at all by having a muggle upbringing?"
"I think both worlds have something to offer, Professor Dumbledore. Everyone should be given the opportunity to walk in both. I find many benefits of being able to walk both sides." She said diplomatically. She can be diplomatic too (don't roll your eyes, Daphne). It's just that she remembered that she had no idea whether she was a muggle-born or a halfblood in the documents that had mysteriously backed her entrance to Hogwarts in this time.
"You have no problems at all in following the class, then?"
"Your explanations are very good, Sir, and they're always accompanied with vivid examples. I just regret that I'd probably only be attending your class slightly more than half the time at best, because I'd have to balance all the classes I'm taking."
His gaze was sympathetic. "Advanced Arithmancy, was it?"
"Yes, some of the schedules clashed, unfortunately."
"I'm amazed that you did not consider simply taking some of the classes next year."
Hermione's smile was slightly bitter. "Well, none of us ever know how much time we have left in this life, do we? Besides, I know I can handle this, at least for this year. The material is the one leading to OWLS, right? And I've taken the test very similar to it in Norway. I would need to study the differences, but for most of the material, I'm merely reminding myself of what I know and refreshing the fundamentals."
Why did Dumbledore invite me in for this? This is Head-of-House sort of chat, and I'm not Gryffindor this time.
"Well, I can see that you have a high awareness of your own limits and capabilities."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you."
"I'm sure you would thrive in Hogwarts."
"I hope you're right." Hermione didn't quite do the whole bashfully-accept-compliment-while-downplaying-too-high-praise dance this time. She could only hope her smile wasn't strained, but she was running out of patience with all these questions whose endgame she couldn't see.
"I see that you've found a good friend in Mr. Riddle."
Ah. And there we are.
"I don't know about the good friend yet. I don't want to impose too much on him, it wouldn't be fair because I know that Tom's a prefect and I'm sure he has many things to do," she said, easily avoiding the 'good friends' label Dumbledore brought up and just leave it up in the air. "But he has been extremely helpful while I was in the infirmary—him and Eugenie, really. They visited often and helped me keep up to pace with what's happening in my classes and brought library books. It's just unfortunate for Eugenie and I that we don't share many classes together."
But she knew that he knew that already, didn't she?
Her smile was neutral and probably a bit on the lacklustre edge, but it was the best she could do at a moment's notice. The other alternative had her pinching her nose and going 'just spit out the questions that I'm sure you have about Tom Riddle, Professor Dumbledore, Sir. Let's begin about your suspicions that he's going to be a dark lord in the future'.
Which would not go down very well, if at all.
"Is Mr. Riddle aware of your muggle connections, Miss Curie?"
"Even if he didn't know, it would be highly hypocritical of him considering that he lives in a muggle orphanage, isn't it? And I may not know much about the British wizarding world, but I'm quite sure that the last name Riddle is not part of the Sacred 28."
Her tone may be bland as she said this, but she savoured the fleeting look of surprise on Dumbledore's face before she idly looked away and pushed some errant locks back behind her ear, brushing past the rose that was in her hair by accident. It was mildly entertaining to be able to outmanoeuvre great strategists on the scale of Dumbledore. Oh, she was just lucky that he thought she was a normal transfer student. She knew that.
She just wanted him to know that she wasn't entering the situation blind here.
"He has told you of his background?" Dumbledore didn't hide the slight surprise from his voice.
She glanced up. "Not quite like that. I just have a way of drawing these things out, Sir. You would be surprised what you can get with an understanding and sympathetic ear. Sometimes, people just need someone who would listen and not judge."
Alright, Hermione had to stop there, bite her lip and shut up. She looked down on to her hands, demurely laid on her lap. She was laying it rather thick there, wasn't she? If she didn't hold herself back, she was going to blow up into laughter. No, she didn't really believe that Tom Riddle became a dark lord just because no one understands him (God, he could've just made a band instead of going on a killing spree—that's what every other British guy with an identity crisis did. He could've made it big as an international star along the same wave that carried the Beatles. Merlin knows he already has the cheekbones and the smouldering gaze).
She did, however, think that Dumbledore was mistaken for writing him off too soon. She thought he could've done more, at least, before giving up.
"And do you listen, Miss Curie?"
"Oh, often," she glibly replied. "The trick, you see, is to pull him out of that perfect student persona in the first place. If you can't get past that, you won't get anywhere since you're not seeing the real Tom yet."
"His perfect student persona?" Dumbledore asked curiously.
"Well, for people like Tom…people like us, we don't feel that people would appreciate us if we can't show that we're useful. So, we put all our self into it, 200% if necessary. We become hyper-achieving people. In the grand scheme of things, we're simply what, extras? Bonus? Cast-offs? We're not heirs to some prestigious family, or one with an extensive pedigree. We don't have insane amount of wealth to help give us a leg up in the world. One gets the feeling that we'll never get anything done unless we reach the very top first so that people would listen to us."
"It's just…I wanted to tell him that he didn't need to do that performance with me, no matter what. Because I get that. I really do."
Dumbledore had a different opinion, she knew, and for all her respect for him, she couldn't help but disagree. Treat people like an outcast, provide them with no support network, and the only path they can see open to them would be to become that outlaw everyone already thought they were. Add the dated pureblood hierarchy into the mix, closing up opportunities for people from unconventional backgrounds to climb up socially, well…you have a toxic cocktail waiting to blow up.
She snorted in remembrance, "Well, his real self might still turn out to be an annoying arse, pardon my language. Clearly, he thinks that he's the bee's knees just because he's so clever. Yet I think we can work it out between the two of us by sitting down and talking about it whenever one of us annoys the other too much—you know, like real friends, real people?"
The mood in the room was pensive.
(Hermione could almost remember the numbers she was scribbling as she was charting the flow of history. She had to the oddest realisation that she'd done some of the calculations for the shape of events in the 1940s—to try to understand Grindelwald's rise and fall, perhaps. It required calculating where the attractors are in that particular locale of the decade's phase space and she soon noticed which ones are the largest as it would affect the most variables. One force that came up again and again in various calculations was the dated social structure of the wizarding world. It was everywhere and it affected everything. It was the miasma that everyone breathed.
It was a strong force that influenced events and people in the direction of the attractor (cultural trap, the civilisation quicksand) that she'd labelled Rise of Voldemort.
She had a feeling that she was still missing something, though, that even Voldemort himself may be a symptom instead of a cause. It occurred to her that now that she was in the 1940s, here was her opportunity to dig deeper.
No wonder all these things feel so easy to realise, she mused. It was already there in her memories. Future her probably already did some preliminary calculations, and even if she cannot recall when and how she did so, Hermione still had a vague notion of what the results were.)
"You are happy to be his friend, then, Miss Curie?" Dumbledore finally asked again.
She couldn't quite understand his tone. It was a little strange.
"Yes, I think I do. As much as I'm happy with my friendship with Eugenie, or maybe even Lakshmi, as weird as she is." Not that she can throw a lot of stones on the weirdness front, really.
Dumbledore's gaze seemed to be lost in some distant place. Possibly not even the present.
"Uh, Professor?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I've simply gotten caught up with my memories."
Yes, she knew how it was. It was why her expression of sympathy wasn't fake at all. She could also see the point where Dumbledore realised he was talking to a war orphan and she looked away. Hermione often felt bad at getting cheap sympathy from her fake background.
"Now, what are your plans for your independent study?" Albus Dumbledore asked.
Hermione almost groaned, but she persevered. She might have several ideas—ideas that had never seen the light of day when she was in Hogwarts because she'd been too busy staying alive. If she wasn't doing it for herself, she was helping Harry and Ron do so. Anyway, the point is, there had been lots of distractions. Luna's method of creating a living flower crown (or garland) was interesting, but she had a feeling that it would probably fit Herbology better.
Transfigurations, transfigurations…she scoured her mind for her old school memories.
'-
Sometime later, they began to wrap everything up.
"Very well. I'm happy to know you've settled in. I think I've taken up enough of your time for now, Miss Curie. In any case, don't forget that my door is always open to you; I feel that you have a bright future in this field."
Dumbledore finished writing whatever it was that he was scribbling and handed it over to her. It was an explanation, a hall pass, just in case she was late for the next class from lunch because they'd been talking.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." She wasn't even lying about it as the pass made it so much more convenient.
'-
The brunette witch was shoving a book into her book bag while walking (it was the second that had been shoved in now). Lending her hard-to-find books from his personal library covereth a multitude of sin in Hermione Granger's books. Yet even when Dumbledore did just that after they were speaking about the possible directions of her personal project, every other third question was always related to Tom somehow. Hermione had only been able to suss out the hidden side to these questions after five minutes because of how very vaguely connected they could be.
It was annoying. It was a pain in the rear. It was fraying her nerves and patience. If she heard another question about the books she'd happened to want to discuss with Tom, or whether 'any of her friends' had told her of their plans for next Hogsmeade weekend, or what varieties of roses that she liked and how she came to like oranges, she was going to scream.
"Don't tell me you waited for me." Hermione flat-out said the moment she walked out of the class.
She'd noticed one Tom Riddle had been leaning against the wall across the door, looking at ease and as if he was exactly where he wanted. She knew that Dumbledore was probably eyeing Tom curiously if he'd glimpsed him at all from class—the professor had assured her that she can go off first as he still had things to tidy up.
"I visited the kitchen and enjoyed some snack. I ran an errand or two and I thought I'd see whether you will come out within three minutes or so of my arrival. It would seem I was right."
"But you haven't been waiting outside the door all this time, right?" Hermione asked.
"No, I haven't. You seem…insistent on that." He gave her a sideways glance.
"I don't like the idea of anyone waiting for me for half an hour or more—I don't even know how long I'd been there talking."
"I would have been bored within ten minutes of doing nothing," he replied. Hermione snorted at that, yet she ended up smiling all the same.
"I see. No need to worry, then?"
"Precisely."
'-
When Tom offered her his arm again once she had her book bag under control, she sighed.
"No offence, Tom, but even with Dumbledore's hall pass, I might still lose time from the next class and I'm not looking forward to that. We can't exactly walk at marching speed when we're arm-in-arm."
"There's a shortcut to the Great Hall." He assured her.
She stared at him in disbelief, but he didn't back down or even change his expression the slightest.
"Do you have one that would take us there in five minutes?" She asked, incredulous.
He seemed to weigh several known shortcuts in his mind. "There's one if you don't mind going down a stone slide."
Hermione slid her arm into his and let him lead the way.
"At this rate, I'd slide down a basilisk." She said.
"You're exaggerating," he noted, but with that lighter tone that she knew meant he was amused.
"No, really. Find me a basilisk that can get me to the Great Hall in a minute right now and I'll ride it."
"Even if it takes other students for snacks?"
She knew that he did not always noticed the difference where she was annoyed and joking about maiming people or annoyed and serious about maiming people. This time, she was too hungry to care, her mind was running a mile a minute, and she wanted to release the aggravation she felt at Dumbledore's roundabout conversation somehow.
Besides, she'd make sure it was all too outlandish to be true.
"You know those groups of students that act like the hallways is their common room, blocks it with the hive mind of a ball of snot and has the collective speed of a paraplegic slug? If the basilisk can get all of them in that single trip, I'll consider it. I'll even consider giving it a trophy cup."
"This hypothetical basilisk has to get them all at once? It can't just take, say, half of them?"
"Well, the remaining human mucus balls would undergo mitosis and split themselves up to bring the colony back to its full number. And then where would I be? Still walking behind slow, self-important, gossiping students while you've raised the alarm for them and is probably on the run from the DMLE. And that would just be sad. No, if the basilisk can't pull of miracles, it's better if it just keeps a low profile."
"No killing the people?" He asked, idly. She nodded.
"No killing the people."
Not ten metres from where they'd been walking, there was an obscenely ugly gargoyle that Hermione was sure was the door to the stone slide. Well, at the very least she could be sure that it couldn't have been kept for its artistic value. It had a lewd leer that would make satyrs blush, lolling tongue included. It was also priapic to the extreme degree of being able to stab passing people accidentally with its stone member and make it hurt too.
"Well, is this the ideal dating spot if you were angling to get punched?" She couldn't help asking.
"Pardon?" Tom was more pre-occupied in checking the bricks behind the alcove. Some pulling, a tap with his wand and muttering made the gargoyle walked aside. It had a disgusting swagger too. Why on earth would anyone want to think that level of detail for this, this…thing?
"The gargoyle. I doubt that any girl is flattered by statuary that looks as if it wants to molest you."
"The less you know about the artistic aspirations of Romulus Rowle, the happier you'll be," he muttered. "He wanted to make a set of statues based on Dante's Inferno, and yet all seven of them seem to represent different aspects of Lust than any other sin, with the last one ending in an orgy of demons. I understand the need for consistency, but why does every sculpture have his face, even the succubae? I assure you, that is actually scarier than an inferi. The other six in the series is stuffed away Merlin-knows-where in Hogwarts. This is the only one that's been declared fit to be displayed."
She scoffed. "They declared this fit to be displayed?"
"The second most decent one after this has an animation movement that includes vigorous thrusting." He deadpanned.
Hermione burst into a partly-hysterical laughter at the absurdity of it before she saw that his expression was completely serious.
"You know all this? You've read about the guy who made this and actually know the details of his 'masterpieces'—are you actually masochistic?"
He took her hand and lead her to the slide but didn't exactly meet her eye.
"When someone asks you whether you wish to know all the secrets of Hogwarts, try not to say yes immediately and skim the book first. If someone insists that you have to read every page to know the hidden message, it is a good idea to rip through his mind first and see whether he'd already found said hidden message already. If you can't manage that, then aggressively persuading him to agree to give said hidden message is also plausible."
"Ah, the good old 'code-breaking by blunt objects' method." Hermione said. "So, you were conned into reading the book."
"In my defence, I was thirteen."
She sat down next to him and they slid down together.
'-
They were fashionably late to lunch.
This means that they looked great striding in with their robes billowing behind them, especially when they had the audience to gawk. (She figured out now why Snape seemed to enjoy doing it so much). The downside to that was they were late. Almost everyone was on their respective tables and noticed them and they took the idea that Hermione was intentionally making a Statement.
The problem being of course that everyone had their own idea of what that Statement is, and now each of them was intently spreading what they believe was truer than anyone else's version to their neighbour.
"Would you like to join me at the Slytherin table?" Tom asked.
She gave him a look that sat between 'are you serious?' and 'do you want to bathe in scorpion venom?' A split second later she remembered that Tom Riddle would feel comfortable among the maddened crowd of the Coliseum as they cheer for the beasts to eat some prisoners. He wouldn't think that there was anything unusual with the Hogwarts dining room crowd today. Asking him a question that relied on sparing anyone (even himself) from the baying of the hungry crowd was beyond the capability of his non-existent conscience or mercy.
"Maybe later," she replied instead, and he displayed his good manners by escorting her right up to Eugenie on the Ravenclaw table.
The blonde witch shrank a little, implicitly wishing that the earth would open up and eat her right now as practically all the heads in the hall turned with almost zombie-like precision in her direction.
"Hermione," Tom said with a nod. Hermione returned it just as briefly.
"Tom."
The empty spot was apparently between Eugenie and Lakshmi. Lucretia was…nowhere to be seen? Hmm. The dark-haired Ravenclaw fifth-year, however, was lounging like a sultana with nary a concern on her face.
"Ah, Hermione. Welcome! We were worried you lost yourself on the way here."
"As you can see, I'm fine. I had a perfectly capable guide." Hermione eased herself between them. She pretended that the other conversations hadn't suddenly gone softer to better eavesdrop on hers, or that her words made several girls send her suspicious glances.
Lakshmi turned her head towards the Slytherin table with an appreciative smile as she watched Tom take a seat.
"It is precisely because you have such a talented guide that I thought you might as well use the opportunity to ask him to take you to see the heights." She said, turning back to Hermione. There were a few more red faces on the table than there'd been before. Perhaps the tea was too hot.
"Take a personal tour of Hogwarts?" The brunette witch asked innocently.
"Yes. Do take a personal tour of Hogwarts. Make sure you memorise all your favourite spots—after all, you might want to…revisit them later. Of course, if you've studied the route properly, you'll find that you can get there faster and with less stumbling over a wrong turn. You can hit more highlights in one trip."
There were suddenly more choking sounds on the table. But of course, it might just be completely unrelated. They might have found pieces of bone in their beef, no matter how perfectly easy to chew and swallow it had been all this time. She thought she recognised that tall wizard that suddenly turned towards her and looking incredulous. Oops, I think that's Verrault.
If Lakshmi's smile was full of meaning, Hermione's grin was just wide and bright. She was doing her best not to laugh by pinching her own thigh. Repeatedly.
"Mmm, my favourite spots, you say? Well, I'm quite sure I've found one of his secret spots today."
Several people down the line from them, a seventh-year sprayed apple juice all over his complaining friend. Galleons changed hands for at least three different people that Hermione could see. There was actually an outraged shriek somewhere from around the Gryffindor Table that was closest to them. Not that either of them really cared to turn around to check.
Eugenie was whimpering in her spot as she buried her face in her hands, murmuring something about how she couldn't take her friends anywhere, not even their own House's table. Hermione saw that Lakshmi herself had started to bite her own lip to hold back her own laughter.
"You did? That's good for you!" The dark-haired witch congratulated with an almost insulting amount of cheer.
"Well, I know it's good for him. I mean, the poor man certainly needs to release the tension and I was there." Hermione paused to drink some water, ignoring the coughing seventh-year witch staring at her scandalously (a prefect, she suspected). "Merlin knows he's been holding back his opinion on that awful statue for a while."
"Oh, which one?" Her friend continued without missing a beat.
"Romulus Rowle's gargoyle," Hermione said. "A most terrible excuse for a lack of artistic vision. That spot has a great shortcut for going down, but awful cover."
"What are we talking about, again?" A Ravenclaw third-year asked out loud, looking confused. Hermione gazed at him with an amused look. Almost everyone around him shushing and glaring at him.
"Hogwarts's abundance of secret shortcuts," Eugenie answered with a perfect deadpan. "Apparently, Riddle knows one and now Hermione knows it too."
Lakshmi and Hermione turned to her in surprise. The blonde lifted her shoulders in a Gallic shrug. "What? I do pay attention, you know, even if I sometimes choose not to play."
The dark-haired witch leaned across Hermione's lap and grinned, trailing a finger down Eugenie's cheek. Hermione huffed as she leaned back slightly because Lakshmi's bust simply took up space.
"But darling, it's so much more interesting when you do." She purred, her kohl-rimmed eyes half-lidded.
Eugenie blushed to the roots of her hair, and several boys have poured juice to their lap instead of their glasses. Or have juice poured over their head by their annoyed girlfriends. Hermione grinned.
"Oh, relax, Lakshmi. We can always persuade her properly later." She winked at her roommates.
At least one sixth-year student had to pinch his nose due to a nosebleed as he desperately asked his friend to do something about it. His friend handed him a napkin.
"You know, I'm beginning to miss the peace and quiet I get when I don't understand you at all." Eugenie commented dryly, even with the colour still high on her cheeks. Her roommate laughed as she went returned to sitting normally.
"What peace and quiet? You just didn't notice all the fun and riot going on around you back then!"
'-
.
.
.
End Notes:
Well, Hermione was going to crack sooner or later. Fortunately, she channels it into a bit of harmless trolling. (Or is it? Dum-dum-dum).
Also, if you notice shades of Isaac Asimov's fictional science of psychohistory from his novel The Foundation in the works of the modern arithmancers that work with higher maths (as Hermione is implied to be one), you're not wrong.
'-
Additional Trivia:
God, he could've just made a band instead of going on a killing spree—that's what every other British guy with an identity crisis did. He could've made it big as an international star along the same wave that carried the Beatles.:
Well, seeing that the Beatles became a band in 1960, her suggestion is misplaced by at least one-and-a-half decade. But that's always the risk run by a time-traveller from a rather distant future. What looks like a distant extreme to the locals ('more than a decade of difference!') looks smushed together from the viewpoint of the much farther future that they mistake its chronological distance ('well, those events do occur around that time, right? Looks close enough')
Not to say that her idea wouldn't be interesting, though, but if we're going period-appropriate, the 1940s, especially after the war, is the era where pure jazz and crooners/vocal pop took off (Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Edith Piaf, Vera Lynn) after big-band swing died due to, well, its members getting conscripted into the US army.
'-
Lucretia Black: Seventh-year Ravenclaw, firstborn as well as daughter of the main branch of the Black family (hence the appellation whispered among other students that she is the Black Princess is rather apt). Her father, Arcturus Black (the Third) is the current head of the Black family, her mother is Melania Macmillan. Her younger brother, Orion, is the heir of the Black family and currently in fourth-year (Slytherin) and betrothed to his cousin, Walburga Black. Lucretia and Orion are cousins to the current generation of Macmillans from their mother's side of the family.
Lakshmi Chakravarty (OC): Fifth-year Ravenclaw. Her family moved to Britain from the Kingdom of Assam around a year before she entered Hogwarts. As Hermione had observed in-story before, I'd like to point out that the national identities and boundaries of the wizarding world does not always line up with that of the non-magical world. While non-magical India (which is most of India) is currently a British colony under the British Raj, the magical world is generally ruled by the Indian Empire, a loose confederation of magical kingdoms. She is named after the goddess of prosperity, good luck and beauty, the wife of Vishnu.
'-