Author's Note:
So, my sister finally set up a tumblr for this story under "timetwistedtale dot tumblr dot com". I already updated the AO3 version to include the moodboard she made for a few of the early chapters, but since I can't do that with FFNet, I'll just note that they're all uploaded there. The address is within quotations marks, and change the words 'dot' into actual periods.
I'd also like to say...welcome, new readers! Welcome back old readers! My update speed is going to drop a bit from here on. Generally it's once every two weeks, though the occasional tightly-paced chapter might still made me update once a week. I've got grad school entrance tests to prepare for, and it's been a while since I did analysis (the particular branch of math, in case you were wondering). In other words, I'd be rather occupied.
Some people might consider this chapter a tad risque, though I'm pretty sure I didn't write anything explicit.
'-
20 Arithmancy, DADA and Risk-taking
A peek into Advanced Arithmancy. Hermione and Tom are in the Advanced DADA class. They fight. As usual, they seem to have a different definition of 'friendly fight' and 'nothing too dangerous'. Tom channels his adrenaline rush into something else.
'-
The current Arithmancy teacher was one of the French expatriates in Hogwarts, one Professor Adele Lagrange. Her robes were colourful, lively, and the click of her high heels were clear as she walked with confidence to the front of the class. Blonde, stylish and beautiful, Hermione began to question the motivations of half the boys taking the class. She was hoping that none of them were going to drag down the quality of the class' discussions just because they took something that above their ability level.
Professor Lagrange did gaze at Hermione for about a few seconds with interest, but she easily moved on and start the class. Hermione was still annoyed that she and Tom ended up on the second row because certain male students had arrived rather early and filled the first row of seats.
"In our last meeting, we 'ave started talking about arithmantic arrays. Traditional numerology is all well and good if the subject of your calculation is only one event, one chance. It can also still be relied upon for the broad-brush of an individual's well-being or general arc of life, even if the result is usually too wide and rarely of any practical use."
Adele Lagrange had a slight French accent (e.g., her r's are rather closer to French r's than English, words beginning with th- shifts close to z's), but even with that, her words were very clear. Hermione found herself nodding along the explanation easily. This was all rather basic and she'd already known them. Still, it was nice to hear that the professor wasn't lax in covering the grounds.
"When we consider more factors that can affect an event or a person, we increase the accuracy of our prediction. Of course, at the same time, the more factors are involved, the more they can affect each other, creating their own complications. It would be most accurate to determine the direction of influence between these factors and the strengths of such influence, but alas the world is not always as convenient as we wish it to be. If that cannot be, it is almost as useful to at least calculate the degree with which they correlate and covary."
With a flourish, she revealed the previously-hidden blackboard. On it were two squares, one already filled with numbers and the other empty.
Ah, matrices, Hermione thought with familiar fondness as the professor's words wash over her. She found getting back to the basics to be rather relaxing.
Arithmancy was one of the foundations of charting the flow of history and time, after all. Arithmantic matrices were the first step in that direction, what with all the events and people she had to keep track of. Yet even then, it was still a crude tool—it was a stone axe in her toolbox compared to the cutting laser of using phase space. Entering factors into the matrices can only work with so many variables before the correlations and covariances increase exponentially and bogged everything down (10 factors already need, what, 45 of the correlations? Yes, it just gets painful to use with large number of factors).
There was no doubt that if one were to go large scale, then one must move on to using phase space, but she truly did not mind going through some of the basics again. She didn't want to lose her touch, after all. A restrained cough from Tom's direction made her turn. (Coming from Tom, that was the equivalent of an outright scoff or sneer).
Just beneath his calm surface, she could see polite contempt.
Hermione followed the direction of his attention to the front row boys. A good chunk of them paled at the sight of the matrices—sorry, arithmantic arrays—and more than half of them had the glazed look of the ignorant and overwhelmed. This time, it was her turn to groan. And here I was hoping that this class would run smoothly…
She had been a little too loud, though, and Professor Lagrange's attention snapped to her.
"Miss Curie, was there anything you wish to say?"
Fortunately, she was good at finding answers for teachers on the spot.
"I was checking the arrays, Professor. We know that we need to consider the relationships between each predictive factor as well as the main object we want to calculate predictions for. But this web of relationships is going to get too dense as the number of factors rise."
She took a deep breath and tried to go through her thoughts on this topic slowly, for the benefit of the rest of the class. If she was going to monopolise the attention for a few moments, the least she could do was help nudge the general comprehension along. She was years beyond the class, after all, it was the good thing to do.
"If we have 1 main object and 1 supporting factor, we only need to calculate 1 relationship between those two objects—that generates 1 correlation."
"If we have 1 main object and 2 supporting factors, we need to calculate 3 relationships between the 3 variables—we get 3 correlations."
"If we have 1 main object and 3 supporting factors, we now need to calculate for 6 relationships between the 4 variables. So, that's 6 correlations."
"Now, what happens when we have one main object and, say, nine factors? It's still not that large a number when we consider the complexity of the real world. But even these 10 variables already had a whopping 45 pair-relationships between all of them. That's 45 correlations to consider on top of the 10 primary variables. It's significantly more than the primary 10, isn't it?" Hermione spoke the words and the numbers slowly, making sure that the consequences hit all the students present.
Hermione shook her head. "If you're even serious about making arithmantic predictions that cover a larger group, the matrices, um, arithmantic arrays are still rather unwieldy."
At one point, you just get tired of using that stone axe, Hermione thought. Professor Lagrange paused for a moment before a smile slowly spread over her face.
"You 'ave a very good point, Miss Curie. Yes, once one is prepared to leap into large-scale arithmancy, then arithmantic arrays become troublesome to use. But that is beyond what most would consider in this class, non?"
The sighs of relief that went around the room was certainly not faked. Hermione only shrugged helplessly at the teacher's inquiring glance; it was probably a silent question about why she even brought up a concern that would be beyond the needs of most students. Look, she had been working on charting history and the flow of time before this and suddenly she had to come up with something related to the advanced arithmancy class in two seconds. it was harder for her to remember quickly the more basic issues involved here than the more esoteric ones that she'd faced.
Professor Lagrange turned to Tom with a sly smile on her face.
"Mr. Riddle, it looks like you 'ave a strong competitor for the top of the class."
His voice was calm and collected as usual. His words, however, were not. "I find the competition exciting, Professor. Nothing sharpens your mind quite like the challenges of another intellect."
A quite murmur spread around the class, the words to which she couldn't quite catch.
The teacher turned back to Hermione. "Ah, the gauntlet 'as been thrown, Miss Curie! Will you back down or will you accept it?"
Professor Lagrange was stoking the competitive fires on purpose—exactly why, Hermione had no idea. Pragmatically, she might just be trying to wake up the few dozing or wool-gathering students at the back to sit up and pay attention.
"Well, Professor, I find that if you give an inch to Tom Riddle, he'll walk all over you. So, I really must insist on taking my victories. It's the only way to keep his respect." Hermione kept her smile innocent and nice. She didn't miss the flash of amused smirk she saw from him at the corner of her eyes.
She ignored any outraged gasps of Tom's admirers as she did what they might consider as blaspheming his character when she was only speaking the plain truth. On the other hand, that might be why that Slytherin sixth-year at her far right had just paled. Tom turned to her with what she recognised as mock surprise but others probably see as mild bafflement.
"You have no need to win anything for me, Miss Curie." To other witches, it might sound charming, as if he'd win things for them. Not to Hermione.
"And what, I should just let you win? You really don't like losing, do you, Mr. Riddle?" She replied sweetly.
Adele Lagrange chuckled. It was a rich and enchanting sound.
"Well, this class might be interesting after all. I look forward to your final projects, Curie, Riddle."
Tom nodded in acknowledgement while Hermione's smile and nod was certainly friendlier.
'-
Galatea Merrythought, the Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, was not a stranger to Hermione.
She was a witch with a thick mane of silver hair that fell to her shoulders. If not for her distinctive hair, it was hard to estimate her age as she had one of those ageless faces. The fact that her posture was still straight and that she could outfight most people half her age was another. Hermione's familiarity with her, however, came from conversing with the witch as she accompanied Hermione on a trip to get her school uniform and related supplies before she was discharged from the infirmary.
The professor even recommended the shoe store that supplied her favourite boots to Hermione—she bought one with extra grip, the strongest short of hiking boots with spikes. Hermione had bid her mary-janes goodbye with relish.
"Hermione, Tom, take any position as you wish." Professor Merrythought greeted them.
Another characteristic of Galatea was that she did not stand on ceremony and tended to use first names rather than last.
"Um, Professor?" Hermione asked as they entered the class.
She was sure they had arrived before the it was due to start. A quick search around the room confirmed that as there were only a few students already present, and Hermione knew that Advanced DADA was one of the few advanced classes that were filled well. The tables and chairs had all been pushed to the sides. The class was the size of a normal class most of the time, but Professor Merrythought always brought down the partition at the back with two other classes when it came to practise time.
Professor Merrythought continued. "If you've read the previous class notes that I'm sure Tom passed to you, we've gone over good and bad habits in duels and fights—and making sure that you've begun ingraining the good habits from now. Tarantallegra!"
Hermione's shield was wordlessly up with the flick of her wand (she could cast Protego half-asleep), her expression was still mildly perplexed. When she took her shield down, she saw another layer flickering away; to her right, Tom also had his wand out. The prickling of magic build-up she could feel from his side, though, was buzzing with something darker until he flicked his wand out and dissipated the uncast spell.
Their DADA professor smiled at them both as Hermione and Tom slowly made their way into the room.
"Excellent reflexes both of you! Not to mention that was some exemplary silent casting of the Shield Charm. Five points each to Ravenclaw and Slytherin."
"What is this about, Professor?"
"Why, I want to see whether all those lessons have stuck, of course. What better way than field test that?" Some of the newly-entering students slowed down in doubt. The sharper ones like Abraxas and Melchior have taken their wand out. The two Slytherins nodded their greetings to Tom, and then surprisingly to Hermione, to herself. She nodded back, slightly confused.
"Are we to duel in pairs, then?" Tom asked.
"That is the general idea, yes."
"Is it to be a duel or is it to be a fight, Professor?" Hermione asked.
To everyone's surprise, the witch grinned, flashing them her teeth. "That is a very good question most wouldn't even consider. Have another five points to Ravenclaw, Hermione."
Merrythought turned her attention around the class, watching the students milling around.
"Does any of you have any idea? Ethel? No? Well, let's see…Augusta, how about you?"
Augusta was a Gryffindor witch who was built like a Spanish galleon—all grand curves and made for war. She was also at least half a head taller than Hermione. There was something familiar about her in the lines of her face. Hermione inwardly shook her head. Never mind. It'll come to me later.
"A duel is a formal activity. There are rules and there are protocols. A fight is…" Augusta's smile was far from friendly, and two of the boys closest to her took a step back without even thinking about it. "In a fight, anything goes."
"Good. Five points to Gryffindor. Yes, you've illustrated the general principle well."
Three more Slytherins that Hermione didn't quite recognise have also trickled in. They also greeted Tom before greeting her. She greeted them out of reflex and good manners ingrained in her, but it was still…weird.
Merrythought spoke up. "Since I'm still not certain about how well you've internalised your lessons, we'll start with the easier of the two. You'll split off in pairs to duel. Yes, Hermione?"
"Can I talk to you for a moment, Professor? Privately?"
Curious gazes strayed in her direction. The professor approached her without a doubt. She gave a quick glance to Tom, but Hermione shrugged. "He'll figure it out himself sooner or later, Professor. It's fine. It's about duelling. I can't duel."
"Nonsense! Your reflexes are excellent, and based on your Charms and DADA records, I have no doubt that you have a wealth of spells on your fingertips."
Hermione shook her head. "I mean, I can't be allowed to duel. I can fight, and I'm used to fighting for my life in various fields, but in the highly-structured and supposedly safe duel? It only takes a flash of the wrong spell or something to take me off guard for my combat reflexes to kick in. The next thing you know, I've moved on to cutting spells, blasting spells, the Reductor Curse and all the works, Professor."
Professor Merrythought seemed thoughtful as she regarded Hermione carefully. Hermione's jaw tightened for a moment, but she didn't back down. She knew this about herself and felt the truth deep in her bones—her reflexes fired too fast sometimes, too deadly. She had begun to believe that she'd forgotten some terrible times at the tail end of her last life before she was suddenly thrown into the past.
"Hermione did warn me not to cast any spell on her without her awareness because she can't guarantee that she won't overreact."
The silver-haired witch turned to him "What spell did you cast, Tom?"
"Rejuvenating Charm, Professor. She was looking pale and she'd just been released from the infirmary. I judged it to be better safe than sorry."
Galatea Merrythought sighed, eyeing the brunette. "I'm sorry that you have some form of shell shock, Hermione, but you cannot enter my class and not participate in duels."
"I know. I just don't want to risk it." The young witch was dejected. She felt just as depressed as the professor was disappointed.
"Hermione doesn't have to duel anyone else. She can fight me."
Both witches turned to Tom—Hermione in surprise and the professor in a contemplative mood.
"How about a friendly fight, Hermione?"
Hermione shook her head.
"But I—"
"I've said it before, haven't I? If you can kill me so easily, then the fault is entirely mine." His smile was less of the nice, assuring prefect and more of the unsettling smirk with darkness lurking at its edges. It brought Hermione to a pause because she'd rarely seen it in public—she'd rarely seen the real Tom in public.
Professor Merrythought laughed, thinking it was all a good joke on Tom's part.
"Well, I have to assure you, Hermione, Tom here is very good. I think he's right and that you don't need to worry about him."
"Can I go last, Professor? Preferably with no one to get in the way?" Hermione asked.
Professor Merrythought's lips quirked at the edges. "That confident, are you?"
"It's more of a precaution than anything." Hermione corrected.
"Since I've never seen you fight or duel before, fine, I'll allow you the entire field this once. Mind you, if I feel your abilities are still easily contained, you'll duel or fight along with all others like everyone else, Hermione."
The brunette witch couldn't help but smile. "If you can contain my possible excesses, Professor, I wouldn't mind duelling anyone."
The professor drifted away after that, arranging and rearranging everyone else around the class in pairs as Hermione and Tom stood aside and getting the occasional odd look sent their way as everyone else got ready.
"We'll be in trouble if you can't refrain from using so-called dark spells," Tom started conversationally.
She shook her head. "I don't like the really gory curses. If I accidentally use one or two spells that are categorised as dark, it's generally only because I picked it up out of an old tome somewhere and had high damage and as such gave the Ministry the willies. But I don't think it's something you can't block or avoid, or anything so nasty that I can't heal it."
He eyed her curiously. "You're admitting that you know dark spells?"
She huffed. "And what, like you don't know a good handful of them? I know that you know. You know that I know. Let's stop the ridiculous pussyfooting around and call a spade what it is. I've always been careful to only use spells that can be healed—I don't actually want to cripple, maim or kill people. Then, we both know that the Ministry can be biased against some ancient magics."
"Mmm, right. Like blood magic."
"Which we will not talk about right now because we're in class," Hermione cut in. "But yes, it's ridiculous to ban some protective magics because of their source when they don't harm anyone and allow others of very similar purpose. Now, I think you're not idiotic enough to start fight with any of the highly corrosive dark curses that can easily be detected and hard to cure, and I think that you know that I'll go after you with a vengeance if I ever found out that you used them against other people."
They were both watching the duelling students with a clinical detachment. Abraxas had rather good reflexes, she saw. One of Tom's Slytherins was more intent on dodging than attacking—he hadn't cast nearly as much spell as he could, but she had to give him points for not being hit even once.
The left corner of his lips curled up slightly. "You're not going to report me?"
Augusta flattened the Hufflepuff she was set against within the first few minutes and left in a disappointed stride. She was paired up again quickly with the slippery Slytherin from before by the professor. An olive-skinned Ravenclaw wizard that was vaguely familiar actually made good use of covers and even other duellers.
Hermione shrugged. "If I knew you'd get caught and charged for it, I would report you. If I know that nothing would stick? Well…"
If she had decided that he'd get his second chance, then it was her responsibility to ensure that he didn't abuse it either.
"Ah, your old standby of vigilantism. I almost forgot." He mused.
"It's not—" Hermione had to draw a deep breath and tell herself to not get baited. Tom had a good point. She was not law enforcement here. She wasn't even law enforcement in the auxiliary way that the Unspeakables still were. "I swear you're giving me grey hairs."
She felt something to her right and saw Tom had lifted a strand of brown curls at the end of his wand.
"No, I don't think so." He said lightly as he put them down again. She rolled her eyes.
"Right. Just as long as you know that I make a habit of fighting dark lords where I find them. This is regardless if the government is going to have the same idea or stick their heads in the sand in denial." Good is about what you do, she thought. It's something you keep up day by day. It's something in your actions no matter how small and not just something you talk about.
"Courage is doing what's right no matter how afraid or alone you are," she murmured.
Surprisingly enough, Tom gave her a few moments of peace. He'd heard her and accorded her words respect whether or not he understood them. When he spoke up again, his words might seem casual, but she knew the weight of his intent in the thickness of the magic he'd unconsciously drawn around him.
"Your position is duly noted, Hermione."
The duelling students began to fall one by one, the room clearing up. Hermione had stood up properly instead of leaning against the wall, memorising the dimension and details of the room, calculating them. She needed to make a quick estimate of the volume, after all. Hermione bounced slightly on the balls of her feet as she started to feel the pre-fight excitement build up.
"I know that I can heal anything from my usual bag of tricks. I assume that you can give me the same guarantee about your spells?" She asked.
He gave her a side-glance. "What if it's something I know you'll be able to heal?"
"You expect me to be in pain and still capable of healing myself?"
He waved it away as if it was a minor detail. "It's just cuts that might go too deep if you don't stop them in time. Searing burns, the usual."
"And you can't heal something that simple?" She asked, askance.
"I can. Yet it would be a little rough around the edges when compared to what you can do."
She understood what he meant. He'd heard the extent of her expertise when she told him of her St. Mungo experience, after all, and had recalibrated his skills in relative position to hers accordingly. "So, you can do the primary healing in case it hits and I'll take over the fine details if it's not enough. Yes, that's fine."
"Very well. We are agreed, then."
When Professor Merrythought called them over, Hermione was ready.
'-
Everyone was clearly outside the line of the Protego Maxima that Professor Merrythought had kindly provided for them. Hermione had taken the professor aside for a moment and ask her if anything left inside the barrier was destructible. The professor smiled and said yes. That was all Hermione needed.
Neither of them waited for any signal from the professor. Once Merrythought walked herself out of the bubble, they acted.
Tom started with a chain of a curse, jelly-legs jinx, and another curse. Hermione had her shield up without thought and leaped behind the closest pile of tables and cast her staple, Aguamenti Maxima. With her magical potential, it was a lot of water. There were exclamations of surprise as water in the volume of a small swimming pool was emptied inside the barrier. She shielded herself against the first blasting spell, the second shredded the pile of table next to her.
Hermione cast another two of her staple; Freeze and Evaporation. "Glacia! Vapora!"
Glacia was cast several times at random on the floor, Vapora cast in the air. Her boots gripped the ground true as she kept moving, never to be found where the spells were hitting. Visibility became a problem for the next few moments and both of them stopped casting spells in order to avoid giving themselves away. She could hear the slight hiss of a snake or two on the ground and smiled.
The first snake she saw she simply sent a fireball in its direction.
She sent a messenger patronus so quickly it was mostly a shining white lump. A cutting curse, a burning whip and a strong gust of wind came towards her as Tom gave up on anonymity—her patronus would mark his general position sooner or later for her before it disappeared.
As the wind pushed the steam partly aside, she threw the stack of broken tables across to him and threw an extra fiery blasting curse in their general direction to set them on fire. The second layer of his double Protego didn't hold, and she knew the rain of burning splinters did restrict his movements for a few moments. She took a double take when she realised he managed to conjure a third Protego layer in no time. Dammit.
Fortunately, a few moments were what she needed.
Hermione decided to pull her signature move. An invisible Bubble-Head Charm came over her head. She cast her personal modification of Aguamenti to generate a few puddles of bleach instead of water while she pulled herself into the mindset, the chemical understanding necessary for her next transfiguration. She threw three spells for five of Tom's and deflected one—his last cutting curse was stronger than she'd thought and went through her Protego to slice her forearm.
She was getting too close, but she didn't look away from him as she felt the warmth of blood blossoming over the lower part of her left sleeve.
Hermione vaporised the bleach. When she found the space between their exchange of spells, she silently cast her own spell to transfigure the remaining water and bleach vapour to isoflurane (also a personal spell of hers) and created her own version of a knock-out gas.
She couldn't afford to lose her focus as hexes and counter-hexes flew between them. The sting to the last wound told her that it wasn't a plain vanilla cutting curse either as Tom upped the threat level of his curses and started dabbing in the darker ones. It was either acidic or had some gross rot in it.
She could deal with it later.
Even when he slipped once or twice on the floor, his casting precision and speed did not change. It was only a matter of time, though, and when Tom slipped the third time, it seemed that he noticed that his balance was failing. He stared at her through dark hair strewn with water, his eyes had the darkness of a wary predator sizing up a competitor about to take his prey.
"What did you do?"
Considering that both of them were casting silently most of the time, theoretically, they could chat. Even with side-stepping and dodging thrown in for good measure.
"I don't know what you mean?" She said, trying innocence for size with wide guileless eyes. It fit very poorly with her smirk.
Tom snorted. "The steam. It's not just air and water, is it?"
He ducked two more spells and sent back a bright, blue fireball. "I smelled the bleach, Hermione."
She cursed, suspecting that her shield wouldn't be able to handle it completely and went for cover. Well, it wasn't as if he could dodge it at all, she reasoned to herself.
"Knock-out gas." Hermione calmly said, content on making her every third spell a shield to deflect, even if it meant reducing the volume of spells she could send to attack. All she needed was to wait, after all. There were four metres between them now. "Give it up, Tom. You only have a few more minutes before you're out cold and I win."
He chuckled.
"I'll take a chance with those few minutes."
Unexpectedly, he closed the distance. Tom side-stepped a blasting hex, tanked a group of mini fireballs (a custom-modified Confringo) with a double layer of Protego before rolling forward. Hermione intensified her spells before she realised that she had to get away from him. Close quarters fighting was not her forte. Two metres. The realisation came a few seconds too late as he didn't bother avoiding her flame whip to his upper left arm and had outright tackled her. She didn't let go of the flame whip and pulled hard, recognising it as her last chance. Hermione could smell burning fabric beginning to mix with burning flesh as the whip tightened and burned. It must have hurt, but even through tightened jaw, Tom didn't drop his wand and managed to jab it at her ribs instead.
That sharp dig made her lose control of the flame whip and it disappeared.
She held her wand against his throat, but his was still pointed at her side. She could cut him in half from the throat down and he could blast her torso open. Theoretically, they could both blow up each other at roughly the same time.
"Impasse, witch," he declared, his voice low through exertion as he pressed down over her.
Wasn't there some sort of rule about how people weren't supposed to sound sexy when they were threatening you?
Hermione cursed. "Fine. Impasse. You do realise that that was suicidal, don't you?"
It was only when he swayed as he stood up that Hermione hurriedly reversed her transfiguration. She forced the anaesthetic vapour back into liquid form, summoned an empty potion bottle from her own bag and then summoned the liquid into the bottle. She popped her invisible bubble-head charm and then dragged him to the nearest chair she could locate. He was in a worse shape than her—it was why she hadn't been worried even when he had his wand against her ribcage.
From his faint grin, she knew he found all of it highly entertaining.
"You're right, Hermione. I hate losing."
She harrumphed in annoyance and folded her arms. "If I was someone else, you'd be dead. All the other spells I know at close-quarters are really damaging to the internal organs!"
He nodded. "I know. Yet the combat spells you used just now were mostly good for medium and long range. I saw that, and it was why I thought I'd move the fight to the range you're weak at."
Hermione stopped in surprise. His actions were not as reckless as it had seemed at first glance. He'd seen the weakness in her tactics and he found a way to position himself there. He'd be a frightening battlefield commander.
"That was still a rash move."
"I gained an impasse from it, didn't I?" His eyes were half-lidded.
She huffed and turned to the professor who was pulling the barrier down. Merrythought was excited. Hermione was just tired.
"We're tied, Professor. Because apparently, Tom is a sore loser and would rather gamble everything in one last, impulsive shot than surrender. If it was an actual battle, I'd have killed him already with some truly deadly spells."
The other students were staring at the amount of destruction, the smell of burnt flesh in the air and the dripping wet Hermione and Tom with varying expressions of shock. Some were turning pale or rather green.
"I'm beginning to see why you wish for containment. That was highly unorthodox, dear. Effective, I've no doubt, but highly unorthodox. With all your silent casting, I'm not sure I followed everything that happened, though. I think we should go over it together in my pensieve. But why all the water? And what is that smell?"
Hermione choose not to answer where the vague odour of public swimming pool came from. She had to do something with all the excess chlorine from the bleach. Isoflurane had needed more fluoride atoms than chlorine.
She cast Ventus instead to blow it away with a strong gust, as the classroom door was currently conveniently open (someone probably opened it when she started steaming the room).
"Hermione's favourite class is transfigurations, Professor." Tom answered the question from his seat instead. "It is apparently one of her best fields too. Once one realises that, it was not hard to figure out her preferred moves. The ice to affect the terrain, the steam to affect visibility…"
"Nice analysis, Tom. That lunge of yours was also very well-executed. In a fight, any move is valid if it helps you win." Merrythought agreed.
"And now, I have to take his stubborn self to the infirmary." Hermione finished.
"Is it the burn on Tom's arm?" The older witch asked.
She sighed. "No, I can fix that easily with some time and effort. It's just that I've transfigured some of the vapour into anaesthetic gas, Professor. The concentration isn't what you'd call high, but Tom's been inhaling that for a while. He'll be fine. He just needs to sleep it off rather than futilely trying to focus on the class."
The silver-haired witch stared at Hermione for a few moments without finding the words for it. 'Surprised' didn't seem to be enough to begin to cover it.
"I think we need to have a conversation about using that in practice situations." Merrythought said.
Hermione held back from sighing yet again. "Yes, Professor. Now, can I just…?"
"Certainly. You've both earned it. A fight on that level isn't something I often see, that's another ten points to both Ravenclaw and Slytherin."
"Thank you, Professor Merrythought. Tom and I will be taking our leave now."
The first thing Hermione did as she pulled another chair to sit in front of Tom was to heal the cuts and he did her the same courtesy. Episkey worked for the shallow cuts unless there was some sort of acid or infection involved because you'd just be sealing the damned thing in. Right now, she had exactly one wound of that description. Hermione knew a spell that would fight the foreign agents in her blood, with the slight downside of not being able to close the wound immediately.
The burns were salved, but it does take a little more finesse to heal than a simple cut, and Hermione thought she'd rather do it somewhere else than the class where everyone was staring at them like a zoo exhibit. Some rudimentary drying charms also helped their soaked clothes, though it left the fabric feeling a bit rough and with a faint impression of static (household charms weren't her strength either). Tom surprisingly did a better job drying her hair and leaving it in soft curls.
One of these days she would remember to ask him to teach her that particular spell.
"I think I'm still quite capable. I don't need to go to the infirmary," Tom commented as he stood up following her.
Hermione was magnanimous enough not to comment that he was speaking carefully, a fraction of a second slower than his usual speed. She understood his reluctance, though—she was still feeling the rush from the fight, reflexes lightning-quick and magic fizzling in her blood. She could feel his gaze on the back of her neck and she knew he hadn't lost his sharp focus either or his intense awareness of her presence.
"Look, if the class was just going to go over each of everyone's individual duels, it's going to be boring for us. Are you saying you don't want to get out of class early?" Hermione asked with a hand on her hip.
He very much didn't argue with her on that front.
'-
Tom might be able to seem completely unfazed as they walked out of the class, but in their walk to the infirmary (on a route of Tom's choosing), she noticed that he'd stumbled into her a few times. Other people might consider it an accident. Heck, if she was walking with anyone else, it probably was an accident. Yet Tom was too well-coordinated, she knew this now. A few stumbles were a few too many.
"Are you alright?" She asked.
"Are you afraid you've somehow transfigured some poison instead of anaesthetic?" He asked back.
"No!" She saw the slightest twitch of his lips again and rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I know what I'm doing. You're just…"
"I'm fine," he said, evenly. There was none of the insistence of someone who was annoyed with the question, or the carelessness of someone who was only randomly answering.
When she tried to surreptitiously watch him, he was eyeing her in turn.
"What?" Hermione asked, a little unnerved.
"Perhaps I should ask you that question," he said, "as you're the one watching me."
Alright. It was true, but it was hard to explain. He turned to a spiral staircase that seemed to have been servants' stairs and climbed up. She followed suit behind him, taking note of his gait. The stairs ended up in a landing, in a small alcove of its own with a door that she guessed would open to some hallway. It even had a small wooden table. The place had the dimensions of a linen closet. Tom had stopped at the landing, seemingly waiting for her.
"I didn't know this was here—"
He turned around and kissed her hard, one hand at the back and the other possessively holding the curve of her backside against him. She was still high on adrenaline and he'd just heated her blood once more. His kisses were a much more delicious burn and she found herself leaning into his touches as he pushed her back against the table. He gave playful nips to her neck that made everything pleasantly fuzzy and she bucked against the hardness in his trousers. Hermione clutched his shoulder in a way that would leave nail marks without clothes but he certainly wasn't complaining. Her hand slid down to his forearm.
It was his surprised hiss that had her retreating, brown eyes wide.
"Your arm! Dammit, Tom, let me do something to—"
What she got was a quick kiss. "It's fine. I'm sure you'll fix it in no time."
"Well, let me—"
Another kiss. "I just need to—" Kiss. "Tom!"
Hermione was flustered, but she was rather determined. Tom seemed to be quite aware of her stubbornness and let her fuss where she had coiled her flame whip around. He even made it easier by discarding his robes and blazer.
"You were glorious. I was right on top of you, your spell was burning a hole through my sleeves and you didn't release your attention for even a second. You simply kept burning, would probably keep burning if I hadn't broken your focus." His voice was a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine. It probably didn't help that his mouth was two inches from her neck. How he was making it hard for her to think might be why her reply was rather ornery.
"Well, I was trying to force you to just bloody give up already. If a burn was going to do that, I was all for it."
He chuckled. "So bloodthirsty."
Hermione huffed, but colour rose to her cheeks as she didn't miss the admiration in his tone.
"It's called winning a fight and staying alive." She said.
"But you know you're not going to die from the fight. You never did used any of your more damaging spell, didn't you?"
"Neither did you," she noted. She absently started to open the buttons of his shirt when she found that the healing spell wasn't really as effective with the barrier of the shirt. Tom pulled his tie loose and dropped it to the side, untucking his shirt from his trousers.
"And yet you fight viciously all the same, in a fight that you still know and understand to be non-lethal. If that's not bloodthirsty, I'd like to know what is." His voice was deceptively casual.
She looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Some of his hair had fallen in front of his forehead and he looked more disreputable than usual with the mess. She didn't see a problem with it; she felt like messing it up even more, a token protest against the world to show that the perfect prefect never existed.
"You just bring out my competitive side, alright? Because I know you'd be giving your all. Why should I just lay down and let you win when I can beat you?" She muttered.
"You didn't." He pointed out.
"Because you don't like losing and would rather be suicidal?" She asked in a saccharine tone.
"There are around ten spells I could recall now that I could've used. A few would give you phantom pains, such as one to simulate appendicitis, another gangrene, and since they're by definition phantom, they're undetectable to most. The other is that I should've just blasted you with Glacia—considering all your wet clothes, you'd be mostly frozen into an icicle. You just have the devil's luck." Hermione stated. She simply hadn't been able to react fast enough when he chose to blitz her than run out of time succumb to the anaesthetic.
Tom eased his shirt off as she cast several spells on the arm. The burn really wasn't anything serious (by her standards). The skin was frighteningly red, and there were even striated lines where it was gone and you could see the flesh (muscle) underneath. She guessed this to be where the flame whip had abraded the skin completely. At least there were no white spots where the tissue had outright died. There was only the momentary tensing of his jaw when she touched it.
"Well, well, aren't you a sore loser too?" She could hear the amusement in his voice.
Hermione sniffed with disdain but knew she couldn't deny it.
"Oh, fine. I don't lose with better grace than you do either." She grumped.
Hermione did several twirls that she knew by rote for a spell to ensure that the deeper layer of skin had enough blood flow before a quick Episkey easily fixed the surface ones and regrew skin. It was still pink and a bit sensitive, but the skin of his arm was whole once more.
"You didn't lose," he pointed out yet again.
A small smile played on her face. "Yeah. I didn't lose either, did I?"
"Time to close the gash on your left arm." He said.
She remembered that it was the one with the dirty wound. She pulled her outer layers off with a grumble when something snagged, before rolling her shirt sleeves up to check it. The swelling had receded, yes, but she probably needed to check one more time before she'd feel it was safe enough to close it.
"It's taking its sweet time. What the hell did you use?"
"Pythonis Ictus."
Hermione tried to parse the Latin. "Python something… wait, is the last one bite? Did you just give me a python bite? Where's the antivenin?"
"Pythons are non-venomous, Hermione."
She blushed at his knowing look. "Right. I knew that, what with their killing by strangling and crushing their prey."
Apparently, she'd panicked too quickly to think over it properly. Damn, that was embarrassing. He didn't seem to be intent to pick her on her slip, for some reason.
"On a more technical note, it isn't a bite. It's closer to a slash with a fang. Otherwise you'll have recognised the cause of the wound from the pattern of the bite in the first place."
She had to admit that it was ingenious—it didn't look like an obvious animal bite at a glance. But the wound being technically caused by a phantom tooth mean that the swelling had been…oh, old-school infection that came from all animal bites. Right. That means dealing with it was pretty simple. Another jab, turn and tap at the wound as she cast the usual spell against minor infections and Tom had closed it with Episkey before she finished casting hers.
"All the wounds are dealt with, then?"
"Well, you still have isoflurane in your bloodstream but mmmpph—"
This time, the kiss wasn't exactly a surprise as she belatedly realised that the glimmer in his dark blue eyes were somewhat familiar. She just couldn't stop explaining even as he sunk his hand to the curls at the back of her head. It was only when his mouth slanted over hers that her higher brain finally switched off with a contented sigh and told her to enjoy herself. When she ran her hand down his sides, she'd only then realised with unexpected joy that she'd pulled his shirt off earlier. Now, she had all this skin to explore.
Why yes, she thought to herself maybe I'll do exactly that.
His hand was under her shirt, following her ribcage up to her breast. She'd thought he'd stop there, but he trailed to the back following her bra instead and made short work of the clasp when he reached it. There was something about having the warmth of his hand over her naked breast that raised her heartbeats and she reflexively grind herself against him. Their breaths came out harsher in that moment.
Wait, when did she hook one leg over his waist? Since when did they curl around each other?
"You were stunning when you're trying to destroy me." He murmured to her shoulder.
Hermione had to chuckle at that. Her fingers were appreciating the muscles of his back with a leisurely speed that made one wonder whether she was trying to memorise each dip or contour.
"Shouldn't you be more worried?" She asked between kisses.
"Why? It was merely play." His dark eyes met hers—she could almost see the laughter, the glee he was holding back there. It struck her that the more of her abilities he saw, the more fascinated he became, even when she turned out to be what Ron had only half-jokingly called 'a one witch demolition team'.
Harry was the one with all the magical firepower, of course, and the best fighter in more than a generation. Unlike Harry, Hermione might not be an incarnation of some god of war on the field, but out of his friends and colleagues, she was the one who could keep up with him in terms of the scale of destruction—she didn't need that much pure magic when she had science as her force multiplier.
Tom had just opened all the buttons of her shirt. She should be more concerned about this as she'd discarded her shirt to follow her robe and blazer.
She just wasn't.
"Other people would be—" she gasped. Both of his hands were on her breasts. "—more worried about having a witch that—" he did this movement with his hips that made her lose her line of thought,
"—a witch that can sling scary spells at them in a heartbeat—ooh, do that again." Her voice was a breathless entreaty at the end.
'That' was her with legs around his waist, his mouth over her throat and their lower bodies tightly entwined that every slide generated wonderful friction. Their kisses might as well have been drugged honey, as she felt time to move in thick, lazy drops around them following the rising rhythm of their movements. Her own kisses tasted of sweet desperation as the heat inside her build up and she was running out of breath. That was when she realised that their whole fight had probably been building up to this.
"Only cowards and idiots, Hermione," he whispered, "run from a witch of your power."
She should stop being enchanted with the way he said her name, as if she was a secret pleasure for him to keep. His humour was because she was hidden in plain sight and no one seems to see.
"We should fight again sometime," she said softly between tasting the sweat trickling down his jaw.
His answering grin would have sent most people to run far, far away from him.
'-
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End Notes:
Sex-Ed mini note: a sexual encounter does not always mean coitus.
'-
List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:
Isoflurane: (Medicine, Chemistry), Chemical formula: C3H2ClF5O. One of its uses is as a general anaesthetic, inhaled. One of the reasons of the spread of its usage was because it wasn't flammable. It has five fluorine atoms for every single chlorine atom in the molecule.
This is why Hermione ends up with excess unused chlorine from the bleach. She just dumps those into nitrogen trichloride, a common by-product of chemical reactions, including the one in swimming pools. It's a major part of that bleached swimming pool smell. Nitrogen is what more than half of the air around us consists of.
'-
Additional Notes:
Glacia*: (Latin) verb, "freeze". 'Glacia' is the present imperative, second person singular form of the verb.
Vapora: (Latin) verb, "evaporate". 'Vapora' is the present imperative, second person singular form of the verb.
*The eagle-eyed aficionado of all forms of HP canon would realise that there is a Freezing Spell used in the video games though it's not part of book canon. This would be Glacius. The reason why I didn't use that is because it's a) clearly not book canon and b) not even correct Latin verb unlike Rowling's other spells.
Rowling might invent a lot of things including spells (Wingardium Leviosa comes to mind), but she's actually pretty good with her Latin at other places when it comes to single-word spells. Accio is 'I summon', Confringo is 'I destroy' and Protego is 'I protect'. For those who like technical details, they're both verbs in the form of present indicative, first person singular. Even Anapneo is from Greek for 'I breathe in'. So, I thought I might as well make new spells properly instead of making shit up. Rowling has the excuse of being the canon writer—I have no such recourse.
'-