Random Author's Note:
Updating a bit earlier because I might forget otherwise in the frenzy to finish chores so I can sit down and watch the football world cup (which is the sport that actually involves a ball that you hit with your foot). Go England!
'-
32 Hunts I
Hermione's last ADADA class. Several duels happen with the Slytherins. Hermione meets two French wizards in class. Auguste and Evariste has a misunderstanding. Musings on past possibilities. A low-key search spread among a few. Lakshmi is drawn in.
(Summary applies to both chapters titled 'Hunts')
'-
Hermione remembered her conversation with Tom on the way to their ADADA class.
"If you're going to stay in Hogwarts, Hermione, the last thing you need is to be seen as weak." He'd said.
"I can take care of myself."
"I never doubted that. Yet strength is only useful if other people know about it and affords you the respect you're due." He calmly replied.
"Unfortunately, the news that you've just suffered an…accident will negatively impact any impression of strength or competence. The sooner this misunderstanding is corrected, the less you'd need to do later." He said. She could hear the slight distaste in his voice, as if he also thought it was inconvenient, but considered it unavoidable. Almost like a chore.
Hermione's mind made the connections. There was only one possible reason that Tom would ever need to say something on strength and intimidating people into respecting you—he was thinking of the Slytherins. Specifically, the wizards that Hermione considers as his: The Walpurgis Knights.
"Alright. Who do I have to beat down now?" She asked outright.
He was faintly amused. "Why, Hermione, such viciousness you have! I'm sure many would be surprised to know the Nightingale of Hogwarts is not the gentle, merciful soul they thought she is."
She couldn't stop herself from elbowing him. He was fast enough to dodge the brunt of the attack, and took the opportunity caused by their loosened arms to place it around her waist and pulled her closer. It was something she noticed in the infirmary. He couldn't stop touching her casually, even if it was just his hand over her arm or shoulders bumping together.
It's as if he felt she would disappear if he wasn't there to anchor her. Hermione shook her head. It might just be her imagination—Tom wasn't that fanciful.
"Well, how would you rank your men in terms of duelling skills, then?" She asked.
"My 'men', Hermione?" He asked with mock disapproval. She rolled her eyes.
"Oh, fine. Your 'friends' then, Tom. How would you rank your 'friends'?"
He laughed at that.
Tom had been rather informative, actually. This was why Hermione was in ADADA, working her way up from the muscles seen most often near Abraxas—Brutus Mulciber and Pierce Parkinson (no, he's not the heir of the Parkinson family, he's just a cousin). She raised a double layer of shield the moment her duel with Parkinson started and kept her stance relaxed. She wanted to observe his fighting style a little longer. True enough, it took him four spells to take out her outermost shield. She brought the second layer down herself and started attacking him in earnest.
Her superior speed meant that she could send three spells for two of his. He went down in less than a minute after that. She summoned his wand. Hermione walked over and bowed to him formally and waited for his reply. Parkinson was stunned for two seconds before he closed the duel with a return bow of his own. Only then did she return his wand.
(She wasn't going to underestimate the threat presented by anyone whose allegiance she was not sure ever again, no matter how weak they seem. Even the best fighters can be brought down by bad luck).
Mulciber had the same speed as Parkinson, but he had better footwork. He went down just slightly longer than Parkinson had and Hermione summoned his wand twice to ensure that it flew away into her hand. She could see his disbelief and resentment. Yet considering that she was still aiming her wand at his neck without wavering even an inch, Mulciber grudgingly accepted his defeat and ended the duel.
Gallus Rosier was a thin and wiry wizard who was more apprehensive than dismissive when she challenged him, and just for that she respected him more. She recognised him as the Slytherin whose fighting style had more dodging and less attacking, but she'd seen him survive Augusta Delagardie's barrage of powerful spells that none had been a real hit on him (Hermione's superior casting speed with her shield spells got her through Augusta's attacks the last time they duelled). She saw his gaze flicker in Tom's direction for a moment before he nodded and accepted her challenge.
If she thought Mulciber's footwork was good, Rosier's was a level above that at the very least. He was fast and he was slippery. He didn't get many hits into Hermione—heck, she'd stopped worrying too much about his attacks altogether—but he was extremely hard to hit. A jinx here and a scratch there wasn't what she'd call a proper hit either. A few minutes in and she thought she could see similarities between his style and a wushu snake stance she'd seen Harry demonstrate once (other people travel and collect knick-knacks; when Harry Potter travels, he collects martial arts lessons).
Once she'd gotten a feel for his rhythm and pattern, she could predict opportunities between their attacks and counter-attacks. Hermione quickly struck. "Fulgo!"
Rosier yelped when the small bolt of lightning hit him and raised his hands quickly, "I yield! I yield!"
"I accept your surrender," Hermione replied easily. She was surprised at the speed that he capitulated, considering the stubbornness of every other Slytherin she'd faced. "Ah, I almost forgot. Rosier, please stand still."
"Err, why?" He stood extremely still, like a small lizard hoping that you'd decide that the movements you'd seen were just the bush moving in the wind and not him.
"I'm going to run a quick medical check on you." She answered. His relief was visible that Hermione couldn't help her smile.
"Ah. Alright. Go ahead."
Hermione was actually holding herself back from wincing. She had only remembered when they were done that a small lightning spell might not be among the list of acceptable spells to use when duelling in Hogwarts. Fortunately, it was as small as she'd thought it was. His reflexes seemed to be fine and after she cast two rejuvenating charms, Rosier insisted that he was fine and she should challenge the other Slytherins.
"Slytherins, really?" She raised her eyebrows at him. He scoffed.
"I might only be good at following, but I can see, Miss Curie. If Tom wishes to prove something, then the best we can do is to gather around and bear witness." He winced slightly when Hermione poked at a bruise before healing it. "With our bodies too, if necessary."
"There. I think that's all." She said with satisfaction.
"Thank you."
"It's no bother at all. Now, who else can I duel with…" Hermione mused.
"Challenge Rufus Carrow." Rosier helpfully suggested with a gleam of cunning in his dark eyes, "and probably Robbe Rowle too."
Hermione decided not to wonder at the possible in-group dynamics of the Knights.
"I'm afraid I don't know either, though."
"Oh, they're easy to recognise if you know what to look for. Rufus is the wizard with the sour face over there that had finished pulverising that Gryffindor. Robbe is…there! Those broad shoulders and noticeable height is hard to miss." He informed her all this with an open sort of glee.
"Any particular reason why you're recommending the two of them?"
Rosier's gaze drifted towards the ceiling as he mulled over her question. His eyes were sly when they met hers once more. "Well, supposing that my guess is true and that Tom is trying to teach a lesson? I can't imagine anyone else needing more—other than the two slowpokes you've kindly educated before me, of course."
Hermione's lips curved upwards. "Well, thank you for the advice…Gallus, is it?"
"Yes, Miss Curie. Gallus Rosier, at your service." He bowed, and there was no resentment in it. She made a snap judgement on the spot.
"Oh, just call me Hermione. All my friends do."
It seemed that she made a good decision, because he seemed genuinely pleased when she said that.
"Of course, Hermione."
That was when she saw Tom being rather ruthless in his fight against a Gryffindor and walked over in his direction. Who was that? Ah, it's Rajesh. She really wasn't surprised that the two wizards ended up fighting each other.
'-
Hermione didn't miss the involuntary grimace that flashed by Rufus Carrow's face when he saw her standing right in front of him. Ah, probably one of the old-school, pureblood supremacists, then. Wonderful. He was a broad-shouldered wizard of an intimidating stature.
"Carrow."
"Curie."
"I'd like to challenge you to a duel." She said.
"I'm afraid I'd have to decline."
Well, that was unexpected, Hermione thought with some disappointment. Yet it seems it wasn't quite done yet.
"Ha! Afraid, are you, Rufus? Suppose that's reasonable, though. She's really very good." Gallus Rosier had followed her not too far behind. His steps were rather quiet that she didn't immediately notice him in the hubbub that was the class. Hermione could see Carrow clenching his jaw.
"I'm not afraid, Gallus."
"Poppycock," Gallus said. He might be the thinner man of the two of them, and shorter by an inch or two, but right now, his gestures were relaxed and confident where Carrow was tense. No one would say that a fight between the two of them would easily go in Carrow's favour.
"You're not afraid? That's the most senseless bluff I've heard. Tom fought her to a draw, Rufus. If you're going to go ahead and say that you're a better fighter than he is, well, I'll go find a nice chair to sit down and have a long laugh."
"I simply have better use of my time—"
"To dodge a possible loss! Come on, be a man, Rufus. Face her, lose, and learn from the lesson. I already know that there are things I'd change from my duelling style now. But you don't even dare, do you?"
Hermione was alternately amused and fascinated at the ease Gallus was riling up his house mate.
"Well, if you've decided that way, I'm sure there are other people who…don't mind fighting me." She said with an innocent smile. Carrow narrowed his dark eyes at her. She knew his type. He probably thought she held back from saying that she knew he was afraid of her.
"No need, Curie. If Gallus must insist, I suppose I can fight you." Carrow answered.
She vaguely noticed Gallus getting some other students to back away. Hermione realised that his actions told her something important—Carrow wasn't one to hold back on his spells or think much about bystanders. Where Parkinson and Mulciber was too limited in their spell knowledge to be able to deal damage, and Rosier still had some restraint, she was sure Carrow had none of their concerns.
Their bow to each other was just as shallow and quick, and the duel started the second it was done. He was fast and like Gallus, half of his spells were easily silent. She had to admire how his attacks didn't slow down when he was down from the jelly-legs jinx, and the speed he neutralised it to get back up. She'd had a cutting spell to her leg and she had to tank two Confringo in a row, which was hard to do even if you could raise shields at her speed. The ends of her hair were probably singed and she could smell burned clothes. The smell was bringing back loose flashes of memories of fighting beside the Aurors because Harry or Ron asked for her cooperation.
Hermione didn't hesitate to cast oil on the floor and burn it, forcing him to retreat and find a way out. She didn't give him any; she cast Ventus quickly, and the gust of wind fanned the flames larger. It was only because there was a part of her that was desperately holding on to the present, reminding her that this was a class, that she stopped herself from going further.
"Give up, Carrow," she said, through the fire and smoke separating them.
He sent several curses, half of them dark, as the answer. Hermione shook her head but didn't relent. She could do this all day while he was going to get cornered as she'd backed him to the wall. The fire would only spread further.
It was a burst of ice at the fire that stopped them.
"You lost, Rufus," Professor Merrythought's voice was sterner than usual as she sent more ice over the oil, killing the flames. It was not actually easy to use ice—most people would not have the power required to generate much.
"The first principle of any duel or fight is to survive. What use is winning if you're not going to live through it? You should have surrendered once Hermione has you cornered. You do not exactly have a way out, do you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She berated him. Rufus Carrow was tight-lipped, but he couldn't really deny the professor's words. The silver-haired professor turned to Hermione, who also set off to put the fire down once it was obvious that the duel was over.
"Hermione, do keep in mind that we're indoors in a class." Merrythought reminded her.
Hermione winced. She knew the professor was probably reminding her about the smoke the fire was putting out, other than the destruction of the top layer of the wooden panelling.
"He was good, Professor, so I had to step up my offence to get him. I might have gotten carried away a little."
Merrythought raised an eyebrow but didn't comment further.
"Well, continue, then, just be careful. I'll just have a chat with Rufus here for a while."
Hermione walked away with relief, glad to have avoided a possible lecture there. She was just trying to look around the room, aimlessly wandering, when Gallus somehow managed to catch up with her.
"So, Robbe Rowle is losing to Delagardie over there, though it was a rather close result." Gallus said.
"You're insistent, aren't you?" Hermione asked, amused.
"Oh, not at all. Thought I'd just give you a helping hand. I'm sure you're not looking for either Melchior or Abraxas. They don't seem at all interested in duelling you—I wonder why," his tone was dry. Hermione chuckled.
"Pendleton is a rather good fighter. He's quiet and doesn't talk much either," Gallus added, pointing out a pale Slytherin—he had the same white-blond hair as he Malfoy, but he was even paler than Abraxas. She thought it must be some sort of record. If he had any less pigment, he'd be an albino.
"Pendleton?"
"Patroclus Pendleton." Gallus answered her unsaid question. "Fifty-year, like most of us—he goes more often by his last name than his first, even among friends. He's from an old family even though it's not one of the 28. Not all the important families are in the group and you'd be limiting yourself if you only stick to it. He's a dependable sort of fellow. Now, Tybalt Yaxley is…ah, making that poor Gryffindor cry."
The Gryffindor wizard that Yaxley was facing wasn't exactly crying, but he was certainly sweating a lot and pale.
"He could be rather vicious in his choice of spells as well as in the way he fights. His girlfriend is always younger than him by a year or two. I'm sure facing him wouldn't be a problem for you, would it?"
"Not at all," Hermione replied easily as she settled herself to at least one more duel.
'-
Robbe Rowle was blatantly staring at her curves as she approached him. His smile at her was more than merely suggestive. Ginny would have said something about wanting to immediately take a bath to remove the feeling of slime. Hermione pulled on what she thought as her Unspeakable persona over herself like a mantle, settling herself to being what Luna and Malina called the Agent of the Weird. Her version was cool, distant and implacable.
"Ah, Miss Curie! Playing with the big boys now, are we?" He asked.
"I'm an equal opportunity duellist, actually." She replied, ignoring his ogling.
"Well, I'm always available to give you a private lesson."
Hermione's smile was razor-thin. "I prefer public ones. It provides a clear example for others to follow."
She could see his smile fading a little at the edges before a sly look appeared in his eyes.
"I've never been that much of an exhibitionist, but, if you insist…"
Hermione bared her teeth in a grin. "Oh, it's really necessary. The same way that some things can only be taught under the whip of a taskmistress."
"Ah, you have exotic tastes, I see." He replied. "I'm sure I can fulfil that."
"I challenge you to a duel, Robbe Rowle."
"I accept, Hermione Curie."
Hermione herself only managed to get in half a bow before she dodged immediately—her instinct wasn't wrong. She'd just avoided a Reducto and she didn't hesitate with the harsher cutting spells or jinxes that are as disgusting as vomiting slugs up along the standard ones that caused sardines squeezing out of your nose or Ginny's distinct Bat-Bogey Hex. Some of Rowle's strongest spells was a sandblasting one, capable of ripping patches out of her robes.
She didn't blink as she cast Pythonis Ictus at him more than once (it wasn't going to kill him, after all). He didn't seem to have the habit of throwing large fire spells, but his preference was for scattered embers, ashes easily floating in the air and burning what they touch—she only got rid of them with a well-placed Ventus. When she conjured construct birds, she did not come up with a flock of small ones—she only made three vultures but ensured that they divebombed him ferociously.
The moment he was distracted, she blasted him with Aguamenti Maxima and froze all the water over him. He was now half-stuck in ice.
"I'm waiting for your surrender, Rowle," Hermione calmly said, a good distance away from him with her wand still outstretched. There was no need to summon his wand—it was frozen stiff. He could not use it either.
He might still have a smile, but it wasn't hard to see the bitterness in his eyes.
She did something she hadn't before throughout the whole class; placed an invisible bubblehead charm over her head. Her left hand touched the bottle of isoflurane she'd saved from her previous fights and duels. If he made one wrong move, she was going to vaporise half the bottle in rough two-metre sphere around him.
"You have it, Curie." He finally said and nodded as far as he was capable with all the ice.
She nodded. "I accept your surrender, Rowle."
Hermione melted the water. Under her sleeves, she was still prepared to open the bottle.
"Well, then," she said with a cool, impersonal smile. The brunette didn't bother mentioning that he'd moved before the first bow was over. She'd expected it out of someone of his character. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
'-
Rowle still had the tendency to weasel with his words, but a straight loss was not something that could be denied. It came easily to him, perhaps because he'd known that she'd defeated Gallus and Carrow before him. Therefore, his situation was not unique. He can accept that it was no extraordinary thing to have been trounced by Hermione Curie.
She was rather annoyed at all the rips and tears on her uniform, though. His spells seemed to be heavier on the clothing than anything else. Hermione wasn't really looking forward to purchasing more uniform if the damages turned out to be irreparable by magic, even of the house elf kind (she was pretty sure it was already beyond mundane efforts to save).
Oddly enough, Pendleton was the one to approach her and challenge her than the other way around. She wondered more than a little about his paleness and his risk of skin cancer from even half an hour of exposure to the sun (she could see the little blue veins on his neck—his skin was approaching transparent). She pulled herself back from that diversion and asked him back.
"Why do you ask? It's not that I will decline you, you see. I just wish to know why, because it seemed I had been the one challenging all this time. Carrow even declined at first before he changed his mind."
"I'm sure you're challenging Slytherins because Tom asked you," he said, without preamble. "If that is the case, then I might as well expedite the process."
"Um, why?"
"Why what?"
"I mean, you're not wondering why he's doing this?"
"Clearly to show that you're not weak." He said, frankly. "If you can defeat me, Miss Curie, I will certainly accede to your right to stand beside him."
"I'm not…"
Pendleton simply waited patiently for her to finish the sentence, unbothered by the silence that spread between them.
She wasn't what, really? He didn't even say anything about her beyond saying that he knew she was going to assist Tom. And what about it? The Slytherin was clearly not wrong. It was her plan. Well, her plan was closer to standing beside him so she could keep watch, but she thought there's nothing wrong with assisting him if he's going to do something more productive than destroying the world.
Hermione sighed. "Oh, alright. You have a point. I accept your challenge."
'-
Pendleton lasted the longest in a duel with her so far.
Not only he did not underestimate her, he seemed to be quite aware of his own limitations too. Frankly, his perseverance was rather annoying since she was the one who had to fight him. After the first few minutes, he closed in on her, never letting them to be farther than two spears' lengths from each other. She couldn't use her more destructive spells without risking her own skin inside its area of effect. He noticed the ranges of my spell effects' too, she thought in a huff, just like Tom. The distance made dodging attacks virtually impossible, but Hermione wasn't too worried about her shield skills.
He never overextended himself either, making it hard for her to find an opening against him, though his cautiousness meant she received relatively few hits that struck in. He used Aguamenti to spread puddles of water, though considering that she'd been wearing boots now (ha!) it wasn't a very effective way of making her slip. He turned the water into mud sometime between their attacks and she barely faltered.
His careful distance gave her an idea. She took a page out of Tom's playbook and rushed him, double shields at front. His eyes widened in surprise. One slashing spell of his went in while the ropes sent to tie her fell haplessly against the shield. She cast Reducto Maxima at near point-blank range.
His shield couldn't withstand the blast, not even with the additional one he'd hastily erected. He was thrown back.
Hermione aimed the wand at his head when he was down, quirking an eyebrow in waiting. He smiled ruefully.
"I yield," he stated.
"Thank you for the duel." She said, formally.
"The same here." The blond admitted as he stood up. "My speed could stand to improve."
"Your speed is already fast, actually," Hermione said. "It's your shield spell that's still in line with the casting speed of your other spells. But that just won't do. Your shield spell needs to be among the fastest spell you have in your arsenal—if not the fastest—because it plays such a critical role. Melchior, for example, can put his up in a moment. He has very abbreviated wand movements."
"Ah, I see," he nodded in contemplation. "Thank you for the advice, then. I suppose you know this because you've duelled against each other."
"We've fought, yes. You're easily his level, though."
"I'm glad that I'm a noticeable obstruction for you than a mere bump in the road, then," came his wry, almost self-deprecating reply. Hermione couldn't help but laugh, surprising herself that she'd found him without needless pride and straightforward for a Slytherin. It was almost inconceivable that in another life, he would have easily been a first-generation Death Eater.
"Why did you, hmm, become friends with Tom?" She finally asked.
The blond observed her quietly.
"Why not?" He asked back.
Why not indeed? Tom did not start out with any explicit agenda at the beginning, so pureblood supremacy might not even be what had attracted Pendleton to Tom's charisma and cause.
"He's competent," Pendleton finally said after a while. "You know that he knows what he's doing. If you've seen what some of our Ministers of Magic had been like, it's reassuring."
'-
"You know, I heard you were in the infirmary, but I'm having doubts about that now."
Hermione chuckled. "Why, hello to you too, Abraxas."
There were already many people duelling to take up most of the space in the room—and the ADADA class was large, what with it currently being the size of three normal classes. As usual, the partitions were pulled down to give them enough space to practise in. Right now, it seemed that everyone was picking up their practice again after a short break. Hermione thought she'd kept up a good enough record so far and can take a break for a while to chat.
"Did you really fell down some stairs?" The blond Slytherin asked, blatantly checking her for bruises. Melchior came up next to him and snorted loudly.
"Why don't you just ask her whether she and Tom skived the class in some broom closet, then?"
She saw Abraxas blush as he sputtered and shook his head. Hermione herself had to bit her lip to stop from laughing, even as she felt her cheeks warming slightly.
"That wasn't what I was thinking at all! I thought maybe she's just sick from coming to classes. It is Friday, you know? Everyone wants the weekend to just come over already." Abraxas glared at Melchior, whose smile was a bit smug.
"What, Hermione? Someone who voluntarily took an insane class load? Perish the thought!" The dark-haired wizard turned to Hermione as he nodded to her in greeting. "That was a fine, solid duel with Pendleton. Also, good job on pinning Gallus down—even I can't always manage that when I'm going against him."
She beamed at him.
"Thank you. What, no comments on the rest?"
Melchior couldn't help but roll his eyes. "It's all-too-clear that you obliterated them with extreme prejudice. Come on, you're good and some of them still had the gall to underestimate you. You don't need to fish for compliments, Hermione."
"So, what happened, anyway?" Abraxas asked again, his curiosity still undaunted.
"It's just like I told Tom. I fell down some stairs." Hermione shrugged.
The two Knights of Walpurgis stared at her in disbelief for three seconds before exchanging knowing looks with each other. A silent conclusion was soon reached. They both shook their heads.
"No." Melchior promptly replied.
"Nah, that can't be it." Abraxas insisted.
"Someone has to be behind it," Nott said again.
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "Why does someone have to be behind it? You're both as bad as Tom."
"A ha! Now, if Tom agrees with us, we know we're on the right track," the Malfoy heir replied with excitement.
"I might have just stepped on some loose bit of carpeting—or some forgotten piece of parchment." She said.
"Were there?" Nott asked sceptically. "Were there any carpeting or loose parchment involved in your fall?"
"There might be," she insisted. He smirked.
"And that's our first confirmation that something is wrong. Well, it was nice talking to you, Hermione, but I'm afraid we'll have to leave you for now."
It confused her slightly. "Really? Why?"
"Tom would probably want to pull some of us together to go looking for the culprits." Melchior said. Hermione was frustrated at their stubbornness that she cut in.
"You can't do that! They're mine! Tom promised."
Abraxas whooped with glee. "Ha! It turns out that there are some people involved!"
Hermione merely folded her arms in front of her chest and stared them down. "They're mine, alright? Hands off."
Melchior sighed, not quite looking forward to losing a possible source of fun. "Ah, well. If you must insist…"
'-
Hermione was trying to find Yaxley, or maybe some other Slytherin wizard that she hadn't faced yet. The odds were good that whoever it was would also be one of Tom's underlings. She was sure she can fit at least one other duel before Merrythought gathered them again and gave feedback as they cooled down. Unfortunately, these remaining few Slytherins seem to be rather scarce.
She saw Abraxas and Melchior, of course, but there was no need to challenge them again. She just waved at them as she passed and they waved back at her. Hermione was waylaid by Julia once who asked for some pointers and she did play observer for her duels in the next five or ten minutes, all while informing the other Ravenclaw of her weak points.
Adil Shafiq surprisingly also came over once and asked her if she had really recovered, concern written clearly on his face. The brunette assured him that she was pretty much fine. She could do a mean first aid and Maggie Edelstein was no slouch at healing standard bruises that come from handling a school full of accident-prone kids.
The one who found her next was Auguste Murat. He was looking as gallant as ever, with his hair not at all messed up. Is this some sort of talent every politician-in-training have? Or do they have a set of killer grooming charms they always recast? She noticed that Tom also had that skill of appearing sharp in all situations down pat.
"Hello, Hermione. I see you've been very productive today," there was a wry lilt to his tone, and she realised that Auguste must have seen several of her duels. She laughed.
"Well, I was trying to get through a list," she said.
"A list?"
"Tom recommended that I test the ability of his house mates." She said, skipping a little over some inconvenient truths, such as 'I need to show the Knights of Walpurgis that I can kick their arse to hell and back, and that the rumours that I suffered an accident does not affect that the slightest'.
His brows came down slightly. "Test?"
"Well, he recommended them based on their duelling skills. They might not reach his level, but I might need to warm myself up first a little after the accident."
Auguste nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes. The accident. I heard from Professor Merrythought that you fell down a flight of stairs?"
"I did," she said, leaping over even more truth after that. "Maggie Edelstein is very competent nurse, though. As you can see, I'm back in fighting shape."
"So, how about a little warming up duel, then? Nothing serious."
"Hmm. How serious is 'not serious'?" Hermione was curious.
"Let's challenge each other to either score a blatant hit or push each other down. The hard part is that we have to stand in one place and not have moved from it." He pulled a chalk out of his pocket and made a small circle just slightly larger than his shoes on the floor. "Like that. The aim is to still stand within the circle and to attack and defend from that position. If you stepped out, you lose. If you get one full hit, you lose. If you fall down, you definitely lose."
Hermione was grinning at his explanation. It did sound less strenuous than the duels she'd been doing, while still somewhat challenging.
"That's a great idea! Let's settle on the distance first."
"The custom in France is three metres."
"Why, three metres it is, then."
They set down two circles and set to duel. The first time around, Hermione lost because she side-stepped by reflex. The second time, she also lost because the blow from Auguste's Reducto pushed her back even if it didn't manage to penetrate her second layer of Protego. She also lost the third and fourth mini-duel, but the sets were quick that she didn't even think much of it, and more importantly, she had fun. It challenged her to think of spell combinations that would force her rival to dodge, or one that would render them harmless and easy to finish off with one final spell (the easiest to push people with is undoubtedly Reducto, since its natural form was a blasting force going in one direction).
Of course, if it hit directly, it would bruise people rather hard. Yet considering that neither of them were weak or slow with their shield spells, she wasn't concerned.
She'd only managed her first victory sometime after, but she was so excited that she jumped with joy and whooped. Hermione might have even thanked him for his great idea with a playful punch to his shoulder. Auguste's smile was definitely approaching a grin. It certainly made him as handsome as those medieval renderings of Percival the Grail Knight, distracting more than one unfortunate witch (a blonde German witch she'd met at the Slytherin table with Tom went down against a more disciplined Hufflepuff wizard, Hermione winced at her rather hard fall—even her opponent was stunned).
That was when she noticed Evariste coming over. At first, she thought he was just going to chat with the other French wizard. His expression, however, was distinctly stormy.
"'Ermione," Evariste greeted warmly.
"Hello, Evariste." She replied.
"Auguste Alexis," Evariste said. Within his words was a politeness that created distance instead of bridging them.
"Evariste Emmanuel," Auguste replied with grace, without lessening the respect he accorded to his compatriot. Yet the distance between them was still there, the formality in the way they stood. Hermione was desperately trying to read for clues and coming up with nothing.
Evariste took deep breaths, trying to pull himself together. He looked less angelic-seeming now, and more like the archangel statues that came in armour and a flaming sword.
"I would like to 'ear your explanation now."
"I am not sure what you would wish explanation for." Auguste replied.
But Hermione saw the utter calmness in his hazel eyes and knew that this couldn't be true.
Anyone in his position who did not know why they were suddenly accosted for some unknown explanation would feel uncomfortable. They would fidget, their minds agitated as they try to come up with things they've done, with anything that could be the explanation. At the very least, Auguste already has suspicions of his own.
"You—you 'ave asked to call upon Miss Curie, is this true?" Evariste asked.
Auguste nodded with ease. "Yes, I did."
"Why?"
He said that one word with unexpected intensity. Hermione had the discomfiting sensation that maybe she wasn't supposed to be present in this encounter. Yet neither of them had asked for privacy or seemed to mind her presence.
"Clearly, because I wish to know her better." Auguste said, still as calm as he was before.
"It is not that. No. It's…" he exhaled and turned around, walking several steps in thought before he walked back. When he spoke again, he was vehement. "It is not possible that you do not know my position at all."
"What is your position, Evariste?"
He glared at Auguste and seemed to consider smiting him on the spot.
"Evariste?" Hermione spoke up. Evariste seemed surprised, as if he'd forgotten she was still there. Auguste, however, was not. "What's the problem? You can tell me anything, you know?"
Now, he was conflicted. Auguste shook his head. "Whatever it is you're considering or wish to do, do them. I doubt that I will mind. Truly, I have no wish to make an enemy needlessly, Evariste."
"Yet you just did."
"I have no idea what your issue with me is, and I will still have no idea if you don't tell me." Auguste said. For the first time, Hermione could hear impatience in his tone.
"You will not say that if you were serious in courting Miss Curie."
Auguste huffed. His words were still even, but the speed in which he spoke made clear his annoyance, and his more noticeable accent. "Courting? Whoever said anything about courting? Melusine, Melior and Morgane! And 'ere I thought it is the French who are passionate, but it seems that the British also sees love everywhere! That is what you 'eard from the rumours, non?"
Evariste nodded, dumbfounded. Auguste gazed heavenward, as if asking for patience, before he took another breath or two. He looked as dignified as before.
"I've stated to Hermione exactly what I wish to do—I wish to know her as a person. That's it. You are making mountains out of molehills. If you wish to call upon her, I am the last person in the world to stand in your way. I do consider you my friend and would heartily wish you any joy you may have from life."
"But—"
"It's true," Hermione said, thinking of assisting Auguste. "We're really just friends."
"Ah…" Now, Evariste seemed slightly embarrassed.
"Go ahead. In fact, I'll make myself scarce right now so you will have the privacy to do so." Auguste said. With that declaration, he walked away from both of them, utterly unconcerned about any possible awkwardness left behind now that there was only Hermione and Evariste.
Hermione was filled with an unrecognisable trepidation. Give me dragons to slay, give me giants to defeat. Give me a curse or corruption to cure, give me an anomaly to analyse, she thought desperately, but don't give me someone interested in me.
Even with her lack of memories, she was rather sure of the gut feeling that many of her dating attempts were lacklustre, the relationships that were not friendships disappointing. Most people would have been taken too easily by Hermione the Heroine, part of the Gryffindor Three that they did not quite manage to see the witch at the heart of it.
"'Ermione?"
"Yes, Evariste?"
"Would you allow me to call upon you?" Evariste asked.
Her smile was watery and undoubtedly awkward. Somehow, Evariste was not the slightest bit fazed. If she can easily say yes to Auguste, it wouldn't be fair if she turned Evariste down. It didn't matter that she felt she knew their personal feelings behind their requests to be very different. She decided to not be a coward and face this head on. It was fortunate that the words Daphne taught her stuck well. Otherwise, she'd be babbling who-knows-what.
"Of course, Evariste. I give you leave to call upon me."
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End Notes:
I keep forgetting trying to clarify the wizarding curses that I used because to me, the source was obvious.
There's Merlin and Morgana from the Arthurian cycle. Melusine is one of the daughters of the water or river spirit Pressyna, whom the Elynas, the King of Albany (that's Scotland to you now) met in the middle of a forest, falls in love with, and decides to marry. (Why one would marry a beautiful woman who was walking around unharmed and without fear in the middle of the forest without asking questions about her life and origins, I have no idea). Pressyna agrees with the requirement that he do not try to see her or her daughters in the bath. She has three daughters with him—Melusine, Melior and Palatyne. This being a fairy tale, you can guess what the king did later on, whether intentionally or by accident (depends on the version).
Since Pressyna is a water spirit, it's a given that she's good with magic, same with her daughters. Melusine has her own love story that follows more or less the same pattern as her mother's. While her father could be said as careless (he rushed into his wife's bath in some versions because she'd just given birth and he wanted to see his kids), Melusine's husband could be an outright jerkass (calling her "serpent" in front of his whole court? Freaking really?)
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Additional Notes:
All Knights of Walpurgis took Advanced Potions and Advanced DADA (heaven help you if you're not up to Tom's standard), while other classes may vary.
Gallus Flint Rosier (OC): Technically, he must exist in some form since there are descendants of the Rosier family in present-day canon. It's certainly a Death-Eater leaning family name, hence his automatic presence in Slytherin. His first name, Gallus, is from Latin that meant Rooster.
He has a younger sister and a younger brother. His younger brother, Jonah Rosier, is mentioned in passing sometime earlier when Tom was giving Adrian Smith a first-year Slytherin contact for him. For anyone curious, Jonah actually means Dove. Yes, since JK Rowling seems to follow naming themes for her characters, I try to do that too.
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If I seem to be casting the Rowle as a family of lechers, that was completely by accident and unplanned. Every Slytherin that Hermione met in this chapter except for Pendleton was part of the Sacred 28.
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