Author's Note:
I find it interesting that no one commented on Tom's rather skewed sense of humour.
Remember the "politics" and "political manoeuvres" tags that I gave this story? We're going to see the scale of the game Tom is playing here.
Now, onwards to some of the issues raised in the reviews. I happened to be talking to some of my friends as well as my sister on it, and the conversation pulled out my own reasoning from somewhere deep inside my head. I actually managed to write most of this without much effort:
'-
Keep in mind that everything is written from Hermione's perspective most of the time. Even if she's perceptive and experienced enough that her assessment of things is accurate in the high 90 percent, there is always room for error, no matter how small. It is not the author's job to explicitly tell the readers just what small stuffs the characters miss/got wrong. We're only seeing Hermione (and Tom's) experience, in their small corner of Hogsmeade.
'-
About Hermione not using Homenum Revelio
(Skip if you're not that curious about the technical details):
Revealing the people in your surroundings is a convenient spell to use if you're being chased by people or were chasing a group of people and you just lost track of them as they entered a new area. If you have experience in chasing groups so far as to not hold back from entering their territory, you also get used to being put on the back foot as you do that, as they have every advantage of not only knowing the grounds better than you, they can also prepare the terrain to benefit them and disadvantage you.
In these kinds of situations, there would be several efforts to spoof the spell already in place. At the top of my head, kidnapping dozens of muggles, knocking them out, tying them, and then scattering them all around your base could distract it. And that's just the low tech/low magic approach. Whatever number of people or directions they're from that the spell informs the caster is going to be useless due to the high amount of noise. This is the main weakness of the spell—it's not actually a friend-or-foe identifier.
If the wizards and witches can come up with an anti-apparition ward that can be deployed pretty quickly in the field, there's no doubt that it wouldn't take much effort to develop an anti-revealing ward that effectively functions as an enforced fog of war.
With these in mind, it's not surprising that Hermione's reflex in facing an entrenched attacker is to _not_ use the spell and just move on to assuming there _are_ people in the room and find ways to flush them out or clear those rooms for her team (as noted, usually it's the outright tanks like Harry who cleared them*).
*Harry still has the occasional nightmare of the time he accidentally sent a fire spell to a muggle used as a live shield by a wizard who popped up from behind a couch.
Of course one can argue that there are still good odds of the spell working, since the possible hostiles are using muggle weapons instead of wand. I'd like to point out that we can take the time to think and come up with several alternatives at once since we're playing armchair analysts after the fact, but in an emergency and under pressure, it's really trained behaviour and drills that come to the fore, and the Hermione's skills and habits are still very effective.
'-
On people's reactions in Hogsmeade
(Skip if you're not interested in the discussion or my interpretation of prophecy/heroic cycles in the wizarding world):
Notice that different people in different stores behave differently, the crowd in the dry-goods store is the farthest one from the rest. They all have their own thoughts, and just because they act similarly does not mean they think in identical ways. Sometimes, an old lady just want to get home from shopping and catch up with the rest of her family away from the center of action.
On the other hand, the wizarding world is also a community who credulously accepted that a baby just beat a dark lord in his prime. You can take two paths from this point, that:
a) they're truly that foolish, which I consider to be a simplification and stereotyping of an entire community of people, or
b) there is actually a some precedent for this, even if it's not exactly a common/regular occurrence.
The second is the interpretation that I went with. Consider, if there had been various cryptic but spot-on prophecies surfacing again and again through the ages, rising in tandem with the dark lords/ladies that plague them. Consider also that youth is no barrier to magical prowess in prophecies (especially when they turn out to be the Chosen One), they'd be less likely to dismiss a confident, competent young wizard or witch in the face of a crisis compared to the nonmagical world. You can argue that it's weird of them, but you can't argue that it has no basis in reality, considering how their world works.
Their myths and stories are less like the ones of the nonmagical world's and closer to the oral histories retained by some of the native tribes of Australia. They actually have checks and balances in the system to stop the story from drifting/changing as it is retold through generations. Some of their stories are actually first-hand accounts from before the frigging last ice age, and would be a good addition to the continent's climate record. (Nunn & Reid 2015, Aboriginal Memories of Inundation of the Australian Coast Dating from More than 7000 Years Ago).
'-
41 Aftermath
Hermione finds Andrew Abbott. In which there is not much rest to be had as the prefects began a meeting. Lunch break. Hogwarts once more. Tom's request. The Society's meeting.
'-
They were at a small table at the restaurant on the ground floor of Hog's Head Inn, rather close to the fireplace. It wasn't usually a preferred spot, considering the traffic passing through the floo network, but it suited her purpose just fine, as most people actually avoided the spot. Neither of them was even sitting at the table.
"Roi aima," Hermione casted, ending the complicated wand movement with a tap at her left palm. Several metallic splinters appeared in splotches of blood. Andrew Abbott stared at her hand in disbelief.
"Those were inside me?" He asked.
"They were in your blood. One wrong move and one of them might block a blood vessel in the heart. Congratulations, you have a heart attack! If that didn't happen, one of them might obstruct a vein somewhere in your brain. That would mean a stroke for you, and certainly instant death if no one caught what your potential problem was." Hermione said. She knew she was scaring him, but sometimes, fear was one of the few things that forced a suggestion to stick.
"This is why when you're shot, you got to a nurse or healer. Ask them if they know how to treat someone who's been harmed by muggle weapons, who know what's the difference between those and a spell. If you're not convinced, you're safer at St. Mungo's, alright?"
Hermione might have started her mini-lecture in a strident tone, but after seeing his pale face, she'd toned it down and ended it at a more sympathetic note. She vaguely remembered the tea among Ravenclaw girls, where the few things she'd actually noted was that Abbott was good-looking. Well, he was—as blond as his twin sister, athletic and as handsome as prince charming.
"I'll remember that. Thank you, Miss Curie."
She shook her head, smiling warmly at him. "Oh, it's no trouble at all. Did you know that your sister found me when I was lost and wounded, just as I arrived at Hogwarts? It's the least I can do."
"That was Agatha doing the decent thing. This—I heard you asked Professor Dexter to apparate you immediately here. That's just…impressive." He was mostly relieved, but she could see he was also deeply grateful.
Hermione wondered how the fact that she could read his thoughts and emotions clearly on his face made her consider him as plain and unchallenging. (You wish he was more challenging? Really, Hermione, he's a person, not a tome of magic, it's fine if he was straightforward.)
(Still, doesn't that make him somewhat of a bore?)
"Professor Dexter apparating me here just happened to be the fastest way to get here. Otherwise, I'd have just taken the floo, really." The brunette witch assured him.
She mentally shook her head. She had to admit that Andrew was genuinely nice and charming. It was simply unsettling to realise that she didn't feel the slightest bit of attraction to him—and she was quite sure she would've found him attractive when she was in Hogwarts the last time around. He certainly shared many qualities with Cedric Diggory (and she had liked Cedric back then). Hermione didn't have time to mull over it further as she was suddenly hugged by an overly-relieved Hufflepuff witch—the brunette had to balance herself weirdly to avoid touching anywhere with her bloody left hand, bullet fragments included. It was none other than the Head Girl herself.
"Agatha?"
"Thank you. I don't know what I'd do if I lose him. He's always been there, ever since I could remember," The blonde said with misty eyes as she stepped back.
"Oh, it wasn't as bad as I'd thought. There was no internal bleeding anywhere, even if I did have to mend his lower ribs." Hermione said. "My medical knowledge is still not comprehensive enough to catch near-everything that can go wrong. Again, he still needs to see an actual nurse or healer and get some Skele-gro in."
Agatha was clearly sceptical about how his wounds was less serious than she'd thought, or the way she downplayed the extent of her skills, but the seventh-year didn't say anything about it.
"Still. Thank you all the same."
"You're welcome," the brunette witch smiled back.
Agatha had started asking Andrew about what he was feeling, if he was still hurt anywhere, and what his wounds are. It was clear that Andrew was humouring his sister, but he did list the injuries Hermione told him, along with the injunction not to exert himself in the next several days until his rib set. The brunette witch disposed the splinters in the fireplace while a quick Tergeo removed the blood on her hands.
When she glanced around the room, she saw Tom was sitting at one of the larger circular tables in the middle.
She recognised the pair of Slytherin seventh-years now to his right, Oswin and Emma, along with the Slytherin Montmorency—and was that Crouch? Oh, wow, that was Crouch. He was as determined and as eager as she last saw him before he helped escort the wounded to St. Mungo's. She recognised Bernadotte and Ceres and… Daedalus? Daedalus was to Tom's left. There was Verrault, of course, looking ever so severe, and suspicious of Daedalus' easy familiarity with Tom. Daedalus seemed too used to it that he didn't even give Verrault's looks a second glance. She didn't know the Hufflepuffs, but now that she can identify practically everyone else, she suspected that they were prefects too, the ones that weren't the Heads at least.
There were two unrolled parchments on opposite sides of the table, a quill banded in black was floating and automatically scribbling on each of them. Verbatim-quills, Hermione thought. They're already having a meeting?
The moment he noticed that she was free, Tom casually raised his hand and waved. That slight head movement, though. Was he asking her to come over? Oh, he is. But isn't that a prefect meeting? Confused but curious all the same, Hermione drifted in their general direction.
"…they do not even care that this is a civilian area! I really don't like how helpless we are. How many students could've been hurt if any of the attackers had been attacking at Honeydukes? Or the bakery or restaurants?" Apparently, Crouch was in the middle of a tirade. He looked for all the world like Agamemnon, railing for the Trojan war to start and furious at Paris' treachery.
"We have to do something about it. We should be able to defend ourselves better."
Daedalus shifted to the left and Tom pulled a chair out of somewhere. Hermione took the seat.
"Crouch, it's clear that you care very much for your fellow students. That concern was why you called the prefects who happened to be present into a meeting." Tom said. "But as prefects, we are responsible for the safety of the students first and foremost. To enter violent engagement with anyone even if they are attacking people or students, would be frowned upon."
Crouch was fuming. "Are you suggesting that we do nothing?"
"Judicious application of the Smokescreen Spell is enough to divert the attacker, allowing you to escape safely with your charge." Tom answered.
"But that might not be enough! There might be more than one attacker and—I can't believe you're saying this now, Riddle, when I saw you and Curie running straight into the fray with offensive spells!"
To be perfectly honest, Hermione had no idea why Tom was suddenly taking a pacifistic stance. It was just so…not him. That was why she only felt increasingly awkward when Crouch put her on the spot like that. Tom was still unaffected. She took that to mean that everything was still going according to his plan.
Or plans. Whichever that was right now.
"You're not listening carefully, Crouch," Emma's cool tone cut in ruthlessly. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Tom was actually giving you the answer to your question. You asked us if we couldn't do more as prefects. That was the issue. Tom had just informed you frankly about what we can do—that as prefects our acceptable course of actions are limited. If that answer wasn't what you wanted to hear, then that would be your issue instead of his."
"Ask the wrong questions and you'd get the wrong answers," Montmorency added, gruff.
"I don't understand," Crouch spoke at a quieter tone.
"There are rules, Crouch, and we are bound by them." Verrault said, unsympathetic, even if his discomfort in having to side with Tom was clear in his grimace.
Hermione was sure she could hear a chuckle that was turned to a hasty cough from her left, where Daedalus had leaned back on his seat and was watching everyone from under half-lidded eyes. Not that it would be easy to see with his messy bangs falling over his eyes.
Bernadotte snorted at his fellow Gryffindor prefect.
"Alright. Tom is going to keep showing you the rules on what prefects can and can't do, and you'll just keep snapping back at him because you think he's being a coward. Dammit, Timaeus, lemme give you the short version because we don't have all day."
He took a deep breath. "You can't stand up and fight as a prefect."
"What…? Why not?"
A quite voice spoke up next. It was a wizard whose prefect badge gleamed in Hufflepuff colours. Fifth or sixth year, then, she surmised.
"Tom is correct. Bernadotte is right. If you wish to stay true to what a prefect is responsible for, then it would be the students. We are not responsible to fight against anyone—we are not Aurors."
There was a slight accent to his tone that she couldn't recognise instantly. She was sure it wasn't French, though.
"But it would be foolishness to continue obliviously in the face of danger! Surely, we must be prepared for more attacks, Casimir? Because after these two, I doubt they'd stop."
"This is going to take a while," Daedalus muttered under his breath. His expression was wry when Hermione's eyes met his.
Bernadotte groaned and he was rubbing his face when he started speaking.
"Timaeus, old boy, the point we're all trying to say is that you can't do this in the name of being a prefect. You do this in the name of you being you. You're someone who doesn't want to just roll over when people come to kill you. You want to fight back—which I say is a damned good idea. You said you've seen Riddle and Curie striking one of the attackers headlong? Then it's blindingly obvious that they thought it was a damn good idea too. Same like me and Ceres here."
He leaned forward. "But as to why I'm doing it? It's not because I'm a prefect. It's because I'll attack bloody Grindelwald himself if it would be enough to rid us of that branleur dégénéré from Britain and from France."
Ceres made a pointed cough next to him. Bernadotte shrugged. "Pardon my French."
The mood of the table had begun to shift ever since Bernadotte first spoke, but now that the sixth-year had mentioned the current dark lord extant in Europe, it was heavier than before.
"That's quite a leap in topic, isn't it?" The Hufflepuff said again (Castor? No, not Castor, but something close. It's not Caspar either), "from whether we can do more as a prefect to fighting Grindelwald?"
"That was the point. I guess I should've said that sooner, huh? This isn't a topic for a prefect meeting, Timaeus. If you had wanted to pick up your wand and fight, you should've joined the Society instead." The other Gryffindor wizard said. He leaned back rather casually in his chair, hands in his pockets.
"So, did we get jerked around enough for now? Can we break up what is apparently a useless prefect meeting?" Bernadotte asked with bellicose attitude.
"We do need to lay down some emergency procedures. This is as good time as any," Emma answered. Her gaze was professional behind the lenses of her glasses, unperturbed by the French wizard's antics. "And Timaeus, Bernadotte is right. If it's fighting you're interested in, you should try attending one of the Society's meetings. Now, we're going to go over your encounter, Tom and Hermione's encounter, as well as Bernadotte and Victorinus'. If Andrew is in good enough shape, we'd like to hear his experience too." She paused, taking a breath.
"Hopefully, this would help us determine a better way of avoiding violent engagements in the future—"
Bernadotte coughed.
"—in our line of work as prefects. Personal actions taken for personal reasons are up to each individual, of course. This would also provide us with a transcript of events we can easily copy and hand to the Aurors, thus giving them no excuse to take us out of school for a whole day or more and make us miss classes."
Hermione found herself nodding, completely agreeing with Emma's priorities.
"Man, I don't mind missing some classes," Bernadotte muttered under his breath.
"Doesn't mean I want to go up against Emma for it," Daedalus snorted. That shut the Gryffindor up.
"As for the retelling of experiences, every other prefect not telling their story is free to walk around and engage in some other activities for the time being—they can always read the written report, after all. The only time that everyone's attendance is required is when we're trying to make new guidelines and recommendations based on today's experiences."
There were some groans, though it was hard to determine everyone who made them since frankly, most didn't want to end up under Emma's stare. Hermione was sure that Daedalus was definitely one of them and Bernadotte was obviously one as he dropped his head on the table with a loud thud. Verrault was probably the only person who seemed to be looking forward to it. Even if the meeting only begun due to Crouch's misunderstanding of what being a prefect meant, In the end, it did end up being an actual prefect meeting.
She had the feeling it was just because Emma simply loathed to let such a good opportunity to waste—after all, why not get something done while they're all already here?
'-
Hermione did end up describing her actions and Tom's against the first attacker, to the various prefects gathered there. Bernadotte was gaping at her.
"You just…hit him? With a flowerpot?"
"Obviously spells hadn't worked, had it? Tom figured it out at the same time as I did, but he was faster in acting about it, hence the pile of crate getting thrown at the chump." Hermione said. "It had to be a physical attack. There was a flowerpot handy, so I thought, why not?"
"He could attack you," Ceres commented.
"That was what I thought," Tom muttered, but loud enough to be heard at the table. She sent an annoyed side-glance in his direction.
"If I can apparate closer to him, I can certainly apparate away. No anti-apparition wards, remember? I was very close in no time and not even his head was above the crate back then," Hermione said with a huff. She thought she heard a quiet 'you can apparate already?' from the unidentified Hufflepuff prefect, but she couldn't be sure.
"I knew what I was doing, trust me." Hermione insisted.
"If you say so," Bernadotte said, but it was clear that he was still reserving judgement.
"And once you were sure he was unconscious, what did you do?" Emma asked, pulling her attention back to the story.
"I searched him for all accessories and took them off. Odds are, he gained his anti-magic shield from some charmed bracelet or something similar. All I found was his necklace. Considering that I could cast Incarcerous at him after that, it's probably where the anti-magic charm was placed on."
On and on she went, with Tom and Crouch taking over once the sniper was in the scene.
"That was when I was shot." Tom said, after Crouch had mentioned running towards the crates for cover. "Hermione noticed the blood on her hands and then she apparated far enough to do something about the wound."
"You got shot?" Bernadotte asked somewhere between wonder and disbelief.
"The bullet's still inside even now," the Slytherin answered without blinking.
The weirded-out look spread through the entire table. Everyone focused their gaze on him with the speed and morbid curiosity of a crowd staring at the mangled corpse at an accident—they were all awkwardly stuck between wanting to snoop and get closer to the carnage while at the same time dismayed at the prospect of finding something bloodier than they've already known.
Tom merely stared back at them evenly, saying nothing else. If they were going to try to play a waiting game with him, Hermione thought, they had to be prepared to wait a long time.
"Riddle, has it ever occurred to you that perhaps now is a good time for you to visit St. Mungo's instead of attending a prefect meeting?" Daedalus asked from Hermione's left, his tone was that perfect politeness that actually screamed passive-aggressive gentleman to anyone familiar with a Brit.
"I'm no longer bleeding and I don't have any wounds at all," Tom answered with the same detached affect. "It's just a foreign object stuck on, where was it again, Hermione?"
"The back of your fifth or sixth rib, I wasn't exactly in the mood to count." She said flatly.
"On a rib. Exactly. It will certainly hold for a whole day, as our lady healer here has attested, much less several hours."
"And I thought Andrew was too dedicated to his responsibilities." The Hufflepuff wizard from earlier murmured. "It seems I spoke too soon."
"Damn right, Casimir," Bernadotte said with a sigh.
Verrault gave Tom a grudging look of respect and looked as if he was personally pained at having to do that.
The Slytherin wasn't the slightest bit disturbed. "Now, after that was done, we apparated back to the street—to the side of course, and that was when Hermione saw all the people the attacker had shot earlier. She couldn't help but wish to help, and that was when I came up with using the Smokescreen Spell as cover."
Well, Hermione had been too busy with the wounded to pay attention to what the wizards were doing, besides keeping the smokescreen up, so it was mostly Tom and Crouch's narration. She could see surprised expressions sent her way as Tom described how she was going for all the attack victims, and Crouch even added the time Hermione taught him CPR because he couldn't master the Living Heart Spell fast enough.
"Don't use me as your standard for how first-aid should be," she quickly added at the impressed looks. "I was in the process of getting enough training to be a field healer—you'd be just as good as I am if you've learned what I have. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm certainly well past any amateur level."
Tom continued on from the white-haired witch that was entrusted to him and he couldn't save. His gaze passing quizzically to hers as she tensed at that, but he smoothly continued the story on to Hermione and the next wounded they needed to see. When the narrative reached the point where they were all safely inside the tailor's shop, the Ravenclaw could see more than one prefect releasing the breath they'd been holding back.
Hermione had yet to start about the hunt for the second one when she could feel his hand on her arm and the slightest shake of his head when she glanced his way. Ah, alright. That one is not for this record, then. That was around a quarter to twelve, a convenient place to stop to break off for lunch.
Several other prefects that had apparently planned on visiting Hogsmeade in the afternoon instead of the morning, a shocked Eugenie and Julia included, and they'd only just arrived now (Hermione felt all those people who chose to delay their visits were lucky). This was later than the two witches had planned on arriving (which was, before lunch), but considering the emergency situation beforehand, it wasn't surprising. Hermione was too happy to note that her friends were fine, as they hugged her in turn in their worry.
"Sorry about the dress," Hermione said.
Eugenie blinked several times without saying anything. "What?"
"Your dress," the brunette gestured to herself. "I've leapt, rolled and done who-knows-what in it. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the seams are pulled somehow. Oh, there's probably blood stains here and there too."
The blonde dropped her face into her left hand. Julia distinctly snorted beside her. "Melusine. Really, Hermione. That was the last thing I was thinking about. I was too happy to see that you're alright."
"It's just…it's such a nice dress."
"It's just one dress." Eugenie said. "In fact, you can keep it. I'm sure it would be something interesting to tell your children, no? That this is a dress that you've fought off the Attack on Hogsmeade in."
"Even better, you can tell your children that you wore it in the first outing with their father." Julia added blandly.
Both Hermione and Eugenie groaned at that.
"You've been listening to Lakshmi's brand of chatter, haven't you?"
Julia smirked but didn't reply.
Professor Gildenstern, Hermione had been told, had set up quick-and-dirty wards over the Hog's Head Inn that even the organisers of the Quidditch World Cup would envy, so extensive and layered they were. That was why the professors felt secure letting other students floo in to the inn from the carriage house and even let the place fill to capacity as concerned family members arrived.
(There was always at least one Hogwarts student with journalistic aspirations, and apparently, that student had contacted the wizarding wireless with the news of the attack, resulting it being broadcast very quickly. This explained the noticeable family members that had arrived and started looking for a particular student or another).
The Aurors had arrived, and had to bear some pointed questions from Dumbledore, a disappointed Dexter and one Phyllida Spore on the warpath (Slughorn was slightly awkward, because he was of the same opinion as his colleagues, but his default social mode was always 'nice' and 'nicer', especially when speaking with people in power or authority that can make his life easier). The Aurors had no idea what happened and no floo calls got in. It was something to be considered later, as for now, the priority is in taking custody of the suspects and sweeping Hogsmeade to make sure that there were no more of them that lay hiding—as Hermione and Tom's encounter with the sniper had taught them.
Then Tom pulled her away to the fireplace and they flooed to The Hare and the Fowl.
"Oh," Hermione commented in surprise.
They stepped out of a large brick fireplace that would not be out of place in a farm. The wooden furniture was well made but not carved to a fine detail or perfect polish. It felt more simple, honest. The place was actually rather serene, and when she said that, Tom pointed out that it wasn't on Hogsmeade's main thoroughfare. She could see Professors Gildenstern, Lagrange and Merrythought on one of the other tables, though, with the Ancient Runes teacher talking at a fast pace. She felt vaguely sympathetic to them, knowing well enough that they probably were still talking about work even now.
"So, what's this about?" Hermione asked.
"I did promise you a dinner on Saturday." He said. She let out a startled laughter at that.
"Well, yes. But it's turned into a rather messed up day that I thought you'd have cancelled altogether."
"Do you wish me to cancel?" He shrewdly asked.
"No. It's just…" she shrugged helplessly. "Some people might think that today was far from perfect. They would then rather just try on another day."
"I think that a lunch in a quiet place is a perfect foil to the riotous events. In fact, we might as well start by ordering desserts." The Slytherin said. They weaved their way to one of the window tables. "The raspberry meringue terrine is refreshing for a hot day."
"Desserts first? Not afraid to spoil your appetite?"
"Why not? Hadn't we run far enough and spilt enough blood? Chased one man down from the slightest hint of his shadow?" Tom smoothly asked. "Is that not enough labour worthy of Hercules for a day? Why can't we feast and be merry?"
"You should be an actor," Hermione replied, amused.
"Am I not one yet?" He affected mock-confusion.
She laughed. "Touché. Very well. To celebrate for our survival, it is."
Well, Hermione certainly wasn't going to say no to desserts, especially when she can justify that she's certainly used up a lot of energy just now.
He shook his head. "Oh, it's not simply survival, Hermione. That is too simple and base."
"What is it, then?"
"The first step towards victory." He stated.
'-
It was only later after Hemione had returned back to the Inn that she saw Rajesh Setalvad, fifth-year Gryffindor prefect, only just arriving.
Bernadotte seemed tickled to bits that Setalvad had missed the entire morning—Setalvad had family business to attend to that he couldn't get out of even if he wanted to, according to Julia.
"Guess what happened, Raj?" The French wizard asked.
A confused and recently-flooed-in Setalvad stared at him uncertainly, still beating the occasional ash or the stray floo powder off his formal wizarding robes. He did look unusually handsome today, thick black hair neatly styled, which lead Hermione to suspect that he was being pulled to matchmaking dinners by his family.
"What?" Setalvad said.
"Hogsmeade got attacked. Riddle and Curie apparently struck one attacker down with the speed of Jove's lightning! I got into a hell of a fight too."
"Buggering hell! The one weekend that my family had to call turns out to be an important one!" He cursed some more while Bernadotte was shamelessly laughing like a hyena. Not even Ceres' elbow to his ribs made a difference.
"Tell me what happened," Rajesh was right in front of Bernadotte.
"Ha! What if I say I'm not telling you?"
"Philippe!" Rajesh growled, as Bernadotte ducked away and skedaddled, still chuckling.
"Ah ha ha! You can keep guessing, Raj! Just your bad luck that you weren't here, eh?"
Setalvad was close to yanking his black hair. "Come on! The least you could do is tell me!"
The fifth-year compensated by hounding the other Gryffindor wizard for details about his experience. His persistence to follow him practically everywhere for half an hour caused even Bernadotte gave up and simply told him to get 'borrow, cadge or steal' a pensieve—he'll just copy the memory for Setalvad.
Agatha Abbott called the rest of the prefects to gather around because she wanted to start the meeting. Hermione was surprised that neither Abbotts were absent.
The Head Boy and Head Girl respectively had joined them at the table, along with the other prefects that had arrived later (Eugenie and Julia included). The cool looks and demeanour of the rest of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw prefects that had just come through, on the other hand, irritated Hermione. Especially since she could easily figure out the source of the witches' annoyance—her presence there.
It was admittedly funny to see the blonde, Slytherin princess whose friend she'd just kicked in the torso was actually a prefect. The witch pressed her lips together when she saw Hermione, especially when she noticed that the brunette was sitting to Tom's left, but she didn't say anything. Well, as fun as this is, Hermione mused, my time here is mostly over. She made to stand up.
"Where are you going?" Daedalus asked.
"Well, I've told my experience already, right? It's just going to be a prefect meeting after this and…" she trailed off. The seventh-year Ravenclaw shrugged.
"It's fine."
"Really?"
"Yes. Stay around for everyone else's experiences. I'm sure you've got some interesting insights."
Ceres nodded from across the table. "Yes. Please stay, Hermione. I'd like to hear your opinion too."
Hermione sat down again with not a little confusion.
She hadn't figured out was why most of them didn't seem to find her continued presence unusual. Clearly, she'd said her piece. Yet neither Eugenie nor Julia were fazed to see her still at the table.
On the other hand, as she was swept up in the prefect meeting, she missed the greater currents that was churning underneath Hogwarts. It was one of the undertows that pulled her unexpectedly down. Yet what was so unexpected about it? Hermione was only one witch. For all her efforts, she could as easily stem the tide as she could read and anticipate an entire world.
'-
Tom was revising the evening's meeting of The Society.
It was the farthest thing from being cancelled. The attack on Hogsmeade only emphasised how precarious the peace in Britain's wizarding world. It did not matter that it was not the centre of governance like the Ministry, or the hub of activity like London. The dogs of war had come looking for a new hunting ground, and their baying had now reached the borders of Hogwarts.
No one liked being vulnerable, least of all the powerful, as they are the ones least used to the sensation. Yet powerful was perhaps the single word that can easily describe most, if not all, of the families of Tom's circle of friends and acquaintances.
"Gentlemen, a change of plans," Tom announced in his dorm. "Tonight's dress will be sombre and formal. The Knights will also be there."
Abraxas looked up uncertainly from his bed. Today had been filled with too many surprising news for his liking, though he was glad (and proud) that Tom had come out on top again.
"Everyone, Tom? Including Mulciber and…?"
Tom paused mid-step. That 'and…' encompassed several people they both knew.
"Tell them there'd be plenty of hors d'œuvre." He said instead. Sometimes, the best bait for the fish really was just lots of food.
"I'll spread the news, then." Melchior said, already picking himself up from his desk. "How about Hermione?"
"What about Hermione?"
Melchior looked down for a moment in thought. "Well, she needs to be informed of any changes, right?"
"Of course. It's nothing for you to be concerned about."
Nott waited for another moment, and when nothing else was forthcoming, he nodded. "Right. I'll be going, then."
As Melchior left, Tom was just about to leave himself. At least until Abraxas' confused voice can be heard. He turned around deliberately, his face schooled to a bland neutrality.
"Um, Tom? Where are you going?"
"Abraxas," Tom said pleasantly, "the relevant question would be, weren't you going somewhere?"
"I am?"
"Are you sure that the house elfs would be able to execute the appetizers to a satisfactory level of technical excellence? Your mother is a very capable lady, and I'm sure you are very aware of the standards she sets and can direct the elfs accordingly."
"Oh, of course, Tom! I'll get to that right away."
"Good man."
'-
Tom nabbed Jonah Rosier on his way out, tipping the first-year Slytherin who'd located him with several of Honeydukes' Seaside Caramels. Other than the usual sickles and galleons, candy was a convenient currency to the lower years for Hogwarts' upper years. This was mainly because Honeydukes doesn't accept owl orders at all.
"Yes, my lord? Anything I can do for you?" Jonah asked, almost as perceptive as his older brother.
"Find Hermione Curie in the Ravenclaw Tower and tell her that I'm coming along to talk. That's the first message. This is your second message," he handed a sealed note, "to be delivered to…"
He sent the boy ahead of him after he tipped appropriately.
Hermione was already walking half a hallway down from Ravenclaw's entrance when he met her.
"What about tonight's meeting? Is it cancelled? Was there another emergency?" She asked quickly. He wondered if she realised that her curls were a little flat on the right side. Perhaps she'd nodded off at her desk. He decided that saying nothing would be best.
"It's still on schedule. There's nothing to be concerned about." Tom said.
"Well, your message doesn't exactly give me many details." She groused.
"It doesn't mean it doesn't need to be adjusted."
"Obviously," her answer was short.
"Walk with me?"
She huffed but took his arm all the same.
'-
They were by the Hogwarts Lake. The grounds were predictably empty today.
Hermione insisted that they pass the kitchen to pick up some snacks for the giant squid. Tom had stopped questioning her quirks at this point, though it did mean that they had to contend with a baffled Abraxas who overheard. Yet as Tom always looked like someone who knows exactly what is going on, at any given time, the blond didn't even ask. Now, they were here, for all intents and purpose merely two students, spending a leisurely afternoon enjoying the last warmth of a soon-leaving summer. (Of course, it was mostly Hogwarts summer, courtesy of the released heat trapped from the summer months by Hogwarts gigantic and complex wards. Real summer had already come and gone).
"Sombre and formal? Well, I certainly have Hogwarts' black robe," Hermione mused.
"I wrote a short note to Lucretia Black," he said. "She would have a better idea of what is required and heard she would be happy to help you."
She was staring at him sceptically. "Just how complicated can the requirements of 'sombre and formal' be?"
"There are differences if you'd rather not look as if you'd just returned from a funeral, to put it mildly."
"It can't be that hard, can it?"
Hermione saw him giving her one of those long appraising glances wordlessly, and she could almost see the various sentences that he had to keep to himself. Her lips couldn't help but twitch upwards after half a minute had passed. She chuckled at his uncommon quietness.
"Alright, alright. I know my limits. I'll defer to Lucretia's knowledge."
"Thank you."
She threw in some more old sandwich. She didn't know how that came to be part of the squid's diet, but the house elfs assured her that it was, that the squid was alright eating it and it would not give the creature indigestion, at all.
"I doubt that you got me out of the Tower simply to talk about a change of dress codes." She said.
"I revised the meeting's plan."
"And?"
He took the paper bag from her and started throwing old tuna sandwiches too. The squid happily splashed its arms in the middle of the lake, trying to catch all of the food. A crest of water flew their way, which was stopped by Tom and Hermione raising a shield in front of them.
"If you were trying to teach a complete novice about arithmancy, would you start by telling them about arithmantic arrays?" He asked.
"What? Of course not!" She turned to him, but he was still methodically throwing feed to the squid.
"If you were trying to introduce a first-year to magical creatures, would you choose thestrals or hippogriffs for them?"
"Too advanced. I'd have chosen something easier like flobberworms."
"To teach potions by first introducing the three-dimensional ingredients substitution chart is—"
"Ridiculous, of course." Hermione eyed him sideways, her brows dipping low. "But you know that."
He made a non-committal hum. The wind blew past them, still coldly refreshing instead of shiver-inducing. Hermione pulled her unbound hair back after it was blown slightly off.
"What's this about?"
"Tonight's meeting."
"You're going to teach lessons from a class?" She asked, disbelieving. She'd returned to watching the squid and occasionally throwing the old sandwich or two.
"Not quite." Tom said. "It's why I'll have to ask you to be patient and not stop me when I'm explaining the equivalent of values in names. I'll eventually finish describing something akin to arithmantic arrays."
It was almost a minute later when Hermione couldn't stand listening to just the whisperings of the waves on the shore, or the breeze skittering lightly over their hair and clothes. She carefully dropped the paper bag on the ground and turned herself to face him fully.
"What are you planning, Tom?"
"You already know what I'm planning."
"Tom, please." She was holding his right forearm. Her grip was looser than the gaze she held him with.
He leaned forward and spoke in a softer tone. "Trust me."
Well, you're not asking much, are you? She thought, sardonically. "Yet I'll feel better if I know, anyway."
"I don't often ask you of this, but I'll say it this once. Trust me." Their shadows were a joined elongated form on the grass, entwined together.
"Tom," she began.
He covered her mouth with his. Hermione knew he was not trying to distract her; if he was, he'd be completely distracted himself. If he was trying to feed the fire inside him by touching her, it only resulted in him burning up at the same time. She was drawn to him, as she had been from the beginning, and even in her daze she tried to understand what he was saying. Oh, gestures and acts were less precise than words, but there was an earthy honesty about them. She could taste thoughts he'd never said and those he did not quite realise yet. Yet not all the complexities were easy to grasp, and sometimes, her understanding came and went as fleeting as a dream upon waking.
But pieces of impressions stay all the same.
"Hermione."
It was a request. She closed her eyes, trying to recall all he'd said wordlessly, her left hand caressing his face.
"Alright. Just for this once."
'-
Hermione still couldn't understand Lucretia's insistence on getting a sombre dress that would fit her from among her, Lakshmi's or Eugenie's collection.
"I realise now that a Hogwarts black robe can't exactly rival any of those, but what's wrong with that first long black dress that fits?"
It was, unexpectedly Lakshmi's.
"You don't really like the profusion of beads used as accents." Lucretia absentmindedly replied.
"Well, no, but I can deal with it—"
"You don't need to 'deal with it' if we can find another that's more appropriate. Besides, it does look slightly mismatched compared to your usual tastes, doesn't it?"
Eugenie's was away for one thing or another (Lakshmi was mumbling, so she didn't hear it clearly). They did find one from among Lucretia's collection. It wasn't surprising, given that she seemed to have so many of them compared to her other dormmates. It was something dark blue, which Hermione had to admit she preferred better than the first. A little semi-permanent shortening charm later and it fit Hermione as if it had been tailored for her.
"Lucretia, I have no idea why you went through all the bother for me but thank you very much anyway." Hermione said. Lucretia's smile was gentle.
"You're welcome, Hermione. It really is no bother."
"What? You're not thanking me too?" Lakshmi pouted.
"Well, ours is more of a quid pro quo deal, isn't it? You help me and you get front row seats to any mess I get into."
"Then don't forget to update me with what you saw the moment you came back. You do remember the names of everyone attending, don't you?" She was eyeing Hermione sceptically.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Believe it or not, I do. Almost everyone, anyway. And yes, I'll keep you ahead of the gossip mill, Lakshmi."
"Good luck," Lucretia said. Hermione smiled back.
"Thanks again."
'-
Hermione could see several wizards turning back to stare at her after the first glance. Alright, she knew that the school robes weren't flattering most of the time, especially when it wasn't finely tailored. She couldn't look that different, right?
The air was heavy with expectation and potential now, given that this time, none present were in uniform and were in formal robes instead. There was also a darker tone to the atmosphere from the first intrusion of chaos to the safe, highly-ordered life in Hogwarts. Today's attack on Hogsmeade was still fresh in everyone's minds, even though Hogwarts suffered no casualties.
Instead of mere lamps lighted at the glass sconces, the clean-up team had managed to find a chandelier from somewhere and pulled it up using the iron ring placed at the ceiling just for that purpose. The long table was laid with appetizers that were exquisite in their detail. Where they find the banners of the Hogwarts houses to hang from the ceiling, she didn't know either. The sombre coloured yet rich robes on everyone made Hermione feel as if she'd stepped into an Early Tudor painting.
Considering the number of people who'd greeted her the moment they saw her arriving on Tom's arm, she did rather feel like Elizabeth of York there.
Tom circulated (of course), she was already satisfied enough to have seen where Julia and Daedalus were. She knew where she can go if she ever ran out of people to talk to.
"Hermione!" Bernadotte hollered, quite oblivious to the stares he received from his raised tone. "Here! Timaeus just told us about this really fascinating muggle technique you showed him to revive dead people!"
She was torn between feeling glad for his appreciation and rubbing her temples since the number of people turning to look their way doubled at the mention of reviving dead people. She simply walked towards them instead of answering back immediately.
"It's not exactly dead people! Just because someone's heart' had stopped beating does not mean it could not be massaged back to activity!" Hermione insisted once she was closer.
Bernadotte grinned unashamedly. "Well, an unbeating heart is still pretty dead, isn't it?"
She didn't really mind getting pulled into conversation about CPR with Bernadotte and Ceres—they were genuinely interested in it. The French wizard still managed to look distinctly roguish in dark maroon robes, like some warlike marcher lord of old. In contrast, add a baby to carry and his partner looked as if she could model for a painting of 'Madonna and Child', considering her demure plum robes and shining blonde hair.
As Hermione had heard their brisk description of how they had fended off another attacker on their own, she knew that Ceres' appearance was deceptive.
"I don't think I've seen the rest of your countrymen?" Hermione asked during one of the lulls in the conversation.
"Technically, the meeting isn't due to start in another fifteen minutes," Bernadotte answered.
"Well, yes. But you're both already here, as is Eugenie. I thought maybe there's something unusual about their delay." She said.
"Auguste is describing how excellent your idea is to Evariste, probably trying it as subtly and carefully as possible." Ceres answered. "Maximilien is…no, I have not the faintest idea of what Maximilien is doing. All I know is that he often does not want to be left out of anything that Auguste and Evariste is already involved in."
"He's offering unhelpful and snide remarks whenever Evariste is too stubborn or foolish." Bernadotte answered offhand.
"Pip."
The brunet wizard shrugged her warning away.
"Oh, you know he would, whatever else he's doing. Then, Seneca doesn't want to exert more effort than necessary. So, if all these fellows were going to arrive with no time left to spare, why shouldn't he go with them? Never mind them for now, Curie. Come on, you were saying something about the risk of cracking a rib in the physical version of the process if you're too vigorous?" He redirected the conversation back to their original topic on CPR. Hermione followed without a second thought.
"Yes. That's why that even though the Living Heart Spell is complicated, it's still a better alternative. But you have to admit, the ingenuity of the non-magical world to even come up with it in the first place…"
And off they went again.
More and more people arrived until Hermione was sure that it was just about everyone. She could see Emma discreetly casting her glance around the room and conferring with something at the palm of her hand, occasionally touching her glasses in impatience—the Slytherin was staring at the guest list, Hermione presumed.
"Oh, I think Riddle warned us about this, in case you didn't know." Bernadotte said.
"Warned you about what?"
"He's going to start with something to pull the purebloods in." Ceres said, before sighing. "Which meant the usual pureblood supremacy claptrap, though considering it's Riddle, it's probably already subtler than most. I suppose I'll just take deep, long breaths and listen, then."
'-
Hermione didn't quite understand what either Gryffindor prefect meant, nor was she sure of the reason behind Tom's earlier entreaty at her. Then Oswin became the master of ceremonies and welcomed everyone. He commented on the tragedy that was today's attacks and hinted on how it underscores the importance of moving faster to anticipate 'future threats'.
After that, he ceded the floor to Tom.
("Now, we all know who Tom Riddle is, don't we?" Oswin asked wryly, and there were murmurs as well as muted chuckles, but most people were in agreement that Tom didn't need to be introduced.)
When Tom Riddle stepped forward, the quiet murmurs of conversation gradually faded away. Hermione couldn't tell whether it was his sheer presence or a subtle skirl of magic. Between his bearing and patrician features, attenuated by his formal dark green robes, he looked every inch of Machiavelli's ideal prince.
"We've all expected to have this meeting under much more fortuitous circumstances." He paused, letting that heavy atmosphere circle around them all again.
"I know I do. This might not be a convenient thing to say, considering our Minister right now, but it still has to be said since it is the truth. Who attacked us?"
He asked the whole room. His gaze moved from one Hufflepuff, to one of the German Slytherins.
"I ask again, who attacked us?" His tone was sharp, demanding.
"Come. Surely, it's not such a difficult question, is it? Most of us had been to Hogsmeade today. If we hadn't been there at the beginning, then surely we would've asked a friend to know what happened."
He met Julia's gaze, before turning towards one of his Knights (she couldn't recall the name, just that it was one of the people she'd beaten in ADADA).
"M-muggles." The wizard said.
"Excuse me?"
"It was muggles." The Slytherin answered with more confidence. Tom clapped him on the shoulder, and he almost fell out of shock.
"Muggles. Yes! It was muggles." He walked back to the centre of the room.
"Anyone saying that we're safe from them does not know what the reality is on the front lines." Murmurs broke out at that. "Yes, we're now part of the front lines too. This attack had just solidified that new state, hadn't it? Before, we can still say we're safe. Now, who can claim that?"
There was a huff from the other side of the room, and it was audible in the quiet.
"Yes, Maximilien de Montmorency?"
"Whoever has been lulled into thinking that muggles are not dangerous is a fool. Why do you think our ancestors decided to carve their own place, to cut off our lands from theirs? It is not out of foolishness or idleness. They wish to avoid the muggles."
"Thank you, for your informed opinion" Tom replied at the first natural pause. He did look as if he was building into a tirade.
"Yes, after all the shared history, they turned on us on the first opportunity, didn't they? Blamed us for their own ills and pulled us to their own wars. Such violent, unnaturally warlike creatures, these muggles." He pondered out loud, almost philosophically. "And they blame us for the destruction far easier than they admit they are the root of their own evil. Really, we are well off living without them."
"Then we should destroy them."
She knew that harsh voice. That was Carrow, Rufus Carrow. Hermione managed to hold herself back, but that was only because she was gripping Ceres' hands rather hard. The Gryffindor didn't complain the slightest, answering her grip.
"Not a bad idea, Rufus. We would have been rid of them once and for all" Tom said, nodding along placidly, as if he hadn't just agreed to a suggestion of genocide.
"Except you would have walked straight into a trap." He stated.
Several sounds of surprise were heard, including that of Rufus Carrow.
"Oh, I know. What trap could muggles lay against wizards and witches, you ask? Therein lies the trap. It is too easy for a person to focus on the single wolf in front of them that they did not realise the bear is bearing down upon their back. Let me tell you what Hermione and I found when we were checking the fallen muggle—an anti-magic charm."
Sharp intakes of breath and exclamations of disbelief rippled through the crowd, along with an almost-mutinous murmur. Several heads also turned to Hermione, some were curious and others were unsure about Tom's claim that she had fought beside him—not that she cared about whether they believed it or not.
"Now, let me ask you this—does anyone here truly think that the muggles are capable enough to make an anti-magic charm, on their own?" He asked.
More than one voice replied, even if softly.
"Impossible."
"Muggles? Surely not."
"You're pullin' me leg!" Hermione actually recognised that one—it sounded like Starkey.
"Are you sure you identified it correctly?"
Hermione didn't know who the smart-aleck Ravenclaw was, but she was sure she hadn't seen him before. Tom was unaffected. He merely approached the other wizard until he was right in front of him. The crowd even parted easily.
"Yes, we're both certain of it. In fact, the Auror that I handed it to was also certain of it. His name is Alastor Moody—just in case you wish to contact the DMLE him and ask to see it yourself. Go on. Be my guest."
There was some short laughter at that as the wizard sunk away again, but the humour didn't last. Soon enough, the restlessness build-up again, and Tom spoke just before it became uncomfortable.
"We know the muggles are as dangerous as they are a barbaric people. Yet to create magical objects? No. That's simply beyond their innate capabilities—after all, they don't have magic. We have to ask the next logical question after that. Who gave them the charms?"
He returned to the centre of the clearing once more.
"This is actually very simple. Who had recently planned various attacks around London with the help of muggle minions?"
This time, it was Bernadotte who used his sizeable lungs to answer and ensure it was heard throughout the room.
"Grindelwald!"
The tension ratcheted in the room. A few, like Bernadotte, was raring to have a go at the dark lord. Most hadn't expected their enemy to be so great, or to cast so long a shadow all the way from his base in Europe and they were having second thoughts. The belligerence that had been building up previously was already partly ebbing away now.
"Now, now. None of us are foolish enough to simply throw ourselves in a duel against him," Tom said, reading the mood of the room correctly. The few chuckles heard in the room were relieved ones.
"There are many steps towards his defeat than just the final fight. For one, does anyone even know where he is right now? Here, we have a nice, great map of Europe on the wall over here. Now, can anyone point at any one place and say, 'Grindelwald's base is here, or has been here, this I swear on my magic?'"
The room was quieter at the words of the oath, serious as they were.
"No. No one even has the slightest idea of where he is. That is why I propose that this would be the first purpose of our Society—simply to find out where he is. The Aurors have yet to find him. We have no idea how far they've searched, or if they are seriously lacking in manpower to allocate. What I do know, is that we can do this."
His confidence pulled the audience's up from their uncertainty, their worries.
"I'm sure many of us have families in the continent. I know that to ask people to risk their lives for a cause is not something to be made lightly, and thus I leave this entirely at your own choice. If anyone were to agree to help with the search, to send us news and results back, the Society will be grateful for your assistance."
A wizard stepped out from the crowd. A stern expression and long blond hair held in a ponytail. With wide shoulders that filled his forest green robe, Hermione recognised Sigmund von Moritz easily.
"We stand beside you, Riddle."
"Von Moritz, you have my thanks."
"We will also help you search France," Auguste Murat stepped out from the other side.
"Thank you, Murat."
He addressed the whole room once more. "Grindelwald might think that he has successfully pulled the wool over our eyes, but we know better. We know that he is the real enemy, and we will find him and cause his downfall."
"The days forward may be difficult, but we will not let Grindelwald terrify us."
The words were not yelled out, but they were firm and unyielding. It was enough to rouse some cheers from the audience. The speech was officially over and the crowd fluidly fell apart into small pockets of conversations once more, most of which were excited or at least interested. Emma and Oswin were nimbly moving between groups of people, with the Slytherin Montmorency not far behind. She'd actually seen Daedalus explaining something to some new faces—probably Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, as she recognised half of them and Bernadotte confirmed that none of them were Gryffindors. It was a change from last meeting where the seventh-year Ravenclaw seemed more content to watch the proceedings from the edges.
"Some parts of that was really uncomfortable," Hermione muttered.
"Trust me, I know." Ceres nodded sympathetically. "My mother was a muggleborn, so my English grandparents are not magical at all. But then, you know how the old purebloods are."
Oh, she knew. And how she knew, from Walburga's deranged portrait over at Grimmauld Place to the Death Eater remnants and other zealots later on that they've captured and interviewed—yet she'd never thought that those experiences would be relevant to her current school life. Hermione had known she lived in 1942, but it was all too easy to forget about that detail when Hogwarts had stayed pretty much the same from Tom Riddle's time to her own. The teachers might be different, the advanced classes less up-to-date, but even her schedule was familiar to her.
It was only when she was confronted with how people think that she was jarred back to this past era that she was still living through.
"I still think we should do something about the muggles, though," a passing witch told her friends.
"Later maybe," her friend replied. "After Grindelwald's no longer threatening us. It's not as if the muggles would do anything in the meantime if it wasn't for him, would they?"
Hermione noticed that the group wasn't even Slytherin.
'-
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End Notes:
Additional Notes:
Agatha Abbott (OC): Seventh-year Hufflepuff and current Head Girl. Blonde, pretty, cheerful, helpful and other kind traits, she is certainly a bright and lovely. Her twin and also her partner as Head Boy, Andrew Abbott, is similarly just as bright. Note that the Abbotts are part of the Sacred 28.
Andrew Abbott (OC): Seventh-year Hufflepuff, Head Boy as well as Captain and First Chaser on the Hufflepuff's quidditch team. Blond, handsome, athletic, helpful as well as all other sorts of wholesome things, there's no doubt that he's a rising star. Canon dictates that he should exist, as someone would have been Hannah Abbott's grandfather.
'-