Author's Note:
Another long chapter, probably because I got carried away writing all the details in.
To Imanon: Heh, your sense of humour is on the same wavelength as mine, then. And yes, independence is certainly harder as a woman back then, even if it's already a lot easier being a witch than a nonmagical woman.
To Guest(s): Thanks for the reviews, especially the long one. I would like to reply every point you've made if it wouldn't be clear spoilers. So, I'll begin with a Galdalf quote; "Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?" And I'll end it by saying that even a war begun for a good reason will have its unexpected and tragic excesses, much less a war that is outright conquest or elimination. There is no guarantee that Grindlewald's damage would be less than Voldemort, and it might even be worse in other ways. I would not wish the suffering of the Yazidis on anyone.
To Ash: Anything Tom Riddle does always have at least three reasons behind it, and that's as far as I can say. Yes, Madame Álava and Nurse Edelstein are rather perceptive.
To Clem: Thanks! Clearly, I stopped at the correct spot—before I turn incomprehensible. I'm still working on being more fluent. Glad you like the flashbacks! Sure, I'm not writing about Harry and all her other friends, but I do oddly miss them from time to time, hence the memory fragments. Thanks for your review as well!
'-
44 I Hate Mondays
Breakfast at a new place. Morning newspapers are delivered. Hermione reads unexpected news. Passing by Hermione's Ancient Runes and Transfigurations class. Lunch at the Ravenclaw table. Pendleton drops by at the library and Hermione realises things.
'-
"Would you like to have breakfast?" Tom asked her.
He had knocked at the Ravenclaw Tower rather early in the morning. He was lucky that Hermione had always been an early riser that she'd seen him the moment one of the younger Ravens opened the door. She paused at her last thought, backtracking. Wait, was it possible that he'd made note of her habits and schedule already? In one week?
She was going to get annoyed as often as she was impressed by his exceptional memory, wasn't she?
It was this complicated expression of hers that met him at the door. Tom was unfazed, as usual.
"I'd like to have breakfast practically every morning," she replied, adjusting the strap of her book bag as she determinedly stepped out of the tower (the longer she dawdled, the higher the chance that someone saw him through the doorway and gossip).
"So, that question of yours is rather rhetorical."
He made a noncommittal hum. "Really?"
"The question is, what are you inviting me for?"
"Breakfast."
She gave him a flat, jaded look and held back from accepting his arm. There was no way she would ever be taken by his innocent expression, no matter how good it was. There was also no way she was agreeing to anything he was asking without getting the details. Or reading the fine print.
"Tom."
He understood the impatience in her tone. "Well, breakfast at the Slytherin table, Hermione."
She sighed. "Must we?"
"There might be something interesting this morning. I say we have much better seats for the spectacle than your House's table."
"Might be?"
"Oh, you know how it is with gut feeling. They're not always that accurate. Perhaps nothing would come to bear today and it would be tomorrow instead. Or perhaps the day after that," he replied with a self-deprecating smile.
Hermione snorted. It seemed that his mask was securely fastened this morning.
She doubted that Tom would follow any sort of vague feeling. He'd either started a series of events or he could see the outcome of another percolating from a mile away.
"Alright. I suppose I'd do it sooner or later. Why not today?"
She'd sit at the Slytherin table more than once now for casual discussion (well, meetings). The witch had no doubt that in the modern, cutthroat corporate world, Tom would be the type of boss who feel no guilt in turning his underlings' lunchtime into lunch meetings. Visiting the Slytherin table from the beginning of a meal instead of merely dropping in sometime later couldn't have been that much different, right?
The Ravenclaw took his arm without hesitation and allowed him to escort her to the Great Hall and eventually his own House table.
'-
Tom passed the bowl of strawberries and cream to her without prompting. She'd only been staring at it for a moment or two longer than casual interest.
Alright, she knew he could turn on the charm when needed—he had to build his sterling reputation from somewhere. Yet she'd never really imagined what it would be like if he attended to her solicitously like he did now. Why on earth would she even imagine that?
"I can reach for it myself," she muttered at a low tone.
"I know. I thought it would be more practical if you didn't have to." He replied. "Shall I spoon some to your bowl?"
A small ramekin had conveniently appeared in front of her and Tom the moment the bowl of dessert paused nearby. Oh well, she might as well. She was wondering about it.
"If it's not such a bother."
"Of course not."
"Thank you."
The only reason she didn't say any of that sarcastically was because Abraxas was still watching the two of them with wide eyes from Tom's other side. Whenever the blond was staring for too long, Melchior corrected it with an elbow to his ribs—otherwise, the Nott heir seemed to be more occupied in talking to the sixth-year prefect on his other side. The Slytherin Montmorency, Hermione would remember sometime later.
Tom returned to his conversation with Gallus who was across the table from him and Oswin who was next to Gallus.
Right now, she was more distracted by Starkey surreptitiously staring at her from across the table every once in a while. He did it between his efforts to demolish his toast, his baked beans, his bacon, his oatmeal and…well, the rest of the food that made up his entire breakfast. At least, Starkey probably thought he was being subtle. From the way Gallus had already accidentally pushed his companion's plate, or spilled his milk, or bumped Starkey's shoulders a little too hard with his right shoulder, Gallus probably considered him as being not subtle enough.
Of course, that prompted Starkey to either growl at him, or shove back. It could've easily escalated if Starkey didn't suddenly yelp and pipe down. This was five minutes ago.
Considering it was Pendleton on his other side, she suspected the pale Slytherin had stepped on his housemate's foot. For all intents and purpose, Pendleton hadn't even turned around, seemingly more interested in his conversation with Caspar Zabini.
The witch to Hermione's left scoffed at Starkey's last scuffle (he lost to coordinated elbow jabs by both Gallus and Pendleton). Blonde and intimidating, Hermione hadn't expected to see the German witch to sit anywhere near the Knights. Beatrix von Blankenstein had told her frankly that Tom had informed them of his plan to invite Hermione, and she simply did not trust the level of maturity of the Slytherin wizards to keep her company.
It seemed that they continuously proved her accusation right.
"Boys." Beatrix said.
"I thought that was just Starkey being Starkey?" Hermione asked.
"He might be the most foolish, but he's not the only tactless one, is he?" She sent a cool glare in Abraxas' direction, causing the blond to duck all the way behind Tom. "Men can be such idiots."
"You wound me, Blankenstein." Tom wryly replied. He'd pulled himself away from his talk with Melchior.
"Certainly not you, Riddle. You're as civilised as they get. Others, however…I wonder what their mothers would say if they knew how their boys behaved."
Tom's apologetic smile was rather distracting. Fortunately, Hermione had strawberries to direct her attention to and distract her better.
"Ah, do have some mercy. It's not as if many of them are used to seeing beautiful witches closely." He said.
"Oh, alright."
The brunette witch saw Beatrix relenting and returning to her plate. It was still a little surprising to see the ease with which Tom's charisma affected other people.
"Don't tell me you actually believed that," Hermione said.
"He's still right, in a way." Then, she lowered her voice. "Agreeing was also the fastest way to get him to leave us alone again."
"Really? Why?"
Beatrix gave an annoyed huff. "He's too intense."
That was when she noticed the slight colour on Beatrix's cheeks as the Slytherin witch channelled her annoyance by practically hacking her bread roll into two. "Really, back in Brandenburg, the men do not try to charm every woman they know, just because the witch gets a little annoyed. Hogwarts is too much sometimes!"
Hermione bit her lower lip to stop her accidental laughter from spilling out. She wasn't sure if the too-serious Beatrix wouldn't misunderstand her.
"Oh, I know. That's exactly how I feel when I first woke up here. Can you imagine still being somewhat lightheaded from painkilling potions, and suddenly Tom arrives to introduce himself at the infirmary! If I hadn't had enough etiquette practice before, I wouldn't have managed to say anything."
She didn't modulate her voice and Tom turned his head slightly.
"Did I just hear my name mentioned?"
"In passing," Hermione replied casually. "I think the polite thing to do is to pretend you didn't hear that."
"Well, if you were going to give me leave to eavesdrop you, I wouldn't turn it down."
She sniffed. "Please. If you were eavesdropping, you wouldn't announce it at all. That would just warn your targets."
"But maybe I knew you expected that and chose to double-bluff you."
Hermione rolled her eyes at that. He must have felt rather pleased this morning, because she didn't think he'd joke with her frequently when the Knights were around.
Despite his words, Tom turned back to whatever it was he was talking about with Abraxas and Melchior. Beatrix's cheeks, however, was slightly ruddier than before while Hermione ruefully grinned back. She was sure there were some colour on her face too, but she gamely moved on. This time, she remembered to soften her voice.
"There. We can ignore him. Now, what were we talking about?"
"That I've encountered more shameless wizards here?"
"Oh, the charm offensive is just Tom…and well, some of the French wizards. Everyone else is mostly really nice like Andrew the Head Boy."
Beatrix had pushed Hermione's shoulders down in a second and Hermione followed without a question. The blonde didn't seem scared, just wary and really annoyed.
As the two witches pulled themselves up, Hermione saw the embarrassed expression on Starkey's face. Pendleton's face was as blank as a murder victim's—though that impression might just be from the tomato ketchup dripping down his front. Gallus had the worst luck; he was cursing up a storm as a plate of half-eaten omelette was using his robes as the medium for an expressionist painting—Midnight Sun, in egg and breakfast condiments.
"I think I'd have to correct you, Hermione," Beatrix's voice was frigid now. "Most of the wizards at Hogwarts really are just boys."
Hermione guessed that they've managed to dodge some piece of flying breakfast just now, courtesy of Beatrix' quidditch-player reflexes. (The brunette was sure she'd seen Beatrix in Defence class too).
"Starkey. I think you owe the ladies an apology, don't you?" Tom's voice was eerily polite.
"I'm sorry!"
Hermione sighed. Really, what else could they do but forgive him? It was an honest mistake. She didn't want to wonder what Tom would come up with if she didn't forgive the poor sod.
'-
She wondered why the Daily Prophet was a bit late today.
They didn't even have the excuse of having to interview and quickly gather firsthand information about an occurring emergency. That would have been yesterday's issue, what with having to cover the Hogsmeade attack quickly. Hermione didn't read the paper yesterday because she wasn't sure if she was up to dealing with the Prophet's biased language towards muggles.
The three Slytherin wizards about her had finally finished their round of cleaning up—most of which was of course offloaded to Starkey by the other two.
Hermione did wonder a little why no one from the newspaper was trying to contact her or Tom. Sure, she didn't really enjoy getting interviewed by the Prophet most of the time, but it would have been a sign that the reporters were diligently at work in trying to cover the event. She just had a weird feeling about this.
Sure enough, instead of arriving along with the postal and delivery owls in the morning, the newspaper owls have only arrived just now. She could see one dropping at roughly the location of Lakshmi's seat on the Ravenclaw table—that would be the delivery of her dormmate's paper, she supposed. She saw a barn owl drop one to Abraxas and Melchior, and a small snowy owl drop another to Zabini and Pendleton (a rather subdued Starkey seemed to have forgotten his resolution to stay out of trouble and was jostling over Pendleton's shoulder to read the paper with him).
Abraxas had passed his to Tom without even looking up from his crepes suzette.
It probably only took half a minute of reading the front page before Tom passed the paper to her. It was an unusually fast time to read the paper, even for him (he hasn't turned to check the inner pages, for one). She put it out of her mind for the moment, with her turn to read the Daily Prophet.
There was an ad for a law firm, a warding firm and an arithmancer who also accepted 'personal queries'. She passed them by. Then, there was an interview with the Minister of Magic detailing the improvements to the security measures around the Ministry. She saw 'guards that do not grow weary or bored' in passing—what could that be? A troop of golems? Where would the ministry even get them, if her guess was right? It might be an interesting read for some other time, but right now, it was the main story that had caught her attention.
"The Mystery of Hogsmeade's Attack Begins to Be Unveiled!"
The headline was as over-the-top as always.
"As we have heard yesterday, the DMLE insists that they have found the remnants of a temporary ward erected over the Ministry of Magic, stopping incoming floo calls and floo travels as well as apparation. Outgoing traffic was not affected, hence the illusion of those from the inside that 'nothing was wrong'."
Well, Hermione thought, that certainly explained the Aurors' delayed reaction.
Not unexpectedly, there were still a lot of blaming and disbelief to go around. Other departments were called in as well as outside experts to give a verdict that everyone could be 'absolutely sure about'. She skimmed it quickly, already able to guess what the gist of the talking points of either side would be. Her interest was drawn more by the Prophet's so-called 'mystery' of the Hogsmeade attack.
"Our intrepid reporters—"
She couldn't help it—she scoffed loudly at that before continuing to read.
"—has interviewed various witnesses and confidential sources around Hogsmeade to bring the unexpected truth behind the Hogsmeade Attack. We know that the muggles could not have acted alone: without magic, they could not have reached Hogsmeade as the village is as unplottable as Hogwarts. Our sources say that the muggle attackers wore anti-magic charms, which explained their apparent invulnerability and why they were not disoriented. Sources from the Ministry have confirmed that some of the muggles have an American accent—clearly, someone must have taken pains to transport them to Britain. This, of course leads to our investigation of a possible squib and muggleborn plot."
"For the love of—" Hermione hissed. She didn't finish her vitriol when she felt Tom's hand over her right arm. This was not merely jumping to conclusions, this was straight out leaping off the cliff of common sense and into the abyss of prejudice! The brunette witch took a deep breath and continued.
"Dissatisfied by our society, it would not be hard for these questionable people to find muggles who envied us of our magic—"
Wait, what? She didn't know about that at all. Alright, it was probably her fault not to have read yesterday's newspaper. Still…
"One suspects that it is not difficult to influence these magic-haters. Promising them the opportunity to harm a wizard or a witch would have been enough to move their insipid mind and shrivelled hearts to agree to anything. The envious squibs and powerless muggleborns therefore joined forces. Together, finding the muggles to do their dirty work was not a problem."
"This is sheer fiction," Hermione muttered. "Madness."
"Readers, we invite you to write to the Ministry and ask them to expel these dangerous squibs from our society. It is better for them to envy us from the outside than to give them the chance to stab us from the inside. Clearly, there should also be a tighter control and monitoring of muggleborns to ensure that they display clear Wizarding Values."
The words after that passed in a blur, mostly statements supporting the section that have come before. As she put the paper down and returned it to Tom again, she met his unaffected dark blue eyes. Whatever his opinion about it was, she would not be able to read it easily right now. She gazed around the Slytherin table and saw Beatrix frowning as she was reading the copy held by the witch on her other side.
Starkey spoke first. "Might've bought the one about the squibs, but muggleborns? Not at all. Why would they sour their swag by doin' somethin' that would send them to the louse house?"
"Maybe they're that desperate?" Hermione heard Melchior's voice from Tom's other side. He addressed Starkey's disbelieving expression quickly. "Look, I know it's stupid, Ves. We all do. There's still bloody Grindelwald out there. There were muggles in the Ministry and London attacks and now there are also muggles used in this one—the bloody connection isn't exactly Advanced Arithmancy here. Besides, it's not as if the squibs agree with one another on everything easily—they squabble as much as any group of wizards. I'm simply saying that this is how it looks like to other people."
"I haven't really heard the muggleborns agitating anything at the Ministry either. I doubt it's them. The Minister's outrageous reforms, however, are entirely their mess." Abraxas said. Gallus as well as the others on the other side of the table turned to him, several of them mildly surprised.
"What? My father does know people in high places." He said with exasperation.
"If someone has commissioned this piece, it would be traceable." Pendleton added.
"I'm sure you can find out about it quickly," Abraxas gave his vote of confidence, along with a thoughtful hum from Melchior.
"That is a good idea, if it was the case." Tom broke the contented atmosphere that had gathered. "The roots of the story might only come from the hushed testimony of an eyewitness, along with hints given by another. In that case, it would be far less obvious as to who exactly decided to use the Daily Prophet as their mouthpiece."
Starkey shook his head. "None of the old dogs at the game is going to even bite. Melchior had the right of it. I expect there'd be bowin' and scrapin' for that bit of grub street news in tomorrow's edition, or failin' that, in the next one after."
"We need to find the leak."
Hermione saw the Knights turning towards her as she said it. Even when they were surprised, they were still listening. As a muggleborn witch who grew up during Voldemort's second rise, she still had the occasional feeling of surprise at how surreal her life was turning to be.
"There's a key piece of 'eyewitness statement' that immediately caught my attention. The only people close enough to the attackers to know that they were wearing an anti-magic charm is Tom and I, no one else. The only reason anyone would know about it is if they'd been in the subsequent prefect meeting after that where we exchanged our experiences of the day and had it written down, so the Aurors and the teachers can have the report the moment they ask for it."
"So, all the prefects are suspects, then," Pendleton said, already connecting the dots.
The Ravenclaw sighed as she met his pale grey eyes. She really didn't think it was Eugenie or Julia, for one, but she couldn't fault his conclusion.
"Well, there's already one trait that can be used to eliminate people from that list," Tom said. "Not everyone would have access to a Daily Prophet reporter."
The mood at the table was still mostly filled with irritation, but it had lessened from the levels that it was previously at. Hermione managed to remember just then the reason why she was at the Slytherin table in the first place. She leaned slightly to the right.
"I don't think this was the news that you expected." She said softly, under her breath.
"Not at all. I suppose there's still tomorrow."
"Hope springs eternal," she replied dryly. Somehow, she didn't have his optimism that something would turn out alright.
"It's not only blind hope if you plan for it," he replied. It might not seem like it, but she knew he was casting his glance widely. What he was trying to find out of the entire hall, she didn't know.
She could only wish him the best of luck about whatever plan he had. It was hard to see how any good news can disentangle itself gracefully from the newer mess the Daily Prophet had just created.
Tom stood up suddenly.
"Excuse me for a moment. There are some people I need to catch."
Without clarifying further, he set off, walking in long strides. Hermione glanced around the rest of the table. Abraxas' confusion and Melchior's shake of his head showed that neither of them had any better idea of what Tom was up to.
"If he said he'll be back, then he'll be back," Pendleton said, unruffled. He was the only one who was unbothered.
"'Course he will," Starkey scoffed. "But I want to know what's what. Clearly, the game's afoot!"
"Off you go, then, Tom's greyhound. Woof. Woof." Pendleton replied flatly. Hermione couldn't hide the bark of her laughter and met his pale grey eyes.
Abraxas had it worse, his laughter rang clear. Gallus might have managed his silence, but his shoulders were shaking. She thought she heard badly-disguised coughs and quite sniggers from other parts of the table too. Instead of getting angry, Starkey noticed the reference clearly and raised the stakes with another, eyes gleaming.
"Unlike you lily-livered bastards, I'll actually follow my spirit. For Tom, England and Saint George!"
Starkey practically leapt up and ran off towards wherever Tom had gone to. Pendleton shook his head.
"Well, he wins this round. I didn't think he'd actually bring it to the scene's logical conclusion."
Hermione was still grinning at the byplay when Abraxas spoke up.
"What does Saint George had anything to do with it?"
Surprisingly, it was Oswin who groaned loudest. "Malfoy, you can't call yourself a true Englishman if you haven't seen Henry V."
"My family has a balcony at the Globe. You can use that next weekend." Melchior added.
"I thought that place had burned down," Hermione said, disbelieving. "Well, rebuilt and all that, but it still ended up getting destroyed later on."
Melchior didn't seem surprised. "Shakespeare was a squib. His will handed the theatre over to his magical cousins after his death. Considering that none of his immediate family wanted and was able to run it, anyway, they took over and pulled it into our side of London and staged its apparent destruction in the muggle world. Behold, the Globe."
"It's not too close to Diagon," unusually for him, Oswin spoke up. Perhaps because it was a topic he was enthusiastic about. "It's in the main Etturn Alley. You can contact me or Emma if you want to know what's currently showing."
'-
Classes went on as usual, amidst the pervasive sense of unease that now oozed over Hogwarts after the Hogsmeade attack.
Advanced Ancient Runes proceeded with the next level of ward construction as well as the Professor's request that they try to start thinking about what they wanted to do for their final project. For Hermione, it wasn't difficult to just settle for a layered ward design. Tom, on the other hand, seemed to be planning to make some sort of ward-breaking algorithm. It was far from finished (it wouldn't be his final project if it was), but she could already see the first brush of the outline from what he'd written down.
He'd done the first chapter as an example, and she could see the sharpness of his insight.
"You're…you're turning breaking the most common wards from an art form into a procedure." Hermione said in disbelief as she read his draft. "Anyone who'd taken an Ancient Runes basic would've been able to follow it and break through, what, half of the wards out there?"
"Assuming that I managed to write it comprehensively and within the required time." Tom said. "Otherwise, it would take too much time to be turned in as a final project."
"Yes, yes. Assuming that," Hermione said impatiently. She wasn't really concerned about his capabilities on that front.
Pendleton was also reading it to her left, as he also took Advanced Ancient Runes.
"I'd say around two-thirds to four-fifths of buildings with common wards would be vulnerable. Obviously, this meant excluding ancestral homes and other old places," the pale blond answered.
"That's still a lot of places—shops, houses. I don't think the Ministry is going to let you publish this. If they're smart, they'd be writing a circular telling people to upgrade their wards." Hermione muttered.
Pendleton shook his head. "In an ideal world, that would happen. Here? I think Tom's work would just be suppressed, but there'd be no follow up anything."
"Why not?" She asked, exasperated. The blond's reply was pragmatic.
"Too much bother. Just suppressing it is faster."
"Of all the short-sighted bollocks we have to deal with…" Hermione's sentence trailed away into a hushed string of barely-audible curses.
Tom shrugged with unconcern.
"Well, it's not really my fault that the most common wards are not only predictable in their pattern, but many are clearly lazy copies of one another."
"Designing a unique ward that's not too complicated to set up quickly isn't that easy." Hermione said.
Tom clicked his tongue in disapproval.
"Excuses, excuses."
He grinned when he saw Hermione's disbelieving look. "Yet it's true, Hermione. People should not make excuses for their own incompetence."
"It's not incompetence if it had been truly difficult to break. That you can see the flaws in them with ease certainly shows your intelligence, but it's not their fault that they hadn't thought of more. The average crook hadn't been able to think of more."
"Oh, alright. Pity the poor crooks, if that's what you wish." His reply was flippant.
She rolled her eyes. "I certainly didn't say that. Your work would be an excellent final project. Now, you make me want to change mine into something more impressive."
Pendleton sighed. "It's back to drafting another project for me too."
"What's wrong with yours? I like the way you incorporated the rivers and ponds of your family grounds into the new ward scheme you're going to layer on top of the old ones." Hermione said.
"If Professor Gildenstern reads it after she finishes with Tom's work, it would look lacklustre. I'd rather improve it."
He had a point. Hermione remembered what most of their classmates' projects were like in the class' last draft presentation.
"Maybe you should ask Lee."
Pendleton turned to her curiously. "You know Camellia Lee?"
Actually, it was hard not to notice the beautiful Hufflepuff, or her loyal friends and housemates who easily cut away any of her admirers that were taking up too much of her time that she was too polite to turn down outright. It wasn't why Hermione remembered the witch, though. Her attention to detail was on par with Hermione and the Hufflepuff's knowledge on wards exceeded hers.
"We have a mutual acquaintance, but that's about it."
His lips quirked at the edges, the change almost unnoticeable. She guessed that he knew exactly who the mutual acquaintance was, then. Hermione continued.
"What I do know, is that she's the Hufflepuff who meticulously incorporated Han dynasty geomantic structure to her planned wards for one of her family homes. Maybe you can pick up something potentially useful to use in your project?" Hermione hazarded.
His expression was genuinely curious when she said that.
"I didn't even realise that was what she was doing."
"I only noticed the eight-trigram board on her table and the characters for 'Han' along with 'wind and water' on some of the books she carries. Otherwise, I don't think I'd notice it much either."
Pendleton walked away with lighter steps, and Hermione watched him greet the Hufflepuff witch with an affability that he didn't even show her, undaunted by her housemates that had taken up subtly defensive positions around her. She didn't blame Lee for being surprised for a few seconds, considering that they'd barely interacted before. Camellia did seem to reply with interest once she heard Pendleton finish his explanation about his project. If Hermione was younger, she might have felt slightly grumpy that Pendleton dropped her that fast, but the present her knew that she still wasn't that into ward-construction as Ms. Lee.
Hermione was beginning to suspect that Camellia Lee's father might even be a muggle surveyor, based on the detailed topographical map she'd brought to class.
While she was thus distracted, Tom managed to pry Hermione's work from her hands, dodging her single attempt to take it back.
"Tom!"
"I just need to see it once."
She huffed and simply sat back down while waiting for him to finish reading. Tom was shaking his head by the time he returned it to her. Hermione took her scroll back without delay.
"I can't even come up with an easy or quick way to break this. The only method I know leans too much on brute force. Why are you so concerned about it?" He asked.
"Oh, it has some weaknesses alright. Just because you haven't seen it yet doesn't mean it's not there. You'll find it sooner or later and I'd rather you don't find it at all." She said with determination as she started working on it again. Hermione only batted him away when he blew at her ear to distract her from it, in a manner not unlike Crookshanks' favourite move.
"Tom."
"I'll leave you to your musings then."
And that was Ancient Runes. After that, they parted ways with Pendleton (who didn't take Advanced Transfiguration). She found that she and Tom weren't the only ones taking Advanced Transfigurations as well as Advanced Ancient Runes. There were two Gryffindors, a wizard and a witch some ways behind them. Hermione waved when she recognised one of them.
"Rajesh! I did wonder if it was you back in class. I was afraid that I'd be wrong, though. You're going to Advanced Transfigurations too?"
Rajesh Setalvad chuckled. "Yes, I am. Me and my friend Lysandra are going there."
The witch walking a step away to his side seemed to have a rather permanent frown on her face, which contrasted with her generally polished appearance. She had big bones and could probably even pass the Gryffindor quidditch team's selection as beater, and it did not make her unattractive.
"I'm your Housemate, Rajesh. I'm not exactly your best friend."
Raj took it in a stride. "Oh, don't mind her. She tends to err on the side of less familiarity than being overly-familiar. We're friends, honest."
She harrumphed. "We only stick together for classes."
"Because you'd rather be alone most of the other time. I do try not to annoy you too much unless it's necessary." Raj replied.
"Exactly." Lysandra's reply was succinct.
She did not ask to be introduced. It wasn't until five minutes later that Rajesh remembered Hermione didn't know the Gryffindor witch and introduced them. She turned out to be Lysandra Burke, whose older brother was a seventh-year in Slytherin. Apparently, her family did not care overly much about the Houses that they end up at.
When the other witch was introduced to Hermione, her reaction was a jaded, 'yes, I know exactly who you are, Miss Curie. My housemates would not shut up about you.' For all her brusqueness, she did not seem to do it out of malice, so Hermione didn't take it personally.
On the way, Raj, Tom and Hermione was debating about how exactly Orabella Nuttley came up with the powerful Mending Charm that was Reparo. Mending practically any man-made object around? Without first explicitly marking its 'initial' state to guide the spell about what the 'fixed' condition looked like? That meant it was able to draw out knowledge of the object's 'fixed' state from the universe.
"See? That's an unbelievably overpowered ability," Hermione first pointed out. "It's not that I don't believe she's a great spell crafter, it's just that I can't believe she constructed something like this from zero. She'd have to be working with an older spell as the base, even if she might have improved or added upon it."
"And you want to see what books she'd read during that time," Tom said with a knowing look.
She harrumphed. "Of course. Who wouldn't? I'd give my left kidney for all the books from the Roman period that she has."
Lysandra had trailed behind them, determined to keep her distance and not be social, and yet she couldn't help correcting any of them when they had their obscure sources wrong.
"It's debatable that a library of such books exists," Lysandra suddenly added. "Other than the occasional book or several, scarcely any survived the Empire's fall. You're much better off looking for the Arabic translations of those treatises—the centres of learning such as Baghdad and Damascus preserved many such books very well…"
The three of them turned to her in surprise as the Gryffindor witch griped about just how much knowledge had been lost, even on the wizarding side of things. She started with the classic works referred in other classic works of which there was no surviving copy in the present. It wasn't as bad as the disappearance of Atlantis, but still. Hermione would easily say that Lysandra's knowledge was encyclopaedic when it comes to literature.
Lysandra didn't even blink when Hermione complimented her about it.
"I know," was her nonplussed answer. "My family is in the antique books business and runs the largest private lending library in Britain. Of course, I know my books."
For all of Lysandra's nonchalance, there was a distinct spring in her steps after that.
Considering the size her family's library had to be, to be number one, Hermione assessed that she was probably from an old family—odds are, it was pureblood too. It might explain the incongruity of the fashionable waves of her hair and well-tailored uniform compared to the forbidding frown on her face. For all her grouchiness, Lysandra still adhered to pureblood standards of appearance, perhaps bending to the nagging of her mother and aunts.
The four of them arrived at the transfigurations class with their discussion on the origins of the Mending Spell in full swing.
Hermione would admit that it was rather satisfying to see Dumbledore's surprised expression as they walked into his class. It was how the four of them ended up being closely seated. This was why Abraxas had to settle with sitting on the row behind them, next to Shafiq who arrived with Julia and another Ravenclaw that Hermione didn't know by name (she recognised his face, though). The Malfoy heir was audibly grumbling.
"I still didn't get a seat next to Tom."
Lysandra snorted as she glanced back towards him. "Even money can't buy you everything, Malfoy."
Abraxas was even more disappointed when he saw that it was Lysandra managed to sit in the same row.
"Oh, it's you. The uglier Burke."
"Pretty boy. I'll tell my brother that you think he's gorgeous."
Adil snorted, though he turned it into a polite cough when Abraxas turned to him suspiciously.
"Last I saw, your brother's still working hard to find a husband for you. Can't get one without enough bribes, can you?" Abraxas made a solid second sally.
"And I heard the Malfoys were canvassing witches that failed their OWLs on their second try for your wife candidates."
Oooh, burn! Hermione bit her lip as she stifled her reaction.
"Ha! Better a pretty wife than no husband at all." Abraxas replied. Rajesh broke out laughing from his previous snorts while Julia rolled her eyes but didn't reply to the Slytherin.
"What? What did I say?"
"What's this that I hear about the Mending Spell?" Julia cut in before the bickering started up again.
"Hermione thinks the Mending Spell is actually rather powerful." Raj said.
"It's convenient for fixing fine china…" Abraxas said doubtfully.
"But that's the point, isn't it? It doesn't stop at something as small as a teacup. Nutley's spell reconstructed the Coliseum that was reduced to rubble. Just in that moment, her Mending Spell instantly made obsolete several building restoration and fixing spell. Suddenly anyone who had inherited a house and was satisfied with how it looked will be able to preserve it as it is forever, as long as they kept casting the spell regularly!" Hermione finished.
The magnitude of Reparo's abilities had only dawned on most of them then.
"I think I've heard my grandfather mention something about hearing it from his father the first time the spell was revealed to the public. It was his first visit to England and there was this commotion, this rabble of angry people in front of the Ministry." Rajesh spoke up. "It turns out that entire lanes of repair shops ended up closing near Knockturn Alley. Clock repair shops, broom repair shops…you name it and I'll bet it also closed. Nutley ended up having to reroute her mailing address due to the howlers and exploding letters she got."
"Ah, yes! You should see the newspaper coverage during that time. There was even a book titled Rise of the Repairers that covered the discontent. Nutley even went into hiding for a while." Julia helpfully added.
Hermione blinked and stared at Raj. "Your great-grandfather saw it?"
"He lived in the 18th century, yes, born from the old Setalvads of Gujarat. My grandfather was the one who was born and raised in England in the 19th century and officially marked the first member of our English branch."
It occurred to her that it meant his grandfather was around a century or more in age. Sometimes she forgot how old wizards and witches can get, and then something like this would smack her in the face.
"Ah, I sometimes forgot that your family's presence here is still pretty recent." Adil commented.
Hermione wouldn't exactly call two centuries recent. Then again, the Shafiqs established themselves in Britain during one of the crusades. It was why they were now part of the Sacred 28.
Rajesh shrugged.
"It's not as if visiting the old country every other month to see the relatives was difficult. The international floo network was starting to get established widely by then. Sure, the series of jumps took a whole day at the very least, two if you didn't want to get floo-sick and take breaks in between. Yet I can't imagine taking almost a year that travelling like a muggle would take!"
"If I'm allowed to return our conversation to its primary topic," Tom spoke up. "You'll understand better the significance of what Nutley achieved if you recall a recent concept in Advanced Transfigurations class."
"Permanent transfiguration relies on knowing the nature of the object you're changing?" Abraxas made a random guess.
"Order is always unravelling into disorder." Julia suddenly said.
"It's that thermos-law thing Hermione mentioned." Adil said while rubbing his forehead, probably trying to recall it.
"Second Law of Thermodynamics," Hermione clarified. Her housemate snapped his fingers with a relieved expression.
"Yes! That."
"That's the whole 'some processes are irreversible' thing, isn't it?" Abraxas said. "You can permanently transfigure wood into ash, but you can't do the opposite."
"You can't reverse the flow of time." Tom said.
"But we can use a time turner." Julia disagreed.
It was Hermione who shook her head. "No, no. You're transporting an object, a person to an earlier point in time, but you're not undoing anything. Isn't it one of the major warnings given to anyone who managed to get a license to use a time turner? You can't change events that are already known and established in your timeline. Cross that at your own peril." They were following Novikov's principle, obviously.
Lysandra was eyeing Hermione curiously, even if she did not seem inclined to admit it. Abraxas was half confused while Adil was staring at her with wide eyes.
"Look, it's one of the laws of magic, albeit not one that's often mentioned or repeated because it's just so obvious, isn't it?" She continued.
Tom stepped in once more.
"Some processes are irreversible, as Abraxas had said, while Julia and Shafiq made a good point on how order is always unravelling. Time cannot be made to flow in reverse, as Hermione had pointed out. Now, wouldn't the fact that Reparo can restore an object to its condition at an earlier point in time (though obviously not too far into the past), meant that it has some degree of ability to cut through time and space built into it?"
He was too good at keeping track of the conversation's details and then drawing everyone's attention, at ensuring they all realised the magnitude of the point he was making.
"Now, you'd have to wonder about the older spells Nutley had read about and integrated into her Mending Spell, isn't it? My hypothesis is that she'd studied more than one spell or fragments of one that came from Atlantis and used them as the foundation for her spell."
"Why cut through time and space?" Hermione asked curiously.
"To create a copy of the less-broken form of the object from an earlier point in time." He answered.
"Or, it only has the ability to peer into the past and retrieve the information of what the broken object's fixed form looked like and recreate that at the present time. It might not even be necessary for the spell to be able to interact with the past as long as it can take the information it needed."
Abraxas followed their conversation with wide eyes.
Tom nodded slowly. "You're right. That is also plausible."
Julia was rubbing her forehead as she spoke up. "Hold up, let's backtrack for a second, because I'm not sure I followed all of your arguments…"
They continued their discussion until everyone else had walked in and class was about to start.
Tom was actually leading the discussion rather well, managing the eight-person interaction without them breaking up into two groups or more. His attention was taken up with what he was doing that he wouldn't have noticed much of anything else, but Hermione saw the way Dumbledore's gaze strayed towards them again and again, observing them with a puzzled look on his face.
Well, well…let's see him try to categorise Tom now.
He might have been a budding dark lord (still could be one), but he wasn't exactly hopeless. Hermione still wanted Dumbledore to see that. She found it hard to believe that the wizard who was known for seeing the best in people could be so absolute in his opinion of one student.
As class started and Dumbledore brought up the topic of picking up a final project, she realised that she didn't have any particular idea about what to make. It might sound odd, considering how transfiguration was another of her specialty, but all the ideas she'd so far came up with would be several decades too early.
If she 'came up' with them while she was a Hogwarts fifth-year, people might start hailing her as the sort of rare genius that came once in a century.
Which was just…no. She wasn't Isaac Newton, or Leonhardt Euler, or Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Hermione might be intelligent enough to already be classified as a genius IQ-wise (which wasn't as rare as it might seem either), but she wasn't inhumanly so. She didn't want to mislead people on that front. If she couldn't find a reasonable Advanced Transfiguration project, she supposed she could just settle for being an Animagus.
(She couldn't remember whether she was one or not. On the other hand, it might not matter—if her patronus' form had changed, it was probable that her Animagus form was different too.)
"I suppose I can try for an Animagus transformation?" Hermione said to Dumbledore.
That caused him to raise one eyebrow. "Yet you sound rather uninspired, Hermione."
"Well, it's kinda boring," she blurted out before she could help herself. The brunette sighed when she saw both of Dumbledore's eyebrows rise. "I know, I know it's supposed to be hard for most people. It probably wouldn't for me, though. I'm sorry, I keep having all these other ideas. I know that they're so complicated that it's not reasonable to do them in a year or less. But some part of me still want to, you know?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, it's good to dream high, Hermione."
"High dreams are one thing, but unreachable daydreams are another."
"I'll just put your final project as Animagus transformation, then?"
"I supposed that would be best for now, Professor."
'-
Lunch began in a way that was not much more pleasant than how breakfast had ended.
She parted ways with Tom and went to the Ravenclaw table with Shafiq and Julia—Eugenie had already saved her a seat and pulled her there quickly, to Julia's consternation. The sixth-year gracefully took her loss and simply rounded the table to ensure that she was still sitting right across Hermione. Auguste Murat sat at her other side on the Ravenclaw table and she greeted him easily.
Apart from her friends, though, there were all the gossiping people. Hermione would have harrumphed for the hundredth time every time she heard someone parroting the conspiracy theory the Daily Prophet had brought up this morning. It was only Eugenie's efforts at pulling her back to friendlier conversations that distracted her enough from paying attention to them. Auguste had pulled a pack of cards from somewhere and decided to entertain her with some simple card tricks.
He'd rolled his sleeves up and placed his wand on the table, to show that he truly did not use it to mesmerise. He asked her to pick a card, sign it, and then requested that she returned it among the rest.
A shuffle and draw later, he placed three cards on the table.
"It has to be one of these three. Now, let's see. Is it this one?"
A queen of hearts. Hermione snorted. "No, absolutely not that one."
"Ah, well, I still have two more. Let's see…"
A queen of spade and a king of spade. Eugenie outright giggled at his mistake as he widened his eyes comically.
"Not that one and…no, not that either." Hermione said. This time, her lips quirked up at the corners. "Maybe you should admit that you're bad at this."
"No, no, no, no." He said with exaggerated worry, before his hazel eyes lit up. "Oh, I know where it is. Stay still, Hermione."
With a flick of his hand, he pulled a paper rose from her hair. Unfolding it gave him the two of spades, the card she'd picked in the first place, her signature in the middle included.
"There. That's your card, isn't it?"
She laughed, while Eugenie clapped with glee from Hermione's other side. He picked the card again and with only two twists, it was transformed into its rose shape once more. He presented it to Hermione, who accepted it up with a smile.
"That's very impressive, Auguste." The brunette said.
Eugenie nodded. "Very. How come you've never told us about it before?"
He shrugged, his smile modest. "I'm merely an amateur. It does help to actually have magic at your fingertips. The man I learned it from by the Seine was certainly surprised at how fast I picked it up."
"Give us another one!" The blonde witch was leaning far against Hermione.
"I'll certainly oblige such beautiful ladies."
"You're certainly a flatterer, Auguste," Hermione said dryly. "But yes, I'd be happy to see another one. This time, I'll figure out the trick for sure."
He chuckled, his voice smooth. "If that is a challenge, I'll be glad to raise myself to meet it."
'-
At the end of lunch, Lakshmi located Hermione from wherever she was before, her speed surprising Eugenie. Auguste had gone off earlier because he'd agreed to meet up with his study group from Charms class.
"You're going to be my Advanced Potions partner today." Her dormmate proclaimed.
It had the same bullheadedness as Columbus' insistence that the land he'd landed on now belonged to the Spanish crown, regardless of the tribes living nearby, and that he was damned sure he was in India.
"You're in Advanced Potions?" Hermione asked, surprised.
Lakshmi huffed. "If Riddle had not been taking over all your time at Potions, you would have noticed. Well, he'd just have to accept today's change of plans—he has all his followers to choose his brewing partner from. Starkey's grandmother was a great potioneer and I know his potion-making education started early. I hear Malfoy is also pretty good; all those tutors have to make a difference somehow."
"If you've only bothered to find me today…what happened to your usual partner?" She asked.
"Patricia is currently being a twit."
"A twit?"
"And a ninny, but I suppose that's rather redundant. She's been saying that Riddle should've actually considered his career, how he's carrying the glory of the Slytherin House and mustn't squander his opportunity. All that rot. As if I even care. When she starts trying to affect me to get you to stay away from Riddle, I snapped and told her that if she cared so bloody much, she could try approaching either of you herself." Hermione stared at Lakshmi after all that outpouring.
"I'm pretty sure that wasn't the only thing you said."
Lakshmi stared back. "That was what I said."
The brunette nodded back knowingly.
"Riiiight. I don't think that would annoy her enough."
Amber eyes met brown for five seconds. Lakshmi shrugged as if it wasn't such a big deal before telling Hermione the rest of what she said.
"Well, I also told her if Riddle didn't even seem to know she existed in five years, why did she think it was going to be any different now? Since Riddle was the one who moved to approach you first it was clear that he knew who he wanted. And guess what? It wasn't an ornamental princess."
Hermione winced.
"That's harsh."
"The truth hurts, darling. Now, let's get to class and finish our potion as soon as possible. I hear that Slughorn might let the fastest potioneers out sooner when he's in a good mood."
The brunette let her dormmate chivvy her away from the hall. "So, who's this Patricia person, anyway?"
"Oh, I'm sure you don't know her," Lakshmi said carelessly. "Patricia Parkinson. One of the pureblood princesses of Slytherin. She's not really that bad unless she starts up on the whole 'upholding the dignity of Slytherin House' and the rest of the blather again."
'-
What with Hermione attending Herbology after Potions, she did not see Tom all day. The Knights of Walpurgis that she knew moved at a faster pace than usual along with the slightly distracted air of people who had other things in their mind—not a surprise, what with the morning's unpleasant realisation that someone else was also trying to play the public.
After class, Hermione decided to finish the rest of her homework this week so she could free up more time for other things. She had ended up sitting in the library's study area with mostly other Ravenclaws without her planning to—many of them decided to join her table when they saw her, starting a spontaneous study group on the spot. The light of the thousand and one lanterns in the library lit their parchments and surroundings with a warm glow.
Outside the great windows, the sky was in shades of red, with purple creeping in at the far edge, the sun nowhere to be seen. Thin cirrus clouds streaked the sky. It wasn't yet six, but the day had been shortening in autumn.
That was where Pendleton found her.
"Curie," he greeted.
Hermione raised her head from the discussion between Julia, Ackers and a few people whose name she'd forgotten about (they assured her that they were in her Advanced Charms class, which she hadn't attended at all last week). A witch she didn't know had raised the question of how to recognise quasi-conjuration spells from pure conjuration ones and it had just started to get interesting.
"Pendleton. What brought you here?"
"I have something to tell you. If we may…?" A slight tilt of his head indicated that he wanted to take her aside. Ackers was staring at the Slytherin with some suspicion until Julia assured him that he's one of Riddle's friends and certainly nothing Hermione needed to worry about. Someone else, a Hufflepuff, added that Pendleton really was an upstanding fellow for a Slytherin.
She stood up from her chair.
"Sure."
They hadn't even walked out of the area when he began to talk, as if there was something he needed to find out quickly. "You haven't been threatened by any Slytherin wizards, isn't that right?"
Hermione stared at him with some incomprehension.
"Um…no? I thought that was something you guys would have had under control."
She'd almost missed it, but she thought his shoulders relaxed slightly. "I thought so too. You wouldn't have been as calm if one of your attackers was a wizard."
Her forehead creased as she thought over it.
"Attacker? Wait, my last attacker was certainly a muggle."
Pendleton was unfazed. "I was talking about the one before that, Curie. Your 'fall' from some stairs?"
She felt like slapping her forehead. There were just too many more important things happening that the incident had slipped her mind recently. She'd even forgotten that Pendleton had said that he'd look into it. When that was said by one of the Knights of Walpurgis to Tom, it was as good as a vow, wasn't it?
"Oh, that. Come on, it wasn't that important." Hermione said dismissively.
He nodded without saying anything. His pale grey eyes were steady when they meet her gaze and he seemed worryingly undeterred from the path he was walking on. Pendleton had this quiet way of watching that was almost as unnerving as Tom's unreadable mien.
"Your attackers were actually weak." He stated.
"What brought that on?"
"You're not the slightest bit concerned about them. I see that you would have taken them down easily in an actual fight." His eyes flickered slightly in her direction. "Ah, I was right."
Dammit. Hermione realised that her lips had twitched upwards on their own volition before she noticed. They had walked out of the study are by now, disappearing between one of the rows of bookshelves in the library. One of these days she was going to get a better poker face.
(A glimmer of memory flowed in her mind. She could almost see Draco choking himself on his firewhisky as he chuckled mid-drink. Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Granger. She thought she could see a Harry nearby too, and he was even outright laughing, his left hand holding his stomach, the berk.)
"I'm glad to hear that it wasn't an insult against your person and honour." The blond wizard said.
She didn't understand why his voice sounded unusually grave. It was only some moments later when she managed to somehow translate his dated choice of words into something she understood. Pendleton had been talking about sexual assault. No wonder he'd looked so serious at the beginning.
Harry couldn't sleep well until he could teach all the witches he knew his tricks at fighting dirty physically, as if all the spells they knew aren't enough. As a perfectionist, she agreed with his idea.
Hermione's grin was savage. "Oh! Thank you for worrying, but I assure you, I had that risk under control."
"Do you have a spare wand?"
"Not yet. It wasn't as if I had the funds, you know?"
Pendleton searched his pockets for something. He handed her a business card. "Here. Write to the proprietor of the establishment and give her the measurements and details of your current wand. She'll find a perfectly serviceable spare for your use. Tell her to put it on the Pendleton account."
The ease that he did this surprised her. "Pendleton, you can't just—"
"Technically, as the head of my family, I can." He said, with a calmness that she was beginning to associate with him. "My father's in St. Mungo's Mental Ward."
He didn't even wince as he said that. She wondered how much time he'd had to come to terms with it, how much time it had taken to accept that the father he knew wasn't coming back.
"It's too much."
He stared at her in mild disbelief. It was the first time she'd seen that emotion on him. "Curie, unless you were going to order a hundred wands, I wouldn't notice."
She was still stunned. Oh. Right. Rich aristocratic families have a completely different sense of scale as to what is 'pocket money'. I really should already get used to this.
"How about an emergency portkey?" He asked her again.
"Haven't had time to make one. Ingredients cost money, et cetera."
He handed her another business card. "Here, for an apothecary as well as a procurer of rare ingredients. I'm sure they can get you anything you need for that."
"You can't possibly—"
"Well, if you have issues on putting it on my account, you can use Ves' account instead. Just be sure to state that it is the personal purchases of Vespasian Starkey, as I'm sure all of his family members have individual accounts. If you decide to use Abraxas's or Melchior's account, they'll be fine with it too—that is, if they even noticed the difference in the first place." Pendleton's tone was unconcerned. When she glanced in his direction, she could see the soft glint of humour in his eyes.
She gave up her fight.
"Oh, alright. Just so you know, if I ended up being completely spoiled, it would be your fault. All of you."
"I think Tom would agree that it's a good trade-off for your security."
They were already turning back now, to the direction of the discussion area once more.
"Please promise me something." Pendleton said.
"What is it?"
"If you know that a wizard is actually after you, give us his name. We'll sort him out."
She was going to say that she really could handle herself, but the way his smile had become a cipher and his grey eyes too even told her that there was something more at stake.
"It's not about taking care of myself anymore, is it?" She asked.
He shook his head. "If anyone is that stupid, then it means we need to create a lesson that will stick. Just in case there's more than one suicidal ignoramus around."
"What's wrong with just reporting him?"
That was the first time she saw him surprised. He closed his half-open mouth.
"Curie, you know that most of the time, an accusation of an attempt wouldn't be enough to get a pureblood expelled, right? A transgression that would be enough to get one expelled would be one that is too far and too much."
His words were heavy with meaning.
Pendleton fell into silence, his mien too serious. They paused, with the Slytherin leaning back against a bookshelf.
"Someone who is foolhardy enough to proceed despite what your closeness to us would mean doesn't seem to be someone who would give up just because of a mere warning. They'll try and try again, and even if you can guard yourself, it's a different matter to do it week after week, month after month. Attacking is easier than defending. What comes after that? Do you expect bring it to the Aurors?"
He shook his head. "Just how soon do you think they'd be allowed on Hogwarts grounds? The Board of Governors would be up in arms about such things—no one wants to think that their child might be the criminal. By the time they actually arrive, it would be too late. The evidence would be destroyed, any possible witness suddenly turned forgetful."
She cleared her dry throat. It was harsh, but she'd only realised that Pendleton didn't say anything that wasn't true. For a moment, she thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his pale eyes.
Hermione was reminded once more that in this day and age, there were still crimes done by people too powerful that the DMLE would only be stymied if they ever tried to investigate it (there was a historical reason that wizarding duels were once the preferred method of settling differences).
Witnesses would fail to recall the event in their memories or misremember attributes. That was if they didn't disappear or turn uncontactable altogether. The old families still held significant power and the public accepted it easily as it was the way things had always been done. It was unlike her present (future) where Voldemort's rise was supported by too many pureblood families and the public remembered it all too well. Everyone was all too eager to ensure that the pureblood families no longer wield so much power so outrageously. She vaguely remembered there being at least one other newspaper that was not the Daily Prophet (and wasn't The Quibbler either).
Pendleton had inadvertently helped her realise that she'd missed a pillar of the current wizarding society simply because they had been so weakened or pushed into irrelevance in the future—the pureblood faction. They were a separate block from the Wizengamot because that body only encompassed the oldest of families as well as several elected officials, but there were many more pureblood families beyond that.
It was probably why her current Hogwarts had subtle distinctions between the students of a more distinguished pedigree from the more common ones.
The wizarding world still had a de facto nobility at this point.
Deep in her own thoughts, she forgot that she wasn't alone. It was why when her companion spoke up again after a while, he almost startled her.
"The defence needs to repel hundreds of attacks to be considered successful—the attacker only needs to find one moment of weakness to succeed once."
"It's still much easier to be the attacker," Hermione said.
"Exactly." He nodded in agreement.
She observed his calm mien and his nature-toned clothes (currently brown tweed and robes of a darker shade than those). He did not seem to be impatient even when he had to wait to allow her time to think. Being silent suited him.
It was easy to lose track of him when he was quiet—compared to Abraxas or Melchior, he was certainly less eye-catching or impressive. Out of uniform, his clothes were usually serviceable or only that of a country gentleman of the wizarding persuasion. He did not wear the sharply cut coats that flatter the figure, along with other little details that subtly signify the wearer as the upper crust of society, unlike the way the Malfoy and Nott heirs dress themselves. Abraxas and Melchior might even do it unconsciously, as it was as natural to them as swimming was to a fish. Pendleton was thus less noticeable.
Now, she was beginning to think that it was intentional on his part.
"That's why the best move once you've positively identified a threat to you is to move first. Sometimes, offence is indeed the best defence." Pendleton stated. It wasn't a bloodthirsty or cruel conclusion. It was a pragmatic one, born out of the world he grew up in.
Whether she wanted to or not, she would still get pulled into the great game here. She stood out too much from her surroundings, too talented compared to her peers and was too different from the witches from this era (even compared to those from the most privileged backgrounds). She was also aware that she was too active—her conscience would not allow her to sit still instead of doing something.
For her to have enemies was just the logical conclusion to her character.
The first thing that Hermione had to constantly keep in mind here was how not all the modern institutions she was used to were already in their future form (the Aurors, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Unspeakable, the entire Ministry). They might have the same name, look the same, but they might not have all the powers she was familiar with, or their reach and professionalism.
Perhaps the converse was even true, like in the Wizengamot. It was far more powerful than the sedate council of the future. This was clear once you considering how powerful the individual oldest families were. Imagine what the collective influence of the heads and heirs of the old houses would be like, and that is the Wizengamot's power in a nutshell.
Beneath their convenient lifestyle that was more comfortable and civilised than most non-magical society due to the use of magic, at its heart, the wizarding world could be surprisingly medieval. On the other hand, this might be the side-effect of the pureblood faction that was relevant and well-established.
Yes, as if the reflexive and completely serious assessment of the marriage prospects of people from the opposite gender hasn't tipped you off already, she thought sardonically.
Hermione made a long sigh, ignoring Pendleton's curious look in her direction.
Oh, alright. I suppose I can plan on modernising the wizarding world. It's not as if I'm not going to try changing the old things I don't like, anyway.
She can never go home—she knew that. That was why she was going to turn the 1940s into home, no matter how much effort that was going to take.
"Curie?"
"Yes?"
"Please inform me if you've identified a threat."
"I'll think about it first." Hermione smiled at the flicker of disappointment passing his face before disappearing once more. She did not intend to reject his offer outright, though—she was neither naïve nor too idealistic now. At the very least, she did not mind giving small problems to him to see how he would handle it, to learn his style—he struck her as a more careful wizard than most.
"I do prefer to take care of things on my own. But if I think your approach would fit better, then yes, I would." She said. He didn't hide the way his shoulder relaxed at her words and she chuckled.
The past, she had only really understood now, is a foreign country.
'-
.
.
.
End Notes:
Additional Notes:
Beatrix von Blankenstein (OC): Fifth-year Slytherin and Chaser on the House team. A blonde Prussian-German expatriate and noted member of Sigmund's faction. She shares ADADA class and Advanced Charms with Tom. An aggressive duellist and a chaser with a similar style, she's not impressed by her ADADA classmates who aren't open to actually fighting and merely duels.
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…the characters for 'Han' along with 'wind and water' on some of the books she carries: to be precise, that would be 風水 (traditional), which is literally the characters used to write feng shui, the geomantic art whose oldest documented records can be traced back to the Han dynasty (202 BCE – 9 CE, 25 – 220 CE) in ancient China. (For completeness sake, the simplified characters are: 风水). Its design and planning principles are still applied to new buildings in mainland China (and beyond) even today.
The eight-trigram board is also a main instrument of feng shui.
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