Author's Note:

To IM Stirling and Guest (the first): Thank you for your reviews! If you're interested in leaving reviews for past chapters, you don't need to try to do all of it at once. That's can be a bit overwhelming when life is busy enough. One or two reviews for past chapters every once in a while is fine.

To Guest who left a couple more reviews while at times getting carried away rereading:

Thanks for the extra reviews! Yeah, it does kinda puncture a writer's ego when a chapter doesn't have a lot of comments - how would a writer get feedback otherwise. As to how action-packed Hermione's initial weeks are, yeah, I know. But it's mostly Hermione or Tom (or both of them) starting things. She might know a lot by relying on her memories, but anything that requires coordination with other humans (or human bureaucracy) are going to have to progress at a human speed. I do have the bare-bones outlines for the main plots of the major arcs...and that's just talking about a year. Yeah, it's going to be a very busy year. Some longer time skips are going to happen after I'm done with the second arc (thankfully).

This is precisely why I'm not promising anything about writing all the way up to their post-Hogwarts years.

'-

46 The Ministry Man

Undersecretary Laius Fudge visits Hogwarts. The prefects are called to an extraordinary meeting. Talking at cross purposes.

'-

Hermione knew that today was a special day from the number of house elfs she'd seen out and about in Hogwarts, cleaning the higher reaches of nooks and crannies like rock climbers clinging to the underside of a cliff.

"Is the Undersecretary is truly visiting today?" She had asked Lakshmi before they split up for their first class. Right now, it was still possible for them to walk together. Eugenie had been pulled away by classmates from her class that was concerned about some group project.

Her dormmate nodded sagely. "Oh, yes. If the overactive house elfs are not enough of a clue, did you see the professors today?"

"What about the professors?"

"Professor Dumbledore's choice of colours dazzle more than usual, while our Head of House was actually wearing colours! He had a blue waistcoat and his robes were not black. Alright, it was night-sky blue, with stars and heavenly objects included, but I was sure I spied the last purples of sunset at the hem—so he does have good taste apart for monochromatic hues. Professor Spore's colour palette looks like the inside of the tropical greenhouse when the trees are bearing fruit. As for the lecturer of Ancient Runes, her intricately embroidered waistcoat might look like modernist geometric patterns, but I'm pretty sure those were repeated runic diagrams set in silver thread."

Hermione turned to her friend in amazement. She did wonder why the teachers seemed to put more effort in dressing today, but not to that degree of details.

"You saw that much?"

Lakshmi waved it away. "Please, Hermione. Taking in what everyone wears quickly is something I can do in ten seconds."

That was just the beginning. At the end of the first of her double Advanced Care of Magical Creatures class, an owl swooped in and perched on Professor Kettleburn's shoulder to drop him a message. He read it once, grumbled, and then made an announcement.

"Alright, prefects, you're excused to absent yourselves from the next class. Something about how the Undersecretary wants to meet all of you first before lunch or some such rot." He said, in stentorian tones.

"You're all directed to go to the Spring Guest Suite. If you have no idea where that is, ask me at the break between classes. I have the directions right here."

Lakshmi's words were still fresh in her mind that Hermione took the moment to see what the professor was wearing. Tweed and robes, as usual. His boots were more polished today, and his jacket does look marginally better, but the difference was not too obvious. She couldn't help a small smile. Clearly, Professor Kettleburn did not think he would interact much with the undersecretary nor did he care to do so.

It was hard not to be curious about what the meeting was about, even if Hermione did manage to put it out of her mind a minute later. By then, she was more interested in the feeding habits and preferences of hippogriffs.

'-

Tom left after his first Advanced Transfigurations class on time, as Dumbledore was conscientious in following the schedule. It was probably also because both of Gryffindor's fifth-year prefects were taking the class, and he certainly didn't want to make their lives more difficult.

"What do you think this is about?" Rajesh asked him.

"The Undersecretary wishes to meet the Hero of Hogsmeade, what else?" Tom's reply was droll. On Raj's other side, Augusta Delagardie scoffed. The other fifth-year Gryffindor prefect did not look the slightest bit impressed.

"He's right, Raj. Didn't you see the Prophet this morning? He probably wants to make a spectacle out of this." Her cynicism of the upper echelon bureaucrat was a noticeable difference from the usual Gryffindor optimism or outright lack of awareness about politics.

"Not impressed, Delagardie?" Tom idly threw out.

"Please, Riddle. I'm sure you mingle enough with the Wizengamot heirs that you're quite aware of the general undercurrent in the Ministry. Fudge is good at keeping his head down and making himself likeable. As for other things that he's good at, well…I'm sure you'll see it in action sooner or later."

To tell the truth, Tom wasn't aware of Laius Fudge. The undersecretary wasn't part of the old circle of the Sacred 28 unlike Abraxas, Orion and Melchior's fathers. His family wasn't old enough to have a seat in the Wizengamot either, unlike Pendleton or Starkey. His achievements were so banal as to fade in the background. If Delagardie was going to ascribe such well-rounded knowledge of the Ministry to him, who was he to deny her?

"Really? Is he that bad?" Julia asked, from behind them. Augusta dropped back slightly to chat with her better.

"No, not exactly bad. Just mediocre, I suppose."

Quietness fell as more than one prefect was digesting that.

"So, what are the odds that our lunchtime will be turned into an impromptu award ceremony for Andrew?" Tom cheerfully asked.

"What in fresh hell is that?" Raj exclaimed.

"I'd not stand for this!" Delagardie snapped.

Further expressions of disbelief and disagreement came from the other prefects. Tom nodded sagely and half-listened to their complaints, almost like music to his ears.

'-

"Welcome! I'm so happy to be able to meet so many talented youths today!" The Undersecretary declared. "Please, do take a seat."

He welcomed the group of prefects that had walked in. Raj met Tom's gaze; it was clear that the Gryffindor wasn't too enthusiastic about this. Tom didn't hide his slight smile at that.

"Yes, yes, that's right. Choose any table, Gentlemen, unless one of you is Andrew? In that case, he can certainly sit with me."

Undersecretary Laius Fudge was a wizard whose smile was a tad too wide and his suit a bit too flashy—he was a human version of an overexposed photograph. Fudge was chatting with Headmaster Dippet who was practically vibrating with excitement. He was so thrilled that Tom had the impression he might fall down hyperventilating in five minutes if he didn't calm his breathing down.

"Well, am I glad that I'm not Andrew," was Delagardie's pointed comment.

Tom's smile had shifted closer to a smirk, but he still didn't say anything.

"Sitting here or there, what difference does it make?" Raj asked rhetorically. "I don't really see the difference."

"The difference being, you'd have to listen to all the formal blather on his table. Among several others." Delagardie answered. "You'd also have to be on your best behaviour, since you're representing Hogwarts to the Ministry."

"Oh, you're right. That would be annoying."

Since he'd arrived with the others that had attended Advanced Transfiguration, Tom found himself taking the seat to the left of Augusta Delagardie, with Raj sitting on her other side. Julia sat next to Raj, leaving the next two seats between her and Tom empty.

Some of the Hufflepuffs were arriving, along with the Gryffindor seventh-years, Timaeus Crouch and his partner. It was clear that they were also surprised by the set-up.

A sitting room had been cleaned and aired out for the undersecretary's visit, brightly decorated with the colours of spring—the pink blooms of flowers and the light green of young leaves and shoots greeted them from the wallpaper, hence the name. It was one of many, long unused guest suites that Hogwarts had—perhaps before the advent of Floo travel made it unnecessary to stay overnight in any destination unless one truly wishes to. The small circular tables were set with snow-white linens and the tea service was at hand. Tom could see some of the prefects discomfited with the formality of the table that was laid out, but most swallowed it down.

"Is everyone here yet?"

"Oh, no, not yet." The Headmaster answered quickly.

The undersecretary came with his own secretary, which was what Tom assessed the young wizard puffed up in his own self-importance. There was another staff that seemed even lower on the totem pole, some sort of general dogsbody, while a witch was talking in low tones to her quill as it scribbled back and forth across a parchment she'd laid on her table. A reporter, he concluded.

More Ravenclaws came in, at almost the same time with the arrivals of Bernadotte and Victorinus.

"What the hell is this all about?" Bernadotte asked in low tone as he took the seat next to Tom. His question was directed more at the table in general than anyone in particular. Victorinus sat next to him.

"If I have any idea, I would have chosen to stay in class," Delagardie answered, prompting a huff of laughter that was quickly held back by Victorinus. More than one other prefect had snorted too.

"Obviously, this is Andrew's preliminary award ceremony among prefects," Tom answered dryly.

Bernadotte's hissed out 'fils de pute' and Rajesh's growl was just two expressions of annoyance that can be heard from the Gryffindors at the table. The French wizard was still cursing under his breath even after Victorinus' not-so-subtle jab to his ribs.

"I can't believe it. They must have gotten some complaints about it after announcing it yesterday," Julia said.

"It might not be fast enough for them to have noticed it." Tom replied.

The Slytherin prefects arrived not long after. Emma and Oswin took the table next to Tom's, along with the other Ravenclaws once they realised that Tom was seated on one that was already full. Only a few prefects weren't here now. Andrew was among the last to arrive. Dippet pointed him out to Fudge, and the undersecretary happily pulled him away from his fellow prefects and ushered him forward.

The undersecretary called everyone's attention, thanking them for being there. He spoke about how Hogwarts were the 'cradle of future leaders' its youth representing 'the best that Britain has to offer'.

"Now, I'm sure no one is truly surprised that they have been called here. You've all been expecting it since yesterday. I'm sure those close to Mr. Abbott here have been expecting it for longer, for they've seen that such an extraordinary and talented young man could not possibly be destined for an ordinary life."

He made an expansive gesture.

"Well, here it is, then. Your trust in him as your leader is not misplaced. I will indeed grant Mr. Abbott an Order of Merlin, Second Class, for his heroic efforts at defending Hogsmeade!"

If he'd expected a cheer, the strained quietness would have surprised him, broken only with some polite murmurings.

"Come on, don't be shy! You can clap for him, I wouldn't mind!"

Tom made sure his clap was slow and ironic. Delagardie didn't even bother, neither did Rajesh. He had to hand it to the Gryffindors—if they don't like you, you'd know that they don't like you. There was no two ways about it. Bernadotte did the same slow clap that Tom did with a wide and sarcastic grin. Victorinus' expression was carefully neutral; the blonde's clapping was light and barely made any sound.

Now that he thought about it, it might as well be on purpose.

He could see that Crouch was gritting his teeth even from this distance, the flexing muscle of his jaw visible at the next table over. Abbott looked reluctant and awkward next to the Undersecretary. In the end, the clapping sound was as half-hearted as he'd expected.

"Excuse me, Sir," Andrew spoke up. "There has been a mistake."

"What mistake?"

"I'm not the only student who had thought of doing something in the midst of the attacks. Timaeus and Tom also fought back, as did Ceres and Philippe. Hermione also managed to heal the wounded she'd found."

Good old chivalric Andrew, Tom thought idly, with more than a little amusement.

"Maybe so, but you're the leader of your men, your band of brothers! Of course, you'll be the one receiving it. As expected of someone with your potential—I knew your father when he was still in the DMLE, before he resigned to handle his family estate after your grandfather died. Blood truly will out, eh?" The undersecretary said jovially. It was as if the temperature of the room dropped a few degrees.

"No." Andrew firmly stated. It confused the undersecretary.

"No?"

"I did not command anything. There was more than one point of attack at Hogsmeade and all of us reacted independently of each other. Therefore, I have no right to be the only one accepting the award in the name of everyone else's."

Andrew met the undersecretary's gaze with the confidence of one who felt that his cause was right. The headmaster was looking back and forth between the two of them, hesitating and yet still incapable of coming into a decision.

Laius Fudge laughed. "That is very gallant of you, Andrew! Yet I'm sure you're responsible for the training of your—"

"No." Andrew insisted again. "Any skill anyone else had is purely their own ability without any intervention of mine. If I was shot, others had also been shot. Others had successfully evacuated the civilians around them, something I didn't quite manage."

"Well, you're alone. You can't evacuate people while also fighting the attacker! Goodness, be reasonable, young man. Humility is all fine and dandy, but at the end of the day, it's an Order of Merlin! Most wizards and witches would not see it through their entire lives!" Fudge shot back.

"But everyone else—"

"Oh, I'm sure we can get more than one name engraved on the medal. How about that?" The undersecretary cajoled him. Andrew thought for a moment.

"Does it mean that I'm not the only one receiving it?"

"What? Oh, don't be silly. Who else was going to receive it? You're the one who'd put in the most effort, who'd risked your life the most."

The Hufflepuff prefect shook his head.

"No, I'm not the only one. Timaeus also got shot, and the same happened to Tom."

"Stray bullets, it couldn't be that bad—"

"If Hermione hadn't taken Tom's bullet out quickly, it has the same risk as mine. The wound could've easily been fatal."

Andrew did not waver from his position, while Tom could see that the headmaster was starting to fidget. The undersecretary's shoulders fell, possibly in a sigh.

"Oh, alright, who are these gentlemen, then?"

"Timaeus Crouch," Andrew gestured in the direction of the Gryffindor's table. Crouch nodded briskly, just enough to show perfunctory respect but no more. His expression was tight and was surprisingly almost a forbidding as Verrault, who sat next to him. Seeing the two of them together with stern expressions, one might suspect there was a funeral about to take place.

The undersecretary did not seem to notice the slight at all.

"An excellent gentleman, I'm sure. His father was an undersecretary before my time. Also, a very serious man, Undersecretary Crouch, but he is very good at what he does. Who's the other one? Longbottom? Oh, wait, Young Longbottom has already graduated and is in the Auror corps now. One of the Carrows?"

"No. The other one is Tom Riddle."

The undersecretary's gaze swung, following Andrew's direction and the general gaze of the others in the room. Tom's smile was mild as he met Fudge's gaze.

"Riddle? I don't think I know any Riddles… Now the Welsh family Richards, I know. There's the rare Regensburg too…"

Tom didn't change his expression the slightest, even if annoyance had begun to bubble in his mind. He had been talking to the snake fixtures in the Slytherin common room in Parseltongue to gather the clues of Salazar Slytherin's final inheritance, dedicated to his descendant with the strongest magic in their blood. Abraxas' family were filled with many famous amateur historians—it was not unexpected that the Malfoy heir was able to follow the clues to their logical conclusion. Melchior did too. Tom would not be surprised if some rumours had spread to the entire fifth-year from among the Knights of Walpurgis before he'd pulled each of them in and sworn them to secrecy.

Enough Slytherins had an inkling of who the Heir of Slytherin was.

"What's your mother's family name?" The undersecretary asked.

Tom knew what it was. Oh, how he had known, and high was the price he'd paid for that knowledge. He'd not had an outburst of anger as swift and destructive as the raging sea as when he found out about his father. Yet he did not feel he owed this buffoon of a bureaucrat the answer and even as he shifted into a light shrug, he did not try to answer. At the corner of his eye, he could see Emma bristling at the question and Oswin looked surprised and appalled.

That amused Tom slightly.

No one has ever questioned your ancestry as one of the Orpingtons, have they, Oswin? It must be a shock to you how dismissive people could be when your name is unfamiliar to them.

Whatever the personal relationship, Slytherins were always unified outside the house. A careless attack on one of them was an attack on them all.

"Sir, I don't think that's relevant. What matters is that Tom managed to bring down an attacker with Hermione, and he was also shot for his efforts." Emma coolly replied.

"Well, as interesting as that is, I'm sure if I can figure out his family—"

"If you must know, his parents were dead since he was young." Mordred Montmorency answered from a different table, his tone was short and brusque compared to Emma's reserved competence.

"Ah, a muggleborn, eh? It's such a pity."

From the way Fudge had to suppress the urge to wince, Tom might as well have had both of his legs crippled by childhood polio so severely that not even magical healing could help much—the perfect example of the kind of children too different from average that the pureblood tucked away in distant manors, never to be seen, never to attend Hogwarts either, if they can help it.

"Hogwarts is fine school, excellent even. But your birth isn't something you can rise beyond, is it? It just…drags you down sometimes." The undersecretary commented.

Some unhappy whispers and murmurs could be heard in the room if one's hearing was sharp.

(Abraxas had showed Tom around the Malfoy family cemetery last summer. With a candour that he showed to few people, the blond also took him to the corner of the graveyard where the graves are small, and many of the oldest have no names.

"Even if the Malfoy family tree shows we only have a single heir and not even a spare most of the time, we aren't cursed to have difficulties in having children." Abraxas started. "Bone deformities, however, are another matter."

He curiously wondered if there was a way to determine how the deformity took place. Which part of the blood carried it? He wondered. If he could find a way to fix it, the whole family would be indebted to him for generations.

"It's lethal, then?" Tom asked.

Abraxas' smile was bittersweet, his reply a wordplay.

"The disease itself? No, not always. The condition? Always.")

The unease that was spreading in hushed words was enough to galvanise their normally worrywart and doubtful headmaster.

"Mr. Fudge, I must insist—"

"No worries, Dippet. It can't be helped, eh? We need ordinary rocks too, to make the emeralds and rubies shine brighter in contrast!"

"Mr. Riddle is a very promising young man." Dippet said seriously, sticking up for his Slytherin prefect. Fudge was staring back at Tom now.

"Well, if you say so, Headmaster. If you stick to the right crowd and follow the right people, like Andrew here, you'll be made for life, Riddle. Remember that!" The undersecretary said this in an overly-familiar tone, even winking at him as if he was a favourite uncle dispensing advice to his adoring nephews and nieces at Christmas.

Andrew cringed visibly, he was halfway to rubbing his face before he realised what he was doing and pulled his hand down again.

At the table next to Tom's, Crouch was turning red while Oswin was turning white. Verrault placed the glass he was holding on the table very slowly. A crack ran through the middle.

"I'm afraid I prefer to make my own path, Mr. Undersecretary. But I do appreciate the support that my friends give me."

"At least you do realise your place in life. This is a good thing."

Yes. Far, far above useless maggots like you.

Tom's smile was completely relaxed. "Indeed, Mr. Undersecretary."

Fudge had turned his attention back to Andrew again.

"Raj, you're growling again," Delagardie noted at his table. Her prefect partner took a deep breath and sighed.

"Sorry."

"Oh, no need to apologise. I agree with your sentiment completely. It's just to remind you, since I'm sure that you don't want the Undersecretary asking you why you're growling." Augusta said easily.

The Undersecretary was now advising Andrew.

"Now, I'm sure we can fit your friends into the award ceremony somehow, Andrew. It's not impossible. After all, families have traditionally always been invited. It would be no trouble at all to stretch that definition a little, as your peers are your families in Hogwarts, aren't they?" Fudge began again.

The air was getting slightly electric. More than one person was holding back their opinions, and possibly the beginnings of their accidental magic.

Andrew broke the increasingly awkward quietness.

"Mr. Undersecretary, I think the Minister should rethink the idea of the award."

"You did defend Hogsmeade, Andrew. I see no reason why you shouldn't get it."

"I see no reason why the others who'd also risked their life and limb to help people should not also get it."

"Well, they can't exactly compare to you, can they?"

"I didn't even manage to make it safe enough for the civilians to get away, Philippe and Ceres managed that!" The blond seventh-year finally said in exasperation.

Fudge waved it away. "They're not exactly, a real Hogwarts denizen, are they? When did they move, again?"

Next to Tom, Bernadotte didn't bother to tone down his sardonic chuckle, saying something about how 'unmitigated cretins truly are everywhere', at least until Victorinus cleared her throat. The French wizard might still have a slight grin on his face, but his eyes were dark. It made his expression less of a smile and more akin to a wolf baring its fangs.

"Mr. Undersecretary," Andrew's voice was noticeably strained now.

"Mr. Abbott, please, this is the opportunity of a lifetime! Calm down, think reasonably about this instead of with the hot-headedness of youth. I'm sure you can see the benefits and necessity of our arrangement? You can always reward your friends for your loyalty later, once you've risen far in life—and I'm sure you'll rise far. You have the potential for it!"

Tom had thought that a Gryffindor would be the first to break away from this farce, but it surprised him that it was Emma who stood up first.

"Pardon me, but I've just remembered that I have a highly time-sensitive project brewing in one of the dungeon's potion labs for Advanced Potions II and I have to check it out now. Excuse my absence, Mr. Undersecretary."

"Mine too," Oswin quickly stood up and added. "It was our mutual project."

"Oh, of course," was the only words a confused Fudge could say.

After her was Augusta Delagardie, who was, as Abraxas had honestly said to his friends, built like a Spanish galleon. She might be all grand curves, but she would also not hesitate to sink any idiot standing in her way.

"It turns out that it's my time of the month," she said without preamble or shyness, ignoring the suddenly awkward-looking wizards nearby. "I need to go to the infirmary."

"Certainly!" The undersecretary yelped.

Julia had stood up with her and didn't even bother saying anything. Tom guessed that she was taking advantage of the habit of many witches to go to the bathroom in pairs or groups that no one would even question why she was leaving with Delagardie. Verrault had just stood up when Andrew himself drew the undersecretary's attention.

"Mr. Fudge," Andrew started.

"Oh, relax, Andrew. You're too tense. Everyone is too worried for no reason at all! Alright, I'll give you time to think about it some more. Well, it seems that I've managed to get my message across for now. I think we can all break off for lunch."

"Thank goodness. Five more minutes of this, and I might walk forward and punch his face." Rajesh muttered under his breath.

"Don't," Tom said dryly. "You might cut your fist on his teeth, and who knows what infection you'd get that way."

That made the Gryffindor laugh.

"That sounds like something Curie would say."

The Slytherin nodded. "Oh, absolutely. It's fascinating to hear her tell of how many ways a common injury can actually kill you if you're not careful. And no, Episkey does not safeguard against an ongoing infection, only the cuts and damages sustained by the body."

Mordred Montmorency had gravitated towards his way, and that was how Tom ended up walking out—a Gryffindor to his right and a Slytherin to his left. As the rest of the prefects moved out of the room, the discomfort they'd all felt in varying degrees from yesterday had not been assuaged. Nothing in particular had been settled either.

'-

Hermione had a front row seat to the horrorshow that the prefects experienced first-hand when she found Julia and Eugenie waiting for her outside of Advanced Care of Magical Creatures. That took some effort, since the class was outside the castle located near the pens and stables of Hogwarts, so she knew something important had happened.

"Eugenie, Julia. What brought you all the way out here?"

"You have got to know what we've just gone through. It was surreal," Julia said. Yet her brown eyes were still bright and she still had the excitement of a first-hand witness to a gossip-worthy event. Her long ponytail occasionally swished with her movements.

Eugenie could not be markedly more different. She was actually downcast, her shoulders drooping.

"It was awful, Hermione." The blonde said quietly.

"The main theme was this, the Undersecretary was insulting people left, right and centre. Anyone that's not descended from the old families, that is." Julia frankly said. "British, old families, for that matter."

Hermione snorted. "As if they don't marry out to the families outside the UK from time to time."

"He thinks I'm not a real Hogwarts denizen." Eugenie murmured.

"Oh, Eugenie, that's not true," Hermione had reached out and hugged her fellow Ravenclaw before she realised it, with Eugenie hugging her back easily. Julia was not to be left out and she hugged them both—Hermione adjusted one arm to encompass Julia too.

"Yes, ignore the stupid Ministry man, Eugenie."

"Julia—"

"What? He is stupid, Hermione." She had never heard the prefect being so judgmental about anyone before. Fudge Senior must be as grating as the Fudge she knew.

"I was going to advise you to use the word 'short-sighted', actually. Don't want you to accidentally ruin your chances of working in the Ministry if he accidentally overhears and then remembers you years later." Hermione said.

"He's not here." Julia said mulishly.

"True. But nicknames are a habit. It's too easy to forget where to use it. Better find a safer one altogether." The brunette insisted.

"Yes, Mother," Julia said with a long-suffering sigh. Hermione only sniffed at that with a smidgeon of her old self-righteousness while Eugenie giggled at them.

"So, what happened at the prefect meeting?" Hermione asked as they disentangled themselves.

The three witches were walking in the direction of the castle now when Julia started the story from the beginning.

"Well, you must've noticed the announcements like we did in the first class, right? So, all the prefects had gone to one of this guest suites and…"

'-

As they neared the Great Hall for lunch, the lines on Hermione's brow continued to increase with every description that Julia gave. The sixth-year either had a good memory for dialogues, or she was just so annoyed that she remembered almost everything. Where Julia faltered, Eugenie could easily fill the blanks or correct her. Between the two of them, Hermione had a clear picture of what the prefects' meeting with Undersecretary Fudge was like, and it was not pleasant.

"He said what?" Hermione's voice was level—dangerously so.

If she was younger, she might have raised her voice, railed out loud against injustices. As she grew older, she realised that it didn't always make a difference whether she was shouting or not. If the bureaucrats were deaf to pleas, they simply were. Being louder did not always made her heard more.

She no longer let herself get mad so easily—she gets even.

"That you can't always rise beyond your birth." Julia stated without blinking. "You know, because Tom, being a muggleborn, clearly will never surpass Andrew."

The prefect didn't skimp on the sarcasm.

Hermione felt like laughing hysterically. Oh, she was still so very angry. Not even Tom Riddle deserved to be passed on for something he truly earned just because of the accident of his birth. It made her want to hex someone to vomit slug for a whole afternoon. Yet she was also caught by the irony that the secret Heir of Slytherin was being treated as another inconvenient muggleborn. She had no doubt that the undersecretary was thinking that Andrew's Order of Merlin award would've been far more straightforward if Tom wasn't around.

"Right. Obviously," Hermione replied just as sardonically.

"I could hear Raj cracking his knuckles from where I sit." Julia said. "Bernadotte's wand was sparking."

"Agatha was huffing every three sentences or so. I know since I sat next to her," Eugenie added.

She raised both of her eyebrows at that. "I'm still surprised that you're all that annoyed too. I mean, yeah, it sucks, but unlike the Slytherins, your House doesn't lose out from an opportunity for glory. It's not as if either Tom or I really cared much about getting an Order of Merlin either."

Alright, Tom probably would care. But he'd give more or less the same answer as the one she gave when asked, so she didn't feel she needed to correct it, even when she'd just remembered that.

Julia touched her arm, her gaze sincere.

"Hermione, the Ministry was being an unfair nitwit. None of the Gryffindors would stand for it—and I wouldn't either. Andrew already said it was unfair. You're still a Ravenclaw and you were out there, risking your life, and they'd just ignore that because they find your last name unfamiliar?" Julia's tone was sharp the farther in her speech she went.

Wonder what happened when I wasn't around? Hermione mused. Without her involvement, she thought Tom wouldn't even think about interfering, as she could not imagine him truly caring about the civilians. Did Andrew receive the award alone without question, in her old future past? With the Gryffindors only muttering under their breath as their prefects were side-lined, but not having enough ammunition? Crouch would've certainly been down for the count if she and Tom hadn't come across him fast enough, and she knew that Andrew had at least been more successful in attacking from behind cover than Crouch was.

It dawned on her that her interference made the relative heroism of each prefect involved more complicated.

"What happened after that?" She asked.

The prefect huffed. "Tom still answered him calmly. I have no idea how he still manages that."

"I'm sure he's had lots and lots of practice," Hermione replied dryly. She remembered Harry's story about Dumbledore informing him how as a child, Tom Riddle had an explosive and cruel temperament. The prefect she knew now was a far cry from that, even if it is still possible to glimpse the darkness in his eyes if one knows how to look.

"Do go on, Julia." The brunette prompted. The sixth-year continued.

"Well, Tom replied by saying…"

'-

The idea of having more than half of the second class free wasn't such a bad idea after having to weather the bumbling undersecretary. That was Tom's initial take on things. Yet he had only left the class for some half hour before a house elf had come looking for him. It was wearing a piece of a thick black curtain as cloak.

"The Undersecretary is looking for me, you say?" Tom asked.

"Yes'm. Says he's looking for Young Master Riddle, Master Riddle Sir. Ministry Man sits still at the Summer Suite."

The house elf waited until he waved it away before taking its leave. Again? What could he possibly want? For a moment, a childish pique suggested that he pretended to never get the message, or that he'd gotten it too late to go to the meeting and simply continue on his own merry way. Like all moments, it passed, and Tom had already made his way back to the guest suite wing. He was the dutiful prefect, after all. He had an image to maintain.

When he entered, the circular tables were empty now, though they were still the pristine white of the new tablecloths. It was just the undersecretary and his secretary now.

"Ah, Tom, my boy! Exactly the person that I wish to see! I can call you Tom, right?" The undersecretary said this with excessive cheer. Laius Fudge kept coming closer and closer and at one point the undersecretary even patted his shoulder. Tom wanted to wrench the man's arm before pinning his tongue on the table with a fillet knife precisely in the centre.

What he did was to smile amiably.

"Of course, Sir, it's no trouble at all."

He introduced his secretary. Tom barely remembered the wizard's name, so lacklustre that it was. Something-or-Other Harrison.

"Good man! Now, I've heard from the headmaster that you're a good prefect, very responsible," The undersecretary said in that quasi-confidential tone. "You know how to get things done, don't you, Tom?"

"I do try." He humbly replied.

"Well, Tom, let's get this Order of Merlin award settled and done for Andrew in a jiffy, shall we?"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." He stated.

Laius Fudge had hair the colour of dead and shrivelled leaves, face too shiny and well-done in a way that spoke of one desperately scrubbed and polished. The bureaucrat was not much more pleasant at close range than he was at a distance.

"Tom, Tom. Come on, you and I know exactly what is needed to get this problem squared away. Come on, Andrew thinks so very well of you. What do you want?"

"Pardon?"

"Andrew keeps saying that he's not going to accept the award if he was the only one given the honour. While we both know that he's the one who deserves it most. If you keep stalling, Tom, you'll just continue to make Andrew feel bad, and then this issue doesn't get settled at all!"

He never hated his first name, the name he shared with that useless muggle, as much as when he'd heard it repeated by this lickspittle. This pathetic panderer, pristinely powdered to ensure that he will be perfectly photographed from any point.

"I do not affect what Andrew feels or not feels."

"No, no, no, that's not it. He considers you a good friend. Now, you do consider him as a good friend too, don't you?" He waited for Tom's confirmation, which came in the form of a slight nod. "Well, relieve him of this dilemma, then! Tell him that you don't mind if he accepts the Order of Merlin on behalf of everyone. He is the Head Boy, isn't he?"

"Mr. Fudge, I do not care whether I will receive the award or not." The words came out carefully, precisely, leaving practically no room to be misheard.

"Yes, you don't. You're such a good boy, aren't you, Tom? A great friend, I'm sure."

Tom still had the faintest polite smile on his face as he ignored the patronising tone.

"But Andrew doesn't know. He needs your assurance. Don't worry, we, at the Ministry, will not forget the consideration you've shown for your friend. The moment you graduate, you can have the position to be my secretary right at that moment. How about that?" Fudge smiled wide with generosity, the self-satisfaction of a man who felt that he'd done his good deed of the day.

"It really is no trouble. I can arrange for it quickly," he snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Look at him, being so considerate to this muggleborn orphan who couldn't possibly have that many opportunities open for him if it was not for the goodness of his heart. Surely the boy would be so pathetically grateful as to be thankful to be able to run errands at his beck and call, Tom thought dryly. The Slytherin prefect was seriously thinking of what would be required to skin this man alive, regardless of how he did not usually like to have the bodily fluids of some random, human-shaped waste to touch and splatter him.

"That is completely unnecessary, Undersecretary. I would not like to be given any position through anything less than my fair efforts." Tom said.

"Oh, pish tosh! Everyone says that, but it's practically impossible! There would always be someone who knows the applicants' parents, and they'd have much more knowledge of them than other applicants. You might end up as some clerk in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. That would be so very dull for someone of your talents, isn't it?"

He didn't think he actually needed to say anything to the undersecretary's monologue, his expression one of placid politeness.

"Come on, Tom, work with me. Let's not make our lives more difficult than necessary. You must have some things that are currently bothering you too, right? What is it? Is it some beautiful witch from a good family? I can certainly put in a good word about you to her parents or family!"

Hermione is not one to submit to the opinion of others if she'd made up her own mind.

"I'm afraid I'm more concerned with simply enjoying the Hogwarts experience to the fullest right now, Mr. Fudge."

The undersecretary's secretary was a bland young man that Tom found to be forgettable. Yet compared to his boss, it was clear that the clerk held back the urge to fidget as Tom gave his answer and said nothing else, giving his cool gaze only in return. Even as Fudge's brow furrowed, the Slytherin found no reason he should be anything but calm.

"I don't understand, Tom. Why would you not help Andrew?"

Tom blinked. The statement was so absurd that he didn't immediately understand what the undersecretary meant.

"Why would you hold him back from this very important victory in his life? He needs friends that can support him, Tom, not those that would abandon him at their first glimpse of personal glory." The undersecretary gave him a look a of regret and disappointment. "Assure him, Tom. Get the other prefects together and convince him that this is his fate and fortune. You'd do that, right? You'll make his life easier rather than more difficult?"

Fudge's confidence was that of one assured in his victory. Why wouldn't the responsible prefect be easily guilted into ceding way to his good friend? What was unsaid was how of course he had to cede to his betters. It was a fact of life that a muggleborn orphan was going to have to learn sooner or later, wasn't it? It was clear in his confidence that the undersecretary felt he was truly doing a favour by teaching him early.

Tom stopped controlling his voice so much to keep it in his usual nice and harmless façade. He let it fall to his more natural, deeper range.

"It's just an award, Undersecretary. If I don't think it's so important, and neither does Andrew, why must we be so desperate about it?"

Of course, he was still polite. It was just that now, there was an edge of something more.

The beautiful thing about the Freezing Spell is that, if you've actually gone to the trouble of condensing the water vapour in the air, it takes far less effort to turn it into ice than if you were trying to summon water from the atmosphere, and then turn it into ice. It was also faster and far subtler. His countless practice with the Condensation Spell was proving itself useful right now.

This was why when he'd realised the tablecloth was getting damp from all the additional water suddenly enriching it, it took barely a blink to freeze it. It was the sort of fine control that you're forced to learn when you've been trying to make clouds artificially.

Its surface did not even seem changed.

The secretary yelped, taking his hands off the table's surface.

"Harrison! What on earth—"

"Sorry Undersecretary! It's just so cold."

Tom sipped his tea without concern. It was a pity that he could not focus on their individual cups easily without his wand yet.

"Nonsense! What coldness? Everything's perfectly fine."

While the undersecretary was berating his secretary, he took the opportunity to do the wand movements for the freezing spell. He might not be holding it, but as it was pressed against his forearm, the tip of which was next to skin, it was still conveniently easier than a full wandless magic.

Glacia Maxima.

A layer of frost developed outside the cups and teapot. Rime subtly appeared on the tablecloth as well, giving the impression that Jack Frost had just embroidered the whole surface in a few seconds.

He patiently waited as the undersecretary was surprised by the chill of his cup and the coldness of his tea. Judicious application of Aguamenti under the table sometime during the conversation created a layer of water slowly creeping over the floor. Ten seconds later, all the other chairs at the table but his were frozen in place while he was admiring the painted flowers of his teacup.

"Well, I'll make sure that Andrew knows about the Ministry's absolute faith and belief in his heroism." Tom said idly. Water was still spreading unseen over the floor of the room, while the other two wizards were not ones that paid attention to their environment enough. "If that is all, undersecretary, I'd take my leave now. I have an appointment with Headmaster Dippet."

He did not. But Dippet would not turn him away if he showed up at the door of the Headmaster's Office.

Tom met the undersecretary's gaze, still keeping his pretence of politeness as he waited for Fudge to give him leave. The wizard was unsure about ending his efforts to get Tom to persuade Andrew, but some part of him must have been aware to the increasing frisson of magic gathering in the room that he did not make things even more difficult.

When Tom walked out of the room, all the chairs and tables were stuck to the floor. (He did not need to turn around to know where each table were—he'd memorised it when the prefects were first gathered there). The young secretary tried to stand up first and yelped when he slipped. Luckily for the wizard, he fell back on his chair. The undersecretary did not pay him much notice, too busy murmuring something about how youth nowadays are too prideful to even admit that they need help. He almost slipped as he stood up, but his assistant was helpful and had caught his arm.

Tom did not look back or pause in his steps.

"Why are there ice here? Dippet needs to do something about this room. The heating charm here is faulty."

"S-sir, I don't think it's the heating charm."

"It certainly is, why else would there be ice here?"

"This only autumn, Sir."

"And we're almost in Scotland. It makes perfect sense." The Undersecretary insisted.

The ice would not melt until at least a quarter of an hour had passed. Not that Laius Fudge would know, as he would have gone out from the room at that time.

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End Notes

Additional Notes:

Augusta Delagardie: Fifth-year Gryffindor prefect and also a Gryffindor chaser on the house team. Tall, curvaceous, and relentless in Defence class. Her family does raise her the old-fashioned way, to be the mistress of the manor of whichever pureblood she ends up marrying (not that they're particularly against halfbloods or muggleborn, it just didn't cross their mind much). Considering how traditional they are, this includes being able to competently defend their home in case of an attack (which is inevitable if they're involved in a blood feud).

Again, I'll reiterate that the development of the Aurors as a modern police force is one that I theorised to roughly follow the development of Sir Robert Peel's police force in the UK (which is only post-Regency 19th century onwards). The French, after all, established the Sûreté first.

Technically she's not an OC, as she's my take on the grandmother of one of the canon HP-era characters. You can easily guess who.

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