Author's Note:
This is actually one of my favourite chapters. Pretty proud of how it turned out.
On a different note, someone got ahold of my CV from somewhere and I'm offered a post at a project that needs to move at double-time before the end of the year. So, other than the whole grad school prep stuff, I have...this. Update's not going to go any faster anytime soon.
PS: Thanks for everyone who reviewed! Sorry if I haven't managed to get back at you yet. My life is currently kicking up to a higher gear.
'-
47 Violence Cycle
Lunch, in which the French Gryffindors arrive in droves. Maximilien de Montmorency notices something everyone else had missed. Tom eats lunch with Slytherin sixth-years and seventh-years, headed by Flint. Torquil Travers walks beside Tom Riddle and chats. Something is weird with Tom. Hermione catches up with him after classes.
'-
Much later, Hermione would curse the arrival of Fudge in Hogwarts as a bad omen. If Julia and Eugenie said that the meeting with the undersecretary was a real pain in the neck, the rest of the week only went downhill from there.
Right now, she still had no idea of what other problems were about to be dropped in her lap.
The Great Hall wasn't even half full yet when the three Ravenclaws arrived. As such, Hermione had a clear view not only to the Slytherin table as she walked in, but also to where Tom was sitting. To be honest, she almost missed him. She had been looking for him around the fifth-year segment of the Slytherin table, but he was nowhere to be found among the Walpurgis Knights.
She spotted him near the end, talking to wizards she surmised were seventh-years. The sight of Tom smiling made her stumble.
Julia yelped as Hermione crashed into her back. If Eugenie wasn't holding her up on her other side, she would've tripped as well.
"Hermione!"
"Sorry! Sorry!" She pulled herself upright with a sheepish smile while Julia tried to stay standing with the help of her fellow prefect.
"I know you're staring at the Slytherin table, but can you do it after we're all safe and sound, and sitting down?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It wasn't what you think it is."
"Really?" Julia was sceptical.
"Tom was creeping me out. He's smiling." The brunette answered while Eugenie left them for a moment to scout for a nice spot on the Ravenclaw table.
"Don't tell me you'd be happier if he was frowning." Julia said.
"It's just not natural, alright?" Hermione answered as she glanced at the Slytherin table again. She missed the dubious looks Julia and an arriving Eugenie sent each other.
"For Tom to smile…is not natural?" the blonde prefect asked with confusion.
"No, no." She shook her head as she followed her friends to a spot at the table. "From what you've told me about Fudge, the meeting was definitely unpleasant. And now Tom is chatting nicely with a bunch of seventh-years he's not even that familiar with? It's worrying."
Her friends' gaze was mostly confused. Hermione sighed as she sat down.
"Come on, it's obvious. Fudge was being a twit. You're annoyed, right?" She waited for Julia and Eugenie's nods. "So, what do you do? You find each other and gripe. You find me and complain about him, and I agree with you about how much of a prick he is."
"Yes, and?" Julia asked.
"But you feel better after that, right?"
"Ah." Julia nodded with a realisation, her eyebrows rising.
"Exactly," Hermione said with sigh. "You don't go on to play nice with people you're not even friends with. If he doesn't take a break from whatever pureblood prattle he has to wade through as he socialises, he's going to blow."
"You have a point," the sixth-year replied. "But I don't think it's as bad as you think. Tom's always so patient in explaining things in study groups."
To that, Hermione couldn't help but let out a short bark of laughter. There was no humour in it and the sharpness of its edge gave a vague feeling of unease to the listener.
"Oh Julia, you've just never seen him beyond his patience. He does have a temper deep down, even if his fuse is long."
Julia clearly wanted to say that Hermione was being too paranoid, that she wasn't describing Tom at all, but the words weren't coming when faced with Hermione's certainty.
"Don't you think that's a harsh thing to say about Tom?" Eugenie asked.
Hermione's half-smile didn't change or disappear as she turned to her dormmate, her eyes seem to contain a hundred and one unsaid things. The brunette witch's calmness was discomfiting, especially when she seemed to shrug the question off as if she hadn't just slandered the character of one of her close friends.
"I suppose you don't need to worry at all. You too, Julia. You're both too nice to ever see it." She clapped her hands together. "Never mind Tom, I'm sure he knows his own limits. Now, let's see what the kitchen elfs come up with today. All that physical exercise in Care of Magical Creatures certainly worked up my appetite."
'-
Sometime in the early middle of lunch, the French Gryffindors invaded the Ravenclaw table.
Well, at first, it was Bernadotte who made a casual invitation to Hermione, for 'Society stuff', he had said. The last class before lunch that he and Ceres took was rather delayed in finishing, hence why they'd both only arrived when the Great Hall was packed and people had already started eating.
It was Auguste who expressed his exasperation first.
"Please, Philippe. We're already eating here. What did you expect us to do, to carry our plates over to your House table?" He asked, incredulous.
"Well, sure?" Bernadotte replied guilelessly, his hands in his pockets. "Why not?"
Even if Ceres was also a Gryffindor, she couldn't help but rub her temples at that point while Eugenie merely stared with disbelief at him.
Hermione cleared her throat.
"I think what Auguste is trying to say, is that it would make more sense if you and Ceres were the ones who dropped in at our table. You've only just arrived and it wouldn't be as much of a hassle." His eyes widened in realisation.
"Of course! Good point, Hermione! Let me invite everyone else." Bernadotte dashed off before anyone else could get another word in.
"There's no…need." Auguste started the sentence in a loud voice but faltered into a sigh at the end as he realised that the Gryffindor wizard certainly wasn't listening to him. He dropped his face into his hand.
Hermione saw Bernadotte's long braid whipping a poor, unsuspecting fourth year as he ran past. The kid yelped while Bernadotte shouted a passing 'pardon me!' and didn't slow down the slightest.
On the other hand, Auguste did not stay dumbfounded for long. He had already stood up and talked to the people to his left and right, asking them to shift further and apologising for any inconvenience.
"It seems that I'd be dining at the Ravenclaw table" Ceres said with some consternation. "Sorry about the hassle."
Julia waved it away. "Oh, it's fine. There's enough space for all of us. Anyway, I know how Bernadotte is when he's enthusiastic about something. It's easier to just stay out of his way than get bowled over."
"Yes, we don't really mind," Hermione assured.
"It's times like these that I don't regret being in a different House from my countrymen." Auguste remarked from across the table. There was a squeak of laughter from Eugenie before she covered her mouth in embarrassment.
"Oh, I know what you mean, Auguste," Ceres said with a sigh. "Except it's the other way around for me. There are times when I wish, I wasn't in the same House."
'-
"Um, is it really alright to have this meeting here?" Hermione asked.
Auguste, Evariste, the Gryffindor Montmorency and the other members of the French contingent was easily talking about where their families were from and where their extended families were located at. The tinkle of silverware were more than enough clues that everyone was enjoying their meal.
Evariste turned to her in slight confusion. He was sitting at the other side of Eugenie, who was at Hermione's right.
"Everyone 'as second and third cousins to talk about. There's nothing unusual about it."
She was about to say that not everyone kept track of all their second cousins, much less third cousins, but she supposed it was natural in a society that prized blood and bloodlines.
"Yes, it's nothing too technical," Auguste added. "We'll be alright, Hermione."
Well, if they didn't think it was going to raise eyebrows or suspicions, she supposed they knew the attitudes of this era's wizarding world better. So far, nobody had mentioned Grindelwald or even the war, much less something as serious as an operation. There were only shared recollections about visiting a particular aunt in in her chateau.
"Eugenie?" Evariste asked.
"Most of the Delacours are in Aquitaine. You should really visit the vineyards before or after harvest." She recommended.
Auguste was asking if anyone else other than him had family in Rouen.
"Can't help there, sorry," Ceres said with a shake of her head.
"Don't ask me," Bernadotte replied. "If you were asking about the banks of Rhône, I could say yes."
"Yes, we know your family's mostly in the hills of Provence. Nothing too metropolitan." Montmorency said. Something about the dismissive way he said it drew a sharp look from Bernadotte. Not that the other wizard seemed to notice. She could see Ceres laying her hand over his arm, and it calmed him slightly.
Hermione herself only realised the veiled jab moments later; was he implying that Bernadotte's family were provincial country folk? Urgh, she wasn't that quick at detecting all the hidden meaning in speech. There's a reason Draco and Daphne handled politics most of the time.
"Well, I have a lot of family in the Paris region, but I think that goes without saying for most people here." Bernadotte said again.
"True enough," Montmorency said.
"I might know some people in Flanders. There are still more Bernadottes in Sweden, though, but I don't think we're talking about places that far yet."
For all intents and purposes, they do sound like people exchanging holiday and family stories—or a group of people trying to plan for a grand trip.
Evariste shook his head. "No, not yet. So, let's see some other places I 'aven't checked. What about around the Loire valley?"
"Helene might know." Ceres added.
One of the other French wizards Hermione didn't know frowned. "Helene Girard?"
"She did mention something about her family's farm." The blonde prefect explained.
That French wizard groaned when he remembered who that was. "Not sure if she'd be interested to help us, though. She's in Hufflepuff, isn't she?"
That was when Maximilien de Montmorency spoke up again. "She's not of the old families. Would she be able to be of much help?"
Bernadotte didn't disguise his eyeroll.
"Just because a good chunk of her family is non-magical doesn't mean they're suddenly incompetent or unhelpful, Maximilien. It doesn't stop them from being able to look around the area, see if there are any place suitable…for holidaying. Besides, you do remember that we're not exactly eliminating the muggle places yet, right?"
"Maybe we should," he muttered.
"Why is that?" Auguste asked. It would seem that he'd noticed Bernadotte's reddening complexion at the same time and decided to step in before the other wizard blew up.
"Am I the only one who read this morning's paper?" Maximilien said out loud.
"There's nothing like that on this morning's paper," the other Gryffindor wizard groused. (One of these days, Hermione would remember his name—but that wasn't today).
"Yes, there is, but clearly only if you weren't distracted by the front-page circus. Page three, second column," the blond Montmorency stated. Hermione took a more serious look at him at his exact answer. Unlike his cousin but similar to Abraxas, he was blond, with a distinctly patrician cast to his features. But where Abraxas was gregarious and friendly, his eyes had a cold intellect to it. "A confidential source in the DMLE confirmed that the captured muggles were indeed connected to some of the rabid anti-magical groups in the United States."
Even Bernadotte was taken aback at the revelation.
"That sort of news shouldn't be on page three!" He insisted.
Maximilien raised an eyebrow. "It's plausible if the Ministry tried to bury it."
Philippe was still shaking his head. "Why would they even—"
"They might be trying to avoid the increasing tension that would certainly happen if that news leaked out." Hermione understood the Ministry's reasoning immediately, even if she wasn't sure whether she thought it was the best idea right now. "It would've been much better if they announced the news after they managed to catch the mastermind. That way, it wouldn't have been an issue."
"The public still deserves to know." Bernadotte said this firmly.
"Can the DMLE stop any reactionary lynch mobs from forming if some angry wizards and witches wanted to strike back at random muggles? Can the DMLE prevent all retaliatory violence against muggles and muggleborns?" Hermione's answer was sharp as she stared Bernadotte down. "Are those lives that will be at risk worth spreading the news?"
"The Aurors can track any idiots down," he replied.
"I'm not sure they can do that before it's too late." She said. She'd visited enough non-magical houses after some extremist attacks and it always broke her heart. One more family hurt was one family too much. Bernadotte was eyeing her oddly, as if he hadn't seen her before.
"I didn't peg you for an authoritarian, Hermione."
She snorted. "I'm not saying that the news can't ever spread. I'm saying that the journalists should give the DMLE the opportunity to actually finish the damn case before they raise the hue and cry. The DMLE would probably work faster with that sort of deadline on their tail too. Release the news only after some time has passed."
When he was still looking at her askance, Hermione huffed.
"Absolute freedom of the press only works when you have strong rule of law and a well-informed citizenry. Do you think people believe that the Aurors are strong enough with Grindelwald still out there and attacking people willy-nilly? Do you think most people are rational instead of afraid and close to panicking already, right now?"
"Now, do you think the Aurors have the sort of force needed to hold back possible riots from breaking out in several places at once, all over Britain?"
To her surprise, Maximilien was staring at her with a measure of respect. It was still cold, but this time, he wasn't looking down his nose at her.
"Your points are well-reasoned, Miss Curie. I agree with you. The situation right now is a powder keg."
"And that leak might be the lit match thrown into it." She muttered.
"Taking into account this most recent news, if I read the Hogsmeade attack correctly," Auguste spoke up into the tense atmosphere with a neutral tone, "it would seem that our German friend is more creative than people thought."
Hermione heard more than one sharp intake of breath around. Montmorency even pinned Auguste with a pointed look, probably one that demanded further explanation—it would seem that he hadn't made the possible connection until then. Good. That meant I didn't have to raise the point myself, she thought.
"Whether it's our German friend or not, it does seem strange. Why would a muggle group based in the United States suddenly decide to cross the Atlantic to wreak havoc? It's not as if there's a shortage of magical communities that's easier to hit." Hermione stated, fully realising that she was ruining everyone's mood but knowing that it simply had to be said.
"The question then becomes, who pointed them this way?" She asked the table rhetorically.
"Merde." Bernadotte cursed.
"I do hate it when your enemies get clever." The other wizard complained.
"Well! Let's not dwell on such unpleasant topics while we're eating. That's a good way to ruin your appetite. That could be done later on, isn't it, Evariste?" Auguste broke the sombre mood.
Before Evariste could answer, Montmorency had spoken up.
"The problems the Americans clearly have with their muggles should have been a lesson for us." He hadn't forgotten their initial topic. "We cannot trust a random muggle so easily and we should not allow such hatred to become widespread. That is why asking Helene's…muggle contacts should not even be considered."
"They'd be her family. They are not exactly random muggles, Maximilien," Bernadotte snapped. Hermione had never seen the prefect that annoyed.
The blond scoffed. "They could be secretly envious of her magic or hated her and she wouldn't know."
"They wouldn't even do that in the first place, you paranoid fool!"
"And you are shockingly naïve to trust strangers so readily—an embarrassment to your family!"
Bernadotte had suddenly gone so still that Hermione was concerned. She didn't like the highly-alert expression that Ceres had either.
"Take that back," the sixth-year said slowly and clearly. Montmorency's expression looked as if it had been carved from granite.
"I see it as it is—"
"Enough!" Evariste's voice cracked the air like a whip. "Maximilien, you've gone too far in presuming the reason behind Philippe's stance. Philippe, if you cannot reason your opinion without insulting people, then you also need to cool your head right now."
His glare dared either of them to challenge him, and he didn't look quite so harmless or angelic right now, unless one was imagining the angel with a flaming sword. When he took a breath to calm himself, Hermione could almost hear the people in their little group doing the same.
"We can dwell about this later. In the meantime, Eugenie, you were saying that some of your family has vineyards?" He smiled his most charming smile. With a few more well-said questions and an easy-going attitude that he pulled forth so easily after his outburst, he succeeded in changing the tone of the conversation completely.
Eugenie began to talk; at first slowly, and later on with more enthusiasm. The rest of lunchtime passed on more pleasantly than the first half with Eugenie's stories of summer evenings in Aquitaine. She spoke of how the vibrant scent of a healthy vineyard wraps around any casual visitor walking down the fields while the sun warmed their backs. It was enough to make anyone wish they could take a holiday there.
Bernadotte and Montmorency were a lot more reserved this time.
As Hermione almost finished with her dessert, she couldn't help but turn in the direction of the Slytherin table—occasionally checking on him was becoming a habit now. Tom was still in a very involved conversation with the Slytherin seniors. His expression of good humour and a pleasant smile was rather jarring to see, because for her, 'nice' might as well be as far as the moon from Tom Riddle. Perhaps she was the only one to feel that way, as she had seen the worst excesses of Dark Lord Voldemort.
Which, by the way, does not exist here, she reminded herself of the unexpected strangeness. She had yet to see what Tom would become, but he was shifting farther and farther away from his old path. Whatever slips he was going to make, they were going to be new and different ones.
Still, it was not hard to see that he was still playing a role at the Slytherin table. There goes Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect, networking with the upper years from the old families. Considering her background, she wasn't sure whether her presence would mess up whatever bait he was trying to set up to lure them his way, to pull them into his web. She was certainly not up to the challenge of trying her hand at improv acting by going up there and following whatever subtle cues he'd give. Hermione snorted at the idea. A performer she was not.
Well, she supposed he'd be too occupied to walk to the Advanced Arithmancy class and chat with her as usual, then.
'-
"Tom! Just the person we're looking for!"
The moment Tom was within shouting distance of Slytherin table, a group of sixth-years and seventh-years called at him. He looked up. The broad-shouldered profile of the quidditch captain was obvious even from a distance.
"Come, do tell us how you've managed to show everyone just how capable Slytherin House is." His booming voice practically announced Tom's arrival on the Slytherin table to everyone else.
Francis Flint, heir to the Flint family and older brother to Flavius Flint was grinning at him as if they'd always been best friends. There was no way that Tom was stepping away from this—it was a rare opportunity to have them approach him first than the other way around. He smiled easily, in a way that looked completely natural, regardless that his current preference to tear someone apart, limb by limb.
"Yes! We heard that you actually disarmed one of the muggles, not just bleeding harmlessly like Abbott." A sixth-year next to Flint said—the Parkinson heir, Tom recognised him by his rather flat nose that was similar to one of Abraxas' stooges. Unlike Parkinson-the-younger, this one seemed to have a more perceptive gleam in his eye.
Parkinson was elbowed a little by a wizard to him. "Priam!"
Priam Parkinson grunted. "Oh, fine. Abbott did his best holding the attacker back. It's still not that much better than your best, is it?"
"Well, he doesn't have the good fortune of having the best healer in Hogwarts as his partner." Tom replied.
"Oh, we're not talking about that knock-out job, though I'm sure it's great. After all, no one else seemed to have managed it. What we want to hear, is about the second shooter you hunted down." Francis lowered his voice conspiratorially. Now, only their immediate circle heard his statement.
Tom took a seat and used the moments of shuffling as an opportunity to think. That event was one he'd ensured did not make it into the prefect's record, as organised by Emma.
"Really? That's fascinating. Where did you hear that?" Tom asked blandly.
"When your parent is in the DMLE, you hear interesting things. My father was right proud that a member of Slytherin House managed it and asked me if I knew you. Unfortunately, I have to tell him that we're in different years. I thought I'd better remedy that now."
Tom noted that other than Flint, there was also Travers and even the usually reclusive Burke—he looked annoyed that he was dragged out from whatever tome he was currently lost in, but still present here nonetheless.
"Well, what do you want to know?" He asked.
To Tom's left was Parkinson and next to him was Irwin Avery—his best character traits, as far as Tom was concerned, was that he was entirely unlike his sister Jemima, who was Tom's sixth year prefect partner. Irwin was quieter and certainly wasn't clingy. What caught his attention was how here was a good number of pureblood wizards—Sacred 28 and beyond—that Tom did not have easy access to since they were from different years, hanging to his word.
"From the beginning would be great." Parkinson said. "I'm sure everyone else would like to hear a firsthand account. Don't we, boys?"
"Hear, hear!"
Tom ducked his head with false modesty. "Well, if you insist…"
'-
Tom Riddle had predicted that the talk would be part retelling his experience and part career advice, as people suddenly saw his potential and try to get him on their side. He wasn't wrong about the first and he wasn't exactly wrong on the second, just incomplete. It wasn't just about whose fathers or uncles (and on rarer occasions, mothers and aunts) were in which departments, or what the environment and atmosphere was like in the different places, it was also about the relatives they have.
Specifically, the female relatives.
"I'm sure you know Irwin's sister already, she's a prefect like you, isn't she?" Priam Parkinson asked.
"Miss Avery? Yes, she's a fifth-year prefect," Tom replied.
"Yes. Know her already, don't you? On the other hand, I'm sure you don't know about my sister at all. Patricia's a nice girl. She really knows her responsibilities, you know, not unlike some other girls." Priam said.
"Isn't 'responsible' just a nicer way to say 'boring'?" Travers cut in.
Avery was making some rather obvious coughs-that-were-not-coughs into his drink on Parkinson's other side, while the Parkinson heir gave Travers an annoyed look.
"Try bringing one of the more adventurous girls home to your mother, I dare you."
"No thanks, I still want to live." He replied drolly, to the laughter of some of the others. Priam had turned back to Tom at this point.
"I don't think you've truly met her since you don't interact much with the witches, do you?"
"Well, not much beyond courtesy and what school work entails. I'd hate for it to be misinterpreted." Tom answered, lying calmly through his teeth. Hermione, after all, was none of their business.
Avery was passing dishes down to their end. He wondered for a moment why the house elfs happened to be a bit slow on this side that he needed to do that in the first place. Perhaps the kitchen was a little overwhelmed due to someone's specific orders. Still, it wasn't such a big deal.
Parkinson nodded. "That's good. You already know how to be a gentleman. That's an important character to have if you were to mingle among the purebloods."
"Oh, please, Priam. The last thing he needs is your useless lecture. Riddle already has a good reputation of keeping his word and being discreet, I don't think he needs any lesson on it." Burke grouched from across the table, next to Travers. He was carelessly scruffy and his tie was askew, but there was no mistaking the sharp intelligence in his gaze.
"Well, it's never a bad idea to learn more, especially if he was going to marry into one!" Priam insisted.
Several strands of thoughts that Tom had been idly running at the back of his mind, from remembering this conversation as it goes to remembering the failures of his cloud-making experiments, halted at that sentence.
"Excuse me?"
"You don't really have a family to back you up. It would be faster if you have in-laws that can do that for you."
"Frankly, Priam, your sister is a nag and a shrew. I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy, much less Riddle," Burke said outright.
"And your sister is a misandrist and a shark in human form, Balthazar. How many boys has she scared away, again?" Parkinson jabbed back.
"She's just really good at weeding them out. No brainless or gutless lout is going to survive Lysandra." Balthazar said with not a small amount of pride in his voice.
"What's this I hear about her biting Rosier until she drew blood?"
"They were seven. Merlin, Priam, are you growing senile already? I've told you that before."
"I think I heard she kicked some poor wizard in the balls." Travers added, pouring more oil into the fire.
"It was Defence class, and he misplaced his hand on her person." Balthazar shrugged without concern.
"Ha! I knew she was a harridan!" Priam Parkinson crowed.
"Being good at teaching lessons to stupid wizards doesn't make a witch a harridan." He insisted. "Would you rather have your sister be a helpless victim instead?"
"I heard Vespasian Starkey always did his damnedest to never get paired up with Jemima Avery in Advanced Potions. He said there's a limit to the degree of bumbling he was going to put up with. Which makes sense, since his family background means that he's leaps and bounds beyond most people in his class," Torquil Travers idly commented again. To Tom, he was a tad too focused at his ham and peas for it to be real. The food couldn't be that delicious.
"It's true. I heard this from Caspar who heard it from Nott who heard it from Pendleton."
"Aha! She's a nag and a nincompoop! No wonder you have to talk up her virtues to other people!" Balthazar slammed his fist into his palm with satisfaction, he turned to Tom just as Priam Parkinson sputtered.
"Patricia might be friends with Miss Avery but she's not that much of an embarrassment in class, thank you very much!"
Burke was more interested in Tom, though. "That's why you can always be assured that I don't have that agenda when I talk to you, Riddle, because I'm sure my sister can make up her own bloody mind about which wizard she wants to tie herself to, though I'll answer any questions you might have about her."
"Now, now, I'm sure we don't have to get into this argument again," Francis said as he stepped in. Even as he said this, he was grinning. It was clear that he enjoyed the show.
Inwardly, Tom sighed. The topic seemed to be taking some time before it died down. It didn't seem as if he could redirect the conversation somewhere else yet.
"Would someone please pass the drink jugs? Ah, thank you, Avery." Another wizard slightly farther than Tom raised his voice with impatience. Tom helped Avery pass the jug of pumpkin juice, and another of orange juice.
"Service seems to be slow on this end today," he commented. "I wonder why?"
Burke scoffed. "Some witch was probably trying to order the kitchen to cook venison exactly the way the cook at home did it. Add several courses like that, and it bottlenecks things for everyone else who just needs a bloody lunch."
From the way he was pointedly looking at Parkinson, he made no secret about who he thought that witch was. Priam bristled.
"Please. Patricia doesn't like venison. It's hard to get right for her delicate palate. She prefers soufflés."
Balthazar Burke barked in laughter at that, but most wizards didn't understand what was funny. Irwin hid his laughter in a series of polite coughs as he passed a goblet to Priam, who passed it to Tom.
"I noticed that you don't have any glass yet."
"Ah, yes. Thank you."
Predictably, neither Burke nor Parkinson's sisters were the last of the female relatives to be mentioned. Tom had almost forgotten the second popular wizarding pastime among the purebloods after quidditch until now, as he sighed inwardly—matchmaking.
'-
The seventh-years were more laid back; most of them had only filled half of their schedule. Unless someone was of the ambitious type, the last year in Hogwarts was traditionally a time of revelry and relaxation. Tom took his leave from them while they were still debating whether Puddlemere United's beater really broke the rule when they last played against Chudley Cannons—things he absolutely had no interest in.
He did not fail to notice the steps behind him when he exited the Great Hall and the noise level fell. Tom stepped to the side and waited.
True to his suspicion, Torquil Travers stepped out of the door. He did not seem the slightest bit fazed to see that Tom had expected him.
"Travers. On your way to class too?"
"Somewhat, yes." Travers replied, walking in step with him. "I thought I'd make sure that you were on the same page."
"What about?"
"You do know that Parkinson's family had been declining since his grandfather's day? Officially, it's mismanagement of their estate. Unofficially, well, there are several things. His family isn't what it was a century ago."
Tom made a vague sound of interest at that. He already knew about it. What use was getting Melchior and Abraxas to keep their eyes and ears open on the affairs of the old houses, if not? Or the use of Melchior quietly slipping into his father's study and skim through Nott Senior's correspondence for things of note?
"They only have the house they live in now these days. No holiday homes, no town house. Well, technically, there is a town house, but I wouldn't even let my house elf stay in it, much less a human. Not exactly fit to live in." Travers said.
"Down on their luck, aren't they? It's such a shame." Tom said with all appearance of sincerity.
Only Hermione would've been able to detect the hint of sarcasm in it, and that was because she was unreasonably paranoid when it came to him. Travers glanced at the fifth-year for a moment, puzzled, though Tom didn't react at all to that. The seventh-year shook his head, perhaps deciding that he was imagining things.
"Burke is…well, the Burkes have always been eccentrics."
"Intellectuals, I hear," Tom mused out loud. Travers snorted.
"What use is keeping to their mouldy tomes when it meant letting power pass them by? They do not use their seat at the Wizengamot to the fullest. All they've done is dealt with their damned library and collection. Unchecked, it would lead to the slow decline of their family in another half century or so. Not that I think Balthazar even cares."
"Well, as long as he's content with it, I suppose it's his family to deal with as he sees fit." Tom said.
"If you think that you'd be entering into the circle of elite if you married into their family, you're wrong. They're sad excuses of a pureblood. They're dregs, Tom."
Travers' words were blunt, more than Tom had expected to hear. He turned slightly with curiosity, his eyes half-lidded.
"Would you say that right to their face?"
"Not in those exact words, but yes, I can. Balthazar won't deny it, Priam would probably argue with me, but he can't exactly counter the evidence." He paused and took a breath. "Thing is, Riddle, you just don't have the connections. Don't let today's talks fool you. I don't think you'd ever get a chance to marry into a pureblood family."
Travers shrugged casually, with the forthrightness of a man who believed he was stating a fact.
"You'll never be one of us, not exactly. We can never truly wipe the stench of where we came from."
Tom eyed Travers sideways, his eyes unreadable even if his smile did not disappear. He stared straight ahead once more.
"Well, considering that even Starkey, Pendleton or Rosier would find it challenging to ask for Lucretia Black's hand, I certainly don't delude myself that I have a chance. The lovestruck wizards from mediocre families who forget themselves and mooned her from afar are rather pathetic. Aren't they?" He asked cheerfully.
Knowledge is power, and Tom kept track of even the most hopeless infatuations in Slytherin and outside it. He didn't let his lips twitch the slightest bit upward even when he knew that Travers was holding back the urge to retort or say anything that would only incriminate himself. The wizard must've been gritting his teeth.
"Don't try to grasp beyond your natural lot, Riddle. It wouldn't end well. Far better for you to know your place."
His statement was sharper than the ones before.
"Oh, I know exactly where my place is, Travers." Tom answered. At the top of your body pile. He wanted to watch the man gurgle and choke in his own blood.
"After all, you do know where your place is, don't you?"
Tom could see the muscle on his jaw twitch as he said that.
"Watch your words, Riddle."
"It was rhetorical, Travers. Please, don't let little old me annoy you." Tom said with unusual humility, his tone still as pleasant as if they were merely discussing the weather. "I'm sure you wouldn't think of having ideas far above your station, would you? You still have the prudence to go out of your way to teach me all about knowing my place."
Check. Your move, Tom thought. He made sure his expression hadn't changed the slightest, even as he held back the urge to cut the other wizard open and make sure that Travers bleeds, then pulling back all the spilled blood in again to give him a false sense of security, before repeating the process from the beginning.
If Travers was looking for evidence that Tom had made his statement with the intent to mock, he wouldn't find it. He blinked harmlessly when Travers sent a long, brooding look his way. He let his not-quite-there smile to slip away at that.
"Travers? Are you alright?" He asked instead.
The seventh-year shook his head and stared at Tom strangely. "What?"
"You don't look so well. I hope you haven't caught a cold. There's a rather nasty one making the rounds among the sixth-years—Mordred has been sniffling since last night," The prefect said casually, pulling Travers off-balance yet again.
"…No, I don't think it's a cold."
"That's good to hear. Anyway, I'm sure you're not taking Arithmancy today. We can part ways here—I'd rather not pull you even farther from your class. I'd hate to be such a bother." His smile was disarming, his expression guileless. It was a while before Travers stopped staring at him so intently, determined to find something.
The taller Slytherin failed to find anything other than Tom's unfailing politeness, despite his own vague sense of unease.
"…I'll see you later, Riddle."
"Certainly, Travers."
'-
Tom arrived right before the bell—it was late by his standards. He was also rather quiet during Arithmancy class.
Usually, he would've volunteered several answers already, but this time it was Hermione who fielded most of them. Two or three students had gone from the class. She hoped they'd dropped it altogether if they had been taking it for all the wrong reason—like, say, the opportunity to talk to the charming Adele Lagrange in the fourth class of the week (the personal projects and tutoring session). If she had truly been a younger Hermione, she would've been more focused on ensuring that yes, she'd read the textbook at least twice as well as the supplemental text, and that she can answer every single question the professor was asking. She couldn't care less about the other students in class—unless they could answer a question that stumped her. Then, she'd care.
Now, she took the time to check how the whole class was doing (if everyone was still rather behind her in understanding, that mean she could relax a little in this class). This was how she noticed that Tom wasn't focusing completely on the class.
At times, she was almost sure she felt his eyes on her. Yet when she turned, he was usually doing something else, eyeing her quizzically when she stared at him with a question in her eyes. She only saw him staring at her once, his gaze too deep and unreadable. When he saw that she'd met his gaze, he simply moved closer to ask her how she solved a particularly tricky problem. Not that he ever said anything about why he had been staring in the first place.
Most of the time, his attention wandered.
He still answered any of Professor Lagrange's direct questions at him easily, without having to think for too long. It meant he was still keeping up with ease. Whatever occupied his mind was probably nothing serious, then, to have scarcely burdened him. That was what Hermione thought, and it was how she convinced herself to stop thinking too much about it.
At the end of class, he asked her which of the two classes she'd took this time, ADADA or Advanced Charms. She said Charms, of course, since she'd missed it completely last week and was trying to catch up. He nodded in understanding.
"Alright. I'll just be off to Defence class, then." Tom said.
The feeling that something was off intensified at that point.
He had never intentionally taken a different class from her before, not if he knew beforehand what she'd take next. Not that Hermione wanted him to always shadow her and he could be exasperating at that sometimes, yet by now it had merely become a pattern she'd come to recognise. For him to deviate from it now, there must've been a particular reason behind it. Something must have shown on her face, as he smirked in amusement soon after.
"Unless you were missing me so much you'd rather that I take Charms with you too?" He asked.
"What? No! Of course not." Hermione shook her head with vehemence. "I was just thinking, that's all."
"Unlike you, not all of the Slytherins are well-practiced at magical fights already. They'd be even more lax with their standards if I wasn't around." Tom said.
"It's fine. You can go and shepherd your flock there." She answered, not missing the upward twitch of his lips at that.
"You make it sound as if I was so selfless and caring," he commented.
"Aren't you? You're the Sainted Tom Riddle, after all, whom most teachers think could do no wrong. Always so responsible and so helpful." Her reply was dry.
"Very well. I'll do my best to live up to your image of me." There was humour in his voice. She rolled her eyes.
She did notice that he seemed to be looking at her slightly longer than usual, some unsaid thought still turning in his mind. Since she had no idea how to even begin asking about it, she decided to let it go for now.
They parted ways there as Hermione headed to her Charms class. Eugenie and Lakshmi had already saved her a seat when she arrived, with Eugenie seemingly hyped because they were finally in a class together. Hermione didn't think it was really such a big deal, but she can admit that it was nice to be together with her dormmates.
Yet as interesting as Flitwick's class was, she couldn't keep herself focused for long. There was something Tom wasn't telling her. Add the unpleasantness of Undersecretary Fudge's meeting based on Julia's rants, and Hermione felt as if she was missing something big.
This was why when Julia actually bothered to catch up with her directly after class, Hermione could only give the sixth-year a sheepish smile.
"So! I heard from Eugenie that you're usually free on Wednesday afternoons," Julia started, "what about showing us that Patronus Charm you managed the other day?"
"Um, yes, I suppose I can do that, but maybe some time later? An hour before supper?" Hermione asked.
"You have something else scheduled? But Eugenie said that you didn't have any study groups that you go to!" The other Ravenclaw looked as if she wanted to grab Hermione's robes and plead her to stay, but she held herself back just enough.
Was Julia desperate or what? Then again, Ravenclaw was the house of the intellectually curious. She might just really, really like mastering more and more spells.
"I'm sorry, it's just…Tom. There's something he isn't telling me and I don't have a good feeling about it." Hermione said.
"I thought there are many things he clearly isn't telling you," Lakshmi muttered as she caught up with Hermione. She and Eugenie had only walked out of class just then, as they were far more relaxed in packing their bags than Hermione had been.
"Yes, but it doesn't mean I don't know about them." She answered. Like the Walpurgis Knights, for one, or his ambition to collect as much power as he can for himself, the rest of the world be damned. "This is something else."
Curiously enough, Julia relaxed a fraction with that.
"Oh, yeah. You might want to ask him what he thinks about Fudge's blather. But I thought you shared a class before now?"
"How did you even know that?" Hermione's gaze was sharp. Julia only raised an eyebrow at that.
"I'm currently taking Advanced Arithmancy II. I still remember what my schedule was like last year, Hermione."
She nodded in acceptance. "He was distracted but he didn't say anything."
"He'll be fine," Lakshmi unexpectedly said.
"And how would you know that?" Eugenie asked.
"Oh, please. Does he look like someone who's going to get his feelings hurt because he decided to listen to a bumbling idiot? Of course not. Riddle would dismiss the windbag as the useless desk jockey that he is." She tossed her glossy mane of hair to one side with that statement, her well-manicured hand waving the undersecretary's importance away.
Julia whistled. "Wow, you really don't pull your punches, do you? Does your family really doesn't need the Ministry that much?"
Lakshmi's grin was sharp. "We Chakravartys have our own support, don't worry. It's certainly not from that idiot."
"Lucky you," Julia murmured. Her family certainly wasn't an old pureblood one that can afford to insult undersecretaries left and right so blatantly. "But how would you know what Tom would do, anyway? I don't think you're exactly friends with him."
"Because that's exactly what I would do. Trust me, soft is the last thing that Riddle is." She said without preamble, amber eyes unyielding.
"Oh, I agree with you," Hermione answered, surprising the other Ravenclaws. "There's still something, though. I'm sorry, but I've got to check it out."
Julia sighed. "Oh, fine. Go and see to your beau. I'll just be at the library's common study room."
"I'll be there if I can finish this quickly." She replied, too distracted to notice the exact words Julia had used. "I just hope he's not going to do something reckless. See you later, everyone."
Hermione bid her friends goodbye and she marched off, her hands already fiddling with her bag as she tried to find something of Tom's that she could use to locate him. She wasn't taking the chance that he'd already set off from ADADA class.
A younger her would be annoyed at the idea that gut feeling could be used as the basis of an important decision, but as she'd accompanied Harry and Ron's Auror teams often enough, she'd come to realise that gut feeling is simply knowledge so ingrained as to be trained into a reflex. If she sat down and tried to trace at which points of their interaction did her unease grow, she had no doubt that she'd find them and would be able to articulate her reasons well.
Yet as she'd learned on the field, there are times when you can't get all the information you'd need right then because there was simply not enough time. Do you really need to know in the heat of the moment how exactly your enemy attacked you? Wasn't it enough that you could duck in time to avoid the hit? After that, there was no space left for anything else other than defending yourself and making sure that everyone got out of there alive. When it was all done, there'd be time enough for analysis.
In the midst of action, you just have to wing it.
'-
"Did she just worry that Tom would be reckless?" Eugenie asked in confusion as they watched Hermione walk away.
"She had also said that he's two-faced and too ambitious back when we were having tea." Lakshmi added, showing that when she wasn't too lazy to do so, her memory was quite sharp.
"Two-faced?" Julia sputtered. "Tom is two-faced? He's the most responsible wizard I know! He doesn't toady up to the teachers and then pass on most of the work to other people in prefect assignments! Unlike some people I know… Andrew might be even more responsible, but it's not by a large margin."
"They do seem pretty comfortable with each other. It stands to reason that she does know him better than we do." Lakshmi pointed out. "And if Hermione was so wrong, why is it that he didn't seem to try to correct her perception of him?"
Eugenie shook her head. "I think she just gets him absurdly wrong on that point that he lets it be because it's funny."
Julia nodded. "Yes. Tom does have a subtle sense of humour."
Lakshmi's smirk was faint, and it could almost pass for a smile among the uninitiated. For a moment, she seemed to be about to say something else before she changed her mind.
"Ah, alright. Whatever you say, ladies."
'-
Hermione wondered for a moment why on earth she had one of Tom's green-and-silver ties in her bag.
Well, there might be that one time she suggested using it as a blindfold and demonstrated how the lack of vision could heighten other senses, but now really wasn't the time to get distracted by the recollection. She was sure she didn't remember taking it with her. The brunette witch shook her head and ignored the warmth suffusing her cheeks. It didn't matter now. She was just too glad that she had something to find him with.
She followed a winding route through the corridors of the castle, through at least two secret passages and had somehow ended up on the Hogwarts grounds.
It wasn't a short walk. The Ravenclaw had gone past a few greenhouses now and soon she would be entering the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. The trees weren't exactly dense enough to block out most of the light falling down to the forest floor, but there was always something wild about the place that raised her goosebumps. Perhaps it was the half-light of the waning day, when shadows at the corner of one's eyes morph into strange creatures during dusk. Yet she was sure that a part of it was the wilder magic in the land circling her, fleeting and unknowable. It was something more elusive and untamed than what most wizards and witches could access with their wands.
Hermione didn't have time to muse further about it, though, since she was here for a specific reason.
It was not far before she heard voices. At first, she simply walked in that direction, slipping her wand into its holster already as the locating spell had clearly fulfilled its purpose.
That was before she saw the scene in the clearing, along with the distinct sound of fist hitting flesh, and Starkey bent over.
Hermione was running before she knew it, pushing Tom and Starkey apart. Tom didn't resist her interference, and neither did Starkey, which, now that she actually thought about it, was probably the main reason why it worked. It hadn't occurred to her to draw her wand because none of them was throwing hexes and jinxes against each other. She glared at Pendleton who was simply leaning back against a nearby tree as if he had decided to go for an afternoon stroll in the forest.
"You let him beat up your friend?" She asked in disbelief.
Pendleton only shrugged, unconcerned. "He had a good reason for it."
"And what could be a good reason for you to beat him black and blue, Tom?"
Tom rolled his eyes, as if she had merely disturbed a talk among a group of friends. His next sentence threw her off.
"Are you going to go back on your word, Hermione?"
"What?"
"Your word, Hermione. You promised not to jump to conclusions, remember?" Tom said, far too relaxed for someone who'd been caught red-handed punching the stuffing out of Starkey. He didn't fidget. He merely stood there waiting for her answer as she was unconsciously drawn into the depths of his eyes that were darker than usual today.
The predator in him was far closer to the surface than it had been in any other days. In a different world, the amount of dark arts he drenched himself in would've pulled Voldemort out right now.
Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath, holding back the urge to drag an explanation out of Tom and started breathing slowly as she counted to six. Her eyes opened gradually.
"Alright. Now, will someone tell me what's going on?"
"He's just fibbing a bit," Starkey started, while Hermione simply stared because she had no idea what he was saying.
"Starkey, tell her what punishment this is for." Tom said. Starkey pulled himself up, his left hand still covering his stomach. His breathing was still a little heavy when he answered.
"Tom had a good reason to hit me. There wasn't even a jawbreaker among them."
"Really." Hermione said sarcastically. She saw that Tom had been making some rather hard hits to the solar plexus.
"Sure. I poisoned him." Starkey said.
Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. At first, she thought it was a joke, but the unchanging expressions of the three wizards in the clearing told her that it was the truth. She gaped.
"You…what? Are you suicidal?" She couldn't help but yell at him.
"See? It was Ves' fault." Pendleton commented from the side.
"I'm not asking you right now." Hermione's statement had a warning tone in it as she glared at him. He shrugged.
"Alright. Shutting up."
"What was the effects again, Ves?" Tom asked calmly.
"Oh, it was nothin' too bad, you know. Wasn't tryin' to snuff 'im. Just the standard food poisoning or stomach bug sort. Y'know, indigestion? Stomach pains?" Starkey was standing up now, his brown curls a mess without his usual cap. She hadn't even noticed that he had curls, his hair always slickly gelled down before when he intentionally didn't wear his cap (well, she supposed they don't use gel yet in this era, do they?) He looked younger this way.
"Vomiting at least twice in the middle of the night? Emptying your stomach until there's nothing left to empty but stomach acid that you can feel burning the back of your throat as it goes up?" Tom added casually. Starkey winced.
"Eh, well, yeah… Those are definitely among the possible symptoms."
"No need to be shy. We know you're a talented potioneer. Enough that no one had thought it might not have been a real disease at the early days." Tom's tone was wry. "What did you say it was at first, to the healer?"
He relaxed.
"Oh, that's easy. Maybe it was some incompatibilities, allergy-like."
"I think none of you have addressed the most important question. For goodness' sakes, Starkey, why?" Hermione asked, disbelieving. Starkey glanced at Tom. Tom's shrug was completely at ease.
"Go ahead." Tom replied to his wordless question.
Starkey had his hands in his trouser pockets, leaning casually. Suddenly his swagger was back. "He's an uppity muggleborn who had the gall to enter Slytherin."
"And embarrassed all the pureblood who made a poor showing in class in comparison." Tom added with not a little smugness.
"Sure. That too."
The answer did and didn't make sense at the same time. No wonder Tom was out for blood if he'd been poisoned. Yet she couldn't imagine any Slytherin in their year to ever dare to raise a hand against Tom, much less someone she'd seen as loyal as Starkey (he didn't even blink at making the document of so-called traces of pureblood ancestry for her). From the amusement in Tom's eyes, she knew that he knew the conundrum currently going through her head and found it to be entertaining.
It was a puzzle, and Hermione never gave up on those.
"Uppity muggleborn?" Hermione asked, not quite believing what he was saying.
"Yes. He was usin' pens, I tell you. Pens! Not the fancy, fountain pens either! He's not trying to live and adapt to the wizarding world when he's the one entering. Didn't think we're good enough for him, did 'e?"
What? No, Tom had always used quills…well, that was now, wasn't it? This was in the past. She shook her head and decided to ask for more pertinent facts.
"You said that it was so good the healer couldn't detect it? What, it only happened for a day or two?"
Starkey winced again, while Tom was almost grinning.
"How many days again was it, Starkey?"
"More than a week," came the muttered reply.
"Try two weeks," Pendleton commented from the side.
"Thirteen and a half days. Let's just make it thirteen because I'm magnanimous like that," Tom said idly.
"Nurse Edelstein would definitely have noticed." Hermione insisted.
"Ah, well, I didn't do it in a row, of course. That would've been real stupid, yeah?" Starkey said. He leaned back on his heels as he said this. His grin was fox-like in cunning and a contrast to the innocent-seeming curls of his hair. "A day with issues, then clearing up the next. Give a fortnight or so to rest and then wham! Two days with stomach problems! That's a pretty shock for any cove, innit?"
He did think it through, she thought with admiration. Hermione didn't let a word pass her lips as she still felt it was wrong to praise Starkey for successfully using stealth to poison someone, no matter how well-thought out his methods were.
Tom had asked something from Pendleton. It was three crystal balls. At first, it looked as if he casted Lumos, yet when he tapped one of the crystal balls with his wand, the light transferred. He did this for all three of them, before casually floating all three in the air. Instant lights. The sky was rapidly darkening above them, and it was even darker here, under the trees—he had a good point with the lights.
"Still, if the allergy tests came back negative, it would've been a clue." She said, slightly distracted with what Tom was doing.
"But before that, it's a good way to scare you up, eh? What if you were allergic to magical food? Maybe you can't stay in Hogwarts at all because you can't even eat properly here!"
Starkey's voice rang with glee, his expression boyish and joyful.
He truly thought it was a grand idea to ensure that one of his classmates would never learn magic in Hogwarts. Just because the classmate was a muggleborn who didn't think he should follow everything the wizarding world set as example. If she had been more naïve, bile would've rose at her throat, but right now it was just that old, old anger she'd always had at various parts of the wizarding world.
…and disappointment. She'd never thought Starkey would be that close-minded.
"Yes. It's not a bad plan to drive someone out of Hogwarts, is it?" Tom mused out loud.
"Eh, well," he seemed slightly awkward when he realised that his victim was right next to him. "It didn't exactly work."
"Oh, no need to worry about me, Vespasian. I agree with you, it had been an excellent plan. It would have worked if you were going against anyone but me." Tom's voice was smooth, his smile charming. "You might have to keep it a secret from others in case someone tries to…remove you for the crime, but you can tell the details to Hermione. She'll understand. It's certainly worth bragging about occasionally."
It was hard to believe that Tom truly did not seem to mind. She didn't understand why he said it.
"Really?" Starkey seemed truly excited at the statement. Hermione couldn't look at the pleased expression on his face, jarring as it was to remember that the joy was there from his success in harming someone.
"Oh, yes. I remembered one of the days of the second month. I had to drag myself from the bathroom. Couldn't exactly walk out." Tom said this easily, without care, as if it happened to someone else he knew only in passing.
Starkey shook his head. "Ah, can't fully take credit for that. I think that was dehydration setting in—it's actually preventable, you know?"
"Maggie Edelstein missed that?" Hermione asked in disbelief.
That was the first coherent sentence she could ask. Everything else was a jumble of confusion and directionless annoyance (and not a little anger) in her head.
"This was the nurse before Madam Edelstein," Tom finally answered. "Who left for reasons of family crisis. Said crisis already began some months before her final departure, so you can imagine how distracted she was right then."
There were several details about the story that had bothered her, but she remembered Tom using a pen the most. It became her equivalent of 'the dog that didn't bark in the night-time'.
"When exactly did this poisoning take place?" Hermione finally asked.
By the outright smirk that Tom had, it was the question he had been waiting for.
"Vespasian."
The other Slytherin answered promptly. "It was during our first year."
And Hermione remembered again Tom's words that even as first-years, the Slytherins were good enough not to leave a bruise if they found a child that did not quite fit in. She couldn't imagine what it was like being a younger Tom.
Well, perhaps she can, but she couldn't do it without getting very angry. It was the sort of anger that made her want to raze buildings to the ground—the same type of intense emotion that can easily triple her ability to channel magic at its most elemental and destructive. (Yes, she'll pay for it in terms of exhaustion and even getting knocked out, but it was usually worth it).
"I didn't figure out the reason for the spontaneous bursts of illnesses until near the end. Mealtimes were rather nerve-wracking for exactly that reason. I even tried keeping track of the various food and see if certain types triggered it. Didn't quite work, of course." Tom said.
"You have to admit that the randomness is a very good way of inducing dread." Starkey added, with the eagerness of an artist pointing out the details of his masterpiece.
"Oh, very. That's why I promised you that I'll pay you back for Every. Single. Day. No spells will be involved, because you didn't use any, and no warning about which day I'd choose to make you suffer, because you gave me none. I can choose any time, of the rest of your life."
Starkey nodded in agreement. Under the greenish light of Tom's Lumos, the whole scene became even more surreal. It was as if she'd accidentally walked into a convocation of goblins casually trading stories of violence.
"True, true. So, you see, Hermione, Tom's been very fair. This is what, the fourth day?"
"Fifth," Tom clarified.
"Fifth. I have eight more days of debt to go." He finished.
Starkey was grinning. She had no idea why he was grinning, couldn't really wrap her head around the thought of Tom telling her all this without a change in his inflection, as if he couldn't care less of being poisoned. She wanted to heal Starkey and then wring his neck. Hermione rubbed her temple because she felt a headache coming up.
Really, she should just get used to it by now, because it seems that it would be a constant companion when you were friends with Tom Riddle.
"Do you regret it, Starkey?" The Ravenclaw witch finally asked, because she was out of things that she could possibly say to him.
"What? No. Why should I? Tom made a hash of magical traditions, yes? He's just askin' for it. Annabelle Palmer fit in immediately when she entered Slytherin, and she's as muggleborn as they come. Knew how to go with the flow, that one. Also, I got schooled in how to induce terror by a better practitioner than I am."
Starkey bowed to Tom. It was over the top, but there was nothing mocking in it. The respect and admiration in his eyes were real. It explained why Tom returned it with one as grave, but shallower.
Recognition flooded her; it was that of a sovereign to his courtier.
Here stands the king of the goblins, who won his throne with his cunning and violence.
Tom chuckled. "You definitely learned that I was not someone to cross, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes, I did. Making me feel and see that I'm bricked into one of the class walls? For two whole days? That was inspiring."
"I thought it would be traumatising," Hermione cut in. Starkey was unoffended and simply nodded.
"Oh, of course I was when it happened. I was stuck in the wall and I wasn't dead. No one could hear me scream, even if he left eyeholes so I could see the Potions class taking place in front of me. That was the entire purpose of the exercise, to beget terror. But once enough time had passed and I can think about it carefully, I can see that it was truly great because it was very effective."
She stared at him blankly.
"The magic I could use were still mere illusions and judicious use of imagination, I assure you. I was still a first-year," Tom replied with apparent humility.
Starkey shook his head. "How it was done, I couldn't even tell until I was a third-year. That's why I'm always looking at your work to improve mine."
Their expressions were similar, even if Starkey's grin was far more blatant than Tom's smirk.
"Well, I do like to stay fresh. Why reuse old staples when a little creativity goes a long way? Why be predictable to your enemies?"
Hermione observed him carefully, observed them, the pattern within the scene only revealing themselves to her just then. Their body language was a mirror to each other. The victim had become the maestro; the bully had become the student, the minion.
Behold, the Master and the Apprentice. She had only realised now that Starkey was as much of a psychopath as Tom was. He was just more extroverted and cheerful about it and clearly not as good as Tom was if he ended up as the minion of the pair.
Tom turned to the other member of the Knights who was content to stay at the side.
"Pendleton, do you have more of the punch?"
Pendleton pulled out a glass bottle from a basket he'd just picked up.
"That's the last one."
"You did bring extras, didn't you?"
"I did. But that's already the third bottle you're taking, which makes it our last one." The blond scrutinised Tom for a moment. "If you don't mind me saying it, you seem thirstier than usual."
"Probably just the exertion. Well, we're not really planning to stay here for much longer, anyway."
Hermione shook her head. They were treating this like a bloody picnic. Food, friends, the open air, and a little beating as entertainment—what else would you want? She thought sardonically.
Suddenly she felt very tired. Maybe it was the setting sun and the dying day. This is already too late for me to deal with this shit.
"You don't actually make a habit of doing this, do you, Tom?" Hermione asked wearily.
"What? No! this is only the fifth day." Starkey said, defending his lord and master. "Look, if you do it too often, it would lose the suspense and become too predictable, yeah? I wouldn't even be that tense waiting to get hit, or poisoned. Of course not. Others might make that mistake, but Tom is definitely not someone who would. He's a real connoisseur at this, an artist."
"When's the last one before this one?" She asked.
He shrugged carelessly. "Can't quite remember. Pretty sure it was last year."
"It was sometime around Easter." Pendleton spoke up, breaking his silence. He picked up two baskets from the ground before he walked over to them.
"What are those?"
"Herbs. Potion ingredients. We had been gathering them for Slughorn." It was Starkey who answered. "If we didn't have a good reason to be here, I would've gotten suspicious, right? That's why I'm telling you that Tom's really good at this. I've never expected any of his attacks."
She ignored the wonder in his tone, and the self-satisfied smirk she was sure Tom had, somewhere to her side. The four of them had started to walk back out of the forest by some non-verbal agreement. The stars that were beginning to appear were certainly the most obvious reason, and the night that was starting to fall. Tom steadied her arm when she stumbled over a fallen branch she hadn't seen.
"This might sound obvious to you, but I really had to ask. Why didn't Tom just report you in, Starkey, when he finally found out what's happening and who was the culprit? Get you to serve weeks and weeks' worth of detention?"
Starkey laughed uproariously, probably scaring more than one bird or small creatures nearby. He clearly found her question hilarious, at least until Pendleton nudged him.
"Sorry. It's just… report me? Are you serious?"
"Hermione wouldn't ask you the question if she wasn't, would she?" Tom clarified for her.
Starkey cleared his throat in embarrassment and stood straighter and met Hermione's gaze head on. "Oh, um, right. I should've noticed that. Well, what proof did he have? That he'd seen me do it? That's just blind accusation, innit? I could protest. Could be, he's got his back up at me and wanted to drag me down. Could be, people who don't like me had been feeding 'im lines. I can even get more Slytherins to pile on him for being a snitch. No." He shook his head.
"There's no good evidence. Why'd I agree to his accusations, anyway?" He looked back over his shoulder at her curiously, clearly not understanding why he even had to incriminate himself in the first place. "The weak bark their protests at the strong all the time. You ignore the yapping of the lily-livered. Only useless noise, that. Now, if someone's strong, they just prove it. No complaints or pullin' the teachers into it or anything."
"Took you to heel properly, didn't I?" Tom idly said.
That earned a bark of surprised laughter from Starkey. Hermione was startled to find that he was genuinely amused.
"Ha! Yes, I supposed you did."
To think that the best way to get Starkey to back off was to strike back against him and show him who was more powerful—that there was no use in trying to report him at all. He would just duck out from it, perhaps even laugh at Tom for even trying in the first place. It was a worldview that was alien not only to younger Hermione who always had an outsized respect for authority, but also to her older self. She certainly didn't think that the rule of the jungle was ever a good way to run society.
But hadn't she made a similar observation before? That Tom probably saw the world through a Hobbesian perspective of it being nasty, brutish and short? Why should she be surprised that the Slytherins had only reinforced that viewpoint for him when it turned out that they (at least a good chunk of them) also hold the same rules? That respect is given primarily due to power, either magical or societal, such as coming from an old pureblood family?
Without it, one was close to nothing.
Tom had no family to speak of, not until he could prove his Slytherin heritage. Before that, what he could do, was to rely on his personal ability and power. Magic. His magic, to be precise.
Was it a surprise he ended up turning towards the dark arts? It promised him the largest amount of power for the least effort, and the quickest too. It took no time for him to end up being the biggest thug in wizarding Britain, didn't it?
This wasn't something she could change with just a conversation or several. This was an entire culture. It might take a generation to shift, or three.
(She vaguely remembered that it wasn't that bad in her time—or was that merely selective blindness because she wasn't in Slytherin and knew no one in there during her Hogwarts days?)
She wondered if she'd ever thought of asking Daphne or Draco about it, or if she was still too blind, too naïve later on.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. At the same time, she could feel Tom pulling her away to the side. What was—oh. She almost missed a half-rotted log, hidden as it was under leaves and ferns. She ignored Tom's glance when he heard her muttering incomprehensible half-formed words under her breath, still content to think through this on her own. She simply walked closer to him—if he wanted to be her guide, she might as well benefit from it.
He shook his head and made a comment about absent-minded geniuses. Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't say anything. She still had things to mull over.
Alright. So, Tom's assault on Starkey was just… something that came and went. Considering the scarcity of the event, it's certainly an unusual occasion. Whether Tom realised it or not, this irregular foray into violence might even be somehow connected to his odd behaviour during class today. Otherwise, why choose today, of all days? Especially when so far, he seemed to be very precise in counting out the days of vengeance that he had left? It was another mystery on top of the previous mystery that she needed to dig under.
"Why're you here, Pendleton, if it had nothing to do with you?" Hermione spoke again. "Just gathering herbs?"
"I'm the spotter. I make sure none of the damage were too far, and nothing affects mobility—a sprained ankle, for example. I heal those, and left the liveable bruises in." He replied, as if it was completely normal to watch his friend get beaten and not do anything about it.
They're all nuts. For the first time since she was stuck here, Hermione regretted being underage.
I need a freaking drink before I can even think about untangling this.
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End Notes:
I did put the tag that there's a psychopathic/sociopathic character in the story, didn't I? What, you thought I was kidding?
What the popular culture considered to be on the sociopathic spectrum (say, the version of Sherlock Holmes in BBC Sherlock) is technically what psychiatrists label to be on the psychopathic spectrum. The definition of the technical term of sociopath, on the other hand, is pretty much the unredeemable people who are violent with poor impulse control and low empathy, and yet this is what most people have in mind when they hear the word psychopath.
If you don't believe me, check out DSM-IV or DSM 5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). Yeah, pop culture has it the other way around, doesn't it? Of course, I'm not closing myself to the possibility that the clinical definition is going to be switched in the future to follow the popular understanding.
I mention this to clarify it for most people who might be confused as well as the rare pedants reading. As much as I actually use the popular term to avoid misunderstandings most of the time, I'd be sticking to the DSM term here. This is because I'm writing from Hermione's perspective, and there's no doubt that she does know the proper terms to use and would remember to use it.
Regardless of whether Tom Riddle has the empathic capability of a teaspoon, it's clear that he still has good impulse control. His psychopathy here is not that pathological.
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List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:
Thomas Hobbes: One of the modern founders of political theory. Best known for his 1651 book, Leviathan, 'nasty, brutish and short' is the way he describes the sort of anarchy mankind would devolve into if they didn't manage to band together and create a government. Government, he explains, is necessary to sustain order, commerce, culture and civilisation. Considering that he wrote it while the English Civil War was raging, he had actual experience with the chaos it generates to have personal vendetta against it.
The full famous quote, for anyone too lazy to look it up on the internet, is as such:
"In such condition, there is no place for industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving, and removing, such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."
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Additional Notes:
Torquil Travers (OC): Seventh-year Slytherin, a pureblood whose family is a member of the Sacred 28. He might not exactly say that he believes in blood purity, but he does think that society is better if people know where they come from and adjusts their ambitions accordingly. He's sharp-tongued and his observations tend to be on the unkind side of blunt, but never let it be said that he wasn't realistic about his own marriage prospects or anyone else's. His name is the Anglicised version of the Scottish name Torcuil, which is in itself derived from Þórketill, "Thor's cauldron".
In canon 'Travers' was a murderer of Marlene McKinnon and her family, and this resulted in him being sent to Azkaban, but that Travers has no first name. It could either be him or his son.
Francis Flint (OC): Slytherin seventh-year and captain of the Slytherin quidditch team. He is also the heir of the Flint family and his family is a member of the Sacred 28. Forefather to the Flint in the canon HP period. Where Orion is more-or-less the head of the lower-years' largest and most noticeable group, Tom is the head of the middle upper-years' largest and most noticeable group, Francis Flint is the head of the oldest social tribe of them all. Well-connected, exuberant/extremely extroverted and highly influential.
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