Author's Note:
Thank you for the reviews and sorry if I didn't manage to reply to all of them (yet) at this point. Got struck down by gastroenteritis in the middle of last week, and that was definitely not fun, especially when I have to go to work at what felt like 60% power even after the worst was over.
'-
48 Disturbances
Supper. In which Hermione overhears things again. This time, she's inspired with a Plan. Days turn. Friday Defence Class—in which Hermione corners some Slytherins for some answers. Unpleasant answers.
'-
Hermione did manage to meet up with Julia and the rest of her study group that afternoon.
"Hermione!"
"Sorry I'm late."
"Oh, it's fine. Come on, pull a seat—move out and make space, Thompson." The sixth-year grinned ear-to-ear when she saw her, waving away Hermione's apologies.
Going through the basics of the Patronus Charm didn't take long. As with almost all spells, after the initial part of getting the pronunciation and movement right, it all came down to practice. Sure, it was harder than most other spells since there's the vague 'find a happy memory' requirement, but Hermione wasn't sure if she could help anyone with that.
After that, supper rolled around.
If Hermione hoped that things would be better after the unpleasantness the day begin with, along with the simmering tension the Daily Prophet article caused, it was soon dashed when she saw that Fudge had returned yet again to Hogwarts to dine this evening.
"I thought he'd gone back to London!" Hermione hissed to her left, keeping her voice low.
"He did." Lakshmi answered dryly. "He came back right before dinner began."
"What did I miss?" The brunette asked.
She, along with Julia and the rest of the sixth-year's study group, had arrived late to dinner.
"Oh, the usual. A short speech extolling the virtues of the next generation of leaders that Hogwarts is educating. His appreciation for everyone's support of their exemplary Head Boy and informing us when the award ceremony for Abbott's heroism is going to be." Lakshmi replied in deadpan. Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes.
"Laying it on a bit thick, isn't he?"
She shrugged, the fragrant scent of jasmine wafting in Hermione's way as her friend did that. "Well, you know what they say about lies and repetition."
"Say it often enough and people will begin to accept it as the truth," Hermione said grimly. The dark-haired witch nodded.
"I suppose it's as good a plan as any."
"Not on my watch." Her reply was nowhere near friendly.
A quick glance around the hall pulled her attention towards one end of the Gryffindor table, where there was a ruckus. Ceres was pulling Bernadotte back, and a few others were keeping him and the Gryffindor Montmorency back. Evariste was planting himself squarely in the middle and trying to get both of them to back off. She might not be able to hear what was said, but everyone's expressions were rather tense.
So much for having a running start on the search this week.
"Merlin's beard, what the hell happened? Eugenie?"
"I think Maximilien is saying something about taking things slowly and not just trusting any random muggles out there for the, um, holiday plans. Philippe was saying that family is different. That was the last thing I heard when I was passing their table." The blonde said this with a worried expression.
Lakshmi laughed at that, her voice too knowing.
"Oh, joy. He doesn't realise that both Philippe and Ceres have muggle family members they don't cut off ties with or ignore, does he?"
Eugenie bit her lip. Hermione shook her head with a sigh.
"I guess he just did."
Not far away from them, she could see that Auguste was distracted by the fracas that his countrymen were involved in. She saw him pull himself back towards his food after jerking back, almost leaving, before changing his mind again. It must've been hard to be in a different House from most people you know from home, she thought with sympathy. The French wizard was not as talkative as usual, only offering his opinion when asked, once or twice. Most of the time, he drifted into being a mere bystander in the conversation at the table, his brows furrowed.
She almost chuckled when she saw the number of witches who couldn't help staring at him when he looked so thoughtful and brooding. She was just thankful that she wasn't that much at the mercy of her hormones this time around through puberty. Her good humour did not last, though.
Hermione had to admit that it was not easy for her to just focus on her dinner either—he wasn't the only one distracted and not quite focused on the Ravenclaws around him. The French Gryffindors weren't the only source of tension. She wasn't even surprised to hear Eugenie's warning tone at some of the younger years—she couldn't catch the sentences, as she didn't focus on it at all and simply let the sounds wash over her. However, it hadn't been too hard to make out 'muggles' and 'muggleborn' somewhere.
A part of her was curious to see how Tom was doing, even if she doubted she could read him well (or at all) if he'd donned his other persona once more like a well-fitted glove. There was a darker undercurrent in his expression when he tanned Starkey's hide, something she didn't think she'd seen that…
…hadn't she? What about that time when he visited the infirmary after she fell down the stairs? She had seen that potential for violence in him surfacing before.
She raised her head in the direction of Tom, only to be blocked by the masses of Hufflepuffs. She harrumphed in annoyance at herself. What had she expected? Half-empty tables? It was the middle of dinner. Hermione shook her head and said that it was nothing when Lakshmi out of all people asked her if she was fine. Her dormmate seemed more weirded out than concerned, but it was still something. The brunette made do with eating as quickly as she can without coming across as a glutton. The faster she could finish and get out of there, the faster she could do something and not feel as restless.
(And useless. She hated feeling useless the most).
Conversations drifted in from the Ravenclaws around her throughout the course of her meal.
"Should we really let muggleborns into Hogwarts?"
"Graham!"
"Look, it's great for them to be able to learn magic. I have no hard feelings on that front. It's just, um, don't you think that it's not safe for us? Can't exactly tell which of 'em would want to kill you and which of 'em are alright. It's not like they can't live without magic—they grew up without magic!"
"Yes. Easier to just not let any of them in, isn't that right?"
"Oh, not you too, Herb."
That was a group of sixth or seventh-year Ravenclaws. Hermione rubbed her temples. She could imagine that the conversation in Slytherin would've been a lot less polite and more obvious with the prejudice. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity, but she really wanted to listen to what else they were saying. Fortunately for her, one was shrill enough to be heard clearly from her position. The voice was refined, but with a rather jarring undertone of a nag.
"We have the responsibility to the lower orders to teach them about what sort of behaviour is proper and what is not." Hermione couldn't really describe why the tone was annoying to hear, but it was. "Otherwise, how would the muggleborns understand what being a witch, or a wizard, is about? If we don't teach them, they'll think dragging all things muggle into the wizarding world is alright!"
"You're right Stephanie," another witch said.
Stephanie snorted. "There is no question that I am. Now, I think all muggleborns should take mandatory Wizarding Culture classes for several years. If they don't pass all of them, they can't graduate Hogwarts. We have to ensure they are all good citizens before they enter wizarding world who respects magic and our long history."
"But there isn't such a class." A puzzled voice noted.
"Not yet, but there should be one. In fact, I'll write about it to my father right away after this, and I suggest that you do too."
A chorus of 'of course Stephanie' and 'certainly' followed.
The brunette witch couldn't believe she could identify Stephanie Selwyn, seventh-year by her voice now, but really, her pitch and tone was just too distinct (and wince-inducing at times). The pureblood's opinions also never lost the ability to annoy her.
"Everything's going to hell in a handbasket," Hermione cursed.
"Oh, that's been happening since after lunch," Eugenie replied blandly. It made the brunette turned to her, as there was just something odd about the blonde prefect not being nice.
"One of these days, I'm going to tie up a dozen second or third-years in a line with one rope and float them all up to their respective Heads of Houses." The prefect continued. "You don't know how many arguments I had to break up in the corridors today, with either shouts or shoving."
"Maybe you should do exactly that tomorrow," Lakshmi commented. She didn't seem fazed at the surprised looks her friends sent her.
"What? There's no need to look at me like that—it would lighten your work load, wouldn't it? Sometimes, the fastest way to show that you're serious is to demonstrate exactly where the limit of your patience is. Put the fear of you into them, Eugenie. I know you can be scary if you want—"
Lakshmi turned to Hermione's curious look and explained.
"I've seen her rip into Starkey on the train last year, when he was telling the first-years of how they have to fight the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest to be admitted as a real Hogwarts student. There was even a kid that was so pale he was determined to book a train ticket directly back the moment he arrived."
That got a snort out of the blonde and she forgot her nervousness.
"Melusine, yes, he'd been such a pain in the backside. I swear he brings out the worst in me."
"Well, Starkey is a bit of an idiot that way, never mind how good he is at Potions or Astronomy."
Hermione couldn't help but continue to restlessly glance around as her friends conversed, seeing more and more disagreements and tension the more she looked.
Stephanie Selwyn is still speaking on and on and on to her friends—or is it minions? She couldn't help a smile from quirking the corners of her lips. Even if they're not half as zealous as Tom's? Hermione found that she had found more things amusing now than they would have been when she was younger (and took everything too seriously).
"Stephanie has a good idea. I think I'm going to talk to her," Hermione declared out loud.
Eugenie gaped at her, opening and closing her mouth at least twice in the manner of someone who clearly had too many things in her mind and yet couldn't find the exact words to say. Lakshmi was staring at her as if she suddenly had three heads.
"You can't mean that," Lakshmi began.
"Well, the muggleborns should have a wizarding culture class. It helps with the culture shock." Hermione started. On the other hand, not that many things had helped with her time shock, but she didn't think it was a common affliction anyway.
"You want them to learn from Stephanie 'don't touch my robes, you plebeian' Selwyn? What would they learn? The right way for muggleborns kiss her feet properly?" Lakshmi asked. Julia guffawed from across the table, because Lakshmi's voice had a way of cutting through other chatter when she wanted to. Lucretia gazed at Lakshmi questioningly and the other witch raised her shoulders.
"You know as well as I do that the Selwyns are almost as old as the Blacks. If their main line actually had a son, there's good odds that he'd end up as your husband," Lakshmi pointed out.
Lucretia was mulling over something, seemingly lost in her mind for a few moments.
"Hmm, you may be right. There had been no Selwyn that married into the Black family within the last five generations."
Julia shook her head, Hermione caught her muttered, "I can't believe you actually remember that."
"Do you think she'd actually get her hands dirty and actually write a lesson plan herself, or even the outline of the curriculum?" Hermione asked Lakshmi. "Can you imagine any of Hogwarts' current professors letting anything too outrageous pass?"
Lucretia nodded, while Lakshmi still looked incredulous.
"You have a point, Hermione." The Black heiress said.
"Thanks. Now, let's see how much sense she has." Hermione stood up and made her way to Selwyn's part of the Ravenclaw table. She had finished dinner, anyway.
She didn't mind the gasped 'Hermione!' said by some of her friends, already moving before any of them could even stop her or realise what she was up to. She ignored the curious eyes following her and as she focused on one particular shade of honey-brown hair, there were more people who started watching while wondering what she was about to do.
"Miss Selwyn," Hermione greeted her with utmost formality.
Stephanie was eyeing her oddly, but not with distaste yet. Perhaps Hermione had unsettled her that much. If so, she might as well press her advantage while she had it.
"Miss Curie." Selwyn nodded in reply.
"I can't help but overhear what you were talking about with your friends. I happen to agree with you."
There were murmurs of disbelief and one 'you agree with her?'
"You agree with me?" She asked, warily.
"Oh, yes, I do," Hermione nodded firmly. "I do think that Hogwarts should have a class that introduces the wizarding world to its muggleborn students, and perhaps it should also be open to others if they're curious to know more about wizarding culture and tradition. Anything is better than the utter nothing that we have right now, leaving the muggleborns to sink or swim as they're forced to adapt without any clue whatsoever."
There were many things she'd like to say, but it was best not to push too much on their first meeting. After all, she still had the tendency to ramble.
"If you're seriously considering of how to plan such class or to create a plan to contact the Hogwarts' Board of Governors about it, I'm always willing to assist. I'm sure you will have no problem contacting me if you find it necessary. Good evening, Miss Selwyn."
"Very well. Good evening, Miss Curie."
With a firm nod, Hermione was soon on her way out of the hall, ignoring the flabbergasted looks of Stephanie Selwyn's minions—ahem—friends.
It might be cheating a little, but Hermione did the spell to augment her hearing just as she walked away.
"I can't believe she did that!"
"Maybe she was just joking?"
"No, I don't think so. She is intelligent and industrious and is interested in the wider goings-on in the wizarding world—I hear it from Julia, you know. Everyone knows what her class load is, right? And yet she doesn't even blink about managing the Society's meeting."
"What's this Society that you're talking about?" That was Stephanie's voice.
"Oh, the usual ambitious pureblood gathering, I hear. It's not hard to describe. But more importantly, I've just never thought…"
"Never thought…?"
"That Curie actually has respect for tradition."
Hermione smiled as she walked away. What about this, Draco, Daphne? I didn't do too bad, did I? She did not miss another sentence of Stephanie's either. It was not an absolute success, but it was an opportunity, and she could work with opportunities.
"I see that Lucretia has certainly seen more of her character than I can. Possibly, she might have even enlightened Curie further about the way the wizarding world works. Perhaps she can be an appropriate wife to a halfblood wizard, after all."
Regardless of whether Hermione herself even wanted that in the first place, that Stephanie Selwyn had begun to see her favourably could certainly be useful (no matter how weird or alien the perspective might be to herself). For all of the Selwyn heiress' snobbishness, Hermione had heard enough to notice that she'd never thought that muggleborns should be pushed out of the wizarding world at all, or that they have no place here.
As negative sentiment rose against muggles and muggleborns, her unchanging position on it marked Stephanie as a possible ally, or at the very least someone she could work with. So, Hermione moved. It was a very reasonable decision, she thought.
The devil is in the details, as Draco would say. For a moment she had a flash of images after a diplomatic party, where she and Draco sat down for coffee as he challenged her to describe the people she'd met, their identities, as well as what their political positions are based on conversations, whether it was the one she had, the ones she'd listened to in passing, or the ones based on the more verifiable rumours. He'd point out where she got things wrong and why, and she had a feeling that they'd start all over again in the next meet-and-greet she had to go to.
(She tried to ignore the gut feeling she had that Draco might not be among the living, whenever it was that she left the future. Even if she had no memory anywhere close to that time).
Who cares that Stephanie thought Hermione was not good enough to marry into the oldest of the families? That Stephanie thought muggleborns should know their place and defer to the purebloods? Hermione certainly didn't.
She'd long stopped caring about what other people think—what matters is what they do and what she could do about it. Luna would be proud with how comfortable she was with her own skin now. Hermione felt her throat tighten with a momentary pang of sadness at the thought of her blonde Ravenclaw friend and fellow Unspeakable. She shook it away quickly.
(Wonder what Luna would've made of me entering her House?)
Hermione still didn't think that she was good at politics, not to the level of smoothness she'd seen Draco, and now Tom, operate. She wondered whether it was a Slytherin thing. She dismissed it just as quickly because their house had Crabbe and Goyle, not to mention the Three Stooges who'd confronted her to 'stay away from Tom' and ended up pushing her down a flight of stairs without thinking of the consequences, the idiots. But she had an eye for details, and a prodigious memory. It was all about paying attention to the right things and keeping them in mind at important times.
It was undoubtedly hard work compared to being able to instinctively charm people with a natural charisma like Tom, to be naturally likeable. Then again, Hermione was no stranger to hard work. She had decided to stay here after all, to drag the wizarding world kicking and screaming to the twenty-first century. In for a penny, in for a pound.
'-
It surprised Hermione how quickly she adjusted to the rhythm of life in this strange version of Hogwarts.
Alright, she had to pay a touch more attention to grooming than she used to, but it was a minor hassle she could do half-awake in the morning. Everyone is almost always well turned out; how the hell Selwyn could stand curling all her hair every damn morning, I have no idea. The heiress might have one of the most carefully-tended coiffure, but she certainly wasn't the only one. Emma Eccleston always looked like she stepped out of one of those 1950s ads that portrayed the archetype of the Hyper-Efficient Secretary, albeit the wizarding version. Let's not even start on Eugenie and Lakshmi. Eugenie, she understood, it was probably her Veela heritage taking every advantage she had and dialling it up to eleven, but for Lakshmi she had far less explanation of how she exudes sensuality with every step. If she ever tried her hand at being an exotic dancer, she could probably rank up there with Mata Hari and Josephine Baker. Lucretia Black could easily pass as an ethereally elegant vampire with her traditionally long and straight black hair.
At that point, kicking up her grooming routine a notch was a matter of self-preservation even if she only wanted to look okay. She might not be beautiful, but she didn't want to look that dowdy either when she was most often in the company of witches that could distract wizards to crash into things on a daily basis.
Yet other than that, everything was the same. The stairs still moved, the corridors less so. People memorise at least two routes to go to any particular class or location by necessity. The old stones and tapestries smelled of home to her now, and that hadn't changed.
Hermione saw Selwyn at breakfast—she was heading out while Stephanie had just arrived. She gave a formal 'good morning'. Selwyn returned it perfectly, even if there was an obvious touch of wariness in her eyes, and they continued on their own business like two ships passing each other in the night.
Wake up, go to classes, have lunch, have more classes, and return to dorm. Get a Restricted Section Pass from your very nice and trusting Head of House and binge read to your heart's contents the books you know you can't find anywhere else—she'd know, she'd tried that in the future.
Hermione had had cursed more than once the idiots who'd thought it was a good idea to use fire spells in the freaking library (not that she could recall precise memories of the event the memory referred to). It was a knowledge backed by memories as well as a gut feeling that she had with books—she always knew whether she'd read them or not, even if it was only a few pages. With the knowledge she had that Hogwarts' library does have connections to the Occult Bodleian, she could even start requesting books she knew the Oxford library had. Hermione can easily lose weeks holing up in the library afterwards.
She held back the urge to do so and merely focused on what she wanted to present in front of the Herbology class tomorrow. Hello, new day. Move.
Rinse, repeat.
After lunch, she was sitting in the Ancient Runes class with Rajesh Setalvad and debating over the runes he'd chosen for his wards. She even unexpectedly had Verrault drift in her direction and argue about some of her choice runes and phrasings (she was getting exasperated at his hovering that she'd snapped 'oh for God's sakes, just grab a chair and sit down, Verrault'). They were getting pretty loud that she'd managed to pique Camellia Lee's curiosity that she took the time to walk out of her circle of Hufflepuffs clamouring for her assistance to take a look, listen to their arguments and join in.
Camellia's gaggle of Hufflepuffs belatedly followed behind her when it seemed that she wasn't moving anywhere else any time soon.
Hermione had only realised much later why it all felt so normal.
She was once more only focused on studying for class with people she was sure she can call friends or at least friendly classmates, and there was no looming sense of wariness. What had she been doing that made those sensations bizarrely normal so far? Oh, right. Watching Tom Riddle. Tom, I-bet-your-shadow-is-jealous-of-how-close-I-am, Riddle.
He hadn't even tried to talk to her for long periods yesterday and they shared Ancient Runes too.
This was how she realised he hadn't even tried walking to class with her today. At all. It was how she ended meeting the two Gryffindor fifth-years by accident and sitting with them. She should've remembered that the only times Verrault felt comfortable approaching her was when Tom was not nearby.
"Curie?"
Curious grey eyes met hers- Rajesh had a crease on his forehead. She shook her head.
"Oh, sorry. My mind wandered. It's alright. What were you saying about the north part, again?"
Her gaze swept across the room as he begun explaining again. She found Tom easily, heads bent over a parchment, the pale head next to his easily identified as Pendleton's. It's not as if she wanted him to always stick to her, but something about the last few days did not sit right with her.
It was a good thing that the next class was ADADA. She could corner a few of his minions and find out what was up.
'-
"But we've duelled before, Hermione," Gallus Rosier stated.
She didn't miss the way his eyes darted to his surroundings, the preparations of a man looking for an escape. His wand arm was positively twitchy. Her lips quirked at the left corner.
"This is Defence class. We'd have duelling practice all year round. Is it strange if I choose to fight you again? You'd need the practice, right?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"And I'm one of the better opponents you've faced?"
He could do nothing else but nod with apprehension.
"Then facing me is a good way to get better, isn't it?"
His sigh was the long and dramatic.
"Oh, come on. It's not going to be that bad. "
"If you say so," he said under his breath, moving with the desultory finality of a condemned man.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Maybe Slytherins weren't chosen for cunning as much as their dramatics. But if she was casting aspersions that way, a lot of Gryffindors were just as guilty. Harry was certainly a champion brooder if he put his mind to it. (But didn't he say he was almost placed in Slytherin too? Huh, there might something to this). They paced to the required distance, bowed, and started slinging hexes.
The third spell Hermione cast was Oleumenti and with the widening pool of oil over the wooden floor, it was only a matter of time before Gallus lost his footing. He had the quick wit to copy what she did, but she transfigured the oil around her to soil in the next second and didn't lose her tempo the slightest. Gallus didn't last long afterwards, rapidly raised shield spells or not. She walked over to his side.
"Yield! I yield!"
"Of course," she said, offering a hand to help him up. "Want to try for two out of three?"
"Um." He froze with a distinct deer-in-the-headlights expression. It was as if all the muscles in his body had tensed up. It was a contrasting difference compared to Harry's obsession with honing his edge. She couldn't help but laugh at that.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Sheesh, no need to be that tense."
"You're not the one who'd just got flattened," he muttered.
"I just thought about talking for a while."
"Really?" Hermione was sure she detected sarcasm in his disbelief, not that his face showed it when she turned to him suspiciously.
"What's up with Tom?"
"I thought you know more about all his projects than I do?" Gallus' expression was odd. "I'm certainly not in the Society thing. I'm sure it's way over my head. You're better off asking Melchior or Abraxas."
"It's not that. It's just…"
For all intents and purposes, Tom seemed to have gotten through his classes just fine. He had breakfast with the Knights, had ended up having lunch with the upper-years yet again in the last few days, but he didn't exactly go out of his way to find her.
The witch shrugged helplessly, annoyed at being unable to find the exact words she wanted.
"Distracted. Tom's being distracted." She finally settled.
"I thought your job was to distract him with your charms," Gallus commented, raising both hands in surrender when Hermione looked nonplussed. "Look, you're both already dancing around each other with all your discussions and arguments. Not that I know everything you talk about, but it's clear that you're, err, going to be in each other's life for a while? So, you have his attention the same way he has yours, and it's not strange to see Tom spend less time on studying and planning to find time with you."
"Nice save," her voice was dry. "But that's it. There's something else. We didn't exactly talk much recently."
He shrugged helplessly. "If you don't know, then I certainly know less. Maybe it's Society stuff? Others? Look, there's Melchior and Abraxas! You can ask them!"
The thin Slytherin had already dashed off before she could reply. Sure enough, she could identify Melchior from his smooth steps and Abraxas by his easy strides. Melchior quickened his speed the moment he saw her, seemingly with a greater need to meet than she did.
"Hermione! It's good to see you." He greeted.
"Uh, it's good to see you too?"
"I know you've got your own homework and things to do, but I'd really appreciate it if you can write a basic report explaining why we don't need a bureaucratic reform in the middle of a war." Melchior suddenly said. His eyes were bright and his black hair stuck out a little on his left side—she guessed that he'd been running his hand through it.
"Let me guess, this is back to the Minister's efforts to put a general civil service examination in place?"
"And several others. We'd be so lucky if it was just one. Mordred spoke to me about it, said that it doesn't need to be that polished yet, since some Ministry clerk is certainly going to rewrite it into the final version. Also, I have a scroll right here," he pulled one out of his robes and handed it to her, "that explains all the stuff that's been pushed around back and forth in the Wizengamot. See if you can find some newer, more incisive arguments against them other than the ones scribbled in."
"I'll see what I can do. Ask me about it again next week." She said, making no promises. The relieved expression on Melchior's face was noticeable.
"Thank you."
Hermione hoped she had enough memories of the Ministry to make her work more accurate. Then again, she had no idea how similar the Ministry fifty years from now would be.
"I think it would be easier if we could actually meet his muggleborn aides and knock some sense into them," Abraxas said from his left.
"That one's still an ongoing process." His friend jabbed back. "In the meantime, we go through all the other channels first."
"I thought this was something brought to the Wizengamot instead of something that was already about to be enacted in the Ministry and has to be stopped bureaucratically?" She asked curiously. It was Abraxas who answered.
"Well, yes. But that annoying work is going to fall to our fathers'. We get the more boring task of getting together with the Policy Swots and do the drudge work. I hate drudge work. I don't need to learn about all these regulations. Isn't that what secretaries and assistants for? All purebloods always have secretaries when they enter the Ministry. It's tradition!" The blond ranted at the end.
"I never thought you knew that much about licenses required for floo addresses." Melchior said.
Abraxas merely looked tired. "Father forced me to set up the connections to several of the country homes. You wouldn't believe how many forms you need to go through to set up more than one calling address to a house for different chimneys."
"You mean, you're both working with the Wizarding Society for Better Governance, now?" She asked.
All three wizards turned to her. Abraxas was the one who shook his head.
"Hermione, you're probably the only person who remembered that tedious name. We just call the group the Policy Swots."
"Right," Hermione drawled. "As long as you realised that you're also calling yourself that."
Abraxas huffed. "We're not, we're just helping them."
Gallus broke into laughter as he realised what Hermione meant. "Oh yes, you are. Hermione's right. You're both Policy Swots right now."
"We're bloody well not! We're the Knights." The blond shot back. Gallus only shook his head, glancing at the taller wizard with a knowing grin.
"Do you really think what you're doing could be done by next week? That's it? Do you really think that you can walk away from them by then, or would you still be neck deep in this Ministry mess for weeks and maybe all the way up to Christmas?" the leaner, smaller wizard asked his two peers. "Please. If Tom placed you there for exactly this problem, that means you are being told to join and mingle. You're both Policy Swots right now as well as Knights."
Melchior was the one who realised it first as he stared at his blond friend in horror. The same realisation was dawning in Abraxas' face.
"Oh bugger." Abraxas muttered.
"Language," Melchior warned him.
"I thought I was going to work less with Tom, not more! I didn't sign up for this!" He complained. Not even his handsome looks were going to make Hermione sympathise with his whining. She only rolled her eyes.
She knew it would never cross his mind to say it in front of Tom. He was just letting out steam.
There was something ironic about Abraxas joining a rising dark lord with the prospect of coasting through life, only to get buried neck deep with work. It must've been galling for someone who'd probably never needed to lift a finger for anything in his life before.
Schadenfreude. Hermione laughed. It was so free that soon Gallus' sniggers turned into laughter too. The Ravenclaw ignored the put-upon expression of the heirs of the Malfoy and Nott families.
"Come on, it's not that bad. You're all working harder now so you can relax later on in life. Get through the hard parts, first, you know?" She said, when she finally came to.
Abraxas was still grumpy and sulking a little at that. Melchior had the weirdly-relaxed-but-annoyed expression of someone who was glad that the other shoe had dropped, and yet didn't much enjoy said consequences.
"I knew it couldn't be that simple. 'Just help the Ministry kids', he said. 'It's only for this issue' he said. Seems like we're both dragooned into this for the long haul." He muttered.
"Anyway, does either of you know what Tom was up to recently?" Gallus asked before Melchior started his own rant to rival Abraxas'.
The confused looks they exchanged each other and the blank ones that met hers told her the answer. Hermione sighed. Alright, it was a good idea to delegate as much as you possibly can, and then compartmentalise tasks and information on a need-to-know basis in an organisation. It was doubly true for a questionable organisation whose roots clearly lay in applying dark arts to intractable, people-shaped problems, preferably through violent means. Yet it didn't mean she had to be happy to be stumped by it.
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Right. All of you can keep practicing while I try to find Pendleton or Starkey."
'-
Hermione should've known that something was up when Starkey hadn't found her the moment the duelling session started and challenged her.
Starkey was one of those people you can't keep down for long; he had more energy in him most of the time than a squirrel hopped on caffeine while mainlining meth. The first Defence class that he attended again after his reprimand hadn't had a practical component, to his chagrin. He swore to her that they'd have their day, and she had amusedly agreed to him. The next had her taking Arithmancy instead, making him miss her. Today should've been the day he ran over anyone in the way and asked for a duel.
She'd walked around, ending up at the other end of the class from the blackboard. A section had a rather large bubble of Protego Maxima. Sections of the floor were on fire (why are they on fire?), while she was sure that the thrown desks and chairs that suddenly turned into stabbing rain of pointy sticks was a bit of an overkill.
That was until she saw Tom had no trouble repelling them with his version of Protego Maxima, before starting the flame whip again to cut through the next barrage of improvised projectiles. A wide splash of water was met with a snap of a freezing spell while he ducked a simultaneous hex of dark red.
Wait, two attacks at once?
Hermione finally realised that the duel was two versus one. Pendleton and Starkey against Tom. They made a good team. Pendleton calculated ahead and had a strong grounding in the basics; he could keep up the pressure easily while behind him, Starkey can keep building up his preferred flashier and higher-damage spells to gamble for a great hit.
That was until Tom sent what looked like splashes of water—before it turned out to be not. She recognised that he'd included Oleumenti to his combat spells from observing her. The next fireball he sent might have been shielded perfectly by both wizards, and even sent back. Several more spells were exchanged, with Tom always on the move. Yet what most didn't realise, it only took an ember or two to have fallen from the fireball to light the oil on the floor. At one point, an errant flame started a conflagration towards them before they knew it, setting parts of their clothes on fire.
Starkey yelped. Pendleton had a cool enough head to surrender then even as he tried out several spells to put the fire out.
"I yield."
"Shit. Bugger. F—"
"Ves." Pendleton called out.
"Oh, fine! I yield." Starkey snapped, completely ungraceful in defeat.
"I accept." Tom said it with a level voice, as if his left trouser leg wasn't burnt, or his robes marked and torn with the slashes of passing hexes with blood seeping through some of them.
He casually cast another spell, a sandy wind blew in the direction of spluttering Starkey, but all fires were soon smothered down. Even if it did leave the two wizards as if they'd just walked back from the Sahara.
No wonder Hermione didn't see Professor Merrythought before; she was watching this fight.
"Two versus one?" She asked the professor.
"It was a good idea. The boys didn't want to be held back on their spells as well, so the shield has to be put up."
Hermione didn't correct her teacher's perspective on the spells. She was sure that Tom was still holding back his repertoire of spells, as did Starkey and Pendleton. As the fighting wizards walked or dragged their feet towards them—and in Starkey's case, dragged his left tentacle instead of leg—she saw that the damage they inflicted on each other wasn't small. She ran through her diagnostic spells on instinct, on the three of them. Professor Merrythought congratulated them all on the good fight and did a good work with Episkey.
Tom's eyes had been unerringly following hers the moment he finished—they were darker than she was used to seeing with nary a hint of blue in sight. If she hadn't been so used to casting healing spells that she could do it half asleep, she suspected she would've faltered out of performance anxiety. His gaze had been that intense.
"Professor Merrythought?" Tom suddenly spoke up, his eyes still locked with hers.
"Yes?"
"I think I'd like to rest at the infirmary for a while. I feel slightly more drained than usual."
Galatea Merrythought huffed. "I did remind you not to go overboard, young man. What did you think would happen after three straight fights against more than one opponent?"
He glanced at the teacher and shook his head, "the first was barely one minute."
"Due to your foe's carelessness, yes," Merrythought's voice carried a tone of disapproval—certainly not at Tom, probably directed at whoever he'd been fighting with. "But you expended not a little effort for that fight, and the rest only become harder from that point on."
"I miscalculated, yes, I admit it. Still, if you wouldn't mind…" his tone was slightly sheepish.
"Oh, alright. Yes, you can go to the infirmary for fatigue. Just this once, do you hear me?"
"Certainly, Professor. I'll keep that in mind."
He could sound contrite a lot better than Hermione could, or Harry, for that matter. Yet when his gaze found hers so quickly told her that whatever the reason he wished to withdraw from class, it wasn't fatigue, but it wasn't something he'd share in public. Soon, with a polite nod, he took his leave.
Hermione was shaking her head. It couldn't have been his wounds either. He trusted her to be able to heal anything, and to know when to refer to a better healer if she couldn't.
Just now, he didn't even wait for her to go beyond a mere Episkey.
She shook her head. It would be too fishy if she went out just now. Two or maybe three more duels, she thought to herself. That's it. After that, find an excuse to leave. Go to the bathroom, or something.
'-
When Hermione faced the teacher again, Merrythought's reply was blunt.
"You wanted to check on Tom," she stated. Hermione winced.
"Was it that obvious?"
Professor Merrythought grinned. "Not really, no. Not if you weren't looking for it. On the other hand, I am looking for it, so I saw it. You're both among my stellar students, you know?"
Her grin was a bit thin and awkward at this point. She was reminded again that popularity had its upsides and downsides. One of the effects of having all the teachers knowing exactly who you are meant that they're even more aware of all the rumours that might possibly be attached to you.
"I'm sorry. He's just been off since yesterday. If you mind, I guess I can stay in class—"
"Oh no, it's alright. You can go and see him. I'm not that heartless, you know? I remember being young too."
Alright, that knowing smile was too much. On the other hand, if it wasn't for her grades, she probably wouldn't get this understanding treatment either.
"Besides, Tom had been rather uncharacteristic today." Merrythought had a serious expression this time. "I've never seen him that…driven in a duel or a fight before."
She had the feeling the teacher almost used a different word there. For the first time there was not only worry when Tom was spoken of, but also doubt, which was more dangerous. What had she thought of first when she watched the duel? Was it unusual ruthlessness? A distinct lack of mercy? Hermione's gut feeling led to just one thing at this point: his mask slipped.
Tom doesn't let his mask slip. He just…doesn't. It was probably one of the first things he learned to create and maintain very quickly in his life to blend in among normal people.
The anomalies keep adding up.
"He'd been unfocused in these last few days," Hermione said quickly, covering up for Tom without another thought. "He's distracted. It's why I'm concerned right now—it's more than just the wounds he has now. There's something else."
"Well, I hope whatever it is, you can find out about it. Hopefully it's nothing too serious."
"Thanks, Professor. I hope so too."
'-
"Really, what's so great about the upper-years, anyway? Most of 'em are just flashy coves with nothin' to show," Starkey complained as Hermione healed him. "Their time is done. There's nothing they can do that we can't. If we need a man in the Wizengamot, we've Melchior and Brax. If we need a man who listens to things, Pendleton or Gallus could've done it."
The more she thought about it, the more he sounded like a bratty younger brother whose elder sibling had managed to successfully evade his efforts to tail him and had gone to hang out with his cooler friends.
"So, Tom dining with them for several days isn't usual, then?" The brunette asked the Slytherins.
"Actually, he'd done that before," Pendleton started.
"No, he hasn't!" Starkey protested.
"He did. It was with the third-years—well, they'd be the fourth-years now, don't they? That was when he'd started talking to Orion and his people."
Starkey's complaints subsided to inaudible grumbling as he yanked his newsboy cap over his mass of curls.
"Just routine talks, then?"
"Not exactly that often. It's not as if there's a lot of sizeable factions in Slytherin." Gallus added. Somehow, he'd found Hermione and his fellow knights in no time. "We're the largest group in fifth and sixth year, while Orion's noticeable in the fourth year and third. Seventh is dominated by Flint's—it's not strange at all for him to wish to suss them out."
"It's Been. Three. Days." Starkey muttered.
Hermione moved on to Pendleton. If she wasn't so close to him, she wouldn't have noticed the moment he gazed heavenward before his expression cleared again like the calmest of lakes. She started her diagnostic spells again. It was a good thing that Merrythought trusted her to heal whoever she can in class—because she doubted that these wounds would pass muster with the Professor. She detected at least one snake venom in Pendleton's wounds and one of Starkey's had an outright infection earlier if she didn't start cleaning it. Also, there's something worrying about that limb-to-tentacle spell…
She frowned. This wasn't Tom's usual repertoire of 'safe' spells. Too risky if it was caught.
"Oh, I know, what, you should come to the Slytherin table tomorrow at lunch, Curie! Tom would definitely eat with us if you're around!"
There was a glimmer of Pendleton almost-smile before it disappeared again.
Hermione wanted to disillusion him about the amount of influence he thought she had on the leader of their little cult—he was weirdly staying away from her right now with no problem, for example. Yet Starkey's blue eyes looked so hopeful and young that she just couldn't do it. It felt too much like kicking a puppy. Well, a rabid puppy who is all too happy to bite other puppies it thinks as weaker, but still…
Well, he'd still have to accept Tom's decision tomorrow, whatever it would be. No need for her to say anything to ruin it right now. Let him dream a bit.
"It's Saturday," Gallus pointed out.
"So?"
"The lunch schedule is more flexible on Saturday. Who's to say that she wouldn't be having lunch too early, or Tom taking it too late?"
"Well, make it into a part study group. More reason to stay around for more than an hour."
"I did want to ask you about several possible ward schemes and their weaknesses," Pendleton mused.
"Not all of us take Advanced Ancient Runes, Pendleton!"
"Which is such a shame," the pale Slytherin replied blandly. "Because it's such an interesting subject."
"As an excuse, it wouldn't make sense. It should be something we're all taking." Starkey commented.
"Who said it was an excuse? I do want to break down several ward schemes to their components. You could just sit at the table staring at the wood grain for all I care."
Other people might be intimidated by how easily Pendleton wrote him off. Starkey had no such problem or blessed with remarkably thick skin. He'd already ploughed on.
"It should be Advanced Potions. We're all in Advanced Potions, right?" Starkey said. The other two Slytherins stared at him incredulously.
"Who's supposed to believe that you of all people needed Potions tutoring?" Gallus asked. "Why don't we ask for cooking lessons from Hermione while we're at it? It's that bizarre. If your grandmother heard this, she'd be so appalled that she's not going to let you out of the house until she's sure you can pass NEWTS with an Outstanding that's at least the highest in twenty years."
Starkey shivered involuntarily at the thought. "You're right. That's a bad idea."
"You know what? Let's stick with the most obvious." Hermione said. They all turned to her. "This."
"What?"
She pointed at the floor. Starkey was seriously following her finger down before Pendleton snapped his fingers in realisation, his eyebrows rising. "Defence."
"Yes. Defence. So, see you tomorrow at half past eleven, at the Slytherin table."
"Yesss!"
"If this doesn't work, it's not my fault. Be warned, I'd still end up taking space and studying on your table. It would be too much of a hassle for me to move somewhere else at that point." Hermione shook her head, pitying. It was only when she picked her bags up that the wizards realised she wasn't just going off to look for another duel.
"Um, class isn't over yet," Gallus said.
"Thank you for informing me, but I do have eyes, Gallus," Hermione said dryly. She saw his cheeks reddened slightly as he realised how stupid it had sounded.
"And you're…?" Starkey began, hoping she'd finish it.
"Going out," Hermione replied with cheerful smile and a wave, not bothering to give them any explanation. "See you later."
Their dumbfounded and curious looks were admittedly rather entertaining to see.
'-
"That took you some time."
Tom replied as if they'd actually made any sort of promise to meet up in the infirmary. He was lying down on the mattress with his hands behind his head, ostensibly resting. Hermione rolled her eyes at his impudence and just walked towards his bed. It was the one at the end of the ward, which was also the where she'd stayed in when she hadn't recovered yet after her arrival.
"Where's Maggie?" She asked.
"Madame Edelstein's out at the Headmaster's office. She received an important guest this afternoon and they had things to talk about with the headmaster."
"Oh, who was it?"
"A witch of advanced age with not an insignificant amount of power. I saw the caduceus pin on her robes—Madame Álava, I presume?"
"You would presume correctly." Hermione answered.
"What did she say about your visit?"
"That I'm free to rest in the infirmary as long as I wish and to not wait up for her if I wish to leave."
"Hmm," Hermione nodded sagely. "Sounds like she has important business alright."
He didn't move. Other than the initial glance when he heard her enter, he was back to his earlier position of staring at the ceiling. She didn't even know that any water stains could be that interesting. She was about to turn around and glance up from beside the bed to see what he was seeing when he suddenly pulled her down. Hermione yelped and fell on top of him.
Hermione tried to scramble up at the same time that he rolled them over and she was now under him, their bodies pressed against each other from knee to shoulder. The sudden intimacy startled her. Before she knew it, his lips covered hers in a kiss that was white-hot instead of gentle and her mind blanked out from all the cascading sparks, from the one in her head to the smaller ones that seem to light up everywhere they touch. If he had taken complete initiative and unexpectedly pulled the rug out from under her with his speed, she hadn't been too gentle either in yanking his hair when he overwhelmed her completely with sensations at the beginning. She bit his shoulder to stifle a moan as their hips connected, even with all the layers of clothes still between them. The moment he pulled away slightly to observe her, she raised her left hand to caress his face.
That was when she realised that his temperature was running high.
A crease formed on her forehead. "You're warm, no, perhaps even running a little on the hot side. Do you have the beginnings of a fever?"
"Physical exertion would do that, wouldn't it?"
Even as he asked this, he was deftly pulling her robe open. His other hand was lightly drawing pictures in the inside of her thigh, stroking up.
"Yes, but I didn't exactly come here immediately after you left. You would've rested for a while and—" she hissed, before she gave him a look for that particular pinch, her cheeks warm. Tom looked as unrepentant as always, which made her want to teach him a lesson and pulled him down to kiss him hard. For a while, they both lost themselves to the kiss.
Hermione drew back because she remembered she wasn't done yet.
"You would've rested for a bit and started to cool down. Yet you're still not cooler." She said.
"Wouldn't that be because you're here?"
He spoke softly because his mouth was right next to her ear, just before he started to kiss down following her jugular. Her eyes helplessly fluttered close at that even as she wondered what got into him.
"Not…that fast." She muttered. "Tom, I'm trying to say something!"
"Say it, then."
Not when he was mouthing her breast over her clothes. Even with all the fabric between them, it really made most thoughts to vanish from her mind.
"Someone might step in anytime." She murmured.
"I had asked the house elf attending the infirmary to inform us if anyone is heading here."
"Even so…" she pulled his face up, her hand over his neck confirming her that yes, he was warmer than she'd expected. Is it a fever? Something else? She wondered. Hermione would've been more distracted with his tousled hair if she wasn't staring into his dark eyes. "Look, just stay still for a moment? Please? I want to check something, especially since you just walked out like that from Defence class."
"If I didn't leave then, I would've kissed you right there and then."
She blushed, even as she tried to stay serious. "Really? Why?"
He shrugged, unconcerned. "My blood was up, I suppose. I can't exactly tear into Pendleton or Starkey when it was clear that they've lost and the fight was over. But then, there's you."
"Just…please give me a minute?" She asked, trying hard not to think about his hands that were still drifting up and down her thighs.
"If you actually want me to pause, I don't think you should bite your lip." He said dryly. "It's rather distracting."
Hermione snorted, before the heat in her cheeks increased when she realised that his gaze was wandering to her lips again. She did as he said.
There was something about his dark eyes, pupils blown wide that nagged her at the back of her mind. Something about the time she walked back with him from the Forbidden Forest, the crystal ball filled with light levitated at head height for her to be able to see his face clearly. Her wand slid into her hand from its holster.
"Lumos."
She brought the wand tip up, to the side of their faces. He blinked at the sudden presence of the bright light. Hermione felt all her concerns in the last few days suddenly rising up and crashing on her in that moment.
Tom didn't miss her sharp inhale.
"Hermione."
His pupils didn't contract from the light. No wonder his eyes had seemed so dark for a while. But hadn't she had the same thought yesterday as well? Had this been going on for a while, or was that just because they had been in low light?
"Was your blood also up yesterday? Maybe the day before?" She asked. "Was that why you beat the tar out of Starkey?"
"Perhaps. What is it, Hermione? You're stalling."
"I don't know for sure. There's still more specific tests I'd like to run and—" he cut off her babbling with a kiss. This time, she threw herself into it. Yet it wasn't difficult to notice the desperate edge in the way she clutched him tight, in the way she kissed him with complete abandon to forget her fear, even if only for a moment. Tom was certainly far from unobservant. He drew away and waited for her to collect her thoughts together, saying nothing except for a raised eyebrow.
She exhaled harshly.
"I think you might have been poisoned."
'-
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