Author's Note:
If the client-side boss didn't take a day or two off to go to the temple before New Year, I wouldn't have time to write an stuff. So you sort of owe it to her, sort of. Yeah, I barely have enough time on Sunday since I mostly use it catch up on sleep. Man, was I that much of a workaholic back then to work with this sort of schedule? Wait, no, don't answer that...
'-
50 Friends, Rivals I
It's Hermione's turn to choose. An interesting chat on some pureblood mores in a Ravenclaw dorm. Saturday morning at the Great Hall. Breakfast at the Slytherin table (this place is not big enough for both of us).
(Summary applies to both chapters titled 'Friends, Rivals')
'-
Hermione hadn't bothered wearing her blazer again, merely carrying it over her left arm. It wasn't as if anyone would notice much under the reduced lighting of night-time Hogwarts beyond the robe she'd carelessly put on. The last thing she cared about right now was keeping uniform regulations when it was hours past school time.
The Ravenclaw had been quiet as she and Tom walked away from the infirmary. No words escaped her lips two hallways and one staircase down later, which was unusual of her. Tom was the first to break their silence.
"It's still troubling you." He remarked.
She sighed. "And I'm surprised that it's not troubling you."
The witch was walking without her arm in his, which was uncharacteristic of her these days. Yet Tom had seen how her hands were restless. She'd fiddled more than once with her wand that he gave her the space to fidget.
His expression was completely relaxed when he answered. "Whatever it was they're trying to achieve, it's clear that they've utterly failed to gain it. I did not act in ways that would be uncharacteristic of me. I'm merely more me. Anyone that idiotic or sloppy in their plans are not going to relax with this failure and try for another, possibly even more foolish, plan. Once that one blows up, I can neatly cut off the head of their little cabal and destroy them."
To turn their sloppy attempts at harm into a trap for them was something that hadn't crossed her mind at all. The act occurred to her as something elegant yet deadly—and as such, distinctly Tom.
"A cabal, really?"
"As you've inferred, they adulterated my food. No one with a modicum of brain would dare to do it alone. Anyone stupid enough to dare to do it alone would not have the brains to come up with the concoction of stimulants to use, much less find the perfect opportunity that would not make them instantly spotted. It takes at least two people." Tom concluded.
"That still assumes a little too much on the courage and intelligence of the average Hogwarts denizen. It's more probable that it takes three people or even more."
The back of his left hand rapped hers lightly, alerting her to the fact that she was clenching her wand a tad too tight and was trailing sparks besides. She loosened her hold and stopped herself from unconsciously gathering magic there. The corridors were dark, with the dimmed-down lantern or even torches lighting the way, but neither of them was uncomfortable. She, because she'd snuck out of Hogwarts during the night often enough with Harry and Ron, while Tom's unconcern was probably because he had a prefect badge he could flash at anyone questioning them.
Now that she thought about it again, the leeway one gets from the prefect badge was rather convenient, wasn't it? Why she and Ron didn't end up abusing their position too much back when they were both prefects were something she had no idea about.
"Maybe you're right," she started, before falling into silence once more.
This wasn't her business, was it?
Apparently, this was what life in Hogwarts in this era was like, spiked food and drinks included. Tom was unexpectedly more laidback about this effort to influence and alter his judgement and behaviour. Of course, it was probably due to how he considered the perpetrators to be rather inept than anything else, and how he expected them to only bumble further in the future.
All that was left was to wait for them to slip. Then, he'd strike.
There was no need for her to even worry that he'd immediately try to find who did it and violently retaliate against them. It would seem that they were beneath his current notice.
Yet her problem was that she couldn't just let it go and forget about it.
Hermione had never looked forward to the prospect of fighting (and possibly killing) Tom as he ascended on the path of Dark Lord Voldemort. It did not matter if he was only an acquaintance who'd visited her in the infirmary when she first arrived. A life was a life. Now that they were actually close friends (for a given value of 'friends', she thought dryly), the fact that someone could have forced her to such violence against him pissed her off.
Never mind that it was probably accidental. Never mind that she was sure most people had no idea that beyond the layers of intellect, wit and courtesy, the talented Mr. Riddle was a psychopath. To loosen his inhibitions and impulse control was as good as letting Mr. Hyde to overrule Dr Jekyll…
Well, the analogy isn't perfect, considering that the polite Tom and his unconstrained side are still part of the same personality, she thought.
"Hermione?"
"Mmm."
She barely noticed him calling her name.
"You're drifting off again."
"I know. I'm still thinking of those idiots that dosed you."
"They'll either try again or they won't." He replied, philosophical. His voice was oddly close to content. "Either way, they will not be trouble for me at the time being. Besides, if the best they could do was use stimulants, they're rather inept at actually inconveniencing me. Ignorable in the grand scheme of things."
He had a point. Sooner or later they were going to try it again. Even if they somehow did not, some other party might have the 'bright idea' to try a similar plan, if not exactly the same one. It wasn't exactly rocket science. Not to mention that it looked so easy on the surface, especially if no one had heard of the previous failed attempts. Exactly how inept they are, however, was something she took a different perspective on.
She huffed. "Somehow, I'm not as blasé about the possibility as you are."
"Why not?"
The brunette witch could not find an immediate answer to that.
To her surprise, he'd picked up her hand. Not to slip her arm inside his, no, but to take it in his. Admittedly, that only lasted for a minute or so before he was more interested in observing the back in detail— she wondered just what exactly had caught his interest. It would seem that she wasn't the only one in the mood to fidget.
Her problem was, it's not as if she could just find the culprit, get some evidence and then report them to the school authorities, could she? Lakshmi had outright laughed the first time she asked about reporting things for something she considered banal in Hogwarts (someone causing her to 'accidentally fall' down some stairs), and Pendleton did not think it would deter anyone effectively either.
Hermione could feel his thumb tracing lines on the back of her hand, probably following some veins there. A glance to her right told her that her guess was correct. Why he found the little bumps of her metacarpals fascinating, she had no idea. She barely spared another thought to the sensation once she knew what tickled her palm.
As far as she knew, an act that most would see as a failed Amortentia—for Tom really didn't exhibit what most people would consider significant attraction to anyone else—would probably just get a slap on the wrist as punishment. Who else apart from her knew of the huge risk that a strong stimulant would be to him, because he had a darker side that he usually regulated with his reason and self-restraint? Without it, his venal id and reckless ego came to the fore.
She suppressed a shiver when the fingers of his right hand trailed up the inside of her arm and down again. When she gave him an irked look, he replied with an innocent expression that she didn't buy at all. No matter—she was very good at blocking distractions when she was deep in thought and there were many things to think about.
His right hand lingered at the inner curve of her elbow.
Hermione could not imagine that many people would actually be understanding if she told them that deep inside, his morality was practically non-existent. In her mind's eye, she could just see Dumbledore's increased wariness mixed with satisfaction—for wouldn't he have felt that he was proven right?
Was reporting this mild poisoning attempt worth revealing what Tom was?
(Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.)
No. Telling people of what she strongly suspected of Tom's psychological makeup definitely wouldn't help. This was certainly not an era enlightened enough to understand.
Who would realise the strange and peculiar construction of his mind, except perhaps the pioneers of psychology alive in this era? Even then, not all of them would be able to see the person he is instead of merely focused on the psychopathology. Perhaps many would only see a startling case that can make or break their career, instead of a young man in the bloom of youth who was both monster and mastermind. His diligence and keen intelligence she knew could not be separated from his ruthlessness and rapacious ambition.
They were two sides of the same coin.
It was not as if his interests could not be shifted little by little, his course subtly altered. Yet how many people would try that than to simply give up and pronounce their judgement on him now? To deny that his identity is still changing (is always changing) and take the easy way out, to stop trying and brand him as hopeless instead? How many was even able to try, considering the danger that Tom Riddle posed to most people he considered a threat or in his way?
Not many, no, as he was already dangerous even now. And Tom hadn't even reached the peak of his power yet.
Most people would think that to allow him his freedom as a considerable risk if they knew what he is, what he'd done and what he could still do. It was easier to just lock him away or declared him as a lost cause. The wizarding world would probably settle on Azkaban as a solution yet again. God knows how fast it took them to consign Sirius there without investigating his case properly because they were only too happy to find a scapegoat for the deaths of the Potters without actually going all out against Voldemort. Hadn't Fudge ordered for Crouch Jr.'s soul-sucking so easily and without trial either? She shivered. Right now, she was almost half a century before that.
The wizarding legal system was even farther from the one she knew.
"Hermione?"
Tom had let her mull her thoughts over for halfway down the hallway, but not further. His firm hold on her hand kept her from walking on.
She looked up from her apparent contemplation of Hogwarts' stone floor (this part has corridors tiled with pentagons). She did not know why she was still occasionally surprised at the depth of his dark eyes. Did she still somehow expect them to be flat and cold? Just because he would be (could be) Voldemort? But she already knew that he had a range of emotions, from cold anger to amusement.
He's still human.
Tom had raised her hand to his lips. It surprised her slightly, since he had never shown himself to be impetuous or romantic—nothing that did not cause her to immediately expect that he was putting on a show for someone else. She furrowed her brows. What is he up to now?
"What are you thinking?" He asked.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.
I took
a
road—
"I can't let them go." Hermione stated with surprise.
She was astonished at the path she chose but did not second-guess her own mind. It rang with truth. No doubt remained in her breast when she heard her own words and that was how she knew.
"Excuse me?" He asked.
"I can't let them go just like that. I'm going to track them down and do something." Her voice was firmer now as her doubts evaporate, her decision more certain.
Tom took a step closer, her hand still in his.
"Why?"
It was a question that was not exactly one.
She could see it in his eyes; he had a prediction of what the answer would be, but he still needed to be certain. This was too important to just guess.
"Why what? Why I won't let them get away with poisoning another student willy-nilly?"
"Some mere stimulant is hardly poisoning," he replied, completely unconcerned about it in a way that had her wondering about his first year at Hogwarts yet again.
"It is not 'hardly poisoning'." She snapped, yet she stopped there as she pressed her lips into a line.
Hermione couldn't put the precise nature of her fear into words, preferred not to enlighten him of the conclusions she'd made. An irrational part of her did not want to put into words of him turning into later-era Voldemort, as if it would make the event more probable.
One of these days, she was going to check what actually went on among Slytherin House's lower years, knock some heads together and maybe even run some toxicology tests. Coming up with a plausible excuse to snoop wasn't easy, though, which was unfortunate. She probably wouldn't manage to do so any time soon.
Tom might not be able to read her mind, but he could easily infer that she was still holding back something.
"It's not even lethal, or effective. Why does it matter so much to you?"
"You're almost not fine, and I find that I can't forgive them for it. It was too close. They have to learn their lesson, Tom. I'll have to teach them a lesson." The words came to her easily once her decision was made.
(Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.)
No one else was going to watch over him but her.
No one else could watch over him but her.
She knew that now.
Since when did Hermione not rise up to the challenge?
"What about the other group of people you have to teach a lesson to?" He asked. She had no idea what he was talking about and she said so. His eyebrows rose slightly.
"You remember the time when you 'fell down' a flight of stairs, don't you?"
The Three Stooges? Really Tom, I bet I can give them a beatdown even after pulling an all-nighter.
She shrugged. "They're small fry. Seriously. I've given them enough warning that they'd back off if they're not stupid. I can destroy them under my boots if I want to, but that's overkill and they're truly not that important. Now, if you don't have anything important to say, I'm going to figure out how to track your group of idiots down and what to do after that. Hmm." She tapped her chin in thought.
"It's rather challenging to find a lesson that sticks other than Cruciatus, isn't it? Especially if you suspect that you're dealing with some sort of idiots. You might have to spell things out before they'd get it."
Hermione did not want to use the Cruciatus Curse. She wasn't that barbaric or sadistic; she was aware that to be able to stomach using it so often and so casually would mean inuring herself to the pain she inflicted on others. She would harden her soul bit by bit as she kept wishing, wanting others to feel intense pain and very certain that they deserve that pain. It was a price she wasn't willing to pay just to deal with a bunch of amateur poisoners.
Another step and the torchlight on the wall behind her illuminated him better—
—and still his eyes were as endless night.
She gasped and he closed the distance between them to take the breath from her lips. Her coat fell on the floor and her back banged against the stone wall, but she barely noticed the sensation. The hand in her hair protected her head from bumping. His kisses were distracting, she knew, but this was the first one that pulled her under so quickly as her eyes fluttered close.
"Tom," she whispered, remembering. "I think there's still some effects of the stimulant remaining…"
"I know." He murmured. "Now that I know what it is, I don't really care."
He trailed feather-light touches upwards at the inside of her thigh. This time, she was the one who pulled him into another deep kiss. Her arms held them together as much as his did.
"Spend the night with me, Hermione."
His voice was low and the heat of his breath raised goosebumps at her neck. She had no idea why the question still embarrassed her, and yet she could feel warmth spreading over her cheeks. From his upturned lips, she knew he probably found it amusing.
"But classes…"
"Tomorrow's Saturday." Tom's reply was succinct.
There was no way to avoid the knowing smile that he had. Hermione couldn't help but duck her head slightly at that. He must've scattered her thoughts more than usual that she'd forgotten today was Friday.
"Um."
It wasn't as if they hadn't spent the night together before. For some reason, venting her annoyance and post-fight adrenaline didn't feel the same as answering this purposeful request. His eyes were dark, true, and his hands didn't stop their idle caresses. Yet the fact that he still waited told her that Tom had enough control over himself.
"Yes."
'-
"And just where would you be sleeping if you need to take some change of clothes with you?" Lakshmi perfectly painted eyebrow rose up.
"Well, I thought I might as well take a bath in the prefect bathroom in the morning. It's more convenient if I have a change of clothes with me—Scourgify always leaves my clothes feeling stiff and starchy." Hermione replied, knowing well enough that it wasn't exactly an answer.
She had her bag in one hand, and other than her clothes for tomorrow, she was considering about which textbooks to carry. The Defence textbook was an obvious answer, considering Starkey's invitation for tomorrow's breakfast, but on the other hand, she was looking forward to discussing Ancient Runes topics with Pendleton as well. He had a meticulous attention for details and just because Camellia Lee lived and breathed warding schemes didn't mean Hermione was going to slack off and not try to keep up in class.
It was just a little inconvenient for Hermione that Lakshmi wasn't as social as Eugenie, and so was in the dorms just as Hermione needed to pick up some things.
"You're not going to be in the Ravenclaw Tower at all, are you?" Lakshmi shrewdly asked.
Lucretia had been writing letters on her desk all this time and had paid attention to neither of them so far. She'd only made some tea for everyone when Hermione arrived. The brunette witch let her bag rest for that moment and drank her tea to conveniently avoid giving an answer.
"It's Riddle, isn't it?" Lakshmi asked without concern.
"Do you know the Contraception Charm?" Lucretia asked from across the room. Hermione sputtered and sprayed tea to the unfortunate roommate on the table with her.
"Dammit, Hermione!" Lakshmi cursed.
Exasperated, Lakshmi immediately cast a cleaning spell over herself. Not that Lakshmi was any less surprised as she turned around to the seventh-year. The Black heiress had lifted her head, unconcerned with the shocked expressions of her dormmates.
"All the pureblood witches from both sides of my family would've been taught that since they were twelve, and I'm sure that applies to many of the old families too." She said. "No one wants a naïve, young heiress to get pregnant by the undergardener and then insists that she has to marry him because of it."
Hermione was still coughing, not that Lucretia's next sentences were any easier to stomach. Lakshmi shook her head slightly, her thick eyebrows now high on her forehead.
"I thought the heiresses around here are all lily-pure ideals of maidenhood?" Lakshmi asked, not forgetting the sarcastic edge.
Lucretia added a few more lines to her current correspondence before she folded it up and slid it into her drawer. It clicked close. She rose from her seat, approaching the two of them at the central tea table. Hermione saw that even her non-uniform clothes were elegant black dresses that would not be amiss in a casual tea party with the queen…three decades ago. Well, even if the length wasn't fashionable now, the simple, streamlined elegance of the whole design was timeless that no one would say that Lucretia's clothes were outdated.
"Ideally, yes. But we all know how well ideals survive in contact with the real world, especially when you add greed as a primary motivation for most of them. Some of the newer houses might be more optimistic, or more easily swayed by the current norms." Lucretia spoke up again after she took a seat the table.
"We Blacks have long memories of how things used to be—strict morality and loose morality in the muggle world ebbs and flows like the tides. Why should we follow either overly much? We did not hold with having formal mistresses when it was expected in Europe until it faded again. We did not care about last century's habits of coddling ladies and insisting that they're more fragile than fine china until times have changed and loosened once more."
"You only mentioned formal mistresses," Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself.
"It doesn't matter. In the case of infidelity with clear evidence, the family rules allow the marriage to be dissolved. This has been established for six centuries…" Hermione found that hard to believe—dissolving a marriage? A couple of centuries ago? No one could do that unless they were Henry VIII—and he had to break away from the Catholic Church to be able to do that.
"…the aggrieved party can challenge the spouse to a duel." Lucretia finished her explanation and everything made sense now.
"And then you can divorce if you win?"
"Back in the days when a divorce is unacceptable except in extreme cases? Of course not. You fight to the death." She answered calmly.
Lakshmi was even nodding sagely in complete agreement. Hermione tried to digest in what universe killing your spouse made more sense than divorcing them when you no longer wish to be together.
"So…you could also die," Hermione deadpanned.
"Sure, but you wouldn't have to live with that adulterous spouse anymore and no one is going to strike you from the family tree. The children would probably be told of some polite fiction until they grow up, isn't that right?" Lakshmi said, guessing from what she knew.
Their seventh-year dormmate answered. "Not to mention that if you've informed your siblings of the whole matter, they can take up your cause and challenge him even after you've failed."
"That just leaves your children parentless in the worst-case scenario!" Hermione said.
"Of course not. Your siblings would raise them as their own."
She could only stare blankly for another moment. That was…that was a complete fustercluck.
"Honour is satisfied." Lucretia finished.
Hermione itched to facepalm. She didn't think a bastard of a husband was worth a chance of dying, especially when you're not that skilled as a duellist. Then again, honour and family name were Serious Business back then, wasn't it? And still is even now, in the mid-20th century? Look at how Lakshmi didn't see anything weird with what Lucretia was saying. The time-displaced witch was treated with the interesting insight that there was no doubt the past wizarding world was as brutal as the past non-magical world. It was simply the sort of brutality that was a bit more equal gender-wise than the muggle world.
"Look, I'm sorry to say, but that's some rather senseless rules." Hermione was shaking her head as she said this.
"We bow under no one's senseless rules but our owns." The elegant witch concluded.
"So," the brunette's tone was dry, "even if the Blacks still follow some senseless rules, at least they're your rules?"
Lucretia wasn't offended the least. A slight smile formed on her face, making her seem more approachable.
"That's what I've seen so far in my family, yes. Besides, you can't blame other people for your mistakes and stumbles if it all comes down to you again, right?"
"Huh. And here I thought all the Sacred 28 families are too straight-laced." Lakshmi remarked.
"Find the older families and figure out their code of conduct for yourself. You'd actually see more eccentricities than not." Lucretia answered. She turned to Hermione again. "You do know the Contraception Charm, don't you? I know five varieties of it, even."
Hermione could feel heat rising in her cheeks even as Lakshmi snickered. She waved the inquiry away quickly.
"I know! I know it just fine, no need to tell me anything."
"From what I've seen so far, I'm sure you have a good sense of discretion. Night assignations goes unnoticed by almost everyone and is an excellent idea. Daytime requires far more care—avoid it on principle unless you've gained enough experience in rearranging your schedules relative to everyone else's so no one is suspicious. It does help if you have many acquaintances and a wide circle of friends. When you're not with one, they'd just presume you're off with a different circle."
It was hard to believe that she could say all that with a straight face, but that was exactly what Lucretia did, even when Lakshmi's cheeks were ruddy simply because she was holding her breath, trying to keep her sniggers down. The heiress was as serene and helpful as ever.
"I think I have a good idea of what you mean." Hermione said quickly. "Really, Lucretia, thanks for the advice and all, but I have avoided conspicuous absences during the day and I think I'll leave right now." It was only all those practice with Daphne that allowed Hermione to stand up and walk away with some dignity left instead of scurrying off like rats caught with their grubby paws on cheese. Even then, she was sure that the colour in her cheeks haven't faded away.
It didn't stop Lakshmi from laughing, or from offering Hermione her last suggestion.
"If you need to set up some music, you can borrow my gramophone!"
"Thanks, but no thanks!" Hermione shot back.
'-
There was something rather mood-killing about her dormmates knowing exactly where she was going and what she intended to do with someone else once she was there. Tom was lucky that he was persistent to a fault and so very good at distracting her, because otherwise there might have been some change to his plans for that night—or at the very least, noticeably delay them.
She woke up some time in the middle of the night remembering that she'd dropped two dozen unbreakable glass vials into her bag for a specific purpose. That was how he found her; rummaging through her bag wearing the first shirt she found and pulled on. The roaring fireplace behind her made her only article of clothing useless, as it was practically transparent under the intense light.
"Hermione?"
"I forgot to hand you these earlier." She piled the vials—and the belt that held them—next to his bag. Tom had sat up, uncaring of the blanket sliding down his naked torso. If she was less distracted, she might have idly mused on sketching him.
"Do you want to collect the blood from all the Knights?"
"What? Oh, no!" She paused her mind wandering with his words. "Though now that you say that, it might be interesting for some things…wait no, bad Hermione. No blood rituals without the consent of blood owner. It's for your food!"
She rushed through the last sentence since Tom had left the bed and was trailing distracting kisses down her shoulder.
"I don't think you can fit a sandwich in one of them."
"No. It's the…" her hands slid around his back without conscious thought. "You're supposed to put food in them. Pieces! Little pieces of…dammit, Tom, I can't think if you do that…"
He hummed in confirmation against her breast before his mouth disengaged (and Hermione could think clearly for that one short moment).
"That was the point."
It was some time later, after her legs gave out and she dropped on the luxurious shag carpet in front of the fireplace, that she managed to clarify what she meant. It was to take samples of his food, particularly when he's not eating with the Knights. ("I figured that we can eliminate them for now. You don't really think any of them poisoned you, right?" Hermione had asked, and Tom confirmed that he was almost dead certain it wasn't any of them).
All she needed was food samples from an entire day, and if he still planned on eating with people other than his closest friends, maybe the samples from the day after that too. Then, she'd start testing which one was dosed. It would be a piece of cake for her to figure out, especially since she already knew what substance she would be looking for (definitely Amortentia's chemical and magical signature).
Not that she managed to tell him what she was going to do, since they were getting very distracted. Hermione had to put a pause on things and move them back to bed before she gets some rug burns (they're seriously a pain in the rear, pun completely intended). It was admittedly one of the benefits of not being an actual teenager in terms of experience. She knew that all those exotic sex scenes in movies are not always comfortable to try out in real life.
Tom might have thought of her having ex-boyfriends if he hadn't noticed the small spots of blood that came from breaking what was left of her hymen the first time around. Her completely unconcerned attitude did make him wonder (she only cast a silent Episkey to stop the barely-there bleeding, simply out of habit as a healer). Hermione honestly told him that even though her body was a definite virgin, some of the future memories she had was of her being in a relationship with other people. Experience-wise, this wasn't something completely new for her.
"Who were those wizards?" He had asked in the early hours of their first night. "Or witches, if there are any."
She'd only shook her head at that. "It doesn't matter, does it? It's not as if I'd be in a relationship with them again, um, for the first time, if I'm with you."
"Again?"
She had merely shrugged. "Technically, for the first time. These memories are hell on my tenses."
Hermione could see back then from the sharpness in his gaze that he hadn't considered it done yet, though he knew that she had a point and thus backed away (for now, she surmised). She had the suspicion that he was the type of guy who would make life difficult for their partner's exes—even if they were only quasi-exes like in her case.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she tried to recall whether there was significant difference between their interactions tonight and the night when he provoked her into sleeping with him for the first time. She did notice the increase in drive (there was no way she would miss that), and it certainly increased the frequency of their activity. But his behaviour was surprisingly constant otherwise.
The next time she lit a Lumos next to his left eye, he only pushed her hand away with a muttered complaint before pulling her closer. His eye was definitely blue again. She allowed him to reel her towards more pleasant distractions, now that one major concern about his health was dismissed.
'-
Hermione had always been an early riser. The last night she spent with him, she found out he was a light sleeper since he didn't go back to sleep once she was up. This morning, she was surprised that he was dressing up already.
"You have people to see this early on Saturday?"
"No, I'm off for a swim."
She couldn't help looking askance at him. "Tom, this is already late October. The lake is going to suck all your body heat very quickly and even heating charms are impractical if you have to apply them too often. You're just asking for hypothermia."
His smile was a little mysterious.
"Ah, I didn't say I'd be swimming in the Hogwarts Lake, did I? Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to do it all year round."
Hermione frowned. Alright, this does explain how his endurance was at the very least a level beyond most people their age, but she had no idea what place he was referring to.
"Hogwarts doesn't have a swimming pool," the brunette insisted.
"Really?" He asked back with a friendly curiosity.
"It doesn't. I know my Hogwarts: A History. Give me any edition you care to name, and I'll show you—and you're not even talking about this Room, are you?" She eyed him suspiciously. He shook hishead.
"Certainly not. I had no idea of this room during the second year."
"But…"
"Swimming. Pool." Tom enunciated the words with care.
Hermione had to take a deep breath and count to ten to stop the impulse to deny that something was beyond the knowledge of her oldest favourite books on Hogwarts.
"You know what? I'm coming with you."
"Just to see a mundane pool? Really, Hermione? Don't you have more important essays to outline, and even house elf recipes to collect?"
She ignored his mischievous tone and simply wore her clothes quickly, casting quick cleaning charms before she did so. Hermione had intended on bathing first before going out, but she reasoned that she can always turn towards one of the prefect bathrooms later before making her way to the library for an hour or so. There was still plenty of time left before she needed to show up at the Slytherin table.
'-
Hermione hated to admit it, but Tom was unexpectedly right. There was a pool that was close to Olympic-sized in one of the higher-levels. No wonder he could swim in laps to his hearts' content. She knew it was located at one of Hogwarts' higher-level by virtue of it having French windows* leading to a balcony, and the view was already above the treetop of the Forbidden Forest.
*She suspected she ought to have called them Spanish windows rather than French windows, as the intricate carvings from the posts to the arches was a bas relief of trees, with a variety of objects woven on or around the branches. The style was reminiscent of what she'd seen in some Spanish churches she'd visited before.
Hermione couldn't stop herself from walking closer to the balcony, her eyes drawn to the detailed tree carvings. It was much more elaborate than what she'd see in most of Hogwarts, and just over the top of the largest arch, at its crown, was a carving of a literal crown, with a ribbon of the same coral stone floating to its left and right (she couldn't read the text engraved on it, though, too far).
It was newer than the castle's more commonly-found gothic style of architecture, or the older, unrenovated rooms of early medieval construction (most of the teaching staff's rooms were in this category). This room was definitely one of the newer ones. It was recently added, relatively speaking.
For what purpose, though?
Something about it tickled her memory…
"How could Hogwarts: A History missed a pool this size?" She cried out.
At this point, she didn't care if his smirk was as smug as a Cheshire Cat's. She just needed to know. Her curiosity was killing her.
"Technically, it's not wrong." Tom finally answered. "Look at that door over there."
He pointed to a double door at a corner of the indoor pool, its frame decorated with as much detail as the French windows to the balcony. She also noticed that it was certainly not the entrance door they just came in through. "Is that a changing room?"
"No. It's a bedroom—a suite, to be exact."
A suspicion began to form in Hermione's mind.
"Just how large is this suite?"
"Very large." Tom replied.
"And what about that door over there?" She pointed to a door on the other side of wall from the suite door. "Is that the changing room?"
"No, that's the toilet."
She paused, trying to read his face. Her next words were carefully thought out. "There's no changing room at all attached to this place, is there?"
He shook his head. "No, not at all."
"And Hogwarts: A History is technically right—"
"The best kind of right," he interrupted her with a grin before she glared at him for his cheek.
"—because this wasn't a pool, or at least the makers didn't consider it to be so. This is part of the famous Royal Suite, isn't it? It's finished in 1575, with the expectation that Queen Elizabeth would reach Hogwarts with her travelling court soon. Too bad it was never used. She never managed to reach this far since she always had to stop every couple of miles and visit the nearest city, town or village."
"This was merely the Royal Suite's bath." She concluded, breathless.
Hermione didn't know why he looked so amused, and why he'd been staring at her for a while without saying anything.
"Tom?"
"Every time I mused that you couldn't possibly have memorised Hogwarts: A History in the time you spent in the infirmary, you proved me wrong."
"I was very bored." Hermione insisted primly as she looked away. She couldn't have memorised Hogwarts: A History in two weeks—she did it over a whole summer, after all, right after she received her Hogwarts letter.
She glanced at him suspiciously. "Did you bring me here just to make sure of that?"
"Me? Bring you here? You were the one who insisted on seeing the pool yourself, remember? I was just leaving on my usual weekly swim." Tom asked with wide-eyed innocence.
It was a good thing that she was still wearing last night's clothes, because Hermione dropped her bag without a second thought and ran over to push him into the pool. He fell in with no resistance and with unexpected grace—but not without pulling her in with him.
'-
So… that plan she had to visit the library first before breakfast? To sit down and read for a while, and even outline an essay or two?
Nixed.
Hermione didn't get out of the Royal Suite's bathroom until an hour later, and neither did Tom start his swim routine until then. Refreshed, freshly showered and changed, it was hard for her to regret it. Other than certain extra-curricular physical activities they certainly engaged in, Tom also helped correct some of her swimming posture. Another thing she hadn't expected was when she mused out loud about what to do to whichever pureblooded twit had dosed his food. Tom carelessly remarked that she might as well borrow one of the Knights for her purposes. When she looked up in surprise, he pointed out that it's not as if she was aware of what actions she could do without blinking that might make those from wizarding families to shudder.
Basically, she'd need their cultural perspective. Tom had a point.
"Borrow?" She'd asked.
"I almost forgot. Give me your hand."
"Um, what?" She gave him her right hand all the same.
To her surprise, he pulled one of his rings off and slipped it easily on her ring finger. It was a small silver one with Slytherin crest on it.
"There. The smarter ones would understand what it means the moment they see you wearing it."
"And the not-so-smart ones?" She asked, simply out of curiosity.
"Well, you'd probably have to shove it at their nose. Whether peacefully or in a punch, I'm sure you can decide that for yourself."
He really had no mercy to those he considered as slow. She ended up placing the ring on her necklace, simply because she didn't want to take the risk of something so important slipping away easily (she wasn't sure their ring sizes were the same). Tom had been so casual that she hadn't given it much thought. It was only when she walked out that she realised the gesture was a tad…suggestive of something, wasn't it? And she'd accepted without a second thought. She was pinching the bridge of her nose as she walked.
Yet it was also possible that she was just imagining things. After all, he wasn't sentimental. It wasn't as if she thought of anything other than how useful his signet ring would be in the moment he gave it to her either.
Speaking of his other gesture, Hermione also understood why he showed the place to her.
Not many people knew of the large bath/pool. Those who do are either prefects or upper years, and practically none of them had connected the bath to the never-used Elizabethan Royal Suite. That meant that the bedroom was certainly free for anyone who wishes to use it. The professors each have their own suite, and thus have no urgent need to find another. He'd checked with the house elfs and they'd confirmed his questions, not to mention that the doors to the suite does lock properly.
Anyone trying to open it while it's in use would just thought it was one of the closed-off and locked-up rooms in Hogwarts.
She still wanted to bang her forehead against the nearest cupboard because she had no idea why she was blushing after she considered it carefully. There would certainly be times when one of the groups they're sort-of-associated-with would need a sophisticated meeting room that can fulfil their needs (advanced duelling or fighting practice came to mind, the ones that require intensive terraforming like the Prewett twins seemed to be fond of). That meant that the Room of Requirement would need to be used…which meant that the two of them definitely can't use it during that period.
It's just a conveniently private bedroom. Get a grip, Hermione.
Keeping this firmly in mind, she made her way to the library. There might not be enough time for her to settle there, but she could certainly browse the books and take one or two out.
'-
Hermione reached the Great Hall before Tom did.
Considering that she'd only spent a little time in the library, that wasn't a surprise. What surprised her was tired-looking Evariste sitting on the Gryffindor table with none of his friends around (yet), staring blankly at a scroll laid on the table. Even his usually-gleaming hair seemed dispirited today. She'd promised to breakfast with the Slytherins, yes, but it didn't mean that she couldn't take a detour. She ignored the occasional curious glance from other breakfasting Gryffindors.
"Evariste, are you alright?"
His reply was firm. "I'll be fine. I only need Philippe to calm down a little and talk, and then get Maximilien to listen."
Since he gave the impression that he had it under control and didn't seem to be want Hermione's involvement just yet, she wished him good luck on that front. Hermione certainly did not regret handing the responsibility over if this was the sort of headache that awaited the search's coordinator. One last thought stopped her from walking away.
"Have you divided areas with Sigmund von Moritz or one of the other Germans?" She asked.
"Von Moritz? What for?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow in return at his answer. "The Search. You do know that he's also volunteering to help with his family's contacts and all, right?"
Evariste was still staring at her with a half-blank expression. Hermione only shook her head and placed the nearest coffee and tea pot near his right hand to leave him to choose.
"They'd…contact me if they hear anything? Is that what you mean?"
"Of course not. You have to decide which areas your associates would search and which ones you'd leave to the Germans—overlaps waste time and are inefficient. You'd need to sit down and get into the details and you actually need to coordinate not just progress but also methods. That way, if anyone figured out a faster way to find out about something, the other teams would know about it quickly too…"
His gaze was drifting. Add the noticeable shadows under his eyes and she made a decision right then.
"You know what? I'll find Auguste and get him to sit down with Sigmund and officially coordinate at that side of the search. He can help you sort out the technicalities. You look like you either need more sleep or more caffeine." She filled his plate with a few croissant and buns, then placed several pots of butter and an assortment of jams nearby. The thud of glass jars on wood seemed to have snapped him out.
"Merci."
"De rien."
She couldn't help but straighten his crooked cravat—it was a fairly simple knot that she recognised. Hermione had ceased to be surprised with the way other Hogwarts students dress even out of their uniforms in this time. She could recall at least one Auror event where she had to fix Harry and Neville's cravats moments before stepping into a ballroom; she may have been mildly exasperated, but she was also too used to it. The brunette witch stepped back to look at her work critically, missing the hand Evariste raised to grasp her wrist.
Hermione nodded in satisfaction before smiling at him.
"Now, I'm going to go find Auguste."
Hermione had left so quickly she missed the complicated expression on Evariste's face, as was his aborted attempt to call her back.
'-
It was a good thing that Auguste was also an early riser. She found him easily at the Ravenclaw table, his blue waistcoat's brocade pattern was rather distinctive. He was neatly groomed, as usual.
"Morning, Auguste."
"Good morning, Hermione. Not much to talk about with Evariste?" He gestured towards the Gryffindor table with his bread knife.
"He insists on having it under control. If he volunteers to keep refereeing Montmorency and Bernadotte, I'm the last person who would stop him." She said, sitting down.
Auguste sighed. "Oh, yes. That would take some effort. I'll say that I'm never as thankful as I am right now that I didn't manage The Society. So, what brings you here?"
"Evariste didn't seem to realise that working with the Germans also means actually dividing the search area and have a lot of talk about the details."
"Ah." His reply was too calm.
"So, I was wondering if we could ask for your assistance in coordinating with them? Please?"
He did not seem moved by her plea, only giving her a knowing glance in return when he wasn't more invested in slathering marmalade over his toast.
"I'll think about it."
"They're of one mind in principle. I don't think they'd have a fight as large as the one between Montmorency and Philippe."
"It doesn't mean that they wouldn't."
Just as Hermione sighed, he let out a chuckle. "I'll consider it Hermione. It does not seem to be too time-consuming right now, so I suppose I can do it. But…"
"But?"
"Have lunch with me next week in Hogsmeade?"
She had to pause for a while to make sure she heard that correctly. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
He shrugged. "Friendly date, if at all. You see, one of my friends is interested in you but is too cautious in his movements. If I've asked you to lunch with me already, even if he'd managed to reach a decision, he'd be too late. Let's just say I'm giving him a lesson in being quicker and more decisive."
For a moment she thought she saw a flash of a fox-like grin on his face.
Hermione laughed.
"In that case, I can certainly meet you at Hogsmeade for lunch next week—but only for lunch."
"Perfect. And I'll probably bring you my woes and complaints about coordination during that time."
"If you complain during our entire meal, you better pick up the entire bill."
He waved his hand easily at that. "That had never been in question. What else was I going to do?"
To his credit, Auguste did not seem the slightest bit surprised when Hermione stood up, taking an apple with her, and walked towards the Slytherin table.
'-
Hermione walked to Tom's usual spot at the Slytherin table. She was surprised to see not just Starkey, Pendleton with Gallus sitting across from them, but also Melchior and Abraxas next to the Rosier heir.
"I didn't think I'd see you two this early on Saturday." She commented.
Starkey had stood up with a flourish and guided her to a spot he seemed to have intentionally reserved for her. She'd taken his arm without a second thought.
"You just haven't seen us on Saturday morning often enough," Abraxas reasoned. Strands of sunlight fell over his head, vaguely reminiscent of a halo. If his hair was any brighter, she'd need to wear sunglasses indoors, she thought wryly.
"Really." She drawled.
Hermione gave him an unblinking, unimpressed look for several seconds and he folded as fast as she thought he would. The blond pouted. "Oh, alright. Yes, I heard it from Gallus."
"We certainly heard it from Gallus," Melchior said this with the touchy mood of one only half-awake. "Why on earth would I drag myself out of bed on Saturday morning otherwise? Speaking of Monday's malignant Prophet article, I've asked around a little. Same with Caspar and Bernard…"
"Caspar and Bernard?" Hermione had no idea who they were.
"Caspar Zabini and Bernard Greengrass." Abraxas clarified for her. Melchior, on the other hand, had an awkward expression on his face as he glanced at his friend.
"Go on?" She prompted.
"Can we shelve this for the moment until Tom is here?"
Hermione wasn't the only one who didn't understand what he meant. Gallus' confused 'why?' and Starkey's 'wot?' said it all. As Melchior seemed to be carefully stepping around some topics, it took a while before Hermione understood that he was trying to bring up Knights business to her without Tom's say so. She sighed and made a move of fiddling with her necklace chain. Incidentally, it pulled the cheap four-leaved clover pendant out…along with the silver ring hanging next to it.
"You were saying, Melchior?"
As Melchior sat stunned for a moment, staring at her pendant, Starkey snorted from her left. "Didn't need to see that to know she's different. Have you ever seen Tom talk wiv any other witch? 'Course she can know things."
To Starkey's credit, he was right. He'd hardly flinched.
"Well, I was saying that none of us could be sure until one or two weekends." Melchior finally said, ignoring Starkey's smug expression. "I'll probably take this Sunday too drop in at Diagon Alley and see if anyone's heard about any Prophet reporter talking with anyone."
"They couldn't possibly be that obvious, could they?" Pendleton quietly asked.
"Most people aren't overly complicated," Abraxas said. As many surprised heads turned towards him, he huffed. "Oh, come on. You'd think so too with a few minutes thought. What else were they going to do? It's not as if someone left a manual for these sorts of things lying around. Most people just go and do it like the make any other appointments."
"What about discretion?" Pendleton asked again. "Obscuring the trail?"
"Not everyone has an Auror for a parent like you do and know ten different ways to avoid the attention of the law. To them, discretion is reserving a table at a restaurant under an alias and dressing slightly differently."
Hermione didn't miss the way Gallus and Melchior respectively cringed and winced on Abraxas' sides. Even the usually laidback Starkey tensed slightly before he relaxed again. The Malfoy heir was blissfully unaware.
Pendleton himself seems pretty unaffected. "Ah, you make a very good point, Abraxas. Thank you."
"My pleasure."
"So, this Sunday, I'll be visiting Diagon Alley. If anyone wanted me to buy anything while I'm there, I can do it and just send it by post. I'd recommend trying out some of the new ice cream flavours at Fortescue's."
Hermione's eyebrows would have shot up at his idea of recommending ice creams in autumn if she hadn't noticed the witch that had suddenly sat next to Melchior. He'd been thinking on his feet and immediately redirected the topic.
It wasn't Beatrix or the other German Slytherin witch whose name she hadn't quite memorised. It was Tom's partner prefect, the witch with a capital B who was also the head of that little clique that pushed her off the stairs. The one whose shorter friend received a (restrained) ass-kicking from Hermione. That pureblood princess.
"Good morning, Abraxas, Melchior…everyone."
Hermione had felt that she wasn't exactly included in that 'everyone' that she was talking about, considering how she acted as if the Ravenclaw witch wasn't there.
'-
.
.
.
End Notes:
Additional Notes:
We did not hold with having formal mistresses when it was expected in Europe until it faded again: Lucretia is most probably referring to the fashion of having an official mistress/maîtresse-en-titre for a king that it was an actual title in court. This meant that the official mistress has her own rules of precedent that shows which nobles are lower in rank than her and which aren't (usually, there aren't that many who are higher). This became popular throughout Europe with Louis XIV (1638 – 1715), the 'Sun King', as he became the most powerful monarch in Europe after successfully consolidating his power (and gutting the nobles' in the process). Not that it was a surprise; as a centre of culture, France often became the source of many fashionable ideas for other countries throughout the centuries.
(French had become the language of international diplomacy for centuries. The court of the last Russian dynasty spoke more often in French than Russian).
'-