Author's Note: Free this weekend! Yess! In case my update slows down any time in the future, it's probably because I was getting less free time to keep writing. Just saying. Also, many thanks to anyone who'd reviewed. Sorry if I haven't gotten back to you, it's mostly because a) I was busy as heck, and b) You got too close to the whodunnit part of the story. As for who's who...I'm sure you'll figure it out once the chapters get uploaded.

'-

51 Friends, Rivals II

Saturday morning at the Slytherin table (this place is not big enough for both of us).

'-

Tom's prefect partner was perched daintily on the seat right across Hermione's, nails a little longer than practical and shone like pearls. Her waist-length hair fell straight down her back, light as gossamer with not a single knot on it. Just seeing it was making Hermione itch to brush her own hair (and she knew her hair was fine, she just did it this morning). If she hadn't seen her prefect badge pinned discreetly over the blonde's dress, she would've forgotten that Jemima Avery was a prefect.

Hermione had already nicknamed her 'Head Stooge' in her mind from the first time she encountered the annoying trio of witches.

The Slytherin witch's attention, however, was squarely on Melchior and Abraxas, and sometimes even Pendleton or Starkey.

"It's an interesting surprise to have you here." Melchior smiled. "Your friends must be annoyed at us to have monopolised your company."

Jemima relaxed a fraction. "Oh, not at all. Besides, we're all housemates, aren't we?"

"True, true…"

She had to commend Melchior on the charm he exuded the moment he spoke to her—even Abraxas couldn't change his expression to be as pleasant as fast as his friend. Gallus looked perfectly content to be ignored with the Nott and Malfoy heirs buffering him from the witch. He simply added more bacon on his plate and started eating with relish without even trying to talk to her other than the initial good morning. Hermione couldn't help the amused twitch of her lips.

Starkey was the first one to strike instead of sticking to platitudes.

"So…Jemma. What brings you 'ere?"

Her porcelain brow was marred by creases before it smoothed out again within a second as if it were never there, her expression as friendly as ever. Hermione couldn't help but be slightly impressed.

"It's Jemima, Starkey. Jemima Avery." She corrected.

He nodded slowly, as if carefully keeping her words in mind, his eyes wide and guileless. Hermione didn't know when he'd taken off his cap, because his thick curls gave him an even more innocent expression.

"Sure, it is. You're the other prefect in our year. You and Tom. So, I sure knew your name afore. Jemma Avery. See? I do know."

Abraxas' easy grin turned sharper for a moment before he was back to his usual cheerful one. "Starkey knows already Jemima. Jemima's a beautiful name."

"Certainly," Starkey nodded vigorously. "Jemma's real pretty. Jem—like a gem, right?"

Jemima's cheek twitched.

Melchior smirked before the expression melted back to his mild and friendly smile.

Hermione had opened her bag by now, intent on pulling out some Defence and Ancient Runes books. Tom might not be arriving any time soon, but it didn't mean she wasn't interested in actually studying with the Slytherin boys.

Pendleton, who was on Starkey's other side, saw what she was doing.

"I don't think that's our Ancient Runes textbook."

The Ravenclaw handed the book he was eyeing over, with Starkey (who she sat next to) smoothly passing it to his friend without looking away from Jemima. Hermione lowered her voice so as to not intrude on the main conversation on the table. "I thought you'd appreciate it since you're interested in upgrading your family wards, right? The basics of geomancy would be right up your alley."

Pendleton's smile was faint, but it certainly warmed his eyes. It was hard to imagine then that she'd heard him being called 'expressionless' more than once.

"Ah, thank you. I was losing track a bit when Ms. Lee started going into the details of terrain alignment."

"So, Avery, are you here to join our study group too?" Melchior asked.

"A study group, really? Oh, my goodness, I didn't know. I thought we're all just chatting as friends here." Jemima replied with a bright smile.

Hermione had to duck her head lest she be caught snickering. She couldn't believe that Avery was going to try playing the ingenue. Somebody, nominate the lady for an Oscar!

"Ah, that's because we haven't quite started yet," Abraxas said with the same amount of friendliness.

"Yes, we're still mostly concerned with breakfast." Gallus commented from the far side.

"But once this is done, we're going to go through the effects of the phases of the moon on the different ingredients." Melchior said.

"Aconite fully flowering in a full moon is more potent on werewolves than those whose flowers peak on the dark new moon." Starkey added. "It's a wee bit obvious, innit? Same with foxgloves you've need for making wards."

Gallus' eyebrows shot up to his hairline, but he said nothing. Probably because anyone below a talented potioneer or herbalist wouldn't have found either observation obvious. It might explain Melchior's polite throat clearing.

"So, aconite works against werewolves?" Jemima asked.

"Ruddy well it does." Starkey replied, with a tone akin to someone saying 'duh' in the future.

"It's not just wolfsbane that worked well against werewolves, then!"

Hermione took a herculean bite out of the sandwich she'd just made, just to shut herself up. Based on Starkey's aborted curse, right before Pendleton either elbowed him in the gut or stepped on his foot, she wasn't the only one having that issue. Even Abraxas choked on his pumpkin juice, while Melchior was simply out of words. Like her, Gallus was more interested in his breakfast.

Aconite is wolfsbane, honey, Hermione thought drily.

"Pendleton, I give up. You explain." Starkey muttered, pulling the plate of bacon rashers that had been monopolised by Gallus over to his side.

"Not just wolfsbane and aconite, monkshood is also very potent against werewolves," Pendleton said this with an entirely flat expression.

Abraxas hadn't even finished clearing his throat when those words started another coughing fit. Melchior did better, mostly by slowly breathing in and out and determinedly not looking at anyone. Starkey glared at Pendleton as he almost choked on his bacon. As his mouth was currently too full to say anything, he can only mime his protest with expansive gestures.

"…!"

"Well, I did continue your explanation, didn't I?" Pendleton asked.

She felt Starkey's pain. Yes, but monkshood is simply yet another different name for the same plant!

Soon, the pale Slytherin lost interest altogether and started opening the geomancy book Hermione had just handed over, and buttered rolls in his other hand. He ignored Starkey's wordless protestations.

"You might want to swallow that first before you complain," Hermione said this to Starkey, who grumpily gave up complaining to his friend and settled down to eat. Not that Hermione thought it was a big deal—how many people consider preparing to fight werewolves as something important to memorise, even in Hogwarts? They'd be more inclined to look up muggle-repelling spells and the like, if any.

Jemima knew she'd missed something but was determined to soldier on.

"It's a good thing that Professor Slughorn had always made sure our ingredients are fresh. I still remember when Tom and I were sent to the Forbidden Forest to collect some plants and herbs together." Jemima said.

"That's nice." Hermione replied with the tone of someone humouring a child.

"Yes, it's been our routine since our third year."

From the way Gallus was rolling his eyes two seats down from Avery, Hermione knew it certainly wasn't what the Slytherin witch was trying to make it sound like. Not that she cared the slightest. She already knew it was probably routine work.

"I think it's very responsible of Professor Slughorn to start training his prefect candidates early." Hermione used the blandest tone she can manage.

"Professor Strange had also trusted us with some class preparation in our second year, before Professor Flitwick did the same." The Slytherin paused in thought. "But you wouldn't know her, would you? She's the Charms professor before Flitwick."

"Well, it's old history already, isn't it? Unless you still share many classes with Tom?" Hermione asked back as sweetly.

Tom's schedule was almost as insanely packed as hers, and Hermione knew scarcely anyone could keep up with him, much less a witch who seemed to hate any activity that might cause her to break her nails. At least her dark-haired friend (Carrow, was it?) seemed more competent.

"I'm sure you would know better if you ask the boys here how Hogwarts is like."

Other than the slight chilliness in her blue eyes, Jemima continued as if Hermione hadn't said anything concerning.

"I think I'm doing just fine even now. And boys, I'll be sure to tell you about any extra drudge work the teachers might give me and Tom. It's just that you'll have to ask near the event, because why on earth would I want to keep such menial grind in my memory?"

Even if the Ravenclaw witch was speaking to Starkey next to her, along with the other wizards in their small breakfast party, everyone had a very good idea to whom her words were actually directed at.

A wisp of Daphne's voice flittered past her mind. To fight like a Slytherin, Hermione, is to find other people's dreams and then break them. Here, she was very well aware that Jemima Avery cannot boast of any prolonged time that she'd spent with Tom Riddle that wasn't due to their prefect duties or extra class assignment, even though that was clearly her dearest wish.

Hermione saw the strawberries near Abraxas on top of a few eclairs. She did not pay any attention to the twitch of a jaw muscle of the other witch's, because she had not considered Jemima to be relevant even from the moment she arrived.

"Abraxas, would you mind passing the eclairs?" She asked.

He saw what she wanted easily. His smile was boyish and bright, and she was almost tempted to dub him Lancelot right there.

"Ah, you'd want the ones with strawberries rather than the chocolate ones, isn't that right?"

She was slightly surprised. "How do you know?"

"Because you enjoyed the strawberries and cream that Tom passed to you the first time you breakfasted with us. I know I can't exactly compare to him, but I do hope the cook's skill can make up for the lack in company." His humility wasn't even fake, and as such his earnestness was genuine. For all of Abraxas' overconfidence, he did believe that Tom's worth far exceeded his.

The smile that grew on her face happened without her even thinking about it. Smooth, Abraxas. Very smooth.

"I think I'll enjoy it just fine."

She took the small plate he passed without second thoughts.

At this point, Pendleton was lost in his geomancy book. Starkey had struck up a conversation with Melchior on whether the dried nightshades used in the Potion of Dreamless Sleep were better chopped or ground down while Jemima gamely tried to join their conversation. This slight distraction was probably why Hermione hadn't noticed the wizard coming up her side of the table until he took a seat to her right.

She'd already leaned away slightly at the intense perfume that drifted in her direction. His voice only worsened her mood.

"Hello Nurse. Mind checking me up today?" He drawled.

"Only if you're interested in getting a limb removed, Rowle."

Robbe Rowle clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Such appalling bedside manner! Why, it would seem that you're in need of a re-education."

"Oh, I find that it's exactly what's needed to prevent malingering."

Her cutting tone did not seem to have dissuaded him completely as he turned to watch her, chin leaning against his hand. His expression was thoughtful. His waistcoat was a moss-green shade that matched his tie and his robe was of an even darker shade. She was too annoyed to even give him credit for it.

"Interesting way to separate the wheat from the chaff." Rowle noted.

"Some patients need to be kept in line." Hermione replied, because she didn't quite understand what he meant.

"Get ready for dinner with me, in Hogsmeade, today. Wear something green."

"First, it's not even a Hogsmeade weekend. Secondly, no."

She found it ironic that Tom wasn't even half as churlish in his request.

"Hogsmeade weekends are merely formalities if you can ask for exemptions from your head of house." He was staring at her too intensely for her liking, raising her hackles. Hermione could hear Starkey cutting his conversation short as he turned his attention to hers, ignoring Jemima's.

"Did you just miss the unreserved no I gave you?"

Rowle lowered his voice a little.

"I know your strategy, Curie. You aim for the highest possible target with the least chance of success just to get your profile up. In truth, you'd as easily settle for any target less than the first, as long as its high enough." He leaned forward slightly. His smirk was shameless. "I know your type. Husband-seekers are the same everywhere—"

His slightest touch of her knee was accompanied by a jab of her wand at his groin. She could see his eyebrows rising in surprise, certainly because he (still) hadn't expected her speed.

"Move away from me on the count of three, or I'll take one of your balls as trophy."

Hermione's voice was even, not too quiet or loud. Her smile had a violent edge to it. She knew Starkey heard her easily, since he'd relaxed and moved away from her back (she suspected he was close to lunging at Rowle himself—her estimation of him rose).

"There's really no need for these theatrics anymore."

"One."

"A chance is the best you'll ever get."

Hermione merely smiled wider.

"Two."

She could see when his confidence started to waver, when he was having second thoughts about his belief and certainty.

"You know," Hermione said conversationally. "I really don't care if I happen to take off both balls at once. I mean, I am a competent field healer, and I can attach them back. Even if a professor happened to hear you screaming like a gelded pig and come around, they'd see that you're fine and everything is at its place. I'll get a warning, you'll get a warning, and they'll leave us both alone again. It's so nice to know that cleaning spells work splendidly even with spurting arterial blood, isn't it?"

Hermione was bluffing. Attaching organs with many fine blood vessels involved is never a simple operation, even if it could be done. Usually it took at least two healers. Still, she was really pissed off, and it's not as if he could even tell, could he?

It was her turn to lean forward now. "I can always cut your balls off again later on when no one's paying attention. So, which one do you like the least, Mr. Rowle? The left one, or the right one? Or shall I take both and choose myself?"

The best tone to threaten dense pureblood wizards with, as Daphne had demonstrated, is the exact one you'll use to ask 'would you like some more tea?' Complete with that sweet and charming smile that you're supposed to show to prospective mothers-in-law from the Sacred 28. Right now, she was thrusting the tip of her wand down at what was probably one of his balls alright, albeit through several layers of clothing. That he hadn't screamed even as he paled spoke of his pain endurance more than anything.

A second later, he scrambled backward with more dignity than she thought anyone could manage, before standing up and leaving without another word.

(A flash of memory with Daphne's voice to her right. A crowd? An interview in a bookstore—now, smile and wave, Hermione! Smile and wave!)

Hermione was still smiling as she waved at him with her left hand.

(She certainly wouldn't use her right hand. The Ravenclaw was still aiming her wand at him).

When she turned back at the table, she saw that the other Slytherins were now staring at her. Jemima was as pale as a sheet, while Starkey had broken down into laughter.

"Good one, Hermione! Robbe's a little on the dense side—pain usually works best at reminding him of things."

Her smile was more than a little amused. So, it's Hermione now?

"Thank you, Vespasian."

Starkey shuddered. "Ves, please. Vespasian reminds me of my grandmother reprimanding me."

"Tom called you Vespasian." Hermione remembered. Ves shrugged.

"Eh, that's Tom. He can call anyone whatever 'e likes."

"Yes, that was excellent. I don't think I could see your wand when you drew it." Melchior said, shaking his head.

"Forearm holster." Pendleton suddenly answered from Starkey's other side as he finally pulled his nose out of the geomancy book he was reading. "I've said this before and I'll say it again. If you want your draw speed to go below four seconds, you'll stick with a forearm holster. How do you think Tom always outdraws you or Abraxas when we go for first hit?"

"Yes, yes, Mr. I-Will-Endlessly-Preach-on-Duelling-Basics." Abraxas muttered resignedly.

"I used a forearm holster!" Melchior defended.

"But you don't practise your draw enough. In Advanced Defence, you both usually already had your wands out."

Abraxas' brows furrowed slightly as he realised something. "While Tom never had his wand out from the beginning."

"Exactly."

"Sheesh. I still defeat you almost two-thirds of the time we fight, drawing speed notwithstanding." Melchior groused.

"More like three fifths." Pendleton said between sips of his tea. "Your spell repertoire is uncommonly large—you and Abraxas both."

Just when Abraxas was grinning widely and Melchior look more satisfied, Pendleton gave his last shot.

"Those fancy spells aren't much help when you're fighting someone at least three times faster than you. Isn't that right?"

A slight glance at Hermione made it clear who he was referring to. Hermione herself only noticed it when the two Slytherins across from her turned to her direction with a glum expression.

"Because there'd be times when drawing speed will make a difference between the quick and the dead." She added.

"Hey, that's catchy!" Starkey, no, Ves, remarked.

Hermione shrugged and simply picked up another éclair puffy with cream. "Wasn't mine. Pretty sure I've heard it before from someone else."

The slight clink of glass on the table was louder than usual, for some reason drawing their attention.

"Is no one going to mention how you threatened Rowle?" Jemima's tone was high.

The Ravenclaw witch was surprised that Avery was still there. The other Slytherins exchanged glances with each other. Hermione had no regrets about striking back at Rowle, whatever their answers were, but she was now curious.

Avery was right, she mused. None of them looked the slightest bit perturbed.

"He's asking for it, frankly. Would've recommended the method to me own sister if he ever gives 'er hell." Starkey spoke up. Hermione snorted. She almost forgot that he was Mr. Psychopath Junior.

"It's just Robbe, Jemima." Abraxas said without concern.

"Just Robbe?"

"He always feels more important than he actually is. You get used to it." The Malfoy heir was more interested in the sausages he was adding to his plate.

That was when Hermione paid attention to the dishes he was picking. Since when was there more than two varieties of sausages for breakfast? Not even in the Hogwarts of her own time. After staring at the fourth sausage platter (and the one she actually found interesting with its scent of herbs), she realised that the Slytherin Germans must've made some requests to the kitchen elfs, recipes in tow.

Gallus kindly shifted her that platter of sausage when she'd stretched a hand towards it. Ves continued to pass it towards her. She thanked them.

Jemima Avery was frowning, marring her pretty face.

"But Curie's—"

"Only putting him in his place." Melchior finished.

As Hermione poured herself some water and was drawn by the serene splashing of the flowing liquid, she realised that her corner of the Slytherin table had to be rather quiet for her to have heard it clearly.

The Knights of Walpurgis were generally enjoying their breakfast, if not reading (Pendleton, again). Most had stopped paying attention to their fifth-year prefect. To Hermione's left, Starkey was happily swallowing his meal down with a speed that would shame an anaconda. The only reason Hermione barely blinked was because Ron had even worse table manners in his Hogwarts years—she'd seen it all, and at least Starkey didn't leave a mess (she suspected that Pendleton was going to drive an elbow to his gut if any food flew onto his book).

Jemima stared at them in turn, with the disbelief of someone who'd heard there was a fair coming to town and visited, only to find out it was a butcher's convention on the spot when a bucket of blood spilled in front of her.

It was with some embarrassment that Hermione had only realised the reason then.

Slytherins stick together, Draco had once told her. Especially towards outsiders. It doesn't matter if you disagree with your housemate. It doesn't matter if you want to wipe that grin with your fist. You don't let the outsiders see your weakness as a house. We play divide et impera to other houses, not the reverse.

Jemima Avery had just seen Tom's closest friends (associates, that Daphne-like voice corrected in her head) close ranks around Hermione against one of their own.

The first public expression you learn to make in Slytherin is easy, Daphne had said.

Hermione was wearing it even as Jemima's gaze turn to her. It was the 'all according to plan' smile. It didn't even matter if it wasn't your plan. It wasn't as if most would know. She spotted the teapot in the middle, filled with boiling water—she'd just checked. The teapot had a very basic stasis charm (house elf magic) that unravelled the moment she touched it. No tea had yet to be added as the boys had either been more occupied with eating or was satisfied with pouring themselves some juice.

Hermione chose black tea with jasmine and spooned some loose leaves inside.

"Would you like some tea?" Hermione offered with a pleasant tone.

'-

To Hermione's surprise, Jemima said yes.

The brunette poured some tea for her without further thoughts, asking whether she preferred to take hers with lemon or milk. Milk, and sweet too. If Hermione had found it weird that their tastes were similar, it was dispelled the moment Jemima confirmed that she does prefer the lighter and more fragrant teas. Unlike the thick brews Hermione preferred, courtesy of the all-nighters she had often pulled in a different life.

Vespasian Starkey might have successfully schooled his face into a neutral expression and only focused on his food, but Hermione could see easily from sitting beside him that he was dissatisfied with the current state of things. His looks of annoyance were even more notable than Melchior's expression of forbearance—and he was the one right next to Jemima.

"So, Hermione," Starkey—Ves, started.

"Yes?"

"Yer a healer, right?"

"I've got the basics of a field healer down, at least," she said. As far as I can remember, she did not voice.

"How much blood does someone 'ave of, hmm, say, Jemma's height and weight 'ere?"

Starkey (Ves, Hermione, Ves) turned appraisingly across the table, while Jemima did a good job of looking too engrossed in her drink to notice. It was a pity that Hermione was not an amateur in interviewing witnesses, even if she didn't need to do it as frequently as Harry or Ron.

"And what height would that be?" She asked back.

"An inch or two shorter than you."

"Four and a half litres, give or take a quarter of a litre." Hermione estimated.

"Litres? We ain't no bloody French. What's that in quarts?"

She groaned, only now remembering that the metrication hasn't exactly gone in full swing yet. Heck, the last time she was in Diagon Alley idly asking the conversion rate from galleons to pound sterling, she saw the rates to guineas as well as pound, and the shilling was still around. It meant that one pound was 240 pence during this time instead of the easy-to-calculate 100—unless, she uses base 12 instead of base 10 to calculate in.

"A litre is about 88% of a quart." Melchior commented. She was about to give him a look of amazement when she saw that he was reading off a bookmark.

"Urgh, wait a sec…I can round that to 3 quarts and 2 pints, give or take half a pint. Why do you ask?"

Ves tilted his head to the side a little, his gaze unmoving from Jemima.

"How much blood needs spillin' before consciousness is lost? Almost all three quarts?"

"That's outright murder," Hermione calmly replied. "Just over two-fifths of total blood volume is enough to make consciousness go down. It's safer to just use a knock-out spell, though, since that much blood loss is already class four haemorrhagic shock. If blood is not replenished in the system quickly, the knock-on hypovolemic shock is going to get major organs to shut down."

Starkey was still staring at Jemima, unblinking, unaffected by the glare she gave him.

"Pudding?" Pendleton leaned forward and offered from Ves' other side. Hermione nodded. She had no idea if he knew about what she liked, but she was certainly not going to turn down the raspberry and orange pudding he suggested.

"Yes please. And thank you."

"That's a pity." Ves said.

"Really? Why?"

"I do like to see arterial blood flow. So red, fresh and…vivid. Don't you think so, Jemma?"

"I don't have to listen to this." Jemima Avery enunciated each word carefully.

Starkey nodded happily. "'Course not. You can walk away from us barbarians anytime you want."

Jemima glanced around her. It was rather telling that not even Pendleton cut into Starkey's explanation and disagreed with his use of the word 'barbarians'.

"Not that the term meant anything," Gallus opined. "Considering that the Romans consider the Coliseum a civilised entertainment. If you don't mind helping me out with what Slughorn's comments are supposed to mean, Hermione?"

Gallus was…eating salad? Oh, and taking out some homework scrolls without further ado. In fact, he'd just slid one over to Hermione's. A potions essay already marked by Slughorn. She took the scroll easily.

"Oh no, not at all. I'll just doodle right here, shall I?"

"Please do."

Hermione pulled out one of her favourite quills. She placed its associated ink bottle on the table too while she's at it. She'd filled both with dark rose ink (she was determined on having her favourite ink colour to annotate with, even if she had to mix several inks herself and test each mix to get that particular shade). She started adding explanation in the spaces remaining among the margin in her small, neat handwriting.

"Could you kill people from pain?" Ves Starkey idly asked her again.

"No, not really. They'd just faint from shock." She replied absently.

"Oh, how boring."

"Theoretically, you can frighten people to death, though," Hermione added. "It's been observed in wild animals that are captured but are not anaesthetised. They're so afraid of their situation and surroundings but they can't escape. Adrenaline spikes, their heart rates spikes, and it doesn't stop. They die of heart failure. That's why it's always a good idea to drug any wildlife you catch, even if you were to catch to heal them. It's not as if they can understand your intentions, after all."

Ves sounded more than a little excited. If Hermione was a little less distracted by her work, she might be a bit more worried.

"Wicked!"

"Yes, but people aren't as irrational as those poor animals. They don't stay afraid of the same thing for hours and days on end. I can't see it happening in our species." Hermione explained.

When the table quieted down, she thought that line of conversation was over. Hermione was more interested in musing what the hell Slughorn's scribble of 'not enough vision!' was supposed to mean. She had never received such strange comments even when she last studied under the Potions Master. Then again, she always made sure her work was comprehensive.

"That just means we 'ave to be very creative, isn't it?" Ves mused out loud again.

The brunette snorted. She could guess where his mind just went. "Torture just creates more pain, not fear. You'd probably kill someone from the blood loss first."

"Ah, it needs a real artist, you mean. Hmm. Sounds like a proper challenge, y'know? To be able to frighten someone to death…"

"I don't even get why all that is even necessary in the first place. If you really have an enemy you want to get out of the way, then 'wham, bam, Azkaban' is the best solution. No one ever gets out of there and all your troubles are now…contained." Abraxas commented, with the ease of a family that has successfully brought down their occasional political enemies by litigating them to bankruptcy.

Hermione heard Melchior groan. "That's an awful pun, Brax."

"No, it's not," Ves defended. "At least it's not the one about Guy Fawkes being hung and quartered."

"What about it?" Melchior asked.

"Well, the king doesn't need to worry about 'im anymore, does he? Now that he's…resting in pieces."

Melchior wasn't the only one who groaned at that, even as Ves chortled.

"There's still another one." Pendleton unexpectedly spoke up. "What did the king say to him when it's all said and done?"

"What?"

"The rebellion is getting out of hand, isn't it?" He deadpanned.

Even Gallus groaned. "Merlin, that's bad and you should be ashamed of it."

Pendleton shrugged. "You were asking for bad examples."

"And then he'll go 'here, let me lend you a hand'." Abraxas added, to the pained chuckles and groans of almost everyone else.

"Or, 'why don't you just…leg it?'" Pendleton added yet again.

"The Parliament Building is just a hop away," Gallus commented.

Melchior was burying his face in his hands, despite his chuckles. Abraxas laughed freely. Hermione only let the occasional twitch of her lips show, as she was determined to finish her notes on Gallus' essay.

Ves hooted at that. "If I was the king, I'd say that while shaking his legs in front of him."

"Oh, I know! 'Missing something?'" Abraxas commented.

On and on they went with their morbid jokes (and some she had to admit were as funny as they were awful), until the clatter of plate surprised them all.

Avery had stood up and left without preamble, and Hermione had only realised then that the other witch had been getting paler.

"Finally! Been wondering when she'd finally leave!"

Pendleton swiped the back of Ves' head.

"Oy!"

"She's not out of hearing yet, you dolt."

"Oh, good point." Ves scratched his head of thick curls before hollering in the direction of Jemima.

"Sorry about our bad jokes, Jemma!"

That only caused Abraxas, Melchior and Gallus to groan.

"Don't tell me your mother lets you get away behaving like that to a respectable witch?" Abraxas asked.

"I think she's given up on him." Pendleton's reply was as flat as his bland expression.

"That's the point of doing it behind her, right?" Vespasian said.

Melchior pinched the bridge of his nose. "And pray, tell, what would your solution be if she wrote about this to her mother? Who might possibly write to all our mothers, or even worse meet and have tea with them?"

Too curious to stay away, Hermione looked up from Gallus' essay. Three other wizards were staring Ves' down. Pendleton, she supposed, was already too used to his friend's antics by his neutral mien. (She'd asked him how he knew Starkey—he'd admitted that their ancestral lands were practically neighbours, which would make them childhood friends).

"Um, run?" Ves hazarded.

Hermione laughed, surprising everyone else.

"You know, I do know a very good, anti-Howler ward. If that's too much for you to erect in a place as large as Hogwarts, I even know the smaller charm version you can put on something wearable, for a very good price…"

Most of the Slytherin wizards around her was now hanging to her every word.

'-

"Melchior, what are you doing?" Abraxas asked.

"As interested as I am to negotiate you teaching me that particular howler-repelling charm," Melchior began. He glanced up from the scroll he was writing to Hermione. "I happen to think that publishing our version of the story needs to be done first and foremost."

His friend seemed to realise what he was doing just then.

"You're writing a letter?"

"I certainly am writing a letter."

"Oh, good grief, how the hell could I have forgotten!" Gallus cried, slapping his palm over his forehead on Abraxas' other side. "Good point, Melchior!"

Melchior only managed a wordless grunt in acknowledgement, too focused on his letter-writing. Soon, Gallus pushed aside his half-eaten salad and spread a fresh roll of parchment on his part of the table as he tried to get a fountain pen of his to work (his bowl of salad disappeared ten minutes later). Abraxas ducked when Gallus seemed to be a little too enthusiastic in shaking his pen and almost hit him at the temple (Rosier was left-handed).

Pendleton seemed to be struck by something and was also pulling parchments out and pushing empty dishes to the side. Unlike the others, he shoved it towards Ves.

"Write."

"What?"

Abraxas was a bit late to the party, but he'd figured it out now as he scrambled for writing tools.

"Letters home, Ves. Jemima may or may not end up writing a letter home to her mother. Now, in case she actually wrote that letter, and her mother actually sent another letter to our mothers, would they be more pissed off if it's the first time they heard of the incident, or if they've heard about it before from us?" Abraxas said.

"Oh, right! So, we need to get our truth out before she does."

"Definitely." Melchior confirmed. "Then, Jemima can publish and be damned, for all I care."

Hermione glanced at Pendleton, who was the only one unconcerned and who'd continued with his Ancient Runes reading.

"You're not writing anything?" She asked. His reply was succinct.

"My father's chronically unwell and my mother's dead. My grandaunt doesn't actually care about these trivial things."

She winced. Didn't he say that his father was in St. Mungo's, or something? Mental ward! That was it, her memory supplied her.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't mention it," he quickly said. He actually looked more uncomfortable from her apology than her comments before. He pre-empted her from saying anything else. "Really, don't mention it. I'm used to it already by now."

The sound of quills and pen gliding over paper was the only sound audible or a while.

"My owl has flown back to the owlery, though." Abraxas fretted.

"Get all our owls to fly back here. What else?" Gallus replied without care.

Before any of his friends asked how, he'd already raised his right hand and hailed someone at the lower end of the Slytherin house table. The table being only half-filled on Saturday morning, they seemed to have no problem seeing and communicating with each other. Not long after that, one of the lower years walked forward.

Hermione couldn't help but consider the rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed younger version of Gallus as adorable. He even had a small cowlick sticking up.

"Hello."

Everyone greeted him and Gallus gave a summary introduction of everyone there to his brother, including Hermione. The younger Rosier was looking at her with a clear and curious glance.

"So, everyone, that's Jonah, my younger brother. I can get him to go to the owlery and get our owls to fly down."

"That'd be ten knuts and a Honeydukes candy." Jonah promptly said.

It amused Hermione that everyone tipped him without a second thought before telling him what their respective owls look like and what their names are. Jonah dutifully wrote it down.

"I'm surprised none of you balk at the cost."

Abraxas sniffed. "Please, Hermione, if we gave nothing, it would be a favour instead of a simple quid pro quo exchange. You should actually suspect people who insist they're providing you a service for free."

"Trust is expensive and worth paying for." Gallus concluded.

'-

When Tom finally arrived at the Slytherin table after his morning swim, what he saw surprised him. It was not outside the realm of possibility that Hermione would decide to breakfast at his house table, true. But he hadn't expected the ease in which she socialised with his house mates.

Hermione was tutoring the twin boulders, Parkinson and Mulciber.

Tom cleared his throat when he was right behind them. Hermione looked up. He did not fail to notice the smile that brightened her expression. Parkinson and Mulciber was looking up blankly at him until Melchior (bless him) pointedly cleared his throat at them. Tom was sure Abraxas was saying some things too, but why would he need to pay attention to whatever command the blond gave to his slow minions?

"Tom! How's your swim?"

"It went well, as I'm sure you know."

She shrugged. "I still have to ask. Anyway, I'd offer you a seat, but…"

Hermione paused in surprise as she glanced forward, possibly because of the seats to her right that is now conveniently vacated—the boulder twins had moved down. He sat down at his rightful place. Tom turned to her with an expression of complete innocence.

"You were saying?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't comment, only knocked at his part of the table with a distinct shave-and-a-haircut pattern. This summoned a new table setting at his location—plate, silverware and napkin. Gallus had started passing some of the more interesting breakfast foods from his side, and everyone helped move the dishes closer to his side of the table. A quick glance at the table informed him of what everyone else was currently up to.

"So, everyone is apparently homesick at once." Tom commented.

As a few heads bobbed up to stare at him in confusion, he gestured at their sudden letter-writing spree. Starkey barked a laughter and Abraxas chuckled.

Melchior sighed. "Avery the Prefect is in a snit. The last thing I need is her crocodile tears making the rounds in my mother's circle of friends."

From Tom's amused smile, it was clear that he'd somehow picked up the rest of the story from the shared glances and glimpses of vexed expressions on everyone else's face. That was the last time Jemima Avery was mentioned.

'-

They did end up studying at the Slytherin table, though it wasn't strictly for a specific subject. Most were reading up on Defence, true, but Pendleton always ended up going back to Ancient Runes every other ten minutes and Gallus had his Potions essay with Slughorn's odd and incomprehensible notes about his work.

It had scarcely been an hour later when another Slytherin witch walked to their particular corner of the house table.

"Good morning, Clytemnestra."

Hermione had only noticed her approach when she heard Tom's greeting and the witch's reply. She might be beautiful, but Hermione wouldn't know, since Clytemnestra's expression was perpetually akin to someone who'd just smelled something unpleasant. It marred her entire impression. The prefect pin Hermione could see clarified who she was. A sixth-year prefect—the Slytherin Montmorency's partner, Clytemnestra Gamp.

"Someone's looking for you, Curie." She said without any greeting.

"Who is it?"

"An Auror." A beat. There was the shadow of a cold smile. "The past always catches up with you, no matter how far you've run."

Hermione didn't even spare her a glance as she tidied her things unhurriedly. "They probably just wanted to ask questions."

A flash of white teeth. "You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better."

No matter the truth, she was not going to let herself be intimidated. If her calm demeanour annoyed other people, even better. Tom, on the other hand, seemed to have picked up more clues from the other prefect as there was a slight crease of his brow.

"I'm coming with you."

"I'm sure it's unnecessary," Gamp started.

"I insist."

Tom had stood up right before Hermione did. Even if his tone was light, it was not one that brooked any argument.

"They would have absolved your presence completely," the Slytherin witch insisted. "You would be above suspicion."

Suspicion? She frowned. Why did she even mention suspicion in the first place? That's not a concern for eyewitnesses at all. Unless…

"What is going on, Gamp?" Hermione asked, a discomfiting feeling growing in her mind.

"Nothing much, I'm sure." The Slytherin prefect smiled.

Hermione had never been so baldly lied to in her face.

'-

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End Notes:

List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:

Guinea (currency, UK): A coin and an old currency in the UK. Wikipedia informs me that it's approximately one quarter ounce of gold, and minted between 1663 and 1814. (I didn't know the exact date, only that it came around sometime after Isaac Newton became the Director of the Royal Mint). It was still in use to enumerate price of many expensive things, particularly luxury goods, in post WWI Britain. You can see glimpses of this in novels set from that era like Agatha Christie's body of work of the Lord Peter Wimsey series.

Since the pound sterling's worth is, as its name implies, fixed to the worth/price of silver (the silver standard) and the guinea is literally made of gold and thus its worth follows its material (gold standard) how many shillings a guinea is worth is not always the same throughout history, though it's fixed from 1717 to 1816. Yeah, I know this is probably way, waay more than anyone actually cared to know about an outdated currency.

Shilling (currency, UK): The shilling was in use in England since the time of Henry VII, with Scotland having their own version (Scots: schilling). The common currency shilling was created in 1707 by Articles of Union, standardising the shilling of both states to 12 pence per shilling and 20 shillings per pound. Hence Hermione's comment of how there were 240 pence to the pound before the decimalisation of 1971.

…yeah, old currency is complicated. Come to think of it, this old currency weirdness is probably why Rowling made the complicated conversion between knuts, sickles and galleons too. Because she knew about this shit.

'-

Additional Notes:

"Theoretically, you can frighten people to death, though," Hermione added. "It's been observed in wild animals that are captured but are not anaesthetised: There is actually a specific term for this that I'm sure all veterinarians and animal conservationists are aware of—capture myopathy (myopathy; any abnormality or disease of the muscle tissue). It all began with the stress hormones that their bodies can't stop excreting non-stop when they stay at a heightened state of fear for long periods of time that cascades destructively.

'-