Strange Attractors

by Orange et Blue Morality

Unspeakable Granger wakes up with missing memories in Hogwarts...in 1942. Way back? What way back? If there's anyone who's too used to making the best of things, it's her. The least she could do is to drag the wizarding world kicking and screaming to the 21st century (that prejudice has to go—and oh, the things she knows...). But there's someone here that makes her brain itch...

54. 54 Returns to Hogwarts

Author's Note:

This chapter is pretty monstrous in size. It helps to consider it as being made of two parts: the main story and the side story. The side story is an aside to Jonah Rosier and his friends. So…just treat this like two chapters, I guess? After all, it's around the size of two of my early chapters…

Happy Saka New Year/Hindu New Year to anyone celebrating! That kinda reminds me that it's probably time to drop in at Dad's grave again now that I've just passed his death day. Almost forgot if the Nee-san/Jiějiě in Australia didn't chat me up on that occasion last week or so.

To GreenThumbTarasova: I very much wanted to take up on your offer of being my beta reader, but some days, I barely could find the time to copy to FFNet to upload, much less do more than that. I''m afraid I might even forget to send stuff over. I'll...take a rain-check for now? Maybe when this project is finally done I can take a breather. (I'm selfishly having second thoughts about my current job simply because it didn't give me enough time to work on my writings).

To Imanon: Thanks for following SA so closely all this time and thanks for all your reviews! I would've wanted to answer all of them if only you weren't getting too close for my comfort in some of your guesses and predictions, though some were still a miss. If I only addressed the points you did miss, it would still be a clue to what you got right, right? So, my official stance is still "I can neither confirm nor deny..."

To everyone else: Thanks for leaving a word or a couple hundred so them. Really, they make a difference, especially when the client side boss is making me pull overtime yet again...

'-

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54 Returns to Hogwarts

Exiting St. Mungo's. Hermione goes out for a cat. A return to Hogwarts. A general warning in Slytherin dungeons with Francis Flint as observer. Late afternoon in the infirmary with an unexpected Slytherin guest. A prefect meeting takes an unpredictable turn or two. Tom indulges in an old hobby of his—watching people. Jonah Rosier has a bad day.

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'-

They were already walking down the corridors of St. Mungo's anonymously, tall gothic arches rose and swooped with stately grace above them. The sounds of their footsteps didn't even echo, a feat that Hermione tended to ascribe more to medieval engineering than wards—it was not absolute, for one, she could still hear their steps click, but that was all. One of these days, she'd figure out how the wizarding world managed to acquire an old and beautiful abbey for their hospital (other than the style, she could see the vestiges of the original floor plan to be able to identify what it used to be).

Hermione was leaning against Tom when she raised the other topic apart from architecture that was currently occupying her mind.

"You want a cat." Tom stated, one eyebrow raised.

"Or a kneazle, or a half-kneazle, I'm not picky. A familiar. I miss my cats." She said.

"You're still unwell." He pointed out.

"Well, when am I going to get out of Hogwarts again?" Her reply was peevish and she sighed as she heard the strain in her own voice, still felt the slight weakness in her own body. I'd probably need at least another proper meal first. "It's probably not until Christmas hols, is it? Better make use of this opportunity while it's there. Come on, one floo trip to the Leaky Cauldron and then it's not so far to the Menagerie."

Hermione was almost certain that he disagreed. To her surprise, he said nothing, merely turning to the nearest outgoing fireplace. He pronounced Leaky Cauldron for both of them and threw enough powder for two before they walked into the green flames. Wooden beams covered in soot and who-knows-what greeted her when she glanced upwards as she arrived, the scent of deep-fried foods filling the air as they were not far from the door to the kitchen. She'd almost forgot that Pendleton was with them until he stepped out behind them.

Instead of guiding her out to the back wall leading to Diagon Alley, he procured a seat for them—Hermione couldn't help cast Scourgify a few times on the table's oak surface before she felt comfortable placing her arm on it. Sometimes, she thought the only thing lacking before the place looked like a genuine medieval establishment was some fresh rushes over a dirt floor (the current floor was well-worn wood).

The bartender barely glanced up to see the school-aged people entering. He minded his own business once it was clear that they weren't off to some mischief or another.

Her brows creased slightly. "Tom?"

"You're not taking another step from this place." The Slytherin stated. With the gravity of his words, it might as well be a decree.

"I was serious in trying to get a cat." She said right back.

He nodded with surprising agreement.

"Oh, you will get a cat. I'll see to it. What Pendleton is going to do, is to go to the Menagerie and offer to pay five times the price of any cat you'd pick. The catch is that the proprietor must allow him to take them out of the shop and bring them here for you to choose." As he said this, he turned to the other Slytherin, giving a slight nod. She was almost sure that she saw Pendleton sigh, but he did not pause the slightest in turning around and making his way to the alley proper.

Tom returned his attention to her again, his dark unwavering gaze rather unsettling in the silence. That was when she realised that he was still taking stock of her condition.

"I'll be fine," she said.

"I notice that you said will be, which meant your current condition is a different matter entirely." He parried her defence with ease. He stared her down. She met his gaze but couldn't exactly deny him.

"Now, I heard Madame Edelstein saying something about how they allowed you no repast before an encounter with a dementor, so why don't you tell me what you find interesting from the menu and we'll start there?"

Hermione huffed in resignation. Sometimes, there were downsides to Tom being too perceptive by a half.

'-

The witch shook her head from above the five felines wandering in and out, of various sizes, colours and shapes. She coaxed them back into their cages one by one, with Pendleton giving a hand.

"No. I don't think I had a strong connection with any of them." She said.

"Do you want to try your luck with a third group?" Pendleton asked.

The pale Slytherin hadn't said anything when he diligently brought forth five cat carriers from the Magical Menagerie via floo, through the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace. The fact that the staff could see him clearly tipping beyond the costs of the floo powder was one of the reasons they let him trudge back and forth. When the first group of cat-kneazles didn't seem to do it for Hermione, he had wordlessly brought them back again in a few trips before returning several times with new cats.

This time, it seemed even his unusual patience caused him to pause and ask.

Hermione could see Tom's disapproving glance to his underling and she tried to head off any possible words he was going to have.

"I'm sorry. It's different trying to find a familiar compared to any pet, you know? Why don't I just walk over to the Menagerie and see for myself?"

"Hermione," Tom warned before Pendleton could say anything.

"St. Mungo's gave me a nutritious meal straight to my stomach with speeded up digestion—and I've just eaten again. I've got my energy needs covered for now." She said. "Really, I'm sure I'll be fine. You can watch every step of the way if you're not sure."

Hermione waited because she knew that the silence unnerved some people and Tom used it well. After a while, she knew he'd reached his own decision and seen that she had clarity of mind when she made her suggestion. He nodded and stood up, offering his arm to her; she accepted his assistance without a second thought. Feeling better was one thing, but the brunette witch certainly wasn't going to gamble on the possibility that she was perfectly fine yet.

'-

Hermione had gone through practically all the cats on display without finding the beginnings of a bond that she was sure she'd get with a familiar. The beleaguered shopkeeper decided to allow her to step to the back, where their more 'unusual' creatures are. Most are just those who had been sitting in the store for too long without anyone interested in them. She agreed without a second thought.

That was how Hermione found the cat that met her eyes with a gaze that she would swear had intelligence in them.

"That…is not a kneazle." Pendleton said, staring at the large creature sitting on the counter. His left flank had a hairless patch from an old battle scar.

The cat was watching him in return with one gimlet eye. The other eye was slightly clouded, but it did not give the impression of blindness.

"Well, they did say that most of the cats here are mixed breeds. It's what you get relying on actually finding working familiars instead of focusing on appearance." Hermione explained as she petted the cat. Pendleton hadn't looked away.

"I was not referring to that. I was referring to how it could tear out my throat if it wanted. Look at the size of that jaw. Did you take him out of a forest?"

Pendleton's dubious tone had the shopkeeper shaking his head firmly, hands waving, as he insisted that all creatures in the Magical Menagerie are only those capable to be familiars.

"You still didn't say no," Pendleton narrowed his eyes, suddenly paying attention to the more unusual birds, the unexpected snakes and foxes. "Perhaps someone gave you a shipment of creatures from the depths of Black Forest, guaranteed to be exotic. Do I need to contact the Magical Creatures Department?"

Hermione half-noticed Tom's polite-cough-that-wasn't-a-chuckle since she was more intent with observing the cat critically as they debated.

"He's been a familiar already!" The wizard insisted.

"Really?" Pendleton asked sceptically.

"Yes! I have the papers to prove it!"

"What if I want to see those?" Pendleton's voice stayed level even as he followed through with a dogged determination.

Why, yes, those jaws do seem rather large than what most cats have, Hermione thought. Even the closed lips could not fully hide his canines and he had more than one visible scar, including a nasty jagged scar that went down his left eye. The cat eyed her lazily with interest.

"There's probably some admixture with a wild species or two," she speculated. It would not be unusual and it was hard to tell either way with his scruffy coat with smudged and unclear tabby stripes. Hermione shook her head. "But he wouldn't tear your neck—what do you think he is, a wolf? No. Small cats are almost always solitary hunters, going after prey that are smaller than them. Only pack animals dare to hunt larger prey."

"Like humans, you mean?" Tom added casually.

She grinned at him. "Yes, exactly."

"I'm not carrying him back." Pendleton was surprisingly firm in his opinion.

"Of course not," Hermione answered, "I can carry him."

Oddly enough, the cat's expression seemed vaguely like a grin.

"Hermione," Tom began.

"Or well, he could just…follow me." She stared back at the cat. The tomcat turned his gaze back to her once her attention returned to him. "You can follow me, right?"

The kneazle-cat meowed once, but otherwise he didn't move from his sitting position on the counter. The shopkeeper stood a good distance away from the cat.

"Are you sure you'd take him? Not that I'd mind—I'd be too glad to be rid of him—" the wizard took another step back when the cat turned around to stare at him. "Sometimes we do favours too, like when a witch or a wizard dies of old age without any close relative and they left behind a living familiar. Well, Blackie here is one. He wasn't that old when his old mistress died. Probably only a year or so."

"You poor dear." Hermione patted him gently on the head.

Blackie butted his head against her hand and purred loudly, as unquiet as the engine of an old motorcycle. She ignored Tom's raised eyebrow or Pendleton's determined distance.

"Yes, I'll take him."

'-

True to her first impressions of the cat, he followed her very well walking down the street with only a collar and no leash. Tom nodded with curt approval when he saw that; she was sure he had a checklist he was mentally ticking off one by one in his head about what an ideal familiar was supposed to be like. Hermione tucked her chin down to hide an amused smile. Whatever your complaints about Tom were, he was methodical when accomplishing tasks.

She'd been about to keep the cat's old name when Tom interfered. It wouldn't do, he said, since the name represented the bond that his old mistress had with him. 'Blackie' might have represented a juvenile cat expected to keep a retired witch company in her peaceful sunset days. Yet the name certainly did not reflect what his bond with an active witch like her would be like, one who does not even blink at having enemies left and right.

"You'll have to give him a new name, for a new destiny," Tom said.

Hermione glanced back and saw how the cat had leaped down from the counter. He was circling Pendleton, who eyed him warily in return. When the blond wizard walked away a little, the feline followed behind, his pace unhurried but without slacking either. Tom actually clicked his tongue at that and shook his head.

"When do you think he'd realise that the more he behaves as a prey, the more the cat is going to toy with him?"

Hermione let out a surprised laughter at that.

"You're actually right."

"Of course I am."

She ignored his superior tone. "I do like Blackie. It's straightforward. The next name that comes to mind isn't impressive the least."

"What is it?"

"Shaggy."

Tom didn't stop himself from chuckling then.

"His coat is shaggy! And he looks like a small shag carpet." She defended herself.

"Yes, because 'looking like a small shag carpet' is a rare and valuable talent that all familiars should aspire to. Very…unique."

Hermione gave him a light shove for that dry observation.

"Not. Helping."

Before Hermione could pick up any of the accoutrements that one also purchases with a new familiar or pet, Tom had already directed Pendleton to carry all of it.

"Well, if you're looking for inspiration, my familiar is Typhon."

She snorted. That was so like him to choose the name of the bane of the Greek gods.

It was not like she had his level of conceit. That was why she simply went with Blackbeard.

'-

"Hermione! We've been so worried about you!" Eugenie expressed her concern even as she flung her arms around the brunette.

Hermione's friends swarmed her the moment she stepped out of the Head Nurse's office and she was lost under their hugs; it would seem that they'd been waiting for her return at the infirmary for a while. Tom had easily stepped aside as her friends mobbed her.

Lucretia said what everyone had been thinking, her expression somewhere between concerned and fond as she patted Hermione's arm.

"It's good to have you back, Hermione."

"Hey, everyone," she greeted weakly.

"I leave you for my social life for one day and suddenly you're facing dementors in the Ministry?" Lakshmi asked in disbelief. "I can't leave you alone, can I?"

"Are you alright? Really?"

Eugenie was the first to hug her and also the one who held Hermione the longest. She had only released her friend now to scan her appearance from head to toe repeatedly.

"I'm fine. The mediwitches and mediwizards at St. Mungo's are very used to dealing with it. The procedure is pretty routine." Hermione said.

"I still feel like you're glossing over several things." Julia said, ever sceptical.

"You wouldn't be wrong," Tom commented.

He received an annoyed side-glance from Hermione and an expression of vindication from the sixth-year.

"And look, I have a familiar!" Hermione quickly interrupted. "I took the opportunity to drop in at Diagon Alley today. Everyone, say hello to Blackbeard!"

The scarred cat meowed at the sound of his name, sitting calmly on the floor not far from his mistress. Pendleton had called for a Hogwarts' house elf the moment he stepped off the fireplace and was relieved to be relieved of his burden. Lucretia actually cooed at the cat, who preened at the attention.

"He's adorable Hermione."

Hermione grinned. "He is, isn't he? He's so fluffy too."

That sentiment seemed to be uniquely Lucretia's, though. The other Ravenclaw witches stared at the cat, his off-putting size (he came to Hermione's knee) and rather grizzled appearance and was at loss for bland, nice words to say. What does one say when your friend brings a young footpad that failed to rob them home with the intention of adopting him? Cute was not a word on anyone's mind then. What almost all of them could agree on, however, was to level various looks of disbelief and accusation at Tom.

"You took her shopping?" Lakshmi voiced her incredulity. "When she should be in bed?"

"We got taken shopping." Pendleton couldn't help but defend Tom. Lucretia glanced at him curiously.

On the other hand, Tom raised both of his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression bland.

"I can either accompany her or she would find a way to do it herself, possibly straining her current condition even worse. I assure you, she was having a comfortable and filling meal in the Leaky Cauldron most of the time as Pendleton went back and forth between the establishment and the Menagerie to ferry cats and kneazles."

"Merlin helped me, but I did." Pendleton muttered. It earned him a sympathetic look from Eugenie as well as Julia's look of pity. Yet it also spoke of companionship, that he had now joined her in this incomprehensible journey. The corners of Pendleton's mouth lifted marginally.

"I'm just a little drained. Really, it's not that big of a deal." Hermione said in exasperation.

Of course, at this point, Madame Edelstein just had to arrive and deal a blow to that particular statement of hers. The nurse thanked Tom for escorting Hermione back, ushered Hermione to sit in a bed and stay there. Maggie then shooed her friends out by telling them they could visit again in the afternoon after Hermione had rested. Between all this, she and Hermione argued on the finer details of what exactly it meant to have hypoglycaemia compounded with dementor exposure as well as the seriousness of said experience.

"Not to mention that you haven't lost all signs of your last encounter with a dark wizard!" The nurse threw the words out in exasperation.

To Hermione's credit, it really wasn't her fault that her sense of what was 'fine' had been built from the back-to-back raids on dark zealot raids, during the critical days when the Auror force was still undermanned and secrecy was important. She was a little too used to pushing her body to the limits.

This time, she did resign herself to sleeping in the infirmary as Maggie took the copy of her medical charts that she'd made. At least the nurse did make a concession to allow Blackbeard to accompany his mistress. The cat promptly made himself comfortable at the foot of her bed.

'-

The Slytherin common room was in a state of hushed anticipation that afternoon.

Francis Flint had large bones on firm and solid frame that already exceeded many adult wizards' even at his current age. Add his workable coat that did not have that high fashion look many purebloods' do, and he might not even look out of place bellowing for order in a rowdy tavern and smashing tables to those who didn't listen to him. The fact that he seemed like a boor most of the time was no reason to treat him as one—that, Tom considered, was just walking right into his trap. Currently, there was amusement in his eyes.

"You asked for a meeting, Riddle?" His voice boomed. He didn't leave his wing-backed chair as he said this.

Tom didn't make any effort to approach him and stood a nice distance away. Their two groups were tense with expectation, the Slytherin common room mostly quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace.

"Oh, nothing too complicated. I just need to straighten out some misunderstandings." Tom answered idly, waving a hand at that.

The two of them had met privately before now. They knew exactly what was going on. It didn't mean they didn't have to put on a bit of a show for everyone else.

"Really? I thought you were doing a spot of art appreciation this afternoon." Flint said as he stood up. Even merely standing as he was, his stature was enough to intimidate the faint-hearted.

"I might have." His answer was careless even as the other Slytherin stalked forward. Tom was talking to the carved snakes decorating the supporting pillars and fireplace edge of their common room.

"Now, I'm just here to give a warning to the more ignorant." Tom finished.

"About?"

"That small inheritance issue I told you about before."

Flint stopped only a few steps away from him. His friends at his shoulders and seemed far more prepared for the possibility of violence breaking out than him.

"Francis—" one of them called.

"Quiet." "Quiet." His voice lashed out against all of them, sharp with command.

The other seventh-year was obeyed immediately. Flint's attention had never left Tom.

"Ah. You still don't control the strongest proof, I take it?"

Tom shrugged. "It would come sooner or later. I am content with following our previous agreement, of not officiating things unless I have practically all the evidence. Yet I can't accept idiots crossing me in the meantime due to their ignorance…simply because they think I'm an easy prey."

Their gaze met. The Flint heir still had the same amusement he held at the beginning. "Oh, a lesson? Ah, go ahead. I'll enjoy the entertainment."

To his companion's surprise, Francis Flint returned to his seat without further ado. They didn't have much time to react before the stone snakes on the walls and the fireplace slithered out, settling in vague line in front of Tom. There was more than one yelp of surprise, along with the screams of the few younger years who'd been ignorant of the atmosphere in the common room and hadn't made themselves scarce.

The calm and steady Pendleton had wordlessly settled himself to being treated as a movable tree by Tom's almost pitch-black python. If he was put upon, no one could see it in his unbothered expression. There was a noticeable clearing around him as no other Knights stood too close to him. Tom turned to his pet and hissed an order.

"Typhon, pull back anyone who is trying to escape."

The snake hissed back in Parseltongue while slithering down from Pendleton.

"Gladly, Speaker."

A blustering, red-faced companion of Flint was a little slow on the uptake.

"W-w-what are you talking about, Riddle?"

Tom turned to face the fool again, a small smile on his face.

"I'll simplify this for you. I'm the Heir of Slytherin. Don't get in my way."

"You're not—you couldn't be—"

He tapped the head of one of the stone snakes instead. The animated sculpture turned to him. "Take that idiot down, will you? Thank you."

The other Slytherin screamed, senseless with fear, as the stone snake coiled around him with lightning speed. He was wriggling on the floor now, unable to move from the bands of stone encircling him. As Tom gazed up again, he saw the other seventh-years taking an involuntary step back.

"There. Does anyone see that? Parseltongue. Yes, I speak it. Anyone else who think I might just be making fake hissing sounds?"

No one stepped forward.

"I did say that there was a good reason to leave him alone," Flint idly commented. "And I told you all to leave him alone."

"You didn't say you respected him!"

Francis roared with laughter for a moment, before easing off quickly, staring at the mouthy idiot with a flat mien.

"Do you really think I'd leave off someone that I thought was annoying and insignificant?"

He didn't wait for an answer, brushing the other wizard off immediately. Francis Flint nodded to Tom to signal that he was done.

Mrs. Cole always loved reminding the orphans that it was their manners that would show how civilised they are, how far they are from the common riff-raff. He agreed. Really, politeness costs you nothing and a kind word here and there goes a long way.

"Anyone? Take your time, I'm not in a rush." Tom asked the room again, pleasantly.

The stone snakes began to circle the wizards, a few were blocking the retreat of several spectators.

Flint leaned back and clicked his fingers. A second-year boy ran off and returned after fetching him a drink from some hidden latch at some point in the room. Tom wasn't concerned—he'd probably be told the secret by the time Francis Flint graduated.

The dark-haired wizard took another step forward to reduce the distance between them.

"I may not have the absolute evidence for now, but my patience is running out. I don't know which one of you is responsible for Hermione's plight, but believe me, I'll find out." He spoke calmly.

Balthazar Burke was the only other Slytherin that was sitting down other than Francis Flint, but that was mainly because he didn't even get up in the first place. He was only loosely associated with Flint, and he'd found his thick tome more interesting than his current House drama. His scruffy head bobbed up; he'd raised his hand in the air even as he shuddered and allowed one of the stone snakes to crawl over him.

"You know it wasn't me, don't you? There's no way I started anything that stupid."

Tom nodded, a corner of his lips quirking upwards slightly. "Oh, I know, Burke. Can't let you off without some kind of check since I don't have unassailable evidence of your non-involvement either. It wouldn't be fair to everyone else, would it?" He asked, with all the mock gravitas he could summon.

"Drats. As long as you make it quick, then."

His casual words contrasted with the way he assiduously tried not to look at the snake still binding him.

"Certainly. Sorry about the inconvenience." Tom kept his tone almost cheerful.

Someone whimpered in the background. Typhon had circled the room and pushed back any sneaking student that managed to slip past the stone snakes—there were no comparing the intelligence of constructs and living creatures, really. Even if they weren't involved, it did not matter. Young Jonah Rosier handed some of his snacks with ease to a snivelling classmate that had just been pulled back by the python. The first-year opened another bag of Three Broomsticks' homemade crisps before sighing and passing a handkerchief when he realised his companion was dribbling snot.

There was no leaving once the show has started and that applies to the audience too.

Tom turned to everyone else. This time, he smiled.

"Now, where were we?"

'-

It was only because Hermione was still in the infirmary that she noticed Ves' incursion into it. She hadn't woken up for long from her admittedly nice nap. Blackbeard's ears also turned in the direction of the noise, but he did not bother to stir except to open one eye.

"Ves?"

Ves Starkey stopped skulking his way across the infirmary and gingerly approached her bedside, his hands in his pockets and his lopsided newsboy cap hiding part of his face.

"Hullo, Hermione. How're you feelin' now?"

"I'm good, actually. If only Nurse Edelstein will let me go now." She said.

"Ah, well. A little rest isn't bad for anyone."

"Which is the only reason why I didn't just go back to the Ravenclaw Tower."

He nodded at her reply. It was only as he rolled back on his heels, awkwardly hanging there without saying another word that she was curious.

"Did you actually break the normal visiting hours just to see me?"

His eyes widened comically at that. "Bleeding hell, no! Tom's going to turn my guts for garters for th' presumption. No, I was just…"

"Just…?"

"Nothing. Takin' a walk for a bit. Nothin' wrong with that, is there?" His tone was slightly defensive. The colour high on his cheekbones was a lot more entertaining.

She raised an eyebrow. "Because it's so very easy to break into the infirmary…and avoiding Madame Edelstein's attention while you do it. All this for a walk."

"Well, yeah? A little challenge is good for the blood." He replied.

"Uh huh." She folded her arms in front of her chest and stared him down.

He shrugged, seeming for all intents and purposes to be casual and uncaring. Well, she already knew that he wasn't one that would easily buckle under pressure.

"Alright. So, you've 'walked' to my end. What are you going to do now? Walk back out?"

"I might." He said, yet he made no moves to do so.

"Fine."

It was while they were staring eat other down like this that he began to fidget. She noticed his twitching fingers.

"Aren't you going to do something else?" Vespasian asked.

"Well, I have nothing else to do but sit here," she carelessly said.

"Like, dunno, sleep, maybe?"

He sounded a little hopeful that she couldn't help but tweak him a little. She didn't hide her smile.

"What, because you want to keep standing there and watch me sleep? I hear it's the romantic thing to do." Hermione fluttered her eyelashes with exaggeration, enjoying herself too much.

"Flap-dragon filled fussocks and hog-grubber gouty goats—" she could see him biting off more swear words, scratching the back of his head in annoyance so hard that he had to grab his hat before it fell off. He fixed it on his head again, this time a little lopsided to the right.

"Merlin's underpants, Hermione! You know I don't think that way, leastways when I'd as lief keep my head and limbs where they are."

Hermione laughed at his curses and complaints, and the ruddy colouring that didn't seem as if it was going to go anywhere now. "Oh, fine. Go off and do whatever it was you were about to do. Don't mind me."

Ves stared at her with doubt.

"Really, can't you sleep? Or, well, go to the ladies' powder room?"

She raised an eyebrow at him and couldn't help but smirk. "Ves. Really, I'm not going to snitch on you."

"Uh, right you are."

"Yes. Go on." She waved him away, while he couldn't help but watch her warily, a fox uncertain if he'd avoided the hounds of the hunt or not.

He walked away slowly, back towards the tall doors leading to the hallway, but she didn't believe for a second that it was his original intent. When he did carefully open the door, she simply merrily waved him goodbye before looking around, hoping that someone had left her some reading materials. There was a bouquet of flowers, which was signed by her friends and Professor Sprout—well, she mused, that explains where they found the dahlias and colourful chrysanthemums. She couldn't find any book around her bed, to her disappointment, but she did find her box of chocolate truffles.

There was a note attached to it.

For when you're bored. Heaven knows I'd want to munch on something delicious.

- Lakshmi.

Hermione grinned. Well, Lakshmi wasn't exactly wrong. As she opened it and started picking one of the chocolate squares, she realised that it was the one Tom gave her on that picnic day. It was to congratulate her on getting well and leaving the infirmary. It was still surprising for her to realise that it hadn't been a month.

Ten minutes later, Hermione thought she could recall where Nurse Edelstein kept her Cook's Encyclopaedia and decided to retrieve that for a light read. If she was feeling fine an hour after waking, she was going to check herself out of the infirmary, she decided, conveniently not remembering that if Nurse Edelstein was around, she probably wouldn't even get the permission to do so.

An hour after that, she was too engrossed in her random reading to remember her initial plan. At one point, she'd decided to check out the common wolfsbane species in the UK and was hopping from one page to another based on that (she thought with some amusement that it was the traditional form of wiki-walking before the age of Wikipedia and its hyperlinks).

The thud of the door closing was soft, but Hermione had gone on enough stakeout for her alertness to instantly rise at the sound.

Her gaze met that of Ves', frozen at the entrance.

"Hi. About to finish what you started?" She asked nicely.

The Ravenclaw didn't speak loudly. Yet being the only person in a hall with good acoustics meant that her voice carried well. Even from this distance, she could see that Ves' shoulders visibly drooped.

"Aww crap, you're still here."

"Yes."

"Would y'like me to escort you back to the Ravenclaw Tower?" As he came closer, he was suddenly all polite attention. She shook her head.

"Nope. I'm happy to stay where I am. I need to get enough rest, you see?" Hermione said with a serious expression. Never mind that she'd been plotting her escape an hour ago.

He drifted to a stop at the bottom of her bed. She opened her box of chocolate.

"Want one?"

He sighed, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, what the hell. Yes, I'd like one, thank you."

"You're welcome," Hermione beamed when he picked one.

"Swear you won't tell anyone, then?"

She rolled her eyes. "If you're not harming people, it's not any of my business. I'll just say I was asleep in the infirmary that I don't know for sure if anyone visited between the time I fell asleep and when I left."

"Fair enough."

With that, he plopped the caramel-filled chocolate (she checked the pictures so she knew exactly which one it was) and strode off towards the Head Nurse's office. Hermione didn't really understand what he was after. She also wasn't the stickler for all rules that her younger self was either that she was content to watch him for now. It was only when he walked out with a particular bottle that she figured out his purpose.

She narrowed her eyes. That milky pearlescent sheen, the shade of dark bluebells, was a rather distinct colour for a potion.

"Hold a minute—"

Ves threw his hands in the air. "Oh, come on, Hermione. I thought you said you're staunch cove—"

"That's a rather strong painkiller. What are you taking it for?"

If she didn't know that too frequent usage was going to induce dependency, she wouldn't have been concerned. He scoffed.

"A body needs, it, obviously, and there's no time to brew one. What? You thought I was going to quaff it meself? Perish the thought!"

"Someone might pay a good sum for it," Hermione noted.

"And I," he drolly pointed out, "needed extra quids like a bull needed a pair of tits."

Her laughter broke free like a flock of starlings taking flight—disorienting and unexpectedly mesmerising. He rubbed his face with his hand as he realised just what exactly he'd said; the tips of his ears were red.

"Right. Let's forget I said that and jus' stick to the general sentiment o' things. I'll even slip it back once I'm done. Easy peasy."

There was something unabashed and frank about Ves that showed he didn't even consider trying to lie to her as something to do. With a discomfiting pang, she was reminded of her Gryffindor boys awkwardly stumbling through their words even as they went in and out of one mess or another. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"Who's hurt?"

"Everyone's fine."

"Who's that for, then?" She pointed at the potion still in his hand. She saw the second where his hands stilled, when his feet were not as ready to take flight as they had been a moment before.

"If someone's hurt, then it's better if you have an actual healer checking up on them, right? They don't have to go to the infirmary if they don't wish to. I can see them."

"It's just to help sleep in for a bit," Ves said. He said this easily, but she was still sure something was a little off. He was sidling sideways bit by bit. "I know it's a ruddy heavy potion—me gran's a potioneer, remember? Master Apothecarist too, fer that matter. M'not going to exceed the dose. It's just for one night, Hermy. Ta!"

He kept ambling away, waving his free hand in a haphazard way at her. She snorted. It was too obvious how he decided to beat a retreat before she pried too many information from him.

Should she be more worried that apparently, some Hogwarts students are a little too familiar with how to use a heavy painkiller? It's not as if she could throw stones. That accursed scar that Bellatrix gave her needed something stronger than aspirin to numb when the dark magic in it was agitated. It usually happened in the days when she forgot to keep track how long she stayed in the department's Vault, where they kept the artefacts that they've confiscated that were practically dribbling with dark magic. She didn't know that the high concentration of dark magic ended up seeping in and coalescing with the dormant patch in the wound, but the first time the agony hits was a lesson she wouldn't forget (neither would St. Mungo's A&E ward, she suspected).

She had to take that potion the shade of the darkest bluebells just to be able to sleep peacefully. It took downing two bottles to ease it.

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Well, I can always figure out who's actually hurt later. If it was serious, it would last until Monday and I can see who's not in class.

'-

Her hand caressed the scar from her fight with Bellatrix. It was a reflex that had become a habit by now when she was idle. She was so lost in thoughts that she didn't notice the difference until just now.

The skin was smooth, practically flawless.

Hermione couldn't help but turn her arm and she stared at the bare flesh. There was no scar, no marks of dark magic on her flesh of any kind. The slight ache in the muscle there that happens when the air was too cool was no more, but she was either too occupied with larger wounds and pains that easily eclipsed it or she was busy with her new life.

Motes of dust danced in the air as she kept staring, fingers stroking the skin from elbow to wrist and back again.

"It's not possible," she murmured, to herself. "It's one of the darkest arts. I know it."

The best of St. Mungo's had come and seen it. They've tried to heal it, to remove it, to extract the dark magic there. It wasn't possible to remove, though they've made progress in draining the taint bit by bit, but that was very slow, almost unnoticeable.

Even if Malina had managed to complete some version of her youth rejuvenation potion and de-aged her body somehow, the scar would still be there, would still brand her like the cattle that Bellatrix saw her as.

But nothing like that existed here. She pinched the skin there to be sure, rolled it between her fingertips. All thoughts stopped in her mind as she gave herself fully to enjoying the sensation of the smooth skin once more, of making observations on the healthy unmarked flesh.

Her mind shied away from further thoughts and speculations for now, almost too afraid of what it might find there.

'-

The prefects were gathered in the Prefect Office.

It didn't look like much of an office; in fact, it looked just like any other Hogwarts classroom. The only difference was that there was a pile of unused desks and chairs were piled on one side. Mismatched couches and sofa with a smattering of side tables filled the centre over a faded Persian carpet, looking for all the world like a group of auction-house rejects. Every era has made at least one bad design decision for their furniture, such as the tacky 19th century imitation of Louis XV style. For some reason the garish, obnoxious or just plain drab works ended up here.

There was a reason why most prefects scarcely even mentioned the place to other people. Compared to Hogwarts' standards for their public spaces like the dorms, common room and library, it wasn't worth writing home about. It was even more obvious for purebloods with antique-filled manors. The prefect's room was more of an embarrassment.

No, this was not the original prefect room—that one was grand. How it came to be…unvisited anymore involved griffin conservation, a prank, a mountain of pie, and the consequent takeover of that particular corner by nature (red in tooth and claw). But that's a long story on its own.

For now, we're back in this patchwork room.

There was one long table with two dozen chairs around it near the wall with the door leading outside, yet between comfort and hard wooden chairs, that was rarely used except for meetings where generating paperwork was inevitable. The side door that would lead to the supplies closet in a normal classroom was actually the archives.

Being a prefect might not seem to require much, but over a hundred years, those routine patrol routes and meeting notes pile up. Nobody could remember the last time anyone needed to construct a patrol route from scratch. Timaeus' father said that he and his friends just rifled through the old patrol routes for alternatives when people's schedules clash—and the man had been a prefect in the first decade of the century.

Currently, most of them were tired and spent. They were thus spread rather haphazardly around several couches and sofa. If they didn't look tired, they certainly looked annoyed.

Andrew Abbott, his tie still in place and golden hair perfectly done, cleared his throat.

"Right. I think we can all agree that we've seen problems during patrol that we need to deal with."

Timaeus snorted but said nothing. Considering the cold-compress bag he was pressing against his arm (from an infirmary visit), his bad mood was understandable. The other prefects were either only waiting or was watching everyone else's movements.

"I heard that many of us were breaking up arguments." As Head Girl, Agatha followed up her brother's statement when nobody did. "What happened? How bad was it?"

The blonde witch glanced around, expecting a reply.

A sigh came from the direction of the Gryffindor sixth-years.

"Some arguing first-years aren't much to talk about," Philippe commented from where he was sprawling, red-and-gold tie already loosened and his long braid trailing over the left couch arm. "Their too-serious expressions might even be funny, but it does get annoying by the third fight you have to break up."

Ceres shook her head from his side on the same couch. Her expression was nowhere as light-hearted as her partner.

"Three fights in one afternoon is a bit too much." She said.

"You're not the only who had to do that" A Hufflepuff wizard huffed loudly.

"Well, that just shows how bad it is, isn't it, Emmerich?" Philippe interrupted the Hufflepuff. His gaze was nowhere as laidback as his pose suggests.

The sixth-year Emmerich Pryce shrugged. "The younger students will always be rowdy. We all know this."

Julia spoke up from across the main coffee table, arms folded.

"Funny how you fail to mention the topic of their argument."

"The lower years will always find something to argue about."

"No, this is unusual" Verrault cut in. His scowl was one that was noticeable for miles. "The number of arguments, the topic, both are unusual."

Julia nodded. It was one of the rarer times that she agreed with her uptight Ravenclaw year-mate. "I was patrolling right next to you, Emmerich, and I know exactly what they're arguing about. Even two fights started for the same reason is worth looking into, while what we have here is more than that."

Her eyes went around the room, meeting the other prefects'.

"How many of the arguments you saw were about the Order of Merlin award?" The brunette asked outright.

"All of them." Ceres answered, as Pip was more interested in simply dropping his head back on the couch.

"Mordred? Emma?" Agatha asked. Her head turning to the knot of Slytherins who were a little too calm.

"All of them." Emma answered briskly, apparently speaking up for Mordred Montmorency and Oswin Orpington who sat near her, as they didn't add anything else.

"Yes, well…they do have a good reason." Alvis Boot had a face that was as sombre as a crow and it was even graver today. He spoke slowly, methodically, as if a mispronounced word would physically hurt him. The look that the Ravenclaw fifth-year gave Andrew was pointed.

The Head Boy sighed, his usually bright smile dimming. "I've turned it down, Alvis. As I'm sure you—and everyone else in Hogwarts—know."

"That's not what the newspapers say." Augusta said.

He frowned. "What newspapers?"

A flicker of disbelief flitted past Emma's face, but it was gone in the next second that scarcely anyone noticed. Julia's raised eyebrows, however, was clear for anyone to see as she snapped her head towards Andrew. Philippe had sat up, frowning a little even as Ceres held her left hand firmly in her right. Everyone could feel the rising tension in the room.

"The evening edition of more than a few of them."

Tom finally spoke up. Heads turned towards him the way other fishes create a path without much thought when a shark was about to swim through.

"What evening edition?" Andrew was still baffled.

"It's not a regular edition, I know, but the papers do print them in addition to the morning one on extraordinary occasions." His tone was conversational.

Tom rose up from the modest armchair he'd chosen, the waves of his black hair as impeccable as Andrew's. In his hands were several of the newest editions of wizarding newspapers, a few were in French. He even had a rare a Polish one mainly because he thought Kosinski would appreciate it (Ves played distraction by chatting up Slughorn about his final project—Abraxas slipped away through his fireplace to buy them in London).

He dropped them on the coffee table. Kosinski, who had yet to speak, was the first to pick one up—the Polish one, as Tom expected. The Hufflepuff's brows creased. Ceres picked another and soon everyone who didn't know found out what Tom meant.

There was a grand announcement on how this year's Order of Merlin award ceremony was pushed forward by a month with regards to the heroism shown in the Hogsmeade attack by a valorous Hogwarts student.

"Dammit, Andrew!" Pip cursed. "I don't care about mine myself, but you've got to admit that Hermione deserves it more than you."

Even Eugenie Delacour was frowning at the headline. Alvis Boot's expression didn't improve.

"I never said yes!" Andrew said.

"But that's your father shaking hands with the undersecretary right there." Augusta rebutted, pointing at the front page.

Her Gryffindor year mate, Raj, had no words to spare; he had already thrown the Daily Prophet he'd picked up with vehemence. It laid carelessly on the table. Currently, he was walking in circles behind them, trying to rein back his anger. He might not blame the Abbott heir right now, but it was probably a close thing.

"Frankly, Andrew, if you get one, it's only fair if Pip and Ceres get one too, and maybe Timaeus."

Timaeus didn't look the slightest bit offended at being considered only after the sixth-years. He merely nodded back at Augusta.

"Even Tom would deserve one."

That Verrault was the one who voiced it still surprised some of them. That he said it through gritted teeth surprised no one.

"Hmm." Augusta nodded with reluctant agreement, her expression intimidating.

Clearly, she still had some house loyalty as a Gryffindor—a long-time rival of Slytherin—yet she was as straightforward as most of her House and it showed. "I won't even argue about that."

"He could decide to award it to all of us," Andrew insisted.

Daedalus' smile was entirely cynical. The Ravenclaw turned to his year mate and Head Boy but said nothing, only shaking his head. Even Timaeus exhaled harshly at that.

"What?"

"If you still can't see it right now, I'm not going to be the one to break the news." Daedalus said.

"It's still possible." He insisted. "I wrote a request about it to the Minister of Magic myself."

Daedalus simply gave him the same half-smile he had before. As he leaned forward, his bangs partly shaded his eyes, his expression not easily read.

"A letter for what?"

That was Ethel Macmillan. She always had a kind word to say for anyone (and she was also the weaker choice for prefect in her year compared to Camellia Lee, by his dispassionate analysis). It was unsurprising to see her asking what Tom considered to be a bloody obvious question.

"A plea that he will instead award it to all of us who had actually participated in Hogsmeade's Defence. It will be a farce if I was the only one awarded the order—everyone in Hogsmeade knew who was involved." The Head Boy finished.

Tom had his elbows on his knees, his chin resting just behind his clasped hands as he watched all this unfold. No one saw the slight smile that grew when he saw the Head Boy's trust in humanity—simply because he was looking forward to seeing it being battered by men's ambition and stupidity. Such immense trust was an unfathomable state of mind to him.

He himself never had much to begin with.

"Right," Raj drawled. "Because a letter couldn't possibly get lost."

"It's not just that. We all saw the undersecretary fawning at you in that thrice-cursed meeting." For all her honesty, Amelia's tone was kinder to her housemate.

Andrew's forehead creased. "What is he going to do, force it on me if I said no? He can't do that."

Tom was certain he heard Mordred's indelicate snort. The Head Boy didn't hear it by virtue being on the other end of the room.

"That's the wrong question to consider, Andrew."

Oswin finally spoke up just a chair away at Tom's right, at the other end of the table from the Head Boy. The room's attention followed the careful Slytherin. "A better question would be, can you turn down your father's request? What if he was already so proud about his son, the next Order of Merlin recipient before he's out of Hogwarts, that he's already written letters about it to more than one of his friends?"

"Would you refuse it and turn him into a fool in front of his colleagues, of the other heads of old houses at the Wizengamot? Do you want them to laugh at your father behind his back in this case? Would you cause professional harm to him and reputational harm to your House?"

Andrew's face quickly paled as Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose.

"This is why I don't like politics."

Emmerich Pryce's expression was cooler when he turned to Oswin.

"Did you know that all the fights I saw, as well as the one that Casimir saw, almost always involved Slytherins? Funny coincidence, isn't it?" Pryce mentioned the other Hufflepuff prefect. Tom recalled seeing them chat before the meeting started.

Casimir Kosinski was startled out of his peaceful reading of a newspaper. He had both of his palms in front of him now as he shook his head, a wordless plea of 'please don't involve me in this' that the other wizard seemed to ignore. He sent an eloquent look to Amelia Bones and Ethel Macmillan instead, hoping that the remaining Hufflepuff prefects would assist him.

Amelia did not look too pleased about their housemate's antics either.

"Yes, it's a funny coincidence," was Oswin's level reply.

"One might think you're raising a ruckus for a reason." Pryce retorted.

"If anyone's raising a ruckus, I'd like to think they do have a reason. It's more frightening to hear that someone's spreading chaos with no sense nor purpose to it." He did not manage to sound as offhand as Tom could, but his levelheadedness was enough.

"Your house isn't satisfied that Tom didn't get one and now they're sabotaging Andrew's opportunity!"

Tom only glanced innocently back when Pryce turned to him. He made a careless shrug. Who, me?

"That's enough, Emmerich," Andrew cut in. His tone brooked no arguments and his opinionated housemate backed off.

It was on time too, because Tom knew that both he and Oswin had been watching Mordred, who had a shorter fuse than either of them. The sixth-year Slytherin was outright frowning at Emmerich for what he considered to be an apparent slight against his house.

The Head Boy seemed a little sheepish as he turned to Tom. "Tom, I'm sorry—"

"Oh, it's not your fault. If you need the clarification, I'll tell you frankly that it certainly wasn't my mess—I already have enough on my hands, remember? Coordinating the search for Grindelwald's location? It's not as if I've forgotten how he said that my birth isn't something I can rise beyond." The way he held himself was relaxed, and he was truly telling the truth there (he wasn't the one who had a problem with the Order of Merlin award—that would be Orion Black). At least half of the prefects visibly cringed at the words. Andrew's expression of guilt was easily readable and distinct.

Tom leaned back in his armchair before crossing his ankles on the ottoman. He was the most relaxed of all of them in the room.

"I see no reason to try changing his mind when it's clear that it's one of the things he fully believes in. Trying to convert a believer would just be a complete waste of efforts, wouldn't it?"

It would keep Pryce quiet for a while, he knew. Even if Emmerich Pryce himself had doubts, and his sixth-year partner was the too-soft-hearted Ethel Macmillan, there was still Amelia Bones who was currently glaring at Pryce to keep his mouth shut and stop making the Hufflepuffs look petty, since the Head Boy and the Head Girl had other things to deal with.

The next time the Hufflepuff sixth-year was about to cause a ruckus, Tom saw Kosinski 'accidentally' spilling his tea into Pryce's lap.

The Head Girl stepped into the gap in the discussion.

"These talks of awards are all well and good, but for most of us, our responsibility is still to keep the peace in Hogwarts…"

Agatha had smoothly moved the meeting forward again for some time on how to address the rise in conflicts among the Hogwarts' student body.

Tom noticed that the issue that Oswin had raised was not addressed again—not that he thought Andrew would speak of his father's affairs in public, but he did not even make some sort of overture to talk about it later to his Slytherin year mate. Neither did Andrew assuaged Emmerich's suspicions against Slytherins completely, as could be seen from the occasional suspicious glance he sent to Mordred. It would certainly be interesting to see how Andrew would face his father, not that he had any hopes of watching when it occurred.

The Gryffindors, however, didn't manage to hide their dissatisfied expressions as well as either the Ravenclaws or the Slytherins and a small grin grew on his face.

Time to watch the fireworks.

'-

Side Story – Jonah's Bad Day

Mondays was always a pain in the rear, but Jonah Rosier never expected to feel like he was forced into the role of the buffoonish Pierrot in some grand tragicomic act. Of course, he hadn't the slightest idea about it as the day dawned. Oblivious, he walked out of his dorms with a spring in his step, convinced that his luck was turning for the better since Tom Riddle had given him tasks, personally, more than once.

Maybe he was even going to be a Knight next year! Life was good.

The Slytherin first-year had just tightened his green-and-silver scarf as he walked out of the building, chatting with his friend when he heard someone calling his name.

"Jonah!"

He turned around without much thought. It was only once he saw who was waving energetically (Gryffindor tie included) that he had to suppress a groan.

"Do you know him?" his friend asked.

"A bit."

Blaine raised both of his thick eyebrows. "A bit? Does that count as knowing or not knowing? I don't think I recognise his face. Is he some Diggory cousin? Crowdy? Some other family?"

"He's not from one of the old families, alright." Jonah answered through half-closed mouth. It did not stop him from awkwardly waving back at Adrian Smith. He hoped Blaine would leave it at that. After all, Smith got his name from Tom Riddle, the one student that Gallus did not beat around the bush about.

He couldn't exactly brush off someone the Heir of Slytherin entrusted to him, could he?

"Not one of the old families?" Blaine sputtered.

"Shut it, Carrow. It's complicated, right? It's business I got trusted with through my brother, who got it from the Heir. If you know what's good for you, shut up. Otherwise, complain to him." He hissed, before looking mildly friendly again as he turned back to Adrian.

Most people would've found the speed his expressions changed to be vaguely unsettling, but his friend was too used to it and Smith was…he had no idea what it was with Smith, actually, as the Gryffindor actually cheered up after Jonah waved back and hurried even more towards them.

Blaine Carrow shut up, even if it made his round cheeks look even closer to a chipmunk's as he held back a frustrated breath. At least there were benefits to being a younger sibling, Jonah mused. Your older brother could pave the way a bit and teach you stuff faster than other kids would've learned them on their own. Especially more so when there were rumours that he was involved in some important secret society. Especially when Blaine's brother was also a member of the same society.

"What is it Smith?" Jonah finally asked, his left hand in his pocket as he leaned back on the nearest wall in nonchalance.

"I told you already, it's Adrian." Smith insisted, his expression too genuine to Jonah's own discomfort. He should stop being so readable.

"Fine, Adrian. What is it?" His tone was lazy.

"I thought I'd say hello. You're going to Herbology, right?"

Jonah watched him carefully. What was he going on about? His answer was guarded. "…yes?"

"Great! I'm going to Herbology too. We could sit together."

Jonah had already bit his lip before he could say anything, but Carrow took that moment to groan. He kicked his friend's shin. Was today one of the rare days when Spore was going to have one humongous class of four houses together because it was less hands-on and she wanted to get the overview out of the way quickly? There was no way to avoid Adrian through the whole class.

He was majorly screwed whatever choice he made.

Jonah took a breath and spoke instead of complaining. "By the way, Adrian, this is Blaine Carrow, my dormmate. Blaine, this is Adrian Smith, Tom Riddle gave him my name."

"Oh, pleased to meet you!"

Adrian didn't even blink at Jonah's words. Blaine, however, understood his message and swallowed his complaints.

"Um. Right. Likewise."

Jonah wasn't paying much attention to either of them, as he was suddenly aware of that annoying prickling at the back of his neck. When he turned around, he was greeted with the sight of a group of Gryffindors giving him the stink eye. They might be glaring Adrian, but they sure as hell didn't stop at Jonah. Not that the Gryffindor seemed to feel that anything was wrong in sitting with the 'friend' he has that's from Slytherin.

Jonah sighed. Adrian really has no idea about House rivalry, does he?

He should ignore them. He should pretend they're not there at all, as Gallus had told him once on how to deal with idiots. Third-year Alauda told him that it's because they're jealous of something he has that they don't. His older siblings had never given him a wrong advice when it came to Hogwarts stuff, and he would do well to follow their example—

One snot-nosed witch whom he was sure was a pureblood from the shape of her nose was saying something that made her friends laugh or titter, and they were all giving side-eyes in his general direction.

That was it. Like hell was he going to be grown-up about this. What was that thing that Ves taught him? He could use that.

Jonah pumped his right hand upwards from his side, the palm facing towards him. His left hand was at the inner elbow. He unabashedly gave them the two-finger salute.

Up yours, mate.

That pissed them off. There was no way it was going to end peacefully. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, especially since Blaine and Adrian caught on to what he was doing and tried to copy his gesture (Blaine did it awkwardly while Adrian was a bit too enthusiastic that Jonah had to hold his shoulder to get him to calm down).

He smirked back at the Gryffindors. The varied expressions of annoyance and anger that came over the lions were pretty satisfying.

'-

Just when he thought he'd find peace in the large greenhouse they happened to be using today, someone else greeted him.

"Jonah!"

He froze. This voice he knew a bit better than Adrian's. Inexplicably, some part of him still couldn't help turning around, and so he did even as he regretted it at the same time.

"Ah, I knew it was you! I saw your table still has one seat empty. I can take this one, right?" Light brown hair fell down her back in waves, the vivid green of Hattie Perks' eyes distracted him for one second.

"Oh, hello, Adrian." She nodded to the Gryffindor who had settled himself comfortably at the other end of the table.

"Hullo, Hattie." He solemnly nodded.

Wait, that left…

The seat to his left, which Hattie Perks took without further ado. He groaned inwardly yet again when he saw suspicious looks directed his way by some other students with Ravenclaw ties. A couple of them were clearly accusing him with their gaze that he was trying to corrupt their House member. This wasn't really his fault! He was only sitting here when she came over!

Not that there was anything wrong with Hattie. She, at least, did not shout her greeting for everyone all around them to hear and stare. And judge.

"Um, Jonah?" That was Blaine's voice, to his right. "Um, who's she?"

"A Ravenclaw," he answered. He ignored his dormmate's frustrated look at the technically correct and yet unhelpful answer.

"I'm a friend of Hermione's!" Hattie declared. "I'm Hattie Perks. And you are?"

She had already shoved her hand in front of Jonah and across the table, stopping right in front of Blaine's flabbergasted expression. He sighed (again), at her brash and careless ways. Definitely did not have an etiquette mistress. Might as well.

"Hattie, this is Blaine Carrow, my dormmate. Blaine, this is Hattie Perks, Ravenclaw and general…busy witch for Hermione Curie." He had no idea how else to introduce her. It's not as if he could go on about her family or connections, could he? He had a feeling that she had barely any that was worth mentioning.

"That's me." She nodded proudly. Blaine took her hand gingerly, as if afraid it would suddenly spring forward and bite him. Hattie settled easily into her seat after that.

"Thanks Jonah." She whispered.

"Um, for what?"

"For inviting me over. You're a good friend."

Before he could even argue about it (he was a good Slytherin, which meant he kept his word to his house and all that), everyone was occupied with opening their respective bags. He simply gave up and retrieved his own stuff. He had only managed to take his books out when Blaine elbowed him secretly.

"Psst. Jonah! I have to ask something. It's important. Family stuff."

He forced himself not to stiffen at the words. In his family, the words family business usually gets attached to the words 'blood feud' and 'blood traitors'. His wary reflex was entirely reasonable. At this rate, I'm going to start dreading the sound of my own name.

"What is it, Blaine?" He kept his voice low, to match his friend's volume.

"Did you just say Hermione? As in, Hermione Curie?"

"How many other Hermione do you know of?"

"Merlin's underpants, Jonah! I can't be here. I have to run. Hide. Avoid you for a while—"

He had to grip Blaine's arm before he knocked off an inkpot with his jitters. Adrian simply shifted his belongings slightly farther without a word of complaint, unaffected. It seemed to be serious since Blaine's round cheeks were flushed.

"What's wrong?"

"My sister doesn't like Curie because she thinks she has Ideas Above Her Station and has Greatly Wronged her good friend and is a Fatal Female!"

"It's femme fatale, Blaine—" he corrected.

"—If she sees me here, she'll kill me!"

"Your sister can't see you here! She doesn't take first-year Herbology!" Jonah complained. His frantic, wide-eyed friend disagreed.

"No, she'll find out somehow. She'll always find out! It's just like that time when I ate her stash of Honeydukes Everfresh Cotton Candy—"

"That doesn't take skill! I bet you still had some of it sticking on your face like the last time you ate them at her birthday!" He almost threw his hands in the air.

"—and that time I secretly flew on her broom. There's that time I gave Slurry Stool candy to her owl too. She's scary." He blabbered while shoving his books back into his bag.

"You—"

"We're still friends, I swear. I just have to stay away a bit, right? See you!"

With that, Blaine rushed away from the table as if hounds of hell were after him, leaving him alone with the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Jonah groaned and covered his face with his hands. His forehead made a soft thump at the table edge.

"What's wrong with him?" Hattie asked.

"Something he ate disagreed with him," Jonah answered carelessly, still not looking up. Why would anyone care about Blaine's latest paranoia about his older sister?

"I heard he ate his sister's candy stash. She probably booby-trapped them with laxatives. I know I would." Adrian answered easily from somewhere to his right.

That wasn't an answer Jonah expected to hear from a Gryffindor. He raised his head and saw that Adrian had another book on his lap that he idly read at times. He saw Jonah's attention and pulled the covers up. 'Beginner's Curses, Hexes and Jinxes'.

He shifted back a little when he felt that Hattie was trying to lean over him to read it.

"Wow. That book sounds interesting." There was a slight awe in her voice, which he took some issue with. He was sure he still knew oodles more hexes and jinxes than Adrian. Really, he'd bet that the Gryffindor only started reading about magic at Hogwarts—

"I know, right? Tom recommended it to me. It's great."

A pox on all your—never mind. He was going to personally ask Tom Riddle for an even better curse book recommendation. He could do that, right? Since he had to watch over Adrian and probably Hattie as well?

Wait, he remembered something else. For the moment, he was thankful of Alauda's annoying habit of giving him additional reading materials that she would personally test during weekend. His sister could be a real pain; as in, she would start throwing hexes and jinxes whose best counter was the ones she made him study beforehand.

He cleared his throat and summoned the book he was looking for from his bag. Hattie's interest in his knowledge of summoning spells had soothed his ego a little. It was even better when they saw the second-year DADA textbook.

"You know, the spells here aren't really that hard. I've mastered a handful of them already." He used his assured and confident voice (he mostly copied Gallus for that).

"Really?" Adrian was amazed. There was no other word for it.

He nodded. "It really helped winning duels in Defence class."

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, he mused.

Of course, he just had to glance at Torger Travers and his group of very Slytherin friends at that moment, staring at him in disbelief. He waved back with a smile as if there was nothing the slightest bit unusual right now. Nothing strange to see here. No, not at all. Let's move on, people.

The prickling feeling at the back of his neck had started up again, making his wand hand a little twitchy. Inwardly, he cringed.

I take it back. I'm going to regret this soon enough, aren't I?

'-

As Herbology ended, Jonah mentioned offhand that it was probably about time that they separated to go to their respective classes. Yet when he'd finished packing his bag and was about to set off, he found that Adrian and Hattie walking easily by his side.

Travers had started whispering furiously to his friends and he swore he'd need to trap the other Slytherin's bathtub with overflowing infinite bubbles tonight or tomorrow. Otherwise, he knew his peaceful days at the dorm was going to end sometime soon.

His two hangers-on were still with him even as he entered the school building.

"Um, look, Adrian, Hattie, don't you need to head off to your class instead of mine? You don't want to have to go around the long way from my potions class, right?"

Adrian blinked. "But I'm heading in the same direction as you are. It's our potions class, remember?"

"What?!"

Apparently, instead of being in the second first-year, Gryffindor potions class, Adrian was in the first first-year, Gryffindor potion class. Which meant that it's the same one as the first first-year, Slytherin potion class.

Guess which one that Jonah was in?

"We're in the same class!" Adrian sounded much too cheerful for his liking and Jonah rubbed his temples at the sound of his unreserved glee. O Fortuna, whatever did I do to cross you? Hattie was actually mulish when she discovered that she wasn't going to the same class as the two of them, not that Jonah saw much as he was looking back to make sure that Travers wasn't trying to follow him.

"That's not fair!" She complained.

"That's just the class schedule," Jonah answered with a bored tone. "I didn't do anything to it."

"Wait, let me see your schedule."

It must have been him being too distracted in slinking into the side corridors to dodge people, since he'd handed it over to Hattie before he realised what he'd done. Did she just copy his schedule to a spare scroll? She did. She absolutely did. He was annoyed, because he didn't want her to be able to find him anytime she wanted, but a great Slytherin should always be able to turn any situation to his advantage. Tom Riddle, Heir of Slytherin, said that.

Jonah slowly unclenched his hands. He was not going to whine about this. He would not. He was going to turn this into his advantage. Somehow. Even if he still had no freaking idea of what he could do to extract himself from this increasingly unnerving entanglement—

"Oh, alright. We have the same Transfigurations and Herbology classes, so I'll meet you at Dumbledore's next class, Jonah!" Hattie declared after she'd finished comparing his schedule and hers.

His wand hand was twitching again.

"Great." Jonah said.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Hattie chirped proudly, unaffected by his dead-eyed stare. "Now, Adrian, give me yours."

Adrian, the overly-trusting lummock, already did it before Jonah could give any warning. The Slytherin harrumphed and threw his hands in the air. Whatever. The sod was welcome to her meddling in his life if he relinquished it so easily.

"What did you copy it for?" Adrian naively asked.

So you can never avoid her—

"To make it easier to schedule study sessions outside of our classes, of course. It's not as if we get to see each other often in our classes, right? And not even inside them."

Her shoulders drooped. The sadness he could hear in her voice made him fidget uncomfortably. There was just something wrong in seeing her without her usual level of energy. He settled for patting her arm instead and hoped she could somehow move forward from thinking about things that would just annoy her. Then, maybe he'd stop feeling so unsettled.

"It's fine. We can still meet outside classes, right? Nothing to worry about." He said.

Hattie's nod was firmer now as she pulled herself up again. The brightness of her green eyes was almost blinding. "Yes. We definitely will. Thanks, Jonah."

Wait. What did he just say, again?

'-

He didn't think he'd ever needed to ignore the Gryffindors taking potions even harder than he usually did. Which he needed to do the moment Adrian sat next to him and they started staring.

Jonah pretended he didn't see a lot of his housemates at potions and ignored their questioning looks too, since Adrian had cheerfully said that they could be partners. Considering that he could see neither hide nor hair of the cowardly Blaine, he certainly didn't have his usual partner. He might be able to ask Gwendolyn Gambol, but he shuddered to think about what she might have asked in return (she was too good at bargaining and fleecing people from the nobler pureblood houses).

So, Adrian it was. Especially since he was very helpful, anyway. He had already gone off to get the ingredients that were written on the blackboard instead of sitting down and trying to divide tasks between them.

The next time Jonah saw Roger Rowle eyeing his cauldron suspiciously, he pre-emptively sent Adrian to get some tails of blast-ended skrewt.

"This…isn't one of our ingredients, isn't it?" Adrian had asked. Jonah met his curious gaze easily.

"No, it isn't." He stated without blinking.

"Alright." Adrian nodded calmly.

Before Jonah knew it, he could see Adrian's brown hair bobbing through the steady stream of other students getting more ingredients. It surprised him. No complaints or further questions? Nothing? When Adrian came back, the Gryffindor only asked him one question.

"What should I do with this?"

"You know the cauldron to your right? That's Roger Rowle and one of his goons. Once they finished putting in all the bark ingredients and started chopping the leafy greens and flowers, throw it in."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Leave our potion to me."

Sure enough, their neighbouring potion exploded within the next ten minutes. Roger screamed at getting a big dollop of the potion on his hair and Jonah couldn't help grinning back at them. They could spew as many accusations they wanted, but they couldn't prove that it was him. He didn't find out when Adrian managed to slip it in either, since the Gryffindor was assisting with the potionmaking all the time, following Jonah's directions as best as he can. He was slightly impressed. Only slightly, mind you.

"That was a decent job." Jonah muttered sometime later while watching the potion slowly change colour.

"Really?" He didn't have to look up to hear the grin in Adrian's voice.

Jonah shrugged. "It was nice."

He didn't know what to do about the thanks, though, so he just shrugged again. Maybe Tom had a point that he couldn't see yet with Adrian. Oh well. He better just wait and see, then.

'-

What he didn't expect on his way out from potions was to come across Hattie yet again. She walked alongside him easily. How did she even—

Oh, she'd copied his schedule. He almost forgot.

"Jonah! Adrian."

"Hattie," Adrian nodded.

"How did you find us?" Jonah asked instead. His left hand was idly scratching his black hair simply to stop himself from fidgeting. The other reason was because he was almost afraid she was going to take his hand and pull him ahead if it was free. She did look annoyed that their walking speeds was a lot more relaxed than hers—she probably considered it as dawdling.

"You have transfigurations next—which is the same class as mine, remember?"

Right.

"Well, Adrian," Jonah cleared his throat, "I guess we'll have to part ways here."

This time, it was Adrian's turn to let out a long sigh. "I'll just walk until your transfigurations class before I go off to mine, then."

The Slytherin first-year rubbed his forehead because he wasn't going to start slapping it in public. No. He needed his head as well as his eyes if he was going to keep them from the shorter and rowdier route.

One staircase and one winding corridor later, it seemed that his luck ran out because they came across a group of Hufflepuffs. He'd guess they were second years, because their faces weren't familiar. (Three of them were also taller than him. There was no way that they could be first years. No way. He's not that short. He's…not. Period).

He would be content with just walking past each other (barely) if it wasn't for their conversation topic.

"It's so great, isn't it?"

"Definitely. But who had any doubts about the result? Just look at him. Andrew is obviously the most talented and amazing Head Boy that Hogwarts had seen in years! After his heroic defence in Hogsmeade, he's the one who deserved the Order of Merlin the most!"

It was Adrian who scoffed loudly at that. The Hufflepuffs stopped in their steps and stared.

"He's the one who deserves the Order of Merlin the most? You've got to be kidding me."

"What do you know, Gryffindor?" A redheaded witch asked back suspiciously.

"I know enough. Tom and Hermione managed to capture an attacker and rescue the wounded! What did he manage?" Adrian challenged. Two Hufflepuff wizards stepped forward at that, frowns on their faces.

Jonah was seriously regretting telling him that now. It was admittedly great to have a Gryffindor hang on to his every word about the best Slytherin prefect there is, but really… He pulled Adrian's sleeve surreptitiously, trying to get him to just move away. There were five of them, after all. The Gryffindor didn't even budge.

"Adrian!" Jonah hissed.

"There's two of them while Andrew was alone—of course he couldn't achieve all that!" The Hufflepuff witch answered.

"There's two of them, right?" Hattie said, and Jonah didn't bother hiding his groan when he saw her jumping in. "So, they can do twice as much as someone alone can. What about Andrew, then? Did he even manage half of that?"

Adrian looked even more vindicated at that.

"Right! It's not like Andrew managed to capture an attacker or rescue someone! We're not asking much, but what, he couldn't even manage one? Really?" Adrian sneered. "And you call that most deserving of Order of Merlin? Sounds like he got it because he's a pureblood."

"What is it to you, Gryffindor? Tom Riddle is a Slytherin, isn't he?" One of the wizards asked back. Jonah had managed to squeeze his way to Adrian's side.

"That just shows how good he is, isn't it, that even a Gryffindor could see it?" Hattie countered. "What does that say about your hero that the only ones who think he really deserves it are Hufflepuffs?"

After that, it really was a matter of time before hexes started flying. Jonah could honestly say (if Gallus ever asked) that he didn't cast first—he was more occupied in tackling both Adrian and Hattie down from the first set of spells. He was beginning to suspect that you can get Gryffindors to fight werewolves barehanded if someone tells them it was the right thing to do.

The fact that Jonah was inwardly cursing himself, his bad luck and how the world hated him today didn't mean he even paused before sending jinxes and curses right back.

The main thing that crossed his mind when a Jelly-legs Jinx and a Bird-Breath Hex brought him down was, dammit, Adrian and Hattie are still too slow.

That was how all three of them ended up in the infirmary for the next period instead of going to class at all—them and at least two of the Hufflepuffs.

It was not until later, when both Gallus and Alauda visited him in the infirmary with creases on their forehead that Jonah realised he had been involved in something bigger than a mere hallway scrum. He'd stayed longer than either Adrian or Hattie, because the Hufflepuffs soon started to focus their attacks on him when they realised he was the best caster out of the three of them. It was nice to get out of class, if only it didn't mean shooting feathers everywhere every time he sneezed or coughed.

That Adrian and Hattie felt guilty was nice too. He made them promise to bring him candies so he'd feel better, even if he was already out of the infirmary. Ha! Free chocolates and candies! Yes!

(They definitely owed him for going through all this crap for them).

Gallus visited him twice, the second one in the evening. That had to be some sort of record. His older brother even patted his head absent-mindedly as he stared at some distant point in the horizon.

"What's wrong, Gallus?"

"I never thought you'd actually be looking for trouble. After I and Alauda taught you how to lay low and to always be on the lookout for ambushes, I can't believe you just—"

"It wasn't me! You know how Gryffindors are, I just got dragged into it and—"

Gallus was laughing at him. He folded his arms and settled into a good sulk. Jonah ignored his brother patting his head again.

"It's good to see you're alright." His oldest sibling's words were unexpectedly kind.

"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" Jonah complained.

That crease on Gallus' forehead showed up again, his smile seemed to be only there to appease Jonah. "Because this is how wars begin."

That startled him. "W-war?"

"I can tell you that you're not the only Slytherin that got into a fight with Hufflepuffs, and I'm sure you wouldn't be the last either."

It was hard for him to wrap his head around immediately, because the occasional historical lessons he had from their private tutor seemed to imply that wars are great, big things, beginning with actions that starts with a bang. Like the destruction of Boudicca's home and family that she doesn't take sitting down. She raised her banners and called men who had obeyed her husband to now obey her. To arms! To arms! Or maybe, it was as romantic and flawed as a self-absorbed handsome prince deciding that he really should get the most beautiful woman in the world, dooming his homeland, Troy, with his selfish decision. But his choosing the fairest goddess of them all? That was also a Great Event, wasn't it?

Gallus listened to all his thoughts on it, interspersed with the occasional sneezing, at which his oldest brother immediately cast a cleaning charm to promptly remove the feathers filling the air.

"But those are not the only great wars of note, Jonah. Sometimes it was the result of escalating import taxes that began as a simple game of tit-for-tat. Sometimes men began to knife each other in the dark, even before any declaration of war are uttered."

He leaned closer and Jonah couldn't look away, both enthralled and afraid of what he was about to say.

"Sometimes, it began with a whisper. A loose conversation."

Jonah would later remember that day as the beginning of the Order or Merlin War in Hogwarts.

'-

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---

End Notes:

For the folks still out for the blood of a certain Auror, remember that revenge is a dish best served cold.

List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:

Typhon: (Greek mythology) Greek: Τυφῶν, A creature that is generally shaped like giant serpent, son of Gaia and Tartarus, which I suppose at the very least makes him one of the Titanides. Typhon tried to overthrow Zeus and there's this epic battle in which, not a surprise, Zeus won. To be honest, the first time I was really aware of him is when I played the game Titan Quest some years ago.

'-