Author's Note:
Work project is finally easing up/approaching the end, and my weekends don't get eaten up by it anymore. I've just finished (first draft!) of the current arc and did see that it really is a whodunnit in the tradition of mystery/detective fiction. As my sister pointed out, not everyone has a brain already used to keeping track of details borne from a hobby of reading/watching detective fiction, so I suppose I'll have to plan the chapter after that with some quasi-explanation. Still thinking how to do it. Tom, after all, isn't in the habit of showing all his cards (a magician never reveals his secret).
'-
To Fast Frank: Thanks for the heads up! Yeah, you've managed to hit on the primary reason cameras aren't involved anywhere in the story—I haven't started reading up on the history of it to feel comfortable to include it casually. Now that you've pointed that out, it does saves me some time from even trying to look them up.
Let's see, who else doesn't have an FFNet account and thus I couldn't just click 'reply review' to... (sorry if I missed anyone. It's really rather hard to keep track the non-FFNet commenters, especially when life is currently going nuts).
To Ash: Ah, pureblood's gonna pureblood. Avery's not the Head Girl, though, as she's only fifth-year, same as Hermione and Tom. She's simply Tom's prefect partner.
To aeris282: Thanks for taking the time to leave your impressions. Current Hermione has a couple of shortcuts/lifehacks that she uses.
To Imanon: I forgot the precise details of all the interesting speculations and deductions you've made, so this is just me wishing you good luck! The case is well constructed (my sister can attest), but the devil might be in the details...
To Reader4581: It's always good to hear from new readers, so welcome! I can confirm that the second arc ends in chapter 60, with maybe chapter 61 for the Aftermath. It's still in editing hell, though.
'-
56 Les explosions à l'école II
A mundane prefect patrol—not. Hermione and Tom witnessed Bernadotte's Solution. Tag with Starkey. The cracks are appearing among the prefects.
'-
Hermione was too impatient to wait that she had followed him right out of their ADADA class and started asking once they were in obscure enough corridors. They were still somewhat heading towards the library, albeit at a rather circuitous route.
"You already know who did it, don't you?" She asked. "The person or persons who dosed your foodstuff?"
A pause. "I wouldn't say know precisely. I only have suspicions and guesses."
"Then who…?"
She could see him closing his eyes for at least a second from the side before he opened it again. He probably sighed just then, a quiet, barely noticeable sigh.
"What happens in Slytherin House stays in Slytherin House."
"What?" Her voice rose. His, however, stayed at the same even tone.
"That's one of our House rules, Hermione. What happens in Slytherin House stays in Slytherin House. I can't tell you exactly." He stated this frankly, but his expression was more bored than insistent. Clearly, he did not think much of it but was not willing to go against his house to break it—not for something that he apparently considered too trivial. "It's not as if it's actually important for you. You'll manage."
He was watching her with a rather insistent look, though, as if he was expecting something.
The brunette tilted her head to the right, watching him right back as thoughts whirl in her head. They started out as a cacophonous noise, but as she eliminated the more outrageous suspicions, a more reasonable idea began to form.
"But if I were to find out on my own, no one can complain." She stated.
Tom nodded, a small smile finally appearing. "Exactly. Truthfully, it's nothing too important. I'm not even moving against the suspected perpetrator right now because I don't really have the time to deal with some small-fry, first-time sneaks right now. It would hold if I decide to come back to it later. I've probably scared the life out of the fool or they'd do something worse sooner or later."
"Well, let me decide whether to pick this up or not, then." Hermione answered. His nod was easy.
"Certainly."
"Can you tell me about what you've been doing in the last few days?" she asked back, hopeful.
He chuckled. "Now, I'd be omitting or misdirecting on many Slytherin House business, and I'm sure you don't want to hear that, do you? That would fall under the heading of lying to you. I'm afraid you have to find your own sources of information."
Hermione grumbled. She knew it was a long shot, but she was half hoping that it might just be that easy.
'-
They didn't end up going to the library at all, now that the entire conversation was done with, far faster than she'd expected.
"What are you going to do now?" She asked, curious.
"A short patrol, I suppose." His answer was lackadaisical. "We—the prefects—have been increasing the length and frequency of our patrols lately."
Hermione had seen the mess that was the inter-house relations this week, particularly among the younger years. She'd overheard a Ravenclaw prefect she wasn't familiar with raise her voice at Oswin and say that this war had better stop now, the Slytherin out of words to give. The rumour mill of Hogwarts had come up with the Order of Merlin War as the name for the current series of fights and animosities and it had stuck.
"You're not going to patrol alone, are you?" She asked worriedly.
"Haven't you heard? Prefects always go in pairs." He replied unconcerned. She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing yet, having more patience to wait than she did in her youth. The pause stretched for a while before he spoke again.
"That's not to say that I wouldn't wander a little by myself before I meet up."
"Why?"
"For the freedom of it. I don't always get a…hmm, understanding partner, do I? It's admittedly tedious to have to hold back a little too often, especially in such lively situations as these. Clearly, I have more liberty to act when I move alone." He dismissed his own explanation with a bored flick of his hand.
"Really, you know how most people are. Rigid. Unimaginative. Fearful. Use a little unconventional magic and fear grips them."
It was the honesty that stunned her a little; for once, there was none of the elegant phrasings that misdirected people from his nature. This was not the words of the perfect student, who'd blended seamlessly into the magical upper crust as if he grew up there. That impatience was genuinely Tom the ambitious orphan, the one she knew with that particular darkness in his soul. This was the young wizard who was a scholar of blood magic and speaker of dead tongues; in a different world, he would have considered sacrificing more and more people's lives for his own eternal life already.
"Lively situations?" She asked instead, successfully keeping her tone casual.
"Fights. All-out magical brawls. You know when it's time to take off the kid gloves and start casting serious spells, yet in general, these amateurs are held up by their impractical rules. They flap about like headless chickens that even a younger student can mow them down in no time."
Ah, and there was the general contempt for the intelligence of most people we all know.
He couldn't just give her a compliment without displaying his misanthropy, could he? She huffed. By the ease with which he glanced at her, quirked a half-smile and then returned his gaze ahead again, she knew she probably had a completely inappropriate smile on her face. It was impossible to not feel flattered. It didn't matter even if a part of her was trying to convince herself that anything pertaining to Tom Riddle was Serious Business and she better be sombre about it.
Oh, what the hell. She can be serious without having to look like someone just died. Hermione didn't want to turn to Verrault, for goodness' sakes.
"I'll come with you, then." The brunette said. She wanted to help keep order at Hogwarts. It was probably some residual prefect instinct/guilt that she had.
He nodded, but his smirk was more than a bit irritating.
"What?" She couldn't resist asking.
"I was waiting for you to say that."
Hermione had fallen into step with him and she didn't hold back the urge to roll her eyes. "So, you know me that well, do you?"
"No, but I've gotten some very good examples of your busybody nature." Tom replied idly.
Gazing at his side profile, she could see his long eyelashes with the flicker of his eyes. At this point, noticing his good looks only annoyed her more. It was just one more edge he had to charm people with that she never had.
"Ha ha," was her sarcastic reply, her steps not slowing down the least.
'-
Some way into their walkaround of Hogwarts, the commotion on the other end of the corridor made her look up. Loud, rapid steps was followed by a wizard in a newsboy cap. She didn't know why she was surprised to see Ves running down the hall, waving his arm at them even when he was still at the other end of the corridor. The urge to tell him not to run warred with her awareness that she had to shout to do that and she knew there was a rule against shouting in corridors and—
"Tom! You too, Hermione!"
Hermione rubbed her face. She should've figured out that Ves would shout sooner or later.
Ves dodged several people in his way, one of whom was cursing loudly at him as he shoved the other wizard carelessly. Ves made with a rude sign with one hand even as he ran without looking back. The Ravenclaw sighed again as she convinced herself that she wasn't a prefect and it wasn't her business if some fifth-years or so exchanged curses in the hallway.
Other than that case, Ves generally weaved skilfully around the people in his way.
Tom raised an eyebrow but saying nothing, content to keep walking at his current pace as his underling made his way.
"What's the hurry, Vespasian?" Tom asked.
Ves' breathing was slightly faster, but he wasn't even out of breath. "First floor Charms corridor. It was amazing and I regret not being there right now, but then I recall you askin' to be immediately informed if blue moons are rising and whatnot—and if the floor collapsing into mud pools isn't extraordinary, I don't know what is! Bernadotte is right in the thick of it, mark my words."
He was as excited as he was proud.
"Could you start from the beginning?" Hermione asked.
"I've no ken of the beginning!" He said brightly, nary a care in the world. "Yet to wit, there are these bogged down fourth-years who are mudslinging, literally."
"Bernadotte?" She repeated, uncertain about that image of rampant glee.
Ves nodded with the same wide grin. "Splitting his sides like a loon."
"Who else is there? Give me a list of the upper-years, if you will." Tom said.
"Well, there's some…Ravenclaw? Some sour-faced bird I don't know." Ves answered with a nonchalant wave of his left hand. Why he was holding a quill in it, she had no idea.
"A prefect?" Hermione asked.
"Nah." He adjusted his cap tighter over his curls. He had this slightly dumbfounded expression when he realised that he was still holding the quill in his hand and carefully returned it into his left pocket.
"No one else?"
"Ah," he thought carefully at Tom's question. "There's a few of the usual nobs of our House, useless morts getting in the way, trumpeting shrill demands, the like before they pull a runner. There's…this other Gryff who's too foxy, doin' nothing and eyes on everything like 'twas a great show."
She could see the moment Tom's thoughts came to a focus, sharper.
"Redhead?"
Ves shrugged. "Some Prewett, Weasley, MacDougal or one o' the Irish families, not sure. Damn sure the bloke's not our year."
Hermione caught his gaze easily, she had no doubt that she had the same look of realisation that he did right now. "Paul or Peter?"
"Who else?" He asked back. "Lead the way, Vespasian."
'-
"I did warn you,"
They heard Bernadotte's voice as the three of them turned into the first-floor Charms corridor.
There were kids rushing back, and she saw at least two hiding behind a suit of armour and a pedestal respectively. It looked less like a Hogwarts corridor and closer to a mud pool—a couple of pigs would've fitted in perfectly. She stopped herself before stepping into the mud, with Tom and Ves catching themselves to her right and left.
Some kids were still stubbornly hexing each other.
Two wizards, taller than the rest caught their attention. There really weren't that many wizards with a waist-length braid falling down his back, so she recognised Philippe instantly.
"Since some people still aren't stopping…Paul! Launch!" Philippe gave the order.
Both Paul and Philippe had their wands out and cast Protego to their sides, and Paul only after he cast some other spell before.
That was when Hermione noticed the lines of miniature trebuchets by the sides, launching their payload after Paul's spell prompted them into motion. Her own Protego had flickered to life the second they moved by sheer reflex, even if she was still outside their target range. A multitude of red balls criss-crossed the air, like a ballet of shell-less watermelons. Then came the explosions. There were a few screams of surprise as the younger kids (fourth years?) were splattered with jam as they hit.
"Accio wand." Bernadotte cast at the kid nearest to him, and then repeated it at least three more times, collecting wands as he went.
Hermione had just cast a water-proofing spell on her shoe when she saw Tom casting Glacia instead towards the mud. She quickly joined him and a walkable surface soon began to form. Add Ves' efforts not far behind, and they can walk over towards the Gryffindors as if it was another normal corridor.
"Thanks for your help." Bernadotte's grin was wide as he offered his hand to his year-mate. Paul shook it.
"Don't mention it. Really, don't. I'm still not sure about what the other prefects think of this, so as long as you're the one to take responsibility for it—heeey, fancy seeing you here, Riddle."
Paul's tone went up by half an octave as he noticed their arrival. His grin was more awkward than friendly. Tom's prefect badge gleamed back at him from the prefect's lapels.
"Bernadotte, Prewett." Tom greeted back, smiling slightly.
"Curie, um, whoever-you-are Slytherin fifth-year. Nice to meet you. I still have people to meet, places to be, so…seeyoulater!"
With those words, the redhead dashed to the trebuchet at the very end, shrunk that, and then ran off with it in his hands.
Hermione had winced at his first hurried steps because he'd splashed some mud to her robes, and Tom narrowed his eyes slightly at the Gryffindor fool, not that she blamed him for hightailing it out of there at the first sign of trouble. Ves muttered unflattering words when he saw the mud on his own robes.
"He's not taking the rest?" Ves' tone was curious as his gaze drifting to the remaining two lines of trebuchet.
"My guess is they're all the result of the Geminio charm. No need to look after the doubles if you know they'd disappear again after some time, right?" The Ravenclaw answered.
"Ah!" Ves nodded in realisation.
Urgh, does Paul really need to kick the mud that high? Hermione scrunched her nose at the splatter over her skirt.
'-
As Ves and Hermione looked around and chatted, Tom had turned his attention back to Bernadotte.
"Interesting…method you have here." Tom said.
"So, what brings all of you here?" Bernadotte asked cheerfully as he gathered the shocked and defeated students. Hermione was quietly casting Scourgify on herself—Vespasian did it for Tom.
Starkey's answer was blunt. "You. Mighty fine work you did 'ere. Didn't know that prefects can explode things. I would've tried better to be one if I'd known."
"Well," Tom began, "technically, we're not given any more leeway to break rules than other students."
The muscle in Bernadotte's jaw tensed for a moment before relaxing again, his smile was as easy and casual as it had been.
"And why are you here, Riddle? Come to give me a warning? Tell me about what sort of example I'm setting?" There was an obstreperous edge to his tone, his stare direct and hard.
Tom shrugged, his body language still casual. "I don't see anything I need to warn you of. Maybe we should get the students in line and return their wands first?"
He waited for a reply. His calm demeanour got him a nod from Bernadotte. He noticed the relaxing shoulders before the other prefect handed him half of the wands he'd collected to distribute back.
"I'm not any good at this either, but we have to give some sort of lecture to tell them off for fighting in the corridors." Philippe said with a sigh.
The Slytherin prefect cleared his throat and turned to the students from lower years who were quite mainly because they were still rather shocked and jam-covered.
"Alright, everyone, gather around. We'll return your wands soon, but I hope that you can consider this experience as the warning that it should be. Even prefects can get tired of having to maintain order in the face of adverse conditions. Some, like the fine fellow to my left here, can be exceedingly creative because of that."
"And I'll get even more creative if you haven't learned your lesson, if you get what I mean." Philippe warned, his tone was hard. Some students flinched. He sighed.
"Look, I don't want to have to send anyone to detentions, right. For Merlin's sake, do you actually want your parents to hear what sort of trouble you got into? Are you asking for a howler? Because that's what you're going to get once the parents hear that you were part of some extended inter-house war." The Gryffindor's serious tone seemed to have put the message across, as some of them paled.
"That's why I did this, alright? It's enough of a warning without bringing the adults on our heads."
"Especially when you're foolish enough to make enough noise for a herd of hippogriffs and get caught." Tom added. His glance easily found the Slytherin among them, their demeanour embarrassing their own house.
Several heads were lowered.
He turned to Bernadotte to allow the other prefect to pick up where he left them. The brunet only shrugged.
"That covers all we need to say, I think. I'm really not cut out for long speeches."
Hermione had already taken over the wands Tom was holding and stepped forward in front of them.
"Alright, who has a hazel wand?" One arm shot up, a sour-faced Ravenclaw whose expression morphed into sudden delight once he saw Hermione. He went from looking like a younger cousin of Draco to a cherubic youth. The transformation was extreme enough that it surprised her.
"Come right this way and wave it slowly so you can prove that it's yours. Yes, that's right. Ah, there it is," she nodded knowingly. "A match. You can go. Next up is rosewood. Anyone?"
A Hufflepuff kid raised her hand awkwardly.
"Step right up and extend your wand arm this way. Right, hold it and give it a small wave."
Orange sparks spun in the air like petals, along with a sweet and tangy fragrance that was almost tropical.
"Well, it certainly recognises you. Next is…"
She was so effective at distributing the wands while still keeping order it that Bernadotte surrendered the wands in his custody to her as well.
"I can't argue that your method isn't effective," Tom began, looking around the corridor, "but I don't think this would fit within—"
"Prefect protocols?" Philippe asked. He snorted while his right hand twirled his wand over and under his knuckles.
The Gryffindor sighed. "I know. I know that all too well, dammit. Look, I can leave less work for the caretaker to do. Paul recommends that I hose down the corridor when I'm done and I can do that. After that it's just a matter of using Scourgify repeatedly. Yet I got the job done, didn't I? Stopped the damned fighting cold?"
Tom recast Glacia underneath his feet when he heard Hermione casting it and Ves following her behind him. A look back made it clear that she was herding the younger students away from the corridor. It amused him to see her take responsibility for them without blinking, even when there were two actual prefects around. It didn't even cross her mind to ask what should be done with them—she'd even roped Vespasian to help her watch them and make sure they're not starting anything again before they split up.
"But Hermy! I'm not a ruddy prefect! We're no bloody prefects!" Ves' complaint could be heard somewhere at his back.
"The measure of a person is how they would step up when responsibility comes to them." She answered with asperity.
"Well, I'm not responsible. I'm no good prefect candidate. Look, I'll even spit on those words to prove it—"
The last thing Tom saw was Hermione swatting the back of Ves' head before he could actually spit. Of course, it could easily be argued that he wasn't in any position to make the floor any dirtier than literal mud pool, but he suspected this was one of those actions that are 'bad in principle' according to Hermione. He was rather glad that most of the time she was more concerned with great ideals than minor technicalities of what constitutes good behaviour. Else, their interaction may be a little… inconvenient.
Bernadotte was staring at the iced-over surface that and shook his head, muttering 'why didn't I think of that' before he started casting the ice spell as well.
"Vespasian told me that there were some…Slytherin upper years here before? Who certainly disagreed with your methods?"
Philippe shrugged, his left hand idly flicked the end of his long braid. He was sliding his wand in and out of its holster repeatedly.
"Ah, yeah. There was some yelling about my ruining their outfit. Clothes can be washed or spell-cleaned, right?"
The Gryffindor's tone was firm and he moved with a confident swagger. Yet Tom saw more in the minute changes to his expression—that momentary crease between his eyebrows.
"I have to admit that you certainly stopped them from fighting." Tom confirmed, keeping his eyes on his fellow prefect, his voice was still dulcet. "And yet…"
"I don't give a damn about the rest."
His gaze flickered sideways for one second. Tom Riddle kept a diplomatic silence at that, even as his gaze said many, many things. Some were things that he knew Bernadotte had already suspected himself. Most were things that were not good news.
'-
Tom had mused out loud in front of Hermione about what Oswin and Emma might have picked up about Bernadotte's 'experiments' with Prewett of all things, particularly how it might have gone down with Abbott. He was dead certain that the Gryffindor prefect did not consult the Head Boy or Head Girl about this beforehand.
"Really?" She had asked.
"If you were him, would you ask if you thought you'd be denied permission?"
"Ah," she had nodded, understanding. "Easier to ask forgiveness than permission."
"Exactly. Now, it would be interesting to see how the other Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would take this. The Gryffindors aren't too challenging to predict—most of the time, they'd understand their fellow Housemate's impulsive and 'courageous' deeds."
His mention of her House had surprised Hermione. "What, you wonder about us Ravenclaws too?"
Vespasian was tossing his newsboy cap in the air and catching it again. She would've thought he was bored, but he hadn't voiced a complaint as he walked by their side.
"You do realise that Verrault is from your House, don't you? He may have been out of the ordinary, but not truly that unique."
Tom continued his enumeration and speculation on the characters and traits of both particular prefects and Houses. The brunette witch only shook her head with a fond smile, too familiar now with that glint in his eyes that spoke of various scenarios he was running in his head with the same deftness as a black jack dealer in Vegas shuffled and cut her cards.
"You can go and find the Slytherin prefects to exchange information and get all your plans in a nice row. Yes, really. I can amuse myself without your company, you know?" Hermione said all this while trying to repress a grin. Go on, I'm sure you're not concerned about working yourself well into Friday evening.
He'd had offered the palm of his hand by then, an implicit request that she didn't even know she'd understood until she had placed her hand in his. She'd expected him to kiss the back of it (she still made weird faces whenever he did that, but she was getting used to all the affectations he was partial to).
She hadn't expected him to pull her towards him and catch her in his arms for a peck on her lips before leaving. She blinked, and the first thing she focused on was his eyes. Still indigo, she thought. And did that smile just reached his eyes?
"I'll see you later, Hermione."
She'd stared. Vespasian had gaped before exchanging disbelieving glances with each other.
'-
This was why the two of them were currently standing still in the middle of a corridor. Hermione looked around, and Ves glanced around too, curious about what exactly might have caught her attention.
"What are you looking for, Hermy?"
"People. There's no one here but us."
"Well…yeah?"
"Then why would he do that? He doesn't need to put on a show for anyone!"
"Hermione," Vespasian spoke slowly, hat held respectfully in front of him; he'd already marked her as the Lady in his head the same way Tom was his Lord. "d'you think Tom's faking it with ye?"
She shook her head. "Oh, I know he's far more attached to me than anyone else he knows, but these…" her hands made vague shooing motions, her expression oddly of…annoyance? What?
"…public courting displays isn't something that either of us actually enjoys. I'll be happy enough to have company to talk of books and magical theory with and he's always been pragmatic."
"You think it's a show?" He asked, confused.
The Ravenclaw rolled her eyes. "Oh, I know it's a show. I just don't know who he's making it for when there's no audience."
She'd started walking again and Vespasian trailed by her side.
"Hermione…"
"Yes, Ves?"
"Tom might just be doin' that because…he likes you?"
To his surprise, she laughed, before turning to him with an odd smile on her face. It was nice, but he didn't understand the hint of regret or sadness in it. Why was she looking at him as if he was someone she'd known who she thought was dead? He'd even turned around once to make sure there were no ghosts passing behind him.
"Sometimes I forget your age. You're cute, you know that?"
Before he managed to shrink away from her, she'd already messed with his curls and he cursed out loud. He hated his curls. There was a reason why he wore a hat (and most teachers won't be able to peel it away from him either).
"Hermy!" He growled. "I don't care who you are—you'll pay dearly for that!"
With a mischievous grin, she ran from him. "You've got to catch me first!"
'-
For a while, Hermione was able to conveniently not remember that there was a Hogwarts rule that prohibited running in the corridors. Vespasian clearly didn't care. Neither did he care much about the rules that prohibit general spellcasting—and since he didn't care, she definitely wasn't going to make it easier for him to hit her. She'd Accio'd complaining suits of armours between her and Ves to take the brunt of several spells he casted, apologising profusely while she ran on. She'd cast Gecko Feet Charm on her shoes and dodged several other spells by running up and then down the sides of the wall.
It did stop him for a while as he stared in awe. The spell wasn't very strong when cast in a hurry (with slightly sloppy movements as she'd forgotten it a bit), so you can't really stand on walls, but it worked just fine when you were running. Hermione couldn't help telling off several staring first or second years that happened to be passing the corridor that they better not try it because the spell took months of trying to get right as well as practice. The children simply nodded dumbly.
She was getting pretty concerned when they were running down the grand stairways that ended with the double doors leading to the castle grounds—Ves was so determined to catch up with her that he cast Glacia on the stair bannisters, then jumped up to stand on it and slid down with a pose that would earn approving nods from a snowboarder.
"Vespasian! That's at least a three-story fall!" She yelled back.
"Pffft. It's fine. I've done this before—and it's Ves!" And he leapt easily to the next set of bannisters. She started raining hexes on him just to get him to yelp and duck and thus jump back to the stairs. Then, she set off again.
'-
They both started flagging when the chase reached the ground floor. Well, she could still run, but she wasn't exactly in the mood to any longer, because the more of the younger students she'd met, the more that she felt that she had to set a good example, etc…
"Why are you following me, anyway?" She'd finally asked from a corner (just because she didn't want to run didn't mean she wanted to just let him hit her).
"What?"
"You. Following me. Don't you have other things to do?"
"What, I can't spend my time with you? I thought we're friends, Hermy?" He asked in a wheedling tone. He sent a curse her way when she poked her head out, but it fizzled against her shield. Hermione couldn't help it—she smirked.
"Yes, but there's something else about this afternoon, though, so don't treat me like I'm too stupid to get it."
Ves gave up as he approached her, hands in his pocket.
"Is tag over for now?" She asked.
He muttered imprecations under his breath, clearly reluctant to end it but knowing she would probably just slip away if he didn't. "Oh, alright. Yes, it's over."
"Good."
"'Was wondering on what tests you did for Tom."
"Tests?"
"You said you were testin' stuff that Tom gave you with several potions." He said. She could see the drops of sweat beginning to collect on his temples, but he wasn't even out of breath. She was impressed. "What did you look for? What did 'e look for?"
"Urgh, nothing important."
Ves was sceptical. "Really?"
"Well, from the easy way he dismissed it, it might as well be."
"I could help," he pointed out. She perked up a little at the prospect, brown eyes shining so much that he had to take a step back with worry.
"Potions lab, then?"
"Yeah. Potions lab it is."
'-
They hadn't even made it to the Potions lab Hermione had used when they turned slightly. Starkey needed to bottle the potions he'd let stand since the morning. He drew his borrowed key out of his pocket, complete with its numbered keychain. She had followed him out of curiosity to the Potions lab that he'd been reserving and using. She was not surprised to see the pearlescent liquid the deepest shade of bluebells in the cauldron, but she was surprised that he managed to make it quickly.
He only shook his head at her comment.
"Nah, din't make it from scratch. 'Twould take me some time. Lucky me, I could jus' ask someone from home to owl the precursor potions."
"Those precursor potions aren't stable," she pointed out. Ves only shrugged.
"Just means I need to brew on the day I got 'em."
Hermione helped him bottle the potion, half of which he would smuggle back into the infirmary while the other half is 'for emergency purposes' he'd said. The brunette could already imagine a slew of her old emergencies where she would ensure her stock was adequate and…she didn't quite want to ask him of his own details. Her memories, although patchy, could turn her mood sombre if she dwelt on it. Besides, it was enough for her to know that the Knights weren't outright thieving potions from the infirmary's supplies.
"I can't believe they keep mother-of-pearl in the potions ingredients cupboard, though." She commented, knowing very well the ingredients required for the potion.
Starkey laughed. "'Twas there, but I wouldn't ruddy use it for all the tea in Cochin China. Better to jus' buy yer own."
"…why?"
"Slughorn keeps track of who uses the ingredients. Use some gillyweed or bindweed? Piece o' cake. Now, boomslang skin? Powdered unicorn horn? You can bet your wand he'll be watchin' you carefully"
That was…a very interesting statement. Hermione mused. Does this mean that Snape actually had an idea of what she, Harry and Ron had been up to in their second year? Why didn't he interfere, she wondered, or was he too jaded even then to care?
As Starkey whistled cheerfully to himself and placed the bottled potions into his bag, she saw that he didn't only pick up the bluebell painkillers. There were other potions that she assumed he'd made before that he'd left on the table that he was now picking up. She recognised the long line of Fortified Pepper-up Potions, having made them herself in her own time. It was the last two bottles, tucked in a corner behind a large jug that caught her attention.
A splash of vivid pink. Light magenta. Not many potions were of that obnoxious shade, and as she slowly drifted towards the table, in the guise of helping to pass him more bottles, she could catch the cloying scent of overpowered rose oil and honey, among others.
"Ves, you don't mind if I take off, do you?"
"What? What about your potion tests?"
Hermione turned around abruptly, facing him. "Oh, I was just trying to find out who spiked Tom's food with Amortentia. I just realised that if the tests came back negative, that meant he'd dealt with it and it's no longer an issue, is it?"
She could see that she'd surprised him with her insight and blunt question, but he didn't seem wary at all.
"Oh, that. Yeah, it's bein' taken care of. So, you don't actually have an interesting conundrum on your hands, then?" He actually sounded disappointed. She smiled.
"'Fraid not, Ves. See you later."
"Ta, Hermy."
He went back to piling potions into his bag (she wouldn't believe him if he said he wasn't a potions supplier).
"Ves," she called from the door, pausing.
"Yeah?"
"Is there anyone you're currently interested in? A pretty girl, maybe? Or is it a boy?" She asked.
He snorted. "No one 'ere's that interesting, Hermione. You know how it is. Only Tom—and you too, I s'pose—are the most interestin' people I've seen in ages."
His tone was clearly of boredom and annoyance. He wasn't hiding anything. Yet as she walked out, the potions she'd saw stayed in her mind.
Amortentia. For what purpose, exactly?
'-
Andrew was shaking his head; his usually relaxed handsome face was strained.
"You can't just turn an entire Hogwarts corridor into a total mess—"
"Oh, spare me the lecture. They stopped, didn't they? If they had no regard of the rules before, at the very least, I could put the fear of me into them. I kept the list of names of the students involved—if more than two of them get into any more fights after this, I'd be surprised." Bernadotte cut in.
Tom was down the length of the table from them in yet another prefect meeting. Not close enough to interfere, but in the perfect position to watch it unfold. It was interesting to note that whenever he took the seat at the foot of the table, no one else minded. Most of the other prefects were too busy watching Abbott and Bernadotte going head-to-head.
"The Hogwarts caretaker isn't your personal servant." The Head Boy cautioned.
Bernadotte huffed with impatience. His left hand slipped carelessly in his pocket. "I helped him out cleaning a bit. Yes, I didn't stay around for all of it, but we all have classes to go to, don't we? I also checked back after class, right before going here."
Andrew pressed his fingertips to his forehead; his expression was that of tested patience but he controlled himself well. He wouldn't look out of place as a saint in a stained-glass window. Even his eyes were still beseeching towards Bernadotte than angry. A twinge of loathing bloomed in Tom's mind at Andrew, merely because he was aware that even if he gave all his efforts, he would still not manage to perform the emotion the Head Boy felt and channelled so naturally and without effort.
That saddened disappointment, that noble expression of a leader doing his best to understand! Tom mocked in his own mind. None is ever as perfect as he is, isn't it? He so detested coming second in critical skills.
Hatred was completely normal in this situation.
"…in the end, you can't do this again, Philippe. We're the ones calming Hogwarts, not bringing it into further uproar. You even brought Augusta into it." Andrew had said, his voice level.
Ah, the conversation has gone on. Tom was certain that whatever other sentences he'd missed in the interim wasn't too important.
Augusta Delagardie was blatantly rolling her eyes at the idea that anyone could have brought her into anything she didn't want to, but said nothing. He could even see Rajesh Setalvad's lips quirking slightly. Tom's own smile faintly grew.
"What, you have a better idea? Is that it? Tell me what your plan then." Bernadotte asked.
"We've already changed the patrol schedule and increased the frequency."
"And it's still not enough!" He snapped. Bernadotte leaned forward, his eyes eagle-sharp. "Why am I the only person taking this seriously? Do you actually enjoy the increased tension in Hogwarts? Is that it? Assure that no one ever forgets the first Head Boy to earn an Order of Merlin Award? The single-handed saviour of Hogsmeade?"
Tom smothered his own grin as second-hand satisfaction rose. Good hit, Bernadotte.
"Philippe!" Agatha's eyes were wide, surprised and also disappointed.
"You were out of line, Bernadotte."
Daedalus said this with a sigh and a tired look, unaware of Agatha's appreciation directed his way. His slouch and annoyed expression told all that he considered doing this entirely as a chore—he wouldn't have said anything if someone else had spoken up the same thing.
"Was I?" Bernadotte's answer was half a growl.
"But you're also correct. We need to try other methods too and why not sooner rather than later?" Daedalus finished. The blond shrugged at the glances sent his way, his head lazily leaning against his hand as Bernadotte speechlessly shut his mouth again.
"He does have a point." Daedalus said.
"Exactly. He might be a bit of an arse, but he's not wrong." Delagardie spoke up, her seat not far from her fellow Gryffindor and last partner-in-mischief.
"My parents have forwarded me the invitation for it tomorrow." She unrolled a scroll, opened it flat, and pushed it across the table. "It's an Order of Merlin dinner, even if it's not explicitly mentioned there."
"Then it might not be—" Andrew began.
Delagardie huffed. "And pigs may fly. Dream on if you wish, Andrew, but the rest of us aren't as delusional. My parents heard it. Even Bernadotte and Victorinus heard it, though they didn't get the invites."
She nodded to the two French Gryffindors who acknowledged her.
"I'm sure Daedalus knew too."
"Yep. Pater said it was for the Order of Merlin." The blond seventh-year confirmed her statement from a little to Tom's left.
Delagardie's back was as straight as any swordswoman's where she stood. Her gaze did not wander from Andrew and she threw out her challenge.
"Do you want me to start asking everyone else from the old families here? How many of them have heard that whatever this Ministry Dinner is called, it is the Order of Merlin award?"
Check, Tom thought idly as he raised his cup of tea. Your move, Andrew. He was still sitting even as several others had stood.
It was rather interesting to see everyone seating themselves according to their House affiliation today. Apart from the Head Boy who sat at the head of the table, the lions and badgers sat across each other on opposite sides of the long table—to his left, beyond the Ravenclaws were the Gryffindors, while the Hufflepuffs were on the table side that was to his right, beyond the main cluster of his own House.
Two factions negotiating a truce, he pondered at the positions.
"It's a misunderstanding," Andrew seemed more tired usual. Internally, he couldn't help a malicious grin at that.
Emma spoke up with her usual cool, precise diction and a steady gaze behind her spectacles. "I don't think it is. I think I'm the one who had misunderstood things so far. I suppose I should've stopped hoping that my house would get one." She turned to Tom—Oswin leaned back so he wouldn't be in the way.
"I'm sorry, Tom."
Her tone was still a little flat, but it didn't surprise Tom—Emma never did quite manage exuberant emotions.
"Oh, don't be. I never had any expectations in the first place. It comes down to my last name, you know? Not convincing enough." His answer was mild, his expression one of understanding. "But I understand why Crouch might have expected differently—he's old family too. I don't think they should be able to brush away his efforts that easily, not like they did with mine."
His words were enough to get most of the Gryffindors to narrow their eyes at the Hufflepuffs. They were surprisingly in sync, like a pack of wolves—or a pride of lions, to follow that imagery.
It was Crouch's turn to huff. "If they didn't consider your actions worthy of an Order of Merlin, then mine damn sure doesn't deserve it."
The Slytherins were generally being very good spectators at this point, while the Ravenclaws were a mixed bag. Amelia Bones stood to Andrew's right with her arms crossed over her chest. Her words were short and clipped.
"Decline it, Andrew."
"I already did," Andrew answered, the beginnings of annoyance seeping into his tone. Yet as he took a deep breath, it disappeared once more as he held on to his level mood with a grim determination.
"I already did because it's not right."
Tom found it more difficult than usual to hold back his sarcastic snort. Yes, yes, we already know you're a champion, Andrew. Must you keep repeating that? Afraid we'll forget it otherwise? He found it hard to believe that being nice and good was worth tolerating Fudge. He'd take a mangy, flea-bitten dog over that man. Tom would prefer to tie him down in a chair, clamp his head down to stop excess movements and hold his eyelids open before making him watch a red-hot needle being slowly inserted into his eyeball.
"Well, apparently the Undersecretary couldn't understand that no means no. Someone needs to teach him a lesson about it." Amelia muttered.
"What else could I do?" He asked, before returning his attention to Bernadotte again, his brows heavy. "And don't think you can distract us from our current problem of your use of excessive magic on the students."
"Cette connerie est exactement le problème!" Bernadotte snapped back. Not even Victorinus was complaining about his language as she simply stood by his side. The shorter Gryffindor was watching the expression of everyone on the other side of the table from them.
"This issue is still related. If you actually have enough guts to hold your ground and defend it, we wouldn't be in this position by now." Philippe finished.
Tom knew the exact moment that Andrew's shoulder's stiffened, turning him closer to the Greek statue that his admirers tend to compare him to instead of a man of flesh and blood.
"If there's any accusation you'd like to make, I'd rather hear you say it frankly to my face than hide it behind other words."
A sarcastic chuckle. "I wasn't even hiding it."
Ceres Victorinus took a step forward before extending her hand in front of Bernadotte to bar him. The Frenchman gave a grunt of annoyance but let his blonde partner step in.
"Pip is worried about the constant fights in Hogwarts," Ceres spoke up while Bernadotte bit back his words. Well, that's mildly surprising. He didn't think the Gryffindor would give ground so easily.
"If he was, he wouldn't be adding yet another fight on top of it." Andrew's comment was pointed, as was his look just now.
"Philippe is certainly against the rules. It would be fully within your rights to reprimand him, Andrew."
Verrault piped up, all angular cheekbones and judgemental eyes. Both Andrew and Bernadotte turned to him almost as one, with expressions that were far from happy since he settled back down with a disgruntled expression.
Bernadotte and Andrew had settled back to the uncomfortable tension as they faced each other again.
"I don't fight them." From the rigid sound, the words probably came out through gritted teeth. The Gryffindor sixth-year tried to speak slower. "I get them in enough jam to actually stop and listen."
Tom held back his sigh at the awful pun.
"Or you're just adding more problems without solving the ones we already have. Violence is not always the solution."
It wasn't just Bernadotte whose back stiffened—surprisingly, Victorinus did too.
"Melior and Melusine! Violence? I can't believe you! Have you actually seen some violence? That's nowhere near violence!" He snapped. His voice was rising, his cheeks flush with colour.
It only took Tom two seconds to realise why—he'd remembered just now that Bernadotte had family in the army. With France being what it is, he probably knew more than most of the realities of war.
Possible conversational paths available to them were closing up as Bernadotte and Abbott pricked at each other's sore spots, leaving confrontation and conflict threatening to be the only path available—Tom could see it clearly in his mind. The French wizard weaved his arguments around Abbott like a wolfhound baiting a slow to be roused, yet now increasingly annoyed bear. They were both athletic and intelligent enough that without having seen either of them in action, it was hard to guess who would be the victor in a fight between them.
A sniff from a completely different direction.
"Patricia told me that at least one second year cried."
Jemima Avery unexpectedly spoke up just then, her glare was cooler than anyone would expect if it was just a random second year she found. Tom surmised Patricia herself probably distressed about the mud she had to slog through and her dorm mate heard it. The Head Boy did not have to turn far to face her, as she'd been sitting between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff area.
"You know who they are?"
The blonde nodded. Lips the shade of strawberries curved in a perfect pout that Tom was unimpressed with; he was certain that she practised in front of a mirror.
"Of course, I asked Patricia. She was helping the younger years because she knew how hard it is to get mud out of velvet and she volunteered to help them."
When he spoke next, Andrew's tone was disappointed. "That mess was unbecoming of a prefect."
Philippe's hands were clenching into fists.
"Well half the lot of them would have been crying if I actually let them all fight! You'd rather we all just sit on our hands with our thumbs up our backside—"
"Pip," Victorinus warned.
"—pardon me if I bow out of it."
Emmerich Pryce stood up from Andrew's left and butted right in with the grace of a pit bull.
"There's a reason that prefects go around in pairs! If you hadn't split up with Augusta, one of you can handle the situation while the other calls for the others! Who's making a mess of things now?"
His Hufflepuff pride would not allow him to stand aside when he saw the Head Boy being insulted.
This time, it was Rajesh Setalvad who stood up from the Gryffindor contingent as Bernadotte was still subtly trying to go around Victorinus who'd stepped somewhat in front of him at this point. Tom had realised belatedly that Setalvad had successfully reined in his temper while his French colleague was going at it hammer and tongs…up to now.
Setalvad's answer was as pointed as his grey gaze. "Certainly, Pryce, as if they'd all just sit nicely and wait until the cavalry is upon them. You could be left with several bound for the infirmary with the rest already escaping."
"All speculation!" Emmerich said.
Rajesh pressed both of his hands on the table as he loomed forward.
"Oh, you want a fact? How about you've been sitting ducks for several days while the corridors run in chaos?"
Mordred made some clucking sounds, raising the temperature of the room by several degrees. All that was missing was some arm-flapping to match the chicken imitation. Tom was amused at how easily they all returned to their traditional tendencies. It had been something he had entirely expected, being the cynic that he was, but not at such rapid speed.
Pro domo sua, serviemus. 'For our House, we will all serve'.
Emma's wands oh-so-accidentally gave Mordred a head full of chicken feathers in place of his hair. He winced even as he gingerly felt the top of his head.
"Oops. I'm sorry, Mordred. My wand slipped my hand." Emma said tonelessly.
Away from them, the main argument still continued.
"Ah yes, that is your House motto, isn't it? Charge first, regret later?" Emmerich barked. "Or it's fine if other people regret it as long as you don't?"
Setalvad's face might be slowly gaining the colour of beet, but even Crouch and Delagardie had turned and fixed their eyes immediately on the fuming sixth-year. Even Crouch's partner, an unassuming witch as Gryffindors go, was frowning like her other housemates.
"Would you like to repeat that, Pryce?" She asked softly.
For all the quietness of Frederica Creaseworthy's voice, there was still a core of steel inside. The unfamiliar sound of her voice surprised even the other Gryffindors.
"Emmerich, take that back right now." Agatha put her foot down, the usual friendliness was absent from her voice. She had pulled them all slightly back from the brink.
Yet it would only be temporary.
"I'm only saying that they're reckless—" Emmerich defended himself.
There weren't enough cooler heads around, or at least cooler heads who actually cared. Tom's gaze drifted towards the Slytherins—Oswin had outright left the table to brew some tea, while Mordred was more occupied with trying spells to return his hair to its previous condition and failing. The other two witches were talking in low voices about who-knows what.
The Head Girl was still staring at the other Hufflepuff with her arms folded in front of her chest, he huffed and faced the Gryffindors again. "Alright, I take that back. You probably still cared for your friends."
"Probably?" Delagardie muttered under breath. Tom only heard that because he sharpened his hearing at the beginning of the meeting.
"Doesn't mean I'll let your insults at Hufflepuff pass." Emmerich said again.
"The truth is never an insult." Setalvad's answer was as sharp as it was sure. He held his ground and yet he mainly ended up raising the temperature all over again.
Tom glanced around the room to assess the other prefects on the side-lines. Julia Goldstein was pinching the bridge of her nose—she'd never quite understood all the prickliness along house pride and family honour and was all too-aware that she had no idea where to begin. The downsides of being a halfblood raised in a too open-minded household, he supposed. Delacour was torn simply because she regarded everyone as her friends and yet no one seemed to have her reluctance for interpersonal conflict that she was flummoxed; she was the perfect picture of a kind soul holding back a heartache. Other than Daedalus, none of the male Ravenclaws had much in the way of charisma to be able to speak up and be heard—Alvis Boot didn't even try as he had more sense than Verrault.
No one else seemed to notice that Emma had actually let a verbatim quill take everything down. He was sure that it was not going into the Hogwarts' prefect records—her personal one, then. Any Slytherin with a brain would agree that it was always useful to keep track of people's buttons. Hmm, perhaps he'd ask for a copy and ensure that Emma was equitably compensated for it.
"Look, I think we should all sit back down and talk about this calmly…" Kosinski pleaded to the room.
The Polish Hufflepuff made a bid for peace that seemed to have been ignored by practically everyone else. If Tom wasn't controlling his reactions so much, he would have laughed.
Other people are starting to get dragged into the argument, aren't they? He noted with interest. If this continues, it would devolve into a loud row. The prefects might even end up being permanently divided until the current sixth and seventh years graduated. It would not do. After all, he had no plans of presiding over a divided prefect body.
But he could not interfere before it all seemed increasingly dire. He'd gain no admiration that way. Just now, Philippe was about to go around the table to face Andrew down even if some of his friends were trying to bar his way. Tom decided to set his tea down.
The clink of Tom's saucer and cup on the table was heard by everyone in the entire room.
(It was a small trick he'd learned from fourth year).
Tom stood up.
"Gentlemen, Ladies, please. This situation is not without a solution. I may have an idea."
'-
.
.
.
End Notes:
List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:
Geminio Charm: The doubling charm. Yes, there's the Doubling Curse in canon, but how hard is it to make the useful version of that? I reckon that just doubling an object once than continuously would've been an easier task to accomplish.
Completely random speculation: I can't imagine how much different the production of goods in the wizarding world, or even purchase of said goods from the muggle world, once the doubling charm was invented. Like, holding an emergency dinner party in your apartment? Don't worry, you can temporarily multiply your only two plates there to serve however many people you need! Same with cutleries! What, not enough glass? What about that nice crystal one you took from home with you? Multiply that and don't even bother using the real one. That way, you don't even need to worry about anyone breaking anything either. Washing dishes? What's that? All you need to do is stack them all on the sink and cancel the spell. They disappear and whatever remnants of food was on top of them would fall on the sink.
'-