Author's Note:
Damn, after I'm done smoothing the end of the second arc, this means I have to start drafting the outline for the third arc *grumbles and wanders away*. Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows! I appreciate them. Currently a little too scatterbrained to keep track of all of them, just got out of bog standard throat infection. Not deadly or anything but the coughs and pharyngeal pain are damn annoying.
'-
57 A Ministry Dinner
The library—Hermione and Tom and Camellia Lee along with a bunch of Hufflepuffs. Passing through the Potion Master's Office. A discussion on opportunity. The Art of Arriving but not Attending. Here comes the Blacks. Fraternal disagreements.
'-
"Hermione,"
"Yes?" She turned to Tom, his hair still jet-black even under the hundred lights of the library. She envied that intensity of colour. His right shoulder leaned against a bookshelf and Hermione did not think she'd seen him this casual before.
He had an odd smile on his face, his eyes bright with an inner amusement as he continued to say nothing.
"Done with your prefect meeting already? What is it?"
"What do you think about sneaking into tonight's Ministry dinner?"
"Um, alright?"
She actually managed to get him to raise his eyebrows at her casual answer. "Alright? That's it?"
Really, with all the things she wanted to do in the 1940s, the last thing she cared about right now was some fancy-schmancy dinner just to rub elbows with the upper crust. Yet she had no idea what he was planning this time. As the last thing that Hermione wanted to show was uncertainty, she shrugged as she leaned back on the opposite bookshelf, and replied with a carelessness that she didn't feel.
"Well, you know me, the vigilante. What's a little party-crashing compared to that?"
His grin flicked out, switchblade-quick and with an edge just as bright and dangerous. He approached, his hand reached out to hers and became entwined easily.
"Even better, then. Come with me, Hermione; let's watch the play of the world from the backstage." He crooned. Charmer, went a random thought in her mind, and not only towards snakes.
Before she considered the offer carefully, a simple 'yes' had tumbled out of her lips. He nodded without surprise and pulled her along with him at a walking pace.
'-
It started in a rather banal way, with both of them picking up on their respective reading. At least it did before she was distracted.
They found a seat by the windows when she asked the question. Hermione was more interested in staring out of Hogwarts than read the open book in her hands. It was almost November, Hogwarts' grounds and even the Forbidden Forest lit up in shades of yellow, red and brown with the changing leaves.
"What do I need to wear?" She glanced back at Tom.
As questions go, Hermione thought it was normal. She knew what Hermione Granger, Unspeakable and one of the heroes of the last war would wear to any Ministry events or dinners, no matter how annoyed with them she was or wasn't. Some appearances needed to be kept, as Hermione had said more than once to Harry.
"Wear?" Tom asked.
The book he was holding was still closed in his lap, his chair turned facing her instead of his desk. Huh. She could not quite read his eyes, as they were half-lidded.
"The Ministry dinner?" The brunette prodded. "We're getting in tonight, right?"
A Minister of Magic, Draco had pointed out, can be kept on his toes if they can see just who is popular enough to chat and connect with people. Never hurts to remind him who can easily replace him, if they really wanted to, he'd told her once with glee. At least one or two people from their circle should always take the effort to mingle.
It sure never hurts when the annual budget review came around either.
But Hermione Curie was just a student. She wasn't sure what she needed to be yet in this new place.
"Just dress as you would prefer to dress."
She blinked. That certainly wasn't the answer that she'd expected him to give. It was too carefree; yet his gaze was as unburdened as his tone. She could not understand him then.
"Um, Tom, it's a formal dinner held by the Ministry."
"Yes, I'm quite aware of that," he replied. He continued on before she could complain about the non-committal answer. "Pick a formal dress, then, but no need to overthink it. Aren't you tired of playing by other people's rules all the time, Hermione?"
His hand idly caressed the book's cover even as he kept his attention on her. Up and down it went at the corner of her vision and slightly distracting her, his nails barely exerting any pressure.
"What other people's rules?"
"The dinner. It's a display of power, filled with people who either have them or desperately wish to. Most would not see us for who we are, and aren't you tired of bending to them?"
Tom leaned forward, picking up her left hand, his thumb drawing light circles on her palm. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips without breaking his gaze from hers. She could drown in his eyes, the indigo shade reminding her of the fathomless Pacific. He gently bit her wrist, his tongue sliding against her skin smoother than silk and sweeter than molasses, lighting sparks all the way to her elbow. Hermione released the breath she didn't even know she held and swallowed a non-existent lump in her throat.
"They thought they could make you dance to their tune once already. We should stop that particular delusion of theirs before it grows—why should we participate in their pageantry?" He asked.
"I thought we were going to attend all the same?"
"I have an invitation and you will come as my partner. It does not mean we have to follow their boring dinner plan." Tom had yet to relinquish her poor hand. The caresses were disconcerting precisely because they were as delicate as a feather and slowly unrolling her sleeve upward.
It was making it difficult to think.
"We're not sneaking in…and yet we're not participating?" She asked.
He smiled. "Yes. Precisely."
For some reason, she had an image of the two of them watching over a party from a balcony, present but uninvolved. She did not have the time to ask him, to check whether their plan was indeed similar to what her imagination came up with, because Tom had laid his book on the table and stood up from his chair to be able to cover her lips with his.
She opened her mouth to ask a question, but she forgot it entirely under tongue that was heat and hunger and Hermione closed her arms around him without thinking. The hand on her hip had a grip that might have been uncomfortable if she was someone else, but she was starting to read his behaviour the way he was learning hers. Even as her head was comfortably fuzzy as his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses and bites down the side of her neck, she belatedly remembered that they had immediately dived back into their own lives and packed schedule that they hadn't had time to themselves since last weekend.
Tom hadn't had the time to come to terms with her detention and dementor attack.
Well, this can get really hot, she mused with half a mind as she pulled his tie loose and she knew he was pushing her robe off her shoulder. She didn't have many memories, true, but she still had three thank-goodness-we're-alive/you're-alive sex as a pleasant post-battle experience that she was looking forward to it even now.
A pointed throat clearing made Hermione turn and remember that they were still in the library. She was certain that she had blushed to the roots of her hair. Tom, on the other hand, simply stood up and offered his hand to her to assist. He did not seem to care that she had made a mess of his hair. It was unfair that he still looked like a handsome devil while her hair was probably a mass of curls around her head.
"To tell you the truth, I don't care if you were to continue with your, ahem, activities."
Skin like porcelain and rosebud lips and the yellow-and-black of a Hufflepuff tie; Hermione could recognise Camellia Lee from a hundred paces. She stared at Hermione without any compunction.
"Um," she began.
"It's an outrageous public display of affection by my standards, but then that is the way things are here, isn't it? Everyone is shameless. I have to force myself to just…ignore it." Lee looked away for a second before she stared at Tom without wavering. Her expression was nonplussed, her nose wrinkled slightly and was that a light blush? Yet for all that, her tone remained even.
"We apologise for disturbing you." Tom replied, his smile still a little more roguish than it usually was.
Camellia nodded slowly, formally.
"Very well. I accept your apology and thank you for attempting to understand other people. There are no rules against…" her hands fluttered in the air as she tried to find the words as she stubbornly forged onwards, tightened jaw and all. "…against, hmm, courting activities in the library, only against excessive noise. What I do notice is that you're distracting the fourth-years studying in the table behind me, while some of the younger students have started asking me questions that I'd rather not answer. I can herd them out, I suppose, but Casimir has been waffling for too long. I decided to give him a hand."
That was when Hermione noticed the second person in front of them, standing slightly to the left and a step back from Camellia Lee.
"Have we met?" She asked.
"We've met, at Hogsmeade's prefect meeting, yes, but we haven't been introduced." His rounded face and large wide eyes made him look younger than he actually is and his awkwardness didn't help. She couldn't help thinking that he was as adorable as a puppy, if a puppy can have apple cheeks. If it wasn't for his prefect badge, she wouldn't think he was a fifth-year or older.
"Hermione, this is Casimir Kosinski, fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect and partner to Amelia Bones. Kosinski, this is Hermione Curie, fifth-year Ravenclaw." Tom made the introductions, and Hermione nodded and expressed her pleasure in knowing him. Kosinski bowed over her hand, stood back and fidgeted on his paws again (feet, Hermione, feet! He's human!)
There was a slightly awkward silence for a few seconds. Camellia moved to Hermione's side and the brunette caught the passing fragrance of peonies. The Hufflepuff witch gestured her arm out towards a particular table.
"There, see? Those fourth years are my juniors. If you do have to…to snog, please do it far from their impressionable minds." Hermione saw her nose crinkling yet again in the middle of that sentence as she failed to completely suppress her shudder.
Hermione felt the urge to drop her face into her hand as her face heated up once more. Half the fourth years there were pretending they weren't eavesdropping on their conversation and the other half was staring, no, gawking. They were practically all Hufflepuffs. It didn't help when Hermione saw that Tom bowed to them as if they were on a stage giving a show, before giving them a charming smile. She thought she heard giggles and she even had the phantom pangs of anticipatory migraine coming up.
(She'd had enough dealing with the fans of Harry, or Ron, or Draco, or Neville… the list goes on).
"Camellia!" Kosinski cried out. His cheeks were rather red.
"You did intend on asking them to stop, didn't you? I am doing exactly that." She replied. For all the gentleness in her voice, she still had a backbone.
"Yes, but that's, um…we don't need to embarrass them more than necessary!" He said it so quickly that the words almost ran into each other.
"Well, I think it's fair game to do in return since they've already embarrassed me. You were worrying for too long. It's better to do this as quickly as possible and get it over with."
Her voice had started to pitch higher before she cleared her throat and put it under control. Hermione noticed that Camellia's cheeks were still ruddy. The sixth-year had turned to them both, her expression mostly one of annoyance now.
"There, now can you please let the younger years study in peace? You do realise that this is still a public place?"
"Of course, we can do that, Camellia." Hermione finally answered. She understood now why Camellia was a strong contender to be the female Hufflepuff prefect of her year. Her sense of responsibility was simply that great.
Camellia let out a long sigh, shoulders dropping slightly. If it was possible, her dark eyes were a little less flint-like.
"Thank you." Her reply was soft.
"B-b-but we don't mind."
"Yeah!"
A few of the younger Hufflepuffs were heard to comment. Camellia sharply turned around.
"Mr. Peterson, Miss Hitchens are you volunteering to teach some second years that may stumble here about the birds and the bees? Is anyone volunteering?"
"N-no!"
A chorus of noes and vigorously shaken heads followed.
"Exactly."
Nodding firmly after she had stared down the rest, almost challenging them to say anything else, Camellia turned to face them again. Her eyes almost challenging them to mention the high colour on her face. Consequently, Hermione said nothing about it.
"You're about done, then?" Tom asked.
"Yes."
"Ah, allow us to remove ourselves from your presence and 'snog' somewhere else then." Tom replied, unexpectedly mischievous. Hermione didn't trust the side glance with which he eyed everyone else or the slow, almost sensual slide that he did when he slowly loosened his tie. She noticed that Camellia was keeping her eyes determinedly away from him even as she huffed in dismay. One of the younger Hufflepuff wasn't, and Hermione could see the witch's breath coming in shorter gasps even as her eyes looked like she was trying to devour Tom whole.
Their answer was only in the form of a groan from Kosinski and Camellia's brighter cheeks as she took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Riddle. In the name of the younger years of Hufflepuff, I fear I have to ask you—"
"We're leaving! Like, right now!" Hermione yelped while pushing Tom's shoulders so they can start putting a lot of distance between them and the Hufflepuffs.
'-
"What was that?" Hermione asked once they were clear from the library.
"What was what?" Tom asked back.
"That! I didn't know you were an exhibitionist!"
"It was just a kiss, Hermione. Are you telling me you're prudish?" He gave her that sly glance from under his eyelashes, the one that had almost made that lower year Hufflepuff hyperventilate.
"Pffft. You know I'm not. It's not as if you weren't aware of them even before you kissed me. I don't think you didn't remember that we're in the library—you're not smitten Tom, so don't try to give me the mushroom treatment." She was standing in front of him now and thus stopping him from walking further.
"Mushroom?" He raised his eyebrows with curiosity.
"Kept in the dark and fed a lot of shit." The brunette replied blandly.
There was a surprised snort from him. "I did promise you the truth, of course I'll refrain from that."
"Thank you. So? Explanations, please?"
"I thought it was necessary to make a point about our association." He said. It took a second for her to translate that.
"We needed to show that we're in a relationship in public?"
"Yes. You do remember your fall from the staircase, don't you? If our relationship had been more established, more obvious, there would have been no question of its existence and no one would have dared to even try touching you."
Hermione closed her mouth in surprise. She had…well, she hadn't exactly forgot about it, but she'd pushed it so far to the back of her mind that it wasn't much of a difference from forgetting. She had a feeling that telling him how the stooges were très unimportant wasn't going to change his mind in any way. While she was still surprised, Tom had linked their arms together again and started walking once more.
"Um, so, what about the Ministry Dinner?"
"We'll wear something formal enough to not stand out, but there is no need to make an impression."
'-
Hermione had no idea that students can actually leave Hogwarts from the teacher's fireplaces.
"Please, Hermione. Do you think the teachers enjoy being confined and cooped up with students all week?" Tom asked.
"Well, no. But students leaving are a different matter!"
They were walking in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons in wizarding formal wear. A peach-coloured dress courtesy of Eugenie for her and a black dress robe that was understated on him—respectable enough, but nothing too fancy or extraordinary.
"Students have always been able to leave Hogwarts in the case of an emergency, such as a St. Mungo's visit, for example." He gave her a pointed glance that she gave an innocent, wide-eyed look in return.
"This is just a dinner." She insisted.
"Ah, but it's a very important formal dinner. As long as you have the invitation, I'm sure you're allowed to go."
Even as Tom knocked on Slughorn's door, she wasn't sure she'd understood the distinction. The door swung open and the affable Potions Master greeted them in his chambers. His slippers were mossy green and fluffy and even his dressing gown looked comfortable.
"Tom, Hermione! Welcome, welcome! Come on in and let's shut the draft out. My goodness, you're both excellently turned out tonight, aren't you? What a good-looking pair you make!" He ushered them in with a soothing flow of chatter.
Even from the first glance, Hermione could already see the abundance of pillows on his sofa and armchairs. It was cosy, and a rather stark contrast to her since she was more used to seeing the quarters the way Snape kept them—spartan in his preference, his distaste for coddling the flesh bordered on the masochistic.
"Why, thank you for the compliment, Professor." Tom thought faster on his feet than she did. Hermione followed awkwardly.
"Ah, yes, thank you. I didn't think I managed anything extraordinary—"
Slughorn raised one hand, his thick brows lowered as he wagged one large finger in front of her. "No, no. No beautiful witch is going to bring down her own charms in front of me. I forbid it, do you hear me? It is absolutely forbidden here."
His attempts to look grave only ended up being comical, but perhaps that was the idea. She couldn't help but chuckle at that.
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it? Now, what's the occasion? I'm sure none of you had dressed up to dine with me tonight." There was self-deprecation in his voice.
Hermione felt an unexpected pang of guilt, which was rather ridiculous because he wasn't even her Head of House.
"Um, I'm sorry…"
"Oh, it's no trouble at all! Let me guess, then, is it the Ministry dinner that is on tonight? You're both attending, then?" The professor was rubbing his hands together in excitement.
"No."
Tom's answer and the firmness of his word surprised both Hermione and Slughorn. He didn't prevaricate or even avoided answering. He stood his ground, reminding her of the Tom Riddle she'd only seen in ADADA class and scarcely in Hogwarts most of the time.
"No?"
"Ah, but you forget that I've seen you, my boy. You left with your prefect friends earlier. I didn't know that you've returned, but now I remember that Hermione's still here, so it is only natural for you to pick her up. That you're both leaving for the party now does not surprise me at all." Slughorn noted with cheer. Hermione was reminded that for all of his jovial nature, he was still the head of a house that was noted for its political animals. He was not unobservant.
"We'll be there to watch, because it is the spectacle of the season. I simply refuse to subject Hermione to the gawking masses or do the social dance on our day off." Tom answered.
"We have off days?" She asked in mock surprise.
"Of course, we do." Tom raised Hermione's hand and turned it around to kiss the palm. It took her off-guard simply because she hadn't expected him to do that in front of a teacher.
Slughorn simply looked nostalgic.
"Ah, young love. Well, you are a credit to your House, Tom. Do you need some Disappearing Potions?"
Hermione stopped in surprise. Those potions were complicated to make, so much that most people who need to be unseen on a regular basis just settled with getting a lesser invisibility cloak. His generosity got to her.
"I wouldn't impose on you too much, Sir. An expertly-wielded Notice-Me-Not Charms would do. Add another to redirect people and we're set." Tom replied.
"Very well. Have a good night and enjoy yourself!"
"I believe we will."
'-
"Did he just allow us to Floo to London because you showed him your invitation to a dinner?" Hermione asked in disbelief while stepping out of one of the back fireplaces of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom had entered ahead of her and helped hold her hand as she avoided the grating just now. She sneezed out some stray pieces of ash that had swirled upwards with her arriving step.
"It was a Ministry Dinner. Those are Very Important, you see," he said solemnly.
She huffed. Her hands would have been playing with her hair if she didn't remember that she took some effort to style it.
"We're a boarding school! And people just get in and out willy-nilly!"
"I have no idea that you've managed to transform into Hogwarts recently." His remark was far from innocent. She swatted his arm.
"Oh, you know what I mean."
"Well, the teachers would have put their foot down on a weekday. This being Friday night means it's practically weekend."
"But he doesn't even know for sure that we're going there! We might have gone to, to… a club! A jazz club! And then we might decide to go drinking until the wee hours of the night at some pub!" She had to whisper-yell the last part because she hadn't realised that she'd been steadily raising her voice when people started to turn towards her so she dropped her voice entirely. They were currently crossing the dining area of the Leaky Cauldron.
Her outburst amused him for some reason. "Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you want to persuade me to change my mind and go gallivanting to a jazz club instead and perhaps a pub afterwards?"
She sighed. "Not really, no."
"That's exactly what Slughorn sees."
It was inevitable that her scepticism showed in her mien, as Tom continued his explanation.
"Do you really think that he'd have given us leave so easily if I wasn't a Slytherin prefect and you weren't the practically-theoretical stellar student? Perhaps the genius of a hundred years?"
"The fact that I'm standing here next to you clearly shows that I'm not theoretical. Plus, I don't think I'm the top one in a hundred years—there is still Dumbledore." Hermione stated as they came to a pause. Tom barely took a beat to adjust to her answer.
"Still, the answer is, no, we probably would not have received the permission so easily if we are not who we are. It might not end up being given in the end at all. Teachers do try to determine who are responsible enough to not abuse the trust given instead of giving passes willy-nilly." He finished, opening the door to the back alley and holding it open for her to pass. She nodded in thanks before she did just that.
She barely blinked at the little courtesies of the day and she'd started to pick up the ways to thank people for them instead of making a fuss. Of all the things she could complain about the 1940s, it was rather harmless. It was merely a habit of the times and she'd accepted that there were other, far more important things from this era that she could be bothered with than that. They waited a little to the side as a small group of people were walking towards the Leaky Cauldron through the opened wall from Diagon Alley.
The fact that Tom Riddle was giving her a small lecture on responsibility and trust, for example, was a lot more unnerving. It would seem that casting Cruciatus on someone and cutting them for torture was something he didn't even blink at, but playing hooky with Slughorn's trust is just not done. She would've sniffed at what looked like dissonance to her if it didn't also sound hypocritical coming from her, the teacher's pet, of all people.
The cooler, more analytical part of her mind that she considered the part of her that was Unspeakable Hermione and Auxiliary Auror had to remind her yet again that the more successful monsters are always the ones that know how to follow the rules civilisation sets for them and not breaking them unless really necessary.
For one, it allowed them to go and hunt another day.
"It still feels unfair somehow," she muttered. "That we can easily get a permission for things that other people would need to put in more effort."
She still remembered Harry's inability to go to Hogsmeade just because the rule said that he had to have permission from his current adult guardians. Even back then, she'd already thought that it was unfair.
"Ah, you don't see it the way they see it, Hermione. It was actually your Head of House who taught me about it a few years ago."
That perked her up. "Dexter? Really? What happened?"
"I was in my third year. He gave me the key to a classroom in the astronomy tower, in case I wanted to study by myself."
"That's…unprecedented." It was usually the upper years that was given that degree of trust. She didn't know anyone so young being given one of the spare astronomy keys.
"He saw that I was always trying to understand better, to study more even if it went beyond what the class covered. He said that at least half of the pureblood he knew have their own observatories at home. The other half at least knows someone who can lend them theirs. The only thing he's doing is to even out the odds a little."
"After all, even if a teacher doesn't give the permission to attend the ministry dinner tonight, I'm sure most people in my House can Floo-call home and tell their parents about it. The end result would be them visiting Dippet's office and the head of their house asking to take their child away for a night for 'an important family dinner'."
"I would've put my foot down if I was headmistress." Hermione's reply was mulish because she couldn't actually argue against his point. She thought she could hear a murmured 'indeed' that was ironic from him before he spoke up again.
"There's the slight issue of the student being taken out of Hogwarts and moved to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons…along with whatever endowments the family had given."
"Ah. Therein lay the crux of the matter." She nodded, unsurprised and cynical.
"Where else would the crux be?" His reply was rhetorical.
'-
It was oddly comfortable to sit against the walls of the hall, half-hidden by the velvet curtains.
Tom truly did not lie about having an invitation and her coming in as his plus one, but they cast notice-me-not charms not long after they entered. Add a little keep-away charm and people went around their particular corner without bumping—they had pulled chairs from the nearest table at that point. She can float foods and drinks from trays whenever she felt like it and they were under no obligation to socialise with anyone. Add a pair of opera glasses to watch over any table she liked in higher detail (which Tom had borrowed from Oswin), and it was not half-bad arrangement that they have.
Tom had pointed out where Andrew sat with his parents and twin sister. The Head Boy didn't look comfortable and the Head Girl only marginally less so.
On a table not far from their spot were the Bones; Daedalus had dropped his head on the table and Amelia was flicking the water in her glass with a spoon to…wake him? To which he only turned his head and flattened his face against the table further. She couldn't help harrumph at that. If he didn't even want to be here, why did he come in the first place? Tom turned to her at her exhale.
"Hermione?"
"Nothing. It's Daedalus. Why did he even bother?"
Tom leaned back on his chair even as he raised the opera glasses he held, finding the Bones' table. "Ah. Perhaps his parents would not accept no for an answer."
Yes, that would explain it, wouldn't it? Her gaze drifted away to other people. She'd found Augusta talking to that sour-faced Gryffindor witch that Hermione remembered to be in her Advanced Transfigurations class. Before she looked further afield, it wasn't long before she felt Tom's hand gently redirecting her gaze back to the front; the stage.
"Look, the show's starting."
'-
Apparently, the awardees were awarded separately instead of in one go. Several people wizards and witches have gone up and received their awards, and now came the one they were waiting for.
"Let us give an applause for the Hero of Hogsmeade, Andrew Abbott!" Undersecretary Fudge called out.
For all his smile as he stood up and walked, Andrew looked more than a little awkward. She didn't even need to use the glasses to see that.
The Head Boy reached the stage, this golden boy of Hogwarts. The undersecretary praised him to the skies, holding him with a proprietary arm across his shoulders as if the Hufflepuff was a life-sized trophy he was showing off to the whole room. It was something that she couldn't help but be amused at, especially with all of Andrew's uncomfortable side-glances that Fudge somehow missed.
It was only after he was handed the Order of Merlin that Andrew spoke up.
"Excuse me, are my friends also going to be awarded their Order of Merlin today?"
Apparently, he'd cast the Sonorus Charm himself. Everyone in the entire hall had heard him. Even at the corner of her eyes, she could see Tom's smirk forming.
"But Andrew, you were the one to lead them all!"
"I led nobody. We were all acting separately, and they were all just as heroic as I am." Andrew had said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Undersecretary. If they're not going to receive anything, then I will freely decline mine."
The hall quietened in a heartbeat, as if everyone was holding their breath.
The Undersecretary made no move to take his award, even as his smile had started to look a little fixed. Andrew had cornered the young wizard who'd been carrying the award earlier and pressed it back into his hands. The wizard yelped, but didn't manage to pass the award back. The award didn't even fall from his hand when he opened his grip and neither did it budge when he tried to shake it.
"A sticking charm. Clever," Tom commented.
The Undersecretary was staring at everything in disbelief. Andrew was opening and clenching his fists.
"Well," he cleared his throat. "If that's it, I'll take my seat."
She couldn't blame him for doing what looks like for all intents and purposes an outright retreat as he fled the stage. Silence still blanketed the room, the audience trying to understand what on earth had just happened. That is, until Augusta stood up and clapped, ignoring the adults staring at her. Then Amelia did so, with Daedalus following in half a second. Then it was Augusta's Housemate, then there was…Shafiq? Oh, she didn't know he was invited—then again, his family was Sacred 28, wasn't it? Daedalus and Amelia's parents have started clapping—they were…DMLE people? She couldn't recall the exact position that her parents held, though.
Mr. Abbott Senior's face was rather grim and pale and Andrew didn't meet his gaze.
She could hear Tom chuckling. When she turned to him, he only gestured towards the undersecretary on the stage whose face had now reddened.
The first adult who had stood from his table was Timaeus Crouch's father, with the prefect accompanying him. Hermione couldn't hear them from this distance, but Crouch Sr. had extended a hand to Abbott Sr., one that the latter grudgingly took. Amelia was prodding her father too, and he was standing up not long after to do much the same thing. After that, other adults were standing up, some she could even guess was partly by curiosity and partly by fear of missing out as they saw several high-ranking Ministry officials approaching Abbott Sr.
Fudge, she noticed, was rather ignored by many on stage. She still couldn't bring herself to pity him.
"I would have loved to greet him right now and congratulate him on his principles, but I suppose it's wiser to lay low." Tom said with a regretful sigh.
"Ah, no gloating for now?" Hermione's tone was wry.
"Not yet. For now, the show is over and Abbott is being praised for his 'integrity' right now."
"Oh, is that what they're doing?"
Tom nodded. "Yes. That's the alternative I gave them in the last argumentative prefect meeting where the Order of Merlin came up as a topic. It is possible for Andrew to decline the award successfully, but he would need the support of other adults in the face of his father's interest that he accepts it. The easiest adults to persuade for this would be everyone else's parents'."
"Ah," she nodded slowly as she saw the shape of the plan.
"Well, now that the gist of the play is over with, would you still like to stay or return?"
'-
Alphard was grinning ear-to-ear. You would have thought that he'd just seen the first spring sunrise in the north pole from how bright he was.
"Tom!"
"Alphard,"
Hermione thought that Tom's tone was deceptively mild, especially given the way he had slipped out of Alphard's reach when his Housemate went for a bearhug. Suddenly, Tom was already standing to his side and had firmly taken his hand in a handshake.
"It's good to see you. Did you come here with your family?" He asked.
Alphard sighed. "Of course, with who else?"
"Excellent. In the meantime, can I impose on you to accompany Hermione for a while?"
"Not a problem at all—"
"Thank you. Do you want some drinks, Hermione?"
"I don't really need anything."
Tom raised his left eyebrow and Hermione huffed as she figured out what he wanted.
"Alright, a drink would be nice."
"I'll be right back."
Tom left immediately. Hermione would've been less amused if she hadn't seen how quick Tom's dodge was, or Alphard's moment of confusion before Tom's replies distracted him.
"So, what are we doing?" Alphard asked her. Her reply was droll.
"People-watching."
Because really, they'd only been leaning against the wall during the intermission and talking before Alphard spotted them and Tom suddenly took off. Then again, Alphard struck her as someone who would be too happy to hug everyone he knew.
'-
"I still can't believe it, you know? I came here with the intention of seeing a fight break out! Not to see everyone's parents hobnob endlessly with each other! I can see that on any weekend home! Or I'd get dragged to some social occasion for exactly that reason!"
A thick head of black hair and a pout that shouldn't be adorable on a teenager (and yet still does), Alphard Black was leaning across the doorway to one of the side rooms. He slouched against the doorframe, a curl of trailing down his forehead like a dark crescent moon, and she cannot tell whether he was trying to induce swooning in passing teenagers or if he was trying to stop himself from swooning from boredom. Hermione didn't think that he was even aware he was taking up space and possibly blocking people's path because he was so caught up in his own misery.
"Why must Tom mention this, then?" He mulled over it, disappointed.
Alphard was annoyingly good looking, in a way that Hermione was used to seeing in Hogwarts by now and sometimes just piss her off than anything. Ancestors who can freely choose which attractive people to marry over generations, an easy life and a boatload of money to take care of yourself and afford you a sense of style will do that to you. It really wasn't the result of anyone's efforts.
"Did Tom actually drag you to this event?" She asked. The brunette thought she was rather patient all things considered.
"Well…no. But he said it was Order of Merlin Awards nights—and that there had been arguments and outright shouting in the prefects' office before that!"
"People have disagreements—" Hermione began.
Alphard shook his head.
"Oh, but the prefects are rather good at avoiding them and being 'grown-ups' about things that they're all boring." He huffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. Yet determination shone in his dark eyes. "That they'd dropped even their goodwill and all that shite meant it was something huge! Humongous! As inevitable as a trainwreck!"
Tom was currently off to get some drinks, when she didn't even think she needed any. She'd only guessed now that it was some code for…minor socialising he intended to do? Rubbing elbows? Going off to say 'Hello there, random influential person I accidentally met, fancy seeing you here'? Who the hell knows for sure? She thought. Certainly not her.
"And yet, it's all resolved peacefully." She noted.
"I know! It's such an anti-climax! If I'd known that, I'd have gone to the Globe tonight." He complained. "Merlin, the ennui, the misery."
His hands were dragged down his face, a ragged groan following. It was a performance worthy of a relative waiting for bad news in St. Mungo's rather than a young wizard at a social event. This time, Hermione didn't stop herself from rolling her eyes and reply with the flattest tone she could muster.
"A little boredom isn't going to kill you, Alphard."
"Who even says that? Maybe the people who die of boredom just outright faded, their magic evaporating their bodies!" Alphard was raising his hands in a way that he probably thought was spooky. "Poof! No traces! Nobody would ever know!"
Hermione knew she didn't hide her disbelief. Her arms were folded in front of her chest already before she knew it.
"If that was the case, that would be records of such methods of assassinations used in the wizarding world. Prisoners would all have scheduled recreation time with several forms of entertainment because to let them waste into boredom was as good as giving them the death sentence. The Malfoys would have a completely white padded room for 'unspecified purpose'. It's a softer oubliette for locking away people you really need to evaporate."
"Well, um, I have to say that I'm flattered you thought we actually have that much power." Someone said from somewhere over her shoulder
With a sigh, Hermione turned and saw the bright hair of one sheepish but pleased Abraxas, dressed in impeccable black. Next to him was Tom, who did hand one flute to her.
"Abraxas."
"Yes, it's always fascinating to see Hermione come up with novel ways of killing people." Tom drawled.
"What are you talking about?"
She accepted the glass from him. Might as well. She would also be lying if she said she didn't enjoy Tom's gallantry and habitual pampering.
Alphard had straightened up at this point as he stared at them unabashedly, something she had doubts he'd do even if it was Slughorn who came around.
"Oh, you know, I didn't even know that it was possible to kill people with intense and continuous fear before today, but Abraxas had enlightened me of what you told the Slytherins at breakfast." Tom answered. His gaze was still on her and he raised his glass in a salutation.
"Yet another thing I never knew and still don't think I need to know," the Malfoy heir spoke under his breath.
She can recognise Alphard's awed gaze as he beheld Tom—The Knights all had held varied versions of it at one moment or another to their liege. What surprised her was the impressed look Alphard also spared her, with a drop of wariness dotted in the middle strengthening it like a dash of firewhisky in tea. Abraxas actually looked proud for her, you unexpected softie, Hermione couldn't help think.
"You can kill people with sheer dread?" Alphard's question was one of horrified curiosity.
Hermione winced. The Slytherin's voice broke at the end due to the pitch he'd just reached. She was more exasperated at Abraxas for spilling the beans and seeding the speculation in the first place.
"Did you actually tell him that it's theoretical? Physiologically, the chemical pathways are there. Yet managing that in real life is pretty far on the plausibility meter."
"Uh, maybe?" The blond hedged under her stare.
"You actually spend time theorising on how to kill people?" Alphard's wide eyes were still on her.
"I don't even need to do that because there are already too many ways to kill people that's established! All you have to do is pick up the books and read." Hermione ranted. Really, as if she even had the spare time to do that when she already had too many things to do. Tom had the gall to grin. The glare she'd worked up didn't seem to have the slightest effect on him even as the other wizards watched her with care—he stepped closer instead.
"Uh huh. So…you just read up about many ways to kill people. Alright. That's fine. That's an absolutely fine hobby to have, yes." Alphard was nodding a little too quickly.
"That's not really—"
"It's alright Hermione. We know that you didn't win in our Defence fights because you were trying not to kill me." Tom said.
"I wasn't trying to kill you." She had to insist.
"Exactly. A couple of gut-ripping spells and you don't even need to finish it to know I'll end up dead."
He sounded so frankly appreciative and giving the impression that it was so easy for her. Well, yes, it was, but she was always careful to not always choose violence unless it was necessary!
"Oh please, Tom. You know Pythonis Ictus. You have more than just mere cutting curses in your arsenal and I'm sure you can mortally wound in one hit if you put your mind to it. Don't think I missed how you wield the flame whip easily, like another limb. I've read records of someone being flayed alive using that—it does require an unholy amount of finesse, I'll admit. Most of the time, you just get burns inside open wounds."
If she thought her sarcastic tone was going to put him off, she was never so wrong before. Tom might not reply further with words but his smile was so wide as to be beatific. There was the gossamer touch of something light and ineffable that resulted in an expression she'd never before seen in him. Michelangelo would have asked him to model for David if he could see him now.
"You're too kind,"
"Really, I know that—wait, what?"
His reply was entirely unexpected and threw her off her stride.
Tom had raised his palm to just below her jaw, not quite touching but already raising tingles to her skin there, her senses somehow working hard to feel him precisely because he kept that vanishing half inch of air between them. Once she started doing that, she began to be uncomfortably aware of how close they were—the sixth sense that was her magical senses lit up in small sparks with the vicinity to his magic running so close, just under his own skin.
She shuddered at the sensation. His eyes were once again fathomless oceans, inviting her to the loveliest drownings.
Alphard broke the tension with a huffing sigh.
"Alright, I get it! I don't need to hear all the torture details you usually chat about! I have no idea why Lucretia has to defend you every time Walburga starts repeating the rumours she'd heard. You should just talk to her—you'll both get along excellently."
Abraxas made a rueful chuckle. "I've never really thought about that much, but they do have interesting things in common, don't they?"
"Also, please spare me from witnessing your very scary foreplay," Alphard murmured, but not low enough for her to miss. Abraxas clearly heard it as he was suddenly (fake) coughing, futilely trying to cover it.
Hermione was embarrassed with the realisation that she'd forgotten there were two other people around. Tom was surprisingly unconcerned as he brought his attention to everyone else after one disappointed sigh. She'd thought that Alphard would be annoyed that she'd been distracted, but his gaze was surprisingly…wistful? Why would he be wistful?
Tom, on the other hand, maintained a slight distance from Alphard—which she now figured the reason for when the Black wizard slung a casual arm over Abraxas' shoulder. Tom was definitely out of arm's reach.
"Maybe you can make the introductions," Abraxas said.
He nodded. "You're right, I think I should. Lucretia would thank me for it. Don't go anywhere!"
With a casual wave, he loped off on his long legs, not even giving Hermione enough time to complain or tell him not to bother.
"I have no idea why you Slytherins always end up introducing me to more Slytherins. At this rate, I'd know more people from your House than my own!" To be honest, she was more amused than annoyed, but she did wonder.
"Because we like you, Hermione."
Abraxas' answer was surprisingly open, particularly for a Slytherin talking to someone from outside the House and without any appreciable pureblood ancestry to boot. She'd already thought of the current Malfoy heir as his own person now that she knew him, but there were times when Abraxas did remind her of Draco. The unexpectedly unguarded honesty he showed from time to time was one (particularly because Draco had a fine sense of when anyone else was listening and when it was just the two of them talking).
"Um, so you introduced me to your friends because of that? Show them the transfer student that's your new friend?"
He was shaking his head, not a little amused. "No, to show them that we're willing to put our reputation on the line as we're the one who's introducing you personally. That means we vouch for you, you see?"
"No, not really. Why is that putting your reputation on the line?"
Abraxas frowned. "Wait, let me try something else…"
Tom placed one of his hands around her hips slowly, waiting to see whether she moved away or not. She didn't.
"How about this? This person is one of mine," he spoke. His voice was richer than his usual speaking tone, each word said with care.
If there weren't other people passing, she suspected he would have laid his chin over her shoulder, as his hand was not a mere touch but an encompassing embrace. Hermione kept her gaze at Abraxas because she had the feeling that if her eyes met Tom's, they would start ignoring other people yet again. And that would be bad because they still have things to do.
Abraxas brightened when he heard that, oblivious to the dilemma she was subduing in her head.
"Yes, exactly! It's exactly like that."
"To warn people off," she murmured.
"That too."
'-
It was Abraxas who laid a hand over her arm and stopped her from drifting away. Hermione narrowed her eyes into the distance. That impeccable black hair, that particular set of shoulders.
"Hermione?"
"Look, I'll just catch up with Tom," she said.
The blonde shook his head, "That's not—look, Tom was going to get you a drink, and that's back into the hall, not that way. We might as well go back in as well."
Her glance was a little disbelieving. "Really, I know how Tom looks like, that's—"
She didn't see Tom in the other end of the hallway anymore, and that was when his voice entered her awareness.
"Alphard had secured us a table inside. What do you think, Hermione?"
"Tom?"
His smile didn't waver with the scrutiny that she gave him; he merely offered an open hand, and she had taken it even before she thought over it. It was turning into a reflex, she thought with a flicker of annoyance, but the feeling was gone as soon as it had arrived.
"Alright, let's see this table of Alphard's then." She said out loud.
Abraxas brought up her other side and the three of them made their way back to the hall.
'-
She was a tall witch that might have been beautiful, her black dress carefully hemmed and detailed with the most intricate lace that made it seem as if she was trailing frothy ribbons of darkness in her wake. There was a fan hanging from one wrist. Not that Hermione saw any beauty to be had, because the forbidding frown didn't do any wonders on the friendliness front.
Hello, Queen of the Night, Hermione mused. If the witch started singing "hell's vengeance boils in my heart", she wouldn't be surprised.
"You're Hermione Curie." Her tone was pointed.
"Why yes, I am."
Since the other witch didn't extend a hand or tried to curtsy, she did the courtesy of doing neither. The young woman stared her down. It was nothing to sneeze at when done standing from her height towards someone who was seated, as Hermione was just then. The brunette merely raised an eyebrow at this but didn't bother saying anything either. If the other witch had something to say, she would say it and that was that—considering the witch had raised her hand earlier to stop Tom and Abraxas from standing up, she suspected that the other woman didn't intend to stay long.
"Good grief, Walburga, it wouldn't kill you to say hello."
Alphard had caught up to her side just now and Hermione wasn't surprised—Walburga didn't strike her as the sort of person who would wait for anyone.
"Let me make the introductions—"
"You'd make introductions, little brother?"
It was impossible to not notice the twitch of Alphard's nose when she said that. She didn't even know that Alphard could do an emotionless smile until he did one just now—he'd struck her as an impulsive and happily emoting wizard, but he moved just like the purebloods she knew in this moment.
"Walburga, this is a friend of mine, Hermione Curie. She's a fifth-year transfer into Ravenclaw this year. Hermione, this is Walburga, my older sister and Slytherin seventh-year."
His bow was pitch perfect, but a part of her detected a rising wave of antipathy coming from hm. Walburga turned to him, fuming.
"You—you dared—"
"What did Alphard dare, Walburga?"
The cool voice calmed almost everyone's nerves. Lucretia had just walked up to their table, probably because she sensed that her cousin's about to make a scene, Hermione thought uncharitably. Lucretia had seen Hermione, and had nodded to her with a small smile. The brunette nodded back at her fellow Ravenclaw with the same friendly expression on her face.
"I did not give my leave to be introduced!" Walburga hissed.
Hermione rubbed her forehead to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Please, there are no events on stage right now and everyone's mostly eating, I can hear you just fine. There was a slight crease between Lucretia's eyes. Other than their black dresses and that refined way of carrying themselves, Hermione couldn't see any obvious similarity between the two cousins and Black heiresses. Well, she supposed there was their indomitable air and beauty.
Ah, that was it, wasn't it? Whereas Walburga was the sinister Queen of the Night, Lucretia with her soothing grace was more akin to Titania.
"Really? I thought you've agreed to my request for it?" Lucretia's voice was steady.
"That was you. This is Alphard. If there's anything that would guarantee even the slightest bit of my aggravation, then I'm certain he will do it. This is just another case of that, Luce."
Alphard gave a loud snort of disagreement from Lucretia's other side, but he didn't try to step out from behind his cousin.
"Really, not everything has to be about her."
"Of course not. Not when it was all about you."
"Why would I need to do that when you do it already, all the time?" Alphard's reply was snide, but Hermione could hear the insecurity underneath it as well.
Walburga's grip on her fan tightened and she wondered whether it meant that the Black heiress would hit somebody. Lucretia extended her left hand behind her, carefully finding her way over to Alphard's arm before slipping down easily into his hand. Hermione could see Alphard slowly calming down with Lucretia's grip anchoring him, not that it was visible to his sister. Her dormmate's whole body was still angled towards the other Black witch—a human shield.
"Walburga, did you remember what you said you could do for Orion?"
"But this is Alphard—"
"Walburga, please. My friend doesn't need to hear the entire saga of the Blacks tonight, does she? And if you can make peace with Alphard, you can get along with anyone."
Walburga closed her eyes, clearly trying to get herself under control. Hermione didn't mind either way. The Slytherin witch could walk away or she could sit down, but it's not as if she'll lose anything without the acquaintance. Hermione was done trying to gain approval from people who were never interested in giving them in the first place. It was surprising what mere two years or so out of Hogwarts could do for the young, book-smart and yet insecure witch she once was.
"Let's try this again from the beginning, then. Walburga Black."
She extended her hand straight towards Hermione instead of curtsying. Her expression was only marginally less stone-like. The Ravenclaw met her halfway by standing up and taking her hand.
"Hermione Curie. It's my pleasure to know you."
"Is it really?" Walburga asked, her tone sardonic.
"Well, notice that I didn't say that five minutes ago," Hermione replied, just as dry.
It didn't even get a chuckle, and barely the slightest change of her lips, but the brunette thought that Walburga's eyes weren't as hard.
"Very well, then. I suppose you'll do."
"I suppose you'll do too." Hermione couldn't help herself from replying.
"Really,"
She nodded before the other witch went frigid yet again, "the rumours give the impression that you might as well be one of the Gorgons, but that is mere exaggeration."
"I see."
They sat down, with Lucretia sitting between Walburga and Alphard.
"What is this that I hear Alphard babbling about, that I would not find it hard to talk to you?" The other Black witch asked.
Tom and Abraxas had just finished whatever it was that they had been chatting about before while the Black-related drama had played out.
"She was complimenting Tom on his technique in handling flame whips. She was sure that he's capable enough to flay people with them." Alphard relayed with an unexpected amount of enthusiasm.
Hermione had barely opened her mouth then, still too surprised to say anything; Tom actually replied to his fellow Housemate.
"Ah, Hermione is very complimentary, but I'm afraid I'm not that skilled yet. I can't skin a cow flank in one continuous movement."
"The skin gets cut, then?" Walburga asked with a knowing look in her eyes.
Tom nodded agreeably. "Or too burned. It's not the most manoeuvrable of tools. I'm still much better at skinning with a knife."
And on that uncomfortable factoid—
"Of course. But we're not talking about you, Mr. Riddle. I'm sure we've all heard enough about your talents."
Hermione almost couldn't believe that Walburga wasn't even being sarcastic when she said that. Tom should appreciate that she no longer had the urge to roll her eyes every time he played being the humble and gracious student in front of her.
"I'm here about Curie."
She sat up slowly at the mention of her name. "What about me?"
"What cutting spells would you recommend?" Walburga's question was direct and fast.
"Depends on your need, wouldn't it? Would you need to cut someone open to retrieve something from their guts? In that case, you need something that is sharp and fast. No messy tears that would increase the odds of a scar. Is it just to open a small hole to insert something inside?" The Ravenclaw was thinking more in terms of a catheter with the last one, even if that wasn't what the wizarding world was used to. Honestly, if she picked up field medicine, she was certain to want the muggle side of things as well for comparison and thoroughness, at least for the basics.
"Very good. But what if it's just to hurt?"
That was a question she'd never had to answer before. Lucretia was calmly drinking beside Walburga—she didn't even bat an eyelash at the question. Abraxas was staring unabashedly at Hermione, too curious about what her answer would be.
"To hurt?" Hermione repeated, impressed with herself that she'd kept her voice steady.
"Oh, come on, you cannot be that innocent." Walburga's fingers was tapping the side of her glass with impatience. "Are you? That innocent?"
"You want to cut people to hurt them? That's…" find a Slytherin answer, Hermione. She cleared her throat as she pulled her thoughts together. She had to be memorable to Walburga, right?
"That's so messy and inefficient. Why not use some pain spells? I'm sure you can find a bevy of them from your family library."
Walburga was looking down her not insignificant nose. "Messy? Really Curie, you can't work without expecting to make a little mess in the process."
For some reason, Tom's words at the early days of her recovery during their library spat came to her then. She took his hand underneath the table to grip. It didn't matter what he thought about it because it was just a need like any other and he was the one here with her rather than her other friends. The physical sensation grounded her in the here-and-now as well as helping her think.
"Yes, but to inflict physical damage simply to cause pain meant that you have to fix that physical damage repeatedly and fix it to at least near-perfect conditions. Why? Because if your healing skills are even slightly below standard, you might destroy the nerves with every iteration. With each healing, they feel less and less."
"Your cut, then, becomes less and less painful with every attempt. See? Ineffective." She didn't stop herself from adding a measure of scorn into her answer because that was what it deserved. If Walburga didn't hold back on her opinions of Hermione, she reserved the right to be just as frank.
"Why would you make a mess of things instead of relying on good old magic?"
Hermione wouldn't have realised that she'd taken Tom's right hand if she didn't just see him calmly drink with his left as if he did it all the time. (Did he? She had to wonder now). The glimmer in his eyes told her that he was quite aware of the source of her argument. She had to duck her head for a second because otherwise the shared camaraderie between them was so absurd she'd laugh (over torture no less, what on earth would Harry think?)
The grudging nod that Walburga gave her was slow, but it was also undeniable.
"An excellent point, Curie."
"Thank you."
"We've only begun. Now, what about some potions that can unsettle a person's stomach and give them no respite, no rest…"
The brunette let out a silent groan inside her head as Walburga droned on. I knew it couldn't be that quick. A harmless night out with nothing much to do! What a great idea!
Hermione should've known that it was impossible right from the beginning.
'-
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End Notes:
Forgot to drop Orion and Alphard's bio in their earlier bickering chapter. I thought I might as well make a Black-family end note altogether here.
More Black Family Members Bio:
Children of Arcturus Black (III) and Melania Macmillan:
Orion Black: Fourth-year Slytherin and Heir to the entire Black family. Siblings: Lucretia (older, 7th year Ravenclaw). Oldest son to Arcturus Black, who is the current patriarch of the Black family and cousin to Pollux Black. Arcturus is more enigmatic than the usual outright bigot that one expects from the old pureblooded families, more pragmatic than most. This is relevant to note as Orion takes very much after his father in character, even if his looks still carried some of his mother's softer and kinder-looking lines. He is one of the Slytherins who does not underestimate the Hufflepuffs because his mother was one. Betrothed to his second cousin, Walburga Black.
Children of Pollux Black and Irma Crabbe:
Alphard Black: Fifth-year Slytherin. Siblings: Cygnus (younger, currently in 4th year) and Walburga (older, 7th year). A playful Slytherin, people misinterpret his character and think he's courageous. He's not; he's just gregarious and has a taste for adrenaline-pumping sports. Cygnus is calmer than him and follows his mother's instructions better than his brother, hence why Alphard is practically the black sheep among his siblings. Walburga's habit of berating him loudly does not help any, especially as neither of his parents had issue with it.
His favourite family member amongst all the Blacks is certainly his cousin Lucretia. She was considerate where Walburga is harsh, and prefers to listen to him than talk over him.
Walburga Black: Seventh-year Slytherin. A dark-eyed, handsome seventh-year with a most impressive scowl and the powerful pair of lungs that the Blacks are known for. If Lucretia was tall and elegant, then Walburga was solidly built like a Valkyrie, though the plus size of that meant that she was generously endowed and curved. Firstborn of Pollux Black and Irma Crabbe, she is betrothed to her second cousin, Orion Black. Since she's a strident termagant, as Alphard will honestly say, and the oldest child of a cadet branch of Blacks, not many people has had the guts to gainsay her. As a result, her personality might be kindly described as intimidating.
'-
Additional Notes:
Hello, Queen of the Night, Hermione mused. If the witch started singing "hell's vengeance boils in my heart", she wouldn't be surprised: From Mozart's Opera, the Magic Flute, the Queen of the Night is the main antagonist. Her aria is very challenging to sing, to say the least.
'-