Strange Attractors Chapter 60: 60 The Dissolution of Jemima Avery, a harry potter fanfic

Author's Note:

One of the longer chapters (12k-ish not including the End Notes). If anyone's made any bets, some people certainly are owed some free drinks. Next chapter might come up in three weeks or more, because I'm spent and I have a wee bit of writer's block right now. Delivered now according to the incoming votes.

60 The Dissolution of Jemima Avery

More memories belonging to Jemima Avery. Emma tries her best. Hermione and Camellia talks shop. Crowns of flowers. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost had clearly not met Tom Riddle. Reciprocity. A thorny crown. Saturday, a week after Hermione's last Hogsmeade visit. In which Hermione came across a group of prefects in her search for Tom.

The end of a beginning. (Not always in that particular order).

Despite her best efforts to find him on Thursday, he remained elusive. Even when she tried to find him on prefect patrols, Agatha only shook her head at Jemima, with more understanding than the Slytherin witch ever wanted to see in anyone's face and it was why her own expression only become colder and more distant.

"Where is he?"

"Like I've said, he'd asked for the arrangement of his patrol for the day early this morning, including the partners. Andrew had to go out of his way to check with other prefects and it took some time, but it was done. He doesn't need to come to any of the other meetings today."

"Fine."

"Jemima—"

"It was only a misunderstanding, Agatha. Truly, there's no need to fret."

As she looked up from the armchair of their common room, watching Jemima Avery enter, Emma had no idea why the responsibility fell on her.

Well, that wasn't quite true. She knew. It was what good people and good friends do, wasn't it? To help each other? She was helping Tom get his message across, even though she knew that he was well beyond annoyed and had chalked it up as hopeless. As for Jemima, she could have directed her thoughts towards more productive endeavours if only she stopped chasing after Tom. The fact that she couldn't really care less about the personal life of either one of them notwithstanding.

Still, she knew that Tom might be slow to anger, but once roused it was never pretty. It would be better if she can head off this accident before it happened. As her mother always say, managing House politics would be a good experience in handling people once she entered the Ministry.

"Jemima? A word with you, if you will?" The sixth-year asked.

"What is it?"

"Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable." Emma's tone was only slightly different than her bored one, but she'd stopped overthinking about it too much.

"What is this about?"

Emma glimpsed the scroll she'd slipped in the middle of the book she was pretending to read. "Do you remember sometime last year when Tom said that you both need to concentrate on your studies."

It was a good thing she'd asked Tom for details of his…encounters with Jemima.

The blonde's lips curled into a smile. "You know he doesn't really need to concentrate as such, Emma. It's all very easy for him."

"It's not that easy for you."

"It's not as if I need to apply for the Ministry, do I?" She shrugged, uncaring. Her tone might even be lightly mocking, but Emma couldn't care less. The brunette glanced at the note in her book again.

"What about the time he asked for space?"

Jemima leaned forward this time, confident and sultry, "You might not know it because I've never heard of anyone interested in you, but sometimes people just want you to chase them."

Emma was beginning to think that Jemima had no idea how Tom actually reacted in her vicinity.

"Is that what you're doing?"

"I don't need to do that now. He's relenting already." She said with self-satisfaction. Cornflower blue eyes narrowed. "Unless…are you trying to push me off him because you're interested?"

She couldn't help but sniff at that. "Hardly."

"Now that I think of it, he would be a great partner to someone trying to climb up the Ministry, isn't he?" Jemima hadn't stopped with her cold stare.

"Please, Jemima. He'd be one of the worst choices I can make for my husband." She replied, with more frankness than she'd planned, simply because she didn't see a faster way of getting Jemima out of her paranoid delusions.

It did the trick. Jemima sputtered. "What? Tom? Impossible! If you're saying that he's not your equal, your family is just some middling—"

"Jemima. We're too alike." Emma cut in.

"Excuse me?"

"I've heard what some people say behind my back," Cold. Unfeeling. "And I don't think they're wrong. I'd certainly like my partner to have more warmth than I do—I pity the children otherwise."

Jemima relaxed again, "well, you can be rather frigid," she answered carelessly. Emma thought that it was a good thing she didn't care about what Jemima said.

"And Tom's exactly the same."

The blonde witch huffed this time. "He's not. If he's like that to you, that's just because he doesn't like you. There's certainly pent up passion that I'm sure I can coax, given time."

She shook her head. Oswin and Mordred could already see how Tom would prefer not to patrol with Jemima if he could help it. Even Ursula Greengrass had mused about it, and she usually preferred to stay far away from the conflict between the more prominent families. On the other hand, none of Tom's other admirers seem to notice his forbearance with them either. It was not a uniquely Jemima problem, even if hers seemed to be the most significant in scope.

There really was no helping it. At least she'd tried. She can wash her hands off this entire affair with a good excuse now.

Emma simply closed her book and stood up.

"If you live to regret your choices, don't blame me about it."

Jemima found him in the library the next day during the evening, at their table. The blonde knew that she found him only because he wanted to be found. He closed the book he was reading the moment she approached. Blut: Eide und Eingeweide, Riten und Rituale—Johann Goerg Faust; she could barely read the title with its ornate Blackletter font; she certainly couldn't comprehend it. He had stood up when her attention returned to him.

"Tom—"

"You're a beautiful witch, Jemima Avery," his voice was oddly formal, even if the way he frankly stated it made her blush in a way that many other boys barely affected her. "Which is why I have to remind you again to not touch me so casually. Otherwise, perhaps it is unwise for us to be too close."

Her reflex was to deny. "I didn't—"

"You know exactly what you did. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do." He'd picked up his book and walked away.

"Tom,"

He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Alright. I'll…I'll try to remember. Now, can we just read? Please?"

It got better after that.

Tom turned around and simply proceeded to ask her about her Potions class, apropos of nothing. Other than that, it would be her Charms class that he inquired about. There was none of yesterday's distance or tension and he actually chose to sit next to her. She reminded herself to keep her hands to herself because she didn't want everything to go back to what they were before.

His usual hour had passed and he hadn't started to move away. It was promising.

"Would you mind if I did some work here?"

"Oh, no, not at all."

Tom did move to sit across her, but she couldn't actually complain when she saw just how many scrolls he started unrolling or books he opened and stacked to his left. She was too happy to spend more time with him that she didn't care how or why. If she couldn't understand why anyone would want their free time going through these particular thick or boring books, well, she'd never really understood his taste in books.

If many of them seemed like legal books, it did not surprise her either since her father had many such things in his library too. It was probably a wizard thing. It was the same way when she recognised the letterhead of some of the scrolls—that was the Ministry's letterhead. Those were probably copies of official documents or correspondences. Again, it wasn't anything she hadn't seen before in her father's office. She decided to sporadically work on her homework, throwing questions at him whenever she was stumped.

It was all worth it in the end when he asked whether she'd like to have dinner.

"Right now?"

"Avery, in case you didn't notice, this is already seven," his answer was patient and she felt her cheeks warming. She'd lost track of time. It wasn't something she'd expected since it was the first time it happened while she was doing homework.

"So…does this mean that we're going to the Great Hall?"

He did not immediately answer, simply closing up and tying the scrolls he'd carried with him. "Actually, I was thinking of something less crowded, if you don't mind. How does the Astronomy Tower sound to you? We can bring a picnic basket up there."

"I didn't know about that." She murmured, in slight surprise. "Of course, I'm interested."

It was faint, but she was certain he'd just smiled. "Good. We'll head there, then."

It was Saturday that was the most memorable to Jemima.

It began with Vespasian was showing his appalling lack of manners yet again and she had to leave her own House table. (Her mind shied away over the unconcerned glances the rest of the wizards—her own Housemates—had shown). Really, it was no surprise that his family did not rise far, even if they'd been in Britain since before William the Conqueror! Really, if Tom had been there, she would've told him everything, and Starkey would have been reprimanded for being so disrespectful to his betters!

(She was resolutely not thinking about how Curie seemed to be ensconced firmly among Tom's circle of friends. They're working colleagues, that's it. It's no surprise that they have to sit together and talk sometimes).

Jemima had finally walked out of her dorm again once she had made sure she was presentable once more. She had stayed in bed for at least an hour and screamed into her pillow, silencing charms cast on her curtains, but that was that. She would not let herself be defeated by a mere hooligan. She would look down on him and ignore him the next time around. Yes, that's it. Show him who you are.

To her surprise, Tom was in the Slytherin common room. He'd looked up the moment she entered.

"I'm fine," she insisted, even as she took the silk handkerchief he pressed into her hands.

"Of course you are." He said it smoothly, but the appeasement still annoyed her. It melted away once he touched her elbow and guided her to the couch and sat next to her. The blonde paused for a moment, slightly surprised. She got over it quickly enough and simply draped herself over half his back, chin on his shoulder. She smiled when he didn't even resist this time. She knew his acceptance was just a matter of her persistence.

"You have to do something about Vespasian. He really doesn't know his place."

"Alright."

"Alright? That's it?"

"He's reckless that he'll make a mistake sooner or later that I'll have to punish him for, it's not important. What I do want to know is if you'd like to dine in Hogsmeade this afternoon?" He asked, his palm utterly relaxed when her hand held his. He did not even seem to notice the fourth-year witch staring at them from a couch in the corner instead of continuing her reading.

"Did you know that your friends backed Curie over…Rowle this morning?" She asked him.

"And you cared so much about them backing her over…Rowle, is it?"

She ignored his knowing tone even as the hand that gripped his twitched. "They really should be reminded about Slytherin House rules."

"Avery, what are you trying to say? That you're vexed that you can't spend lunch with them, because you'd rather do that than spend it with me?"

"Of course not!" Jemima gasped, horrified. "How could you even think so?"

Her sputters changed to an indignant sound once she noticed he was actually grinning.

"Tom! You did that on purpose."

"Yet you didn't answer my question."

She wanted to slap his arm for that, but he'd moved faster than she'd expected. But she didn't care. He'd never done that before with her and she was just glad for the progress.

"Don't be dense."

He leaned forward slightly, his tone mesmerising. "So, what are you concerned about? Spending time with them isn't something you prioritise over spending time with me, is it?"

Jemima nodded slowly because for all her still-lingering annoyance, she couldn't think of a reason why Tom might be wrong.

They met Clytemnestra in the common room when they were both dressed to go out. The sixth-year had greeted Jemima warmly, but her expression was pinched when her attention turned to Tom.

"Weren't you adamant on accompanying Curie earlier?"

He squeezed Jemima's hand but didn't drop it. She squeezed back.

"I did."

"And?"

"Well, I've discharged my responsibility, of course. What else?" Tom's answer was unconcerned.

Clytemnestra nodded as she finally moved from the doorway. "I hope things are exactly as you say."

"What happened?" Jemima asked.

Clytemnestra smirked. "Oh, nothing unexpected. Curie got her comeuppance. I knew there was something suspicious about her. Why else would—"

"—someone from the DMLE wish to talk to her." Tom finished.

The sixth-year turned to him with a frown. He shook his head.

"More information is not always a good thing, Gamp. Avery needs to be above all this so no one can drag her in."

The mood of the other Slytherin witch visibly cleared.

"Ah, alright. Good point. You're going to Hogsmeade now, then?" She asked. Her tone was almost cheerful. Almost.

"Yes," Tom answered without reservations.

Patricia had just walked out of the dorms and was staring at Jemima in disbelief, but she didn't change her expression. Jemima knew she was smiling a little too wide and didn't care. Let the other witches envy her—they should.

Jemima knew that Emma was just being too careful and old-fashioned about her relationship with Tom. The sixth-year was the sort of person to find out about the friends and acquaintances of anyone that was interested in her.

The whole day passed like a dream. They had gone out from the fireplace in Slughorn's lab, slipping in through a method Tom would only smile and not explain about. She didn't really care about the details—as long as he had it in hand, what does it matter?

The day was beautiful, the air crisp and even if the sky not completely clear, the clouds were wispy thin streaks. There was no crowd in Hogsmeade, since it was not an actual Hogsmeade weekend, even if Jemima thought she could identify a few couples as actual Hogwarts students. They could meander down roads at a leisurely pace because there was no crowd to avoid or work around, taking their time sightseeing. If the way she did not let go of his hand amused him, she didn't care; she simply did not want to let the go of this chance.

They visited small shops whenever it caught her fancy. He humoured her without the slightest bit of impatience, kept her company and talked about everything and nothing before they wandered away again. She rarely let go of his hand. He did leave on occasion when he thought he saw someone he knew, or when perhaps other Slytherin wizards. He'd always returned and she was the last person who would begrudge him for dealing with business once in a while.

They had lunch at a small French restaurant that she didn't know existed. He listened to her and asked about her family, dark eyes never leaving her.

"All that's lacking is an actual dance," she commented.

His dark eyes were unreadable, but they did not leave her. Neither did he slip away when she held his hand firmly and drifted closer.

"Perhaps next week," was his answer.

The two of them had only returned later in the afternoon, and if she heard from the House grapevine that Curie ended up in St. Mungo's somehow, she really couldn't care the slightest. What on earth had she been involved with, anyway? Jemima sniffed. She knew the transfer student was up to no good.

"You did that on purpose!"

"I was walking on purpose. On this side. If you still happen to crash into me when you can see me coming some distance away, well, I don't think I know of any potion that can help with your sense of balance and direction." The Ravenclaw witch said with a flat voice. Her hair was as dull as her eyes and Jemima repressed a disgusted shudder that she was this close to her. How a few pureblood wizards were even interested in Curie in the first place was something she couldn't fathom.

"You didn't avoid me, on purpose! That's just so rough and déclassée of you." She insisted.

"You didn't avoid me either, so I suppose we're even there."

"I thought I could be generous to you, to give you the opportunity to start anew," she began, and it was true. "To make amends, and then you can start your work life with a clean slate."

She'd just decided to give Curie the opportunity to explain her previous ignorance and to pay her respects now to the Avery heiress. Jemima had decided that she could be generous to someone who would most probably end up as one of Tom's professional staff (but she drew the line at ever inviting Curie home). It was all well and good to be clever, but you won't go anywhere if you couldn't even be polite and show people some respect that was their due—Jemima had always thought that Curie was generally dismissive of the pureblood institution itself.

"Thanks, but no thanks." The other witch twitted mockingly.

"You—" she cut herself off with a shake of her head, holding her temper even as her anger rose hot and eager in her stomach. "Never mind. I thought I can be liberal to you, on account of Tom. Well, I tried. He can't blame me if you fail to get any job after Hogwarts."

No, she would make sure that no polite company would receive Curie, she was determined. Give her enough time and she'll make sure that the upstart was not going to be attached among their Housemates either. Like an alert gardener, Jemima was going to pull the weed out before it took root and choked Tom's glory with her own ambition. If any of the French wizards were interested in the transfer student, then all the better! They would scarcely see her again if she'd moved across the Channel.

Jemima was not the slightest bit surprised when Tom offered to take her dancing to London next Sunday.

Even if there was a certain tension in the air that had not lessened since Grindelwald's attack on British soil, the wizarding world was nothing if not determined to show that he could not affect them. Restaurants were still open, laughter could be heard alongside music, even if they were sometimes a little sharp. If there was one thing the wizarding world did well, it was denial. They could certainly show Rome a thing or two on how to party when the world came down.

She'd doubts at first about going in and out of the wizarding world and into the muggle one, but Tom's point was a good one.

Like many things, it began with a question.

"I don't mind at all, Avery, but would you like higher odds of your parents' acquaintances to see you?"

The blonde scoffed, pearl-pink nail tapping her lips. "Please, this is a Hogsmeade weekend, Tom. It's not strange to see a Hogwarts student outside Hogwarts."

"That only extends to Hogsmeade." Tom pointed out. She sniffed.

"The plebeians can settle with Hogsmeade. Any one of us can go anywhere."

She held his hand, placing it on her hip even as she laid hers on his shoulder. They stepped into the dance with the smooth flair of those who had the luxury to practise as much as they needed.

"But am I?" He asked.

She did not understand what he was asking, not until she caught a glimpse of Mrs. Selwyn passing with a few other women she could not make out clearly. Colour drained from her face—Tom took her elbow in no time and somehow pulled them both out of there. Out through the back door and right back into Diagon, all the way to the dilating brick wall that lead to the Leaky Cauldron.

Jemima did not complain about muggle places with their drab colours or less flamboyant clothes that day, letting Tom take the lead when it came to interacting with muggles. Of course, the fact that they caught looks of admiration in more than one place, like birds of paradises among rock pigeons certainly soothed her ego. He followed her easily when she pulled him onto the dance floor with her, warm hands holding her with the care of one handling a crystal vase.

"See how they watch you?" Tom had leaned forward, his voice as smooth as wine. "You're the most beautiful woman here, and I'm the lucky wizard who walked in with her."

She laughed to hide her blush and wonder. He was right. Here, she knew the men honestly appreciated her beauty with no thought to her ancestry or family.

"Are you fishing for a compliment?" She asked back slyly.

"What if I am?"

Jemima smiled. It was hard to stop feeling pleased with herself when she felt like Selene whisking away Endymion—right now, no other witch could even see his elegant profile but her.

"Well, you are. You're the most handsome man here."

"That would mean we're perfection itself, then."

Yes, it was perfect. Now, if only the annoying Curie could just disappear somehow…or if Tom would just ignore her instead of giving her the time of day. The twit was acquiring airs! She didn't even seem to realise who Jemima really was. Truly, she should warn Tom that to give Curie too many opportunities is to cause the Hogwarts transfer to forget who she is and where she came from.

There was a burning question inside her that needed answering, and the blonde Slytherin took the opportunity when the song they were dancing to slowed down.

"Tom?"

"Yes J-Avery?"

"You know that I love you, don't you?" She didn't let his almost-slip distract her.

His smile was more of a smirk. "I know."

She swatted his shoulder. "I'm serious! I do, you know?"

"Like I said, I'm quite aware of it, and I'll thank you for the honour."

He took her hand when she was gearing up for a second swat and kissed the back before returning it to his shoulder. The witch was distracted for a few seconds before she shook her head.

"But do you?"

"Do I what?"

She tightened her jaw and met his gaze head on. If she tried beating around the bush, he would only dodge just as adeptly. He was as Slytherin as they come.

"Love me?"

"Of course I do. Do you need to ask?" He replied.

"Beyond anyone else?"

Jemima wished her voice hadn't wavered at the end, that she could be as calm and composed as she'd always been in Hogwarts when she was talking to anyone else. Anyone else but him. His gaze was warmer then.

"That goes without saying."

A twirl and several more turns later, she pulled herself closer to him.

"Kiss me, then."

"Excuse me?"

"You love me, right? Prove it."

It was the Wednesday after the second grand Society meeting that had her and the Knights turning the Shack upside down (not that anyone even call it that now). It was just after Hermione's perfectly normal lunch with her friends, when she decided to leave the table first—as not everyone ate as fast as she did. Not far from the doorway, she caught a glimpse of Tom in the corridor at the other side. It was nothing she would be concerned about. Just one of his 'oh-so-accidental' encounter with her.

Just as she stepped out of the room, she felt something fall lightly at the top of her head.

Turning, Tom's mysterious smirk was the first thing she saw. She patted her head and felt something satiny in her hand. Hermione pulled the item on her hair—

—and found crown of roses. It was pink and orange like the first blush of youth and as sweet in scent.

"You made another living flower crown?" She asked in disbelief. "When did you even find the time?"

"I'd be lying if I said it was." Tom answered. Seeing her raised eyebrow prompted him to explain further as she'd started walking. "Naïve transfiguration from paper, Hermione."

"Oh!" Well. It wasn't the first thing to cross her mind. She eyed him sceptically. "What's the occasion, then?"

"Occasion?"

"For this?" She raised the garland slightly. Hermione was determinedly not paying attention to the students who were slowing down to watch.

"I simply wanted to," was his answer.

Now that was a load of horse shit but Hermione had a little more tact now than she did back in her Hogwarts days so—

"That's not the only reason, is it?" Hermione asked back.

—Well, she had a little more tact. She's not a diplomat here. Nobody's promising any miracles.

Tom came to a stop and she drifted to a pause too.

"Sometimes, things are as they seem, Hermione."

"And this is not one of those times," she added just as easily. It was hard to hold back the shrewd smile from her lips, so she didn't even try.

"Why not?"

He took a step forward. Hermione simply tilted her head slightly and furrowed her brows, wondering what he was up to. Why was he raising his hand to—fix my collar? Is my tie skewed?

Perhaps she was getting a little too inured to his presence that she'd only wondered if he was about to kiss her when they were but a hand's breadth away. Yet another voice distracted both of them and Tom drew back.

"I had hoped I wouldn't encounter the two of you for a while."

Black hair flowing down her back like silk and eyes as sharp and dark as polished obsidian, Camellia Lee was definitely not amused.

"Ah, Miss Lee. I commend you on your quick lunch. Very efficient of you." Tom greeted.

"And I can't exactly commend you on your latest action to—" the sixth-year flapped her hand rapidly while grasping for words, "—to play reuniting shepherd and weaver girl where any passing student can see. This is not even the seventh of seventh month, for goodness' sakes."

The beautiful Hufflepuff was giving them a particularly annoyed stare.

"I'm sorry?" Tom asked (sounding not even remotely sorry). It might be why Camellia's cheeks were now rose-hued and why she was taking another long breath. There was a muttered word or two in Chinese before Camellia bit her lip.

Hermione's forehead crease was mostly because her reflex was to memorise any words that she didn't understand to look it up later, never mind that it wasn't even a language she mastered—

"Your—your courtship rituals. I thought of checking before you decide to—to exhibit something I'd rather not have to explain to the younger years." Camellia's expression told all.

"There is no exhibiting! We were just chatting!" Hermione said defensively, before she realised that they weren't completely clear from view from the Hall and she could already see some idiots rubbernecking—oh Morgana's lingerie, Tom! Tom had already stood too close to her before…she glared at him because it was definitely his fault. It was intentional. She just knew it.

"And we'll continue chatting somewhere else." The brunette firmly nodded, paying no regard to Tom who was definitely holding back laughter.

Hermione thought she saw Camellia releasing a small sigh. "Thank you."

"No problem."

The Ravenclaw started to march away, deciding that she didn't really care if Tom would decide to keep up with her or not.

"Nice crown, Hermione."

Camellia's comment was a little abrupt, random. Perhaps it was nerves—Hermione's own nerves were certainly acting up.

Hermione turned back merely to reply to that. "Thanks."

"Is no one going to mention the fact that I made it?" Tom casually volleyed the question. "It is certainly not an easy object to craft."

The two witches continued on their separate ways and determinedly ignored him. Camellia's cheeks were ruddier in colour and Hermione didn't want to know what hers look like.

On Thursday in the Advanced Ancient Runes class, Hermione finally realised what had been stewing at the back of her head yesterday. She approached the Hufflepuff witch she'd met often recently with a friendly smile on her face.

"Camellia!"

"Yes?"

Hermione took no heed of the slight wariness. The witch, after all, still walked out from the huddle of Hufflepuffs she'd been in the middle of to talk to her.

"I've been trying to figure this out since yesterday but I don't think I've figured out heads or tails out of it. What was the shepherd and weaver comment about? I don't think I know—"

"What? Oh! It's nothing," there was exasperation but it wasn't directed towards Hermione as she rubbed the bridge of her nose and looked away for a moment. "It was just an expression, which I now realise isn't exactly English. Perhaps I should have mentioned Romeo and Juliet instead."

Hermione couldn't help wincing at that. "Please, don't. I'd take the shepherd and weaver, whoever they are, over them."

Camellia paused and looked around Hermione curiously. It was a little overt that Hermione couldn't help checking over her shoulder too.

"Looking for something?" The brunette asked.

"I'm surprised that your 'other half' didn't come along with you."

Hermione could practically hear the quotation marks in the words—as if the other witch's determinedly bland expression wasn't enough of a clue. She rolled her eyes. "Thankfully, he actually has other things to do. This means he's not up to something annoying yet again, since idle hands are the devil's workshop and all that."

"Idle hands are the devil's workshop?" Camellia wondered.

"Yes, you haven't heard of that?"

That lead to a short detour on Hermione's attempt at explaining that particular saying. It proceeded to several other idioms as Camellia mentioned a couple of others she'd found bizarre and hadn't managed to make heads or tails of. That segued to the Old English phrases often used when you're writing in futhorc and some of the obscure phrases Hermione had found convenient to memorise to create wards with.

Why? Because not many people are that familiar with them which meant it would take more effort to break down. This is why using more than one language for your wards is also a good idea, and no, using futhark for the basics doesn't count.

Camellia had leaned forward at this point, her eyes glittering with interest.

"That's an interesting approach."

"It's not mine, it's Luna's" Hermione had replied without thinking. That was, until she froze up and felt the echoing loss and sadness descending again as she busied herself with unrolling her last ward design on the nearest empty table.

The Hufflepuff observed her quietly, and when she hadn't said anything after a moment or two, she simply went back to her table and then carried her work over to the table next to Hermione's that she'd joined together.

"If you didn't play with the phrases and languages, how did you strengthen your wards? Professor Gildenstern said yours is the strongest ward by miles," Hermione asked, curious.

"Geography, of course, along with geometry. That is the basics of geomancy."

The Hufflepuff witch unfurled her design and Hermione gasped at the scale of the plan (an estate) and how the components are interlocked together like a finely constructed clockwork. Any single tree, if old enough, was included into the ward, its vitality leveraged to contribute strength. On and on it went, and even the elevation carefully noted, considering that the map of the area warded included contour lines and other topographic details. As Hermione hadn't known that many serious geomancers among the warders she knew, it piqued her interest.

"This is really fascinating. But I do have to wonder, this style of ward construction doesn't seem like an easy thing to construct for small spaces or locations—not a lot of anchors involved like trees or rivers and hills."

Unexpectedly, the sixth-year chuckled. "You don't pull your hits, do you, Hermione?"

"Um, what? What did I say?" It surprised her.

"Simply that it's a direct hit—one of the few weaknesses I have in wardcrafting."

"Oh, that was rather impolite of me, wasn't it? Sorry, it was just the first thing that came to my mind when I was checking out your style. Your work is very good, honest! It just something that struck me as I was reading…"

Neither of them took notice of the Hufflepuffs that had migrated their seats around both of them now, or the other enthusiasts who gravitated towards them as their discussion piqued the interest of others (if those people can find some spare space that hadn't been taken by Hufflepuffs). Among those from the other houses was unsurprisingly Pendleton. What did surprise her was Verrault, who had drifted in too. She kept forgetting that he was friends with Camellia. Professor Gildenstern weaved around everyone as usual.

It was an intellectually invigorating class, right until the end as she stood up to leave for lunch. The Hufflepuffs cheerily waved her goodbye, to her surprise, while Camellia simply managed a polite nod. Somewhere near the door Tom was waiting, and when she'd walked up to him, she felt something fall on top of her head yet again.

Hermione only raised one unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"Is that a flower crown again?"

"What do you think?"

"This better not be a crown of red roses or I'm taking it off my head right now and I'll burn it outside." She warned. Like hell was she going to accept being the 'queen of his love'. That level of bullshit was among the things that gave her goosebumps, right up there with anything related to Romeo and Juliet (it didn't help that Camellia had just mentioned it).

He laughed and shook his head. "No, it's not a crown of red roses. Magnolias and marigold, actually, with some hyacinth of a similar shade."

Ah, magnolia. No wonder the scent was so pleasant.

"Tom, if you keep doing the same thing over and over, it would lose its impact, you know?"

She had half a mind to take it off and toss it at him this time so he could see what his high-handedness was going to cost him (the attention people gave her because of her entanglement with him aggravated her). Yet something in his eyes stopped her. Perhaps it was because she was all-too-aware now that his glibness, like his perfect student self, were adjustments to a world that did not accept a muggleborn Slytherin. They were adaptations to a world that demanded a perfect pureblood prince in its stead even before he knew who he was.

It was probably overly strangely sentimental of her, but she didn't have the heart to do anything close to rejecting him harshly. Kill him, maybe, under the worst-case-scenarios of him somehow staying unchanged in his descent into megalomania, but she would still not be callous to him. She'd managed to see fragments of humanity inside him and she can't unsee them now.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Hermione asked instead.

Perhaps there was something in how she said it, or how she had found her calm again at that moment. He acted as if she did something interesting as he considered his words with care.

"Well, Hermione, I'm touched that you appreciate my efforts so very much." His tone was dry, but she stopped herself from reacting instantly, to take a careful breath to calm down and simply wait—she didn't even roll her eyes or glare. No words she said when he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and simply stared at him with expectation.

"Perhaps, I am simply desperate to receive something in return. Since I've yet to receive any, I thought it meant that my efforts are not enough and I just have to keep trying."

She almost snorted. There was no way that it was his actual purpose. No way.

"You want…" She shook her head in disbelief. A crown of flowers? Ridiculous. Yet wasn't reciprocity one of the principles of gifting? And she knew he grew up with the Slytherin favour-trading system. This was actually rather straightforward compared to that.

She eyed him, but like usual, it was hard to read his emotions beyond what he allowed people to read.

"I see you're still unconvinced. I'm sure I can come up with something more interesting for you tomorrow." He replied with unphased optimism.

With that, Tom unexpectedly left Advanced Ancient Runes class without her, leaving one gaping Hermione behind him.

"This is ridiculous and it has to stop." Hermione stated firmly during Friday ADADA class.

"I'm sorry?" The Hufflepuff she had been fighting before puffed up with indignation before Abraxas could say anything.

"It's not you, Fidelis,"

"I say…"

She sighed. The tall sixth-year still with a layer of baby fat over his face wasn't a bad fighter and she didn't want to insult him, especially since he was also a decent classmate in two of her other classes (and someone she saw in multiple classes of hers was a rare thing in itself).

"Do you see this?" the witch pointed at the flower garland resting on her head, gladiolus in a riot of colours with the yellow trumpets of another flower interleaved.

"Um. Where do you get daffodil with the coming winter? And how did you get that white star mark in the middle."

"I don't know! And that's not important," she waved quickly.

"But really, it takes effort to grow that these days—"

"It's just Tom. And he really needs to stop."

"Tom Riddle gave you the flower crown?" Fidelis Derwent asked in surprise before he suddenly searched his pockets for quill and parchment scrap. "With all those spring flowers? Which greenhouse did he grew all of them in? I want to check and take notes."

"Ah, Tom didn't grow any of them. But when he does need fresh flowers out of season, then the person of interest would be Annabelle Palmer." Abraxas joined the conversation effortlessly with the social fluidity of a popular student. He frowned in the direction of Hermione's head. "I don't think that's daffodils, though…"

"Oh, I know her. She's in Advanced Herbology too," the Hufflepuff nodded as he put his quill away. "I didn't think she was that good, though. Slytherins don't usually like Herbology."

"Well, she is muggleborn," Abraxas commented.

"I'm muggleborn," Hermione's retort was waspish.

The blond only nodded at that. "Yes, exactly. You're all weird."

Well, she couldn't exactly argue with that. Hermione slipped her wand back to its holster as Fidelis was once again staring at her flower crown with interest.

"So, are these actually real flowers or not? The colours are unbelievable, but they're very realistic otherwise. I can't tell if it's transfigured or not." The Hufflepuff squinted as he drifted closer. She waved her hands in front of his face.

"Fidelis, focus! This is nothing new. He's been giving me flower crowns for several days." Hermione corrected. That caused him to frown in thought.

"Flower crowns? Well, that's lovely, but for what?"

"You're really not in touch with the school news, are you?" Abraxas looked down his nose.

"But seriously, Abraxas," Hermione cut in before the Malfoy heir riled up their Hufflepuff classmate. "The attention even this crown gets in the middle of Advanced Defence class is annoying."

"Well, you can always take it off?" Fidelis suggested.

She scoffed and shook her head. "What, and let social pressure define what I can and cannot wear? I think not!"

He opened his mouth for a moment in a wordless surprise. Abraxas only snorted but did not look surprised at all.

"You can always blind anyone who stared. Maybe use some slime spells right at their face. You know, plain old sand would also work—you can get Robbe to tell you his favourite spells for that under threat of extreme pain." Abraxas suggested in return.

"Abraxas!"

The Slytherin shrugged, impervious to stares from his two other classmates. "What? This is Advanced Defence class. Any attacks are fair game on free-for-all fights like now."

"No, I've got it. If Tom is really expecting some reciprocation for all these gifts, I'll give him the most ridiculous flower crown I can come up with, mark my words…"

As Hermione continued muttering about all the things she was going to pile into the flower crown, Fidelis Derwent, generally rather well known for having a good head on his shoulders, slowly but steadily edged away from the two of them.

Abraxas had sputtered and complained back. "A flower crown! Surely, Hermione, you don't think—"

"He's been making a spectacle all this time! I'll show him spectacle."

Hermione didn't know who first spread the news, but she was only half awake when she took breakfast on Saturday morning when the first excited passer-by dropped themselves right across her. She'd only slept at two. The brunette barely registered the wizard in front of her as she squinted against even the faint glow of the morning sky seen from the Great Hall's grand windows.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"You're planning to give Tom Riddle something today?"

"What if I do?" She asked, her voice sharp with the general hatred of cheer of someone stuck between lucidity and sleep.

"Um, nothing. I was just curious—thanks!"

As the other student walked away, she pulled herself back towards her breakfast without a care.

Hermione did end up making a flower crown…for a given value of 'flower'.

On Friday night, she casually pulled a seat over to the Ravenclaw living room fireplace and threw some floo powder from her dorm's common pot and tried calling several establishments.

The beauty of the wizarding world compared to the non-magical one of this era was that practically everything can be had by owl order. For the stuff you need to get immediately, there was always the floo. Even if all Hogwarts' fireplaces apart from those at the faculty offices/quarters could only manage floo-calls instead of floo-travel, it was enough. An owl sent to fly immediately wouldn't take long to reach Hogwarts on the same day.

"Garthener's Apothecary?"

The green flames crackled as a young witch shook off her distraction and turned to Hermione, confirming her question and asking her what she needed.

"Excellent! I'm looking for freshly cut saffron crocus, do you stock them? If not, I'll take any store you can reference..."

Saffron* meant beware of excess.

*Here, it meant the flower but only the vivid red threads of the stigma and maybe the stamen, but certainly not the petals for some reason.

It was a message the Ravenclaw could absolutely get behind when it came to Tom Riddle, which was why she received a box of the flowers within an hour through owl-mail. She carried it to her room and poured the contents into a bucket to turn them into the base for a garland. It wasn't a wooded plant so there was no way for her to create a living flower crown. A more mundane sap mixture she'd also ordered (generally known as florist's glue in the wizarding world) worked just fine.

Spiky conical heads of the teasel for (aptly enough) misanthropy followed, with the mini-pudding bowls of red and burgundy flowers of the mountain laurel for ambition. Add a few carmine hundred-petal roses for pride and she was all set. She was rather proud of herself.

Oh, wait, she was certain she had one more thing…bird's-foot trefoil. It took a while to get the clustered yellow flowers to bud and bloom from the simple plant cuttings she had, but it worked. Revenge.

Hmm, the trefoil looked familiar, though. Where have I seen them recently? Never mind. It didn't really matter.

…on the other hand, it occurred to her only after she was done that her entire work was basically one elaborate personal critique. The teasels and rose branches meant it was already half a crown of spikiness and annoyance. An insult, no matter how sweet smelling, was still going to be an insult.

With a sigh, she resigned herself to making a second crown, smaller than the first, with the intent of plopping it directly over the first. That would blunt its critical content, right? The Ravenclaw witch had ordered more flowers and plants than she needed, simply because she hadn't been sure which ones she would end up using in the end. She picked up some leafy greens from her assortment of floo-order vegetation, but couldn't quite concentrate on it immediately.

The way Lakshmi was staring at her handiwork was not helping (why she wasn't asleep at midnight, like Lucretia and Eugenie, was something Hermione had stopped wondering about).

"Hermione, what is that?"

"A flower crown."

Her dormmate raised one thick unimpressed eyebrow. "Do you have any plans to crucify somebody?"

Hermione did a double take and laughed when she realised it could look like a thorny crown, albeit with some flowers, from a certain point of view.

"Um, no. It's a gift."

Lakshmi was still staring sceptically at Hermione's most recent creation as she slipped down from her own bed and sashayed in her silk nightgown to her friend.

"With friends like you, who needs enemies?"

"It's not that bad!" The brunette defended. She pulled the garland closer when Lakshmi tried to touch it. "I'm not cursing anyone with this! You know, the whole 'a pox on all your houses', last words, and the like."

"Darling, if the best compliment you can give about your gift is 'at least I'm not wishing plague on you', you have a problem." Lakshmi drawled, still trying to poke the crown that Hermione had passed to her left hand and kept far away from her friend. Lakshmi stretched over Hermione's shoulder to reach it; she simply leaned forward and extended her left arm as far as she could over her desk, far from her dormmate's grasp.

Still, that comment was…annoyingly relevant to the issue.

"Look, never mind, I was planning to make two, anyway." She finally said.

Her dormmate only shook her head before walking back to her bed, her effort to appease her curiosity with a hands-on experience failing. Yet Hermione was pretty sure she heard Lakshmi muttering something about how Riddle had bizarre tastes in lovers before she returned to her bed and novel.

So, Hermione went back to her salad green, err, patience dock.

The rather unassuming plant called patience dock representing (obviously) patience seemed like a good overarching theme to wrap everything else with. A little patience wouldn't hurt Tom's ambition and can temper the possible excesses. (She went with the leaves of patience dock instead of its flowers because…do you know how hard it is to find fresh flowers of something considered as an ordinary weed plant when you're entering winter? She didn't have enough time to go through the whole re-blooming it again. Besides, the meaning was the same for the whole plant).

Then, she added white sprigs of common laurel flowers for glory and velvet purple tropical orchids from the angraecum genus for royalty to cater to his apparent obsession of making his mark as the Heir of Slytherin. There's also the fan-like young leaves of the palm tree for victory. The yellow bells of the crown imperial lily species that always grew together in a circle as if for a crown, unsurprisingly representing power.

Glory. Royalty. Victory. Power. All these are yours if you would have but a little patience.

There. That's certainly a soft enough landing after the thorny flowers, right? Right.

"You're serious when you said you're making him a gift." Lakshmi glanced sideways at Hermione, who hadn't hidden the boxes she placed next to her plate at breakfast.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" A random thought popped into her head—why was Lakshmi even awake this early? She hated doing that on schooldays, much less on a Saturday. It was weird.

Lakshmi nodded. "Right. Wait, let me find some people first and don't start without me."

"What?"

Her dormmate didn't wait for Hermione's answer, jasmine-scented hair swishing behind her as she stood up from the table. There was something to Lakshmi's words that made Hermione second-guess her usual habit of just assertively marching to the Slytherin table whenever she needed to find Tom. There was that prickling at the back of the neck that she never ignored, the phantom ants running under her skin and told her that she was being watched.

There were Ravenclaws some distance away from her on the table who seemed a little too intent on their breakfast when her glance wandered in their direction. Same with some of the Hufflepuffs she saw—Lakshmi had gone over and greeted the Head Girl, and Agatha waved at Hermione once their gaze met. The seventh-year was unbelievably perky that Hermione held back the urge to wince as she smiled and waved back. Even when she wasn't lacking sleep, she wasn't that cheerful in the morning.

When she was trying to look towards the Slytherin table, she found Tom had been looking in her direction.

"Oh, isn't that sweet?"

She whipped her head around and saw Julia sitting casually next to her, picking a muffin for her breakfast.

"Julia?"

Since when had she been there? She must've been rather sleep-deprived to not notice her arrival.

"He'd been content to just watch you that he'd ignored Malfoy and Rosier at least once." The other brunette grinned in amusement before she turned to Hermione, interest clear on her face. "Oh! Are you going to go to the Slytherin table now?"

The phantom tingling was still at the back of her neck.

"Uh, no. I don't think so."

"With that, Hermione fled to the library, boxes in tow.

The problem with planning to gift someone is that, you have to be at the same place with them to hand the gift.

This was a stupidly obvious realisation to have in the library, half an hour later after she'd managed some random reading in and generally doing nothing. Yet on the other hand, she knew why she didn't come to the realisation earlier. It was because it had seemed that she'd been tripping over Tom every time she was simply trying to get around Hogwarts in the last month and more that some part of her had implicitly assumed that anywhere she was, he'd show up in no time anyway. Which was a foolish assumption to make when she didn't know how Tom's social schedule looked like recently—with all these inter-house spats, she could imagine the prefects are calling to have all hands on deck.

She sighed, rummaged her bag for his tie and cast a locator spell before she started walking.

A strange feeling of unfamiliarity rose in her mind, the very opposite of déjà vu when she walked down an open corridor lined with plush floral carpet and several doors before reaching the study area. She didn't think she'd even been here before, during her first time around. Only later did she realise why. Hermione had passed the walkway before in the 1990s, but it had been a very different place. The doors were all dusty and locked, and the carpet rolled up and stored, only the old stones of Hogwarts visible. The multitude glass lanterns decorated with various little dragons that occasionally preened, climbed around or simply slept hadn't been there either. There were only functional torches.

The corridor had been utilitarian, the rooms closed up. She'd asked Madam Pince once if they were store rooms or restoration rooms for books similar to those she'd seen in monasteries before. Madam Pince's smile was bittersweet.

"That would be the ones higher up or hidden behind the main walls. No, Hermione dear, those are simply meeting rooms."

"Really? Why aren't they open, then?"

"You've seen the open study area, right?"

"Yes?"

"Is it ever full?"

"Well, yes, when we're approaching end of term tests."

The older witch was staring in the direction of the closed-up doors, clearly not visible from the front desk, but she doubted that her mind was even in the present.

"And yet the open study area and the smaller carrells suffices. There is no need to provide access to the private study rooms."

"Madam Pince?"

The librarian shook her head, and the younger witch wondered if Madam Pince had always looked that old. "Once, Hermione, at the end of the term, the open study area could not adequately seat two houses, much less four."

"Once opening the private study rooms are simply a matter of needing space instead of unnecessary luxury."

She did not quite understand it then, but she understood it better now as she made her way through the bookshelves teeming with students short and tall, young and old. The current Hogwarts had numbers that her school didn't have—at least twice that. Young Hermione had been too excited with the wizarding world, impressed with its wonders and novelty to have seen its cracks.

Now, she merely paused for a while to shake the memories away. She was here now and change was hers to create. There was no need for her to dwell on old future memories.

She was feeling rather silly when she found out that Tom was also at the library, simply in the public study area. As it was Saturday morning, it was still rather empty. He was talking to a couple of prefects, the first that she could recognise was certainly Andrew, the Head Boy, while the other was a witch, a Gryffindor prefect she didn't recognise. Since the next sixth-year prefects were the French duo, and the fifth years were the tall, oddly-familiar-looking ADADA duellist what's-her-name (her name escaped Hermione right now) and the duellist Raj, she suspected that the unknown witch was a seventh-year, Crouch's partner.

"…but that is the issue. We've solved it among ourselves, but it doesn't end there. First, animosity takes time to die down, and second, we'll need to actively watch over and redirect the younger years." Tom was speaking to the other two prefects.

"I see what you mean," the witch murmured.

Andrew only sighed as he rubbed his forehead.

"Daedalus, what do you think?"

Hermione did a double-take because she couldn't see him anywhere. That was until she tried checking the next table. Sure enough, Daedalus was slumped over his arms.

"Daedalus."

"I heard you the first time around Andrew. Merlin." He picked his head up but rested it against a hand, his eyes still half-lidded "What I think? The same with what Frederica said earlier. We really need to do a circuit in our respective Houses, talk to the younger years, cajole and chat with them. More work on our plate, yes, but I really don't see a faster way."

As Daedalus gave his opinion, Tom had already stood up from his chair and walked to Hermione who had paused at the other end of the long oval table. When his eyes alight on the boxes in the crook of her arm, he actually lit up.

"Are those for me?"

"What do you think?" She asked back flatly. Hermione sighed and put them down. She picked the larger one and opened it. "Well, I have two, so don't get disappointed with the first. I have to make it since some things are important to say."

The most dominant detail of the flower plant were the crimson saffron threads—be careful of excess.

After that were the prickly teasel heads and rose thorns. Red thousand-petaled roses and mountain laurel wove in and out, with the occasional yellow of the trefoil peeking out from behind the grander flowers. Be careful of excessive misanthropy, pride, ambition and revenge. She knew he understood it because the second time his expression met hers, it was rather sardonic.

"Consider me duly warned."

"You don't have to wear it if you don't want to." She said quickly. "I only needed to make a point."

"Oh, but I do. Please," he said, and he lowered his head in front of her with all the dignity of a king at his coronation. She bit her lip and acceded to his request, placing it carefully on his head. She was aware that the other prefects had paused their conversation and was now watching them with interest.

"Now, for the second one," she stated, opening the other box. It was slightly smaller than the first. This was a more subdued garland that was predominantly green due to the patience dock (for patience). The young palm leaves spreading up gave it a dimension of height that the first lacked. Then white sprigs of the common laurel, purple of angraecum orchids and yellow imperial lily. She didn't miss the way his lips had curled at the corners when he'd seen the plants and blossoms she'd included.

Have patience and you'll find victory, glory, royalty and power.

Tom stacked the second box on top of the first with interest, observing the size difference. "Are they unequal sizes so they can be worn together, stacked?"

Hermione sighed. She supposed she should already be used to how not much get past him.

"Yes."

"Well, give me my second crown, then," he said, as insufferable as any royalty.

That was when Hermione heard Emma's warning.

"Hermione, watch out!"

The Ravenclaw leapt back instinctively; she'd dropped the second flower crown in that moment. Her peripheral vision caught an arriving group to her left, but it was one figure that ran ahead of the others that her attention was focused on. Her second reflex was to raise a shield, which deflected the first and second spells aimed at her. Daedalus ducked with a protesting 'hey!' as he dodged a stray spell. Her attacker didn't seem to heed him.

"Back away."

"Avery," Hermione was unimpressed even if Jemima Avery was pointing her wand out at her.

Her even mood allowed her to channel her inner Daphne a little.

"How do you do? I don't think I've seen you around much." She asked back, flippant.

"I've tolerated you long enough now, and it's clear that you'll keep grasping beyond your due if I don't stop you. This stops here."

Hermione couldn't help the surprised chuckle, even if she turned it quickly into a snort. What on earth is she talking about?

Emma came up shortly, with Agatha and Gamp.

"Jemima," Emma warned. She herself held down the arm of the sixth-year witch next to her and ensured that they still kept their distance.

"Stay out of this, Emma. This needs to be settled between me and Curie." Avery stated.

The Ravenclaw only raised an eyebrow at that pronouncement, shield held fast in front of her. From another direction came Eugenie and Augusta (ah, I remember her name! Yes, Augusta). The Gryffindor witch looked very interested and not the slightest bit about to interfere; she'd taken a seat on one of the tables nearby and sat down instead.

"What is it, really?" Hermione asked.

"You have to lay down the rules firmly for her, Tom. Tell her."

Tom had been quite content to stand to the side until his Housemate mentioned him. He did move forward, but Hermione could recognise reluctance in how he didn't hurry.

"I have no idea what you mean, Avery."

"You don't love her," the blonde stated, with all the weight of judgement.

Eugenie might widen her eyes, and Andrew confused but unable to look away, but neither Tom nor Hermione even blinked at that statement.

"Well, duh." Hermione answered out of reflex. Tom's cough was definitely a surprised chuckle he immediately hid.

"He loves me," Avery said.

Hermione let out a burst of laughter—at least before she covered her mouth with her hands. "Sorry. I'm just surprised, that's all."

That clearly wasn't the reaction Avery had expected, since she was momentarily stunned.

"Tom, tell her!" She insisted. "Tell her who you actually love."

Tom met Hermione's gaze, his expression one of amusement. The Ravenclaw almost couldn't stop her another burst of laughter from surfacing, especially since it was hard not to think of Tom as cute when he was wearing her flower crowns on his head. Even if he wore it with the dignity fit for any king. She bit her lip hard instead.

"I love no one, actually." Tom said.

"What—"

"Do you know what love is, Avery?" He didn't let his Housemate speak. "Mrs. Cole showed me some very enlightening examples of love. Take little Johnny, somewhere around eight right now. His mother was a parlour maid who fell in love with the young master of the house. He promised that he'll marry her and take her away. Now, guess what happens when she's enceinte? His parents threatened to disinherit him and he backed down out of fears of being penniless. They shuffle her off somewhere. She's broken-hearted and nine months later, voila, little Johnny is left at Wool's Orphanage, not far from either of his parents' homes."

Hermione almost couldn't believe that Tom was going to be rather blunt about his background and she was sure no one else was either. Daedalus was sitting up and gaping wordlessly while Andrew looked awkward, fidgety with cheeks a brighter shade than usual as he stared somewhere in the direction of the library's tall windows.

Also, since when was Lakshmi here, bright-eyed, and why was she taking notes?

"Off the top of my head, I can remember at least four 'little Johnnys' in my vicinity. Then, there's the little Millies, whose parents fell in love with each other, eloped, fell into poverty and now their mother is reduced to walking the streets. Sometimes the father is dead or gone, and at other times, he is the mother's procurer." He dismissed it without another thought. "No matter. The end is still the same. They give up little Millie for a better life at Wool's. There are other cases, but I'm sure you all get the idea by now."

Emma was silently making some rather forceful signs with her arm. Probably to get Tom to move the hell on from the current topic, her expression impressively unchanged even if there were high spots of colour on her cheeks. Augusta looked impressed. Eugenie was bright red next to the Gryffindor and determinedly not looking at anyone. Gamp was…pale? Wait, why is the Slytherin sixth-year even pale?

"So, no, really. I don't consider it a praise to tell someone I love them. Based on what I've seen, it's more like a curse." Tom said, before looking up towards Hermione.

"What I do consider a worthy promise, is to fight to stay by someone's side and never let go. To help them fight, through blood, battle and banishment, and still not leave."

Hermione was unable to stop feeling flattered even when she knew he said it for show. Well, she reasoned to herself, he is a natural charmer.

"But that is love," the comment flew from Eugenie, who was embarrassed that her thoughts had slipped her mouth. Tom didn't seem to mind her interruption and shook his head.

"No, that's loyalty and honour."

"But you said you love me!" Avery exclaimed, turning around and stepping in front of Tom.

"I expressively did not, and I'd dare to swear that on my magic."

His statement rang clearly in the room, and Hermione was not surprised at the gasps she heard—she was sure hers was one of them. It was not an oath one makes lightly and it was easy for her to believe him.

"But—"

"Besides, love does not stop people from leaving or from using others—if that is all that you ask of me, I pity you."

The blonde's breathing faltered, growing harsh from the hit. Hermione winced; not all wounds are physical.

"Are you taking back your words now?" Her voice had grown more wretched, her tone raw and bleeding.

Tom shook his head, his slight bafflement visible by all.

"You still don't understand, do you? I've never said I loved anyone."

"You did! You said so to me!"

Tom stepped away from her carefully, easing sideways and Hermione knew instinctively that he was heading her way. "Whoever said that to you was not me."

The blonde gasped, staggered as one who had been shot through the heart. The Slytherin witch turned, following Tom's movements, keeping the two of them face-to-face. Jemima reached out to him and he slipped away from her touch with such a light move that Avery might've mistook it for an accident.

Hermione didn't. She knew how Tom moved by now. He had subtly dodged the blonde.

"It was you. We spent the day and danced the night away." She insisted.

"And when was it, Avery?"

"Last weekend. Are you pretending now?" Her voice was raised.

Tom glanced at the other prefects with a confused countenance. Andrew was the first one to spoke up, a frown on his face.

"That's impossible, Jemima."

She whipped her head around and the scorn clearly audible in her voice. "Oh, you can't possibly be making excuses for him, Andrew!"

The Hufflepuff was too sympathetic. He did not raise his voice at all in the face of her tantrum; it was kind and soothing.

"He couldn't have spent the weekend with you, Jemima. He was with us."

Hermione herself had only began to realise the oddity then. The hairs of the back of her arm were rising as she realised the incongruity herself.

"What?"

"Last weekend was the Society meeting in Hogsmeade. Tom and Hermione were the host." Emma stepped forward from where she had been standing. Gamp had found a seat somewhere, looking too pale and staring at Jemima with concern.

The seventh-year prefect pushed her glasses up casually, as if the entire event was just another report she needed to read.

"I saw Tom there, Jemima. I talked to him. Everybody did and could truly tell you about it."

Jemima was shaking her head as she gingerly stepped back, as stable as a ship whose hull was bending under the storm waves. The blonde might seem confused, but the panic under her skin, the flicker of air pressure that was magic passing in the air was an obvious tell to Hermione—the blonde knew. Some part of her already knew that something was wrong, had already suspected.

Hermione covered her mouth with her hands as she realised the scale of the other witch's misfortune. Oh my god, she thought, before her gaze shifted to Tom. Did he know? Did he?

"What…what are you saying?" Jemima was doing her best to stay hopeful but she was failing,

Emma said no more, just insistent in her staring. On the other hand, a horrified but concerned Eugenie had stood up, even if she did so while wringing her robes.

"Avery, I think you'd want to sit down."

"No."

"Please. Emma, please…" Eugenie asked.

Emma had swiftly moved beside Jemima at Eugenie's pleading expression to her. The seventh-year made a quick jab of her head and Gamp followed her to pull a chair out as Emma guided their Housemate there carefully, through her protestation.

"I'm fine."

"Avery," Eugenie said this firmly, pulling the other blonde's attention back to her. "Y-You have to accept this, alright? Tom…Tom was hosting the party at Hogsmeade last week. He c-couldn't be anywhere else."

"No! You're lying."

Hermione admired Eugenie's courage and kindness to volunteer herself for an unpleasant task of bringing truth to one who didn't want to hear it. She would've helped if she didn't think it would make everything worse. The best she could do was keep her distance. Eugenie tried again.

"It's true—"

"No! You're just jealous, aren't you? You're saying this—"

"She has no reason to lie, Avery," Augusta cut in before Jemima could start attacking Eugenie. "She doesn't even like Riddle that way! Neither do I, and I can tell you for sure that it was Riddle who was at Hogsmeade last week."

Jemima was shaking her head in disbelief.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake. Why don't you try giving us some other date, and I'm sure we can match that to where Riddle is."

"I don't need to. He was there." The blonde murmured, in a daze.

"Even if there hadn't been us last Saturday, I'm sure Hermione could tell if it wasn't him." Augusta added carelessly.

Wrong words. Those only caused the unravelling witch to focus on her again, eyes rolling with hate.

"Curie! You planned this, didn't you? You stole him from me—"

Hermione could not summon any hate for her now the same way she could not summon hate an aggressive pheasant with a broken wing, fitful on the forest floor and frenzied with pain.

"Oh, for goodness' sakes," Augusta cursed, stepping forward.

"Augusta, don't—"

Eugenie's warning was too late.

"It wasn't him!" Augusta insisted. "I don't know who you went out with or who you actually dated and I don't care. But I can bloody well tell you right now that it wasn't Tom Riddle."

Jemima had covered her ears with her hands, her words were fragments of denial strung together like a rosary for the damned.

'No, no, no. No, no, no, NO. No…"

"You've been had, I say. Move on."

Gamp was glaring daggers at Augusta who, after some polite words of explanation from Emma, walked away in a huff after throwing her hands up. Eugenie apologised to the Slytherin witches before she left. Daedalus' gaze wandered from person to person, for some reason.

"I think…I think we'll have to cancel the discussion we were about to have this morning." Eugenie announced to everyone else in the room and to the newly-arrived prefects like Verrault who was confused by the entire tableau—the frozen people, the busy witches, with one Slytherin witch in the middle wailing in total breakdown, and the other non-prefect person apart from Hermione that no one seemed to notice.

(Lakshmi was in her element here, watching avidly).

Andrew nodded in agreement with Eugenie, giving his sympathies to a newly-arrived Oswin. Oswin had arrived, taken one look at the scene and shook his head as he cringed a little. He was barely fazed.

"You don't look surprised." Andrew commented.

"She was bound to be disillusioned sooner or later—Jemima's simply too blind to the reality that Tom's not interested in her. I didn't see this happening, though." Oswin answered.

Agatha had only stepped in, took one look at the scene and looked infinitely sad instead.

"Oh Jemima…"

Jemima Avery ended up in the infirmary on Saturday. Hermione didn't see her on Sunday or even the week after that—not even in Advanced Potions, and she knew Avery took that. She might not have liked the Slytherin witch, but she didn't want her dead or anything. It was why she tried to find Emma at one point to ask.

She took a seat next to the Slytherin at the library table.

"You care too much, Hermione." Emma said, leaning back on her chair. The brunette disagreed.

"I care just enough. What happened? Is she back at class yet? I didn't see her in Advanced Potions."

Emma clasped her hands together, thinking for a moment, before she lifted her chin once more.

"That's because she's not in class yet."

"She isn't?"

"No. I don't know when she would be."

"You're kidding me." Hermione said, staring. Emma's expression didn't change, just her usual solemn neutrality. "You're not kidding. How…what happened?"

"Nervous breakdown, I think, but that's only based on my impressions. Madam Edelstein would know better."

"And we wouldn't hear anything from her. Patient confidentiality," Hermione finished without thinking, still too surprised at the news to say much. She only ended up staring inquisitively back at Emma. The Slytherin let weighed her words carefully before she spoke.

"Yesterday, I asked to be able to receive copies of certain pages from Tom's diaries. It was not the contents that I need and I couldn't care less if he removed those. I simply needed the appointments. Jemima's memories of meeting him and what she wrote down in her diary…the later ones don't tend to match up with his schedule at all."

"I know it's not him," Hermione said, "but still…"

"The Polyjuice Lover. This type of ploy has happened often enough in magical history that people have learned and used safeguards about it." Emma said. "One would think that an heiress like her would have been taught rigorously about it."

That modus operandi would be Hermione's guess too once she noticed the timing impossibility, but she didn't dare speak it out loud.

"But if that was the only problem, she should be fine, right?"

"Perhaps. What I do know is that her mind refuses to accept the fact that it has all been a lie and now she insists that we're the ones fooled by fake Tom last week."

"I… maybe I could…"

Emma looked up once more, dark eyes as steady as an owl.

"You can do nothing. I've tried talking to her several times and…" she paused, unexpectedly losing words. It took a few moments before she continued. "We can show her reality right in front of her face, but we cannot force her to take a step forward. To leave the fantasy her mind built will be her choice and hers alone."

The realisation that coalesced together in Hermione's mind saddened her. Her breath came out slowly in a long exhale as she watched the motes of dust dancing in the rays of light, beautiful and yet as ephemeral as a dream.

"And right now, a world where she is Tom's lady love is certainly one that she'd rather stay in than the real world."

End Notes:

…and we're just left with the aftermath as well as clarifying and tying up the remaining loose ends. On a different note, I've really dropped many hints and clues as to what happened in the previous chapters. Ask me about any point, and I can refer to the chapter and scene that hints at it.

List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:

Enceinte: (French) Pregnant, with child. Readers of historical novels involving the English gentry of the 18th and 19th century would have encountered this term once or twice. Why being pregnant is such a state to require euphemism is something I haven't figured out yet.

The second meaning of the word is enclosure. Ceinte comes from the Latin cinctus which meant girdle—to be pregnant is to be ungirded (releasing the girdle as the belly expands), and a fence or wall can be described as girdling a territory of land. Then we have the rare combination of both in which the land is engirdled with an actual girdle (the magical Girdle of Melian in Tolkien's Silmarillion, but I digress…)

Additional Notes:

Camellia is referring to the Chinese folktale of the cowherd and weaver girl, a love story between the cowherd (the star Altair) and the weaver girl (the star Vega) who are banished on opposing sides of the heavenly river (Milky Way). The reason for the banishment in the version that I know of is because they're slacking on the job since they started a relationship, which annoys the King of Heaven (like any folktales from more than two millennia ago, there are variations within it). They are only allowed to meet once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month of the Chinese lunar calendar.

In Japan, their festival is the Tanabata, which nowadays are generally celebrated according the Gregorian Calendar, on the 7th of July. Some regions still follow the old lunar calendar, so some places celebrate later, sometimes all the way into August. Korea and the countries of Southeast Asia also have their version of the folktale.

Camellia Lee (OC): Sixth-year Hufflepuff, Camellia is a strong contender for the sixth-year Hufflepuff prefect's position before it fell to Ethel Macmillan. She's graceful about her loss and had moved on from it. An elegant and ethereally beautiful witch, she shares Advanced Ancient Runes with Hermione. Camellia is practically the number one on this subject in all Hogwarts, as she had learned warding at her mother's knee (her mother was a warding grandmaster). Always having the time to help her housemates, she occupies a special position in the heart of the Hufflepuffs.