Author's Note:

Did a brisk jog and was thinking of 'I'll just lay my head here for a while before I update' and suddenly I woke up after sleeping for a few hours. Whoops.

On a more story-relevant note, I managed to write this chapter out and I'm still not satisfied with it. But I'm a firm believer that deadlines help the writer to stop fretting and just start writing. Even if I feel like just tossing this to the dustbin (not tight or dense enough in plot), at the very least I've answered some questions and can now focus on finishing chapter 62 and wrapping up the arc. After that will come my break for sketching out, outlining and writing the first several chapters of the Third Arc before I start posting them.

'-

61 The Remaining Pieces

The first Sunday of November. Tom and the Prefects. Chats with Andrew, Philippe and Timaeus. Augusta drops in on Hermione and Tom. Vespasian Starkey is wasting his time in a most agreeable manner in the Slytherin common room until someone interrupts his peaceful afternoon. A guest for Tom Riddle. Some answers will not be what you wish to hear.

'-

The most insidious kind of lie is the one with a component of truth in it. Most people would find it difficult to detect with ease, its resemblance with reality allowing it to settle in the subconscious of many people, even those who consider themselves immune to them. But for all its stealth, it is still not the best one.

The best kind of lie is one you don't need to tell—for it never runs the risk of being disproved.

That is the primary reason that Tom was rather well-versed in using deflection than outright falsehoods. The truth is the best deflection, just not the entire truth, especially if the entire truth is so unexpected or implausible that it would not cross the mind of most people. It was why he'd considered the risks and rewards of displaying yet another example of his muggle orphanage background in Hogwarts. If it had been a Slytherin crowd, the act would be equivalent to baring his throat to a predator—extremely unwise to do. With them, he would've used a completely different approach. Yet since he had been around other prefects, almost all of whom tended to be more open-minded than most Hogwarts denizens, the potential gains were worth the cost. They would only sympathise with him more, but that was merely a beneficial side-effect.

The primary goal had been to provide a cold contrast to Jemima Avery's memories, to bring her dreams and ideals crashing down in the harshest terms possible.

To make his disregard of her clear and absolute.

To posit in the most undeniable terms that he found the idea of love laughable was a good one. A part of him experienced a most visceral satisfaction when Avery realised that her memories were as ephemereal as daydreams and all the hopes she had pinned on him shattered right there on the spot. She had been too busy staring at him in disbelief that she hadn't noticed the tears that had started to streak down her cheeks. The blonde was practically drenched in misery. If he hadn't had to consider his image, he would've laughed with joy then, to draw out her misery with his absolute indifference.

It really was worth the cost of a little exposure, especially with the prefects being the accepting fellows that they are that the little tidbit of his background wouldn't be a source of problem for him in the future.

What he hadn't expected was how the actual sympathy poured.

Andrew had, very discreetly, asked him if he could just talk for a while away from others because there were some things that he wanted to ask Tom's opinion about. His concerned expression implied that it was literally going to be anything else but that, but he saw no reason not to follow.

The Head Boy was only satisfied when they went to an empty table past the bend, so as to pull them out of sight of the others (the study area was L-shaped).

"Tom, first, I have to apologise to you because I never realise that you felt that way." Andrew began, his expression unexpectedly glum.

Tom paused as he quickly backtracked through his recollection, trying to find out just what the hell had he said that might induce Andrew to say that. Certainly nothing that he said to Andrew today was even extraordinary, only prefect business. Yet even his prodigious memory came up with nothing as he tried to scan even yesterday's interactions.

"I'm sorry?"

"No, I'm sorry. If I had known, I would have done something before…explained things, maybe."

He was running out of all reasonable explanations, and the stupid voice in his head that sounded exactly like Abraxas started spouting outrageous theories. He thinks you're in love with him!

Shut up. Tom resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Great. He'd been listening to Abraxas prattle on and on for so often that he could hear the blond speaking nonsense in his head even now.

"Explained about what, exactly, Andrew?" The Slytherin did his best to sound neutral, but he knew his smile was probably a little strained.

"Love."

Tom punched and dropkicked his mental version of Abraxas off a cliff before he could say anything even more stupid. Andrew still looked too bloody understanding for his peace of mind.

"I know, you think it's a foolish idea. Even now when you're trying to hold back your opinion, I could see parts of it still in your face. You don't believe in love. You said that to Jemima—and practically everyone else there. And that's just…sad."

Tom wasn't going to examine why he felt a such relief from hearing that he only managed a casual, "oh, that. Yes, I don't."

If he'd been a little more prepared, he would have tried to sound less dismissive. But it was alright—something this trivial really didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things.

"That's disheartening…and it doesn't have to be that way," Andrew Insisted, as he seemed to have recovered his determination all of a sudden.

"…alright?"

"Love, real, genuine love is a wonderful emotion, a force that can drive you to scale mountains and face dragons for the people you love."

Tom blinked, nonplussed but said nothing yet. I think that's called having an ambition.

"Even if you've never seen it so far, if all the people who used its name in vain are selfish, or too worn down by the life that they gave up on its noble principles, love is real. Love is real and powerful and you shouldn't give up yet on ever seeing it, alright? You're bound to be a great wizard one day and it would be too sad if you missed love because you've closed your eyes to it."

That sounded like an inspiring speech. Tom couldn't help but be impressed by it, which meant that he was taking notes on how to emulate his body language and intonation if necessary. Now, if only he can parse what the Hufflepuff's entire passionate screed was supposed to be about.

It can't just be about love, right? Too simple.

Andrew made a significant gesture to the back, and Tom guessed it had something to do with…the other prefects? No, that can't be, Andrew wasn't talking about 'love of fellow men' here. Hermione? For all his skill in reading people, he was coming up blank right now. Yes, really. Andrew patted his arm supportively. Tom stared back in a way that he supposed was collegial and conversational—even if he still has no bloody idea what the entire point of this whole conversation was about.

(No one, however, was ever going to be able to read that on his face).

"I'll…take your advice under consideration."

"Thank you. Really, that's all I ask. Don't give up on love yet! You'll find it when you least expect it." With a final, cordial pat on his shoulder, the Head Boy walked back towards the main prefect gathering.

Did the Head Boy, truly took him to the side just to give him a speech whose whole purpose was to tell him to believe in love?

Tom shook his head. He was still missing something here. "No, I don't think that's it."

'-

The planned prefect gathering was awkwardly dispersed after Emma and Eugenie floated and escorted a now-unconscious Avery to the infirmary. A pale Clytemnestra Gamp had been entrusted by Emma to try to communicate what happened to Avery's parents—nobody who was there envied her the task.

Tom had only started to walk out of the library with Hermione who was looking oddly concerned about Avery. He couldn't quite understand, but had dismissed it as another of those conditions of excess sympathy that normal people suffer from time-to-time, whose excess pressure was alleviated from time-to-time by…waterworks. He counted himself lucky not to be among them.

"Tom! Ah, good thing I caught up to you." Bernadotte accosted him when they had just stepped out, his long braid whipping out behind him. "I had something I truly need to speak to you about right now."

One entreating glance from the Gryffindor and Hermione suddenly took off.

"Of course. I'll just chat with Ceres while I wait, shall I?" She said.

Hermione left to chat with Ceres Victorinus some distance away to give them privacy before he can even tell her that he didn't actually want to be separated.

(The French wizard might cut his talk short if she was around).

Tom only gave an inward sigh before attending his fellow prefect. A few freckles over Bernadotte's nose lent him a boy-next-door air, even as he'd heard witches talk about the sixth-year. The Gryffindor's blue eyes that were a little too enthusiastic for his comfort, reminding him too much of a freewheeling knight errant, and Tom schooled his expression to a polite neutrality as he spoke.

"Yes, Bernadotte?"

"It's Philippe, I tell you." He replied by reflex. "Alright Tom, first let me tell that you're a good prefect. Hell, you're a great prefect. I'll admit that—even if I'm still going to agree to disagree with some of my Housemates about whether you can beat me in a fight, seeing as we're never in the same Defence class."

Tom made a polite cough but said nothing.

"Did you just—cough sarcastically? How do you even do that?" The Gryffindor asked, askance.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," he dryly replied.

Pip shook his head. "Wait, never mind that, I'm getting distracted again. Melusine, Ceres is going to kill me if she thinks I'm wasting your time. Where was I…"

Bernadotte snapped his fingers in thought. This was going to take ages if Tom didn't say anything.

"You were singing my praise?" Tom offered, with a little more bite in his sentence than usual. The Gryffindor simply rolled his eyes, his posture in a slight slouch.

"Very droll, Tom, but you're close. You're a great prefect and you haven't even done this for long. I don't know how you manage that…"

Herding the Knights is not very different than herding other students, Tom thought but did not say, and I've been doing that for more than a year.

"—so! Anyway, you're an intelligent and talented fellow. You'll go far in life, achieve whatever you set your mind to and all that rot. I'm sure I'm not the first to have said this to you—yeah, I can see that it's true from your barely changing face. Really, no need to deny it. We both know that it's true."

"Yet a career no matter how great is not all there is to life. No man is an island. It's the people in our lives that gave it, and our achievements, meaning. Just how empty do you think it would be if you've achieved many things but have no one to share it with?"

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Well, Tom supposed he might find it boring, but empty is rather pushing it. Power makes up for a lot of things. Power allows you to eat well in a well-furnished and amply defended castle while an entire city rioted not far from you. Power provides you with an army to crush said riot. Bernadotte stayed unaware of his thoughts.

"So, I'm sorry that your life sucks so far. I thought it was annoying enough to have to punch some uppity idiot from time-to-time in Beauxbatons whenever they mention my having muggle relations as if it was some sort of chronic disease. I can't imagine that the first time you arrive in Hogwarts was easy, especially when you were in Slytherin. There'd be idiots pouting stupid thing about you, left and right, at all times of day. Can't say I wouldn't have punched all their faces in."

"If I did that, I would be alienated from practically my entire House." Tom pointed out. Though I'm sure you wouldn't think much of doing that, would you?

"Exactly! Which is why I'm in Gryffindor instead." Philippe replied without an ounce of hard feelings. "You're good at that, like you are at a lot of things. That's why I can't stand idly by when I see there's the possibility that you might slip in something just as important as your duelling skills and magical knowledge."

For all of his mild irritation at Bernadotte's meandering chat, he couldn't help but be curious.

"Which is…?"

The Gryffindor was oddly hesitant now.

"You know that Hermione's not the type to get involved with someone if it wasn't serious enough, right? I don't need to be friends with her for long to see that."

"Yes…?" He hedged. What was this? A 'concerned' friend of Hermione's? He would have been less on edge if it wasn't a wizard who had approached him.

"You need to learn to let go of the past to be able to truly move on into the future. Hermione doesn't deserve your doubts."

He felt like an actor walking on stage to a wrong play, grasping at the lines. When did I even say I doubt her?

"Bernadotte, I can assure you that I have not the slightest doubt about Hermione's dedication."

"Yes, yes. You work very well together," Bernadotte nodded quickly. "But that's not all you could be, and—dammit, I can't believe I can see something you've missed. And Ceres calls me dense."

The Gryffindor scratched his head with a surprising amount of frustration before he met Tom's gaze again.

"It might be easier to be a cynic—you can't be disappointed if you never expected much to begin with. I've been there. But sometimes, you need to take a leap of faith to win big!"

Oh look, familiar ground once more, he was a little more at ease once they're discussing something resembling tactics.

Tom nodded. "Sometimes you have to take a calculated risk, carpe diem."

"Yes! You get it!" Bernadotte clapped his shoulder. "Sometimes you have to have faith and be wiling to fight for something that's worth it. And Hermione is worth it."

"Of course." Tom agreed. It was easy since Bernadotte was just spouting obvious truths in a non-sequitur manner. He hoped the point would come around soon because this guessing game was getting old.

"So yes, love isn't a weakness, it's a strength. I know neither of you simply consider the other as 'just friends'—anyone with eyes could see that. If you need any help in telling Hermione that you love her, you can talk to me."

What the—

Then, to his surprise, Bernadotte stepped away and waved in the direction where the two witches had gone off to.

"He's all yours, Hermione! Hope you two have a good date today! I'm rooting for you both!"

It was clear even from this distance that Hermione was rubbing her face with her hand, and that said face was pretty red, even as Victorinus glared at Bernadotte from beside Hermione and told him to 'mind his own business'. Hermione was slowly walking towards his direction but was carefully not looking at any place in particular—Ceres, on the other hand, moved with the speed of a loping greyhound and nabbed Bernadotte in no time.

Bernadotte grinned goofily as he waved at both of them, unresisting to his prefect partner's effort to drag him away. Tom gave him a level, unimpressed stare. He could hear Victorinus telling her Housemate to stop pestering his juniors as she pulled him away.

The Slytherin wished she had said that before Bernadotte spouted all this…weirdness at him.

"So! What's your plan for today?"

Hermione might sound more cheerful, but she was still looking anywhere but at him.

"What gave him the impression that I'm close to bursting with the urge to tell you that I love you?" It was an idiotic question, and it didn't sound less stupid when he said out loud. Yet the inanity of it had been dogging other thoughts from the moment Bernadotte said it that he simply needed to pour it out immediately lest it rotted his mind.

The Ravenclaw forgot that she was trying not to look at him; her look was a mix of 'seriously?' and 'are you high?' Hermione's hand reached towards his hair…and ended up patting her flower crowns that were still there. He hadn't realised that he was still wearing them.

"Next question?" She asked back, all sarcasm and challenge.

In the commotion, he really had forgot the bloody obvious.

Tom couldn't help laughing at that, and for all her initial reluctance Hermione was soon laughing along with him.

'-

The next time Tom encountered Timaeus Crouch they have only gone down on flight of stairs. the Gryffindor sixth-year had placed a firm grip on his shoulder before he could surreptitiously slide away, looking him straight in the eyes. Hermione was just a curious bystander at this point.

"Tom."

"Timaeus?"

"You had ample courage in Hogsmeade and you've easily trusted your life to Hermione." His voice was grave when he said this. Tom could easily see how he would handle responsibility once he entered the Ministry next year.

"Well, thank you," he said, accepting the compliment.

"And she has shown her worth and did not betray that trust."

"Um, thank you?" Hermione was a little uncertain, which Tom didn't blame her since he had no idea what Timaeus wanted to say either.

"If you can trust her in matters of life and death, I'm sure you can trust her when it comes to matter of the heart."

He bid them goodbye with the same grave nod he did at the beginning. When Timaeus was clearly out of the corridor, Tom let out a tired sigh while Hermione let out giggles that turned into laughter.

"As much as I don't actually mind wearing a flower crown for the whole day…"

"You'd rather…" Hermione gasped, "…avoid all the relationship advice?"

His put-upon expression at her didn't stop her laughter though it lessened it. Even between that she managed to open her bag and pulled out two boxes to hand to him.

"Here, then. No hard feelings."

Then Julia passed them on her departure from the library and told Tom outright that she had no doubt that his relationship with Hermione is the type that would last, and that he didn't need to worry about it. Hermione was giggling again before Julia even reached the end of the corridor as she knew that her friend wouldn't take it personally.

Tom had only boxed one flower circlet when he saw Amelia Bones entering the corridor from the stairway. That was when he caught her wrist and pulled her down a small alcove. A twist of the Ming dynasty vase displayed seemed to open an unseen door to the side.

"Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere I'm not going to see anymore prefects. Back to the library is a good idea."

"Ah, yes. Most people wouldn't expect that we went straight back."

'-

Hermione was in a rather concentrated discussion with Tom in a library carrell about why changing one creature into another seems to be an easier act than just changing part of a creature.

"I haven't even managed to find anything that would allow you to attach the arm from one wizard on another. I did use all the healing keywords you recommended. The only one I've found so far is the Transylvanian experiment of trying to piece together a man from different corpses." Disappointment coloured his opinion.

The Ravenclaw winced.

"Oh, I heard that one. Somebody's been reading too much Frankenstein. Didn't work, of course."

Tom nodded. "I did read the conclusion first before even trying to read the entire monograph. Why waste time if it doesn't even work? Do you hear of the precise reason it failed from your healer studies?"

She leaned back on the seat, trying to recall. It was one of those cases used as a cautionary tale, a staple of her field healer classes when she took them.

"Pretty straightforward, actually. They gained the bodies via the means that many medical faculties in the 18th and 19th century did even if they didn't say so."

"Body snatchers—gravediggers." Tom stated.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Early decomposition may not ruin a cadaver for dissection that much in a temperate climate, but they haven't yet known by then that it's ruinous for neurons. Cell death occurs within minutes the brain is starved of oxygen. The brain is basically useless. Non-functional."

"So, if you want to use someone's head like that, cut it off immediately and dump it into a bucket of ice. A bit like working with cut flowers, actually." He concluded. Her hand twitched as she held back the urge to massage her temples. Something seemed to have occurred to him then that he seemed more optimistic. "Ah, it might even be easier to ensure freshness of brain tissue if we make sure the heart is still pumping before the head is cut off. The oxygen supply is therefore never stopped until the cut."

They might be in a carrell that no one just passing by can hear them, but sometimes the brunette witch thought that Tom had lost all intellectual inhibition around her that he forgot normal people had this thing called morality. Cutting off random people's head is not done.

"I think the usual name for a human with a still-pumping heart is living," Hermione muttered, but didn't bother lowering her voice, "and cutting the heads of living people is murder."

"Well, it doesn't need us to do it personally. Too bad the French aren't having any revolutions this time. Madam Guillotine would certainly save us some effort." He replied with an amused gleam in his eyes. She couldn't figure out if he was serious or joking, and considering his sense of humour, she didn't try.

"How unfortunate," was her dry retort.

She didn't catch his reply, if he had any, as the knocks on the door distracted them before it swerved open within a second. A Gryffindor prefect stood there—Augusta, Hermione triumphantly recalled.

"I finally found you."

"Me?"

That took Hermione off-guard. Augusta shook her head.

"No, not you, him. I never thought you're that hard to find, Riddle, but it did take some effort."

"Is there any reason for the search?"

"Well," Augusta's gaze flickered to Hermione before settling on him again. "I thought I was going to say something."

"If you were going to tell me to trust Hermione with my heart, trust me, I've heard enough variations of that by now." He replied. Hermione snorted and bit her lip to hold back any inadvertent chuckle.

Augusta stared at him askance. "Why would I want to do that? I know you're getting on alright. Not exactly my business, is it?"

Hermione couldn't help her chuckle even as Tom's droll reply of 'yes, finally someone gets it, thank you' earned a baffled nod from Augusta.

"You wouldn't believe how many people have been concerned about it earlier," Hermione said. "So, what brings you here?"

"Philippe and Ceres are going to take the long way to Hogsmeade today because one of his cousins contacted him. They plan to be at the Hogshead Inn today. He said that he did plan on telling you, but he never got around to it before Ceres dragged him off earlier. I just thought that you might want to plan another Society meeting tonight about it."

Tom tapped his fingers to his chin. "It depends on what they hear. It might be something or it might be nothing. I suppose I'll just wait for the update from them today, then."

Augusta shrugged. "Suit yourself. I just thought you needed to hear that."

"I do. Thank you."

The other prefect was still standing at the doorway as she hadn't bothered to enter the carrell even as she spoke. She almost set off once more when she Augusta turned back.

"Oh, and Riddle?"

"Yes?"

"I did meet Julia before I got here, and she assured me that you're not going to do anything as stupid as pushing Hermione away because you don't trust that love wouldn't betray you—" Augusta's grin was entirely too wide and if Tom had less self-control, Hermione was sure he would have groaned. Right now, she only caught a twitch of his left eyebrow. Hermione was biting her lips so hard it might even bruise.

"—All I'm asking for is an invitation once you finally get married."

"Augusta!" Hermione was too shocked to hold herself back. Heat crept upwards from her neck.

"Perhaps we will if you don't make such a pest of yourself," Tom retorted back, which from Augusta's surprised yet interested face was something she hadn't expected. "Thank you for your information and good day."

Without any prompting, Tom shut the door in her face.

Hermione was rubbing her eyes when Tom spoke up next with a forced cheerfulness.

"So, what do you say about sightseeing around London today?"

'-

It was just the perfect Saturday afternoon to flop around aimlessly, Ves had thought. He'd gotten the right of it, too, after all the uncommon toil and hard work he had to do last weekend. It was an experience to see just how perfectionist Hermione could be—she could even give Tom a run for his money, something he didn't think was possible. Unfortunately, all his plans of comfortably dawdling was not to be. He sighed internally the moment the wizard stopped in front of the occupied armchair.

At least I can make sure this is entertaining.

"Afternoon, Ves,"

Vespasian Starkey had been lounging in the Slytherin common room without any cares. His newsboy cap was slightly lopsided to the right. He looked in all the world like another pureblood with too much pride and fluff between their ears. This illusion cracked slightly with the sharp gaze that took in his visitor from head to toe in a flash before he seemed once more to be occupied with the quaffle he was tossing from one hand to another at a lazy pace.

"Afternoon, Irwin. Were you lookin' for Bernard? Or someone else?"

A flicker of jaw muscles tightening. Irwin was as fine-boned as his sister with complexion just as pale, and Ves supposed that many people might find that attractive. He was more bored with the seventh-year than anything because the wizard scarcely had any obvious personality. Heck, Brax was an overdramatic fool, but at least he's not so bland as to be forgettable.

"No, not really." Irwin answered.

"No studyin' business? Oh. Right then." Ves nodded and leaned back on his seat. He'd started passing the quaffle again.

"Starkey…"

"What?"

Irwin didn't immediately answer him, his gaze still unreadable. Ves gazed up lazily.

"I've no ken o' yer mind, Irwin. You can spit it out—or mayhaps don't. Suit yourself."

"You—"

Ves only blinked as the seventh-year stepped forward and loomed over him.

"Well?" Ves asked back.

After a while the other wizard took a deeper breath and stepped back.

"You know why I'm here."

"Not truly, no. I don't make an 'abit of nosing around some jack's cly. 'm not short on gelt or hungry fer name, Irwin." Amusement tinged his words.

Irwin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I need to see Riddle."

Ves' expression brightened and he stopped himself from making a wicked smile. Don't scare him away just yet...

"Ah, why don't you say so! Ain't it easier when we're not maundering around?"

"Well?"

"Tom's in his dorm, I suppose. You can wait until he's done."

An impatient Irwin had started walking past Ves when the fifth-year leapt out of his seat and around, now suddenly standing in front of Irwin.

"'Fraid I can't let you do that."

"It's an emergency."

"Your emergency, maybe. Not his, certainly." Ves retorted.

This time the gritting of teeth was more obvious before Irwin stopped. Ves couldn't help it—the beginnings of a grin rose on his lips.

"Stand aside."

"Won't." Ves replied. His wand was already in his hand. "If we're goin' to go at it hammers and tongs, let's just get it now, shall we? 'M getting a mite bored, anyway."

Paradoxically, this actually caused Irwin to stop.

"I'm not here to fight you."

His reply was glib. "That's what they all say right until we did."

"Vespasian."

A snap, and Ves' wand was now pointed at Irwin's neck. He tilted his head to the left slightly, his grin beginning to bloom now. "Ah, ah, ah. You're none I care for, Irwin. That name ain't yours to say."

He could see Irwin's Adam apple bob slowly before the other wizard backed down. Such a pity, he mused.

"Please. I need to see Riddle."

"Well, take a seat, then! You've come to the right place, really. Relax. He'll be down in time." Ves answered cheerfully and clapped his hands together, wand still in hand.

"Ves—"

"Do sit, Irwin," he replied with a wide smile. The slight snap in his tone showed that it was not a suggestion. "You came to my lord for an audience and you will get one. Never let it be said that he's not considerate."

His usual accent was gone now, in its place something more cultured with a politesse Starkey was very much not known for. The warmth that had previously been in his gaze and manner seemed to have evaporated along with it. What was left was a creature that seemed to be perfectly at home in a cold and callous court.

"But I'm sure you have no intention on imposing yourself on him, isn't that right? For none of his Knights will brook any offence to his person."

'-

Starkey had summoned one of the unused corner tables towards him. He asked the house elf watching over Slytherin House nicely for a pot of tea and received a complimentary plate of small cakes along with it and he gave his thanks accordingly. He started to prepare two cups, the unease of his guest seemingly went unnoticed by him.

"There's no need," Irwin began.

"I insist," Ves answered while pouring tea into two cups. "All this food prep reminds me…unless you've got a flash mollisher playin' the cook in the kitchen to queer up grub, adulteratin' food ain't the smartest thing to do. You got to make sure it's spread evenly all o'er, fer one, 'cause you don't know how anyone would eat. It's even more impossible when you got to be canny wiv yer hit and don't go knocking other people down willy-nilly like extra pins."

He shook his head and raised his gaze back to his fellow House mate as he placed the teapot down.

"'Tis too hard, innit?"

Irwin watched him carefully, with a slight crease between his eyes, yet he said nothing. Ves leaned back as if it had been a rhetorical question.

"Much easier to just go after the sod's preferred swill." The fifth-year stated, before casually tapping the teacup nearest to him. "Pour your personal poison, add the slop or what-have-you. Stir until evenly mixed. Use the right blend and most people can't even sniff it out. Voila, and Jack's your uncle."

Ves seemed pleased at what he'd figured out. "So simple, right? Here, how'd you like yours? Lemon? Sugar?"

"I don't—"

"Pffft. An Englishman who doesn't drink tea? Don't be absurd, Irwin." His eyes glimmered with humour.

"Oh, please, don't tell me you're worried 'bout m' little lark. 'M just joking, pay me no mind. Here," Vespasian pushed both teacups forward until stood side-by-side, "you can choose whichever and I'll take the remaining one. Howsat?"

For something as simple as just taking a cup of tea, Irwin Avery certainly took his time. Ves didn't seem to begrudge him the slightest.

"Milk or lemon? Sugar?"

"Look, Ves, I had no intention to—"

Ves rolled his eyes, left hand poised between the bowl of lemon slices and the small milk pitcher. "Milk or lemon, Irwin? Come on, I'm not askin' for some long essay answer. This ain't Advanced Arithmancy."

"…lemon. One sugar."

"Very good. See? It ain't hard."

'-

At one point, Gallus had walked up from the direction of Tom's dorms and Irwin had stood up immediately. Ves shook his head at the apparent rush.

"Ah, Irwin. Fancy seeing you here," Gallus greeted him easily. "Who're you looking for? None of the sixth or seventh years have dorms in this direction."

He stated this as if all of them didn't already know that, as if they had not all memorised the dorms that each door lead to during their first year. Irwin's shoulders tensed momentarily before relaxing.

"I'm here to see Tom."

"Oh, you are?" Gallus glanced at Ves in apparent surprise. "Why didn't you inform us immediately, Ves?"

Ves shrugged. "'M pretty sure Tom has other important things to do, yeah?"

"Never too much to receive a…rare guest," Gallus smiled at Irwin. Irwin's return smile was wan and sickly in appearance. "You're in luck, he's already back. Come on down, then."

Irwin followed the shorter fifth-year in front of him. Just before he passed the doorway, Vespasian called.

"Irwin?"

He turned around.

"Did y'know that for potions with a human component like Polyjuice, it's not impossible to figure out who the human component is? Just takes a really good potioneer with a lot of quid at hand and a hell of patience." He grinned, flashing rows of white teeth. "Potions is so fascinating, isn't it?"

Irwin said nothing before continuing on his journey, but if it was possible, he had gone even paler at Ves' apparent non-sequitur.

'-

"Ah, Irwin! What brings you to my humble abode?" Tom greeted his guest.

"…I—"

"Please, take a seat."

"I don't need a seat," he retorted sharply. "I need to talk to you quickly."

It was Gallus who was suddenly at his left. "Please, sit."

With a firm push on his shoulders, Avery sat on a chair that had somehow been moved right behind him. Tom moved until he was a few paces in front of the seventh-year. He was in a fitted grey suit jacket without his robes over them. One might think that this would make him seem more like a muggle, but the easy way he toyed with his wand and sometimes balancing it on a single finger belied that.

"What's all the hurry?" Tom asked.

"I don't care what you're going to do, I just need Jemima to be alright." The words came out rushing one after another, like the rapids of a churning river.

Tom's forehead creased in thought. "I'm sure that plea is better addressed towards Madam Edelstein. She is the Head Nurse."

"But she's not you."

"Evidently," Tom's reply was dry.

"She wouldn't know exactly what's wrong, and I'm sure that you do. Please…" Avery's voice trailed away as he looked away in that moment, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggled with himself.

Tom tilted his head to the left a little, curiosity his only expression. "Please what, really?"

"Help her, fix her. Do something."

"I'm more curious why you thought I could do anything at all, really." Tom mused out loud.

"Because…because you broke her! You broke her, alright? I heard what happened from Oswin and I…" he seemed to either have run out of words or couldn't continue without his voice faltering. Perhaps he's thinking about his dear sister, lost in slumber in the infirmary with no end in sight. Tom would've smiled with relish if he wasn't more invested in playing the baffled bystander.

"I broke her? Really?"

"She loves you."

"No one's stopping her from loving anyone she wishes," Tom replied, the wry twist of his lips was one that perhaps only Hermione could understand. "And it would not explain her current…malaise."

"That's…"

Surprisingly enough, Irwin fell into silence even as Tom watched him.

"Well?" Tom prompted.

"You—you know why…"

Tom's single glance to his friend had Gallus walking forward into Avery's view again. The slim Slytherin's tone was bored.

"Irwin, please, say what you mean. I'm sure you have other, important things to do. Tom certainly has them, and if you're just here to get us to play a guessing game with you, well, you can do that with someone else in their time—"

"No,"

"No? I'm sorry, but I'm not letting anyone abuse Tom's hospitality—"

"It was my fault…"

The words were soft and Tom wouldn't have caught it if Gallus hadn't stopped himself abruptly, or if he hadn't been waiting for Avery's reaction. Gallus paused and glanced at Tom.

"Now, why would you say that?" Tom asked.

Avery finally raised his head, after being too occupied in following the loops of the oriental carpet of the dorm.

"I did slip you some Amortentia. It was harmless. Just a little bit of fun—"

"Harmless?" Gallus raised his voice. "You dare to claim that?"

"It's nothing our forefathers haven't seen in Hogwarts of their time, and of the Hogwarts before that!"

The both of them were standing now, and almost at each other's face. For one who was not physically imposing, the Rosier heir was intimidating enough once he allowed rage to overtake him.

"Peace, Gallus." Tom stepped forward. "And do lower your voice, Irwin. We can already hear each other clearly, no need to shout."

Gallus grudgingly stepped back.

"Gallus can be a worrier. I don't really think much of a little Amortentia—it barely worked on me, mind you. I didn't feel like giving your sister my singular attention, though there were still some changes. I think we can find some arrangement that will allow me to forget it sooner." Tom could see tension leaving Avery's shoulders, the brightening of his expression as he begun to once more flirt with the idea of hope. Avery might not even realise it yet, but the beginnings of a smile had started to grow on his face.

"Thank you. Does this mean that you can—"

"But," Tom cut in.

Avery's voice faltered, "excuse me?"

"But it didn't even occur to you to ask why I stepped aside as your sister began to dig her own grave?"

The blond's stiffened, his face an awkward mask of confusion and faltering hope.

"You did not think to even ask, did you? You thought that was the only sin involved?"

Their gazes connected; he did not let Avery wonder for long.

"People would talk to me, Irwin, commenting on a conversation I did not have, in places I knew I did not go to recently. You didn't think that I would be unaware of someone else walking around with my face, do you?"

He could almost see the gears turning in Avery's head, how the seventh-year's cautiousness was beginning to be swamped by trepidation. Tom had moved to another chair in the room and sat down, facing Avery over some distance now. Gallus stood to the side, a little beyond the blond's field of view and no less vigilant. The cadence of Tom's voice was that of a storyteller now, dark, smooth and hypnotic.

"Not long after Hermione began her classes in Hogwarts, she had an accident. That was how she put it, though I disagree. There was no accident in her fall down a set of spiral stairs. She did not suddenly decide to jump. For one so sure of her footing in Defence class, no mere abandoned bottle was going to make her slip and threw her down."

"She could have broken an arm. She could have broken her neck. It speaks of her skill that she didn't, but that does not absolve the culprit of the crime."

Tom's gaze was cold this time, and Avery didn't hold it for long.

"She said she can handle this matter on her own, but I've asked her every week or so about her plans for the culprit if she would not let me handle it. The more time passes, the less she seems to care about it…"

There was a simple vase on his bedside table, and it was filled with a bouquet of only one type of flower. The tall stalks of the simple yellow of bird's-foot trefoil. It was one of the flowers he had slipped into Hermione's yellow flower crown. Its possible meanings are rather narrow.

Revenge. Vengeance is mine.

Tom plucked a stalk out and toyed with it as he stood up again.

"Hermione would've given the most cursory of punishments for such a crime, because she is simply that good-natured, but I have given my word that the culprit's punishments would be hers to decide. I was in an inconvenient bind right then."

He stopped in front of Avery.

"I was still trying to find my way around it until Ves identified what I was poisoned with and its target. Very convenient. There was no need for me to continue trying to find loopholes or figuring out a trade with her. I once more hold the right of revenge for myself."

"I suppose I have you to thank for that."

He smiled. He didn't bother to make it look pleasant, or look anything like the smiles of the average humans he knew.

"You wouldn't mind telling Hermione that I'm doing this for myself, wouldn't you? She'll grumble and complain to herself, but she wouldn't deny me the right, as she is learning already that there are rules of Slytherin House that we live by. She is starting to learn that what binds us together is stronger than the rules of Hogwarts."

He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if in a friendly conspiracy. "You already know I don't really care for the Amortentia—I wouldn't take revenge just for that. Between the two of us, though, this is for her."

With a last pleased smile, Tom stepped away.

"It's not too bad, Irwin. Your sister yet lives and will recover one day, which is very merciful of me if you consider that she'd actually tried to kill someone who was mine." He finished cheerfully.

The blond was still, stoic, but Tom was a practised observer to be able to see the tension in his frame, how he was trying to hold it all in because even the slightest exhibition of emotion was going to burst the dam. He was sure that Avery finally, finally realised that the Heir of Slytherin really couldn't give a damn about his useless sister.

That he'd do nothing. That he was all too happy to do nothing.

"Gallus, please escort him out."

"Yes, my lord."

'-

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Author's Notes:

Right, that's one aspect of the whodunnit handled...

'-