Author's Note:
I finally managed to end the Second Arc. Been giving me a headache for a while. I was sorely tempted to just stop at the last scene of Chapter 61, but then I get the nagging feeling that there are some unresolved...issues still hanging about. I can let them drag on to the Third Arc (which I certainly haven't done at all), or I can finish it now. For all of my dislike of emotional confrontations, I choose the second one. I wrote while muttering and grousing the whole way, apologies if it's not my best.
This is a good point to say that I made a Character Appendix for Strange Attractors in the Wattpad version of my account (Orange et Blue Morality). Why in Wattpad? Because I can upload my sister's moodboards there, that's why, so some character bios already have pictures and stuff. This is just in case anyone needed a quick reference of who's who. (I'm also editing chapter 30 to also have this PSA in the Author's Notes for new readers).
Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows! Sorry if I can't get back at you yet, real life's stepping up its pace right now. This is also the point where I'm taking a break for a few months to work on the Third Arc. Hopefully, now that there aren't many people who would get in Hermione's way (or Tom's way), I can just move on to the main plot all the way until the end of the academic year. (Yeah, hope springs eternal).
'-
62 Discovering the Truth, Reforging a Pact
An average mid-week. The case of Jemima's malaise. Hermione visits Nurse Edelstein in the infirmary and picks up her responsibility as an apprentice. An assortment of visits to the infirmary, beginning with Eugenie and ending with the Knights. The result of Hermione's investigation. A meeting at sundown far from curious eyes. A reconstruction.
'-
On Wednesday, Hermione had the whole of her lunch break to read on the copies of Jemima and Tom's schedule that Emma held, as well as the ones she highlighted which showed how Jemima's experience contradicted Tom's actual activity of that time. Her thoughts still turned in that direction once in a while even as she attended her classes (A. Arithmancy and A. Charms), all the way to the end of Charms.
"Hermione?" Lakshmi raised an eyebrow.
"Yes?"
As Eugenie was also looking at her, Hermione had the feeling that they'd been calling her name more than once.
"Ah, sorry. I didn't catch whatever it was you were saying. I'm still itching to solve the mystery of Jemima's experience."
Lakshmi snorted. "What's there to solve? Riddle got tired of her hanging on his sleeve that he didn't say no when one of his friends offered to polyjuice into him."
"How do you even know that?" Eugenie asked in disbelief, her forehead creased. "That's a horrible thing to do to Jemima!"
The dark-haired witch opened her mouth and then closed it again immediately, her pointed gaze at Hermione clearly said 'you deal with this'.
Hermione beat any calls for 'courage' and 'valour' in her head with a metaphorical broomstick as she made her retreat.
"Um, oh, look, class has ended! I almost didn't realise that."
"We were pointing that out to you earlier," Lakshmi continued while picking up her bag. Hermione followed suit.
"Yes. Great. Thank you. Look, I still wanted to solve this little mystery and I want to pick Tom's brain about it," her warning look towards Lakshmi made her dormmate held her tongue on whatever she was about to say just then. "So, I'll go off first and see you at the dorms!"
Hermione barely waited for her friends to finish their goodbyes before she'd turned in the direction of where she'd last tracked Tom and practically leapt to her feet as she set off. She didn't bother calling him because she knew she can catch up to him in no time, and calling was just going to get even more attention directed their way from their assorted classmates. Which was the last thing she needed.
Tom looked back just as she was two steps away from him and shifted to the right. Melchior stepped away from him to the left once he realised what Tom did.
Between them was the space for exactly one person and Hermione stepped forward to take her place effortlessly.
'-
Hermione could only dismiss Jemima Avery's lack of presence in Advanced Potions for a few days. After that, the snobbish Slytherin's absence started to nibble at the edges of her thoughts, her thoughts circling around her head as the brunette wondered what could've delayed her recovery so much. For all that Hermione considered the Slytherin a pain in the rear, she didn't really wish her to suffer. Not to mention that she couldn't help her curiosity. It was why she still kept trying to figure out what on earth could be the problem.
It was for this reason that the Ravenclaw didn't turn towards the library in the evening, which was what she would do if she didn't happen to be in her dorms or the Ravenclaw common room doing her school work. Her feet easily beat a path to the infirmary.
"She's not waking up, is she?" Hermione barged into the Head Nurse office.
"Hermione!"
"Sorry!"
Nurse Edelstein had almost dropped the bottles she was stocking, catching them in the nick of time. Hermione stepped forward to help her with it out of guilt, the glare barely affecting her once she's determined. Maggie sighed and shifted aside so Hermione can help.
Warm lantern glow lit the room. The stars beyond the great windows were richly spread in their splendour, as no moon was in sight. Ah, no wonder there's a lot of Astronomy observation classes this week, she mused, as opposed to book work or analysis. It was new moon.
"Why are you here at this hour?" Nurse Edelstein asked.
It was a good question, seeing that in a quarter of an hour or so, the Great Hall would start serving dinner in less than half an hour.
"I'm your apprentice, aren't I?" Her tone was a little too innocent.
Maggie muttered something that might be 'why now?' but didn't repeat it any louder. What she said instead was, "you're asking about Avery, aren't you?"
"I'm worried—and I'm also saying this professionally, as far as my knowledge informs me. If she's still unconscious, shouldn't we get her somewhere she can get a more specialised treatment?"
The nurse sighed and turned.
"You have a point, and we are getting her specialised treatment."
Her eyebrows rose. "We are?"
Maggie nodded, her usually fresh face had lines of worry on her forehead. "A specialist mind-healer visits from time to time, trying to coax her to leave her fantasies without forcing her."
"How would a healer do that? Jemima's not even awake."
"By careful use of legilimency." Maggie replied. "It's not as effective or easy compared to doing it with a fully conscious patient, and trying to untangle the language symbolisms of the subconscious is a skillset of its own, and you're not even guaranteed to find the patient's self in the initial visits. I hear it's still possible to make some progress even if the speed tends to be on the frustrating side."
"Something you're really not interested in, I gather?"
"Yes." Maggie didn't hide her shudder. "How do you even know whether you're progressing or staying in place? It's difficult to gauge. Give me a weeping sore or a puking patient anytime."
Hermione laughed. "Alright, I get your sentiment."
"I like progress that I can see."
"I can't argue with that."
They continued stocking the shelves in a comfortable silence for a while, with Hermione going off to locate the trolley where all the new potions sent from the Potions labs were stacked to get more. The movement was repetitive and quite soothing, and as such gave her ample opportunity to think.
"I am you apprentice, right?"
The nurse stared at her askance. "I thought we've established that already?"
"Just making sure. So, we only have one long-term patient here, then?"
"We?"
"Well, I am your apprentice."
Maggie snorted. "I suppose. What are you thinking about?"
"Would human interaction helped pull her towards consciousness?"
The nurse paused in thought, her copper hair practically glowing under the warm lights. "I think it would help. Unless she's very familiar with your voice and hearing them would actually agitate her…"
Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think she's that familiar with just my voice when she's not seeing me directly. We don't exactly make a point to chat with each other."
"You can try to read to her while I monitor her heartbeat, then."
"Good."
'-
Hermione was only mildly surprised to see Eugenie visiting Jemima around noon the next day. In the blonde's hand was a cheerful bouquet of pink, peach and yellow flowers.
"Eugenie! I didn't expect to see you here."
"Neither did I," she replied, a little wry. "I certainly didn't know you were friends with Jemima."
"Well, we're not exactly friends," she admitted. "but I am Madam Edelstein's apprentice."
"Oh, really?"
Her fellow housemate was surprised, and the talk detoured in that direction for a while as Hermione explained the arrangement between Nurse Edelstein and Madam Álava. It wasn't something she wanted to dwell in as she was more curious as to why Eugenie was there, and she asked about it outright.
"I thought she'd like to hear what happened in the prefect meetings that she couldn't attend," Eugenie said. "Madam Edelstein said it would be good for her to hear a familiar voice every so often."
Eugenie had found a spare vase from one of the other side tables, filled it with water with a quick Aguamenti and placed her flowers in. Hermione was quiet simply because she was trying to find something to say that wasn't as bland as 'how very nice of you', or as careless as 'I don't think Jemima would do the same for you if you're the one unconscious in the infirmary'.
"There, the place is more cheerful now, don't you think?" Eugenie smiled.
Hermione smiled back, even if she felt hers was probably a little more awkward than Eugenie's.
"I thought one of the Slytherin prefects would do that?"
There, surely that was a neutral question?
"Emma came on Sunday. She then said that she had asked about it to Madam Edelstein, and she answered that recovery would take a while, so she's content to visit once a week. Gamp is…" The blonde sighed, biting her lower lip in thought. "I came here with her after the prefect meeting on Monday and she barely stayed five minutes before immediately going off. I feel like she doesn't want me to see her break down. I told her the next day that I don't mind visiting Jemima at a different time from her, and she told me to mind my own business."
Hermione frowned, even as she tried to keep her calm. "She said what?"
Eugenie waved it away, unconcerned. "She is simply of bad humour, Hermione. I tried again yesterday and told her I'll visit Jemima on Tuesday, Thursday and maybe Saturday, and she only nodded and said that she'll remember that."
"You're a good friend, you know that?"
She ducked her head, "oh, it's nothing."
"It's not. You don't see a lot of Slytherins here, do you?" Hermione asked dryly.
"There are many cards here already." Eugenie flailed a hand towards the side table. "And there's another, older bouquet of flowers that's not mine. She has friends."
"Then I'd rather have you as my friend than ten of them."
This time, Eugenie truly blushed.
'-
Nurse Edelstein finally gave her some details on Jemima's condition once Hermione finished signing her official apprenticeship documents as well as the familiar patient confidentiality one. When Maggie drolly said that she can't use anything she found out to tease Jemima, the brunette only rolled her eyes and said that the Slytherin was a patient of hers now, and that meant she'd do all she can do make her better. Distressing her clearly wasn't a part of that.
Truly, Hermione's pity had overwhelmed a larger portion of her annoyance. She couldn't even consider Jemima worthy of hate from the beginning—the pureblood witch was simply too ignorant, too cooped up in her own world that it wouldn't take much to make her trip over her own feet.
Hermione couldn't take her seriously as a threat.
Now that she thought about it again, Tom's cutting words had been so precise. The brunette had even borrowed Lucretia's pensieve just to see the effects of his retorts on Jemima. Each of his reply was a blow as painful as a body punch. Avery might even choose the several body punches if she was given the foresight of what would happen. Hermione certainly would.
That series of perfect hits was a little on the improbable side, even for a raconteur like Tom. You know what's more probable? The Ravenclaw mused to herself, if he'd planned it all beforehand.
Finding Jemima's weak spots would be child's play for him, particularly since they're in the same House and the Slytherin prefect's crush meant she was completely unguarded towards him. Once the information was at hand, it was simply a matter of constructing the right weapon, the right words aimed to hit each spot.
But how did he know that Jemima was going to be in the library that Saturday morning?
Yet that level of orchestration—as if Tom was the director to the cosmic play—wasn't possible barring an actual Imperius. That spell was too risky to use in Hogwarts if you were trying to lay low. Not to mention that Jemima didn't act anywhere like an Imperius'd witch. She was too emotional and erratic.
Hermione was left with the unsettled feeling that she was still missing something as she finished helping Nurse Edelstein and left the infirmary.
'-
The Ravenclaw witch did not exactly spend some time in the infirmary every day. It was closer to once every two or three days, though there were sometimes consecutive days if there was a good reason for it. It was thus sometime next week when the infirmary had what she considered as an interesting guest. Curly dark brown hair and from this distance she can already tell that his Slytherin tie was silk.
(All the times she spent with the Slytherin Germans and some of the French helped improve her sartorial observations).
"Evening, Melchior." Hermione greeted as she opened the infirmary door. His usually easy smile faltered a little once he realised who had opened the door, though his eyes did not lose their warmth.
"Evening—what are you doing here?"
He somehow managed not to drop the flowers he held even as his hands swung down awkwardly.
"I'm Nurse Edelstein's apprentice," she said plainly. She was even wearing one of the nurse aprons over her uniform. "Which is why I'm inviting you in even if you sound like you didn't want to see me here."
"I don't—that's not what I meant at all! I'm always pleased to see you." His earnestness meant that he wasn't even lying as he said it.
Nice save, she thought.
Melchior followed her in. He was far more dashing in his Hogwarts uniform than he had any right to (was that a pocket square?)
"Always pleased? You won't be when I'm banging on your door at midnight" Hermione's voice was dry.
"But I know you're considerate enough not to."
She huffed but said nothing. A second glance gave her more details; his uniform was far more finely tailored compared to the average student's. Hmm, almost to the level of evening wear this time. She had the odd feeling his current suit-and-robe wasn't one that he wore every day. Not that she could give a reasonable explanation why anyone might have wanted to own more than one type of school uniform, of all things
. She certainly didn't, but what did she know of pureblood habits?
"It doesn't really matter, considering that you're here with flowers for someone else." She answered reasonably.
"I was just passing by," he murmured. She eyed the yellow roses, some sort of lavender and other blossoms he had in disbelief. This shyness didn't seem like him much either, even if he was never as shameless as Abraxas.
As if.
Hermione stared at him, waiting for him to raise his gaze once more and meet hers. "No, you're not. Now, stop dawdling and come in."
She left the door open and walked back to the medical case that Maggie had handed her earlier, to gauge her skill level. Hermione recognised skittishness well enough by now; it was interesting to see which body languages humans shared with other creatures, a fascinating insight she hadn't expected to gain from taking Advanced Care of Magical Creatures. She knew that her personality was probably not soothing enough nor her words mellifluous to be able to persuade most people.
The best she could do would be to leave them alone undisturbed.
Her guess was correct—Melchior stepped in some time later when she'd started reading again for a while. She carefully kept her eyes on her scroll even as she tracked his movements across the hall from the corners of her eyes. She waited until the sound of his footsteps stopped before surreptitiously glancing up.
He'd stopped at Jemima's bed.
Melchior was looking around for an empty vase when Hermione had glided up next to him and offered one.
"Here."
"I'm just—"
She shook her head. "You don't owe me any explanations, Melchior. I think it's nice that you'd do this for a housemate. She doesn't get a lot of visitors."
Hermione had gone and stayed in the Nurse's office the last time Irwin Avery came around, because the first time he saw her, he paled, even when she didn't do anything much but catch up on her homework once she finished her inventory check (the place was blissfully quiet, something she could use). But other than him, Eugenie and a couple of others she didn't see anyone else.
The Ravenclaw was content to withdraw again. His presence here had added more puzzle pieces she was working in her head of Jemima Avery's Fall and she was content to simply mull over it again. She was rather surprised to hear that most Hogwarts students only knew her as 'suffering of shock of unspecified source', but she supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised. The prefects that she knew were professional, if not loyal to one of their own. Apparently, none of them had leaked any details of Jemima's breakdown. She also knew Lakshmi's love of secrets didn't mean she was going to pass them to anyone else—it was enough for her to smirk like a cat with a saucer full of cream at speculators and say nothing, coasting on the desperate curiosity of others while drawing out their suffering every time.
What did surprise her was how Melchior approached her just before he left.
"Are you alright?" He asked. She cocked her head, confused.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I mean, Jemima clearly has given you some trouble…"
Hermione couldn't help the grin, or the easy shake of her head even if such confidence might come across as cocky. Her competence had been bought with blood, tempered in her unending defence of her friends, even if she could not remember all of them.
"What? No, not at all. She's overpampered and overconfident. I just hope she wakes up soon before she misses too many classes. Not to mention that being unconscious for too long wouldn't have been good for her physical health."
"You…hope," he said, eyes wide.
"Of course, I do." She nodded, a crease appearing on her brow for a moment. "She's a patient like any other."
"She…she pushed you off those stairs! Right? Pendleton and Starkey eliminated practically everyone else from being the suspect, don't even try to deny it."
The vehemence in his tone surprised her. Since he had put it that way, she followed his request and didn't.
"Look, I can kick her backside the next time she tries to raise a finger against me," Hermione replied. "I was simply too careless then. She wouldn't have been able to do so if I was more careful."
He shook his head. "You…you don't actually consider her a threat, do you?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously? You have fought me, right?"
She knew she got him there once he shut his mouth wordlessly.
'-
Hermione found out that Melchior had actually encountered Eugenie on one of the times she wasn't temporarily manning the infirmary. Both her dormmate and Nurse Edelstein had told him that it would be good for Jemima to hear familiar voices, and he didn't consider it too much of a hardship to be in the infirmary once in a while when he was free to help with that.
"It's not that much of a bother," Melchior said.
Even when she had pulled a chair to sit next to his, which was next to Jemima's bed, she was biting her lip to stop any of her brash opinions from carelessly pouring out. She took her time to collect and form her thoughts properly before she spoke. This was not too hard to do since Melchior did not mind telling her more things about his routine or asking about her day—questions she can easily answer without second thought. He was, she found out, truly rather friendly.
"I'm still rather amazed," Hermione finally said. "That you're still sympathetic to her when you've made your opinion clear on how bad it was that she attacked me."
"We all make mistakes—it doesn't mean it can't be fixed. She can be too stubborn and blind to things she doesn't really want to see." He finally replied.
"In denial, you mean," was her dry retort.
A faint smile rose on his face and she knew he did not disagree with her. Still, he did not address her comment directly. "Yet she was able to see who Tom could be even when she's unaware that he's actually the Heir. I've heard her firmly defending him several times last year to her circle of acquaintance who didn't know him and thus doubted him. Tom wasn't even around to overhear that and she never mentioned it to him. It really wasn't a part of her efforts to persuade him."
That was unexpected. Melchior's expression was a little wry when he noticed her surprise.
"She could've been more, you know? If only she wasn't too enamoured of the 'ideal pureblood lady' life that she had stuck to in her mind that she could not see other alternatives. If only she didn't set her cap at Tom and would settle for no one else."
A part of Hermione was mildly embarrassed that she had never really thought much of Jemima. Though to be fair, why on earth did she want to think more of someone who'd pushed her over some stairs, anyway? She was only human.
However, the Ravenclaw could just let the Slytherin witch live and remake her life in peace after Tom's brutal deconstruction of her dreams.
"And you say I'm too kind." Hermione commented.
He rolled his eyes. "You are too forgiving. I just know her more than most and it annoys me to see her being foolish when she could be more than that. I'm just…impatient about her current stupidity."
Hermione had found her words by now as she stood up.
"Well, then it's a good thing you'd have plenty of opportunity to familiarise her with your voice. I think it's about time that she learns to tell the difference between your manner of speaking and Tom's, don't you think?"
She didn't turn around as Melchior sputtered, even if she couldn't help the amused smirk on her face (it wasn't as if he would see it). Hermione only raised a hand to wave away his protests, still not looking back and content to go back to her healing homework. For all of Melchior's supposedly-confused protests of how he has no idea of what she was talking about, she knew exactly why she did it. It was about the second grand Society meeting that she'd only belatedly noticed to have taken place on Samhain—she had a feeling that Tom knew exactly what the date was and did it on purpose. What she'd noted rather immediately was how she'd seen all the Knights helping out the day before.
All except Melchior.
Considering that Jemima went out to London to dance with 'Tom' was on that day, she could put two and two together. It was the most obvious of Jemima's assignations with not-Tom, true, but it had made her trace back her memories and see just when he was absent and how it lined up with Jemima's schedule that she'd gotten from Emma.
It reminded her of a curious experience she had during the Ministry dinner that was the botched Order of Merlin award ceremony. She'd been sure she saw Tom across the room before Abraxas called her name and then Tom appeared soon enough beside them. She'd thought herself to be mistaken then, but now she saw that a different conclusion was possible.
Come to think of it, she should've wondered about it earlier. Why would Tom easily give up the chance to talk (and schmooze) with people from well-known wizarding families? He might have tired of the adults' crass assumptions of him, but she doubted it would have stopped him. She'd never seen anyone else so driven to overcome the accident of his birth.
To abandon such opportunity did not sound like him. Unless…
Unless he knew there was already someone else to do it for him.
Slowly but certainly the pieces of knowledge fell into her hands. She could almost see the entire field of Tom's campaign now and the knowledge gave her an almost visceral sense of power before she caught herself. Was this how Tom felt all the time? Or even Dumbledore? No wonder the headmaster began to lose touch with the ordinary wizards and witches! To be able to work on the greater picture of the world exerted a mesmerising pull, especially for one who always hungered to change the world like she did.
The only thing that dampened her thoughts was the realisation that he hadn't told her of it at all.
And yet she'd only asked him for truth when they'd embarked on this unusual arrangement.
The thought created a hollowness in her chest, one that was starting to be filled with echoes of a myriad of doubts. Hermione could not shut their noises out even as she tried to calm herself.
'-
The last major knot bending Hermione's theory out of shape so far was how Tom knew Jemima was going to be in the library, going off to attack her. Her gut instinct suspected that Tom had a hand in it, but logic and her own mind demanded that she come up with an actual method instead of just 'feelings'. The how of it was something she hadn't managed to figure out yet.
The unsolved problem floated in the background of her school work, sometimes surfacing in the routine of the infirmary as her idle mind sought for something more substantial to chew on while she moved efficiently, almost automatically.
When Melchior visited the infirmary again, she was not surprised, though Gallus' company did. Melchior presented her with a smaller bouquet just then, 'for the dedicated lady healer' and her ironic curtsy was matched with a bow that was more genuine. Gallus also had a bouquet for her, and when she said that she wasn't getting the impression that he was here to visit the patient, he didn't deny it.
"I'm not. I'm here because I hear you're here." The Rosier heir said. "I'm sure you're bored enough that any company is welcome."
"But…why?"
Gallus' sly smile was his answer, as was his bow to her.
"We are friends, aren't we?" They were, but she felt that there were other things he hadn't mentioned still.
If Melchior stayed for a while, Gallus was more content to talk to her after a cursory visit to Jemima, and when they've exhausted their conversation topics, he easily took his leave and departed from the infirmary even while Melchior was still there.
Two days after that, she encountered Abraxas and Pendleton who greeted her with cheer and reserve, respectively. They were an interesting case for her to compare and contrast. Both blond wizards from old wizarding families with manners that were diametrical to each other that one never thought of them as related—like Achilles and Odysseus, perhaps? The latter blond came with a small bowl filled with…grapes?
"I was about to bring a fruit basket, but I remembered that Avery's mostly unconscious." Pendleton said, by way of explanation.
Hermione nodded slowly.
"It's no problem. I suppose I can feed them to her," the spider-silk tube that was the wizarding world's preference compared to IV drips came to mind. "But I don't think she'd realise the difference in what she's eating."
"It's the thought that counts." Pendleton said, unfazed.
"Can't we just have this conversation inside?" Abraxas griped. Hermione stepped aside easily. The Malfoy heir ignored the look that Pendleton was giving him as he gave her a charming smile and presented a bouquet to her with a flourish. "And how are you, Hermione? Is the current addition to your schedule not putting an undue burden you?"
"It may surprise some of you, but the Hogwarts infirmary cannot be compared to the A&E ward of St—Mungo's" Her answer was dry even as she accepted Abraxas' bouquet.
She'd almost said St. Barts there. Why did I almost say St. Barts? Hermione ignored yet another memory oddity of hers with the speed of one who had a lot of practise.
"Is it boring?" Abraxas asked, curiosity clear in the way his blond head turned this way and that as he took in the infirmary. Pendleton came in at a more sedate pace and taking a direct path towards Jemima's bed.
"Well, it can be. Luckily, I have my all my homework with me, so I can just get through them during the slow times. I still don't understand why all of you are bringing me flowers." Hermione was beginning to be a tad familiar with the spare vase cupboard here.
"Isn't it obvious? Because you deserve one. Beautiful flowers for the beautiful." Abraxas replied.
The brunette huffed as she took out a new vase. "Flattery won't get you anywhere."
They bantered for a while as Hermione casted Aguamenti and placed yet another bouquet into a vase, with Pendleton chiming in occasionally. Between the two of them, they had another bouquet, this time for Jemima, and she had prepared a second vase for it. When they had reached Jemima's bed, Hermione added the flowers among the bevy of best wishes and get-well-soon greetings from Jemima's friends (other Slytherins, mostly).
Pendleton's expression was more thoughtful than anything else as he watched the witch laying in repose. Abraxas seemed uncomfortable for some reason. His gaze flitted to the pale countenance once in a while, but fled just as rapidly to other places—the window, the larger side table Hermione had made by joining two smaller ones considering all the get-well cards, the edge of the blanket closest to him.
"So, is everyone going to make their way here?" Hermione broke the quiet first.
"Excuse me?" Pendleton asked.
"I've seen Melchior and Gallus, and now you two…is everyone else going to visit?"
"I don't know. Certainly not Ves,"
His answer intrigued her. "Why not?"
The pale grey eyes looked out towards the pale wintry sky for a moment before he met her gaze. "To say that Tom is disinclined to Jemima Avery is an understatement."
"That's like saying a volcano is a little hot," Abraxas muttered beside him. Pendleton continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.
"Ves is…let us just say that what Tom prefers, he would favour above many. What Tom disapproves, he will easily hate."
A disciple, Hermione thought, the realisation settling strangely into her mind.
"Would've called him a bootlicker if it wasn't for the hero-worship." Abraxas said again. "Tom actually said that it's not a bad idea to visit sick House mates, as Slytherins take care of each other and all. Guess what Ves said? Any Slytherin but her and her brother. Can we simply settle for 'tactless arse' as his nickname and be done with it?"
"Brax," Pendleton murmured.
"Right, sorry for the language, but I'm sure you get the sentiment."
"Yet you don't seem like you want to be here either." Hermione hit the opening the moment she saw it.
"I happen to like talking to you." Abraxas' grin wasn't as bright as his first, but it was no less genuine, and he easily ignored Pendleton's pointed throat-clearing. She glanced heavenward once.
"I wasn't talking about visiting me. I was talking about visiting Jemima."
Abraxas couldn't help glancing at the invalid for a fleeting tenth of a second. He rubbed his nose with a sigh. "You don't really beat around the bush, do you?"
"I'm just curious."
He shrugged. "I just don't like hospitals or anything close to it."
It was true, she could see his discomfort better now that he'd put it that way. Whether it was the only reason was something she could put aside for now.
"Well, are you both going to try talking to Jemima?"
"Why would we?" Abraxas asked flattering and brash at the same time. "Much better to talk to you."
"I would like to do so if it doesn't feel too much like monologuing." Pendleton said with a neutral shrug of 'what can you do?'
Hermione sighed. She did end up finding seats for all three of them and settled them all not far from Jemima. She supposed the sound of familiar voices from Slytherin House might help. There was no harm in trying, right? Getting some tea here wasn't difficult as there was a dedicated infirmary house elf ('Call me Heely, Miss!') and an assortment of cut fruit pieces (because she preferred to not serve cakes all the time).
Abraxas was somewhat curious on what being a Nurse's apprentice meant on top of her class schedule. The Ravenclaw didn't think it was that much of bother because she'd already mastered the basics. The presence of established standards to follow meant that Nurse Edelstein needed to go through some routine tests and exercises just to see how much she'd mastered, and even that was spread over days and weeks as they both had their own daily life to attend to.
It wasn't anything too trying for Hermione right now and she suspected that the first few months would be this easy as Maggie dotted her i's and crossed her t's when it comes to establishing the baseline of Hermione's healing knowledge. Even caring for the patients here were not difficult. Unlike the non-magical world, here, cleaning patients only took a wave of her wand. The only patients staying in the infirmary was Jemima and two first years who had an accident in Potions class this morning—she was positive they'd be able to be discharged at the end of the day, at the latest.
Hermione tried to distract the boys from being too stunned about her careless replies regarding her healing apprenticeship by asking questions back.
"So, what are you planning to do after Hogwarts?"
"After Hogwarts?"
"Yes? You know, career? Work? Go around the world, maybe?" She asked.
"Well, I'll be the Lord of Malfoy Manor anyway, why do I need to work?" Abraxas asked in puzzlement. It was met with a roll of eyes from Hermione and surprisingly to her, a huff from Pendleton.
"Look, we have our own Wizengamot seat to hold too! Going around the world sounds like a grand idea, though." Abraxas conceded.
"My family have our own estate and Wizengamot seat, and my father had still been an Auror Captain." Pendleton countered, holding his teacup and saucer with level ease.
"Yes, and your family had to entrust your vote to another family at least half the time because his 'job' takes so much of his time." Abraxas said.
"And yet we have read carefully and voted for all the Wizengamot Acts. I don't see why actual physical presence is always necessary." The paler blond said, undisturbed. "I'll probably enter the Auror Corps too."
"Your family is obsessed with the hunt." Abraxas retorted, fine brows furrowed.
"The hunt?" Hermione asked, her attention split between the two of them.
"The hunt." The Malfoy heir answered with a firm nod, fine long fingers and finer jet-black robes waving carelessly in emphasis. "No prey more challenging than humans, right?"
She hadn't expected Pendleton to flick an irritated glance towards his House mate before he closed his eyes and took a breath.
"It's not quite like that. But yes, a strong dislike for people who managed to escape from the consequences of their crimes is a family trait."
"I wouldn't really call it dislike for escapees. More like hate or obsession…" Abraxas began to murmur, but it faded into unclear mumblings as Pendleton's stare was aimed squarely at him.
She pretended she hadn't been listening to the fidgeting blond that carefully and simply sipped her tea. It was rather strange to realise that their black robes weren't the same black—Pendleton's shade was similar to Hermione's. She'd have thought it was black enough if she hadn't seen the intense black of Abraxas'. The brunette restrained a snort. Those pureblood families—even their uniforms seem designed to make a statement. Compared to Abraxas', theirs just look a little faded, or perhaps a more greyish sort of black.
"Personally, I enjoy untangling people's actions." Pendleton finally said to Hermione.
"His father brought him to work more than once before. Can you imagine that?" Abraxas said with slight disbelief.
"It had been enlightening," he countered, ash grey eyes already even once more, "to see the types of people who usually ran afoul of the law and to see him at work."
"I don't see what's interesting about all the hedge witches, petty counterfeiters and potion dealers," his Housemate grumbled. "Lowlife rabble, all of them. Once you've seen one thief, you've seen them all. The Wizengamot is where anything of importance in the wizarding world happens."
"And I don't see what's interesting about the gossips of people who feasts, fete and fall asleep with scarcely a change in their activities year by year, herded from one party to another by those they acclaim as 'most fashionable'. I've seen sheep with more interesting lives."
Pendleton's smile had a little more teeth this time. Abraxas' grin was just as sharp. Just when Hermione was getting concerned about the rising tension, they both broke into laughter, surprising her.
It was…it sounded as if it had been a well-trodden path.
Huh, she thought, relaxing once more. She had to admit that it was interesting to see where their natural tendencies lay, undoubtedly after years of patient teaching by both of their parents. The politician and the investigator.
For some reason it occurred to her that two minds are better than one. She would usually have brought the topic up with Harry, who usually had the bad luck of tripping over the schemes of yet another aspiring dark lord or lady, and had been an investigator in the Auror corps too (the details skittered away from her as she tried to grasp it, and she can't even remember how long Harry had been there).
She was still trying to solve the Fall of Jemima Avery. Since Pendleton was here, she might as well pick his brain a little.
"Pendleton," Hermione began. "Do you know how someone can find out the exact time an attacker will attack them?"
That line of questioning brought out Abraxas' curiosity, she could see. For all his expressive blue eyes filled with questions for her, he held himself well as he voiced none of his thoughts. Pendleton placed his teacup and saucer down to the table and laced his long fingers together, seemingly uncurious.
"An attack. Is the attack more like a brawl or a fight in an alley, or one where a politician is suddenly attacked by an assassin in a crowd?" Ah, he made a good point of differentiating them, she thought. Hermione found herself nodding once slowly in agreement with that division.
"If it was the first, then it would be rather predictable, in a way, isn't it? Is the victim one who drinks too much and easily picks fight? Or is he one with rivals who meets and argues with him often and took the argument too far, for example? The second is more difficult. How do you tell which one of these tens and hundreds of people, almost all who had no prior contact with the victim, would suddenly decide to harm him?" Pendleton asked.
"The second is like searching for a needle in a haystack," Abraxas mused.
"Precisely."
Hermione couldn't help her sigh. "I was thinking of the second, I'm afraid. Attack on a public figure in a public place…"
Pendleton shrugged, "that one is a difficult problem, Hermione. If you can help with that, I'm sure the Aurors guarding the Ministry of Magic would very much like to hear from you."
And that was the end of that thought. The conversation moved away to newer topics, such as the bands Abraxas had heard of in various London clubs. Pendleton did ask another question or two on the previous topic, one of them being him wondering what could have driven her interest that way. She redirected him easily by saying that of course she thought of it—it was hard not to when she'd encountered a muggle sniper during the Hogsmeade Crisis! He understood her impetus then and their conversation was of lighter concerns after that for a while before both wizards took their leave.
It was when they were gone and she was piling the tea set on a tray that Hermione mulled over it again. She realised that she had misrepresented her problem to Pendleton.
No, you're wrong, or at the very least not entirely correct. Jemima's attempt to attack her (before Tom verbally shredded the Slytherin witch) was in a public area, sure. Yet she wasn't an unknown, one person in the crowd, of which all have an equal probability of being the attacker. The probability that she will attack was not something that Hermione needed to calculate using a stochastic equation. It was not stochastic violence, where for a politician taking a stance on a controversial issue where there is a known violent movement against is, there is a non-zero probability in any public venue that an attacker will slip among the audience and try to attack the politician.
She was a known rival. The odds of Jemima attacking her was, frankly…approaching 100%, especially as the time interval the attack was projected to occur was stretched to include the entire academic year. The Ravenclaw couldn't imagine Jemima sitting still and being accepting as Tom slowly pulled his relationship with Hermione public.
It really was a matter of time.
Then, was it a matter of finding out Jemima's movements, and then figuring out when she would attack Hermione in that time? Hermione shook her head. No, she felt that she was still overly complicating this for some reason. She rubbed her temples. This really was more Harry's field than hers. It would be much easier if she could talk to him…
What would you do, Harry?
What would you do if you have an enemy you know is out to get you? And you don't know when their next attack would happen?
She had sat, cross-legged, on a chair she'd turned into a cosy armchair, trying to clear her mind of clutter, to calm herself and watch her breathing rise and fall evenly. It was something close to meditation. Don't force any memory, just do free associations.
She started with Avery, moved to 'possible threats', drifted to the half-formed memories she had of the investigations Harry and Ron did. Her last conversation with Pendleton and Abraxas still stayed with her. To go on hunts. Harry wouldn't have minded the term at all…
Her memories worked this time, or she just happened to not have lost this fragment among many others. She caught a glimpse of herself in a pub, Harry and Ron with her and Neville to her other side. There was even Luna on Neville's other side. Their faces were still unclear, and she couldn't get enough details about the pub to save her life, but their voices, the mannerisms, the hair colours…it couldn't have been anyone else.
Closing her eyes, she let the memory flow and just listened.
If you know someone's out to get you, then you better get them first, isn't it?
Harry, that was Harry. The messy black hair hadn't changed—she could still see its outline sticking up in places even with the blurred recollection.
"Why sit still like sitting duck? Why don't we bring the fight to them?" Harry said again.
"Seize the initiative—attack them first." Ron said from Harry's other side. "There's a good reason playing black gives you an edge."
A small smile graced her lips. Ah, Ron and his chess metaphors.
"But…but you still told them to sit tight…" Neville added, confusion clear in his voice.
Harry grinned, wide as the Cheshire cat and almost as weird as she couldn't exactly see the details of the rest of his face.
"Well, Neville, there are two ways to hunt. Do you know what they are?" He turned to her in the memory. "Don't help him, Hermione, I need to know how much everyone knows."
Hermione could feel herself closing her mouth and the fleeting memory-feel of annoyance. What annoyance? That, perversely, annoyed her present self. She didn't even have any idea of what her past-self was about to say.
"Um, you just go out into the forest and hunt?"
"That's the first, true. You go out to where your target is, to their home field, what Hermione would call their habitat, and you hunt for them. It would be a bit of a challenge since they generally have the home ground advantage."
"Oh, yeah. I wouldn't want to be in that position," Neville said, subdued.
"But there's still the second way," Luna added, her voice light.
"Aww, Luna, let me be the one to tell it!" Harry whined. It surprised her for a moment until she realised that Harry was probably letting off steam, because she knew he had to be the charismatic and responsible team leader for his Aurors. The only time he could relax was with his friends—with them. Ron was wisely not saying a word and simply signalling for another glass.
"Alright, go on, Harry." Luna replied with flourish.
"The second one is, you set a trap—"
Hermione's eyes opened immediately in shock. She knew how the entire conversation went. With that, she'd also figured out what Tom did.
"That—that schemer!"
She couldn't wait. She was going to get her hands on him and then—
Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She wasn't going to get angry with him and build herself up into a snit, perhaps piling one imaginary harm after another, when he wasn't even here to defend himself. She'd like to think that she wasn't the same Hermione who could go into spectacular rows with Ron—her attention to detail and bluntness coming together with his carelessness and conflict-avoidance hadn't been a good combination.
(She knew that much and it felt true in her gut, even if she could barely recall any memories about that relationship. (Perhaps not remembering the arguments and fights wasn't such a bad thing.))
Whatever was going to happen, they needed to talk. She found a spare scroll and penned a short missive after some thought.
When the sun goes down, you'll find me there,
Where three came together for a reason,
Yet two deceived one, new plans they wish done
To which I came later, a spectator
To a debt being repaid, of equal numbers fair.
They lines were serviceable instead of artistic and it was fine. It wasn't a great limerick. She didn't intend to write poetry in the first place, just enough to make it sound like an actual riddle instead of an outright description to distract possible snoopers.
She did not write her name, as usual. He would recognise her handwriting and her preferred ink colour. Not to mention that her handing it to Hattie to pass to him would be the most obvious sign of all.
'-
Hermione sat on a fallen log in the clearing at the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest. In front of her was a bluebell flame.
For all the flame's appearance of burning on a fallen branch, it had yet to turn it to ash. She was still channelling magic to power it. Not that it would be necessary for long, once the waxing moon had risen high enough (it would be full moon in several more days), but why take the risk now? Besides, the presence of fire was a good enough warning to the creatures of the forest to stay away from her.
Every once in a while, she would need to cast a warming charm on herself. Otherwise, her stay in the forest did not trouble her.
The sound of steps through the underbrush caught her attention, standing out from the background noises she'd gotten used to in her wait. It didn't take long for Tom to arrive, black robes fluttering behind him, dramatic in the half-light. He could pass for the main lead in an opera. She stood up, her lips twisted wryly—whether in a grimace or a grin, she didn't know.
"Tom." She said, trying to keep her voice even.
He noticed something, she knew, since he stood two steps away from her and no further. He cast Lumos twice, to fill two lantern balls that she'd seen him use earlier before he floated it in the air. The greenish and bluish lights gave them a ghostly cast to their pallor. For an instant, a morbid feeling overtook her.
Two ghosts clinging desperately to life—I suspect we're both dead in my timeline, fragments of old history. But you don't even know that, do you?
"Hermione. What seems to be the problem?" Tom's voice cut through her dark thoughts.
She shook away her doubts and went straight back to business.
"I needed answers about Jemima." Straight to the point and neutral. A good start, she told herself. Let's start from the simplest ones, shall we? She had a small note in the palm of her hand, with a list of the main points she wanted to get through.
"What are your questions?" He queried.
"Why did you destroy her?"
"I only told her the truth."
"You did give her the truth, sure," Hermione acknowledged, "but the way every statement of yours was a fatal hit to her sensibilities is either extremely lucky or extremely planned. I'd go with extremely well-planned."
"Perhaps I'm simply that good."
"Against Avery?" Hermione made a half-hearted chuckle in disbelief.
"Why not?"
"Why would you even practise disarming overpampered pureblood twits? Even if you only hit back with half of what you did, she'd still be emotionally scarred. To go to such ends is a waste of your talents. Ergo, you planned that one event." She raised her left hand in a careless wave to stop him from replying yet. "Or well, perhaps now you'll tell me that I'm only imagining things, but let me remind you that I don't accept being lied to. Whether it's simple avoidance or omittance, it would still make it not the entire truth."
Her voice hardened.
"Whatever your answer is, above all else, let it be true."
Even she could hear the tension the end. She bit her lip and looked down for a moment, gathering her calm around her once more. Yelling or accusing things was not going to get her answers nor would it solve any problem or mystery. She could see him carefully taking in the weight of her words, saw the tautness of his jaw as he realised that he'd walked into something more serious than he'd expected.
"The truth is, we checked my food before you did. I was dosed with Amortentia that has her as the target of affection." Tom said casually. "Did you know that?"
Her throat was a little less tight now. "I had suspected. I remember that Ves had Amortentia among the potions of his creations. I thought that you must have known who the culprit was even if you're not telling me, and that you were giving them a taste of their own medicine."
A corner of his lips rose.
"You noticed that." Now, it was the faintest of smiles, as elusive as the new moon and as striking. "Melchior didn't notice it at all. Well, he noticed it later, but it was too obvious by then—"
"—because you'd ordered him to be your double and feed Jemima's daydreams, whose grandeur is then magnified with the strength of the Amortentia."
"A perfectly poetic revenge." He finished.
Hermione nodded slowly, considering her possible words with care.
"I suppose."
"If I didn't do it, she would still be a bother for years, Hermione. Most Slytherins—or any other House, for that matter—don't consider it as something dangerous. Mostly, it's because people in general aren't that great a potioneer to make Amortentia that's too intense." He explained, giving more details than she'd expected.
"And I thought you said you didn't feel all that different on Amortentia or not. What I do know was that you didn't even care about your own poisoning." She pointed out, remembering full well his reaction.
"I didn't. Then I found out that the Amortentia was supposed to make me feel immensely attracted to her of all people. If I were to retaliate, it would be within my rights as the target."
Dark blue eyes met hers unwavering, and she knew he was right. It was how the laws of Slytherin House worked, and she had to fight the indignation that the current Hogwarts could not have stood up more for its students. His content expression told her how he was unaware of the thoughts churning in her head.
"It was such an excellent opportunity to remove a known pest. I took it."
Tom cast a warming charm over himself and then her. Hermione had been so intent on the conversation that she hadn't really noticed the goosebumps rising on her skin or the slight shiver that began to pass through her as her previous warming charm faded away. She murmured her thanks and he inclined his head in reply.
If only their entire partnership were as easy and straightforward as his courtesies to her.
"You hunted her down." She gave her conclusion first.
"I did." He did not deny. For all his flaws, he never outright lied to her.
"The sudden deluge of flower crowns from you was the trap set for Jemima, wasn't it?" She began again, looking at her boots, lit with the greenish light. "I was wondering that there was no particular occasion for them."
"But I do want to give them to you, Hermione. You're worth all of them."
Her chuckle was dry and she was still not looking up yet, couldn't look up yet even if her gaze flickered to his for a moment. She wished he did not look so at ease in her presence, that she couldn't even deny that he preferred her company above others. It would have made being angry with him easier.
"Perhaps you do. But you rarely do anything for just one or two reason, isn't it? You might be merely feeling sentimental, but it's more probable that you do and you were also looking for a way to pull her attention towards me at the same time."
She sighed. "The rumours of me about to gift you a flower crown of my own had circulated enough before I finished it."
"You made no secret of it," Tom pointed out.
She let out a short bark of laughter. "And you knew that, didn't you? That I wouldn't care for subterfuge. It was something you can expect, predict."
Tom's gaze was too calm, as if he had been a complete innocent.
"So, you planned all that and then executed it all the way to the end, and you didn't tell me."
Hermione knew her voice had changed entirely at the end of the sentence, but she didn't care.
'-
"Suddenly I'm not worth sharing plans with."
Her left hand swept out as she stared him down, her curls vivid and alive. Her gaze was intense even under the pale lights and the staticky haze of magic grew around her with her rising emotions. She was powerful, beautiful, his—now, if only she wasn't so coldly pissed off.
"I would have told you."
"Really?" She drawled, packing more sarcasm in one word than even Abraxas could.
"I know you'd find out in the end. To hide it from you is the height of idiocy, so why would I even try?"
"Yet I've only found out now—" Hermione stopped herself as her voice began to crack in the end, taking to just staring at him.
He paused too, finding the change unsettling. His Hermione was not one for histrionics.
"I was waiting for the entire plan to come to its conclusion before telling you," the admittance fell from his lips even if he would prefer that it never did. He was rationing his truths to bargain with, like a prehistoric man measuring his sacrifices to the Sea for the entire year. This one was simply one that he had to spend now.
"Ha."
"You would have thought the plan too unfeeling." He pointed out.
"It is too unfeeling!"
"An example had to be set for anyone thinking of doing the same thing. If I had been unfeeling, she would be dead or truly destroyed." It was most probable that he would only choose death. He had no need of a possible blood feud with the Averys by seeking her total destruction, even if he could. And so, he moderated himself.
"You—!"
"I had been thinking of you." The calm was starting to slip away from his voice and he clawed it back towards him with a sense of urgency rarely felt. The wind brought the faint scent of pine to him.
She snorted. "Not enough to actually tell me about it, apparently."
"Because I was afraid that you'll do…this."
Hermione's glare pinned him, as cold and raging as winter rapids in Scotland. Instantly, he knew he'd said the wrong thing.
"This is precisely because you didn't tell me!" She snapped. "What am I, Tom? Do you truly consider me your partner, or am I just another pretty doll by your side to distract the unknowing masses?"
"You're not a mere doll."
"Didn't you just move me in a way you wish me to move, without telling me why? Pulling my strings?"
That was a bolt of lightning out of the blue. He was surprised that she'd thought that way.
"I didn't—"
"You did. You did it when you goaded me into reciprocating your gifts, when you strongly suspected that she'd move with my movement. Then, you told me nothing of this, nothing when you've apparently set me to dance to your tune, for a plan of yours I don't know about."
The anger didn't scare him. He'd seen anger often in other people and he'd learned to deal with it. As she closed her eyes, her rage somehow half spent already—it was the closed-off distance in them that he didn't like. When her words were caught in her throat and her gaze was part regret. What he didn't want to see was if she was giving up completely (was she?)
He could hear the hurt in her voice and it vexed him that he knew not why.
"That's because she is nothing." He replied. "A technicality. A mere obstacle on the road to be cleared. Mere debris. I haven't exactly told you of all the details of all the arrangements I have in Slytherin, have I? And you have no issue with it as long as you know the broad outlines."
"This is the same thing." He emphasised.
The Forest was quiet, but he was not too concerned yet. Their presence and their agitation probably steered many of its denizens to avoid this corner.
They were going nowhere. But that's not true, is it? The thought crashed across in his mind like an incoming tide roused and fed by storm, battering all the smaller, feebler thoughts that stood in its way. She had no family here. Hermione could go anywhere.
"Are you leaving?"
The use of chains came to his mind before he dismissed them as silly. Firstly, it would certainly annoy her more than hold her back. Hermione was a powerful witch. Secondly, they wouldn't stop her—even taking her wand away was just going to drive her straight into wrath if she had to rely on blood magic to free herself (he knew several powerful wandless spells and he had no doubt she did too—none of his Knights were her match).
Yet his question seemed to call her back from the edge for a reason he didn't know. Hermione eyed him strangely. Perhaps it was the rising tone of his question. Tom cleared his throat instead.
"Leaving? Why would I leave? We're not even done talking." The brunette said.
"You're not going to go off to fight Grindelwald on your own in Europe right now?"
She frowned. "Don't be absurd."
Tom had no name for the passing light-headedness that came and went with her words, the feeling that his world had tilted so far that he had to scramble to find his balance again, and yet now it tilted upwards correctly. The sky was up and the earth was down once more, even if he had to reassert control over his limbs and knees. All things were as it should be. He hadn't realised he'd taken a careless step until she closed the distance and held his arm.
"Tom?"
Laughter bubbled from inside him, buoyant and free of the fears he'd just had and it was hard to hold it back. He was rubbing his face for a moment because he had no idea what expression he was wearing and he did not want to chase her off. When he looked up, Tom wondered how was it possible that for all her suspicions of him right now, she was also clearly concerned.
The Ravenclaw didn't stop him when he took the last half step to reach out and pull her into his arms. He leaned his forehead on her shoulder. The scent of roses and ink caught his nose, with something sweeter with a hint of lemon that was all her. In the strange calmness of his mind, what he should do next to earn her grace again rang clearly.
"I'm sorry. I just…I didn't know. I'm sorry."
As long as he lived and could remember, it was the first time he said the phrase and truly meant it instead of only half-heartedly saying it to get people to stop hassling him. It was true—he hadn't truly realised how important it was for her to be embedded deeply in his machinations, to know. Though considering that she was a Ravenclaw, it should have been obvious, shouldn't it? It should have been easy to guess that she preferred to have all knowledge no matter how discomfiting to none. He had been the fool here. With how tight he was holding her, he could feel her chest rose and fell with her sigh, her warmth and softness that was only his.
Hermione was still his. Everything else can be fixed. His plans for the future realigned itself ahead of him.
"You're not forgiven yet, you know?" She murmured, even as her arms slowly held him in return.
"I know. But I can work towards it as long as you're here."
"I can't stay if you don't give me your trust, and I won't stay if you play me like another puppet of yours again."
Tom wanted to disagree, that she was never a puppet and that he merely…nudged her the way he had always done to other people from time to time. And it was far, far milder than anyone else, but he knew she didn't want to hear that. He might not feel he did, but she certainly felt used. He wondered what sort of friends she had that a slight nudge was such a grave sin to her. Everyone does it to everyone else in Slytherin.
Now that he thought about it, her world was probably rather alien to him, wasn't it? What were her friendships like?
"Yes, I'm starting to realise that. You will know all the plans that involve you, I swear it."
His hands had started to stroke her back when he heard the slight waver in her voice. That reminded him that he was remiss with the warming charm for a while and so he casted it for them both. Hermione was so independent and self-contained that he forgot that she was still human, with human vulnerabilities. One of which he'd inadvertently stabbed. He winced.
He kissed a spot slightly below her jaw and felt her shiver in his embrace. Hermione hadn't tried moving away.
"You should've tried arguing to me about the necessity of bringing Jemima down first instead of going off like that. I'm not completely dense on how Slytherin works, you know?" She said again before sighing. "And as much as I don't like to admit it, I don't like Jemima. Never has."
"Of course."
"But just…don't treat me like another puppet again."
"Of course not, Hermione. Never again." It was not a difficult promise to make.
After a while, he let out a soft exhale and pulled back slightly, though his hand was still on her waist.
"So, do you have a three-hour slot in your schedule this week to sit down and talk about the existing alliances in Slytherin and beyond?"
He would never say it out loud on pain of torture, but her confused expression was adorable.
"What?"
"Three hours at the very least, thought I suppose we could push anything more to next week and December. You want to know everything, right? Just in case you thought that a coincidental meeting with some of them on one of our dates is something I manipulate instead of actual happenstance. How would you know to trust me when you don't know enough of my affairs?"
This time, the brunette was the one who slumped and leaned on his shoulder.
"Urgh, you have a point. We'll just…this Saturday, I think. I have enough homework to finish this week."
Her concerns were so mundane and yet he found them perfectly charming. If she could think about homework again, that meant there were no larger problems that she was putting her mind on solving.
"That reminds me, Melchior had managed to track down the parties involved with the Daily Prophet article."
"Which one?"
"The mess of counter-blame faulting anyone but Grindelwald? As if any other possible threat right now warrants as much attention."
Her expression cleared. "Ah! That one!"
Incredulity grew in his mind and he stared at her with a flat look.
"…you forgot, didn't you?"
"No, no. Of course not! It's just that there's this apprenticeship thing I had going and I'm already starting to look up the technical details of my Herbology final project. Not to mention I'm still debating as to whether to go with studying and actualising my animagus form or something else…"
Tom knew the left corner of his lips were twitching upwards, which was why her long sigh after she trailed away didn't surprise him. His left hand had drifted upwards without thought, sinking themselves into her curls and caressing her head.
"…alright, it's not at the top of my concerns, no."
"I'll take that as a yes."
The Slytherin was unaffected by her vexed look. "It was the work of Irwin Avery, in a misguided attempt to assist the Knights—well, me. Most of his arguments are courtesy of Gamp."
"Help you? Why on earth—"
"He was forwarding the cause of pureblood supremacy. I would gladly strike him yet again for this particular mistake of his." He simply watched the minute flickers of her expression. "Considering your general reluctance on delivering hurt, I suppose I can be forgiving this once. After all, he's still miserable about his sister's malady, isn't he? Last I heard, he had been losing enough sleep that his classes suffered."
There was a reluctant sigh from Hermione as she bumped her forehead lightly against his collarbone.
"Thank you for your restraint. And yes, that's pretty generous of you."
"You're welcome."
"It's going to take us a while, isn't it? To trust?" She wondered out loud.
Tom shrugged, unconcerned. "Nobody's worth trusting until they earn it. The point is, as long as you're here, any problem we have can be worked on."
That earned a huff from her, and half a wry chuckle, but he could almost hear the beginnings of a smile in her voice.
Carefully, Tom tipped her chin up, so their gazes met.
"Hermione,"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to seal our agreement and kiss you."
He thought he saw colour blooming over her cheekbones, which was odd because it wasn't as if they hadn't kissed before.
"…sure."
He leaned slowly, to give ample time for her to retreat, but she never did.
For a moment he remembered the time he kissed her in broad daylight in a Hogwarts corridor, at first mainly following his impulse to unsettle the strange yet annoyingly even-keeled transfer student. He was no longer thinking of that soon enough as she pulled him under, the connection between them unexpected and unmistakable.
Her mouth greeted his in a gentle welcome. He was not a wizard given to staying still, to simply be satisfied with a mediocre lot in life. It was in his nature to always be prepared, to run dozens of plans and keep a hundred more in reserve. For him, equilibrium lay in dynamic motion.
Yet in that still moment, in the growing night, there was nowhere else he'd rather be.
'-
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[2]
~ End of Second Arc – Opening Gambits ~
~ OG ~
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End Notes:
Additional Notes:
"She is simply of bad humour, Hermione": Is actually a literal translation of 'Elle est simplement de mauvaise humeur, Hermione' which is more aptly put in English as 'she's simply in a bad mood.' Based on my experience when you're speaking quickly in a language that you're not thinking in, some terms don't get parsed adequately and just get translated literally.
'-