Author's Note:

Second part of Moody's intermezzo! Wow, I'm apparently on a roll. Let's hope that this will last for at least another ten chapters. Thanks for everyone asking about how I'm doing. I'm doing well enough compared to most people, no worries on that front (I'm not short on cash and I can weather this whole isolation thing alright).

Happy Eid to anyone celebrating! Yeah, yeah, I'm late by a week. I usually perceive what holidays are close according to the mall decorations/ lanterns hanging/ people filling houses of worship and whatnot. It's no surprise that being stuck does not make me feel festive at all.

To bukspiks (I read that like 'book speaks', if you don't mind):Yeah, that was one of the reasons that I thought I can at least upload an intermezzo or two; I wasn't going to let the hiatus reach a one-year mark. I've got time to spare with the ongoing pandemic and social distancing measures. What excuse left do I have that could hold me back from writing after that? I really glad that the other supporting characters have apparently grown on you too. I'm always happy when the OCs and the entire cast get appreciated. That you consider this fic worthy of the title of #1 HP fanfic is a really flattering assessment—many thanks for that!

To Honey b33: Yeah, a Moody that is overly-trusting to people he'd just met simply isn't Moody imho. And yes, he does have a solid beginning with Hermione here.

To kaira-hime: It's good to be back too! Haha, reread at your leisure.

To Guest: Thanks!

'-

64 Intermezzo - Alastor Moody II

(See previous chapter's summary for summary)

'-

A week after what the papers had dubbed the Hogsmeade Crisis had Alastor Moody at the Ministry yet again, working on a Saturday and cursing at Minister Spencer-Moon for even bringing the foul Dementors into his workplace. He hoped at least one of the foul things would hang over his house during the night and give him nightmares to scream about. That would teach him.

He had resignedly accepted the responsibility from Director Bones to put out the fires caused by the Hogsmeade Crisis. To say that the public was not amused by two attacks on British soil within a week was putting it mildly. The Minister of Magic may have a cool professional relationship with the Chairman of the DMLE, but they still had professional respect for each other to ever stoop to muckraking. The newspapers on the other hand, were calling for blood.

Chairman Flint and Director Bones had to allow themselves to be interviewed to help calm and assure the nation. Not that he thought that their differing opinions on the matter of muggles and muggleborns helped much, but he caught himself hoping that the dense public would be as oblivious as they always are, and to continue missing the underlying tension and unsaid subtext between his two superiors.

"Since I'd be too occupied to handle all administrative concerns of the week, you'll be the one planning for our new exercises." the Director had outright told him. For all his friendly smile and light brown hair, there was still an intimidating presence about Amalric Bones.

"What about Captain Jones?" Moody had asked back. Asking about his captain was a valid question, as he hadn't expected such a responsibility to fall into his hands when Hypatia Jones was more experienced and had the seniority to boot.

(And yes, he wasn't looking forward to spending another Saturday at the office. Just because he liked his job did not mean he always wanted overtime. Sue him for trying to dodge that.)

"She'd be answering administrative and budgetary questions from the Wizengamot. Unless you're volunteering on changing places with her?" the Director's smile was flashing canines now.

He backtracked immediately at that. He'd rather walk to hell first. "Not at all, Sir."

So, it was reviewing the results of old training exercises, then, as well as planning for new ones on top of his day-to-day work. It was a pain to find the old results, as that had him tracking down archives and had him walking all over the place to chase and retrieve them, judiciously avoiding the lobby with their swarm of unholy presence all the time.

What he hadn't expected to see was strained-looking Tom Riddle stalking down one of the hallways, another student a little behind and to the side of him.

"Riddle—"

Alastor had only meant a light tap at the shoulder. He certainly didn't expect the student to draw his wand at him—not that it mattered much since his defensive reflex was fully triggered with the sudden movement and his wand was right against the younger wizard's ribcage.

"Tom, please. This is just a misunderstanding."

Alastor glanced to the side to see who had said that. He saw a familiar pale face under paler hair. "Ah, you're Old Pendleton's boy, aren't you?"

A short forbearing sigh was followed by a nod. Alastor saw that Riddle had only just realised who he was facing, for he drew his wand down immediately. Alastor followed suit.

"Apologies, I'm slightly high-strung today."

"You don't say," was his dry reply.

Riddle actually ran his hand through his hair once, his gaze unfocused at some distance over his shoulder instead of locked at Alastor, wand hand hanging at his side. The boy's distracted. He didn't even check whether Alastor had holstered his wand back (he hadn't—his arm was down, but his wand was still subtly aimed at the student).

"Why are you both even here?" Alastor grumbled.

"I'm here to retrieve Hermione because some stupid Auror kidnapped her." Riddle said with unexpected bite.

"What?" He found that hard to believe, but Riddle didn't strike him to be prone to flights of fancy or to make a foolishly blatant lie. There was more to this than it seemed.

"It was Orestes Blakeshaw, Mr. Moody."

It was Pendleton the Younger who answered. Riddle was occupied with muttering a spell under his breath and then holding the middle of his wand aloft as it spun like the needle of a compass. In his left hand was a bronze-and-blue tie—A Ravenclaw tie. Alastor could recognise a focus-based locator spell anywhere.

The Slytherin seemed to be seeking for Curie.

Merlin, it just had to be Blakeshaw. Blakeshaw who was a few more conspiracy theories away from going postal. The Director couldn't side-line him easily—he was from an old family and he had many family friends in the Ministry. Chairman Flint seemed to consider his mild paranoia to be 'a risk of the job' and that Blakeshaw can still do acceptable work as an Auror. Director Bones had placed him in the most mundane job he could think of, to check up on underage magic or follow-up on misbrewed domestic potions. And yet…

"You're going to need me to get her out."

Riddle's glance was a little too sceptical. Alastor scoffed at that.

"Oh, don't be an idiot, Riddle. You think you can get her out of anyplace you find her, and you might not even be wrong. But are you trying to get this little rescue of yours on front page news, or are you trying to do it as quietly as possible? Use your head." his voice was stern but not cruel.

"He's right, you know," Pendleton Jr. chimed in, his gaze fixed on his friend. It was intent and not a little worried.

"Alright. Lead the way, Mr. Moody." Riddle finally answered.

"That only makes sense if I cast the locator charm myself."

It was rather interesting to see Riddle's jaw muscle actually clenching at that—this was the most emotion he'd seen from him so far, and that was including the interview in Hogsmeade. Alastor hadn't even raised his hand yet, and the student had already tightened his grip on the Ravenclaw tie that he was holding, his expression complicated. Letting out an aggrieved curse, Alastor decided to just turn around and lead the way.

"Fine. Just tell me which way to go whenever we reach an intersection," the Auror said instead.

Merlin save me from lovestruck fools.

"I heard that," Riddle said not long after. Not that Alastor even cared.

The Auror thought he could hear Pendleton Jr. covering his chuckle with coughs, which prompted him to hide his own smirk. "Yes, but I'm not wrong, am I?"

He heard no answer to his question.

'-

Unease sat in his gut like a stone the moment he realised which corridor they were heading towards, as he met other staff that can confirm that they did saw an Auror with a student going in this direction a while ago. The discomfort was worse when he saw one of the hourglasses had just been turned and yet the door was open to an empty room.

Alastor had dragged the first uneasy-looking clerk that looked like he knew something and proceeded to grill him. What he heard didn't make him any happier.

"He did what?"

The junior clerk quailed under Moody's cold glare. "That's all I know! I'm just telling you what happened!"

"Tell me that she's at least at St. Mungo's," he ordered. Unsaid was the threat that he'd do something if it turned out that Hermione Curie wasn't immediately taken to a place that can give her medical treatment.

"Y-yes. Yes, she's definitely in St. Mungo's. I saw the whole ruckus."

Alastor stopped trying to shake the clerk by the lapels. Another week and the Auror Corps had dropped the ball yet again. It was starting to get on his nerves and he couldn't imagine the sort of mood Director Bones would be in after this.

"Riddle,"

"So, St, Mungo's, is it?" the dark-haired wizard asked, his head down.

Alastor took a deep breath, "I wish I could help you more, but if she's in St. Mungo's…"

"…then all I need to do is go straight there." he finished.

"Yes."

"Thanks all the same, Mr. Moody." The Hogwarts student finally met Alastor's gaze. For all his flat expression, the depths of his eyes were cold and brittle.

"No thanks necessary. S'not like I did much, did I?" was his gruff reply. "Good luck, boy."

Riddle's smile had only half the shine of his usual one before he set off with Pendleton Jr. again. It did not reach his eyes.

'-

It was yet another Saturday, this time in November, when Moody was waiting in St. Mungo's A&E with a large chunk of wood sticking through his right forearm like a bloated and unfashionable piercing. The smell of antiseptic and who-knows-what herbs met his nose and he did not feel any happier for it.

His mood might have been worse if he was still actively hurting. The ice covering said forearm numbed him to most sensations, and even when it didn't, he was a little too used to simply gritting his teeth and bearing it (not that he wouldn't get an earful from his captain if she noticed him doing that). He wanted to simply lean back against the wall and slump down into an undignified pile, but one of the junior Aurors insisted on accompanying him and now he had to sit properly. All this effort of being an exemplary Auror ("you're an example to them, Alastor") was starting to wear on his nerves.

"…Moody? Mr. Moody?"

Alastor tilted his head up slightly before his eyes widened in recognition. The thick brown curls, the confident way she stood and the sharp, intelligent gleam in her eyes that added up to someone that was not just merely pretty.

"Curie? What are you doing here?"

The corners of her lips twitched slightly as she broke into a friendlier grin. "I work here. Well, at weekends, anyway. It's part of my apprenticeship training."

"Apprenticeship?"

"Nursing, I think, though I'd like to actually finish being a field healer, but nursing is fine too." Her eyes had finally taken his entire being in and her brows creased in thought.

"What on earth happened to your arm?"

"Eh, you know how it goes. A house sometimes falls down on you," was his gruff answer.

"…Right." she drawled, nonplussed. It struck him then that her expression and Riddle's were similar when they were both being cynical. What an odd thing for them to share.

"It happens often enough in my line of work," he continued, unbothered.

"It doesn't not really. It's just that Mr. Moody is still faster than most of us that he got hurt ensuring that we all get to safety." The third voice pulled both of their attention away, and Alastor sighed as he remembered again that he didn't come here alone.

"Oh, how great of him," Curie commented. The gleam in her eyes told him that the young witch was now interested in the whole embarrassing farce. Alastor rubbed his face with his left hand.

"Brinley, this is Hermione Curie, Hogwarts student and nursing apprentice to Madam Álava,"

"To Nurse Edelstein, actually, she's the Hogwarts Head Nurse. It's because, as Madam Álava told me, I can't yet follow her everywhere, so on paper, I'm Maggie's apprentice." the young witch corrected him. He only stared at her with a dead-eyed expression as he waited for her to be done. It wasn't as if he even kept track of these society things much.

"Right. Curie, this is Idalia Brinley a junior Auror I've been working with."

"I'm still new to the unit. I would've been lost without Moody's help. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Curie." Brinley insisted, her smile still wide and sweet as she greeted Curie.

She was still so new that the Auror life seemed bright and promising, and just looking at her open expression made him feel jaded and old. No, you're not as much of a pain to work with than Jape, the reckless idiot that he is, Alastor thought to himself.

Curie shook Brinley's hands easily, without thought. Alastor noticed that she didn't even began the initial moves to a curtsy and her background flitted past him in that moment. (Orphan, presumably muggleborn or at most halfblood). She looked so at home in her apprentice nurse's uniform that he could easily believe that; Curie was clearly used to hard work. (Hands unashamed with callouses). She wasn't one of those overly-pampered pureblood princesses.

"Now, as much as I'd rather have met you at a time when no one's hurt, it seems like neither of us can ever help it. You look better than the last time I saw you, anyway." Alastor commented before the birds could get started on their chinwag.

Curie furrowed her brows. "When was the last time you saw me?"

"Here, around a month ago. Your beau was standing guard over your bed while Orpheus was wreaking havoc somewhere else. I only glanced from the door before moving on. That was a nasty Dementor drain that you got."

The certain blankness in her expression was the only sign of her remembrance. Curie shrugged the memory away soon enough as she focused back on him. He can almost feel Brinley's curious gaze on him too, but he knew that she was savvy enough to simply shut up for now and ask about it later.

"The marvels of modern medicine. Now, let's see what modern medicine can do for you. Follow me please."

The brunette witch led him into a ward, and to one of the empty beds, but he voted for just a chair, considering that this wasn't going to take long. He had tried scaring Brinley away with how gory the extraction was going to be, but she was determined to be there every step of the way. A bit of cajoling allowed him to extract Brinley's admission of guilt as she felt that she'd caused it.

"You didn't cause it. Jape was the one who started poking around without checking first, not you." Alastor snapped.

"I followed him in, though." Brinley spoke under her breath, head still bowed. Alastor groaned. Why was he always the one left to smack some sense into the new Aurors?

"If we're blamin' people for ensuring their partner doesn't go off alone, half of the Auror Corps are guilty of that shite. Might as well flame half of us down."

He'd realised a little too late what he'd just said, but the student seemed unconcerned. Well, maybe she didn't hear that.

"I bet you're going to drill them on how to explore abandoned buildings properly now," Curie unexpectedly spoke up as she defrosted his forearm.

"Oh, I will. Even if I have to shove Jape through fifty of them myself. Constant—"

"—Vigilance."

Now both Alastor and Brinley turned to the apprentice healer in surprise. There was an odd little smile on her face. "I do talk to Amelia and Daedalus, you know. They remember you."

He'd only remembered that Amalric Bones' children were still at Hogwarts right now, with vague memories of seeing younger versions of them following behind their father on some day or another before. They'd be around Curie's age now, wouldn't they? Alastor was barely paying attention to all the poking and prodding that Curie was doing.

"Wait, who healed this wound?" Curie sounded surprised. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. I'll just cut it open again to clean it. It's not that difficult. Next time anyone gets a dirty wound like this, just freeze it directly before you get to a healer. Healing the skin over before freezing it is just going to make our job difficult. Though I suppose freezing it is a good idea if you think there's a notable risk of poisoning."

"It's not supposed to be healed?"

"Not for dirty or poisoned wounds, no." Curie repeated, her voice somewhat distracted. Brinley, however, was starting to heap guilt on herself yet again. "Just freeze it."

"Oh, Moody, I'm sorry!"

Alastor let out an impatient sigh. "Stuff it, Brinley. I barely felt the difference—"

—then he had to stop himself right there and hold his breath because Curie had started slashing his arm open again without as much as a by-your-leave. The last thing Brinley needed was for him to yelp however accidentally. He can even feel some blood trickling now as the pain subsided again as he glanced sideways at the apprentice, stuck between peeved and disbelieving.

She really needs to work on her bedside manner.

"So, this might hurt a little, but I'm going to try to take that wood chunk out."

"Oh, so it's only going to hurt now?" his tone was sarcastic. Curie bit her lower lip in thought.

"Wait, I can get some salve that's a local anaesthetic. I'll be right back."

Well, at least she did remember this time.

"Is she…is she that Hermione Curie? Morgana's Mane, I wouldn't believe her to be still in Hogwarts if you didn't say so. She's still a bit on the short side, sure, but other than that…" Brinley spoke with a hushed voice.

"Yes, Brinley," even his voice sounded tired. "She's that Hermione Curie. The papers did say that she was a student."

"Do you think she'd want to join the Auror corps after graduation?" Brinley asked, her bright carrot top hair visible at the corner of his eyes.

Alastor didn't even bother to hide his laughter this time though he explained nothing.

Lass, if she was as canny as she seems, she'd fly a hundred leagues straight the other way. Why would someone who can be anything else would want to be an Auror was beyond him. There were many that would pay better and many a Ministry post she could take where she could go further.

"Well, I'll make the offer," he said out loud.

It was rather amusing to see Brinley's easy and visible brightening as she started chattering again, not that he was even paying attention at this point. Just because the offer is made is no guarantee that she'll accept it. But sod it, what did he even care about? It didn't make a difference to him either way, but he'll hold himself from ragging on it if Brinley was so enthusiastic about the prospect.

At the very least, it was going to be entertaining once she took it upon herself to expound on and on about Hermione to her other team members. As a senior Auror and general dogsbody of the director who'd been relegated to spending yet another Saturday in the office, he'd take any entertainment that he could get.

'-

Hermione Curie stood in St. Mungo's A&E ward on yet another Saturday. She was starting to feel thankful for her Saturday afternoon shifts schedule, as focusing on the patients certainly distracted her from overthinking her first blown out argument with Tom two days ago, their resolution on the same day notwithstanding.

The 'he lied' and 'Slytherins lie to each other often when you're not actually friends with them, and they consider that as not a problem' and other, similar arguments and counter-arguments kept popping in her head recently. 'He promised the truth' was soon met with 'he doesn't understand the full extent of that promise'.

Look, Tom had apologised and changed, she told herself, what with all the extra Knights/Slytherin meetings that he'd started to drag her into. It was a bit of a drag on her schedule, but she'd appreciated the effort; he certainly showed that he was serious in changing. Yet even with all that, her inner voices were still hashing out the old tired arguments in her head (ruminating). She was ruminating and even if she knew it was unproductive, a part of her brain still couldn't stop.

Her own brain was getting on her nerves. She knew at some level that fears are simply irrational, and when even reasonable arguments don't work, the next best thing to fix them was just time. Since they hadn't faded yet, distracting herself and drowning them out with work was a good alternative. The brunette rubbed her temples and walked out to check the waiting room.

"Was it another falling house this time?"

Her question was bland when she saw the familiar Auror figure in the waiting room again. He didn't look much injured this time, so she was probably wrong. Still, it was a fun question to ask and he probably had an interesting case that can distract her too.

Moody looked up the moment he heard her voice and shook his head.

"Of course not. Repeating that would be a boring experience." he answered, before pulling someone else's arm, to his left. "Now, Jape, show the nice nurse your damage."

"Are you even a nurse?" the younger wizard asked, sceptical. Before Hermione could answer, Moody had already swatted him at the back of his head. "Ow!"

"Don't be an arse, Jape, and stop sitting like a lump of mashed potatoes."

The young wizard turned to him, his smooth forehead creasing. "It's a good question, Moody! She doesn't look like she'd even graduated Hogwarts!"

"That's because she hasn't." Moody muttered.

"Then how do you know—"

"Hermione, this is Ivor Jape, Auror and current idiot of the day. Jape, this is Hermione Curie, who knows a lot more about fixing your burns and tying your entrails in knots than you do, Madam Álava said so. So, shut up and mind your manners lest she thinks you might be better off without a mouth. Merlin knows I do." he growled.

The Auror that she presumed to be his junior shrunk under his withering glare. Hermione was trying hard not to grin in the middle of Moody's rant. That would probably not help his junior's self-esteem at all.

"Right, so what's the problem this time? If you'll follow me…"

"Burns on his feet and leg." Moody's answer was brisk, as he helped the other Auror stand and yanked his arm none-too-gently over his shoulder. Hermione glanced back, trying to see the extent of it.

"You seem to be managing just fine, Mr. Jape."

"Well, it helps that it doesn't hurt." the younger Auror answered.

They walked through the doorway once more and Hermione went in the direction of an empty bed. Moody helped Jape climbed up to it. He was more than tall enough and strong enough to do so.

"We used up half of our stock of anaesthetic salve. Garthener was apoplectic about that too, but it can't be helped." Moody explained. "Garthener's our field healer."

"You have your own field healer? Why come here, then?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose as she took a nearby stool to observe Jape's legs and feet better.

"Because she knew that if we use up her stock, it's not going to be resupplied for weeks. While if she sends us here, we'll have to send the bill back up and someone's going to moan and groan about it, but it would be done in a wink. If there's any arguments about budgets later, it wouldn't be her problem," was Moody's dry-as-dust reply. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Ah, life in a bureaucracy. Can't say I disagree with her, though. It's a lot more important to have a properly stocked field healer's kit."

"You and me both." Moody said.

She turned her attention back to the smooth-faced Jape. "Now, let's see how bad this is underneath the clothing. What has been done already?"

Moody stood next to the bed, still within arm's reach of his junior. "Brinley's getting pretty handy with her water spells. Per Garthener's instruction, she doused him with Aguamenti for a while. No need to let his flesh cook much longer."

Jape rolled his eyes at that. He was actually a rather typical Auror—fighting fit with some muscles on him. Any chance of Hermione to even consider him as cute went down the drain with each of his new annoying behaviour.

"It would be nice if you don't talk like I'm a piece of ham, you know?" Jape said.

"It would be nice if you don't act like a piece of ham even on exercises, but we don't always get what we want." Moody remarked.

Hermione hid her snort in a cough.

"Alright, I'm going to start removing shoes and other parts of your clothing." she announced, picking up a scalpel from a nearby tray. Jape blanched.

"What are you doing?"

"Preparing to cut your clothing away."

"Why don't you just use a wand?"

"Do you want me to cut your feet along with your clothes?" her voice rose in disbelief as she cocked an eyebrow up. "I'll be using my wand when I can angle it to not hit your skin at all, but that's not applicable all the time."

Hermione was trying to understand Ivor Jape, she really did.

She knew it was probably a little frightening, and he might not have been so extensively wounded before that his nerves were frazzled, but his complaints were really getting to her. She pretended that she didn't see Moody grinning at his junior from his position by the bed, an expression closer to that of a mastiff about to attack a bear than anything friendly. Yet if she saw that now, she wasn't going to manage holding back her urge to snap at Jape to stop whining.

It was when the junior Auror yelped for the second time when she had unstuck a piece of his trousers that she stood up, deciding to go get more anaesthetic salve. A chuckling Moody that she passed on the way to the cupboard wasn't helping.

"I knew you would do that." he said, still chuckling as he went along with her. Hermione pressed her apprentice pin to the keyhole, unlocking it, and then pulled two bottles out of the cupboard. She then wrote down what she took on the ledger at the nearby table.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Start yanking on the poor boy's wounds."

"I don't yank." Hermione insisted as she greeted another passing nurse (Amanda) with a nod. The nurse eyed Moody speculatively, something he completely missed. A corner of Hermione's lips twitched upwards. It was odd realising just how young this Moody was compared to the one she knew.

"You did the same thing with my wound the last time around, start cutting it up without as much as a word of warning." Moody said.

"I didn't!" she insisted again, before wavering, "…did I?"

"You certainly did, lass."

She sighed as she made her way back to Jape's bed. "Damn, I knew I have to change my habits."

"Where did you get the habit of cutting people open willy-nilly, Curie?" Moody asked, with the half-question and half-order tone that brought memories back.

"When you're in the field and your friends are wounded. It doesn't matter if you don't have anaesthetic handy because fixing them up quickly is more important." The answer tumbled from her lips before she could think about it, it was more than she'd intended to share—she bit her lip. He just reminded her of the Moody she knew too much.

The unexpected quietness from Moody's side confirmed it. She avoided his gaze and just focused on Jape.

"Here, I come bearing anaesthetic salves."

"Oh, thank Merlin! I really could kiss you for this." Jape actually extended his arm towards her.

"Please don't," she replied drolly. "Now, let's apply this first before we continue…"

Moody's silent company after that and his unsaid understanding weighed heavier on her shoulders than further questions. She wondered what he was thinking. The Moody she knew had a tendency to see too much.

'-

Hermione was walking rather rapidly on foot around Hogwarts yet again, sighing for the umpteenth time as she tried to either find a convenient spot to sit and finish her report. She was writing the case highlights of yesterday's shift at St. Mungo's as part of her apprenticeship; the burns experienced by Moody's junior was mildly interesting. It was the same way that she'd done the week before (and she was morbidly curious whether Moody would come in again next week, escorting who knows what training accident this time). All in all, it wasn't going to be a long report and should be rather quick to write, but the words simply did not come to her easily in the library.

She had left the library precisely because she was feeling rather uninspired. For a Sunday, the place had been rather full—she went there a late breakfast and after she had meandered somewhat in her routes. The moment she stepped into the library, was taken aback. Sure, the current Hogwarts seemed to have more students than her time, but she hadn't realised how many! It was not just the group study tables that were approaching full, but also the individual tables. She hadn't managed to find an empty carrell either, even if she did not really look forward to being cooped up again in a small space.

The Ravenclaw wondered what had contributed to the difference in crowd until she realised that the end of term was approaching; Christmas was only a month away and before that would be the end of terms test. Some students had clearly decided to make some headway through their studying backlog, especially the upper year students with their advanced classes.

A glance out of the nearest window drew another sigh from her lips. Snow was falling in a steady drift and the entirety of the grounds that she could see was already covered in white. If it was any other season, she could be out there, sitting by the lake. Now, though? Now, she was stuck indoors like the rest of them and she found herself sympathising with members of the Ravenclaw quidditch team that she had heard griping that morning in the common room.

Her feet took a left turn at the next corridor while Hermione ignored the sound of grinding stone behind her that meant the corridor was shifting away. Sure enough, she saw a wide flight of stairs when she looked back, of checkered black and white marble and a rather recent, late 19th century light fixtures. It would be one of the stairs that can lead you to the Muggle Studies class, but she was not interested in checking it out now.

A long walk always helped clear her head.

It was another corridor and two more flight of stairs later that Hermione felt she was starting to get rather high up, based on how far the snow-covered forest looks from the windows she'd passed. Even the rather neglected Muggle Studies was not relegated to a corridor this high. Just when she was starting to muse about the need to start finding stairs that headed down, the bend before corridor in front of her had a 'Please Detour, Do Not Pass' sign painted on a board.

'Corridor in Use'.

Never one to let a head full of curiosity go to waste, Hermione did not detour at all. She pushed the board aside and raised the chains to pass underneath.

As she proceeded, it did not take long before the wooden floor changed into earth. A light dusting of snow alternated with yellowed grass. The scent of oak and something more fragrant caressed her senses. Wait, this is unfamiliar. What is it? Ah, cedar! That was it. It wasn't something she encountered often in Britain and that was why it took a while to identify. Lavender poked in through the snow intermittently with their fragrance also in the air at times, and she had to grin at this out-of-season detail.

She was at the beginning of an opening between denser lines of trees, a small clearing. The place certainly felt wider than any corridor had any right to be.

"Well, this terraforming feels familiar," she said, even if the terrain that was imitated this time was a different one.

"Hermione?"

To her surprise, it was Ceres who had greeted her. Her shoulder-length blonde hair swayed with her movement. She was wearing a khaki outfit that Hermione identified with safaris, unabashedly wearing trousers with only a light robe-coat over that, a Gryffindor prefect pin over her left lapel.

"How did you get here?" The blonde asked.

"On foot," Hermione gave her dry answer.

Ceres smiled. "I suppose that's true."

"What's all this?"

"Well…" her words trailed away and she looked down, on the grass and snow. "I wanted to blast Reducto indiscriminately in the Forbidden Forest—not just me, to be honest, Pip too. Yet Paul and Peter overheard us and came up with a better idea."

"Uh, what?"

She let out a soft exhale of breath. "It's a long story, you see…"

Hermione walked alongside the Gryffindor prefect, two pairs of booth crunching ice and drying grass as they made their way through the opened path. It was not a particularly happy story that she told, but as they met familiar figures at the end of their trek, its weight fell less heavily over them.

The particular details of this story will be told in another day. For now, suffice to say that at the end, as they bid their separate ways, Hermione felt a renewed sense of urgency to do something in the midst of both this muggle and magical war.

'-

Tom Riddle lingered near the infirmary door as Hermione did a routine check on Jemima.

Why Hermione had gotten so attached to Little Miss Waste of Space was something he'd given up on figuring out. He was more interested in figuring out who the other patients in the infirmary were. A young Gryffindor boy who seemed to have gotten in a flying class accident gazed up curiously at him. He gave an absentminded nod before moving away. It would seem that there was no one else apart from that student and the waste of space. How mundane, how uninteresting.

Perhaps this misplaced sympathy was a Healer thing rather than a Hermione thing. For one, he had eventually told Madam Edelstein about how Jemima was responsible for Hermione's fall down a flight of stairs, which was why he had no qualms rejecting her affection harshly (that was the only guilt he admitted to, then). Yet as conflicted as the Nurse seemed, she still felt bad for the Slytherin. Not that different from Hermione.

"Done yet?" Tom asked once Hermione was heading his way.

"Of course." And that was that.

They were finding their way around each other better every day. He'd stopped asking why she had to care so much even for someone as annoying as Jemima and she stopped going on and on about how it's the humane thing to do, and one of the traits that set humanity apart from earlier hominins were the ability to cooperate and create society, to contribute to advancing a common good instead of merely focused on individual survival. This was how civilisations grow.

The last time around, he'd argued back that isn't one of the benefits of being a social creature being the ability to actually exile the unwanted elements from said society? Why would anyone want to continuously contribute to a society that doesn't expel the leeches and those who obstruct other members? The right way to treat a parasite is to cut them out and burn them. That would certainly ensure that they're no longer a danger to you or your society. Even the Romans have damnatio memoriae. He can remember at least that much from the private Latin and history lessons he'd attended with Abraxas, Melchior or Gallus over several summers.

This was probably one of those things that they were just going to have to agree to disagree about.

It was also around this point that Tom figured out that he should be rather thankful that they'd comfortably figured out sex between them, and that Hermione was nowhere near missish or wracked with some sort of guilt about it. Otherwise, they wouldn't have finally understood that they'd probably never see eye-to-eye about this without another fight.

He was still not in the mood to get into another big fight with Hermione after their last blown up argument when she took issue with how he baited Jemima Avery without informing her. He didn't think she'd take the suggestion to request Jemima to be moved to St. Mungo's well, never mind that she'd already done two shifts at the hospital by now and that another one was coming up in two days. The pureblood witch didn't deserve her mercy, not for her crimes. For the time being, sex was a much better method of letting the steam out while they hash out some form of conflict resolution.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked from his left.

He'd realised that he hadn't said a word as they strolled away from the infirmary for a little while.

"Nothing important."

"Really?"

"Well, argumentative sex is actually pretty great." he replied. She huffed and rubbed her forehead at that, and he thought there was some colour up to her ears, but Tom was undeterred. "It's not like there's anyone else who's listening, Hermione, and you did ask."

"Yeah. I'll just pretend I didn't, then." Hermione muttered. They went down a circular stair, arms still linked.

"What's the hurry?" he asked.

"What hurry?"

"You usually hover around the infirmary longer than that. Ergo, you have something else you wanted to do or discuss today." Tom stated. In the last week or so, he waited for five minutes before going off, and when he went back some twenty minutes or half an hour later, she would still be there.

"The Society, actually. We know that Bernadotte had coordinated things with his family, and so had Von Moritz. We still don't have someone to help us liaise with the Ministry, though."

"Ah, so that's it."

"Yes. Which reminds me…"

Hermione was biting her lips in thought. The way her lips reddened would've been an interesting distraction if he didn't already have this discomfort in his gut. He had a feeling that she was considering something he would not be enthusiastic about.

"Yes?" Tom prompted.

"What about Alastor Moody, the Auror?"

'-

It was a good thing that they waited until they were already up in an unused classroom in the Astronomy Tower once more. It was slightly inconvenient, considering how he figured that Hermione did not seem to have much of a sense of self-preservation here, but he thought she was better now. Well, and that he wasn't about to let her stand anywhere near the edge.

Tom felt the first twinges of the possibility of a headache, a phantom echo. "Moody? Of all the people…"

"He's dependable and responsible," she started.

"Dumbledore is dependable and responsible." he countered.

"Well, Moody's not dead convinced that you're going to be the next dark lord of the British Isles, so he's ahead of Dumbledore here." She deadpanned. Tom pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He's an Auror, which means that I can't imagine he'll be fine with some of the historical spells we chose to study and use."

"You'd be surprised," she murmured. She said, in a louder voice, "We're not trying to get him to be the teacher of a duelling club. We're not going to spend a lot of time with him while casting offensive spells. It won't be an issue."

"I know that this may not cross your mind, but he doesn't exactly trust me." Tom's reply was dry.

"Newsflash Tom, he probably doesn't trust anybody."

"Why would that make him be the best choice you can think of?"

She took a deep breath, thinking through it. "Because Director Amalric Bones respects him and considers him a promising young Auror. I've talked to Amelia about him because I wanted to dig into his background, and what her father thought of him. He's even rather good friends with Dumbledore, from what I've heard."

"It's not going to make Dumbledore trust me," he pointed out.

"Oh, believe me, I've stopped trying to do that now. I'm fine if he was simply to become a little less wary." Her words demonstrated just how realistic she was being now.

Hermione seemed to be unfazed by his concerns, confident that they could be worked on. He was unsure whether this was merely her optimism or if it was based on something else, a deeper knowledge she had yet to mention. Her confidence was a hint, really. He leaned back against the nearest desk. Hermione had actually sat up on one not far across him, her legs dangling down in their knee-length socks and boots not covered by her robe.

He forced his own gaze back to her face. "Did you see him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Alastor Moody. Did you see him in your dreams of future? What did you see him as?"

He could see the flicker of recognition in her eyes and waited for her words even when he was almost certain of what her answer would be. Waiting was an art, really, and one he was always practising and perfecting. A voluntary surrender was sweeter than manually putting words into other people's mouths, not to mention that the latter usually generated some resentment.

"…maybe." Her gaze wandered to her hands clasped on her lap and fiddling with her wand.

"What do you see?"

She raised her head to meet his gaze before answering.

"That he's not one for betrayal. The only time people thought he acted suspiciously turned out to be due to Polyjuice Potion. It wasn't him at all. Then again, he was more than a touch paranoid and he'd…" she took a deep breath. "…he'd seen too many of his friends, colleagues and juniors die. That would've left a mark even on the strongest of men."

Hermione wasn't lying about this; her brown eyes were warm and open. He could see that.

"If you didn't attack him first, if you didn't go insane and attack other people first…if you still stayed your course, he would not suspect you as excessively as Dumbledore would."

The cool wind blew in from the open balconies. Hermione merely tightened her robes. Tom glanced out towards the horizon, watching the lake and the mountains beyond that and the dark forest covering everywhere else in between. Half the trees seemed aflame with their reddened leaves while the other half were evergreens. A silent vista seemed to lay below both of them, far above the world.

"Well, he's a Housemate, so at least he has that edge over Dumbledore." Tom mused.

"He's a Slytherin?"

He did not mistake the surprise in her voice and his lips lifted up at one corner.

"What, you didn't know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not at all."

"Ah, your visions aren't perfect after all." For some reason, he found this amusing. She only shrugged.

"I didn't say they are. They're fragments. Most of the time, they're enough, though."

Tom stood up from the table he had been leaning against, offering her his hand. She took it within a moment and pulled herself up while gripping his hand as an anchor.

"Let's table this until we've found several other candidates to compare, then." he said.

"I'm not sure I have anyone else right now, but alright. What deadline should we set for the decision? Monday? We can't draw this out for too long, the Search has started already."

"We'll decide this Tuesday."

'-

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End Notes:

Some notes on narrative flows from the author:

As for Hermione's meeting with Ceres, I'll put the full story together in a chapter that does deal with the wider issues faced in that segment. I just thought that putting the beginning here would provide better context of the timing for most people. Heaven knows that the Intermezzo already involved scenes with time that's non-concurrent with the primary narrative, but I don't think I can force the story to be strictly chronological either since that would take the readers all over the place and over Hermione (and Tom's) various projects.

Everyone knows the two main characters have around half a dozen projects going on at any one time, right? One of the downsides of actually having genius-level overachievers as the main character. You either have to be highly organised, with a planner at hand to keep track of all of that, or have an eidetic memory. That's a bit too much and probably not most people's idea of fun, so I thought it would be easier to make sense of all the things occurring if I (generally) group it according to idea or the main people or project involved. I usually do try to leave some hints as to when something is happening, but they might be a bit too subtle or is pretty taxing to keep track of when this story is pretty bloody dense in details.

I suppose I can give up and just put a date at the top of every scene and then just write scenes as I wish to, going back and forth in the timeline as I wanted, but I doubt you really want me to take that approach. That's putting a lot of the work of putting the jigsaw pieces on the reader. People are going to kill me for that.

'-

List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:

Damnatio Memoriae: (Latin, History) Actually a modern Latin phrase meaning 'condemnation of memory', in which a person is erased from official accounts and other efforts to scrub their existence away. Note that it's not something easy to do, to try to completely erase people from history. The Roman's efforts at it may be what gave rise to the term as it is used in Europe, but other civilisations have been doing that for a while too. In Ancient Egypt, the records of the woman pharaoh Hathepsut were also tried to be erased by at least one of her succeeding pharaohs.

'-

Additional Notes:

Alastor Moody: A young Auror from the DMLE who had started to make a name for himself as a shrewd and sharp-tongued investigator, he is the first to arrive in Hogsmeade after the attack there took place. He is also the Auror who had taken most of the witness statements in that event, including Hermione and Tom's statements. He has yet to lose one of his eyes. Grouchiness is his default state. He is in the unit lead by Captain Hypatia Jones, and like everyone else in the Auror Corps, is under Director Amalric Bones.

'-