Author's Note:
Not feeling too bad about this chapter and the next, a nice change of pace. This should've been up last week, but I was still sanding down the edges, so I didn't think it was worth uploading yet as I keep editing and writing on. The next chapter's 92% done too because of that, which is why the next update is planned for next week. I'm doing my best to get through my backlog of comments/reviews due to real life running away from me like wild horses (for the ones I can easily click 'reply to review' anyway).
Got a throat infection, but it's mild/I'm still at subfebrile temp anyway. Feels like my body's fighting it off just fine, except that I feel like eating a lot and sleeping a lot regardless how weird the schedule is. I'm struggling against sleepiness even now. I'll just update this before I give up the fight and sleep again.
'-
67 Flavours of Guilt and Forgetting
Invitations from Tom. An unexpected acquaintance last seen in the future. A dance. In which Hermione notices something she thought she should've sooner. Hermione attends a meeting with the Knights for the first time. On the subject of the Slytherin prefect pro tempore.
'-
Hermione would like to say that she had been reading, but in the last ten minutes, she was more distracted watching the snow slowly fall outside the window than reading the book she was holding.
She thought she'd enjoy her Sunday break, the occasional weekend where she didn't have to be at St. Mungo's. Apparently, her mind does not always appreciate the stillness well.
The forest and Hogwarts' grounds looked almost peaceful underneath the freshly fallen snow shrouding the land, soundless and still; Winter was undoubtedly here and making the world her kingdom. Hermione's meeting with Emma this morning had been interesting enough and had given her food for thoughts, even if not results would be obvious for a while yet.
The seasonal snow made her wonder, though, if the world would not somehow always find its way into the future. One can barely see the marks that humanity left on the landscape. Such landscape of endless white was similar to the world that sabre-toothed cats roamed over during the last ice age. What does the earth care for humans? We are not the first apex species and we won't be the last. Why does she put so much effort to reverse a magical world that seemed intent on self-imploding across several generations?
One cheerful Hattie Perks excitedly bounding up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower dorms pulled her out of her more morbid thoughts. Hermione herself couldn't quite imagine how one has the energy to run uphill for more than one flight of stairs.
"Hermione, Hermioneeeee!"
The door opened with enough force to whack anyone who'd been standing behind it. Luckily, Hattie had been loud enough that it would've been enough of a warning for anyone in the room. Light brown wavy hair streamed behind the miniature hurricane in the form of a young girl.
"First knock, then enter, Hattie." Hermione reminded her. Blackbeard raised his head to peek at the noise that had disturbed his sleep. Scherezade, Lakshmi's long-limbed kneazle let out a low growl of warning before she rolled over to continue her sleep, lilac ears twitching in annoyance.
"Yes, yes, I'll remember," the first-year said in a rush. "Look what I have! I don't recognise the Slytherin that passed me the message, but I think this is from Tom."
"Mmm, thank you."
Hermione took the scroll from her small hand before retrieving an assortment of Honeydukes candies from a nearby drawer. Hattie wavered among the meringues, caramels, chocolates and candied fruits. She finally settled on two Summer-Day flavoured meringues (one was the orange-gold-yellow of 'Sunset Sunburst' and the other was the shades of light blue 'Windy Wednesday').
Hattie immediately opened the wrapping of the bluish one and popped it into her mouth. Instead of leaving, she climbed up the foot of the bed, right across from Hermione's stockinged feet.
"So?"
"So?" Hermione asked back.
"What does it say?"
The brunette raised her eyebrow. "I don't think a messenger is supposed to be nosy."
"I wouldn't to anyone else, but come on, I want to know too…" Hattie wheedled.
She snorted. "It's probably just another meeting. Now, how far has your Potion class progressed?"
Hermione pushed her book aside. Hattie froze for a moment before mumbling something about how newt and frogs are surprisingly touchy ingredients when they meet each other, before she scrambled down the bed again.
"I thought you had some problem with some of your previous brews?" the fifth-year asked.
"I can work on it with my friends!"
It was with some amusement that Hermione watched the first-year steadily making her way towards the door before she waved her goodbye and dashed out again. Funny how the first hint of studying gets most children to run. She didn't think Tom wrote anything secret, she simply had become too used to not sharing any of her papers unless it had been planned beforehand or if it was necessary. It was a habit she acquired as an Unspeakable, working with documents with various degrees of classifications.
If Hattie had been a little more stubborn, she would've relented in the end anyway. It's simply too bad that she'd left already. Hermione unsealed the small scroll and scanned the message within.
Ah, a meeting. Exactly as I thought.
The dress code was something fit for a dinner with friends…which, if her skills in parsing social etiquette of the era was right, meant a day dress, sans gloves. She was sure that it would be something that's probably overkill for a mere eating out with friends in the 21st century, but she'd come to terms with the fact that she wasn't in her own time. It was why that she relented to her dormmates insistence on helping her fill out her wardrobe last week. It was how she ended up buying several ready-to-wear dresses and even visited a seamstress of all things, in Diagon Alley.
The establishment didn't even look like one from the outside, and one glance at Lucretia had the shop girls being all polite and helpful—she was a well-recognised patron, Hermione supposed. Lakshmi nodded in agreement with Lucretia's choice and declared that it was a pretty affordable place. Hermione doubted that when she couldn't even see a single price tag displayed anywhere. That was not the sign of any place affordable, and Eugenie's wide-eyed interests at the fabrics shown was also another clue.
That was when she held her forehead, took a deep breath, and came to terms with the sort of outfits needed for various outings and engagements of pureblood standard. I'll just consider this an expense for social costume and acquiring plumage of appropriate colour and flashiness to blend in with the flock. It was easier thinking of it in terms of biological camouflage like a leopard's spots…or for purposes of intimidation and fighting one's way up the social ladder like the flashy feathers of various birds of paradise.
She bought pieces of outfit that was a multiple of five; it would be easier to spread the bills among the five Knights that she'd considered to be Tom's inner circle and let that be done with.
'-
Hermione was only slightly surprised when one of the younger years (not Hattie) carried a message that Tom Riddle was waiting for her. The message runner then ran down again in no time as Hermione picked up a small satchel to carry with her. She'd changed for a while now, merely waiting for the time to leave. Her dress was well-fitted for her in navy blue and she had a half-cape of grey with green floral pattern worn over it. She picked a silver owl brooch to complete it.
Really, if the old Hermione saw the outfit, she'd do a double take. It had an understated elegance that if one were to add a pair of gloves, it would be good enough to attend Sunday church…if it happened to be in Westminster Abbey, on Easter, three rows behind the King.
The dress and half-cape was one of the things she bought last week and it hadn't been anything expensive—she'd always kept an eye on the price. It didn't matter if she was billing the results to some of the Knights (that middle-class habit was one she felt was good to keep). As Daphne would say, though, style is a matter of taste, not merely purse strings; and Daphne had passed on a lot on that front to Hermione. Given enough time and incentive, Hermione could wrack her brains enough to channel that.
Eugenie's surprise, the amazed look that Lakshmi gave her and Lucretia's raised eyebrows were on the unexpected side.
"That's actually an excellent outfit," Lakshmi murmured. "And so is the one before that, and that one."
"Isn't that the purpose of this whole endeavour?" Hermione asked as she made an encompassing gesture with an arm, "So that I have enough dresses for a variety of occasions, from the casual to the formal?"
"Yes, but I didn't think that the woman who wore pyjamas with doodles of cats, deranged fruits and orange fur slippers actually had good taste," Lakshmi retorted.
Eugenie winced a little, while Lucretia nodded calmly.
"It does seem that your taste is more…subdued than what can be expected from your sleepwear preferences."
It wasn't her fault that not many people can appreciate Hello Kitty right now, or Bananas in Pyjamas. She had no regrets in adding a variety of odd, cheerful prints to several of her pyjamas once she had figured out the right printing/fabric pattern spell to use and its requirements. Drawing the patterns out on paper first ensured that she'd visualise it perfectly; having fabric ink at hand meant that the patterns would be permanent than temporary.
It might seem so silly (and perhaps that was true), but it was also a piece of her old life that she could reclaim. The nostalgia and the attendant foolishness were oddly comforting. Her slippers, for that matter, was the same colour as Crookshanks' fur.
Now, she knew that she was the farthest thing from that as she crossed the common room. A few of the younger students stared at her in a mix of awe and something that seemed a little too close to hero worship. There were a few older students that she didn't recognise, whispering among themselves while occasionally glancing her way, but none of them even attempted to approach her.
…actually, one of the students casually lounging around on one of the floor pillows scrabbled away from her, even when she fully intended on going around the Persian carpet areas.
"Excuse me. Really, no need to get up at all…"
I hope Tom didn't come up with yet another outlandish article somewhere, she thought with a sense of resignation.
Then again, that might just be Blackbeard prowling in front of her like a half-size shaggy panther. If it had been any other season, she would've walked the grounds with him on every Sunday, and even explore the Forbidden Forest a little. In Winter, though? The falling snow made that a challenge than anything. She'd have to settle with simply going around Hogwarts and this meeting provided an excellent opportunity for that.
The interlocked door of the Ravenclaw common room opened from the inside with a touch, the sound of stones grinding could be heard as the two halves slid apart. She found Tom leaning against the wall when she stepped out, as fashionably carefree as a young lord in parliament.
Moss green coat and robe that fit him like a glove, a dove grey waistcoat and a splash of yellow for his boutonniere. The reason why she recognised it was because he'd given her bouquets with that flower before. Bird's-foot Trefoil. The meaning wasn't something she remembered in particular, though, and she dismissed the thought easily.
"Hermione." His smile lit his face like the sun. "You look wonderful."
"Thank you, Tom."
She could only meet his eyes head on for three seconds before she had to look away. Sure, she could choose to not look away…and then her face would look like it was competing for 'ripest tomato of the year' award. She had no idea why his appearance was particularly blinding this afternoon.
"No comments on how I turn out today?"
"You don't exactly need little old me to sing your praises, do you? From how you're turned out, I'm sure you've heard a multitude from your Housemates just before you leave. One more compliment your way and one would be fooled into thinking that a choir of angels was about to start an aria right behind you." Yes, that was snippier than was warranted, but she really hated being distracted.
Even a glance was enough for her to notice the way the passing witches turned their heads to stare at him (and the occasional wizard). One or two Ravenclaws who were returning to the tower also sent Hermione looks of envy. She wasn't the most perceptive among her friends, but Merlin's sake, she wasn't blind.
"A choir of angels, Hermione?" The corners of his lips turned up slightly. "That is most flattering."
A Ravenclaw witch had actually came to a stop as she exited the Tower, too dazed by Tom's presence. It didn't help that the bespectacled witch seemed to have absentmindedly nodded at that.
"Head of the choir, Morningstar," she breathed out.
Hermione wanted to thump her head on the nearest wall and held back the urge, barely, and channelled it into a groan. Tom is going to be even more insufferable now.
His lips twitched and she knew he was holding back the urge to actually smirk, even if the shift in the way he stood was a subtle way of preening. He still managed a tone of politeness, somehow, his smile was still as carefree and charismatic as the devil.
"Thank you, Miss Warren, for your compliment. That is the most flattering thing I've heard of my appearance."
The other student squeaked when she realised what she'd just said, her cheeks now a ruddy colour. Her clothing was rather drab in colour, and even her vivid red sweater under her robes seemed ill-fitting while her large glasses drooped slightly over her nose; Hermione felt a pang of sympathy.
"Off to the library, now?" Tom asked, apparently making conversation.
"Library, yes! Homework to do." Warren babbled.
"It's always a good idea to do homework early than to rush it near the end, isn't it?"
"Absolutely," it was a mix between a word and a sigh.
Hermione winced a little at the second-hand embarrassment. Whatever she was feeling, she knew the other witch felt worse considering her face was fully red by now.
"Well, I hope you have a good time in the library," Hermione replied, hoping that by giving another person that's not Tom to focus on, she could help Warren with her composure.
"Um, yes. You too, Curie. I'll just…goofffornow, bye!"
With a last garbled goodbye, the bespectacled Ravenclaw fled from the vicinity of the doorway. As she disappeared at hallway's turn, Tom broke out into a chuckle.
"Merlin, Morgana, Mnemosyne! That was awful of you, Tom!" Hermione slapped his arm, and as it was nothing serious, he easily ignored it. He linked her arm with his instead.
"What are you saying, Hermione? I was merely greeting a classmate. It would be rather impolite of me if I didn't."
"Yet trapping her into a prolonged dialogue was completely unnecessary." Hermione said this with a sigh. "She seems like she had a crush on you."
"Really? I wouldn't know."
She raised her eyebrow at him but said nothing because his self-satisfied tone was all the answer she needed.
"I'm sure you're just too polite to point it out," the brunette answered instead. "Which would've been nice if you hadn't toyed with her."
"It was mere small talk, Hermione."
She snorted. "I'm sure it was."
They had only moved a couple of steps from where they'd stood initially. She'd noticed then that, like her, he hadn't come alone.
"Mrreow."
"…ss"
A gigantic black snake had curled up on the stone floor and was now quietly approaching Blackbeard. It had stopped right in front of the kneazle-cat, who was sitting calmly even if his expression was curious. He was inquisitive, tasting the air with his tongue for longer and longer periods. Hermione did a double take when she realised that she could read his serpentine body language somewhat.
And that greeting was hello, on both sides. Hello was such a simple Parseltongue word to remember.
"Ah, you've met each other. Typhon, meet Blackbeard, Hermione's familiar. Blackbeard, this is Typhon, my familiar. Do get along with each other."
Blackbeard meowed and did one of his shrugs. Typhon seemed to decide at that point that he'd had enough of the colder floor and promptly climbed up Tom—if Hermione knew nothing of the wizarding world, it would've been a frightening sight to see such a large snake coiling upwards around his torso. The melanistic python raised his head not too far over Tom's right shoulder, meeting the wizard's gaze easily when he spoke.
"Don't be lazy, Typhon, it's not that cold."
"Sss SSss." The snake was...shaking his head? Really?
"I can cast a warming charm on you."
"Sss. sssSSsss. Hisssss."
Typhon was mostly curled around his shoulders and held partly up by his left arm like some oversized scarf, though his tail dangled down Toms's back. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought that weekends were the perfect time to exercise their familiars.
"I'll carry you to the end of this corridor, then. Then, you'll have to move on your own, otherwise I'm not giving you bonus treats today without enough exercise."
The last hiss sounded more like a resigned sigh.
Hermione silently cast a charm to augment her hearing, not hiding the wand movements from Tom at all. She turned around, only cancelling it once she was sure that the last passing student was nowhere near.
"I thought you'd have spoken to him in Parseltongue."
Tom let out a surprised bark of laughter at that. It took him another moment before he spoke. "Sometimes, I forget that you know things."
The brunette was quite aware that she did not enjoy cloak-and-dagger much, nor was she that talented in it.
"He understands well enough if I speak normally as long as I make eye contact. It's less of legilimency when I do that and more akin to sending my message explicitly. That it helps him be familiar with some human words is an added bonus." He explained.
She nodded. It made more sense that way, and she understood his unsaid discretion on not speaking Parseltongue unless it was somewhere private or truly necessary—no need to scare the masses when you don't need to. Soon, they reached the end of the corridor and Tom cajoled his python to climb down yet again, casting two warming charms as he did so. She had the distinct impression that Typhon's hisses at that point were complaints even if he did slither along with them.
"Who was she?"
"Who?"
"The poor Ravenclaw student you teased. She seemed somewhat familiar, but I don't think I recalled her name."
Amusement unfurled across his face. "You really don't know her?"
"Should I?"
"She's in our Advanced Potions and Charms and your House member, Hermione; a fifth-year student by the name of Myrtle Warren. Not to mention that she's from a muggle household."
And that was when Hermione's embarrassment warred with guilt, as she had realised that she didn't even remember about the poor girl in the few months of her arrival. She'd been too carried away with her own ambition to change the wizarding world, to retread her old career(s) even as she was drawn further in by the unavoidable rising tide of the war, pulled into the grand chess game that Tom Riddle was playing as he climbed up society.
She had lost track of the individuals she'd known before would be victims, of the unfortunate people from this period.
Here we have two specimens of homo sapiens magia, with the refined plumage distinctive of the ruling caste. Watch others nodding with respect as they pass if they know them! Watch the lower ranks shifting away from them out of their desire to not bar the way of their betters.
Watch one witch forget the hapless once she had transformed to be far from what she once was. How different was she from a flashy animal trying to climb its way up in the jungle, if it was ambition that she put forward first before her fellow students?
Hermione's froze for a moment before she covered her face with her hands, her steps coming to a complete stop. It was a testament to how Tom had woken up twice to her screaming out of her nightmares that what he did now was to slowly approach her from the front with his arms open. She could avoid his hug if she wanted to; she leaned forward and placed her face, hands and all, over his shoulder.
"What's wrong?"
She had always found it convenient for brainstorming that she can set the voices in her head as different aspects of her, or to represent different characters. They make her arguments more robust in the end. The downside of that was how if she was not careful, her own scepticism and self-doubt could easily coalesce into a distinct voice of its own, as loud as her own thoughts instead of merely passing in the background.
"It's nothing."
He huffed, and she could hear the disbelief in it.
"I…I forget, Tom, things I shouldn't have. How many muggleborns and halfbloods do I actually know in Hogwarts?"
"Me?" His tone was dry.
She chuckled for a moment, before slumping forward against his shoulder. His presence was more solid than she'd expected, unwavering even as he held her.
"You've always been transforming into something else; a wizard in metamorphosis. It is nearing completion now, and I think even the most prejudiced of Slytherins would need to actively remind themselves that you're 'muggleborn' to remember that instead of treating you as a pureblood by reflex. You're better at being pureblood wizard than most of them."
"Really?"
His question was asked partly because he wanted to humour her and partly because he was just that vain. She pulled back now, simply because she wanted to be able to talk face-to-face, to truly see him. Tom loosened his hold on her, his hands slipping down naturally to her waist. With both of her hands over his shoulders, it was almost as if they were in the middle of a dance, both suspended in an unplanned pause.
"Before I know it, you've started mine too. I'm changing along with you."
"As if I could ever change your heart if you did not wish it." His tone was more amused than frustrated. "Anything you did, you did because it also happened to suit you to."
He was right, really. Perhaps it was more than she actually wanted to acknowledge, but she did not make it a habit of hers to run away from reality.
"I wasn't as careful as I should have."
"Oh?" His tone was sly, "are you saying that I've seduced you away?"
That would be too easy, isn't it? To throw all responsibility to him and denounce even her own agency. But she had never seen herself as a damsel in distress and she wasn't about to start.
Her own lips quirked slightly. "No, not truly. If what you did could be called seducing, then I would've been able to claim the same in that case, wouldn't I?"
She'd begun to change him too—it was a deep truth that she knew not just in her mind, but in her gut. Hermione took a step to the left, and he followed suit. When she moved one step back, he stepped forward in time to keep her within the circle of his arms.
"So, whose fault is it, then?" Tom asked, idly.
"Mine. I was too busy with my own grief earlier, and you had been busy with your own plans. To be fair, I don't fault you for that either—it's your right to live your own life as you wish. It is merely that I've been hitting the ground running for a while that I forget to step back to think, to calm down and decide, to actively and consciously choose the paths I want."
He pulled her closer and now they were moving to a soundless waltz.
"I thought you've chosen to accompany me."
Tom's voice was smooth, as always, but she thought she could detect minute fluctuation in it, an echo of a bite…or was it just her feeling? She shrugged.
"I did. But there is more space in my life than only for that."
"You have your healing interests." He pointed out.
"Certainly, but they still do not require my full attention even now." Her smile was clearer now. Tom actually pulled his right hand away for a moment, slipped his wand down and then cast a…music box spell?
She could hear an amorphous violin playing Blue Danube. He left momentarily to cast more warming charm in the direction of Typhon who was curling up in circular carpet within an empty nook, right next to a laidback Blackbeard. The hisses that he was making certainly sounded like a complaint or whine. Then, Tom returned to her before asking for her hand properly.
"Shall we?"
Hermione placed her hand in his open palm and let him whirl her away across the corridor. She had asked him half-seriously if he wasn't worried that he was breaking any rules, and he merely shook his head and said that there were no rules against dancing in corridors. He'd checked before (for what, he didn't clarify).
"What's bothering you, Hermione?"
"I should've remembered about the muggleborn students and the half-blood ones. Neither of us count as the average muggleborn because we're too…unusual, Tom. Not everyone has extraordinary circumstances. Some muggleborns are merely normal students instead of a genius, or a secret heir of a major house. Without the support of a wizarding house or even wizarding parents, without an unprecedented mind, there are clearly things they'll miss while in Hogwarts. These things can even hobble their progress out of Hogwarts in the workplace."
"I…forgot that, too carried away with hobnobbing among the pureblood." She spared him a glare, even if it was half-hearted.
"Ah, like I do." His smirk was all confidence.
"Exactly."
"And yet that's where power is concentrated at and who holds the most power and the most straightforward path for us to take…unless if I were to subjugate most people as a dark lord?"
"I know." She sighed. "I know all the pragmatic reasons of why we have to do that. And you know that I've said already of how the dark arts itself has a high enough risk that it's not really worth delving too deeply into it."
The Ravenclaw knew that her moral concerns were something strange to him, an alien concern and foreign patterns of thought. It was why she didn't mind that his efforts to distract her as he led her to dance further, gliding across the stones of Hogwarts' corridors, deftly dodging several surprised students that were passing. They easily ignored anyone pausing to watch, as most people wouldn't spend too long even then. It was admittedly amusing how most people thought that Typhon and Blackbeard were some sort of odd taxidermy project.
As the hallways emptied again, Tom tilted his head to the left, opening their conversation once more.
"Then what do you want me to say, Hermione?"
His dark blue eyes were focused on her. She knew what he was; he'd say any lie she asked him to if it would make her happy. The only reason he didn't lie to her was because he'd known that she could tell and it will only ruin her mood when she figured it out. Which was the reason he didn't bother.
"Nothing untrue," she finally said. "I only wished that I remembered about the challenges most muggleborns face earlier, to talk to them."
"You can still start now."
"Yes," she nodded in agreement, her mood a little better. "I certainly can."
"Then what are you even concerned about? It's not too late. The other muggleborns of Hogwarts haven't gone anywhere in the last months."
His baffled expression was genuine and she laughed out of sheer relief with a dash of actual humour.
"I was…I was blaming myself for not remembering earlier, I suppose."
"Why would you? You were busy." Tom shook his head. "Blaming yourself is a rather useless feeling, isn't it? And it's not even a pleasant one like happiness or pleasure. Why would you want to blame yourself?"
"Guilt, perhaps, for forgetting what I was, where I come from."
His brows creased in thought. "It is not even your fault that muggleborn students are born from muggleborn families. You did not cause them to be born. Your feelings of 'guilt' wouldn't even help the other muggleborns."
"Guilt for having forgotten, perhaps, for not remembering about it earlier," she answered him.
"Well, now that you've remembered, you can create reminders for yourself to not forget again."
Even as he said this, she was all-too-aware that he was merely providing possible solutions since he cared about her good mood. That hint of confusion colouring his expression hadn't gone anywhere, though. Guilt was still as foreign to him as the dark depths of the ocean is to an eagle, as unknowable as colour is to the blind. He did not know why she was even worried in the first place. He was crippled by his inability to understand its roots; he can only address their second-order effects and how they concerned her.
Hermione remembered for a moment something that someone had said in a different life. If a bird falls in love with a fish, where would they live?
That metaphor was not wrong for both of them either. For all their similarities, she was well aware that their differences were just as stark. They did not have love, but she thought that determination was a close thing. It was a good thing that they were both too stubborn about the things they want to achieve, then, that putting all their efforts to make their association work was just another day in life for them.
"Hermione?"
His hand was warm over her back, curling in a possessive manner as he closed the distance between them imperceptibly. What does it say about her that she found his relentless effort to make her feel better endearing, especially when he did so even if truly understanding her problem was beyond him? She had provided him with an answer once she realised that she'd been quiet for a while.
"You have a point about how guilt isn't helping anyone," she said.
He could not even understand the source of her own dismay, but he did his best to help. The brunette thought she saw his expression change to relief for a fleeting moment before he was once again as calm as the placid waters of a spring lake.
"The feeling is not going to disappear immediately, but I suppose I can always fight it when it shows up again and again."
"That's good, then." A pause, of words weighed with some consideration. He seemed to be… restraining himself? "Between the two of us it can be managed quite well as long as you don't try to keep it inside to yourself instead."
Hermione did not miss the gladness in his voice and she did not even realise that a smile had bloomed on her face. It was the unadulterated joy and the strength of her spirit that allowed her to transcend being merely pretty into a radiant splendour. She did miss the way Tom deftly turned them around when a passing wizard was staring at her for too long, conveniently blocking him with his body. The passing Gryffindor merely sighed at the lost opportunity, unaware that it was not accidental, and moved on.
If a bird falls in love with a fish…she mused, then I'll learn to swim while he'll learn to fly.
'-
The Walpurgis Knights were apparently using the Room of Requirement again today.
Hermione placed her hand over his shoulder to stop Tom from moving forward and he paused. She pulled his tie out of his waistcoat instead. It was mostly dark green brocade with a subtle tracery of vines. The tie pin was surprisingly a silver cat. It would work as an anchor, she inwardly nodded to herself. A twirl of her wand, a series of twists and she cast the colour-change charm.
"Colovaria."
Now, his tie was the exact shade of her dress. Tom seemed amused as she started to tuck the tie back but said nothing.
"Ah, you're both here! Thank goodness."
Hermione and Tom turned towards the greeting and saw a blond head from less than half a corridor down. Abraxas had been just turned not long before he spotted them; he quickly crossed the distance between them with a brisk jog as Hermione finished straightening Tom's tie. Abraxas himself was in a black coat and robe, with green waistcoat—she noticed that his tie pin was actually an emerald snake.
She held back from commenting that she didn't think gemstones were within a stone's throw of usual daywear for lunch with friends and just sighed inwardly. Her current friends were the heirs of wizarding noble houses, she really should've expected this.
"You've just arrived?" Hermione asked.
"Of course not. I was looking for you, just in case something held you up. I might be able to assist then."
Tom did not clarify, his smile inscrutable as he nodded his greeting.
Abraxas did a double take when he saw her kneazle hybrid. Hermione smiled. "Ah, that's my familiar, Blackbeard. Blackbeard, this is Abraxas, a friend."
The cat proceeded to headbutt him on the knee. The blond laughed in surprise at the sheer size (Blackbeard had caused him to stumble back slightly).
"I see. Any reason why I'm seeing him and Typhon out today?"
"Exercise," Tom replied, succinct. "Well, I can let Typhon make his way through the castle and kitchen on his own—he's not a half bad mouser himself—but generally, that would count as terrorising the younger years, and is generally frowned upon by all Heads of Houses."
Abraxas didn't hide his grimace at that while Tom's smile grew wider.
"Um, yes, that's rather unadvised."
The dark-haired Slytherin gestured for Hermione to precede him and she easily did so. The door opened under her hand.
The fireplace was large this time, filled with firewood and roaring with warmth—it was a welcome change. The place was now a large drawing room, tall classical windows lined one side with sumptuous brocade curtains that seemed to stretch for miles, a ceiling with detailed painting of blue sky with cherubs on the corners and two crystal candelabras heavy with candles. On the other end of the room was a grand piano. The wooden floor was so perfectly polished that she could see her reflection.
Neither she nor Harry would ever make a room of this grandeur by reflex, that's for sure. She half-expected to see the royalty of old Europe to wander in next with a head full of wig.
"Well, this is an interesting change," she mused out loud.
She saw that there were three tables draped with white tablecloth. The tea service on the side was expected, but the trays filled with blank scrolls and the stand of spare quills and ink bottles were new. Pendleton was about to leave his when he saw them enter and sat back down. Abraxas approached the same table, his seat between Melchior and Ves.
This was the table with the Slytherins she considered to be her friends.
"Oh, don't mind it, Hermy. Brax is just flashin' like some cock of the walk, the usual," Ves commented from Pendleton's left. Abraxas snorted and punched his shoulder. "What? Who else would've chosen wallpaper gilded with gold? Same with the curtains, ye nob."
Hmm, I didn't even notice that. It was a subtle accent, not as garish as Ves made it sound like. She no longer took note that other than Pendleton and Ves, the other three on the table wore cravats, though Abraxas' was the most intricate—she didn't think she knew anyone who still wore it that way other than Lord Byron.
"You act like your family don't have their own castle," Gallus muttered from Pendleton's other side.
"A castle's still functional a'right?"
She was sure that Ves still had a lot more to say, and would've said more if it wasn't for him noticing that Tom had entered right behind her. Ves shut his mouth and sat up, though he didn't take his newspaper boy cap off.
"Welcome, Hermione," Melchior greeted, his smile warm. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Blackbeard and Typhon following in behind them but he said nothing.
"Thanks. I'm sure I'll enjoy my time here."
Tom closed the door after all of them are in.
The second table held the Knights that she was less familiar with, such as two of Abraxas' minions (or as Tom pithily put some times, Boulder 1 and Boulder 2). There was Rowle the lecher, who still paled when he saw her even as he tried to surreptitiously duck—the other two people she couldn't quite remember. One of them seems like he hadn't expected her presence at all; he was smart enough to shut his mouth up immediately when his gaze wavered between Abraxas and Melchior and he realised that no one else complained or was even surprised about it.
Hermione had mentally thought of them as the second-string Knights, and considering that they were taking their behavioural cues from the first table, she didn't think she was wrong.
The last table was still empty; she supposed that was where they'd sit. Her guess was confirmed as Tom moved in that direction and pulled out a chair for her to sit. Typhon slithered his way in the direction of the fireplace instead of their table and curled up to sleep in front of it. Blackbeard was more interested in checking out the new room, going from one surprised Knight to another. She could even hear his snort of amusement when a Knight with yellow waistcoat yelped when the black cat put his nose down his pocket in curiosity.
"Whose cat was that?" she'd heard being asked or muttered in passing.
Abraxas took a particular delight in clarifying to the others. "Ah, that's Blackbeard, Hermione's familiar."
Soon enough, everyone was settled in their respective seats.
"Alright, let's start with what you've all been up to, shall we?" Tom casually opened.
One weaselly-faced Slytherin in mustard-coloured waistcoat raised his hand from the second table. "Um, is Miss Curie going to attend this entire meeting?"
Hermione didn't have the time to answer as Tom spoke up in tones as smooth as silk covering steel.
"For what other reason would she come in with me, Tybalt?"
Gallus was staring the other wizard down and making rapid gestures up-and-down with his left arm. Even Hermione could figure out that it meant something like 'get down'.
"Uh, nothing! Nothing else, yes." Tybalt's eyes wandered around the room frantically before he gazed back at Tom. "I was just…slow on the uptake, that's all."
Tom stared him down but didn't deign him with an answer. From the way Tybalt flinched and shrank into himself a little further, she guessed that he was probably trying to fillet the poor guy with a look.
"Now that we've settled that, it's time to move on to the usual reports…"
Between all that, Blackbeard had decided that he'd had enough of the room and padded off to the rug in front of the fireplace, next to Typhon.
'-
"And what about you, Rufus?"
"…but my lord, my news is rather particular. Wouldn't it be more convenient if—"
Tom placed his teacup on its saucer with a distinct click. She thought she could see tension flickering past Gallus' jaw. Abraxas' eyebrows had lowered now.
"We can sit here and talk about this like civilised beings, or, I can ask you to sit on a separate chair and get Hermione here to take your blood and use that to paint an array designed to extract your knowledge on the floor."
Tom smiled. "Now, which one would you prefer?"
"Is-isn't that blood magic?" His Adam's apple bobbed.
"Well, if you'd like to put it that way," he said, offhand, taking a professorial tone as he explained. "Unlike my own rituals which are rooted in the Hittite and Luwian traditions, she studies more of the Germanic and Celtic ones. Not as structurally sound for large-scale workings, but what can you do? Sometimes the primary sources you can access are limited that way."
From the number of people whose eyes were widening around their table, she can see that this particular skill of her wasn't quite public knowledge among the Knights before.
Pendleton was still calmly drinking his tea before he took up the opportunity Tom had provided to add his own clarification.
"Her wards are solid. Do you know that she can offer constructive criticism on my blood wards? I'm sure that her sanguinary arrays are just as excellent—the Germanic tribes are fully capable of performing small-scale human sacrifices after all, as do the Celts." he offered his opinion. His compatriot did not look assuaged at all.
"I'm sure that a one-person ritual is no trouble for Hermione, Rufus. A child's play, even," Melchior added. He still managed a friendly smile. Somehow.
Hermione had mixed feelings at being used as bogeyman, though considering that Tom didn't shy away from putting himself out there at the same time, she supposed that it was still fair. Not to mention that he was still offering a choice.
"So, would you like some demonstration?" Tom asked again.
The brunet swallowed further words.
"W-well, if I were to begin…"
'-
"So, who's the next candidate for Slytherin prefect pro tempore?" Hermione asked. "Jemima Avery isn't going to be filling that position for a while yet and I'm sure you'd have a better idea of your Housemates' aptitude and potential."
"Well, there's Patricia," Abraxas suggested.
"Patricia?" Melchior asked with a huff. "She's too similar to Jemima."
The blond's forehead creased, "I thought that was the point?"
"I thought we were going take the opportunity for a fresh start, find someone on the more diligent side,"
"We already have Emma," this came from the wizard who'd been threatened with blood magic earlier, Rufus.
"I'm sure it would be easier on the other prefects, including Tom, if we have another prefect that's just as hardworking," the dark-haired wizard answered.
Gallus's shoulders tensed momentarily and she could guess that he was repressing a shudder. "I don't think most Slytherins would like to face two Emmas."
"I second that," Abraxas nodded earnestly.
Melchior rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a long-suffering sigh. Before the back-and-forth can start again, Tom's voice cut through the chatter.
"Give me the potential candidates, gentlemen."
"There's Patricia Parkinson, which I'll note down just to be thorough about this," Abraxas threw out. He said this as he was unrolling a new parchment, doing exactly as he had stated.
"…Violetta Carrow, Prudence Thicknesse." The auburn-haired Slytherin from Table 2 suggested. He accepted the looks his fellow Housemates sent easily. "Look, she might be my sister, but before Jemima was eventually chosen, she was also under consideration, you know? I also know that she'd put in more effort into it than Patricia."
Hermione noticed that he did dodge her gaze. It amused her slightly, considering that it took her some effort to remember who on earth was Violetta Carrow—part of Jemima's posse, same with Thicknesse. Ah, Stooge #2 and #3, is it? A bored Ves took the opportunity to wave his wand around and threw more fire wood into the fireplace in a display of Seize-and-Pull charm mastery.
"Uh, Beatrix or Wilhelmina?" Tybalt mused out loud as he fidgeted.
Abraxas shook his head from the next table over. "I did think that, but I don't think it would work. They're our chasers, remember? Them and Sigmund. Practice already takes a lot of time outside of class—I can't imagine that either of them would be enthusiastic to pile on more prefect hours on top of that."
Melchior was more definite in his opinion, his cravat glimmered with the subtlety of stars on a night sky with the fire's glow—the faint dots of crystal there hadn't been visible by daylight. "Not at all. Though I'd take that bet if anyone would like to bet otherwise?"
He gazed around the room, but no one took it. His nod was firm.
"Just as I thought, then."
"What about, err, Davis, then?" Tybalt asked again. Abraxas stared at him blankly.
"Davis?"
"Martine Davis, our year? You know, twin to Thorstein Davis?"
"…I guess," Abraxas murmured while glancing to the right. Ves met his eyes and saw the unsaid question in them. He shook his head, his grin lopsided with a touch of challenge.
"Nah, they aren't Sacred 28, if that's what you're wonderin'. 'Twould explain your memory lapse, eh?"
The blond scratched the back of his head "…eehh, Slytherin House has a lot of students."
One of his minions voiced the next suggestion.
"…Greengrass."
"Who's that?"
"Ah, that's probably Ursula Greengrass," Melchior answered Abraxas' question, "younger sister of Bernard Greengrass."
His smile was somewhat sardonic instead of his usual charming or friendly one. Hermione realised that something was up when she saw Gallus shaking his head slowly, even as the rest was still trying to recall who she was.
"Bernard Greengrass?" Ves asked. He was grinning with a sense of humour that was not completely benign. Hermione could almost imagine a pair of horns popping up among his curly hair.
Tybalt fidgeted in his seat in a way that was starting to annoy Rufus next to him.
"Oh no," Abraxas muttered.
"Oh, yes." Ves chuckled to himself. Right, because that was not ominous at all, Hermione thought. "The one who caused Tom to get locked in a broken potions dungeon for a night and a day, right? Back at the end of third year."
"Broken potions dungeon?"
Vespasian shrugged, his expression back to one of boredom. "The usual disappointment one gets from a sinkin' ship. That one had a heater that jus' happened to be stalling when Tom was there. Funny thing about the ceiling, it also jus' happened to leak more than a drunk would piss…um, pardon my French."
"It was starting to flood something fierce too at the end of the day," Gallus added.
"That too. But in the end Tom was just…there. So what? Not much creativity on his part, is there it? Well, at least the accident after that was a lark—I had fun, lemme tell you."
"Accident?" Rufus asked.
"Ursula Greengrass broke one of leg in three places and sprained the other from an accident in Care of Magical Creatures," Pendleton answered bluntly. Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"Professor Kettleburn isn't that careless."
"She checked one of the stables outside class hours 'to get some practice in' was her excuse. Which, as many people know, is particularly ill-advised, especially if you were to try approaching creatures beyond what is taught in your class." Pendleton replied, as sombre as his brown coat and robes. He continued.
"It is not really a surprising result if you fill a young girl's head with just how much more wonderful a hippogriff is compared to a pony."
"Hippogriffs kick really well." Gallus deadpanned.
Hermione winced, she thought she could see Tybalt twitch at the same time that she did. Pendleton closed his eyes longer than a moment or two.
"Ouch," she murmured.
"And that's when Bernard no longer kept bashing his head against the wall," Ves finished.
"A wall?" the other Malfoy minion asked the wizard next to him. Rufus sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Means he no longer did something as useless as putting himself in Tom's way, alright? It's just going to hurt 'im and not affect Tom at all, see?"
"Ah…"
While this conversation was going on, someone else had been thinking. An errant curl fell over Melchior's left eye as he bowed his head in thought, his voice was deliberate when he spoke up again.
"It's too bad, though. The Greengrasses are one of the leaders of a sizeable neutral faction."
"Technically, the Zabinis are too," Abraxas commented.
Gallus scoffed, slender fingers rapping on the table with impatience. "Right. As if anyone had managed to make them commit. Not even the previous wars of dark lords and ladies managed that. I remember reading that once they even chose to go up the Italian Alps than be involved at all."
Tom turned to Melchior this time.
"Regarding the Greengrasses…you were considering of trying to shift them to our position?"
Melchior nodded. "Precisely. With that in mind, it would be a great idea to offer the prefect position, even if it might be temporary, to the Greengrasses—Ursula in this case."
"Because Bernard will be so enthusiastic to work with us," Abraxas said with a sigh.
"Why not?"
Tom's question stilled several others into silence and even Abraxas couldn't find the words to answer him. Only Ves was dense enough to blunder in blindly like a bull.
"Because you kicked him in the nads before and now he doesn't want to get his nads kicked again, roight?"
Tybalt (the weasel-face a part of Hermione cheekily noted) snorted out loud before he realised what he did; he bit his lip and knocked his forehead on the table with a groan. Abraxas was rubbernecking with the zeal of a passer-by at a five-carriage pile up.
"Well, I almost caught pneumonia and I couldn't really care less about Bernard now," Tom pointed out. "It was all merely business as usual in Slytherin House, isn't it?"
"True, true." Ves nodded. "'Twas nowt but House business."
Hermione thought she could hear Abraxas muttering under his breath. "Your feet were blue and it was infected." That…couldn't be true, right? That sounds like cyanosis…
"See? No hard feelings." Tom smiled, as if no one else but Ves had said anything much.
Hermione thought that she saw Gallus inching away from their table and she couldn't blame him. Probably because he's concerned that insanity might be contagious. "I still think it's a worthwhile offer to make. What do you think, Hermione?"
For her, his question came out of nowhere. She did not even feel that she had a solid enough grasp of Slytherin House politics!
"Do the Greengrasses truly lead a neutral faction? Are there no other houses of similar position?" She looked around, searching for answers from anyone present.
Abraxas gave her a reluctant nod. "Do they lead the largest neutral faction? Yes, unfortunately. Are there other Houses of similar standing in that faction? Well, the Zabinis have been mentioned before, the Fawleys are there too, the Mendozas are distant fourth compared to the others."
An English family with a Spanish last name, she thought with interest. It really shouldn't surprise her at this point. After all, wasn't Slytherin's maternal family the Castilian Salazars? Hence its use as his first name? As she had noted earlier, the people of the wizarding world travelled freely and farther than those of the nonmagical world, with the contrast being especially notable in the previous centuries.
"So…they're truly the best choice." Hermione tried not to sound disappointed.
"The best, probably. Most convenient? Not at all," Abraxas finished.
"Now that the entire House already knows of my open claim as Slytherin's Heir, I'd expect to meet less obstacles even if we're not completely public with it yet." Tom said. "Hermione, I think you should be the one to talk about the possibility with Ursula."
Rowle had somehow choked on his tea. Abraxas was blinking in the way of someone who was still…processing things. Melchior's expression was one of mild interest.
"I'm a Ravenclaw," Hermione deadpanned.
"Yes, I'm aware," Tom nodded.
"Why would she expect me to deliver the offer of being the next Slytherin prefect?"
Tom carefully laid his hand over her right, underneath the table. "Because our association is relatively public at this point. She'd know, and besides, she'd feel less threatened if you were the one making the offer than, say, Vespasian over there."
Ves looked as if he dearly wanted to complain. As his mouth opened, Pendleton levelled a stare in his direction, as did Gallus and a mildly amused Melchior. He shut it again wordlessly and sulked.
"Not just Vespasian. I'm sure Abraxas or Melchior is just as memorable to her, or any of the others."
Hermione rubbed her forehead with her free hand. Just because she realised that Tom was speaking sense didn't mean that she had to like it. Why me?
"I'll find out the general information about her first before I even try," the Ravenclaw said. "I don't want to accidentally hit a sore spot and set her off in the first encounter. Once I get that down, I'll try to find a way to say it."
She thought his smile reached his eyes this time. "Excellent. Thank you."
"Oh, don't thank me yet," she groused, quite aware of the challenge ahead.
What was she supposed to say? 'Oh, you remember that time when your leg was broken? Well guess what, the people behind it want to offer you the prefect position! Wait, no, come back! I wasn't done yet! There are possible rewards, honest!' She'd be lucky if Ursula Greengrass decided to only start running. For all her complaints, she still owed it to Daphne, though. There was just no way around it; she certainly didn't think any of the other boys would've done it better than her.
'-
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End Notes:
List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:
Cyanosis: (Medicine) Discoloration of the skin into bluish or purplish tones occurring when the tissues near the surface has low oxygen saturation.
Mnemosyne: (Greek Mythology) One of the Titanides in Greek mythology, daughter of Uranus and Gaia and the mother of the nine muses. The root of her name is the Greek word mnēmē, meaning memory, remembrance.
Pro tempore: (Latin) for the time being.
'-
Additional Notes:
"Here we have two specimens of homo sapiens magia, with the refined plumage distinctive of the ruling caste.": Hermione is using the word 'caste' in the physical, biological sense. You know, like how ants and bees have polymorphism within the same species? There's the worker caste, soldier caste, etc. Not that she thinks magic-users are a different hominin species, she's just being really sarcastic.
"…she didn't think she knew anyone who still wore it that way other than Lord Byron.": She might not know it, but there is actually a cravat not known as Byron knot. And yes, it was popularised by Lord Byron.
'-