Author's Note: Hello, everyone, it's been, *checks* half a year already since I last updated? Dammit. Alright. Not sure if I have much to say other than between the headache and the runny nose, I had to try to actively remember which meds I've taken and which ones I was still in the process of taking. I just want to sleep the entire day out (it's probably not Covid, I've had my booster shot and all that). On the other hand, I don't know what it says about me that one of the times I wrote fastest was when I'm in a tight spot in real life. Still, If I delay this any longer, I might end up not updating again, so onwards!
Thanks for all the comments and appreciation in the meantime. I do read all of them, even if I haven't gotten around to replying.
I already have the next chapter ready, so there's at least that to look forward to sometime soon. Working on the next one, and I actually have the outline of this sub-arc at hand. It's generally a December sub-arc.
I'll just...upload this, edit formatting and conk out on the bed again, then.
'-
72 Wintertide
Tom is considering the issue of the perfect Christmas gift. The past catches up to his present, over but not gone—an entire trainwreck of one, at that. Tom looks for advice. Slughorn pitches in. Dumbledore has a guest. In which the perfect gift is not quite an impossible task.
'-
Tom had not truly understood that being nice was rather tiring.
For example, this little…misunderstanding would've been a lot simpler if he could just tell Auguste that Hermione was his business, and thus none of Auguste's. That was the way it would have been in Slytherin House. Another Slytherin would realise when they have trespassed another rising figure's sphere of influence and bow out. Of course, there was always another alternative; the easiest way of persuading another is by strategic application of pain. Yet that only really applies when you're dealing with pawns.
Auguste is not exactly one, is he?
Therein lies the problem. Once you start moving among people of other Houses and between those who are your colleagues and near peers, your methods of persuasion will have to improve in sophistication. He supposed he could consider this as practice for entering the Ministry for Magic.
Hermione was still as quick with her mind as she was on her feet. It was trivial to waylay Melchior before he reached the Great Hall and use his pensieve, and soon they set off somewhere. Her steps had led them to the Astronomy Tower and thus one of the classrooms there. It would suffice, seeing as no classes would be taking place right now. It was also far enough from most places that there were scarcely anyone passing the area.
He took the pensieve out of his book bag and settled it on the table. Wand in hand, Hermione pulled a silver thread of memory without prompting and dropped it into the bowl.
They exchanged a quick glance at each other for only a moment before diving into the memory.
'-
A wizard and a witch stood in this washed-out version of the Search headquarters; the entire room was a mere shadow copy conjured from her memory. The huge map of Europe covering one wall was still there, even if slightly blurred. The background sounds were muted here compared to voices—it was as if they came from a farther distance. Most of these little distortions were an artefact of the human memory; the liveliest details were reserved for the objects and experiences the memory-owner had focused on.
Memory-Hermione and Memory-Auguste had returned to their task, but the real Hermione and Tom was watching them while leaning against a desk. Compared to their surroundings, their colour was certainly more vivid.
"You didn't actually say that much." Tom said.
Hermione only raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew that glance of hers quite well by now.
"You think?" She asked back.
"I suppose I'm just too used to expecting the worst from situations."
Hermione snorted, but gave him a pass.
Tom didn't quite get what made Auguste so worried either. Of all the things she said, she still downplayed her…their entire plan and limited herself to describing the Search and nothing further. She didn't mention fighting. She didn't even say she was going to go looking for Grindelwald himself.
What on earth tripped Auguste? He wondered.
Hermione watched him as he fell deeper in thought. The scene in front of them had faded slightly before reforming again, the memory restarting. Memory-Hermione entered from the door once more to approach Memory-Auguste reading from a scroll in front of the Map.
"See? You don't get it either, do you?" She asked, her tone knowing.
"Maybe we're underestimating the wizarding world's reluctance to get involved."
The Ravenclaw next to him gave it some consideration. "We might. Anyway, we don't need to overthink it right now. I can just say that we were planning on coordinating with the DMLE for direction—which had been one of the possibilities."
"As if they had enough spare capacity for this. The DMLE has been run ragged by the Minister's need to show that they have the people's security at hand. I heard this from both Melchior and Bones." Tom countered.
"Well, let's just use the excuse that I'm an optimist and leave it there. Besides, I don't think Auguste's family would be that in tune with the internal politics of our Ministry for Magic." Her answer was brisk, and she'd stood up once more. It was clear that whatever his answer was, she was ready to leave.
"Back to the Great Hall, then?"
"It would be too noticeable if we were missing for too long." Hermione pointed out. "Come on, we can always expand on the reasoning later."
She certainly had a point.
"It's not a bad idea to come up with a plan to assuage these sorts of concerns, though," Tom replied.
He had a vague suspicion that he and Hermione was a tad more undaunted when it came to battles than most people. Hadn't he observed earlier that when cornered, she was quite capable of taking someone else's life to preserve another's? He could easily be that ruthless as well, for reasons far less grave than that, but most students were quite different from them.
"Oh, yes, not a bad idea at all. But for now, I need food. I've just realised that Hogwarts gets pretty chilly this time of the year and my body burned through energy much faster than it did in summer. I should've eaten more at lunch—now my stomach is empty already I'm feeling the cold."
Hermione had already reached the door. He knew quite well what she meant of how the cold felt even more biting when you were hungry, how you'd gladly punch three other people down if it meant you can get your hands on what they're eating. Growing up at an orphanage has taught Tom the lesson of never getting between someone and their food, so he merely stood up and followed her lead.
'-
Melchior was curious about why Tom asked him to meet after supper, but he could easily guess that it had something to do with the pensieve he borrowed.
They ended up at the Room of Requirements, and Tom had waited until Hermione arrived before asking her to conjure the last beach that they'd visited here. She agreed, and with a twist of the door knob, she opened the door and let the sound of waves over the seashore escape. It was a pristine beach at night, with only a few torches to light the way.
The warm air curled around him like a blanket of silk, and the winter's atmosphere disappeared the moment they entered.
Before he could even wonder about lighting, Tom had taken some lantern orbs and handed one each to them before lighting his own. His Lumos was greenish, Melchior's was a darker, more soothing blue, while Hermione's was a brighter orange-pink. They tossed the orbs into the air once they'd lighted them. The Slytherin had thought that it would have made for an interesting mish-mash of all three colours, but to his surprise the result was quite close to a cooler, subdued white.
Tom casually sat on the first comfortable driftwood he found. Hermione chose the tilted branch of a fallen coconut tree and Melchior took that as a suggestion to find his own seat. Though it was dark, the sand was so pale that they were probably actually white in colour, while the scent of tropical flowers drifted in the night air. It was a beautiful place, even under the low light. He idly wondered where Hermione pulled this place from, and when Hermione even managed to visit it.
The sea tumbled against the shore, rolling lazily along the ribbon of wet sand; it rumbled and purred, with the occasional roar of a bigger wave. The wind tousled his curls, and Melchior's shoulders eased down from tension he did not even realise he had.
"So, what is it that you only need me for and no one else?" He asked.
"Check your pensieve out. That covers the entire issue, and I've added my memory to it too, and not just Hermione's."
Tom passed the stone basin over—it was covered now, and indication that it had contents in it instead of empty. Melchior did not ask further questions as he understood quite easily that most of the explanation he'd need was probably here.
"Well, don't mind if I do." His reply was offhand.
Melchior reached out to enter the memory.
The first room that he stood in was familiar to him now—there was only one classroom in Hogwarts that had a gigantic map covering the entirety of one of its walls. Hermione had just walked in and the rest of the classroom apart from the Map was slightly blurred. It was less blurred than he was used to, though. The tall windows were clear from the moment she entered, for one, and the passing clouds were distinct. She must've had a pretty strong memory. That was when he realised the person on the other side of the room was Auguste Murat.
As the conversation flowed between the two memory-figures, Melchior had a focused expression. He did snort at one point or another, and at times sigh, but his expression flickered back to its even state quickly. He was not disoriented either when the room disappeared into a murky greyness, and he was suddenly transported to the library at dusk.
Tom and Murat had barely exchanged a few words when they were held up by various other students and he began to follow them. When they sat down, he casually took the third seat on the small table. He was fully immersed in his role as the observer now.
Melchior had drawn a steadying breath for himself more than once. The further their talk proceeded, the more his face twitched with a passing expression or another. In the end, he simply sighed and rubbed his face. Tom's placating words were effective enough for their purpose, but it was not the most optimal that it could be. Even as he thought of this, he easily prepared himself to step on into another memory or step out of it completely.
He blinked a few times and finished reorienting himself when he was once more sitting on a fallen coconut log as before. The mixed light from the lantern orbs washed over them with a slight greenish tint, like a cloud of jungle lanternflies lighting the way. The atmosphere was almost festive with the occasional flicker of coloured light.
"You've seen both memories, then?" Tom asked.
He nodded. "I have. Let me find the words for a while."
The prefect nodded lightly at that, and he knew he had the time to compose his words. Tom's patience had been the trait he observed the most and it was the one that made him decide that the other Slytherin had the makings to go far. His background had not been from a traditional pureblood family; even as he agreed with the evidence that he'd seen so far about Slytherin's descent, he knew there were still some steps that needed to be taken to prove it. It was not going to be easy or straightforward.
Without that patience, he was not going to make it, and Melchior himself would not feel at ease to risk throwing his lot with him.
This also came in handy in times like the present when he had to ask Tom to wait. The first thing that came to his mind was, 'Tom, please be a bit more normal', which was definitely not something he could say. He winced inwardly. No, that sounds too much like whining. That had morphed again quickly as he tried to find a different way to approach his topic, 'Tom, you know that most people are concerned about having to go to a country at war, right?' Melchior rubbed his brows again. Still no. That one sounds too sardonic. Which quickly turned into;
'Look, nobody wants to go to a place at war, alright? You might be the only exception! Well, you and Hermione. If you can be a bit less blasé about that, it would be nice.'
In the end, it was still not fit for his current company. It was not what he ended up saying. Melchior chose silence for a few more moments, and only lowered his hand from his forehead after a while.
"I think," he said slowly, "that you need to be a little more in touch with how most people think first."
It surprised and amused him in turns that Hermione shared many odd quirks of character with Tom. He had thought that Tom was unusual, but it took an extraordinary person to successfully become the Heir of Slytherin that he paid no mind to his peculiarities. On the other hand, Hermione's presence had been unexpected. He supposed Tom could perceive her difference from the beginning, unlike what most of them could see from her.
Perhaps he'd even seen their similarities from the start. That was a surprising realisation to him.
Hermione fell into her own thoughts at his words. Tom furrowed his brows, but did not muse for long.
"Explain."
Melchior mulled over where he should start. "The Search Project… neither of you considered it as something too difficult or troublesome, is that right?"
"That's true." Tom answered.
Hermione's reply was mostly a nod.
"There is still the possibility that there'd be many gaps in the information in the end. Even if you've done your best to collect them from various sources, that could still happen, right? But after seeing the memories, I have the impression that it's barely a concern for both of you." Melchior stated, trying to see how well his observations aligned with their reality.
"Yes." The brunette's answer was firm this time.
"If the information had still been incomplete at the end, after you've exhausted your resources to gather it from known records…" he began.
"Then it would be time to find the answers personally." Hermione finished.
Even as he glanced at her, her gaze was clear and undaunted. She did not wait for Tom to answer it, having an answer of her own that she held onto strongly. Yet Melchior knew that Tom's answer would not be an issue for her as he glanced at the prefect; the upturned corner of his lips told Melchior all he needed. It was also there to see in the way Tom was looking at her right now, with fond amusement.
Melchior pinched the bridge of his nose. He consoled himself with the thought that at least he'd managed to find a good phrase to express himself with this time.
"And that, Milord, is how the distance exists. Achilles cannot storm Troy without first gathering the Greek host behind him."
'-
It took a while to cover his concerns and reach in to the heart of his explanation. That was because Melchior wasn't quite certain how different their perspectives were.
Hermione was aware that most people do not wish to enter Occupied France, but her awareness beyond that point seemed academic. She was 'merely visiting' for a while, and she knew how to take care of herself. It wasn't exactly the Front either, so why the worry? It's not as if she would force anyone else to go along with her either.
Tom seemed to have an inkling of the general opinion better, if the way he had distracted Murat in the memory was any indication. Yet even his position there had been ambiguous; Melchior could see that even as he settled back, the Ravenclaw wizard did not feel quite satisfied with the explanations he'd received. Tom had not managed to move in lockstep with the concerns, much less address them.
"I assume that it is already convenient to retain Murat in his current position, and that there are no plans to exchange him for anyone else?" Melchior asked.
"That is so." Tom confirmed.
"Then your approach had been imperfect." He replied. "It's necessary to voice agreement or words of a similar nature about the risks perceived by Murat. It is more assuring to most people if you seem to come from the same position as them, see? Then, you would need to explain of all the ways or methods you've come up with to mitigate or reduce these risks."
Hermione seemed to be connecting some dots already. Her hair trailed away from time to time whenever a particularly strong ocean gust came blowing in. The tail touched Tom's shoulder and at one point even his neck—he merely helped her gather her hair over one shoulder.
A part of him was envious at the wordless ease they moved with.
"Well, we did think over this earlier. I should've mentioned the plan to get at least an Auror liaison to him, then? As well as the vaguer one in the long run of getting the cooperation of the Auror Corps." Hermione asked.
Melchior couldn't help his smile. "Precisely."
"To start from a position of agreement," Tom murmured carefully.
"That's merely the best advice I can come up with." Melchior didn't lose a beat with his reply. "If you've found another effective method that has escaped me, the choice is up to you."
"I understand the general idea. I may have something ready for this by tomorrow. My thanks for your suggestion, Melchior."
"You're welcome—and it's always a pleasure."
'-
Even with the knowledge of all the things she wanted to do and prepare for in this time, a small corner of her couldn't help feeling guilty whenever Tom made full use of his prefect badge to allow him to 'escort her' at night unimpeded. Even the Hogwarts Caretaker would have no justified cause to apprehend them if they happened to meet. Yet the old rule-abiding teenager in her had never been completely dissolved by the pragmatism and worries of adulthood, and thus some irrational worries remain, even if only in a passing thought.
"Are you sure this is alright? We're not going to run into any teachers, are we?" she wondered out loud.
Tom's eyes were half-lidded when he turned to her, with a slight glimmer of disbelief.
"Do you think I don't know most of their habitual paths by now?"
The brunette sighed. "Oh, don't mind me. It's probably just old habits."
She said nothing more and thus similarly, he did not insist, especially since she was content to let her arm stay linked inside his. Torches flickered along the wall—they were not passing a commonly-used corridor right now, hence the lack of lit lanterns and the sparse lighting even then. Though the lighting was limited, it was still impossible to miss all the garlands that have been put up by now, and the new, fresh scent of spruce in the air. There was even the slight crackle of her boots stepping on fallen evergreen needles once in a while.
"It seems that even Melchior's opinion is of the same general thrust as our earlier conclusion." Tom said.
"Do you want to sound off someone else to see what other alternatives exist?"
He shrugged. "Maybe, but it's just as important to simply begin the plan we've established. Mere planning is useless when it does not end up with action."
"I'd like to do that if it weren't, you know, in the middle of a weekday right now." She raised an eyebrow at him.
"What does that have to do with anything?" His tone was languid.
"What does that—Tom, really! We're at school, and this is not the weekends when we have the opportunity to visit Hogsmeade. Even if it didn't happen to be a Hogsmeade weekend, I usually would still have the permission to leave due to my internship. On weekdays, though…"
His expression was still carefree, untouched by her worries. "Ah, but you're thinking like an average student."
"…and your meaning is…?"
"Ask for that permission to leave tomorrow. Ask, and ye shall receive."
"That doesn't make sense."
"You can visit Avery in the infirmary the way you habitually do from time to time. Observe her for a while, maybe, take note of her condition and potential risk. Say that you wish to visit St. Mungo's and consult with Madam Álava—after all, it's even more thoughtless to expect her to visit you here at your convenience. I'm sure someone of her level would have many important things to do."
Hermione's gaze became distant as she sunk into her thoughts. She really shouldn't be surprised that he'd considered that far. The plan had its imperfections—it would make more sense to find a mind healer to consult on Jemima's condition than Madam Álava, for one, since that field was not within her mastery. Once she had a reason that important, any teacher would have allowed her to leave Hogwarts—and that might not even be necessary. As this was a medical concern, she could probably just ask Nurse Edelstein for a leave.
The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that it was doable.
"Alright."
He nodded. "Well, that's settled."
She ran through other issues in her mind. "What about Greengrass?"
"Which one?"
"Ursula? You know, the prefect pro tempore candidate?"
"I don't see what the problem is."
Hermione sighed. "I can't just walk up to her and talk out of nowhere. That's just too weird."
She could feel him gazing at her oddly.
"Well of course not." he said.
"So…I can't think of anything right now."
She thought she could hear him chuckle. "You forgot that you don't have to do everything alone, Hermione."
"Eh? Most of my friends are Ravenclaws, though." Brown eyes blinked up at him. His face was getting a little too close and his dark blue eyes unreadable before he merely tapped her nose and stepped away again.
"Talk to Emma, and I hear that you've chatted just fine with Blankenstein and her friend. I'm sure at the very least that they can help you come up with the ideas. There's even the possibility of letting them open a conversation with Greengrass in the first place, and then pulling you in."
Tom was looking straight ahead this time, but she wasn't paying attention. He had a point there. She wasn't used to thinking that she'd had far more friends than she knew what to do with these days. It still wasn't quite natural for her to consider herself as someone with many friends. She'd never been popular during her Hogwarts days and she still didn't feel like she was now. Yet Tom was popular, and she was already part of his orbit—his connections were something she could also utilise, she supposed. It's just…
It still didn't feel quite natural for her to do so.
For all the knowledge she had, she still had some difficulty in squaring her previous Hogwarts experience with Tom's current one. Even with her experience marking her to be a notably different person than that younger Hermione, in some other ways, she was still that young witch too.
They continued to walk casually on a roundabout path that would sooner or later end at the Ravenclaw Tower. For all intents and purpose, they were indistinguishable from the average courting couples that exists among the Hogwarts upper-years—a sight evoking spring like a meadow bursting with blooming flowers. This impression lasted until one moved closer to listen to their casual conversation. After which the image evaporated like morning mists, and the remaining landscape was as different as a castle on a thunderstorm-filled mountain range in Transylvania.
"Say that I would like to cut off the wings of a macaw to attach to a snake…" he supposed.
"For what purposes, flying?" Hermione hazarded. Her brows furrowed at the idea.
"Quetzalcoatl had flown," he pointed out.
"Yes, but the flight ability has to be partially magical or fully magical. Wings and snakes are really a pretty bad combination." Hermione pointed out.
"Really? Why is that?"
"Well, have you seen the chest muscles required for flight? Birds generally have huge chest muscles for their relative size—compare the length of their wings to their torso! Don't forget the air sacs that supplied air to the lungs while the chest muscles are busier moving the wings by flapping instead of pumping air into the lungs right then." She shook her head. "To provide that, it would require dissecting the snake to transplant—"
"—the lung-heart-air-sac organ complex…and that wouldn't fit by default into a snake's thoracic cavity." As he finished, even a glance would tell that he was pondering deeply over it.
Her voice was more cheerful now. "Exactly! Well, at least you're already not thinking of just moving the lungs and air-sac and have already gone with the entire cardiopulmonary transplant approach."
He sniffed. "I'm no longer reckless enough to consider the lungs and heart as an easily-separable system."
"Yeah. I'm not sure a snake's heart is that suited for intense exercise that bird wings would require. Three chambers aren't as efficient as four chambers, you know?" she mused.
"So, if I try expanding the ribcage first over time with some growth hormones…wait, it doesn't even have to be that complicated. Break it, space it out and let new bone grow to connect the pieces."
This time, Hermione was the one who huffed.
"That's still complicated. You have to figure out how to support the entire ribcage to maintain its supportive form when you start cracking the bones apart to extend them. Otherwise, they'll just mend in whatever weird shape they'd fallen into after you break them. Since you can't do it for all ribs at once, this is a process that takes ages, even if the plan is constructed with Skele-Gro support in mind."
She shook her head. "You might as well start with a cockatrice and then go all the way to replace the lower body and head with a snake's body-to-tail and head. At least the most complicated set of organs, muscles and whatnot wouldn't be something that you'd need to reconstruct manually."
"That's a very good point…" He nodded in agreement. "What if I want to graft the wings on a human cadaver, though? As a starting point, a proof of concept for physical human modification?"
Her nose wrinkled at the thought.
"A flesh-based automaton?"
"You can put it that way." He said carelessly.
"There's the same issue—our chest muscles just aren't built for the level of work that wings would require, and you need to add new muscles that connects the wing with the chest. Human torsos also still have the problem of unable to breath in the middle of active flight that air sacs have solved in birds. Even if you were thinking of grafting them from another species, you still have to think about how to make space for it in the already-full human torso."
"Ah."
"Yep."
"What if I just…remove the liver?"
"The liver?"
"And stomach, the intestines are alright, I suppose. It's not like a flesh golem would really need a liver, would they? Or a stomach." He waved his hand. "Alright, let's waive away the possibility of making any living creature for the time being and approach this hypothetical scenario as a golem-making exercise."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Urgh, I draw the line on undead of any type—"
"—but they're golems—" his voice was entirely too cheerful.
"—because they stink. If it's not rot, it's going to be formaldehyde or whatever's used to preserve. Oils aren't much better. Not to mention that getting cadavers without negative emotional contamination or magical backlash is very, very hard. Just…no. It's too much work for what amounts to mindless automatons—clay-based golems are outright easier to make."
She clicked her tongue and gave Tom a withering look. "It's very inefficient. It would suit some delusional wizard with poor hygiene who had locked himself up in the family catacombs and hadn't surfaced for years. If one stares at corpses for years, they might start getting obsessed with them and think that the things they can make from them would absolutely be the best thing ever. But you? Who should know better? I'll take that as the first sign of mind rot."
Tom actually chuckled at that. Why, Hermione hadn't the slightest clue when she didn't even try hiding her disdain. She knew he wouldn't take moral arguments seriously, so she hadn't even touched them once. It didn't mean she couldn't identify the other sources of problems for his ideas. She wouldn't call herself Unspeakable Hermione if she couldn't shoot down questionable research proposals all day long.
"But writing and designing the instructions for clay golems are a lot more finicky and detailed, though." He pointed out.
"Yes, but they still wouldn't take as much time as troubleshooting the moving parts of a freaking cadaver golem, especially when it's a chimera of several creatures. It's easier to just stick to actual living magical creatures if you have complex instructions and want to have several capable of guarding places and items quickly. Seriously, any automaton would mean starting from zero in terms of creating their algorithms, cadaver ones included!"
"Or, you can just call a spirit to occupy and animate the flesh golem. They can obey most instructions just fine, provided they're not too complicated."
She shook her head. "There aren't many types of spirits that would be alright with taking over a cadaver. Of the ones that do, there are many questionable ones I'd like to eliminate from the list outright. Again, trauma leaves a magical taint, traumatic death leaves the most. Again, that's more negative contamination I don't want to deal with. Leave those as guards over plains for some time and they'd soon get barren, if not outright turned into marshes and bog swamps."
"Make enough of them and you're poisoning some perfectly fine land. The effect is even worse and more noticeable in productive land. Why would you want to destroy something that could keep giving you an income stream that way?"
That last line would probably be more effective against Abraxas than Tom, but she was prepared to approach this argument from all sides to dissuade him. Growing up an orphan, she was pretty sure that Tom at least knew the value of having money. Hermione's conviction on this was firm.
Britain does not need another regiment of inferi here and there!
She might not end up being an Auror, but whenever Harry or Ron had found yet another of Voldemort's old cache, she would be the first to volunteer to accompany them. A safe house or hideout was one thing, but she didn't want to risk any of the others less experienced than them handling the fruits of the dark lord's necromancy hobby!
Considering that the undead don't even need to be fed or checked on frequently, she'd started to suspect that Voldemort had outright forgotten that some of the caches existed.
The conversation entered a lull for a minute or so as he ran over the possibilities again. They might not realise it, but one of Hogwarts' more low-profile ghosts had almost crossed paths with them a few minutes earlier. Hearing their topic of conversation, he grew a little more transparent and then prudently decided to take a detour instead to avoid these rather concerning pair of students.
The ghost was deathly afraid that the young man might think about catching him and trapping him inside some cadaver and bind him as a servant. Or perhaps something worse even beyond his imagination…
Tom sighed. "So, it's back to living creatures, then."
"Either that, or outright golem built from scratch like any sane people would make them." Hermione pointed out, her hand waving in a 50-50 gesture. "Pretty sure Julia's family had some history with them that you could ask more about."
"A flying golem is too complicated, though." he mused out loud.
"Yes. Which is why I've truly never seen one anywhere, and I'd like to think that I've read a lot," she answered, before she tilted her head in thought. "I think it could work if you design it properly, like a clockwork contraption. The snitch is an excellent basis for the design, for one, though it's really only programmed to do one thing—escape. If you want anything more complicated than that…"
This time, it was Tom who shook his head.
"I'll have to start reading a completely different field when I've read up far along on blood magic, care of magical creatures and biology. No, the zoological sciences and arts would serve me just fine. It's back to the winged-snake, then."
"You keep saying that a bird's chest muscles are far stronger than a human's or a reptile's equivalent for their given size, right? So, I suppose there is that final shortcut—to attach gliding wings instead of wings for active flight." he concluded.
She perked up at the thought. "Oh, yes, that wouldn't be as strenuous on the muscles. On the other hand, the possible ecosystem that such a winged snake could live in would be pretty limited. It can only live somewhere where there are plenty of updraft, for example, like in seaside cliffs, or deserts. Hmmm, that sounds like it could easily be a predator of seagull eggs…"
"Hmm…"
Her eyebrows knitted together; a seed of suspicion grew in her gaze. "You're not thinking of putting new creatures in niches they can't even live in, are you?"
"Oh no, I wouldn't dare after all your long complaints about ecosystem destroyers." Amusement coloured his reply.
"Well, that's as it should be, then." She nodded firmly.
"Well, if the flight ability was partly magical, the types of ecosystems they can live in becomes more flexible…"
Their voices faded into the night as they took another turn.
'-
Sixth-year prefect Emma Eccleston had just sat down on the Slytherin table when she saw someone else standing up and approaching her. This early in the morning, most of the House tables were still empty, so she could figure out who it was rather easily. The mass of brown curls was the first clue, and the second was her confident stride; it was Hermione Curie.
"Good morning, Emma."
"Good morning, Hermione."
Emma barely blinked when Hermione slid into the seat next to hers with her plate of breakfast in hand. Right now, there was only a pair of toast on it. Emma passed an unused teacup and saucer and poured some tea for the younger witch. Hermione thanked her easily and both of them were absorbed in their respective teas for a while.
She herself wouldn't mind the Ravenclaw's presence, though House traditions might dictate otherwise. Emma would've suggested her to go back after ten minutes or so as to not agitate her other House members, if it wasn't for something Mordred had passed on to her about who Tom Riddle might actually be. This time, she was simply pleased that House tradition and her own preferences happened to be perfectly aligned.
"You know, I thought it was a bit early for the change in décor. Are the teachers here always so enthusiastic?" Hermione asked.
The Slytherin wasn't quite sure what she meant, until the other witch pointed at the gigantic pine tree at the corner of the Great Hall, just to the side of the entrance and with its tips reaching all the way to the starry ceiling. It hadn't been decorated yet, but even its presence altered the atmosphere of the hall into something more comforting and mildly festive, end-of-term tests notwithstanding. She also had no idea where the deep roots she saw yesterday went, and an odd thought passed her mind—they couldn't have torn up the floor blocks just to get it down, could they?
The fresh scent of greenery than the pine, spruce and other parts of the garland contributed certainly felt relaxing.
"Oh, no, not really. I'm sure they weren't this prompt last year." Emma answered. The tree had only been present around two weeks in. She remembered studying for the tests last winter while having breakfast, and the Great Hall in her memories were generally tree-less and garland-less.
Their curiosities were piqued with this apparent difference, but neither of them could figure out what might've prompted this change. Several possibilities were floated and thought on, but they couldn't settle on the strongest reason or two that they gave up. To heighten midwinter cheer in the middle of the muggle war in the continent was the most obvious, with the unsaid implication of that was to also distract from Grindelwald's last attacks in England. Emma could point to her student data showing that Hogwarts had the highest number of continental transferees this year, so that might also be the cause. Yet Hermione's offhand comment about how this winter seems to be particularly cold also had merit.
In the end, they both simply shrugged and moved on. It had mostly been a random curiosity for them both.
"How are your prefect responsibilities lately, by the way? Now that we've started to enter the test weeks?" Hermione asked.
"With good planning, anything's bearable." Emma answered. She couldn't stop her eyebrow from going up.
"Oh, I'm not accusing you of carelessness or anything." Hermione shook her head firmly. "It's just…there used to be six active prefects before now, right? Two for each year from fifth year onwards. Yet with Jemima out of duty, you only have five people from Slytherin House. Wouldn't the difference be felt?"
"Hmm, well…"
Technically, yes, the difference should've been felt, but she and Jemima had never seen eye-to-eye. The girl was rather difficult to coordinate their schedule with and she tended to wish to change hers abruptly. It was a good thing that Clytemnestra indulged her at times and would voluntarily exchange her own schedule with the fifth-year. Otherwise, Emma's limited patience might have run low far sooner.
As for some of the other duties, she had run out of patience with Jemima's speed and had single-handedly divided the work to be done into fifths. None of the boys had complained to her, even if she had seen Tom's knowing smirk when she first did it. Her cheeks might've warmed a little, but she pretended that nothing was wrong and no one had taken issue with it. Her being out of duty now didn't affect that arrangement she'd set up from September.
"Well?" Hermione asked.
"The Slytherin prefects are quite used to adjusting our workload for one reason or another. This isn't something we're unused to." Emma answered.
Her reply was true…and was also a diplomatic one. It would be a bit of an embarrassment to admit to someone outside the House that they'd been too used to Jemima being at least half a deadweight all this time. Her being sick now was not a major change to their routine.
"Well, even if you could manage it, it would be nicer if you don't have to do it, wouldn't it? Why not appoint someone else in the interim? A prefect pro tempore?" Hermione spoke again.
Emma paused to think. Hermione seems to be patiently waiting for her answer.
"That is an excellent idea," she finally said. Especially since Jemima's bedrest provides us with the perfect reason to replace her, even if temporarily.
"It is, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"To be fair, I don't know that many Slytherin witches, much less to know them well enough that I can aptly suggest one person or another on this topic." Hermione said while pouring more tea for them both. "But Tom and the others have talked about it before, and they think the best candidate would be Ursula Greengrass."
Now everything made more sense to Emma. She would be more surprised if the most probable Heir of Slytherin in a century had no interest in this at all, particularly since he also happened to be one of Slytherin's prefects. She just didn't expect that he'd let his girlfriend bring this topic up instead of doing it himself. On that note, Emma mentally congratulated Hermione on managing to bring it up casually, smoothly. There were other witches in her House who could learn a little from the brunette.
"Ursula is a decent choice," Emma answered honestly. It was certainly better than Patricia Parkinson. "What I don't understand is why he didn't bring this up himself. It would be natural for a prefect to be interested."
Hermione winced. "Well, I heard from the boys that they might have something to do with an accident that Ursula experienced a few years ago. So…"
That surprised her a little. Oh. That accident? Had they started to position themselves with him that early? She was a little disappointed in herself that she hadn't noticed their movements much. It was obvious with hindsight, but before that…
"Ah. I understand. Say no more of it." Emma answered.
"Gladly. It's better if they're not connected to this. It's just that it would be really awkward if I was the one to breach this topic with her—I'm a Ravenclaw, for one, and not even a prefect at that. That's why I thought of asking for your help. I hope it's not too much of a bother, Emma." Her smile was warm and completely open.
Emma smiled in return.
"It's no problem at all. You can leave this to me completely."
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End Notes:
Yeah, Tom's starting to not hold back on enthusiastically chatting about the whole...necromancy thing. That's the bad news that comes with the good news of better communication between them.
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List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up: Golem (folklore): The word comes into English from Yiddish goylem, which in turn is from the Hebrew gōlem. The oldest stories of golem dates to early Judaism of dust/earth kneaded into the shape of a man and somehow given animation then (Wikipedia). There were many tales of these constructs in Europe in the Middle Ages, and even the Brothers Grimm had stories of them. The most famous is one involving Judah Loew, a rabbi of Prague in the 16th century.
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