Banned from meeting her friends in Diagon Alley like she would have liked, Hermione was restricted to owling her friends over the weekend as they all gossiped about the trial. It was frustrating and difficult – there were certain things that could not be put in writing that she very much wanted to discuss – but she was reassured by her friends somewhat. Veritaserum was not required of witnesses when giving testimony at trials.
The entire trial gave Hermione mixed feelings, ones she didn't like. She felt tangled up inside, like she couldn't really figure out what she wanted or how to feel. Rhamnaceae Rookwood had organized a planned attack on her that could have left her dead. Dead. And Hermione had gotten her expelled in revenge.
But Rhamnaceae was facing Azkaban, now.
And Hermione well knew that she hadn't done anything of which she'd been accused.
Hermione gnawed her lip, thinking as she idly doodled on a paper. She'd gotten her enemy expelled, which had been her goal. Rhamnaceae didn't need to go to Azkaban – never having to see her again at Hogwarts was more than enough.
But that meant Hermione now found herself in the odd position of having to defend her enemy, to make sure she didn't get convicted for the crime she'd been framed for.
As much as Hermione wrestled with herself, arguing with herself that Rhamnaceae left her for dead, that she wouldn't hesitate to have Hermione locked up and thrown away the key, Hermione couldn't truly convince herself to just let Rhamnaceae be convicted. It was her fault that Rookwood was in this position, anyway – and so it fell to her to ensure her vengeance didn't exceed the degree of the original offense.
Hermione sighed.
At least she wouldn't be alone, she supposed. Millie had said she intended to tag along with her father to watch the trial. Tracey had written, saying that pretty much every classmate who could was going to try and attend the Wizengamot trial alongside whichever relative of theirs held their House Seat, as allowing heirs apparent to shadow Wizengamot sessions was a longstanding tradition. This was going to be the gossip of the summer, and every student who could witness it wanted to. Draco might be expected to testify, if they asked about the Chamber of Secrets, and Hermione imagined that he'd attend alongside his father regardless. Even Harry had made a bargain with his uncle to be allowed to attend, as he was expected to testify as well.
Harry was even more nervous than she was, apparently.
What if they ask what she said, Hermione? he had written, his handwriting spiky with anxiety. I can't speak Parseltongue anymore – if I just hiss randomness, what if someone else there secretly knows Parseltongue? I don't want to explain about the coven ritual burning the Parseltongue up!
Harry's worry was legitimate. Though arguably rare, Parseltongue wasn't difficult to learn if you knew the ritual, and who knew how many secret covens were littered throughout the wizarding world? If not for her being grounded, Hermione would have been able to visit Harry and just teach him to imitate the correct sounds. As it was, she was restricted to writing to him, doing her best to reassure him that it would all be okay.
But it wasn't okay.
You don't have much of a choice, Tom Riddle told her, when Hermione sought his advice. It is well-known that your friend could speak Parseltongue. It was revealed in front of the entire school. If that fact is brought into question, people will want to know why.
What do I care if the secret of Voldemort's Horcuxes comes out? Hermione had written back, frustrated. And wouldn't Dumbledore be more suspicious if Harry suddenly could understand Parseltongue again?
He already knows half your coven can, Tom pointed out. He will just suspect you repeated the ritual again. Which you should do – you don't want knowledge of your coven to become widely known, not yet. It is better to make sure the matter is avoided entirely by tying up this loose end.
Hermione found it kind of contradictory that they were all openly wearing their coven rings while they were still trying to keep the coven itself on the down low. So far, though, no one seemed to notice their rings unless they were looking for them, like being aware of their coven suddenly made the rings visible. She'd have to look more into what charms had been laid into the rings when she had the chance.
I'm grounded – I'm not allowed to go out or see my friends. And I can't exactly tell my parents that I need to see my friends so I can make sure our faked evidence holds up in court! What am I supposed to do?
Her own handwriting had become a bit of a scribble in her anxiousness.
Well, Tom wrote, after a long pause. There is another way. But you won't like it.
What? Hermione demanded. It's a bit of a desperate situation here, realize.
You could give your friend my diary.
Hermione froze.
Hear me out, Hermione, Tom Riddle continued, his handwriting continuing to flow out across the page. All your friend would need to do is let a drop of his blood fall upon the diary pages and keep the diary in his pocket. It would be just enough to let me help him respond or use Parseltongue if needed. Just enough to offer him the knowledge of Parseltongue in the back of his mind, if he had to use it. He's had a similar piece of soul in his head like this before. It would work.
Hermione stared at the diary.
The idea would work. It would work; it made sense, and it would probably work just as Tom had said.
But she did not like the idea of offering a Horcrux blood.
I don't want Harry to offer you blood, Hermione finally wrote back. I don't know what all the effects of giving your blood to a Horcrux are, and I don't want to risk Harry to you.
You would take the diary back afterward, Hermione, Tom cajoled. Even if there were other effects, which there aren't, Harry would be out of my reach as soon as you took the diary back.
Would he, though? Hermione challenged. We united as a coven. Part of that was sharing blood.
Was it really? Tom asked. I never got to make a coven. Did you really share blood with each other?
It was part of the ritual. 'I offer by blood with the cut of this knife. May my blood be yours for the rest of my life.'
How fascinating. Was it literal or symbolic, do you suppose? Tom wanted to know. Do you think you might now be able to pass through purebloods-only wards, with the blood of some of your coven mates? Or was it just symbolic, do you suppose?
By the time Hermione realized she'd been fully distracted for nearly an hour from talking with Tom, discussing and dissecting the use of blood in the coven ritual and in others, it was nearing dinner time.
I need a solution that doesn't rely on trusting you with my coven's safety, Hermione told him, eventually circling back around to the immediate issue at hand. How did you possess Ginny? Can't you do the same to Harry, only less so?
Ginny poured her heart out to me. It was easier to enter her mind when she offered part of herself to me like she did. Tom's response did not make Hermione feel better. You're a bit short on time, if you want Harry to write out his life's story to me.
Hermione groaned, tugging at her hair.
Can't you just choose to help him? she pleaded. If he has the diary in his pocket, and he touches you, mentally pleading for help and touching you with his magic, can't you just choose to help him then?
There was a pause.
And why, Hermione, Tom wrote, would I choose to do that?
Hermione bit her lip.
What do you want? Hermione asked. She was Slytherin; she knew how this game of exchanges and trades went.
A body, Tom responded immediately. I want a body again.
I can't just help you steal a body, Tom, Hermione argued. That's Dark magic, and I'm not doing it.
Then a construct of one. A temporary one, like before, Tom bargained. If I can't use magic in it like we suspect, what would be the possible risk? I get to stretch and feel alive for a little while, and you get what you need from me.
Hermione rubbed her eyes hard, pressing them back into her skull as she groaned.
She had the feeling that this was a very bad idea.
But what choice did she have?
A temporary body, she agreed, biting her lip. I'll drain my magic fully into you tonight and then mail Harry the diary with instructions. After the trial is over and I get you back, I'll do so for a full week, and you can keep the body for however long that lasts.
Her heart pounding with foreboding, she could almost see Tom Riddle's smirk as his words came across the page.
Agreed.
