AN: Hey y'all. I hope everyone is doing okay in the current chaos of our world, and I hope this update manages to bring you guys some joy. This is such a weird, shitty, scary time. I am doing okay, considering, and I hope you all are too. Hang in there you guys, I love you all. Sirius says the f-word a lot in this chapter, which seems fitting at the current moment tbh.

Also, this was my placeholder title for this chap, and then I just…didn't come up with anything else lol

Chapter 26: Ain't No Party Like a SlugClub Party

Hermione surveyed Professor Slughorn's expansive private study, conscious of Amos' hand on the small of her back as he guided her into the room. The space had a very masculine feel, the low lighting and abundance of mahogany, along with the richly colored accents (mostly in deep Slytherin green) reminded Hermione of the muggle steakhouses her father had occasionally frequented once upon a time. In another time.

There were tall, round-topped tables peppered throughout the room which Slughorn had presumably had set up for the party, early arrivals already clustering around them in small groups, chatting. The crowd so far consisted of just about whom Hermione had expected it would; mainly well connected pure blood and half-blood students from 5th year and above, the occasional academically brilliant muggleborn of the same age group hovering around the edges. Herself included, Hermione supposed.

"I know it's a bit tedious," Amos was saying as he ushered her inside, interrupting Hermione's internal musings, "but the hors d'oeuvres at these things are always amazing, and once 'Ol Sluggy has a glass of wine or two himself, he's usually pretty generous with the supply, if you get my meaning."

Hermione frowned. It wasn't that she unilaterally disapproved of underage drinking. Such an attitude would have made her a hypocrite, given that she'd partaken in the activity herself, and more than once. But she did think it was a bit much for a Professor, and a Head of House at that, to be plying students under his care with alcohol. Was Dumbledore aware of this, Hermione wondered.

Seeing her expression, and clearly able to surmise the direction of her thoughts from it, Amos laughed. "Don't look so tense, Hermione! It's just wine, we've all been drinking it since we were ten, anyway."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Who's we?"

Amos shrugged. "Well, pure bloods, I suppose. It's just tradition."

"I see," Hermione said, refraining from pointing out that, although she was decidedly not a pure blood, her parents had also let her occasionally sample wine as she'd emerged into adolescence.

"Yeah, we're known for that," someone said from Hermione's left, the distinct drawl one she would have recognized anywhere, even if she hadn't been inundated with the smoky-citrusy scent of Black's aftershave the moment he'd approached them. "That and underage, incestuous marriages. I wouldn't recommend emulating the second bit, but I'm highly in favor of the first."

"Gods, Black, are you drunk already?" Amos asked wonderingly.

Black smirked. "This is just my natural, sparkling personality, Diggory, but thanks for the concern. Working on it, though."

"Your personality or your alcohol consumption for the evening?" Hermione inquired wryly.

"You know what they say, Kitten. Can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"So not your personality, then?"

"Right," Black affirmed, his smirk seeming only to intensify. "Wouldn't want to disappoint you, Kitten."

Hermione scoffed. "I hate to tell you this, Black, but I've never exactly been overly enamored of your personality."

Far from seeming offended by this remark, Black looked positively delighted to be verbally sparring with her, and Hermione, for her part, could hardly pretend she wasn't enjoying it herself, the smile she was unable to fully suppress giving her away.

"You wound me, Kitten," Black said lowly to her, letting his eyes linger on her for a moment before switching his attention to Amos. The Hufflepuff, at this point, appeared quite bewildered by the sexually charged, verbal tennis match happening alongside him, a metaphor which, as a pure blood who had no idea what tennis even was, would have been utterly lost on him. "Is she this mean to you?" Sirius asked him drolly.

Hermione felt Amos curl a possessive hand around her waist, tugging her closer until she was tucked up tightly against his side, the line of her body pressed fully against his.

"No," he said flatly, and then, beginning to steer Hermione away, using the arm he had wrapped lowly around her waist to guide her in the opposite direction of her housemate, "Enjoy the party, Black."

"Well," Amos observed as they settled around one of round-topped tables across the study, "that was…enlightening."

"What was?" Hermione asked distractedly, placing her small, metallic clutch carefully upon the table-top. Given what was contained within it, she could hardly afford to lose track of it tonight.

"That," Amos said, gesturing back at Black, who they'd left behind on the other side of the room, a hint of amusement coloring his voice as he eyed his date. "I had no idea Black liked you."

Hermione laughed, focusing fully on Amos once more as she settled in at the table. "Black doesn't like me," she dismissed.

"Hermione," Amos said patiently, "He called you 'Kitten' three times. Not to mention he was undressing you with his eyes for the entire conversation," the blonde paused here to let his own eyes travel heatedly over her body. "Not that I blame the bloke," he continued smoothly. "Have I told you yet how divine you look in that dress?"

Hermione flushed. "Yes," she said with a self-conscious but pleased smile, leaning forward to peck Amos on the lips. "I believe you have mentioned it."

"I'm just not the only one who's noticed," Amos murmured, breaking off their kiss and subtly tilting his head in the direction of Black, the weight of whose eyes Hermione could, indeed, still feel on her.

"I doubt he was undressing me with his eyes," she muttered, ducking her head in an attempt to hide the blush which had suddenly, irritatingly, overtaken her face. The very thought of Black imagining her that way was almost excruciatingly embarrassing, Hermione decided. And absolutely not exciting in the least, or doing funny things to her stomach.

"He was," Amos countered, gently tipping her head up to look at him. "When he wasn't glaring at me, that is. I'm half surprised he didn't challenge me to a duel."

Hermione forced a somewhat breathless laugh. "Black doesn't like me," she reassured Amos, "not as anything more than a housemate, anyway. And I certainly don't like him, so you have nothing to worry about."

Amos leaned forward to kiss her again, a more lingering one this time. "Oh, I'm not worried," he told her.

"You're staring, cousin," Narcissa said softly to Sirius, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side as she appraised the Granger girl and Diggory together. They did seem something of a mismatch to her practiced eye, but the two of them appeared happy enough together, at least on the surface. "Didn't Auntie Walburga ever teach you how to be subtle?"

Sirius snorted, finally succeeding in dragging his eyes from Granger in order to focus on his cousin. "I didn't know you could be funny, Cissy."

"I have hidden depths," she said dryly. Sirius merely grunted, but Narcissa was unbothered by his skepticism. She was used to it, after all, from Sirius as well as from practically everyone else in her life. Narcissa wore her veneer of cool, aloof beauty like armor, and her life experience had taught her that very few people were capable of seeing beyond that; of viewing her as anything more than a pretty but empty shell. 'She's a beautiful child,' they had always said, and now that she was older and a woman engaged; 'She will breed beautiful children'.

"She is quite pretty, Siri," Narcissa allowed of Granger, her icy, ever assessing blue eyes still pinned on the mudblood girl who had so succeeded in captivating her cousin's attention. "Considering."

"Considering what," Sirius spat, undoubtedly picking up on her unspoken meaning.

"Her unfortunate parentage," Narcissa said honestly, unsurprised by Sirius' hostility, but unwilling to couch her opinions to appease it. She spent enough time doing that around Bella and Lucius, and it always gave her a tension headache eventually. Little did people know that was the real reason her face always looked so pinched. "That dress suits her well, though."

"What do you want, Cissy?" Sirius cut in frustratedly, evidently losing patience with her observations.

"Am I correct in assuming you have received an invitation to spend the Christmas Holidays with your parents this year?" she asked mildly, unruffled by his agitation.

Sirius grunted. "I wouldn't call it anything as optional as an invitation, but yes. I've been summoned home."

Narcissa nodded. It was as she had expected. "They plan to give you an ultimatum."

Sirius cut his eyes briefly at his cousin. "What sort of ultimatum?"

Narcissa stared steadily ahead. "They will strongly implore you to join in service to the Dark Lord," she said quietly, her voice betraying none of her internal emotions, as she had always been taught to speak, even to family. "The alternative being your banishment."

Sirius remained silent, but Narcissa thought she detected a slight hardening in his eyes.

"Lucius thinks you will join," she observed after a moment.

Sirius let out a muted version of the bark like laugh he'd possessed since early childhood. "Well, he's a fucking idiot then."

Narcissa ignored the insult to her intended, unbothered. "Lucius doesn't know you as well as I do," she said. "Nothing is more important to him than legacy. He simply can't imagine anyone choosing to walk away from their inheritance, from their birthright, for any reason, much less for ideals that run counter to everything he believes in."

"You mean blood purity?" Sirius scoffed, a bitter sound tinged with disgust. Narcissa did not flinch.

"Yes," she acknowledged. "And power."

"Malfoy's got a very limited mind, doesn't he?"

"Lucius is highly intelligent," Narcissa pointed out factually. "But he is a product of his upbringing."

"We're all products of our upbringing," Sirius said flatly, reaching into the inside of his suit jacket and extracting a flask before openly taking a long pull of whatever happened to be inside. "Do you love him, then?" he asked when he'd finished, uncouthly wiping his mouth with the back of hand like an ill-mannered rube. Narcissa was mildly appalled.

"Mine and Lucius' is a highly advantageous political match for both of our families," she said in response to Sirius' question, her voice sounding stilted even to her own ears. "It doesn't matter whether I love him or not. It is expected that we marry."

Sirius shook his head, turning away from her. Their conversation, it seemed, was now at an end.

"You know, Cissy," Sirius said quietly over his shoulder, "you don't always have to do what's expected of you."

At his words, Narcissa felt the unfamiliar prick of involuntary tears gathering behind her eyes. But she refused to let them spill over. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and she no longer cried unless it was on purpose. Bella had always thought her weak. And as Narcissa watched her cousin walk away from her, walk away from what was likely the last conversation they would ever have, she thought that perhaps her sister was right about her.

Hermione popped a prosciutto wrapped brussels sprout into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she observed Professor Slughorn in his element. The Potion's Master was holding court with a couple of Ravenclaw sixth years a short distance away from her and Amos' table, prattling on to them self-importantly about his Ministry connections and basking obviously in his students' responding awe.

By Hermione's count, Slughorn was now on his third glass of wine, and almost finished with it; the dregs of the surely fine vintage he'd been enthusiastically imbibing beginning to settle at the bottom of his glass. Given the man's impressive size and presumably corresponding alcohol tolerance though, Hermione thought she'd wait for him to indulge in one more before she approached him.

Amos, who had himself been prattling on self-importantly (just a bit) about quidditch, paused in the relation of his latest winning match (not against Gryffindor, Hermione paid enough attention to register) in order to ask her if she wanted a glass of champagne.

"Not just yet," Hermione murmured, eyes still on Slughorn. "I need to talk to Professor Slughorn about something, an academic matter," she explained, which wasn't precisely a lie. Hermione did consider her inquiry into Slughorn and Tom Riddles' relationship an academic exercise of a sort, if not one that was relevant to her upcoming OWLS. "I'm just waiting for an opening."

Hermione didn't have overly long to wait. About twenty minutes, and another glass of wine, later Slughorn detached himself from his audience of Ravenclaw's and approached her himself. It was a rather fortuitous turn of events, Hermione thought, not to mention excellent timing, judging by the tell-tale blooming redness of her Professor's face.

"Miss Granger!" Slughorn boomed jovially, the enthusiasm of his greeting such that Hermione found herself struggling not to lean away from the man. "What a delightful surprise it is to finally gain your presence at a Slugclub event!"

Hermione smiled. "Not for a lack of trying over the years on your part, Professor," she said demurely, alluding, not without good natured humor, to the considerable amount of invitations to events such as this that she'd rejected in the past.

Luckily, Slughorn appeared taken in by her particular wry form of charm, just as Hermione had hoped he would be. "Cheeky!" the Professor crowed, eyes sparkling with amusement. "But right you are, right you are, my dear! And with young Mr. Black in attendance as well this evening, it seems I have finally succeeded in drawing in a few of my most brilliant but previously elusive students! Now all we need is for Miss Evans and Mr. Potter to join us and my quadrant of gifted Gryffindors would be complete!"

Hermione smiled blandly, which appeared to be enough evidence to Slughorn that she was delighted by his statement. He beamed back at her for a moment, before turning to Amos and registering his presence with distinctly less excitement than he had Hermione's. "Diggory, get Miss Granger a glass of champagne, would you? This is an occasion to celebrate!"

To his credit, Amos looked to Hermione first, only leaving to procure the ordered beverage once he'd gained her nod of assent. She could see that a little crowd had formed around the bar Slughorn had had set up, a crush of mostly underage students who were obviously quite pleased with the fact that everyone in attendance tonight was conveniently ignoring the fact that none of them should have legally been allowed alcohol. It would take Amos a while to get that champagne for her, which suited Hermione's purposes just fine; she planned to take full advantage of her time alone with the Potions Professor.

Unfortunately for Hermione, Sirius Black chose that exact moment to approach their little table, inserting himself next to her and Slughorn not a minute after Amos had left them.

After deserting his cousin, Sirius found himself at something of a loss as to what to do with himself. He would have fucked off entirely, but he had half a flask of vodka left, and he knew that if he retreated back to the dorm either James or Remus might try to take it away from him, which would just be a tragic waste of perfectly good liquor. At minimum, James would stare at him with his patented look of Sad Judgement and Remus would sigh at him, rendering his drinking experience entirely unenjoyable. So that was out. Sirius supposed he could've just wandered around the castle by himself, but he'd always found drinking alone to be a vaguely depressing endeavor, even if he did occasionally allow himself to indulge in it. So, for lack of a better option, Sirius found himself hovering around the fringes of Slughorn's stupid party. If nothing else, it at least provided ambient background noise.

While he might not have wanted to talk to anyone (and his surly expression was so far properly succeeding in frightening away anyone who might have been interested) Sirius didn't actually mind existing in the midst of the party, even if this was exactly the type of party he hated. Letting the waves of everyone's innocuous chatter wash over him was almost as comfortingly numbing as the vodka, he found. Sirius had always liked being around other people, even when he wanted to be alone. He peered out at the party now, eyes passing briefly over the sea of eager, social climbing fellow students, most of whom would probably go on to work at the Ministry in some capacity, before settling on Diggory and Granger.

Diggory, the great blonde prat, was practically hanging all over her, arm slung possessively around Granger's waist as he pulled her closely to his side. It was almost nauseating. Godric, Diggory was annoying. The bloke just had this constant aura of vague smugness hanging about him, which was ridiculous, given that however good Diggory purportedly was at quidditch, Hufflepuff hadn't even come close to winning the cup any of the years he'd been on their house team. Diggory was entirely too far up his own arse for someone who'd never won the quidditch cup, in Sirius' opinion. It was sad, really. Sirius couldn't even begin to fathom what Granger saw in the prat, though, gratifyingly, she didn't seem to be paying much attention to Diggory at the moment.

In fact, she'd had been covertly eying Professor Slughorn the entire time that Sirius had been eyeing her. So intense was Granger's focus on their Potions Professor that she didn't even seem to notice Sirius' own attention on her, or if she did, she gave no sign of it, ignoring his gaze the same way she was ignoring Diggory as he continually pawed at her. Her attention remained unwaveringly fixed on Slughorn, and Sirius found himself intrigued by the calculation he could see lurking beneath the surface of her brown eyes. What was Granger up to, he wondered, and what did she want with Slughorn?

"Speak of the devil!" Slughorn chortled the minute Black sidled up to them, which Hermione thought was a more fitting greeting for her housemate than Slughorn perhaps knew. Judging by the smirk Black shot her at the Professor's words, he could guess something of the direction of her thoughts. Though to be fair, any oaf with even a semblance of self-awareness would have been able to surmise from Hermione's expression that she was less than pleased to be forced into Black's company for the second time that night.

"Talking about me, were you?" Black quipped, seemingly addressing Slughorn, though his eyes never left Hermione's.

"Actually," she cut in, determined to turn this conversation to her advantage in spite of Black's presence. Never let it be said that Hermione Granger was unable to quickly adapt her strategy. And though she was loathe to admit it, now that Black was here, it occurred to her that he might even be useful. Unlike Amos, who Hermione had gathered was largely oblivious to the current political situation, she knew she could count on Black to be discrete and not let anything slip which he'd misjudged the significance of. "We were just discussing some of Professor Slughorn's former students," she explained.

"Were we?" Slughorn asked, turning confusedly to Hermione, wine sloshing in his glass as he moved. In fact, they hadn't been, but they were going to now.

"Yes," Hermione said smoothly. "You've had such a long and distinguished career, Professor," Slughorn visibly puffed up a the flattery, predictable as ever, "and I was simply wondering if I might ask about a student you mentored early on."

"But of course, my dear," Slughorn said, warming to the subject, "ask away!"

Hermione smiled thinly. She had a feeling that Slughorn wasn't going be quite so receptive to her questioning once she revealed the subject of it.

"It would have been quite a long time ago, Professor, but I'm sure you would remember having taught a Mr. Tom Riddle."

Slughorn stiffened up immediately, narrowing his eyes at her, and clouded with drink though they were, Hermione could see that they had now become guarded. He set his wine glass down on the table with a sharp clink. "I am not sure that I do, Miss Granger," Slughorn said, the warmth now having entirely left his voice. "How do you know the name?"

"Oh but surely, Professor, with your impeccable memory you do recall him," Hermione insisted.
"My guardian, Hagrid, recalled that you and Riddle were quite close when he was under your tutelage."

"So Rubeus has been blabbing on about long buried things, has he?" Slughorn snapped, giving up the game far more easily than Hermione had expected. "He always was indiscreet."

"So you do remember, Riddle."

"What are you playing at girl?" Slughorn hissed, taking a tone Hermione knew he typically wouldn't with a student. She had rattled him. Black, who had been watching their conversation unfold with intrigue, was clearly wondering what Hermione was playing at as well. "Given your background, Miss Granger, I'd hardly think it natural or prudent that you should be interested in what Riddle is up to these days."

"My background is exactlywhy I'm interested," Hermione said grimly.

Slughorn's eyes narrowed once more, this time settling on her scar, the starburst exposed by the neckline of her dress. "I always have wondered, Miss Granger, how it is you came to possess such an unusual scar," he said silkily, eyes still lingering on the vivid mark.

"I've had it for years, Professor," Hermione responded calmly. "Since the night my family was murdered."

"I see," he said, continuing to stare. Hermione had the distinct impression that Slughorn, although he was not privy to the exact nature of her blemish, had nevertheless managed to intuit that it was significant. In all likelihood, the Professor must have believed that she'd received the mark at the hands of Death Eaters, which conveniently explained her interest in Riddle, if not how she had come to know who he was. This was the wrong conclusion, of course, but Hermione could hardly fault the man's logic.

"It is not my intention, Professor," she said measuredly, after a moment of thick silence, "to impugn your character in any way by bringing up your association with Riddle so long ago. In fact, I understand that you and he had a falling out in his later years as a student. I was simply curious as to what might have caused such a rift."

"You are very precocious, aren't you Miss Granger?" Slughorn accused her, though Hermione thought there might have been the shade of a compliment lurking somewhere in his statement.

That's one word for it, Sirius thought, though he didn't say, having no desire to verbally interrupt whatever the fuck was happening between Granger and Slughorn just now.

"I have been told that, yes," Hermione replied.

Slughorn was now glaring at her intensely now, his expression irritated and defensive. "There is nothing inherently ignoble about the pursuit of power, Miss Granger, or even immortality. The reality of most magic, whatever our revolving door of Defense Professor's would have you believe, is that it is neither black or white, but gray; its effect determined not by any 'nature' which has been falsely ascribed to it, but by the intent of the castor. Understand, Miss Granger, that most forms of magic are not good or bad. That is an almost entirely false dichotomy. I could kill you with something as seemingly harmless as a hovering charm, should I use one to defenestrate you from a window of sufficient height. But there are exceptions to this rule. And some things, some rituals," Slughorn shuddered here, as though whatever he was thinking of was so violently repulsive that the Professor could not control in himself a physical reaction, "should never be performed."

"That's very interesting, Professor," Hermione said faintly in the wake of this monologue, her mind already spinning. Whatever aspersions Slughorn might have cast on Hagrid, he was clearly just as capable of being prodded into being indiscreet by Hermione as her guardian was. Especially with the help of alcohol. The two men shared that in common, if little else.

It was both the end and the beginning of what Professor Slughorn had said, more than the middle content, which seemed most important to Hermione; most revealing. She'd already known back in the 1990's that Voldemort had been obsessed with immortality. Harry had seen him drinking unicorn blood their first year, and of course, he'd been after the Philosopher's Stone at that time as well. And then, in Hermione's second year, Ginny Weasley had had the misfortune of happening upon a shade of Voldemort's younger self imprinted in the pages of her newly acquired diary, the wicked reliquary having been conveniently shoved in her direction by none other than Lucius Malfoy.

So it made sense to Hermione that Riddle would have been overly, unnaturally interested in immortality as a young man as a well, when he'd still been a student at Hogwarts. Surely that was when he had created the diary? But how had he done so, and where was the diary now? Hermione's eyes strayed briefly to the future Mrs. Malfoy, in attendance tonight as well, looking as haughty and ethereally beautiful as ever. Was it possible Lucius already had the diary? When and why had Voldemort given it to him? Hermione bit her lip. Though she couldn't fathom how she should manage it, she was now desperate to get a look at that book. Perhaps its creation had something to do with the ritual Slughorn had alluded to?

But Hermione was getting ahead of herself. She had much more immediate objectives at the moment, such as ensuring that Slughorn wouldn't remember so much as a whit of this conversation come morning. It wouldn't do to have the Professor trotting off to Dumbledore tomorrow and informing the Headmaster that she was asking pointed questions about Tom Riddle, and Hermione needed more assurance than the copious wine Slughorn had indulged in this evening to make sure that didn't happen. Discreetly, under the table, she pried open her clutch, taking hold of a small vial of clear liquid located within it and easing it into her palm. She had to get this exactly right, and she needed to hurry.

"Oh look," Hermione said lightly, leaning in towards Slughorn but looking beyond him, "it seems Amos is finally approaching the front of the champagne line."

As Hermione had desperately hoped he would, Slughorn glanced over his shoulder at her words, breaking her gaze and allowing Hermione the second she needed to unstopper her vial and unleash its, tasteless, odorless contents into Slughorn's remaining wine.

By the time the Professor had turned to face her once more, Hermione had already slipped the now empty vial back into her clutch and recomposed herself into the picture of perfect innocence. Black, of course, knew better, having witnessed her little maneuver just now. Hermione could feel his gaze on her more heavily than ever, though thankfully, as she had gambled, it appeared Black was going to do nothing to give her away.

"Quite," Slughorn said of Amos's progress, and then, more pointedly, "I believe, Miss Granger, that it would be best to concern ourselves with more pleasant topics as we await Mr. Diggory's return."

"Of course, Professor," Hermione agreed with an easy smile. "In fact," she took up her water glass. "Let us toast to the endeavor."

Black's eyes widened fractionally, but he remained silent, watching with fascination. Slughorn, on the other hand, appeared highly amenable to Hermione's suggestion, utterly ignorant of that fact that what now lurked within his glass was more than just fine wine. He raised it eagerly.

"To a lighthearted evening from here on out?" Hermione suggested.

"Indeed," Slughorn concurred, clinking her glass with his own before raising the goblet to his lips and taking a deep gulp. The man quite obviously favored wine, and Hermione's little addition to Slughorn' s cup did nothing to mar the taste of its primary contents.

Hermione watched as Slughorn's eyes briefly unfocused, the confusion in them observed only by herself and Black. The Professor slowly lowered his glass, shaking his head slightly as though to clear it.

"Miss Granger," Slughorn said when he had come back to himself, peering at her with mild befuddlement, as though he couldn't remember having entered into a conversation with her, but was not displeased to find himself in her company. "That is quite an unusual scar you possess."

Hermione smiled, satisfied that Slughorn no longer remembered any of their previous conversation. Her tincture had worked just as it had been meant to. "Do you think so, Professor?"

"Yes," he said softly, gazing at her scar with open interest. "I rather do."

"I think," Black broke in, speaking for the first time in quite a while, "that you probably ought to stop staring at her cleavage, Professor. Just a suggestion."

Slughorn turned to him, raising an amused eyebrow. "I daresay, Black, that you do unjustly project your own lascivious intentions onto myself."

Black, rather than doing anything to refute Slughorn's insinuation, grabbed Hermione's arm instead, likely cementing their Professor's impression.

"Excuse us," Black said through his teeth, granting Slughorn a modicum of politeness even though he was clearly agitated. From his grip on her forearm, though, Hermione suspected Black's agitation was currently directed more at herself than it was at their Professor. Black had never been a particular fan of Slughorn's as far as she could see, usually displaying nothing but thinly veiled contempt for him, but whatever his distaste for the man, Hermione could hardly expect Black to watch her dose Slughorn's drink without at least demanding an explanation of her in the aftermath. She'd taken a calculated risk that Black wouldn't intervene in the first place, and he hadn't.

Amos, who was now arriving at long last with the champagne, surely would have, which is why Hermione had been perfectly happy to see him sent off for beverages by Slughorn. If nothing else, she knew she could always count on her Hufflepuff beau to be noble, and while that was an admirable quality in most circumstances, it would have presented a very tedious hinderance to Hermione should Amos have happened to notice her fiddling with Slughorn's drink and felt duty bound to stop her. Black had certainly noticed what she was doing, but her actions had piqued curiosity in him rather than confused horror.

"That line was absolute murder," Amos said cheerfully, depositing two champagne glasses on their small table, which, with his additional presence, had now grown quite crowded.

"Excuse us," Black repeated, remedying the problem by forcefully steering Hermione away from it.

"I'll be right back," she said placatingly over her shoulder to a perplexed Amos, who, quite understandably, was looking somewhat put out at having his date commandeered by another man directly in front of him, especially given that he had just gone through the trouble of procuring champagne for said date. His expression, as he watched Black drag her away, was growing distinctly more displeased by the second.

"What in the fuck was that about?" Black hissed the moment he'd led Hermione to a sufficiently isolated corner of the room.

She managed to gently extract herself from his grip. "What exactly are you referring to, Black?" Hermione asked lightly, unable to keep the amusement completely from her voice. Despite herself, she was enjoying this. She really should have been a Slytherin, Hermione reflected absently, and not for the first time.

"Cut the shit, Granger. I'm not your oblivious twit of a boyfriend," Black said, eyeing her critically. "Though at least now I can almost understand the attraction. Pretty boy Diggory over there doesn't have a chance in hell of noticing what you're up to, does he? And that's just how you want it."

Hermione tilted her head. "Are you implying you're not pretty yourself, Black?"

"What did you put in Slughorn's drink?" Black demanded, unwilling, this time, to let himself be distracted by her.

Hermione relented. "Nothing that will do him any great harm, I assure you, though his memory of this evening may be a bit…impaired, come morning."

"You drugged our Professor," Black said flatly.

Hermione shrugged. "Yes," she said simply. Was that more or less egregious, she wondered, than setting a Professor's cloak on fire during a crowded quidditch match? A question to ponder at a later date.

"Why?" Black asked, stunned. It was unsettling, frankly, the way Granger managed to continually surprise him. He couldn't begin to fathom what the fuck she was up to now, but it felt dangerous. Drugging a Professor wasn't something you did lightly (he assumed, anyway). Sirius didn't know what Granger was playing at, but already he felt himself being drawn into it. She had drawn him into it, deliberately, he suspected, by doing what she had in front of him and knowing he would see it.

"Because I didn't want him to remember our conversation," Granger explained now, seeming entirely too blasé about the whole matter to Sirius' thinking. Was she some kind of sociopath? Was he some kind of sociopath? Granger had clearly known he wouldn't stop her from drugging Slughorn, otherwise she wouldn't have let him see her put whatever it was she had into his drink. What in the ever loving fuck was going on here? And who the fuck was this Riddle character?

"Who the fuck is Riddle?" Sirius demanded.

Granger's skin paled perceptibly, and the fear he suddenly saw in her eyes scared Sirius himself. "A very dangerous man," she said lowly, raising her hand to settle protectively over her scar.

Sirius nodded at it. "Did he…?"

Granger shook her head firmly, but in a way that elucidated nothing for Sirius about whether or not this Riddle person had been the one to give her that scar. What had she said about it their third year? That it was a curse scar? Sirius couldn't remember exactly, though he had other memories from that night that were considerably more vivid.

"He's a very dangerous man," Granger repeated.

Sirius frowned, thinking back to what Slughorn had said, which had apparently been revealing enough that Granger needed to ensure he didn't remember it. "You think this Riddle, whoever he is, performed some kind of unspeakable dark ritual?"

Granger hummed thoughtfully, deep in her own thoughts. "Slughorn seems to think he might have. And it would certainly make sense."

"What kind of ritual?" Sirius pressed, possessed, suddenly, by a kind of urgency he couldn't really explain.

"Something related to immortality," Granger said, with a definitive shake of her head.

"Drinking unicorn blood, maybe?" Sirius said, rolling with Granger's immortality idea even though he couldn't understand why she was so certain of it. Drinking unicorn blood was a well known method of staving off death, though the prospect was utterly repulsive to most people, and it had been the most disgusting thing Sirius had been immediately able to think of.

Granger frowned. "No. That's far too crude a thing, Riddle would only do that as a last resort," she said with that unwavering certainty Sirius still didn't understand. "Whatever's he's done is much more advanced. Something that would take a great deal of power, that would feed his ego. That would cement, in his mind, his own grandiosity."

"Like what?" Sirius wanted to know.

"I don't know," Granger said pensively, her mouth twisted into a moue of vague frustration, as though she'd been presented with a particularly difficult ancient runes translation and was momentarily stuck on the problem. Sirius couldn't help but find it attractive. He reached once more, for Granger's arm, grasping it more lightly than he had earlier when he'd dragged her away from Diggory and Slughorn.

"Who is this guy, Granger?" he asked again. "Who the fuck is Tom Riddle?"

"He doesn't use that name anymore," she said evasively, her ability to frustrate him to no end remaining stubbornly intact. "You wouldn't know him by that name."

"What name would I know him by?" Sirius snarled, though he made sure to keep his voice low. He had a feeling that if anyone overheard this conversation Slughorn wouldn't be the only person whose memory Granger felt the need to impair tonight.

"Voldemort," Granger whispered, and Sirius felt himself go stiff.

"Are you fucking serious?" he spat, for once, without a trace of irony. "Do you have any idea how dangerous-,"

"Of course I do," Granger said shortly, cutting him off and folding her arms huffily across her chest, the effect of which was that her breasts were pressed upward and together in a way that couldn't help but draw Sirius' attention, even in the midst of their current topic of conversation. "I'm not a simpleton, Black. I am very aware, for more aware than most, of exactly how dangerous Voldemort is."

"Are you? Because if so, I'm beginning to think you have a death wish!"

Granger lifted her chin defiantly, in a way that struck Sirius in the moment as weirdly reminiscent of his cousin Narcissa. Why was it his curse to be surrounded by difficult, stubborn women?

"What do you want from me Granger?" he demanded. "You've obviously chosen to involve me in whatever fuck it is you think you're doing, so why?"

"Your involvement was hardly premeditated on my part, Black, it just happened," Granger snapped. "But now that you are here," she trailed off thoughtfully. "You've been summoned home for Christmas this year, haven't you?"

Sirius sighed. "How the fuck is it that everyone in this castle seems to know my business?"

Granger shrugged unapologetically. "People talk. I listen."

Despite himself, Sirius almost smirked. "Tricky witch."

Granger refused his bait, barreling on. "Among other things Black, among many other things, your family happens to be known for their incredibly extensive library."

Sirius laughed softly. "You would be interested in that, wouldn't you, Kitten?"

"I'm always interested in a good library. And I'd warrant your familial one contains quite a few books which would cause Ministry regulators to recoil with horror."

"Books about horrifically dark immortality rituals a certain Dark Lord may have been interested in committing?"

"Potentially."

"And what makes you think I'll willingly act as your little research minion in your colossally stupid plan to poke your nose into whatever it is you think You Know Who's been up to?"

Granger raised a challenging eyebrow at him. "Because you're curious," she said matter-of-factly. "And because you won't be able to resist."

AN: So, this chapter unexpectedly ending up including a bit of Narcissa's point of view. It just sort of happened! Probably because I love her, lol. Or at least my headcannon version of her. She's ended up being a much bigger player in this story than I thought she would be. Confession time which will reveal my age: The song 'Gallery' by Mario Vazquez always makes me think of Narcissa and Lucius' relationship. Look it up kids!

Sirius is really turning into a baby alcoholic isn't he? I always end up writing him that way. It just seems so fitting to me. Logan Echolls vibes for sure. All my favs are fuckups lol. I say with love. ANYWAY.

Stay safe, stay healthy, I love you (I guess now I think I'm Seth Meyers, but it actually always makes me a little emotional when he says that at the end of his videos so…yeah. And I mean it, too).