Part 10
It was amazing how
quickly the life altering dulled to minor
inconvenience.
Hermione almost felt guilty that upon waking that she
hadn't been
inundated with feelings of dread or even panic. She had
at
least expected to feel something. Well, something more than
the
desire to close her eyes for a few more hours of glorious
sleep.
Hermione was still exhausted from the grueling
training they'd been
put through. Her limbs felt leaden and
her eyes burned from lack of
sleep. Given the circumstances,
a little more sleep might have been
the logical choice. The
problem was that she and Riddle only had a
day before she had to
return to her normal Hogwarts routine. There
were dozens of
small details that they had to hammer out. Not to
mention
she wanted to get a start on researching their bond.
Resentfully,
Hermione wondered if that explained her apathy- she had
neither
the time nor energy for histrionics.
With a groan, Hermione
pulled herself free from the refuge of her
sheets and cracked open
the curtains of her bed. Gingerly she fished
for her
slippers, wincing when her bare toes met cold stone.
Mechanically
she went through the motions of bathing and getting
dressed.
Once presentable, she moved into the common room. Seeing
it
empty she sighed.
Riddle was still asleep. Now she
had a dilemma on her hands. She
didn't have the password to
the Head Boy's room. When Blaise had been
in residence, they
had swapped passwords in case there had been
something that
required both Heads' attention. That was not a
courtesy she
shared with Riddle. Despite the inconvenience, Hermione
was
rather glad she didn't have to rouse him out of slumber.
She'd
had quite enough of Riddle and beds. Feeling rather
un-Gryffindorish
she decided to persuade the portrait rouse the
slumbering boy.
"Excuse me? Sir Dorante?"
"Huh-
oh! Miss Granger, good morning!" Dorante said jerking
awake.
"I would have thought you still sleeping."
The
gentleman dressed in foppish eighteenth century clothing bowed to
her
courteously. Hermione returned the gesture with a curtsey of
her
own, which looked awkward when compared to the portrait's
florid
gesture. It seemed to please the portrait, however,
and Hermione
plastered on the most convincing expression of hope
and appeal that
she could manufacture.
"Yes, well,
there are things that Riddle and I need to do today. I
don't
suppose that you would ask him to join me in the common room,
Sir
Dorante? I wouldn't want to barge in," Hermione
bluffed.
"Such a commendable sense of decorum and so rare
in this day and
age... I shall certainly assist
you!"
Hermione was pleased her request had been granted.
Dorante, like
other warden portraits, were not usually inclined to
pass on messages
unless instructed by a staff member. She
had, however, overheard a
few comments made by Blaise Zabini that
suggested she might be able to
appeal to Dorante's overblown sense
of propriety and gallantry. After
giving her thanks,
Hermione settled down before the freshly laid fire
to
wait.
Organizing her thoughts, Hermione began to sketch out
just what might
be accomplished in the time they had. They
had never really finished
the conversation about the Order and
Riddle's cover and that would
have to be settled before he had
much more contact with the student
population. With
Dumbledore taking them aside, the students had grown
accustomed to
Riddle's presence but Hermione knew from experience that
it only
whetted their appetite for details about the new arrival.
Once
given the opportunity, they would descend like a pack of hyenas.
That
required their cover story to be perfect by tomorrow.
Research
into their bond was another important priority. Of course,
that
could be accomplished during the coming week. Her reputation
as
a bookworm was well founded and a few extra hours among the
stacks
would never be noticed. As for Riddle... he was at
Hogwarts to do a
research project. It only stood to good
reason he would spend
significant time in the library. The
sound of Dorante's portrait
shifting pulled Hermione from her
thoughts.
Apparently, damp hair didn't seem to detract from
Riddle's air of
composure. This made Hermione want to run a
self-conscious hand
through her hair, which undoubtedly looked as
if it belonged on a
banshee. Thankfully he didn't comment
and instead fixed her with a
strangely satisfied look.
"I
assume this is about what we talked about last night?" Riddle
asked
as he settled in his usual chair.
"In part...
but there are other things we need to discuss. The
most
important is straightening out the details on your false
history."
"Surely that isn't as important as
finishing our experiments with the
bond and whatever Dumbledore is
hiding. I doubt Dumbledore will allow
us access to the
library once the year is over. Not after we outfoxed
him,"
Riddle countered.
"You would be right if circumstances in
the wizarding world were
different. The war has generated a
great deal of paranoia. If we can
establish who you are
here, then things will be far less difficult
later on,"
Hermione persisted.
"I am aware of how influential
Hogwarts' gossip is, Granger," Riddle
objected. "The
bond, however, should be our primary concern. I am
not
unable to deflect curiosity or prevaricate when needed."
"The
bond is important but we have a week to worry about it. I'm
also
confidant in your ability to avoid questioning. It's
just that we
have to keep our stories straight. Not to
mention there is a lot more
you need to know about. A lack
of knowledge about muggle history can
be excused but not ignorance
of key wizarding events," Hermione
reminded him.
"Very
well, I can see your point. Just remember I don't expect
to
become the social lynchpin of Hogwarts."
"Given
the looks most of the female students have been giving you, a
certain
degree of popularity will be unavoidable," Hermione
teased
straight-faced.
"Merlin forbid," Riddle replied in an undertone.
"Oh please, you can't tell me
your pretty face hasn't compelled girls
to throw themselves at you
before," Hermione chuckled.
"You'll find that such
things matter very little to me," Tom replied
sharply.
Hermione
was surprised by his sudden change of mood. She was aware
that
her words had somehow she'd trespassed upon something sensitive
or
too personal for the repartee she had come to enjoy with Riddle.
What it was she had blundered into, she didn't know. Riddle
was
hardly the bashful type and Hermione knew he'd used his looks
to his
advantage before. He had certainly tried to charm her
once or twice.
So what was so different about this?
All she
had done was suggest the female sex would find him
appealing.
Heavens, more than a few boys would too. The
wizarding world was
particularly swayed by two things; appearances
and power and Riddle
had both beauty and power in abundance.
Harry had once mentioned
Riddle had inherited his looks from his
father. Was that it? Was he
ashamed that he looked
like his muggle parent? Hermione wasn't
entirely satisfied
with that explanation. There seemed to be
something
missing. Her comment had been directed toward the
female
reaction towards his attractiveness rather than his looks.
Hermione
felt there was something more to it but she decided it
was wiser not
to press.
"Admirable, I suppose,"
Hermione finally replied. "Just keep in mind
that some
of those girls are the worst gossips in the castle and-"
"And
they can be used to our advantage," Riddle finished
decisively,
ending Hermione's sentence with his own twist.
"Now give me the
specifics of what you think we should do
today. So far you've only
spoken in the grand, sweeping
statements that you Gryffindors are so
fond of."
"And
Slytherins are known for their directness," Hermione replied
with
unfettered sarcasm. "The work on your background
will have to be done
first. We'll need to rehearse it too.
Then I'll give you the back
issues of the Prophet and Quibbler to
look over."
"The Quibbler? Has it changed that
much? In my time Horatio Lovegood
was considered a madman
and his paper nothing more than a tabloid."
"His son
owns it now and most of the stories are rather... farfetched
but
it printed a great deal about the war that the Ministry wanted
to
keep hushed up," Hermione replied with a blush, recalling
some of the
more outrageous stories she'd read in the
Quibbler.
"Are you so certain that they're true?" Tom questioned.
"I am when Harry and the Order supplied the information."
"Just as long I don't have to read about the return of Merlin."
"Better Merlin than Elvis," Hermione muttered.
"What was that, Granger?"
"It was a reference to muggle popular
culture," Hermione replied,
momentarily taken aback when she
realized that Riddle predated Elvis.
"Given we have so
little time we should gather out materials," Riddle
replied,
and Hermione agreed with a nod. "I won't let concerns
over
what some insipid Hogwarts gossip might find out, take up
time better
spent on how we're to circumvent Dumbledore's
interference."
Without further comment, they disappeared
into their own rooms to
gather the materials they would need.
Over the last week they had
learned to work together smoothly.
This, Hermione counted as an
advantage. She and Riddle were
supposed to have worked together in
the Order and it was nearly
impossible to feign the easy communication
and rapport that
working together created. If they could just keep
their
stories straight, she knew this would work.
With renewed hope,
Hermione opened her trunk. Her copies of the
Prophet and
Quibbler were neatly shrunken and preserved from damage.
As she
took them out, she suddenly wished she'd saved copies of the
Prophet
from her third year. A more comprehensive collection
wouldn't
hurt either. Hermione had only started collecting
from her fifth year
on. Even then, she had only kept the
more important issues, which
directly related to the Order, Death
Eaters or Ministry actions.
Hermione had never expected to need
them as anything more than mementos.
Back in the common room,
they once again familiarized themselves with
the file Dumbledore
had supplied. Before they did anything else they
both began
to rehearse and memorize the details. Hermione found
herself
comparing what they were doing to how she'd helped the boys
revise
for their NEWTs. She was temped to suggest making a set
of
flash cards but Hermione doubted that Riddle would take
that
suggestion well. Besides, his memory seemed far better
than either
Ron or Harry's.
Getting through the general
details took until lunch. They then
visited the kitchens
briefly before returning to the common room.
Their meal was in
silence and Hermione did not feel the need for
conversation.
They had done enough of that with the scenarios they
had played
out, taking turns questioning the other. Now that was
done,
they had to work on fine tuning their story. Hermione
wondered
exactly what else they would be required to make things
run smoothly.
This was the kind of thing spies did, not school
girls and once
future Dark Lords.
Ignoring her doubts, she
refocused on the parchment before her. It
dealt with
Riddle's financial situation, such as it was. As with the
other
documents in the file, Dumbledore had detailed what was true and
what
had been altered. Apparently, his real grandfather had owned
a
cottage in Little Hangleton, which had fallen to ruin.
Ownership of
the cottage had eventually returned to the Crown.
According to a note
in the file, muggle and magical records had
their dates altered and so
that the cottage was listed as being
foreclosed and then torn down.
The Riddle House, had apparently
been tied up in the muggle legal
system before it was destroyed by
Voldemort, not long after he had
returned to corporal form.
Muggle authorities had it written down as
arson by local vandals
and the property had also reverted to the Crown.
"How
accurate is this?" Hermione finally asked, gesturing to
the
material she'd been reading.
"Accurate enough," Riddle said in a clipped tone.
"You'll have to explain better than that," Hermione chided.
"Fine,"
Riddle snarled. "My mother's family lived in that hovel of
a
cottage and that was my father's house."
"You're familiar with both, then," Hermione clarified.
"Oh yes, Granger, you might say that."
"From when you killed them," Hermione replied with realization.
"I
did kill my muggle relatives but as for my mother's father... he
and
my uncle did a perfectly adequate job of drinking themselves
to
death. Now if you're finished-"
"Look,
I'm sorry if this is something you'd prefer not to talk about
but
we have to. If we're going to-"
"I understand
the necessity of this, Granger! If it was only idle
curiosity,
I would never have tolerated this discussion. Understand I
have
cursed people for less," Riddle spat stiffly.
"Then
we'll be brief," Hermione conceded, pushing back the urge
to
yell. "Where would it be most logical for you and
your grandfather to
have lived?"
"The cottage was
about to collapse in my time. I suppose it wouldn't
matter,
though as common wards often mimic disrepair and ruin.
That
would certainly make sense if only to avoid the
gossip."
"Good idea but what gossip do you mean?"
"Well, it was quite the scandal when the
local squire's son married so
beneath himself," Riddle
snarled with venom. "When he threw my mother
into the
street the rumors were worse. They were still gossiping
about
it when I-. Using wards as an explanation will be sufficient
if
someone pries into my past'."
A tense silence fell
and Hermione knew that Riddle expected her to
question his rapid
change of topic. She said nothing, allowing him to
keep what
dignity he could. It was unlikely people would dig in
Riddle's
past and Hermione agreed that his suggestion was believable
if
they did. His other records were also in order. The
appropriate
birth and death records both muggle and wizarding had
been altered to
stand up to all but the closest of investigation.
Dumbledore had been
busy indeed but there were details that still
needed to be discussed
and Hermione knew that wouldn't be well
received by Riddle.
Hermione wasn't sure why he seemed
to swing between bragging about
killing his muggle family and
trying to avoid the topic. Even his
wizarding family seemed
to be a dangerous subject. He'd referred to
them with an
amazing degree of disdain. Instinctively, Hermione knew
what
she'd heard in Riddle's voice had been the remnants of hope
and
dreams ground to splinters long ago. He was ashamed of
them as he was
of his muggle relatives. He was ashamed that
they had brought their
legacy so low and had extinguished a once
proud line through their own
vice. Hermione felt a pang of
reluctant pity for Riddle.
"We still need to go
over your family relations," Hermione spoke
awkwardly.
"If
we paint a picture of a distant and somewhat cold grandfather,
with
whom I had a difficult relationship with, I think we can
avoid
questioning easily enough. People tend not to pry if
they think
they'll be considered rude."
This time
Hermione was very tempted to press Riddle further. It
wasn't
just because her curiosity was raging, either. There were
some
people who were only too happy to be rude. Rita Skeeter
was a perfect
example. There were also several gossips in
Hogwarts that would go to
great lengths if it would give them
something to add to the Hogwarts'
gossip mill. The brittle
expression of defiance on Riddle's face
stopped her. At
some point, Hermione would have to trust that he
could deal with
prying questions. Perhaps she was allowing her own
preference
for careful preparation and planning to affect her
judgment.
If Riddle said he could deal with it, then she'd make that
leap of
faith and believe him. After all, he'd successfully
fooled
everyone about his ambitions.
"You are aware
that you are essentially your own grandfather according
to
Dumbledore's tampering of the files?" Hermione began.
"I
am aware. I assume that the Polish witch I, or rather
my
grandfather, supposedly married can't be traced?"
"No.
There was an influx of witches and wizards from the Continent
after
the war. Asylum was granted openly and the ministries here
in
Britain and the rest of Europe weren't really in any position
to keep
good records due to the aftermath of Grindlewald and the
muggle war."
"I suppose the same can be said for
that... muggle?" Riddle asked with
distaste, indicating the
woman who was supposed to be his mother.
"Muggle records
are more easily tampered with," Hermione replied with
a
shrug. "What of your schooling? Dumbledore hasn't
supplied any
information other than your OWL and NEWT scores.
One of the first
questions you'll be asked is why you haven't
attended Hogwarts of one
of the other wizarding schools."
"The
Gaunts... my mother's family, never attended Hogwarts.
Educating
children at home isn't entirely uncommon among the more
reclusive or
eccentric Pureblood families," Riddle replied
smoothly.
"Then that brings us to why you supposedly
joined the Order," Hermione
sighed.
"That is
something I believe you would be far better at explaining
than I,"
Riddle replied.
"Then we should adhere to as close to the
truth as possible," Hermione
said mulling the problem
over.
"How are you going to manage that? My views
on muggles are quite
clear, although I am capable to maintaining a
fiction otherwise."
"There were those who supported
the Order who shared similar beliefs
about muggles, Riddle.
Those people simply did not like the
widespread destruction or the
increasing risk of discovery by muggles
that Voldemort's tactics
created."
"Then you're suggesting something similar?"
"Yes."
"I'm certain I'm
capable of that. I'll have to read the articles you
have
carefully," Tom said guardedly. "My... distaste, for
muggleborns
will have to be downplayed, however, given our
bond."
"True and that raises the question of why we're bonded."
"I believe Dumbledore already
established that isn't a question that
is proper to ask."
"Yes,
but it also has to do with the last days before the final
battle.
You need to know about that," Hermione said quietly as
memories
flashed through her mind. "Besides, it's always better to
be
prepared."
"You said that a spell was used to
unravel the spells my older self
used in his quest for
immortality," Tom replied, brushing aside what
he didn't want
to discuss.
Hermione nodded and then quickly reviewed what
she'd already told him.
What had happened in the last battle had
not been as simple as simply
casting a spell. A spell cast
by one person would never have been
strong or focused enough to
put a dent in Voldemort's defenses. There
had also been the
added danger of having to battle their way through
to Voldemort.
Of course, the Dark Lord in his desire to kill Harry,
had happily
met them halfway. Carefully, Hermione began to explain
what
they had done.
"We'd worked for months to get the spell
working. The problem was
that it required a great deal of
power. A single caster couldn't do it."
"A
ritual... you did a ritual in the middle of a battlefield?"
Riddle
asked in disbelief.
"We had to. Necessity
is a harsh taskmistress. There was one
problem, however and
that was that Harry had to be the focus but there
was no way that
Voldemort would give him time to do something like that."
"It would have been suicidal," Riddle agreed.
"Your
older self knew that only Harry could kill him, so we used this
to
our advantage. While Harry kept Voldemort busy, Professor
Snape,
Ron Weasley, Professor Flitwick and myself combined our
powers with
Dumbledore as the focus."
"Now that
was suicidal. Surely my servants would have prevented such
a
thing," Riddle questioned.
"They tried but Aurors
and the rest of the Order were protecting us.
I won't lie,
though. That was when we encountered the most losses."
"It
seemed like a huge risk for little reason. You already said
that
Potter was the only one who could kill my older self.
That is, by the
way, something you'll have to explain,"
Riddle replied with curiosity.
"That was what we were
counting on the Death Eaters and Voldemort to
think. What
they didn't know was that we had worked out a way for
Dumbledore
to direct his power to Harry."
What they had done to
destroy Voldemort had been groundbreaking in
terms of magical
theory and practice. Forging new territory for the
practice
of magic was all well and good but Hermione was only too
aware of
the inherent difficulties. Hermione could only say
that
desperation had made them willing to try anything.
Explaining what
they had done and why was complicated.
Thankfully, the experience
that Riddle had with ritual magic aided
Hermione's explanation. As
she detailed what had been done,
she realized he seemed to have an
instinctual or intuitive
understanding of magic. The ease with which
he grasped
concepts and made leaps in logic made Hermione somewhat
jealous.
That, she supposed, was one of the things that made
Voldemort such
a dangerous wizard. Hermione shivered and returned
her
attention to her explanation.
The first problem with
their plan was to do with the very nature of
ritual magic.
To work successfully, it took great focus. Each person
involved
had to meld their magic together towards a common purpose and
then
feed it to the focus. Usually this involved witches and
wizards
who had little practice in working together, which
lengthened the time
needed to conduct the ritual. When they
planned to conduct the ritual
on the battle field, they wouldn't
have a great deal of time. It was
Dumbledore who had finally
come up with an unorthodox solution.
"Wait, you
piggybacked the ritual on your oaths?" Riddle asked,
breaking
into her explanation.
"Yes. They were the common
thread amongst us and we used the oaths as
a guide for our
magic."
"I assume the oaths were originally made in a ritual?" Riddle guessed.
"Exactly; they were a
foundation that was already in place. It was
easier to build
upon that than start anew. Not that it would have
worked if
we hadn't practiced a great deal before hand. Familiarity
with
each others' magic also hastened the process. We managed
to
halve the time required to complete the ritual. Of
course, there was
another problem..."
Shortening the
length of the ritual had a side effect. It made the
magic
all the more unstable and difficult for the focus to control.
Dumbledore had been the only one with enough power and experience
to
direct the magic correctly. He had to be the focus of the
ritual.
The problem was that it was Harry who had to destroy
Voldemort.
Their solution had only been possible with the
combined experience of
some of the most renowned wizards of the
age. Alchemy, charms,
transfiguration, runes and potions
were used to create a coal like
lump that could act as a conduit
between the group and Harry. In the
midst of battle, the
group had cast the first part of the spell that
would destroy
Voldemort and sent it through the stone. Harry then
directed
the magic from the stone and released it on Voldemort.
As
Hermione described what had happened, her words seemed unequal
to the
task. It had taken nearly two years to create the
stone, the spell
and to practice it until their execution was
flawless.
"The focusing stone... it had to have been
created using something of
the caster, or casters in this case.
There would be no other way for
it to act as a focus," Riddle
puzzled out to himself.
"You're right. Like calling
to like is one of the laws of magic. The
stone was created
using an alchemical base that was infused with the
magic of the
group and Harry. That allowed for Harry to springboard
the
spell to Voldemort"
"An unexpected way of looking at
the problem," Riddle admitted with
curiosity.
"It...
it just made sense," Hermione said uncomfortably with a trace
of
embarrassment.
"You! It was your idea!" Riddle cried in astonishment.
"I can't take all the
credit!" Hermione defended. "I just made a
link
between magic and muggle electricity and
conductors."
Hermione felt uncomfortable claiming credit
for the idea. Her idea
had been their inspiration but that
paled in comparison to all the
work and ground breaking
discoveries the others had made to make her
idea a reality.
Then there was the spell itself. True genius had
gone into
the creation of that. Hermione was more inclined to
believe
that her idea was simply bred of desperation and a passing
familiarity
with the already established theories of magic and
muggle science. As
Riddle eyed her with disbelief and a new
caution, Hermione only felt
more uncomfortable.
"False
modesty is not becoming," Riddle replied with disapproval,
that
Hermione stubbornly ignored. "What of the spell
itself?"
"The spell was created before the focusing
stone. Dumbledore and
several others had been working on it
since Voldemort had shown an
interest in immortality and the
rumors of what he'd done began to
circulate. It was adapted
from the 14th century theory by Ricardo
Delmonde for the
systematic destruction of enchantments and wards. A
great
deal of work was required, though, to refine it. Even
after
that it was impossible for one caster. Maybe if we'd
had time it
could have been modified further but..."
"So
what do you think is the best explanation for why I did not appear
in
the final battle and the existence of our bond?" Riddle
asked,
drawing Hermione from her memories.
"Some of
those involved in the ritual employed various methods to
temporarily
increase their magical strength," Hermione began.
"Doing that can be extremely risky," Riddle remarked.
"It
can be but most methods were fairly simple. Flitwick did a
ritual
with his wife to temporarily transfer some of her magic to
him. They
did so through the natural bonds that had
developed over years of
marriage. Professor McGonagall
transferred some of her magic to
Dumbledore through their old
apprenticeship bond. Perhaps if we said-"
"That
we bonded to do something similar? A bond of our degree
would
be required to do such a thing. It would certainly
make sense, if I
was supposed to have taken the role of researcher
or advisor, rather
than combatant," Riddle said.
"There
is another possibility, too," Hermione continued. "The
Order
ran several clandestine missions to obtain various books
and
ingredients for the conductor and spell. What was
required wasn't
necessarily the kind of thing available in the
open market, or even
the black market."
"Dark Arts?" Riddle asked with sudden interest.
"Some of
it," Hermione admitted. "I went on several and it
wouldn't
be difficult to say you went with me. Most of the
Order was unaware
of these missions. With your...
inclinations it would be logical for
you to be part of such a
mission."
"And we bonded as a result of such a mission?"
"Perhaps."
"Hmm, that
might be more plausible than simply saying we created such
a
strong bond just for the sake of one ritual. Besides, if we
are
pressured we could use the ritual explanation as a cover' for
our
illegal activities. If questioned further, we could
finally confess
to the real reason."
"Then you agree?" Hermione asked to be certain.
"It makes the
most sense, although I would prefer not to reveal any
details
unless absolutely necessary."
"Agreed."
Personally,
Hermione was rather taken aback by the level of paranoia
Riddle
was displaying. She didn't argue, though. She was
pleased
that he was finally showing an interest in working out the
details of
what would become a lifelong charade. His
suggestions were well
thought out, too. People were less
inclined to accept an easy answer,
especially if they were
suspicious in the first place. It was also
better to let
prying minds be satisfied with the admission of a small
wrong,
than left discontented to stumble upon the truth.
"Tell
me, Granger, were there any other bonds created before the
last
battle?"
"I know of several strong blood
oaths and bonds between Aurors. A few
of the students that
were involved took minor oaths."
"Nothing from the Order?"
"Well... I suspect that Remus Lupin and
Nymphadora Tonks made some
kind of bond between them. They
married not six months ago, so a bond
wouldn't be considered
unusual."
"Then our bond won't be so unique," Riddle finally replied.
"If we're not pressed then I
suppose it will be fine," Hermione said
with reluctance,
biting her lip. "Maybe we should-"
"What
is your preoccupation with planning, Granger!" Riddle burst
out
unexpected in frustration and Hermione found her own temper
responding.
"Well, forgive me for wanting everything to go smoothly!"
"Do you really think that all the
preparation in the world will stop
someone from finding out the
truth, if they're really determined? You
can't plan for
everything," Riddle challenged.
"No, you can't but
it will help avoid such situations!" Hermione
defended,
reining her temper in before she said something unfortunate.
"Fine
but too many details will look as false as too little,"
Riddle
growled and sat back in his chair.
"Most
of what we've discussed has been very general,"
Hermione
retorted. "We still haven't talked about any
small personal details
that work partners would know."
"Like
favorite colors and which order we put on our shoes?"
Riddle
asked scornfully.
"Well, that's the sort of thing-," Hermione snapped defensively.
"Enough, you
are right," Riddle conceded uneasily. "My favorite
color
is purple and I put my socks on before my shoes."
"My favorite color is green-"
"Green? Showing a preference for my house, Granger?"
"Shove it,
Riddle. I liked the color green before I had even heard
of
Hogwarts. When I was five I wouldn't wear any other color
for three
months."
"No fond childhood memories of
ruffled pink dresses and a bedroom to
match?"
"Hardly! Dressing girls in pink is a gender stereotype-"
"Enough, Granger, I don't need a lecture," Riddle interrupted waspishly.
"It would serve you right if I did lecture you
on the feminist
movement. Then again, I suppose my Mum will
tell you about it in
length, if you're not careful," Hermione
said primly, knowing that his
tone wasn't to be taken
seriously.
Hermione had seen the looks he'd thrown her
mother. Exactly why he'd
seem so scandalized for the split
second before Riddle had carefully
covered it, she wasn't sure.
Historically, witches had always been on
far more equal footing
with men, than their muggle counterparts. Then
again, Riddle
was muggle raised, although he'd rather not admit it.
Not that
being muggle raised would explain his shock. During the
second
war, women had been forced to take the duties that men had
normally
filled. After the war, many women had returned to
the
traditional role of housewife but plenty of other women had
remained
part of the work force. Surely it wasn't so
astounding that her
mother worked? Hermione pushed aside her
curiosity but had to admit
she rather looked forward to seeing how
Riddle dealt with her mother.
"I live in terror,"
Riddle sneered halfheartedly and then rubbed his
temples.
"You still haven't told me how you put on your shoes."
"One
at a time; sock and then shoe," Hermione replied
graciously,
accepting his unspoken, not-quite apology.
"If
you weren't surrounded in a bower of pink, what was your
childhood
like?"
The question took Hermione unawares
as did the wolfish smile that
graced Riddle's features. For
a few moments, Hermione squirmed
uncomfortably. This was
plainly revenge for all the questions she'd
asked about his family
life. Worse was that she couldn't avoid the
question.
She had said they should know what working partners should
know
about each other. That had implied she would have to
reciprocate
in some form, in this case, give details of her own
past. Besides, he
would learn about that eventually during
the summer. Hopefully her
mother wouldn't tell him too many
embarrassing stories. Taking a
breath, Hermione began to
outline her family history and her childhood.
She had been
blessed with supportive and attentive parents. This
was
something Hermione was immensely thankful for.
Descriptions of
Harry's relatives and observations of friends and
classmates had made
her realize just how luck she was.
Hermione's parents had encouraged
her intelligence from a young
age but had been careful to instill in
their daughter a good work
ethic and to never take her intelligence
for granted. In
many ways, her home life as a child had been idyllic.
After she
had received her letter, Hermione had become aware of the
awkwardness
that had grown between her parents and herself. That was
one
of the things she hoped to resolve this summer.
"I
suppose everything was all fairly normal until I received my
Hogwarts
letter," Hermione finished.
"Didn't you show any accidental magic?"
"Oh, I did, but it was mostly at
school so my parents didn't see the
more dramatic displays of
accidental magic. What they did see was the
kind of thing
that was easily excused," Hermione said with a tinge
of
remembered loneliness.
"Then why at school?" Riddle pressed.
Hermione bit her lip. Interactions with
children at her muggle school
hadn't been very pleasant or
successful. They had resented her
intelligence and where
they wanted to play games, she had desired
nothing more than the
curl up with a good book. There were, of
course, the usual
playground bullies that took a more physical
exception to her
presence. Hermione supposed that the strange things
that
happened when she was cornered had kept her from worse than
shoving
and taunting.
"Like any school there were bullies,"
Hermione said with a shrug she
had to work at to look casual.
"I was bookish and proud of the things
I learned. The
other children resented that but only a few took real
exception.
When they tried to tease me... things would happen. They
never
said anything to the teachers and I certainly didn't."
"What
sort of things would they do?" Riddle asked his voice a
soothing
murmur.
"Oh, I suppose it was silly,"
Hermione said automatically, although
the memories still stung.
"Mostly they would call me names, exclude
me and pulled
tricks on me."
"Mostly... but not all," Riddle
whispered, and Hermione winced at the
truth in his words.
"Not all," Hermione admitted softly.
Memories she
hadn't thought of in years, sprang to the fore with a
vividness
that took her by surprise. Hermione could almost hear
the
chorus of derisive rhymes and taunts. In those memories
she had been
more alone than any other time in her life. The
horrible sense of
vulnerability she thought long forgotten was
conjured back into
existence by the flood of memory. It was
as if she was once again
eight; quiet, awkward and terribly shy
which she tried to hide with
knowledge lovingly gleaned from
books.
"One day they started to push me and pull my
hair. The teacher
stopped them but the next day..."
"What happened, Hermione?" Riddle coaxed.
"The next day
they cornered me on the playground. I knew that it
would
only be worse because the teacher had interfered the day before.
I
didn't know how far they'd go."
"You stopped it, didn't you? Tell me, how you stopped it."
"Sparks
at first. When they came too close, their clothes would
get
singed. Then things would trip them or they would be
pushed back.
When they threw my books across the playground and
they... came back."
"You showed them you were
stronger than they were. They were afraid
of you."
Hermione
mouthed a yes but no sound could make it past her lips.
After her
books had swooped back, clipping them on the head before
returning
to her grasp, they had left her alone. They had looked at
her
in fear and malignant suspicion after that but they had left
her
alone. She had been grateful for it.
"I
showed them too," Riddle continued. "The older boys
thought they
could bully me. They would steal my blankets
and the little things we
were given from the charity boxes at
Christmas. When I wouldn't do
their homework for them they
would beat me bloody... until I showed
them I wasn't a dog to be
beaten."
The hint of tightly controlled malice leaked
from his dark eyes. It
was as compelling as it was
repugnant. Her whole body was shaking and
Hermione could
feel the bond thrum in response to the unconscious
flare of
Riddle's magic. Hermione had to look away but found
she
couldn't. The sheer force of that gaze paralyzed her
wholly.
Hermione wasn't sure how he'd drawn that confession from
her. It
wasn't something she'd told anyone, not Ron and
Harry, not even her
parents. It wasn't something she liked
to think about. She hadn't
liked the part of herself that
those experiences had brought out.
That part had depended on
their fear of her and had even enjoyed it a
little.
Ironically, it was the same part of her that she had
cultivated in
the war. It was the ruthless side of her personality,
that
had led her to dabble in the Dark Arts and to kill Death
Eaters
without hesitation.
"The strong
survive," Riddle finally said and blinked, which seemed to
break
the trance and Hermione found she could finally look away.
Her
stomach clenched in nausea and shame. Riddle didn't need
to
finish his statement. She also understood the subtle
comparison he
was drawing. He was insinuating that she was
just like him. Riddle
had managed to get under skin in a
more personal way than he'd ever
done before. Hermione
didn't like how naked and dirty he'd made her
feel. It made
her want to regain her equilibrium by returning the
favor.
She wanted to throw his arrogant double standard, right back
in
his face. Of course, that was what he was expecting and in
doing
so she would prove his point. Hermione she was better
than that.
What he'd said about the strong was true.
Life, people, could be
ruthless and cruel but that wasn't all
there was. Even in the middle
of the war, Hermione had seen
amazing acts of kindness and generosity.
Maybe Riddle would refuse
to acknowledge that, but she wouldn't.
"If that is all
you believe, then that is all you will see," Hermione
replied,
her voice raw but unwavering. "There is also compassion
and
equality."
"Ideals are for those who can afford them," Riddle snapped.
"Ideals are for those who dare to live up to them," Hermione returned.
"Such
a naive thing to say but not unexpected," Riddle retorted
with
casual dismissal and then bent to pick up the first of the
newspapers
Hermione had brought. "I need to read those
past issues of the Quibbler."
Hermione nodded, saying
nothing more. Nothing she could say would
convince him.
Somewhat disgusted, Hermione stood and left the common
room,
before she exploded. She wanted to smack Riddle but most of
all
she wanted to get rid of that horrible feeling that revealing
those
memories had left with her. Why had she done it?
That had been a
foolish thing to reveal to someone who would use
it against her.
Hermione shuddered. She wasn't sure if he
hadn't already used it
against her. Riddle hardly had to do
anything to shake her
self-confidence.
Hermione found her
feet pushing her forward down the hall. Returning
to the
Heads' common room wasn't something she wanted to do for a
while.
If Riddle had questions about the newspapers, he'd have to
wait to
ask her. She wanted somewhere to sit and lick her wounds.
Sheer habit had her walk towards Gryffindor tower. Outside
the Fat
Lady's portrait, Hermione paused with indecision. If
she went in then
Ron, Harry and Ginny would want to know what was
wrong. Hermione
wasn't sure if she could deal with their
well meant chiding and
concerns. She had made her decision
and should she really be
surprised when a snake did what was in
its nature to do?
No, she shouldn't.
From the beginning
she'd known what Tom Riddle was like. Hermione
knew that
there would be times he'd do his best to humiliate and hurt
her.
This wasn't even the first time she'd come out second best in
their
arguments. Hermione, of course, never took defeat well.
It was
just that when they weren't arguing, there were moments
where she
enjoyed his company. It was in those moments she
sometimes caught a
glimpse of someone worth knowing. Or
maybe it was a glimpse of what
he might have been and now perhaps
might still be. That evoked a mix
of complex emotions in
Hermione. Sadness and regret were prominent
but there was
something else, too. It made Hermione want to fight for
him.
Maybe that was because no one else had. Plenty of people
had
fawned over him during his time as a student but they had
been
deceived. If they had seen beyond his charming smile
and innocent
demeanor, to find the darker features of his
character, they had
turned their back on him. Even
Dumbledore. Was that simply pity?
She wasn't really sure.
She did know that she was afraid of it.
While there might be
something worthy within him, there was also a lot
of cruelty.
Riddle had constructed his spite out of ignorance, fear
and a
refusal to see beyond his own misfortune and experience.
He
also had no problem with taking out his grudges on others.
If his
career as Voldemort wasn't enough, she'd just had that
proven to her
in a far more personal manner.
Hermione
knew you had to accept people as they were. To do otherwise
was
self-delusion and inevitably the cause of a lot of pain. Had
she
forgotten that? Hermione crossed her arms protectively
across her
stomach. Maybe she had but she refused to
pigeonhole him like
everyone else had. At least she wasn't
as foolish as to think she
could make Riddle change. What
she could do was show him that he had
choices and, most
importantly, that those choices were just as valid,
powerful and
real as those that had led him to become Voldemort.
The
question was whether she had the strength to walk that road.
Hermione found herself strung between her fear and what she felt
was
the right thing to do. Tiredly, she massaged her
temples. In her
heart, Hermione suspected she'd already made
her choice. She was just
reluctant to admit it to herself.
For now she would visit the Room of
Requirement and take out her
frustration on a target dummy. With a
tight smile, Hermione
decided she would indulge in a little
transfiguration to make the
dummy to look like Riddle. Just because
she was fond of the
git, didn't mean she had stopped wanting to slap him.