Breaking Hermione

Snow Serums

Hermione

I walked to Defence Against The Dark Arts with Tom Riddle, one hand fastened firmly around the snow diamond he had gifted me. It encircled my neck in the form of a sparkling necklace with a demure charm of its own. Glowing like a burning ember of pure white light it was safely hidden under my Slytherin robes where no one could see it. I felt safe wearing it. As long as I did, no harm would come to me, and I felt calm and level headed. It was warm to the touch, like a tiny replica heart I kept near to my own. I depended on it heavily to guide me through the days, and it acted like a talisman, guarding me from the horror I was constantly experiencing. It was enchanted with Dark Magic, the swirling vapour within it as liquefied light encased in a diamond, somehow acting like a sedative numbing me from my true reality. It was the Dark Arts in their most refined form. Ever since I had stepped through the hidden door that doubled as a portal within the pensieve in Headmaster Dippet's office and been revived from a bleeding corpse on the stone floor of the Department Of Mysteries I had felt as though I had consumed a poison, and was dying slowly from within. Yet the entire time I suffered, I remained stoic and strong. I woke up alone in my bed and put on a cold front to face the day. The scar across my chest from the stab wound had knitted yet it was not gone. It remained like a stain on my body and mind, a deep trauma that triggered me whenever I remembered it. Whenever I saw it. Despite this I forced myself through the days, willing myself to continue as though nothing happened, to go to all of my classes, most of which with Tom himself beside me.

Academically, I did all of my work to a high standard. I did all the assignments well and handed them in on time. I was mentally discliplined in my studies even before any of this had happened to me here in the past. At times I had searing flashes of homesickness for my old life, yet almost instantly they were quelled. I was sickened with Dark Magic and I would fight the good fight against the paralysis that was consuming me. Until I knew how to pull myself apart.

Defence Against The Dark Arts with the Gryffindors was always a hostile setting, both Houses notorious for their arrogant biasm and lack of sportmanship toward each other. I sat in my usual seat next to Tom at the back of the class, both of us unconcerned with the trivialities of mundane school antics. Thankfully, today was only theoretical coursework, the practical defense scheduled next week. Exams were coming and the pressure was mounting. Tom and I spent most of our time in the Library anyway, so we were miles ahead of the rest, never resting and preferring to study long hours into the night when everyone else was asleep. I was throwing myself into my work with a renewed vigor, born solely from the instability of my new identity in the wake of great and destructive Dark Magic. The more work I did the less I had to remember. I was tied to Tom eternally, binded to him as if married in spirit. The snow diamond did wonders for settling my mind, but on occasion I broke. My thoughts were alike a sword of truth, polished steel that refused to be tempered. I bled myself in my mind endlessly. When I wasn't being sifted, I opted to sift myself, refining myself to my own high standard. I didn't need anyone to assist me. In class I made my sole focus the stack of books before me. Professor Merrythought was teaching us at length about the Imperious Curse, and asking the class questions at random as if hoping to take one of us off guard.

"Mr Riddle." Beamed Professor Merrythought, walking the length of the class to stand beside him expectantly. I barely looked up from my length of parchment. "What is your opinion on the Unforgivable Curses? In particular the Imperious Curse, one of the more controversial of the three? Perhaps you can enlighten the class with your sharp intellect."

Tom sat back in his seat, appearing far from flattered and entirely nonplussed at being asked the question. Several Gryffindors turned to watch as Tom answered. They may not have liked him as much as Slytherins did but the respect for him was there. Tom deliberated for a moment, pausing to place his quill down on the desk before indulging us his answer. Some may have thought that he was basking in the attention of the eyes of the classroom but I knew his pride in teaching, and wanting to share his mind and knowledge with the class.