#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
It greatly reminds Tom of Crance and Peeves, the notion putting a sneer on his face even as the man stops dead in his tracks. Between Filch's legs, a cat moves forward much like a snake--Mrs. Norris, if Tom remembers right.
"They're supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot!" McGonagall rebukes loudly, that sneer turning into a grin on Tom's face as he reconsiders his position on Gryffindors once again. Sure, they are brazen and often stupid, but their wit and convictions are most humorous when conflicting with others, like himself.
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The caretaker looks particularly rebuked by her words, face cringing in what might be the first apology to brace his lips, "Oh. Sorry, mum."
But as he goes to remove himself, turning his back to the temporary Headmistress, she calls him back with a second thought towards the ¼ of Hogwarts, "Wait! As it turns out, Mr. Filch, your arrival is most opportune. If you would, I'd like you to lead Miss Parkinson and the rest of Slytherin House from the Hall."
"Right away," the squib steadily grants, still looking particularly fearful of questioning her, but doing so already, "Er, exactly where is it I'd be leadin' em to, mum?"
It takes her off guard for a moment, a decision that will mark a separation between the houses, though it will likely be for the best with Slytherin's connection to Voldemort. But, finally, she decides, "The dungeons should do."
A cheer resounds through the non-Slytherin crowd, an exemplification of lacking House unity, if only between the others and Slytherin. Tom wishes to understand it, with the ideologies of the others more matched to this battle, and yet, the non-snake population seems particularly prejudiced against the mainly-pureblood house.
"That's a shame," he mutters through the cold mask of his visage, watching the Slytherins shove against other the Houses as they make their way from the hall, behind Filch but not letting him lead.
Hermione turns her sharp eyes on the boy nearest her, not surprised at his opinion given her all-encompassing knowledge of his ways, "They chose their side and you chose yours."
"They did," Tom relents with a note of solemn seriousness, only then turning an arrogant eye to her, "but there have been some powerful wizards from Slytherin." His mischievous grin down at her petite form has Hermione rolling her eyes, wishing to be discouraged by his ego. And yet she isn't, for the arrogance is what makes Tom Riddle himself.
From her commanding position, McGonagall turns her eyes and tensed jaw to Harry Potter, someone she's known for so long and someone she must fight for now. "I presume you have a reason for returning, Potter. What is it you need?"
"Time," the boy responds direly, eyes on her and nothing else. "As much as you can give me."
"Do what you have to do," she puts her trust in him, "I'll secure the castle."
