My eyes flitted open, blurriness clouding my vision. I could hear the faint murmur of a conversation somewhere a few feet away from me. There was a slight pain throbbing at the back of my head, and I grimaced slightly as I forced myself to sit up.
"Thank you, professor," I heard a silky voice speak. "I will make sure to let Viviette know."
"Thank you, Tom," Merrythought's voice spoke. "I'm sure Viviette meant no harm—but of course, you two do seem to be academic rivals. Perhaps she was just attempting to prove herself—it was still highly unacceptable, however."
"I suppose so," was Tom's smooth reply, and I knitted my brows, turning over slightly.
Professor Merrythought was exiting the vast room I was in, and Tom was standing with his back turned to me, clearly having just had a conversation with her. I rubbed my forehead and stifled a groan.
"T-Tom?" I stuttered, watching as he slowly wheeled around to face me. I suddenly felt my blood boil in anger at the perfectly detached expression on his face, and stood up unsteadily. "You lying—"
To my utter humiliation, I fell back on the bed, unable to finish my sentence. A small moan of pain escaped my lips, and I lay back down on the bed, taking a few shaky breaths.
A deep chuckle rumbled through what I now realized to be the hospital wing, and I whipped around to cock an eyebrow at Tom coldly.
He wore a slight, amused smirk on his face as he sauntered over to my bed leisurely, towering above me. I glowered up at the black-haired boy, not even bothering to conceal the animosity I felt for him.
"I don't see anything even remotely amusing about this," I snapped, my grogginess being replaced by vexation. "The only charm I even tried to cast on you was the Disarming Charm—you were the one throwing all kinds of hexes at me. The moment I looked away, your stupid hexes got through my shield."
"You shouldn't be distracted during a duel," Tom replied glibly, his smirk lingering.
"And you shouldn't lie to teachers just to keep up your goody-goody reputation," I retorted indignantly.
Tom sat down on the mattress beside me, and I scooted away hastily, a scowl etched to my features. His small smirk transformed into a captivating smile as his intense charcoal eyes bore into my light blue ones.
"Don't you want me to forgive you?" he crooned softly. "For what happened on Thursday?"
"Okay, I spied on you using the girls' bathroom, big deal," I huffed, crossed my arms across my chest. "But you—"
"I told you not to speak of it," Tom hissed, a lethal gleam in his dark eyes. "You will take the blame for it—if you want my forgiveness."
"Oh yes, your forgiveness is of utmost importance to me," I snapped acidly. "Fine. I'm not a complete coward like you, so I'll take the stupid blame."
Tom sighed in exasperation. "Whatever. You have detention next week on Friday night, in the Forbidden Forest. I will be accompanying you."
My lips parted slightly at his words, and my eyebrows connected, unsure if I heard him correctly. "The—The Forbidden Forest? And you will be accompanying me? I thought the teachers didn't know that you were the one who threw that hex at me?"
Tom smiled thinly. "It wasn't a hex, it was a simple charm. And in case you've forgotten, Swan, I am a prefect."
"And what does that have to do with anything?" I inquired icily, raising an eyebrow at him.
"I volunteered to watch over your detention," he replied simply, his face as ambiguous and unemotional as always.
"You volunteered to watch over my detention in the Forbidden Forest?" I questioned in disbelief. "But why?"
Tom's face twitched with slight irritation at my endless questions, but he maintained his cool expression. He stood up, and my eyes followed his impassive face inquisitively.
"I wish you a speedy recovery," he informed me in a coldly formal tone.
And with those insincere words, he swiftly turned on his heel and departed from the hospital wing, leaving me alone in the large room.
I furrowed my eyebrows and picked on my nails—a rather unhealthy habit of mine—as I sat in the dimly lit hospital wing, thinking deeply. I didn't really see why Tom would wish to visit the Forbidden Forest; it was a fearsome and sinister place, and most steered clear of it.
Although knowing his curious and dark nature, it was no wonder he'd wish to explore the forest. The forest was banned to all students, because of how dangerous it was. It was probably brimming with dark magic, something that I knew Tom was interested in.
Maybe he was looking for something.
Just as that thought crossed my mind, the hospital wing doors slammed open, permitting a small, petite girl with blonde hair in. I stared up at her questioningly, my brows furrowed.
As soon as her brilliant blue eyes locked with mine, I realized who she was—my grandmother.
"Oh, hello," she greeted, her voice echoing strangely in the vast, empty room. "Er—are you feeling all right?"
I watched curiously as she approached my bed, a kind expression decorating her undoubtedly pretty face. My heart pounded against my chest like a hard stone as she stood in front of me, awaiting my response.
"I'm...fine, thank you," I murmured quietly, still inspecting her face meticulously. "Er—not to be rude, but why are you here?"
"Oh, er—it's okay," she chuckled, a bit nervously. "It's just...earlier, in class, I noticed you were looking at me a bit strangely."
I stared at her blankly, and her cheeks flushed in mild humiliation. She stepped away bashfully.
"I'm sorry, that's quite silly of me—I suppose I just had something on my face, or something," she mumbled, starting to turn away from me. "I'll go now. I deeply apologize for disturbing you."
"No, no, it's fine—stay," I urged, eager to know more about my teenage grandmother. She seemed so different from the grumpy woman I knew—she seemed genuinely kind, and a bit coy. I always wondered why my perpetually disgruntled grandmother had gotten sorted into Hufflepuff, a House praised for its benevolence, but now I supposed now I knew. "What's your name?"
"Oh, I'm Antoinette, Antoinette Bagman," she replied with an amiable smile. "And you're Viviette Swan, aren't you? I've heard a lot about you. You're the new girl."
And there it was—the confirmation that this truly was my grandmother. The woman who raised twins Ludovic and Ludmilla Bagman all by herself. My mother and uncle were the product of a birth out of wedlock—they had never known their father, not even his name, and therefore, I knew nothing about my grandfather.
It was a silent rule to never even speak of the existence of my grandfather. Not in front of Grams, not in front of anyone. I had made the mistake of it once as a curious, bold child of five-years-old; my mother had rebuked me severely afterwards. I remembered that day vividly because it was the first time my mother ever scolded me—and the first time I'd seen my grandmother cry.
"I am, I suppose," I agreed with a small chuckle, and she blushed again.
"I apologize for my rudeness—you're probably tired of people constantly addressing you as the new girl," Antoinette (it felt weird to address a fifteen year old girl as Grams) said quickly, even more polite than Tom. The difference between her and Tom, however, was that her politeness was genuine.
"It's okay," I assured her with a smile, before gesturing to the bed next to me. "Take a seat, if you'd like."
Antoinette smiled gratefully and sat down. I observed her closely. She seemed so youthful, so happy—nothing like the Antoinette Bagman that I knew.
"I was just staring because Malfoy usually doesn't interact with Hufflepuffs, other than to mock them. So, was he giving you a hard time?" I asked. At this, my teenage grandmother had the most peculiar reaction ever; her freckled cheeks turned a bright tomato red, and she shook her head wildly.
"Oh, Abraxas? No, er—we're friends," she mumbled, as my brows knitted. My grandmother and Abraxas Malfoy were friends?
"That's...nice," was the only satisfactory response I managed to come up with. "Abraxas usually doesn't like Hufflepuffs."
Antoinette chuckled quietly at that. "Yeah, he doesn't," she agreed in a slightly faraway voice, glancing out of one of the windows thoughtfully before turning back to me. "Your duel with Tom was pretty intense."
"You know Tom?" I asked in surprise, my brows rising high.
"Of course, everyone does," Antoinette replied benignly. "He's one of the Slytherin prefects—he's good friends with Abraxas too."
"Oh, you're a prefect?" I queried, trying not to make my astonishment show, for I didn't want to offend her. It was just that my grandmother rarely spoke of her life at Hogwarts, so I had no idea she had been a prefect—she could've told me when I received my prefect badge for Ravenclaw, but she didn't. She never told me anything about her Hogwarts years.
Antoinette nodded. "Yes. Tom is very kind—not like some Slytherins."
I suppressed a snort at that. Yes, he's very kind—except for the fact that he becomes the darkest wizard of all time in the future, I thought snidely to myself.
I glanced back at Antoinette to see her observing my expression closely, a curious twinkle in her dazzling sapphire eyes. She flushed a deep scarlet when she noticed my gaze on her.
"Oh, sorry for staring," she apologized quickly. "You just look a lot like my sister, Francesca."
I get that a lot, I thought to myself in slight amusement. Grams (from the future, anyway) always commented on my striking resemblance to Great Aunt Fran. It was both interesting and funny to know that teenage Grams agreed.
"Really? Is she here, too?" I quizzed. "In Hogwarts, I mean."
"Yes," Antoinette verified with a nod. "She's a fourth year—in Gryffindor."
I nodded, and we remained silent for a few seconds, both of us just inspecting each other with interest, until the hospital wing doors burst open. There was a group of Hufflepuff girls there, their gazes fixated on Antoinette and I.
"Toni, come!" one of the girls beckoned, eyeing me with an awkward smile. "Um, get well soon, Viviette."
"Thank you," I told the girl, smiling back politely. I turned to my teenage grandma. "See you around, Antoinette."
"See you, Viviette," Antoinette responded warmly, a tender smile decorating her freckled face. "Get well soon."
I nodded in gratitude and watched as my grandmother's teenage version skipped away to join her large group of friends. This was definitely bizarre; I had just met my grandmother's younger self, and she was nothing like the Grams I remembered from my time period. She was kind-hearted, curious and clearly popular—while Grams was grouchy, cold and blunt.
It made me pity her; she had no idea that, in her adult and elder years, she would become a miserable old bat, with one child ruining his reputation by gambling and the other dead. For the first time in my life, I sympathized with my grandmother.
And I was eager to find out more about her.