Chapter 20. Hoplocephalus - It's Poison.
English is not my mother tongue, so I hope you understand if there are any errors in the text. Let me know so I can fix it.
Thank you, I love you!
Venenum
By Koryander.
Hermione looks out of the window in a classroom of the Castle. It's autumn, leaves are falling, and the sun is shining through the clouds. However, she isn't appreciating the view because she is only thinking about one thing: Am I foolish or naive?
She shudders when she hears Avery laugh. All of the future Death Eaters are present. Hermione could have jumped off a cliff, as she only put herself in danger.
So, she sat quietly in the room's corner, looking out the window with a thoughtful expression, hoping they would leave her be. Sadly, luck wasn't on her side.
Lestrange sat partly on a table in a relaxed position whilst conversing with Avery and Mulciber. Rosier leaned against a bookshelf accompanied by Malfoy, with Alphard, Araminta, and Dolohov following closely behind. Hermione shut her eyes as she sensed the arrival of the last person, knowing she was in trouble.
"I don't understand why you're even here, Alphard,"
Mulciber said. "I embody creativity and -" he gestured with his index finger, "charisma."
"Where were you last night? We didn't see you at the club, Araminta," Avery enquires.
Lestrange raises an eyebrow as he takes a bite of a apple.
"I was feeling unwell."
Avery teases, "Girl trouble, huh?"
"Why don't you mind your own business, Avery?" Araminta casts an angry glance towards Avery, who takes a step back with his hands raised in surrender.
Upon seeing Hermione's expression, Lestrange emits a noise by pursing his lips as if sucking on a straw. "It's hot", he chuckles.
However, his distraction is short-lived as he feels uneasy with Hermione's quiet presence. Lestrange meets the gaze of Avery and Rosier, takes the apple core, and throws it in Hermione's direction.
Hermione stood motionless for a while, avoiding eye contact with either of them. Abruptly, she senses something adhering to her hair, prompting her to blink and reach for it. Abruptly, she senses something adhering to her hair, prompting her to blink and reach for it. Upon recognizing the lump, she glances at Lestrange, who is grinning as she tosses another one, this time hitting Hermione's forehead.
She gazes at him skeptically and briefly considers speaking her mind, but decides against it and remains silent.
Her aloof demeanor appears to irk Lestrange, causing him to rise and maneuver his wand. The apple is abandoned on the table.
"Pardon?" Can you not take a joke?"
Hermione sighed, appearing tired, and turned to face him.
"What's the issue?" She spoke in a neutral tone, which seemed to unsettle him.
"You're the problem."
"Please, specify. Is it my presence that bothers you? Don't you think that's juvenile, Lestrange?"
"You believe you're quite clever, don't you?"
Hermione shrugged, not denying his words. Lestrange seems to think this is an insult and takes a step towards Hermione, but Alphard stands in his way, placing a hand on Lestrange's chest, restraining his advance.
"Hey." Alphard catches his eye. "Calm down."
Radalphus is fixated on Hermione, who is oblivious to any offense she may have caused Lestrange. However, she detects a hint of resentment or similar negative emotions in his gaze.
"Come on Alphard, where's the fun?" Rosier queries.
"Why are you doing this, Alp?" Araminta chimes in, while Dolohov chuckles lightly.
"Guys..." Alphard admonishes them, but they back Lestrange's decision, whatever it may have been, with most of them now in agreement.
"That's enough," Abraxas declares, but is unable to finish his sentence as the classroom door opens and Tom walks in, with Nott trailing behind him.
With Tom's appearance, everyone takes a moment to move away from each other, including Hermione, who returns to the window. Lestrange sighs and holsters his wand. Araminta takes a seat and examines her nails. Avery, Rosier and Malfoy regroup, whilst Dolohov leans against Araminta's desk. Alphard lowers his head and massages his forehead with his fingers to ease the sudden headache.
"It's not going to end well," he predicts.
As Tom approaches, the commotion comes to a halt. His analytical gaze falls on everyone in the classroom, but ends when his focus stops on Hermione, who is in the far corner.
"What a pleasant atmosphere." Ironised Nott, with one eyebrow raised.
Tom passes most of them, but stops when he hears Araminta's words.
"Why is she present, Riddle?" Araminta has the impudence to ask the inquiry that everybody desires, but lacks the courage to pronounce. Furthermore, she is a tad oppressive, as evidenced by her continued inspection of her nails. "Why is she here after attacking my cousins?" Araminta maintains eye contact with Tom, exhibiting no sign of being shaken.
Tom initially ignores Araminta as her behaviour unsettles him, leading him to believe that it may be necessary to firmly suppress her rebellious spirit before it becomes a problem.
"She's one of us," he utters the same phrase he used on the Hogwarts Express. He then turns his attention to Hermione, challenging her, "Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"
Hermione quickly scans the faces around her, who now regard her like a test subject, before finally responding,
"I-I suppose so." The initial stammering is attributed to the palpable tension and nervousness in the room. "However, would you kindly provide a definition of 'being with you'?"
Tom's sarcastic reaction, as he crosses his arms, follows the latest remark.
""She's not with us," Lestrange emphasises. Dolohov is about to interject but hesitates when Tom silences both him and Lestrange with a stern glance.
Hermione acknowledges her unwelcome presence among the members of the Black family, who find it reprehensible to share a room with her after the incident in the Slytherin Common Room. Dolohov is recognized as an enemy, and somehow she has incurred Lestrange's enmity.
Upon Professor Slughorn's arrival, everyone assumes a guise of exemplary conduct. Pre-established pairs leave Hermione isolated until Tom mutters something to Nott, who nods before sitting with Malfoy and Avery, vacating the space next to Tom.
Tom observes Hermione still standing, beckons her over with his index finger and notices her swallowing before taking slow steps towards the desk. She takes off her cross-body bag with great care, and sits down next to him, sorting through her materials methodically. He observes that she is extremely systematic, but he is too.
He leans back against the chair, with his arms crossed, attentive to her but never disconnected from his surroundings. He comes to a realization that Araminta, along with Hermione, is angry and annoyed. It's evident because Hermione looks stiff, with her back upright and not very relaxed, indicating that she is not comfortable.
From his perspective, he observes her head turning slightly to the right, indicating that she is intrigued by something. He traces her gaze to Alphard, who sits next to Dolohov on the opposite side of the classroom. The attempt to conceal the interaction proves futile. Some quiet conversation seems to transpire but abruptly ends when Alphard catches Tom looking and hastily averts his eyes.
Frowning, he notes Alphard and Hermione's behaviour as something he has exceptionally overlooked. He wonders how that happened, as being lenient isn't in his character.
Memories flood his mind of moments when he saw them together, from the very start of their acquaintance, during her arrival, in Myrtle Warren's bathroom, in the Forbidden Forest, on the Hogwarts train, in the Common Room... Tom raises his gaze towards Hermione, but restrains himself from using Legilimency even though he is aware of the Occlumency she practices. He feels uncomfortable with her lack of answers and is tempted to be more aggressive. He thinks about mentally breaking down her barriers one by one, since he has been more patient with her than anyone else.
"Tom?" She calls his name, his silence causing her confusion, suspicion, and a hint of fear. He watches as she moves her throat and lips, repeating her question once more. "Would you like me to begin making the potion or shall you start?"
Tom glances at the blackboard, focusing on the list of materials needed for the potion, while Slughorn's explanation fades into the background noise. He rises without fanfare, in unison with his partner, to retrieve the necessary materials and ingredients from the cupboard. As he returns, she deftly assembles the cauldron they will share, situating it on the work surface.
He arranges the ingredients, and when she offers to assist, he signals for her to stop and she stops instantly.
"I'll do it. I don't want you to spoil the potion."
Hermione automatically grimaced, rather annoyed that he was suggesting that she wasn't fit or clever enough to make the potion properly.
"It's for us to do together, to share. "
"You'll spoil the potion."
"You know better than that, Tom." The way she says it sends shivers down the back of his neck. "Isn't that why I'm here?"
"I'll do it. I don't want you to spoil the potion."
Hermione automatically grimaced, rather annoyed that he was suggesting that she wasn't fit or clever enough to make the potion properly.
"It's for us to do together, to share.
" "You'll spoil the potion."
"You know better than that, Tom." So the improved version is: The way she says it makes him shiver. "Isn't that why I'm here?"
Isn't that why she was here? Why was she here? And this question had nothing to do with the invitation to take part in this group, it was a question that had much more depth.
She's good with potions, he knows. Too good, but he is better. Nevertheless, she takes the knife from his hand and starts to cut the stems of the Angel's Trumpet. He almost reclaims it but refrains since Slughorn is observing them at that precise moment.
As she finely chops the stem of the flower into a paste, he meticulously divides the petals. In the distance, the sound of Nott expressing concern over Malfoy and Avery can be heard. Out of the boys, Nott is the most proficient in potion-making.
"I had no idea it would happen like this." Hermione spoke quietly.
"Like what?"
""Make the potion and research its purpose and history? Well, it's interesting."
Tom smiles at her naivety.
As he twirls the flower between his thumb and forefinger, he reveals its name: "Angel's Trumpet." Hermione stops cutting the stem and watches with a keen eye. The light shines on Tom's face from the other side as he appreciates the flower. " The plant contains hyoscyamine, scopolamine, and atropine, making it highly toxic depending on the type. Contact with the flower can lead to mental confusion, tachycardia, and hallucinations. The substance we produce can only be described as -"
"Poison." She completes the sentence for him, her gaze frightened.
"How can something so small be so harmful?" Tom asks, glancing at Hermione and raising an eyebrow. He then throws the flower petals into the bubbling potion in the cauldron. Hermione takes a moment to respond before approaching Tom. The delicate petals disintegrate rapidly in the heated liquid, taking on a peculiar milky appearance. Despite the flames still ablaze, her reflection is visible in the liquid before the sudden cessation of boiling due to the heat.
He observes her mental preoccupation and she queries,
"Is that correct?"
"Right or wrong? There's no such thing, Hermione. Not if you want to acknowledge. Don't you agree?"
"W-well, of course... But -"
"But what?" he objects.
But there has to be a limit, she thinks. Right?
"Tom." It's like a plea and he wrinkles his brow at the tone of voice she uses. "It's poison." There's more in that sentence than can be comprehended. She places her hand on his forearm, her intense brown gaze peculiarly penetrating.
Tom's throat becomes unexpectedly dry, and he finds himself taking deeper breaths.
"Perhaps it could be an antidote, Hermione," he suggested, shrugging. "Not all things toxic are necessarily harmful." It's not the fault of the plant, just as it's not the fault of a rose that it bears thorns. They serve as defence mechanisms."
"I'm not referring to that, Tom. I comprehend all your statements completely." Hermione blinked a few times, refreshing her confused thoughts. "But I'm sure we shouldn't be learning about how to kill someone by making poison."
Tom laughs.
For those around them, it's a real eye-catcher, as Tom and Hermione's conversation seems to be fuelled by whispers, giggles and every kind of facial expression possible - most of them made by Hermione.
"Hermione, tsk...tsk...tsk." "He exhales. We currently occupy Hogwarts, an educational establishment situated at a precipice overlooking a lake inhabited by sea creatures, as well as a treacherous forest. Therefore, I think that getting to know how to make a Potion is not something we need to worry about too much. Tom kneads the cut pieces of stem while Hermione pours a thick liquid from a frog's cerebrum. "And who mentioned killing anyone? Your evil little mind, huh?"
They poured the entire mixture into the cauldron. In the background, Araminta avoided the liquid from her own cauldron, which almost spattered on her skin. Tom and Hermione gazed at the green shade of the potion, it had a flowery fragrance and the hue of mint gum, strangely alluring on a stand.
...
That shit was poison. And she was right, Tom thought.It would be lethal within ten minutes. Tom would keep this information and definitely add Angel's Trumpet to his collection.
It troubled him to have to concede that she was correct, although he also had a notion of what the potion was, but it was more complex than that. His annoyance with her appeared to have not abated; on the contrary, the cause was silently unsettling and causing him anguish.
He felt a throbbing pain at the back of his head as he realized how he had overlooked facts and deliberately ignored things he had noticed for some unknown reason. But, he knew that was not the case. He got too engrossed in the twisted game of trust with her, which made him stop questioning and diving into the matter. He made many empty promises to himself but did not fulfil any of them.
'Who are you?' he wondered, pondering what he might discover if he devoted himself, as he had to all things in life.
His mind was consumed with questions, but he found it hard to focus on anything but his particular obsession. Pausing in his writing, he gazed at her as she continued to diligently work on her task. Her handwriting is drawn, not as much as his, but enough to be noticeable as a child who had worked hard during literacy.
"Tom?" She looks at him and blinks. He's done it again, getting caught up in watching. He returns to writing on the parchment, ignoring her gentle inquiries.
Is she on our side? Is she on my side? No, she isn't.
When did this happen? When did the white flag make her impervious to his actions?He owed her a debt that had already been paid in reality, so there should not be any moral chains stopping him now. However, he acted more carelessly with her than he did with anyone else. Can she be with us? Can he control her? He doesn't doubt his abilities, he can do it. The question is whether it can be the easy way, the hard way or the tortuous way.
What a shame.
He sighs and blots the parchment, gritting his teeth in frustration. He's going to have to start writing everything from scratch, it's not something magic can fix - although he's more than capable of fixing the text with magic - the inconvenience it brings is nothing less than starting again, it's a matter of necessity.
He starts again, avoiding mistakes, so that everything is as it should be; perfect.
o0o
"Be careful with Lestrange. You don't want to pick a fight with him, Hermione." That's the advice Alphard gives her. "Don't underestimate him." He believes what he says so vehemently that the normally gentle expression on his face is too serious and angular, making him look much more like Orion Black.
I don't want to. She wants to say. What did I do wrong?
Hermione's heart softens as she feels his concern, causing her to let out a gasp and hesitantly place her hand against his cheek. Despite the ups and downs of their unusual friendship, she feels affection for him and wants Harry to meet him.
Reflecting on Alphard prompts thoughts of Sirius and his paternal relationship with Harry, and the events leading to this point persist in her mind, creating an endless cycle of thought. The repetition is evident.
He appeared to suddenly perceive a sense of sadness as he furrows his brow in confusion.
"Hermione?"
Hermione is confident in her self-awareness, acknowledging that she can be highly critical and judgemental - if she's honest with herself. While she does tend to scrutinise other people's attitudes and language, she is also capable of empathy and compassion, particularly in specific scenarios. She often experiences a sense of anxiety, questioning whether her expressed opinions were overly harsh. Contemplating Alphard's actions in the Slytherin Common Room - a topic still nagging at her like a thorn in her side - she tries to empathise with him, questioning if she would have acted similarly.
"Never change," she whispered, repeating a phrase she had previously uttered to Alphard. She couldn't help but ponder the impact his absence would have on the Black family tree, despite her knowledge that he remained fiercely loyal to the family he was born into. Hermione's mind raced as she considered the implications of Alphard's sudden departure. As she recalled Sirius's effusive praise of his uncle, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the assistance he had offered. "Never change," she whispered,
He gave her a shy yet youthfully wistful smile in response. Alphard embraces her, and she reciprocates the gesture, tousling his hair as he had done with her on the Quidditch pitch. She perceives it as the restoration of their friendship.
Tom scrutinises the scene with his own judgement, feeling somewhat offended and sceptical. He tilts his head from side to side, easing the tension at the nape of his neck. Although he has witnessed their interactions before, this time it feels distinct.
It was Abraxas who signaled by tapping on the shoulder and gesturing with his chin, eyes and eyebrows, to observe the situation happening in the shadows on the opposite side of the courtyard.
"It appears that Alphard has a target in mind." "Wow," exclaimed Rosier, nudging Avery who giggled slightly.
Alphard was a well-known charmer with a contrived persona, as Tom was aware that Alphard's affability was an act. Additionally, Tom knew that Alphard was the weakest and most vulnerable member of their group.
The two embrace, their torsos touching, she tousles Alphard's hair and slides her hand down to his cheekbone, before smiling.
Who knew?
It seems Tom had underestimated her and her 'miss independent' attitude; she captivated the heirs of the Black, Prewett and Weasley families.
-
Much of her time is spent in the library, where she reads and jotting down her extensive knowledge of magic. On one particular day, he catches sight of her in the library, nestled amongst the tall bookshelves. She sits at a distant table with a candelabrum and a stack of books, her fingers tinged with redness, likely from writing excessively. Her locks, askew with a sweaty complexion, blink for increasingly longer periods and yawns interject more and more frequently, with desperate attempts to rub her eyes and keep tiredness at bay.
It is the freckled Prewett who comes to Hermione's rescue, offering her a bottle to drink, which she eagerly accepts.
"Come on, Hermione," he says, "put the books away." You need to rest,"
"I need to find something that will help," Hermione says, frustrated and stressed. "Hermione, I see you studying non-stop, even in the Common Room. Ectur gathers the books scattered on the table, methodically assembling them as Hermione watches on, hesitant.
As they pass, Tom fades into the shadows.
Yet, it is on a damp autumnal afternoon that she finds herself in solitude. With closed eyes and a face directed towards the rain, she senses the fresh air and the scent of damp earth.
Realising his presence, she opens her eyes and turns towards him, one hand resting on the protection of the third-floor balcony. A sour expression takes over her features as a thought seems to occur to her, she opens her mouth, as if to say something, but hesitates. He approaches with slow steps.
"What's the problem?"
She lowered her gaze, her cheeks turning a rosy colour.
"You-"
He observes the chill on her skin. He wonders if it's due to the cold weather or his presence.
"There's a potion in that book," she says courageously. She speaks up, finally. She is referring to Secrets of the Dark Arts. "The Book belongs to me and I require it,"
His grin sly as he advances towards her.
"What do I get in return?" He smiles mischievously at her, moving closer.
Shutting her eyes ever tighter. Hermione succumbs, closing her eyes, "Tom," she concedes,
"There's two. Two books."
"I believe one of these belongs to you," she said with increased certainty. "Or rather, it is in your possession."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"What compensation do you wish for the book?" She attempted to negotiate.
"Do you not realise the potential consequences of being caught with that book?" he asked. "Indeed," he nodded with seductive confidence.
She replied, "Only me?"
"Surely you comprehend that I am attempting to prevent you from taking the book without proper authorisation from the Headmaster?"
She grimaces as he mocks her and indicates the excuse he would use. With a sigh, she asks again.
"I understand that you will not give me the book without expecting a favour in return. It seems you have been waiting for this opportunity for quite some time just to use it against me."
"Being patient is a virtue," he says in a straightforward manner.
She forces a smile at his tasteless remark.
"That moment has arrived," he observes that she is struggling to speak.
"What do you expect in return?" Triumphantly, he responds,
"Show me the spell you intend to cast, and I'll decide what I want from you."
"That's not equitable."
"It's either that or nothing," they face each other, and her expression reveals an internal struggle about what actions to take. It is apparent to Tom that she would concede as her shoulders droop when she realizes she is trapped.
"Ok."
They face each other, and it's clear from her face that there's an internal battle about what she should do. Tom knows exactly that she's going to agree, as her shoulders slump when she finds herself cornered.
Her lips tighten. "Damn," she mutters. "When?"
"Tomorrow, during open hours, in the Prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor of Hogwarts."
"How can I be sure it's safe?" she wonders.
"You can't be sure." His fingers glide over the centre of her palm, imparting the password that requires.
The next day, Tom waits for her in the Prefects' toilets. The inclement weather prompts most students to retreat to their common rooms for a brief respite, creating a deceptive sense of seclusion. While uncertain of what may occur, he is certain that this "encounter" will not become public knowledge.
"I'm here," She fills the silence with her voice.For a moment he thought that she would give up, that she would cowardly run, but then, she wouldn't be an example of an impulsive Gryffindor. In fact, there was nothing particularly Slytherin about her. Any good student selected for the Slytherin House would have found a way to turn the situation in their favour.
He turned around to observe her presence. The Gryffindor robe was absent. Instead, she wore only the female uniform of Hogwarts - a dark grey pleated skirt gymslip with a red and gold tie representing her House colours. Her shoes created a small rattle over the bathroom tiles as she confidently strode forward, clutching her wand firmly in her right hand.
"The book?"
Tom smiled as she asked about the book. He was in a hurry, but he wanted to enjoy this moment. It is safe? she had asked, and he had been honest with her. There was no way of knowing if it was safe, so he would take this opportunity to exploit her lies. He was no fool, and she wouldn't get away with it this time. The irony of it all?
"It is right there -."
He removed his robe and grey blazer, allowing them to fall to the floor while she observed, narrowing her eyes but still taking notice of his actions.
"Without the book, the agreement will not proceed," She stated. She stepped backwards in response.
"Behind you," he said, pointing behind her. Hermione turned to see a deep, large bathtub surrounded by fish and mermaid sculptures. The book was located near the stained glass window of the Mermaid, whose waves crashed against a rock as the mermaid stared at Hogwarts Castle.
As Hermione attempted to retrieve the book, the face of the mermaid depicted in the stained glass turned towards her. The sudden movement caused the mermaid's hair to stand on end, and she emitted a hiss, revealing her sharp teeth, which momentarily frightened Hermione.
Meanwhile, Tom approached, giggling, and passed Hermione to retrieve the book himself. The mermaid then returned to her original pose, turning her face away.
She observed his actions, but when he presented her with the book, the expression of doubt that had been persistent on her face lessened, or rather, softened.
"What makes you desire the book so strongly?"
"Is that what you require in return? A question?"She responds in jest.
His lips curl slightly at the corner. Tom doesn't fully comprehend why he relishes these witty exchanges with her, or why it elevate his mood, but it does. He withdraws his outstretched arm as she takes a step forward, almost instantly conveying to him her keen interest.
"The potion, Hermione."
She takes a deep breath and walks towards him with slow steps, lowering her gaze. One of her hands smooths the dark cover of the book he is still holding.
"Surprise me," murmurs Tom. Hermione picks up the book and meets Tom's gaze. She lowers herself, sitting in a seiza-like position. After a few seconds, she feels Tom sit down next to her. He is in a more relaxed position, with one leg bent and his arm over his knee. With a quick movement, he retrieves the macabre wand that belongs to him. Hermione swallows her saliva, feeling very watched.
"Tom." She avoids looking up. "Please," she implores.
"Remember, you do not beg?" The words are delivered in a hushed tone, yet they bring to mind memories of her agonising under the Cruciatus Curse in the Room of Requirement, never once pleading for mercy. She had proclaimed it herself in the tent and on other occasions, but it gratifies Tom to savor her despair.
Keeping her gaze fixed on the cover, she opened the book. Although a wicked notion of cursing Tom and swiping the book briefly crossed her mind, she also recognised that she would not emerge from that bathroom unharmed. She browses through the pages of the book, her eyes glancing over the text, and her fingers almost seizing up upon the Horcrux page. She glances at her companion who watches her with such intense focus that it sends shivers down her spine. However, the potion she seeks isn't malicious, though the methods of acquiring its ingredients may be questionable.
"Here it is." She indicated the potion's description in a hushed tone. With a glimpse from the corner of her eye, she observed his grey-green eyes scanning the text. Hermione sensed him approaching, his warm breath grazing her neck as he leaned in to read more closely.A moment passed before he let out a noise.
"Ah-" he exclaimed, immediately followed by laughter. It was obvious he was mocking her. "By all the gods, Hermione, how foolish of you. You won't succeed."
She slammed the book shut, her expression neutral.
"What is your plan? Will you attempt to kill Dumbledore's bird to collect a tear? Who would have guessed it was you?" Tom leaned back, his hands supporting his weight. He appraised her with interest. "I must confess, you are quite intriguing."
"I will not harm Fawkes," she asserts. I never would.
"Do not make promises," he sneers. "Hermione, you are in need of one of the most powerful ingredients in the wizarding world, which, interestingly enough, can heal and even revive individuals. Who is at death's door?"
If her silence were a coffin, the recognition Tom perceived in his gaze would be the lid closing.
"Your friend," Tom deduces. "The one at St Mungo's."
perceived in his gaze would be the lid closing.
"Tom -" She can't finish, and Tom has no mercy to offer.
"I already know what I want." He steps forward, towering over her, his hand pressing the book down hard. "Let me in."
Before she can register it, she feels a sense of urgency and the desire to grab and take everything it can find, creeping over her mind. She quickly puts up the Occlumency barriers.
"A deal's a deal." Tom narrows his eyes. "Keep your end of the bargain, Hermione." He grunted. There was an implied threat in his sentence, unsettling but unmistakable.
She breathed heavily, her heart pounding in her chest like the hooves of a horse, overwhelmed by his intense gaze.
"A-Alright," She managed to say between breaths. "Alright." She swallowed, his head gesturing slightly.
Slowly, Hermione places the book aside, avoiding Tom's gaze throughout. Her fingers briefly smooth the cover before she adjusts her pleated uniform skirt, buying herself time.
Tom addresses her with her name, noticing she is still holding her breath and avoiding eye contact. He grasps her chin between his index finger and thumb, gently turning her head towards him. He tilts her face upwards to make eye contact. Gradually, her gaze rises until it meets his. Unusually, he is unable to determine her facial expression or how she is interpreting him. Nevertheless, her pupils dilate and she emits a sigh through her lips.
Tom doesn't waste any time. He appears hurried as he seizes the opportunity to enter her mind. He feels as if he's slamming into the walls of Occlumency or her attempts to resist the mental intrusion.
If Legilimency is similar to a creeping mist that adjusts its speed in accordance with the user's will. It looks for false or accurate information, embeds visions and apparitions, controls emotions and even communication. The psyche is relative, and thus the Legilimens witch also has to adjust accordingly. This makes it challenging. The mind is akin to water, occasionally placid, at times surging like a rising tide or even a tsunami. The range of human thought can be likened to a puddle on a rainy day or the fathomless depths of the ocean, as warm and inviting as the Caribbean or as frigid as the Arctic. A skilled Legilimens can harness this power to their advantage.
Hermione's mind was a vast expanse, as serene and placid as a calm sea, with unexplored depths that neither repelled nor resisted. After the initial rush, he focused on stabilising their connection.
With one hand on her cheek, he pulled her closer, unaware of his actions.
Click, click, click... The sounds belonged to her mind, and he went in search of their source. As he realised his goal, he saw flickering green lights and a memory connected to the sound surfaced. It is unclear to him and frankly incomprehensible, but he understands that it is important due to her emotional denunciation.
The sounds blend into a piercing noise of her name, incantations, screams, and conflict. He is unsure of what to seek, distracted by his own self-image, or rather, by her perception of him. All goes quiet and disappears, receding into stillness and vastness.
Far away, he observes her with the small box held tightly in her hands, knowing it contains all her secrets. The mist crawls frantically, reaching for her, but a glass circle shields her "I", surrounded by walls becoming stronger and stronger.
Hermione closed her eyes, attempting to escape.
"No!" He grabs her. But he has already completely broken through the Occlumency walls.
"That's enough."
Tom is convinced of his victory in the upcoming fight, despite the fact that Occlumency shields can be breached. However, Tom has not overlooked certain details.
"Isn't that sufficient, Tom? A deal is a deal," she reminds him before departing with the book, leaving him on his own.
This time she emerged victorious.
But not everything evaded Tom, after all, who is the infamous Who Must Not Be Named? Or the bizarre green and metallic sands that seem to flow endlessly – are they the product of a fertile imagination or a memory? And that's where her emotions lay. Further probing into the meaning behind it would have shattered the calm of her mind.
o0o
"What exactly is Occlumency?" Hermione inquired during one of her Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore. She was already familiar with the subject matter and the fact that it wasn't taught at Hogwarts due to its dark nature, but desired to hear Dumbledore's interpretation.
"Occlumency is often misconstrued as a mental barrier, yet it is simply the act of leading the intruder into a calm labyrinth of nothingness," explained Dumbledore. "Passivity, contrary to popular belief, is the most arduous attitude to adopt. We all possess an innate desire to take sides, and it is inevitable that our memories, recollections, and speech are linked to our emotions, Miss Granger." That's why Occlumency is a difficult skill to master, because in order to defend yourself against a Legilimens, you have to hide your emotions, which in turn hide your memories. If not hide, at least control."
"It's almost impossible." She murmured. "All memories, speech and attitudes are triggered by an emotion. Whatever it is."
Dumbledore gestured, agreeing with the thought. "That's the key," Hermione explained.
"The memories are figuratively locked away inside a box in your subconscious. You must clear your mind and control your emotions, but as soon as a Legilimens disrupts your calm state, the truth will start to be revealed."
She considered everything she had learned about Occlumency so far.
"It's essentially a form of manipulation." She admires the flickering fire in the fireplace and listens to the flapping of Fawkes' wings from his perch. "Occlumency is essentially a high-level form of manipulation," she states. "It's no surprise that it is one of the forbidden arts.
"Nevertheless, it's not entirely terrible. Allow them inside but refrain from making yourself comfortable. Admit the intruder, but never give them what they desire. Let them believe they have control, but do not divulge that you are the one charting the course."
"What if I don't succeed?"
"It's true that your mind won't simply open like a book, but it will be easier to navigate until you're no longer in charge."
She was momentarily unsuccessful. The fear and anguish of having him inside her mind caused her emotions and anxiety to almost reveal the calm facade that concealed the memories.
Nonetheless, the book was acquired, but at a high cost she was not particularly willing to bear. Hermione observed Tom's intense interest, which appeared to have been provoked by her in some way.
"Come here, Fawkes," she beckoned the bird while leaning over the perch. Fawkes, a bird of prey, is larger than a swan and resembles a harpy, with eyes so dark that the iris is barely distinguishable. "Just one tear," she pleaded.
The bird appeared to comprehend but remained still.
"The tear of a Phoenix is valuable. What is your purpose for it?" Dumbledore enquired, positioned in the entrance of his office with his hands clasped in front of him.
Although Hermione enjoyed the freedom of access that Dumbledore had granted her to his office, she was aware that it could come across as invasive. She took a deep breath and played with one of Fawkes' tail feathers before stating,
"I have stumbled upon a potion that could aid Harry. However, one of the required components is the Phoenix tear, which possesses potent medicinal qualities." Hermione glanced over her shoulder.
"Any potion that addresses an ingredient to such an extent is of an advanced level. I even suspect it is a relatively unknown potion."
Hermione did not contradict.
"The tear of a Phoenix can remedy any physical injury."
"I am not looking to cure Harry's physique, his body. It is his mind that I wish to mend." She did not avoid Dumbledore's brief questioning. "I have a theory that it's Harry's mind that needs to awaken. As I explained, Harry is connected to the dark wizard I previously mentioned. This dark wizard is present in this time period, but the event that caused him to be linked to Harry has not yet occurred." Hermione's facial expression turned sombre. "It was a connection of the mind and the soul," she stated, grasping Dumbledore's hand. "Harry is a Horcrux. Or he was"
Dumbledore released her hand, and she sensed that he comprehended the gravity of the situation, which had not hit her until this moment.
"How do you heal something that has not yet occurred but its effects can be felt? I firmly believe that Harry is experiencing it." She expressed her conviction.
"And from where did you acquire this potion, miss?" Hermione could detect the disapproval in his words as he placed his forefinger and thumb under her chin, and she lowered her gaze, feeling embarrassed.
"In the same book that describes the creation of the Horcruxes," she murmured, "there is a healing potion for the soul which is not violent and does not relate to Horcruxes. She made a swift clarification.
"The soul, being the most valuable possession of any individual.This book may not be suitable for sixth-formers, and possibly not even for adults. "
"If I don't try this, Harry might not wake up." Hermione attempted to rationalize her actions. Then she realizes her error of judgment. This was not the same Dumbledore from her time. He had not yet fought and defeated Grindelwald, let alone been through the first war against Voldemort, or even understood what had happened to Harry Potter.
She crossed her arms, not as a form of rebellion or confrontation, but as a way of making herself look smaller and less threatening, if that was how Dumbledore was perceiving her. However, she didn't realise how threatening she could be to him, to the one and only Albus Dumbledore.
"Your future self trusted me, just as you trusted Harry and Ron to find the solution. We were and are willing to risk our lives for what is good and just. You saw that in us." Hermione paused for a moment. "I absolutely think this book is vile and I've never been tempted to practise the teachings, but I don't see a choice."
Dumbledore listened in silence, before giving him a long look. "Where's the book?"
"That time? You'll have to find it. What do I have? It belongs to the future." She turned round, was about to leave when she muttered. "I'm sorry, Professor."
She folded her arms, without any intention of rebelliousness or confrontation, but to appear less imposing and smaller if that was the way Dumbledore viewed her. Yet, she was unaware of the potential threat she posed to him, Albus Dumbledore himself.
"Your future self trusted me, as you trusted Harry and Ron to find the solution. Our willingness to risk our lives for what is good and just was evident to you." Hermione paused briefly before continuing, "I believe unequivocally that this book is abhorrent, and I have never been tempted to implement its teachings. However, I do not see an alternative."
Dumbledore listened attentively before giving him a prolonged gaze. "Where is the book?"
"Of this era? You will have to locate it. What do I possess? It belongs in the future." She turned and began to depart as she mumbled, "I apologize, Professor."
Angel's Trumpet
Author's Note:
Hoplocephalus bungaroides, also known as the Broad-Headed Snake, is the twentieth most venomous snake in the world.