Hermione sat, the next morning, at breakfast with Penelope Clearwater and Cepheus Crux – he was a sixth year and Ravenclaw as well; he was rather tall and had dark brown and spiked hair. His skin was slightly tanned and he had bright green eyes, which to Hermione was painful to look at, since it reminded her of Harry's so much. He addressed her after charms lessons yesterday, complimenting her skills, to which she slightly blushed and nodded her head.
He hasn't left her side since.
"I think they should have hired a taller teacher, don't you agree?", he asked, as he hungrily gawked at his croissant. "The tiny man can't even stand and stare at the entire class at once. It'll be easy to cheat at the NEWTs."
Penelope snorted silently. Hermione watched as Professor Slughorn rose from his seat at the Professor's table and began to hand some students what looked like letters. He walked closer to where she was seating and his eyes gleamed eagerly when he spotted her among the sea of blue pupils.
"Ah! Miss Lockhart," he handed her the remaining paper in his hand. It read: ' The SlugClub's founder is pleased to inform Miss Hermione Lockhart that you have been invited to join the group of best students to a private and very formal dinner this Friday.' She looked up at him and forced a smile. "I will be there, sir." Slughorn clapped his hands and nodded. "Very well. " He retreated back to the huge table, his hands patting his big belly pleasingly.
"Oi Myrtle, nice glasses", A blonde girl shouted.
Hermione looked up and a small gasp escaped her unknowingly. It was Moaning Myrtle – or just Myrtle now. A few Ravenclaws snickered loudly as Myrtle began to sob uncontrollably. She rushed out of the Great Hall, every head turning to watch her amusingly. Hermione turned to face Penelope, who was munching on her cereal. "Who is that girl?" she asked, pointing at the blonde bully. Penelope followed the direction she was pointing at and rolled her eyes.
"Olive Hornby. She's not very...polite." Hermione gave Olive a disapproving glare and went back to her reading.
"You seem very fazed by that book." Cepheus said, eyeing her curiously. "What's it about? "
Hermione stared at the book in her hands. It had a purple cover and was too small for her liking. The title neatly said 'Jinxes for the Jinxed' and small description at the back read: Learn some jinxes to add to your arsenal with this handy volume. She had found this book in the library when looking for a good Arithmancy one.
"It's a book of Defensive Spells. " she said. Cepheus snorted "Why do you want to learn more defensive spells?"
As if on cue, Tom Riddle entered the Great Hall, followed by two other boys. The Carrows siblings following close behind. One of them had shoulder length, platinum blonde hair – a Malfoy for sure, she thought – the one on Tom's right was slightly taller than him, but lacked Riddle's demanding aura; he had short, brown hair and dark eyes. Riddle's cold glare met her soft eyes, and immediately his face hardened.
"You never know when you ought to use them." She mumbled.
♡
It was nearing eight o'clock in the afternoon when Hermione, dressed in a knee length blue dress – which she borrowed from Penelope – entered Slughorn's office. The dinner was about to begin, everyone was already sitting, including the teacher.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Professor. " She apologized, her face a slight colour of crimson. Slughorn chuckled "Nonsense my dear, you're just in time."
Everyone here seemed to have been invited because they were connected to somebody well-known or influential. She scanned the long table for an available seat and discovered it was right across from Riddle and next to the brown haired boy she had seen with him multiple times this last few days. Taking a sharp intake of breath, she made her way to last chair on the row and sat down slowly.
"A toast, to Hogwarts' brightest and best!" said Slughorn, shifting massively in his seat with the air of a compere introducing his star act. He raised his cup in the air first, then around the table everyone followed.
Hermione was the last to raise her butterbeer filled cup. There was a 'clink' as the glasses touched in unison, everyone taking long sips of its content right after. She looked around the table. There was no Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw – except for herself – nearly a handful of Gryffindors and around the double of Slytherins. She felt highly uncomfortable to be in their presence. The first fifteen minutes of the dinner went by with the brown haired boy sitting next to her – who she learnt was Lestrange – talking about how his father had run some errands on the Ministry, and they were highly pleased with him.
Slughorn nodded his head and chuckled, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth. "I'm pretty sure your father's efforts will come in handy Lestrange. Maybe you could get a job in the Ministry... if you continue succeeding classes, of course." Slughorn turned his attention to Hermione, his eyes scanning her eagerly. "Miss Lockhart, any plans for the future? "
She chocked on her drink a bit, coughing slightly to cover it up. "Not quite, sir. " She said "But, I'd love to work with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is the second largest Department in the Ministry of Magic. It is divided into three divisions named after the three categorizations of magical creatures: Being, Beast and Spirit. It also houses the liaison offices for Goblins and Centaurs. She noticed Riddle eyeing her coldly from the corner of her eye. Slughorn smiled in approval. "Ah, yes Miss Lockhart. That's wonderful. I'm very pleased to hear that, very pleased indeed. "
The occasional scrapping of forks and knives on the plates, filled the room. Hermione thought she had been tired of hearing Lestrange rambling about his father, but the silence was more difficult to bare. So she oddly felt satisfied to hear Tom Riddle talking. "Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"
"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though winking at the same time. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."
Riddle smiled; the other Slytherin boys laughed and cast him admiring looks. "What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite —" Several of the boys tittered again. "— I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have excellent contacts at the Ministry." Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. She noticed Lestrange grinning mischievously at him.
Tom was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but they all seemed to look to him as their leader. "I don't know if politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."
Malfoy and Lestrange smirked at each other. "Nonsense," said Slughorn briskly, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet." Hermione couldn't help but feel even more uncomfortable in her seat. He'd go far, she thought, but for the wrong reasons.
Hermione felt as though someone was observing her. Her eyes left her now empty plate and met a pair of dark brown ones. They belonged to the blonde boy from the train, Avery. He lingered his index finger on his cup, trailing it along the edge, his eyes never leaving hers. She quickly broke eye contact, finding her empty plate very worthy of attention. A couple Gryffindors began to talk about their plans after graduating.
The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around. "Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. " Slughorn then glanced at the blonde boy. "Same goes for you, Avery." One by one, the students filed out of the room, Hermione was very pleased to be able to go back to the Ravenclaw Tower.
Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look around; Riddle was still standing there. "Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect..." Tom hesitated for a moment but quickly composed himself, his dark eyes gleaming eagerly. "Sir, I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away. . ."
"Sir, I wondered what you know about . . . about Horcruxes?" Slughorn stared at him, his thick ringers absentmindedly clawing the stem of his wine glass. "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?" But anyone could tell by Slughorn's expression he knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.
"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."
"No . . . well. . . you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.
"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I'd –" It was very well done, the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone. He had had too much experience of trying to wheedle information out of reluctant ; he was a master at work.
"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."
"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Riddle. His voice was carefully controlled, but a small ounce of excitement could be heard. "Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form ..." Slughorn's face crumpled "... few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."
But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing. "How do you split your soul?"
"Well," said Slughorn uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."
"But how do you do it?" asked Tom impatiently.
"By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —"
"Encase? But how — ?"
"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" said Slughorn shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. "Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?"
"No, sir, of course not," said Riddle quickly. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to offend . . ."
"Not at all, not at all, not offended," said Slughorn gruffly, "It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things. . . . Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic. . . ."
"Yes, sir," said Riddle. "What I don't understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven — ?"
"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case . . . bad enough to divide the soul . . . but to rip it into seven pieces . . ." Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: He was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and he was regretting entering into the conversation at all. "Of course," he muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic . . ."
"Yes, sir, of course," said Riddle quickly. "It'll be our little secret."