The morning of the Hogsmeade weekend. A carriage ride shared with Gryffindors. Hogsmeade errands to run. There is an Incident at Hogsmeade.
Hermione really had no idea why her dormmates and House mates were pitching in so much to help her get ready, but she wasn't complaining. She just hoped this didn't mean that they expected her to return the favour when they happened to be going out. Julia and Lakshmi laughed when they heard her say that.
"What? I'm not sure how good my fashion advice is going to be."
"Exactly. Which is why we're not going to ask you for any," Julia said, dryly, ignoring the reflexive 'hey!' that Hermione just made. "But you've done a lot when it comes to school work, and I'm sure you'd keep doing that. It's fine. You can continue to do what you're good at and let us handle what we're good at."
Though where Lakshmi procured the shampoo that said 'boosts shine and vitality for curly hair' when hers was only slightly wavy at most was beyond Hermione. Hermione wasn't going to question her good fortune, though. At least no one expected her to straighten her hair. She thought it was fine as it was and damn anyone who thought otherwise.
She did, at least, manage to get her nosey House mates to keep their distance when Tom did come around. Her excuse was that she didn't want them to scare him off, though her real answer was that she was starting to feel like a Panda in a zoo—watched at all times and with low mating success that the whole staff had to pitch in.
"Not a bloody Panda," she muttered.
"I'm sorry?" Eugenie asked.
"Oh, never mind. It's not as if you can't play voyeur from the doors of the Ravenclaw Tower. I'm simply not staying there for you to spy on."
"We're not spying," Julia insisted with indignance. "We're helping."
Hermione had to send her a long, disbelieving look before Julia huffed and relented. "Oh, alright. Don't blame us if something goes wrong."
She had to grin at that. 'Frankly, if anything goes wrong, I'm more inclined to blame Tom than anyone." What with his megalomaniacal tendencies buried deep.
"Wait, what?"
"Ah, just an in-joke. Ignore that," she said with relish, turning back from them. "So, Lakshmi?"
"Effy told me that he's about ten-minute walk from here, and that was five minutes ago."
"Well. It sounds like a good time as any to go out."
"Um, wouldn't it look like you're too eager if you're waiting for him outside the Tower?" Celeste Sykes was hovering as well, though why she found it interesting, Hermione had no idea.
Maybe she just happened to be there because she was chatting with her friend Julia? The chaser was already wearing her quidditch uniform and carried her gear in her bag. All she needed to do was head off to the pitch and prepare for Ravenclaw House's practice already.
"I'll tell him the real reason is that I have you nosey parkers as House mates. He has a brain—I'm sure he can tell when I'm telling the truth." She answered—she was sure she had a point. Lucretia, certainly didn't hang around waiting for Tom to pick her up.
"Celeste has a point," Julia commented.
Hermione shrugged. "I don't care. If he's an idiot who actually believes in crap like that, then he'd just be a waste of my time and nothing's going to come out of this date."
The witches were wearing different versions of the fazed expression except for Lakshmi, who had snorted and then gave up holding back her chuckles anyway.
"Oh, I knew you'd be fun, Hermione. Alright, have a good time. Don't do anything I won't do."
"Considering that it's you, it's like giving me no limits at all, isn't it?" She shot back in good humour. Lakshmi grinned.
"Whatever you say. Good luck." The dark-haired witch said, and the others chimed in as well.
"Thanks, everyone."
'-
There was this rather large urn on top of a pedestal in a small nook that drew the eye, not far from the Ravenclaw Tower's entrance. It was rather noticeable, and that was why she thought it was a good place to wait at.
In any other place, she'd be worried if some first or second year kid was going to run and knock it off balance. Considering that this was the wizarding world, she was sure there was a lot of sticking charms put on the urn, or it was enchanted in place by stronger means. She observed the classical Greek pottery technique of red-figures-on-black. Like many magical artefacts, the figures moved in animation. It was a ball game of some sort, and since it was Greek, this meant that all the males were naked.
She grinned to herself. At least the wizarding world didn't even think of censoring them.
"Indulging in a spot of art appreciation?"
Hermione turned around at his voice. "Well, I was bored."
There was a rather base sort of satisfaction in noticing that he stared for a full three seconds before he gathered his wits and said something, especially when his gaze flicked down and he noticed the hemline of her navy dress.
He offered his hand instead and she took it. They walked quietly for a while.
The cut of his suit jacket certainly flattered his figure—he had the lean form of a fencer, and a fluid way of moving that reminded her of the sleekness of a leopard than a flashier, bulkier lion. But then again, even the cut of his uniform blazer gave her that impression, and she'd had the time to build up an immunity to his effect on her. Apparently, the opposite cannot be said of him.
"You know, it's customary to offer compliments to your date, Mr. Riddle. Else she might think her efforts were inadequate," it was really hard to hold back her lips from curving upwards, so she didn't even try. Did she have a smug look? She had no idea. It probably was something close, though.
From the flash of exasperation that had passed his face, even if he managed to immediately school it to nonchalance once more, she knew she'd scored a hit.
On the other hand, she hadn't expected him to change the field of contest. Instead of a verbal answer. This was how she ended up pinned to the wall in the next secluded nook. Not that she had anything to complain about on that front. The next time she came up for air when her thoughts wasn't clouded by the pleasant buzz, a few minutes probably had passed. Or was it five? She had no idea.
"Telling you that you look beautiful is utterly trite, Hermione, and I'd hate to be trite. Only the most brain dead would choose to say that as it is something obvious even every day." He said.
"Really?"
"Advanced Defence, the way you move when you duel. Many of your keenest observers are not merely duelling enthusiasts," he pointed out.
Hermione's brows creased in thought. She just fought. She didn't think there was anything special about it, other than how she was good at it (she was the one who was pathetic if some Hogwarts student could beat her and her several years of experience). She had no idea what he was talking about. His disbelief turned to humour as seconds passed and she found nothing.
Tom shook his head. "You really don't see it."
"See what?"
He gently pulled her away, slipping her arm in his again as they continued on their walk. "Come on, Tom, see what?"
"I'm sure you can put your mind to it and figure it out soon."
"But I want to know now! Tom!"
His only answer was a chuckle.
'-
Hermione had thought that they'd set off rather early. It wasn't that much of a hardship for her to prepare as she was an early riser, and it would help them beat off the biggest lump of bottleneck as the third-years and higher descend to the carriageway after breakfast.
This was why she was surprised when not long after they entered, the carriage door opened again and a Gryffindor witch blushed as soon as she saw them. At least Hermione was rather sure that the blonde was a Gryffindor. Her hair was unexpectedly short at shoulder-length for this era. She sat on the seat across from them.
"Oh, I'm so sorry for intruding! But the groundskeeper doesn't like to hitch too many thestrals to the carriages too early. He says most students wake up late anyway. He wants them to enjoy their mornings a bit longer and Professor Kettleburn agrees." The blonde said.
Hermione noticed with interest that she wore mid-calf boots that wasn't only fashionable, but was something one clearly can duel in. Her respect rose even further.
"This is the only carriage you saw on the carriageway, isn't it?" Hermione asked, understanding.
The other witch nodded awkwardly.
A wizard stepped in into the carriage after her. His devil-may-care grin was actually rather distinct, and she instantly remembered him as one of the French wizards. The long, braided brown hair was hard to forget.
"Yes, this early in the morning, there's barely any carriage to be had." He said.
While Hermione was racking her brains, trying to remember who she was talking to, Tom was faster. He had already given them both a welcoming smile.
"We don't mind at all, Bernadotte, Victorinus." He nodded to the wizard and then the witch. That was when she remembered that they were the sixth-year Gryffindor prefects. "Isn't that right, Hermione?"
"It's fine," Hermione said, recognising them from as the French expatriates.
Bernadotte was staring at Tom in consternation. "Dammit, Riddle, I told you that you can call me Pip."
"And I did say I declined," Tom dryly replied.
The sixth-year sighed. "Even Philippe is alright. Bernadotte reminds me of my old man."
"Give it up, Pip," the witch next to him rolled her eyes. The carriage had started to roll not long after the doors were closed and the latch clicked into place.
"It's Ceres, isn't it?" Hermione asked. The witch smiled with pleasure.
"Yes! And it's Hermione, right?"
The Ravenclaw hummed in agreement. "Anyway, what brought you two to Hogsmeade so early?"
"What else, your idea, of course!" Bernadotte said this with a beaming smile at Hermione. "We need to start coordinating a search in France and Germany, right? And well, preferably any other place that Grindelwald might hole up in as well, but the odds are certainly larger that he's somewhere in those two countries."
"It's better that we get something running soon enough. The last thing we need is for Evariste to try crossing back to France." Ceres added.
"I think we've managed to dissuade him from that. Haven't we?" Hermione glanced at Tom, trying to remember that one conversation after ADADA class where Evariste was a little too enthusiastic to go off to fight. His reply was short.
"I certainly hope so."
"Anyway, Eugenie did pass on the idea that he could coordinate the search from Hogsmeade, right?"
They glanced at each other, almost in a silent back-and-forth for a few seconds.
"That's a good idea, but we know that sooner or later, it might simply be a matter of necessity to have people crossing back and forth between England and France. I think it's far safer to evacuate the wounded here if they don't have a safe location in France to go to," Ceres said after a while.
"And sometimes, you might not have anyone left to evacuate if you don't give them a hand." Her fellow Gryffindor replied. In contrast to his earlier mirth, his expression was serious.
"Weren't the Ministry closing up the international floo terminals? I thought I read something like that on the papers," Hermione said.
"Both Britain and Vichy France closed up the international house-to-house floo travel. Too many risks—it creates a porous front that no one could monitor. Calling still works because there was low risk and both sides found it too useful. Any travels to and from the great floo terminals, like the one in St. Pancras or the Gare du Nord, are still open. That's where all the security and customs are concentrated at, after all." The blonde witch clarified.
"Yet you're off to an inn to set up a floo connection with mainland Europe," Tom stated, watching the pair of sixth-years.
The silence was tenser this time, as the two Gryffindors exchanged long searching looks.
"I don't know if we can trust you yet." Bernadotte said. He ignored the slap on his forearm that his housemate gave him for that blunt statement. "It's true, Mignonette. We'd just called out to France on your idea and a few days later, it seemed that they were prepared in case an opportunity like this comes along. Yet it's not without its risks."
Tom nodded back. His voice was perfectly normal when he spoke up again.
"Well, I think for now it's not great difficulty to pass on knowing the exact details of your method to circumvent said blockage, one that I'm sure is of dubious legality." He didn't react to their obvious wince. Hermione had to wonder if her poker face was just as non-existent as theirs—it wasn't just in their face, she could guess their thoughts from the slight tension of their shoulders, the aborted fidgeting.
Was this how Tom felt as he read people's thoughts in their faces with ease for most of the time? Mildly entertained?
"I'm sure there's plenty of time later for you to change your mind, or when it becomes necessary for us to know." Tom told them.
"Why would it ever be necessary for you to know?" Bernadotte asked curiously.
This time, it was Hermione's turn to try out her mysterious smile. "Oh, you know. Stuff. There's stuff that might need more direct cross-Channel coordination."
"Stuff." He repeated, unsure. Ceres rolled her eyes.
"Oh, let it go, Pip. We have things we'd rather keep under wraps, and it's not really a surprise that they also have some, is it?"
"Ah, right."
The Ravenclaw witch mused over what they were saying. "Yet if you're planning on being more proactive in your Hogsmeade base than merely collecting information, it would still be just as dangerous for Evariste to actually be involved in it, isn't it?"
It must have been something spot on because Bernadotte was actually tugging on his own braid in frustration. "Melior and Melusine," he cursed. "I wish I don't need to think about it."
"But you do," Hermione finished.
"But we do." The blonde agreed, glum.
"With all due respect, he has no business on the frontlines." Bernadotte replied bluntly. "Look, we've both been in fights. We're not the heirs of some really fancy families either and our families are fighting families. We've gotten pretty good at this. Evariste doesn't have that knowledge yet, and his family considers that it's too much of a risk to even get him anywhere near the Front."
"Or the Middle, or the Back," Ceres pointedly commented.
There was a rather rough patch of the road (or terrain). Sometimes Hermione wondered whether thestrals always bothered with established paths or not, perhaps even forgetting at times that not everyone has wings. Currently, they were all shaken about. Hermione had a hand over Tom's knee while she could feel him holding her waist. Ceres was faster. She'd gotten hold of Bernadotte's arm and hadn't been disturbed much. Bernadotte was less lucky and seemed to have bumped his head somewhere as he was rubbing it while grumbling. That was until colour started to creep up his cheeks and he turned away.
Why did he...oh.
His upper arm was pressed against Ceres's remarkable breasts—she could even give Lakshmi a run for her money. Hermione settled herself back against the seat. Bernadotte's colour hadn't quite gone back down even once Ceres let his arm go.
"Sooner or later, de Breteuil is going to resent that and would try to go around the restrictions. He might even get himself killed." Tom remarked. He was unusually open with the truth today.
Bernadotte cringed and Ceres was staring upwards at the carriage's ceiling with resignation.
"Yes, well..." Bernadotte muttered.
"We really hope it doesn't come to that," Ceres admitted.
Tom must be giving them both some really sardonic glances, as they were soon either looking away and huffing or just leaning back and closing their eyes.
"What if he becomes part of the Hogwarts' search team?" Hermione asked.
"Eh?"
"Well, there'd be a Search headquarters at Hogwarts too, because frankly, it's one of the safest places in Britain. Someone needs to monitor all those incoming data, map them out, list the places that have been covered and make a list of those that aren't. You know? Coordinating the search itself?" Hermione said. Based on how they stared at her blankly, it probably hadn't even crossed their mind.
Bernadotte whooped loudly, pumping his fist in the air.
"That's it! That's exactly what we need to hand off to Evariste!"
Well, Hermione had accepted the possibility that she'd had to pick up that responsibility too before they could find anyone who can take up the job. If Evariste was actually capable enough to hold it, she certainly wasn't complaining. It freed her up for other tasks.
"Are you alright with this, though?" The blonde witch asked them. "This is your idea, after all."
"Oh, we're fine." Hermione said easily, assuaging the other witch's concern, before she remembered to turn to Tom. "We already have many things we'd have to manage, don't we?"
Tom nodded easily. "Yes. It's actually very convenient for us too if we can find someone who can accept the possibility early on. Our schedule's already rather full, I'm afraid."
The Gryffindors blinked and took a moment to take that in. That was probably when they realised who exactly they were talking to. Oh, they were talking to Hermione Curie and Tom Riddle, sure, but they hadn't quite remembered that Hermione and Tom between them had enough class load for three people—and all advanced classes too. That widening of Bernadotte's eyes was probably when he remembered about Hermione's Daily Prophet article, and they both belatedly remembered that Tom was also still a prefect on top of it all, even if he did seem to be running The Society too.
"Ah, right. You're both really...busy," Ceres murmured in surprise.
"But we can still make the time if we have to," Hermione assured. "It's just nicer when we don't. Then I can pick up other plans instead."
She could see them both breathe in relief. It was probably one potential crisis averted on their part. The atmosphere was much more relaxed in the moments after that. Tom, on the other hand, wasn't one who would waste the presence of a captive audience and had prepared his inquiry.
He sounded them out for tonight's meeting.
"Speaking of the Search, we've managed to establish the headquarters yesterday. I was thinking of holding out first meeting this evening—the sooner we can begin, the faster we can find Grindelwald, after all. Now, what are your thoughts on this as well as..."
Ah, the art of the elevator pitch, she thought with amusement.
'-
The Gryffindor prefects cheerfully parted ways with them after they arrived at Hogsmeade. Their destination was clearly Hog's Head Inn. Back in the carriage, they were enthusiastic enough to be able to do something that they welcomed Tom's suggestion of holding their first meeting this evening. The sixth-years could easily assure them that most of their friends were going to be interested in attending. That was at least one faction confirmed.
Once they were alone again, Hermione took a deep breath and caught the smell of grass, as well as bread from a nearby bakery. There was something relaxing about walking on the winding cobblestone roads and among several quaint Tudor-style houses, their criss-crossing support beams on display for all to see. It was probably how dissimilar it was from the hustle and bustle of London—even as a witch who can floo in to work, the thronging mass of people was still unavoidable when walking down Diagon Alley. Or more particularly, when she had to go out to muggle London.
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Tom?"
"There's something we need to settle first. You're going to use the Malfoys' funds."
"Um, what?"
"For all the expenses that you'll incur today. I'm sure you have gifts to buy, favours to curry with some of them. It would be impossible if you were to try to get everything on your list of things you need to purchase with only the funds you receive from Hogwarts."
Hermione coloured, but he easily tipped her face back towards him. She hadn't even realised she was looking away.
"I know because I used to only rely on it as well," he said, matter-of-fact, and Hermione couldn't help but appreciate that the person talking to her was someone in the exact same boat as she was in.
"But some thank-you gifts are rather time sensitive, aren't they?" He continued, all too knowing. "You wanted to give something to Agatha Abbott because she was the one who'd found you in the first place. Who knows whether you'd have timely help otherwise? The same is true when you were thinking of getting Professor Slughorn some candied pineapple. He was instrumental in stabilising your condition."
She was too surprised to immediately answer.
"How did you even—"
"You told me all these things when you were still in the infirmary," Tom replied. Hermione sighed. There was definitely a downside to having him as her only conversation partner for one-and-a-half week. Well, him and Eugenie, but she wasn't worried about her dormmate. Hermione certainly didn't remember all of what she'd said when she was feeling talkative (or feeling too happy from painkillers) and she was beginning to wonder just how much of it would stick in his exceptional memory.
"I'm not going to accept charity—"
Tom snorted. "Charity? Charity is a whole new ward in St. Mungo's. It's a new orphanage in London. Charity is a four-bedroom cottage for a spinster aunt in Bath. However much you spent today for your errands, I can assure you that if Abraxas lost that much coin falling under his bed, he wouldn't even notice it. He wouldn't even notice the loss of ten times the amount if it was mislaid over a week."
He waited patiently for her reaction, as unaffected as a rock by the sea.
Hermione started to speak more than once but closed her mouth soon enough with a sigh, uncertain of what she wanted to be said. Abraxas or Melchior certainly wouldn't even blink at the amount of money she would end up asking for today. It was below their notice threshold, as Tom's example had amply demonstrated. They wouldn't even consider that amount charity or gift. It was the equivalent to small change to them, isn't it? It was just, there, she supposed. It was money they weren't even using. Money that would just sit in the goblin vaults of Gringotts otherwise and not even circulating in the economy.
"You realise that if St. Mungo asked you to prove the effectiveness of some spells or medical procedures you already know would work, you would need the funds to set up the study to prove that, don't you? You will need to recruit lab assistants, possibly even healers and nurses. I'm sure there are other things the whole effort would need that only you can think of." Tom's voice was level.
Damn him, but he was right. There were too many things she wanted to do, and for some of them she certainly needed a steady source of funds. She could feel herself weakening, but she appreciated that he wasn't even pushing. Tom was just there, patiently letting her sort through her thoughts on her own, but clearly available if she wanted to toss some ideas out at him and see what he thought about it.
Waiting.
"You can pay him back once we've figured out how to create diamonds, sapphires and the lot." He added. "In case you haven't figured it out yourself, he likes emeralds by the way. Give him one the size of an ostrich's egg, and he might even give you his secondborn."
"Not his firstborn?" She asked.
"Well, he still needs to leave a Malfoy heir. Someone needs to keep their nose in the air and lord over everyone else at Malfoy Manor."
Hermione had to laugh at that. It was truly a good idea. She allowed herself to lean her forehead on his shoulder for a while.
"Take it as an investment that he entrusted to you."
"Oh, alright."
"Alright?" He asked.
"We can certainly help spend Abraxas' allowance." She finally said.
'-
Compared to the time when she shopped with Professor Merrythought that was distinctly business-like, fully aware of the limits of her budget and all the things she still needed to buy, being escorted across Hogsmeade by Tom Riddle was a distinct pleasure.
It began in Honeydukes, as she'd determined to get some chocolate for Agatha Abbott and the candied pineapples for Slughorn. Yet Tom noticed when her attention strayed to a jar of colourful meringues ('Flavour: Summer Days', wait, what?). He picked it up and placed it in her shopping basket without a second thought (it was easy for him since he was the one carrying it). Another batch of salted caramels went in as well, ones whose flavours were said to dance in your mouth as they melt. Sugar quills were a given, since she thought they were a nice antidote to boredom and outright sleeping when studying or in class. It was when he'd picked up a box of dried fruits with a sprinkling of sugar ('bursting with freshness and juice inside!') that she had to laugh and pull him away.
"There's still other Hogsmeade visits, Tom. Really, there's no need to empty the store on the first visit! How would I eat all those candies, anyway?"
"You'd share many of them with your dormmates," he pointed out. And he was right again, damn him.
"I still have your box of chocolate."
"There are many things here that aren't chocolate," was his answer. Even with his simple reply, the possibility was too tempting for her.
The confection of dried fruits ended up back at the basket after he caught her looking in its general direction for the third time, and she had to make herself walk out of Honeydukes before even more items ended up on her shopping.
After that she restocked her stationery, with Tom restocking his along with hers. They somehow ended up in ten-minute debate about the merits of different paper weights and textures. It was enough to get the proprietor to watch them with amusement and interest, at least until Hermione realised what she was doing and threw her hands in the air.
"What are we doing? We'll just buy them both and see how it holds up for assignments and notes!"
"I'll still say that it's better to choose the papers of heavier weights for assignments, though. You'd never know how much jostling it would experience when the parchment rolls are stacked together." He advised.
"Thicker would tear less," Hermione agreed. "But it adds too much bulk if you use it for notes. And I have a lot of notes."
"We've agreed to disagree until before we've tried both, isn't that right?"
She sighed. "Oh, alright. Yes, we've agreed to disagree for now."
Hermione was distracted by the fact that the place stocked vellum for a few seconds before she had to ask herself, what was she going to use vellum for? She tried to remember her vague memories if she could recall what magic might use it but couldn't come up with anything for now. So, she moved on to inks. Of course, being once too used to accessing the muggle world back and forth, she was spoilt by the choices she had in pen colours.
"What? Only five colours of ink? That's not nearly enough for the varieties of potion ingredients or the different specimens in herbology!" Hermione insisted to the hapless shopkeeper.
"Oh, you're a perfectionist about your sketches and illustrations, aren't you?" Tom finally wandered back to her side.
She made a noncommittal sound. He was right, their potions and herbology classes sometimes require sketching for notes or homework.
"Never mind. I'll just buy all five, triple some of them for mixing experiments and see if I can somehow concoct a different formula that would give additional variations in the colours. I can always mail-order more for the colour inks used in mixes and experiments that worked." She said.
"Um," the shopkeeper started.
"We'll just take all that for now," Tom was doing his best to hold back his amusement. Hermione saw the way his blue eyes gleamed and sighed as she turned back to the proprietor.
"I'm sorry. It's just...alright, I'm just a perfectionist witch. It's a thing."
"Oh, no problem, really." The wizard assured her.
He was surprisingly laid back. On the other hand, it might simply be the volume of their purchase that made him appreciate them as a customer, even with her exacting standards. After the visit to the stationery store ('The Scrivener'), there was no question that their next stop was to the Owlery to send all the boxes and packages back to Hogwarts.
Once that was done, Hermione felt a little lost, even as she felt a pleasant buzz from being productive. She was drawn by the scent of freshly-backed bread back to the bakery once more and they bought a few of the day's offerings. It was when they were sitting on the tables just outside the bakery that she began to notice the streets had begun to fill with out-of-uniform Hogwarts students. She was suddenly glad she'd came earlier.
"What time is it?"
"Some time nearing ten," he replied, not bothering to check for a more precise time. He was aware she wasn't looking for an accurate reckoning.
"Here comes the crowd again," she murmured. Her disappointment was palpable in her voice, as was the slump of her shoulders.
"We can move somewhere else," he replied.
"The Three Broomsticks?" She wondered out loud. He sent her a long side-glance.
"Do you know that at least half of the crowd is heading that way?"
Hermione groaned and laid her head on her folded hands. Hogsmeade was a nice, picturesque village to relax in, but it helps when you're not a jaded, time-stuck witch of indeterminate age. That she had apparently acquired an even larger loathing for crowds than she did before didn't help things. It was fortunate that she remembered the Shrieking Shack just now.
"Oh, I know! Let's check out all the empty and abandoned houses here."
She didn't react to his sceptical expression, already standing up.
"Hermione, wait—"
"If we can rehabilitate one, we'd have a base in Hogsmeade, Tom!"
Hermione set off in the direction of Hogsmeade's residential area. She was heading towards its outermost section, in fact. It would've been too suspicious if she arrived at the Shack immediately, but she can be systematic about it and try all the empty and abandoned houses from one end to the other. It also had the upside of leaving her far from the madding crowd and certainly away from any overly nosey House mates or year mates of theirs. She had no worries about him following her; he'd catch up sooner or later.
If there was anything that she'd never failed to rouse in him, it was curiosity.
'-
The first house was an instant loss.
"Most of the first floor has fallen through to the ground floor," Tom remarked not long after they opened the front door. He was gazing up to the holes that let in the light from the first floor, and possibly even gaps in the roof.
"And parts of the ground floor are holes to the basement." Hermione finished, staring down. "On to the next one, then."
The second seemed fine at first glance. Further investigation yielded a second floor that smelled distinctly of mould. What's worse, one can smell it in all the rooms, even if only one showed clear presence of it on the walls.
"Nope. This one would need a lot of overhaul too," she said this with a sigh.
"A good part of the walls would need to be torn out if you want to chase down the rot." Tom was standing next to her with an expression of clear distaste. "The orphanage had a runaway mould problem once, and it was...time-consuming and distracting."
The pause between his words made her wonder how many weeks the renovation took up, and how much noise he'd had to live with over that particular summer. The hand that held his arm tightened. He sent her a puzzled look but she said nothing.
As they neared the village's centre of activity, there were fewer houses that were run down, much less one that was clearly abandoned. She had an inkling that the next one was certainly the Shack. It must have had a full garden that thrived far better than the ones in the other failing houses, because the front yard was overrun with shrubs and the path wasn't visible. The air smelled greener here, though, more pristine. Carefully circling to the back yielded a yard that had been invaded by gorse and brambles—Hermione couldn't help but start picking on the blackberries among the brambles and snack on them.
Tom only took one or two when she offered him, but he kept watching her with the slightest quirk of his lips that she had no idea what for.
The undergrowth wasn't completely unmanageable if one were wearing boots like her (she still felt slightly victorious that she'd managed to ditch the damned mary-janes that were part of the Hogwarts uniform of this era). It didn't take them long before they managed to make their way to the back door. The lock held at their testing, but it was nothing that a quick Alohomora wouldn't fix.
Compared to the mouldy house, the air was noticeably dry and she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd had no idea whether the Marauders had needed to fix-up the place, or if it was already in serviceable condition from the beginning, but she was certainly not looking forward to the prospect of battling rot or vermin infestation. There were dusts swirling in the air as they walked in, sure, but at least there were no holes on the floor.
It didn't take long beyond a cursory inspection for them to agree on it.
"I think this is it." She said with satisfaction. "Some basic notice-me-not charms planted around the perimeter, and maybe a basic threshold ward just to warn us of trespassers who managed to get through that and see who they are. Then, we can just leave it be for now and return to check it more thoroughly at some other day."
"We also need to check the deeds. Make sure we know who had owned it before and whether the land had reverted back to the village of Hogsmeade in the absence of a clear heir." He added.
Well, that didn't actually cross her mind.
"Right. That too."
The notice-me-not charms wasn't that hard to plant. It took some ten-minute wandering around the grounds, but it was easily done. Hermione would have gone around again if her whole body hadn't tensed. The brunette had fingered her left wrist for her emergency portkey bracelet that was no longer there. What was it? She wondered, as she moved quieter than before and stuck to the shades of the trees. What had her instinct picked up that she hadn't noticed?
Tom slid seamlessly beside her. He didn't make enough noise to startle her trigger-happy reflexes, and he didn't come from outside her line of sight to alarm. He was in the same highly alert mode that she was in. She gestured with her wand that she wanted to cast a spell on them and he nodded. She cast the one to augment hearing on both of them.
She could hear the birds in the trees clearly now as they chirp and hop, the flurried beating of their wings was audible too. The high branches occasionally rustled in the wind.
That was when she heard the sounds of screams from the direction of the main street.
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"Tom, give me a safe place to apparate into. Hogsmeade station is too far and..." Hermione trailed away.
...and most of the well-known stores would be right on main street, the focus of all the activity. She didn't want to apparate into someone. That was a far more painful accident than just getting splinched.
"The carriage house." Tom promptly answered. "Remember when we arrived at the carriageway? When we first stepped down, if you turn left, you'd see a pair of ash trees a little out of the way. You can apparate us right there."
"Um, which one was the ash tree? We didn't exactly hang around to get a good look." She defended herself. And well, she wasn't that good at knowing which tree was of which species if she only relied on their outline. Hermione wasn't exactly a country girl.
He stared at her in disbelief but continued. "It was the pair near the bushes with white flowers to your left."
"Right. Let's skip this joint."
She took his arm, waiting for him to realise that yes, she wasn't kidding about the apparation, before she whisked them both away in a snap of space tucking itself away from around them. The disorientation that followed wasn't easy to describe, particularly the part where she was always sure she could taste colours. Yet it was leagues better than the whiplash of using a portkey.
Tom gripped her arm harder on the landing, but she didn't blame him. It was always worse when you're apparating side-along, and to his credit, he didn't even stumble.
The carriageway was in front of them and they set off at a run towards Hogsmeade's main street. There were still some people running towards them.
"You take that side of the street, and I'll take this one?" She asked.
"Upstream, then?"
"Yes."
She stuck to the wall to their left while Tom crossed the road. It wasn't hard to go against the current; the crowd had started to empty. Even if Hermione was starting to feel itchy at the lack of adequate cover, she hadn't really seen any hostile wizards (or witches) either so far.
The crack cutting through the air curdled her blood. Someone's shooting with a gun.
She increased her speed. She made sure she met Tom's glance long enough that he noticed she was changing her pace to a measured run. Her heart steadily picked up its beat.
When she was around three storefronts away, she saw the shooter. He wasn't wearing any robes, his clothes were more of the labourer—rough wool coat, shirt that wasn't even white in colour anymore. There were wounded people trying to crawl away and Hermione had to force herself to focus on the attacker first. Others had barricaded themselves in the store to her right (whoever lead that effort, she was going to give them a medal for initiative).
There was a brave soul or two who tried fighting him back, casting spell after spell that seemed to strangely be rebuffed.
An anti-magic charm, Hermione deduced quickly. It was useless for anyone who uses magic, because even casting from the inside would break it. But it was perfect for a muggle, wasn't it?
Tom was slinging crates across the street at the man, breaking his concentration and burying him under all that weight. He'd noticed the shooter's magical immunity at the same time she did.
There was an overturned pot not far from her feet. She picked it up and apparated several metres closer to the attacker in an instant. He was just a few steps away from her now, groaning under the crates. She ignored the shouts telling her to back away. Tom was running towards her at the edge of her sight, but he was too far to do anything or reach her in time. The moment the shooter's head popped out of the boxes, she bashed the pot on his head without a second thought. The man went down like a rock.
Hermione pulled the necklace he was wearing and pocketed it before she checked for any rings. None. She tried running a diagnostic spell over him—if he still had an anti-magic barrier, it wouldn't have stuck at all. It worked. Her spell told her that he had a concussion. The necklace is probably the charm, then.
The brunette witch stood up and moved the crates enough to get him out with a wave of her wand. She bound the unconscious man with a good use of Incarcerous. Only then did she do something to alleviate his concussion.
She felt Tom gripped her arm tightly and turned to him.
"That was reckless of you."
"Not really. He couldn't shoot after you've piled him like that."
She gave him a long level stare, the one that said 'situation under control' to junior Aurors. He wasn't easily cowed like they would be, but she could see him easing up from his previous tension. Tom was still sending her that dark look, though, to her confusion. What was that for? I'm fine, Hermione thought, we're both fine. Then, she decided to wonder about it some other time.
The brunette witch thought she could hear another shot somewhere.
"How many shooters are there?" Hermione asked with frustration.
"Someone shouted that there was another one further down the street. The one who tried to attack the Three Broomsticks was already subdued." Tom answered.
How he updated himself on the news while he was also trying to corner the shooter like she did, she had no idea. Hermione could see one or two people who happened to still be in the streets, staring at the two of them in wonder. They were mostly in a daze, uncertain whether it was really over. The wizard who had been shooting curses at the man looked as if he was about to approach them; presumably to thank them, considering his relieved expression. For all his height and serious expression, he seemed young—probably another Hogwarts student.
Well, she had to admire his courage to keep slinging spells at the attacker even when he didn't see it having any effect.
"We should probably head down and find the other one, then," Hermione said. She didn't exactly miss the slightly vexed look Tom had at her determination, but he didn't say anything against it.
"And the wounded here?" He asked.
Realisation hit her rather late, and her smile was sheepish. "You're right. Only after I've checked them."
"That was good work. Thank you." The wizard who'd held the shooter back hailed them.
"You're welcome. But I'm just doing what anyone would do if they can," she replied easily, missing his stunned look. Why Tom was holding back a smile, she didn't have a clue. The newcomer was slightly surprised when he saw who her partner was.
"Riddle? Your help came at the right time."
"It was my pleasure, Crouch," Tom replied with ease.
"Hold still," she told the new arrival. If Tom recognised him, he was definitely a Hogwarts student. She saw the bloodstain on his left arm.
"Why?"
"I'm trying to cast a diagnostic spell and then a healing spell. You do realise you've been shot in the arm, don't you?" She asked in a dry tone. It was bleeding, but the adrenaline probably made it hurt less. Her no-nonsense tone seemed to have caught him off-guard.
"Ah, alright, then."
Hermione cast a diagnostic charm at him and healed the gunshot wound on his arm—it was a clean shot. The bullet went right through and didn't hit any major vessels. Seeing the practically-straight-line entry and exit wounds, it probably didn't leave any shrapnel either. Heads were starting to peek out of open windows and doors and people started to walk out again.
"Brackium Emendo," she cast, far more successfully than Lockhart did on Harry's arm.
"I think the bone here is fractured—I mended it, but I doubt it would truly set until at least a day. Don't lift anything heavy or strain it in any way for a few days. Even then, check with a healer later to be sure. Maybe get a little Skele-Gro in for the calcium and other nutrients needed for bone healing" The brunette advised.
"Aren't you a healer?"
"My skills are only at trainee healer or novice nurse level." She answered, before turning to Tom. "One more shooter to go, then?"
He silently raised an eyebrow at her. She almost smacked her palm to her forehead.
"Right. Other patients first."
"You're both heading towards downtown?" The other wizard asked in disbelief.
"After I checked everyone else here? Yes."
She would have started moving once more if Tom hadn't taken the first step and stumbled. His expression was also one of surprise.
"What...?"
Her instinct was faster than her thoughts as something zinged past them in the air; she'd tackled Tom even as she was still thinking. They both went down on the street.
"Get down!" She shouted. "Sniper!"
Fortunately, the wizard she'd just healed had good instincts and had scrambled behind the fallen crates in the middle of the street. She let go of Tom and scanned the street up and down, intent on locating a good cover for them both. Tom had picked himself up easily as well.
That was when she noticed that her left hand was splashed with red. Yet she didn't feel anything. Whose...? But she'd only been holding...
She looked up at Tom with fear in her eyes.
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End Notes:
Whoops.
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Additional Notes: (characters are listed in the order of their last names)
For both characters (to reduce repetition): Sixth-year Gryffindor prefects and Beauxbatons transfers. The only class they shared with Hermione is Advanced Charms.
Philippe 'Pip' Bernadotte (OC): French with some Swedish descent (still in contact with his Swede cousins). Unlike de Breteuil, his family was never that high in the nobility (they were mercenaries at first, after all) to even hold the whole thing about main branches and cadet branches. So, it didn't even matter to them even if he was the oldest male child of the oldest line.
Ceres Victorinus (OC): Half-French, half-English, with her mother being a muggleborn witch. Her family is one of those that are old (notice the old Roman name) but has always been content with where they are, hence why they're rather relaxed on marrying 'out' to muggleborns and the like. The Victorinus usually ended up in the army or Auror corps.
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