Chapter 3
Avery frowned. "What you are suggesting is murder."
"Only if you want to use such crude terminology," Malfoy countered, cynically.
"I for one, prefer the term mercy," Lestrange remarked darkly. "She’d be better off gone than in our world."
Tom remained silent, his gaze transfixed on Granger. There was a peculiar glow about her as she gathered the finished food.
Crabbe looked slightly baffered, his mind probably attempting to piece together the implications of Malfoy's proposal. He swallowed another mouthful of his tart and belched loudly.
"Subtle, Crabbe," Mulciber sneered, flinching at the smell.
Ignoring Mulciber’s sarcasm, Goyle mumbled, "Believe she wouldn't want that. Not without a fight.”
"Right," Lestrange chipped in. "She always had more fight in her than anyone else. Always has. That's what Granger does, she fights."
"Granger is different," Abraxas insisted, his scowl deepening by the moment. "She is not like us. She is . . . different. Our world has no place for her niceties. And what's more, she will never conform to our ideals."
"Just because it would be convenient for you not to have to handle Granger in our new world, it doesn't mean that we should resort to the simplest solution," said Mulciber.
"It's not about convenience," Abraxas Malfoy shot back, his gaze slipping back to the amber liquid in his glass. "It’s about mercy."
"Isn't that a bit drastic?" Goyle asked, peering over his pastry at Malfoy. The cavalier suggestion had clearly rattled him, though whether it was out of some sense of respect for Granger's abilities or simple horror at the idea of poisoning a person was unclear.
Selwyn sneered at Goyle, replying, "You're just worried about who'll make your precious pastries once she's gone."
Goyle glowered back until his eyes were drawn to the last remaining piece of tart on the table. His hand darted out and snatched it up, effectively ending their silent standoff.
Mulciber slowly took a sip of his drink before leaning back in his chair, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "Isn't it curious how you go from sharing her around like some treat to be enjoyed to outright killing her? Seems absurdly extreme."
"There's nothing absurd about it," Malfoy countered. "It's simply pragmatic. If she . . . " He paused. "I think she would rather be killed by an enemy than a friend. I mean, she would look to you, Tom, to save her, as she always does, as she has done since she was eleven. I keep picturing the look on her face when she realized that you are the enemy."
"That it was you who betrayed her," Selwyn continued, his eyes glinting with some dark amusement.
Tom glanced towards Hermione, who was still deep in conversation with the pub keeper. Her lively passion, the fervour behind her discussion over what appeared to be a pie recipe, reflected in her animated expressions and wild hand gestures. He could almost hear her voice over the low murmur of the pub's bustle – sharp, intelligent, vibrant.
"Then let's not disillusion her just yet," Tom finally replied, his voice ice-cold and detached. His gaze remained fixed on Hermione, the woman they all thoughtlessly toyed with in their conversation. "Let's enjoy our little game for a while longer."
"And when she finds out?" Goyle asked nervously, already seeming to regret the last slice of tart he'd eagerly consumed.
"When she does," Tom murmured contemplatively, "I'll be the first one she would come running to." The daunting prospect didn't seem to faze him. Instead, a smirk played on his lips as his gaze remained fixed on Hermione. "And that, gentlemen, is when our game will truly become interesting."
Nott rolled his eyes at the response, a sour expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're all barking mad," he grumbled, finishing off his pint before pushing back from the table. "When this all goes up in flames, I'm taking no part of it. We have to be careful when it comes to Granger."
With that final piece of advice hanging ominously in the air, he made his way to the back of the pub, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy after the boisterous conversation. The mention of the potential catastrophe their plan might lead to was enough to sober the group.
Mulciber was the first to break the silence. His tone was thoughtful as he picked up Nott's abandoned pint and took a slow sip. "You do realize, Tom," he started, "that if she finds out the wrong way, Hermione could indeed cause problems. She's always did cause more trouble than it seemed, didn't she?"
“A dragon in a rabbit's skin,” Dolohov agreed with a grave nod, his eyes reflecting a strange sort of respect as they remained fixed on Granger.
"I'd be interested to see her fight," Lestrange declared, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "She does have that fiery spirit."
"But you know," Tom finally spoke, drawing their attention. "We could always just ask her what she wants." His voice held an edge of amusement.
"Ask her?" Goyle echoed blankly.
Tom nodded, making a point of looking each of his friends in the eye before resting his gaze once again on Hermione.
"What better way to determine someone's fate than to let them do it themselves?” He raised his glass in a solemn toast. "To Granger's choice. May it lead us to new beginnings.”
The declaration hung in the air as he took a sip. The others watched him warily but eventually took a sip as well.
Rosier scoffed, leaning back in his chair and playing absently with his wand. "You're all being sentimental. It's unlike you."
Tom blinked, as though trying to shake off memories. The raucous laughter and clinking glasses all around him seemed distant, as though separated by an unseen wall. He watched Hermione as she moved across the room, her head held high despite the malicious looks thrown her way by a few of the pub's patrons.
He saw her pause for a moment to exchange words with the barman before picking up two drinks and making her way towards the table where he sat. Her steps were unsteady but determined, matching perfectly with her fiery spirit that he recalled and had given her even in his imagined future.
Then there she was standing right before him, very much alive.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said cheerfully.
"Up at the castle, don't the two of you see ghosts all the time?" said Avery, confused.
"Shut up, Avery," said Tom. He was all out of smooth charm for the evening.
Hermione tittered.
Then she interrupted Tom's musings with a very Hermione-ish shriek. "Have you eaten all the rest of my sweets?!"
Tom suppressed a very undignified urge to cover his ears with his hands.
"That's incredibly rude of you, Crabbe, Goyle," Hermione scolded sharply, her eyes flashing a defiant brown. "These pastries were made to be enjoyed together, not demolished by two oafs without any regard for manners."
"Maybe hit them with spoon."
"Yes, Dolohov, thank you, I think I will!"
"I ate some of your pastries, too, Hermione!"
"Shut up, Avery," Tom said in a snarl.