Mirror Image

Hermione and Ron sat together at dinner. Not really her first choice for dinner company, but it was fine and Ron was acting strangely. Like he was hesitant to let Hermione out of his sights now that she’d told him her parents were dead.

Toma was a refreshing buffer. He appeared at Hermione’s elbow when they sat at the Gryffindor table and immediately took over the conversation before Ron could start in about some nonsense. “I enjoyed your articles this summer,” he said, conversational and easy.

“Oh?” Hermione played dumb, as though Toma hadn’t been Hermione’s editor and sounding board from the first conception of her topics, let alone the articles themselves. “You read them all?”

“I did,” Toma said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I was very impressed with the topical nature of your pieces. All summer, we talked of issues around Muggle-Wizarding relations at home. Your articles were well discussed.”

Ron snorted beside her derisively. “Yeah, they were a big topic back home for me, too. I’m sure your uncle was real happy to talk about what a Muggleborn had to say about orphans and arranged marriages and blood purity.”

“Yes, indeed he did,” Toma said, colder now. “He thought she was rather eloquent about the needs for new policy around Mudblood integration and the return to our traditions.”

It was an intentional barb, something to make Ron’s hackles rise, and he nearly came over the table to get at Toma. Hermione’s hand raised faster than she could think, a shield between the boys appearing almost as soon as the thought of stop could enter her mind. Ron’s hands bounced off the invisible barrier, and he sat back with a huff. Toma only laughed.

“I appreciate the feedback,” Hermione said earnestly. “Perhaps you and I might collaborate on the next one?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Dumbledore rose and tapped on his glass, a signal for the hall to fall silent. He raised his hands, about to begin his speech, and there was a collective hush over the crowd. His hand was dark, shriveled and cursed. Clearly cursed. Hermione could recognize it now, the different signatures of magic. It almost looked as though his skin was now charcoal, his hand had been burned up from the inside. Hermione looked as best she could at Toma, sitting stoic beside her with a careful look of concern plastered on his face. For all that he cared - deeply, truly cared - for Hermione, Draco, and Theo, he did not care for Dumbledore.

It was my ring, he whispered into her mind.

A Horcrux? She thought it and Toma jerked beside her. This was not the usual conversation between them in their minds. Usually, Toma’s words were soft and smooth, and Hermione’s were pulled away from her roughly. Now, they were smooth in both directions, easy and even and reciprocal.

Before they could keep talking, before Dumbledore could speak, there was a banging sound of the doors flying open. Everyone turned, swiveling to see who it was.

It was Harry. He strode into the Hall with a bloody nose and even more resolve that Draco was a Death Eater, proof be damned. His late appearance was a disruption to dinner, but unremarkable. He was always interrupting things, showing up late or injured or both. Hermione didn’t panic at the sight of him covered in blood - she’d already seen Draco looking bored across the hall and Theo was fine. It was Harry’s own blood on his face, and he’d been bloodied before.

“Are you okay?” she hissed as Harry took a seat.

“Fine,” he said. “Malfoy is a Death Eater.”

“Oh, no he is not,” Hermione whispered, and Toma elbowed her.

They watched as Dumbledore gave the annual start of term speech. They ate. They let the castle’s brilliance even in the uncertain time wash over them.

And then they all got up to leave for their dorms. Ahead of where Hermione was walking with Ron and Harry, Theo took Draco’s hand in his. Their joined hands raised up, they pressed kisses to one another’s knuckles, and Hermione saw the first shadow of a smile on Draco’s face. It made her smile, private and small behind a curtain of hair, but there. Those were her fiances, her smart, funny boys.

“Since when was that a thing?” Harry said. Ron snorted beside him.

“Bloody disgusting is what it is.” Hermione stiffened, but Ron kept walking. Slumped in that odd way he did, where he was being casual even while being a bigoted ass. “Can you imagine being so delusional you just walk around like that?”

“Haven’t you ever seen gay wizards before?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. Genuinely confused. There was a glimmer of something close to hope in Hermione’s mind, like maybe Harry could be reasoned with.

“It’s unnatural,” Ron stressed. “I know the Muggles do that sort of thing, but it’s unnatural for blokes in the wizarding world. Being with someone like that, like with them, it does something to your magic. It’s for a witch and a wizard, that’s what’s normal. When two blokes or two witches do it, it’s just asking your magic to go funny.”

Hermione hated herself for it, but she stayed quiet. She wanted to be someone who spoke up, someone who stood for her principals even against her friends. She wanted to be honorable, even when it was hard. But she couldn’t defend Draco and Theo without bringing attention to herself, and she couldn’t make Ron see reason for them and them alone.

“It’s not unnatural,” Neville said, quiet and unexpected. He stepped forward, meeting Ron and Harry from beside Hermione. “How could it be? Our magic knows us better than we do sometimes, and when it pulls you towards someone, that love is never wrong.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Muggles,” Ron said.

“Or Purebloods,” Harry said, focusing on Neville’s point about Natural Magic. “Magic knows you? Come on, Nev. That’s like saying it’s in our blood, so Blood Magic must be normal and safe, too.”

Neville looked to Hermione as Harry and Ron laughed together. She stayed quiet, letting a few paces between herself and the other boys develop before she leaned into Neville’s space. “Thank you.”

Neville grinned at her. “I got your invitation. I’m sorry I missed the party, but I was out of town with my Grandmother.”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “It was a bit of a shock for the others at the table, I will admit.”

“It was a shock to me as well,” Neville admitted. “And Grandmother. She was super surprised. Engagements right at 16 are pretty rare now, and the families Nott and Malfoy are old and rich. She was sure they’d have an arrangement with another wealthy family.”

Neville’s face went red and he stuttered for a moment. “Not that you are poor! Or- oh, gosh, I’m sorry- you’re not-”

Hermione laughed. “It’s fine, I know what you meant.”

Neville sagged in relief. “I’m sorry. But anyways, it’s nice to see a triad arrangement. It was really out of favor for a while.”

Neville and Hermione came around the corner of the hall where they found Harry and Ron were waiting for them. “A triad?” Harry asked.

“Don’t tell me those degenerates found a witch who wanted to get involved with them,” Ron said. Such a big word for such a small-minded ass.

“Wait, what’s a triad?” Harry asked again.

Hermione couldn’t stay quiet. “Some witches and wizards have arranged relationships between three people, though it’s been going out of fashion more recently.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Like those people who have multiple wives? That sounds gross.”

“It is,” Ron said.

Hermione clamped her mouth shut. She could say so much about the Black family tapestry, about tradition, about magical entanglement, about her own life, but it wasn’t the place. She could say anything she wanted about the issue and it wouldn’t change the way Harry and Ron saw Purebloods or traditional arrangements.  No, it was better to stay quiet. Continue being the underestimated Mudblood girl until the moment her thoughts and feelings took root and she could start her new life in full color.

~~~

“Where are you going?” Ron asked. It was the kind of question meant more as a disbelief she could have plans and less as genuine curiosity. Hermione’s hands flinched at her sides.

Hermione forced a breath through her nose. “I have an appointment with Professor Snape.”

“Why?” Ron wrinkled his nose.

“He’s working on a new project for First Years,” she said, gathering her things. “He’s asked Toma and I to help him.”

“Toma and you,” Ron sneered, unkind but just jovial enough that other people in the common room didn’t seem to notice it. “Are you going to start hanging out with him all the time now?”

“He’s my friend,” Hermione defended easily. “And he’s intellectually better company than just about anyone else in this House.”

She turned away without waiting for Ron’s undoubtedly snobbish and outraged response to that. Toma was waiting for her on the other side of the Fat Lady’s portrait, and he offered his arm to her with a smile. It wasn’t the way Theodore offered his arm just to feel Hermione’s fingers brush against his chest, nor how Draco did it when he was feeling insecure. No, this was all Toma - the way he had offered his arm back in his own childhood, when men always offered an arm to women.

They walked down to the Defense corridor happily chatting about the first few weeks of school. Despite having been removed from the Dungeon office and his post as Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape seemed more than happy to move to his new post in the main part of the castle. His new office was certainly more light and airy than the Dungeous one.

“Miss Granger. Mister Grozdanov.” Snape held the door open for them. “Do come in.”

They made themselves at home in the chairs across from Snape’s desk. Formality had died the day Hermione found herself at dinner with the man, and Toma was never really intimidated by anyone. Snape joined them a moment later, waving his hand at the door as he did so.

Hermione caught the scent of metal, like she’d been holding coins too long and now the scent was stuck to her skin. It must have been Snape’s Magic then, his securing the room.

“We have much to discuss. I wish to introduce the concept of wandless magic in a way that those young, inexperienced witches and wizards can grasp. We don’t want to see the classroom blown to fire.”

“On the contrary,” Toma said. “We do want them to lose control.”

“I don’t follow,” Snape drawled, but he didn’t seem mad.

“I do,” Hermione said. “The creation of wands was rooted in the fear of untamable magic. Those First Year students are just now starting to understand their magic, which is why we force wands on them. Take away the wand, arm them with knowledge, you have powerful, untamed witches and wizards.”

“There will be outbursts and unintended accidents,” Toma said. “But they will be manageable by a Professor of your caliber.”

“And it will mean more students understand the need for traditions surrounding protecting the integrity of their magic,” Hermione added. She glanced at a teapot on the edge of the desk and lifted it. There was still tea in there, but it was cold. She focused her intention, and then it whistled. “Do you mind?”

Snape waved a hand himself and three teacups floated from over his shoulder to the desk. Hermione poured.

“If I may be so bold,” Snape said. “What was your first use of wandless magic, Miss Granger?”

Hermione took a moment to think. She’d had her own outburds of magic as a child before she knew what she was a witch, but intentional wandless magic was different. Before Draco and Theo, certainly she had thought about it. But she hadn’t tried it. The journal had introduced her to Blood Magic, and that was… yes, that counted as wandless magic. She hummed.

“I suppose it was the summer after Third Year,” she said. “Shortly after becoming friends with Draco and Theo.”

“And your unintended consequences of learning?”

Hermione laughed. “I splattered blood all over my room. And then I think I lit a tea towel on fire. I knocked over my bookshelves and tried to right them, but that only made the far side of them collapse. I accidentally killed one of Cissa’s plants when learning to garden wandlessly. I fried my hair, I broke cups. Now that I am thinking about it, it was horrible for those first few months.”

Snape’s mouth quirked. “I see.”

“The outbursts are unfortunate,” Toma said. “But necessary.”

The Professor made a few notes in his books. It was strange to be so influential in a setting that, had it happened two years ago, Hermione would have assumed it was a dream. But no, she was there, talking to Snape and influencing his curriculum plans for the new year.

They talked for hours. The lesson plans came together easily with all three of them working together. Hermione was careful with what she said, lest Snape find out why she took such an interest in Natural Magic to begin with, but she left breadcrumbs to introducing students to Blood Magic. She talked about helping Neville with his own casting, and she left vague clues about the feeling of her Magic in her blood.

Snape took every one of her and Toma’s ideas into account. But he refused to allow Hermione to help with practical lessons. It was hurtful, and Hermione’s hair sparked with rage about it, but he held firm.

“You reek of the boys,” he said honestly. “Anyone who catches the shared scent between Draco and Theodore will notice if it is your scent as well. It is best you keep wandless and intuitive casting to yourself.”

Hermione grumbled, her face pinking up with embarrassment and frustration. Snape regarded her carefully, then cleared his throat.

“Miss Granger,” he said. “May I ask you something?”

Hermione nodded.

“How is it you have so totally renounced your Muggle heritage?”

Hermione felt Toma’s body beside her stiffen. It was in the air around them, a tension and chill. She smiled - first at Snape and then at Toma beside her. “As easily as a bird flies. Being a witch is in my blood, it’s more natural than being a Muggle, and my parents-” Hermione breathed out. “My parents loved me, but they were also afraid of me and what I could do. They treated me like I was a bomb, lit and ready to blow at any moment. They didn’t understand my world.”

Hermione paused, than shook her head.

“I didn’t tell the Weasleys when my parents died because I didn’t want to pretend. I grieved my parents, but there was a part of me that simply felt like it was the best thing that could have happened to us. They never lost their daughter to some terrible force they didn’t know. And I never had to choose between our worlds.”

Toma relaxed. Snape nodded his own head, looking contemplative.

“Good the Death Eaters missed you with that curse.”

Any relaxation they’d had in the moment before was gone now. Toma was ridgid, and Hermione felt something like nausea rushing up her stomach and chest into her throat. It was as though she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak. Because Sanpe knew, he’d put it all together. Hermione wasn’t sure what to do - Draco and Theodore knew she’d done terrible things in her past, and Toma knew who she was. But Snape was a member of the Order, he was part of Dumbledore’s inner circle.

But he didn’t look mad. He didn’t even look disappointed. He only sat there, staring at Hermione with indifferent eyes.

So Hermione forced herself to breathe and she nodded. “Terrible what happened to that man. I do hope he didn’t suffer too greatly.”

The cup in her hand began to steam, and then boil. Rolling, riotous tea that spilled over the edge of her teacup. Even as it rolled down the porcelain and over her fingers, it was as though the water went still as soon as it touched skin. As though the magic that made the tea boil over was recognizing its imminent danger. Snape watched, face slack and cold, but his eyes were focused. Understanding.

He hummed finally. “I don’t hold the actions of victims against them. The Death Eaters kill people for the circumstance of their birth.”

“The Order does the same.”

“The Order is less forgiving than they pretend to be,” Snape said. “And I cannot be upset about your actions. The man you killed was a nasty, ill-tempered, blood purist. And if you had not escaped his grip, I might not have attended your engagement dinner. A tragedy Draco would have hardly forgotten soon.”

Hermione smiled, and the room once again took a lighter feeling. It was as though they could all collectively relax - Snape knew the worst of Hermione’s powers, and she had found some semblance of forgiveness in their conversation. Toma smiled.

“If I may be so bold,” Toma said. “I do believe this was proving our point.” He didn’t bother pretending to be ignorant of Hermione’s actions in the Ministry.

“About?” Snape said.

“Untamed magic,” Toma said. “I will not pretend I wish there were other ways around violence, but when students are faced with real danger and pain, I do hope they are able to call on their natural, inherent magic to save themselves. Accidental magic can save lives.”

“And it makes wandless casting easier,” Hermione said, steering the conversation towards safer topics. Neutral topics. “Neville Longbottom couldn’t cast an aguamenti let alone a warming charm with his wand. He learned both wandlessly and can cast both perfectly. Wandless casting, once mastered, means wand-assisted casting is much easier.”

Snape nodded. “Very well. I do believe I have all that I need to begin Natural Magic lessons.”

Hermione and Toma both got up, but Snape cleared his throat before they could walk away fully. “One more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Mister Grozdanov,” Snape said. “I would be thankful for your help in tutoring the First and Second Years. Perhaps even some of the older students, as I fully imagine they will struggle with the change in curriculum.”

“I would be honored,” Toma said. Hermione opened her mouth, but Snape turned to her with a look she couldn’t decipher.

“You, Miss Granger, mustn’t be a part of our lessons,” he said. “And I will find excuses to keep you from the lessons in our own classes.”

“Why?”

“Because you share a magical scent with both Draco and Theodore, and it is distinct. Anyone who recognized that shared scent would know of your engagement, which I am to understand is still a secret.”

Hermione felt her heart drop. Because Snape was correct, she wouldn’t be able to participate in lessons with her peers. It was the first time she would be purposefully and justifiably excluded. She couldn’t be mad about it, but it still stung. She swallowed those feelings back, deep down in her chest, and forced a smile.

“I understand, Professor.”

~~~

“Get rid of it,” Hermione said, waving her hand at Harry’s copy of Advanced Potion Making. She didn’t want to look at it anymore. “It’s cheating.”

“It’s not cheating!” Ron defended, and Harry nodded along. Hermione just shook her head and took her leave of the two of them.