Peremo

Hermione sat on her bed, staring down at the wooden panelling of her wall.

She thought she could hear a heartbeat.

Thump thump, thump thump.

She'd taken the idea from Tom himself, hiding the ring away behind the panels. But still, even with it inside of an enchanted metal box, and behind a layer of wall...

Thump thump, thump thump.

Ugh.

She got up. Regardless of whether the sound was in her head or not, she didn't want to be anywhere near the ring anymore.

It was for the best that she got out of her room anyway. She'd been thinking over her next steps for days, and it was well past time for her to act. Now that she had the ring, she needed to get somewhere with the diary, and to do that... she needed to get somewhere with Tom.

What she needed to do, was to tweak his genuine interest. Get him not so interested that he started to suspect her of anything, but interested enough to try to recruit her to his cause. Her main issue though, was that in order for her to get there, to the sweet spot, she couldn't overplay her hand. She had to be careful and controlled with every bit of information she gave him. There wasn't room for error.

The lives of her friends, her family, the entire wizard of world depended on it.

No pressure at all.

That evening after dinner was when she'd strike. When all of the classes were finished, and she could get him alone.

She'd give him enough to tell him that she wasn't useless. That she had potential, that she could be an asset.

She just hoped that it would be enough.

Hermione paced up and down the fourth-floor corridor nervously for a good five minutes, before she told herself she was being ridiculous, and forced herself forward.

She could do this. She just had to make sure she didn't think about the ring.

She brought her fist up and knocked on the classroom door and then, without waiting for any response, she opened it and—whoops.

The classroom was half full of students, and at her intrusion, all eyes turned to her. Tom's eyes found her as well.

Like a deer caught in headlights, Hermione waved in apology and went to leave, but from behind the front desk, Tom signalled for her to stay.

Hermione cleared her throat and waited awkwardly in the doorway as one by one, the students turned back to their work and Tom made his way over to her.

"Sorry," she whispered sheepishly when he reached her. "I didn't think you'd have a class just now."

"I don't," Tom said, leaning a slender arm on the wall next to her. "This lot's in detention."

Hermione's eyes widened. "All of them?"

"Yes," he said firmly, not leaving space for question.

She wondered if they were his monstrous third years he'd told her about.

"Huh," Hermione settled with. She watched them as they worked silently, seeming to be sequentially sifting through boxes. "What are they...?"

Tom looked in the same direction. "Sorting through all of Cuthbert's old files. One by one." He grinned at her. "By hand."

"Merlin, Tom. Ruthless, aren't you?" said Hermione, trying not to laugh. "I think I'd rather be out in the grounds strung up by my thumbs with Pringle."

"Oh, without question," Tom agreed, "any day of the week. Now, what can I help you with?"

"I was actually hoping to speak with you about some of my research for my article. But I can see that you've got your hands full, so I'll just come back another time."

"No need, it's fine. We can talk now," he said.

"Oh. Um..." Hermione glanced uncertainly at the students. They were a good distance away, but still... "I don't know if... I mean... I'd rather that the students didn't... you know."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Well now you're only further piquing my interest," he said. "Don't worry. They won't hear anything." He winked.

Merlin. He winked.

But regardless of whether they could hear her or not, Hermione didn't much want to speak to him anymore. The students had thrown her off. They weren't meant to be there, and with the distraction, she wasn't sure if she could trust herself to say what she'd planned and deliver it believably.

But Tom was looking at her now, brightly and intently, and she had to sell it to him that she was brave, strong, clever and dependable. Backing off now might very well ruin her chances of doing that.

Hermione swallowed.

"All right then," she said slowly. "If you're sure..." Hermione watched the students while she spoke. She supposed it was best not to hold his eye contact longer than she needed to. Just in case.

Especially now that she had his ring.

"I looked through the records here, from the library, and I couldn't find very much useful information into the founders' genealogy. But then, Avery was kind enough to loan me some of his family's records, and it seems there are only two familial links that remain to the original founders. The Smith family, to Hufflepuff, and... the Gaunt family, to Slytherin."

Tom lifted his chin in a slow, controlled nod. "It seems," he said, "as though you've found a fantastically useful friend in Avery."

He sounded more annoyed than she'd been expecting. Shit. Had she pushed too far already? Was the mere mention of the Gaunts too much?

"Yes, it would seem I have," she agreed, opting to continue carefully. "But the issue now, of course, is that Smith has become a disgustingly common name, and the last of the known Gaunts has recently been locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his life."

Tom was staring down at her. The weight of it was intense and she felt like she was walking on very thin ice. Her palms were getting sweaty.

"Issues, indeed," he murmured, folding his arms over.

"But..." she whispered carefully, testingly, "as I'm sure you know, there is... one other descendant of the Gaunt family who might be able to help me."

Tom didn't look away. He didn't even blink.

The classroom full of witnesses didn't do a thing to calm her.

"I was thinking..." she went on, doing her best to ignore her nerves and light up her eyes, "that we should speak to Hagrid."

Tom's stillness broke and he made a scoff-like sound. "Hagrid?"

"Who could give better insight into what's potentially happened to Slytherin's locket, than the heir himself?" she asked, her voice quiet and excited. "Maybe he knows where it is. Maybe he even has it. And—could you imagine, Tom—" she said, a light touch to his upper arm, "if we could get him to talk, we might even find the chamber."

Tom looked away. He smiled in amusement, but then bit his lip and suddenly said in a projected tone, "all of you, continue what you're doing. I will be just outside in the corridor. You can trust that should any of you put so much as a finger out of line, I will know about it."

There was a chorus of, "yes, sir."

Well, shit.

With a light grip on her forearm, Tom guided her out into the corridor. When the classroom door was closed, he turned on her.

Hermione could feel her heart in her throat.

She wasn't comforted by the presence of the corridor's portraits. 

"Find the locket?" he hissed. "Find the chamber? Are you hearing yourself? These are things that far better witches and wizards than you have devoted their lives to for centuries. What makes you think that you could even come close to—"

"Don't you want to find them?" she countered. She couldn't back down. She couldn't. "I've been thinking about it ever since you loaned me Ravenclaw's diary, and I think I've figured it out. It was a test. Wasn't it?"

Tom blinked, clearly thrown off. "A test?"

"Why would you give it to me? The diary itself is... it's an artefact. It belongs in a museum, where it could be studied by scholars and historians, and used to study the mysteries of Hogwarts and the unique magic that lives here. But instead of turning it in, instead of donating it, you've kept it to yourself, and then you loaned it to me. And I've been thinking about it ever since. Why would you let me, almost a stranger, borrow such a precious thing?" she said. "It was a test of character, wasn't it? You wanted to see what I'd do with it."

He didn't say anything, but she could just about see the wheels turning behind his eyes, so she went on.

"So I've decided: I'm not going to publish anything from the diary, or anything about it. It's best that it remains buried. With you—with us, I mean... it's appreciated and it's safe. Not all would appreciate it the same way. And the locket, the cup, the chamber... I don't want to write about them, either. Just like the diary, they wouldn't be appreciated. I just want... I want to see them. I want see the magic, I want to walk where they walked, I want to know."

As Hermione took a deep breath after her rant, Tom closed his eyes, and then he reached up and held the bridge of his nose.

He sighed. "And I take it, you're not just here because you wanted to talk to me about all of this?"

"Well... not exactly, no. I was actually hoping you might be able to help. I've only spoken with Hagrid once or twice, but you went to school with him. He's known you for years. He might be more open with you."

"I think you'll find that I'm the very last person he would care to speak with," he eventually said. "What about Avery?"

At the unexpected question, a laugh slipped from Hermione's mouth before she could stop it. "What about Avery?"

"Why aren't you running off to him for help?"

She frowned, genuinely thrown off. Why was he bringing up Avery? "I—he doesn't appreciate these things the way you seem to," she said. "You've met him. He'd take one look at Slytherin's locket or Rowena's diadem, and think them nice pieces of jewellery, and then continue on with his day!"

"Have you spoken to him about it?"

"Not... not like this," she said uncertainly. Was that the answer he wanted? "He doesn't know I want to speak with Hagrid, or that I want to find the objects."

Tom exhaled in an exasperated sort of way and glanced down the corridor in thought.

"While your passion is... admirable, and while I can see where you're coming from," he eventually murmured, "it's all for naught. If Dippet and Dumbledore and all of the Ministry's Aurors couldn't get Hagrid to speak of the chamber, then I don't think you'll have much luck."

Tom's features were infallible. Had she not known the truth of Tom's lineage, of what had happened with the basilisk, she never would've suspected anything was amiss.

He was perfect.

"Ah, but Tom, you underestimate me."

"Do I?" he asked in a rather flat, sceptical sort of way.

"Like I said," she elaborated. "I'm an excellent potioneer. I have my ways of making one spill their deepest and darkest secrets."

With that, Tom's sternness finally broke, his lips twisting upward in the corner of his mouth. "Hermione," he drawled. "That's illegal."

She shrugged, biting down into her lip. "Are you going to tell on me? After I've so loyally promised to keep the diary between us?"

He laughed then. It was smooth and silken and loud, and in the quiet of the corridor, with the acoustics of the high ceiling, the sound enveloped her.

It... wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"I admit that your resourcefulness is impressive, but the Ministry would've already tried veritaserum, all those years ago," he said.

Hermione looked toward her shoes. This was it. If her next words didn't hook him... she wasn't sure what would.

She felt as though she could vomit.

"But, if Hagrid’s an occlumens… that's not the only thing we could try," she murmured cautiously, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Tom watched her. There was something about his expression. He looked curious. Thoughtful. Hungry, even. Her blood was bubbling beneath her skin.

"The... Imperius curse could be used to get someone to speak."

He licked his lips. "The Imperius curse," he repeated, as though he were making sure he'd heard her correctly.

"Yes." Hermione held her chin high.

Tom twisted, glancing around the corridor as if checking to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. Then he stepped closer, leaning his arm against the wall.

It was the closest Hermione had ever been to him. She could make out the individual hairs of his eyebrows, each his eyelashes.

She had goosebumps.

"You know how to cast the Imperius curse?" he asked in a murmur.

"I grew up in war-torn London," she said, just as quiet as he'd been. "I know my fair share of... questionable curses."

He laughed again, and this time, the sound felt tangible. Like it was running over her skin. Merlin. She couldn't breathe this close to him. Couldn't think. Not when he was smiling like that.

They stood in silence, and the pause dragged.

"All right."

Hermione blinked.

"All right...?"

"I'll help you speak with Hagrid," he murmured. "Like I said, I don't expect he'll want anything to do with me, and I'm sure the Ministry had been thorough all those years ago, but..."

Hermione smiled a smile of relief. She felt like she could breathe again.

Gotcha.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it, and... you can trust me," she whispered. "I think this will work, and with any luck, the locket, the chamber... they'll be within our reach in no time."

His eyes were bright. He looked amused. He probably thought her pushing in Hagrid's direction—in the wrong direction—was hysterical.

But she would be the one laughing though, in the end.

"Optimistic," said Tom, smiling down at her. "I think you're wrong. But you make a compelling case, and I'll try to help you, where I can."

"We will see," she said, trying her best at playfulness. "Well... I'll find you later, when you don't have a class full of students, and we'll... plan."

He gave her a small nod. "I look forward to it."

They were still uncomfortably close. Tom didn't step away. Why wasn't he stepping away?

Hermione cleared her throat and stepped back herself. "Thank you,” she repeated. “I’ll, um… I suppose I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening with your monsters, then."

Tom still hadn't moved. He was looking at her really... strangely. "I'm starting to think they might not be half as frightening as you."

She bit into her lip, forced herself to laugh. "Maybe you're right."

Tom gave her a wide smile, and her heart skipped a beat. "Good night, Hermione."

Then, he ducked back into the classroom without a look back, and it was only when the door had fallen shut and she was alone again, that Hermione bent over, resting her hands on her knees.

She took in a series of deep breaths.

She'd done it. For a moment there, she thought he wouldn’t bite, but… she'd really done it. And while he hadn't given her the truth, and while it wasn't the ideal response she'd hoped she would get from Tom... it wasn't a rejection. He was allowing her to pursue Hagrid as, most likely, a test of skill and trust. He wanted to see if she could use the Imperius curse, if she truly was the witch she claimed to be, and he wanted to see if she would trust him with her casting of the curse.

She wouldn't let him down, and then, with any luck... he'd see her as the asset that she was, and she'd be in.

Hermione started toward the grand staircase with a grin on her face, intending on venturing down to the kitchens to get herself a well-earned glass of something alcoholic.

The game she was playing with Tom was a slow one, she had to remind herself.

And she was playing to win.