Peremo

"This way, if you please, Miss Granger," Slughorn called, directing Hermione through the main doors of the Great Hall.

Hermione trotted along obediently, levitating her tree in nicely behind the one Slughorn was managing.

"Now, we want to line them up against the rear wall, one tree between each set of windows."

"No problem, sir."

She levitated it in, turning it and lowering it into place next to Slughorn's.

"A touch more to the right," Slughorn instructed, "a bit more, a bit more—yes! Wonderful!"

Slughorn clasped his hands together, admiring the positioning of the trees. "Perfectly festive," he declared, before he turned on the students who had volunteered to help string up the decorations. "Not those ones, Peter, the red ones! It has to be, gold, red, green, gold, red, green…"

Hermione watched as Slughorn shuffled down the hall, barking more orders as he went. She was starting to regret her decision in volunteering to help set up the decorations. Slughorn's perfectionism when it came to party set ups was a sort of stress she just didn't need, but she tried to remind herself that she hadn't volunteered because she's wanted to help.

No, she'd volunteered, because Hagrid was there.

Speaking of which...

"Do you have another tree for me Hagrid?" she asked brightly as Hagrid tugged another two trees into the hall.

"These are the las’ of 'em, 'Ermione,"

She was feeling guilty. Young Hagrid of this time had been nothing but kind to her, and there she was, plotting putting him under an unforgivable curse.

But, she told herself, if Hagrid knew why she was doing it and knew what was at stake, he would see it her way. The curse wouldn't hurt him, and when she was done, she'd simply remove his memory of it ever happening. No harm would be done, and in the process, she would be gaining Tom's favour. He would probably have even offered to be cursed.

It was a solid plan, and it was for the greater good.

"Thank you," she said, levitating the last of the trees over to the rest that had been lined up.

Once they were up, Hermione registered that Slughorn wasn't wrong. The Christmas set up of the Great Hall was beginning to look most festive.

This year, for the first time since her arrival in the fifties, Hermione was grateful for Christmas. The students would be out of the castle where they would be safe from Tom’s manipulations and his basilisk, and she would have some time to work on worming her way in with him without the interruption of his classes. It'd be perfect.

With all of the trees in their places, Hermione made quick work of placing each of the tree-toppers Slughorn had put aside for them. Meanwhile, the fourth years who'd volunteered to help quickly got to work on hanging the decorations, giving her a good opportunity to sneak back over to where Hagrid was collecting the loose fallen tree branches.

"Hey, Hagrid?" she called out before Slughorn had a chance to redirect him elsewhere.

"Mmm?"

Of all the young versions of the people she used to know, Hagrid was by far the most striking. He was just as tall, but not nearly as wide as his older self. He didn't yet have his signature beard, but his cheeks were full and flushed, and he had the same caring, wide eyes that she remembered. She softened every time she looked at him.

"I was just wondering whether you might be free this evening, by any chance?" she asked, picking up one of the branches for him. "We haven't had much of a chance to catch up lately, so I was thinking it might be nice to have a cup of tea, have a little bit of an end-of-term celebration?"

Immediately, surprise crossed his features, but the look was rapidly replaced with one of joy.

Her heart panged.

"Tha'd be lovely!" he said cheerily. "Yer welcome ter come down ter me hut anytime, but the kitchens migh’ have a few more choices."

"Your hut would be just fine!" she said before he could decide any differently. "I'll come down after dinner, before curfew?"

"All righ' then. I'll make sure ter have the fire goin'."

"Great," Hermione said, and seeing Slughorn starting to wave her down from across the hall, she gave him a nod. "I'll see you then."

Hagrid gave her a wave and started to hum happily to himself as he continued working.

And while Hermione’s guilt was weighing her down, at Hagrid’s acceptance, she also had a budding sense of… excitement.

It was all coming together.

Hermione tried to catch Tom's eye.

She bounced on her toes. She waved a hand. She jumped up and down, but—no. Either he genuinely didn't notice her, or his discussion with Professor Shrew was just more interesting than her.

Hermione sighed and made herself comfortable leaning against the staircase. She would wait. They'd finish chatting eventually, and she would just have to catch him when they did.

She examined her fingernails to pass the time. They were looking stubby lately, and the sides of a few of her fingers were bleeding from where she'd been picking at them out of nervousness. Healing them had become almost a daily chore that she’d gotten rather good at. Her cuts barely left any scarring anymore.

"G'night, Miss," one of the students said as they passed her, heading up the stairs.

"Good night, Florence," she called back.

"Good night, Miss."

"Good night, Eunice."

The girls giggled all the way up the stairs, the high pitch shrill echoing all the way down. Hermione winced. Ugh. She couldn't wait for empty castle that came with the term break.

"See you later, Miss."

"Have a good night, Kevin."

"Bad night?'

"Good ni—oh. Hello."

Tom was smirking at her. She wished he wouldn't do that.

"Were you waiting for me?" he asked, his tone entirely too inviting.

She crossed her arms. "Yes," she said a bit irritably. "We have plans this evening."

"Do we?"

"Yes."

He looked at her blankly.

"We're going to get some tea."

"Tea?"

"With Hagrid?"

Tom laughed. "Ah. Was that today? You work fast, don’t you?" he said, and then started in the direction of the grounds. Hermione scurried along after him. She felt like a puppy.

“Sorry. Do I need to slow down for you?” she asked teasingly, even though she was the one hurrying to keep up with him.

“I didn’t say that,” Tom murmured, amused. “I’ve just not had the privilege of coming across a woman quite as… determined as you before.”

She scoffed. “You mustn’t have met many women then.”

“Not like you, no.”

Hermione didn’t know how to answer that, so she didn’t.

Most of the students had headed off to their dormitories for the night already, and the corridors were, for the most part, empty. But despite that, and despite the dim lighting the candles provided, Hermione didn't feel particularly uncomfortable with Tom. It was like walking with a friend.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that was a problem.

She’d think about that later.

"I've been thinking about you," Tom said as they made a left down the courtyard hallway.

Hermione just about tripped over her own feet then and there. "What?" she squeaked.

"That you must've had an interesting upbringing," he clarified, another hint of amusement in his words.

"Oh." Hermione cleared her throat. "What—um. Whatever do you mean?"

The grounds past the courtyard were pitch black. Stepping out into it, alone with Tom, she finally started to feel the unsettling sensation of vulnerability setting in.

There. That was better.

"Wherever did someone like you come to learn a spell like the Imperius curse?" he elaborated as though it was a perfectly regular subject of conversation.

Oh. Oh dear. Why was he asking that? What if revealing that she knew the Imperius curse had been too forward? What if he thought her knowledge of the Gaunts was too much, and he decided she was too big a liability? Or worse, what if he decided to use Legilimency, and her Occlumency wasn't a match for him? It wouldn't be hard once he was in—he'd find out she'd stolen his ring, and then she’d be well and truly buggered.

And alone in the gardens—this would make a perfect opportunity for him to silence her, and there she was, going with him willingly!

But Tom wasn't showing any signs of turning on her. He didn't even have his wand in his hand. He seemed perfectly relaxed, perfectly his Fake-Self.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Someone... like me?"

He smiled down at her, looking her down and up. "Yes. Someone like you."

Hermione, now nervous and mildly offended at the idea that he would judge her magical ability by her gender, frowned.

"It was my childhood friend who taught me," she explained. "His name was Harry. We were... how should I put it... backed into a corner. He'd been under the Imperius curse himself, multiple times, and we were out of options, so... he resorted to using it. Later on, once we were safe, he told us about it. How in order to cast it, one must exert their will and overpower that of their victim, how it's easier when it's unexpected."

Tom's eyes were on her. They hadn't left her at all while she'd been speaking, and it was difficult to see his features in the dark.

"I thought you said you grew up in a safe house," he said.

"I did. But like a lot of things, the safe house was only temporary. My mother was a muggle, you see," she answered honestly. The best lies were honest ones. "And Harry's mother was muggleborn. Our families fled the city when the war really picked up, when I was very young. But my friend Harry was wanted by Grindelwald himself, and our families were followed. We had the fortune of meeting many of Grindelwald’s… associates over the years.”

"Hogwarts was one of the safest places in the country throughout the war," said Tom. "Why didn't you come here?"

"My parents spoke about it often, but... we didn't want to be separated, and I couldn't bear the thought of going to school only to find no family left to come back to. So I never did.”

They continued their way down the hill for a moment, until Tom murmured, "I understand."

Against all her better judgement, Hermione found herself softening. She was sure he did understand. Life at the orphanage over the summer in the middle of both wizarding and muggle wars must've been... hard.

They were approaching on Hagrid's hut now. Hermione could make out the firelight flickering in the windows. She wondered if his home was as cosy as she remembered it being.

She had a bit of anxiousness about the logistics cursing Hagrid. As a half-giant, he was a bit more resistant to magical insults than your average human. But she didn't need long, she reasoned. Fifteen minutes under the curse would probably do the trick, and if the spell didn't hold, she could just cast it again. It would all be fine.

“You all right?” Tom asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely,” she said brightly, meeting his eyes. “Are you?”

Tom’s eyes were alight, aroused, like a cat about to pounce.

Her stomach twisted. He was beautiful like that.

“Absolutely.”

Hagrid’s wooden door—looking a great deal newer than she remembered it being—opened with a loud creak. “Hullo, ‘Er—” Hagrid stopped speaking the instant his eyes landed upon Tom. "Wha's he doin' here?"

Hermione glanced between them. "I-I thought we might all be able to catch up together? Tom mentioned you hadn't spoken in years, and—"

"Yeh're not welcome here."

From beside her, Tom shrugged in a 'see?' sort of way.

"Can't we just sit down and discuss things? We can get to know each other Hagrid, and especially as we all work together, I thought you and Tom might be able to work past your differences."

Hagrid didn't immediately speak, but the muscles around his jaw tightened. "Goodnigh', 'Ermione," he eventually said, and went to close the door.

But Hermione shot her foot out, wedging it between the door and the frame. Then, she glanced around them. All around Hagrid's hut was pitch black. There didn't look to be anyone watching.

So she gripped her wand, stood straight and outstretched her arm, her elbow as straight as her spine. Then, without hesitation, she said surely, "Imperio."

Hagrid's features relaxed and his shoulders dropped by a good several inches. His eyes became vacant.

Invite us in, she willed.

Hagrid smiled. It didn't meet his eyes. "Cup o' tea?" he offered vacantly, opening the door wide once more.

Hermione gave him a warm smile. "That would be wonderful," she chirped.

She then followed Hagrid into the hut, looking over her shoulder to see Tom trailing close behind.

He was smiling—grinning, really—and it was different to the usual smile he wore. It looked genuine. Uninhibited. It was surprised, impressed, amused and greedy, all rolled into one.

And she’d done that. Hermione swelled with pride.

While Hagrid shuffled around the kitchen corner of his hut, Hermione tip toed through the hut, leading Tom over to his oversized couch. When they sat, they were close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from Tom's body.

She tried not to think about it.

Hagrid prodded at a large black kettle with his umbrella. It whistled loudly.

"You're honestly wanting tea?" Tom asked from beside her, eyeing Hagrid with amusement while he pulled out some mugs.

"Sure," she said brightly. "Don't you?"

He gave her that same look again. She could feel herself blushing.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"I'm just...” He swept a hand back through his hair, “surprised.”

She tilted her head.

"You just—and no offence intended, of course—don't seem the sort."

"...The sort to like tea?"

Tom raised a brow. "The sort to play with your food," he clarified.

Hermione blanched. Was that what she was doing? "It-it's not like I'm enjoying it," she said. "I'm just... doing what I have to to get the answers I need. And a cup of tea always helps me think."

"Oh, pardon me," Tom said, laughing now, "that makes it all right then."

"Gosh you're—" she nudged him with her elbow, her frustration overpowering her common sense, "—so annoying sometimes."

But Tom just laughed louder.

When Hagrid finished making the tea, he shuffled around robotically, handing a mug each to Hermione and Tom, before he sat down opposite them, cradling his own oversized mug between his hands.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione said. "Now I'm going to get straight to the point. There’s no point in wasting anyone’s time. I wanted to come to see you today so that we could talk about the events that occurred over the spring of nineteen-forty three. Do you understand?"

Hagrid stiffly nodded.

"Good. What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?" she asked, and then she willed, speak.

"No' much. It was opened in the spring o' me third year. But it wasn' me," Hagrid said, some emotion spilling past her curse. "I swear it, yeh have the wrong—"

"Tell the truth."

"It wasn' me. It wasn' me. I don' know who it was. Ev'ryone said—Dumbledore, Dippet, Merrythought—all agreed it could on'y be opened by an heir o' Slytherin. I'm no heir, me dad was a half-blood himself."

Hermione frowned as if she were hearing unexpected information. She sipped her tea. "What happened to Myrtle Warren?"

"I don' know," Hagrid gushed. "Summat must've gotten her, but it wasn't Aragog. Not a chance it could've bin Aragog. He was locked up the whole time, he was. Fer his own safety. And if it had bin Aragog, he wouldn't 'ave left her like tha'. He would've... if it were him... well, pardon me for sayin’ it, but he would've eaten the poor girl."

There was a pause filled by the crackle of the fire.

"So..." Hermione spoke slowly around her mug. "You don't know what creature came from the chamber?"

"Nah, I don'."

"What about Slytherin's locket? Do you have any idea of where that might be?"

"Slytherin's wha'?"

"Locket," Hermione provided. "A large, gold—oh never mind, you clearly have no idea what I'm talking about," she finished before she looked to Tom.

"I think I'm done," she said, putting her mug down onto the table. "Do you think we're done?"

His features were blank. Unreadable. He gave her a small nod.

"Okay," she said, rising to her feet. "Come on then."

Leaving Hagrid sitting where he was, Hermione cleaned their mugs and put them away with a swish of her wand so that Hagrid would never know they were there. Then, she led Tom out of the hut, turning back to point her wand at Hagrid.

"Obliviate."

There. He wouldn't remember their tea, her Imperius, or her ever asking for a catch up.

"Stupefy."

When he woke, he’d be well rested and it would be the next day, and he'd be none the wiser. No harm done.

And with that, Hermione started the walk back up to the castle, Tom by her side.

They didn't talk on their way up. Hermione was intentionally quiet, leaving the opportunity to speak up to Tom.

Come on, she thought. Tell me. Tell me that it's you, that you're the heir, that you know where the chamber is. Come on.

But Tom didn't utter a single word, not even a teasing jab and by the time they reached the courtyard again, Hermione was bordering on a panic.

If this didn't work, if this didn't get her in, she didn't know what else to try. This was all she had.

"Well," Hermione finally said, slowing her steps as they started to circle the courtyard, "I suppose this is where you tell me that I should've listened to you."

Tom smiled down at her. "Yes. You should've."

Come on. Come on.

"But you did what you thought you had to, and that in itself, is admirable."

"So you're not going to gloat? Not even a little bit?"

Tom gave a faux look of offence. "Do I look like the sort of person who would find enjoyment in another's misery?"

Yes.

But Hermione didn't say that. She gave him a coy smile and settled with, "maybe."

"I wouldn't enjoy seeing you miserable."

At his words, Hermione burst into laughter. The irony of it was too much. She cracked.

But now that she'd started laughing, she had a hard time stopping. The flood gates had been opened, and it was all running free. Because it was all just so ridiculous! What had she been thinking? Thinking that the single use of the Imperius curse would be enough to sway him, pretending she truly believed Hagrid was the heir—it was never going to work. She wasn't one of Tom's old schoolmates, he didn't have anything to prove to her.

He’d lied through and through to Dumbledore, Dippet, the Ministry, to everyone who’d been involved in investigating Myrtle’s death. The pressure of her nosing around him must’ve been nothing compared to them. The only reason for him coming with her tonight was that he probably just thought she was a complete mental case, and he'd been so amused by her that he'd decided to humour her.

He must be so smug.

But looking at him now, he didn't seem smug. He almost looked concerned for her well-being. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm—" Hermione wiped a laughter-induced tear from the corner of her eye. She couldn't let her act drop now. "Ah. I'm just—I'm all out of ideas. I have more questions now than I started with. If it's not Hagrid, if he's truly not Slytherin's heir, and he was never responsible for Myrtle's death, then... who was?" And then she added, in a frustrated yell, "and where in bloody fuck are these damned objects?!"

Tom laughed. “You’re chasing the impossible. What did you expect?”

“You honestly think finding them is impossible?”

Tom sighed. His eyes were almost convincingly sympathetic. “They’ve been gone for centuries. Their trails are lost. They’re out there somewhere, but… deeply buried. They’ll drive you mad before you find them. If you have any sense... you should let them go.”

Hermione rubbed at her temples. She had a headache. Of course he would try to talk her into letting them go.

Bloody hell. What a waste of a night. She’d assaulted Hagrid, and for what? A cup of tea?

Spirits at rock bottom, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Good night, Tom. Thanks for coming with me,” she murmured dejectedly, and started off toward the grand staircase.

He didn’t follow after her.

Well, fuck.