Peremo

Hogsmeade was freezing. Even with a warming charm on herself, it was cold enough to be a bother. Snow littered the streets, the pavement was slippery, and the wind had turned the hair that wouldn't fit into her beanie into a bird's nest. But carols were playing in the street, and the shops were cosy and decorated for Christmas, so other than the slight hiccup of nearly breaking her neck on the iced-over stairs, it made for a beautiful shopping trip.

Without the constant pressure of watching out for Tom looming over her, Hermione even managed to enjoy herself. She picked up a wooden wizard's chess set for Edward, some sweets for Kettleburn, and an ornate, self-heating teacup for Spindle. And while he still hadn't replied to her letter and she wasn't sure if she'd see him before Christmas, she even picked up a scarf for Avery—a peace-offering of sorts.

Once she had gift-buying ticked off her list, Hermione spent the remainder of her afternoon venturing deeper into the side streets of the town, seeking the oldest, dodgiest looking antique shop she could find.

She circled four blocks before she found a solid candidate. The dingy little shop was located down a staircase off the street-front, and inside, was a dark and dusty broom cupboard of a main room. Down past a couple of short aisles, was an old man behind the counter, leaning back against the wall looking halfway asleep.

She crept past the dusted shelves, not bothering to distract herself, and cleared her throat. "Er... hello, sir," she greeted when his eyes snapped open. "I'm looking for something rather specific, and I hoped you might be able to help me."

The old man straightened and adjusted his glasses, looking a bit irritated that he'd been woken from his nap.

"I'm after... something goblin-made, something sharp," Hermione went on, ignoring his lack of friendliness. "Something like a dagger, or a knife, a sword... something along those lines?"

The old man's frown grew deeper, and he looked her down and up. His nose wrinkled. "Goblin-made," he repeated gruffly.

Hermione huffed through her nose. "I can afford it, if that's what you're wondering."

His eyes narrowed. "Fifty galleons," he challenged.

It took all of her effort to maintain her poker face.

Fifty galleons. That was completely outrageous. It was about all she had, years' worth of saving, and she didn't exactly have time to shop around. But still, while she didn't know the going rate for goblin-made silver, if he happened to have something that could do the job, she wasn't about to turn it down.

With grumbles of extortion under her breath, Hermione sifted through her bag and pulled out her coin purse.

"Here," she said, opening it at an angle to show him the shine of the coins in her purse.

The man reached out.

She snatched it back. "No. I'll give it to you when I see what you have and no sooner."

The man pursed his lips, and stared her down. Hermione kept her shoulders straight and raised a brow, and when it became clear she wasn't about to back down, he grumbled, "fine," and disappeared out into the back of the shop.

A good few minutes passed. Hermione was about to go and poke her head into the back room looking for him, but then the man returned, a bulky wad of material in his hand. Reaching the counter, he put it down in front of her and unwrapped it.

Inside of the material, was... a set of cutlery. The set looked to be in need of a good cleaning, and it had obviously once been a decadent set, intricate and ornate. But... it was still just a set of cutlery. A far cry from the sword she'd had in mind.

"Um." Hermione's lips tightened. "Is that... all you have?"

The old man didn't look impressed. "Do you want them or not?"

"Well... I mean, yes. Yes, if they're definitely goblin-made silver, and it's all you have..." she decided. She supposed that while a table knife was smaller than what she'd had in mind, it would probably still do the trick. She might have to put a bit more force into stabbing at the ring, but surely it would still work? It would be fine for the diary, at least.

The man proceeded to point to the bottom of the handles of the pieces, down at what looked to be a small logo between some carved in flowers.

"That there's the signature mark of Kergis of Norway. Artist of the eighteenth century known for his plant-life silverwork."

"Hmm." Hermione bit her lip. It might be as good a solution as she was going to get in such a short time frame. "Will you give me a discount if I only take the knife?"

The man's frown grew deeper. "It's either both, or neither."

Hermione sighed. She supposed her leaving a single fork would be rather annoying to the person who then would have to sell that fork. "Fine," she said. She then dug in her purse and passed over a fistful of galleons. "Here."

"This ain't fifty," he said at once. Hmm. The man knew his coins.

"Are you sure?" she said.

"Don't play with me, girl," he warned.

"Sorry, sorry, just one moment," Hermione said as innocently as she could as she sifted through her bag. Where was it, where was it...? "Maybe you could count it?" she suggested.

Ah, bloody hell, why did she have so much crap in her bag? She should've wrapped Avery's scarf, rather than just shoving it in—ah. There.

Her hand tightened around the hilt of her wand. Quickly, she drew it from her bag, directing it right at his face. "I'm awfully sorry sir, but that's all they're worth," she said, and then she cast, "stupefy."

The man fell down, back against the cupboards behind him, and landed with a solid whack. Hermione felt a little bit guilty, but... oh well. It was for the greater good, and he'd be fine in a couple of hours.

Next, she cast, "obliviate," before she wrapped up the cutlery set and stashed it away in her bag. Hermione left the twenty-five galleons she'd given him—it was more than generous of her, she reasoned, she could have left him with nothing—and hurried back out of the shop, pep in her step.

It was a big step forward. With the goblin-made knife, and the remainder of the basilisk venom-spiked tea still in her bag, she would soon have a more convenient horcrux-destroying tool than Gryffindor's sword in her possession, and Tom's ring would be gone in no time!

And then, if all went to plan, his diary wouldn't be far behind, and once his horcruxes were gone, he'd be perfectly killable and then she would have achieved all she came back for.

She just about laughed. Tom had quite literally handed her a means to destroy his horcruxes, and he didn't even know it. It was beautiful, really, a re-telling of him self-actualising the prophecy with Harry.

And see? All was fine. She might've facilitated him coming to Hogwarts, ruined the timeline, and almost been killed in the process, but soon, it would all be fixed. It was fine. She was doing just fine.

Hermione trudged her way back up to the main street, the cold not bothering her as much as it had on the way down now that her spirits had been lifted. By the time she got to the cobbled pavement of the main walk, her legs were burning. Slopes were much harder in the snow.

She slowed down when the street levelled out to have a bit of a rest before tackling the track back to Hogwarts. But while she passed, she was distracted by the characteristic yelling from the Hog's Head as someone exited. She slowed down a little more, peering across the street. The man who'd exited had a particularly laid-back posture and sandy blond hair, and he looked... familiar.

Was that...?

Surely not. Hermione took a few more steps up the street, a few steps closer.

But... then, on second glance, maybe it was...

"...Avery?" she called.

From across the street, the blond man turned and squinted at her. "...Hermione?"

"Hey!" She waved. "What are you doing here?"

He stared for a moment. "Um. I'm just—"

"Why haven't you responded to my letter?" Hermione interrupted, remembering that she was a bit annoyed with him. He couldn't respond to her letter, yet he was perfectly capable of showing up to Hogsmeade? It would've taken him all of thirty seconds to write back and let her know he'd be in town!

"I..." Avery turned behind him and scratched at his head, resembling a child afraid to be caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He looked a bit torn, but then, rather abruptly, he yelled, "go away!"

As he started to make shooing motions, Hermione gaped.

"Excuse me?"

"Go!" He shooed her some more, his actions becoming frantic. "Get out of here!"

"This is a public street, thank you very much!"

"No, that's— just— trust me! Get—"

The door to the Hog's Head swung open behind him, interrupting what Avery was about to say. Avery whirled on the spot, and seeing who it was, Hermione rolled her eyes.

She remembered how rude Felix was from their first meeting, and seeing the drunken, sleazy look on his face now, she was sure he'd be just as rude the second time.

"Oi!" She heard him say to Avery. "Where d'ya think you're— oh, hey. That the girl? The one from up in the castle?"

Ugh. The girl. Hermione couldn't make out Avery's mumbled response, and behind them, the door opened once more, and their other friends, Percy and Evander, came out too.

Behind them was Tom.

Oh.

Fucking hell.

It only took a second for him to notice her, barely long enough for her to consider disillusioning herself. He seemed a bit surprised to see her, but it was only momentary, and at the way his eyes roamed over her, Hermione wished she would melt into the snow.

Avery said something else to them, but he was still too quiet for her to hear. And Tom didn't seem to be listening either. His eyes didn't leave her, and then, when Avery finished speaking, Tom nodded, making a 'come here' motion.

Hermione shifted on the spot, stomach churning. She didn't have to go over there. They were in public and other pedestrians—potential witnesses—were scattered throughout the street. She could just ignore him, continue on her merry way, or apparate out of there. He had no power over her.

But... now that she'd seen him and now that he'd tried to snub her, she really wanted to pin Avery down. And if he wasn't going to reply to her letters, it might be her only chance...

Hermione wasn't the sort to turn and run. She gritted her teeth and went over there.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she greeted, forcing a cheerful tone.

They didn't seem particularly happy to see her, not even Avery. Percy and Evander looked too drunk to notice her, and Avery and Felix looked just about as awkward as she felt. But Tom, on the other hand, was leaning against the lamppost, the perfect picture of smug, not at all hiding his schadenfreude at the situation.

"You didn't tell me you'd be coming down today," he remarked smoothly, forgoing any pleasantries.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. His slightly crooked smile was possibly doing a better job at heating her skin than her charm was. "I must've forgotten to mention it," she mumbled, as though it were any of his business. "What brings you all down?"

"We catch up every year for Christmas Eve for lunch at the Hog's Head," Tom answered for the group.

Hermione snorted a little bit, couldn't help it. "That's... well forgive me, but that's a bit... cute, isn't it? Old school mates catching up?"

Evander scoffed and Felix rolled his eyes, but Tom did nothing but smile. "And you? What brings you down to Hogsmeade, all by yourself?" he asked musically, an amused curvature to his lips.

Hermione crossed her arms across her torso. All by yourself.

"Just finishing off my Christmas shopping," she said as casually as her nerves would allow. "Better late than never, you know."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "Not having much luck?" he asked, eyeing her conspicuously empty hands.

Hermione's lips thinned. "Hm, yes, I suppose that a shrinking charm might seem rather baffling to some," she said, unable to help herself, giving her small, beaded bag a little shake.

While the rest of the men laughed, Felix's lip turned up.

Avery looked rather interested in his shoes.

"Still an uptight little bitch then?" Felix spat.

"Mulciber," Tom said with a tight smile. It was pleasant, the way he said his name, slightly high pitched. To anyone who didn't know better, it would've sounded like a gentle correction.

But Felix looked quickly downward as if he'd been smacked and murmured, "sorry."

Seeing it, how Tom interacted with them, was... uncomfortable. She wondered if he was as unpredictable with them as he was with her. She suspected so. He can be a bit prickly, Avery had told her.

"Don't mind him," said Tom, words of silk. "The butterbeer's half-price on Christmas Eve, and it can be a bit too easy to overindulge."

Hermione sniffed. "Yes, I'm sure it can be," she agreed. She turned her attention to Avery, who still wasn't look at her. "Well, while I don't want to intrude on your evening, I was actually wondering whether you would like to go grab a quick coffee? Avery?"

It took Avery a moment to realise she'd been speaking to him, and when he did, he resembled a deer in headlights. "Um. Well... actually, I don't know if—"

"We were just saying our goodbyes now anyway, you two go ahead and catch up," Tom interjected, as though he'd been asked for permission. It was suspicious, the kind way he spoke, considering the way he'd spoken of Avery the previous evening. But with the opportunity to finally get some information out of Avery dangling in front of her, she wasn't about to question him.

"I'll see you later, Hermione," said Tom, "Happy Christmas, Marvin."

"Yes, you too," Avery returned a bit awkwardly, and then after a wave to the rest of his friends, he gestured down the road. Hermione followed along without a backward glance, happy to be putting some distance between them and Tom and his knights.

Avery's long legs naturally settled into a fast pace, and Hermione immediately had to hurry to keep up. "Hey, are you all right?" she asked. "I know that things didn't end on a fantastic note last time, but you're being—would you slow down? You're being really weird."

But Avery didn't answer nor did he slow down, he just shrugged and kept walking.

Hermione continued to follow on, and her features settled into a deep frown. Finally, as they made it well and truly out of the ear shot of the others, Hermione tried again, "has Tom said something to upset—"

"Keep walking," Avery hissed, glancing at her only out of the corner of his eye.

"Wha—"

"Keep walking, don't look back."

Hermione just about had to jog. "...Avery—"

"Not here," he hissed, giving her elbow a little tug to take a right turn. "Trust me, just... come on."

"All right, all right," she said, letting him steer the way.

Once they were around the corner, out of sight of where they'd left the others, Avery stepped in front of her and stopped abruptly. "Take my hand," he instructed, offering it to her.

"Not before you tell me what's going on."

Avery squeezed his eyes shut for only a second. "Just—trust me. Please."

His eyes were wide, imploring, and it was strange, the way she felt about him. In practice, she barely knew him. He was one of Tom's knights, and he'd already betrayed her the once. He was the precise sort of person she shouldn't be trusting. But despite that... she did.

She took his hand. His touch was warm and comforting. Not at all like Tom's.

And before she could think too hard on it, she was pulled into the familiar black of apparition.

They'd left paired footprints hollowed out in the snow. Hers were smaller than Avery's, closer together, pointed at the tops from the toes of her boots.

"What do you think?"

Tom thought, that he had a headache.

All was in place for New Year's. All of the pieces, aligned, all of the manoeuvres, made.

Ankou was put out with him enough as it was. To veer from what they'd planned, would only further exacerbate her unrest. She had been promised a hearty meal. Promises were promises.

But a lingering, bothersome thought, one he couldn't be rid of, was that to remove them both simultaneously came with significant risk.

He hadn't factored in her leaving the castle on her own so carelessly, hadn't factored in running into her like this.

Promises were promises... but who was he not to listen when fate sung?

"...My Lord?"

While Evander and Percy stumbled back into the Hog's Head, slurring about their Christmas plans, far too intoxicated for any form of intelligent conversation, Felix hung by his side, a well-trained dog, eagerly anticipating instruction from his master.

Tom exhaled, and the air that left his nostrils condensed, forming a wistful, vaporous cloud.

"Do it."

Ever the obedient, Felix left him without a question.

"Oh, and Mulciber?" Tom called after him.

Felix halted, craning his neck.

"If Avery gets in the way, kill him too."

Felix grinned. "Of course, My Lord."

Tom watched as he stalked off down the street, trailing after the footsteps, remaining until Felix was gone.

The streetlamps had lit themselves now, the flames dancing within their glass houses. In about fifteen minutes, the sun would be down.

Tom gave another glance to the footprints. Such a shame. He'd been looking forward to his birthday this year.

Never mind.

He turned on his heel, starting the long, cold walk back up to the castle.