Jörmungandr

Baked Apples

Aberforth,

Antonin Dolohov is not the best way to procure a Philosopher's Stone.

Hermione Granger

P.S. I sent your recipe to the elves in the Hogwarts kitchens. It's quite the hit amongst the students!!

There were three possible outcomes to this.

One: Aberforth was actually using Antonin to get a Philosopher's Stone. He would be concerned that Hermione knew that, invite her to Hogsmeade, and kill her. Or, more optimistically, bring her into the fold.

Two: Aberforth was not using Antonin to get a Philosopher's Stone. He was working with Antonin (or one of his colleagues) to do something entirely else for the war. Smugglers had a great deal of uses and a dark wizard with contacts to Durmstrang and the continent even more so. Regardless, he would be concerned Hermione knew they were working together, invite her to Hogsmeade, and kill her. (Or, more optimistically, bring her into the fold.)

Three: He did not know the name of who he was working with. He would be confused by the name Antonin, invite her to Hogsmeade, and question her about it. Hermione would tell him about her efforts, their disastrous results, and Aberforth, thinking too much of his little sister's involvement with dark wizards, would agree to have them work together. If Hermione was in-house rather than a free agent, she could at least be kept to heel.

For her money, Hermione thought that the second was most likely. But she could remain optimistic. The important part was Aberforth thinking she was trouble. Not something he could just ignore and would go away. He had to take action. Soon. He was the type to wallow in his own inertia, she would have to force his hand.

And if he attempted to kill her, she would simply win. Their first round had been easy enough.

Hermione waited patiently at breakfast for Balderdash to fly in. It was Sunday. The fire had broken out a week ago, things were starting to normalize again. No longer only hushed, strained voices looking out the bright red windows, worried about the very real and not a continent away threat to Hogwarts, their home. The Great Hall was full of loud kids and clanging silverware. Just as it was supposed to be.

If it hurt her ears, that was Hermione's problem to deal with.

Riddle read his paper. Neat curls. Green tie. Uniform press sharp enough to slice. Eating saltless eggs and butterless toast. Hermione did not watch his mouth, his tongue licking crumbs off his lips, making it shine.

Academic Unrest! Grindelwald Terrorizes Paris with Thunderbird at Esteemed Conference!! Statute of Secrecy Threatened!!!

Balderdash flopped down with a letter.

Dear Hermione Granger,

I understand that you have been educated in a coven thus far. Furthermore, Ms. Carrel may have encouraged certain extracurricular activities. A school setting must be a sudden change for you. I commend you for facing the transition bravely. However, skipping classes is not acceptable behavior here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I require your attendance at my office at 7am this Sunday morning to discuss your current and future academic path.

Sincerely,

Headmaster Armando Dippet

The sudden urge to vomit all over her breakfast was small but sharp. Like a bee sting in her intestines. A barbed-sour pinprick. Not enough to consume like it would have in her younger years, but not entirely gone. Hermione may have survived the apocalypse, may be here only to get a ring, may not care the slightest for school rules, in an unfamiliar castle, in itchy hosiery.