Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione

Ladies First

Tuesday, September 30, 1944

8: 57 P.M.

"....the patrol schedules will be due in my office by next Friday night, no excuses, and I advise you both to keep an open mind concerning the annual student activity over which you both have control," Dippet droned swiftly from his domineering perch on the imperial Headmaster throne on the other side of his scrupulously neat desk. "Oh, and do try to keep a close eye on things. Merlin forbid the events of a year and a half ago ever repeat themselves."

Immediately, Hermione realized to which events Dippet was referring... but they didn't know that.

"Of course, Headmaster," Tom Riddle said, his voice, as always, managing to find the ideal balance between courteous and disinterested. He was sitting casually in a stiff backed chair identical to Hermione's, his chin resting on his right hand in mock interest, she was sure, and his other arm hanging listlessly off the end of the left armrest.

Hermione had not seen him move one inch in the past seventeen minutes.

'Of course?' 'Of course,' you little snake? Liar!

"What events?" she asked shrewdly, levelling what she hoped was a captivating stare across Dippet's desk at the short but authoritative man. She still couldn't absorb how austere and empty the headmaster's office looked without Dumbledore's loads of trinkets and inventions littering the desks and tables. Austere and desolate and deserted. She resisted shaking her head in pity. Headmaster Dippet: what a truly boring man.

Dippet exaggeratedly ruffled through his various layers of robes and pulled out an ornately carved gold timepiece. Opening it, he impatiently glanced at its face, and then snapped it shut in businesslike fashion. "Had I the time, Ms. Nefertari, I would not hesitate to thoroughly answer your question. But, as I'm sure you realize, I do have a slightly important job, I do have a school to run, and I do have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore in five minutes that simply cannot wait."

What a self-absorbed little weasel!

She watched in disbelief and resisted rolling her eyes as Dippet busily tapped his stack of parchment several times on desk until the edges were exactly aligned. He probably leaves it there just so he can straighten it like that and look official during every meeting he has. Suddenly, as if struck by an idea, the man's beady eyes left hers and shifted to her male Head counterpart. "Why don't you explain the situation to Ms. Nefertari on the way out, Mr. Riddle?"

As if by magic, the Headmaster was temporarily redeemed in her eyes, and Hermione pivoted in her seat, glancing expectantly at the boy beside her. Riddle's eyes, which, seconds before, had been distant and bored, now blinked back to the meeting with a start, narrowing and lowering treacherously on Dippet. She held back another smirk, her third in two days, fearing that Draco was beginning to rub off on her after all of the time she had spent with him.

Yeah, why don't you explain it to me, Mr. Riddle?

Riddle, however, didn't even acknowledge her inquisitive stare. In a bored yet respectful voice that Hermione knew had to be an act, he said, "Sir, don't you feel it would be best that she heard it from someone like yoursel—"

"Oh, not at all, not at all, Mr. Riddle. You're Head Boy, I'm confident you'll do an admirable job," Dippet said hurriedly, cutting him off as he glanced back down at his papers.

Only Hermione saw the dark expression that danced across Riddle's face for a fleeting moment as he stared hard at the man in obvious dislike. But then Dippet stood, and the look instantly morphed into one of polite interest as the Headmaster waved his hands at the Head Boy and Girl like he was shooing cows out into a field. "Now, go on, go on, you two. Out! Out! I have business to attend to!"