Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione

The Start - Part 1

10:56 am

Hermione was still mulling over Ginny's parting words as she trotted down the stairs outside the Great Hall. Of course Riddle was Lord Voldemort… After all, it was he who had invented the name in the first place. Thinking that the two weren't one and the same was madness, utter rubbish…

But yet, as cruel, dangerous, sinister, and murderous as she knew Lord Voldemort to be… she was still waiting for Tom Riddle to do anything more than raise his voice to her. And Riddle had only done that once, when he had found out that she was running an underground party operation behind his back. Had the roles been reversed, Hermione would have probably hexed him on the spot.

…And then Riddle had turned around and thanked her; not once, not twice, but three times.

It could have all been an act, she reminded herself wearily, tired of constantly arguing back and forth with herself on this subject when she was clearly going nowhere with it. You've seen for yourself how skilled he is at spinning entirely convincing stories.

But, in all honesty, she thought - waving back at Dominic Davies after he and about five other seventh year Ravenclaw she vaguely remembered meeting during classes or at lunch beckoned her over to their haunt by the open courtyard door - she didn't think that any of the comments Riddle had voiced to her the previous Thursday night —the night she had asked him to Hogsmeade— were acts.

Or, for some mad reason, she just desperately wanted to believe that he was telling her the truth.

"Hermione!" Davies greeted enthusiastically as soon as she arrived. Hermione couldn't help but be struck by how much he resembled his grandson Roger… the same impression she got every time she saw him. "Going to Hogsmeade, I see; excellent!"

"Excellent except I should probably finish all of my Christmas shopping today," Hermione countered, then groaned as the truth of the statement sank in. With the rapid approach of the Holiday Soiree (and all the extensive preparations involved), this would most likely be her last free weekend, let alone free Hogsmeade weekend, before Christmas. "Is it still snowing?" She asked, hoping to not keep the conversation awkward.

Davies cocked his head to the left a bit so he could see out the courtyard door. "Nope, looks like it let up for a bit," he reported as the cavalry of horseless carriages arrived… Horseless, at least, for those students still innocent to the trials of life, Hermione thought as she noticed one thestral quicken its pace to catch up to the carriage in front of it.

"Du Lac let slip in Potions yesterday about how none of them could make it to Hogsmeade this weekend… except you." The Ravenclaw grinned amicably, the smile lighting up his unquestionably good-looking, fair features. "If you're desperate, you're always welcome to join up with a couple of good looking blokes like us."

"Thank you...Dominic," she smiled almost uncomfortably. Standing beside the six strapping, lofty Ravenclaw Quidditch players, she suddenly realized how an ant must feel walking into a roomful of humans. Right now, she was definitely the ant. "Thanks, really, but today I have some official business I'm on, I'm afraid."

Before Davies could question her on what exactly this 'official business' was, the ancient but surprisingly spry grandfather clock in the Great Hall struck eleven; its low, resonate sound could be heard even over the nearly riotous noise of rowdy students. By now, the front foyer and parts of the snow-dusted courtyard outside were choked with witches and wizards of all ages, sizes, and dress.

Somehow, though, Hermione doubted Tom Riddle would ever approach her if she was standing around talking with a large group of seventh year Quidditch players, including a captain.