Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione

Deep Thoughts

Monday, December 20, 1944
7:11 P.M.

Hermione was seething as she slammed the Potions classroom door shut and vehemently set off for the Hospital Wing. Her entire right hand felt like someone had shoved it into a fireplace. From the unusual swell on top of her hand, she figured that her skin had bloated to an ugly black and blue, but under the crimson red covering of Malfoy's blood, which she couldn't bring herself to look at fully, she couldn't be sure.

Choking back fuming tears, Hermione gathered a fortitude she didn't realize she had and shoved the pain to a back burner. She reminded herself that there were bigger things going on...her hand just had to wait. Her bookbag, slung securely over her shoulder, took a wild swing as Hermione sharply turned a corner, her thoughts jumbled.

From Day One, it had been clear to everyone involved that Calugala Malfoy and Tom Riddle weren't exactly the best of friends, as Hermione had rather stupidly expected them to be...but the reasons behind their existing enmity had never been clear. Facing the truth in all its ugliness, Hermione felt like a complete idiot for having never seen it before.

She had always assumed that Tom Riddle, being the Heir of Slytherin, would have more authority than any of the other powerful Slytherin-bred families. But, quite obviously, no one in this time seemed to respect Tom. It was almost as if he was a joke, a useless person with useful assets. She knew he had already formed the Death Eaters, meaning he had somehow proven he was the Heir of Slytherin, but everyone knew he had a Muggle father.

That is probably why people respect him to some extent, but also don't take him that seriously.

Once again, Hermione's mind nimbly ran through all the facts Dumbledore had given her on the Heir of Slytherin. According to Dumbledore, Tom Riddle hadn't made the full plunge to the Dark Arts until after he had graduated. The full plunge being the numerous murders at least good half-decade after Hogwarts.

She passed a window on the way up to the forth floor, catching a glimpse of a gust of winter air. The dreary weather only coincided with her dreary mood. Hermione loved a good mystery, but this one was getting a bit too extensive and a lot too personal. She hated being left in the dark for this long, and her chat with Malfoy had most definitely just thrown her into a black hole.

Of course, many snippets of Dumbledore's intel was turning out to be faulty. He had skipped the entire curse bit, and missed the mark with the whole 'Tom has close allies' bit. From his refusal to eat lunch in the Great Hall, Hermione could tell that he wasn't exactly the prized jewel of Slytherin House.

Torn in two completely different directions and getting absolutely nowhere, Hermione's mind wandered back to the issue at hand. She had never imagined that the young Lord Voldemort's half-blood heritage would make him a marked outsider in the very house his ancestor had created. Thinking back on it now, though, she found herself asking, Why not?

Purebloods ruled the Slytherin house, and Tom Riddle was not a pureblood. So many puzzling pieces about the Heir of Slytherin were now sliding into place. Maybe this was why Draco, Ginny, and Harry had reported that none of them had ever seen Tom set foot in the Slytherin Common Room.

She vaguely remembered Dumbledore mentioning how Lord Voldemort had taken particular delight in having the pureblooded elite of his Death Eater forces— like the Malfoys—bow to his will. But of course he would have, she realized, after all the pureblood supremacy remarks Malfoy and others had no doubt made throughout the years.

Was that why Tom didn't seem to like purebloods, but he still favored them over muggles and muggleborns, since the only muggles he had known since birth had treaded him dreadfully? Was that why he alienated himself from her, especially when she was trying to be friendly?