Under ordinary circumstances, the two days before an examination would find Hermione with her full attention locked onto revision, regardless of how thoroughly she had already covered the material. Tonight was not ordinary circumstances. Nearly a month without seeing Tom in person, video calls notwithstanding, had produced a boldness that Hermione did not normally apply to her own social arrangements, and she had, with some effort, sent Tom a message asking if he wanted to spend the evening together.
Late at night, once she was certain her dormitory was quiet, Hermione cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself and went to meet him at the front door. She took hold of his arm with the happiness of someone who has been looking forward to something for longer than they admitted, and they walked into the Forbidden Forest, heading for the unicorns' territory.
The next several evenings were spoken for. Tomorrow was Ginny. After the examinations there was Penelope.
Three unicorns came running from some distance away when they caught Tom's scent, circling around him with the bright energy of animals that are very pleased to see someone specific. Tom went along the row, giving each one attention in turn, and when he reached the third and youngest, he lifted her briefly. A ring of excess weight rippled visibly along her neck.
Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Tom looked at the animal with genuine helplessness. "Milo, when did this happen?"
Thirty pounds at minimum, and evenly distributed in a way that suggested the process had been thorough and sustained.
The two older unicorns contributed explanations in their own register. Adolescence was approaching, and this past month Milo had decided that eating was her primary occupation, a position she was maintaining with commitment.
"We'll address it once things stabilise."
Tom had come to accept that his animals were, as a category, enthusiastic about food. The pandas needed no elaboration. The unicorns ate substantially. Usagi had made the Muggle news three times for meteorite theft and was approaching a level of notoriety that had its own complications.
After some time with the unicorns, the cold drove them into the tent. Under the blankets, conversation eventually drifted toward the Graves situation, and Hermione expressed, with the careful phrasing of someone who has decided to say something but wants to say it gently, that she was not entirely comfortable with how Tom had handled things.
Tom listened.
Their world views had always sat at an angle to each other. Hermione's objection was not to Tom specifically, but to the principle: if everyone resolved conflicts through force whenever they were capable of it, the structure that prevented things from becoming worse would erode. Direct confrontation created risk of harm. There were better instruments available.
What sat underneath this, and what Tom did not bother pointing out, was the life that had produced the belief. Hermione's family was educated, comfortable, close enough to capital to have options and far enough from the top to avoid its brutalities. The social rules she had grown up inside worked well for people like her, which was precisely why she believed in them. She had not yet had enough direct experience of what happened to people the rules did not protect.
She would understand eventually. Not through argument, which could win the surface without moving anything underneath, but through the accumulation of things she would see and experience in the years after Hogwarts. Bones was a reasonable model. Bones held to her principles and had also developed the flexibility that came from watching principle meet reality repeatedly over a long career.
Tom smiled, said something non-committal, and steered them onto a subject Hermione could not resist engaging with fully. She was still talking happily about Transfiguration theory when she fell asleep.
They slept until half past eight. Tom let a house-elf bring breakfast to them rather than walking to the Great Hall, and they ate quickly before heading to the Transfiguration classroom at a pace that was technically not a run.
"Mr. Riddle." McGonagall caught his arm as he came through the door, the bell still echoing. Her expression suggested she had been waiting for him specifically. "Dumbledore asked me to tell you: he would like you to join him for lunch today in his office."
Tom blinked, turned the invitation over briefly, could not identify the specific purpose, and nodded.
He went to his seat and turned his attention to the examination.