Even the Stars Can Be Moved

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Professor Dumbledore to open up the door to his office. She'd headed there straight after her... conversation, if it could be called that, with Tom. There was certainly something she was missing, since nothing he'd been referencing and implying really fit with what she knew about him. What had happened in fifth year besides the Chamber of Secrets? As if in answer to her question, Professor Dumbledore opened his door.

"Hello again, Miss Potter. Do come in."

"Thank you," said Hermione, entering into the room and sitting in the chair across from her desk without realizing until she'd sat that he hadn't even offered it to her. Oh, well, she was a bit tired of social intricacies after dealing with the centaurs.

"How goes your work on the time machine?" he asked, proffering a bowl of candy. Hermione took a lemon drop from the top.

"Well enough," she said. We've at least determined the structure of it, although we have yet to implement it. We can't determine whether or not the platinum requires enchantments--" She waved her hand distractedly in the air, cutting herself off. "Professor Dumbledore, what happened in Tom's fifth year?"

Professor Dumbledore furrowed his brows. "I thought you knew about all of that."

"The chamber of secrets, yes, of course. But Tom--well, he was talking about something else that happened during fifth year, something connected to his being a half blood."

"I do recall," said Dumbledore, "That was an exceptionally difficult year for young Tom. The Slytherins... well, even the other houses, tormented him a great deal."

"Yes, but what was different about that year? Hadn't they always known he was half blood?"

Dumbledore looked thoughtfully up to a corner of his ceiling. "Do you know, Miss Granger--Potter, I'm sorry... I don't know if they did. Professor Slughorn would know better, since he is their head of house. But I hadn't noticed anything happen before fifth year."

"So he'd managed to hide it from them?"

"He is the first half-blood who has made it into Slytherin in centuries. The last one who did... well, the last one who did committed suicide."

"How would they have found out, then?" she asked.

"Of that, I'm not quite sure."

"Professor, another thing he said--I haven't heard a single soul say anything about his status. Why would that be, if everyone tormented him during fifth year?"

"I have wondered myself at the exact nature of it. But I do have a bit of a shrewd idea. When it started to happen, I did all that I could to put a stop to it. Not only for reasons of ethics, though of course those were present. But I could see that the constant hexes, the attempts to poison him-"

"Poison him?"

"I never found evidence of a fatal poison, but as I said, it was indeed a very bad year for Tom. But as I was saying, Tom seemed to be using the opportunity to hone his skills, and that I worried about."

"It sounds like he had good reason to hone his skills."

"Yes, to be sure. Still, it disturbed me that he never betrayed any emotion at his predicament, that he never sought help. It was not... the normal response."

"Right. And then?"

"Well, I'm sure the Chamber of Secrets did play a role in Tom's sudden change of status. But it was too sudden, far too sudden. And, by the end of the year, he was seen about with the group you see around him now. To be sure, something happened between them. And the year after that, we began to see incidents perpetrated against students, which we were never able to solve. But I couldn't help noticing that all of the victims had tried to hex Tom at least once."

"Oh." So that was what he'd meant by extremities. At least, that was partly what he meant. There was definitely more to this picture.

There was a noise by Dumbledore's Floo, and she could see a man's head in the fireplace. It was a rather narrow, sallow face, and as it called for Dumbledore, she could hear a distinctly French intonation in his voice. Dumbledore stood at once and approached the fireplace.

"Ah, Mr. Knauss, how nice of you to pop in."

"I 'aven't any nice news, I am sorry to say," the head replied. "We 'ave discovered the Resistance fighters 'oo disappeared in Alsace... what ees left of them, that ees. Our eenvestigaters 'ave determined they deed not die naturally--"

"Erm," said Dumbledore. "One moment, if you please, Mr. Knauss." He turned back to Hermione. "I'm sorry I can't give you more information, Miss Potter."

"Oh, that's all right, Professor. I know more than I did." She could see the head in the fireplace inspecting her, and she quickly rose to go. "And who knows, perhaps it might be useful?"

That said, she thought as she left the office, she certainly wasn't done pursuing this line of investigation. As far as she was concerned, all knowledge about Tom Riddle was pertinent to her mission. The question was, who could she talk to about it? His friends were out of the question, and anyone who wasn't somehow close to him wouldn't know the first thing about it, only whatever rumors there were.

The answer arrived with dinner that night. She was reading through the Prophet supplement, as was her custom. She put it down for a moment to take a sip of pumpkin juice when she saw Adrian Avery cross the Great Hall over to the Ravenclaw table. He approached a girl with silvery-blonde hair reminiscent of a Veela. Alicia Silversmith, she remembered. He bent his head and talked to her for a moment, and parted after a few minutes of conversation, departing with a kiss on her hand.

So Adrian was involved with a Ravenclaw? How convenient. And here Hermione was thinking Fred and George's extendable ears had been languishing entirely too long in her bag of tricks.

* * *

Tom and Jean walked through the Forbidden Forest at well past midnight, which was the only time they had been able to leave the Slytherin dungeons without being noticed by either staff or student. Jean was the most useful of Tom's companions, and Tom had decided to reward him with the first glimpse of the quarters for their long anticipated meetings. Of course, Tom did have a bit of a price in mind for the gift, although Jean would never be the wiser.

The various colors had drawn closer together in the dark, little to distinguish one shade from the other, and all appearing saturated and dark. It was a new moon night. Tom had always thought it funny to call the phase during which the moon was absent the new moon. But then, new things were often undetectable at first, taking not a little while to wax into a definite object.

He looked over at Jean, whose lips were drawn wide into a toothless, predatory smile. For him, things were falling into place. His success in name and status had gained a guarantor. Unlike Jean, Tom had spent his whole life putting things into place, rather than waiting for them to fall. Not one single good thing had happened to him that he hadn't been responsible for. Though he'd once wished for something good to fall into his lap, he now knew it was a foolish thing to wish for. Good things that you didn't control didn't always remain good. There was no reason, yet, to turn the tide for Jean. So long as Tom was obeyed, he would provide in spades what Jean wanted. But from now on, Jean's good fortune was entirely dependent on how much his desires coincided with Tom. Jean turned to him. "Is this just a cursory visit," he asked, "or will you teach me something?"

Tom smiled in return as they took a left turn at a fork, heading west for the cave. "Oh, yes," he said. "I'll teach you something you alone can have." A few more yards, and he added, "But I must ask a favor in return."

Jeans eyes were wary, but they were tempered with hunger. "Tell me the price, and I'll decide if it's worth it." The cave was visible in the distance.

"Your family," said Tom. "I have heard their name in connection with Grindenwald."

Jean turned to him. "It is no accident."

"I would like to know about him."

Jean paused as they walked further. "You know the sort of thing you are asking for requires a certain responsibility? I cannot have any of this come back to me."

"Of course, my dear Mr. LeStrange, of course."

Jean squared his shoulders. Tom had long ago decided his chief weakness was an overarching preoccupation with what his family would think, especially when it came to his father. It cost Jean something to tell him what he would. "My family has a great deal of certain... artifacts. Although Grindenwald doesn't offer the highest monetary prices, he offers them things that no one else can. Chiefly a certain measure of influence at the French and German Ministries." The cave loomed large now; there was but a short way to go before they had to start climbing. Tom smirked a bit at the thought of the weedy, wheezy Lestrange making his way up to the cave.

So the French Ministry had fallen, then, and was but a false puppet. England had known about the German Ministry's fall for some time. "Go on."

"I have a second cousin in Germany now. He plays an active role in Grindenwald's campaign, although I'm not sure what he does."

"What is his name?"

Jean shot him a wary look. "His name is Johannes Kinderkindle."

Tom nodded. "Good, good." The terrain was becoming rough. "Do you know of any of your parents' contacts?"

Jean stopped now. "Tom... What exactly are you going to be teaching me?"

"Oh," said Tom, stopping too, "You'll see. I think you'll be pleased." He stepped towards Jean, looming over him. Tom was the tallest in the group, and he could see the wariness in Jean's eyes draw nearer to fear. "It's quite useful, actually, as much a skill as a spell." He lifted his chin, looking down at Jean as his voice smoothed more than was normal. "Now tell me their names."

Jean's gaze quickly flickered away from Tom's to the path that led up the mountain.

"Yes, let's also climb, shall we?"

Jean paused, and drew a breath, and followed Tom into the thicket. "I've seen a man named Julian Hextisk the most. I think..." Tom could hear Jean struggling to use the thicket to pull himself up, "I think he's their liason- " a strained breath-- "for the artifacts... Patricia... Parkinson. She deals... with their--" another labored whisper behind him as Jean struggled to maintain Tom's pace--"With their affairs at the French Ministry. Paul Theroux... he's at the French Ministry as well... Etienne Mellours..."

"He's Undersecretary to the Prime Minister, isn't he?"

"Yes... He uses... a new spell... I forget which, to--" a strangled gasp--"control him utterly."

Tom knew which spell it was. The Imperius which had come in so handy with Pendrake. "Who else?" he called behind him. Jean was a bit far off, and Tom waited a bit for Jean to struggle up to where Tom was.

"I know... the Zabini woman, the black widow... attends some of our dinners. I think... she also does work... covertly. The... Notts..."

"But they're just in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office."

"Bombs... make it look like the... Muggle War."

Oh, that was very clever. And ironic. He'd have to remember the usefulness of the Notts, lack of stature though they did have.

"That's... all I can think of--wait... Frederick Knauss... I saw him speaking to... Father once, but... just once... I'm not sure what... he does."

Hmm. Tom heard that chap talk to Dumbledore a few times. He worked with Moody. So the darker elements had even infiltrated the side of the light. How very interesting. He paused for a moment, and waited for Jean. "Very good, Jean. Why don't you go ahead. It's getting a bit treacherous, and this way I can keep an eye out for you."

Jean, pale and sweating, nodded and went ahead. Tom followed him easily. Wizards were always so physically underdeveloped, as though they had forgotten they had bodies at all. He smiled, thinking of his information. Now he had multiple avenues of research and planning to do. He wanted nothing to do in service to Grindenwald, of course. He'd learned well enough by watching his companions that being in service to someone powerful was a foolish way to gain power, and it was certainly no guarantee of perfection. Truth be told, he hoped Grindenwald would fall, sooner than later, but if the side of the light needed a nudge, he'd like to be prepared enough to provide it for them. Tom followed Jean in slow silence for a bit, until the boy was thoroughly worn out. Then Tom took out his wand and aimed a careful, silent obliviate at Jean's back. They made the rest of the way up to the cave, the torturous path gradually giving way to a staircase Tom had transfigured out of the stone. The door was disguished to look like a wayward boulder. Tom walked through it and waited for Jean. Then he lit the space. He heard Jean gasp beside him.

It was a nice bit of work, after all. Another set of transfigured stairs curved along the smoothened earth walls. Along them ran pockets in the walls that shelved books, or potions, and several of the more interesting things he'd picked up from Borgin and Burkes with his invested money. The floor was covered in a dark, smooth carpet, which was a dark green worked through with an intricate silver pattern. Several owls that he'd transfigured from stone flew about, vanishing and reappearing every once in a while. An ingenious form of secure communication, he thought.

Jean turned to him. "Is this just a cursory visit," he asked, "or will you teach me something?"

"Oh," Tom replied. "I already have, in a way."

*

Hermione couldn't help but think it was adorable that Alicia and Adrian had met in the Restricted Section of the Library. She had managed to follow them secretly enough for most of the day before they had secluded themselves from friends and eavesdroppers. It was only then that Hermione wished to hear anything they might say to each other. She ran a piece of flesh-colored string to nestle between two dusty volumes and checked the earpiece.

"When will you realize that your efforts to make an intellect of me can only end in failure, my love?" Hermione heard both a loud and muffled version, and nodded to herself as she walked a bit further away. She quickly put an invisibility spell on the string and sat at a desk.

"So long as I prevent you from being a vacant-headed pretty boy, you prat," came the reply. Hermione's lips twitched, and she pulled a book out of her bag and opened it to a random page. "What are the major properties of wolfsbane?"

"Hair as pale as white gold, skin like alabaster, and those unnerving pink diamonds you have set beneath your brows."

The major properties of wolfsbane, Adrian, not the most majorly clichéd compliments you've given me."

"But the test isn't for weeks, Alicia."

A tutting sound came through the string.

"Then go find someone to flirt with, Adrian, because I for one intend to study."

There was a disgruntled sigh, and then: "Well, I think Tom did mention something he might need from our liason in Ravenclaw..."

"I'm serious, Adrian. I'm going to study. I can't just jump up every time you happen to remember something Tom wants from me."

"Fine, then, why don't I at least tell you now so I won't have to interrupt your torrid affair with books?"

"Oh, don't be mad, dearest. I'm sure I can find some time tonight to pursue my less intellectually inclined occupations..."

"You always come through for me when it counts."

"Indeed. Tell me your little favor..."

"He wants to know about O'Bleeke's apprentice, Mione Potter."

Hermione nearly dropped her end of the string. Lord, didn't he know when to quit? "Well, she's brilliant, and aloof, and just a bit pretty, don't you think, Adrian--I've seen the looks you give her. Does Tom fancy her?"

"I've never seen Tom fancy anyone. He says she's important. He thinks she's here for some other reason than to apprentice with Professor O'Bleeke."

"Of course she is, a mind like that at our age."

"Do I have permission to flirt?"

"When don't you have, dear boy? You know that as long as I have space you can use yours however you're inclined. Speaking of which..."

"I'm taking the hint, honestly I am. Until tonight, my love?"

"Yes, yes," came the distracted reply. Hermione could picture her waving Adrian away, and she heard a chair scraping across the stack of books. She unenchanted the string and started to twine the string around the earpiece. Not exactly what she was looking for, but she certainly knew to be wary of Alicia Silversmith. She let out a sigh of frustration, half-tempted to go and put a hex on Tom. Really, he never stopped. Not that this was unexpected. Well, two could play at the game he was playing, couldn't they?

*

Tom watched the two swirling figures in his hand intently as he listened to the recording he'd managed to get from Dumbledore's office earlier that evening. He recorded the conversations in Dumbledore's office with a latent excipio charm that activated upon the man's presence in the office. It was an ancient listening spell used by servants during the renaissance for them to better help their masters; the particular mode of the spell made them unable to relate their findings to others. The obscureness of it, and its limitation, made it the perfect spell to use in the always suspicious Dumbledore's office. He would never think to look for it because he would assume the listener would want to impart their findings to another. Funnily enough, there had been a glitch tonight; there was a missing patch and the conversation he'd got had a chunk missing from its beginning. But then, his earlier use of the subausculto, which was exceedingly rare, though obviously for purposes of spying, had been detected and counteracted some hours before the Potter girl's arrival, so Tom had reason to suspect that Dumbledore enacted extra spells when she was present in his office. He'd definitely have to think of a way around that.

"Zere were twelve bodies, Monsiegneur Dumbledore," the head in the fireplace was saying--Knauss, the man Jean had mentioned. "Zat accounts for all zee Resistance fighters eenvolved. I am sorry, but zere were no survivors in Alsace."

"If that is so, it may be a good thing. I wouldn't like to think of where any unaccounted for persons might be if they weren't dead. Still..." said Dumbledore's figure. "I have an agent now in Provence, she is an expert at Transfigurations, and also gifted in other areas. I'd like for you to let her take a look at the bodies."

This was the second time he's summoned the smoky green figures to replay their conversation. No survivors on the Resistance side... Perhaps the Potter girl hadn't been involved with the Resistance at all? Perhaps she'd been a civilian, so to speak. He certainly didn't see her on Grindenwald's side. But she'd surely been involved, and was more likely than not to be on the Resistance side... Dumbledore had asked to have a Transfigurations expert inspect the bodies, though. It was entirely possible that Mione had created a Morbicorpse in her likeness. He certainly wouldn't put it past her evident skills. However, there was still an element out of place, that might be put in place upon further investigation, and probably would make the story much more interesting. And such a telling detail was more likely than not related to whatever it was Mione Potter was really at Hogwarts to do.

"... Next Hogsmeade weekend at the Three Broomsticks, then?"

"I weel see you zen, Monseigneur," Knauss replied.

It was the perfect opportunity, Tom thought as the figures flickered. Knauss seemed to be the point where his interest in Grindenwald and his interest in Mione Potter intersected. He would be sure to look up this Knauss character. He had to learn enough about Knauss to exploit this brief window of opportunity. He didn't notice a small piece of flesh-colored string suddenly appear, as though it had been previously invisible, and retreat past the crack in his door.

Outside the door, Hermione twined the string of her invisible ear around the earpiece once again, barely suppressing a grin underneath her invisibility cloak. She almost wished she could throw open the door to Tom's quarters and announce he'd been had; she couldn't help but be terrifically pleased with herself. After all, she'd just gotten an eye for an eye, and that with one of the most brilliant students to grace Hogwart's premises... Excluding herself, of course. And, she thought, looking fondly at the string, perhaps the twins.

Just as suddenly, as she waited inside the Slytherin dormitory door for someone to leave, her smile faltered. She was really being a little idiot, actually, when she thought about it. Getting foolishly competitive with Tom, as though he was a particularly arrogant Slytherin, instead of a threat to her future and to all those who she loved. In fact, Hermione realized, she was doing a good job threatening her future herself, letting herself be driven by competitiveness and petty vengeance. She was underestimating Tom for the same reasons everyone else ever had; because he was a young boy, whose depths were never exposed in any way at the surface. She hadn't learned the lesson all the others had provided for her, couldn't reconcile the dissonance between his two selves, couldn't bring herself to hate him as she hated Voldemort.

But then, she had never hated Voldemort, any more than she hated a natural disaster. She'd simply known he must be stopped. His earlier self was the one she felt anything about. You had to know someone to hate them, after all. And what she felt wasn't the venom she had in her heart for someone like Draco Malfoy. It was a mixture of annoyance, and fear, and not a little bit of curiosity, the burning need to know how he could become what he became, how he could decide to seek it out from the point at which she saw him.

A Slytherin girl with a morose expression came to the door and opened it, and Hermione darted through the small space there was for her to escape through. She squared her shoulders under the cloak, vowing to go about things more rationally.

*