It was the brightest it had been in months and Hermione felt simply pleased about it. She sat by the shore of the lake, clad in a simple winter coat to keep her warm as she read.
To her surprise, a figure came and sat down beside her on a log she had found and made into a bench. With a chilling cold breeze among the air warmed by the sun, things were comfortable. Snow sat in patches among the earth around the area, but it still looked beautiful.
She looked over at Tom and quirked as small of a smile as she could create, her stomach fluttering with excited butterflies.
"Tom," she greeted softly.
"Miss Granger."
From his messenger bag, he pulled forth a book. He opened it to read beside her, revealing her bookmark being used to hold his place.
She eyed the bookmark and smiled.
"I never got to tell you," Tom started after what felt like forever of them reading in silence.
She turned her head, giving him a questioning glance as he leaned forward and pressed his elbows to his knees. Light reflected off the water and fell onto his hair, making it look like a dark brown instead of a simple raven's black. He looked almost peaceful and harmless.
"Tell me what?" She asked him, marking her book with her thumb. She had her bookmark sitting beside her on the log. It was a similar liking to the one she had made Tom, but mainly just of a Gryffindor-like style.
"Thank you," he said slowly, almost full of doubt as he looked out at the water for a moment.
"For?" She tried not to act surprised by hearing such words come from him, Tom Riddle.
"For the birthday gifts. No one had ever really...put heart into them. The others," he started as he shook his head, and she knew he meant Abraxas and his other friends, "have just gotten me random books and clothes... Simple stuff."
"Are the two gifts not simple as well?" She asked, confused.
He shook his head. "No. Because you put thought and time into them."
She couldn't comprehend this. It had only been a day since she had given him his gifts. And in between then and now, they had just exchanged unsure glances. But here Tom was, thanking her just a day after his birthday.
Her thoughts were pulled from her when she felt the touch of cold, soft skin brushing against her cheek. Her eyes met with Tom's and her breath caught in her through. The act was so gentle, so silent, that she could hardly believe it was Voldemort doing it.
Since when was the young Dark Lord thoughtful of such a thing, even thankful. It confused her and scared her all at once. Especially since she couldn't understand if his current mood, actions, and words, were all in earnest.
"You're welcome," she said shakily.