Riddle and His Lady

Chapter Six: An Unexpected Invitation

There was no sunlight in the village of Little Hangleton. Perhaps this was because it was late at night, or perhaps it was due to the constant shadow emanating despair and sheer contempt looming over the, once joyous, village. Only a lonely candle flame could be seen from a skeleton of a house, sat atop a cleanly mown hill. Drawing closer to the house, it becomes clear that this is not just a house, but the mansion of a prestigious Muggle family, and the naked flame, highlighting the withered features of a man with dark hair and bags underneath his eyes. This is the man. A simple 'Alohamora' opens the door easily enough, to reveal a lavish hallway with portraits hung on the walls and dusty gas lamps which have hardly been used. The floorboards are silent and even if they were not, a quick spell would make them so.

The entire house seems quiet enough; perfectly still as if holding its breath. Except for once room of course, where the sallow-faced man of 38 sat in a creaking wooden chair, writing furiously.

His parents were upstairs sleeping soundly in their warm, four poster bed with floral pillows, blissfully unaware of the events unfolding on the ground floor of their mansion.

A whine of the door of the downstairs study alerted the troubled man of an unseen presence in the house.

He is a stupid man; not clever at all, just rich from his fathers fortune and did not think to grab a candlestick as protection from the possible threat emerging in the darkened doorway. No, instead he stands and with a trembling voice said, "I-is anybody there? Who is it?"

His intention was to sound firm and aggressive, but he was far from that. He was a weak man, hardly a role model for a young boy of seventeen.

"My name is Tom Riddle," the silky voice spoke from behind the shadows, as a young teenage boy with the same eyes, nose and hair colour as the weak man, emerged from the door but still slightly masked from the looming shadow in the room.

"Excuse me?" the man demanded and squinted his eyes, "show yourself!" and so the teenage boy drew closer, his face was slightly lit by the candle flame.

"It appears that I am your son." The boy spoke quietly.

"Son?" the man spat," I have no son! Leave now." He knew full well that was a lie.

But the young man did not leave; instead he drew closer, demanding answers from the weary man which he refused to give. The young man, eyes blazed with anger, could not stop himself and raised his wand to the man, muttering a mixture of foreign words. Being a mere Muggle, the man jeered at the boy in amusement before crumbling to his knees and tearing at every inch of skin he could reach on his body as if on fire.

The young man watched, his eyes wide as he observed his father withering…dying on the cold stone floor. His anger had not get dissolved and soon he moved upstairs where he came across a sleeping couple.

The boy departed from the wretched building, having disposed of all human life within it.


"No! It wasn't like that!" Tom cried, "It didn't happen like that!"

Sweat drenched his forehead, dripping down his slightly pink cheeks as the young wizard awoke from another nightmare. He pawed desperately at the thin bed sheerts, struggling for a grip from his damp fingers.

Tom gasped for breath, gulping oxygen into his lungs as if his life was depending on it. He patted his forehead, attempting to wipe some of the sweat from his brow. Having batted away all the suffocating bed sheets, he lay back down, an arm covering his face and welcoming the cool air to his bare, glistening torso.

It was uncommonly often that Tom would have these disturbing dreams since leaving Hogwarts. The nightmares lurked in every corner of every room, waiting for him to fall asleep; tormenting him into sheer terror. He had sometimes wishes that he had stayed living at Hogwarts, or even shared a flat with Orion or Lestrange, just as long as the nightmares would stay away.

He knew that it was pure regret that kept his nightmares alive. It was not guilt that bothered him, no; that bastard deserved what he got, but the dreams lied to him every night, convincing him that he was just a cold-blooded murderer. He had told no one the truth of those events, and he intended to keep it that way.

Tom often thought of how his life might have unfolded had his mother still been alive. That, alone, would have improved his life dramatically. He never would have grown up with so many insufferable strangers as his "family". He never would have lived in an orphanage in the centre of a war with Germant, not knowing whether his summer holiday would be his last. Instead, he might have been raised in the wizarding world with a mother who adored him and not being bullied for being different because it was normal elsewhere.

Perhaps if his muggle father had not abandoned his wife he might have had an entire family with grandparents who doted on him and gave him affectionate gifts. Perhaps, if that had been the case, he would not have such a carnal hatred for muggled. Perhaps if all that had happened, he wouldn't be stuck in a small flat above a noisy pub in London, dreaming of the death of his father.

Tom tore himself from his depressing thoughts with a grumble and casted a spell to clean himself up. He reminded himself to brew a dreamless sleep potion at some point. The young wizard sneered, glancing around the room and said to himself, "what kind of existence is this?" just as the gleam of folded white material captured his eye. On closer inspection, it appeared to be an apron placed on the seat of his armchair. He frowned, perplexed as to how such an item would appear in his possession. He gingerly lifted the apron to reveal the words, "kiss the chef" printed on it beside a red lipstick mark. His lips twitched in slight amusement as he remembered a certain young witch appearing before him wearing the same thing. He assumed she must have forgotten it before they had apparated to Hogwarts and so he folded it back neatly and returned it to the chair.

He considered, pulling a white buttoned shirt on that he might just leave it and wait for her to remember, or take it to her as it would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Although, he certainly wasn't a gentleman and neither was he a "good simariton". He sighed, brushing his ebony hair into a neat parting and glances down at the chair once more.

He could not explain why this...Hermione Granger...had had such an impact on him. She hardly struck him as anything special; clever, perhaps, and reasonably attractive, especially in Orion's opinion. The chap seemed positively enamoured by the wilf-haired witch. The matter of her birth could be questioned. As Tom had guessed by her surname, she was a muggleborn, as Abraxas had been so keen to inform him.

He was fairly interested in her though. Mostly in how she got in his room though, as well as where she came from. Tom had no memory of ever seeing her in the area and neither had the boys. He had assumed she was from Hogwarts judging by her meeting with Dumbledore but could certainly not remember her face ever appearing in the halls of Hogwarts. And Tom would know, he knew everyone in his year.

He was perplexed by her and intended to dig a little deeper, and now he had the perfect excuse he could find to speak with her again. Although, judging by her coldness towards him at the Three Broomsticks, he was not to expect a warm welcome. Girls, he thought with a scowl before grabbing the apron and apparating to Hogsmeade.


Having arrived at the Three Broomsticks, an apron tucked under his arm, Tom bizarrely found himself feeling slightly nervous about seeing Hermione. As he stood outside her door, having been warmly welcomed in by Madam Rosmerta, Tom gnawed softly on his bottom lip. He was not used to feeling nervous. Even when he was waiting to take his Transfiguration NEWTs, he was perfectly calm and collected, but this witch had an excitable air about her that Tom found both irresistible and unnerving. He could not help but feel that she was a little different. It was almost as if she knew something that he did not.

Tom gulped and cleared his throat before lightly knocking on her door.

He smirked when a moan of frustration sounded from her room before the door was wrenched open, revealing a half-asleep witch, stood in the entrace.

"I don't have work this-" Hermione began sleepily before glancing up and halting her speech with wide eyes.

Hermione was not the only one with a shocked face as Tom appraised her state of dress. He felt quite uncomfortable looking the young witch up and down as if she were a slab of meat, although the sheer blue nighty she was wearing, which appeared to be satin, was making it slightly difficult. Tom gave Hermione a tight smile, attempting to ignore her bare thighs and smooth neck which was completely on show to him as she had her hair up in a messy bun. Upon realising her mistake, Hermione rushed back into her room and grabbed a dressing gown, pulling it over her shoulders as quickly as possible.

She reemerged in the doorway, clad in a loose lilac dressing gown and forcing a friendly smile onto her face.

"Tom!" she exclaimed, "I do apologise, I thought you were Rosmerta telling me to get to work," she explained.

Although she had now covered herself substantially, Tom still felt a slight hotness under his collar. It was a rare thing that a young lady revealed that much flesh and naturally, Tom reacted in the way any hot blooded male would react.

He plastered a controlled smile on his face and removed the apron from under his arm, holding it out in front of him.

Hermione's mouth made a small O shape as she realised what it was and Tom's mouth suddenly became very dry.

The young wizard wet his lips slightly before saying huskily, "I found it in my flat so I thought I would return it to you."

A small, seemingly genuine smile met Hermione's lips and she reached out to take it from him. Tom's fingers grazed her own as he handed it to her, sending a shiver through him which made him take a small step back from her.

"Thank you, Tom." Hermione replied, quietly, a small tone of disbelief in her voice as she said it.

Silence met them as Hermione set the apron on her bed until the awkward quiet was broken by the screech of a tawny owl appearing at her bedroom window with a letter in its beak.

She asked Tom to bare with her for a moment whilst she collected the letter and gave the bird a treat, which when flew off again. He watched her pry the letter open with her gentle fingers and skim read the writing, an array of emotions flitting over her face as she read.

Hermione's brow suddenly furrowed and a look of anger and desperation ghosted over her features. She raised her head slowly and dropped the paper beside her bed. A feeling of tension entered the air as she turned back to Tom and he had an odd feeling inside him. A feeling that he had somehow upset the witch. The time it took her to walk over to the door again seemed to stretch out to Tom as he looked upon her with confusion evident on his face.

Her entire attitude had changed the moment she set eyes upon that letter, and Tom was certainly not stupid.

She appraised him with a chilling gaze and a thin smile on her lips. It was as if she was inwardly battling with herself to smile at him. That expression did not suit her pretty face, Tom thought.

"Again," she began, barely attempting to hide the bitterness from her voice, "thank you for returning the apron to me, Mr Riddle. Have a pleasant day." From the stoniness of her face, Tom doubted very much that she genuinely wished him a "pleasant day".

Offering him another thin, empty smile, Hermione them moved to shut the door which struck Tom as an extremely rude thing to do to someone who had just returned a belonging of hers out of the kindness of his own heart.

No, Tom thought, this will not do. And so he suddenly shot his foot out before Hermione could shut the door to prevent her from closing it and placed a firm hand on it for good measure. It was time to have one hand up on this witch.

He could see her eyes widen to begin with and then narrow. He considered carefully what to say next so as to appear genteel rather than an utter brute. "Hermione," he smiled, "it had recently come to my attention that you appear to have some sort of problem with me." He stepped forward and Hermione automatically stepped back, allowing him to open the door and enter the room. "Now," he began with a gentle tone and crossed his arms, "I cannot possibly imagine what I might have done, other than offer you tea, that might have offended you. Please, enlighten me."

Tom was awfully aware that he was beginning to intimidate the young, rather attractive, witch, although he felt her insolence had gone on quite long enough. Well, not long at all in fact but long enough for it to irritate him. He had been nothing but kind to her since she arrived even though she was a muggle born, and she had repaid him by giving him the cold shoulder. Women, he thought with a scowl.

"I apologise if I have offended you, Hermione." He said sincerely, reaching out to touch her hand once more. It was a gesture he had learnt over the years that made ladies melt into a puddle at his feet. A rather fitting position, he thought.

Hermione, however, only relaxed slightly but remained ever more stiff. He stroked a thumb over her knuckles which seemed to make her jump into life once more and her eyes softened slightly. Tom observed her swallow nervously before saying, "I won't let you charm me, Mr Ri-"

"-Tom." He interrupted softly.

She sighed and continued, "I won't let you charm me, Tom. But please do not apologise; You have been nothing but kind to me since I arrived and for that I am sorry."

A smile crept onto Tom;s face, partly for show and only slightly, genuine. Only now did he realise he had backed her up so far that her back was pressed against the bedpost. He took a step back.

"I do hope we can continue as friends, Hermione."

"Yes, yes. So do I." she replied, an almost non existent smile lighting up her features. It crossed Tom's mind that she looked rather pretty when she smiled.

And then an idea occurred to him as he turned to leave. "Orion is having a little gathering of friends at his home during the week," Hermione seemed to hang on his every word, he rather liked that, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you accompanied me there."

"Oh," she said, quite surprised at the offer, "As long as he wouldn't mind..."

No, Tom thought, Orion would be delighted actually.

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, leaning down to grace her hand with a feather light kiss.

Hermione gnawed at her lip, gazing down at the handsome wizard with his lips on her knuckles and with a shy smile said, "Ohh, alright then."


Here is the sixth chapter! I do apologise for not updating for a week, I have had a very enjoyable holiday in Dorset. Thank you to those of you who wished me a nice holiday :)

So here is the chapter which begins the long road which Tom and Hermione share. I hope you have enjoyed reading this and the next chapter is on its way!

Please review as they are my fuel for writing and updating and thank you so much to those who have. I find your comments very enjoyable.

-Buckbeak