Bad Romance
Author's Note: A lot of you have been asking for a chapter on Tom's POV. Well, this is partially in his POV; it's also in Hermione's and Alphard's as well. I'm really hesitant about this chapter because I am afraid I have not mastered writing from Tom or Alphard's POV, so PLEASE let me know how I did. Even if you'd rather not review for wahtever reason, I'd really appreciate a PM or email. I'm really eager to know whether I succeeded or not!
Chapter Ten: Art of War
The Hog's Head was dimly lit and smoky as usual; it was the ideal meeting place for people who did not want to be overheard. Tom held his head high and wove through the clumps of people to the very back, where his most faithful followers sat huddled round a table, drinking butterbeers and looking annoyingly cheerful. Alphard spotted him first and sat up so he could nod discretely to Tom. Avery, Lestrange, and Malfoy each turned and saw him, and all of the young men stood and bowed as Tom reached their table.
"We were beginning to worry, my lord," said Romulus Lestrange in a low voice, accepting Tom's traveling cloak as Tom shrugged it off.
"Held up," he said shortly. "Patrols was eventful this evening. At any rate…" he sat down at the head of the table, with Alphard on his right and Romulus on his left. Marcus Avery and Abraxas Malfoy were at the opposite end of the table, and when Tom looked at Abraxas, the blond young man hastily sprang out of his chair and ran to the barman to get Tom his own drink. "Progress?"
"Not good," replied Marcus grimly. "Greyback isn't receptive, and what with all of the bullying lately, Dumbledore won't leave us alone."
Tom was not pleased. He was tired, after so many nights with so little sleep, and frustrated with the lack of progress they had been making lately. His mind idly drifted to his duel from earlier, and without being able to quite stop himself, Tom let his lips curve into a grin. At least that had been entertaining, in stark contrast to the abrupt halt in the forwarding of his quest.
"At Sluggie's party, we'll corner Crabbe?" Alphard always had the best ideas, and was probably the most valuable of Tom's 'knights.' And yet somehow, Tom felt he was the least trustworthy. Alphard's Patronus was a monkey, which spoke for much of his personality: mischievous, clever, and perhaps a bit tricky and manipulative.
"And do what? Crabbe is as dull as Merrythought," said Avery sulkily. "No point in having an idiot on our side."
"He's big and intimidating," Alphard shot back with raised eyebrows, daring Avery to argue with him. Tom sighed loudly.
"Calm yourselves. Crabbe might be a useful addition-corner him anyway and see what happens," he said with a blase wave of his hand. The triumphant smirk Alphard shot Marcus did not go unnoticed by Tom. Abraxas returned then with glasses of Firewhiskey for all. Abraxas was a slippery fellow, but his wallet was as useful as Alphard's brain, and soon they were all toasting to Tom's brilliance and nobility.
"It's too bad that Macmillan girl is a Gryffindor. She's quite the brainiac…I bet she'd be good to have on our side. And, not too bad on the eyes, either," said Avery after their bellies were warmed by the firewhiskey. Tom glanced at Alphard to check his reaction; predictably, Alphard's brown eyes were flashing with dislike for Avery and Tom smirked into his drink. Privately, he quite agreed with Marcus, but he held back from speaking. He was interested to see how this discussion would go between Alphard and Marcus, so he watched in silent patience.
"She's too pure and sweet. Go near her and I'll-"
"You'll what, Black? Go on," Avery taunted. Alphard seemed to recall that they had drawn the attention away from Tom and pressed his lips together, his dislike for Avery quite apparent, and turned to Tom.
"My lord, I request that we leave the Gryffindor girl out of any plans," he said flatly. Tom smirked at him, fingering the yew wand. Alphard's eyes flickered to Tom's wand and back to his face again, and he bowed slightly.
"This matter is of no consequence," he replied, his voice hardening. "You all have failed me; we have made no useful allies and Dumbledore continues to keep an annoyingly close watch on us."
All of his Knights jumped out of their seats and kowtowed on the floor before him; Tom sighed and finished his drink. "You are forgiven this time. But unless we have made some progress soon, I will not retain such kindness."
How he enjoyed holding court over some of the most ambitious and talented young wizards at Hogwarts. They were all pureblood, traceable back to before the time of the great Salaazar Slytherin.
"Next time Greyback resists our invitation, we use force," he said finally. "And Black, do not forget your winter assignment."
"I haven't, my Lord Voldemort," said Alphard quietly. The young wizards rose to their feet and climbed back in their chairs. The event had gone unnoticed except for by the barman, who was watching them out of the corner of his eye. Tom glowered.
"And we ought to find a new place for our meetings. I don't trust that barman."
"Neither do I," piped up Avery, eager to call Tom's attention back to him. "Perhaps we could simply hold our meetings in the common room?"
"Absolutely not, you prat," spat Alphard. "Do you realize how many portraits there are? And do you really think we can trust all of our House?"
"Excellent thinking, Black," said Tom with a nod. "The common room is out of the question. Any other ideas?"
"The Forbidden Forest is clearly the best place," said Lestrange from the other end of the table. "No one will be watching or listening in there."
"Yes, I agree with Lestrange," said Abraxas, nodding vigorously. Malfoy never had any ideas; he was mostly clinging onto their little group.
"Then it's settled. From now on, we meet in the Forest."
With business taken care of, the meeting dissolved into jokes and antics about their classes and the idiots at Hogwarts. As Marcus and Romulus began doing unrealistic impressions of the moron Hagrid, Alphard surreptitiously turned to Tom.
"My lord," he began hesitantly. Tom sighed and held out his glass for Malfoy to refill.
"Yes?"
"I plan on asking the Gryffindor girl, Hermione Macmillan, to Slughorn's party."
"Why do you bother me with such rubbish, Black?" Tom asked lazily, peering at his wand in the dim lighting. Still, he couldn't completely ignore the spike of irritation towards his most useful follower. Alphard frowned.
"I was under the impression that you…" he trailed off, clearly having lost his confidence. "Well, if it's alright, then…"
"I think I can grant you that much, Black, since you are a most useful Knight," said Tom absently, though inside, he had every urge to use every Unforgiveable on Alphard Black. The only reason he was holding back was that it seemed silly to kill the only useful member of his following over a girl-a Gryffindor girl, no less.
Alphard looked relieved. He apparently had not expected to win this great boon so easily. He bowed his head.
"Thank you, my Lord," he murmured. With his head bowed, he did not see how Tom's hatred boiled over in his expression.
"But if you forget to aid Avery in discussing our mission with Crabbe…" Tom made a point of brandishing his wand. "I do not see any reason to continue to treat you so favorably." Alphard swallowed and blanched at Tom's words, and Tom was slightly cheered by Alphard's fear.
After Hermione had parted ways with Tom, she lay in bed, holding her wandlight over the Marauder's Map. She watched as the dots labeled 'Tom Riddle', 'Marcus Avery', 'Romulus Lestrange', 'Abraxas Malfoy', and 'Alphard Black' returned to the Great Hall and began moving towards the Slytherin common rooms. Her heart sank. She knew Alphard was in Slytherin, and people were usually placed in the House in which they belonged, and yet she couldn't help but feel that his being in Tom's inner circle didn't make sense.
He is the uncle that gives Sirius the money to run away in the future, reasoned Hermione as she watched his dot return to his own dormitory and climb into his bed. So he's not evil. Just…probably wanting to be 'cool'.
And, as Tom Riddle was considered the epitome of cool, it made sense that he would have a following. It didn't make his followers evil just yet. No reason to hate Alphard just for wanting to fit in.
She supposed that the boys had been meeting at the Hog's Head again. Maybe next time I'll watch for them leaving and listen in on their meeting. She smirked to herself. It was a very Harry sort of thing to do, and yet, when she thought of it that way, it cemented her decision. From now on, she would watch very carefully to see when the future Death Eaters had their little meetings…and then, unbeknownst to them, she'd join them.
I'll just have to make sure I don't wear that damned perfume again. It was with great regret that Hermione discarded the little bottle in the rubbish bin. Oh well. The one attempt she'd made at being feminine on a daily basis had backfired in a big way…And yet, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, there was something about Tom Riddle tracking her by scent that made her feel warm and fluttery. She thought of how his scent of aftershave, so light and subtle, had clung to her skin even after bathing, and she longed to breathe it in again. She pictured him shaving, probably shirtless, in front of the mirror each morning. It was all too easy to imagine him standing there, a towel most likely wrapped around his slim waist. The other Slytherin seventh years probably would see him and fruitlessly try to emulate the way he shaved each morning.
Hermione, with her keen mind, had always had an overactive imagination, and she found herself able to picture him dressing, his lean arms disappearing in the sleeves of one of his pressed button-up shirts that were part of the uniform. She could picture him tightening the belt around his slacks, tying his tie in front of the mirror effortlessly. Using pomade in hair was fashionable for young men at this time, and she could see him absently rubbing it through his dark wavy locks, pushing it to the side so that it was perfectly between neat and untidy, that carelessly polished look that was nearly impossible to attain if one was not born with it.
And then… at the end of the day, did he shower? Or did he only shower in the morning? She pictured him wearily yanking his tie loose, unbuttoning his shirt and frowning in thought. Probably coming up with evil schemes as he hangs up his robes, Hermione thought with an unsteady grin. She knew she shouldn't have been thinking these thoughts, and yet, knowing this made it all the more impossible to stop them from entering her mind.
Did he sleep in pajamas, or just pajama bottoms? Did he sleep on his side or stomach? She recalled seeing Harry, who vaguely resembled Tom, just before he had awoken one morning during their Horcrux hunt. He'd been sleeping on his stomach, his face half-buried in his pillow, his arm hanging languidly off the bed at what might have been an uncomfortable angle had he been awake. Did Tom sleep that way? Ron always hugged his pillow and muttered to himself in his sleep; somehow Hermione could not picture the young Voldemort sleeping in such a way.
Or perhaps, he doesn't sleep at all…and yet, she checked the Map and found Tom Riddle's dot in his suite in the Slytherin dorms. The Head Boy and Head Girl each had their own separate rooms, of course. His dot remained in the same spot for quite awhile. He was most likely either asleep or reading.
Picturing Tom undressing had left her feeling strangely overheated and unable to let herself fall back to sleep. Hermione tossed and turned for hours, wondering why it was not Ron or Alphard that she was thinking of like this. Deep down, she knew that she wouldn't have liked to know the answer.
Alphard lay awake, listening to the snores of his classmates and the creaking of the castle at night. He wanted to celebrate that Tom was letting him ask Hermione to Slughorn's party, and yet, he could not fend off the sense of foreboding he had about the whole thing. When Tom found out what someone wanted, he did not hesitate to use it against them, and Alphard wondered how his attraction for the mysterious new Gryffindor girl would end up for him.
Still, he couldn't fight the grin that spread across his face as he recalled how Hermione had looked, concentrating on her diagram of the Flitterbloom. She was probably the cutest witch at Hogwarts…No, not probably. Definitely. She was smart and sassy, and yet had a timid and bashful side. Buried beneath that was an inextinguishable fire and a depth of emotion that Alphard had never seen before. Hermione had been through something; she was scarred and traumatized and quite intent on hiding it and appearing lighthearted and innocent.
The only problem was that she and Tom Riddle had tension so thick that it did not go unnoticed by anyone. Even though he sensed that Hermione returned his interest at least partially, he also sensed that, if pressured enough, Tom Riddle would easily capture her heart.
Because Tom Riddle gets whatever the hell he wants, Alphard thought resentfully as he rested the back of his head on his hands and stared at the ceiling. He had wanted to Hex both Augusta and Tom for interrupting his private moment with the Gryffindor girl; beneath the stands he thought he'd finally found the opportunity to push their tentative flirting a little further. He'd spotted Hermione on the first day of school and thought her to be entirely captivating, and seeing her staring in awe up at the structure of the Quidditch stands had made his heart beat a little faster.
The way her lips had parted in surprise, how cool and dry her petite hand had been in his own larger hand, how soft the skin on her exposed collarbone had looked when she'd raised her head to stare upwards…Her slim, delicate-looking legs and how they looked in the pleated skirt and knee socks of the Hogwarts uniform….Unlike the other girls, Hermione did not shorten her skirt, and to Alphard, that made her all the more attractive.
He was filled with desire, desire to capture the very witch that did not wish to be captured by anyone. And the most conflicting part of all was the fact that he had seen this exact same fervent desire mirrored in Riddle's eyes every time those dark eyes cast their gaze upon the Gryffindor witch.